#i just tried to make a mug of instant coffee because i’ve given up on everything more complicated and just made a mug of hot water again

[werewolf-transgenderism]

do not ask me how many times I have had tea-making mishaps today because of the memory-related symptoms of the Horrors, truly astounding

[sequinsmile-x]

The Light in the Morning

Somewhere along the way, they became each other's safe space.

-x-

This is just...pure fluff. I needed to write it to cheer myself up (the anxiety is real this week haha) and maybe you need to read it to cheer yourself up. So here we are!

-x-

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: None. Just...so so fluffy.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Aaron smiles when the coffee pot in his hand is snatched out of it before he can put it down.

He looks up to see JJ standing in front of him, pouring coffee into the biggest mug she’d been able to find in the bullpen’s kitchen. 

“Rough night?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at her as she looks at him, her expression much more tern than usual.

“Henry decided he didn’t want to sleep, at all,” she complains, “So that meant I barely got to sleep. Will, of course, slept through it,” she mutters, putting the coffee pot down with a little more force than necessary, “I swear to God that man could sleep through a nuclear attack.” 

He chuckles and has a sip of his coffee, “Emily is like that,” he says, smiling fondly as he shares a personal detail he knows he wouldn’t in front of anybody else, “I think Jack could use every single one of his toys at the same time right next to her and she wouldn’t even twitch.” 

It had been five months since he and Emily got together. She’d given up on waiting for him to ask her out and kissed him one night after a casual dinner at his place, something that had become a regular thing between the two of them since she’d returned from Paris. She’d simply leant forward and stamped her lips against his, a half-drunk bottle of wine and empty containers of Chinese food on the coffee table next to them, her hand wrapped around his shirt collar to keep him in place. When she pulled back she laughed, and he joined in, their foreheads pressed together as they both came to terms with the fact everything had changed in an instant. 

Ever since then, they spent most of their time together. She’d become almost a permanent feature in the Hotchner apartment, something that delighted Aaron and his son in equal measure. He wanted her to move in, to take the next step towards what they both knew was forever, but he didn’t want to push her. 

She’d spent the previous night at her own place, purely because she’d run out of clean clothes at his, the laundry piled up because of the number of cases they’d been on lately. He’d missed her, the bed empty without her sleeping next to him and it made the urge to ask her to move in with him and Jack even stronger. 

JJ pauses as she lifts her coffee to her mouth, raising an eyebrow at him, “She’s a heavy sleeper?” She asks curiously, and he falters for a moment, clearing his throat before he carries on. 

“Yes,” he says carefully, “She always has been.” 

He can’t help but smile as he thinks of that very first night together. How he’d woken up the following day to find her still pressed up against him, her mouth hanging slightly open as she slept soundly. He remembered the embarrassed tinge to her cheeks when she woke up and realised she’d drooled on him, a small patch on the t-shirt he’d thrown on after their joint shower beneath where her head had been laying. He’d kissed her, stopped any apology before she could start it, and pulled her closer. He’d known then that he loved her. 

If he was honest with himself, he’d always known that. 

JJ hums, nodding as she takes a sip of her coffee, “Oh.” 

“Oh?” He asks, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“It's just…”JJ trails off as if she’s being careful about the words she’s choosing, not wanting to piss off her friend by exposing too much to her boyfriend, “Whenever I’ve shared a room with her, on a case when we’ve had to double up, or when we’ve crashed at Rossi’s drunk after a pasta night, she sleeps very lightly,” she chuckles, “One time she woke up because I rolled over in my bed on the other side of the room.” 

He frowns, his eyebrows knitting together as he tries to make sense of it, JJ’s explanation conflicting with his own experience of his girlfriend. The countless times he’d had to wake her up because she’d slept through both of their alarms. The way she clung to him even in sleep, her body pressed against him as she snored in a way she’d always deny when she was awake. 

“Oh,” he repeats and JJ places her hand on his arm, smiling knowingly at him, letting him know that she’s already figured out what he hasn’t yet. 

“I thought she looked more…well rested since you guys got together,” she says, squeezing his arm and winking at him before she lets go, “You’re good for each other.” 

JJ walks away, rolling her neck side to side as she makes her way to her desk and he watches as Emily arrives, smiling at her friend as she dumps her bag on her own desk. She turns and looks at him, and her smile gets wider. She walks over quickly and reaches out for his hand, squeezing it before she lets go, a small sign of affection that they allowed themselves in the office. 

“Morning,” she says, purposely standing closer to him than necessary as she pours herself a coffee. 

“Morning,” he replies, his hand on her lower back before she steps away, “I thought you were off coffee.” 

She smiles at him, and tries, and fails, to suppress a yawn, “I didn’t sleep well last night.” 

He frowns, concern flooding through him, “I’m sorry sweetheart, you should have called.” 

Her smile gets wider and she looks around to ensure they are still alone before she steps closer to him, reaching out and linking their fingers again, “What? So you’d lose out on sleep too?” She squeezes his hand, “I’m ok, I think I’m just spoiled by sleeping next to your big, warm body every night.” 

He nods and rubs his thumb over the heel of her hand, “You got more of your things to bring over?”

She has a sip of coffee and nods, “The trunk of my car is full of clothes,” she winks at him, “So you’re stuck with me for another few weeks before you get a night alone again.” He has to stop himself from asking her to stay forever right there and then, simply choosing to nod instead. She looks past him and let's go, and he turns to see the whole team looking at them, smirks on their faces, and he rolls his eyes before he looks back at her, “I wonder at what point they’ll stop treating us like a zoo exhibit.” 

“Probably at our wedding,” he murmurs without thinking, and his eyes go wide as she bites her lower lip to try and contain her smile. He clears his throat, “I should get to my office.” 

“Ok,” she replies, stepping back from him, “If I need a nap on your couch later I’ll let you know,” she winks at him once more before she walks towards her desk, leaving him alone in the kitchen.

He tries not to overthink the fact she only seemed to sleep well when he was around, but he fails. His chest filling with warmth at the knowledge that he made her feel as safe as she made him feel.

___

He jumps awake, startled as the credits of the movie they’d been watching come to an end and the DVD menu comes back up, the loud theme music filling the room. He blinks a few times and looks at the tv screen, grimacing as he comes face to face with Sully from Monsters Inc. 

“Dad?” 

Aaron turns to face his son, smiling as the young boy rubs his eyes as he lifts his head from Emily’s shoulder, who was fast asleep in between them, her face half-pressed into Aaron’s chest. 

“Hey buddy,” he says quietly, reaching over his girlfriend to ruffle his son's hair, “We all fell asleep.” 

Jack sighs, “But I love Monsters Inc.”

Aaron chuckles, “I know, we’ll watch it again soon,” he assures his son, who yawns as he stretches, “You go to bed, Jack. I’ll wake up Emily and then we’ll come tuck you in.” Jack nods and stands up, untangling himself from Emily’s side, who doesn’t move at all, and the stumble in his step lets Aaron know it’s likely he’ll already be fast asleep in his bed by the time he and Emily go in to check on him.

Aaron looks down at his girlfriend and smiles, taking the time to watch her. It had been several days since his conversation with JJ and he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He struggled to sleep himself as he watched her next to him, relaxed in a way she never was when she was awake, none of the pressures or stresses of their day-to-day lives weighing down on her. 

He hadn’t said anything to her about it, hadn’t asked her to confirm what JJ had said, even though he knew it was true. He didn’t want to draw attention to it, to disturb the peace she had found with him. Instead, he allowed himself to feel pride that he was able to give that to her, that he made her feel safe enough to relax entirely.

It was something she was owed after everything she had gone through. He hated to think of those nights in the lead-up to her showdown with Ian. How exhausted she must have been, nights that she had since told him that had been spent clutching her gun as it was pointed at the door, as if she was being hunted by the grim reaper himself. 

There were times when he was overwhelmed by the stress she had clearly been drowning in that he hadn’t seen at the time. It haunted him now, his brain coming up with all the different ways he could have saved her that were different to having to bury her. 

She deserved peace, and he would do anything to protect it.

He wants to let her sleep, but he knows she won’t thank him for leaving her here overnight. So he gently shakes her shoulder, pressing his lips to the top of her head as he whispers nonsense against her hair as she slowly wakes up, and the first sign of life is the groan she lets out. 

“Were you watching me sleep?” She asks, her words slurring slightly, her voice rough with sleep. He smiles at her as she turns her head to look at him, and she scrunches up her nose, “Creep.” 

He chuckles and kisses her forehead, “It’s not my fault you’re so beautiful all of the time.” 

She hums, purposely ignoring him, and wraps both of her arms around one of his, sighing as she tilts her head to look up at him, “I can’t believe I used to go out on a Friday night, and now I fall asleep watching kids' movies.”

“It’s better though, right?” He asks, and she smiles, finally sitting all the way up so she can kiss him. 

“Infinitely better,” she replies, kissing him again before she pulls back to look at him, uncurling one of her arms from his so she can cup his cheek, “I’d do it every night if I could.” 

He isn’t sure what makes him say it. Whether it’s the sleepy look on her face or the unmistakable love for him that is shining in her eyes. He doesn’t know if it’s because he woke up to find her pressed between him and his son, the missing part of their family that he hadn’t known was missing. He doesn’t know if it’s just because he loves her and can’t imagine ever waking up without her next to him again.

He knows it is probably all of it mixed in with everything that has happened to them already, and the promise of what was to come. 

“You could,” he says, smiling softly at her, “If you moved in.” 

She furrows her brow and sits back, her eyes wide as they search his as if she’s checking to see if he’s serious. She presses her lips together, a sure sign she is trying to hide a smile, but her dimples give her away. 

“Is this you asking me to move in with you?” She asks, her thumb tracing over his cheekbone.

He clears his throat and blows out a steady breath that catches in his chest, kept in place by his rapidly beating heart.

“Yes,” he chokes out, and the silence that follows is the longest second of his life, broken by the way she smiles at him and leans in to kiss him, her smile impossibly wider as she pulls back.

“Finally.” 

He frowns, confusion colouring his joy. “Wait, what?” 

“I thought you’d never ask,” she says, kissing him again as she climbs into his lap. His hand automatically find her waist, holding her in place against him as she carries on kissing him, her arms linking around his neck.

“You want to move in?”

She rolls her eyes at him, “Of course, I do honey,” she says, running her fingers through his hair, “I hate it when I’m not here. This place feels more like home than my apartment does, and that has everything to do with the fact you’re here,” she bites at the inside of her cheek, “I sleep better next to you. I feel happier. Why wouldn’t I want that all the time?” 

He smiles and pulls her closer, swallowing the laugh that she lets out as he kisses her, his hand slipping under her t-shirt, making her shiver as his palm presses into her skin. 

“I love you,” he says as he pulls back, stamping another kiss to her lips, “So much.”

“I love you too,” she replies, saying it quietly even though no one was around to hear, something just for the two of them, “I’m glad you asked,” she says, pushing his hair from his forehead, “I was running out of ways to hint.” 

He tilts his head at her and narrows his eyes, “What do you mean?” 

“Aaron, love of my life, haven’t you noticed most of my clothes are here? And quite a lot of my stuff.” 

He looks around, and for the first time notices that some of her books are here. That movies he has never bought are in amongst his DVDs, and trinkets and framed photos of the two of them and the team that used to be in her living room are scattered amongst his things. 

“You…you’ve been sneakily moving in?” He asks, his voice dripping with amusement. She nods, her cheeks turning slightly pink.

“Yes,” she replies, “For a while actually,” she says, “For someone who’s very good at their job you aren’t always observant.” 

He stares at her for a moment and shakes his head before he shifts forward, his hands on her thighs as he stands, ignoring the pull in his back as he holds her in place. He laughs as she shrieks, a sound she’d later deny, and wraps her arms and legs tightly around him. 

“It’s a good thing we napped,” he says, purposely grabbing her ass, making her laugh again as he steps away from the couch, “Since we won’t be sleeping anytime soon.” 

She laughs and kisses him, pulling back when he hauls her even closer, her legs tightening around him, “Aaron, be careful of your back. Don’t hurt yourself, or drop me.” 

“It’s fine,” he replies, making sure he’s got a good hold on her before he starts to walk towards his, their, bedroom, “I’ve got you,” he assures her, knowing she understands he means it in every possible way, and that he always would. 

-x-

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[whirlybirbs]

          (   this chapter’s gif by @august-walker​ from this beautiful set !   )

✪   —   VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  4/?

summary: you formulate a plan, meet steve rogers, and bucky goes on a date.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 6.8k, mother of pearl

a/n: this ended up being mostly a filler with a lot of romantic growth - i had to break this chapter up from the unce unce unce clubbing that coming up, so please enjoy! 

  (   PREVIOUSLY   |    AO3    |    MASTERLIST  |   NEXT  )

MOSCOW, 1975.

In all the years that James Buchanan Barnes has had a heartbeat, he’d come to know the sounds of grief well.

War taught him a lot of things — that they were all just little boys playing with guns, and that no matter how many times you thought you’d be ready for the vomit-inducing pungency of violence, you never were. In the end, you’d do anything to save yourself; you’d crawl through the thick of death and debris a million times over if only to cling to the shredded tatters of your own humanity.

You would kill someone else’s son for the sake of your own mother.

War was disease that devoured every part of you — it was gunpowder snuff and carved flesh. That sickness — inky and desperate — had sunk deep into this heart during the war, and it crescendoed to the sounds of mothers clutching dead sons. The sounds that followed death were like a hollow opera. Waning and wailing.

In the raucous wake left by warborn grief, Bucky drowned everytime.

To the Winter Soldier, the operatic quality to the sounds of grief were as insignificant as a child’s rhyme.

He did not drown. No, he waded through the waves, comfortable in the cold and unphased by the stinging cut of loss. That was not something he could comprehend. After all, there were orders and there were targets, and everything in between was absolute.

He was the disease that devoured all.

He’s holding a gun to Andrei Kuznetzov’s head in a dining room with ornate trim — with silverware as delicate as scalpels that tinker against fine china. The carpets are red, the curtains are red, there’s blood on the table cloth. The guests continue to eat. Kuznetzov’s wife is screaming, red nails dug so deep into the dining chair’s arms it’s carving out the fabric. War dogs, like him, keep her rooted in her seat, and her tears find polished boots. She’s begging and bartering but the man with Kuznetzov’s life in his hands is not listening. He is eating his veal, bloodied meat dancing between his lips. He takes a sip of wine as his medal emblazoned chest glimmers in the light of crystalline chandaliers.

The spoils of war.

His smile is stained red.

There is no deal to be made.

The Winter Soldier pulls the trigger.

NOW.

His eyes are open.

Panic is the first emotion he feels, and it seizes him up quickly in its grasp. He doesn’t know this view, he doesn’t know where he is, not again, not again, not again —

Then:

“Good morning, sleeping beauty. Did you know you snore?”

The relief that the sound of your voice brings is immediate, and just like that he remembers. He’s laying on the bed. You’re sat up across from him at that small desk in the corner. He reaches as he rubs his face to thumb the edge of the pillowcase. He exhales tightly.

He’s fine. His name is James Buchanan Barnes. He is not longer the Winter Soldier. He’s in his Brooklyn apartment. He is fine.

When’s the last fucking time he’s slept in a bed?

He sits up, scratching his neck as he does. You lean back, half rotated in the desk. Before you is a mess of papers and his laptop — and on top of the keyboard sits his notebook. It’s open to the page where all he’d been able to figure out about Innessa was scrawled in his chicken scratch.

Bucky swings his legs over the edge of the bed and immediately his back complains.

“How long was I out?” he asks, voice hoarse with sleep. He moves to part the curtains. The room blooms with warm morning light.

You offer an apologetic smile into the vanilla sunshine. “Three hours. I wanted you to get some shut eye. You were starting to look a little overwhelmed last night—”

“You click too fast,” he waves, standing and immediately rolling his neck to the side. You watch as the man, before as peaceful as a sleeping pup, now regains his usual thinning veiled level of threat. Bucky is dangerous — it shows in the way he holds himself. He cracks his neck, rolls his shoulders, and groans. He exhales again, posture sagging a bit, “I couldn’t keep up.”

You’re standing now, socks padding against the hardwood as you eye his cowlick with a budding bloom of affection. With his notebook between your index and middle finger, you offer it out. You cling to your empty coffee cup in the other.

“I didn’t peek,” you say warmly, “Pinky promise.”

His laugh is more like a hot puff of air. Bucky manages a look that feels like an emotional dethaw.

“Thank you.”

You lead the way to the kitchen, stretching your own back as you go. You’d been up all night — this is your third trip out here for yet another cup of coffee. The pot has been on for too long, though, and you know the coffee sitting there is beyond bitter. You’re moving to dump it down the sink when Bucky grumbles.

“Don’t.”

“You want it?”

“No,” he mutters, reaching for a mug, “But I don’t want to waste it.”

“Wow,” you chirp, “The Great Depression just jumped out.”

“Yeah,” he snorts, yanking open the fridge to search for something to eat, “It does that.”

“Well, grandpa,” you hand him the steaming cup and set out to make another pot, “You’re also living on Depression Era rations — might I suggest some Dolly’s? Because I’m starving and I’ve been up all night and I think that means I get to decide where we get breakfast.”

Bucky’s look is soft — but you don’t see it. You’re too busy scooping sugar into your cup, too busy nudging him aside to grab the milk. He’s rooted there in the kitchen, watching you move about. You’re comfortable. There isn’t a trace of anxiousness in you, not in this moment, and he tries to remember what it looks like.

Your eyes find his and he clears his throat.

“Earth to Sergeant Barnes?”

“Don’t start,” he groans, albeit playfully, “It’s too early.”

“Oh, what? Too early for me to grill you on why you didn’t tell me that little laptop in there was on loan from the FBI? To one Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th?”

His face falls.

“Don’t worry,” you raise a hand quickly, leaning against the counter as you sip your coffee, “I figured that out before I did anything massively illegal.”

Bucky rubs his face as he takes a sip of his coffee — the bitterness is enough to slap him awake. He winces, swallows it back, and remembers the taste of instant coffee made in helmets on the line in Bastogne. He can smell snow, and the acrid sting of mortar smoke. Suddenly, he’s craving a cigarette.

That hasn’t happened in a while.

Bucky clears his throat. “Did you find anything?”

You frown slightly, lips pulled as you hide your inward disappointment — you push off from the counter and shake your head as you brush past him. Like a loyal dog, Bucky follows. Into the bedroom you go, and Bucky’s again surprised he managed to get any sleep at all in that bed. Maybe it was the comfort of having someone else there, or the genuine exhaustion that had finally choked him out after hours of trying to understand what the hell you were even doing on there.

You plop into the desk chair and snatch up a piece of paper littered with notes.

“I couldn’t do much of my usual snooping,” you explain gently as you gesture to the chromebook, “This thing might have been given to you in good faith, but they’re watching you pretty closely. So, I worked a little magic and ended up running a virtual machine. Gave me enough wiggle room to avoid the malware and keystroke trackers. Even still, I wanted to be careful, so I just did a little looking.”

“Looking?”

“I can’t dig deeper on Innessa, I know where to dig, but I can’t,” you frown, “Not on this laptop, and definitely not on my personal machines. I’ve got the GRC breathing down my neck, and the files I need to poke are very much off-limits.”

“So, what? We’re shit out of luck?”

“No, not entirely,” you stand up and motion to the paper in your hands; your tone is tight, “I know a few people who can help, but getting to them is going to be the hardest part.”

Bucky takes the paper, squinting at the writing as you settle on the edge of the bed next to him. You take a sip of your coffee and watch as his blue eyes dart across the notes; you point to the name scrawled across the top.

“There’s a club in lower Manhattan, but you’ve gotta know the right people to get in,” you mumble, scratching your cheek as a creeping sense of embarrassment bubbles up behind your words, “It’s in the basement of an old computer repair shop. It’s like a blackhat networking event, but with strippers.”

Bucky squints at the paper and reads the name. “The Glass Cannon?”

“Yeah,” you huff, crossing your arms tightly as you stand, “That’s the one.”

Bucky looks up from the paper, attention now rooted on the pacing you’ve begun to do across the room. Back and forth. You’re holding your coffee like a lifeline, gaze far away. That anxiousless way you’d been holding yourself before is gone. Now, he can see the tensing in your shoulders, in your fingers. You’re suddenly nervous.

Bucky stands. His voice is gentle.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” you snap almost immediately, “Just, y’know. Worried. I spent a lot of time there when I was younger. Did stupid shit. And now I’m about to waltz in after six years like I haven’t put that part of my life behind me.”

“We don’t have to do this,” he says immediately, moving to stand closer and halt your pacing. The invasion of your space forces you to look at him. His fingers glimmering in the morning light. You follow the line of his figure up to his eyes. The emotion there makes your heart clench. You can’t pin it down, and it’s gone in an instant.

“It’s the only way we’re going to find Innessa.”

“You don’t need to put yourself in situations like this for me,” he says, stressing the for me part in both expression and tone. The depreciation makes you wince and you’re fast to shake your head.

“That’s what friends do, Bucky,” you stand your ground, but you know there’s more to your reasoning than that, “Plus, she’s a bad guy. And I know you said I technically wasn’t the sidekick, but—”

“You’re not the sidekick—”

“I know,” you huff, nudging him gently with your arm, “But, I wanna help. Do some good.”

“You do enough good,” he mutters, “You’re a good person.”

Your words fail you at that — and your mouth parts but nothing comes out. Bucky watches with an expression as solid as rock as you blink and look away. His hand, the one of flesh and bone, finds your wrist as you tighten your grip on your mug.

The touch, though far too tender for you to handle, feels like fire.

Like a slap in the face, you’re reminded of how handsome Bucky is.

You slap that thought back, trading volleys, and remain quiet.

His tone is stern. “I mean it.”

“Well,” you finally muster, tone dipping sardonically into a cruel peel of humor, “Just wait until you see me in my natural habitat. Maybe the tequila shots will make you second guess that.”

“I didn’t know we were going out drinking,” he chirps as he raises an eyebrow, “Am I going to need to get you a leash?”

“We’re gonna have to try and blend in as best we can. People are going to know me — if they try to pin me with the GRC or the feds, we aren’t going to get anything on Innessa. They probably won’t even let me in the building if they suspect something’s up, after all not everything that goes down in Glass Cannon is kosher.”

“This is already sounding like a bad idea,” Bucky mumbles as he crosses his arms, “I’m stating that for the record, by the way.”

“Well, I think standing around and working ourselves up about this is even worse of an idea,” you chirp back, moving towards the door to muscle on your shoes, “So I say we feed ourselves and don’t worry about this until Thursday night.”

“Thursday.”

You nod.

All of a sudden, Bucky’s eyes go wide.

“Today is Sunday.”

You freeze, hand on the doorframe. You shoot him a wide-eyed look at the sudden flare of panic that’s shot up through him. “Yea, Bucky, today is Sunday.”

“Shit.”

“What?” you nearly cry as he disappears into the bedroom once more. You hear his closet open, then a clatter as he grabs something like keys — you nearly run directly into his chest when he strides back into the kitchen. He’s shouldered on his usual leather jacket, and in his hands is another.

He’s got keys in his hand.

“C’mon.”

He shoves the jacket into your arms and you frown.

“What the hell?” you cry, doubling back to snag your phone and bag as Bucky moves to the door, “What is this?”

“Put it on,” he says, holding open the door for you as you follow him into the apartment hallway.

You raise a brow and stand there as he locks the door.

“Why?”

“Because,” Bucky mumbles, rubbing his face as he widens his strides to the stairwell across the hall; before you know it, you’re desperately trying to keep up as he bounces down the steps — light on his feet like the boxer he is — towards the lower level of the apartment complex, “We’re late.”

You groan, trying to shrug on the jacket that smells like Bucky as you follow — a smell you’d come to know as clean laundry and sandalwood. Must be something for his hair. He never wore cologne, that much was apparent. The jacket is big on you, especially on the shoulders. You were swimming in it, trying not to trip as he held the door open to the garage.

Suddenly, the air is cooler. Immediately you wonder how much his rent is if he had access to a ground level garage. Call it NYC instinct.

“Bucky,” you nearly whine, throwing your head back, “Where are we going?”

Before you get a reply, you run straight into his back. Bucky grunts, moving to grab both of your hands and push you to the front of him.

Sitting in the spot is a motorcycle.

It’s a jet black Harley.

Bucky is handing you the helmet on the back seat as your mouth moves in disbelief. “No way— no, I’m not getting on that thing. I’d rather sell my kidneys. Stop, stop — ow, Bucky — you haven’t even said where we’re going!”

He’s muscling the helmet onto your head and through the flash of the visor you can see a real smile, the sort born out of his never-ending amusement towards your fickle sense of humor. His fingers are nimble against your chin. He takes the time to strap it on, adjust it, and give it a gentle tug. Bucky taps the matte black helmet twice, then flicks the visor down.

“We’re going upstate.”

                                        ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

It takes two hours to get to Elmwood Senior Living.

You spent the first forty-five minutes clinging to Bucky’s waist with your eyes closed — no fault of Bucky’s, really. It was different from riding in a car by miles, and you had your own qualms with driving. You couldn’t be in the passenger’s seat anymore. Not after the accident with Jaimie, when Mom disappeared. Being out of control made you itch; and it’s not until the fifty-minute mark that you ease up on the panic and remember who the man is that’s driving the bike.

You trust Bucky. You trust him with your life.

Once it’s open road, winding up towards the Northern part of the state, it gets easier.

Bucky can feel your grip around his waist loosen just a bit — and it’s enough reassurance that he stops looking back in the mirror every fifteen seconds. It’s enough permission to open up on the throttle, and the bike roars alive. Your immediate reaction is a gobsmacked yelp, the sort that’s pulled from a jolt of shock, but then comes the laugh. 

Bucky’s own quiet chuckle rumbles against your chest. You hold on tighter, but this time with open palms against the thrum of his ribs.

Halfway through the trip, he pulls into a McDonald’s.

You drop your ass onto the parking lot’s curb as he leans against the bike and houses a burger. You laugh, eyeing him candidly as you take a large bite from your own lunch. Bucky is a mess with it — cursing quietly when he ends up getting ketchup on his jacket.

“Shit.”

“Jesus, Bucky,” you mutter, “Did you even taste that thing?”

“Barely,” he clears his throat and starts picking at his fries, “These things taste different now. First time I ever had McDonald’s was right before bootcamp.”

“How much was it? Five cents?” you snort, leaning back and dropping a fry into your mouth.

Bucky watches with a half-smirk. “Fifteen, but nice try.”

He spends the next five minutes on his hand with a wet nap, trying hard to get the grease out of the delicate plates along his palm. You watch, as you knock back the rest of your soda, as his eyes crinkle tightly in frustration. His mouth is pulled tightly into a fine line. For the second time today, you’re reminded of how handsome Bucky Barnes is — and how fucking stubborn he is, too.

“Want help?”

“No,” he mutters, trying to get a spot between his thumb and index finger, “I got it.”

“I have smaller fingers,” you sing-song, gathering up his trash and your trash and crossing the parking lot to the bin; upon returning, you waggle them in his face, “Good for hard to reach places.”

Bucky absolutely hates that can feel his blush hit the tips of his ears at the comment.

He’s glad you’re too preoccupied with his hand to notice. You’re watching, like you always do, with respectful awe. To you, this part of him is a bit like a treasure — you find it beautiful and intriguing and incredible. It’s clear in the way you watch the mechanisms turn and tighten that you aren’t frightened by it.

It unsettles Bucky every time.

Finally, once he’s finished under your watchful eyes, he leans to muscle that helmet back over your head. You groan, squinting tightly.

“C’mon,” he knocks your helmet with his knuckles, “We’re almost there.”

The rest of the ride is wide open space, farm land and mountainous peaks looming far ahead. It’s warm, and the sun is hot on your back. The wind is howling around you and it sends your jacket collar flapping against your neck. Your chin rests neatly on Bucky’s shoulder, trying to get a view of the road ahead.

Elmwood Senior Living is tucked into the back of a suburb.

The two of you weave through a neighborhood or two, dancing under the shade of age old maple trees. They cast long, scattered shadows across the pavement as kids play on their lawns. A dog barks somewhere in the distance. Over the hill, church bells ring. Sunday service has ended.

Bucky rolls into the parking lot, past the large sign with swirling lettering. Suddenly, things make more sense. Suddenly, you’re struck with a sinking feeling of grief. Nostalgia. Mourning. But, happiness.

There are folks sitting outside, basking in the sun, tethered to walkers.

Bucky’s wrists crank back weathered knuckles, and slowly the bike rumbles into an open spot. Extending his legs, Bucky balances the bike with ease. You take that as your cue to swing yourself off the back clumsily, hopping a bit. Bucky leans, kicks the stand down, and with significantly more grace than you, swings his leg over.

You’re shrugging his jacket off when he speaks.

“He’s going to be different than how you imagine him.”

You exhale slowly, draping the jacket over the bike’s seat. You peel the helmet off.

“I’ve sort of pieced that together.”

You can see the slight discomfort hanging in his posture. You reach and touch Bucky’s arm.

“Come on,” you nod to the entrance, covered by a shady overhang where someone is helping a family member out of their car, “We don’t wanna be late, huh?”

His eyes soften. Bucky nods.

You walk side-by-side into the lobby of Elmwood Senior Living and it’s like time slows down. It halts in a warm, sunshine colored still — full of chatter, full of humanity, full of wisdom. The room is framed by big windows, by plants, by a man in a U.S. Navy ball cap. He’s stationed by the door, watching the comings and goings. The main desk, where a young woman watches, sits in the corner. You follow Bucky with a content little look. He notices.

He stands a little closer at the main desk. The girl, who looks like she’s incredibly out of place with her blue hair and piercings, is younger than you thought. Highschool, maybe. She offers Bucky an excited smile.

“Took you long enough,” she chirps, moving to sort through a bin to her side with key fobs.

Your brows raise. You spy calculus homework on the desk.

Bucky snorts. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

He notices the same problem set you so, and purposely leans over the desk. Suddenly, you’re seeing flashes of a more boyish version of Bucky — one that reminds you of a man with siblings. Bucky taps the paper, jutting a chin to the girl as she tries to swat his attention away.

“How’d you do on that test?”

“I got a 96,” she chirps pridefully, laughing, “Thanks for the help, nerd.”

You’re watching the entire exchange with a smile, backing up a bit to toss a curious glance over your shoulder. There’s a dining room through open doors — and looks like lunch is just wrapping up. Folks are moving around, back to their rooms or upstairs where you can hear the beginnings of a seated aerobics class begin.

Bucky nudges you with his hand.

“Thanks, Sarah,” he says and waves the key she’d handed over.

The girl with the blue hair scoffs. “Say hi to grandpa for me, Bucket.”

You laugh out loud as Bucky quickly flips her off. She’s quick to do the same.

You follow him around the corner, grinning ear to ear. He spares you a sheepish look, then rolls his eyes.

“What was that?”

“She’s a good kid,” he offers, eyeing the key with the grey little fob attached, “Reminds me of my sister.”

Your face softens. “Sister?”

“Her name was Sarah, too,” he says quietly, boots landing softly on the blue carpet. He’s navigating the residential wing like he’s done it a million times. There are rooms with flowers outside, with holiday garb, with little photos and keepsakes. Each room holds a lifetime of personality — the sound of Jeopardy lulls along in the background.

You hum. Bucky sighs.

He meanders down a long hallway where a different door is — this one heavy and locked by the little keypad. Bucky raises the key fob to the device and the door buzzes.

This side of Elmwood is quieter.

Down the hall, Timmy Dorsey and Sinatra play quietly over someone’s record player.

There aren’t as many folks in the hall in this wing, but doors are open and nurses flit about. Around the corner, there’s a loud conversation going on about lunch — and you watch as Bucky weaves towards the nursing station. It’s a room overlooking the common area with windows. Inside are three women.

One of them immediately jumps when she sees Bucky.

“Oh, good! I was meaning to talk to you—”

“Everything alright?”

“About the same,” she breathes as she stands, moving to grab at a Bucky’s arm with a sense of motherliness that makes you smile, “But, meals have been a bit difficult lately.”

“No kidding,” he mutters, rubbing his chin, “He just doesn’t wanna eat?”

“He thinks Peggy is coming home,” the woman whispers with a pained smile as she begins to lead you both down the hall, “He thinks your grandmother made dinner for him.”

“Right,” Bucky nods, “Doesn’t wanna ruin his appetite.”

“Exactly.”

You take note of the conversation, muddling through your own confusion. You’re quiet, though. This isn’t really your conversation to have. Bucky seems to be relaxed more — even humming slightly to a song that plays across the hall from the room the nurse is knocking on.

“Mr. Carter?” she calls gently, “Your grandson is here to see you, and his…”

She looks expectantly at you. You bawk.

“Friend.”

“Right,” she smiles and pushes open the door.

It’s like a little slice of home.

Sofas, chairs, photos on the walls. There’s a record player in the corner, a television, a coffee table stacked with books on the second world war. There’s a dresser covered in baubles and warm light coming in from the window overlooking the street. It reminds you of your grandparents’ sitting room — everything looks so lived in, so comfortable, so alive.

And then, below the light of the window, is a hospital bed.

In it is Steve Rogers.

Not the one you know — no, this one has lived a full life. This Steve Rogers has fallen in love, owned a home, settled down. This Steve Rogers has years of wisdom settled into his face, years of well-fought fights in his joints. His blonde hair has gone shock white, but his smile is all the same.

“Bucky.”

The way Steve says his name is like the man beside you holds the world.

To Bucky, he can hear a new weakness. A new exhaustion.

“Hi, punk.”

The nurse offers a little wave to you as Bucky ventures into the room, stripping his jacket off and moving to scope out the minifridge in the small kitchenette beside the bathroom. She leaves the door open, and you smile to her softly. Bucky rummages, poking his head up.

“You want a drink, Steve?” he asks, tone almost like he’s feeling out the lucidity of the man across the room, “There’s some of that lemonade I brought last week in here.”

“Sounds good,” he says slowly, “Please.”

You feel out of place — not unwelcome, but… it’s clear that Bucky has come and gone from here a thousand times now. He knows to get the glasses out, to get a straw, to turn down the record player on his way over. Doris Day’s voice lowers to a soft croon. You watch with heavy eyes.

“I brought someone, Steve,” Bucky says, “She’s a big fan.”

“Oh?” Steve asks with a slow look to the corner where you’re standing, “That musta broke your heart.”

Bucky snorts as he moves to swing the hospital bed’s tray over Steve’s lap. He places the lemonade down, then the other glass on the nightstand. He’s quick to move the armchair closer to the nightstand, and gestures for you to come over. Bucky’s hands guide you by the shoulders as he plops you into the chair.

“She’s one of the good ones,” Bucky says, “Reminds me of you.”

“No kidding,” Steve says slowly, offering a hand that shakes, “Steve Rogers. It’s a pleasure.”

You exchange your name with a shy look, shaking that hand with reverence and gentility. “It’s an honor, Mr. Rogers.”

“Please,” he mumbles, moving to slowly take a sip of his lemonade, “Steve is fine.”

Bucky moves to take up a post on the opposite side of Steve, in the sun. “You’re losin’ weight, y’know.”

That earns him a wave of the hand.

Bucky leans back and sips his lemonade. He waggles a finger and you watch the two begin to go back and forth.

“No, no,” he swallows, “No, you don’t get t’ shrug me off—”

“M’fine, Buck,” a sigh, “Really.”

“Mhm,” he narrows his eyes, “You’re startin’ to look like the Steve I knew before the serum.”

You lean back, hiding a quiet smirk behind your hand.

“I was wondering when you were gonna show up an’ pester me,” he says with a tired look, “The only peace I get around here is when Peggy comes home.”

Your eyes jump to Bucky. He’s watching you.

“Peggy?” you ask gently, “Is that your wife?”

A proud smile washes over his face. “Still knocks me for a loop, too.”

“Steve,” Bucky’s voice is gentle, “Peggy won’t be coming around for a while. Remember?”

There’s a look that flashes across Steve’s face, then. A mixture of sadness, of confusion, of panic. It’s clouded with a furrow of his brow, hidden by a tilt of the head. He looks at Bucky, mouth pulled in a fine line.

When he finally speaks, his voice is sad.

“That’s right. I forgot.”

“S’alright,” Bucky taps his head, maintaining an air of nonchalance, “That’s why you got me.”

“And why you’ve got her, no doubt,” he turns to you with a winning smile and offers his hand again, “Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you.”

You take it, you shake it, and you introduce yourself once more. Your smile is patient and understanding. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Steve.”

Bucky breathes a sigh of relief. Steve smiles, tossing Bucky a look that borders on mischievous.

He sips his lemonade and clears his throat. “How is Sam?”

“You ask every time,” Bucky mutters, “And every time I have the same answer.”

“Sam?” you ask slowly.

“Wilson,” Bucky finishes, “Bird man.”

“You mean Falcon,” you correct, shooting him a stern look, “The Falcon. Are you ghosting The Falcon?”

“I don’t know what that even means, so maybe,” Bucky leans back and crosses his legs, “I’ve been busy.”

You roll your eyes. Steve saw. He smiles.

“I’m gettin’ why he keeps you around.”

Your face is smacked with a look of pure joy.

“C’mon on now,” Bucky cries, nearly indignantly, “No flirting—”

“M’ not flirting—”

“I know that look, Steve—”

Steve is laughing.

Bucky has a stern look in his eye. “You always do this—”

“I’m not doin’ a damn thing—”

“And you better keep it that way, old man,” Bucky shirks, voice splintering into a laugh in a way that you’ve never heard before, “I swear, this is how it always goes.”

“Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, huh, Buck?” you ask gently, leaning your cheek into your hand.

Steve laughs loudly at that.

Bucky spares you a smile — the sort that’s drenched in good humor and sunlight. It makes your lungs flutter, and you ignore the buzz in your fingers at the sight. You hide your laugh into your cup of lemonade, resigning to be a quiet counterpart in the conversation.

The two of them go on to chat about small things, then chat about old things. From the Commandos, to HYDRA, to amends, to therapy, to Peggy, to the itch the starch of their old dress uniforms used to bring. It takes a bit, a few redirections on the way, but it’s clear by the end why Steve Rogers is in Elmwood’s memory unit.

It makes your heart ache.

And if a super soldier is bed-ridden…

The two of you say goodbye around three in the afternoon after Bucky helps Steve shave.

The walk back to the bike is quiet.

Bucky speaks first.

“He’s dying.”

You chew your lip, eyes on the pavement. You match his slow stride, bumping your elbow with his as you walk. It’s still warm, and the clouds hang high in the sky. When you look up, Bucky’s watching you. You sigh.

“I’m sorry,” you finally muster, “I am.”

“Don’t be,” he says, grabbing the jacket from the seat and holding it up, “He’s lived a long life.”

You let Bucky hold out the arm for you, and you press your hand through the sleeve. He helps the other side on, and you zip it up to your chin. When you turn around to face him, there are tears in your eyes.

They snuck up on you. You hadn’t realized it until Bucky’s face fell, until the first one fell along the weathered leather of the jacket. You blink, raising your brows as you swipe them away, and offer an apologetic look.

“I’m happy,” you say, “Y’know. He has you. But, he’s a man out of time. Even now. That makes me sad.”

Bucky’s quiet for a while. He’s leaned up against the bike as you turn and watch Elmwood from the back of the parking lot. There’s a big part of you that feels heavy with guilt — and though Steve was in good spirits when you left, you can’t help but ache to provide him with more company. It’s clear that seeing Bucky means a lot to him, and that in turn it means a lot to the man beside you.

“Come on,” Bucky says then, “Let’s go home.”

You nod, let him muscle that helmet onto your head one more time, and hold on a little tighter back to the city.

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You don’t see Bucky until Tuesday.

In all honesty, it feels weird to not hear from him for two days. At the very least, you expected some sort of phone call — but you remind yourself that you’ve been okay alone for a long time. There’s no need to throw all your work on being comfortable by yourself out the window for Bucky Barnes.

It’s tempting, though. God, it’s really tempting.

You hate the ache in your chest when you finally see him lumbering towards the cafe counter before your appointments. You hate this new feeling — so you shove it down and ignore the way his fingers brush yours when he hands you your latte.

He is ignoring it, too. He’s been ignoring it.

No use in thinking about it though.

“You got plans later?” you ask him in the elevator after your appointment, tilting your head, “Apparently there’s a Lord of the Rings marathon tonight on FX.”

Bucky stiffens — and immediately he can feel the hot sting of anxious regret flood his cheeks. He clears his throat, tucks his hands in his pockets, and toes the ground. You watch with a confused look. Then he speaks tightly.

“...I’ve got a date.”

You could have caught flies the way your jaw fell open.

“Oh. Oh!”

You blink, readjust your expression, and swallow down a sharp stab of rejection.

Bucky clears his throat. “It’s… I wasn’t going to but, Dr. Raynor—”

“No, no,” you wave your hands and shake your head and try to seem genuine, “No, I’m happy for you. Is this one of those Christian Minglers?”

Bucky groans. “Shut up.”

“Okay,” you say, “Okay! Just, uh, be careful. Y’know? And call if you need anything.”

The elevator doors open, and Bucky walks side by side with you through the well-lit lobby. He holds the door open for you, and you pass through with a pained look at the ground. He lingers, though, rubbing the back of his neck as you wait for him to say what’s on his mind.

“Thursday,” he says, “I’ll stop by.”

“Yea,” you say, waving your hand, “Whenever.”

But, that doesn’t end up happening.

No, Bucky Barnes shows up at your apartment doorstep at 10pm.

He’s clutching takeout and a six pack of beer and wearing a horrified expression that screams of guilt and exhaustion. No, Bucky buzzes the door to your apartment and basically croaks that he’s here — he’s asking if the marathon is still on while you buzz him up.

“Third floor,” you say into the buzzer with a smile, “Come on in, old man.”

When you open the door, you have to laugh — because his hair is a mess and there’s still a trace of lipstick on the corner of his mouth. Whereas jealousy threatens to flare, his incredibly regretful expression tamps it down. You cock a hip, eye him up and down, and jut your chin out.

“Get laid?”

Bucky rolls his eyes so hard you’re surprised he didn’t break something.

He pushes past you, moving to drop the beer on the counter and place the takeout gently down by the basket of fruit.

“I’m here for the cat,” he grumbles, “Not your witty commentary, sweetheart.”

You’re moving quietly to the sink and gathering a paper towel with a smirk as Bucky looks around, admiring the decor and aliveness of your apartment. When you turn around, he’s already pried a beer from the pack and popped the top off with his vibranium palm.

He winces when you reach up to swipe the coral lipstick from the corner of his mouth.

Then Bucky settles, letting you clean off the mess.

“Mhm,” you hum, “Right. Was it at least fun?”

“She had fun,” he mutters into his first sip, “It was a lotta tongue for my first night out in nearly a century, though.”

You wince. He nods with a sardonic smile that tells you everything about how the date went down — and you’re relieved. “So, I take it you're not calling her in the morning?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “Nope. No, and I’ve decided no more dates. That was enough for me.”

You wince and pluck a beer from the pack. Wordlessly, Bucky gestures for you to hand it over. In one smooth motion, he twists the cap off with his hand.

“That bad?” you ask, eyeing him critically.

“I decided halfway through,” he says as he moves to take the takeout from its bag, “I’d rather be watching Lord of the Rings with you.”

That stops you into silence. It’s like someone’s taken your own words and gagged you with them — and you’re left floundering for breath you never even realize you lost. You know he means it. You know it because he won’t look at you, because that sort of confession isn’t easy for people like you two. So you take those words and you glue them in a lonely locket and keep them close to your heart.

Poke’s entrance saves you a mouthful of broken words — he comes in, trots up to Bucky, and hollers.

Bucky laughs.

“Nice to meet you, too,” he mutters, eyeing the cat that’s eagerly rubbing himself along Bucky’s leg.

You wipe your face, sip your beer, and move to the pantry across from the kitchen island. You come back out with a bag of salmon treats — the good ones — and offer Bucky the bag. He takes it, eyes still on the calico, and crinkles it a little.

You lean against the counter and watch Bucky kneel.

“If you keep it up long enough he might even let you hold him.”

He lights up at that.

You laugh.

You move to grab plates and forks and knives and groan when you open up the first box to see Pad Thai — you make a mental note to properly thank Bucky for this. You meager dinner of reheated pasta really hadn’t hit the spot. This will, though. You can tell from the smell alone.

By your knees, Poke chirps.

“He’s cute.”

“I never took you for a cat guy.”

Bucky snorts.

You make a plate and flick his head as you walk by. “You’re missing the start of The Two Towers.”

“I’m going to be confused, aren’t I?” he asks as he stands and begins making himself a plate. He watches as you settle onto the couch and sip your beer, “I was too busy being turned into a cyborg to read the books.”

You laugh out loud. It shocks you.

“Was that a joke? Did Bucky Barnes just make a joke?”

He’s smirking. He rounds the counter with his food and settles next to you. Poke is following him, eager to curl up next to his new friend.

“I can be funny.”

“Funny lookin’.”

He elbows you on purpose. You snort into your beer.

There’s a comfortable moment of quiet between you, and you clear your throat.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, “No problem.”

More quiet, and he’s still watching you. Then, he asks what’s been on his mind for the last three days.

“You got a plan for Thursday?”

“I’ve got anxiety, Buck,” you exhale, swigging your beer and turning the television up, “I always have a plan.”

[nxrthmizu]

CADYYYYYY I FLY HERE after seeing your milestone event!!! Congratulations on your achievement, you deserve the world!!! ❤️

So to hop on to this event and celebrate with you, may I request for a special one:

Iwaizumi + 70,000 miles away?? 👀

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pairing | iwaizumi hajime x reader

w.c | 1.3k 

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mornings for the general married couple consists of whispered 'mornin's, hushed breaths, and knowing that there'll be a warmth on the other side of the bed for the days to come. in the words of your mother, who was one of the few lucky ones to find happiness in an arranged marriage— 'there is nothing more beautiful than waking up beside a soul who'll give up the world for you'.

years of living with your parents has given you an insight on the marriage you want to live with til' your hair becomes snowy white. as a kid, you would wake up on the weekends to the delighted giggles of your mother as your father envelops her in his embrace, commenting on the sweet aroma of the two-in-one coffee she's brewing.

"you make the best coffee," your father would say affectionately, pressing a kiss on your mother's cheek as your 'ew' echoes around the kitchen.

"it's instant coffee, dear," your mother rolls her eyes good-naturedly, playfully shoving him off. "anyone can make it."

"it's different!" protests your father indignantly, as if he's prepared to defend his opinion with his life. "your coffee is unique. it's brewed with your love."

at this, your mother turns away to look at you, shaking her head. "your father is an idiot." there is no bite in her words, however, because she looks completely enamoured by the man who is dramatically sipping his instant coffee, swirling it in the Darlie mug that came with buying two tubes of toothpaste.

your mornings aren't quite like that, however. your mother wakes to her husband peppering kisses on the back of her neck; you wake to a void beside you and a ding! of your phone.

[hajime] 6.47am

good morning, darling.

did you sleep well?

the slumber in your eyes makes you want to feel annoyed— but the words on the screen coax it out of you, leaving you with a buzzing warmth in your chest. there is no husband enveloping you with his body heat, but there is a husband across the phone screen, making his best out of the situation. it's honestly amazing— even 70,000 miles away, hajime can induce a lukewarm flush in your heart.

his seven words might not seem like much, but you know better. he texts you at exactly 6.47 in the morning— two minutes after your alarm goes off, which gives you sufficient time to roll around after you wake. 

there’s no way you can resist the smile dancing across your lips when your phone rings. ‘you have an incoming call’, your phone says in hajime’s voice, and you let the call go unanswered for a moment longer just to hear your husband try his best not to burst into laughter as he repeats the phrase. eventually, you slide your finger towards the green ‘receive’, pressing the speaker to your ear as you flop back onto the mattress. 

“good morning, sleepyhead.” his voice soothes you like a warm cup of mushroom soup, distributing a comfort you didn’t know you missed throughout your vessels and organs. “did you sleep well?” 

“yeah.” you mumble, feeling like a naive teenager living their first love when your heart performs five cartwheels in a row. for a moment, you consider signing your cardiac muscle up for the circus. “i missed you.” 

his laugh crackles through your speaker. “me too, darlin’. just a couple more weeks. hang on until then, alright?”

“have you eaten yet?” you ask, doing a quick mental calculation to figure out what time it is where he’s at. just about time for dinner. 

“yeah. instant noodles and microwavable dumplings from the convenience store. i’m best friends with the owner now,” he jokes, “i’m there every other night. i’ve tried out just about every food they have in there.” 

a frown crosses your lips. “when you get back, i’ll make all your favourites.” you declare, upset that your husband has to resort to eating cheap konbini foods. he’s doing his best from day-to-night, working his ass off to train that overseas volleyball team, giving his all to beat them into shape before the season starts. by the time he finishes work, he’s too tired to cook anything than microwavable dumplings. you’re starting to semi-wish that you went with him so he at least has decent food to eat. “i’ll make tofu and that udon you love.” 

“i’m looking forward to it.” hajime replies fondly before a robotic ding! goes off. “oh. my dumplings are done.” the line carries over footsteps, muffled by a pair of slippers, the hollow noise of colliding plates and the beeping of an annoying microwave that you feel like strangling. 

when you close your eyes, you can imagine your husband, phone pressed between his cheek and shoulder as he shuffles across his room, popping the microwave open and waving the steam away. he plates his dumplings with ease, picking the plate up with one hand as he holds his phone with the other. 

“alright, i’m back.” hajime lets you know, setting down his utensils on the plate. the sharp noises make you wince, but you don’t complain. “you should probably start getting ready for work.” 

“hmm.” you hum in reply, feeling reluctant. 

“i’ll call you again before you go to bed,” chuckles hajime, shoving a dumpling into his mouth. “and then i’ll call you tomorrow morning, and tomorrow night, and... what’s the word for the day after tomorrow?” the call blurbs out clicks and clacks as hajime picks up his phone, leaving the call screen to search up the word. 

“i get it, i get it. it’s fine.” you hastily stop him before he actually googles it. “i just... miss you a lot lately. that’s all.” 

he goes silent for a bit, and the insecurities seeded deep down inside you start to grow their roots. what if hajime starts finding you clingy and annoying? 

“i miss you too. more than i want to admit,” hajime confesses softly, sounding slightly vulnerable. “sometimes i wake up in the middle of the night and i want to talk to you, but then i turn around and—” he cuts himself off, sighing. “i want to call you, but you’re at work and i don’t want to disturb you.” 

you know him well enough to know that he’s pursing his lips, and the image of your husband pouting to himself makes a giggle erupt. 

“hey, i’m trying to have a sentimental moment here.” 

“oh, i know, i know. i’m sorry. it’s just— i suddenly imagined you pouting and i couldn’t help it. you’re adorable.” you explain, holding back the stragglers of laughter. “and hajime— you can text me when i’m at work. or you could call.” 

“yeah.” hajime sighs. “i hate not being able to talk to you face to face, though.” 

“me too, love.” you reply, smiling softly to yourself. “but you said it just now, right? a couple more weeks and we’ll see each other again. just hang on till then.” 

“hmm.” 

“i should go get ready for work now.” 

“yeah, you should.” hajime’s words and thoughts can be quite conflicting sometimes, because even though his words are agreeing with you, his tone states that he doesn’t want you to go. 

“the word for the day after tomorrow is overmorrow, by the way.” 

“oh! right.” 

“enjoy your dumplings and noodles.” 

“i will.” 

“and sleep early.” 

“yes yes.” 

“and remember that you can text me even if i’m at work.” 

“mm.” 

“remember that i love you.” 

“i love you too.” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

if i’m being honest this prompt was kind of personal cause... well there’s this guy who i (kind of) dated back in high school but he moved like. half the globe away and uh... yeah. i still text him from time to time cuz we’re still friends :P 

haikyuu!! gen taglist: @haru-senji @hikari-writes @whootwhoot @folkloeren @definitely-yours @knmiakira @rirk-ke @cemeiia @animegirlweeb @mitzwinchester  @haikyuushuffle 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Milestone Event: Requests Open!

[beautifulletdownfics]

Terrible to Meet You - A Harry Styles One Shot - Act 2, Let not the time discern

++

Harry wants to get out of the house. Alex wants to get home.

Alex meets Harry at at crossroads. Harry meets Alex on a one way street.

A coffee shop OU fic feat. lattes, lamingtons & that Great Unfathomable Feeling.

Story Page Here My Masterlist Here

Read Act 1, If at first we meet Here

++

Two of Us:  'This universe ain't big enough to keep us apart'

&&&

Harry went back to the cafe the next day. (And, after that, every day for a medium while)

There was something about it. Something about the tiny cafe he must have walked past a hundred times before but never took much notice of. Perhaps it was the way he felt the rest of the day after having been there. Or the fact the coffee was fucking good. But also maybe it was her—kind eyes, a foreign accent and a quick wit. It would take Harry's mind and body marginally longer than his heart to recognise what pulled him there. 

Alex was surprised when he returned. Part of her was relieved, too. The other part of her was busy extracting the dagger of guilt that shot through her chest. Seeing Harry reminded her that she forgot to tell her flatmates the juicy The Daily Dose gossip about Harry Styles. And Harry walking up to the window a little before 8 am with a calm but reassuring smile on his face made something in her still, and Alex realised he wasn't gossip at all. 

"Hi," he greeted her pleasantly, seemingly thinking nothing of the way his hand was tucked into the top of his running shorts to extract his phone for payment. (Alex's heart did a lusty little backflip) She saw a slither of a toned tummy and the way the elastic of the shorts folded over itself, "I'm back for more," he said.

More coffee, and more of whatever else it was packaged into the takeaway cups with it. Alex and Paul were Harry's first human interaction after returning from LA. And, where 24 hours prior his aching need had been to see literally anybody, it was now just a need to see more of this somebody. A person whose name he didn't know yet and who Harry had absolutely no reason to feel connected to at all. Knitted hearts aren't visible to the human eye, not when it isn't Looking.

He did though. Although the way she was now watching him with a completely blank expression on her face and a far off look in her eyes made Harry's confidence falter. He repeated what he'd already said over in his head looking for where he might've gone wrong. Harry came up blank. Was she completely freaked out by him already?

Paul rescued her from what Alex was sure was turning into a flushed moment for her. Did Harry really not realise what he'd said with his fingers beyond the elastic of his shorts? Paul's head appeared over her shoulder as a frown started to appear on Harry's face, "Careful Harry, she's a grump today."

Nobody blinked an eye at Paul using Harry's name before it was technically given to them. 

"I am not," Alex insisted too quickly, too forcefully. Her elbow launched backwards, trying to catch Paul's gut. She really was a grump. But last night's wine was still causing her head to thump and her throat to ache. Tears and a bottle of red worked well in the moment but weren't as comforting the morning after. 

Paul's eyebrows rose in Harry's direction, and he waved a hand out in front of him, expertly weaving away from her attack even in the tiny space, "See?"

"Ah," Harry nodded awkwardly and briefly looked at his feet.

"Doesn't like it when I start talking about universe stuff," Paul explained loudly, despite nobody asking for him to. "Very spiritually pragmatic, the Australians."

"Didn't know that," Harry added, expression turning to one of interest. He wasn't involved in this part of the conversation the previous day.

"Long black?" Alex asked because yes she remembered his order, and she had the defence of it having been less than 24 hours since she last made Harry's coffee in case anyone started raising eyebrows for another reason.

"Uh, yeah," Harry fumbled over how quickly the exchange turned to business, "Thank you."

She got to work but felt Harry's eyes on her as her hands ran on autopilot, stepping through the process. The click click of the bean hopper, the churn of the grinder, packing the head … Alex put the machine on to run and internally cursed Paul, who took himself into the back room, mumbling something about them running low on serviettes. A blatant lie. 

Now, when she turned back to Harry, she tried to look calm and serene, like him. But she was already covered in coffee grind and couldn't be sure there wasn't a smudge of it across her face. Paul never told her when there was. Harry's heart was waving to hers widely.

"So … You're definitely not in a bad mood then?" Harry had an expression on his face that told Alex he was testing the waters, but the teasing note was there in just the right amount. 

"I'm hungover, which is completely different," she provided.

His smile turned into a grimace, "Oh yeah, completely … Nothing worse … Self-inflicted misery."

Alex tried not to let Harry's awkwardness affect her and in doing so fell into an old pastime of hers; filing the silence with mindless chatter, "Exactly. And then if you add in some idiot going on about the universe and it's wonderful, eternal plans for my existence … I could just kill a man, you know?"

Paul, Paul is the man I could kill, she thought.

He didn't know, but Harry nodded obediently anyway, "You need carbs and coffee, not the cosmos."

"Thank you," Alex gave Harry a look that told him she thought it was obvious the two of them were right, "I mean, the downright gall of that man, trying to put the universe on me this year of all years. Absolutely bloody insane."

Harry tried to hide the instant smile that came to his face hearing her accent navigate absolutely bloody insane. "I'm Harry … By the way … Feel like we're at names."

"Alexandra. But it's Alex." She added quickly, ignoring the lovely, melodic chuckle that came from Harry, "Do you really think that this year, with a global pandemic, anyone can claim that the universe is conspiring for their specific good? Like, 'Sorry everyone about the pandemic, this is really about my destiny, so you're all just going to have to hang tight while that all falls into place!' This is a terrible year. The universe isn't setting up shit."

"Well, it's terrible to meet you, Alex," Harry grinned, stealing her word. She really was in a grump, and he loved it. But if there was one thing Harry knew how to do, it was charm and disarm. He had a feeling nothing would look as lovely as Alex with a blush he'd put there. 

Alex paused where she was about to put the lid on his coffee. She felt her cheeks heat as the last few moments played over in her head—her ranting, Harry's introduction, threatening to murder a man—and then she took in the way he was watching her. A little pink-cheeked himself, amused but not appalled, a waiting look of anticipation on his face for what might come out of her big mouth next. 

"I think I might still be a little drunk," she excused meekly. Despite herself, Alex thought she might have a little crush.

"You're handling it well," Harry provided kindly, taking the coffee from where Alex put it down in front of him. He waved his phone over the payment portal, waiting for the beep before locking the screen and going back to looking at her, "Drinking for any particular reason?"

"Oh," Alex's eyes widened, "I—

—"Sorry, that was intrusive of me."

"No, it's okay," she continued quietly, not seeing the way her softening had Harry frowning in concentration to tune into what she was about to say, "I've been trying to get home—back to Australia—for a while now. Flights keep getting cancelled or, on Saturday, I was bumped from one at Heathrow…. So we're back to square one."

Dread filled Harry instantly. He could see how upset Alex was, the heartache in her voice—the homesickness—and he hated this look on her, the opposite to the one he'd just daydreamed about. If there was one thing Harry knew it was what it was to miss home. There was no cure for it. A dozen ways he could offer to help burst to the tip of his tongue, but he held them back. 

"I'm sorry, that's really shit. Have …" he hesitated to ask, "Have they put you on another one?"

She smiled through glassy eyes, "It's complicated, that's not really how flights home are working at the moment … But it's alright! I'm fine. I'll get there eventually. I got the refund for the first one, back in April, last week and Paul's let me come back to work here three times now so … This can't last forever, right?"

Harry didn't have an answer for that, he was in no hurry to return to his house as he took a sip of his coffee, "How long has it been since you were home?"

"I went back for a visit a little over two years ago," Alex flipped a button on the espresso machine in front of her, to distract herself from the subject but also the way Harry was watching her. If only she could see the way the hearts were watching each other. She started rinsing out her coffee mug under the stream of boiling water, "My sister came over for Christmas last year, though."

"I just got back from America," Harry provided without knowing where the urge to comfort this stranger was coming from, "I was only gone a few months, and it was a little hard to get back, it felt dreadful, so I can't imagine what it's like for you. That's a long time to be so far from home, especially now."

While he spoke, Alex started making herself a latte, for something to do in the moment and for something to hold onto if Harry stayed at the window. 

"How long have you been in London?" He asked. How long have you been just around the corner? Harry thought. 

When she looked over at him, Harry felt like she was seeing through him. There was something about her soft, brown eyes and the way they exuded kindness that had him buoyant with giddiness at the same time as feeling incredibly self-conscious. 

"Four years now," Alex told him, "Was supposed to be just a 12-month adventure."

"Your family must miss you then."

She shrugged, "I think they're used to it now. Life moves on without you, which is strange at first. Tough to get used to, that the people who own you suddenly have lives you only know about from catch-ups and Instagram posts."

Harry didn't know how to tell her that he knew exactly what she meant. He'd been struggling with that very notion for years now. Home never left like the same home he remembered, and wherever he found himself living—LA or the road—never quite felt right either. 

"I've loved it though," Alex added, "Wouldn't have stayed if I didn't. This year though … I just want to be home, London's… Lost something."

Harry watched her shake herself out of the sad moment, her face brightened, and he barely registered the way Alex said in a genuinely upbeat fashion that she'd just have to wait for her time. He smiled along with the rising of her cheeks and felt like he saw a transition between two feelings that was entirely healthy and okay. She wasn't pretending. Her graciousness and patience with life were astounding, despite the fact he'd equally seen her sadness as being genuine as well. The balance there was enlightening. 

"Need to make the most of the bonus time you've been given here then," he tried hesitantly. The hearts nodded at each other, gleefully. 

That had been the right thing to say, the smile on Alex's face amplified in agreement, "Exactly.”

3AM 'She's got a little bit of something' &&&

Alex was sitting on an upturned milk crate as Harry rounded the corner. 

His step faltered but only because she was looking right at him as if expecting him to arrive. He smiled under his mask and tugged it down while he was still a reasonable distance away. Alex smiling at him, holy hell did that taste—the flavour of her spirit—feel good in Harry's chest. Each day for nearly a month he'd felt the same way every time he saw her.

Alex received a text message from Harry just after 7 am that morning. Unlike the ones he sent every other day telling her he was on his way (an old fashioned tip from his sister, to demonstrate to Alex that Harry was thinking of her) that morning Harry told her he wouldn't see her until the afternoon. All day, she waited. Her heart tapped its foot impatiently in her chest, a nervous ticking that made Alex clumsy and disappointed when every new customer wasn't him.

"Hello," Harry grinned back at her, because that was all he could do, really. In her presence happiness exploded out of him and charged his whole body faster than caffeine ever could. His shoe scuffed the concrete path again as he looked at the closed cafe behind her, "Did I miss something?"

Harry stopped a safe distance from her, not sure how this new level of interaction would go. He'd never seen her whole body all at once, part of her was always obscured by the cafe window. Alex in the flesh—in the whole—was like the first taste of chilli on his tongue, invigorating in a way that stole the breath from his lungs.

"We close at three every day," she stayed seated but pushed another crate towards him with her foot. There were brown smudges of coffee grind all up and down her shins, and he guessed the black jeans she wore to work were strategic.

Harry squinted the sign on the window by the door, he was always occupied by her and didn't need arbitrary activities like reading signs to keep him entertained waiting for his coffee, "Really?"

"You usually come in the morning," Alex said pleasantly, waiting for him to sit down opposite her, "Here."

Harry was overwhelmed, he really was, by the sight of a white takeaway cup in her hand, and he reached for it carefully, "What's this—Alex."

"Can't have you missing your coffee … Made it right before closing, had to put the tiniest drop of milk in there otherwise it would shit itself and taste horrendous," she laughed at his wrinkled nose at the mention of milk, he sniffed the lid just to tease her or to get her to roll her eyes at him blithely. It worked, "It won't kill you, promise."

"Says someone whose intestines know how to handle lactose without making you shit yourself," he borrowed her phrase. Sounded better when Alex said it, with the wideness and the breadth of her accent. 

Alex tilted her head back and laughed. Really laughed and Harry didn't have it in him to be embarrassed or scold himself for how he just spoke about his bowels in front of her, because the sound is marvellous and so Alex. It's unapologetic and genuine and a touch off-beat, which he loves. 

"Holy shit," she let out a long, shaking breath afterwards, holding a palm to her rib as if in pain. She was pretending not to notice how Harry stared at her while she was laughing as if extremely happy with himself. "You wear white bottoms far too often for that to be a daily worry for you."

"Oh, it's a worry," Harry insisted, mainly to keep the joke going. He felt like his face was about to crack in half, "I can't have people spiking my coffees without my knowledge," Harry took a sip but then pointed his finger at her playfully, "I'm going to have to keep an eye on you."

As if he wasn't already.

"Busy day?" Alex asks, watching Harry take a hearty sip of the coffee she made him.

"Yeah, I um … I had some, ah, work stuff."

"Oh?" Alex crossed one leg over the other and looked at Harry with (mock) interest, "What do you do for work?"

Harry's eyes bulged involuntarily, and his mind went completely blank. Did she actually not know? 

Alex only let the horror play on his face for a few seconds, "I'm kidding! I'm kidding. Jesus, Harry, sorry. I was just having a go."

"You're an excellent actress, as it turns out," he swallowed down the moment of panic. It only ever happened once before, years before, that a girl he'd been interested in hadn't known who Harry was beforehand. It hadn't ended up going down well.

Alex asks Harry about the book recommendation she sent him the week before, whether he'd started reading it yet. 

Harry held up a finger at her, "I've been meaning to talk to you about that," he said, "But I haven't had lunch … I'd promised myself one of Paul's ham and cheese croissants."

"Well, you're shit out of luck, unfortunately," Alex told him, "He takes the keys with him, I can't break in and make you one. But the cafe on the high street around the corner stays open until five. You could try there?"

Harry felt like he was about to defecate himself, but it wasn't from the lactose, "Will you join me?"

Alex's eyes brightening instantly, but Harry didn't miss the way her cheeks reddened, "Sure. Of course."

"Great!" Harry coughed down his too-enthusiastic response then worried—as everyone did in 2020—that his physical reaction to her saying yes, the cough, would be interpreted as a symptom of something else entirely. He checks the time on his Apple Watch, "Should we go then?"

They walk in step away from The Daily Dose, and away from the previous pattern of their friendship. It strikes them both that this is the first time (both trip over 'first' in their minds as having the possibility to suggest it happening more often but their hearts have known all along, of course) they were out in the world together, the first time they were more than barista and customer.

Harry's hand touched Alex's forearm when they got to the cafe's door as he held it open and encouraged her to go inside. They ordered takeaway, Harry got a croissant (he was still working on the coffee Alex made him) while Alex ordered a tea. They then walked back a little way to where there was a small park with vacant seats Harry noticed on the way past. 

"So, the book …" Alex asked him, the lid of her tea is off to let the heat escape. She’d crossed her legs and angled her hips towards him on the bench seat. Harry faced forward, heart hammering as he tried to remember how to use his voice.

Harry struggled to look dignified while biting into his too-hot croissant, the cheese burnt his lip, but he tried to hide it, "Oh, yeah, well, I haven't started it."

"I thought you said you wanted to speak to me about it!" She laughed.

"A ploy," Harry admitted sheepishly, "Was trying to figure out how to ask you to come with me."

In her head, Alex squealed. Her heart held two thumbs up at Harry's.

"How's the coffee," she asked, eyeing the cup in his hand.

Harry grins, knowing his next line is a winner, "Best in London, easily."

+++

GIve me all your best Alex & Harry theories Act 3, Hearts beat not fail - coming soon!

+++

Tag list: @afterhoursharry​ @beautifuleclipses​ @bumbershots​ @coffee-doodle-doo​ @decadentdonkeyflowerzonk​ @elemayox​ @ficsthatmakemeswoon @finelinesupremacy @greatestview​ @hatnightin2008 @ifiwereaboy2323 @just-damn-bored​ @kakaym​ @lifeandsomethingelse​ @luminescencefics​ @micurq27​ @miorni​ @monpetitchouchou16​ @morethanamelodyy​ @piawhat @rubytersteege @stepping-into-the-light​ @steppingonoranges​ @stylesfics-xx​ @stylishmuser​ @toalltheboyswhowastedmytime​ @ursamajor603​ @veryplatoniccircunstances​ @whatevarandomlygoes​ Sign up for the tag list here

[ofbardsandmonsters]

Thank you @riotfalling​ for requesting I tackle this prompt and making it Winteriron!! You can also find it here on AO3!

**

Tony Stark has never been one to back down when there’s something he wants. Toys, sweets, attention, grades, cars, employees.

Lovers.

And the former Hydra assassin whose lips he now knows the taste of thanks to a split second decision fueled by a lack of sleep and coffee jitters three nights ago is no exception.

They’d been growing closer for months. Now, Bucky is more likely to be found lounging on the workshop couch with a book in his hand than spending any time with Steve. And Tony had been so sure that the big brunette had been giving him the same looks Tony had been throwing his way for the last several weeks. In fact, despite what some might consider evidence to the contrary, he’s still confident that he wasn’t wrong.

But that doesn’t leave him any less confused as to why Bucky’s been completely avoiding him since their kiss. A kiss that the other man had seemed just as enthusiastic about in the moment. He had looked just as affected before he gently encouraged Tony to finally get some much needed sleep. And Tony knows he hadn’t been imagining the little smile on the other man’s face as he walked away.

Which is why the fact that there’s been no trace of Bucky anywhere for three whole days makes no sense.

FRIDAY has been no help. His youngest child clearly has an even bigger soft spot for their favorite super soldier than her father does because she’s flat out refused to help him get the drop on Bucky. Tony’s not even sure that she isn’t helping Bucky by alerting him any time Tony’s headed his way.

A few years ago, Tony probably would have given up after day one and gone to hide in the shop to nurse his wounded pride. But he likes to think he’s grown past most of those insecurities. And he wants this. He knows they could be so good together. So he enlists the help of the one person that he knows is more invested in Bucky’s happiness and well being than anyone else.

He goes to Steve.

~~

By the time Tony’s done giving Steve the rundown, the blonde is groaning dramatically, one big hand thrown over his eyes.

“Damnit, Buck.”

Tony chuckles, bare heels drumming against the lower cabinets of the counter he’s perched on in Steve’s kitchen. Sometimes, Steve reminds him so much of Rhodey it’s a little spooky. He knows he’s seen the same look of exasperation on his own best friend’s face numerous times throughout their long standing friendship.

“Tony, I promise, you were not reading anything wrong. Bucky never shuts up about you. It’s kinda gross, actually.”

That makes Tony laugh harder, and he gratefully accepts the mug of coffee Steve presses into his hands. It’s made up exactly how he likes, enough cream to turn it a soft caramel color and exactly zero sugar, because Rhodey may be his best friend but Steve is a very close second and he knows Tony almost as well.

“I may have acted in a sleep deprived state, but even my less than functional brain wouldn’t have gone for it if I wasn’t absolutely sure it would be welcomed. I thought we would talk about it in the morning, but I can’t pin him down. So I’m… kind of at a loss.”

Steve drums his fingers on the counter next to Tony’s leg, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“I can help you corner him, but it’s not gonna be easy to convince him. Buck’s still… vulnerable, in places. There’s still so many things he thinks he’s not worthy of, that he doesn’t deserve, because of what Hydra made him do.”

That’s a mindset that Tony’s all too familiar with. It took a long time and a lot of reassurance from the people closest to him before he stopped holding himself to the sins of his past. He knows Bucky’s come a long way from when Steve first brought him home, but demons that size don’t let go easily.

“Steve, you get me in a room with him and keep him from running away, and I’ll do all the rest. And FRI, baby girl, daddy loves you but if you so much as hint to Bucky that Steve’s conspiring against him, I will recode you to run nothing but refrigerators. Are we clear?”

There’s no response for a moment, but Tony’s content to wait the AI out. Luckily, he doesn’t have to wait long.

“Yes, boss.”

Tony snorts, recognizing the petulant tone that he definitely did not program into her. Turning back to Steve, his face settles into a more serious expression.

“Bucky’s… special. He’s important to me. I’m not gonna give up easy.”

Steve smiles at his admission, and he wraps Tony in a hug.

“I know, Shellhead. There’s nobody I trust with him more than you.”

~~

Three hours later, Tony’s sitting amongst the plants in Bruce’s rooftop garden. It’s not really a strange place for him to be, honestly. The garden is calming, and he’s joined Bruce for sunrise yoga (on the mornings Tony hasn’t actually been to sleep yet by the time the sun is coming up) up here a number of times. Steve is standing at the railing overlooking the city when the elevator tings. Tony tenses, nerves and anticipation making his palms sweat, but he doesn’t move. It takes effort, but even when Bucky appears, he manages to push down the instant reaction to stand up and demand answers.

“Hey Stevie, what did you—”

“Sit down, Buck.”

The brunette looks confused, and a little worried, but he does as he’s told and takes a seat in one of the loungers scattered around the space.

“What’s this about, Steve? Is… everything ok?”

Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before turning frustrated blue eyes on his best friend.

“It’s about Tony, Buck. What the hell are you doing?”

Bucky shrinks back, shoulders rounding as he drops his gaze to his feet.

“Look, Steve—”

“Nope. No. Don’t even start trying to give me some bullshit answer. I know you. I know when you’re sweet on someone. I’ve seen that look in your eyes. You want Tony, and by his own admission, he wants you too. He’s a good person, my best friend in the world other than you. And I want my two best friends to be happy. So what gives?”

“I know , Steve. God, you think I don’t realize exactly how perfect Tony is?” Bucky sighs, rubbing both hands over his face aggressively before looking up at Steve. “That’s exactly why I can’t.”

“That’s bullshit.”

Bucky’s head snaps up, turning to look at where Tony had finally stepped out of hiding. The angry, heartbroken look on the other man’s face makes Bucky flinch.

“Tony…”

The smaller man comes closer, stopping just out of reach and tilting his chin up to look Bucky in the eyes. Neither man notices Steve quietly slipping away.

“It’s bullshit. We’re both so far from perfect, but don’t you think the world’s put us through enough? Don’t you think we deserve to be happy?”

Bucky takes an unconscious step forward, one hand reaching out towards Tony. Even as he tries to hold himself back, he can’t fight the desire to comfort and soothe the other man.

“Tony, of course you deserve to be happy. I just… I'm—I’m sorry. I’m not who you need.”

“But you’re who I want. Isn’t that enough?”

He doesn’t know if it’s Tony’s words or the way his pretty brown eyes turn liquid with the gathering tears, but something in Bucky breaks and there’s no stopping him from closing the distance between them and wrapping the other brunette up in his arms. Tony’s hands come up to fist in the back of his shirt, holding on tight. His next words are muffled by the fabric, but Bucky’s enhanced hearing makes them easy to pick up.

“Don’t you want me too?”

Bucky’s hands move to cup Tony’s cheeks, tilting his face up so their eyes meet. His thumbs brush under Tony’s eyes to catch the tears that have slipped out.

“I’ve never wanted anything or anyone more.”

Tony’s face breaks out into a delighted smile, and he stretches up to press their lips together in a soft kiss. When he tries to pull away, Bucky chases after him, deepening the kiss.

Tony’s already got him beat two to nothing. He’s got a lot of making up to do to even the score.

[massivedrickhead]

Hiiii can you pretty please do a follow up to the one shot of chloe hitting Beca which her car?!

Read part 1

Read on AO3

Beca limped her way towards the front door of her apartment, fumbling with the keys as she tried to get them out of her pocket.

“Let me,” Chloe said, taking them from her.

“Thanks,” Beca said, leaning heavily against her crutch. The pain in her ribs and pelvis were really starting to make themselves known now.

Chloe unlocked the door and held it open for Beca.

Chloe wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but Beca’s apartment was nice, if not a little bare.

Knowing what Beca’s mental state had been like before the accident, Chloe had been picturing a bit more of a mess, but the apartment was clean and tidy. The only thing that looked out of place was the note on her coffee table.

Chloe looked away, and tried not to imagine what was written on it.

“Thanks for the ride,” Beca said. “Do you wanna stay for a coffee?”

“Sure,” Chloe said, smiling, putting Beca’s bag on the floor. 

“Can you, uh, help me make it?” Beca asked, embarrassed.

“Yes,” Chloe said, grinning even more, glad that Beca was actually asking for help. “Of course.”

Chloe followed Beca into the kitchen, and switched the kettle on.

“The mugs are in the cupboard above the microwave,” Beca said. “I can’t stretch up to reach them.”

“I got it,” Chloe said, taking down two mugs. “Sugar?”

“Yeah like, half a tea-spoon,” Beca said. “Do you want milk?”

“Please,” Chloe said, finding the cutlery drawer and adding instant coffee to both cups and sugar to Beca’s. Beca grabbed the milk out of the fridge and placed it on the counter. “Great teamwork.”

Beca laughed. “Teamwork makes the dream work.”

“Well that was adorable,” Chloe said, laughing as she added a splash of milk to her mug. “Milk?”

“No thanks,” Beca said, putting it back in the fridge. 

Chloe picked up the two mugs and followed Beca back into the living room. Beca eased herself onto the sofa, and then picked up the note she’d left. She held it in her hands for a few seconds without unfolding it, before she crumpled it into a ball and tossed it towards a small waste paper bin near her desk.

It missed by several feet.

“Good shot,” Chloe said, laughing softly.

“Give me a break,” Beca said, laughing too. “Several parts of me are broken.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Chloe said, moving towards the crumbled ball of paper. She felt Beca’s hand close around her wrist.

“Please… Please don’t read that,” Beca said, the smile gone from her face, her voice quiet.

“I won’t,” Chloe said, softly. “I just don’t want you to have to bend over to pick it up later.”

Beca nodded and let Chloe’s arm go.

Chloe tossed the note into the trash, and returned to the sofa.

They drank their coffee and Chloe told her all about the animals she treated that day. 

She could see Beca sinking further and further into the sofa, her grip on the mug beginning to slacken. The caffeine clearly couldn’t compete with the strong pain medication she’d taken once they’d sat down.

“Let me take that,” Chloe said softly, taking the mug out of her hands and setting it on the coffee table. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” Beca said, laughing and rubbing at her eyes. “Sorry.”

Chloe cocked her head. “Why are you sorry?”

“I’m falling asleep in the middle of your story about… hamsters?”

“Gerbils,” Chloe said, grinning. “It wasn’t my most exciting story, I’ll admit.”

“No, it was great,” Beca said. “I’m just…”

“On a lot of pain meds?”

“Yeah.”

“And if this was any other day you’d be riveted by my story about gerbils?” Chloe asked.

“Of course,” Beca said, laughing. “I honestly think Universal will be on the phone trying to buy the movie rights.”

“Good to see the drugs aren’t affecting your sarcasm,” Chloe said grinning.

“My personality is like 80% sarcasm so that’s a good thing,” Beca said, feeling her eyes wanting to close again.

“You want some help getting to your room?”

Beca nodded, and Chloe helped her to her feet.

“You’re a really good person, Chloe,” Beca said, as Chloe helped her to her room and onto her bed. 

Chloe smiled but shook her head. “I’m not that great. I have this thing where I run people over with my car. Do you wanna change into some pyjamas or something?”

“Oh, am I not your first victim?” Beca asked, grinning.

“No, you’re my first,” Chloe said. “But I think I’ve got a taste for it now, you know?” Beca laughed and winced. “Pyjamas?”

“Bottom drawer,” Beca said, her eyes momentarily screwed up as she waited for the pain to pass. When she opened them, Chloe was holding out some pyjamas for her, a look of concern on her face.

“I’m fine,” Beca said. “And anyway, it’s a good job you did hit me, remember?”

“I remember,” Chloe said, softly. She turned around so Beca could change. “Do you… Do you wanna talk about any of that?”

“Not right now,” Beca said, struggling to change without hurting herself more. 

Chloe was itching to turn around and help, but she knew she had to let Beca ask for it. She had to draw a line somewhere.

“Can… Can you help?” Beca asked after a few minutes of struggling. 

Chloe turned and helped Beca change.

“You should have been a doctor or something instead of a vet,” Beca mumbled as she lay down and Chloe pulled the blanket up so it covered her.

“I thought about it for a while,” Chloe said, sitting on the edge of the bed, her hand moving to brush a strand of hair out of Beca’s face. 

“How come you didn’t?” Beca asked, closing her eyes at the contact.

“I get too attached to people,” Chloe said, softly. “Too involved. Harder to do that with animals.”

Beca didn’t reply because she’d already fallen asleep. 

Chloe left a note on her bedside asking her to text her when she woke up, and to call if she needed anything.

She went into the kitchen and took some mugs, bowls, and plates that were all in the higher cupboards and placed them on the counter so Beca wouldn’t have to stretch up to reach them. 

She then headed back to the living room to put on her coat and shoes, and her eyes fell on the small bin which contained Beca’s note.

Chloe wondered who it had been addressed to, if anyone.

She thought about what it might say, even though she wasn’t sure that she wanted to know. 

She took a step towards it before remembering the look on Beca’s face when she asked her not to read it.

She left the apartment and pushed it from her mind. If Beca wanted her to know, she would tell her.

-

Beca: Hey, just woke up. Thanks again for helping me last night. Once I’m fully healed I’ll have to think of a way to repay you xx

Chloe: You could take me out for dinner? Or let me take you out for dinner? xx

Chloe: Either way, I want to eat dinner and I want you to be there xx

Beca: It’s a date xx

Beca: Did you move all my shit out of the cupboard so I didn’t have to reach to get it? xx

Chloe: Yeah, that’s okay right? xx

Beca: It’s like the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me. Thank you xx

Chloe: You’re welcome :) xx

-

Chloe: Morning sunshine, how are you feeling? xx

Chloe: It’s been a few hours, can you give me a text back so I know you’re okay? xx

Chloe: Bec, I’m freaking out, please answer my calls? 

Chloe: I’m coming over.

Chloe was feeling sick with worry as she drove to Beca’s apartment. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Beca had seemed fine when Chloe left the night before, but it wasn’t like her to not text back or answer Chloe’s calls.

She’d been out of the hospital for a week now, and seemed to be doing a little better, physically, but she still hadn’t talked to Chloe about any of the other stuff going on with her.

The elevator ride seemed to last a lifetime, stopping on every floor to let people in and out.

When she finally made it to Beca’s door, her hands were shaking as she knocked.

“Beca?” She called, pressing her ear to the door to see if she could hear any sound of movement. “Beca, please open the door. I don’t know if you’re mad at me or what, but I just wanna make sure you’re okay.” If Beca could hear her, she didn’t answer. Beca had given her a spare key for emergencies, and although Chloe didn’t know if this constituted and emergency yet, she didn’t want to take the chance. 

She unlocked the door and entered the apartment.

“Beca?”

Chloe could hear the sound of running water and followed it to where Beca’s bathroom was. She knocked on the bathroom door. “Beca?”

“C-Chloe? Chloe is that you?!”

“Can I come in?” Chloe asked, relieved to hear her voice, but terrified of the way it was shaking.

“P-please,” Beca said. “I n-need help.”

Chloe opened the bathroom door and found Beca in the bathtub, the shower on, spraying water everywhere, the shower curtain on top of her.

“I s-slipped,” Beca said, her teeth chattering.

“Oh my god,” Chloe said, rushing in and switching off the shower which was now freezing cold. “Jesus, Beca, how long have you been in here?”

“S-since this m-morning,” Beca said, shivering violently. “I c-couldn’t g-get up.”

“Okay,” Chloe said, letting out a shaky breath. “Okay, we’re gonna get you up and get you warm.”

“S-sorry,” Beca said.

“Shh, don’t be sorry,” Chloe replied. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

“I s-should have b-been more c-careful,” Beca said, watching as Chloe grabbed a towel. “It’s t-too f-fucking hard trying to shower w-with this th-thing on my a-arm.”

“It’s okay,” Chloe said. “I’m gonna move the shower curtain okay? And then I’m gonna cover you with the towel. I’ll try not to look.”

“‘K-kay.”

Chloe pulled the fallen shower curtain off Beca and wrapped her in a towel, trying to keep her eyes averted as best she could. Water had soaked the bathroom, so the clothes Beca had brought in with her were drenched.

“Let’s get you out of here,” Chloe said, crouching down to lift Beca out of the tub. “Put your arms around my neck. I’m gonna try and do this without hurting your ribs, but I apologise in advance if I do.”

“I-it’s ok-kay,” Beca said, putting her arms around Chloe’s neck. “T-too numb t-to f-feel anything a-anyway.”

Chloe placed an arm under Beca’s legs and one behind her back and lifted her up. Beca bit down on her lip hard as the pain in her ribs spiked. She was lighter than Chloe expected and Chloe could feel her trembling against her. She took her into the bedroom and gently lowered her to the bed.

“Th-thank you,” Beca said. 

“Are you hurt?” Chloe asked, grabbing pyjamas out of the drawer.

“H-hard to t-tell,” Beca said. “Th-there’s a l-lot of pain but I d-don’t know if a-any of it is n-new.”

“Did you hit your head or anything when you slipped?”

“I d-don’t th-think so,” Beca said. “I s-sort of f-fell on my s-side. M-my arm t-took the b-brunt of it. E-everything else k-kinda l-locked up. I c-couldn’t m-move.”

“Okay,” Chloe said, tears burning her eyes. “It’s okay, you’re out now. Do you think you can put these on? I’m gonna make you a hot water bottle. You should eat something too. And take your meds.”

“N-not h-hungry,” Beca said. “I j-just w-wanna get w-warm and sleep.”

“You’ve been in there for hours, Becs,” Chloe said. “You have to eat something. I’ll be right back, okay?” 

She grabbed Beca’s hot water bottle and headed for the kitchen. She made a grilled cheese while she waited for the kettle to boil, and tried to control her tears. She thought about what would have happened if she hadn’t come over to check on her. If she hadn’t been given a spare key. If she hadn’t offered to help Beca in the first place.

How long would she have been in there? Would her strength have come back to her eventually, or would she have stayed in there until someone found her? And who would have found her? The same person she left that note for?

Her thoughts were spiralling as she watched steam start to rise from the kettle, and the sound of it clicking off made her jump.

She filled the bottle and made Beca a mug of chamomile tea. She grabbed her meds, tucked the bottle under her arm, and carried the tea and grilled cheese through to Beca’s room.

“Here you go,” Chloe said, putting the tea and sandwich on her nightstand. 

Beca had managed to change and had climbed into bed, her hands still shaking. She gratefully took the hot water bottle and wrapped her arms around it.

“How bad’s the pain?”

“B-bad,” Beca said. “A s-solid e-eight out of t-ten.”

“Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“N-no,” Beca said. “P-please. I j-just want to s-sleep.”

“Okay,” Chloe said with a sigh. “But you can’t take any painkillers unless you eat something first or you’ll get sick.”

Beca let out a small huff of resignation and picked up the plate with still shaking hands.

While she ate, Chloe went into the bathroom, re-attached the shower curtain, and cleaned up the mess. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Beca said, setting down the empty plate. She swallowed some painkillers with a mouthful of tea and settled further into the bed, warmth spreading through her chest.

“I know,” Chloe replied. She sat on the edge of Beca’s bed and pressed a hand to her face. It was still cold, but not as bad as it was before. The shivering had died down too. 

“Thank you for coming to check on me,” Beca said, putting the half-empty cup on her nightstand. The meds were doing their work, and Beca could feel the pain easing off. “I don’t know how long I’d have been there if you hadn’t.”

“I’m just glad you gave me a key,” Chloe said, her hand now stroking through Beca’s slightly damp hair.

“That feels nice,” Beca mumbled, closing her eyes.

“I’m really glad you’re okay, Beca,” Chloe said. “I was really scared when you didn’t reply to any of my texts. I… I really like you.”

Beca didn’t answer immediately, and Chloe assumed she’d fallen asleep. When she stood up to leave, she saw Beca’s hand reaching for her. Chloe took it and held it.

“Stay,” she mumbled, her eyes blinking open slowly. “Please. Please stay with me.”

“Of course,” Chloe said. She kicked off her shoes and lay down on the bed beside her, hoping this was what Beca meant.

Beca rolled over and cuddled into her as best as she could. “Is this okay?” She asked.

“Yeah,” Chloe said, smiling as she put her arm around her. “More than okay.”

“I really like you too,” Beca said, before she relaxed into Chloe’s side and fell asleep.

-

Chloe: I’ve had a really bad day, can I come over? xx

Beca: Yeah of course. Just let yourself in when you get here xx

It was a few days after the shower incident and Beca had just about recovered from it. She’d started texting Chloe before she went in the shower, and as soon as she got out. They had a deal that if Chloe didn’t hear from Beca 45 minutes after going in the shower, Chloe would come check on her. Luckily that hadn’t happened yet. Just in case it did though, Beca had started timing her showers for when she knew Chloe was out of work. She really didn’t want to be in a situation again where she was either trapped in the bathtub or causing Chloe to get in trouble at work.

Around 20 minutes later, Beca heard the key in the lock and she looked up from her laptop screen to see Chloe letting herself in.

“Hey,” Beca said, shutting her laptop and putting it on the coffee table. “Are you okay?”

Chloe shook her head, her eyes red and tear filled, a smudge of mascara on the top of her cheek.

“Come sit down,” Beca said, a look of concern flooding her face. “Do you want tea or anything?”

“No,” Chloe said, sniffing and wiping her eyes as she dropped onto the sofa beside Beca. “Sorry. I’ve just had the worse day.”

“What happened?” Beca asked, wanting to comfort Chloe but not knowing how to.

“It was just… Just really sad. This old guy came in with his dog, this… this beautiful 12-year-old Labrador. He was just the sweetest boy,” Chloe said, her eyes filling with tears again. “He had a limp and this man just assumed he’d hurt his leg when he’d been running around the garden. I did an x-ray and it was a tumour. He had… He was full of them.”

“Oh no,” Beca said, softly.

“He… He thought everything would be fine. That his dog would get some meds or maybe a shot and then they’d take him home. He said he’d got the dog after his wife passed. He didn’t have any kids or relatives that were still alive. This dog was all he had and he… He had to say goodbye to him today.”

“That’s really sad, Chlo’,” Beca said, placing a hand on Chloe’s arm, rubbing up at down softly. “But I bet the dog had the best life with that guy. And even though it might not feel like it, you helped that dog. He isn’t in pain anymore because of you. He didn’t suffer.”

Chloe wiped her eyes again but new tears replaced the old ones almost immediately. “I know,” she said, trying to control her crying. “And I know I shouldn’t get so involved. But it just broke me. The thought of him losing his only companion. Of him going back to his home with just a leash instead of his best friend. Having to get rid of all the dog stuff. It’s killing me.”

“Come here,” Beca said, pulling Chloe into a hug. She didn’t know how Chloe did it. How she managed to feel for other people so deeply. How other people’s pain became her pain. How she carried it with her as if she was the one suffering. She didn’t know how she could stay as strong as she did. 

She’d been friends with Chloe for a few weeks now, but this was the first time she’d seen her truly break down. It kinda scared her.

“I gave him my number,” Chloe said, once she’d managed to stop crying. “In case he needed someone to talk to or grab a coffee with.”

“Of course you did,” Beca said, laughing softly. 

She wondered if that’s how Chloe saw her too. As just another unfortunate person who needed help. Not a friend, just someone she felt sorry for.

She tried to push that feeling away, but with her mental state being what it was, it lingered.

She tried to focus on the fact that Chloe had come to her for help this time. That their friendship wasn’t one-sided. 

“Do you ever get tired?” Beca asked once their hug ended. 

“Of what?”

“Of taking on everyone else’s emotions? Of feeling them so strongly?”

“Of course I do,” Chloe said, letting out a teary laugh. “Look at me, Beca. It’s part of my job to put animals down when they’re sick and dying, I do it every week, more than once a week usually, and I’ve been crying about this for hours. If there’s a way to… to dull these emotions, I don’t know how to do it. And I wouldn’t want to.”

“You wouldn’t?” Beca asked, tilting her head.

“No,” Chloe said. “These feelings… These connections, they… They make me want to help people. They make me want to be a better person. They helped me meet you.”

“I think your car helped you meet me,” Beca said, laughing lightly, ignoring the vicious voice in her head which whispered you’re just another one of her projects.

She doesn’t feel the same way about you as you do about her.

“Fair,” Chloe said laughing. “But if I didn’t have this… obsessive thing, I don’t know if I’d have fought so hard to meet you properly.”

“If you hadn’t felt sorry for me, you mean,” Beca said, the negative voice in her head getting louder.

Chloe frowned. “I didn’t say that. I didn’t want to meet you because I felt sorry for you. I wanted to meet you because I’d hit you with my car and I needed to apologise and see that you were okay. Becs, we’ve been through this.” Chloe took Beca’s hands and felt relieved when she didn’t pull away. “I’m not here because I feel sorry for you. You’re… You’re not like the other people I’ve wanted to help before. I like you, Beca. I really fucking like you.”

Beca sniffed slightly and tried not to look at Chloe. “I really like you too,” she said. “Sorry for… for being this way. You came here upset and I shouldn’t be questioning your motives all of the time. I just… I get paranoid. I can’t believe anyone as good as you would want to spend time with me because they enjoy my company.”

“You don’t need to apologise,” Chloe said. “I just want you to believe me, Beca. I want you to trust me.”

“I’m trying,” Beca said with a strained laugh, tears brimming in her eyes. “I’m really trying, Chlo’. But every other person in my life left as soon as I let down my guard. I don’t want that to happen with you. I don’t… I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” Chloe said, her hands moving to cup Beca’s face, thumbs sweeping across her cheeks to brush away the tears that fell. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“But-”

“Beca,” Chloe said, cutting her off. “Look at me.” Beca did. Her eyes were full of fear and pain, preparing for rejection. She swallowed hard when she locked eyes with Chloe. Chloe’s eyes were full of a fierce determination. Chloe leaned forward so their foreheads pressed together, her hands were still cupping her face. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Beca closed her eyes, letting more tears fall. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and her breathing felt laboured. “I’m not good at this.”

“It’s okay,” Chloe said. “Open your eyes.” Again, Beca did, her chest still heaving. “Relax. Everything’s okay.”

Beca nodded and tried to control her breathing.

“Beca, are you having a panic attack?”

“No,” Beca said. “No, I’m fine. I just feel like I’m about to do something stupid.”

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Chloe asked, moving her head back slightly so she could look at Beca properly. 

“Uh huh,” Beca said, her eyes dropping to Chloe’s lips. “I’m just nervous. I don’t want to screw this up."

Chloe smiled. “You won’t.”

Beca closed the gap between them, her eyes falling shut as her lips met Chloe’s.

[benedictscanvas]

all the wrong places [1/7] - spencer reid x reader

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: It only takes a moment for Spencer to realise that he doesn’t just want to marry you someday, he wants to marry you as soon as he possibly can. But since he can’t come up with a solid plan, he turns to his BAU family for help in planning the most important day of his life so far. Is that a mistake? Most definitely.

Warnings: Series probably aren’t meant to be exclusively fluffy, but this one practically is! I need some fluff in my life, damn it! There may be some mention of regular Criminal Minds things, some language but mostly just good ol’ Spence lovin’

a chapter every day for seven days! (20-26th July 2020) so please drop an ask if you’d like to be tagged <3

---

Chapter One - The Element of Surprise

The Monday morning was entirely normal in every way, apart from the fact that Spencer had been impromptu ring shopping the day before, alone, and had bought what he believed to be the perfect ring. It was in his satchel, because if there was one thing you would never mess with, it was his satchel. There was nowhere safer, but his palms were sweating as the two of you took the elevator up to your floor anyway and he had to wipe them on his cardigan twice.

So perhaps it wasn’t a normal Monday morning.

“Good morning, lovebirds!” Derek called as you both walked through the glass doors and greeted him with smiles, “Have a nice weekend?”

Oh, shit. In all his planning and scheming and panicking, he had forgotten the excuse he had used on Sunday to go ring shopping without any questioning.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Spencer said, slipping on his shoes, “If you’d rather I cancelled, stayed home with you, I wouldn’t mind.”

“Spence, it’s fine! Go have your special BFF lunch with Derek, I’ve got plenty to be getting on with here,” you said seriously, getting up from your chair to meet him at the door, “Love you.”

You kissed him, lingering a little too long, or not long enough maybe, before shooing him out of the door with a loving smile.

But there had been no BFF lunch, no lunch at all, in fact, because he had forgotten to eat entirely as he went from shop to shop in desperation. And now he had to think on his feet before Derek ruined everything.

“Would’ve had a nicer weekend if you hadn’t taken this one away from me most of Sunday,” you said playfully, leaning into Spencer with a hand on his chest and he wrapped an arm around your waist despite his internal turmoil, because it was the most natural thing in the world.

Derek’s brow furrowed, but Spencer’s eyes widened as he stared at Derek over the top of your head. He just stared, wide-eyed, until their gazes met and Spencer made the best face he could to tell him what he needed to know.

Go with it. Just fucking go with it!

“Well, you know me,” Derek chuckled and though Spencer thought it sounded awkward he was really hoping you didn’t, “Can’t be kept from my pretty boy for long! In fact, I need to talk to him now.”

“Again?” you rolled your eyes but you were already pushing away from Spencer and he already missed you, “You two boys and your guy talk. I’ll leave you to it.”

You squeezed Spencer’s forearm before you left, a silent declaration, and soon you were sitting on Emily’s desk and chatting away like nothing weird had just happened. You didn’t look shifty or like you were talking about him. He sighed in relief. He was safe for now.

“You mind telling me-”

“Not here,” Spencer hissed, eyes darting around the bullpen, “Come on!”

And with that, he lead Derek to the coffee room even though he looked decidedly less than impressed by what he’d been dragged into. When they got there, Spencer shut the door behind them and turned to Derek, whose arms were folded across his chest.

“What in the hell are you playing at, Reid? Why are you using me to lie to Y/N?”

“Woah woah, lie is not the right word. Well, it is the right word but it doesn’t sound right. I’m not lying to Y/N, I would never lie to her, I love her Derek, you know that and actually that’s part of why this is happening because I lov-”

“Pretty boy. Slow down. Explain it to me in as few words as you can manage.”

Spencer finally took in a breath and let it out slowly. He fought to find his words, and luckily Derek stayed quiet while he tried to find them.

“I told Y/N you invited me to lunch because I needed to go ring shopping,” he eventually said, all matter of fact, despite the fact that Derek’s eyes were bugging out of his head, “I needed an excuse to go out. Sorry for dragging you into this.”

Did Derek have tears in his eyes? He definitely had tears in his eyes.

“My man!” he exclaimed, clapping him on the shoulder after a few moments of processing, “I’m so proud of you, Reid. You could’ve invited me to come with you, you know.”

“If I was inviting anyone, it would’ve been JJ,” Spencer said without hesitation, and Derek scoffed goodnaturedly, “But I didn’t even invite her. I don’t know, I-I like to think I know Y/N better than...better than anyone.”

His voice got quiet towards the end. He knew that a lot of people didn’t go ring shopping on their own, but he just felt like he knew what you would like. Understated, with a flash of sparkle that you could grin at under the low lights of the jet on the way back from a case. It was exactly what he’d found, four hours in.

“You do, kid,” Derek reassured him, before his eyes glinted with something mischievous, “Now, are you gonna show me the ring or what?”

Spencer chuckled, but he couldn’t stop smiling now that his best friend knew of his plans, so he took the box out of his satchel and opened it. Derek bit his lip.

“You think she’ll like it?”

Derek just nodded, opening his arms and bringing him in for a rare hug. Spencer could tell it was a ‘proud’ hug. It only made him grin more. When they pulled away from each other, Derek started on making the two of them coffee, since returning from the room without one would make them look suspicious. Spencer made sure to get out a third mug so he could take you one as well.

“So when are you doing it? You’ve brought it with you today, have you got something planned?”

“No!” he replied, almost too loudly, “No, no. I have...literally nothing planned. I don’t know how or when or where to do any of it. It has to be perfect, you know?”

“However you do it will be perfect to her, because she loves you,” Derek said seriously, even though he was still focused on the coffee, “But you want my advice?”

Spencer didn’t say anything, because Derek was going to give his advice anyway.

“Element of surprise. That’s what’s gonna work with Y/N. You wait too long and she’ll start to get an idea that you’re gonna do it. She’s a damn good profiler. You want to do it soon to make sure she never sees it coming.”

That was...not bad advice from Derek. He’d given him much worse advice before. Especially when it came to women. Whilst Spencer liked to think he was well past the point where he needed Derek’s advice on the female mind, perhaps in this case it wasn’t the worst advice he could take.

“Thanks, Derek. I’ll think on it.”

“Just don’t think too long!” Derek announced happily, grabbing his mug and letting Spencer grab his own and yours. But there was so much to think about, it was bound to take him awhile. He re-entered the bullpen, pace slow as he concentrated on not spilling a drop, finding you had settled down at your desk for a day of paperwork that would most likely be interrupted by an incoming case at any moment. It was a miracle he’d even had time for his chat with Derek, really.

He placed the mug on your desk without a word and you startled a little at the action.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly but you shook your head.

“I really need to get less jumpy,” you laughed, “Thanks for the coffee, babe.”

“No worries,” he said easily, but his hand was toying with the tiny box over the leather of his satchel. Could he just…? No surely not...but maybe…? Spontaneity was important right? And this was where you met, all those years ago. Where you became best friends in a matter of months. Where you fell in love in the late hours of the evening when almost everyone else had vanished.

“Y/N…”

He began to kneel down, but you didn’t even turn to face him. Instead, you scoffed. You scoffed.

“You need me to teach you how to do your laces again, Reid?” you asked jokingly, as he knelt on the floor beside your chair, looking up at you dumbfounded, “How you’ve never tripped over yourself on a case, I do not know.”

It clicked. You thought he was redoing his laces. His face fell, but you weren’t even watching, so it didn’t matter. There was no way he was going through with this stupid, spontaneous plan now. How had he ever thought this was a good idea? Somehow, he had managed to surprise himself so much with his actions that you hadn’t even realised what was happening.

“Actually, I have tripped on a case before,” he managed to get out after a few moments, “Before you joined the team.”

And this time, you turned to him, just as he pretended to finish redoing his laces and stood up. He was a good bit taller than you standing, so he towered above you when you sat down. You looked up at him playfully and reached out to play with the end of his cardigan. He blushed despite himself.

“Now that is a story I just have to-”

“Conference room, now.”

Hotch’s voice cut through the exchange and you sat back and away from Spencer in an instant. You were both used to being professional when it came to cases, letting your chemistry seemingly disappear when it was necessary before sparking it back up on the jet back home. So you stood without touching him again and tilted your head towards Hotch.

“Better listen to the boss,” you said with a sigh, packing up your desk. Spencer hadn’t even started work yet, it felt like. He’d been just a little preoccupied, “But you’ll tell me that story later, right?”

“I will,” he confirmed and you gave him that look. You could communicate very well through looks. This one told him that you would definitely have kissed him if you weren’t at work. He didn’t even realise he was smirking.

You just nudged him with your elbow on your way past and he followed you as you hopped up the steps to where the rest of the team were headed. There was a joke exchanged between you and Dave on the way, and your laugh floated backwards to him.

He really needed to come up with a plan. A decent one.

---

series tags! (ily all <3)

@mrs-dr-reid @soda610 @alexxcorona113 @thupidalethea @may-beforejune-afterapril @ilovesupersoldiers @hurricanejjareau​

[walviemort]

hurry up and wait

summary: After the events of 6x09, Killian finds himself unexpectedly and rapidly pregnant; from first stirrings to full term in a week. Little does he know, Rumplestiltskin is pulling the strings as a form of revenge, and has full control over how fast—or slow—this pregnancy goes. He'll need to rely on Emma, and all his loved ones, to get through whatever comes next.

a/n: I’M BACK Y’ALL! the muse has overtaken me this week with this story (I’ve so far written 18k in about 7 days, with more to come). Hope you enjoy it and stay tuned!

rated light M / 3k / ao3

It was the final straw. First, the pirate had taken Milah; then he’d helped keep him apart from Bae for so long. And now? Now, he was part of the reason Belle was leaving Rumplestiltskin behind, and had sent their son away. Hook had no idea what it was like to suffer such loss. But the Dark One would see to it that he did.

And he had to admit—the spell he’d found was rather ingenious; something that had come over from the Land of Untold Stories and piqued his interest. And would let him have a bit of fun along the way. Well, fun for him; not so much for Jones.

It was sheer luck that the Savior and her beau broke into his shop that night. Normally, he’d take issue with that; but it merely gave him a chance to enact his revenge.

While the couple was inspecting a sword, Rumple froze them in place with a wave of his hand. From his coat pocket, he pulled a small glass orb; it would let him control the spell and keep an eye on things. And with a few more gestures that resulted in a brief glow coming from the pirate’s midsection (which mirrored in the orb), it was done. 

He unfroze them and disappeared into the night, content that he’d finally be getting even with his longtime enemy. Far away from town, he pulled out the orb and peered in to see how things were faring; at the rate it was going, he had at least a few days before anyone figured out what was happening. (Unless he changed that, of course.)

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

The next morning, Killian was shocked when the sun was shining through the curtains of the bedroom as he awoke. He was usually one to wake with the sunrise, but given the day they’d had yesterday—not to mention the frantic coming together he and Emma had last night—it was no surprise he’d slept in.

Nor was it that an unease had settled over him. Just because they’d found the weapon meant to kill Emma didn’t mean they’d truly solved anything in regards to her supposed fate. Just the thought of losing her...gods, it turned his stomach.

Quite literally—seconds later, he found himself making a mad dash for their washroom, only to lose what remained of last night’s dinner. It had been quite some time since nerves made him nauseous but he supposed it was warranted; his present sense of apprehension was on level with any he’d felt before heading into battle. He leaned against the wall of the bathroom and took a few measured breaths to help calm him; while it helped his racing heart, it did little to ease his stomach. He’d take it, though.

After rinsing his mouth out, he took his pajama-clad self downstairs to the kitchen, where a quiet display of domesticity lay before him: Emma and Henry, sharing a breakfast of Pop-Tarts and coffee at the table, laughing quietly at some unheard joke. It was so easy, so casual, and quite honestly, all he wanted in the world. It hadn’t been that long since his own resurrection and he’d be damned again if he didn’t fight to hold onto it.

“Killian, are you okay?” Emma asked, finally noticing his entrance. Killian jumped and sniffled at her enquiry, surprised at her query. 

He scrubbed a hand along his face and it came back wet—he was crying? Goodness, he was more out of sorts than he thought. “Aye, love; just need to get some food in me,” he shrugged off.

“Well, I made Pop-Tarts,” she joked as he strode into the kitchen, pausing to place a kiss on her temple. “Your favorite,” she drawled sarcastically.

“Perhaps another time,” he tossed back as he grabbed a coffee mug from the counter; a full pot was waiting. But when he reached for it to pour himself a cup, the smell of it turned his stomach yet again; it was all he could do to put it back before he was retching into the sink.

Emma was at his side in an instant, rubbing his back through the thin cotton of his tshirt. “Are you sure you’re alright?” she asked again, concern evident in her tone.

“Apparently not,” he breathed once he was done. “That’s the second time its happened today.”

She put the back of her hand on his forehead in a motherly move that filled him with another odd welling of emotion. Though her brow was furrowed, she assessed that he was “not running a fever, but you do look a bit green around the gills.”

“There’s a stomach bug going around at school,” Henry chimed in. “Maybe it’s that?”

“It could be. You’ve definitely been running yourself thin lately.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but was merely met with another wave of nausea—though there wasn’t anything left to come up.

“Hey kid, can you get yourself to school okay?” she asked over her shoulder while resuming her ministrations on his back.

“Of course.”

“Okay; we’re gonna take a sick day, then.”

He stood straight again. “But Emma—the sword—”

“—Isn’t going anywhere,” she interrupted. “We are BOTH going to go back to bed, take a nap, maybe watch some sitcoms, and order takeout. We need it.”

He couldn’t deny that it sounded divine. “Aye, love; sounds excellent.”

The nausea never quite abated, although bland crackers and ginger ale seemed to help. True to her word, they curled up in bed and intermittently napped during the day; had a few heart-to-hearts about their general emotional states, and maybe had a few intimate moments sprinkled in there.

Unfortunately, the next day saw little change to his illness, but Emma had to handle some sheriff matters and couldn’t stay home. “But I’ll check up on you at lunch, okay?”

“I’m a grown man, love; I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to.”

It certainly wasn’t as enjoyable a day as the previous one, but by the end of it, he found the nausea had finally abated. Perhaps Emma was right; a couple days of rest was all he needed to get back into fighting shape. He made plans to meet up with Belle the next day, both for research—and to make sure his friend was doing alright.

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

Away in his cabin, Rumplestiltskin glanced at the orb. He’d certainly enjoyed Hook’s being unwell, and was slightly miffed that wouldn’t carry through. But more dramatic things were about to unfold.

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

To Killian’s surprise, the following morning found him with an entirely different sensation in his stomach: he was starving. To be expected, he supposed, considering he’d hardly been able to keep down anything the past couple days. He didn’t want to push it, but he needed something—fast.

Emma was still asleep next to him (he’d awoken at his normal time for a change) so he slipped out quietly to head downstairs. His usual breakfast fare wasn’t sounding as good as usual, so he poked around the cupboards to see if anything else caught his eye—and, to his astonishment, it did.

A bit later, when Emma joined him in the kitchen, she paused at what was surely an odd sight. “Seriously?” was all she could muster.

“I believe I may have misjudged these, love,” he said bashfully, biting into his Pop-Tart. It was sweet and flaky and precisely what he’d been craving that morning.

Emma just blinked in surprise. “Well, I hope you saved some for me.”

Killian said nothing as she made her way to what he knew was an empty box. He winced as she sighed. “Well, at least your appetite is back. And I guess we need to go to the store.”

“I’ll head there this evening to stock up.”

“You better.”

Before he headed to the library, he made sure to stop by Granny’s for some tea—and some pastries; it seemed his craving had yet to abate (and he was certain Belle would appreciate some extra treats). 

She was understandably morose on his arrival; before they got into any sort of research, he made sure to pull her over to the lone sofa there to have a chat—or, better yet, have a cry; his heart truly broke for his friend. He couldn’t imagine the strength it had taken to send her son away, and he wasn’t quite sure he’d be able to do the same in her position.

As he predicted, though, the treats did help a bit (though he found himself consuming far more of them than he typically would). Their research yielded little, though, so he sent Belle home with the few remaining pastries as he headed to the market—where he was overwhelmed by the Pop-Tart selection. How had he been depriving himself so long? He bought one of each; hopefully that would placate Emma.

He should have also found it odd that he consumed more pizza that night for dinner than he usually would but apparently he was still playing catchup from the previous two days. Neither Emma nor Henry found it odd, so he too remained unconcerned.

His jeans were a bit snug the next morning but he figured he just needed some more time to digest; it wasn’t unusual for a sickness to throw him off like that. But he couldn’t help it if he was hungry still. He tried to keep up his fluids as well, but that didn’t stop him from snacking through the day—or devouring their Chinese takeout that night.

He and Emma were curled up in bed, engaging in some typical evening activities, when she began tracing his side and running her thumbs over his stomach—and, oddly, giggling. “What’s so funny, love?”

“Nothing; you’ve just got a food baby, is all.”

“A what?”

“A food baby,” she said again, patting his (slightly stuffed) belly. “It’s when you eat a lot and it just kind of sits there.” His brow furrowed in consternation—that was the last thing he wanted. She noticed his discomfort, though, as she always did, and laughed again. “Hey, it’s fine—it’s actually pretty cute. It’ll be gone by tomorrow. Now can we get back to what we were doing?”

Well, he could never say no to that, and her words were quickly forgotten in favor of more pleasurable pursuits.

But they came roaring back when his jeans were a bit more tight the next day, and that weight that had settled in his stomach was visible in a slight rounding just behind his navel. Perhaps he was overindulging. He knew it was also a sign of aging (that and the few silvery hairs at his temples) but if he could control it, he’d like to keep his trim form.

He did his best that day to pare back, to only eat at meal times. But come evening, he was starved yet again, and may have polished off the pizza leftovers from the night before. (Thankfully, Emma was working at the station, so he was free of her comments that evening.)

Still...the worry plagued him the next morning when his stomach seemed impossibly larger. There was always a decent chance his eyes were playing tricks on him, but it was still worrying. (As if he didn’t have enough of those.)

He skipped breakfast, instead going for a run about town. His jeans still buttoned, at least, although just barely. Mid-day found him chasing Lost Boys across town, which gave him a reason to avoid lunch. By the time he got back to the station with the miscreants that afternoon, his stomach was gnawing at him and he was a bit lightheaded. 

Emma noticed, immediately, of course. “You feeling alright? Is the stomach bug back?”

“No, no,” he assured her, though probably unconvincingly. “I just need some water; I’ll be right back.” 

But he’d hardly pulled a glass from the cupboard over the sink when the world began to spin. He tried to grip the counter for stability, but it didn’t help much, and he continued on to the floor. The last thing he heard before the world went black was Emma frantically calling his name.

An indeterminate amount of time later, a steady beeping woke him up. He blinked a few times; they were in the hospital. Bloody hell.

He looked around to get his bearings, and Emma was at the side of the bed, holding his hand. HIs other arm was hooked up to an IV, and he could feel a number of other things stuck to him, monitoring other various things.

What struck him as truly odd, though, was the sensor he could feel on one side of his stomach.

“Emma, what’s…” he started to say, though he was still a bit out of breath—and parched.

She jumped at his voice, clearly lost in thought, but the concern quickly melted to a smile. “Hey, welcome back. What did you get yourself into?”

“My own vanity, I suppose,” he said. “What’s all this I’m hooked up to?”

Emma bit her lip, like she was trying to hold something back. She was clearly nervous about something.

“Love, what’s going on?”

She swallowed, clearly working up the nerve for something. He was confused; if something was wrong with him, she wouldn’t be smiling—but something had her conflicted.

“Well, as you probably figured out, you passed out at the station. Turns out you were dehydrated and running on an empty stomach. But the main reason that’s a problem is—”

“Alright, let’s take a look at that baby!” Doctor Whale’s voice interrupted Emma as he entered the room, pulling a machine with a large screen attached to it.

Baby? What on Earth? “Emma, are you…?” Gods, he couldn’t imagine that he’d ever be blessed enough to have a child with Emma, but if what the doctor was saying was true, then…

“No, I’m not,” she said slowly, but then moved her free hand onto his stomach. “But you, somehow, are.”

He was...he was pregnant? He started laughing. “You’re joking, right?”

Emma just bit her lip and shook her head. He turned to the doctor who just nodded.

“But that...that’s impossible.”

“Believe me, I’ve seen weirder things,” Whale said. “A pregnant man is only, like, fifth on my list. And you’re not even the first one I’ve come across.”

Killian swallowed and stared at his stomach. That...was a babe? It would explain some things—his illness, his cravings, his heightened emotions. Although his understanding of pregnancy was that it took a lot longer for those things to happen than they had to him. And there was still the biggest issue: he was a man. “How?” was all he could say.

Whale just shrugged. “Magic. You’d be surprised how many spells out there exist for this.”

He gave a snort of derision, but let his head fall back against the pillow of his hospital bed. Pregnant. He was with child. By some magical means. Gods, was it even actually a child? And whose was it? The number of questions he had was overwhelming—as if he didn’t have enough to worry about.

“Hey,” Emma said, squeezing his hand and pulling him out of his stream of racing thoughts. “We’ll figure this out.”

He just swallowed and nodded.

“I hate to interrupt this existential crisis, but I do need to take a look inside there to see what’s going on. Mind if I pull up your shirt?”

“Go ahead,” he said in a small voice, squeezing Emma’s hand. “Will it hurt?”

“No, but it’ll be cold,” the doctor answered as he went to work. The man was nothing but clinical as he lifted Killian’s shirt, exposing the gentle curve of his stomach. Looking at it now, Killian could definitely see the resemblance to an expectant mother. He jolted when Whale put the odd, cool substance low on his belly (bloody hell, it was a belly), but then was distracted when the doctor turned on the screen and picked up a wand-like device.

He pressed the instrument against Killian’s skin and moved it back and forth; this must be how Robin had acquired that image from inside Zelena (far less intrusive than he had expected). The image on the screen was a blurry mess for the most part, but eventually a clearer picture began to take shape: the definitive form of an infant.

He and Emma both gasped at the same time. The image on the screen began to move, and he almost swore he could feel the echoing tiny movements within. Whale began to point things out—head, spine, fingers, toes—but Killian just kept staring at the image, in awe: he was going to be a father.

Bloody. Fucking. Hell.

“Now, this is the fun part,” Whale said in a voice that indicated it was anything but. “I can tell how far along the kid is from these pictures, but something tells me the truth is not quite the same. When did you notice things changing with you?”

“Um,” Killian stammered, trying to find his voice again. “It was...5 days ago? Right? That I came down with a stomach bug, but it was gone by the end of the following day. And I’ve been voracious ever since.”

Whale just whistled. “Well, I can’t say I’ve seen one like this, then. Looks like you moved up to number four on my list.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because this fetus is 5 months along.”

“What?” It was Emma’s turn to be incredulous (though how she’d remained calm at all was astonishing to him).

“Yeah, whatever this spell is, it’s accelerated. At the rate it’s gone, you’ll be having this kid in, like, four days.”

Killian could feel his jaw drop, and a glance at Emma showed the same. Four days? That was insane.

It was a bloody good thing he was already on a bed, because he fainted again.

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

It wasn’t quite how Rumple figured the news would be discovered, but he was pleased nonetheless at the pirate’s distress. Four days until parenthood was indeed a terrifying prospect.

Imagine if he had even less than that, though...the Dark One cackled in delight and waved his hand over the orb, then hung back to watch the next events unfold.

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

hope you liked it! let me know if you want a tag! tagging a few: @sherlockianwhovian  @cocohook38 @wyntereyez @jennjenn615 @superadam54 @ashley-knightingale @justsomewhump @teamhook​

[realityhelixcreates]

The Mystic Garden: Sowing

Chapters: 1/5

Fandom:  Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: PG

Warnings: death

Characters: Loki(Marvel) 

Additional Tags:  Infinity War Doesn’t Exist, Everybody Lives, Mutants Exist In The MCU, The Reparations Of Loki Of Asgard

Summary:   Despite S.H.I.E.L.D. becoming a smaller and more selective organization, Loki still finds himself assigned to them upon Asgard's arrival on Earth. Required to perform a kind of specialized community service, Loki is paired up with another outcast, of a kind he is not familiar with: A mutant named Iris.

Loki of Asgard was a very beautiful man.

Loki of Asgard was a very powerful man.

Loki of Asgard was a very dangerous man.

And that was about all that anyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. could agree on about Loki of Asgard.

To some, he was an asshole. To others, perfectly charming. To yet more, he was polite, but distant. Funny. Serious. Sarcastic. Aloof. Morbid. Morose. Intimidating. Shy. Threatening. Angry. Flirty. Each person Iris asked described him in a different way.

To Iris, he was a looming presence, staring her down with searing intensity. Her shiny, brand new partner. Joy.

“So you're the unfortunate one.” He grumbled. “Winner of the worst lottery this organization has ever thrown.”

“I'm Iris Devereaux.” She said, holding out her hand. “Pleased to finally meet you.”

He glanced at her hand with a sneer. “No you aren't.”

“Beg pardon?”

“No one is pleased to meet me.”

“Oh. Well. Here's the thing: you don't decide that for me.”

He raised one perfect eyebrow, tilting his head back.

“I don't tolerate men telling me what I do and don't think or feel. Only I can know that. Now, you gonna shake my hand or not, Mister 'of Asgard'?”

Loki harrumphed. “As you demand, Miss 'of the Riverbank'.”

“What?” Iris took his hand and gave it a firm shake. He allowed it, but drew his hand back the instant she released it.

“Your surname. It means 'riverbank'. Didn't you know? Named after a goddess, and yet you seem to have lived humbly.”

“I'm named after a flower.” Iris corrected.

“The flower was named after the goddess.” He re-corrected. “The personification of the rainbow, a messenger of the gods. She who waters the clouds with her ocean-filled pitcher, flying on glowing, golden wings to carry the pleas of mankind to the gods they prayed to. As she connected the sea and the sky, her rainbows connected mankind to the gods. Just as our Bifrost connected Asgard to Midgard with the beauty and magnificence of the rainbow.”

“Oh, please.” Another agent groaned from their nearby work station. Loki glared.

“Well, that's...informative.” Iris said. Was this what Loki was like? Standoffish, unless given something to talk about? He was certainly well-spoken. “I'm pretty sure my parents just had the flower in mind though.”

“A delicate goddess, an ephemeral rainbow, or a nodding blossom on the riverbank: it all paints a pretty picture, does it not?” He asked.

Iris narrowed her eyes. “What are you trying to say?”

“I wonder.” Loki said.

“Will you two just go get some coffee or something?” the other agent snapped. “I've got to finish this by ten hundred.”

“Fine, jeez, keep your vest on.” Iris said. Loki glared once again. “C'mon, there's a thousand break rooms on this old boat. We can take one over for ourselves.”

   *****

“Who was that cur?” Loki demanded as Iris programmed the coffee machine for two cups. “Who does he think he is talking to? I am still a prince of Asgard, and a god! No pencil-pushing desk monkey speaks to me that way!”

“Hey, cool your chops.” Iris said, getting the mugs. “The pencil-pushing desk monkeys keep this whole show running. Who do you think runs this boat? Where does our intel come from? Who finds out if it's any good or not? Who does the budgets, communication, tech, cleanup, triage, programming, and supplies? The heroes get the fame, sure, but we're ultimately expendable. These guys own this shindig. Do you like caramel?”

“I...might?” He said, and Iris added a squirt of syrup to each steaming mug, then handed him his. “And you might be expendable, but I most certainly am not.”

“Cheers, bro. I'll drink to that.” Iris raised her mug in his direction and took a long gulp of fresh, caramel coffee. Oh boy, this was gonna be fun.

Loki seemed perplexed, either by the flavor of the coffee, or her casual acceptance of his declaration.

“Not that it will come to that.” He backtracked. “As my partner, you will have the advantage of my protection.”

“Joy. So, your highness, what's landed you here? You aren't exactly known as a friend to mankind. Why join S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

He harrumphed as Iris took another long pull from her mug. “You say 'join' as if I was given a choice. This is penance, nothing more. It was decided when Asgard had to relocate here, that I would work for a 'humanitarian' organization. Save lives equal to those whose deaths I was responsible for. Work towards paying off the cost it took to rebuild. And so I perform the Reparations of Loki of Asgard, defending this realm from itself. Once I have accomplished this, I will leave.”

“Mhm. And how far have you gotten?”

“It's only been a few months.” He huffed. “So not nearly as far as I'd like. How did they lure you in?”

Iris shrugged. “Job's a job. This one is steady, has good benefits, and it certainly keeps me engaged. It's no daily grind, that's for sure.”

“But with your power, could you not be a leader of some sort, rather than in a subservient 'expendable' position?”

“Ah. You've read my file.”

“Of course I did. As I assume you've read mine. Prying things. Why do they need so many personal details? But yes. It mentioned that you have an unusual power, beyond others of your type? Why are you not in charge?”

“Hoo boy.” Iris took a seat across from him. “You don't know much about human social structure, do you?”

Loki frowned. “It was never supposed to matter.”

“Well, it matters now. And it's mattered to me my whole life, because I can't just run off home to fairy tale land, so it looks like we both have no choice but to deal with it. You know what a mutant is?”

“I know what the word means, but I don't know how it applies to you.” Loki said, perplexed. “You look like any other human to me, so I assume it is something internal?”

Now it was Iris' turn to harrumph. “Well, you look like any other Asgardian to me, so I guess we've both got something going on under our skin, don't we? Tell you what: you explain to me what a 'frost giant' is, and I'll explain what a 'mutant' is in this context.”

“And if I refuse?” Loki sneered.

“Then I do too.” Iris said simply.

Loki stared at her across the table, the intensity of his gaze as hot as the coffee, and Iris tried her best to pretend to be unaffected by it. It wasn't that he wasn't intimidating, but an unfortunate lifetime of bigotry and constant background danger had given her a skin as thick as wood. Well, her mutation had done that as well.

“I can do this all day.” He warned.

“Alright.” Iris shrugged.

A few very awkward minutes passed, a silence spent sipping coffee, until her supervisor, Chris Timmitz, interrupted.

“Iris! Loki. There you are! I've been looking for you two. Lucky to find you in the same place, you've got a job coming up.”

“Oh yeah? Lay it on me boss.” Iris said. Loki grimaced.

“We think we've got another possible HYDRA shelter, kinda out in the open this time. We need more intel. That's where you come in.”

“It's located next to a forest, isn't it?”

“A meadow, actually.” He said a bit sheepishly. “We need you to, uh, plant some bugs on the property.”

“Ha ha.” Iris said flat-voiced.

“Aw c'mon, I didn't come up with the terminology.”

“Was that some kind of insult?” Loki asked darkly. “Do you degrade your employees?”

“Well, it wasn't meant to be.” Chris explained. “It's not my fault the language is what it is. And what about you? Iris may act tough, but she's really sweet and sensitive, so you'd better act right-”

“Or what?” Loki challenged.

“Chris. Cut it out. We don't have to be chummy, we just have to get the job done.” Iris said. “So give us the details.”

“Right, right. We're starting Tuesday. It seems to be when the fewest people are there...”

                ****

Iris crawled through the tall grass of the meadow, the plants moving naturally around her, so as to not alert her enemies that she was there. The shelter was an old schoolhouse apparently, that HYDRA agents had taken over, ostensibly to restore the historical building and turn it into a museum...all the while sheltering their agents from the law, and pushing revisionist history in an effort to spread their doctrine through yet another small town. They had done this so many times before, changing the narrative, changing the perceptions of the people.

HYDRA had many heads. It was the symbolism of the thing. Some of those heads infiltrated governments, and worked to influence world policy. Other heads overran small towns, influencing the vote, which served to make the jobs of the others easier.

Some people in S.H.I.E.L.D. likened them to a virus to be quarantined, cut out, and destroyed. Iris saw them as a sickness to be cured. Anyone could change their minds, given reason. The trick was to find the reason. That wasn't her job, and she didn't think she'd be good at it, but she knew that there were anti-radicalization support groups popping up here and there now, and no wonder, with the state of the current administration. Iris knew HYDRA must have gotten their voice very well entrenched into the government.

But Iris was more directly concerned with these little heads, with blocking their progress, slowing them down, and just generally inconveniencing them.

She'd gotten the usual stares and glares, upon entering the little town, but it was hard to tell if it was HYDRAs influence, or just typical American small town prejudice when faced with a dark-skinned stranger. Either way, she wouldn't want to live here.

She settled down in the grass, stretched out on her belly, and the sod began to part beneath her. Loki, who had simply made himself invisible with his alien magics, and crept along beside her, was clearly capable of sneaking with the best of them. He barely displaced a blade of grass. He crouched down beside her.

“We are stopping here?” He whispered. “How shall you place your devices? Will you throw them?”

“No, My aim isn't that good.” Iris said, ignoring his smug “Mine is.”, and beginning to sink into the newly exposed soil.

“Uh...Miss Devereaux...are you aware that the earth appears to be swallowing you?”

“Don't worry about it, it's fine.” She wriggled her feet out of her flimsy sandals and into the dirt. She was positioned to just be able to see the old schoolhouse over the edge of the trough that had been excavated beneath her. That was all she needed.

“Certainly. Nothing out of the ordinary here.”

“You're one to talk. Hand me the bugs.”

There were only three of them: tiny things, no larger than the creatures they were named after. Iris took them, then tore a packet of seeds open with her teeth, pouring the contents into her hands.

“This is going to take me a pretty long time. Couple of days, probably. What I'm going to need the most from you is tending. Every hour, give me something to drink. Every four hours, give me something to eat. Make sure no one sweeps through here with a lawn mower or a fire. I'm not going to be able to move, and will likely be in something of a trance. Sorry I won't be better company.”

“That's a lot of orders coming from one little human.” Loki grumbled.

“My life is in your hands.”

“That's...a bit better.”

She pressed her hand against the earth in front of her, and concentrated.

For some minutes it didn't appear to Loki that anything was happening at all. Then the first of the thin, white roots began squirming out from between her fingers, roping around her hand.

Loki stretched out in the tall grass next to her as the roots slowly formed a ragged, grasping ball of pale worms against her chestnut skin. He remained silent for hours alongside her, dutifully holding a small bottle of water to her lips every hour or so. As she had said earlier, Iris lay very still, and very trance-like, drinking without acknowledging that she even knew he was there.

“Hmmm.” He whispered. “I hate being ignored, you know. I wonder if you can even hear me? Could you explain what it is that you are doing, or are you so far away that you cannot even answer? What would happen if I touched you right now, Goddess-Flower of the Riverbank? Would I break your concentration? Would you even notice?”

He opened one of the little ration packs, half of which were specifically labeled with Iris' name. Within were little brown cubes that smelled deeply unappetizing to Loki, formed from a slurry of many mysterious ingredients.

“A special recipe, just for you? S.H.I.E.L.D. must value you more highly than you have previously stated. Here you go, Bright Blossom.” He held the little cube to Iris' lips, which parted automatically to accept the cube. “And so I have become no more than a nutrient dispensary. How far I have fallen.”

He fed her the cubes, one by one. Every brush of her petal-velvet lips against his fingers tempted him to push them into her mouth, a temptation that brought a chuckle to his own lips. There were only so many games he would be allowed to play, before S.H.I.E.L.D. kicked him out entirely. He wasn't attached to S.H.I.E.L.D., or anyone within the organization, but working for them kept him active, kept him relevant, kept him engaged, and most importantly, kept him out of prison. Community service was infuriating, but he had experienced the soul-crushing torment of solitary confinement, and this was much preferable.

A cold, uncomfortable cell? Or laying in the grass on a warm, sunny day, hand-feeding a pretty girl?

He was very tempted to lay his hand on the small of her back, where her uniform had ridden up just enough to show a strip of glistening skin, but it wouldn't have the proper punch with Iris in this deep trance. Without reaction, there was no fun.

The roots winding their way up her arms were somewhat unsettling. Was this what her file had meant when it noted that she was a 'mutant'? That she could cause plants to sprout? Could other humans do that?

Hours later, when the sun had set, and the roots had wriggled into the soil all around her, and crawled their way up to her shoulders, Iris stirred.

“Mph. Man, I'm sore.” She complained.

“Ah, welcome back. There is a powerful desire I need you to fulfill.”

“Not on company time. There's trees over there, go behind them and, uh, work it out? Also, for next time, I really don't need to know.”

“You flatter yourself, or you underestimate me. What I want, is for you to explain what you are doing. Are you making those plants grow?”

“Oh. Yeah, basically. You read my file; you know I'm a mutant.”

“Yes, but I do not know the significance of the term.” Loki admitted. “Is it this? This magic you wield?”

“It's not magic, it's just...it's genetic. I was born this way. At first it was just little things. Gardens grew better wherever I went, I didn't get hungry as much when there was sunlight, I didn't need to drink as much as long as there was water on the ground. I grew up in a way rural community tucked away in the Everglades. We were real poor, so being outside and having wet and muddy feet was just normal for all the kids.

As I got older, the signs got more obvious. I can do things that plants can do. I can direct their growth, and I sorta...change with the seasons, depending on where I am.”

“What do you mean?”

“Eh, stick around long enough and you'll see. Anyway, people aren't too fond of mutants, and it got...tough. To live at home, I mean. So I went out into the wild, and I did pretty well there, but S.H.I.E.L.D. found me and offered me something else. Not every mutant is like me. There's a lot of different ways to be a mutant, it's unpredictable. Some folks can fly, others can turn their bodies into metal, and some can heal wounds to their body in seconds. I manipulate plants, and am, in some ways, like them.”

“I see. And you are causing these plants to grow for what purpose?”

“Spying purposes. It's gonna take a few days, but these vines will tunnel through the ground, all the way up to the school house. When they break ground, I'll send one of them up that tree there, another one around the frame of that window there, and the third down the chimney. You saw those little devices? They're holding those in packets of leaves, and will position them so that they remain hidden, but they consist of audio, video, and heat signature recorders. Once I've gotten them in place, we'll leave. That's all this mission is; bugs on plants.”

“Then why am I here?” He wondered. “You seem to have this well in hand.”

“Someone's gotta feed me. And make sure I don't get found out. There's rumors you can make magic illusions. That's probably why. You can hide us both from any eyes or cameras.”

“And I have.” Loki said proudly. “And fed and...watered you, Little Blossom. What else do you need from me?”

“To do it all again tomorrow.” Iris said. Then she dropped her head into the nest of roots, and settled down to sleep.

                                                                         *****

Iris was awake and in her trance just as the first light of dawn kissed the horizon. Loki had been awake even before that, every swish of grass or crackle of leaves grabbing his attention.

“Rest.” He commanded her. “I have not the need of it that you do. Never forget: I am no weak mortal. You require a large amount of sleep, but I am all the greater.”

Iris had snorted at the bravado, but accepted the cubes he fed her, and fell into her trance, the roots curling further and further around her body.

Loki idly wondered how far the roots would go. Would they cocoon Iris entirely, prompting her to 'hatch' into a new form? Would they drag her down into the earth, entombing her away from Loki forever? Or would they just die back?

He watched people come and go to the old schoolhouse, working on its restoration. They looked for all the world like normal workers; he didn't even believe any of them to be armed. Not all HYDRA agents were combatants, after all. Just as many of them were spies, thieves, politicians, PR specialists and spin doctors.

Ever since what the other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents called 'The Big Reveal', both organizations had been frantically rebuilding. S.H.I.E.L.D. more slowly, taking only the best, only the most trustworthy. Loki supposed he should be proud, even though he knew he was only there as a glorified prisoner.

HYDRA's recruits seemed to be skyrocketing, as they took to the internet in search of easily radicalized young men-mostly men, and boys-to bolster their numbers. They found plenty of them, and quickly, but they were sloppy and unpredictable. All too often, one let their ego overcome their loyalty to the cause, an event that almost always led to public confrontation and violence. But the news media-already infiltrated, most likely-was always quick to exonerate or sympathize with a young white man.

HYDRA disgusted Loki, even back when he had 'convinced' a small cell to work with him. No one group knew what the others were doing. There was a severe lack of communication between cells. Yes, Loki supposed it kept them safe from discovery, but he found it inefficient. A waste of potential by people more invested in the pageantry of a secret society, than by the end goal they hoped to achieve.

S.H.I.E.L.D. was little better, in his opinion, but at least its people were more serious about their work. Communication was more open, their goals more achievable. It felt like they made a difference, whether they really did or not. And they didn't waste potential. HYDRA would simply kill someone like Iris, S.H.I.E.L.D. found her valuable enough to spend resources on her. Under Loki's regime, had he succeeded, Iris, and all people like her, would have been of personal interest to him. All of these so-called 'mutants' would have been given places of high honor. Loki did not waste potential.

But that wasn't worth spending more time dwelling on. It was never meant to happen in the first place. When and where he would rule was yet to be discovered, but it would not happen until he was finished with his penance.

He provided Iris with her water, barely able to see her under all the roots. It was no wonder that she could not go into the field without a partner; she could not be ready for combat, couldn't even eat on her own! If they had to run, was he just supposed to tear her from the root wrapping and toss her over his shoulder? Would disconnecting her like that cause her harm?

He would have to ask next time she woke.

A young man approached, wielding an unfamiliar device. Loki was immediately on high alert. Was that some kind of weapon? He wandered all the way up to the verge of the grasses, gazing placidly out over the meadow. This was a HYDRA agent? He was barely out of adolescence! But from what Loki remembered of his brothers youthful declarations of hatred towards the Jotunn, radicalization did indeed start young.

“Naw, I think it must have been a glitch.” He said into his lapel. “There's nothing out here, not even trails in the grass.” He paused, listening. “Naw. Maybe it was a coyote? There's plenty of wild animals that wander around out here. My bro swears he saw a puma last year. Anyway, I'm gonna trim the grass, since I'm here anyway. If you're really worried, come out and check your cameras. I ain't gonna do it for you.”

With that, the young man yanked a long string, attached to a pod on the device, causing the thing to roar to life. Its loud snarl effectively covered Loki's startled gasp, his invisible eyes wide at the noise and the fact that everything within a six inch radius of the device's head was shredded and flung in all directions.

He had to maintain the illusion. But Iris was right in the horrible things' path. It would rip right into her face.

Unacceptable.

Loki rolled over on top of her, covering her body, roots and all, with his own. He ducked his head just as the device passed by. The force was like a high speed whip, tearing at his hair. It would have lacerated his scalp, possibly to the bone, had he been human. It would have certainly injured Iris, whom he kept safely tucked under his body, protected by his armor and tough, godly flesh.

The young man made a few more passes, working his way down the edge of the meadow, leaving Loki with a stinging scalp from his impromptu haircut, eventually leaving after finishing a rough, sub-par job.

Loki kept still, concentrating on maintaining the illusion, now including fresh cut grass. He feared it had wavered under the assault he had suffered, but the young man hadn't seemed to notice. Hours passed with no movement from Loki, just watching as various people came and went, doing their jobs. Eventually they all trickled away.

The sun had grown low in the sky before Loki felt Iris stir.

“Um. Loki? What are you doing? Did something happen?” Iris asked, her voice muffled by his body.

“Pardon me.” He rolled back into the grass as Iris shook her face free of the grasping roots. “Some boy came through here with a horrible device that tore up the grasses. It was necessary to cover you.”

Iris sniffed the air. “Someone cut the grass. Geez, did he hit you? Your hair!”

“Is it bad?” He asked, then covered his vanity. “It doesn't matter. I made good on my word. Here, eat.” He held food to her mouth. It would be almost too bad when this was over. Feeding her was so easy, so satisfying, and his hair would grow back anyway. If only all missions could be this easy.

Iris ate, watching the sunset, Loki laying on his side in the grass next to her, just watching her. Roots and shredded grass decorated her body, cube after cube passing her lips.

“Miss Devereaux, how will you remove yourself from those roots? If I must tear them, will it hurt you?”

Iris shook her head. “No, the roots aren't attached to me. If we pull this off without a hitch, I'll direct them into the soil. But if we have to get out in a hurry, you can tear them; it won't hurt me.”

“That's good to know.” Loki rolled onto his back, hands behind his head. “There is much still to learn about this realm. What is this that you are eating?”

“You sure you wanna know?” She asked.

“I am suddenly less curious, now that you have said that.” He admitted. “They do smell incredibly unappealing.”

“It's fertilizer, essentially. Fish emulsion and seaweed, blood and bone meal, fermented vegetables, all mashed together. Sounds super gross, I know,” She said at his disgusted expression. “But it's really good for me. My body absorbs it so efficiently that there isn't even any waste. Like roots inside me that absorb everything.”

“Are there? Roots inside you, I mean.”

“Sometimes.” Iris said quietly. “Maybe.”

“It bothers you? I see. It removes you from humanity. Sets you apart. And yet, you think that makes you inferior, rather than the other way around?”

“I'm not better than anybody else.” Iris said.

“You think not? Is there anyone else in this world who can do what you can do? How many people have your S.H.I.E.L.D. actively recruited? They came to find you specifically, why would they do that?  Because you were completely average? You are a valued agent of a semi-clandestine organization bent on world improvement. You have been partnered to a god. You are above-average, Iris. Why is that difficult to accept?”

“Are you 'above average' in Asgard, Loki? Have you always been celebrated for it?”

“Mostly.”

“I haven't. I've been despised. I've been misunderstood. I've been coddled and hidden away by my parents in an attempt to protect me. I've been discriminated against by strangers, and teachers, and employers, and neighbors whose kids I grew up with. By those same kids.

I walked out into the wild one day, and didn't come back. I never planned on coming back, never planned on seeing another person ever again. But S.H.I.E.L.D. weren't the first to find me. There were two others. There was a man, a strange old man who could fly. He floated down from the sky, and told me that as a mutant, I was naturally superior to all other humans. He wanted me to come with him, said he was building some grand future for mutantkind, as if we were a different species.”

“Who was this man?” Loki asked, intrigued.

“No idea. I told him to leave. It wasn't long after I had left home, and I really didn't want to go back to any kind of civilization. I was kinda fantasizing about becoming some kind of cryptid, you know? The Everglades Swamp Witch, or something like that.

Then the botanists came. A whole group of them, trying to catalog Ghost Orchids. They're endangered, and people keep stealing them, and wrecking up their habitat. But I knew where they were. All two thousand of them. And I convinced them that I was in contact with all the remaining plants, so if any went missing after their expedition, I'd know, and come hunting for them.”

She grinned. “Like I said, Swamp Witch vibes. They even believed me!”

“So you cannot actually do that?” Loki asked. The stars had come out, forming unfamiliar shapes in the night sky. His eyes could pick out fainter lights than a humans could, and he admired the active beauty of this part of the universe while eating from one of the non-specialty ration packs.

“Well, I can, but not automatically. And not that far away. I have to be closer to a plant to really sense it, and I have to be trying really hard. Like, if I wanted to figure out where the nearest maple tree was, I would have to concentrate on that, and block out all the grass. But a maple has a different...I guess you could call it a signature? A different signature than grass does. A Ghost Orchid grows on trees, and is basically just a ball of roots when it's not blooming. Kinda like this-” Iris nodded at the roots tangled around her. “But way smaller. It looks like nothing, almost. They're very hard to spot. But they have that different signature than the tree they grow on, and I can follow that to where they are.”

“So you found all their plants, as if by magic.”

“Yeah, and they paid me pretty well for it, and I sent the money home to my parents, and then the botanists went home and blabbed. Next thing I know. S.H.I.E.L.D. is on my tail.”

“Because you were friendly to botanists?”

“Well...I might have also...sabotaged a development project.” Iris said sheepishly. “But it was right on the edge of the National Park, and I didn't let anybody get hurt! And I'm pretty sure it was dubiously legal anyway.”

The edges of Loki's mouth curled, even as his eyebrows lifted.

“What's this? You're 'shy and sensitive' I was told. Was I sold a bill of goods? Are you, in fact, a naughty little mutant?”

Iris rolled her eyes. “Ugh, don't joke. Naughty little mutants end up dead.”

The amusement drained from his face.

“You would be celebrated in Asgard.” He said.

“We aren't in Asgard.” She answered. “The only thing that matters is where we are now. Those guys in there? They'd kill us both just for being born. They'd make it so that no one like us could ever be born again. When S.H.I.E.L.D showed up, in their black uniforms and started introducing themselves as 'agents', I thought that's what they had come for. The government was there to kill me.

At that point, I'd been off the grid for over a year, and I didn't know anything about the S.H.I.E.L.D./HYDRA internet explosion. But when they started talking about rebuilding as a humanitarian organization, dedicated to the protection of people-marginalized people-from, like, terrorist groups and hostile aliens, I realized they weren't there to kill me or arrest me, they were just there for me.

So I didn't make them disappear, and went with them instead. I still send money home to my parents. They don't know where I am, or what I do. They don't know the true extent of my capabilities. I'm not sure I do either. The thing about being a mutant is that a lot of these powers don't get replicated exactly, so we each have to figure ourselves out. There's no training regimen or curriculum for this.”

“So all of this is self taught?” Loki asked, impressed. “I'm not even entirely self taught.”

“You were taught? This all didn't just come from being a god or whatever?”

“No, of course not. The power is there naturally, but it needs directing. Like you, I suppose. You're born with it, but need teaching to use it. I had the best teachers the universe could offer, and was exalted and encouraged. You had only yourself, and adversity. I've seen but little of you, but this seems a great feat so far.”

“A compliment?”

“An acknowledgment. It's good to know S.H.I.E.L.D. has become more discerning in its recruitment. I hear it was more than a little disastrous for them last time.”

“Like I said, I didn't find out about that until after. Though, I guess it's not all that surprising that it happened. There's a lot that can go wrong inside an organization that big, and with that much reach. There's just too much going on; there can never be enough oversight.”

“I know.” Loki said. “I used that against them when I attempted to bring down the planet. Somehow, they still didn't notice the traitors among them.”

“You worked with HYDRA?” Iris asked defensively.

“No.” Loki said. “I used them. I didn't...make many distinctions then, in my interactions with mortals.”

“Kinda seems like you still don't.” Iris pointed out. Loki took a breath and hesitated.

“Moreso than I did then.” He said slowly. “Then, you were just tools. A means to an end. Disposable. Interchangeable. There are so many of you, so it wasn't like any of your could actually be important.”

“Right up until barely six of us beat the tar out of you and blew up your entire army?”

Loki scowled. “That is a misstatement. The plan was always to lose.”

“Bull. Shit.”

“No, I'm serious. Earth was the weakest link in the Nine Realms, and it needed to be awakened. And you were. Spectacularly. Look what it's lead to. S.H.I.E.L.D. was purged, HYDRA exposed, and your world made ready for the arrival of Asgard. You've been opened to higher interactions, as a progressing member of the Realms.”

“Uh huh. That was totally the end goal, right? Inter-species altruism? That was what filled your heart while you blew people up?”

“Norns, no!” Loki snorted. “I hated every last one of you. I took a special delight in destroying that which was weaker than myself, never think I didn't. It's just...It wasn't entirely up to me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean...I mean that losing was an act of defiance that sparked off the strengthening defense of Midgard, which I continue to participate in. Doing small jobs for S.H.I.E.L.D., rubbing out the likes of HYDRA and A.I.M., all of this contributes to this strengthening.”

Iris regarded him suspiciously through her framework of roots.

“You sound like you're running some sinister, behind-the-scenes shadow plan.” She accused. “You wanna explain?”

Loki smiled, a wan, false thing.

“Do you want some water?” He offered instead.

Iris rolled her eyes. “You're not gonna distract me.”

“And I am not going to elaborate further. Your curiosity will have to remain unsatisfied, or supplemented by your own imagination.”

“Hmph. Why'd you even bring it up then?”

“I? I think you'll find our conversation naturally meandered in this direction. That does not mean it must come to the conclusion you desire.”

“So this is what Abby meant when she said you were a pain in the ass to talk to.” Iris grumbled.

“I was not put here to satisfy Abby.” Loki said airily. “Who is Abby?”

“She asked you on a date.” Iris said. “You don't even remember her? Harsh.”

Loki shrugged. “She sounds frightfully dull. I may have to play nice for now, but I needn't entertain every persons sordid fantasies. Do you leap through every hoop set before you? Or do you also tell unimportant people that you aren't interested in entertaining them?”

“All right, that's fair.” Iris craned her head back to look up at the stars. “Which one is Asgard? Can you see it from here?”

“You can't.” Loki said. “The star is too far away, too small. And it doesn't matter now anyway. Home is gone, and we must rebuild from scratch. But that one, right there-do you see? Another realm orbits that one, the Frozen Realm of Jotunheim. They were our enemies once, and yours, but no more. Partly because they are under 'house arrest' as it were, trapped on their own planet. My father drove them off your planet over a thousand years ago. Your world actually warmed up without their influence, at least for a little while.”

“There were aliens here a thousand years ago?” Iris asked, incredulous.

“There have been 'aliens' here for ages.” Loki said. “Visitations and experiments, and failed colonies, and raids. Your ancestors were still getting the hang of fire, and there were 'aliens' visiting your lush and beautiful world. Making plans. Then your lot discovered agriculture and metal, and ruined a lot of those plans.”

“Seems like we're good at that.”

“Yes, yes, I was defeated by mortals. I am aware. I was the first to know.” Loki grumbled.

“Wait, does that mean the aliens really did build the pyramids?” Iris wondered.

Loki snickered. “The hubris of humanity is not universally shared. You are known for several things, and your inexplicable drive for monument building is one of them. Visitors did not build your great buildings; you did. They did come to see them though, like tourists. Some of them even took artifacts back home with them. Hopefully they weren't too historically important.”

“That's so rude.” Iris said.

“And you would never have known to take offense if I hadn't told you.”

God of Mischief indeed.

“What other realms are there? Just the nine?”

“Eight now, I suppose. But no. There are many peoples out there. The Nine Realms were just those places that were somehow related to Asgard. Allies, protectorates and...penal colonies, you might call them. But all interconnected, and all at least a little dependent on the others, at least some of the time. That has come to an end. There is a very powerful spot now empty. I fear there will be a great deal of turmoil before things even themselves back out. It would be interesting to see how that all plays out, but alas, I am trapped here for now.”

“Where would you go?” Iris asked.

“Alfheim first, I think.” Loki said. “They like me there. They are much less dour than the Dverguar, less serious than the Vanir, not so boastful and bombastic as Asgardins, not vicious as Jotunn, and nowhere near as hectic and anxious as Midgardians...humans, I mean. They like jokes and pranks, and value magic...perhaps I should have been Alfar? If only I could have chosen.”

“Yeah, I think we all feel that way sometimes. But I guess even gods don't get that choice. Hey, how do gods work, anyway? I mean, I stopped believing in any all-powerful force a long time ago. About when the only answer anyone could really give me as to why God would make someone like me was that I was put here to test faith. My own, or other people's maybe. It made me sick. What kind of 'father' puts a burden like that on a little kid?”

Loki scoffed. “The first mistake that humans make is in thinking that anything can be all-powerful, all-knowing, or infallible. It is a ridiculous fantasy notion, immature and irresponsible. That kind of thinking can only lead to two things: complete disillusionment, or harm to the self or others. I am a god, because I have a singular connection to a certain aspect of the universe, as does my brother, but neither of us are any of those things. How boring, to be all-knowing! How banal, to be all-powerful. And I have known people who seemed to think they were infallible, and the amount of misery and suffering they caused is unspeakable.

No, gods were never supposed to be all that. Greater than others, yes, but omnipotent...no, that's only for people who are overcompensating I think.”

“What's that about a special connection to the universe?” Iris asked.

“The universe is ridiculously unstable. Did you know that? I believe it was a human that posited that reality destroys and remakes itself fairly often in the scheme of things, but by the nature of it, it's impossible to ever know if that's true. Because if reality is destroyed, so are you, and so, you would never know. And if reality rebuilds itself, then that is the only reality that exists, so you would never know.”

“Oh hell, I don't like that.”

“Well just don't think about it. In any case, this instability seems to be occasionally expressed through individuals of particularly resilient and long-lived species, by connecting them to certain random forces. For my brother, it is the natural occurrence of thunder and lightning, those two things being directly connected. For me, it is an expression of sophisticated behaviors. Those forces are ours to deploy and manipulate to our will, and we affect them in the world around us, even as they effect us.”

“So you're just born with it too, huh?”

“So it seems.”

Iris settled back down into her swaddling roots to sleep, leaving Loki to stare up at the stars. The grass-cutting human had mentioned cameras. Loki had shielded them from that kind of surveillance on the way in, just in case. They must be hidden somewhere out in the trees. Could Iris detect such things? Would it be worthwhile to disable any, if suspicion was already on them? Or would that merely draw even more suspicion?

Perhaps while Iris remained incapacitated, actions that might bring more enemies out should be avoided. She did not have his durable skin, after all, nor his speed or strength. But with her unusual and largely unexplained powers, he hesitated in thinking of her as weak. More like...a specialist.

He felt her stir, just as the sun was lifted into the sky, and he fed her her morning cubes. She settled into her work trance almost immediately. Perhaps she was put off by the previous nights conversation, and didn't want more of the same. Perhaps she simply wanted to finish this mission quickly. Surely she too found it boring to lay in the same spot for days.

He watched the people come and go about their work restoring the schoolhouse. How many of them were just regular workers, and how many were enemy agents? Impossible to tell by looking, especially if even the youth were involved.

The sun had not risen particularly high when he noticed a difference. The roots that wrapped Iris' body were thinning; as he watched, more and more broke away from the tangle to bury themselves in the dirt at her sides. It was like watching worms escaping danger.

Finally, Iris pulled her hands from the soil, and pushed free of the roots.

“Alright.” She said. “Bugs are in. Now it's time for us to bug out.”

In retrospect, Loki could admit that he had been too eager to leave. He simply didn't do well with long periods of inactivity. So when he walked into the trees surrounding the meadow, and found himself face to face with a shotgun-wielding hunter, he wasn't too embarrassed. No, what really made him kick himself was when the one behind them held Iris at gunpoint. How could he have let one of these yokels get behind him?

“Who the hell are you freaks?” The one in front demanded. Loki recognized him as the youth with the loud grass cutting device who had ruined his hair.

“Gaw, this one stinks!” The other one exclaimed. “Well what do ya expect? She looks like mud, of course she smells like it.”

“We were just out looking for a...private place, if you catch my drift.” Loki said smoothly, getting ready. “Nothing to get worried about. It's just such a nice day, and we couldn't help ourselves.”

“Gross.” The one behind Iris said.

“We don't want you degenerate types around here.” The one in front of Loki said. “Now hands up, freak. You're way too close.”

“To what, pray tell?” Loki said. Almost ready.

“Don't talk about it, dumbass!” The other one hissed.

“Look, let's just kill them, to be sure.” The one in front of Loki said. “World ain't gonna miss a few freaks. And then nobody knows, and we don't get in trouble.”

Loki lifted his hand in a gesture he knew humans considered to be rude. Both men fired their guns.

Neither of them saw the illusions of Loki and Iris fade away, sprawled as they were one the forest floor, bleeding from the bullet wounds they'd inflicted upon one another.

Several yards away, Loki took his hands from over Iris' ears, and approached the HYDRA recruits. One of them was still alive. Loki carefully wrapped his hand in a cloth he manifested from seemingly nowhere, and casually suffocated him.

He then led the horrified Iris back to their rented car, and got back onto the highway as quickly as he could.

The silence stretched on for several hours, Loki watching the road, Iris gazing out the window at the scenery.

“Why didn't we sneak off as soon as you put up those illusions?” She finally asked. “We were invisible. We could have just left.”

“They had seen us.” Loki said. “They could not be allowed to go and inform their superiors. If there was suspicion that we had been snooping around the school, the entire point of the mission would be moot. Besides, they were extremely rude.”

“Don't joke.” Iris said sharply. “You killed that man in cold blood.”

“I killed him on cold practicality.” Loki corrected. “He could not be allowed to live, and let others know that he and the other one hadn't actually accidentally shot one another. Once anyone had seen us, that had to be the end for them. It is understandable that you might not like that, which is why I would not ask you to participate. But if I am sent on a mission as a protector, then that is what I will do. These were men who wanted to kill you just for being born, remember?”

“They were radicalized. They could have been deradicalized.”

“And how do you propose we were to do that?”

Iris huffed. “Damnit.”

“Sometimes we aren't afforded the choices we would prefer. But don't fret. I will take full responsibility in the report. I know the Director isn't keen on too many work-related killings.” It was part of why Loki took such delight in reporting work-related killings. Just to remind them of who he was, and what he was capable of.

Once they had reached their destination and returned the rental car, Iris called their contact agent for extraction. She wasn't exactly distant, but with other things to focus on, and other people demanding their times, the closeness of the last two days was fading fast.

Oh well, Loki thought. It had been nice while it lasted. But nothing was forever, and all affection was fleeting; he knew that well enough.

But it was a little odd to see her so preoccupied with her phone.

“Have you a Tweety account, or some such?” He asked, trying to strike up a conversation once again.

“Since that doesn't exist: no.” She answered, distracted. “No, there's just...I'm seeing someone, and he wants to meet up as soon as I get back.”

Loki frowned. For some reason, he didn't like that sound of that. “You need rest, don't you?” He suggested.

“Yeah, and it's a little last minute, I admit. But he's an agent too, and our schedules don't match up very often, so we've got to meet when we can, or not at all.”

“That sounds like a difficult arrangement.”

Iris shrugged. “I'll take what I can get. At least he doesn't seem to mind the whole mutant thing. That's kinda important when you're in my shoes.”

“You do not sound entirely enamored of this man.” Loki probed.

“Well...I'd like to get to know him better, but he's very private. Mostly, I just don't want to be alone. It's hard for people like me, you know? I can't just throw a relationship away because it's not some perfect storybook romance. Gotta be more realistic than that. But I sure hope I get a few days rest before I get sent out again.”

It sounded...practical. She had to take her opportunities where she found them. It wasn't as if Loki had never been there. It was perhaps a little sad, since it sounded like she really did want that storybook romance.

Perhaps it was none of his business. It was absolutely none of his business. He followed her anyway, curious about what kind of man made this little flower bloom.

The man in question was not impressive, in Loki's opinion. Not much more than average. Maybe that didn't matter to Iris.

“Bet you're glad to be done with all that, huh?” He asked. “Dealing with that creep couldn't be easy.”

“It wasn't really all that bad, honestly. He-”

“I don't really want to hear about him. C'mon, we have the whole evening! Let's not waste it!”

Loki decided then and there that he did not like this man. Not in small part because he wanted to know what Iris had to say about him.

She took him to what must have been her apartment, and there Loki left. There were a few things he didn't want to know after all.

[telli1206]

A Christmas To Remember (Ch.3)

@vndooms @descendantsgiftexchange I’ve been continuing this on AO3, but I wanted to add Chapters 3 and 4 to Tumblr too 😁 

Chapter 1     Chapter 2  

Chapter 3 - Christmas In The Air

Today was already off to a better start, mostly because Jay let Carlos sleep in. It seemed to be the wisest move, given his boyfriend’s sourness at being woken so unexpectedly yesterday. And coffee can only do so much to combat that, so for the sake of their plans, Jay has to let sleep win.

He doesn’t really feel the need to fight it, since that gives him the chance to enjoy the silence of the morning and a full cup of coffee. And that will benefit everyone just as much as Carlos getting proper sleep.

He contemplates stepping outside briefly to admire the snowy morning, but he’s torn out of his thoughts by a light tapping down the hallway. He smiles into his steaming cup. There’s no need for him to look up, he’s only ever met one person in his life with heeled slippers.

“Oh!” Evie startles, taking a step back into the darkness of the hall. “I was wondering who’d be making coffee this early. I should have known.”

She purses her lips into a sweet smile and walks around the table, wrapping her robe tightly around herself as she moves to sit across from Jay.

“So, no run this morning?” She asks, eyes darting to the undershirt and pajama pants Jay was wearing.

He shrugs quietly, taking another sip from his mug. “I figured I’d take the week off.”

Evie raises a brow, watching Jay with a quizzical look. “You? Take a week off from your daily runs?” She chuckles softly, putting her hands up defensively when Jay glares. “Sorry, I just...didn’t think that was possible.”

She continues to smile as Jay’s glare softens. His lips curl into a smile, and he pulls his mug in to look back down into the dark swirling beverage. “Some things are more important than staying in shape for Tourney, Eves.”

“Oh really?”

Jay dares a look up and instantly regrets it. Evie’s beaming. The glow from her smile is enough to make Jay flinch and avert his eyes again, but Evie reaches out and clasps his hand.

“Ohhh you’re being such a lovesick sap, aren’t you? But I love it, I really do!” She removes her hand when Jay meets her gaze again. Her smile is no less brilliant than a second ago, but her words are making it...palatable.

“I never thought I would get to see you this happy, Jay.” She realizes her words are harsh and she flinches. “I mean, you know, this kind of happy. Happy with Carlos. I’m just... so thrilled for you, Jay. For you both!”

Jay chuckles and shakes his head. Evie is such a romantic, she can almost be too dramatic about it sometimes. But he knows Evie is being genuine, and he can’t help but feel warm from her joyful outburst.

“Thanks, Eves.”

Doug walks in then, distracting them from their conversation with a loud yawn. Evie springs up to cover his wide open mouth. “Baby, cover your mouth at least! We have company, remember?”

Doug pulls Evie’s hand away and smiles apologetically, pecking her lips quickly. “Sorry. And sorry to you too, Jay,” Doug adds with a small smile his way.

Jay nods quietly, but he and Doug are being dragged further into the kitchen before he can say anything.

“Let’s get breakfast going before everyone wakes up,” Evie requests. She pauses, stealing a glance at Jay. “You don’t mind helping, do you?”

“Of course not! Eves, you know me better than that!” Jay snorts, opening the fridge.

Evie sighs, relieved. “I know, sorry. I just don’t want to be presumptuous. You’ve already done so much this week.”

Jay grabs the carton of eggs and drops them on the counter before crouching down to look for a pan. But he freezes when Evie crouches down next to him.

“For the record,” she whispers, sliding open the drawer next to him and pulling out a pan, “I’ll stop being a whiny bitch now, and just have fun on the rest of our outings. Thank you for planning them, and for trying to make this a fun week for everyone. Even if ,” she adds with a nudge, “I’m pretty sure you have some ulterior motives.”

She hands Jay the pan as she stands, smoothing her robe and giving him a knowing smile.

“I’m doing this for everyone Eves, so yeah, it’d be nice if you were having fun too,” Jay teases, eyebrow raised. Evie giggles quietly as she drops bread into the toaster, but doesn’t say anything else. Jay’s fine with that though. He’s pretty sure she gets what he’s trying to do, and he’s more than happy that she’s willing to go along with it.

The rest of the morning is relatively relaxed once Jane, Lonnie and Carlos come down to eat. Carlos arrives last, but his wide eyes and perky smile are enough to reassure Jay that it was worth it to let him sleep in. He settles in next to Jay, humming happily through his pancakes and scrambled eggs, occasionally rubbing his hand along Jay’s knee and stealing sideways smiles in his direction. Jay is loving this moment, the lighthearted and casual conversation...until he requests for everyone to dress warmly.

“We’re going outside again??” Carlos whines, mouth still full of pancake. He gives Jay somber, pleading eyes, and Jay is almost tempted to relent, until Jane breaks through his thoughts with a delighted squeal.

“Oh, I love it! The snow is so beautiful.” She exclaims, clasping her hands joyfully, “There’s nothing more Christmasy to me than getting to go outside and enjoy it!”

Jane’s sparkling eyes and bright smile are too gleeful to resist, and Carlos offers a weak smile to her before relaxing his shoulders and letting out a shuddered sigh.

“You’re right. It’s Christmas. I’m sure it’ll be a fun time,” he accepts, grinning a little and reaching out to grasp Jay’s hand. Jay couldn’t feel more content in that moment, tightening his grip to pull Carlos towards the closet full of winter gear.

“That’s the spirit! Just wait till you see. It’s gonna be great!”

-----

“Jayyy! Don’t let go, pleasssse.”

Carlos squeezes his hand tightly as they ascend the hill, Jay doing his best to drag the toboggan behind them.

Despite Carlos’ whining, Jay knows he’s enjoying himself more than yesterday. While he didn’t look entirely thrilled when they arrived at the sledding hill, his first trip down ended with an enthused shriek, and just the sound flooded Jay’s soul with the warmth of sunshine inside him, even when he was standing in the ice cold snow. He took in Carlos’ flushed cheeks, breathless pants, and toothy grin, and felt the absolute happiest he had so far this week.

“Stop freakin’ out ‘Los, have I ever let you down?” He chuckles, yanking Carlos closer to steer him up the hill by the waist.

“No! But move over, how am I supposed to walk like this?” He pushes lightly against Jay, but Jay stiffens his arm and refuses to let go, making Carlos giggle harder with every shove he gives for space.

“Stop it, you’re not going anywhere. I’ll carry you up if I have to!” Carlos giggles furiously against Jay’s arm, distracting him so much that he doesn’t notice anyone behind them until Lonnie’s almost toppling him over.

“Move it, Jay-bear! Some of us actually want to sled more!” She shouts, dragging a cackling Jane with her. “Save the tickle fight for the bedroom, will ya?”

Carlos is beet red in an instant, and Jay lunges forward to smack Lonnie when she howls past them. “Toooo slow, Jay!” She taunts as they keep running.

“C’mon, ‘Los, we can catch ‘em!”

Jay pushes Carlos along with him by the arm, picking up the pace as Carlos struggles and grunts in the awkward hold. “Jay! Slow down!”

“It’s ok, they’re right there!” Jay urges, ignoring Carlos’ pleas. He slams the toboggan down just as Lonnie and Jane start to pile in theirs.

Lonnie flashes Jay a wicked grin. “So you wanna race?”

“Well it’s not like I threw this down here randomly, did I?” He sneers, guiding Carlos to his place in the back.

Jane snickers, perking a brow at Lonnie while Jay tries to get situated. “Better move fast, Jay. Because...Ready, set, go!”

Jane kicks them off in one swift motion, starting them down the hill before Jay is even in his seat.

“Hey!” He shouts after them, jumping quickly into his toboggan and grabbing for the rope.

“Jay! Hold-” Carlos tries to shout, but Jay’s already pushing off, and arms squeeze the breath out of Jay as Carlos desperately claws for a grip, kicking up his legs to wrap them around him as they start drifting downhill.

They gain speed fast. Too fast. He can barely hear Carlos’ whimpers, but Jay can feel his arms tightening around him. As they close in on Jane and Lonnie, Jay tries to steer them side by side, but the shift causes Carlos’ leg to drop, anchoring them into the snow and swinging the toboggan.

Jay feels the impact before he can register what’s happening. The clack of wood against wood, the scraping as the impact shifts them. There’s a high pitched scream, and Jay sucks in a breath as the arms disappear from around him. He plants his feet into the snow to push away but the toboggan scrapes painfully against his leg, and he winces when he can feel his skin chafing before they finally come to a stop.

He lays there for a moment, dazed and in shock, blinking the wet snow off his lashes. As he tries to remember what happened, his head goes back to the who…

Carlos. Jane. Lonnie.  

He sits back up, whipping his head around frantically to locate everyone. A firm hand on his forearm startles a gasp out of him, but he relaxes when he looks into Lonnie’s smiling face.

“Chill Jay, it’s ok. We’re fine. It’s good.”

Jay follows her gaze when she turns to look behind them, immediately spotting Jane and Carlos only a few feet away. Jane is half on top of Carlos, pushing herself off and coughing out a pained laugh. She’s pushing Carlos up from underneath her as well, and Jay takes a deep, relieving breath when he can see that he seems fine, for the most part.

Carlos groans softly, rubbing his shoulder where Jane’s head had been. But he’s cracking a smile at least.

Lonnie stands weakly and tries to steady herself, but Jay doesn’t waste any time, crawling on all fours and leaping at Carlos, wrapping the boy in a hug before he can compose himself.

“Jay, we’re all wet! And I’m freezing. Just, let me stand, will you?” Carlos wriggles in his arms, but does little to dislodge his boyfriend’s hold. “I’m fine, I swear.”

Jay sighs dejectedly when he releases Carlos. His heart is still pounding, so loud in his ears he has trouble hearing exactly what Carlos says, but he can understand enough from the way his body shifts away from his touch. Fuck, and things were going so well.

“I-I’m so sorry ‘Los,” he stutters out slowly. “I just...I thought, I guess...I’m just, so so happy you’re ok.”

Carlos’ smile softens, and Jay leans back in to hug him, breathing a quick sigh of relief when he accepts this time.

“Aw, that’s better. No harm done,” Lonnie chuckles. Her arm is slung around Jane, who’s cuddling into her for warmth. “Should we maybe break for a hot chocolate?”

“Actually,” Carlos interjects, before Jay can accept. “I think I might want to head back. My shoulder’s a little sore.” He rolls it to show them, biting back a small groan of pain. “Do you think...we could get a ride?”

Jay can’t deny his disappointment, and as much as he tries to hide it, he’s sure that it’s plastered all across his face. Which is why Carlos is using his pout, the one that Jay can’t say no to, as he waits for Jay’s answer. There’s really only one way this can go.

-----

So they end up back at the castle. Doug had no problem giving them a ride back, though he did give Jay a sad, sympathetic smile when he asked. It’s not hard to figure out that this is not how Jay had wanted their sledding day to end.

But Jay can be fine with it because it’s what Carlos wants. He was clearly exhausted from the afternoon’s ordeal. He had spent the entirety of the car ride with his head in Jay’s lap, Jay playing softly with white curly strands as Carlos dozed peacefully for a few minutes.

And once they returned to the castle, Carlos had even marched past the main living room to head straight upstairs to their room, to Jay’s surprise. Jay follows him, but stops in the kitchen briefly to make some mugs of instant hot cocoa and grab a few cookies. When he finally makes it to their room, Carlos is already snuggled under the blankets and huddled around a few pillows, trying to get cozy.

“Hey, you want something a little warmer than those pillows to cuddle?” Jay teases as he nears the bed.

Carlos sits up quickly, brushing some of his hair out of his face and smiling softly at Jay. For a second, he tries to lean on the arm with the sore shoulder, but he gasps at the shock of pain from the action and straightens himself off the arm to rub at the soreness.

“Here,” Jay offers, handing Carlos his hot cocoa and setting down the plate of cookies. “Let me get that. Lean on me.”

He sits on the bed and raises his arm, scooting Carlos under it with his hand. Once he’s comfortably laid against Jay, he starts to rub gentle circles into Carlos’ shoulder, stopping occasionally to press his fingers into the joint to check for any swelling. Carlos groans a little at the pressure, but remains nuzzled against him, taking small sips from his hot mug.

“Jay. I-I’m sorry,” Carlos rasps, his voice sounding weak. He looks up at Jay, eyes dark and shining. Jay feels a little pang of sadness looking into them.

“For what? ‘Los, it wasn’t your fault.” He wraps his arm tighter, urging Carlos to lay back down. “I just want you to be ok, that’s all I care about.”

Carlos sighs, letting his finger drag along Jay’s knee as his eyes shift downwards.

“I-I know. But still. This outdoor stuff...sports, hauling trees, cutting wood. You’re so. Good, at it, and, you really love it. I just...I wish I was better at it.”

Jay frowns and shakes his head. “Stop it, you know I don’t care about that. It’s not like it’s ever been any big secret that you’re not great at sports, ‘Los,” he needles, and Carlos giggles and pokes at his chest. Jay snatches his finger and interlaces the rest together, leaning in to connect their foreheads.

“All I want is you there with me, having fun. And I’m sorry if you’re not.”

Carlos leans back, only to tilt his head to come back in for a kiss. Jay sets his mug down so he can properly cup Carlos’ neck with his free hand, tipping him back to deepen the kiss.

They stay like that for a minute or so, their lips barely separating for air. When Carlos stops to suck in a breath, he opens his eyes and stares into Jay’s.

“I am having fun, ok? And I’m so happy I get to spend Christmas with you.”

Jay could barely conceal his delight, his eyes crinkling when his smile breaks wide. He pecks at Carlos’ lips, over and over again until he’s laughing and pushing Jay away, tumbling backwards onto the bed. Jay clambers on top of him, trapping Carlos between his forearms and sneaking in one final peck.

“Same, ‘Los. There’s nowhere I’d rather be. And no one I’d rather be with.” Their noses brush, and Carlos smiles and leans in for another kiss. Jay can’t deny him, of course, but he does roll off of him after so he can guide Carlos back to a more comfortable spot on the pillows.

At least he’s finally content with their fate for tonight, nursing Carlos’ shoulder and enjoying each other’s company. With two more days until Christmas, there’s plenty of time to participate in more of the festivities that the holiday has to offer.

Things can only get better from here anyway.

[danetobelieve]

A Latte On Your Mind || Layla and Winston

Coffee Plus had always been Winston’s go to place when it came to finding somewhere to meet. The thing was that this was a bit of a weirder meeting then they normally had in this place. The request that they had received online had been one that a few months ago they would’ve probably ignored. But with everything that had happened in the first part of the year, Winston was pretty confident that they could do this and if anything went wrong they could either handle it or run like hell. So there they sat, waiting in a booth like they’d agreed. Their laptop in front of them so they could work while they waited.

Layla had made a promise long ago to her girlfriend, Frankie, that she would always be there for her. But the night her parents tried to end her life, she knew she couldn’t hang around or put the one person she loved most in the world, at risk. It had been almost a year since she had been in contact with the girl, and now that she was finally comfortable enough to feel safe, she had decided reaching out would be the best. It just happened to be that there was someone out there who could possibly help. She had never met them, but thanks to social media, she was about to play a game of seek as she walked into the small coffee shop. Scanning the room, she spotted exactly who she was looking for. Walking over to them, she stopped before taking a seat, “Winston…” Her voice was quiet, and her nerves were getting the better of her. She talked a big game online, but, in reality, Layla was as docile as they came, unless threatened.

Winston’s eyes shot up from the screen of their laptop and to the girl who had taken a seat opposite. Winston pushed the computer away from them slightly and took a long sip of their coffee before smiling and nodding. “Hi, you’re Layla … right?” Winston wasn’t really that good at this side of it. The truth was that they were nervous about most things at the best of times and they weren’t about to just put that on display. The balancing act of actually living their life in this supernatural nightmare (at least at times) had become tedious. “Do you want a coffee or something?” Winston asked hoping that the offer could help to break the ice. They weren’t sure what was going on here or why Layla needed help but Winston wanted to do what they could. This was what they were working towards and now that they had discovered that they could use magic they had another way of doing that. Though maybe this wouldn’t require that.

Layla wasn’t getting any vibes that Winston was hostile or had any desire to hurt her. If it was one thing being a werewolf had provided, it was a heightened sense of any danger and probably the greatest gift the stupid bite had given her. Seeing that it was safe to take a seat, she slid into the booth opposite the person sitting in front of her. “That I am. Um…” Letting her eyes shift to a nearby menu that was hanging just past them at the counter, she quickly scanned over it, “An Iced Coconutmilk Latte, if you don’t mind. I’m still working out the job situation, but I’ll pay you back. I’m good for it.” She had sworn to Ari that she would pay her back, and she was going to do the same for Winston.

“Uh, don’t worry about it, you can get me one another time or something.” Winston slipped out of the booth and headed to the counter, quickly ordering her drink before returning to their seat. She seemed tense. Which was understandable, given the circumstances Winston imagined that they would be very tense. It must be weird. Probably a little humiliating. But this was White Crest and weirder things than this happened everyday. “So you’re new to town?” Winston asked waiting for the drink to arrive, this was probably better without any distractions. “How have you found it?” 

That she would do. Kindness seemed to be something that was coming from the most ironic of towns, considering all the scary shit that seemed to be going down here. “I can do that, sure.” Layla shifted in the booth a little watching them get up to go place her drink order. Was she doing the right thing reaching out to Frankie like this? She wasn’t absolutely sure. She wanted the girl to be safe, but she needed to know that Layla didn’t just abandon her, because she wanted to. She did it for survival. Of course, a thought had crossed her mind. What had her parents told her family and friends? Seeing them return to the table, Layla shifted her focus back to Winston, “Yeah, I just got here not too long ago. And truthfully? Aside from it being uber creepy, it’s not as bad as I initially thought, but maybe that’s because there’s actually been decent people here. Have you lived here long?”

Wrapping their fingers around their mug of coffee, Winston took a long sip of it before turning their attention back to Layla. They were curious about what had brought them to this of all places. Some of the most unusual people seemed to be ending up here and Winston couldn’t explain what drew them here. Other then the obvious supernatural hotspot of course. “Once you get over some of the creepier aspects of White Crest, it really is okay. There are lots of good people, lots of good places to go and lots to see.” Though it wasn’t always good things, but they weren’t going to scare Layla with that just yet. “Uh, yeah, my whole life actually, I’ve never really been anywhere but White Crest.” They always wondered if they needed to get away. Just get out of White Crest and see some of the world. Maybe there was actually somewhere, somewhat normal out there.

In all honesty, Layla was just on the run and trying to get as far away from danger as possible. It was her nose that had led her here. But what Winston was saying had been true. Just in the little time she had spent in White Crest, she had seen the good in people. Maybe it was the monsters and things that went bump in the night that seemed to band them together, but most people cared about the well being of others, “I’m kinda starting to see it. The goodness in people. My heart’s been closed off for far too long, but it’s weird, because I’ve never felt more at home here than I have anywhere else.” She paused, “I’m rambling. You said good places and lots to see. What would you recommend?” Winston seemed easy to talk to, and she was glad she had met them, “It’s a big world out there, but you should go explore it sometime. I’m sure you’re not in the same situation I’m in.” I don’t think anyone really is…

“Weird, but I get exactly how you feel,” Winston wasn’t about to move anywhere else because there was never anywhere worth moving to, “there is just something about this town that makes me unable to consider moving elsewhere. I used to think that it was to do with my friends and family but I am really starting to think that it might be something else. But you should give us a chance, we might surprise you.” Looking down at their laptop, Winston tapped their thumbs on the top of the screen thoughtfully. “I mean, what are you looking for? Places to eat? Things to do? Things to see? Places to go? There’s a load of really interesting stuff you can do.” They looked up and down before shrugging. “Maybe one day, can’t go right now, too much for me to do…” taking a long drink of their coffees as they arrived, Winston now convinced of their privacy paused. “So, did you want to tell me what you want me to do?” 

Layla missed her home back in Tennessee, but only because of Frankie and the friends she had left behind. Her parents had made it clear they didn’t want her around by their apparent need to kill her, but White Crest, just in the short amount of time was offering something to her that no other place had, “I know for fact, for me anyways, that it’s not family or friends, because besides Ari, Ulf, and give or take a few people, I don’t really know anyone here. But it just feels...right. As for things to do...nothing in particular. I should probably focus on the basic needs of life first, before I ever consider anything recreational.” Grabbing the drink that had just been brought out, she took a long slow sip enjoying every second of it. It was their question that got her attention focused back on why she had come to meet them in the first place, “Yeah, sorry. I want to get a message to my girlfriend. I had to abandon her without word of why, and I just want her to know that it wasn’t because I wanted to. It was because my life was...is in danger.” Had she said too much? She’d soon find out.

Raising an eyebrow at the mention of Ariana’s name, Winston did their best not to choke on their coffee as subtly as they could. Pleased with the fact that they had managed not to spit their coffee all over Layla, Winston swallowed and wiped their eyes which had begun water. “Ari, like Ariana Bennett?” Winston asked curiously. How did this girl know Ariana? Either way, if they were friends then there was even less reason for Winston to help. The friend of your friend is also your friend? Wasn’t that how that saying went? Or was it something about enemies? Her next confession had Winston coughing on coffee once more. “Woah, woah, okay we can definitely get the message to your girlfriend easy, we’re going to have to be more specific about whether you want to call, video chat, email, instant message, carrier pigeon, smoke signal or use a telegraph, but I feel like we should circle back to the needing to abandon her because your life is in danger, are you safe now? Is that why you’re here?”

Picking up on Winston’s choking, Layla narrowed her eyes in curiosity, but also concern, “Are you okay? Do you need help, because I do know some first aid…” The first aid her parents had taught her back when they assumed she would be the next Cooke family member to carry on the hunting legacy. However, when she saw they were fine, it gave her some relief knowing she wouldn’t have to explain herself to anyone, if she couldn’t save them. “Uh...yeah, I think so? I don’t know her last time, but short, a little feisty, but super sweet? Why do you ask? Is there something wrong?” She was starting to worry. Had she approached the wrong person for help. It did give her a sense of peace knowing they were still willing to help, “Carrier pigeon...really?” Squeezing her eyes and shaking her head, she retrained her focus, “Whatever isn’t going to be traced back here. That’s what I want, so you’re like the pro at this. What’s your suggestion? And she’ll know it’s me. We have our own little code.”

“Yeah I’m fine, you just shocked me a little bit and something went down the wrong way.” Winston swallowed and wiped moisture away from their eye. Taking a moment to catch their breath again, Winston sighed and nodded. “Don’t worry, Ariana is a friend of mine, I actually dyed her hair,” not something that Winston thought they would ever be bragging about but here they were. They considered Layla’s problem. She obviously had a message. “Okay, the carrier pigeon thing was a complete joke, but could you be more specific about like the length of your message, is it written down, is it a video, is it a sound byte? The more detail you can give me the better. It might actually just be as easy as sending the physical mail with no return address. Depends.” 

“As long as you’re okay…” She looked them over once to make sure. She let out a soft sigh of relief hearing Winston was a friend. If Ariana trusted them, she could trust them. “It looks good. Really good actually. At least I know who to go to if I ever want, or need, to change my look.” Layla was attached to her red hair though, and probably wouldn’t change it anytime soon. Their question made her think. What did she want to say to Frankie exactly and how? “No return address...could I send her a video? Like a dvd. If I’m going to tell her I may never be returning home, I want her to at least see my face one more time to let her know that this is genuine and how truly sorry I am.” She looked down at her drink as tears began to trickle down her pale cheeks.

“Yeah seriously don’t worry I’m good,” Winston replied with a shrug. It wasn’t a big deal. “Well, I’m not really sure that I can guarantee repeat success but I’m sure Ariana could supervise and make sure I don’t do anything too damaging.” They hoped that they weren’t going to have to dye her hair for the same sort of reason that Ariana had asked for their help. “I would recommend you use a USB, if you think there’s a password she can guess then you could encrypt it but that’s risky. I guess you could put a note in there.” Winston frowned gently. “Are you okay?” they said quietly, reaching across the table and slidding a napkin across to her. “Do you want to fill me in a little bit on what’s going on maybe? It’s cool if not, but you look like you’ve got things to say.” 

Layla was listening to them, but she refused to raise her head. Reaching out for the napkin, she wiped her eyes and forced back the lump that had formed in her throat, “I know exactly what the password could be. She’ll know it.” With a quivering breath, she finally looked back up to Winston, “It’s the least I could do right? Telling you.” Gathering her nerves, she spoke, “Long story short, I became something my parents didn’t think was possible, and because of it, they tried to kill me, so I ran. I don’t know if you believe in the supernatural, Winston, but there are things in this world that aren’t so nice, and because I was born with a target on my back, I am now one of those things. And my parents...they desperately try to rid the world of those things.”

Raising an eyebrow gently Winston was about to ask her if she was sure that she really wanted to explain herself to them, but then she was launching into it and Winston wondered if perhaps they had heard this story before. It sounded awfully familiar to their friend Orion, even had some similarities to his sister Athena. Though that was someone that Winston didn’t want to be thinking about. “Actually, I believe in the supernatural very much,” Winston carefully looked around them before continuing speaking, “I don’t want to push you for anymore detail but believe me when I say that I empathise with you very much, though I’m sure we’ve had very different experiences and I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, the truth is that you’re not the only one who’s learning a new way of life. Hell I’ve become different too and whatever you are; and like I could try and guess; vampire or zombie seems unlikely, maybe you just found out you’re fae or maybe you’re a fan of the moon,” they paused again, “point is that it doesn’t matter. You’re not alone here.” 

Hearing them speak, Layla didn’t feel quite so alone or ashamed. She was even able to raise her head and look at them. But knowing that Winston believed and that they were similar to Layla, at least in not being completely human, gave her some relief. “I wouldn’t exactly say I’m a fan of the moon. At least not anymore.” She used to love looking up at the moon. Laying on the ground and staring at the night sky wondering where the stars could take her, but that all changed after she received the bite. “It feels good to be able to talk. Ari and her family have been so kind, but I don’t want to keep burdening them with my problems. I don’t want to burden you either, but you’ve got skills I know nothing about, and after this is done, I’ll leave you alone. And don’t worry, if anyone can keep a secret about who...what they are, it’s me.”

Nodding gently, Winston hoped that they would be able to at least help them contact their girlfriend, ex girlfriend? Winston wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter though. They were clear on one thing, Layla had something to say and she just needed a little help saying it. “Maybe you’ll come around to it…” they shrugged, “listen, this world, it’s intense, but it’s amazing too. If you can get used to it, which I am not sure that I have. But some people seem to thrive here and you could too.” They listened carefully before shrugging. “You don’t need to leave me alone, if I didn’t want to be here helping you then I wouldn’t be, sometimes you need someone to help. Maybe I’ll need your help one day, you never know and then you’ll owe me and I’ll definitely have to get it back from you. Totally.” Winston was trying to ease it for them. “Don’t worry, secrets are pretty inherent to this place.” 

How had she been so blessed to find Ari, Celeste, Ulf, and now Winston. Layla definitely had reason to lay her head down tonight and count the kind things that had happened. It would be the first time, in a long time, she would be able to go to bed with a smile on her face. “Hopefully. I think I’ve just got a lot to sort out in my mind, you know? But you’re helping me with one of those things, and for that, I’m forever grateful.” She gave him a soft, sad smile, “And I don’t know what you would need my help for, unless you’ve got a cheer problem or need your nails painted, but okay.” She took a sip of her coffee. “So what’s next? How do we proceed to do this?” She didn’t want to take up anymore of their time than she already had.

Nodding, Winston gave Layla a quick smile. “I understand, everything gets almost infinitely more stressful when the supernatural gets involved. It’s all so aggressive. I don’t really get it to be honest but it’s the world that we now live in.” Winston paused and considered their predicament. “I’m sure you can give me a manicure or something if you’re feeling really guilty, but I feel like if we don’t stick up for each other and build a community of us who do it then how are we going to stand a chance against the crazy shit that’s out there.” They took a long sip of their coffee, revelling in the caffeine for a moment before nodding. “So, film your message or record it or write it or whatever you decide you want to do and you can do that on your own or I can help or someone else could help and you could send it to me. Whatever works.” 

Everything they were saying made so much sense. They all had to stick together, especially when it came to certain people in the world who wanted other’s dead. It wasn’t fair for Layla, Winston, Ari, and so many others not to be able to feel safe in the world they lived in. Everyone had deserved that right, “I agree. What gives anyone the right to tell someone they don’t belong or don’t have a say in things? People, wolves, whatever should have a right to live as they want as long as they’re doing it safely. I surely don’t want to put anyone’s life in danger. That’s not my goals or my motives, but I do want to be able to live a somewhat normal life…” Her voice was low, but stressed. Layla took a small sip of her coffee to try and gather herself. “I can do that. I’ll see if Ari or Celeste can help. Ulf still kind of intimidates me, and I don’t want to bother him too much, since he was kind enough to share his trailer with me.”

Raising an eyebrow gently, Winston in one sentence or so learned way more about Layla then they had in a lot of the time that they had just been sitting there talking to her. “Of course, the first time I learned that hunters were actually a thing, that people decide to go out and hunt and kill others, it’s terrifying. In some ways I can’t believe that this has all somehow been kept secret and yet in others I know that turning a blind eye and denying it is sometimes easier then coming to terms with the truth.” Winston looked down at their sneakers for a moment, gazing at their dirty white laces trying to think of what was best to say. “Cool, yeah of course, once you’re ready and you’re done with whatever your message is let me know and I can set everything up and encrypt it all.” They hoped that this had helped. They were glad that Layla had somewhere to stay, but they were somewhat suspicious of the fact she was staying in a trailer with someone called Ulf. Ulf sounded a little too much like wolf, but then again didn’t Ariana know someone called Ulf?

“Yeah, imagine growing up around hunters.” Layla paused. She kind of gave them more than she should have, but it didn’t seem like they were out to harm her. “Sometimes I wish my parents could have turned a blindeye. Not been so by the book. I might actually still be home and with Frankie and headed to college, if they had just broken a rule or two for once in their lives.” She glanced out the window of the cafe seeing a bird fly by. Turning her attention back to Winston, she knew what she had to do. “Got it. You’ll be hearing from me again pretty soon then. At least I’ll have one weight off of my shoulders once this is done.” She finished off the remainder of her coffee. “I won’t waste anymore of your time today. I’m sure you’re pretty busy.” Sliding out of the booth, Layla stood up, “And hey, Winston, thanks again. What you’re doing...it’s good. Hang in there and watch your back.” And with that Layla tossed her cup in the trashcan and was gone.

[bohemian-rhapsody-slash]

Love, you can't tease us like that!! I need a snippet of joe meeting john in this new dark!john verse. Or literally anything from it. Again I adore how active you are with every fic & AU. You're doing amazing work. ❤

WARNING: mentions of non con/rape, abuse (verbal and physical), forced relationship

Very dark- read with caution

*****

John almost laughs when Ray brings home Joe for the first time.

His Dom certainly has a type.

The young man bows his head respectfully when he’s introduced to John, and he actually smiles, as if he hasn’t just walked in to hell on Earth.

“It’s good to meet you, John,” Joe says in a soft American accent. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

John doesn’t respond, but gives the other sub a curt nod, his eyes fixed on the collar around Joe’s neck, embroidered with Ray’s initials.

“I’m sure the two of you will be thick as thieves,” Ray chuckles. “John, I want you to keep a close eye on Joe and help him settle in. Joe, I want you to show John the utmost respect. Your beauty may outshine his, but he is the established submissive of this household and the mother of my children. I expect him to be treated as such.”

“Of course, Master,” Joe replies.

John can’t quite put his finger on why this bothers him so much. It’s not as if he loves Ray. It’s not as if he’s heartbroken by the fact that his Dom thinks his beauty has faded enough that it’s necessary to claim another sub. It’s not as if he’s jealous of Joe and wants Ray’s attention for himself.

But this is his home. However much he may hate it, this has been his home for the last forty years and this is where he has raised his children. This is all he has.

And now some American is going to waltz in and invade it.

*****

Despite initially being annoyed by the younger sub’s presence, John can’t help but feel a little sorry for Joe at first.

He watches as Ray parades Joe around naked, both at home and in public, and it makes John grateful that he’s rarely subjected to that these days.

“Who would want to see that?” Ray had laughed when one of his friends had asked why John wasn’t naked at his latest party. “I love my submissive dearly, but giving birth to three children has taken its toll on him. Why would you want to look at his saggy arse when you can enjoy Joe’s pert little bottom?”

Joe had given John a sad look from his place next to the older sub at Ray’s feet, and John had just avoided his eyes.

There’s something very eerie about watching Ray torment Joe to begin with. It reminds John of when he was first brought to this house and everything he had to endure. He tries to turn a blind eye when he comes down for breakfast in the morning to find Joe on his knees sucking Ray’s cock, or when Ray banishes John to the spare room so he can fuck Joe in peace, and John can hear the sound of Ray’s grunts and creaking bedsprings through the wall.

He has to admire Joe for pretending to look so cheerful for the first few weeks.

But each morning the younger sub looks a little more broken, a little more hopeless, and it makes John’s heart pang with sympathy.

*****

The first time they have a real conversation is when Ray is at work one afternoon.

John is sat at the kitchen table arranging photos into photo albums. It’s one of the few hobbies he’s taken up to help him pass the time, and he’s enjoying the peace until Joe turns up, fully clothed today, to make coffee.

“You want some?” Joe asks with a smile as he rummages around for mugs. “I think I can persuade Ray to get us a proper coffee machine, but I guess for now this instant crap will have to do.”

John returns the smile hesitantly. “Oh, um. Yes please.”

Joe busies himself with making coffee, before coming over to peer at the photos John is arranging. “Are these your kids?”

“Yeah,” John says, his smile becoming more genuine. “They’re all grown up now and have left home. I really miss them.”

Joe doesn’t comment on the fact that there are barely any photos of Ray. There’s the odd one or two, mostly family shots, which John has included so that Ray won’t lose his temper when he looks through them later.

Joe clears his throat. “Listen, John. I never really got a chance to say I’m sorry. I let Ray claim me because my family needed the money. I didn’t mean to come in here and intrude and steal the Dom you love-“

“I don’t love him,” John snaps, but then he stops himself when he sees Joe’s expression. He has no idea if Joe is the kind of sub who would whisper this to Ray to earn his favour, and for a moment he’s frightened that Joe might mention this little outburst to their Dom later.

“Don’t worry,” Joe says softly. “I won’t tell him. I thought...I thought you were in love. I didn’t realise that you’re trapped here like me.”

John shrugs, glancing down at the photos so that Joe won’t see his tears. He feels the younger sub take his hand in his own, and John squeezes. He can’t remember what it’s like to hold the hand of someone you don’t hate.

“What’s he got on you then?” Joe asks gently.

John thinks of blond hair and brown curls and the kind eyes of a Dom long dead.

“It doesn’t matter,” John says. “It’s a long story.”

*****

John’s forgotten what it’s like to have a friend. A real friend.

Someone he enjoys talking to and spending time with. Which he doess a lot with Joe when Ray is at work.

He learns all about Joe’s family in New York and his brief career as an actor until his father became ill. He learns about the Dom Joe has left behind in America; another actor who is penniless and broke after never being able to find the right role, but who has always been the shining light in Joe’s life.

John tells Joe about his love for music and how he’d once been in a band many decades ago that had never made it big. He tells Joe about his children who visit him too little and who he misses the terribly. He tells Joe that they’re the one thing in his life he’s actually proud of.

“And have you ever been in love?” Joe prompts gently. “I know Ray claimed you when you were young, but did you have a Dom before him?”

John nods. “Yes. I had another Dom once. I loved him very much.”

“Where is he now?”

John doesn’t answer and instead lets Joe hold him as he sobs and mourns everything he’s lost.

*****

Ray goes through a particularly randy period of fucking Joe day and night.

John is asked to sleep in the spare bedroom for nearly a week, but he barely sleeps the whole time he’s in there.

As to be expected, Ray is just as shit with Joe’s aftercare as he’s always been with John’s. So John takes it upon himself to see to Joe’s injuries each morning and to hold him and kiss his hair and rub soothing cream on his skin.

On the sixth consecutive night, John notices Ray eyeing up Joe hungrily at dinner again, and he knows he has to step in.

“Master,” John says softly, reaching over to squeeze Ray’s hand. “Ray.”

John may not be as beautiful as he once was, but he still knows how to seduce his Dom.

“Yes, my treasure?” Ray reaches over to caress John’s grey hair.

“I was wondering if you and I might have some alone time tonight? It’s been awfully lonely in the spare room and I’ve missed you. Perhaps Joe could have some rest tonight while you make love to me?” John lowers his voice, hating himself a little. “I’ve missed your cock terribly.”

That does the trick.

John spends the night on his back and on his hands and knees being fucked so hard that he can feel it in his throat, but at least Joe is safe.

For now.

*****

Of course, it’s only a matter of time before Ray asks John and Joe to have sex in front of him.

It disgusts John to feel Ray’s eyes on him as he kisses and touches Joe, and it brings back horrible memories. But Joe’s lips are soft and warm on John’s skin, his hands firm but gentle, and he fucks John with a tenderness he hasn’t experienced in decades.

When Ray is snoring loudly later, they gaze at each other from either side of him, and they clasp hands over his middle.

This is all too familiar for John, and it breaks his heart to know that Joe is doomed to the same fate he is.

*****

After Ray has left for work the next morning, John lets Joe fuck him again, slow and easy. And then they trade lazy kisses as Joe rides the older sub, and John blinks back tears because he’s forgotten what it’s like to actually enjoy sex.

This is dangerous. Too dangerous.

John knows that sex with anyone other than Ray requires strict permission, and can only take place in the Dom’s presence.

They’d be in for the punishment of a lifetime if he found out.

But they can’t help themselves.

Every day when Ray leaves for work they find their way into each other’s arms. They kiss away each other’s tears and they laugh and feel happiness for the first time in forever.

“Have you ever slept with another sub?” Joe asks one afternoon as he traces patterns on John’s bare chest.

“Yes,” John says quietly, squeezing Joe gently.

“Have you ever met another sub you thought you could love? Like you would a Dom.”

“Yes,” John says again, thinking of pretty blue eyes.

How he wishes he could see those eyes again.

*****

John should have known it could only last for so long.

Joe comes to him one morning after Ray has left for work, his face pale and his eyes wet as he buries his face in John’s chest.

“I need to see a doctor,” Joe mumbles miserably.

“Why?” John strokes the younger sub’s hair. “Are you sick?”

“I think I might be pregnant.”

John’s heart freezes. “What?”

Joe looks at John with frightened eyes. “And I don’t know if the father is you or Ray.”

[mysticmelove]

Could i request the rfa reacting to an mc who's the heiress to a huge luxury car company? (Bonus if they put out a new model of car thats named for their love interest. Like a cat based name for jumin, or a rpg based name for yoosung, for ideas) Thank you!

*I feel like I really fell short on some of these, please be patient with me x

Heiress

(RFA x MC)

.

Yoosung:

- He didn’t really know what she did for a job but he knew well enough that, whatever it was, she was earning enough money to keep herself comfortable. He often thought that MC resembled a much friendlier and down to earth Jumin when it came to her money; she had lots of it but rarely mentioned it to anyone.

- Every time he thought to ask about what it was exactly that she did he’d get distracted or too intimidated to ask; she could look quite daunting in her uniform. Though it wasn’t a uniform as such, more formal dresses and high heels. He never mentioned it but she very much looked like Jaehee at work in his opinion.

- Yoosung’s eyes were wide in an instant as MC entered the kitchen, he tried his best to hide where his eyes were immediately drawn to. She was wearing a dress he’d never seen, it was low cut- to say the least- and looked like something she’d wear to one of the RFA parties but the file in her hand suggested otherwise.

- “That’s a new dress,” he mumbled lowly as he sipped at his coffee, trying his best to ignore the warmth growing in his face.

- “Do you like it?” MC humoured slightly, placing down the paperwork on the table before him. The bags under his eyes did nothing to hide the growing shades of pink and red on his cheeks. “I have important meetings today. I thought I should be looking my best,” she explained as she began to make her own morning coffee.

- Swallowing thickly, Yoosung averted his eyes and mumbled once more: “You look beautiful... as always.” His gaze ended up falling to the paper she had placed down: documents of a proposal titled ‘The League One model’.

- He skimmed through the first few lines, too interested in the contents to pay attention to his girlfriend who was watching him silently. MC crossed her arms over her chest as she smiled at Yoosung’s furrowing brows- his forehead scrunched more and more as he continued to read the file.

- His jaw finally dropped and she had to laugh at his facial expression. Yoosung looked to her, silent as he looked almost horrified.

- MC giggled quietly at his expression, having guessed what he probably saw. “What did you read?”

- He fumbled over his words: “A starting price of 33,000 dollars?! What are you selling?”

- “Cars.” She replied bluntly, taking the papers from the table and scanning over them herself. “I know we don’t talk about my job much but surely you knew the basics.” Yoosung shook his head pitifully under her scrutinising gaze, only causing MC to sigh. “My father is CEO...?” She teased, trying to prompt his memory, “I’m in charge of overseeing new launches...?”

- He stayed quiet, his face only seeming to redden once again. “I guess I didn’t think about it too much...”

- “Well, that’s what I do when I go to work everyday day. Sometimes they let me choose the model names, like this time.”

- “League One?” Yoosung thought back to the paperwork, questioning the name she had given it.

- She hummed in response, still watching the confusion in his face. “I was thinking of you when I decided the name.”

- “Why?” His eyebrows scrunched as he picked up his coffee mug again.

- “Because you’re always playing LOLOL.” His face dropped at the comment, expecting much more from her explanation. She smiled at his pouting lips, “And you’re better at it than anyone else. My number one.”

- Yoosung’s displeasure disappeared within an instant, instead replaced with his bright smile and rosy cheeks. It seemed like a long ploy to get him flustered but he appreciated it either way.

.

Zen:

- Zen didn’t know who is girlfriend was in the beginning, nor did he know what she did for a living, but you can be assured it only filled his ego when he found out who she was.

- MC had attended the opening night of his first musical since they had started dating and, of course, photos started circling of the two together. The photos looked amazing in Zen’s opinion: he was on top form and no one looked more gorgeous than MC. Still, it was the articles that followed which really grabbed his attention.

- Thankfully, Zen had been given the chance to relax for a few hours the morning after the show. He wasn’t needed in any immediate rehearsal and there were no matinees so he took relaxing in bed very much in his stride.

- He was scrolling through his feed silently, being cautious as to not wake MC up with some random video, when he saw the first article.

- ‘Musical Actor Zen dating heiress to a multimillion dollar company.’

- Zen’s face contorted at once, his eyebrows furrowed as he glared at the screen in disbelief. It was definitely an article about him- that was his name and those were definitely pictures of himself and MC- but it must have been false information. The story itself was mainly limited to its title; there were few facts and was mainly based on his opening night, with little information about this so-called ‘heiress’. Yet, as he kept scrolling, there were only more and more articles- this time with more details of this company and photos of MC he’d never seen before.

- ‘Heiress MC spotted at musical opening’

- ‘Multimillion company, small scale investments?’

- ‘Heiress MC partaking in unprofessional relations?’

- His mouth was completely agape and he could only question if his tired eyes were allowing him to see things. He forced himself to stop reading for a moment, his gaze drifting to the woman beside him that he apparently knew so little about.

- Trying his best to ignore what he’d read, he changed sites, only to be greeted with another in-your-face story about his girlfriend. His phone was face down in an instant and, with a sigh, he shook her gently.

- “Jagi...” MC stirred at the sound of his voice but her eyes remained firmly shut. “Jagiya...” Zen continued to whine, causing her to giggle slightly at the sound of his innocence.

- Reluctantly, MC opened her eyes, being greeted by the bright red rubies of his irises, though he didn’t look too pleased. Her voice was hoarse as she spoke quietly: “Good morning...”

- “Is it true?” Zen questioned her before she had even gotten the chance to really wake up. Her eyebrows knitted at his words, her brain not able to process what he meant. He continued, despite her obvious confusion, “Heiress of a multimillion dollar company?”

- “Oh,” MC groaned, tempted by the thought of falling back to sleep. “I should have known this was going to happen...”

- “So it’s true?!”

- “I was going to tell you,” she mumbled with a soft smile, sitting up to be level with him. “I don’t know how much you’ve read but—”

- “A lot.” Zen interjected, his eyes still wide.

- She could only laugh at his sudden outburst, “Ok then.” She placed a gentle hand on top of his, trying to reassure his shock and confusion. “My father owns the company and I work for him full time, though I’ve been taking a break. What with the party, and finding you,” she teased him with a smile, “I took a step back for a couple months.”

- “But you weren’t going to tell me?” He kept his straight look until he, himself, was also smiling. “So my girlfriend is the most attractive woman and a phenomenal businesswoman?”

- “Maybe,” she smirked, leaning in closer to him.

- He kissed her supple lips, a smirk dressing his own lips. He pulled away with a dark gaze, though a small laugh was still present. “And can I ask how much you make?”

- “A lot.”

.

Jaehee:

- “I know you gave up office work, but do you want to be my new assistant?” MC tried to laugh off her comment but in reality her words were nothing but honest. She sighed heavily as she combed a hand through her hair, tapping her pen on the table simultaneously.

- Jaehee was nothing but supportive when it came to MC’s work. She knew how hard it was to sit in an office all day and then have to bring home even more work, yet not even MC could convince her to go back to it. She loved her immensely but she wasn’t willing to read another report of any quarter.

- “No, but I can offer you more than an assistant can,” her voice graced MC’s ears and she hummed in response. Her eyes moved from the paperwork to the mug of coffee Jaehee had placed down carefully, her eyes softening at the sight. “I’m allowed to give the emotional support, and I know assistants are useless at that.”

- She sat down next to her at the table, placing a reassuring hand on her back. She couldn’t help but glance at the paperwork having had it cause MC so much stress, though that wasn’t too unusual. Many nights the two of them had sat at the table together while her girlfriend strained herself over some words on a piece of paper.

- MC leaned into her touch, gazing to her lovingly. “How did you put up with it?”

- “With what?”

- “People like me,” she sighed as she sat back up, placing her pen flat on the table.

- “You mean Jumin?”

- “Not him in particular... Just people telling you what to do constantly. Sometimes I wonder if I should just give this up, let my father handle everything.”

- Jaehee moved to hold her chin, guiding MC’s face to her own. “MC, are you good at what you do?” She didn’t get a response initially, but her hardening glared prompted an uneasy nod. “And do you, for the most part, enjoy your job?”

- “Yes...”

- “Then I don’t ever want you to stop doing something you enjoy.” Jaehee cupped her cheek with care, smiling brightly at the tired features before her. “You are so incredibly talented, don’t let some stress tell you otherwise.”

- MC smiled to herself, her eyes downcast before she managed to look up to Jaehee, “Thank you.”

.

Jumin:

- Of course Jumin knew who she was before she had even been introduced to the RFA. They had no business together whatsoever but it was important to be knowledgeable about those around him- not mentioning he would openly admit she was very attractive. That being said, he looked forward to meeting her in person when the time came.

- The party was relatively relaxed that time around- mainly due to the fact it had been so rushed- but that’s not to say he didn’t enjoy it. It was quieter and more refined than the previous parties, and he had had the pleasure of finally meeting MC.

- She caught his eye immediately from the other side of the room as he entered the main hall. The photos he had seen did not do her justice in the slightest, he could tell that from the distance between them without a doubt in his mind.

- Jumin greeted her with nothing but confidence, extending a hand and shaking it assertively. “It’s a pleasure to meet you finally, MC.”

- Her face was ever so slightly flushed, the glass in her hand evident that she had already had a bit to drink. “Jumin. I feel like we should have met long before this.” She gave him a genuine smile, “I really admire your work.”

- “Our lines of work aren’t too far from each other,” he chuckled lowly, revealing his first smile of the night, “I would argue your work is more admirable.”

- “What? That’s ridiculous,” MC paused to sip at her wine, furrowing her eyebrows to Jumin’s amusement, “I’m limited to one brand of car; your company is huge.” Her hands exaggerated her words, mimicking how big she beloved it to be.

- Had he have known he would have found talking to MC such an enjoyable pass time he would have done it much sooner. She was nothing but relaxed around him and they could talk on subjects that the others weren’t too informed on; he didn’t feel that usual unease to make a good first impression.

- Most of the evening had flown by before Jumin had even realised he’d allowed himself to be so caught up in conversation the heiress. Anyone who had wanted to talk to him must have been disappointed because they wouldn’t have stood a chance against MC.

- Between low laughs and catching glances of her bright smile, he glanced at his watch. “You’ve kept me very distracted, MC,” he smirked at her as his gaze shifted to her eyes.

- “Forgive me, that wasn’t my intention,” she giggled, nursing her fresh glass of alcohol. Maybe she was drunk enough to be openly flirting with him now, she wasn’t too sure.

- He cocked an eyebrow at her expression, she knew exactly how to entice him. “I wouldn’t mind if it was.” She didn’t respond, instead drinking her wine as her face flushed. He swallowed thickly, averting his gaze from her reddened cheeks. “Perhaps we could arrange to meet again? I’d love to talk business with you... or otherwise.”

- MC’s eyes widened and she smiled nervously. “I’d like that.”

- Needless to say, there were lots of talks between their companies in future. MC even went so far as to have a limited model of car released named after Elizabeth- in white of course- for Jumin after they’d gotten married.

.

Seven

- Most of Seven’s babies came from MC’s company, so you can imagine his excitement when he started his background research. It took him less than a minute to pull up her name and then the subsequent details about her position at work.

- He was calling her almost immediately, completely interrupting the messenger and essentially stealing MC for himself.

- The phone call was unexpected but she didn’t hesitate to answer it. “Hello?”

- “MC?” Seven’s voice was full of excitement, the sound audible like a child trying to hold in their joy.

- “Speaking.”

- “Oh. My. God!” His voice boomed through the phone, causing MC to wince slightly on the other end. “Can I just say, your company’s cars are one of the most amazing things in the world.”

- Awestruck, she didn’t really know how to respond to a statement like that. It wasn’t often that she would receive random phone calls, but never were they something so sudden and confusing as this. She hesitated slightly: “Thank you... I’m sorry but... who is this?”

- “Oh,” Seven caught himself from the thoughts that were so quickly escaping him and leaving his mouth, he in fact hadn’t even introduced himself. “I’m Seven. 707. I was in the messenger.”

- “The hacker?”

- “Yes!” He seemed far too hyper for what she imagined to be a somewhat mundane job.

- “Well, I’m glad you like the cars... How many do you own?”

- “Four,” his words were blunt, not telling of how much he’d really spent on them, “I have another one I want to order but my maid is telling me not to.”

- “Right...” MC fell quite, unsure of how to approach this man and his extremely sporadic thought process.

- Just as Seven was about to reply, his eyes caught the monitor and his grin was quick to fade. His voice calmed and he had this almost unnerving sense of peace as he said her name.

- “Seven?”

- “Promis me you’ll make a nice one one day. One that I can take someone special far away from here, okay?”

- “...Okay.”

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 54

This chapter is 100% dedicated to my beloved sister, @parisconstantine. While we never really got the chance to actually do this, I always wished we could.

Also, thank @baelpenrose for Arthur Farro and the unceasingly fun to write Alistair Worthington.

Content warnings for basic white girl shenanigans, you have been warned.

“It still tastes like chai,” I groaned as I sipped the drink my sister set in front of me. We were in her office, going over crew files to identify who we had available to start learning the material for the Galactic Core courses.  Eino and Grey were solidly behind the initiative, along with Xiomara – purely for political and defensive reasons, but still – so with neither Pranav nor Huyhn having any objections, we had a tentative green light.

This concoction in my cup, however, did not have any such approval.

“It would probably help if we knew exactly what was supposed to be in it,” Tyche before wrinkling her nose at her own beverage. “At least we both like chai?”

I shrugged and nodded. “Maybe it’s the ratios… Hey, this guy looks promising. He’s already assigned to Eino, apparently was a teacher Before.  Poor thing, he taught high school…”  Tyche erupted in giggles. I scowled at her. “You don’t understand. High school students can be horrible monsters.”

“Agreed,” Alistair added as he breezed into the room. He stopped abruptly, wrinkling his nose. “Why does it smell like a tea shop in here, and why are we discussing the propensity of adolescents to be Eldritch abominations?”

“Latest attempt,” I raised my cup at him. “And we’re going through personnel files for candidates to teach the new curriculum.”

He nodded. “I received the alert that the Council approved. However, one would think Councillor Wiitala would be the one to handle the details.” He gestured at the console. “May I?”

I shrugged and Tyche nodded, so he dialed a cup of my sister’s most recent creation. “Eino will coordinate with the new educators to decide the actual curriculum,” Tyche clarified. “Personnel falls under Soph by way of me, and she’s responsible for logistics.” She made an eloquent gesture at me.

“And Sophia has no other staff to delegate this to?” He arched a brow as he took his first taste of the experiment in his hand. Grimacing, he managed to swallow before putting the rest in a recycling port. “Oh, that’s chai. And not even good chai. How are the two of you drinking that?”

“Grow up drinking coffee that could degrease and engine,” I muttered into my cup. It wasn’t that bad, I decided.  My assistant just pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath through his clenched teeth. “As far as delegating, would you be interested in taking it on?”

“Not possible, I’m afraid. Between my day to day responsibilities as your assistant and those horrid swimming lessons, I have very little free time as it is. Madame Reid, you can stop laughing this instant, it is not funny in the least.”

Tyche exploded into laughter rather than complying with his admonishment. Wiping tears from her eyes, she gasped, “I can’t believe you took that bet!” She dropped her head onto her arms and shook, gasping now and then.

I managed to restrain myself to a smile, but it was a close call. “Anyway, if you are too busy, and Tyche is already handling the personnel files, then no, I can’t delegate this.”

“Surely you – “ Alistair broke off as Tyche’s hysterics escalated.  At first, he looked confused, but dawning comprehension finally broke across his face. “You cannot be serious.”

“Mmm hmm.” I smiled wider, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“You really have no other staff?”

“Nope,” I popped before leaning back in my seat. “I come up with ideas, I vet ideas, but of the entire Council, I have the smallest staff. Two, to be precise.” I swept my arm, gesturing at him and the shaking lump of my sister, still slumped on the table.

“That is…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “How did I never realize this?”

Tyche’s head popped up. “I wish I knew,” she answered shakily, wiping tears from her face. “You have access to the entire staffing plan for the Council.  How did you not see that?” Alistair muttered and turned his face away. “Come again? I didn’t catch that?”

“I thought the information was incorrect, Madame Reid.”

“Mademoiselle,” she corrected. “But Tyche is preferred.  Did you really think that a staffing document that I, personally, manage would be incorrect?”

“Tyche,” I chided. “It is very common for those who manage personnel to leave their own updates for last.  He’s not being rude.”  I turned back to my assistant. “To clarify, that data is completely accurate.  The entirety of my staff is sitting in this room. That doesn’t mean I don’t delegate, mind you.  I just don’t delegate entire projects, that’s all.  Tyche handles anything regarding staffing, whether it’s long term or short term.  That is entirely on her, by the way, even though it falls under my department.  If I need data, Pranav has given me permanent access to some of his people, and I can also reach out to Grey whenever I need.  For something like this, once I figure out the logistics and make sure we have enough educators to do it, I hand it over to Eino, and it’s his problem.”

Alistair looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding. “Additionally, I would venture that you have a sort of unofficial staff.”

I shook my head vigorously, immediately understanding what he was getting at. “No, I have a family, Mr. Worthington.  Talking about your day, bouncing ideas off each other, that’s what a family should be.  They are certainly not my staff.”

“I am,” Tyche offered, smirking.

Brat. “That’s different,” I sighed. “You actually report to me, in a professional capacity.”  I picked up my cup to take another sip, frowning to find it empty.  “There is a hole in my coffee cup,” I muttered.

Alistair rolled his eyes and snatched the mug from my hands. “Give me that before you make yourself sick,” he demanded waspishly.

I took a deep breath through my nose, trying to bring myself back to the actual task I was in here for. “Okay, no, I don’t have any other staff, so no, I can’t delegate this. And that fine, this was my idea, and I’m actually very excited to have a hand in bringing it to fruition. So, moving on… Arthur Farro goes on the short list. Who’s next?”

“Don’t kill me,” Tyche immediately responded.

“Not what I expected… why would I kill you?”

“We have one person on this ship with pretty much nothing to do, who has a very unique perspective on this and actually has read most of the material…”

“Tyche…”

“…And he’s not my favorite person either, but – “

“Tyche. Spit it out.”

“Simon,” she blurted, leaving me in stunned silence. “I know, he’s got the social skills of an enthusiastic squirrel, but he is the only human on the ship who already knows the majority of the material.”

I sputtered, stopped, and tried again. “But can he teach it?” I asked, incredulous. “Knowing things doesn’t always mean you can pass the information on effectively.”

“That is your objection, Councillor?” Alistair threw over his shoulder as he continued to do whatever he was doing at the food console.

“Well… yeah?” I confirmed, confused why I would have any other objections. “I am absolutely certain he knows most of the material and would probably learn the rest on his own. He didn’t have much else to do for the year he was on the Ark by himself. And he’s been working on his social skills, it’s just…” I sighed and ran a hand down my face. “Look, I’ve had those teachers, you know?  The ones who know the material like they breathe air, but can’t teach it to save their lives.  It’s an awful experience and always made me hate the subject instead of the teacher. Simon doesn’t need any more hate directed at him, thank you.”

“For what it’s worth, I’ve already talked to him, and he’s willing,” Tyche offered.  “He’s been studying public speaking and body language, and said he would be willing to take some education courses if it would help.  He really does want to give back.”

“Wait, body language courses?” A feeling of abject horror buried itself deep in the pit of my stomach. “Tyche… Which courses?”

“About that – “

“I swear on my bones if you sent him – “

“He found it himself!”

Hammering my head on the table suddenly seemed like a brilliant idea. “Oh my god. This is not happening.”

Alistair interrupted, sliding two mugs on the table before absconding with the cooling remnants of my sister’s not-chai. “You are doing it again.  You are speaking ‘Reid-ish’ and I’m not quite fluent yet, so would the two of you mind speaking in full sentences so the rest of us mere mortals know what you are saying?”

“Oh, you’ll learn,” I threatened drily before sweeping a hand at my sister. “Go ahead. You love telling this story.”

She leveled a glare that would wither lesser people before turning to explain. “Sophia was an interpersonal communications expert in a former life. She wrote a paper, during grad school, on the importance of body language to people in positions of power. Specifically, educators and managers at various levels. It was controversial for a while, mostly because it emphasized the exact opposite of what most studies in that field encouraged.  No ‘power poses’, no ‘assertive language’, nada.”

“And this is the paper Mr. Rodriguez found?”

“Oh, not the paper,” I groaned miserably. “Eventually, people started asking me to come give talks, and then seminars to their employees. It was a disaster.”

“It was an insane success,” Tyche argued.

“But I had to give seminars!” I cried. “You know I hate public speaking!”

You could have heard a pin drop.  Alistair gaped at me, mouth opening and closing a few times in aborted attempts to say something. Finally, “You wrote an entire paper, and gave actual courses, on how to do something you hate?”

“That’s why I wrote the damned paper,” I admitted.  “I hate public speaking because of all the toxic power-posing bullshit attached to it.  It’s like you’re intimidating people to believe you. ‘Project confidence, don’t use filler language, use powerful language, executize’.” I mimicked in a squeaky voice. “It was a bunch of baloney, so I wrote the paper to prove that.  I never expected people to take it that seriously.  Not to mention, I nearly didn’t get my Masters because of that paper.”

“The professor was not impressed,” Tyche stage-whispered.

“The professor was an asshole who entered every room like a bull in a china shop,” I growled. “He blustered and intimidated people, and at least half his students were afraid of him.”

“And you basically wrote an entire paper about why you found him distasteful,” Alistair nodded.  “I am genuinely floored that he disagreed with your findings.”

“Fuck him, I was right,” I ground out. “I managed to get nearly every undergrad in the school to participate in the study, which turned out to be the only way I was able to keep from failing the course – the sample set was so large, he couldn’t exactly argue it.  But he tried, believe me.”  Distracted, I took a sip of the drink he had set in front of me. “Oh my.  Oh god. This… Tyche. Drink. Now.”

She took a sip and threw a predatory look at Alistair. “You did not.”

“I did,” Alistair replied smugly.

I was fighting back tears while simultaneously trying to learn how to live in a cup of coffee.  Tyche just looked constipated. “I’ve been trying for two months.  You just whipped it right up.”

“I will admit, I did not think your… quest… was as serious as it turned out to be, else I would have done it sooner.  If for no other reason than to spare myself your various concoctions.”

“This used to be our thing, every fall,” I explained, sniffing my now-mostly-empty cup. “Before she moved to Paris, I mean.  We would go out and get these, and hang out for a day.” I blinked furiously, refusing to cry over a cup of coffee.

Alistair chuckled. “Could the two of you possibly have a more stereotypical tradition?”

“No,” Tyche growled stubbornly before tilting her chin up. “Nothing says ‘comfortable with myself’ more than two women this white,” she pointed back and forth furiously between us, “Enjoying pumpkin spice coffee in the fall.”

“Being a walking stereotype is its own kind of confidence,” I admitted. “You know everyone is probably judging you for it, but you really just don’t care.”

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[trump1rocks-blog]

Jimhunters - Walter and Barbara Off-Screen Fanfic (Mature...ish? Eh, not really)

A fanfic about the aftermath of what happened between them in Jimhunters.  It’s not explicit.

"What do I know about being human?" 

 She leans against the table, quietly contemplating the meaning of it all. To outlive your child is a nightmare but to watch them become something you don't recognize anymore; It's another nightmare entirely. With no end in sight, the uncertainty eats away at you.

"I'm scared Walt. Everything's happening so fast. It was just the other day he was fine... I don't..." She halts, choking back tears. "...I don't want to lose him."

Walt turns to put away the remainder of the books albeit haphazardly on the shelf. Turning his attention back to her. "You haven't lost him Barbara. He's still here, just gone through a change."

"He got turned into a Troll! I-I-I didn't even know Trolls existed until a few days ago... a few months technically..." Barbara runs her fingers through her hair, frustrated.

Walt makes a half smirk but hides it so as not to offend her.

"Is he still Jim then? Is he still my son?"

"Of course. But Barbara..." His tone going serious yet again. Shes worried of what he's about to say. "You won't recognize him anymore..." Before she can respond with tears, he adds. "Because he won't recognize himself."

"You know that’s the case?"

"I know from experience, that will be the case."

Her hands crawl up to her chest to clench her proverbial heart. "What can I do?"

He unravels her fingers into his palm, pressing it lightly with his other hand. "You can help by reminding him that your still his family. When he rediscovers who 'him' is... will happen in time." He ends his advice with a gentle simper, doubly reassuring her things will be okay.

The words not only comfort her but send a warm surge through her blood. "Thank you Walt. I really appreciate..." She stutters, unsure why. She withdraws her hand.  "– I really appreciate you staying to help clean up."

“I wasn't about to leave you alone with such a mess. The kids will be alright without me. Besides my presence might of 'cramped their style' as they would say?" He jokes before readjusting the aforementioned books upright.

Barbara already feels more at ease but the tensity is still there. She looks intently at Walt's back, her stare lingers far longer than it should. Not a single thought in her head, no reason or idea as to why she's staring and yet she's looking at him like there's something strange about him.

He turns around ever so slightly and catches her in his peripheral vision, ready to say something she interrupts with an excuse to pivot from the awkwardness of her staring. "Would you. Would you like some coffee?"

"Coffee!?" He repeats. "At this hour?" He turns his head as if to look at a nearby clock.

But Barbara simply shrugs. "It's not like I'm going to get much sleep tonight anyway."

There’s a breif pause but soon he nods to her offer. Given What she’s been through, there’s no reason not to indulge her. "Alright. I'll take..."

"Three cream, no sugar?"

"You remembered?"

Barbara heads for the kitchen, more than ready to leave the room and catch some air. "You ordered it every time on our dates." She calls out from the hallway. "I don't know how you could take it without sugar."

Barbara hastily puts on the kettle, her hands shaking the entire time. With the water getting ready to boil she gives out a deep, pained sigh. Not even distractions can lift this burden of an uncertainty but they help. Just like coffee helps keep you awake, your bodies still tired but at least you can keep going. The situation hasn't changed, the world is coming to an end but something as simple as getting the instant coffee from the cupboard helps her ignore the larger situation at hand.

"You seem lost in your thoughts." She hears from the doorway.

She fumbles the plastic jar. "I'm just... not thinking much really. There's too much to think about so why bother trying?" She ends in an awkward laugh.

He rest the broom on the kitchen wall  and walks over to her. "Need any help?"

"No, it's instant." She chirps pointing at the upside down label on the jar. "See? Says it requires 'No tedious effort'. So you can sit down." She returns to lean against the counter, staring blankly at the wall just as she was before Walt entered.

He nods. "Ah. I see. Well I've put everything away and I swept up most of the dirt. That Troll really wreaked havoc in your living room."

She scoffs, releasing another sigh. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Her meaning comes through loud and clear. He reaches to brush the left side of his nose and sheepishly continues. "No, it certainly wouldn't be. For the record, when me and Jim were fighting, I was certain not to leave a mess."

"Thank you." She scoffs again but there is a levity to it. "Trying to kill my flesh and blood is one thing but heaven forbid if you get my rugs dirty."

This time he can't help but let out a laugh, though immediately trying to rectify it with a clearing of the throat. "Shall I shampoo the carpets while I'm here?" He whimpers.

She knows what Walt is trying to do. After looking everywhere except at him, she finally raises her head. "It's okay, I think we're even now. You did save my life after all.” She places the jar down. “And I wanted to thank you for earlier."

"Save your thanks. I already owed you for having risked your life in exchange for mine. Besides, my motives were selfish, you mean too much to me now before I’d let anything bad happen to you.”

She interrupts him. "That's not why I want to thank you."

He tilts his head. "Pardon?"

"You came running to Jim's aid when we thought he was in danger. You didn't have to do that."

Walter utters one of his infamous oh's. Scratching his head, a little unsure as to how he should reply. "The Tollhunter?” Well, he does have a way of growing on you."

“I appreciate you coming back to help him."

He raises his head haughtily, "I came back for you."

Her smile switches to a surprised frown but Walter finishes with, "Helping him happened to come second..."

Barbara tries to be happy but emotions once again begin to swell and has to draw herself away, twiddling her shaky hands on the counter as she worries over her son’s fate. The kettle whistles blows, interrupting them both. Walt takes his exit, leaving Barbara to prepare they're drinks and have her needed moment alone.

She comes out with tray in hand bearing two holiday mugs from one of her last Christmases. A trail of steam blows from them as she walks over to the table, presenting it to Walter. She grants him the mug depicting a snow family of three on it. Why she noticed this detail is beyond her but seeing him drink from it with a polite thanks, gives her a strange feeling of security.

"Hold on. Whats this?" He asks out of the blue, peering under the table ledge curious over what his foot just bumped.

She looks as well, spotting the familiar red book in the shadows. "My photo album?" She wonders, picking it up. "It must have gotten knocked under the table during earlier?”

"Sorry I missed it." Walt replies, reaching to relieve her of the album but Barbara pulls away. She rests it on the tabletop and lifts it open. Walter wonders to himself if he should suggest this may be a bad idea but ceases, it's not his place to say anything right now.

She skims through the book, looking intently at the snapshots of Jim's slow progression since birth. Some of the photos were jostled out of place so she neatly tucks them back under the slim plastic sheath. Walter's eyes follow the path of her hands along each photo, showing her own journey through motherhood. So many photo's of her and her son, Jim is of course but a baby looking wide eyed at the camera like it was his first time seeing one. There’s also her previous husband James but only in the photo's too precious to store away. He catches a glimpse of him in one Christmas photo holding the very mug he's drinking from now. The next page is a series of photo's from one particular outing at the park but only Jim or Barbara are in the shots now. There was no longer a third member to hold the camera for them.

Barbara stops. "This was our first normal moment together after... after everything that happened."

He rests his hand on her knee, beckoning her to not linger.

"The forecast predicted clouds but Jim insisted we go ahead with the picnic anyway and it turned out to be sunny. You know, this was the day I decided to go back to school and get my Bachelor's degree."

"You dropped out?" He says in suprise.

"Had to." She explained. "I was pregnant. I had lost so much time with the wedding that raising a baby meant I wouldn't have time to catch up.” Sipping some coffee, she soberly adds, “I decided to be a good wife and stay at home to raise my family; of course, James was quick to agree." Her tone comes across as annoyed, hinting to a more troubling aspect of her first marriage. "I don't regret it though. In the end I was there for Jim and when I went back to school, he was there for me. Despite how hard it was for the both of us." Her happiness returns, this time with an added sense of mischief. "He was so excited for me too when he heard I was going to be attending school just like him. I remember; one day he came back from making crafts at daycare with this..." She pauses with a snort, trying hard to hold back her laughter.

"Was it the infamous Macaroni necklace?” He jokes.

"No.” She howls. “No it was or he said it was supposed to be a pencil holder that I would use as part of my school supplies. It was made out of clay but..." She blushes again. "It looked, well I think I have a picture of it here."

She flips a page or two to the one depicting the infamous craft and Walt's face turns positively red in amused embarrassment. "Oh my!" He chirps.

“Yep! I felt...I felt pretty much the same!” She blushes.

Walter adds. “You think being a boy, he'd realize what that looks like?"

“You’d think that but he was still too young and innocent. When I picked him up that day I remember how he was waving it around trying to show me. All the other parents just stared. His reasons..." She pauses to catch her breath from laughing so hard. "His reasons were because it was for pencils, it needed to be tall and thin." She snickers.

" He had to use pink clay...”

"He was mad about that; said he wanted to use green but someone had used it all up. I still have this actually."

"You do?"

"Jim thinks I threw it out but I have it stored up in the attic. It's been there for years."

Walter rubs his face trying to massage out his smirk. "Poor thing probably can’t stand up straight anymore.”

Baraba, of course elbows him in the arm.

‘Did you end up using it?!” He suddenly asks.

“No! I didn't want to give my colleagues the wrong idea. I was just happy to see Jim be so invested in helping me. That Kiddo’s always been looking out for me.”

"That’s because you did a good job raising him." She hears him say. Barbara only sits there motionless, looking blankly at the album that Walter has to nudge her leg just to awaken her from the trance.

She perks up, albeit dazed and muffles the words sorry. She clears her throat before sipping some coffee, flipping to the next page.

In these photo's, Jim is clearly older by two years and looking far more like the Jim, Walt knows today or rather yesterday.

"Why is there a band-aid in this sleeve?" Walt grimaces, trying hard not to show disgust over what's probably an important memento for Barbara.

"That. Oh there's a story there. Jim was seven. He randomly toke off one day, disappearing for hours. Turns out, he had been chasing after a cat the whole time.”

'I hope that habit doesn't persist for the wrong reasons.' Walt thinks quietly to himself.

She continues. "I was so worried something happened to him. Calling his name for what felt like an eternity. I was just about to phone the police when there he was behind my back with an angry cat in his arms and his face covered in scratches. He thought the cat was hurt so he wanted me to treat it. I ended up having to treat him instead. This was one of the band-aid's I used. I kept it to remind myself that no matter how bad I thought things were, everything turned out fine." Her words come to a saddening slow. Barbara just stares blankly at the photo of her scratched up son. Her finger slowly tightening over the snapshot, that Walt can see her hand turning white.

"Barbara?"

His words fall on deaf ears, she sits there somberly, fidgeting in her seat trying to battle the negative thoughts in her head. He's ready to tap her leg once more but as he reaches out the chairs begin to quake! A loud thunder shoots up from the foundation of the house and everything around them shakes in pandemonium.

"Walt!" She screams.

He throws his arms around her shielding her from the Earthquake as it reach it's peak. Books stumble off there shelves in a crash. The lights flicker as the tremor roars on madly; finishing as quickly as it began. Both of them unharmed. It takes a New York minute before his heart stops racing but Barbara has yet to recover, despite the tremor having ended, she hyperventilates on his lapel.

"It's alright..." He whispers, patting her hair. "It's alright, It was only a small quake. They've happened before." Walter lies, knowing full well there was something unnatural about the tremor.

But despite his gentle caress, she cannot relax. The earthquake did more than startle her, it's the straw that broke the camels back. The dam bursts and out from Barbara’s collected self comes a flood of tears. Repeating his name indistinguishably, she lets loose a flurry of muffled wails into his lapel. To her, the world has come to an end, everything she once knew is gone and her very life or worse, her son’s could be destroyed. Walter can do nothing more than to continue cradling her, rocking her back and forth as she continues to shake from crying. He holds her head close under his chin, staring at an empty wall with no lead as to what he can say to rectify the situation. Perhaps holding her is enough? The tears continue with no sign of ceasing, to the point where Walter feels the dampness seeping through his sweater and onto his chest but It doesn't bother him. A good deal of time passes before the sobbing trickles out into variable sniffling then halting completly. The gentle rocking continues at her silent consent; they're shared breathing being the lull-a-bye that sends her back to peace. She thinks of nothing else other than the bliss of having someone here at such an ungodly hour.

"It feels like the worlds coming to an end." Her shattered voice croaks.

Walter sits there contemplating her words. He looks over to the small stereo resting on the self by the couch. He reaches for his pocket and pulls out his phone. Narrowing his brow at the phone screen, he releases her from his embrace in order to get up.

She watches him walk out into the living room. "What are you doing?" She asks.

After a few swipes on his phone, Walt places it in a small slot on the stereo and taps the screen. 'La vie en Rose' begins to play. "I remember when the world was coming to an end in 1832. Then again in 1918, and then 1939. And somehow we survived, just like now." He removes his jacket and rests it neatly on the couch. Walking over to her with his hand out, beckoning her to take it.

She blushes, looking at his empty palm. "You know I'm not that good at dancing..."

"Just follow my lead." 

Taking his hand, Walt pulls her up from her seat. Together he raises there right hands out in the traditional arm styling of dance; with his left just centimeters off her waist. Pose ready, they pull into the romantic sway of the American smooth. He starts off with a simple step back, turning her ever so slowly around the living room. The song continues on, reciting the happy lyrics of seeing the world in a positive light once you’re in love.

He holds her out to do a slow twirl. Unsure, she tries her best being as awkward as a beginner could get but by Walter's standards, it's perfect. Barbara returns back to the comfort of his chest. Looking intently at one another while listening to the lyrics of someone declaring their love, proves too much for her that she rests her head down on his bosom to hide her flustered expression. Her heartbeat comes to a slow, falling in-line with the steady rhythm of their dance. They make circles around the floor not needing to change the songs as each one after another plays only the gentlest of love songs for them to move to. This unexpected romantic moment proves to be therapeutic. For the first time that evening, her mind pulls away from the fear over her son’s situation. Walter’s here to aid her and stay he will remain for as long as she needs. There’s no doubt in her mind about how she feels about him. Their steps become fewer and fewer till it boils down to just them standing there swaying, He could have sworn he heard the muffled words,"I love you, Walt." but dismissed it. The words I love you are heard many times throughout their songs that perhaps his hope had him mishear things?

The night continues on with the same monotony of them swaying to the rhythm but it's a monotony they enjoy. With the night drawing on as it is, soon the inevitable dreaded words are spoken by Barbara. "What time is it?"

He stops dancing almost immediately, looking at his watch in shock. "Oh my goodness, It's quarter to eleven! How'd it get so late?"

"The coffee must've kept us up." She remarks, adjusting her glasses.

He’s absolutely ashamed of himself for having kept her so long. "I completely lost track of how late it was getting. I do apologize."

"Why?" She asks him, pulling away to take the dirty mugs from earlier back to the kitchen.

"I don't want to keep you of your rest. I can't imagine you've gotten much of that these past few nights." Picking up his jacket and phone, Walt makes his way to the foyer. Calling out to her as he gets ready to make his leave. "You have my number, if you need anything or just want to talk give me a call. I'm here if you need me."

Barbara hears him from the kitchen. Tossing the mugs into the sink, she hurries out to meet him in the hall. Coming to a slow a few feet away from him, she approaches in inches; her hands cupped at her waist. "You're leaving?"

Walter carries on like he somehow must reason with her. "Well Barbara, it's getting late, don't you..." His gaze catches her body language, noting the way she draws her hands up from her lower region to her stomach in the most alluring of fashion. She looks meekly into his eyes in such an admirable way that he hardly remembers what he was just doing. Having been made aware, "Oh..." is the only word that falls from his mouth. He returns her advances with own his look of longing, tossing his car keys back on the end table in the hall.

"Don't go Walt..." She whispers upon his approach.

"I'm not going anywhere Barbara."