#i spent too long on that theory to let it flop

[willbyersabyss]

how it feels to rb a post after it flopped

[thewordworrier]

Are You Thinking Of Me Like I’m Thinking Of You? - Part One

Series Masterpost

Word Count: 7,481 words. Warnings: A decent amount of swearing, some slightly perverted flirting.

While Shelly can always escape the weather, she can never escape her band. At least not for very long. Ultimately she doesn't really mind, even if the conversation gets a little bit heated.

[Setting: We’re a few years into the Revenge Era, and the band are performing a few sets at some kinda Music Event during the warmer months. This is probably Warped 2005. Or thereabouts.]

It was hot. Far too hot. Way too hot, way too loud and way too busy. Shelly found herself struggling with it all, honestly. She couldn’t get used to the different types of heat in America, and she felt a bit dumb for it, really. She’d been working this side of the water for a good couple of years now, so surely she should at least be a little bit used to it.

Thankfully, she wasn’t totally needed at that moment - the bands were all mingling, hanging out and having a good time until their set times. Besides, if her band needed her, they’d call her. They knew that they could call her whenever they needed to, no matter what the time was or what they needed. But right then, Shelly needed to find somewhere quiet because everything was starting to feel overwhelming.

Once Shelly made her way through some of the backstage areas, it took her a few minutes to find somewhere that wasn’t occupied. Once she had though, she dropped her bag by the small couch and flopped onto her back, stretching out and letting out a sigh. It was quiet and a bit cooler. Maybe it was cooler because she wasn’t surrounded by people. Or maybe it was cooler for another reason; her brain wasn’t exactly running on a full tank of gas. She was just too hot - even though her “uniform” in the summer months ended up being t-shirts or tank tops, shorts and sneakers, she still found herself roasting.

She wasn’t very good with the heat; she reckoned if she wasn’t so hot, she’d be able to deal with everything else so much more. Of course, if she could get used to any one of the three things that were overwhelming her right then (the heat, the noise or the crowds), then the rest would fall into place. In theory anyway - it was, of course, entirely possible that everything felt like Too Much because it was All At Once. But she reckoned that the heat was the main offender. She had never been very good with the hotter summers back home either.

Shelly spent some blissful minutes in solitary silence, cooling down a little, even managing to cool down enough in order to sit up properly instead of being stretched out. She pulled her phone out of her pocket to check it, to see if she was being looked for, but before she could properly check her notifications, the door opened and she heard her name.

“Shellyyyyyy!”

The blonde in question looked up to see a heat flushed Lux.

“I found youuuu,” the other girl said, closing the door behind her. “I need time away from smelly boys. There’s so many of them! They’re awful in this weather. Can I hide with you?”

Shelly giggled and gestured for Lux to join her. “Sure, baby.”

Lux beamed and plopped down next to her for a moment. “Thanks! Do I smell? I’ve been outside all day.”

“Hmm,” Shelly leant closer to sniff her drummer. “No, I don’t think so. I think you’re alright.”

“Okay great!” Lux huffed a bit before she stood up to stretch, feeling restless. “So, what are you doing?”

“Um,” Shelly rubbed her arm a bit. “Just trying to catch a break from all the noise and all the people, and especially all of the heat because oh my god it’s so hot.”

Lux nodded, she knew that Shelly suffered in the heat, and sat on the other couch in the room. “I agree. It’s all too much.”

Before Shelly could say anything else, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in.”

The door opened again and Mikey stuck his head around it. He looked worried until he saw Lux, and then his expression changed to relief. “Ah, there you are.”

Lux blinked rapidly. “What?”

“I thought some creep -” He paused before shaking his head. “You know what, it doesn’t matter.”

Shelly tilted her head and cleared her throat a little. “What can I do for you Mikey?”

“Nothing Shell, just looking for Lux.”

“Come and hang out in here,” Lux said with a grin. “It’s much cooler.”

“I am apparently very good at finding the coolest spots,” Shelly said softly, rolling her eyes.

Mikey chuckled and settled close to Lux, not too close because it was still hot after all, before turning to Shelly again. “I suppose you’re still not used to this weather are you? I mean, Britain is well known for being… Wet?”

Shelly giggled a bit at his tone before she tried to fan herself with her hand for a moment. “It can rain a lot, yes, but even when it’s warm, it’s not this warm.”

Mikey nodded as he listened. “Different climates and humidity and all of that.”

“Exactly,” Shelly nodded and squirmed in her seat for a second before plucking at her darker coloured t-shirt and standing up, grabbing her bag. “I might need to change this. I screwed up putting this on today. Does anyone have a problem with that?”

Mikey shook his head, and to make a point, he took off his glasses, hooked the arm in his t-shirt and covered his face with his hands. Shelly watched this, slightly amused, as Lux sat up a bit straighter, resting her chin in her hands.

If you asked Lux about this at a later date, she would probably willingly admit that she was ‘chin-handsing’ at Shelly getting half naked (not that this was new to Lux, the girls often shared a room and sometimes a bed), and maybe, just maybe she would admit that she was also heart-eyesing at Mikey being so darn respectful.

“I’m assuming you don’t have an issue, Miss Lux?” Shelly grinned slightly in the younger girl’s direction, giggling when Lux went a bit pink before she shook her head. “I didn’t think so.”

“You’re just so pretty Shell,” Lux said, as she watched the blonde pull a tank top out of her bag.

Shelly shook her head at Lux before looking at the tank top. She then pulled a face before turning her back to the other two. “Ugh, it’s white. I guess all the others are in the wash pile.”

“That bag is your emergency bag though,” Lux said, trying not to be too obvious about watching Shelly change. “You don’t really plan to use what’s in it. It’s a last resort.”

“Perhaps,” Shelly tugged her t-shirt off over her head, rolled it up and shoved it in her bag before pulling the tank top on. “Maybe I should swap the emergency shirt for a darker colour once we’ve done some laundry.”

Almost as if he was summoned by the flashing of female flesh, there was another knock at the door and Frank appeared. He looked around to see some of his bandmates. And Shelly, who seemed to be half dressed.

“Well, well well!” He said, closing the door behind him. “What’s going on in here?”

Shelly pulled the fabric down properly over her chest before turning to face the noise. “It’s like Waterloo Station in here.”

The other two frowned at her slightly, while Mikey kept his gaze averted.

“Um! It’s like… Uh, Grand Central Station? New York Airport?” She tried to correct herself. “It’s a really busy public transport hub - one of the main ones in the capital city.”

It was only as she looked around at them that she realised that Mikey still had his eyes covered. She giggled and made her way back over to the smaller couch to sit back down.

“Oh, Mikey, honey, you can look now.”

Frank plopped himself down between Mikey and Lux as the bassist quickly cleaned his glasses on the hem of his t-shirt before putting them back on.

“Nice bra, by the way,” Frank said to Shelly with a grin.

“Oh shut up,” Shelly rolled her eyes. “I didn’t think I’d have to wear white today.”

“Is that blue?” Frank leant forward a bit, trying to get a closer look at Shelly. “Or is it some kinda purple?”

“It’s purple!” Lux blurted out, earning a smile from the blonde.

Frank glanced at Lux, grinned even wider and then turned to Shelly again. “”Purple is very becoming on you. Then again -”

Mikey rolled his eyes and elbowed Frank. “Don’t be crude.”

The guitarist managed to avoid the elbow to the ribs and just cackled. Lux rolled her eyes at this behaviour.

“Who’s being crude?” Ray asked as Gerard closed the door.

“Who do you think?” Lux said.

“Frank,” Mikey clarified, as he rolled his eyes.

Ray sighed.

“We’re,” Frank gestured to himself and Lux. “We were just talking about Shelly’s bra.”

Gerard glanced over to Shelly - she had settled on her back again, stretched out on the smaller of the two couches. She had one arm over her eyes and the other was resting on her stomach. Although, it took him a little while to notice that because his eyes lingered on her chest. He couldn’t help it! Her bra was actually quite visible through her white tank top. Which he swore she wasn’t wearing earlier. He’d remember it being so see through.

“Shut up Frank,” Shelly muttered. “Is that Ray I hear?”

“Hey Shell,” Ray took a seat in the single chair that looked like it was once part of a dining set. “Are you alright? What’re you doing here?”

“I was searching for somewhere quiet and cool to relax. It’s too hot and busy for me.”

Frank had been focused on Gerard for a few minutes, so he had seen where the singer’s gaze had lingered.

“Gerard’s here too,” Frank said. “But he’s been too busy trying to figure out the colour of your bra too. Which I still think is blue.”

Gerard went bright red.

“It’s purple!” Lux repeated, going pink herself.

Shelly removed her arm from covering her eyes and glanced around. “Oh, the gang is actually all here.”

Frank laughed a little at Shelly’s observation as he watched her cover her eyes with her arm again. Gerard, meanwhile, glanced around; checking to see if there was somewhere for him to sit. He didn’t really want to ask Shelly to move - she’d been here first after all, and she’d clearly found the best spot in the room for her needs. The best spot to stretch out in an attempt to cool off. A bit like when cats found the sunniest spot to sleep in, actually but… He’d much rather see her stretched out like that, than all curled up like a cat. Sure, maybe that was because of the shorts and the white tank top. Those definitely didn’t hurt. And that had been his thought before he let himself acknowledge the fact that he could see her bra through her top. Jesus. So, maybe he’d rather see her stretched out because of her clothing… Or maybe he’d rather see her stretched out because it meant that she was happy, comfortable and (hopefully) relaxed. That second reason sounded a bit… Lame, actually. It was true! He did like seeing her comfortable and happy! But he was also only human. And she was very attractive.

Asking her to move wasn’t an option to him - as much as he wanted to sit next to her. He wouldn’t even mind if she wanted to stay stretched out - he’d quite happily have her legs in his lap. Then again, he’d be more than willing to have her head in his lap too, or even her whole body… Like… Her sitting in his lap -  but he didn’t want to give those thoughts too much screen time because he knew he wouldn’t keep it PG if he did. And he really needed to not think about her like that. At least not right then at that second. He might allow himself a few minutes of inappropriate thoughts later on when she wasn’t around.

“Gerard,” Shelly grumbled quietly, making him jolt out of his head. “Sit down, I can tell that you’re still standing.”

“I’ll make room!” Lux offered quickly, standing up to allow the vocalist to sit in the spot closest to their tiny tour manager.

Frank snorted slightly as Gerard took Lux’s spot after a quick “you sure?” exchange. “And where are you gonna sit?”

“She can have my seat,” Mikey moved to stand up, but stopped when he saw Frank roll his eyes.

“Jesus,” Frank muttered. “Someone needs to just sit in someone’s lap, or something! Enough musical chairs.”

“Although,” Ray glanced over to Shelly. “I really, really would advise against asking the tiny one to move.”

Shelly huffed - more at the heat than at anything else (she didn’t mind the ‘tiny one’ comment from Ray, as she really was small compared to him). She sat up and fiddled with the hem of her tank top to knot it up under her bust to get it off of her skin. Once she was sort of happy with that, she flopped back down again.

Gerard glanced at her as soon as she huffed, and then continued to watch her as she fiddled with her clothes. Frank, still sitting in the middle on that couch, heard Gerard sigh softly as soon as her lyric tattoo was exposed by her fiddling with her top. Frank grinned at the vocalist, not that Gerard was paying any attention to him at all.

“You’re really suffering in this heat, aren’t you?” Frank asked gently.

The older Way next to him nodded (despite the fact that Frank had aimed the question more towards Shelly) at the same time Shelly whined. That little noise from the blonde made Gerard sink back into the sofa, trying really hard not to file that noise away for later.

“I’m not built for this,” Shelly grumbled.

“I don’t know,” Frank grinned as Shelly turned her attention to him. “You’re certainly built for wearing very little clothing.”

Gerard sank even further back into the couch, if that was at all possible, and decided to keep his mouth very, very shut on that matter.

“Quit aggravating her!” Lux tutted at Frank with a roll of her eyes, shifting from one foot to the other - she was still standing up, not having been brave enough to just, as Frank suggested, sit on someone’s lap.

Mikey reached forward and tugged at Lux’s clothing. When he’d gotten her attention, he gestured for her to share his spot. He figured that they were both tall and fairly skinny, so two of them would fit in the space sized for one regular person. Lux smiled and, quite happily, squeezed in with Mikey. He made sure that Lux had as much of the space as possible, nudging up against Frank in the middle a little bit. He wasn’t concerned about the warmth he might start to feel from being too close to Frank - he was just happy that Lux was close. Both of them were totally oblivious to the looks that most of the rest of the band exchanged. Because god forbid that anyone admit their feelings.

Ray had been studying the situations in front of him while all of this had been happening. He spent a little longer studying the small blonde before letting out a soft “hmmm” and leaving the room.

The others (except Shelly, who had her arm across her eyes again) glanced at their tallest guitarist, first as he got up and their eyes widened as he left. They looked at each other, all sort of mentally shrugged and then turned back to their previous conversation.

“Well, it’s a shame that it’s summer really, Shell,” Frank mused after a few minutes.

Shelly sighed. “I agree, but… I’ll bite -”

Gerard nibbled his bottom lip. Yeah, she could bite him if she wanted.

“Go on,” Shelly grumbled. “Why?”

Frank grinned. “Because if you were cold, Shell, most of us have really warm hands.”

Lux groaned, which Shelly heard and giggled at, while Mikey rolled his eyes.

“Keep your hands to yourself Frank,” Lux grumbled.

“I think she’ll chop them off right now if I don’t,” Frank said. “But you just wait until winter.”

Gerard coughed very slightly, starting to shrink back into himself a little.

“She doesn’t need your hands, Frank!” Lux retorted, her tone slightly sharper. She had noticed Gerard’s reaction and felt a little bad for him; it was never nice seeing someone flirt with someone you were interested in.

Frank looked at Lux and raised an eyebrow at her. “You offering yours?”

Lux hesitated, realising what she’d said, and how that might’ve come across, and, again, aware of Gerard sitting right there.

“Hmn!” She said eventually, figuring that her flirting with Shelly a little would probably be a bit better than Frank. “Maybe I am!”

All three men glanced at their drummer, and even Shelly tilted her head in the direction of Lux’s voice.

“Well,” Frank grinned widely. “I’ll yield to that if you’re gonna put your warm hands all over her.”

“Ugh,” Lux muttered. “It’s Shelly’s body, and only she can decide whose hands she wants all over her!”

Shelly giggled from her sofa. “If it’s that cold, and people’s hands are that warm, I’m not gonna be overly fussy, to be honest.”

Gerard perked up a tiny bit - that didn’t sound like she’d be against him volunteering to help warm her up… Sure it wasn’t her seeking him out specifically, but she wasn’t exactly excluding him either. So… That was something.

Frank grinned, Mikey shook his head and Lux just sighed. The drummer was a little annoyed that Shelly wasn’t picking up on the hints that she (Lux) was trying to put out/down. It wasn’t that she didn’t want Frank touching her friend, and it wasn’t that she wanted to feel Shelly up (although Lux wouldn’t be totally against that…) - but Lux had noticed how much Gerard quietened down and shrunk back every time Frank flirted with the blonde. Despite his stage persona, Gerard was just not that forward, not that brave. Especially when it came to Shelly.

The shorter guitarist looked at Lux as she sighed, before he looked at their singer. Gerard was fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt, while glancing up at Shelly every so often. Frank shook his head a little bit. The vocalist really did have hearts floating around his head every time he looked at the girl.

“Although,” Shelly pulled herself up into a sitting position before stretching a little bit (Gerard tried really hard not to stare at her when she did that). “I don’t know what Jamia’s gonna say about you putting your hands all over another woman, Frankie. Maybe it’s better that you keep your hands to yourself.”

“Yeah, Frank!” Lux relaxed a little. Maybe Shelly did pick up on the hints after all. Even if it was just a fraction, that would do.

Gerard smiled a tiny bit at this interaction.

“I’m sure she won’t mind,” Frank said with a pout.

“Dude,” Mikey sighed, nudging his glasses up to rub the bridge of his nose. “You already have a woman. You don’t get two. Don’t be greedy.”

“Yeah,” Lux nodded. “Some people don’t have one, so chill out.”

Frank pretended to huff, but before he could argue any more, Ray returned, looking a little… Rumpled. He handed out some bottles of water to everyone, ignoring the curious expressions.

“Miss Manager,” he said.

Shelly blinked rapidly at him and the offered bottle.

“Drink this please,” he said.

She smiled slightly, took the bottle from him with a raised eyebrow, but, ultimately, she did as she was told; twisting open the cap and taking a drink.

“Better?” Ray asked, his voice gentle.

“Mm hm, a bit, thank you.”

He nodded before going to sit in the chair he’d been in earlier. “Good.”

“Thanks dad!” Lux grinned at him, almost giggling at his splutter. It always startled him when she called him that. Still, as Frank had pointed out once, at least she didn’t call him ‘daddy’ - he’d nearly choked on his beer that day.

“Awww! Look at Band Dad looking after the kids! And looking after Band Mommy too,” Frank grinned, almost giggling at the looks shot his way.

“I’d threaten to punish you, but I think you’d enjoy it,” Shelly shot back at Frank, with a roll of her eyes.

Gerard bit the inside of his cheek as his brain decided to wander off with those words.

Frank puckered his lips at Shelly in a kissing motion. “What’re you gonna do Shell? Spank me?”

Ray sighed, got up and clipped Frank around the head. Lightly, but still enough for it to be felt.

“Ow!” Frank whined. “Dad!”

“Behave,” Ray sat back down. “Don’t be so crude. Give the woman a break.”

“Bless you for calling me a woman and not a girl, Ray,” Shelly smiled sweetly at him before blowing him a kiss.

Privately, Gerard thought that yes, Shelly was very, very much a woman. Clearly not a little girl. Clearly a full woman. And just… God damn.

“Why do you look like you’ve been in a scuffle?” Mikey asked, after peering at Ray for a moment.

The question caught Shelly’s attention. And Gerard’s actually. He even stopped half watching Shelly to look at Ray properly.

Ray looked a little sheepish when all of his band turned to scrutinise him. “Um. Well…I did get into a little bit of an altercation.”

“What?” Lux perked up. “Do we have to go and fight someone? Who’re we fighting?”

“Down BabyCat. You are very vicious,” Shelly said, turning her attention back to Ray. “Excuse you? Who do I have to have Words with?”

The band shared looks. Shelly’s version of “having words with someone” could be just as vicious as Lux’s actions.

“No, no! I’m fine!” Ray said quickly. “I was talking to a friend, asking a favour, and someone overheard and said something stupid, so they got a little…”

“Ruffled?” Frank suggested after a moment of Ray searching for the right word.

“Yeah!” He nodded. “They just got a little bit of a talking to.”

“A stern Dad Talk?” Mikey asked.

Shelly narrowed her eyes at Ray. “Okay. What are you not saying?”

“Who was it?” Lux asked again.

Ray hesitated, because they had clearly seen through him attempting to brush the finer details under the rug. As he’d expected, Shelly had been the first to properly call him out.

“How about you just tell us exactly what happened?” Gerard said, his voice quiet, calm and rather matter of fact. Not accusingly or anything.

“Like I said,” Ray started, sheepishly. “I was talking to a friend - I managed to get a fan for the bus for you, Shell. Hopefully that’ll help you deal with this heat a bit better.”

Shelly’s expression softened. “Thanks Ray.”

“And,” he continued. “I was asking him if I could do something in return, like a trade system thing -”

Shelly tilted her head as she listened.

“Makes sense,” Mikey nodded.

“And some idiot nearby must’ve heard most of the conversation,” Ray hesitated, clearly not really wanting to continue, but after a sigh, and a look from the blonde, he did. “And he said something like…”

“About something I could do in return, right?”

“Fucking pig!” Lux spat out.

Mikey pulled a face, agreeing with Lux. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but this was the main reason why he kept a closer eye on Lux. Not that she couldn’t take care of herself! Because she was very capable of that. But she was the youngest of their group, and another woman in a male dominated space. And, clearly, so many of these guys could be complete assholes.

Gerard huffed angrily from beside Frank, almost trembling in rage.

“Fucking what?” Frank hissed. He, like the others, hated this attitude anyway, but he was also super protective of Shelly because of how she took care of them all - especially him.

Shelly watched Ray nod, slowly and regretfully, in answer to her question, and she sighed.

“I might’ve gone for him,” Ray admitted quietly. “But I didn’t get far, as my friend grabbed me first.”

The blonde shook her head and pushed herself to her feet, untying her tank top and smoothing it out so it sat properly again.

“Well,” she said softly. “It’s not the first time someone’s said something like that, and I doubt it’ll be the last.”

“It shouldn’t fucking happen at all!” Gerard exploded. He’d raised his voice a bit, but he wasn’t yelling. “And it shouldn’t be a case of ‘oh well he wouldn’t say shit like that if you were our sister’ or something like that. How about you don’t make fucking disgusting comments like that about women in the first place?!”

The rest of the band stared at Gerard.

“She doesn’t have to go by that ‘oh she’s someone’s daughter’ thing to deserve some damn respect,” Gerard continued. “Why does everyone think she got her job on her knees anyway? Why is that the only answer to most of them?! Is it really that hard to believe that women can work just as hard if not harder than men in this industry?” He huffed for a moment. “And, more to the point, they often do work harder because of attitudes like that!”

Shelly had turned to look at him at the same time as the rest of the band. She blinked rapidly at him and tilted her head as she listened. When he looked up and noticed that she was looking at him, he went quite pink, and even pinker when she smiled a little.

Lux looked at Mikey, her eyes wide. She was still pretty much in his lap at this point, having been gently anchored to the couch by the bass player when she’d been getting excited about the prospect of a fight. While Mikey knew that everything Gerard had said was true, he looked just as surprised at his brother’s outburst. Normally the vocalist was a bit more subdued (but no less accurate) in voicing his opinion on the matter than he was during that outburst.

Ray and Frank glanced at each other before nodding in agreement. This wasn’t the first time Gerard had gotten like this, but it didn’t mean that they agreed any less. That was a sentiment that the whole band would share too, if you asked any of them.

“Why don’t you walk Shelly back to the bus?” Ray suggested. “It’ll allow her to cool down more without having people gawk at her, and you can make sure that she gets there without being harassed.”

Frank opened his mouth to make some kind of… Frank comment, but Lux shot him such a look he gulped down the words again.

Not that Shelly or Gerard noticed that. Or the looks the rest of the band kept sharing. She kept glancing from the others to him, back to whoever made a noise, or whoever said something, but she always ended up looking at Gerard again. Gerard, on the other hand, kept glancing up at her, and then back at his lap again.

“Um,” Gerard pushed himself off of the sofa and to his feet. “Um, yeah, sure, I can do that.”

Shelly smiled a little before going to grab her small bag. She had no complaints about this proposed plan. Of course not, why would she? Once she’d grabbed her bag, she shouldered it and waited for Gerard.

“Hold on,” he said, untying his hoodie from around his waist before he offered it to her.

She side eyed him a little, her eyes darting from the offered hoodie to his face.

“Just until we get there,” Gerard said.

“Okay, I guess, but why?” She took it, but still looked very confused.

“Um,” Gerard swallowed and avoided her eyes. “Well…”

“Your shirt is very see through Shell,” Frank finished for Gerard.

“I wouldn’t put it past someone to throw something on you to get it to be both clingier and more see through,” Ray added.

Gerard exhaled deeply through his nose, cross at the thought of someone doing that to her. But on the other hand… He tried really hard not to think about the results of those actions. 

“It’s days like this that I’m glad I’m not sexy,” Lux shook her head.

Mikey’s eyes widened at Lux’s words.

“Psh! Nonsense!” Shelly put Gerard’s hoodie on and zipped it up. “Yes, you are.”

Gerard watched her while she did that. He hoped he had a neutral, quiet expression on his face. Because his mind was very, very loud - seeing Shelly wearing his clothes like that.

“Nah,” Lux shook her head again. “I’m not. But! Let’s not worry about that right now. Go ahead, get out of here.”

Mikey squinted at Lux, his brain naturally and automatically disagreeing and arguing with her. Not that his mouth would go along with that right then; his mouth would stay quiet. He still couldn’t really decide if that was a good thing or not.

“Go on ahead Shell,” Ray nodded to the blonde. “We’ll catch up later on.”

“Hmn,” Shelly eyed him suspiciously for a moment, shouldering her bag again. After a minute, she shrugged. “You’ve got the other set of bus keys, right?”

Ray nodded. “Yes ma’am.”

“He is the responsible Band Dad after all,” Gerard said with a grin, moving to stand next to Shelly.

“Well, one of you has to be the other responsible one,” Shelly edged closer to Gerard, kinda surprised to see him wearing a regular t-shirt. If he had been wearing a long sleeved top, she would’ve been able to gently grab ahold of the sleeve. She was touchy feely like that sometimes.

“Hey!”

She giggled at the exclamation from multiple voices, and gently took Gerard’s hand. “C’mon, before they lynch me.”

“They wouldn’t dream of it,” he let her take the lead, definitely not complaining about her holding his hand. “See you later guys.”

The others waited until the door closed behind the other two and then for just a moment more. Frank then let out a groan before moving to sit on the couch Shelly had vacated.

“Jesus Christ, they are oblivious!”

“Well, I don’t know if she’s actually said anything to anyone about… Anything,” Ray tried to be diplomatic. “Like, how she feels. But we all know how he feels.”

“Oh, she likes -” Lux started, immediately stopping when her brain caught up with what she almost admitted. She could feel her cheeks starting to get warm because of her slip up.

The other guys looked at her.

“Miss Lux,” Ray tilted his head. “Do you know something?”

Frank tilted his head. “Or, are you just going off of her behaviour?”

“I don’t know if you can do that though,” Mikey said quietly. He was still sitting with Lux practically on his lap, despite the amount of freed up space - Frank had moved over when Gerard had gotten up. “Go off of her behaviour I mean. “She’s pretty affectionate with everyone. All of us anyway.”

Lux glanced around to see the three guys looking at her, clearly expecting some kind of answer. She hesitated for a moment before sighing. Truthfully, Lux did actually know how Shelly felt - the girls had had conversations about it before. Shelly had still been a little bit cagey about her feelings, not wanting to come out and say anything explicitly, just in case she was overheard but she still opened up just enough for Lux to get the picture. The thing was though, Lux didn’t want to outright say for definite how Shelly felt, just in case, so she decided that the best thing to do was to make it seem like she wasn’t positive.

“Listen,” she said quietly. “This doesn’t leave our circle. Okay?”

The three men nodded.

“I think that Shelly does actually like Gerard. Not just in the ‘he’s the favourite’ friendly kinda way.”

“Like, a romantic way?” Mikey clarified.

Lux nodded. “I… I think so.”

Frank looked at Lux, curiously. “Has she said something to you?”

“Frank,” Lux frowned at him, annoyed. “Do you honestly think I’d tell you if she had? You’d go and tattle!”

“I would not!” Frank pouted.

“It would be good for them to sort themselves out though,” Ray mused quietly.

“Gerard did nearly punch a guy for her after all,” Frank said.

“I think we’ve all nearly done that though,” Mikey said before nodding over to Ray. “You nearly did today!”

Ray just smiled.

“I would if I had the chance,” Lux added, smiling when the others nodded. Because she would - she’d fight for that girl.

“And,” Ray added. “We all remember having to hold Shelly back from, more than likely, badly hurting Bert.”

“That was hot though,” Frank said. “Little Miss Spitfire!”

“I’ll admit that I didn’t think that she had that in her,” Mikey said with a shake of his head.

Lux pouted. “I’m kinda gutted that I missed that.”

“But, it was probably better that you weren’t actually there; I don’t think we would’ve been able to hold both of you back,” Ray rubbed the back of his neck.

“Oh definitely, there’s no way I would’ve just stood there and let him say that shit about Shell.”

“We know,” Frank nodded with a smile. “We’re the same.”

“Especially Gerard,” Ray said with a grin.

Lux giggled. “Well, yeah, but we all know that.”

“He’s proven that by his reactions every so often,” Frank said with a nod.

“Not just by reacting to people saying things about her in front of us, but by the speeches he keeps giving,” Mikey added.

“Oh, like the one to us earlier?” Lux asked, getting nods. “It clearly really annoys him. But is that because it’s aimed at Shell, or does it annoy him in general?”

“It annoys him in general,” Ray said. “He’d feel that way even if Shell wasn’t around.”

Mikey nodded. “Yeah, we kinda had that attitude installed in us by our grandma. Respect and all of that.”

“So he’s double annoyed because not only is it an attitude he doesn’t like, it’s an attitude towards the girl he’s crushing on?” Lux said with a nod.

“Exactly,” Ray nodded. “It’s a feeling we all share so the mood surrounding it is amplified.”

“Speaking of crushing,” Frank shook his head. “Why can’t they see what we can? Or at least, why can’t she see it? We know he’d never believe it.”

“She’s being professional,” Lux said. “She loves her job, remember?”

“That covers her behaviour,” Frank replied. “Like, why she hasn’t made a move, why she’s not reading into things -”

“He’s said that he doesn’t want to risk losing her,” Mikey said from his spot with Lux. “He’d rather have her around as she is, with him pining a little bit, than not have her in his life at all.”

“He doesn’t want her to go and work for someone else either,” Ray added. “I think that’s the main reason he falls back on. He keeps saying that he doesn’t want the band to lose her.”

“I mean,” Mikey tilted his head. “She works so hard for us, having her go and put all that effort into another band? That would really suck.”

“She wouldn’t leave us though, would she?” Lux asked before her voice dropped in volume a bit, exposing a bit of her vulnerable, squishy centre. “I mean, I don’t think… I don’t think she’d leave me…”

“She wouldn’t want to,” Frank said quietly and genuinely. He recognised that Lux was opening up a little bit, and while she was pretty comfortable with them now, she didn’t do that very often. “She’d try and cope if it was a bit awkward, and see how long she could cope for. She’d hold on for as long as she could.”

“Yeah,” Ray nodded. “She really adores us as a band, she really believes in us and what we stand for.”

“She really loves you though,” Frank said to Lux.

“Are you just saying that?”

He shook his head and Lux snorted.

“I don’t know if I believe you.”

“You forget that she and I spend a lot of time together when she’s looking after me when I’m sick. We talk a lot during those times, about a lot of things. And, almost every time you come up in conversation, Shelly says something like…” Frank paused to try and quote Shelly directly. “She says something like; ‘I love that girl and I will fight anyone about it’ - which scares me a little, as I’ve seen her start a fight.”

Lux studied him for a moment.

“I agree with Frank,” Ray said quietly. “She really does love you. She’s so very protective of you.”

“You’re just as protective of her too,” Mikey added.

“Sometimes it feels like you’re more protective of her than we are,” Frank said.

“I suppose I can hit more people than you guys,” Lux said after some thought. “I can hit girls who start and I can hit guys. You guys can’t really go for the girls.”

“That’s fair,” Ray nodded. “You’re not picky about who you’ll go after if they hurt someone you care about.”

“That’s right!” Lux beamed before turning to Mikey. “Look, I know he’s your brother, and the band’s lead man, but if he hurts her -”

“He’ll have a line of people after him,” Mikey said with a small nod. “Don’t worry. He doesn’t get special treatment. I’m not gonna stick up for him just because he’s my brother - especially if he’s actually in the wrong.”

“If anything,” Frank said. “He’s under double scrutiny; he has even less of a pass.”

“And considering he doesn’t have a pass anyway,” Ray added.

“None of you get a pass,” Lux looked around at the three men. “If any of you hurt her, I will come for you.”

They all nodded solemnly.

“We don’t plan on doing that Lux,” Ray said. “We promise.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want to have to break anything for any of you,” Lux smiled as innocently as she could manage.

The group fell quiet for a little bit, enjoying the coolness of the room, because of course Shelly had been right; of course she’d picked somewhere that would’ve fitted her needs at the time.

“Do you think if we give them enough time alone, one of them might say something?” Mikey asked the room.

“We give them a lot of time alone and no-one’s done anything yet,” Ray shook his head.

“Yeah, but he might accidentally say something while she’s…” Frank paused. “While she’s scantily dressed. He might be so distracted by her bra and her legs and all of that skin that he forgets his filter.”

Lux rolled her eyes and shook her head at Frank’s words, although she wouldn’t deny that he had a point. Shelly could be quite distracting sometimes; Lux definitely agreed with that. She was a little guilty of having a wandering eye when Shelly was involved. Especially if the blonde was wearing a little less than normal or a lower cut top. The drummer was not immune to Shelly’s particular… Charms.

Not that Lux would ever admit to Frank being right. Nor would she really admit to (sometimes) being no better than a man when it came to their tiny tour manager. Not that Shelly minded - she’d said so once or twice when the girls had been sharing a room. Despite the fact that Lux essentially had permission to gaze at Shelly like that, she still felt a little… Nervous about it. She didn’t think she was going to stop, but she also wasn’t going to be obvious about it. 

Especially not in front of Frank. And maybe Gerard. Poor boy had enough to deal with, with Frank flirting with his crush all the time, he didn’t need the reminder that Shelly played for both teams. Not just because that might be a distracting thought, but also because that might make him feel even more like he didn’t have a chance with her. Which was such a lie, because he totally did.

“How likely do you think that might happen?” Frank asked Mikey, breaking the silence they’d fallen into for a few minutes.

“Um,” Mikey shifted in his seat. “It’s not impossible. I know we’ve given him the idea that she might have similar feelings.”

“He’s listened to us, has he?” Frank raised an eyebrow.

“Well,” Mikey scratched his neck. “Yeah, of course he’s listened. He doesn’t believe a word of it, but I know he’ll take things on board. They'll stick in the back of his mind and linger.”

“I know I’ve tried to coax Shelly into opening up to him,” Lux said before remembering that she was supposed to be pretending that she wasn’t sure how Shelly felt. “If she has any kinda feelings for him, I mean.”

Frank side-eyed the drummer. He didn’t believe that she was unsure about how Shelly felt, he thought that she knew for definite. But, he wasn’t gonna call her out - he understood that Shelly would’ve told Lux in confidence. Even if she never planned on doing anything, Shelly might’ve felt better just telling someone. They all knew that Shelly valued loyalty and trust, but he didn’t think that she would be mad that Lux had let slip about the blonde’s feelings for the vocalist. Especially not if they could all encourage the pair to get their acts together and just… Confess how they felt about each other, to each other. The rest of the band could see it, the rest of the band didn’t have a problem with it; hell, they all wanted the two to get together. They just needed to get on and do it.

“They would be so cute together,” Lux shook her head slightly, having noticed Frank’s side eye. “They’re so perfect for each other!”

“As much as I hate to admit it,” Frank said before letting out a soft sigh. “You’re right there. They are perfect for one another.”

“She brings out a lot of good in him,” Mikey added. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look at someone the way he looks at her.”

“That’s kinda gross, to be honest,” Frank pulled a face jokingly before shaking his head.

“I think I’ve seen her look at him the same way though,” Lux continued to at least try to pretend that she didn’t know anything for certain. “She’s normally so smart. I wish she would just continue to use that big brain of hers.”

“Not just a big brain she has,” Frank grinned.

Lux looked around for something to throw at him, and, when she didn’t find anything, started to get up to go and hit the guitarist. Mikey grabbed at her to stop her.

“Leave it Lux,” Mikey said quietly. “I don’t think Shell would be impressed if we went back to the bus after having been fighting each other.”

She huffed but did as she was told before turning back to Frank. “Don’t be so crude!”

Frank giggled, mostly at Mikey holding Lux back and at Lux doing as she was told. Normally she only really listened to Shelly, so to see her listen to someone else was amusing to him. Actually, seeing her listen to anyone at all was funny.

“I mean it!” Lux continued, frowning at Frank’s giggle. “She doesn’t need or deserve to be objectified all the time!”

“She likes it though.”

“Not all of the time,” Lux shook her head. “Just like… Give the girl a break?”

“She’s not even here!”

“That’s not the point!”

“Well!” Ray said, a little louder than normal in an attempt to get the other two to stop, bickering a bit. “Enough of all that! Let’s get back to the matter at hand, shall we?”

“Which was trying to get Gee and Shelly to get their acts together,” Mikey said with a nod as Lux and Frank huffed a bit between them. “Via more encouragement and time alone together.”

“Yeah,” Ray nodded. “All we can do is try, right? Try and give them as much time as we can and just hope it works.”

The others nodded. There really wasn’t a lot else they could do, except maybe lock them both in a room until they were forced to talk, but they knew that Shelly wouldn’t like that. She’d feel betrayed, trapped and uncomfortable. And that was the last thing they wanted.

“Yeah,” Frank shook his head. “Let’s just hope they get their acts together before we have to properly intervene!”

“Because nobody wants that!”

[onewmin]

the perfume on the shelf. pt. 6 | bangchan

Pairings: Bang Chan x Fem!reader, Kim Yugyeom x Fem!reader

Summary: Falling in love with your best friend was never a part of the plan. So you end it up. But does he want to put a stop to it, too?

Warnings: AU, Smut (minors dni), it’s not specified but the seggs is protected, a lot of kissing, oral (f. receiving), profanity, angst, a brief mention of self-harm, the reader and everybody else is mentally unstable (who isn’t right), mentions of alcohol and drinking, mentions of smoking, Lee Know flirts with a girl, another shitty cliffhanger in the end, typos

Author’s note: originally, this part was planned to be longer and cover the period after the ending, but I felt like it would’ve been too much. It’s not as long as I wanted it to be and maybe not that heartbreaking, but the pain still awaits you later hehe hope you enjoy the chapter!! Let me know what you think!!

Disclaimer: the names and appearances of real people are used for inspiration and writing purposes only. I do not claim anything, everything belongs to its owners.

Part 5 | Part 7

Despite Chan’s constant doubts and destructive thoughts about you still being in love with Yugyeom, that was far from the truth.

Yugyeom was a lingering memory, a bright sun ray that shone to you many years ago. Now he was just there, in the past, while Chan himself had occupied the pedestal inside your heart.

However, you really wanted him to fall down from it this time.

It’d been three weeks since he pushed you off the cliff of love and hope, leaving you to an inevitable, gruesome fall. You fell down from the highest peak into the lowest pit, and there was nothing. Just darkness and loneliness. Although the latter was not for long.

A couple of days after Chris broke up with you, Minho showed up at your door, bottles of beer in his backpack. You got drunk while watching another stupid reality show and ended up crying on the floor, the two of you sobbing in unison.

“He said to me”, Lee Know hiccuped, wiping the tears from his cheeks, “he said, ‘You’re an asshole, Minho’”, his imitation of Chan’s voice was so on spot, you let out a half-laugh through your tears.

“I’m an asshole? For putting up with his terrible dancing and constant nagging that his feet hurt?” Minho was hitting his chest with the fist, the two of you now sitting on the couch. “For sticking with him when his first album flopped? For investing my time, my life in his fucking career?”

You were nodding frantically, chewing the chips, the cheese taste mixing up with salty aftermath of the tears, streaming down your face.

“Never have I ever been an ass to him! Ever!” The tone of his voice rose, cracking when he started sobbing again. “And now he basically fires me! Me! His best friend!”

“No fucking reason”, Minho was lying on the floor again, with you sitting next to him. “Just this sudden bullshit. Why would he do this to me? To you? To us?”

You shrugged your shoulders, taking another sip of beer from another bottle. Was it your third? Fourth one?

“I can’t understand what’s inside his head”, he sighed. “Is it the concussion speaking for him or was he like that the entire time?”

You took a deep breath and exhaled in response. Weeks spent crying and drinking with Minho at both yours and his places, talking shit about Chan and how unfairly he treated the both of you. And neither you, nor Minho had come to any sort of common conclusion. He stood his ground, stomping his feet drunkenly, his words slurring, saying Chris might’ve hit his head so bad that all of the common sense flew out of the window.

You noticed a slightly hilarious pattern: Minho was ready to come up with any bizarre theory in order to excuse Chan’s behaviour. He pushed the both of you away because of the concussion, Lee Know was confident that was the truth. You, however, couldn’t agree with him.

The more you drank after work, the more you threw up afterwards, sitting on the dirty tile floor of whatever bar you were in, the less you could excuse Chris. Sure, he suffered from the aftermath of the accident, this you could understand. But his sudden change of demeanor? Beyond your comprehension. No therapist in the world could’ve explained this to you. Yours included.

“Don’t you think this is a sign you’ve been waiting for? The sign to leave this guy and move on with you life?”

Ah, crap. Could this woman not memorize everything you say? “I don’t think so”.

“Why’s that?”

“Because, I think, he’s just hurt. And he’s trying to push everyone away so that… So that we don’t see him… like this”.

Oh wait, was it your savior complex hitting up again? How mysteriously hurt poor Chan must have been! Pushed everyone away, humiliated his best friends in their own eyes, and told you he lost interest the second his love stopped being unrequited! Poor Chan! How must he suffer!

Oh yeah, he must. Sitting at another bar, Minho’s drunken ranting as the background music, you wished with all your heart Chan was suffering. He put you through so much, making you love him, care for him, and then he made you hate him. To be honest, though, “hate” was a strong word to use; hating him was still impossible. You despised the man he turned out to be, even if he lied to you about ‘falling out of love’ for some reason.

“What fuckin’ reason there has to be to say that shit? What’s the fuckin’ fuck?”

The look on your therapist’s face gave away her genuine surprise at your sudden loss of composure. In over than two years of therapy, you had never even cried during sessions. You’d curse, get slightly angry, but never too emotional. You called this an ‘emotional constipation’, just to make your therapist crack a smile. A clown is always a clown, you’d say, taking pride in getting her to laugh. Although the fun would always wash away when she immediately started writing stuff down.

“Go on”.

Two simple words would bring you to the literal edge of glory: you jumped from your seat, aggressively walking from one corner of the room to another, curse words spilling from your mouth; also, of course, you blamed god for everything — if you could, you’d include your religious trauma in every conversation possible.

“If God was real”, you’d keep on, “would he ever allow Chan in my life? Would he ever let that happen?”

“Did God choose to be in a relationship with Chan, or was it you?”

How dare she? “How dare you?” You stood up, snatching your bag from the floor. “Am I the bad guy here?”

“No”, she said softly, not even moving a muscle during your tantrum, “you’re not, but you desperately want someone to be the bad guy. You cannot paint Chan as a villain because you love him”, you huffed at her words, “but you don’t love the God. So in this case, the latter has to be the bad guy. Correct me, if I’m wrong”.

She was not indeed wrong. But you were resisting therapy: if not, you’d have to face the truth — there were no bad guys. Everyone was just human, making human mistakes. The ones you’d been constantly making while choosing to stay in this relationship with Chan over and over again.

Like him fixing your dinner three months in a row after he came back from tour. Or him helping you take showers when your leg was broken. Or taking care of your cat when you went to see your parents.

He was doing basic shit! Basic shit every decent human being would do when their close friend needed that! Although it’s pretty hard not to praise men when they do the bare minimum, right? ‘Cause it’s so rare. Rare for you specifically, as every man in your life — apart from Yugyeom and Chan — was a self-centered piece of garbage.

And you could take Yugyeom for granted, as he wanted you to have it that way, because he saw the way your father treated your mother — “You’ve got to have an example of a healthy relationship. And I will give it to you”.

Why did he leave then? Why did you leave and led me to keep on falling for the mere shadows of you, Yugyeom?

You shook your head, trying to get rid of the thought. Lately you’d been remembering a lot of things about Yugyeom — probably because you met him all those weeks ago. The most disturbing thought? Oh, it wasn’t that good. It was horrible, so horrible that you had to physically distract yourself.

“Why did you order more drinks?” You looked at Minho, who leaned back in his seat, eyes wandering around the bar room. “Earth to Minho”, you waved your hand in front of his face, while he was staring through you. “I’ll cancel it”.

“No!” Your eyebrows raised in question, as he jumped up from his seat. “This bottle will be the last one, I swear”. Minho grabbed your hands in his, silently begging to let him have the last drink. However, you were not going to indulge in; you found yourself getting accustomed to drinking, to drowning your sorrows in the alcohol. You were tired of it.

You were never the type to get addicted to some bad habits: smoking never stuck to you; you did smoke for a couple of months after your breakup with Yugyeom and you did it occasionally during your latest relationship, but it was never something you couldn’t live without. Drinking, on the other hand, could become addictive if you just didn’t quit it.

How easy it was, to sit around the table with your friend, sipping on alcohol, empty bottles creating a circle on the surface. Eventually you’d run out of space, and that was the reason to pay and leave. Same thing happened to you several years ago, when Yugyeom and you put an end to your relationship; Chan had to drag you from bars and hide alcohol from you so that you wouldn’t have drown in pain. Yeah, you couldn’t get an addiction, as you thought. But you were becoming quite a regular at a broken hearted people pub.

Amidst your verbal fight with Minho, whose retorts consisted of non-comprehensive drunken blabbering, his hands gripping the beer bottle while you were trying to tear it away, you heard a familiar voice behind you. As happy as you were to hear her, the sound of her high-pitched, usually matter-of-fact voice somehow brought chills down your spine.

“That’s enough”, Eunjoo moved you to the side, the grip of her hand on your shoulder making you squeeze your eyes shot. Has she been working out? “Give me that”, she took the bottle from Minho’s hands with almost no effort, as he seemed to oblige to her mere presence. His eyes followed Eunjoo, when she put the money on the table, her fingers tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear. You might have been tipsy, however, the way Minho stared at your best friend couldn’t escape from your attention.

“What’re you doin’ here?” You frowned at her, while Eunjoo observed Minho. Oh right, it was the first time you old best friend and your new bestie met; before that you had no idea whatsoever, but now you thought that they kind of had the same vibe to their personalities.

“Came to collect you”, she replied. What? First she uses a contraction, and now she starts a sentence without the subject in it? Is it really Eunjoo?

“To be honest”, she continued, “I’m really tired of your regular hangovers. Especially I’m tired of your absolutely fucked out look at our job. Where you need to work, and not nap every two hours”. What the literal fuck? Did Eunjoo just curse? Wha-a-at? “I wonder, why you’re still not fired. Oh wait”, she pointed a finger in your direction, “it’s because I’ve been covering for you”.

You sighed. Knowing that it wasn’t the best thing you’d done, you felt the wave of embarrassment rush through your body. Eunjoo had to cover your hangover in front of the boss, and you were forever grateful. If only you had actually thanked her for that.

“Anyways, I’m here to take you home”, this time, her touch on your shoulder was gentle. “And this… friend of yours, too”.

“I’m Minho”. He suddenly appeared in front of Eunjoo, almost pushing you away. You grimaced at his awkward attempt to get her attention.

Eunjoo nodded in response to his words; she didn’t look as if he’d interested her in any way. Hopefully, he won’t, you thought, fastening the seatbelt on the passenger seat of her car, Minho might be a good friend, but his dating history is pretty ugly.

Oh yeah? And Chan’s dating history is all about rainbows and flowers? Isn’t he the one to toss girls away when they reciprocate the love?

You let out a deep sigh, Minho’s drunken flirting with Eunjoo serving as a background for your thoughts. With all the love you had for Chris, either as his friend or failed lover, it was impossible to wrap your head around the bullshit he told you. You wished you could talk it out, spill your secrets and unsaid words, but he didn’t want to. He went radio silence for weeks without any warning, so he wasn’t interested anymore, right?

It isn’t like you could text him, yeah? It isn’t like a dialogue requires two people for it to happen, is it?

After dropping off Minho at his place — and his unsuccessful attempts to get Eunjoo number — she drove you to your apartment. The ride was accompanied by a midnight radio program with the very familiar host to the both of you.

“How’s Youngjae doing?”

“Fine. As far as you can hear, he enjoys his job very much”. Ouch. Your attempt to break the silence was a failure.

“Eunjoo-“

“Shut up”, she hit the brakes at the red light, her sharp knife voice cutting through you. “I get it, okay? You’re going through a tough time”. Youngjae’s contagious laugh filled the car, but this time, none of you smiled. “But you’ve got to move on too. If you keep on drinking, you’ll lose your job. And what are you going to do, huh? Is this Minho going to give you money? Or, d’you think Chan will do it?”

You shook your head, eyes squeezed shut, head low. Felt as if your mother had been scolding you. Only Eunjoo knew you better than your mom did, and Eunjoo was actually sincere and worried about you. She was your best and only real friend, after all.

“You’re smart”, she took a turn to your apartment complex, “smarter than all of those guys. Smarter than Chan”. The car stopped at the parking lot, both of you sat in silence for a moment.

“Don’t waste your life on chasing someone who doesn’t want you”, she covered your hands with hers. “Don’t drink your life away because he decided you weren’t good for him. You might be not enough for this asshole, but you’re certainly enough for everyone else, for me, for yourself. He’s not worth your suffering”.

Your eyes welled up at the words. Pulling her in for a hug, you had to blink rapidly to avoid another crying session.

“Thank you, Eunjoo. Thank you for everything you do for me”.

She hugged you tighter. “You’re always welcome. I know how hard it is for you to say this, and I’m thankful, too”.

“You may take all of the time in the world to overcome this pain”, the two of you were face-to-face again, “you shouldn’t bottle your emotions up. Just… Just talk to me instead of drinking, okay?”

You nodded, a smile creeping up on your lips. Eunjoo’s cousin laughed again, his radio program turned into another comedy show, and the two of you giggled at him. Never in your many failed friendships and toxic friends would you think a girl with a rigorous attitude with whom you had to share the same space at work, could be your closest friend.

Your cat greeted you with serious complaints and loud purrs, obviously demanding food and attention. Several minutes passed before you took your clothes off and stepped into the shower.

Chan used to say that showering together would help saving water, and you always chuckled at his proposals. It’s not like you ever rejected his shenanigans; you didn’t indulge in shower sex, but being naked with him under the water was another intimate moment to cherish.

You hated how everything was about him. Every surface of your flat was interwoven with the memory of him, his fingers squeezing your hips, lips brushing over yours, head in the crook of your neck. He was with you in the shower; he was cooking in your kitchen; he was sprawled on your couch, watching another episode of that dating reality show; he was snoring in your bed, his legs atop of yours. There wasn’t a single place in this apartment that he hadn’t graced with his touch. And you despised yourself for still craving his presence, even after all the pain he caused you.

Brushing your teeth, your brain visualized Chan behind you, a toothbrush in his hand, the other wrapped around your waist. Every little action of his was engraved in your head, not letting your breathe even for a second. How were you supposed to move on when the only thing you see was Chan?

“Do you want to move on?” Your therapist asked you.

“I don’t know”.

“Let’s put it into a different perspective. During your last conversation, he stated he’s been in love with you. Correct?”

“Yes”.

“He also said he liked the process of ‘chasing’ his potential partners. Correct?”

“Yes”.

“And he added that whenever someone reciprocated, he’d lose interest. That includes you. Correct?”

“Uh, yes”.

“After all of the above-mentioned, do you still believe he’s in love with you?”

“Yeah”, you breathed out, the voice of yours being unsteady. “I guess”.

“Why?”

“Because… Because”, you almost choked on your words, “he couldn’t fall out of love with me just suddenly. He couldn’t”.

Coming back to that conversation over and over again, you sat on the floor in your living room, tears falling down your cheeks. Was he ever truly in love with you, or was it another projection of yours? And if he was, how could he be so cruel?

A phone call distracted you from yet another sobbing section of your ‘pining over Chris’ daily program. Of course, only Han Jisung would call you at 1 A.M.

“Sorry for the late night call”, he said after countless apologies, “I just thought I should tell one of you”.

“Tell us what?”

“He’s insufferable”, Han whined, “I dunno what to do to bring him back to his normal self. He’s sulking, keeps being silent and just-“ You heard him sigh. “He’s constantly in his bed. Either sleeping or napping. Or he just lies there, watching the ceiling”.

You kept quiet for a swift moment only. “What d’you want me to do? Call his therapist or something”.

Jisung let out a nervous laughter. “Yeah, like his parents haven’t tried that already. He doesn’t speak to therapists”. Han’s heavy breathing signaled at him being on the verge of crying. Shit, Chan had fucked everyone over.

“He falls asleep quite often”, Jisung continued. “And he sleeptalks, y’know that. And when he does that, he only says your name”.

No. Ah-uh. No. Just no. Why would Han say that?

“So please, if you can, just come and see him. You want him to get better too. I know that”.

Your phone was on the floor next to you, as you scratched you nose to avoid crying. But your lip began to tremble, tears collecting in the eyelashes and everything turned into a blur — there were just your tears, and your wails muffled as you hugged your knees tightly. You used to get noise complaints for your loud moans of pleasure; however, now you’d get some more complaints for your almost-howls and incredibly hurtful sobs. Your chest was aching from the heavy breathing mixed with cries, and your jaw was in pain from open-mouthed inhaling and exhaling. That was a breakdown, such an extreme and terrible one that you couldn’t even see anything because of the amount of tears collected on your eyelashes.

If he was so hurt, why, why would he bring you so much pain? If he was so pathetic afterwards, why break up with you in the first place? Why? Why? Why?

Because he’s an asshole, your inner voice interfered, and because he doesn’t know how to express basic human emotions. You did your best for him, tried your hardest to overcome the most difficult thing — inability to express your emotions. You were there, on your knees in front of him in that hospital room, begging him to love you. Begging him to give the two of you a chance. But he rejected you back then. And now, what? He was mournful? Pining over you?

Ah-uh. He lost the right to it the second he shitted in your ears with that ‘the thrill expired’ bullcrap. He should’ve had a normal fucking conversation with you, talking about his feeling, working it out. But no, this asshole decided to leave you with a plate of shit and run away from human communication just to, what seemed like, die in complete loneliness. The loneliness he created himself. It was nobody’s fault but his.

“I hope he feels what I felt”, you mumbled while washing your face in the bathroom. It was still puffy, under eyes and lips red from all the crying you did; you cursed Han and his damn phone call. Why was he such a good friend? Oh yeah, probably because Chan hadn’t been a fucking butthead to him. Smart choice; otherwise, Mr. Bang would have no more friends left in his life.

You wouldn’t go and see him, right? “Right, of course I wouldn’t”, you stated out loud when raiding your closet in search of that lingerie set Chris loved. Just in case, you kept on telling yourself, I’m looking for it just in case.

You sat on the bed, wearing the said bra and panties, facing the mirror. Disheveled hair, a puffy face, your neck and chest red from all the nervous scratching you did in the last few minutes. It wasn’t like you were going to actually see him, right? And, what’s more important, you weren’t going to let him touch you again, were you?

“I’m not”, you were, as always when alone, talking to yourself; now, as you ran from the bedroom to the living room, dressing up, brushing your hair, you abruptly stopped mid your shenanigans.

Right in front of you, in your bedroom, on that bookshelf with all the books you’d bought but never read, was that damned perfume. Gently kept in between the books, so that your cat wouldn’t throw it on the floor, that perfume bottle was the most vivid proof of your and Chan’s relationship. The only thing, besides photos and gifts, that could transcend you to every moment spent with him. You hated this fucking perfume.

Spraying some on your skin, just on the back of your neck and your wrists, you put it in the bag. You petted your cat, promising you’d come back just in a couple hours, and then the lights in your apartment went off, keys turning in the door.

What the hell were you doing? One call from Jisung, swearing Chris was suffering without you, and? You were wearing that lacy lingerie under your clothes, clean-fucking-shaved, smelling like his favourite perfume, riding in the cab? That’s how easy it was?

You shook your head, disagreeing with your own thoughts. You were desperate to feel him again, to wrap your hands around him, to kiss his plushy lips, to run your hands through his hair. You needed that more than air, but you also couldn’t keep this up just in the name of love.

He was your temple, taking up all of the space in your life. Everything was about Chan, every day of yours accompanied by the presence of him. In those several months of being with him, you found yourself behind the closed doors; you locked them with your own hands. Cancelling plans just in case Chan called? Done. Not communicating with some of your old friends just because they didn’t like Chris? Do-o-ne. You practically had no hobbies by now, because your only hobby had been Chris, and how to keep him interested, and how to make him laugh, and how to make him fall in love with you.

How unhealthy was that?

So now you were going to end it. For good. You were ready to take the last leap and jump, just to get it over with. ‘Cause no matter how much you loved him, you were exhausted. And no amount of love could outweigh the tiredness this relationship had brought you.

And you were there. Staring at Chan, who was wearing his gray pajama pants and nothing more, dumbfounded look on his face. You couldn’t but notice a slight bulge, and you swallowed, images of him floating around your mind.

He let you in, still not a word said. You put the bag on the drawer, quickly putting the perfume bottle on it. You’d leave it here; if he was so desperate to see you, next time he could just spray some perfume around to pretended you were there. You were going to leave this perfume to him, because to you, it was too hurtful to even look at.

You turned around to face him. In the dim light of his apartment, Chan looked pathetically beautiful, as if he’d been a God, sent to Earth just to become your fatal personal tragedy.

One step further. You were right in front of him, hands carefully cupping his cheeks. He watched you with caution, as if you’d been a hallucination, destined to turn into air the moment he dared to touch you.

Today would be the last time he ever lands his hands on your body. The last time you ever let him this close.

No words exchanged between the two of you, when he leaned in, his lips lingering over yours, just slightly touching. Your eyes darted from his lips to his eyes, and there it was. With that simple look, he squeezed your waist and pounced on your lips. You dived in, letting his tongue meet yours in a passionate, i-missed-you-so-much dance. You kissed and kissed, and the only thing you could taste on his lips was betrayal. Because no matter what he was doing now, the memory of him torturing you with his words would forever be engraved in your mind.

When you finally broke the kiss, he was looking at you with a wide smile on his face. Oh, darling Chris, you thought, insinuating yet another heavy kiss, this is not a make up type of situation. You’re getting dumped tonight.

Your back was against the wall, his hands under your shirt, dancing on your bare skin, but not touching where you needed him. Between lips nibbling, him trailing kisses down your chin, teeth grazing down your neck, you could feel the pool of arousal in your panties. Chris could feel it too.

Now your back was against the mattress, his silky sheets welcoming you back in their embrace. Chan was hovering over you, looking you deep in the eyes, touches lingering all over your body, as if you were made out of porcelain, as if he was scared to break you. Too late for that, the inner voice stated, while you roamed your hands all over his body, you already broke me, Chris.

Withholding this intense eye contact while taking off your jeans, Chan let out a gluttural sound, almost a growl, when he saw black lace panties — the set he bought you himself. He trailed kisses from your knees up to inner thighs, humming into your skin. He sharply sucked the same skin into his mouth, marking you as always. Some of the bruises looked like stars when fading away, and you used to think your thigh scars, left there by your teenage self, were vanishing under the love bites Chris was leaving.

But the stars did fade away, and the scars stayed. Under the stars, you were still bleeding — but this time it seemed to be unstoppable; you felt as if you could die from all of that internal bleeding.

A tender kiss Chris left on your yet closed core got you arching your back, your hand immediately landing on his head, fingers in his soft curls. You knew he was smiling when taking off your panties, and you felt it when he left soft kitten licks on your now dripping pussy.

He responded to your moans with a hum, sending vibrations all over your body. You tugged on his hair.

“Are you going to actually fuck me tonight?”

These were the first words uttered tonight. Chris grinned and took his pants off in one swift movement. His dick, hard and leaking with pre-cum, seemed to hypnotize you. You briefly noticed saliva running down his chin from all the excessive sloppy kisses he’d been giving your folds and a smug smile on his face — all just ‘cause he got to taste you again.

“I’m going to”, his knee was between your thighs now, “fuck you senseless”. He tugged on your earlobe with teeth, making you moan into his shoulder.

Slipping a finger inside your slit, Chris caught your whimper by his mouth, covering your lips with his. His thumb pressed to your clit, drawing circles around it, and you almost lost the thin thread connecting you to the harsh reality. It was your last time with Chris. Last time kissing him. Last time being his girl.

“Oh, fuck”, Chan groaned, when you reached for his cock. The mere touch of yours made him twitch and stop all of his movement to keep his composure. “You’re killin’ me, baby”, he rasped, head buried in the crook of your neck.

No matter what he said, you still battled with your reasonable self: she told you not to lose focus, to get pleasure but to never forget — you were leaving him for good. Your emotional side, however… She was already on the cloud nine, willing to obey to any command Chan requires from you. But even her, this bubbly and sweet self of yours — even she knew this pleasure would turn into pain later. Although she didn’t mind loving Chris, even she couldn’t be in love with him any longer. Even your tender persona had found out how much pain Chan inflicted on you.

Pushing in his girthy cock into you slowly, Chris stared right into your soul, observing the way your face expression changed. Your mouth fell open, eyes hazily watching him mirroring you, his grip on your hips tightened. You’d have crescent marks in the morning — the last signs of your love with him ever existing.

Finally, swallowed by warmth, Chris bottomed out, letting you adjust, as you gripped him, head thrown back. He peppered kisses all over the side of your neck, hands massaging your breasts slowly, pinching nipples to make you gasp.

As he sluggishly thrusted into you, Chan couldn’t take his eyes off you. You knew he was watching, as he always did, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to stare back at him. You wanted to cum, not to cry.

As he felt you getting comfortable enough, Chan set a pace, massaging your inner walls in a frantic tempo. You squeaked every time he hit that spot, burying himself deep inside of you. You grinded against him, begging for more friction, as your nails left marks all over his shoulders.

“This is what you want?” His thumb started drawing circles on your clit, your composure long lost under the thick layer of pleasure.

Except for your mewls and Chan’s groans, the sound of skin on skin clapping was filling in the room. Although the way your pussy squelched every time Chris pounded into you was the only sound you could hear.

“Shi-i-i-t”, he hissed, his cock throbbing inside of you, “I can’t g-get enough of y-you”, Chan stuttered, your walls fluttering around his cock made him lose his mind little by little.

“I love you”, he huffed, forehead pressed to yours, “I love you so fucking much”.

Savoring his words — words you hoped to hear every time you were this close, you couldn’t bring yourself to reciprocate. You wish you could give in and forget all of that like it was a bad dream. You wish you could. But you never would.

“Shut up”, your breath hitched as you pulled him in for another sloppy kiss.

You’d yield to temptation one more time, to feel his hot breath on your skin, to feel the shockwaves gripping your body as you saw the stars while he chanted your name, reaching his high. The sheer layer of sweat covering the both of you, Chris watched as your breath steadied and you got up on the wobbly legs.

“Wait for me in the shower”, he puffed, still laying on his back, eyes shut.

“I’m going home”.

You stepped out of the room, collecting your jeans from the floor when he appeared behind you. “What? Why?”

You sighed. “Do I really need to explain this to you? After everything you’ve done to push me away?”

“But I-I thought… You and I, we…”

“What? Fucked?” You put your jeans on and huffed at his words. “Doesn’t mean anything. Doesn’t mean I’m going to stay with you after you pushed me away”.

“I’m so sorry”, he whispered. Chan screwed up his face and sniffed, and deep inside you felt like shit for making him feel this way. “I’m an idiot, baby, I have no excuses. Just if-“

“No”, you retorted. “No. You’re only interested now ‘cause I’m out of reach again, aren’t I? ‘The thrill of chasing’, that’s how you call it?

“Baby…” His eyes were closed as he let out a deep sigh. Yeah, you fucked up big this time, Chris. There’s no way out.

“Is there anything, anything I can do for you to forgive me? Please?”

“Yes, there’s one thing. Disappear from my life forever”.

Taglist:

@heylookwhoitis @amaranth-writing @itstorimf @tenshimara

[blubushie]

whats the worst thing youve ever done?

I've been staring at this question for just under an hour now.

There's a few things. No one here (or anyone, even) will ever hear a word of them. They're between me and my conscience.

But a story I will tell you...

This is a dingo. Notice his body shape. The long muzzle, the small eyes that are built for the desert sun, the straight back, the slim head, the wide ears, the white tail tip and white toes that hint of a purebred. I shoot these.

This is not a dingo. Don't mind the pelt--there's black dingos too, especially further south. No, look at his body shape. His muzzle is too short, his eyes are too big, his skull is too wide, he has a dip in his back. This isn't a dingo, but it's not a dog either. This is a hybrid. I shoot these.

This is a dog. Not at dingo at all. Through-and-through, a domestic dog. Not a hint of wild ancenstry.

I shoot those too.

I don't like it, but money is money, and meat is meat, and I can't have favourites.

This was about an hour’s drive from the nearest town. All of these animals got out here over generations of domestic breeds mating with the dingos. These are wild animals at this point, not pets. A pet would never get this far from town on his own.

I spoke to a stationhand and he’d said he’d seen cars out here, on rare occasions, and that he thinks someone was dumping dogs. I figured it was bullshit, figured no one would be that big of an arsehole to leave a dog out there to die, but I decided that I’d test that theory. I didn’t do any long-range shooting that day. I’d spot a dog, get as close as I could, and I’d whistle. Most stopped, looked at me with confusion, and I’d shoot them. Wild animals.

But the last hour of light in the day, I see this dog in the distance, and this one didn’t look like a dingo. Thick tail like Misty’s, flopped ears, some kinda bitzer but definitely a dog. For those of you that don’t know: erect ears is a dominant trait in dogs. Floppy ears is recessive. That means both parents have to have the gene. That means it’s almost a certainty this dog didn’t have dingo blood.

Which means this dog didn’t have wild ancestors. He wasn’t feral, and there’s only one way he could’ve gotten all the way out here.

I got this sick feeling in my stomach and repeated what I’d been doing. I whistle. His head shoots up, tail raised, and my stomach plummets when he wags his tail. I whistle again, he looks at me, and I raise my rifle the second he comes running toward me. Just in case.

He was a sweetheart. Rushing to me, head lowered and tail wagging, whining like I was some angel sent from the heavens to deliver him from this hellish place. He licked my boots, he didn’t jump up. Well-behaved. I lay my rifle against the rocks and he starts licking my hands, my arms, whining all the while, wheezing and sneezing and I’ve never seen a dog so happy except when I brought Misty back to Australia and picked her up after she spent ten days alone in a M*lbourne quarantine facility.

He rolls over. Neutered male. “Good boy,” I praised, and I rubbed his stomach. He never stopped wagging. “Good boy.”

I grab my rifle, shoulder it, and make the walk back to Matilda. The dog follows me all the while. We finally get back after maybe a half-hour of walking, and I go about making dinner. I’ve got some pork. I cook it for us, we have dinner outside, I let him lick my plate. I figure I’ve just got myself a new pet. I call him Bitz, because us Aussies aren’t very creative, and he’s a bitzer. I bring out my swag, I lie down for bed, and the dog lies next to me.

The next morning I wake up to a pain in my left foot, and there’s Bitz with a fire in his eyes, currently trying to eat my foot. I don’t mean this in a funny “haha nibble” way, I mean he had his jaws locked around my ankle, he’s thrashing and snarling, and he’s trying to maul me. I kick him away with my right foot, he stares at me for a second, bares his teeth, and then he lunges at me. We’re wrestling in the dirt, he’s biting my legs and if I weren’t wearing jeans his teeth would’ve ripped right through. I’m yelling at him to stop, he’s not stopping, and finally I kick him with the heel of my boot and he jumps back and starts whimpering.

We both catch our breath.

When he approaches me again, I’ve got my knife ready. This time he doesn’t bite. He keeps his head low, ears back, haunches dropped and tail thumping, and he licks my arms. His behaviour says he’s sorry, that he doesn’t know what got into him, that the bush changed him the same way it changed me.

It hits me like a brick.

Someone loved this dog, once. At one point in his life, this dog knew the touch of his person. He knew the flavour of good food he didn’t have to fight for, he knew the comfort of his human stroking his ears. He might’ve played fetch, or tug of war, and someone loved him enough to teach him how to walk at my side, keeping pace with me, and not leave it. His lead manners were better than Misty’s.

Someone loved this dog once, and then one day they just… didn’t.

So they brought him out here, to the middle of fucking nowhere, and condemned him to death. Snakebite, or disease, or the elements, or starvation, or dogger’s bullet. They brought him here, and took off his collar, and they left him somewhere on the track, and they got back in their car, and they drove off and never looked back. Did he chase the car? Pursue it until his paws bled? Did he just stand there and watch, certain that they’d return for him? How long did he sit on the track and wait for them to come back? How long did it take him to realise they never would?

And here he was now, walking at my side as if he hadn’t just attacked me and tried to rip my foot off. Tongue out, tail wagging, looking at me like I’m the one what raises the sun. But he’d bitten me, and I can’t trust him not to do it again. I can’t trust him not to attack me in my sleep. If he attacks someone else, they’ll kill him. And they probably won’t be as merciful about it as I would.

So I led him over to a tree, and I sat down on the log, and he sat next to me. I put my rifle down, and when the tears came he licked them away because that’s just what dogs do. They’re always so fucking trusting. You can leave them to die in the middle of the bush, and they’ll trust the first person they see because dogs have too much love in their hearts to hold grudges.

I stopped crying, and he laid back down, facing away from me because he trusted me, more than I trusted him. We watched the sunrise together, and his ears swivelled to me when he heard me load my rifle, but he didn’t turn to look at me. He leant his weight on my foot, and he laid down, and he closed his eyes, and I stroked his ears because he’s a good boy.

The worst thing I ever did was put a bullet in a dog that trusted me.

[missingn000]

I love chapter 42 so much!✨️✨️✨️

It's so nice to see Suguru and Yuuji bonding even though the reason for it is so tragic... like, I am glad Suguru finally sees Yuuji as a person and that Yuuji can feel safe around someone, but I wish the reason wasn't Sukuna ruining everyone's lives because he's a drama queen.

Nobara getting ready to attack Sugur in Higurama's name is so sweet of her. Like, you really captured the essence of her character in that one scene!💖

Well, they're finally putting together the pieces of the puzzle and it doesn't look nice at all... At least now they're all kind of on the same page about Mahito, Hajime and Kenjaku.

Toji is right about blaming Sukuna. Like, I understand why Yuuji feels guilty (he is a precious bean and also 10), but I hope his family can convince him that getting possessed by an asshole doesn't mean you're guilty for his actions.

The conversation between Nanami and Sukuna was so interesting! I love how Sukuna overshares and monologues, I am certain spending however many years he spent all by himself did not help his social skills. Like, he is dropping so many hints about his tragic backstory: the psychological torture comments, the whole "sucks to be the strongest", the no longer having a soul, there is nothing good in this world anymore, the Yuu-Ji thing as well. Once I finish my final exam I will try to put together a theory because all I can do right now is rotate everything in my mind.

Sukuna's opinion on humanity is very interesting. I like how you gave him complex thoughts on human nature and a philosophy of his own. It's really great how you gave both him and Kenjaku ideologies that tie into the themes of the story instead of the classic "I am evil, always have been, always will be". Like, even though Kenjaku is irredeemable at least he is motivated by something. And if Sukuna is going to get forcefully added to the found family he needs some toxic beliefs to let go of.

Yuuji and Megumi make me so sad, but at least the bullying Sukuna club is there to make it better.

✨️Sukuna got called a weird individual!✨️

✨️Sukuna learned how to pronounce Yuuji's name!✨️

"There's nothing good left in the world!" This is Uraume slander. Like, I can't believe Sukuna is saying this while his bestie is still out there... smh. Uraume was there by his side during his entire flop era and this is how he repays them? I get that he needs to drop hints about his tragic backstory in the most dramatic fashion, but he could be more considerate.😔

Satoru and Suguru will finally talk!✨️✨️✨️Took them long enough.

Yuuji called Nanami his papa, told Shoko she is his mother!✨️ (I am so glad he disowned Kenjaku✨️✨️✨️)

Nanashoko is the only couple that has rights smh... I am glad they got together and proved that talking to each other like normal people has benefits. Good for them!🎉💖🎉

Nanami's second conversation with Sukuna was also interesting... Sukuna really says a lot of concerning stuff out of nowhere that makes zero sense without context and he seems less than willing to provide context. The one policy that he's no longer interested in is such and interesting thing and I am glad Nanami doesn't let him avoid the subject. Like, he managed to back the King of Curses into a corner! Good for him!

Also, congratulations on graduating!✨️

✨️💖✨️

i'm glad you enjoyed chapter 42!! yeah getou and yuuji bonding was sooo sweet, even if the origin of their cute dynamic was getou beating the shit out of the demon in yuuji's body, which was technically still yuuji himself. ouch. well at least getou made some serious progress seeing him as a person rather than, well, yknow

WAHH NOBARA AND HIGURUMA...they're making progress too, even if they're less open about it.

yeah, you could really see the puzzle pieces fitting together in that first scene huh? the poor fam realizing with mounting horror that this has all been planned for years...at least they figured out it isn't really getou's fault, and now they, for the most part, know who they're up against. though they definitely do not see who "yuuji's mother" is coming. toji's so right, sukuna's at fault here too

BRO THE CONVERSATION BETWEEN NANAMI AND SUKUNA WAS SO FUN TO WRITE. plus it was really fun to explore sukuna's potential thoughts on humanity in a compelling way since we know so little about his canon psyche. he deserves a philosophy of his own and weird, offputting takes on human nature!! plus i personally think evil because it's fun isnt quite as intriguing as evil because it's satisfying

regarding uraume...stay tuned, because THAT is gonna be crazy. i promise he didn't forget about them. he couldn't even if he tried. i'll leave it at that for now

PLEASE nanashoko rights!! stsg get your shit together, these two are outdoing you at communication and theyve been together for a few hours. nanami rlly managed to back sukuna into a corner RIGHT after that. this dude gets it.

tysm for reading <333

[bonny-kookoo]

Home!Jungkook: Tired

Sometimes, Jungkook comes home simply too tired for anything. And sometimes, he can muster up some strength to at least love you some after an exhausting day- just because it's you. And God knows; He just can't help himself with you.

Tags/warnings: exhausted kook, sleepy sex, sloppy and pretty casual, fluffy bedroom talk, home!jungkooks superior English, protected intercourse yes even a sleepy kook is a smart kook and you should be too, talk about scare and insecurities, it's just cute smut ok

As always: English | Korean

---

Original work can be found here: *click*

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He Flops down on the bed after changing into sweats and a simple short, groaning as chuckle before putting your phone away. "Long day?" You ask, as he simply mumbles a yes into the pillows below, patting the spot next to him like an Impatient child as you laugh. "What?" You tease, even though you know what he wants. He hits the bed with his hand a few times again, then again, and again with more force and a whine. You give in at that, scooting closer to him as you let him hold you, his arms squeezing you a second before he sighs out.

There's a bit of silence before he speaks again.

"Do you know why they call that cocktail 'Sex on the beach'?" He asks, and you stay quiet for a moment. He assumes you haven't heard him. "Baby?" He questions, and you giggle.

"I heard you, I don't know though." You say, "are you implying something?" You ask with a grin.

"Am I im-.." he thinks for a second, unsure what the words mean until he chuckles himself. "Ah no, I mean, in theory sure but practically? Sounds uncomfortable. Sand is itchy. Don't like." He says, and you nod. Its quiet then, and you're slowly drifting off, as he suddenly groans yet again.

"Whats wrong?" You giggle, as he turns onto his back.

"I'm hard!" He says in an exhausted manner. "But I'm tired!" He exclaims in frustration as you laugh. "Hey, no funny!" He scolds you, but has to chuckle himself. He lays down for a moment, hoping it would just go away- but his mind keeps bringing up scenes of you in a very scandalous bikini now, tainting his thoughts as he can't help but think back to that one night when you wore a matching lingerie set for him. "Baby.." he whines out for you, as he places a hand on your shoulder. "I want sex." He asks, and you snort out a laugh at his bold way of asking you. He's been very insecure of his language skills when you had just started dating- however, nowadays he's so comfortable that he doesn't mind the way he talks. He knows you'll never laugh with I'll intent. "Please?" He asks, and you nod.

"I thought you were tired?" You say with amusement as he reaches over for the bedside table, taking out a condom from the box that's placed underneath the drawer.

"I am." He says, slipping out of his clothes easily before he wraps the protection over his length- a few strokes all it takes to get him ready at this point. "So don't expect a top performance, I am literally burned out." He mumbles with a smile, waiting for you to lay down again after shedding your own clothes.

"Hm, not tired enough though?" You ask, and he grins, placing a kiss against the back of your shoulder before he pulls you closer to him, your back now fully resting against his warm chest.

"For this? Never." He murmurs, hand between your legs getting you ready for him to comfortably slip inside. You close your eyes and sigh out with him, as his own eyelids drop as well, mind fully lost in the feeling of you. "I could honestly imagine fucking you all day tomorrow- my day off couldn't be spent better than inside of you." He hums against your skin, movements slow and steady as he sleepily continues. He's got a secret talent to make filthy things like these sound oh so romantic, you've come to learn. "Could spend the whole day loving you, until you can't walk no more." He tells you, voice smooth like velvet.

"But how- ngh- how would I move around?" You mewl. "You said you were looking forward to me-" you gasp, before catching your breath. "To me cooking again for you." You complain, and he chuckles breathlessly, playfully biting the skin on your shoulder.

"Dont care." He says, before he starts thrusting with more power, shaking you in front of him with every move. "I'll fuck you while you cook." He says, but can't help laughing along with you. "What?"

"You're pussy-whipped kook." You say, hand searching for his- which gladly intertwines its fingers with you to give you something to hold. "You're just saying that cause you're horny." You say.

"Probably." He agrees. "Mean it though. Can't get enough of you." He says. "All mine." He mumbles, suddenly choking on his own whine as he grows faster and sloppier, hand leaving yours to reach between your legs. You clench around him as you come, pace now slowing again while you both ride it out.

He complains a little as you drag him into the bathroom to clean up again, and he also sleeps well into the day the next morning. But you don't mind.

He deserves his rest.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Routines

Tim and Marinette lived busy lives.

It was by choice, of course.

They were both prominent figures in their fields that could pick and choose the assignments they wished to take, had more money than they could ever dream of using thanks to the hefty trust fund that being even tangentially related to Bruce Wayne provided, and no one would blame them if they were to lessen or give up their vigilantism. If they wished, there was nothing stopping them from taking a smaller workload, from using up all of their sick days, from taking vacations, from quitting their jobs entirely...

That being said, they likely never would.

And the tabloids loved to speculate on their relationship because of it. How could they spend much time together if Tim was always at work, developing new technology for Wayne Enterprises? Marinette was cheating, how could she not when so much of her job as a designer involved getting up close and personal with models? Not to mention all of the business trips. Surely, the relationship had some kind of monetary motivation, or maybe it was just to more seamlessly merge their companies, or it had only happened for PR reasons.

They let them speculate. They simply didn’t know better.

The tabloids didn’t get to see how they acted behind closed doors, after all.

There would be days where neither of them went in to work. It wasn’t due to some sort of sickness that Tim had caught thanks to his lack of spleen, nor would it be because Marinette had hit some kind of artist’s block. No, it was simply because they wanted to spend time together.

~

They took breaks. Technically. If you squint.

There would be days where neither of them went into work. It wasn’t due to some sort of sickness that Tim had caught thanks to his lack of spleen, nor would it be because Marinette had hit some kind of artist’s block. No, it was simply because they wanted to spend time together.

They would turn on the coffee machine and then make their way over to the sofa. Marinette would nestle herself into his side and smile as he wrapped his arm around her. He would pull her as close as he possibly could so he could still use both arms to type.

He usually took video calls like this. It was always so much easier to maintain a pleasant smile, even when people often looked down on him for his age, because whenever he felt it start to waver he could simply look down at his girlfriend and suddenly he would find that it would be back in full force.

She would prop her sketchbook on her legs and start on some new designs. The designs she did like this were always, inexplicably, more lively than the other ones -- full of vibrant colors and swooping curves in a way that some of her other works lacked. If asked, Marinette would joke that the secret ingredient was love.

And, sure, this wasn’t technically taking a break from work. They were still productive, still did tasks...

But they counted it. They always came back to work the next day with the same euphoric feelings in their chests, the same springs in their steps. How could they not? They’d spent the entire day doing what they loved with the person that they loved. Who could ever want a break from that?

~

Every time one of them came back from a business trip, they made sure to spend the night together.

Tim would lay back in bed, Marinette on top of him. Her head would come to rest on his chest, clutching the back of his shirt tightly. His fingers would find their way to her hair and she would huff a little, knowing that her hair was about to get hopelessly tangled as he fidgeted with the silky strands, but she would nuzzle into his chest all the same.

They would watch a TV show. It didn’t matter whether it was good or bad. As long as there were people and some semblance of a plot, they would gladly stay wrapped up in each other’s arms to watch it.

Tim would rattle off whatever theories he had developed as they came to mind. Some of them were absolutely insane, he knew, and would never happen… but it was worth making a fool of himself if it got Marinette’s face to light up or if he earned one of those little giggles that escaped her when he was instantly proven wrong.

Marinette would, at least, pause the show whenever she wanted to talk, though it wasn’t out of an understanding of how time works. No, it was so she could sit up a little in his lap and point at whichever character had offended her this time. She would go on long rants about how makeup was just as important as outfits in costuming, but it was often overlooked in favor of making the actors look pretty. And, maybe she had already said all of this before, but it’s important, Tim! And he would just nod his agreement. Because it was important -- a TV night certainly wouldn’t feel like a TV night without at least one rant.

And then the screen would go black, the most recent episode done.

Tim would draw back a little and then pretend to be shocked when his hands were stuck in her hair.

“Oh noooooo,” he’d say. “I guess I can’t let go yet.”

“How unfortunate,” she would deadpan.

He’d smile cheekily at her.

“Shut up.”

“But I didn’t even say anything!” He’d argue with overexaggerated offense.

She would smile, shaking her head as much as she could with the fingers in her hair. “You didn’t have to. You have a presence about you.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” he’d say.

And, sometimes, she’d bring her hands up to cup his face. “Not sure if it was a compliment, but I definitely wouldn’t have it any other way,” she’d whisper before pulling him closer for a kiss.

… but, most of the time she would just laugh and say: “It wasn’t one.”

~

Once a month, Marinette tried to teach Tim to cook. Of course, they both knew it was a hopeless endeavor. He’d failed to make mac n’ cheese once, and Marinette -- who had lived the first eighteen years of her life in a Parisian bakery -- wasn’t good at discerning which meals were ‘easy to do’.

But that didn’t stop her from trying.

She would come up with a new recipe, would claim that this one was truly dummy proof…

And then Tim, dummy that he was, would manage to mess it up. Without fail, he would find some way to do something wrong. He would leave the milk on the stove and then be surprised when said milk on the stove decided to revolt against the system. He would raise the temperature on the thing they were baking so it would go faster and then be shocked when the cake didn’t rise at all. He would put too much in the mixer and then not understand why the contents had exploded over the two of them.

Worst thing was, she was pretty sure he was actually trying. He just… couldn’t seem to do it.

So, she would just kiss the disappointed frown off of his face and promise that they would do better next time.

And, every time without fail, he would light up.

“There will be a next time?” He would ask.

“Yeah. You’re lucky you’re cute, I can’t say I love being covered in ingredients.”

Tim would kiss her cheek, and then draw back and lick his lips. “I don’t know, I kind of like it. Something about my girlfriend being covered in tasty food really does something for me.”

“Like I said: you’re lucky you’re cute.”

And, even though she would say that, there was no mistaking the amusement dancing in her eyes.

~

They weren’t particularly religious, it was hard to be when Marinette had a god living in her earrings that obeyed her every command…

Which meant celebrations for the two of them were few and far between.

But, at least, they celebrated their anniversary.

They would sit on the rooftop, the blankets doing nothing to keep the hard tiles of the roof from digging into them and they did even less against the chilly Gotham air.

She’d stare up at the sky with him.

And, since it was Gotham, there were very few stars to be seen through the dark red and black haze of clouds that hung over the city.

But they didn’t mind.

Marinette smiled. “It’s our colors.”

He didn’t look over, watching the colors swirl above them. “Even the sky thinks we’re a good couple.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. The sky god really does have a thing for love.”

He gave a short puff of laughter and finally tore his eyes away from the sky. “Really?”

She shrugged, grinning at him. “No clue. There might not even be a sky god.”

He scoffed and untangled his hand from its blanket prison to give her a tiny shove. She could have dodged the attempt with ease, but she allowed the hand to make contact.

To her surprise, he grabbed ahold of her shoulder and pulled her into him. She gave an undignified little squeak and, if it weren’t for the fact that he was right there, she would have probably faceplanted onto the tile.

But, instead, her face came crashing into his soft, pillowy shoulder.

She looked up at the crooked grin that she had come to love over the years and huffed, pulling her own arms free so she could shove him. For real.

He flopped back, the hand he’d managed to get out coming to rest over his chest as if he were hurt.

“How could you? Roofs hurt, you know.”

“Well, yeah, if you throw yourself down on tiles it’s not going to feel too great.”

He cracked a grin, though he quickly tamped it down to keep up the act: “Victim blaming at its finest.”

She rolled her eyes and leaned over him. One of her hands cradled his cheek, her thumb tracing the tiny scar on his cheekbone.

He looked up at her. And she thought, somewhere, that maybe the reason the pollution in the city was just some kind of coverup so no one would know that they all resided in Tim’s eyes.

And then she cursed herself mentally for thinking something so cheesy.

She had to make up for it somehow:

“You’re the worst, I hope you know that.”

“I am. But you love me anyway.”

Dang it. How was she supposed to feign being annoyed when he looked at her like that? With that soft smile and thick lashes and hair that framed his face just so.

She decided it wasn’t worth trying to pretend.

Marinette let herself match his smile.

“I do.”

“Save those words for our wedding,” he joked softly.

She rolled her eyes. “You haven’t even proposed yet.”

“I could be doing that right now. Who knows, this could all be my plan.”

“It’d be a good plan,” she said. “I’d probably say yes.”

He narrowed his eyes just slightly. “Isn’t that essentially you proposing to me?”

She tipped her head to the side, considering, then she laughed a little. “I guess it kind of is. So, Tim, will you marry me?”

His eyes widened to an almost comical degree.

And then his face lit up with a smile that made her heart flutter.

“I hope you know I want a ring.”

She giggled. “Just say yes, you idiot. We can always get the ring tomorrow.”

His smile only stretched further. “Yes. I’d love to marry you.”

“I love you,” she whispered, leaning closer until her lips brushed against his.

“I love you, too,” he breathed.

Marinette didn’t hesitate any longer, tilting her head to give him a proper kiss. He freed himself of the blanket and she gasped a little against his lips as he wrapped her up in it as well, drawing her close.

She pulled away just a little, her forehead coming to rest against his. She couldn’t seem to get the dopey smile off of her face, but she wasn't completely sure she even wanted it gone.

“I proposed first, so I won,” she said, sticking her tongue out at him playfully.

He smiled. “No, I did.”

[clairenatural]

Shy Nerd | Dean

Punk | Castiel

[ the world needs more of this]

college au! this ran away from me and ended up 2.2k whoops :’) i hope you like it! (also note i have no idea how motors work i am not an engineer)

There’s an open textbook on his bed, but Dean is ignoring it; instead, he’s scrolling aimlessly through Instagram. He doesn’t really understand Instagram, but Charlie had looked so shocked and dismayed when she found out he didn’t have one that he’d given in. He doesn’t post much—doesn’t have much to post, really, besides his car and LARPing with Charlie—but it sure is a good distraction from his physics work. He sighs and flops down on his back as he taps through stories. It’s a Friday night, so there’s all the usual parties, and clubbing videos, and group dinner shots. He frowns as he taps through Charlie’s story of a few of their friends playing D&D—he’d be there, too, if it weren’t for his exam. His physics final, on Monday, that he should be studying for. Instead of being on Instagram.

Dean is about to close the app and begrudgingly turn his attention back to his notes when he clicks onto one last story.

HELP NEEDED ASAP, it says, white against a black background, in all caps. Someone who is good at engineering. Or building. Or even just welding things. I’ll pay you, it continues, and then in pizza and beer. Please, in smaller font, directly below.

Dean pauses. He likes beer. And pizza. And building things. He could help out this—who posted this, anyway? It’s a name he doesn’t recognize. casanova.k. He taps on the profile picture. His eyes go wide.

Oh.

That guy. That guy from the hipster art party Charlie had dragged him to earlier in the semester, when she was still dating that art girl, and he’d ended up in a dark room thick with smoke, blurry with alcohol, talking to a guy about three levels of cool higher than him about…something he can’t remember. He just remembers hastily exchanging Instagrams as Charlie dragged him out of the party, ranting about her soon-to-be-ex.

And now he needs help.

Dean looks at his textbook. He looks back at the guy’s—Cas?—Instagram. He takes a deep breath and pulls up a message.

i like beer, pizza, and welding things

It’s smoother than usual, and Dean is proud of himself for about 2 seconds before he panics and ruins it: i’m an engineer, i mean. not just a rando with a thing for power tools, haha.

There’s an achingly long pause before Cas likes both messages.

This is how Dean Winchester ends up standing in the University’s metalwork studio, with 24 hours left until his final exam, staring at a multi-eyed, multi-winged, metal…thing.

It’s due next week, Cas had said. I know it’s last minute. The only studio space I could get was Sunday.

And Dean had said yes, like a fool, because he can never say no to boys in eyeliner with pretty eyes.

Now, staring up at the sculpture, Dean lets out a low whistle. Cas, next to him, groans and drags one hand down his face. “I know. It’s—this is why I need help, alright? I think I can still salvage it if I just—”

Dean, who has taken a few steps forward to admire the intricacies, looks up sharply. “What?”

Cas frowns back. “What?”

Dean shakes his head. “No, I mean—I’m not an art guy, but this metalwork is great, man.” He traces one of the welded seams. “You, uh. Obviously have good hands,” he continues, and then winces. Great compliment.

There’s a soft huff and Dean looks up to see Cas watching him, bemused. “My good hands,” he emphasizes it, and part of Dean wishes he could melt like solder. “Make me a good artist. They do not make me good at making things move.”

Dean blinks at him. “Excuse me?” Move?

Cas frowns again, but it’s more out of worry than confusion. His arms are crossed, and Dean tries very hard not to focus on the black ink swirling down his forearm. “I sent you the plans yesterday.” Now he’s chewing on his lip ring, too, and Dean rips his attention back to the steel structure to stop himself from focusing on that, either. He tries to think about these plans. He remembers getting the text, opening them……and immediately disregarding them in lieu of getting as much studying done as possible. Internally, he groans.

Externally, he nods, pretends to know exactly what these “plans” are. “Sure, yeah,” he covers, and hopes it’s convincing.

The metal…thing, because Dean still isn’t sure exactly what it is, has a cluster of wings in the middle—6, to be exact, and they’re poking up around 3 large rings. He reaches out for one of the rings, right between two of its welded eyes, and gives it an experimental push. It creaks, and sways, and Dean winces when he hears Cas suck in a breath behind him. “Sorry”, he mutters, but when he turns back around Cas is frowning at the art piece and not at him.

Dean is expecting to hear either it’s alright or, more likely, never touch my art again, but Cas just hums and steps up until he’s standing next to Dean. “What do you think this is?”

It’s the closest they’ve been since he arrived, and Dean takes a moment to observe the other student from this distance. He’s wearing black boots, black jeans. A t-shirt with a band on it that Dean has never heard of. His nails are black but the rings he’s wearing are silver, and so is the cross hanging around his neck. His hair looks like he either spent an hour on it or no time at all, and his eyes—like at that party, the one neither of them has mentioned yet—are rimmed in black. Dean, in his sneakers and second-hand jeans and faded Batman shirt, has never felt less cool.

“It’s an angel,” Cas continues, and Dean isn’t sure if he’s given up on waiting for a response or if he’d never expected one in the first place. “A biblical one. You know, the ‘be not afraid,’ kind.” He lowers his voice for the angel impression, which Dean didn’t think was possible. He doesn’t know what to do with the realization that it is.

“Don’t think this is what my mom meant when she used to say angels were watching over me,” Dean tries for a joke, and it’s half-hearted, but to his relief Cas chuckles anyway.

“Yes, well. The church preaches them as significantly more…cuddly.” Cas frowns. “It makes praying to them easier to sell.”

The cross around his neck is starting to get confusing.

“And these—these are gonna move,” Dean hazards a guess, reaching out to touch one of the rings again. “All of them?”

“They’re electrons,” Cas nods, which Dean supposes is an answer. “They should all circle the wings together, like the classic atom diagram. But I can’t—” Cas reaches out for the ring this time, hand landing directly above Dean’s. He pushes it, and it sways. Obviously frustrated, he pulls back. “I need it to be motorized, to look right. And I have the motor but don’t know how…to do it.”

And, well. That, Dean understands. He smiles and, in a burst of confidence, claps Cas on the shoulder. Cas looks up at him, startled, but his expression morphs into a soft smile at the look on Dean’s face.

“Let’s get her moving, then.”

He tries not to think about the time slipping away as Cas hauls out the motor, or when he hands Dean tools. He does not stare too long at Cas’ biceps when he’s screwing something in, or when they have to do last-minute welding. They get it hooked up, and it whirs to life, and Dean does not think about how late it is when Cas gives him a hug in his excitement, or when he promises to follow up on his beer and pizza promise at his apartment.

It’s there, back in Cas’ apartment, sitting on his living room floor, both a beer or two in, when Cas finally mentions it.

“You’re the one who gave me that idea, you know.”

Dean stops mid-chew and blinks at him. “Whg—” he swallows his bite of pizza and tries again. “What?”

Cas shrugs and doesn’t make eye contact. He picks at the beer label. “At the party we met at. The one we aren’t talking about, for some reason.”

Dean wants Cas’ ugly, blue, cigarette-smelling shag carpet to swallow him whole.

“You told me you don’t ‘get’ art,” he sets the beer bottle down to do air quotes, and Dean’s shame deepens. “Because you only ‘get’ science. And I told you they were the same thing. And you told me to prove it.”

Suddenly, it clicks, and Dean risks making eye contact. Cas catches his gaze and holds it steady, and he’s calm—not upset, Dean registers, which is a relief. “The atom,” he blurts out, and Cas grins. “Yeah.”

“Art and science.”

“Yeah.”

Dean is sitting up straighter now. “But, the angel—”

Cas sighs and pushes himself up from where he’d been leaning against the couch. He turns until he’s fully facing Dean. “Divinity,” he raises one hand, “and the core building blocks of humanity,” he raises the other. “Art,” he gestures with the first hand, “and science.” With the second.

Dean stares at him. “Are you calling art divine?”

“Art is an expression of divinity,” Cas shrugs. “Science is an explanation for it. But it’s—you know. The same thing.”

Dean wonders how he can say that so casually, so nonchalantly. He wonders what would happen if he crossed the pizza-box distance and kissed him.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts instead, and Cas raises his eyebrows. “The party, I didn’t think—I didn’t think you remembered.”

“I assumed you didn’t,” Cas counters. “But you did. You do. Why didn’t you text me?”

It’s exactly what he expected to hear and it still catches him off guard. “Um—” Dean stammers, trying to think of a good excuse. Cas is just watching him—not staring at, watching—brows furrowed.

With a heavy sigh, Dean settles on the truth. “Come on, man. Look at me,” he scoffs and stares down at his jeans, the already worn knees even worse after the day spent kneeling on concrete. “I’m an engineering dork who plays D&D on Fridays and you’re—” he waves vaguely in Cas’ direction. “You know.”

The frown has deepened. “I don’t.”

“Cool.” It sounds so juvenile to say it out loud.

Now, Cas looks taken aback. “Dean. We met at a party where I voluntarily listened to you talk about string theory for an hour and a half.”

Dean doesn’t know if that’s a compliment or not. He buries any possible blush with a swig of beer. “String theory’s cool,” he grumbles into the bottle.

“Yes.” Cas agrees. “And so are you. Although—” he pauses and tilts his head. “I could have sworn you were in physics, based on how much you talk—”

Dean is so caught up in Cas Novak calling him cool that it takes his brain a second to process the word “physics,” but when he does he nearly spits beer all over the ugly carpet. “Shit,” he swears, already starting to scramble up.

“What?” Cas is following him, frowning.

“Physics final. In—” he checks his watch, “—16 hours. I gotta—” he still has time to water down the beer, study, and get at least 7 hours of sleep before—

“…Why did you just spend all day helping me if you have a final tomorrow?” Dean pauses from where he’s trying to find his other shoe to glance back at Cas, who looks so genuinely baffled it shoots a warmness into Dean’s heart.

“You needed help,” Dean shrugs, finally locating the missing sneaker and pulling it on. “Good luck with the angel, though, okay? If it gives you any running issues, feel free to—”

He’s pulling on his jacket when he feels a touch on his arm and realizes that, sometime in the past 20 seconds, Cas has crossed the room to him. “Dean,”

Dean pauses, and Cas…looks nervous.

“I like D&D,” he offers, and Dean stares at him.

“What.”

Cas levels his gaze. “There is nothing more punk than dragons,” he replies, incredibly seriously.

Dean’s brain short-circuits.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline from the exam panic, maybe it’s the 1.5 beers, maybe it’s Cas’ hand still warm on his arm, maybe he’s still caught up in Cas calling him cool and maybe his brain takes an extra second to load his self-consciousness on its reboot, but—he leans down and kisses him.

Cas makes a small noise but kisses him back almost immediately—but then he’s pulling back nearly as quickly, and he gently pushes Dean back by the shoulders when he tries to follow. Not far enough away to be a rejection, just…enough. “You have an exam in the morning,” he says this like an apology, and the warmth in Dean’s chest grows. “Text me after?”

Dean nods, then pauses, realizes what Cas just said, and nods again. “Yeah, I—yeah, I will.”

“There’s not enough alcohol here for you to pretend to forget this time,” he teases, but he’s smiling.

Dean flushes anyway. “I’m sorry.”

Cas shakes his head and pushes him a bit. “Apologize tomorrow. Go.”

“Okay.” Dean doesn’t move.

“Okay,” Cas replies.

“Okay,” Dean says, and leans down to kiss him again, a quick one, because he thinks maybe he can.

“Okay,” Cas repeats, but his tone is fond. “Go.”

“Okay,” Dean repeats back. But this time, he does.

The next day, after he aces his physics final, he doesn’t pretend to forget.

[spacedikut]

my all ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds) x f!reader

summary:  “hey could i do a fic request for an x spencer? could u maybe do something with really touchstarved spencer (bc germaphobia) and him being at first too awkward to go n cuddle and then as he gains more confidence he gets much more touchy and huggy and stuff? and reader being shocked by how cuddly he is? plzplzplz? its totally ok if u dont write it but just wanted to send in the request!” 2689 words

a/n: i hope i did this justice! i love spencer reid!!!!!!!!!

masterlist

Spencer first realised how much he loves your touch after a case where he put himself directly in danger.

You ran up, flung your arms around him and pulled him against you so tightly he felt winded.

He was shocked, stunned, and everything in between, but the most important thing is that he hugged back. It felt natural, the right thing to do, and his arms felt so snug and perfect around you his heart stuttered.

You pulled back, noticed his expression, and winced despite his reciprocation, “Sorry. I just. You could’ve died, you moron. You scared me.”

All he did was give you a breathless smile and with a squeeze of his shoulders you let go, allowing him to get checked by a medic.

Spencer struggled to sleep on the jet home, plagued by the thoughts of you - you with your arms around him, how much he enjoyed how it felt.

It felt… wrong to like it as much as he did. Like, in theory, enjoying your physical touch went against his moral code – as a germaphobe, the thought of having to come into contact with anyone in any way makes him want to vomit. But, with you?

You smelt so good, even after running for God knows how long. You were so soft, yet so firm, so warm and welcoming and dear God Spencer has never wanted to touch every inch of someone so bad in his life.

The case was a rough one, so Garcia was waiting for you all with loving eyes and a pitiful smile, arms wide open for whoever may need it. Spencer instantly decides no thanks, but you swoop in and cuddle up to Garcia within seconds of seeing her.

You even place a series of kisses against her cheek, and Spencer is transported back to your hug.

If he was more like Garcia, open to any form of love as long as it’s love, would you have kissed him like that?

His pulse quickens, palms get sweaty and he has to clear his throat to bring himself back to Earth.

He can’t afford to think like that.

But your lips…

No. Paperwork? Let’s do that and not think about a colleague’s lips.

+++

You’re furious.

You told Spencer to wait for backup, to not do anything stupid or irrational and definitely do NOT go in there alone, genius!

And what did he do?

He didn’t wait for backup, did something very stupid and irrational, and definitely went in alone.

And now he’s dealing with a hefty concussion and flurry of other injuries; cuts, scratches, and bruises alike all dotted over him like he’s a connect-the-dots drawing.

The second he wakes up, you’re gonna kill him.

For the time being, you’ll gently thread your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp, and watch his chest rise and fall to ensure he’s alive and breathing.

“Mmm,” A groan, “That feels nice.”

His eyes flutter open. You lean towards the table next to him, pick up the bottle of water and the jello cup, and offer him both.

“Thanks,” He says, hoarsely.

You sit back in your chair. Spencer doesn’t take his eyes off you once. Not when he drinks the whole bottle of water, or when he cracks open the jello and inhales it with one slurp.

Your brows furrow.

“You’re banned from work until you’re fully healed.”

“I’m suspended?!” He guffaws.

“No,” You shake your head, “I’m personally telling you you’re not welcome back until you’re okay.”

“I’m okay now.”

“Do a backflip, genius.”

Spencer giggles, “I can’t do that in peak physical condition, Y/N.”

“Sounds like a cop out to me. So, again, you’re banned from work until you’re fully healed.”

He considers fighting back, but then he remembers what you were doing when he woke up, what he felt when he woke up.

He was confused and, you know, in pain, but there was this tender and soft, repetitive touch that immediately eased him. His subconscious knew it was you, in all your glory and sweetness, that had stayed with him for however long, looking after him even when he wasn’t conscious to know it.

So he just keeps staring at you, spoonful of jello in his mouth.

+++

When you get to Spencer’s place, he looks around like it’s his first time seeing it – awe and wonder painted on his face.

Everything he’s doing, everything he’s going through, you’re putting it all down to his concussion.

On the way here, he told you the whole history of car air fresheners after taking a good five seconds to get a good sniff of the cherry blossom scent you have.

“Let’s get you settled in, huh?” You say quietly, guiding Spencer to his bedroom. He walks a little like a mummy, kinda stumpy and heavy, and he flops on the bed.

You give a lopsided grin as you watch him. He’s mumbling incoherently, shuffling up to the top of his bed to fall flat on his back.

He moans.

“Alright, alright,” You placate, “Let me go… gather some things.”

You don’t know Spencer’s place all that well, so it takes you a while to find even the simplest things like a glass, a flannel, a snack. You get lost in snooping around, trying not to profile him, and the one thing you deduct is his apartment is so him. So Spencer, so lovely and comforting and a little odd.

You can’t get enough.

There’s a weak call from his bedroom: “Y/N?”

“Coming!”

He hasn’t moved an inch from where you left him. He looks so pitiful, bruised eyes and a cut right through his lip, and you almost coo at him.

“I’m not a good cook, so I thought we could order some food later.” You hand him the water and gesture for him to drink. “In the meantime, you need to rest. Mind if I borrow a book while I keep you company?”

You turn to leave, but Spencer’s voice makes you pause.

“Could you play with my hair again?”

A part of you wants to say no, like this is some overly intimate thing he’s asking, but then you remind yourself that he’s injured, which has reverted him to acting like a sleepy child.

“Please?” He looks at you with glassy eyes and he looks adorable, “Only for a little while.”

You say nothing, sliding into bed next to him. He scoots over a little to make more room for you, curling into you before your back hits the bed entirely. One hand rests above the covers, naturally placed on his arm, thumb smoothing him back and forth. The other, the one wrapped around his head, cards through his lightly tangled hair, all warm and loving.

He falls asleep instantly and, not long after, you fall asleep, too.

You both dream of eachother and wake up blushing.

+++

Spencer’s back in work within four days. You’re working a new case the second you arrive.

There’s been a shift in your dynamic and everyone’s noticed it. No one questions it, however, because they’re all aware you looked after him while he was away, and they witnessed how worried you were when you found him, but they can’t help but ogle and whisper.

They might be federal agents, but gossip is gossip and they love it.

You’ve noticed it, too, obviously. JJ tried to tease you about it, after Spencer bought you your favourite coffee and morning muffin on the way to the precinct, but you shut her down (and yourself from thinking about it too much) by reminding her you spent several days caring for him. He’s repaying you, even though you’ve told him he doesn’t need to.

Ever heard of transference, JJ?

A shiver runs through you as you look into the interrogation room. It’s not because of the suspect, though, it’s because the AC has been turned up – a tactic Hotch promises will be worth it despite your chattering teeth.

Something’s wrapped around you, suddenly, light but cosy and adds some heat to you that you need.

It’s a cardigan. Grey, much too big for you, the sleeves falling way beyond your arms and length reaching your mid-thigh. There’s a little red heart with eyes stitched on the left breast.

It’s Spencer’s.

“You’re shivering,” Spencer chastises, seemingly appearing from nowhere, “You know, when we shiver, it’s our bodies doing the opposite of sweating – it tightens the skin and shakes the muscles, a process that conserves and generates heat. We shiver to get warm. Do you not have a coat?”

“Alright, dad,” You tease, “It’s in the conference room. I wasn’t prepared for Hotch to make the unsub an icicle.”

Spencer breathes a laugh, moving closer to reach an arm around you. His other hand presses against your bicep, his grip sturdy as he vigorously rubs up and down your arms to generate heat.

Whoa.

It certainly works. You feel hot, suddenly, but not because of the cardigan or whatever the hell he’s doing, because Spencer has voluntarily touched you and is standing so close you feel like you’re on fire from the inside out. You’re sure your heart skips a beat and you stare at him in bewilderment.

He shrugs, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world, “My mom used to do that for me when I was young and got cold. I thought you’d appreciate it.”

You give a shy smile, “Yeah, I appreciate it a lot, Spence. Thanks.”

When Hotch leaves the interrogation room, he half-halts when he sees you in Spencer’s cardigan. It’s the perfect Hotch reaction, combined with the rise of an eyebrow as he walks past you to reconvene with the team.

You don’t take it off when you all walk back to the conference room, and Spencer doesn’t ask for it back.

Everyone notices. A lot of eye contact is made with many questions silently asked.

You and Spencer pretend not to notice.

+++

There’s a knock on your door at precisely 10:12pm. You check because your first instinct is if I’m about to get robbed, I’m making sure the timestamps are correct.

It’s not a robber. It’s Spencer – frazzled, wrapped up all nice and warm like a pretty present, Spencer Reid.

His nose is slightly red from the biting cold outside.

Leaning against your doorframe, you say, “Hey there,”

“Hi,” He waves.

You stare for a couple of seconds, then remember the polite thing to do is invite him in: “Come in, come in! Do you want some tea? You look cold.”

“Coffee would be great, thank you.”

You move to your kitchen, not very far from your front door, but Spencer stays put and awkwardly glances around your place. He loves it, he decides. Very you.

You notice he hasn’t moved, “Make yourself comfortable, Spence. My cat is somewhere if you want to say hi.”

He slowly moves to your couch, removing his coat, scarf and satchel as he does it. Two drinks in hand, you join him and fling your fluffy sock-clad feet onto your coffee table.

“So what can I help you with?” You ask.

Spencer takes a sip of his burning drink, “What makes you think I want something?”

“Why else would you be here? You wanna watch Grey’s Anatomy with me?”

Spencer laughs lightly. You’re right. He’s here for a reason that isn’t to watch TV that he loves to correct with you.

He’s quiet, then, and does that thing where his tongue flicks out to lightly wet his lips in nervousness.

“Something’s been going on.” He starts, ambiguously, “And it’s left me asking a lot of questions.”

Your brows furrow. It’s not like Spencer to be cryptic like this.

“Did it mean anything?” He asks, finally, turning to look at you. “Any of it?”

“Did what mean anything?”

“The.. the playing with the hair, the over-all gentleness, the cuddling.”

Your shoulders tighten up and you hope he doesn’t notice.

He does.

“Spence,” You give a fake laugh, “You were hurt and I was comforting you. Looking after you. You know, like a friend does.”

“No one else did as much as you.”

“You wanted comfort, and I’m more than happy to provide that, Spence. Everyone else was busy.”

“You took time off for me.”

You don’t have an answer for that.

You’re trying to keep the conversation light and breezy to not show your true feelings. You’re not ready for that kind of conversation, but he’s right. You used your vacation days to stay with him and care for him.. and you know you didn’t do it platonically.

“You’re my friend, Spence,” You say, voice soft.

“That’s it? That’s all it was?” He doesn’t sound angry, or hurt, maybe peeved. He won’t look you in the eyes, though.

“What else would it be?”

Spencer scoffs.

He moves away from you, hands running through his hair in exasperation when he lets out a breath.

“We cuddled, Y/N. I haven’t done that with anyone in-in years! The last person was my mother when I was ten years old!”

“That’s supposed to mean something?!”

“I-I don’t know,” He sounds exhausted, as if the complications of his emotions are taking way too much energy out of him, “But I really liked it. And I really like you.”

You look at him, then, and he’s staring back. He looks… hopeful.

“I really like you, Y/N.”

You swallow deeply.

“I tried to show you with the uh, the cardigan thing,” He scratches the back of his neck, a laugh to mock himself leaving him, “But I’ve never been good with that stuff.”

He moves closer, shifting to face you, eyes remaining locked with yours.

“Say something.” He whispers.

“I-I-“ You stutter, “Are you sure?”

“Of course I am. I’ve spent the last week thinking about it non-stop.”

“Really?” You laugh in disbelief.

“Yeah!” He gives a small smile, “I-uh.. wrote to my mom about you, too. She told me that if I’m this caught up on you, you must be special. Which you are, by the way.”

“I’m special?” You grin teasingly.

“Very special.”

There’s a moment where you think he’s going to kiss you, but instead he shyly asks, “Do you feel the same?”

You bite your lip. “I do. Really, I do. I’m just.. a little apprehensive, I guess.”

“Of what?”

“It’s stupid.”

“Nothing is stupid when it comes to you.”

God, he’s so infuriatingly sweet. You wish you could kiss him all over.

You might be able to, if all this goes well.

“I don’t want things to be weird if we don’t work out.” You admit, adding a shrug to appear casual. It’s not like you’ve worried about this since you realised you liked him.

Spencer tilts his head at you, “You’re already thinking about a breakup when we haven’t even gone on a first date?”

You giggle, which he returns with a smile, “I mean- I like you, Spence, and have for a while. I’ve thought about all outcomes.”

“All?”

You roll your eyes as he gives you a look, “Yes, all. I’d want us to work out but.. what if we don’t?”

He places a now warmed up hand on yours, “Well, we won’t know unless we try, right?” His hold tightens, “I’m willing to give it my all if you are.”

You look from your hands to his face, and decide yes, if there’s one risk you want to take in your life, it’s a risk that could possibly result in you spending the rest of your life with your favourite person on this planet.

So you nod.

“I’ll give you my all, and then some.”

He grins, “That’s quite the promise.”

You don’t reply, instead swinging your legs over his lap and leaning into his side to cuddle up to him. He reciprocates like it’s second nature, hand slipping from yours to wrap around your waist and tug you closer.

“Wanna watch Star Trek as a mini first date?” You look up at him through your eyelashes.

You really are perfect for me, Spencer thinks.

“Yes. Yes I do.”

[thekingslover]

Jetski For Sale (Lokius fic)

He stops riding the jetski.

He keeps it on the small trailer at the end of his driveway beside his modest split-level home and covers it with a blue tarp.

Every morning, in his brown button-up pajamas and a bathrobe, he walks to the end of the driveway and collects the morning paper. He’s careful to hold his coffee mug steady as he leans down, but he always manages to spill a drop or two. His slippers are covered in tiny coffee spots.

He tucks the newspaper under his arm and turns back toward his house. He left the television on; through the window, the screen flashes with the bright white letters, Breaking News! Two houses down, his neighbor is already out mowing the lawn. Further away, a dog barks.

Though he lives alone, it’s a perfect life. Everything’s simple. His mortgage is affordable. His brown sedan is paid off. And the jetski...

He doesn’t remember buying it. He always wanted one, dreamed of it. He had a savings set aside for someday. Yet... his savings is still there, and he still has this jetski.

He looks at it now, at the way it bulges under the tarp. A shame to leave it like that. He should take it out again. But the last time he did that...

Shaking his head, he walks back to the house. He drinks his coffee and reads his newspaper. He goes to work, comes home, goes to sleep, and does it all again the next day.

“Something’s different about you,” his sister says on the phone, their weekly call. “You sound different.”

“Same old me.” He’s good at keeping back his feelings and pushing forward the cheer.

She knows, though. Older sisters always seem to. “Are you sure you haven’t been seeing anyone lately?”

This sends him laughing. “A secret boyfriend? Come on, you have quite an imagination on you.”

“Laugh all you want,” she says, stern. She’s not backing down, though her voice does soften as she adds, “It’s only that you... Well, you sound... heartbroken.”

“That’s...” He should deny it. He hasn’t dated anyone in a good long while, but, well, now that she mentions it... He’s had his heart broken before, long ago, and it felt a little something like this. Like something crucial is suddenly missing. Like you spent so much time learning someone and adapting to them, shaping whole parts of your life around them, and then they are just... gone.

There’s a person-sized hole in his life now, but he can’t quite remember their shape.

No, that can’t be.

“That’s crazy,” he says, thinking, maybe I’m crazy.

“Why don’t you come visit us for a while?” she says. “The kids would love to see you.”

“Yeah,” he says, shaky. “Yeah, maybe that’s a good idea. Tell them I love them. Love you too.” Then he hangs up.

*

That night, he lays on his back in bed and stares at the ceiling, afraid to look to his right. He used to sleep sprawled across the entire width of the bed, a true bachelor enjoying his bachelorhood. When did he start picking one side?

He turns over, facing away from the barren expanse of the rest of the mattress, but the bookshelf offers little comfort. Most of his books are about history, biographies on interesting characters from the past. There’s a couple of jetski magazines wedged in, too. But what catches his eye... He remembers buying it, knows he did, the morning after watching a documentary on the perception of time and space. The documentarian had written a book. The Mobius Strip.

Frowning, he doesn’t find any sleep that night, no matter how many long minutes he closes his eyes, or how many sheep he tries to count in his head.

Mobius.

It’s a mathematical theory. Not a name. But it wedges between his ribs and stays buried behind them.

He’s not even a maths guy! But he can’t shake it. It feels heavy, too important.

He tosses and turns. He reaches out to the other side of the bed, realizes its empty, and snaps upright, dread overtaking him for one sharp moment before he remembers that its supposed to be empty.

This is normal. This is his perfect little life.

He flops back into bed and runs a hand down his face. Maybe he should go visit his sister, before he fully loses his mind.

*

His hands shake the next morning when he walks out to get the newspaper at the end of the driveway. Half his coffee spills when he leans to pick it up, but its fine. Maybe he should give up coffee entirely. Maybe too much caffeine is his problem.

He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him.

Turning towards the house, he spots the jetski, there under the blue tarp. The mysterious jetski that he doesn’t remember buying. The one, when he’s out on it, he sits too far forward, like he’s making space for someone behind him. But there’s no one there. There’s never anyone there.

The jetski, he decides, was the start of his problems. Maybe if he... If he...

Storming back into the house, he leaves what’s left of his coffee in the sink and the newspaper forgotten on the counter, and hurries into the office. He rips off a long sheet of dot matrix printer paper. Biting off the cap of his pen, he scribbles on it in large block letters, all caps, FOR SALE.

Back in the driveway, he removes the chocks from behind the wheels of the trailer, and flips off the tarp. He wheels the trailer and the jetski to the end of the driveway, right up against the road.

He must look like a mad man, out there in his brown button-up pajamas and coffee-stained slippers. The neighbor’s mowing the lawn. The dog’s barking further away. Everything’s perfect in this perfect little neighborhood, this perfect little life. But he feels like he is going insane.

He slaps the for sale sign on the front of the jetski, and starts back for the house. The sooner that thing is out of his life... Maybe... Maybe things would go back to normal.

His heart pangs in a way he doesn’t understand. Heartache. So much heartache. Why?

Does he even want normal?

But if not that, then what? What is he missing?

He’s at his front door, hand on the doorknob, when someone politely coughs behind him. He pauses a moment, there’s no way someone is there... But when he glances over his shoulder - yeah. Someone’s behind him, only a few feet away.

Not just someone. The most gorgeous person he has ever seen, wearing a sleek black suit and a pair of sunglasses. Long dark hair is slicked back and pushed behind their ears.

He should probably feel self-conscious, standing there in his brown pajamas in front of this god of a person - probably a model - but he doesn’t. Strangely, he feels more at ease now than he has in weeks. His whole body relaxes like he finally exhaled a held breath.

But that doesn’t make sense. They’ve never met. He would remember.

He would never forget a face like that.

“Hello,” the person says, and the word tremors slightly.

“Hello.” It tremors when he says it too.

There’s no car on the road. No bicycle on the sidewalk. However this person got here, it’s like they dropped down from the sky.

The person clears their throat. “You’re selling the jetski?”

“You...” He blinks. He knew jetskis were popular - hell, they are the best - but he hadn’t expected an offer before he even got his pants on. “Yeah. You interested?”

“Yes, I...” They drop their head a moment, taking their time to think. When they lift their head again, their shoulders lift too, like they are preparing for a battle.

He supposes negotiations can be seen as a battle, but he can’t bring himself to match the person’s pose. He’s ready to give up the jetski for free at this point. Whatever gets it gone.

The person asks, “What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it. It runs like a dream.”

“Then why get rid of it?”

His heart hurts, so he laughs through the pain. It’s silly, but he can’t help feel his sister was right. This person wouldn’t know either way, so he finds himself telling them, “I’m heartbroken.”

The person goes very still. Their mouth opens and they take in a shaky, noisy breath. When they say, “What?” the word is bone dry and crumbling.

“It’s something we did together... I think.” He’s making it up, but it feels right. So he keeps talking. “And now. Well. It kinda reminds me of... I’m pretty sure I forgot a lot of things, but I can’t forget that. There’s supposed to be someone else. And I can’t... I can’t...”

He’s not making any sense, but the person is hanging on every single word.

“Anyway,” he says. “I’ll let it go cheap. Too many memories... or... I don’t know, feelings?” He sighs. “Just make me an offer, okay? I have to get ready for work.”

He wants nothing more than to keep this beautiful person on his doorstep, but... well, life isn’t always about getting what you want. This person wants a jetski, he has one. A transaction will occur, and this person will move forward like he never existed.

He’ll be left behind again.

Again?

Now, he’s the one to stand a little straighter. “Do you ever get deja vu?”

“Deja vu?”

“You know, where you feel like you’ve lived an exact moment already, once before. I’ve been reading this book about mobius strips and...” There’s that pang again, in his chest. A subtle ache that is swelling. He wants to ignore it, like he always has, but he’s finding he can’t really anymore. “Don’t you think that’d be a cool name? Mobius. Mobius M. Mobius.” He laughs, and it hurts. It hurts.

The person doesn’t laugh. Instead, they take a small step back. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

His laughter dies quickly. It wasn’t real anyway. “You don’t want the jetski?”

“I do,” the person says with naked longing. “More than anything.”

“Then its yours.” He shrugs. “You know, it kinda feels like it was already yours? Like, maybe its just been waiting around for you to show up and claim it.”

The person shakes their head. “It’s better off without me. It finally has a chance to... to... live the way you - it deserves...”

“I mean, that’s a nice thought. But in practice... wouldn’t it be better for jetskis to decide for themselves the kind of lives they want? Whose to say that their life before was all that great? Because let me tell you, this perfect little normal life I’m living? Kinda sucks.” He doesn’t really understand what he’s saying, but the words still fall out of him, like ripping a scab off an old wound and all the blood starts running again.

The person takes another step back, but this time, he follows, taking a step forward. Somehow, it feels crucial that he not let this person leave him behind again.

There, another again. What is he not remembering?

“There’s something terribly wrong with all this,” he says. “I’m forgetting something important, but whatever it is - whoever - I don’t think I can be happy without them. Not really. Not in any way that matters.”

“Mobius...” the person says, soft, under their breath. Stronger, “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

And the dam breaks.

“I know exactly what I’m saying, Loki.” The name, that name. How could he forget that name?

The person - Loki - exhales again, watery this time.

“Maybe if we never met, this would be enough. Maybe it was once. But not anymore. Never again. Not since you. And not even your little mind hocus pocus could change that.”

Mobius takes another step forward. This time, Loki does not move back. They stay just as they are and let Mobius close the distance. Mobius lifts his hands to Loki’s face and slowly removes those sunglasses. Loki’s eyes have always been the most expressive - the easiest to read. No wonder they would try to hide them. Because now they shine with sorrow and regret and... love. So much love.

And that, Mobius knows, is exactly what he’s been looking for when he reaches out to the empty space beside him on the bed. When he sits in his kitchen and stares at the pulled-out chair across the table. When he rides his jetski and turns, ready to laugh with the missing person behind him.

“I’m not angry,” Mobius says, tossing the sunglasses aside. He takes one of Loki’s hands in his. Loki grips hard onto his fingers. “I understand why you did it. It’s kind of flattering really, to know you’d give up your own happiness to try to give me mine. But there was a very big problem with this latest Loki scheme.”

“What’s that?” Loki asks in a whisper.

Mobius gives them a smile. The first real one since they parted. “You’re unforgettable.”

Loki laughs once, a burst, like they’ve been holding something in and now its escaping. The hard lines of their face smooth out. And they look less like a frightened, broken shadow and more like themselves, god of mischief, with a small but growing smirk. “Of course. I suppose I should have considered that.”

“Big flaw. Ruined the whole thing, to be honest.”

Loki leans closer. “I hate to admit to fault, but I fear there was a second issue that I had not considered.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

“Your absolute stubbornness.”

“Stubborn? Me? You should look in the mirror, pal.”

Loki closes their eyes a moment. Mobius studies the planes of their perfect face, and wonders how, in all the infinite timelines, he ever forgot it. 

“Loki,” Mobius says. “Do me a favor, though, huh? Don’t do this again. I... uh, well. It wasn’t the most fun for me.”

“Me, either.” Loki presses their forehead to Mobius’s. “I regretted every moment, but I... The TVA stole you from your life. I wanted to -”

“I know, I get it. I’m not mad. But communication is key to a relationship, yeah? So maybe next time you want to do a grand gesture of love for me, we should talk about it first?”

Loki leans back. They blink. But it’s not the love that trips them up, it’s, “Relationship?”

Mobius runs his hands along Loki’s arms, up to the shoulders and back down to the elbows. “Yeah. I mean, we’re partners, right?”

“Partners.” Loki doesn’t say the word with disgust, more... intrigue.

“Boyfriends?” Mobius tries.

“Boyfriends.” Loki frowns at that one.

“Lovers?”

Loki’s eyes are bright and full of wonder. How they could look at Mobius, someone so normal, like that... well. Loki makes Mobius feel like a god himself, no wonder he couldn’t go back to his old life.

“Lovers,” Loki says and kisses Mobius. Mobius smiles against their lips. Lovers, it is, then.

Kiss turns to kisses, and they linger. It’s right, so right that it further amplifies how wrong everything else was before. Mobius belongs here. Right here. With Loki. Forever, if possible.

When they break, they both laugh, and it’s light and true this time, for both of them.

“Hey, Loki,” Mobius says. “Want to buy a jetski?”

Loki pulls an annoyed face, but its all an act - Mobius sees right through it, and Loki’s not trying that hard to hide it. “I believe I’m the one who acquired that jetski for you. You have no right to sell it.”

“It was a gift,” Mobius says.

“It remains a gift. One I insist you keep.”

“Alright, alright,” Mobius laughs and Loki kisses him at the corner of his smile. “But only if you promise to keep me.”

“Oh, dear Mobius.” Loki brings their mouth to Mobius’s ear. “I hope you appreciated this display of selflessness, because I will not be repeating it.”

“Good.”

“I am a selfish god.”

“Uh, huh.”

Loki’s arms grip tightly around Mobius’s waist. “And from here to eternity, I will be keeping what’s mine.”

The last remaining knots in Mobius’s chest untangle. “And the jetski.”

“And the jetski,” Loki says and kisses him again.

[nevertheless-moving]

Suicidal Misunderstanding XXIII

Part I - - - - - - - - - Part XX - - - - Part XXI - - - - Part XXII

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

The office was quiet but for the occasional shuffling of flimsi and tapping of datapads.

Bail Organa and Mon Mothma pointedly did not exchange a glance behind Padme’s back.

Senator Mothma set down her pad and broke the silence. “Padme...are you alright?” she asked softly.

“I’m fine Mon, let’s just go over the bill,” Padme responded stiffly.

Mothma hesitated. “That’s not the only reason I asked you here, Padme.”

Padme stood, chair scraping gratingly. “I see; I’ve already had the Chancellor pry me today in an attempt to exploit my ‘connections’ to the Jedi—as though they’re droids and not flesh-and-blood people who any average person could strike a friendship with—but I had thought better of you two; I suppose my faith was—”

“That’s not what I meant—” Mon pleaded.

“We’re concerned about you,” Bail insisted gently. “You don’t have to tell us anything about the Jedi that you don’t feel comfortable doing so.”

Padme paused, then reluctantly sat back down.

“My apologies,” she muttured. “It’s been...a long day. I’ve been asked by the Chancellor for help in breaking some news that...I’d rather not.”

The senators waited patiently for Padme to collect her thoughts. She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “General Kenobi has suffered from...force...I really don’t think there’s a way of saying this that doesn’t sound bad.”

“I had heard rumors that he was missing at meetings the last few days...has something serious happened?” Bail asked, concerned.

Padme shuddered. “This office is...”

“It’s clean,” Mothma confirmed quietly. “I have it checked independently anytime I’m gone for more then 15 minutes, with random deep-scans.”

“Would you mind...”

Mon nodded and the three waited in silence until the Chandurllian senator’s pad trilled the all-clear.

“Master Kenobi tried to kill himself earlier this week,” Padme confessed lowly. Mon straightened up in a sudden locking of knees and elbows, face drawn into tight lines. Bail’s hands flew to his mouth, tears forming.

“Knight Skywalker got to him in time, and he was in a coma until this morning when he apparently ‘ranted about ending the one’s responsible for the war’ and then vanished, along with Anakin.”

Mon grew very pale and Bail moved both hands from his mouth to his eyes.

“Fuck,” he said softly. “Just...fuck.”

Padme nodded in agreement and Mon inhaled deeply.

Bail rubbed way tears and straightened up resolutely. “How can we help?” he asked Padme. “How does the Chancellor want to handle releasing the news?”

She smiled weakly. “He’s leaving the exact wording up to me, but wants to make the announcement during the next full Senate gathering.”

“What!” Mon half-shouted, shocked. “There’ll be a riot! Surely a bulletin—even a press conference would be better for encouraging a moderate reaction—people will be shouting before he’s through the first sentence!”

“I know,” Padme agreed with a grimace. “But he wants ‘transparency.’“

“He wants panic,” Bail fumed.

“I’m trying to decide if it would better or worse to include the part about suicide,” Padme said bitterly. “Mental health breakdown and disappearance of the Republic’s highest General doesn’t leave much room for confidence or privacy.”

Mon clutched Padme’s hand in support. “I’ll have a PR team on standby. We can prepare resources for anyone who has questions, avoid conspiracy theories from spinning out. I already had a project on the backburner to put together own set of holoclips of the Jedi working towards peace—a counter to the ‘warmongering’ narrative, so to speak. It should be easy enough to adapt.”

“The Chancellor’s going to turn this into another military spending bill,” Bail predicted grimly. “We’ll make sure there’s a proviso in there to provide actual support for the Jedi in the field; I’ll make sure to get a legal team on viper in the grass duty as soon as the responses start coming out.”

“Thank you,” Padme said, gripping Mon’s hand over-tightly in return. She turned to the Alderannian senator. “I’m sorry Bail, I know you two are close.”

Bail exhaled slowly. “This war...I’ve seen Obi-Wan survive so much, and everytime he pulls off the impossible...”

“He’s rewarded with another burden on his shoulders,” Padme finished sympathetically. “Yes, I’ve been watching the same thing happen to Anakin. It’s—if the separatist movement hadn’t resolved into such a democratic and humanitarian nightmare—”

“You should go home and get some rest, Padme,” Mon urged. “It’s late, and the we’re all going to need to be sharp tomorrow. Who knows, maybe some new information will materialize before the afternoon.”

“Why Mon, that’s almost optimistic of you,” Bail remarked dryly.

Mon flashed him a wry grin, looking at Padme out of the corner of her eye. “Well. She did say Anakin with AWOL—”

“Oh do be quiet,” Padme huffed.

Despite the ever growing desire for sleep, it was another long hour before the Senator from Naboo departed. The pair were just turning to their seats after escorting Padme out when Bail let out a startled yelp; Mon instinctively kicked at the sudden small green blur.

Fortunately, when you’re green and the height of most humanoid’s knees, you become quite experienced at avoiding such reflexive 

“Master Yoda! What are you doing here? How did you even get in?” Senator Mothma staggered backwards, reverting to defensiveness to cover up her embarrassment at attempting to punt the Grandmaster of the Jedi Order.

“Has his ways, a Jedi does,” Yoda replied mysteriously. Mon Mothma nodded seriously as Bail restrained himself from rolling his eyes. He had spent far too much time around Obi-Wan for deliberate Jedi vagueness to hold much weight. 

“Can I—May I offer you a seat?” Mon asked, quickly recovering her diplomatic grace. “I’m afraid that you’ve just missed Senator Amidala, but I’m sure she would be eager to return; I understand she’s...concerned for Master Kenobi.”

The wizened Master shook his head, ears flopping as he hopped onto Padme’s recently vacated chair, standing on the cusioned seat as the two senators’ settled down. The sight should, perhaps, have been comical. But the weight of his gaze...Bail held his breath. Perhaps Jedi mystique did still have some affect on him.

“Come to speak with the two of you, I did. Missed Mistress Amidala, I have, I know. Deliberate, this was.”

Mon and Bail frowned, exchanging a slow look of pointed disapproval. Bail spoke hesitantly but with touch of reproach. “I’m certain she would prefer to be here, regardless of the news—Padme has suffered for her public defense of the Jedi, I should hope that that friendship is returned, especially in hard times”

Yoda’s ears drooped. “A great Jedi, she would have made, in another life. Vibrant, she is in the Force. Loud to a Jedi, regardless of sensitivity. But needed now, quiet is.” 

Yoda’s gaze pierced Bail and he warmed inexplicably. “Quiet the two of you are. Brilliant, wide but in the Force...” Yoda broke the gaze, growing contemplative.

“Unique in the force, each soul is. That can be read, rare is the mind. More difficult to discern, currents, intentions, manner, it is with some, it is with you. And now, Quiet we need.”

The two settled back, uneasily flattered. “Master Yoda—it’s an honor of course, to be considered an individual worthy of confidence, but why exactly do you have need of quiet minds? Of us?” Senator Mothma asked finally.

The diminutive Master sagged. “By actions you would do, trust you have earned. But always in motion, the future is. A heavy burden, to carry, I must ask you. Without cause, I would not ask. But once tell you this I do—” 

To the politicians shock Master Yoda’s simmed to glisten with unshed tears. “—Guarantee your safety I cannot.”

The air hung warm and heavy for a timeless moment and a chill ran up both their spines. But neither were individuals particularly given to indesicion in the face of looming danger. 

“How can we help?” Mon asked, the words echoing over far more than an hour. 

“We know something is wrong with Obi-Wan,” Bail added softly. “Whatever we can do to right it—Obi-Wan is a friend, the Jedi are our allies, and the Republic is our duty.”

Mon nodded firmly.

Yoda stared at them each in turn, eyes searching and ancient.

“Working with the Separatists, the Chancellor is,” he said bluntly. “Evidence of this, we have, but not proof. Controlling, the Separatists, the Chancellor is. Evidence of this we have also, but not proof. The truth it is.”

“Evidence?” Bail parroted hoarsely, mentally assembling his own grim circumstantial coronation even as his understanding of the conversation’s direction fell apart.

The Jedi Master drew two small glittering objects from his pocket—a datachip and a microslide. 

“In the brain of a trooper, this we found.” he said gravely. “In the brain of all clones, this lies. Orders, it contains. Evil, is it. Free will, it can control. Decode it we have. To the Chancellor, tied these orders are.”

“Force,” Mon murmured in horror, responding automatically. “He already controls the public, and the courts—”

“And over half the senate,” Bail added bitterly.

“A Sith, he is,” Yoda continued with a sigh. “A Sith he has always been. A return to an Empire, he aims.”

There was a long heady pause as the two grappled with the return of the ancient boogeyman of the Republic and the repeated derailing of their night’s direction. 

“Fuck,” Senator Mothma said delicately, thinking wistfully of two hours ago when she had planned on confronting Padme yet again on her relationship with a young Jedi.

“Said the same, did we.”

The Alderannian Senator rubbed his temples, trying to come to terms with consecutive massive shocks from the already unexpected conversation. “Is Obi-Wan alright?” he asked eventually.

The small Elder hummed thoughtfully in reply. Bail tensed.

“No and yes. Suffer much, he has. Broken he is, but not shattered. A plan he has. His idea to include you, it is. The bravest man in the galaxy, he called you.” Yoda said, offering Senator Organa a sad smile.

Bail leaned back, stunned. “Me? But—why me?” he asked bewildered.

“Know not, I do,” the Jedi said with a shrug. “Seen the future, he has. A future where saved his life, you did. Saved my life. Saved something too precious to name, you did. Matters little, it does. A future that must not come to pass, it is, even as learn from it. we do.”

“...I think you’re going to have to explain that somewhat,” Mon replied sternly as Bail’s head spun.

Yoda nodded and the three settled in for a sleepless night of planning treason.

Part XXIV

[thinkingoutlouddblog]

butterfly effect: one

His mouth is slightly ajar, surely shocked to be seeing the girl of his past so far from where he had left her. I myself try to compute what I am seeing, but my brain is running so fast from the adrenaline, the gravity of what is occurring hardly registers.

It’s Harry, and he’s here and the two of you need to get out of there right now.

Word Count: 6k+

Includes: mob!h, mentions of blood, scary dudes late at night, and the set up for my favourite story I’ve ever written!

A/N: guys I am so excited about this story! I swear writing this is the only thing holding me together (so don’t let it flop lmao). It is 2AM pray for me.

My inbox is open for anyone who wants to chat about this series! I love to gab, and constructive criticism is very much appreciated. I want this to be as good as possible!!

butterfly effect masterlist // my masterlist

now

It is not until it is already too late that I realise I should have just ordered an uber.

Alex was very insistent that I order one home from my late shift at the pub. He had even offered to split the cost, knowing without needing to ask this was the cause of my hesitation. It wasn’t that I couldn’t afford it. Strictly speaking, I could. I was just keenly aware of the amount of material I could buy with the amount a late night uber in London would cost me. I would never take him up on his offer. He needed the money just as much as I did.

“It’s okay, I’m good for it,” I gave him a little smile. He was sitting in front of his mirror in his room, midway through getting ready for work. I had simply come to say goodbye before I left for my shift when he had grabbed me by the hand and demanded I ordered an uber home.

“Babe, you have to promise me.”

“I promise!” I stared exaggeratedly into his eyes as I spoke, emphasising my honesty.

In that moment, I made peace with the money I would be losing from my fabric budget. I calculated this budget, of course, by subtracting living expenses from my weekly income. My best friend wanted to make sure I got home safe, wanted the peace of mind while he was working that I would be fine. Who was I to say no to that?

“Make sure you text me when you get into the uber and once you make it up to the apartment.” My chest flooded with warmth at the love and care in his voice. It was moments like these I really sat back and thanked my lucky stars that Alex was in my life.

So, of course I was just going to bite the bullet and order the uber. Of course.

Except, well.

I couldn’t help but think how quickly I got from our place to work. We had picked the apartment just one short month ago, heavily considering the advantage of its walking distance to my work. The King’s Arms was just one block up and down the road. It was barely a fifteen-minute walk. Shorter than that if I took the shortcut down the alleyway back to our block, saving me from walking further down the road and looping back around. It would probably take me longer to get home via uber, once you account for the time spent waiting for it to arrive.

A ten-minute walk home wouldn’t kill me, surely.

The contemplation was pushed from my mind for the duration of my busy Saturday night shift. It was my least favourite shift of the week, as I spent each week chasing after middle aged men getting rowdy in the excitement of watching whatever sport was on TV. The King’s Arm was small, but it was a local favourite known for its homey pub meals, reasonably priced pints and good atmosphere. Much to my contempt they didn’t keep a large staff pool, preferring a smaller, well-trained, reliable bunch. Which was great in theory until it left me to run around like my hair is on fire on a night as busy as tonight.

I was capable of serving everyone well and in a timely manner, but it wasn’t exactly a stroll in the park. More like a seven-hour long sprint, with a half hour break in the middle.

As the final game for the night ended, the crowd slowly but surely thinned until just a couple of small groups remained.

“Hey y/n, are you okay to lock up by yourself if I head home in five?” my manager, Rachel asked me half an hour before close. “I have some time I need to take back,” she added in explanation.

“Of course, you go get out of here.” I knew she wasn’t lying when she said she had some time to take back, putting in all sorts of extra hours to keep the place in tip top shape. I liked Nicola, and I had certainly been working there long enough to handle a couple of customers and lock up by myself. Even if I didn’t like Rachel and thought she was slacking off, I couldn’t exactly argue. She was both my boss and the owner’s daughter, probably not far off becoming the owner herself.

“Are you sure?” She asked, eyeing the few men still seated, probably triple checking she didn’t think they were any kind of threat.

“Yes,” I laughed, “now scram, before I change my mind.”

“Alright if you insist,” she said, already making her way towards her bag.

“Ring me if you need anything! Good night!” She called over her shoulder as she exited through the kitchen door. The cook had gone home ten minutes earlier, the pub serving only drinks the hour before close at midnight.

“Night!” I called back.

I made quick work of what little cleaning there was left to do, and gently reminded the remaining patrons we closed in half an hour. To my surprise they were agreeable and friendly, one of them instantly assuring me, “Don’t worry love we’ll be out of your hair soon, won’t make you stay back late.”

Usually the kind of people that were in the pub this late had no care for closing time, believing that pertained simply to whenever they decided they wanted to leave.

True to his word, everyone was out with ten minutes to spare and I was able to clean their dishes and tables with the remaining time they had granted me. I locked the door to The King’s Arms at 12 o’clock on the dot and riding the high of such an easy close, took not a moment in deciding I was in fact going to walk home.

To Alex: Just ordered an uber!

I felt guilty lying, but I would rather lie than have Alex worrying over nothing. I would be home in a flash, keys secured firmly in between my knuckles the whole way. I felt far safer on the move than waiting out the front of work for an uber anyway.

I kept a fast pace, left only to debate whether I took my shortcut or stuck to the street. I checked over my shoulder, and seeing absolutely no one around, made a quick right turn into the alleyway between two buildings.

I grabbed my phone from my back pocket as I heard the ding of a text notification. I glance down at my screen, reading as I walk.

From Alex: Amazing! I should be home in a couple hours, text me when you get home safe. Love you x

I don’t register the hushed growling tones as I continue making my way down the alley, still looking down at my phone as I type a simple ‘love you’ in reply. It isn’t uncommon to hear the conversations of tenants on the lower levels of these apartment buildings as you walk down the street. Walls are thin and many windows generally left open. It is easy to consign this particular conversation among the other non-threatening city sounds until I eventually look back up from my phone.

I am immediately faced with a most unfavourable scene, under the single light that illuminates this alley, are the two men who I now recognise to be the source of the argument I had barely registered. The first man is tall, dressed in all black, thick muscles protruding through his t-shirt. He towered over the second man who contrasted him starkly in his bright red adidas tracksuit. The tall man’s presence would be dominating the space, even if he didn’t have his dark forearm pressed firmly against the smaller man’s throat.

I clamp a hand over my mouth, stopping myself from yelping stupidly and drawing attention to myself. They haven’t noticed my presence. A witness to whatever it was that was occurring here.

“See all I’m hearing is excuses, bruv,” the tall man’s accent is distinctly that of someone from South London. His tone is aggressive, but even. He knows he has the upper hand and it is clearly not his first rodeo threatening people. This is exactly the kind of person I could’ve avoided encountering by simply ordering an uber.

I snap out of my shocked daze and start to turn to make a swift and stealthy departure. I’m no fool. I know there is a definitive gang presence around here. I also know, if you leave them alone, they too shall (hopefully)leave you. All hopes of making such an exit are of course foiled as soon as my foot connects with an empty beer bottle on my first step.

The two men’s heads snap towards me instantly. I expect the shorter man to ask for help, to say something, but his mouth remains clamped shut. Gang business. He is in a bigger mess than someone like me can ever save him from. The taller man’s eyes narrow. After the briefest moments of standing there frozen, caught, I spin on my heel and run as fast as my feet can carry me.

I run back to the route I should have taken, cursing myself all the way for being naïve enough to believe that nothing bad could happen to me on something as simple as a walk home from work. That women who were raped, kidnapped and murdered from off the street were somehow removed from me. That was something only on the news in my world. Not something that was possibly about to occur.

My heart hammers in my chest as I make the split-second decision, I am safer running all the way home than running as far as I can from the scene of the crime. I’m going to run all the way up the stairs to my fifth-floor apartment, and I am going to lock the door behind me. I turn the corner back up to my block, not slowing down for a second.

I am so quick in fact, that as I come flying around the next corner towards my apartment, I nearly barrel straight into someone. He was clearly walking with some pace too, because he narrowly prevents us crashing into each other head on, but he is a second too slow in his reaction time because I trip straight over his feet. I hardly even see him, even as I am falling straight over him. All I see is brown hair and a dark suit before I’m staring straight at the pavement flying towards my face. I barely manage to throw my forearms out to break my fall as I hit the pavement at speed.

“Jesus,” the man mutters, but the only thing I can hear is my heavy breathing and my own blood pounding in my ears.

I’m on the ground now, I register for a second before my flight response kicks back in.

I don’t even feel the sting of the scrapes with the adrenaline coursing through me, already attempting to scramble up and get as far away as possible from this stranger. “I’m so sorry!” I manage to call as I pick myself and my keys up, gearing up to get moving once more.

“Honey?”

No. It absolutely could not possibly be. There was only one person on this planet who had ever called me by that name.

I stop dead in my tracks. That voice. It’s deeper than I remember but undoubtedly familiar. Familiar seems too simple a word. That voice had echoed around the halls of my brain for years. Even now, six years later, it was not gone but buried, waiting for a simple trigger to spark my memory and bring that beautiful sound back to the forefront my mind. Some days I swear I remembered it like I had just heard it moments ago.

Except now, I really had heard him.

Slowly, I turned to face him.

His mouth is slightly ajar, surely shocked to be seeing the girl of his past so far from where he had left her. I myself try to compute what I am seeing, but my brain is running so fast from the adrenaline, the gravity of what is occurring hardly registers.

It’s Harry, and he’s here and the two of you need to get out of there right now.

Before he can verbalise any of the questions on the tip of his tongue, I grab his hand in my own, and yank him forward as I continue running home.

Realistically, I know that we now outnumber whoever it was that may be coming after me and I know even six years since I’ve last seen him, I am always safe with Harry. He proved that in many ways, and more than once, while I knew him. I was not, however, willing to risk the tall man pulling a knife on Harry. I didn’t even want to put him in a situation where it was a battle of fists. Though I did know from experience he could more than hold his own.

“What’s going on?” he yells as we run down the street, rapidly approaching the exit of the alleyway I had fled.

I gradually reduce our pace until we are speed-walking past the alleyway. Tempted as I am to see if they are still there, I keep my eyes trained forward, praying they aren’t there watching us as we pass by.

As soon as we have cleared it, I’m straight back to my running pace, forcing Harry to accelerate speed once more.

“I’ll explain inside,” I call over my shoulder in answer to his earlier question.

Now that I felt a degree safer with Harry’s presence, I had the capacity to feel thankful I had opted for a boiler suit and converse for tonight to accommodate for the Saturday night rush. This run would have been hell if I had worn a skirt and a heeled boot instead.

“Inside where?” He’s laughing as he speaks and as the fear loosens its grip on me, the déjà vu begins to battle for dominance. That laugh had brightened my every day for long enough to leave a mark on my soul. Fleeting as it was, that single sound reignited the shine it had once left.

His question was answered when we came to a screeching halt in front of my apartment. It took me two tries to input my security code correctly, my brain and hands both moving quickly, but not quite matching up. Eventually, the door clicked, and I was able to swing it open, tugging Harry in after me.

I didn’t stop dragging him along behind me until we had taken all five flights of stairs up to my apartment two at a time.

“y/n…” he attempted to grab my attention when we first entered the building, but I was not to be deterred until we had reached the absolute safety of my apartment. I shushed him, not wanting to receive a noise complaint from my new neighbours. I supposed having such a thought was a good sign, my consciousness beginning to register it was not in any imminent danger.

I huffed and puffed as we landed at the doorstep of apartment 5B, the place I loved to call home. Harry, I noticed, was barely short of breath. He had always been a runner when we were in high school. I wondered if he kept up the habit even now.

My hands shook as I located the correct key on my chain, body still shaking from the excitement of the events of the past five minutes. I struggled to align the key with the lock with my left hand, unthinking of the fact my right was still firmly in Harry’s hold.

“Let me,” he murmured, already moving his right hand to take the key. I said nothing, simply surrendering it over to him.

His hands were steady as anything as he turned the key, granting us entrance into my home. I released a breath I didn’t realise I had been holding. I finally stopped just past the door, my back to Harry as he shut it behind him. I took a few deep breaths, trying so desperately to ground myself.

Was any of this even real? The sketchy characters I could believe in a heartbeat, Harry Styles’ presence, however, was harder to grasp.

But there his hand was, in my own, even if I couldn’t see him.

Harry stood back and let me take this moment to myself, keenly aware of how much I needed it. He knew I needed to take pause and re-centre myself otherwise I would only shut down. He was also aware of my injured state though, even if I wasn’t.

“y/n, you’re bleeding.”

“Oh,” my head snapped back to look at my arm. In the rush to get home, the blood from the scrapes on my arm had run down my arm and dripped into our connected hands. I quickly released my grasp on him. “Jesus, I’m sorry.”

“A little bit of blood never hurt anyone,” he quickly dismissed. “Unless you’re the one that’s bleeding, in which case you better get cleaned up as soon as possible.

“Luckily you have me here to play nurse. Just lead the way to the nearest bathroom,” he gave me a little cheeky grin, clearly trying to lift your spirits. The subtle playfulness is not as natural as it once was, but it is certainly reminiscent of our old dynamic. The surrealism of this whole thing goes straight to my head, clouding my ability to form full, coherent thoughts.

Somehow, I manage to come out with, “I think you mean our only bathroom,” in response.

He grunts a laugh, but he hasn’t missed the use of the word our.

I walk like a zombie, leading him through the hallway past the living room and the kitchen to the bathroom. I hold my forearms up in an attempt to redirect the flow of the blood and prevent it from dripping from my fingertips onto the floor. As I slowly came out of survival mode, my awareness of the stinging of my forearms became increasingly prominent. I was sure my hip and knees were going to be bruised pretty badly too. I really hadn’t managed to slow down at all before all my momentum came crashing into the cement.

“Do you have a first aid kit?” He asks upon our arrival to the bathroom.

“Under the sink.”

My eyes trail over the mess Alex and I had left in our rush to get ready.

I tend to procrastinate getting ready for as long as possible, busying myself with just about anything else. Generally, it will be tidying up the mess I’ve made during the day, only for me to create a whole new one in my hurry to get ready for my shift on time. Alex on the other hand, always leaves plenty of time to perfect his look before leaving for the night. Despite having the time to do so, he never cleans as he goes. Leaving his many products and deliberated outfits spread far and wide. Luckily most of his mess was confined to his bedroom, the only trace of him in the bathroom skincare and hair products (though there wasn’t a limited amount of those, either).

“I’m sorry for the mess,” I speak quietly watching Harry get his bearings, standing helplessly as I bled, hands still raised.

“Nonsense,” he doesn’t look at me as he speaks, jumping into action.

Harry turns the faucet on in the sink before opening the cupboard door and grabbing the first aid kid out. It was actually sort of a miracle Alex and I had one. It had been on a list of “Things You Need for a New Apartment” I had googled, scared we were missing important things. At the time, I had deliberated longer than necessary over whether to get one. I couldn’t remember the last time I had required anything more than a band aid for any given ailment. The deciding factor had been the memory of Alex getting into a couple of scrapes while out over the years. It had never been anything major, the worst injury he ever sustained being a bruised jaw, but it was better to be safe than sorry, I decided.

Turns out, that decision was for the best.

He gently touches his fingertips to my right arm, which had copped the brunt of it. With the softest touch, he delicately guided my arm under the stream of water. As I stepped forward to lean over the sink and wash away the dirt of the footpath, he stepped backwards, giving me my space.

I winced at the initial contact of the water as it ran red. I risked a glance at my reflection. Sweaty brow, the light lazy work makeup I had applied half off my face. I quickly diverted my gaze back to my injured arm. This was not exactly how I pictured our reunion. I had hardly ever even pictured it, I was so sure that I would never see Harry again.

I wondered if this silence was as heavy as I thought it was. Everything about him felt so familiar, yet so different. Up until this moment it felt like being in the presence of a friend, but now I realised, he was closer to a stranger.

I knew the person he once was, a sweet but fucked up kid who had been forced to become a man too early. Someone who had his walls a mile high around almost everyone. Almost. The boy who painted his nails on lunch breaks and was friends with everyone but somehow also no one. Until he was friends with me. Then he was the boy who always sat to my left from the first bell of the school day to the last. Back then, I knew him from the inside out, just as he knew me.

He was my greatest joy of those years. Then he was my greatest heartbreak. Now, he was just some guy I used to know who I had plucked straight up off the street, looking very out of place in what was clearly a designer suit in my tiny apartment.

He looked through the first aid kit as I ensured the entirety of the scrape was rinsed. It extended most of the way from my elbow to my wrist, but more pressingly in my mind, it now stung like a bitch. Once the water rain clear as it ran off my arm, I moved onto the much smaller and shallower scrape on my left elbow, working quickly to get it clean.

Most of the bleeding had stopped, only a few spots on my right arm still dotting with blood. I leaned over the sink to prevent the water from dripping onto the floor.

I cleared my throat, nervous to break the silence.

“Can you please grab me that towel?” I nodded my head towards the black hand towel hung behind Harry.

His eyes snapped upwards from the first aid kit he had been busying himself with. I was sure he had been surveying it more thoroughly than strictly necessary, trying to detract from the awkward energy which had crept up on us. We made brief eye contact through the mirror. My breath caught in my throat. The moment was over as soon as it began as he turned wordlessly to grab the towel.

He holds it in his hand, hesitating before handing it over, “Did you want me to…?” he trails off, growing awkward in his offer. He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. She barely knows you, back off, he tells himself.

“No that’s okay,” I speak gently, and he quickly passes the towel to me. I get to work patting my arms down delicately.

“Thank you though,” I add, hating the unsure look on his face. I meet his eye, giving him a smile I hope is reassuring.

“Okay, let’s get you sitting down so I can fix you up,” he returns your smile with a slight upturn of the right side of his mouth.

I relocate to the little dining table Alex and I had bought at Ikea just a week prior. Harry isn’t far behind, washing his hands before joining me to tend to my wounds. He lays out everything he is going to need from the first aid kit before holding his hand out. Like an idiot, I stare at his hand without moving for a beat too long before jerkily offering my right arm up.

He laughs silently as he turns my arm over, analysing it carefully.

“So, do you often go for runs at midnight?” He asks as he unscrews the lid on the Vaseline.

“Yeah all the time. I just don’t normally take people from the street with me.”

“Is that all I am? A person on the street?” He tries to keep his tone light, but I can tell he was hurt by my choice of words.

I expect to feel guilty, but a burst of anger I thought I had long gotten over flares in my chest. It isn’t as red hot and overwhelming as it had been years before – I’d definitely had my fair share of time to cool off – but I’m still surprised by the sting of it.

He was the one that made himself a stranger to me, and now he’s upset when I’m stating the fact that he made a reality.

Despite myself, I tried not to come across too harshly in my response. I was never one for confrontation.

“I mean, I haven’t heard from you in six years.”

He is very careful not to lift his eyes from my injuries as he carefully applies the petroleum jelly. I stare down at him, desperate to catch his eye.

There’s a pause as I wait for him to offer some kind of explanation. Some perfectly good reason why my best friend and first love left town without telling me why, or where he was going, and then never contacted me again.

When he doesn’t fill the silence, I sigh as quietly as I can manage. You don’t really know him, I remind myself. I practically kidnapped him, I can’t just go asking him to rehash history. It was so clear that he was what he had wanted me to be. History.

“I just mean, I don’t really know you anymore. I’m sorry I grabbed you like that, I just,” I hissed at the sting of his first aid, “I was walking home from work and I saw these really sketchy looking guys.”

“Sketchy looking?” He finally looked up at me, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

“Well I guess they didn’t really look sketchy in their appearance particularly, it was more the fact that one of them was practically choking the other. They were arguing over something. I think it was something to do with some of the gangs around here,” I attempted a nonchalant tone, not wanting to worry him. The less phased I seemed, the better. I had caused him enough trouble. The only thing that was probably stopping him from running for the hills and never looking back (again) was guilt.

I go on to explain how I’d kicked that stupid beer bottle and taken off running, “which is when I ran into you. I’m really sorry about that, by the way. I’m so glad I didn’t take you down with me I think I would’ve died of a mix of guilt and embarrassment right then and there.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Ho-“he cut himself before his mouth could form that name he had so affectionately given you. “I’m the one who feels guilty, if not for my big, slow feet you wouldn’t have bit the dust.” I laugh at his turn of phrase.

His face suddenly grows serious. “Your head is okay, right?”

Instinctively, my left hand shoots up to the back of my head, ghosting over the slight bump hidden under my hair. The scar tissue was ever so minimally raised, only perceptible to a knowing touch. I retract my hand bashfully, slightly embarrassed by my knee jerk reaction.

“It’s fine,” I match his serious tone, before lightening it up, “as you can see, I managed to break most of my fall,” I gesture to my right arm he has paused work on.

He holds my gaze for a moment longer, discerning whether he thinks I am downplaying anything. He picks up the dressing, moving onto the next phase of his treatment plan.

“And they don’t feel broken? You can move your wrists okay without too much pain?”

My heart swells at his concern. I stamp out the small joy as soon as it flared up. It’s guilt that’s fuelling him. Nothing else.

I shake my head no. He looks up once more, having missed the gesture in his concentration. “Sorry! No. All bumps and bruises. I’m fine honestly, I probably majorly overexaggerated the whole thing and freaked out for nothing. I’m really sorry about all this, its so late at night.”

“Don’t apologise,” he says firmly. “It’s not your fault and you did exactly the right thing by making a break fo’ it. You never know what could’ve happened. Ya’ know. Out late. By yourself. In the dark.”

My face burned red with shame, but also defiance. I knew what I did was stupid and extremely risky, but I also didn’t think I needed a lecture about it in this moment. The fear still coursing through me and my scraped-up arms were surely lesson enough.

“I could say the same thing to you,” I countered.

We both knew my argument didn’t hold up very well. He was a man out alone at night. There was obviously a risk there, but it wasn’t the same.

We also both knew, I wasn’t really trying to start a debate. Just signalling to him I didn’t want to get into it and wanted to move on.

“I was walking to the tube from a mate’s place,” he explained simply, letting me off the hook.

He had begun to tape the dressing down to my skin, securing it safely. He worked expertly. Even if I didn’t already know, I would have said this was one of many times he had done some at home first aid.

“In a designer suit?” I questioned. There were two things I was asking, but also not saying. Was this the kind of ‘mate’ you wine and dine before going home with them? And what happened to that poor kid from Holmes Chapel I once knew?

“I came straight from work.”

Jesus he wasn’t giving me a lot to work with in the way of details.

“Oh,” I say lamely, not wanting to pry. As much as I could tell myself (and him) that I didn’t really know him anymore and he was basically a stranger, it still hurt to be treated like one. We used to be so open with one another. The one thing I ever kept from him was how I truly felt about him.

“I work in finance,” he offers up after a beat of silence. “It uh- I’m pretty lucky to have the job I do,” he alludes to his financial standing, obviously wanting to acknowledge the contrast comparative to how I knew him. A boy not even of eighteen, fending for himself while trying to complete his high school education.

My face practically split in two with the size of the smile on my face at his words. “I’m so happy for you, Harry,” I say, hoping he can see how genuinely I mean it.

“Thank you.”

“Are you happy, H?” The question slips out before I can stop it. Internally, I kick myself. Externally, I try to keep my face neutral, yet interested. That’s a perfectly normal question to ask. Totally.

“Um,” he switches to my left elbow, making quicker work of the smaller wound. “I think so. In my experience you never realise how happy you are until you aren’t. But still, I think I am.”

“Good,” I say firmly. “I’m glad.”

“What about you?” He turns the questioning back on you. “What’s your story?”

“Oh, you know. The sad story of the girl chasing a dream,” I nodded my head towards the sewing machine stationed at the other end of the table.

“Don’t say that!” His tone jests, but he is serious as he speaks. “I think it would be far sadder if I discovered that your talent was going to waste. I’m really glad to hear that actually,” he half says the last sentence to himself, concentrating on fixing his dressing properly on the more difficult angle of my elbow.

“There you go,” he gleams as he admires his handy work. “Good as new.”

“Thank you so much, Harry. I’m so sorry for all this-“

“Not your fault,” he quickly dismisses.

“Even so, I’m sorry for all the trouble. I’ll pay for an uber home for you or something,” I try to come up with something to offer him that can even begin to repay him for his help.

“Are you going to be okay by yourself?” His brow creases in concern.

“Oh, Alex should be-“ I smack a hand over my mouth, realising I never texted him to let him know I had gotten home okay.

“Oh fuck,” I remove my hand from my mouth. I gingerly fish my phone out of my back pocket, muscles beginning to protest, the impact of that fall settling in.

Four missed calls and a flurry of text messages. My phone had automatically turned onto ‘Do Not Disturb’ mode as scheduled at 12:30. I hadn’t been notified of any of it and he had definitely assumed the worst.

“Is everything okay?”

“I forgot to text him and let him know I made it home okay,” I don’t look up as I speak, opening our text chat.

From Alex: I’m coming home

Received ten minutes ago.

“Your boyfriend?” He questioned, keeping his face impassive. That had my head shooting up.

“Uh-“ I began, but cut myself off as the unmistakeable sound of heeled feet running up the stairs to our apartment ran out loud and clear.

Shit.

Before I could even think what to say next, Alex’s key was in the lock. The door swung open, smacking the wall with the force of it.

Both Harry and Alex’s brows hit their bloody hairline I swear. Or more accurately, Lexie’s.

There my best friend and roommate stood, in full drag, light catching the sequins of the pink mini-dress I had sewn myself. If I weren’t standing there with the guiltiest expression of my life, I would be thinking about how stunning she looked.

Harry looked between the two of you, as Lexie did the same. Both trying to catch their brains up to what they were seeing. I myself was at a loss for words. I probably should have started with, “Lex, I am so sorry,” but Harry broke the silence first.

“Wow, you look amazing,” he breathed, transfixed by the look Lexie had created. Drag was an art form, and she was quite the artist. He was not the first to become enchanted upon first look, and he certainly would not be the last.

Lexie narrowed her eyes at Harry, jaw falling slightly open at the audacity of the acknowledgement in this moment. She had little patience for besotted strangers in moments like this. Her narrowed eyes moved to mine, face filling with rage.

“Lex-“ I begin, but am cut off for what seems to be the millionth time tonight with the simple raise of her hand. The close of my mouth is instant. I was not about to make this any worse.

“Bitch, if you do not have a very good explanation for this,” she breathes deeply, trying to gain her composure, “I am going to fucking kill you.”

                                   ********

As soon as he is out of your apartment and onto the street, his phone is in his hand. Fingers not able to press to type the message fast enough for his liking.

From Harry: We need to talk. I saw her.

As soon as the message was delivered, he was returning the calls he had silenced in y/n’s presence. The moment she had turned her back and left him to wash his hands, he had turned his phone to airplane mode.

“Jesus Christ bruv, I thought you were dead,” Michael joked as soon as he picked up.

The two of them had parted ways for what should’ve been five or ten minutes. Harry hadn’t seen it happen, just heard the clatter of the beer bottle as it skated along the ground and the screeching halt in the argument. He had been waiting patiently for Michael to finish working in the shadowy doorway to the side. He hadn’t seen a thing, and he was sure from his concealed position, whoever had seen Mike hadn’t seen him. So, he obligingly offered to take a walk, ensure she hadn’t gone calling the police.

He had just been bored. Ready to go home and have a drink with Michael so he could have a bitch and a moan about work. It always left him feeling better when he returned on Monday. He was killing time, that was all. He hadn’t expected to stumble over the girl who had changed everything.

Harry didn’t take time to explain his extended absence, moving straight along to what he had called for. Just like Mike, he preferred to skip the pleasantries.

“I need you to subtly divert as much traffic from this block as possible,” he didn’t ask. He never asked. It was always an instruction with him. In this business, asking nicely didn’t exactly lend itself to going far.

“What’s this about?” Harry gritted his teeth. He did not enjoy having his authority questioned. The only reason Michael would get away with it was because of their pre-existing friendship. Even then. Harry was not exactly in a forgiving mood. Made all the worse when Mike added, “This isn’t about that girl from the alley is it?”

Michael had his answer when Harry said only, “Get it done or I’ll have your fookin’ head.”

chat with me about butterfly effect!

[love-and-monsters]

Fake Dating pt. 2

M Faerie X F human reader, 6,405 words

This is a part two to this story. Elwain and his human are safely in the human world, dealing with things far more mundane than an assassination attempt. Both of them are adjusting to the new life and to each other. Very fluffy, with some caretaking. I was in a very romantic mood while writing this and I think you can tell.

Content notes: mentions of parents trying to kill their child, descriptions of minor illness.

“This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen. Why do humans like this?”

You repressed a snicker. “You’re watching it.”

Elwain didn’t even look away from the screen to reply. “You put it on.”

“I just turned on the TV. You’re the one who started watching.” Elwain made a noncommittal noise. You pressed your lips together, trying not to smile. “I can change the channel, if you want. There’s a documentary on that I wanted to-”

“No, this is fine,” Elwain said. He hopped onto the couch next to you and curled up. “Ugh. These people know that expensive doesn’t mean good, right?”

You covered your mouth with a hand. Elwain actually, legitimately enjoying trashy reality shows was by far the best thing you’d learned about his personality since you’d started living together. The worst thing was probably that he’d grown up with servants and had no comprehension of household chores. It had taken a few weeks to get him to put his food back in the refrigerator when he was done with it, and you weren’t sure he was ever going to get the hang of doing dishes. Still. He was getting better.

“You’re still going to need to vacuum later tonight,” you reminded him. Elwain groaned.

“I spent all day at work!” he said. “I should get a day off.”

“You only had a five hour shift today. I worked seven. Plus, I have school. You don’t get breaks on household chores. Doesn’t matter how much you worked, they still have to be done.” Elwain looked away sulkily. That was an expression you were getting uncomfortably familiar with. “And you’re not allowed to do magic for it, either.”

“What? Just because you can’t use magic, there is no reason for me to be forbidden!” Elwain said.

“Yeah, sure. You remember what happened last time you used magic to clean the apartment?” Bright pink spots appeared on Elwain’s cheeks. He glared down at the couch, expression screwed up in irritation.

“I fixed that.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. You fixed the apartment. What you’re never going to fix is my trauma from walking into my apartment and finding everything covered in spiders!”

“I apologized!”

“Look, the next time you decide to enchant a bunch of bugs into doing household chores, just. Don’t.”

Elwain huffed. “They weren’t even venomous to humans! All of you are so easily frightened. They weren’t going to hurt you.”

“I think the heart attack I had upon entering my own apartment could be considered as hurting me,” you muttered. Elwain looked sour, but didn’t respond, apparently returning to his TV show. Elwain’s adjustment to the human world had been… difficult. He had no real understanding of conventional social norms and obviously still expected everyone to treat him like a noble, despite working a minimum wage job at a fast-food restaurant. Not to mention that he seemed to have very loose morals when it came to enchanting mortals. As far as you were aware, he’d never done it to you, but he didn’t seem to have any sort of restraint when it came to anyone else. Before he’d gotten his job in customer service, he’d made all of his money by charming random people off the street into handing over their wallets.

Admittedly, his skills had come in handy. You didn’t feel particularly good about it, but he had charmed the landlord into giving you the apartment for significantly less than the going rate. In your defense, there hadn’t been many options. You couldn’t stay in your parent’s house with a Fae hanging around, and even with both of you working, there was no way to afford an apartment otherwise.

It did not help that Elwain apparently found your moral crisis very funny.

“You all live by such dumb rules all the time. If you really wanted, I could probably charm someone into giving us their house, or just letting us stay there.”

“That feels morally dubious,” you said.

“Ugh. You won’t let me steal anything, you won’t let me charm people into letting us use their things without stealing them, you won’t even let me charm people into handing some things over!” Elwain flopped across the couch. “So now we’re living in a garbage apartment and I have to work at a greasy food place where customers yell all the time and-”

“It’s a nice apartment, especially considering what we’re paying for it,” you interrupted. “And if you use magic too often, people might start figuring out that something weird is going on.”

“I doubt it. Mortals are stupid.” But Elwain didn’t protest, and went to his job as usual, and didn’t steal, which was more respect for your rules than you were worried he’d show. And, really, you were glad you’d instated the ‘no magic’ rule at large, given how unpredictable the results could be.

Elwain sprawled across the couch. He had a tendency to take up ridiculous amounts of space, pushing you to the edges of the couch to avoid contact. Eventually, you got up.

“Where are you going?” Elwain asked as you walked out of the room.

“I’m going to study for a bit before bed,” you called back. “Enjoy your show.”

He stared after you until your door clicked shut. Weird. He’d seemed almost annoyed about you leaving, even though it meant he could watch his shows for longer and you would stop bugging him about vacuuming. Whatever. He’d been acting weird recently, though. Maybe you should talk to him about it. He’d seemed fine for the first month or so after leaving his home and his parents trying to kill him, but maybe he was having some sort of delayed reaction.

You buried yourself in your textbooks for the next few hours, trying to get a solid start on one of your papers. The back of your mind seemed to be focused on the little noises in the apartment, though. Every sound of footsteps or things being moved pulled your attention back to the rest of the house. Eventually, you heard the sound of the vacuum running for a while before Elwain headed into his room.

He never went back into the main area of your apartment and, buried in work, you were soon thoroughly distracted. Gradually, as you worked, your mind grew less and less focused until you were face down in your books, dead asleep.

“Wake up!”

You bolted upright. There was a piece of paper sticking to your cheek from a stream of drool. You hurriedly pulled it off. “What? What’s going on?” You blinked, focusing on Elwain’s fine face in front of you. “What are you doing in my room?”

“Your alarm was going off. I can’t believe you didn’t hear it. It woke me up.” Sure enough, your phone, which was still sitting across the room from you, on its charger, was ringing furiously. You weren’t surprised that you hadn’t noticed it, though. Your head felt like someone had stuffed it with cotton.

“Oh. Sorry.” You rose a little unsteadily and turned the alarm off. “Thanks for waking me. Probably would have slept right through it if you hadn’t.”

“Uh huh,” Elwain said. “Did someone curse you?”

You blinked at him. He seemed dead serious. “Uh, no. I doubt it. Unless you know something I don’t.”

“If you’re asking about my parents, I would assume they are no longer concerned about me,” Elwain said. His voice was clipped, like it always was when he talked about his parents. “I don’t think they would bother to curse a mortal. If they had the means to lay a curse on someone, it would be far easier and more effective to just curse me.” He paused. “I was only asking because you look terrible.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled.

“You do. Why didn’t you sleep in your actual bed last night?” he asked.

“Because I fell asleep at my desk by accident. Are you going to stand here and just insult me or-” You broke off into a round of thick, hacking coughs. Elwain took a step back, alarm crossing his face.

“What is happening to you?” He lifted his arms in front of him, like he was trying to ward off some kind of evil spirit.

“It’s a cough,” you said. “Have you never seen a cough before?”

Elwain lowered his arms, still looking at me like he thought you would start convulsing at any moment. “Fae don’t do that.”

“They don’t cough?” You rubbed at your chest. A significant amount of phlegm had settled there. God, your body really had to pick the worst time to get sick.

“Not like that,” he said. “What’s the matter with you?”

“I’m sick,” you told him.

He nodded slowly. “I’ve heard of that. A mortal thing. Your forms are weak, so you occasionally fall ill. It is a sign of your small, failing lifespans.”

You considered correcting him, but decided that you had better ways to spend your morning than trying to explain germ theory to a Faerie. “Yeah. Sure. Well. I’m sick. So that’s why I’m coughing. It’s just a cold. I’ll be fine.”

Elwain narrowed his eyes. “Hmph. Well. I have work. Don’t die while I’m out.”

“I’m not in any danger of dying,” you told him. “Go head to work. Have fun.”

“That’s unlikely,” he muttered, but he left your room without protest. You closed your door after him and set about getting ready for your day.

The cold had settled into your head and chest and you could tell it was going to be bad already, even before it had come on fully. God. You could not afford to get sick.

Elwain was eating breakfast when you shuffled into the kitchen. You’d needed to absolutely cake your face in makeup to look presentable, and you saw his brows rise as he looked at you. Fortunately, the Fae at least knew how to keep their mouths shut. He just looked back at the frozen waffles he was toasting.

You snagged a granola bar and headed for the door. “Have a good day at work!” you called over your shoulder. Elwain grunted in response. The door swung shut behind you.

Work was exhausting, as per usual. It was better than Elwain’s job by a long shot, since you were working in a local candy store run by a sweet older couple, but between keeping an eye on any batches of candy being produced, sorting out customers, and having to deal with the requisite child-throwing-a-fit-for-not-getting-sweets, it was tiring. Trying to look bright and perky while being weighted down with a cold was awful.

As soon as work was off, you had class. Dragging yourself through it was a slow, painful slog. By the end, your head was fuzzy and you felt dead on your feet. Slowly, you hauled yourself on the bus and fell asleep.

Naturally, you missed your stop.

About an hour after you were supposed to be home, you dragged yourself in through the door. Elwain practically slammed into you. His hands clapped on either side of his face and he peered intently at you. “Where have you been? I’ve been calling you! I thought you were dead!”

You pushed him off you and bent to one side to cough heavily until you were nearly sagging to the floor. Elwain stared at you. “Sorry,” you rasped when you’d stopped. “I fell asleep. And then my phone was on low battery and I wanted to make sure I had enough battery to use my GPS to get home.”

“You couldn’t have texted me?” Elwain drew himself up, hands on his hips. The entire situation reminded you, ridiculously, of your mom when you came home after a night out. “I was worried! I didn’t know where you were, and mortals are so ridiculously fragile-”

“Aw, you’d have been fine,” you said. “If anything, you’d be able to do more without my stupid mortal morals.”

Elwain’s expression went strange for a moment. “Are you feeling well? You seem… off.”

“I’m not feeling well. I’d like to lie down, actually.” You coughed again. “That okay with you?” Elwain was still frowning, but he stepped aside, allowing you down the hall and into your room.

You went down into your bed face-first. Almost as soon as you hit the pillows, your mind faded into sleep. Sleep came to you in fitful waves. You kept waking, coughing, rolling over and falling asleep again. When your alarm pulled you back to full consciousness, you felt thoroughly awful. The cold had settled firmly into your chest and head, gumming everything up. Your chest rasped every time you breathed in, prompting heavy coughing fits, you shivered even when you were wrapped in blankets, and your head felt full, achy, and cloudy.

The cold had apparently decided to upgrade to a full-blown illness. Slowly, you shoved yourself upright. It was hard to breathe through your nose and your mouth. Your throat stung with every inhale. Every cell of your body just wanted to pop some of the cold medicine that made you sleep and hopefully you’d wake up when it was all over.

Just as you were standing up, someone knocked on your door.

Well, you knew who. There was only one person who it could be. Grimacing, you walked over to the door and pulled it open. “Elwain. What?”

He stared at you. “I was- are you okay?”

“I’m sick. You remember the discussion was had yesterday?” you said. “Anyway. You needed something?”

Elwain looked you over. You hadn’t looking into a mirror, but given his expression, you probably looked terrible. He seemed to think you were five seconds from crumbling into a pile of ash, like a vampire exposed to sunlight. “Do I need to call 911?” he asked.

“Uh, no. It’s a cold. I don’t need an ambulance. I need to sleep for a while. Why are you knocking on my door?” you asked. Elwain’s mouth moved wordlessly. Whatever he had wanted to talk to you about, it seemed to have been completely derailed.

“I… er.” Elwain’s gaze flicked over you again. “Well. I wanted to see how you were doing. You went to bed right after you got home last night and I never saw you again. And you seem to be doing… poorly.”

“Yeah. I’m not doing great. I really just want to go back to bed.” You rubbed your hand over your head. “I feel like shit.”

Elwain hesitated. “Do you need me to do something?”

“Just go about your day. I’ll try to keep my gross self out of your way.” You slouched across your room to your bed. “If you don’t need anything else, I’m going to try to get a little more sleep.”

Elwain lingered in the doorway for a few moments longer. Finally, he turned and headed into the kitchen. The door remained open behind him, and you couldn’t be bothered to get up and close it again. Instead, you buried your head in your pillow. Sleep claimed you again within moments.

Less than an hour later, your alarm went off again. You slapped at it balefully until it shut off. Somehow, it felt like you gotten negative sleep, like sleeping had made you even more tired. Slowly, painfully, you pushed yourself upright. Shivers wracked your frame. How had sleep made everything worse?

You threw on the first clothes that you could get your hands on and shuffled into the kitchen. Elwain looked up from his breakfast. His mouth opened slightly. “Good lord. Maybe you have been cursed.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled. “I don’t look that bad.” You did, but you’d slathered enough makeup on your face to cover most of it. Then again, maybe that wasn’t enough to hide from Fae eyes.

“You look like a walking corpse,” Elwain said. You collapsed in the seat next to him and coughed into your fist. The force of the motion made your head throb. Elwain curled his lips back from his teeth in a grimace. “Are you certain you don’t need me to call 911?”

“No. It’s a cold. I’m-” You dissolved into a fit of coughing so severe it was difficult to catch your breath. Elwain stared at you, eyes wide. “I’m fine,” you croaked.

Elwain narrowed his eyes, but returned to his phone. You didn’t know where he’d gotten it from, because he certainly hadn’t purchased it, but you’d decided you weren’t going to ask. You ate slowly, mostly because your stomach felt tender, and you couldn’t finish even half of your normal portion. After a while of picking at your food, you dumped your dishes in the sink and started gathering your items to head out.

“Where are you going?” You startled. Elwain had appeared at your shoulder, completely silent. You might have chalked up not noticing him to your cold-dulled senses, but he could sneak up on you no matter how well you were feeling.

“Work,” you said.

Elwain looked back down at his phone. “You are not supposed to leave the house if you’re sick.”

“It’s a cold. I’ll be fine,” you said.

Elwain kept looking at his phone. “If you are sick, you are supposed to stay home, both so you can avoid infecting others and so you can recover.”

“Are you reading that off a website? Where are you reading that from?” You tried to grab his phone, but he gracefully slipped out of your reach.

“I searched about human illnesses on the internet,” he said. “Your symptoms are consistent with the common cold, but they are also consistent with pneumonia. It says you should sleep and drink water until you are recovered.”

“Look,” you said. “I’m fine. It’s a cold. I’ve had them before. I will have them after this one. I know how to handle them. I’ll pop some cold medicine and I’ll be fine.” Elwain stared at you. His expression was hard to read. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll live.” You sniffed and blotted at your face with a tissue. “I’m going to leave now. I’ll see you later.”

You swept out the door, giving Elwain a wave. He stared after you, not moving until you slammed the door shut.

It was a long, slow, awful day. You could barely keep your head together. By the time you got home, your limbs were heavy with exhaustion and your mind was swimming.

You dragged yourself through the door. Your body felt like you were wrapped in a massive, thick blanket. Everything was warm and it was hard to move, like everything was stiff.

Elwain stared at you as you pulled yourself into the kitchen. “You look like death warmed over.”

“Fine,” you mumbled. “’m fine.” You slouched over the counter and leaned against it. Elwain stood, stepping closer to you. “I’m good. I… I’m good. Just… Tired. Tired. Need to nap.”

“Perhaps you should nap in your room,” Elwain said. “Not on the counter.”

“I’m fine here.” Your words were getting mushy. Why weren’t your lips moving correctly? “I’m good. I just, um. Need. Something…”

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Here, hold onto me. I’ll-” Elwian’s hands were on your waist, on your back. You felt boneless, mushy. Your limbs weren’t moving the way you wanted them to. The only thing you could feel were Elwain’s hands supporting you. Was he carrying you? Maybe. You felt like you were floating. Your head was disconnected from your body, floating. Someone was speaking to you from far away, a soothing voice. It was so soothing. Maybe you could just sleep for a bit. Just sleep. It would be nice to just sleep.

Dimly, you came back to yourself. You blinked your eyes open. The ceiling was unfamiliar, at least as ceilings went. Not that you were familiar with many ceilings, really. Looking down at yourself revealed why the ceiling was so unfamiliar. The bed was covered in heavy, dark blue sheets. Elwain’s sheets. You were in his bed.

Slowly, you pushed yourself upright. You still felt bad, but less bad than you had been feeling. A raking cough escaped your chest, thick with phlegm.

“You’re up!” Elwain appeared in the doorway. He looked… frazzled? You weren’t sure the Fae could look as frazzled and unkempt as a human could, but he didn’t look as ethereally beautiful as he usually did. He looked sort of ruffled. “I was considering dragging you to the hospital, but the internet said that maybe ginger tea would actually be better, so I got you some of that.” He indicated the cup in his hands.

“You have got to stop getting all your information from the internet. Or at least I need to give you a media literacy course on identifying good sources,” you croaked. Your voice sounded bad, but it no longer hurt to speak. It just felt uncomfortable.

Elwain gave you a bewildered look and held the cup out toward you. “Drink it.” You took it obligingly and took a sip. Elwain must have dumped half a bottle of honey in it, because it was so sweet you almost couldn’t taste the ginger. You swallowed it carefully.

“Thank you,” you said when you’d finished the cup. “What, uh. What exactly happened to me?”

Elwain sat on the end of your bed. He was wearing his old cloak, the one he’d taken with him when he’d fled from Faerie. He tucked it tighter around him, fingers fidgeting at the hem. “I was hoping you could inform me of that, actually. I was quite frightened when you collapsed like that.”

“Oh, yeah,” you said. Vaguely, you remembered passing out. “How long was I out?”

Elwain glanced at the clock. “Mn. Less than an hour? You were in and out for the first ten minutes, mumbling a lot.” You had vague memories of Elwain leaning over you, expression panicked. Must have been from then. “Once I got you into bed, you fell asleep. I wasn’t sure if I should wake you or not.”

“It is,” you said. “Probably a good idea to let me sleep. Though if I ever do collapse again, please call 911.” You considered. “Well, I guess don’t call 911 unless I’m actually dying. I can’t afford the ambulance.”

Elwain nodded, even though he looked politely confused. “Is your illness getting worse?”

“Maybe,” you said. “It’s hard to tell. I think I have a fever now, so that sucks.”

With absolutely no warning, Elwain leaned forward. His face was abruptly so close to yours, close enough to feel his cool breath tickling your skin. The hairs on the back of your neck lifted. Suddenly the only thoughts in your head had to do with his lips pressing to yours, his cool mouth meandering along your skin-

His forehead touched yours. His eyes closed, a little furrow appearing in his brow. “You’re warm,” he said. “Very warm.” He sat back.

You blinked. “Uh. You can do that with your hand, you know.”

“Oh? I saw the forehead one on the internet,” Elwain said, but he reached up and cradled your face in his hands. With a soft, delicate touch, the back of his hand brushed against your forehead and down your cheek. The touch made something in your chest tighten and your breath catch. “You still feel warm.”

You moved your mouth, trying to get your brain back in gear. “Uh, yeah. Fever! That’s, uh. Bad. I need, um. You remember that pill bottle in the bathroom I showed you? The one with the little red pills?” Elwain nodded. “Get those and a glass of water. They’ll bring the fever down.”

Elwain vanished for a moment and returned with a tall glass water and the bottle of pills. He watched as you downed them and sank back into bed. His sheets were softer than yours, his bed even more luxuriously plush. You weren’t sure where he’d gotten the sheets from, or if maybe they were the sheets you’d bought him, just augmented with magic. “Why did you put me in your bed, anyway?” you asked. “My bed’s not that much further away.”

“I wanted to keep an eye on you,” Elwain said. “And you do not like me coming in your room.”

“I don’t like you just walking into my room whenever you feel like it, but you can come into my room,” you said. But you were pretty glad he’d put you in his bed. Everything in his room smelled faintly floral and herbal, a smell that relaxed you. Everything was cozy.

“I am not familiar with how to deal with sick mortals,” Elwain said. “Do you need anything else?”

“No. I just need to rest.” You paused, looking toward the window. “I should probably head back to my own room, actually. You’ll probably want to sleep here tonight, right?”

Elwain shook his head. “Stay. You need to rest. I will sleep elsewhere.” He swept out of the room, cloak fluttering behind him. You stared after him for a moment before sinking back into bed. Despite just waking up, your head was already muddy again. Maybe Elwain had gotten you the pills with the sleeping medicine in them. Your eyes closed. Within moments, you were drifting away, fast asleep.

You dreamed of strange things, of hands on your face, cupping your cheek, of soft lips pressed to your neck, of kind eyes and strong arms carrying you around. When you opened your eyes to see the same kind eyes staring down at you, you were half-convinced you were still dreaming.

“Hello,” Elwain said. “You have been asleep for a while.”

You blinked. Your body did have that foggy heaviness that came when you’d been sleeping deeply. Even your discomfort from the illness seemed far away and dim. “Elwain.”

“Yes. I’m right here.” He said it more gently than a simple statement of fact, almost like a reassurance.

“How long was I out?” There was bright sunlight streaming in through the window and across the bed. You lifted a hand to clumsily shield your eyes.

“Over twelve hours. I thought you should probably sleep. That’s what the internet said.”

“Oh, man, we are going to need to get you some better resources than just ‘the internet,’” you said. “But you were right. Thanks for letting me sleep.” Slowly, you shoved yourself up into a sitting position. “What’s that?”

Elwain held a bowl out to you. “I was told that soup was good for mortal illnesses.”

You took the bowl of vegetable broth. Elwain’s cooking was usually pretty hit or miss- he could follow recipes just fine, but he also had a habit of deciding that he had a better idea than the recipe and going completely off the rails. The soup just seemed to be broth, though. You took a cautious sip. It was watery, but tolerable.

“Are you feeling better?” Elwain asked. You nodded, glancing over at the clock.

“It’s past nine,” you noticed. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“I called in sick. I wanted to stay home to make sure you were all right.” Elwain looked completely serious.

“It’s just a cold. I’m fine.”

Elwain’s eyes narrowed. “You collapsed.”

“Well, yeah, but…” You trailed off. There wasn’t much you could say in response to that. “Fine. But if you get fired for this, I’m going to be pissed.”

“I will not be fired. My boss loves me.” Elwain gave a superior little sniff, nose stuck up in the air. You laughed into your bowl of broth.

When you were finished, Elwain took your bowl back into the kitchen, returning only a few moments later. “Do you need anything else?”

“I think I’m okay,” you said. “You really didn’t have to stay home to take care of me. There’s not going to be a lot to do. I think I’m mostly going to sleep.”

“Regardless. I think it is better to be safe.” Elwain looked at you from the doorway for a moment longer. “I need you.”

He left the doorway. You could hear his footsteps retreating into your apartment, perfectly steady, like what he said hadn’t made your chest tighten intensely. You sank back into his bed. His scent wreathed around you, gentle and reassuring. Oh, god. Warm feelings were fluttering up in your stomach, swelling through chest and trembling in your lungs. Worse than that, they felt familiar. How long had these feelings been lingering in the background of your mind? And now they had surfaced and you didn’t know what to do with them. Naturally, you would have some kind of emotional crisis when you were sick.

You faded in and out of dreams where Elwain’s scent wreathed around you and his gentle hands stroked your forehead and cheeks. You woke up feeling oddly melancholy.

The sounds of the TV drifted through the open door. Shaking some feeling back into your heavy limbs, you hauled a blanket over your shoulders and headed into the living room.

Elwain was draped over the couch, staring at the TV. There was some soap opera on with a woman and a man hysterically throwing themselves at each other. Elwain looked up as you padded into the room. “Is it okay for you to be out of bed?” he asked.

“Yeah. I feel better, actually.” The sleep had helped quite a bit. You still felt foggy, but the pain in your head and chest had faded. Elwain sat up, drawing his limbs in closer to himself so you could sit next to him.

“You look less… corpse-like,” he said. Before you realized what he was doing, he took hold of your face in both hands and pulled you closer to him. “You are still warm.”

“Uh, yeah. I’m getting better.” You reached up and carefully pried his fingers off your face. You were overly aware of how your fingers lingered together. “How’s your day off going?”

“Human TV is still strange,” Elwain said, turning back toward the screen. “I can’t imagine any humans really behave like this. I have never seen it.”

“No, it’s a soap opera. It’s supposed to be deliberately over-the-top and crazy. That’s why they’re fun to watch.” Elwain rolled his eyes, but there was amusement in his expression.

“Is there anything you want to watch?” he asked.

“No, this is fine.” You settled into the soft cushions, staring at the TV. As much as you were looking in the direction of the TV, most of your attention was focused on Elwain. His gaze kept flicking toward you, as if he was unable to focus on the show either. After a moment, he reached out toward you.

One of his hands settled on your head, the other on your shoulder. Before you realized what had happened, he pushed you so your head was resting in his lap. You stared up at him as he, apparently unconcerned, started weaving his fingers through your hair.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“You did this for me when I first came here,” Elwain said. “It was soothing. I thought you might like it as well.” He paused. “Was I incorrect?”

You considered for a moment. His fingers were still carding through your hair, twining strands around his fingers. “No. I don’t mind.”

Elwain continued to stroke your hair. His nails scratched lightly at your scalp. The feeling of being touched made something tremulous swell in your chest. It was a pleasant feeling, but one so sharp and overwhelming that it almost made you cry.

You lay with Elwain for a while, his hands absently playing with your hair and trailing along your head and neck. He seemed to be paying far more attention to you than to the TV. “You should take better care of yourself,” he said, stroking your bangs back from your forehead. “If you were to die, I would be alone in the mortal world.”

“You’d manage,” you said.

“Perhaps.” Elwain removed his hands from your hair and hesitated for a moment. He seemed to be struggling to speak. Then he sighed. “But I would prefer it if you were with me.”

You looked up at him. He was staring deliberately to one side. There was a faint pinkish color to his cheeks and his eyes were narrowed. “You could have left, once our deal was up. I only asked you to stay with me for the night. And yet, you helped me. There was no reason to. I no longer have my connections or any particular Faerie skills. Even the few powers that remain with me, you don’t like me using. You have gained nothing from this deal and you help me regardless.”

“Of course, I did.” Thinking about that night only brought one image to your mind. Elwain, who had nearly been killed by his own parents, looking lost and confused and abandoned. He had been cocky before, but in that moment, he had just looked forlorn and upset. He had just looked scared. “I wasn’t going to just leave you on your own.”

“You could have,” Elwain pressed on. “Easily, you could have. You could have justified it, even by mortal morals. There’s not a lot here that could kill me. As you have pointed out, I would be fairly fine on my own. But you stayed with me regardless, for no other reason than just helping me.”

“You’d just almost been assassinated. I couldn’t leave you,” you said.

“You could have. But you didn’t. And, at least so far, you have asked for nothing from me in return. To be quite honest, you’ve been almost annoying with how little you allow me to do.”

“I try,” you said. Elwain snorted. It was an inelegant noise, but somehow also incredibly attractive. “Where are you going with this?”

“I’m trying to explain to you that I care about you. I want you to be well and safe and healthy because you saved me and you didn’t have to and I appreciate it.” Elwain’s cheeks flamed red. “That’s what I’m trying to say.”

You reached up slowly and let your hand cradle the side of his face. He leaned into your touch, eyes closing. “It’s strange. I’m not used to this,” he said. “My parents loved me as far as they could use me. It’s how Faeries are. But you have used me for nothing, gained precious little advantage from having a Faerie living with you. And I wasn’t used to it. I still think I’m not used to it. But I am so… so… happy. For this. For you.” He blinked his eyes open. They were hazy with emotion. “Thank you.”

It was an impulse maybe you could have resisted if you were feeling better, but you were overwhelmed with feeling and not in the mood to fight with yourself. The hand on his cheek shifted position toward the back of his neck and pulled him down on top of you. His mouth pressed into yours, tense and unyielding, then softening as he realized what was happening.

There was a moment of fumbling, while Elwain registered that you were kissing. You broke away from his mouth, but he was pressing into you again, pulling you close to him and meeting your lips over and over with his own. His tongue brushed your lower lip and his moan sounded against your mouth.

You weren’t aware of how it happened, but suddenly you were lying back on the couch with Elwain on top of you. He was kissing you furiously, his hips flush to yours. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pushing him as close to you as you could get.

One of your gasping breaths caught in your chest, triggering a coughing fit. You rolled over, trying not to cough right into Elwain’s face. He sat back. His lips were already slightly kiss-swollen and he looked a bit rumpled. “Right,” he said, trying to finger-comb his hair back into a presentable state. “You’re still not feeling well.”

“Hold on. Give me a minute, we can keep going,” you said between coughs. Elwain pressed his lips together, but they were twitching toward a smile.

“You are admirably determined, but I think it would be better for you to rest,” he said. There was a pause. Elwain tugged on a few of the longer strands of his hair. “I take that to mean you feel the same way?”

“That I like you? Yeah.” You pulled him down so he was laying across your chest. He looked at you, eyes surprisingly wide and innocent. “When I first met you, I thought you were kind of an asshole. And you are kind of an asshole. But you’re also charming and endearing and you try to follow my rules even when you totally don’t have to. And you’re willing to take care of me when I’m sick.”

“You took care of me when I had lost everything,” Elwain said. “I only wished to return the favor.” His fingers wandered over your stomach, tracing absent patterns on your shirt. You could feel his warmth against your skin. “Usually, that’s how it works, with Faeries. Favors are given because giving means you can get something in return, and you’re always trying to leverage the deal to get more than what you’re giving.” He closed his eyes for a moment, brows furrowing. “But when I saw you were sick, I wasn’t thinking that I needed to pay you back. I was only thinking that I wanted to help you.”

You stroked your fingers through his hair. “That’s what love is.”

“Mortal love,” he sighed. “I always thought it was flimsy and weak and short-lived.” His eyes opened again and he nestled into you. “It’s much stronger than I thought. So much more than I believed. It almost hurts, but it’s a good hurt.”

You started coughing again. Elwain swung himself up and gathered you into his arms. “I’ll take you back to bed,” he said. “You need to get better. I want to continue this.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. You rested your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes. His heartbeat thudded against you, slow and steady. The feeling of him holding you swelled and ached inside you, a pleasant ache. You clung to him as he eased you into bed and settled in next to you. Your illness was all but forgotten. Everything was soft and pleasant under a heady wave of love.

[lucy90712]

Dream- face reveal

wc- 1971 

Warnings: use of dreams real name

~ I have been friends with this guy on the internet Dream for about 5 years now, we talk all the time but we have never met in person and I have never seen his face. He doesn't show his face on the internet and I've never asked so it just never happened, he knows what I look like all too well because I like sending him stupid selfies and we FaceTime in the middle of the night all the time.

We have been trying to meet in person for years but things keep getting in the way and changing our plans first family issues, then a hurricane and then a whole pandemic. Despite all of this we have finally set a date to meet which is not going to change not for anything or anyone. It's going to be a big day or should I say month, as insane as it sounds I'm going to move in with Dream and Sapnap one of our other friends for a little while to really make this trip worth it even if it only lasts that long.

The process has been difficult because for me to get to Florida I need to get a plane which requires me to get tested before I fly and for my own piece of mind I have been strictly quarantining for the past two weeks but its finally here. I fly out tomorrow morning. I went and got tested yesterday and got my negative result today which I need to get on the plane.

I've been packing all day today because to be there for a month I need a bunch of my set up and cameras so that my content doesn't just stop but then I also need clothes and I can't seem to get both things to fit quite right.

At one point my phone started ringing but there was a mountain of stuff everywhere so I had to dig around to find it and when I did I saw that it was a FaceTime call from Dream, I picked up and immediately put my phone down to get on with my 5th attempt at packing.

"Yo hows it going?" Dream asked

"I'd say pretty average right now I'm super excited for tomorrow but my bag is giving me a hell of a fight" I replied

"Prop your phone up and I'll try and help" he said

I did as I was told and got my small tripod to rest my phone in where you could see what I was looking at. Honestly it was a mess and I was kind of embarrassed but Dream didn't need to know that and besides my face wasn't in frame so he couldn't see how embarrassed I was. I attempted putting everything in a slightly different way to last time which seemed to work until it came to fitting in my tripod and my wash bag of which there was no room for.

"Fuck sake I thought I had it then" I raged slightly

"Ok take out the webcam and forget about the tripod because I have ones that you can use and then try because I think that should give you enough room" he said

"Hell yeah thanks dream" I said after zipping up the suitcase

I flopped back on the floor tired from the minimal amounts of effort I had put in today which just shows how incredibly unfit I am. I recovered before getting up and moving my phone to my desk where I sat to talk to Dream.

We talked for a while until Sapnap came in and I talked to him for a little while, he's been living with Dream for a few months so he warned me about a few things like you don't wake Dream up which I took note of and he told me that Dream will just come and sit in your stream. Eventually they had to leave so I was left on my own to just kind of chill until it was an acceptable time to go to sleep.

Skip to the morning

I woke up at 5am when my alarm went off, I have a love hate relationship with my alarm because I only ever use it when I have something going on which is exciting but the sound makes me want to throw my phone out the window. Despite my annoyance I got up and went straight to the bathroom to shower and get dressed, I thought about wearing something nice but then I realised I had a 5 hour flight and I couldn't bare the thought of being sat down for that long not in comfy clothes. My comfy outfit consisted of leggings and one of my ex boyfriends hoodies because I never gave it back and I'm over it enough to just wear the hoodie whenever I want.

At just before 6 I got in my Uber to head to the airport seeing as my flight was at around 8 it would be wise to get there early. I wasn't sure how busy the airport would be seeing as you aren't meant to travel but I don't think I've ever seen an airport that wasn't busy.

I made it to the airport and as I assumed it wasn't heaving but there was still a fair amount of people around. I made my way through the crowds and checked in for my flight before heading through security and then making it to the main part of the airport. That part was less busy as there is more space for people to spread out into which made me much less anxious about people being too close. I had a little while to wait for my flight so I went and got some food because I haven't eaten today, and I don't want to end up with a headache.

When it was time for my flight to board I went to the gate and got straight into my seat watching as more people boarded but not as many as I expected, it was clear that all of the people on the flight had a good reason to be going to Florida and not just going on holiday and no one was sat together so all rules were being adhered to.

My flight landed 5 hours later and everyone filed off the plane going there own way leaving me kind of lost in a place that I wasn't used to and with the anxiety of going to meet Dream for the first time. I had a bit longer to wait because I had to get an Uber to the house even though dream offered to come and pick me up I told him not to because the less people at the airport the better and just incase people recognised me I didn't want him to accidentally face reveal.

I collected my suitcase and went straight out to the car park to get in my uber who was waiting just outside the doors in the designated area for taxis. As soon as I got in the car I text Dream letting him know I was on my way and sharing my location just in case things went south.

My uber stopped outside this one house and I got out walking up the drive taking in the house number to make sure I was at the right place which I was. Thats when the nerves really kicked in, I was about to meet one of my best friends in person for the first time. This is so insane to think that after all there years we get to do all the stupid things friends do.

I got to the door and rang the doorbell waiting the few excruciating seconds before I heard movement behind it indicating that there was someone there. It opened slowly and the first person I saw was sapnap who of course I was excited to see but we have talked properly on FaceTime before so I already know what he looks like.

Next another person popped up behind pushing sapnap out the way and giving me a hug straight away I knew it had to be dream but he ran over so quick that I didn't get to take in anything other than the fact he was hugging me. He pulled away and I got to look at his face, he looked pretty much exactly how I thought he would from the descriptions I have heard. As much as wavy length doesn't sound like a thing it somehow fit his hair and his eyes were also super green, he was definitely taller than I expected though this man towered over me like it was nothing and could definitely push me to the ground in a second but he looked kind just how you want a friend to be.

After a few minutes of freaking out that this was actually happening they let me inside and gave me a tour of the house showing me my room and the set up they had put together for me with a webcam and tripod just like dream said. They finished off the tour before I was made to sit and play whatever game they wanted with them.

We played an assortment of games for hours on end before we ordered food for dinner which we ate all chilling on the sofa. I almost forgot that my followers didn't know I was here but when I remembered I stole patches from dream and got him to take a picture of me with her to post on twitter and Instagram because people would get it without me having to explain. Not much of a grand reveal considering Sapnap did the same when he got here but I didn't really have any other ideas I mean its not like I can just do dream's face reveal for him with a picture on my twitter can I. The response to my tweet was insane within minutes people had got it trending and they were freaking out with all sorts of theories of if I'd officially moved in or if I was just visiting although both were kind of right.

Having spent a few hours here now I feel very at home they boys are really welcoming making sure I'm all good and not too tired after my flight which of course I am but sleep is for the weak so I'll wait. I have been told to call the two of them by their real names unless its on stream which feels kind of odd because I'm use to calling them what their know by despite knowing their real names the whole time. They have given me a nickname which I now go by to make it fair.

It was sad when the day came to an end when we all decided it was best to get some sleep even though I think their going to stay up and they said it for my own sake because I've been yawning non stop for the past 2 hours but either way I'm going to go to sleep and this day (one of the best days of my life) will become that of a memory.

Although I don't think this day could have gone any better its consisted of everything I've ever wanted to have in a friend but none of my friends back home if you can call them friends are into the same things as me so it never works out. Now I have two friends who share the same interests and have the same god awful sleep schedule so we can stay up messing around together if we want to which is what life as a 20 year old should be like. Fun.

[the-infamous-coat-of-baron-zemo]

Missed Opportunities | Helmut Zemo x Reader | Chapter 3

Welcome to Part 3! You've made it this far? I'm impressed. Thank you for sticking around. This is quite the long chapter so, I hope you enjoy the juicy action all around.

And this one was quite the doozy to write. It's 3AM now? Hah, I've spent the entire day writing two chapters. But definitely don't expect more at quite this frequency. But I appreciate you all none the less.

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Tag Requests: @lostghostgirl94 @neoarchipelago @fillechatoyante @fanfics-ig

Did I miss someone? For future tag requests: Please send me a direct message if possible, it's easy to lose people in the mix and I don't want to miss anyone!

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For previous chapters go here: Part 1 | Part 2

Word Count: 5.358

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It had been precisely three hours, forty-two minutes since two Avengers and a criminal mastermind had left the safe house you were staying in.

You were currently staring up at the ceiling with mild boredom waiting for the next round of texts to come in. An alert notification rang through the near empty residence, the noise echoed off the walls of the living room intensifying the reverberation of sound.

Rolling over, you flopped onto you stomach from your position on the couch, stretching your arm out to grab the phone off the coffee table.

Carefully, you read the incoming message. 'No recent signs of Karli, but following up on a handprint Bucky found a couple miles from our initial start position. Zemo has a theory it might lead to a section of tunnel that veers off towards the harbor. Will update again in another hour. - S'

Great.

So they'll easily be gone at least another couple hours, leaving you to your own devices. That's dangerous. There's no telling what kind of trouble you could get into without something to do. Your mind was always processing, constantly formulating new plans and calculating risk probabilities. It's why you were so fidgety and animated. You didn't inherently have ADHD, but your brain was so active the symptoms manifested as such. You had a genius level intelligence, you just chose to down-play it most of the time. You craved activities to keep your mind from going into overdrive; it's why you spend most of your mornings running. To drain your body of excess energy and let your brain rest.

You groaned in irritation, tossing the phone back onto the coffee table. Sam could have at least given you a pin point location so you could do some research on the area where the handprint was found.

Maybe you could read for a bit.

You got up and headed to your room at the back of the apartment. Zemo gave you the last room at the end of the hallway, it also happened to be the only room that had a half bath attached to it. Which in retrospect, was quite thoughtful of him.

As you reached your room, a chilly draft fell across your body, causing goosebumps to raise on your fair skin. You noticed you left a window open in the room and moved to close it. Often times, late at night you sat at the window sill and read to pass the time when you couldn't sleep. Sometimes, you'd crack the window open and simply listen to the sounds of the outside; they were just as soothing. There was no denying it was quite lovely where you were staying. Helmut Zemo had impeccable taste.

You grabbed your book and crossed the room, rubbing your arm to help circulate some heat back into your body, but before you got to the door, a patch of blue caught your eye. Zemo's hoodie. It had been left draped haphazardly over the back of one of the chairs in your room. A constant reminder you needed to give it back to the Baron, but you weren't ready to just yet, and funnily enough, he hadn't asked for it.

Shifting from foot to foot, you debated what to do. It was comfortable. Wearing it one last time couldn't hurt, right? There wasn't anyone here to cajole you about it anyways and you could just take it off before the guys got back. Perfectly reasonable. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you snagged the garment off the chair and pulled it on as you walked back out to the main living room, book in hand.

As you rounded the corner and made your way through the kitchen back to the couch, you heard a loud metallic bang against the entry-way door accompanied with the tell tale signs of door knobs turning. Caught off guard by the sudden intrusion, you had leapt off the ground, clutching the book to your chest.

You stared at the door in fear knowing it was way too soon for anyone to have returned yet. And they wouldn't have caused the disruption in the attempts to break in. Pushing down your apprehension, your senses started to return to you, and you realized you need to get to your phone. Now.

Your eyes moved across the apartment and landed on the coffee table a short distance away from you. Bingo. You took a step forward towards the table when the front doors suddenly swung open and a whirl of red, white and blue flew past your face. The projectile, nearly hitting you, caused you to stumble, knocking you backwards onto the floor. You landed clumsily, but thankfully caught yourself before your head smacked against the ground.

You didn't need to look up to know exactly what object flew at your head. The sound alone was unmistakable.

"Apologies for the erratic entrance, I only meant to use it to help open the door - I hadn't planned on Lemar here unlocking the them so easily. When the doors fell open, it kind of just flew right out of my hand."

Annoyance had now replaced your fear.

John Walker.

You had many opinions of the man based off what Sam and Bucky had told you, but you hadn't had the pleasure of actually meeting him. Until now.

This did not help sway your opinion of him in the very least. If anything, it only solidified that the government had made a rash decision. You don't just had over the shield to anyone.

You glared up at the intruders from your position on the floor. This was completely unexpected. How did he even manage to locate this safe house? Something nagged at the back of your mind that Captain Walker might have had help from people with a questionable background. You shoved the thought aside for the time being.

Lemar had gone around to the back of the couch and pulled the shield out of the wall embedded in between the two stained windows. Walker, who stood next to you, was offering his hand to help you up.

You didn't even make an effort to consider his gesture and got up off the floor without his assistance, dusting yourself off in the process.

Walker appeared undeterred by your dismissal of him and instead put on a winning smile and rotated his hand in the attempts of a handshake.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot. John Walker. Captain America," he proudly stated.

"I know who you are Captain Walker, as well as your friend here," you briskly answered, crossing your arms in front of you.

You could see the smile start to drop off his face and his eyes turn a bit darker.

"And I know who you are as well, you're well documented along with the Avengers, but I was trying to be polite," Walker grounded out with forced effort.

You didn't want to start an argument with the newly anointed Captain America, but there was something off about him that just irritated you.

"Polite?" you sarcastically question. "How is barging into someone's residence, polite? Please, do explain," you shifted your weight onto one side, giving him an expectant look.

"I don't have to explain myself to you. In case you've forgotten, I'm Captain America," he took a step towards you, his body language highly suggesting an intimidation tactic.

You held your tongue and took a step back to place more distance between yourself and Walker. You spared a glance at his partner to gauge his reaction, but his expression was guarded, although he was watching with rapt attention.

"What do you want, Walker?" you bit out. You attempted to keep some of the contempt out of your voice, but he had quickly turned your mood sour this afternoon.

"Where's Zemo?" Walker cut straight to the chase this time.

"Not here, obviously," you held your arms out, gesturing around.

"I want to know where Zemo is. He's coming with us," the captain took another step towards you, this time with a more forceful intention.

You furrowed your brow and took another step back. His posturing was starting to make you slightly nervous.

"Even if I did know where he was, I'm not saying either way. Zemo has been surprisingly helpful to us, and we need him to locate Karli along with the rest of the Flag-Smashers, including the missing vials of serum. And he's more likely to continue working with us, than provide you with any information at all. That I can say with absolute certainty," your words sounded confident, but inside you were trembling.

That was apparently the wrong thing to say to Captain America.

His entire demeanor changed. Once where there was some warmth and light-heartedness, there was only a cold emptiness left in his gaze. He reached back to grab the shield from Lemar, and then without any warning shoved you back against the wall to your left.

You heard the distinct sound of your right shoulder pop as is slammed into the wall along with the rest of your body. The rapid movement from Walker and impact from the shield knocked the wind right out of you. The pressure from the amount of force he was exerting pinned you to the wall and caused the shield to be painfully pressed into your side, separating you from Walker. You could feel the rim of the shield digging slightly into your neck, but not enough to cause any real damage.

"John!" you heard Hoskins shout with alarm from behind Walker.

You swallowed thickly; very real fear had settled into your bones. You were capable of defending yourself, but hadn't actually needed to put those skills into any use. Bucky and Sam had taught you some moves and hold to get out of, but it never crossed any of your minds once you'd have to fight Captain America. You tried to shift your head to the side to see how far away your phone was. What possible options you had. Maybe you could appeal to his partner and deescalate the situation before things got too ugly.

"I'm only going to ask this one last time. Where is Zemo?" Walker spit out, putting force against the shield, which in turn, caused you to grimace in pain.

"Hoskins, you really going to allow Captain America to torture an innocent citizen trying to help in a cause we're all aligned in?" you gasped out, trying to swallow as much air as possible through the pain wracking your body.

You refused to let it show. Holding back as much of the discomfort you were in. You didn't want to give Walker the satisfaction.

"John, ease up. She's not a terrorist, and frankly, I agree with her," Hoskins voiced, his footsteps bringing him closer to Walker with the hopes of gaining his attention no doubt.

The pressure from the shield against your form was lifted slightly, though the shield was still closer to your body than you'd like to admit. You closed your eyes to focus on regaining some stability and figure out your next course of action to get yourself out of this mess.

"Stay out of this Lemar," John replied, but his menacing stature had lessened minutely.

You opened your eyes to stare at Walker. He had removed the shield between the two of you and placed it on his back; however he stepped into your personal space instead and placed a hand against your collarbone, essentially rendering you immobile again.

Well, at least now you could breathe.

Walker peered down at you with distain, "You're really not going to give him up are you?"

You clenched your jaw and lifted your chin defiantly at him.

"No," you answered.

The wheels were turning inside Walker's head. You could literally see the fire burning in his eyes, realizing he wasn't going to get an answer out of you. Not willingly.

He dipped his head and released his hold on you, pointing a finger right at your face, "This isn't over. Not by a long shot."

You saw Lemar walk up and pat Walker's shoulder, "Alright, let's get out of here."

Walker straightened up and stiffly walked away, leaving Hoskins trailing behind. His ego had taken a blow today.

Hoskins gave an apologetic shrug, "He's under a lot of stress."

Before Lemar could fully clear your line of sight, you quietly spoke up, "He doesn't deserve that shield."

Hoskins didn't have a response to that.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

In wake of the aftermath, you had tried to clean up as best possible. You assessed your injuries were non life-threatening, though your right shoulder was most definitely dislocated. The arm was kept close against your body hoping to not jostle it too much. You felt spikes of pain as you cleaned the area where Walker had thrown the shield into the wall, but ignored it so you could get the place back in shape before Sam, Bucky and Zemo returned.

Sam had messaged not too long ago, they were roughly 20 minutes out from the apartment.

Your ribs were throbbing from where the shield had been buried into your side, but you didn't think they had been broken, only bruised. You were going to have to ask one of them pop your shoulder back into place.

You were dreading the conversation, but were determined to remain as calm as possible to help alleviate the immediate reaction they were going to have once you revealed what happened.

The events of the day had finally caught up with you and coupled with the cleaning efforts, your body was signaling it's exhaustion. You were in the kitchen, and honestly didn't think you could make the short trip to one of the sofas; so you carefully sat on one of the chairs in the kitchen and waited patiently.

Sure enough, 20 minutes later, the doors to the apartment opened and the guys swiftly came in to greet you.

"Did you even leave the kitchen?" James inquired, coasting around the kitchen to grab a drink.

You smiled tightly and responded in kind, "For a short while, yes. Did you guys find anything worth while?" You quickly wanted to change the subject but knowing you were only delaying the inevitable.

"Yeah, we think we've discovered a possible building Karli is using to hideout in. We had planned on eating something quickly and then leave again to check it out tonight," Sam explained.

As Sam was talking, Bucky had accidently bumped into you, causing you to wince and pull your arm tighter to you. Luckily, he didn't see your face, but Sam did.

"Hey, you okay?" Sam questioned, voice filling with concern.

You blew out a breath bracing yourself for what you were about to say.

"What happened to my wall?" Zemo piped up, giving you a curious glance, he had moved to run his hand along the diagonal cut, inches deep, in the space between the ceiling to floor windows.

Bucky left his glass and walked over to get a better look, as did Sam. Both of them would know precisely what caused a mark like that to become etched into a wall.

Sam and Bucky snapped their heads back to you as soon as they saw the indention, but it was Zemo who spoke first.

"John Walker was here," he stated, shrugging off his coat and hanging it over the back of the couch he was nearby.

"It was an, eventful afternoon here," you tried to put some overly cheerful, comedic tones into your voice, but failed pretty miserably.

"What happened?" Sam immediately asked.

The trio had made their way back to the kitchen to get answers from you.

Zemo came to stand nearby, eyes roaming your body, searching. With his expertise, there was no question that he would quickly figure out you were injured; so you tried to tell your story as concisely as possible.

"Um, so - Walker and Lemar showed up. He asked for Zemo. I told him he wasn't here aaaaand they left. The end," you hurriedly spoke, wanting to get this over with and not draw any more attention to yourself.

But you could see in Helmut's eyes, he knew there was more to your story. His carefully crafted mask was starting to crack as you saw his gaze drift down to you cradling your arm underneath the island away from Bucky and Sam's eyeline.

"You're hurt," Zemo said. His face showed open concern as he walked the remaining distance to you.

With more tenderness than you thought possible coming from him, he slowly and carefully moved your right arm away from your body. He kept his eyes trained on you for any discomfort or signs of pain.

Once your arm had left your lap though, you reached over with your left hand to grip one of his wrists to prevent him from moving your arm any further.

"Don't, please," you pleaded, gritting your teeth and swallowing down the pain threatening to erupt from you. You were panting now, and more clear than ever something had happened to you while they were gone.

Helmut released your arm without hesitation, but did not leave your side. You saw him exchange tense looks between James and Sam. Normally, Bucky would have been focused on keeping Zemo away from you, but with the current circumstances, he was no longer a priority.

"What actually happened?" Bucky softly called out, he and Sam had gotten closer to take a better look at you. Sam brought a chair out to sit next to you and give you a once over, while you explained.

The expressions on their faces were grim as they anxiously awaited your reply.

"It wasn't - it's not quite as bad as it seems," you started, stuttering out the words as Sam brought his hands up to check your head for any injuries first.

"He just barged right in and was insistent on finding Zemo. He was acting so arrogant and pompous, I just refused to give him any information on his whereabouts," you continued on. "He didn't like the fact I wasn't willing to cooperate with "Captain America" and he got a little.....rough with me."

Sam paused his surveying to meet your gaze. You could see the guilt beginning to creep into his eyes. He turned his head to look up at Bucky, who was angrily flexing his vibranium arm in displeasure. Probably only affirming his notion that Sam should have never given up the shield in the first place.

"What did he do?" Bucky's tone brook no argument. He wanted to know the truth.

You scrunched your face in unpleasantness when Sam checked your lower neck and collarbone, he had found the place on your body where the shield and his hand had met you.

"Is this from - ?" Sam couldn't finish his sentence and he looked away in anger. You could tell he just wanted to get up and throw something, and that was commonly uncharacteristic for him.

Zemo had shifted his position to take a peek at what Sam was doing while he checked you out. You saw how his eyes had darkened with quiet rage taking stock of everything. There was an outline of a thin scrap mark against the underside of your neck and jaw, but it was a clear demarcation that would only be caused from the shield itself.

You nodded sadly and focused on answering Bucky's question as you gave Sam the okay to keep going.

"Walker, didn't get what he wanted, so he did the only other thing he knows how to do," you cleared your throat and rubbed your hand against your forehead.

"Use brute force," Zemo darkly said.

"He used the shield to push me up against the wall over there," you pointed over as you continued re-telling what happened. "I was knocked into the wall pretty hard, but Walker lost all focus and nearly suffocated me from the force of the shield against my body. I think he -" you yelped like a wounded animal, not able to finish your story when Sam touched your shoulder.

Bucky's eyes had widen and became deeply concerned over your pained scream.

Your muscled were clenched tight as you tried to ride out the pain, face starting to turn red.

Zemo had placed a light hand on your back, leaning down to comfort you and remind you to breath.

You fumbled with your good arm as you tried taking in deep breaths and motioned to Sam what was wrong with your arm.

Even with your poor mime animation of pretending to have your arm pulled from your socket, James picked up on what you were getting at. He tapped Sam to switch places with him. Your eyes were watering at this point and you blinked back the tears wanting to fall.

"Alright doll, on the count of three, I'm going to raise your arm and put pressure on your shoulder, okay?" Bucky solemnly said.

Sam gave you a smile of assurance while Zemo ended up taking your good hand, letting you know you could use him to brace yourself. He and James shared a silent conversation before nodding at one another. If Sam had a problem with Zemo providing you comfort, he didn't show it. You figured he was letting some of his dormant humanity rise to surface in this moment.

You shook slightly trying to prepare yourself for the next round of pain once your shoulder was fixed, but James didn't give you any time.

"Three," he commanded, snapping your shoulder back into its socket before you had a chance to even reaction.

You let out another cry of pain, holding onto Zemo's hand tightly, but somehow, the fear of the oncoming pain dissipated as you let go of his hand and rubbed your shoulder with minimal soreness.

You cleared your throat and looked at everyone after a few moments of rest. Surprised at how efficiently James had handled your shoulder, but then again, he was the perfect person to do the job.

You scrunched up your nose at James, "What happened to one and two?"

He huffed out a laugh, "It worked didn't it?"

"Thank you. All of you," you gave a lazy smile through the tiredness that filled you up. "I think I'll be okay now - that was the worst of it. Promise. Walker didn't do any further harm to me. I managed to convince Lemar to get Walker to back down," you glossed over the section where Walker threatened you, but you could bring that up later.

None of them were satisfied with your response, but you're guessing they let it slide given the circumstances.

Zemo reached into the freezer to grab an ice pack. He handed it to you to place on your shoulder helping with your recovery. You accepted it from him extremely grateful. You mused your opinion of him was constantly evolving the more time you actually spent with him.

Sam had asked if you were sure there weren't any other areas you wanted to have checked over for injuries.

You assured him, you were alright, just tired and very sore.

Bucky had swiftly gotten up from his chair and made it known he wanted to go after Walker this evening. You knew he wasn't going to let this incident go any time soon. Sam had also been in agreement after fully understanding what transpired, but Zemo was eerily silent.

"You guys should follow your original plan. Don't let Walker distract you. I'm alive and I am going to be okay. Go follow your lead on Karli," you interjected, trying to be the reasonable one. There was no need for them to go off halfcocked while they were still very upset. You were too, if you were being honest with yourself, but your focus was on your friends first and foremost.

"Well, we're not leaving you here alone. I can stay behind and let Zemo and Sam check things out," James said.

"Actually, it makes the most sense if I stay behind," Zemo chimed in.

"Why is that?" Sam countered warily.

"The particular location you are going to, I have....a history there. It would be wise for me to not be seen in that part of town as to not raise any alarm bells," he reasoned with them.

"And why should we trust you with her?" Bucky asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.

"Because I have no motive to do any harm to her nor shall I allow any further injury come to her. On this James, I give you my word," Helmut replied, the seriousness of his tone was not lost on anyone in the room.

"Okay," Sam relented, moving about the kitchen to pack some food for their evening night out.

"Just like that, huh?" James said with disbelief.

"Yeah, just like that," Sam parroted back.

Bucky wasn't happy about the situation, but there was an urgency to find Karli, so he caved.

James leaned over on the counter to make sure you were 100% okay being left along with Zemo, reminding you at any time you can call and they'd rush back instantly for whatever reason.

You stood up slowly, balancing the ice pack on your shoulder and shuffled over a few steps towards him, "Thank you. Now, go."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

You waved to to your friends a second round of goodbyes for the day. You sagged against the counter, temporarily forgetting about Zemo for the moment. You really needed to lie down.

As if he read your thoughts, you suddenly felt his presence as an arm wrapped around your waist, resting firmly against your hip.

"Here, let me help you get someplace more comfortable than this," Zemo asserted, taking his free hand and dropping the ice pack from your shoulder onto the counter. He then grabbed your left hand, raising your arm and wrapped it around his neck to help support you. So now most of your weight is on your left side, allowing your right to have most of the pressure released from your injuries.

You were so close to him you could smell his expensive cologne and aftershave. It was intoxicating and caused your head to swim a little. You stumbled slightly, but Zemo kept you steady as you both made your way to your room.

In your exhausted state, you managed to sneak in a few glances to Zemo, who was concentrating on the task at hand, not wanting to cause any jarring movements. He deserved more credit than you had been giving him; he truly did seem to care in his own warped way.

Once you had gotten to your room, he guided you to the bed to lie down. Not once had you complained. A true testament of just how tired you were. You couldn't even muster a snarky reply at his disheveled state of being, from practically dragging you down the hallway.

You snuggled into the hoodie you were wearing and tried to lie in a position that wouldn't cause too much discomfort for your shoulder and ribs.

Zemo had stepped into the closet and when he returned he came back with a couple extra pillows. He propped them against your injured side to prevent you from rolling over during the night.

If nothing else, Zemo was incredibly thorough when he focused on something. And right now, that focus was you. It was unnerving, but also thrilling at the same time. Maybe you did have a head injury, because all you could do was smirk at how utterly adorable he was tending to you. It made you curious as to whether this was what Zemo was like before. For the first time, you really wanted to know more about him.

You saw how he was confident in everything he does, and this situation was no different apparently. He had been muttering to himself as he adjusted bedding and made sure there was nothing in the room that you could trip over if you had to get up. He was taking in all the possibilities, like you did.

He had been actively avoiding looking at you though since Bucky and Sam left. You weren't entirely sure why, as he's had zero problems watching you over the past several days. You have a feeling it's because you're one of a few people who have seen beneath the surface of Helmut Zemo, and he's reacting the only way he knows how to at this moment.

Distraction.

You were too sleepy to ponder this any further and turned your head to the side to see what Zemo was fiddling with now.

He had finished up the last of his tasks and looked around the room satisfied with his work. Only then did he turn to look at you.

If it had been anyone else, you would swear that Zemo almost seemed nervous. He was, at many times in your experience, hard to read; so all of these new expressions are a different side for you to see.

Zemo tentatively sat on the edge of the bed next to you.

"Do you need anything?" he genuinely inquired.

You shook your head, indicating you didn't.

All of a sudden he laughed. It ended nearly as quickly as it had began. You raised an eyebrow him in reply, but he simply tugged on the sleeve of his hoodie you were still wearing.

Too tired to be embarrassed about it, you simply mumbled, "Shut up. I still plan on giving it back, although, given it's track record, you should quite possibly get rid of it. After what happened today, I think it might be bad luck."

You saw Zemo dip his head and chuckle at your reply. He look much more carefree when he laughed. You'd have to add him to your daily list. Make Zemo laugh.

His expression sobered rather quickly though and became pensive after that, staring out the window briefly before resting his gaze back on you.

"You keep it. It looks better on you."

Not knowing what to say, caught up in the storm in his eyes, you give a small smile. You can feel your cheeks turning red under the intensity of his stare.

Zemo stood up, getting ready to leave when you stopped him by latching onto his wrist.

"Wait," you murmured.

The swift action caused him to furrow his brow in confusion.

You weren't sure exactly what you wanted from him, only that you didn't want him to go.

"Stay."

You could tell you startled him with your request. Your eyes grew larger realizing the potential double meaning.

"Just until I fall asleep?" you clarified, a yawn escaped as you covered your mouth.

Zemo visibly relaxed and had you relinquish your hold on his arm so he could pull up a chair to your bed. He turned his head around the room in search of something. He went to the nightstand and picked up your book.

Amusement flitted across the features of his face as he read the cover. Zemo sat down on the chair and propped his feet up on the side of the bed.

You shut your eyes and tried to block out the soreness covering your body. Tomorrow would be worse. The next day always is. You had begun to doze off, when ever so quietly, you heard Zemo's voice fill the room.

He was reading to you. Lulling you into a peaceful sleep and letting you know he was still present. Wanting you to know, in his own way, he was upholding his promise to Bucky and Sam. That you were safe with him. That you could trust him just as you had, when you asked him to stay in the first place.

With those final thoughts, you drifted off, listening to the subdued sound of his voice.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

[dovenymph]

a film by peter parker

authors note: this was inspired by another thinkerpete tweet that read "peter probably watches the bit from "a film by peter parker" where he's in the car with tony over and over when he misses him" and@peterparkers-bad-youtube-apology’s summer of love prompt list💛💛 also the video edit was made by me so please do not screen record/save and repost it even if you do credit me (also this is unedited so sorry for any typos, i’ll probably go through it sometime this week, i just wanted to post it first)

prompts used: 2. making the backyard/rooftop into a movie theater

my masterlist

warnings: mentions of tony’s death, other than that, nothing but fluff

word count: 3.9k

Peter hated the summer.

Peter hated not having anything to busy himself with; no homework, or academic decathlon, or seeing Ned everyday who could wrap him up in his graphic novel fan theories or the drama in his on and off relationship with Betty. It was petty drama and minor stimulation, but it was something to distract him momentarily. But now Ned was in Aruba with his parents for the entire month which meant Peter had to suffer through the scorching heat of Juy all by himself.

Peter knew he didn’t have to be alone each day, -Aunt May had spent many dinners trying to get him to join her at the movies or the mall, even offering to let him have free reign of the lego store (when he said no to that, she knew he was in worse shape than she thought)- he had a handful of trustworthy and dependable friends he could hang out with for the afternoon like MJ and Betty, or even Flash who had been uncharacteristically nice to Peter ever since he found out he was Spiderman; this having happened only a few weeks after Tony had died and Peter had let him in on his secret to console a sobbing Eugene who, honestly, seemed to be more broken up about the news than Peter was. But even with his expanding friend group, Peter had found the most his body could endure was the contents of his bedroom.

He tried to get back out there after Tony’s passing, he really did, but at the first Iron Man tribute he admired on patrol, his body completely shut down and he swung back home, tears dampening the material of the mask.

So a lonely summer was what Peter submitted himself too, and he’s come to terms with it. He’s rewatched his favorite old shows, started binging some new ones. He’s taken apart and put together his lego death star four times now, each time faster than the last. But he’s been particularly fond of staring out the window. His apartment complex was quite close to the building besides his and he could look down into the backyard everyone had to share. Peter’s building had one as well, but since he was pretty sure he was the only person under 35 who lived there, it went unused.

Next door, there was always a different activity occurring in order for the patrons to beat the heat, and Peter often thought about how easy it would be for him to just go downstairs and introduce himself, and ask to join. It’d really be as simple as that and he’d meet some new people, get a free lunch and a chance to swim in the plastic pool they set up; maybe they’d laugh at his jokes and clap when he did flips, but it was all just a maybe, just in his imagination because his brain never let him wander to far before squandering the idea of getting close to someone again, for if history has taught Peter anything, it's that anything he gets close to, is not meant to stay for long and will be soon snatched away from him in the cruelest of ways.

And this thought is what resigns him to slink back behind his window and pout the day away, as he was doing now, vision blurring as he stared at nothing.

“Hey!”

Peter jumped, his eyes focusing on the target of whoever pelted his window and they landed on your form, slumped against your open windowsill, chin resting on your hand as you gazed back at him.

“Can I help you?” Peter bit back after lifting his window half way, his tone unconsciously laced with annoyance. He really didn’t even notice it anymore since that’s how he’s been speaking to everyone in his life for months now, but when you flinched at his tone, guilt started to creep up his spine.

Before he could ever begin to stumble out an apology, you cut him off “Yeah, is there a reason you stare into my room everyday?”

Peter's face flushed red and he opened and closed his mouth like a fish. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had spoken so bluntly towards him, and honestly, he liked it. He was getting tired of everyone walking on tiptoes around him, he just wanted things to go back to how they were, where he was just Peter Parker, your friendly neighborhood student.

“Or could you at least give me some money for some curtains if you just can’t give up the beautiful view of a concrete wall?”

“S-sorry, I- I didn’t even know you were there.”

Lie.

Peter knew you were there, he always knew when you were there.

Peter Parker isn’t a stalker, though! Sure, he’s gone through some fucked up shit on Earth and in space, so yeah, he wouldn’t call himself the most …sane person he knows, but he really wasn’t a creep. With your buildings being so close and your rooms directly across from one anothers, he was bound to notice you at some point.

And at some point he did. It was the first day of summer and Midtown let out at 12 instead of 3 to mark the occasion, so Peter had been mulling about in his room for quite some time already, thinking about how he heard all his classmates amazing summer plans and how the farthest he was going to go was probably the Thai restaurant down the street, and even that was a maybe. Peter sulked in silence until a couple hours later he heard a door slam closed, thumps from things being tossed on the ground, and a loud groan as he peeked through his windowsill at you who was currently flopped on the bed, window wide open without a care, scrolling on your phone.

At first, he was taken aback by your beauty, a small, small feeling of intrigue spiked his system, but it flew under the radar due to the seemingly everlasting dread that’s been weighing down on Peter's shoulders for months. But he couldn’t look away. You’d been doing nothing but looking at tiktoks mindlessly, occasionally cracking a half smile if a video was particularly amusing, but you still remained cemented to your mattress with no plans on moving anytime soon.

This brought comfort to Peter as he fished his phone out from the bottom of his bag and pulled up Ned’s messages and started to look through the media he sent him, almost two months worth of funny memes and videos that he hadn’t been bothered to look at, and he sat there along with you, aimlessly letting the time pass by. He enjoyed it, knowing he wasn’t really alone in his lazy and distracting behaviors because the pretty neighbor girl was doing just the same.

Ever since then, he’s just been …aware… of your coming and goings. He figured you had a summer job as every other day you were gone for a few hours, a solid shift. But on the days you were home, you also spent it mainly up in your room, every now and then, playing music from your record player, and if he was really lucky, you’d, unknowingly, give him a private concert as you sung out whichever niall horan or ariana grande song struck your fancy that day. He grew quite fond of the music, having added some of the regulars to his own playlist. And he enjoyed knowing you were right there, and he was right here; each of you living your lives, as uneventful as they may be, but you were together in some sort of way.

He’d never spoken to you, the ability of being able to just push his window up and call out to you at any time was what he liked, and each day he thought he’d do it but chickened out, and now it seemed like he’d have to make introductions whether he was ready or not.

“Mmm, right, so you haven’t seen me change or anything like that?” You asked and the content of your question and the inquisitive tone brought a flush to his cheeks.

“N-no! Of course not! I-I’d never do that, why would I even want to look at you? I mean! I don’t think you’re ugly or anything I… I just…”

Peter’s ramblings were cut off with your laugh as it bounced off the summer air and into his room. You were fully leaning out your open window now, and Peter had found himself in the same position, as if he was drawn to you.

“I was only joking with ya, but it's still nice to have the confirmation. I’m Y/N, your neighbor! Obviously.” You trailed off at the end, knowing that information was unnecessary since the boy next door obviously already knew that.

He was like no boy you’d ever seen before, only read about in books. He had a sweet disposition and inviting brown eyes that matched his soft chestnut hair. But he was built like a man, a strong jaw and strong arms. You’d seen him leaving his building everyday on your way to school, and when he’d get dropped off in a big black SUV during the late hours of the night, but he walked in the opposite direction or darted inside so fast,you never really got a chance to take him in.

“…Peter?” His tentative tone snapped you out of your daze and you realized he was introducing himself.

“Sorry, Peter! I- I… got distracted… by your… death star!” You let out, eyes focusing on the black and grey figure resting on his bed.

Peter felt his cheeks heat up as he moved to push it to the ground.

“That’s pretty cool! I finished the star wars series last summer.”

Peter’s eyes snapped up to yours and the friendly smile you were giving him along with the genuine interest in your tone seemed to break something inside him, snapped the band of hesitation that wrapped around his heart. “You did? For the first time?”

“Yeah! I know I’m like super late, but there’s like nine movies!”

Your laughs melded into one as you leaned out your respective windows and began talking about your favorite movie series. Peter was aware that this was unnatural for him. He had been more open to this stranger in the past few minutes than he had to his own Aunt in months and the same guilt from earlier crept up on him. But Peter was having a good time talking to you and he felt his insides turn in excitement when he realized you really had no idea who he was. He had a clean slate with you and he could make any first impression he wanted, well he hoped your first impression of him wasn’t that he was a peeping pervert, but we move, as MJ would say.

You were about to start telling Peter about this new dystopian novel you began reading when you heard a woman call out to him.

“Oh, that’s my Aunt May. She must be home from work. I- I should go say hello.” He explained, a sad look crossing his face that you didn’t quite understand.

You felt your own sadness wash over you, though. You didn’t want to stop talking to Peter either. “Yeah, of course!”

“But we can talk tomorrow right?” Peter asked, his tone laced with uncertainty.

“Oh well, I work double tomorrow… so I probably won’t be home ‘til late.” You said and the way the brown haired boys face visibly fell felt like a punch in the gut and you were scrambling for a reason to make him smile.

“B-but hey! I also get paid tomorrow so if you want, you can come over on saturday and we can have a movie night and we can order a shit ton of take out?”

“Come over to your place?” Peter asked, and he felt himsef involuntarily tense at the idea of leaving his room for the first time in weeks. It was safe in his room. But the pleading look on your face and hopefulness in your tone encouraged him to take the chance.

“I’d love to y/n.” Peter said with a soft smile and you smiled back shyly at him before closing your window and making your way out your room, making sure you were safe in the hall, away from his prying eyes to do a little happy dance.

Peter was unable to wipe the grin off his face as he walked out his room to greet his Aunt.

She heard his feet padding down the hall as she was setting out dinner, “Sorry its not ready yet, Petey, today’s been crazy, but I’ll get started now.” She rushed. Recently, she’s been hoping food’s the key to lift her poor nephews spirits, so each night she’ll either order or make something more fattening, cheesy, and delicious than the last.

“It’s alright May,” Peter let out easily as he turned the counter and placed a kiss on her cheek, “why don’t you let me cook tonight?”

May’s jaw dropped and she blinked a couple times. She could barely get two words out of Peter recently, and they were always either a meak thank you for dinner or an it was good when she asked about his day. She felt her eyes tear up at the slight sliver of her old Petey back.

“O-oh, really, you wanna cook?”

Peter ducked his head down at the ingredients in front of him to avoid looking in her eyes, his heart dropping at the glossiness that overtook them. He truly hadn’t realized how closed off he’d been. “Well, how about we do it together?” He began and the face splitting grin that spread across May’s face was all he needed to know he was taking a step in the right direction.

“G-good idea, honey. Can’t have the house burn down, can we?”

“Hey!”

May laughed and kissed Peter’s head as they began winding through the kitchen, making casual conversation. It was just like the old days, May thought. Before the wave of devastation drowned Peter as he lost a father figure, once again.

“So what did you do today, P? Do you know when Ned get’s back? I’m sure you’re both excited to see each other.”

“Oh, uh, yeah, I am. I don’t know when he get’s back actually, but that’s okay-“

“I know you like your peace and quiet, I really do, but I do think it’ll be good for you to get out of the apartment for a little bit, see if Michelle is available. Oh! Or maybe that Lisa, Liz! I liked Liz, see if she’s available-“

“May! Its okay. I don’t need to hang out with Liz Allen,” Peter grumbled, “I- I made a new friend actually.”

May looked over at Peter in confusion since he hadn’t gone out or had anyone over in weeks, that she could remember; and Peter took her silence as an opportunity to continue.

“The neighbor.”

“Mrs. Wozniak?”

“No! Y/n, she lives in the next building over. And my room is right across from hers. We’re gonna hang out on saturday.”

“Oh?” May raised her brows at her nephew and bit back a smile, much to Peter’s chagrin. “Is she pretty?”

“And that’s relevant why?”

“I don’t know!!” May drawled and Peter just rolled his eyes and kept chopping the vegetables in front of him, the blush adorning his cheeks refusing to go down as he thought yes, yes she is.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

You yanked the door open as soon as you heard Peter’s knocks against it. He jumped back a bit, his arm still partially raised from when he knocked and you silently berated yourself for being so eager, but the spreading smile across his face made you feel not so bad.

“Oh, sorry, I was just-“

“It’s alright.” Peter replied with a soft smile, and you let yourself trace the golden flecks in his eyes before he cleared his throat, once again, snapping you out of a daze. You seemed to be in a dreamy state around him alot.

“Can I come in? I brought my Star Wars DVD collection by the way, I know you’ve seen them, but this one has the director's cut which I thought totally changed the course of the first trilogy!” Peter explained, rocking on the balls of his feet in excitement.

You bit your lip at the sight, his cuteness was rubbing off on you. “Yeah, that sounds great, but actually we aren’t gonna be watching in here.” You said, grabbing the bag of Chinese food and snacks and stepping out.

Peter’s face sputtered as you both walked to the stairs. He’d spent all day building up his courage to just go six feet from his building, there was no way he’d be able to go around the city with you for the fear of seeing something that’ll remind him of the avengers or crime.

“Y’alright?” You asked, noticing Peter’s stony silence as you walked down the last flight and made your way to the back gate.

“Yeah, sorry, I guess I’m just nervous. I haven’t really hung out with anyone new in a while, well, with anyone at all really.”

You smiled in sympathy, “I get you, I haven’t either. All my friends are out of town, so I’ve mostly just hung out in my room, too.”

“But you already knew that, don’t ya stalker?”

Peter rolled his eyes and shoved your arm as you laughed, glad you got his nerves out of his system. You unlocked the gate and lef Peter to the back garden.

“Woah..” Peter let out. There was a large white sheet hung up between two trees, and a projector set up on the table behind where a blanket lay, covered in a mess of pillows. The setting sun lit up by strung lightbulbs.

“You like? I figured since we both seemed to be home bodies, we could have the fun of the movie theatre, but here!”

Peter felt his heart swell at your words. You’d only known him for two days, and you already treated him with so much consideration and kindness. “I- I love it, y/n. This is amazing.”

He saw how you tucked your cheek into your shoulder in bashfulness and felt his spirits raise even higher. You were adorable.

“I’m glad you like it. I hope the projector works though, it took me forever to translate the instructions.”

Peter walked over to it and gave it a once over. “It seems fine to me, but I can always look at it if you want.”

“Oh yeah? You good with tech?”

“Good enough to get by. I needed it a lot while working with Mr. Stark” Peter began, forgetting that he wasn’t talking to an old friend.

“You worked with Tony Stark?!?”

“Oh.. oh yeah, only for a little! I was an intern.” He said quietly, beating himself up for even bringing up the topic of Tony. The last thing he wanted to do was cry in front of a pretty girl.

“Wow, that must’ve been amazing. You, you must miss him a lot then, huh?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled lifelessly. “Yeah I do.”

“But no matter, we’re here to have a good time right?”

“Yeah, yeah we are!” You grasped his hand and gave him a sympathetic squeeze -neither of you blind to the sparks that shot from the place your hands met- and got settled on the blanket.

Two and a half moves later, the sun had set and the two of you were sitting in the darkness, the only light coming from the flickering of the projector as the abandoned movie played. You and Peter were sitting cross legged, facing each other as he told you another story about working with the Avengers.

“Yeah, it was so crazy!! We were in this airport and he went from being like two inches tall to two hundred feet, it blew my mind. But it was okay though, because I had this idea-“

“Wait, wait, wait. You were there? Why?” You asked, loving every adventure filled anecdote he told you, but it wasn’t all adding up. For just an intern, he seemed incredibly close to Mr. Stark himself, but then again, you’d only known him for less than a week and you also wanted to go everywhere with him.

Peter worried his lip, thinking about how he could worm his way out of this one. Why would a teenage intern be at the Avengers civil war? He figured he could lie, or even just run away and buy black out curtains. Maybe he could convince Aunt May to switch rooms with him even. But you’d already brought so much light to his life in multiple aspects, and he thought, just maybe, you’d be able to bring light to that aspect of his life too.

“You know what, lemme just show you! Wait here, I’ll be back!”

Peter ran back down, his Chewbacca flash drive in hand, adrenaline running through his veins. He plugged it into your laptop and dug up a folder he hadn’t touched in almost eight months.

“What’s this?” You asked as he sat back down next to you.

“You’ll see.” He said, eyes glued to the screen in front of him.

A Film by Peter Parker, read the title as a compilation of videos featuring Peter, Happy, Aunt May, the Avengers, and Tony projected before you both.

Peter heard you gasp as the camera flashed to the suit, and saw, from the corner of his eye, how your head snapped towards his as he backspringed across the battleground. The film continued and neither of you could tear your eyes from the screen. Peter felt his eyes well up with tears as a scene with him and Tony talking to the camera began and he thought that watching this was a bad idea and he was about to turn around and turn it off when he felt your fingers intertwine with his.

He sucked in a sharp breath at the warmth you brought him and he squeezed back, his brain nearly malfunctioning at the speed in which he tried to memorize the feel of your hand in his. But his senses were overloaded as he picked up on your accelerated heartbeat.

The two of you continued to watch the video, neither moving even when it autostarted from the beginning, and this time you laughed outwardly at the funny parts, and asked him questions about why Happy didn’t seem to like him.

“What did you do to him Peter?”

“Nothing I swear!”

“Likely story.”

And he felt the steel blanket of grief fall off his shoulders. The feeling of intrigue and excitement for going back to life was no longer a small trail buried deep within him, but now a firecracker that ignited his insides and aurated off of him. Things were going to be alright, he was going to make it out this summer with more than just the memories from his bedroom, and he’d make it through whatever else life would throw at him, as long as he had you by his side.

Because you didn’t make his heart beat faster out of fear, you made him feel flustered and full of affection.

And you didn’t hold him roughly, with the intent to harm him; you held him delicately, and he could only wait to be able to hold your heart the same way.