#i think he is stupidly into domesticity even if he won’t admit it out loud

[suguwu]

sae is absolutely compelled to fuck you when the two of you move in together and he sees you unpacking and setting up your new home with him

[babbushka]

Gentle & Soft

(not my gif, i’m very sorry i can’t find credit for it)

007!Reader x Bond Villain!Kylo Ren 

3.4k; Cw for injury, hurt/comfort, NSFW (body worship, oral sex, PIV sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation)

Also available on AO3!

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

It happens too quickly, all at once.

Your vision blacks out as your body hits the ground, and you hold on to the last lingering sensations before slipping under. Your memories retain nothing but this moment -- the picture of Kylo Ren’s face twisted with rage as he turns his fury in the form of guns and bullets into the side of an enemy helicopter, the sound of the world whipped in a frenzy around you wind howling in your ear, the feeling of pain as it throbs through your back.

Of all of it, the look on Kylo’s face when he watches you fall, has to be the most striking, but then it’s over, as your eyes close and you soak in the dark warmth of unconsciousness.

You’d been sent to infiltrate the deepest bowels of the Royal Exhibition Building to prevent the theft of a priceless painting which hung in the adjacent museum’s halls. For the first time in a long time, Kylo Ren wasn’t the suspected target, suspected thief, and for that you were thankful – Ren was far too smart, had far too many backup plans should anything go array.

Whoever this newcomer was, this new criminal on the scene, they weren’t nearly as refined, weren’t nearly as polished. Which is how you found yourself running at top speed after this henchman, a man with shockingly red hair hidden behind a black knit cap, bolting across the roof of the building. You know he’s not the main target, the mastermind they call Snoke is hiding behind the scenes, but you figure this redhead is worth enough to bring in for questioning, if only you can catch him.

“You won’t get away!” You shout after him, and he throws you a glance over his shoulder as he jumps from roof to roof, you right on his heels.

He’s quick, but you’re quicker, and though he can climb well, so can you. You chase him, blood pounding pounding pounding in your ears as you shoot a grappling hook out of the gun on your artillery belt, your black bodysuit doing wonders to protect you from the rough texture of the brick architecture as you climb climb climb after him.

You’re close, so close, there’s nowhere for him to go you, think with a sense of victory as you force him to climb the spire of the dome, when suddenly out of nowhere, twin helicopters race towards you. You recognize neither of their designs, but you assume that one must be for you, and one must be for him, this redhead.

Their choppers whip up the wind fiercely, and the force of it knocks both you and the redhead henchman off your feet. You both lose your footing and fall down the sloped walls of the dome, your hands scraping and scrabbling for purchase.

“Shit! Shit – no!” You grunt out in pain as your body slams into the side of the building, your built-in climbing harness yanking you around from the tension of the grappling hook as it works to prevent you from falling entirely.

You manage to grab a hold of the rim of the dome as the helicopters circle you and the henchman where he too is dangling by his own rope rig. The sound is deafening, the circulating whoosh of the chopper ringing in your ear, especially as it comes closer. Mi6 couldn’t have had better timing you think, until you spare a frantic glance to the man hanging out of the helicopter and extending his hand out to you, and you recognize him as no one from the Agency at all.

“Agent – climb in!” Kylo shouts over the noise, headphones protecting his ears as he reaches for you.

“What – ? Fuck!” Your eyes are wide, not expecting to see him whatsoever – until the world becomes a blur, the grappling hook unlatches from its purchase.

The force of the winds from the chopper are enough to make your arms lose their purchase too, leaving your body to fall fall fall down the side of the building.

And as you scream, everything goes black.

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

There’s no way of knowing, how long you’re out for. It could have been days, a week, or a month for all you knew. At first, you’re not entirely sure you’re alive, not entirely sure you’ve made it – but then you remember you’ve fallen off of higher buildings, have scaled more dangerous heights, and really, you think as you wince and blink awake, it’ll take more than a three-hundred foot fall to take you out.

But you do blink awake, and you are thankful for that, even more thankful when you see you are not in a hospital, but instead in a grand master bedroom suite. Around you the world is a soft and diffused white, a product of curtains around the canopy bed frame made of sheer mosquito netting, light reflecting off the crisp white sheets made of a beautifully high quality thread count.

That same light forms around the silhouette of a man you’d recognize anywhere, a man brought to your side by the sounds of subtle shifting around as you try your best to sit up. Kylo gently pushes you back down to rest for a while longer, ducking through the canopy curtains and sitting on the edge of the bed next to you.

“Thank god you’re awake.” He whispers, afraid to talk too loud, not wanting to startle you. “How do you feel?”

You’re not so delicate though, and you sit up anyway, lean against the headboard for support. Surprisingly, you’re not sore at all, and when you look down at your limbs you don’t see any bruising. You must have been knocked out for a long time then. Still, you groan because you’re just so emotionally drained, even after just waking up.

“Like I got hit by a truck.” You reply honestly, cracking your stiff joints in a way that has Kylo wincing, the popping loud in the quiet of the room, the room in…You look at Kylo and frown ever so slightly, curious enough to ask, “Where am I?”

That’s a gamble, the asking. Usually he doesn’t tell you, on the occasions where he kidnaps you and whisks you away to some remote place. He seems to be in a good enough mood to tell you this time though, because he runs his fingers through your hair and sighs, divulges this secret information rather easily.

“My house in Tasmania, it was the closest place I could take you after the Melbourne fiasco.” He sounds remorseful, which you find interesting. In the years that you’ve known Kylo, you’ve never seen him so glum, not even when you locked him up in prison.

You slide back under the covers enough so that you can shuffle over, patting the recently vacated space in the massive bed, an invitation for him to join you. It’s then that you realize you’re wearing a silk nightgown and nothing else, and if this were any other man, you’d be embarrassed at the realization that he dressed you. However, this is not any other man, this is, for all intents and purposes, your man, and he happily sheds the layers of his suit until he’s wearing nothing but his boxers and sock garters, and slides under the covers with you.

“Are you angry with me?” Kylo has to ask, as he pulls you gently to rest against his chest, your face tucked underneath his chin.

“Hm? No, not angry.” You huff out a little laugh, because you really should be. You should be furious with him, for compromising your mission that way – except…he hadn’t compromised it, not really. He had saved you, and for that, “I’m grateful.”

Kylo pulls away a little to look at you for that comment, that admission. Poor thing must have been worrying about that the entire time you were knocked out, you realize. You give him a soft smile, as your hand comes up to cup his scarred cheek.

He turns his face into your palm and kisses the pads of your fingers, his eyes closed, lashes thick and soft as they brush against your wrist when he kisses down down down your arm.

“I didn’t think we’d ever be here, like this.” You whisper, growing fond, sentimental. The more you think about it, the happier you are that you’re here with him, with him and not in some stuffy hospital with Mi6. You’re not so sure they would have come to your rescue the way that Kylo had, the way Kylo always seems to do.

“Me neither, but I’m glad we are. I’m glad we’re here together.” Kylo agrees.

You’re both so soft in this moment, so soft spoken, as the morning light spills into the bedroom. Nothing but beautiful hazy white fills the large expanse, and the domesticity of it all doesn’t slip past you. You can’t help but let a dry laugh exhale through your nose as he combs your hair back with his hands, wraps pieces of it around his fingers.

“We’re not very good at this whole, sworn enemies thing, are we?” You hum, letting your eyes close, letting yourself bask in the beauty of being alive, of being alive with him.

“Well that’s not my fault.” Kylo mutters, making you crack open an eye again and look at him expectantly. “It isn’t! It’s all yours.”

“Me?” You laugh, making him roll over on top of you, cage your body underneath his massive arms.

“Yes, you, and you know, sometimes I can’t believe it was you. Out of everyone, you just had to steal my heart.” He presses a wet kiss to your neck, right where your jaw meets your throat, and the sudden sensation tickles enough that you’re laughing louder, your lungs filling properly with air as you gasp down giggles as he continues, “That’s very rude, you know. To steal.”

“Please don’t say you love me.” You grin, a cheeky teasing playful thing you do back and forth. Of course he loves you, of course he does. Just as you love him, wholly and completely, stupidly, dangerously.

But it’s against the rules to say it, so neither of you do.

Neither of you have to.

“Who says I was going to?” Kylo teases back, and you grin at him, smiling at the way his dimples and his teeth light up his whole face, gorgeous body backlit by the sun as the birds of the Tasmanian jungle begin to chirp, the world waking up around you.

“You were always more than just a one night stand to me.” You admit softly, your own way of saying thank you.

“Let me kiss you, please? I want to kiss every inch of your body before I fuck you.” He replies, his own way of saying you’re welcome.

You nod, and Kylo sets to work, dropping open mouthed kisses all across your skin.

He means it when he says every inch, means it when he gathers you in his arms, when he pushes your nightgown over your head, leaving your body naked against the sheets, when he trails his lips up and down your skin. He lavishes love onto your chest and stomach, your hips, your arms and shoulders. He sighs against your legs, whispers sweet nothings into the divot of your ankle and the arch of your feet, the crook of your elbows and knees.

He kisses you and kisses you and kisses you, until it’s all you can do to let your legs fall apart, all you can do to ask him to kiss you there, invite him to lick up through your pussy, for it’s been neglected for far too long. And he goes eagerly, tenderly holds your thighs and presses them apart so he can suck your clit into his mouth.

“Oh!” You sigh happily, biting at your lower lip. Your hands twist in the white cotton sheets, in his hair, in the pillowcase, in everything and anything you can get in your grasp as you lift your hips up up up to better rock against his mouth. His tongue is blazing hot and thick and firm and and and, you sigh and gasp out your pleasure a litany of nothing but his name, nothing but,

“Kylo! Kylo please, please, more.” You plead, and he only hums in response.

He hears you, but it does nothing to make him go quicker, rougher. No, he won’t be rough with you now, not so soon after the injury your body has sustained. This sex will be gentle and soft, will be healing, for your body and your soul. He licks and sucks up your cunt, hands kneading in your thighs, moaning into your pussy as he tastes you for the first time in what has to be ages.

“Oh shit I’m – I’m -- !” You come once, a blissful wash of pleasure over your nerves, relaxing you and making you shudder out, trembling softly, sweetly.

Kylo wastes little time, doesn’t let you recover, before he’s climbing back up your body. Pulling out his cock from his boxers, he rolls you over onto your stomach, your face nestled against the downy-feather pillows as he takes one from the other side of the bed and props your hips up with it.

“I’ve missed this, missed you.” He groans, his cock feels like heaven as he rubs the head of it through your slicked up folds, your come shining and sticky on your inner thighs as it drips onto the sheets. He catches one oozing drip with his cock and pushes it back into you with a groan, using your come as lubricant to thrust all the way inside.

“I’m here, I’m here with you, oh Kylo, yes, please – ” Your body is pliant and relaxed enough for him to have no trouble fitting that massive cock of his in your pussy, a feeling of fullness so wonderful that you gasp and moan just because you love the sensation of it, especially so soon after coming.

He’s just as affected, because now that your back is exposed to him, he kisses all across your shoulder blades. One of his hands rests near yours to hold himself up, and he twines his fingers through yours, the other smoothing around to cup your lower stomach where he fucks you.

It’s not really fucking, no, something this sweet is making love, but all the same, there’s a throbbing pulsing rush of pleasure as he pulls out and thrusts back in, over and over again, kissing at your open mouth, jaw dropped from how good he feels.

“Mm, oh, oh fuck,” Your eyes are closed and little tears cling to your lashes and Kylo comes in you right there because the way the light refracts off your tears, little rainbows scattered across the pillow is too much for him to bear, you’re too beautiful, he’s struck with awe from it.

Luckily, he thrusts and rolls his hips against your ass enough while he comes comes comes inside you to massage at your clit and get you coming again, your ach arching and toes curling from it, head lifting off the pillow in the shock of pleasure. He clamps his teeth down into the crook of your neck and pulls your hips as flush against his own as he can, to make sure not a single drop of his come leaks out, not wanting any of it to go to waste.

“Kylo, please I can’t – I can’t – I need – ” You wriggle in his grip, whining and whimpering as his cock throbs inside you, hips continuing to seek out pleasure even as he gives you everything he has, empties himself inside you. The head of his cock nudges ever so gently back and forth over your gspot, again and again and again, and your elbows cave in, shoulders pinching back as you collapse down against the mattress from a third orgasm, one that takes you both by surprise.

“Ffffuck, thank you, thank you Kylo.” Your pussy clenches and flutters around Kylo’s cock as tears slip down your cheek, and Kylo shushes you softly as he licks them up, massaging and kneading at your breasts, your nipples rubbing against the sheets and spurring your orgasm on longer.

It’s a beautiful sight, and eventually Kylo pulls out, rolls onto his back with a heavy sigh, pulls you to rest onto his chest.

Your hands are pleasure weak, but you lift one anyway to begin drawing little patterns on his chest. You wonder if he would guess what they are, but neither of you have the mental capacity for guessing games at the moment. So instead, you simply trace over his broad and firm chest, over all the scars.

You also throw one of your legs over his waist, and he takes the opportunity to lazily finger you, wanting to keep your nerves alight with pleasure. He slowly, carefully, pushes your mixed come back into your pussy where it begins to slide out, smears it up to your clit. The tip of his finger swirls around the throbbing little bundle of nerves, and he wonders if he can get you to come again just like this.

“I don’t want to go, I don’t want to leave you yet.” You hiccup out a moan, something soft and gentle as he kisses your eyelids.

“You don’t have to, not for a while. We’re completely off the radar, you could stay as long as you’d like. Mi6 won’t know, they won’t find you.” He whispers, as if they’re listening anyway, his fingers massaging your clit some more, smiling against your cheek with the way your breathing is shallow, the way you gulp down air.

“I have to go back eventually, they need me. I’ve got to rid the word of evil criminal masterminds.” You moan, angry with reality, angry with the world. You don’t want to go, you don’t, not when he takes care of you so well, when he lets you be here, when he touches you like this.

“That’s okay, because you know what?” He asks as he thrusts his fingers back into your pussy, thumb still working on your clit as your leg curls around him, as you grind against his muscular thigh, wanting to be closer.

“What?” You gasp, before your entire body tenses up for a moment again, again again again as more pleasure coaxes more tears and more blinding white hot stars to dance behind your eyes as you come on his fingers, “Oh – oh Kylo just a little more – just – yes!”

Kylo grins and just holds you close, holds you through it, his cock hard again from the sounds you make, and he fits it so nicely inside your pussy. He doesn’t thrust, not this time, doesn’t do anything really, just plugs you up with it, a warm reassuring weight inside and out.

He kisses your cheek, kisses your face all over, the corner of your mouth forehead temple nose, anything he can reach as you tremble underneath him.

“One day we’ll retire from these lives we’ve built, and we can be together and not have to worry about anything, maybe you’ll still like me enough to want to be mine, maybe we can build a family together. Raise little evil geniuses and world class spies and terrorize the world with them.” He jokes, except it’s not a joke, not really.

You can hear the truth in his deep voice, baritone thick and beautiful, like syrup in the jungle morning.

“I didn’t take you to be the settling down type.” Is all you say, and he breaks into a handsome grin.

“I wasn’t, not until I met you.” He rolls his eyes dramatically, as if you’re the one constantly being obtuse, “Now, all I can think about is simply holding you.”

It’s his way of saying it, of saying he loves you, you know. Everything about this, everything about the way he treats you is him saying it.

“I’d let you do a lot more than just hold me.” You reply, making him smile.

Because he knows, that as you tuck yourself against him and breathe in time, heartbeats synching up together, that it’s your way of saying it back.

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

Tagging some pals! If you’d like to be added or taken off the taglist please just give me a shout :)  @steeevienicks​ @heldcaptivebychaos​  @solotriplets​ @formerly-anonhamster​ @lookinsidemyhead​ @candycanes19​ @adamsnacc-kler​  @whiskey-bumblebee​ @magikevalynn​ @tinyplanet-explorers​ @chelsjnov​  @helloimindelaware​  @autumnlovesadam​ @peterisparker​  @goodboybensolo​  @the-marvelatic​ @miasera​ @emily-strange​ @proxyfoxy​ @disaster-rose​ @hazydespair​ @yosoymuyloca​ @1-800-choke-that-snoke​ @ktellmeastory​ @anongirl007​ @zimmerxman​ @okk--maaan​ @flapjacques​ @aweirdlookingtree​ @callmemania-pls​ @theold-ultraviolence​ @og-selene​  @schopenhauerdeathsquad​ @nekonaomitard​ @feminine-machinegun​ @contesa-lui-alucard​

[hargrove-mayfields]

Dream Boy Lover

June 12, 1985

The dead heat of Hawkins summer is almost in full swing, but in the damp cement back room at Hawkins Community Pool, it’s freezing.

Waiting out the time before her next turn in the chair is Heather Holloway, laying down on the wooden bench, one leg hanging lazily over the side. She’s got a pair of sweats on over her bathing suit and a throw blanket that was supposed to be on the back of her mother’s expensive couch wrapped around her shoulders.

With her on the same bench is Billy Hargrove, laying on his back like her, their heads touching so that curly pieces of their sprayed hair get tangled together. He’s got his ankles crossed one over the other, wearing his lifeguard hoodie and a pair of boots, but the tips of his nose and fingers are still ice cold. Even out of the sun, lounging around on break, he’s got a pair of aviators propped up on his nose.

They don’t have to be back out in their chairs for another hour or two, something about the manager's nieces coming in and taking over everyone’s shifts, so they’re just killing time.

Heather’s got a gossip magazine that’s a bit too immature for her, the kind aimed at middle schoolers rather than a couple of fresh out of high school adults, and she’s reading out loud anything she finds interesting. Billy’s got a bag of skittles he got from the vending machine on his chest, and occasionally, when he doesn’t have a cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips, he drops a few into his own or Heather's mouths. She’d suggested the skittles, he likes M&Ms better.

After a few minutes of silent page turning, Billy feels himself start drifting off to sleep, it’s too cold and he didn’t sleep last night and he’s bored, but Heather startles him awake with an exclamation of, “Oh! Listen to this.”

She clears her throat and reads in a smug, over enthusiastic voice. “How to tell if your crush likes you back.”

Billy groans, he knows the teasing that’s about to come will be insufferable. Ever since Heather got herself a relationship, she’d been trying to get him to follow suit, and she’d weaseled it out of him with hardly any effort that he’d already been gunning it for someone.

Pretty much every day he had to get at least one reminder that he was a coward and a wimp for not making a move, her obsession with his romantic life just that intense, but he’s usually a good sport about it. Like now, as he listens to her read out of a magazine too lame for even his little sister, not interrupting her once as she reads off the list.

Well, at least until she strays from what is actually printed on its glossy pages. “Number one. Does he or she talk to you everyday?” She waited for barely a second before reprimanding him. “Come on William, I’m expecting answers here.”

Sighing through his nose, he plays along. “Whatever. Sure.”

“Okay. Number two. Does he or she tell you all of his or her deepest secrets?”

“Deepest? Dunno about that.” That answer isn’t good enough for Heather, who waits impatiently for him to give her a better one. “Alright, fine. Yes.”

The smile on her face is almost audible through the excitement in her voice. “Number three. Did he or she give you his or her phone number like, the third time you ever talked to each other?”

“That’s not in the magazine, Hetty.”

“Um, it totally is.” She says it like she means it, but there’s a little hint of humor in her tone almost giving her away.

Because she’s so relentless, Billy admits, “It was the fifth time.”

“Number four.” The pause between her words as she thinks of something to taunt Billy with is enough that he knows something ridiculous is about to come out of her mouth. “Does he take you out to the quarry, a place we all know is the cooler older brother of Lover’s Lake, in the middle of the night ‘just to hang out’?”

“That’s it, I’m cutting you off.” He announces, reaching behind his head and snatching the magazine from her hands, flipping it around so he can read it. “My turn.”

“Oh no.” She says with a giggle.

There’s the sound of laminated pages flipping until, Billy says, “Ooh, this one sounds good.” in a tone matching the one Heather used when she started reading.

“How to know if your relationship is going to last.” He gasps for dramatic effect, and Heather can’t stifle a giggle while she waits for the rest of the question, “Do you call each other a thousand times a day and whisper sweet nothings over the phone?”

Even though he can’t see her face, she rolls her eyes. “Duh.”

“Did you pine helplessly after each other for literally three years just to kiss on the first date?”

“Yeah and it was awesome.” They both laugh at that one, her obviously overdone response enough to break the false seriousness they had going.

It’s also a challenge for Billy to do it again.

“Do you stay over at her house every night just so you can wake up together in domestic bliss? Does she pack your work bag for you every morning like you’ve been married for years, and make you your lunch in a little brown bag and kiss you on the forehead on your way out the door and-“

“Alright, alright. I get it.” Billy’s point having been proved, she takes her magazine back and sets It aside with the rest of her stuff. “You’re just jealous because you won’t shoot your shot with Steve.”

“Am not.” He scoffs, trying not to let the little bit of offense he felt at that show. “Have the situation perfectly under control.”

“Sure. Is that why you spend all of your time sighing wistfully and daydreaming about your one true love?” Her hands are clasped together at her cheek and she lets her voice get higher and dreamier.

“My options are limited.” It’s a lame excuse just to deflect the truth and they both know it.

So she calls him on it, and uncontainable smile accompanying the song-Singh remark. “You didn’t deny it!”

“What?”

“That you’re in love with him!”

“Thought that was obvious. Why the hell else do you think I’m still single?” He motions vaguely to himself. “Just look at me, Hetty. Could have anyone I wanted.”

“Except Steve.” The reminder is mostly meant to be like, a way for her to show him that he should just make his move already because he can have anyone he wants, but, having missed the point entirely, Billy sighs and agrees. “‘Cept Steve.”

“I don’t know though, Rob’s been putting out some feelers, and like, her gaydar is super good.” Her and Robin are probably more involved in this than their idiot best friends by this point, it seemed to be all they ever talked about anymore. “She’ll be able to tell you if he’s on the market.”

“I don’t need a lesbians dating advice, thank you.” Billy chuffs. “Pretty sure I can figure it out on my own.”

“Oh.” In a show of feigned nonchalance, she holds her hands above her face so she can examine her painted nails as she says, “So I guess you already knew that his freshman year, Steve dated Tommy Hagan for an entire month.”

The rest of their skittles were sent scattering all over the stained up concrete floor as Billy sat up quickly, his boots swinging to the floor and blood rushing to his head fast enough to knock him silly. “What?”

“See. You had no idea.” Sitting herself up much more gracefully, Heather turns so she’s facing Billy with her legs crossed. “For months you’ve been moping over your straight dream boy, and he’s been bi the whole time.”

“No way.” Stupidly baffled is the only way to describe the look on Billy’s face.

“Yes way.” She nods smugly. “He said so himself.”

This was something she thought was completely obvious at this point, so she can’t help but say, “Seriously, William, when were you going to open your eyes? Someone who doesn’t like you isn’t going to let you crash at their place and tenderly bandage your wounds.”

“S’not tender.” It’s such a confident comeback, Heather could almost believe it.

Almost, but she’d heard all the stories about how Billy’s dad would rough him up, kick him out with a nasty split in his lip or bruises all over, and he’d drive all helpless to his savior Steve Harrington’s house to get patched up. Not tender her hind end.

“Well, I guess it doesn’t matter, because I also seem to remember him driving an hour into the city to pick you up when your car broke down, sooo…..” Billy wouldn’t win this one, she had just about a million other courting attempts from poor Steve on stand by.

“It wasn’t like that, H.” His gaze fixes to the floor, to a green skittle melting over in the corner, as he mumbles, “We’re not even friends.”

“What about when he saved you a seat on the basketball bus?” The nerve of him to come running back to her with all of his romantic troubles and woes, and still deflect like this. She almost couldn’t bear it. “Or literally like, a week ago when he hand delivered a bunch of super thoughtful birthday gifts to you?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say!” His hands are thrown up in exasperation, though Heather would argue he doesn’t have the right be upset when he’s the one doing all this to himself. “He’s just too nice for his own good.”

“Please lord give me the strength to deal with this boy.” She turns her eyes to the wooden ceiling, joining her hands together in a false prayer. Sighing through her nose, she turns her attention back to Billy, who’s trying to hide his smugness with how frustrated he’s making her. “William. I know you think you screwed that friendship over forever, but I promise you, if Steve didn’t forgive you, he wouldn’t let you in his house, let alone do all this other stuff for you.”

“Dunno Het, kind of hard to forgive someone who doesn’t apologize.” She could ring his neck for how casually he says it.

“What! You mean you didn’t say you were sorry yet?” Rolling up the discarded magazine, she smacks him on the back of the head with it. “William that was like, seven months ago!”

The strain in his voice tells her they’re on the same level of annoyance. “What am I supposed to do! Tell him I’m sorry I almost killed him with my bare hands, and he’ll just forget about me being an evil bastard so we can live happily ever after like you and Robin?”

She hits him again. “One, you are over exaggerating by a long shot buster, and two, you need to quit projecting your crap onto that boy before someone else comes along and swoops him up.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means that you’re an idiot William Hargrove.” Another whack with the magazine as she tries to explain the situation, something that makes perfect sense to someone who isn’t emotionally constipated, to Billy who is, well, extremely emotionally constipated. “Steve is trying to move on. He flirts with you like, every day and he was willing to be civil without an apology. That doesn’t mean you ‘aren’t even friends’”

“It means that you,” Her cherry red fingernail presses into the material of his hoodie, “you are the one that needs to forgive yourself.”

“You think so?” There’s a sort of disbelief in his voice, but it’s not like he’s doubting himself so much as he’s mocking Heather for thinking it’s so easy.

And that, well, she’s used to it. They’ve been friends since early December, so she didn’t let him being a big jerk put her off after so long dealing with him acting like this. “Yes I do, as a matter of fact.”

“Think you’re giving me too much credit then, sweetheart.”

“You are so difficult.” She felt like a tired mother scolding a child. “Now you listen up and you listen tight. I don’t want this self-deprecating garbage keeping you from what you deserve, you hear me? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and I’m telling you, you have got to take it.”

“Steve does not care one little bit what you think of yourself. He likes the real you. Not who you think you should be, not who you think he deserves. He wants you.” Maybe she’s being dramatic, who knows, but Billy keeping his mouth shut means she’s probably on the right track. “And I guarantee you, you will never forgive yourself if you let that boy go.”

Sure, she’s up on her high horse there, talking down to Billy like he’s completely incompetent, but she’s been in the same boat. From experience she knew Billy’s heart would never recover if he lost Steve to someone else. It was in part for her sake so she wouldn’t have to hear about it, but mostly for her best friend, who already had so much other stuff on his plate to deal with that she wanted to make sure that didn’t happen.

“Don’t be so dramatic Het.” Is what he comes up with, but he’s biting the corner of his nail, something he only does when he’s thinking hard about something. It doesn’t take very long for him to break. “Promise you’re not just hyping me up?”

“You know me better than that. I don’t have a dishonest bone in my body.” With her hand on her heart she promises, “I wouldn’t say any of that stuff if I didn’t mean it.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He waves her off, but he looks sort of queasy, won’t hold eye contact with her for more than a second. “I’ll think about it.”

“You better.” Leaning over across the bench Heather wraps him in the best hug she can in the awkward position. “You know you’re my best friend in the whole wide world, right?” He lets out a breathy laugh against her hair, “I know, I know.”

It’s for Billy’s sake that she lets him drop it. Were it up to her entirely, she’d want him to make his decision now, she’s tired of watching him be too scared to make decisions for himself, but really, they’ve been at it for half a year, what’s a few more days to get the ball rolling?

So she listens with her full attention, keeping her arm around his waist to never fully break off the hug, as he shifts the conversation to more casual topics, like his failed attempts at trying to teach his little sister how to drive, how his new tattoo is taking way too long to heal, and how he’s triple booked for swim lessons tomorrow morning.

When after so long Adams' voice cuts over the speakers calling for the next ten minute pool check, their break is officially over.

The manager pops his head in to tell them they need one of them to switch out, and Billy, after sitting in one place for so long, stands up and stretches his limbs before he offers himself up, “You stay here in the cool, princess. I’ll keep watch over your loyal subjects.”

It’s obvious he just wants some time to himself, so, where she normally would’ve come back with something silly about how the pool goers respected his abs more than his authority, she instead gives him something to think about during his solitude.

She waits until he’s kicking his boots off and shoving them under the bench to say, “You know, maybe it’s fate that the both of you, absolute hunks that you are, have stayed single this whole summer. You’re probably like, destined to be together.”

“Keep dreaming Holloway.” He says, snatching up his whistle and his smokes from the pile with the rest of his stuff.

All smugly nonchalant she replies, “I’m leaving that up to you, lover boy.”

Billy just laughs as the metal door swings shut behind him, but he admittedly goes on to do exactly that, dreaming of his pretty boy up in the lifeguard chair.

Realizing it might be a hazard to public safety to ignore his responsibilities to drool over Steve Harrington while he’s on duty, he blows his whistle at a kid holding another one under the water, and tries to let the noisy pool distract him.

Heather’s right, this is getting to be ridiculous.

Read also on ao3!

[justinalovee]

Now we live

Chapter:02

Previous chapter

Nova opened her eyes as she fought back the urge to whine in pain. The room was spinning as her eyes adjusted to dim light. The loud yelling coming from below seemed to get closer as the minutes went by.

“Octavia stay down here!”

Octavia? Nova knew that name. That was the girl Lincoln had developed feelings for...oh no. Nova realized she was in skaikru territory.

“Bellamy stop. You don’t need to do this, it won’t get us any answers.”

“Back off Clarke. I don’t see another way, do you? We could have all died. She is one of them and will know when her people are going to attack.”

“She is right, Bell, the grounders wouldn’t have sent one beat up girl to invade us. I think this is something else.”

The hatch door swung open with a metallic clang, and Nova was now face to face with a furious looking brown-eyed boy. She tried to pull back when she noticed the belt wrapped around his wrist.

“You need to tell me what your people are planning right now!” He hissed.

Nova said nothing. She would not be frightened, or intimidated by skaikru. They would probably torture and murder her, but at least she would go out with dignity.

A blonde-haired girl came up the hatch and marched over towards him. “Bellamy look at her she’s weak, you will kill her.”

“One less grounder to deal with later.”

The one they called Bellamy continued to argue with the blonde, when movement in the room's corner caught Nova’s eye. Somebody was sitting there. The person coughed a lot before talking.

“Can you guys take the domestic somewhere else? Some of us are trying to die peacefully.”

The blonde stepped over to them. “Are you still in pain?”

“Yes and thank you for leaving me up here to choke on my own vomit.”

Nova could have sworn she recognized the person's voice. The room was either too dark or her swollen eyes stopped her from seeing the person at first, but after the figure got closer, she knew who it was. The boy who she helped escape.

The grounder stared at the ground as the members of the skaikru clan left her tied up. Nova was terrified but refused to let up.

***

“Please, just tell me what they are planning.” The blonde said as she wiped some blood off of Nova’s body.

Multiple people had sought to get information from her. They tried being forceful at first, but Nova guessed this was because the blondes attempted to trick her into a false sense of security. The only thing that surprised Nova was the brown eye boy hadn’t hit her. She couldn’t understand why. Perhaps he didn’t feel comfortable hurting a girl? Even if she was a grounder.

The room became very crowded again, with Bellamy in charge. He shoved the boy called Murphy in front of her and forced him to stare at her.

“Is she one of them?”

Murphy looked the grounder up and down. She had two black eyes, a burst lip, and was covered in dirt and dried blood, but he could still tell it was the grounder who ‘healed’ him. She hadn’t locked the hatch leading to him escaping and spreading the virus, but she had also bandaged his wounds. Murphy’s gut instinct was telling him the grounder wanted to help him.

“No, I’ve never met her before.”

A brown-haired boy scoffed, “Really? Because she’s not taken her eyes off you Murphy.”

“I just said I’ve never seen her before!” He snapped. “What are you going to do with her?”

Bellamy shrugged, “she’s told us nothing. Might as well dispose of her.”

Murphy jumped in front of the brown-eyed boy in his own fragile form and grabbed the knife out of his hand.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bellamy asked.

“You aren’t killing her. I’ve been with those people, I know what they are like! If you kill her, they will come down on her twice as hard. You could have all the guns in the world, but we would still lose against the grounder army. Be smart about this.” Murphy cleared his throat, “she could be useful.”

“Fine. Miller stays here and watches her, everybody else go back to work.”

When the room began emptying again, a dark-haired girl stepped closer to Nova. She knew it was Octavia from Lincoln’s drawings.

“I know you can understand me,” she said in a whisper. “Lincoln told me what they have done to you. I’m sorry, I’ll do what I can to get you out of here.”

______

“If I didn’t think they’d kill me, I’d let you go.”

Murphy continued to help clean the blood and dirt off Nova’s feet, apologizing whenever she flinched in pain. Dane and Limos forced her to walk on thorns to prove her loyalty...before knocking her out and leaving her near the enemy’s gate, so they would find her.

Murphy scared her when he first entered the room, but he assured her he was just there to ‘return the favor’.

“Tapadh leat.” ‘Thank you.’

“You understand me, don’t you?” Murphy asked in a low voice. It surprised him she was actually talking.

Nova nodded.

Murphy scoffed, “can you not just use words instead of nodding?” A small smile graced her lips as the boy in front of her huffed some more. “Did I say something amusing?”

“Nova.”

Murphy looked from her blooded feet to her face. “What’s a nova?”

“My name is Nova,” she explained. “Why do you have two names?” She asked curiously.

He frowned at her. “How do you know my name?”

“You told me it was John Murphy before you begged me to kill you...I thought about it.”

Now it was Murphy’s turn to smile, “why didn’t you?”

“I hate violence.” Nova admitted. “And you never answered my question.”

“One is my first name, and the other is my family name. I get called Murphy because there is more than one John that came from the ark.” He twisted his face as he pulled a large thorn from the heel of her foot. “I’ve never heard Nova before, what does it mean?”

“New.”

“New?” Murphy wondered how the grounders came up with such silly names.

“My twin sister's name is Cadeau, which means gift. My parents didn’t think they could have children, so they gave us them names as a way of being thankful.” Nova explained.

“Hmm cute, is till think new is a stupid name.”

“At least it’s original. I’m assuming many men share your first and last name.”

Gulping down Murphy continued to stare down at the mess in front of him. “Why are you talking to me? My people are holding you hostage.”

Nova sighed. “You aren’t hurting me... I’m sorry for what Limos and Dane did to you. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve seen them do worse to our own people.”

Nova’s feet were feeling better, but she really wished the boy would leave her alone now. His constant coughing with off-putting to say the least.

“Murphy get back down here now!”

“I guess that’s our fun over.” He took one last look at Nova before climbing back down the hatch.

______

The clanging of the hatch being swung open woke Nova, who was still tied up.

“What the hell have you done?” The blonde from before yelled.

Nova said nothing. Even if she chose to speak in English, she still had no idea what the blonde was talking about. Bellamy entered the area after her, along with Octavia. The room was silent and tense until Nova cleared her throat and decided to speak.

“Are you going to stab me in the hand like Lincoln?”

“Who told you that?” Bellamy snapped.

Nova scoffed. “Nobody, you sky people have loud voices that carry.”

Octavia stepped forward, as Bellamy tried to hold her, but she shrugged him off. “Please, I don’t want them to harm you. Just tell us what the grounders are planning, and how to save our people.”

“I don’t understand...”

Bellamy leaped forward and grabbed a handful of Nova’s hair. He didn’t pull it tough enough to hurt her, but hard enough to be intimidating. “Don’t play dumb!”

“Let go of her, Bellamy!” Octavia yelled.

“Octavia is right, hurting her won’t work. Murphy said she refused to speak to him as well, she doesn’t want to help us.”

Had she heard that right? Murphy claimed she never spoke to him? Nova wondered why he lied.

Murphy of course. Octavia pulled her brother’s hand back, releasing the grounder's hair. “Murphy, the guy who came up here before is sick. He’s throwing up blood and a lot of our people are sick. Do you know what this is?”

They watched as the grounders' faces scrunched up with rage. Nova now knew why her people never went after the boy. They had infected him. This was their plan all along, and she stupidly went along with it without even knowing it.

“He has the warrior virus.”

Bellamy turned to face the blonde, “do you have any idea how to treat a disease Clarke?”

“You can't,” Nova groaned. “You either survive or perish, there is no remedy. The virus is used to weaken the enemy’s defenses.”

“If any of our people die, then so will you.” Bellamy hissed before leaving with Octavia and Clarke.

Nova was on her alone once again, left with nothing but her own guilt.

Next chapter

[fanaticalthings]

Coffee with a Side of Love

Destiel Ficlet

------

Dean's back starts to ache as he moves to get off the bed. He must've slept wrong last night. He's getting too old to be sleeping in weird positions now, he thinks.

Despite having his four hours, he still feels unrested. His head's all groggy with fatigue. He desperately needs some coffee right about now.

Dean's definitely not a morning person. And he hates having to wait for the coffee to brew. Sam's probably out on a morning jog right about now. His health freak of a brother probably doesn't even need coffee to keep himself upright in the mornings.

As Dean shuffles towards the kitchen, he's pleasantly surprised when there's already a steaming mug of coffee greeting him on the counter. For a second, he thinks Sam left it out for him, but his brother's never bothered to brew coffee for him before.

It isn't until Dean notices the little sticky note attached to the mug that he realizes who made it.

The note has Cas’s handwriting scribbled over it. It's just a simple, "Have a nice day, Dean," with a little smiley face at the end.

Dean feels a little bashful at first, but he's grateful regardless. He makes a mental note to thank Cas later.

-----

It happens again.

Dean is greeted by another cup of coffee the next day alongside a note addressed to him. This time it's, "Remember to drive safely in the rain today, Dean."

Dean wants to scoff at this weird domestic gesture that Cas seems to have taken a liking to, but he can't find it in himself to tell Cas that the notes are unnecessary. 

The note doesn't really address anything important.

Dean keeps it anyway.

------

It happens regularly now. It's practically become a routine for Cas and Dean.

Dean will wake up, walk to the kitchen, and find himself with a hot mug of coffee in his hands. Sticky notes included.

The notes are mostly normal– some more mundane than others. 

Dean won't admit it out loud, but the notes Cas leaves always brighten his day a little.

He doesn't tell anyone, but Dean keeps all of the little messages that Cas writes.

They all range from, "Remember to drink lots of water and stay hydrated," to "I've cleaned your guns and left them on the map table for you, Dean."

Sometimes, Sam will return from his morning run before Dean has the chance to hide the sticky notes. His brother just smirks at him knowingly before disappearing into his room.

Dean ignores him and drinks the coffee.

------

One day, Dean wakes up to the smell of coffee in his room. He looks up and finds a cup of coffee on his nightstand instead of in the kitchen. 

The sticker note says, "Have a nice day, Dean. I love you." As usual, there's a smiley face at the end.

Dean almost misses the "I love you" and does a double-take. He reads it over again and feels his brain churning out thoughts at a hundred miles per hour. He's so frantic that he bolts out of the room without having his coffee.

Dean reluctantly goes to Sam for advice, but his brother just laughs at him and tells him to get his crap together. 

Useless sibling.

------

The next day goes back to normal. The coffee mug is back on the kitchen counter with a note that simply says "Don't forget to take care of yourself, Dean."

Dean stares at the little happy face longer than he should.

He goes on with his day but not without constantly thinking of how to reply. He’s rarely seen Cas ever since the first sticky note was written. All Dean knows is that he's dealing with heavenly affairs or whatever.

He doesn’t know much, just that it’s something big enough to keep Cas away from the brothers for the better half of the past months.

His thoughts are constantly swimming around in his head. Things about how Cas could write something like that so casuallyー as if it was a normal thing they said to each other.

When Dean comes home from a case, he immediately makes a beeline to his room and opens his drawer. All of Cas’s sticky notes are there, and Dean finds himself going through all of them again, feeling butterflies increase with every note he reads. There’s a growing feeling in his gut at the thought of Cas and Dean doesn’t know what to call it, but it makes him feel all warm and tingly.

As he goes through the last few messages, Dean realizes that shit, he’s really fallen for this guy. This dorky, adorable guy who takes time out of his busy angelic schedule to prepare for Dean something as mundane as a cup of coffee of all things.

Once Dean has read through all of them he thinks, it’s now or never. His stomach does somersaults. Time to finally suck it up, Winchester. 

Dean goes to sit on his bed, but not before quickly grabbing a blank sticky note for himself.

------

For a while, Dean just stares at the floor, mentally preparing himself. The paper in his hand feels like a burning weight despite its overall insignificance.

It’s when his clock hits 7 am that Dean finally thinks, fuck it and prays to Cas. 

Cas, of course, answers. He always does.

When Cas appears before him, Dean feels all the doubt rushing back in, and can feel his palms start to get sweaty. For a hot second, Dean wants to back out, but after Cas says a quiet “Dean?” accompanied by that stupidly adorable head tilt, Dean salvages what little courage he has and steps towards Cas.

There’s a moment of silence between the two of them before Dean sheepishly hands Cas the sticky note without saying a word.

The next seconds pass by so slowly that Dean thinks the world has stopped spinning. He isn’t looking at Cas anymore out of embarrassment.

But the silence only seems to grow, which makes Dean a little antsy, so he chances a glance up and sees the corners of Cas’s mouth quirk up to reveal a fond smile as he read’s the yellow note in hand. Dean can just about make out his messy handwriting scribbled onto the sticky.

I love you too, Cas 

When Cas looks back at Dean it’s to ask a simple question.

 “Would you like some coffee?”

  Read on AO3

[mvssmallow]

Bloodline, Part VI

Previous Chapters

Soundtrack: Waste It On Me by Steve Aoki (feat. BTS)

It’s a fire truck that wakes him up the next day, blaring with the type of distress and urgency that makes it hard to dream of anything peaceful. Not that he has a lot of peaceful dreams these days. He thinks about his family on the other side of town, of his sister (all grown and in high school now), of all the friends he barely talks to anymore, of work, of life....

...but no matter how they start, his dreams always lead him to darkness, shadow, smoke and a cool smirk that fades every time he tries to get closer. 

Maybe he should thank the fire truck for waking him up and cutting short his misery today. Maybe this was good luck. Something like that. 

Or maybe not. 

Because he’s almost out of food, having left the grocery shopping to the very last minute and then succumbing to the habit of ordering take-out all week out of sheer laziness, resignation and shame. 

He makes a strong mug of black tea and drinks it, leaning of the kitchen bench, slowly waking up and trying to mentally make a shopping list. The fire truck’s siren has long since faded and it’s so early on Saturday morning that there’s an eerie hush that washes over the apartment block. Maybe it’s always like this, he wouldn’t know, he never gets up this early. 

The search for a clean shirt just reminds him that the laundry needs to be done at some point too but not today, he can only handle one domestic task at a time. There’s a Chicago Bulls t-shirt (left over from high school) and some semi-clean grey sweatpants that haven’t seen a gym for more months than he’s willing to admit. They both vaguely match his favourite red plaid shirt and well worn black Chuck Taylors. As for his hair, it’s a mess that only a navy Yankees cap can cure.

Too bad he can’t even find that right now.

But fuck it. It’s Saturday. The shopping list won’t care what he looks like. 

The rice definitely doesn’t. Neither does the bread, pasta or cereal. He buys orange juice and spinach because sometimes you have to try and not kill your body, and besides, for all his self loathing, he doesn’t actually hate himself that much yet. 

The check out queue is non-existent and he’s in and out the store in under half a hour. Maybe that fire truck was onto something. Maybe he should get up at 7am every weekend and join the tribe of Early Birds; catch that worm, take control of time, make something better of his life. 

Or maybe not. 

The bad luck starts in the big parking lot that’s shared between the supermarket, a 24 hour McDonald’s, a bakery and fruit shop. No matter how early it is, there’s always a group of people hanging around. 

He hears it before he sees it. And he feels it before he hears it, it’s that prick on the back of his neck, that static over his skin and heat in his stomach that always resembles fear. It’s that feeling you get just before you turn into someone’s target. 

He’s 25 now. He’s not a teenager in school anymore. He’s not skinny, small, indefensible anymore. He’s been in fights and knows how to defend himself but whenever he has to walk past a loud group of people, the jittery teenager inside will always be there. The best thing to do is keep your head down, avoid eye contact and get the hell out of there. 

It’s a good plan, in theory. In reality, he’s stupid and makes the mistake of looking up. Curiosity is going to get him killed him one day.

Three guys. A girl. Laughter that floats across the carpark. Maybe they’re talking about him. Maybe not, he doesn’t know. They’re dressed in blue and gray and one in all black. 

Jiwon.

Again.

He’s everywhere, like an inescapable presence, like a blood red wine stain on white carpet, the longer you leave it, the harder it is to get out. 

He doesn’t mean to stare but his eyes like it, they’re drawn to that face in a way that he wishes they weren’t.

Jiwon sees him but does nothing, eyes cold, blank, without a shred of recognition. Even if he had the guts to wave (he doesn’t) it’s too late, Jiwon is already turning away to look at something on his phone. The girl with them leans in close to peer at the screen, saying something that makes that familiar smirk appear, the one he thought only he got to see. 

Oh…..

Oh.

It’s delusional, he knows, of course Jiwon smiles and laughs for other people. He’s not special. He’s just a doctor. Jiwon is just a patient. Nothing more. Maybe he thought they had a connection but now, maybe he’s just the gullible sucker that fell for the charming act. He hates being wrong. Almost as much as he hates himself right now. 

He rushes to his old car and tears out of the parking lot without looking back.

Jin warned him. But he walked into the web, blindly, stupidly, and got stung. It’s nobody’s fault but his own.

********

He cleans the apartment. Tries to cook a healthier meal. Gets his hair cut. Does Laundry. Irons his shirts. Calls his parents. Face times his sister. Emails a few old friends. 

He’ll be a new Hanbin. A better Hanbin who learns from his mistakes. 

But New Hanbin still has the same old problems.

“My favourite patient is back!” Jim announces.

He smiles. “Haru? She only likes you because you gave her 20 stickers last time.”

“No, my other one.” Jin says, motioning out the back window.

New Hanbin wants to say no. New Hanbin does say no.

“Give him to someone else.”

Jin looks over in surprise, clearly not expecting him to say that.

But he’s shut down, icy doors closed around his heart, ready to just pack up his room and go home early for once. What’s the point of busting his ass to stay late just in case Jiwon needs him? What’s the point of trying to hide all this from their practice manager? He’s putting his job on the line and for what?

“Yeah okay.” Jin says quietly, sensing the sudden change in the room and not asking anything else. 

He’s cleaning his stethoscope when Jin walks in again with an apologetic look on his face. 

“Hey, I know you said you didn’t want to see him but he’s cut up pretty badly. Yun’s stuck with a chest pain and Mina’s gone for the day. I can just tell him to go to the hospital emergency department?”

He sighs in angry defeat, checking himself at the last second to stop it from becoming a really unprofessional tantrum.

“Take him to the treatment room and just….give me a minute?” He says, defeated by how much he can’t escape any of this.

“Yeah okay.” Jin says sympathetically. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

Once he’s alone, he throws his equipment in his bag with too much force that part of him wonders if he broke something. Not that he cares. He doesn’t.

The walk to the treatment room is both long and short. He pauses, takes a breath and walks in. Jin is prepping the suture trays and anaesthetic. Jiwon looks up and gives him a sheepish smile that fades quickly when he doesn’t return it in quite the same way. But who is going to blame him? He doesn’t feel like smiling. 

“What happened?” He asks, putting on a gown and gloves and trying to keep everything clinical. 

“Accident in the kitchen. Tried to cook Jiun something I guess.”

Why does he bother? It’s just pretence now. He asks a question, Jiwon lies. That’s what their relationship is.

Relationship? His laughs to himself. There’s no relationship.

He peels away the towel wrapped around Jiwons arm, there’s a jagged shaped laceration over the wrist joint. It doesn’t look like an accident. It looks deliberate. Like all of them. The wound was half healed, half open, like it’s been days already. Like all of them. 

Jin stays with him and he’s grateful for it because there’s a buffer now, he can just sit there quietly cleaning and stitching Jiwon back together without having to socialise when he doesn’t want to. Jin asks them both boring clinical questions, ‘Is that painful?’ ‘Are you dizzy?” 'Do you need more saline?’ 'Which bandage do you want?’

Easy questions that fill the silence and don’t really mean anything important. 

Once or twice he catches Jiwon’s curious and questioning eyes but Jiwon’s not the only one with a poker face. He can give as good as he gets and right now, the look he keeps on his face is cold but of course it is, it’s always the coldest when he’s hurt. 

Without all the small talk and cute jokes, the stitches hardly take any time at all and when he’s done he leaves Jin to tidy up and bandage the wrist. He prints a prescription for antibiotics because the wound looked dirty, like it was done with a rusty blade. He tries not to think about that.

“Stitches need to come out in 7 to 10 days.” He says, not offering a repeat appointment because he knows Jiwon won’t turn up anyway.

But if he thinks he’s winning at this I’m Fine game, he’s wrong.

“Okay. Thanks.” Jiwon says, putting his jacket back on and folding up the bloody towel he came in with.

He hates that knows what Jiwon blood smells like, all earthy, elemental and ominous. It makes him sick and ache at the same time.

And then.....he’s gone.

“Is it always that weird?” Jin asks carefully.

He can only shrug. “Thanks for helping me out. I really appreciate it. I owe you one.”

“I do like those raspberry danish pastries from the bakery down the road.”

He smiles, adjusting the grip on his bag and pausing at the door. “Expect it on your desk tomorrow morning.”

It’s safe when he gets home. The world outside his apartment can go fuck itself, he’s done playing the game. He just wants to be left in peace. No more drama. No more guys who never give him any time of the day. No more.

But when he sleeps, he dreams. And when he dreams, all he sees is Jiwon and all he smells is blood.

New Hanbin sinks back into his Old Habits. 

“I have bad news and bad news.” Jin says the following week. “So which one do you want first?”

“The bad one.” He says with an eye roll.

“He rang up before.”

“Who?”

Jin just gives him a withering look.

“Well, what did he want?”

“To make an appointment.”

“And...?”

“He did it from a pay phone or burner phone because I couldn’t get a record of his number.”

“So?”

“It’s for his kid brother. He wouldn’t say what, just that the kids been sick and wanted an appointment.”

He tries to play it cool, New Hanbin is detached. “Did you book him in with Yun? He’s good with kids. Better than me anyway.”

Jin furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “He wanted an appointment with you.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I thought I was fully booked.”

“Not on Thursday.”

“Well, Yun’s still better with the younger patients.”

Jin looks like he wants to say something, something resembling a lecture, but he just sighs instead. “He only wanted an appointment with you.”

He shakes his head in defeat and tries to remember the Hippocratic Oath from Med School. “Yeah...okay.”

****

“So what’s been going on?” He asks Jiun with the friendliest smile he has. “Have you been sick?”

Jiun nods.

The entire consult goes like that; he asks questions, Jiun doesn’t say a word. It’s not exactly that different to his brother. 

“Jesus, use your words Jiun. You didn’t have a problem with ordering the pizza last night.” Jiwon sighs in exasperation.

He’s about to say something about not pushing kids out of their comfort zone, how mutism is a defence mechanism, how this might be a lot of PTSD....but then he remembers that he’s not Jiun’s brother or parent. He’s not family. He’s just a doctor. 

“It’s okay, you tell me when you feel like it.” He says instead. “We’re doing perfectly fine.”

He hears Jiwon sitting back and probably grumbling about being the bad cop to his good one but he doesn’t care. Jiun is his patient and his priority. Brothers with attitude problems will have to wait. 

After a small amount of gentle coercion, he’s finally allowed to examine Jiun’s throat and is relieved when it’s just a mild case of tonsillitis. It’ll only need a short course of antibiotics and a little bit of care. It’s fortunately not serious but one of the hazards with starting school, kids are germ sharers and he warns Jiwon that Jiun might catch more infections over the next 12 months.

“Great. We’ll be in here every week.” Jiwon mutters.

He tries to ignore the way that stabbed somewhere in his chest, instead he focuses on peeling a few dinosaur stickers for Jiun to put on his t-shirt.

“I’d like to review him next week, make sure it’s improving.”

Jiwon nods. “I’ll be out of town Wednesday though.”

“What about Tuesday?”

“No, I’ve got a-”

A what? he wanted to ask but doesn’t. A job? A meeting? A date? What?

“Okay. What about Monday?”

“Yeah. Guess so, sure.” 

He gives Jiun the appointment card to hold and puts another sticker on it. 

“Remember to take all your medicine okay? You’ll be better in no time.” He says, crouching down to Jiun’s eye level. “If you still feel sick, tell your brother.”

Jiun nods enthusiastically then goes right back to looking at all the stickers. 

He dreads this part; the small talk by the door. Jiwon shifts awkwardly as he straightens up and looks at him in the eye for the first time in, what feels like, a long time. 

“Is your wrist okay?” He asks, keeping his voice neutral and professional.

“Yeah, it’s fine.” Jiwon replies in the exact same tone. 

They look away at the same time. 

And then Jiwon’s gone. Jiun turns to wave at him but his brother doesn’t look back once.

****

He should’ve know something was going to happen. The day started late, his computer crashed half way, there was too much sugar in his coffee.

It’s 6:30pm when he finally leaves the clinic to walk to his car. He got to the clinic so late this morning that all the staff car parks were full and he had to take one a whole street over. 

It starts with the footsteps, unfamiliar breathing, then something cold pressed against the back of his neck. His heart thumps erratically inside his chest and his entire body is electrified into paralysis. 

I’m going to die. 

This is how I die.

“Money and keys and I won’t blow your brains out.” It’s an unfamiliar voice he can’t place, deep but young at the same time. 

He fumbles around his pockets, throwing the items on the ground before leaning his head against the car roof, staring into a deserted parking lot and praying to God that someone passes by.

But then...nothing.

“You that doctor from the clinic round the corner?”

He’s too shocked to even reply.

“Need to borrow a 50 okay? Sorry bro.”

His wallet and keys get put back on the roof of his car.

“Might wanna park someone else, yeah? Don’t wanna get jumped proper.” The voice says, chuckling. “Never know what kinda people hang around here.”

He’s told to count to 10 before turning around. He doesn’t know why he does it but he does it. 

The guy is gone before he hits 8. 

The adrenaline is suddenly so overwhelming that he snatches up his belongings and speeds all the way home, only stopping at the hardware store to get new dead locks for his doors and windows.

What the fuck.

What the fuck?!

“What the fuck.” Jin says over coffee the next day. “So he just takes a 50 and just leaves you alone?”

“Yep.”

“That’s the weirdest mugging story I’ve ever heard. Bakery Guy had his car stolen in broad daylight last year.”

**** Monday rolls around faster that he’s ready for but just as well, he was turning increasingly paranoid and had spent the entire weekend replacing every single deadlock and bolt in his apartment. 

He’s glad to see Jiun though. There’s something about the mutism that kind of works for them. Maybe there was even a smile or two today. After he gives Jiun the all clear and leaves him to pick out new Spiderman stickers, Jiwon finally speaks, voice strained and tense in frustration. 

“You planning on telling me about what happened last week?”

“Nothing happened?”

“Nothing?”

“Yeah.”

Jiwon looks at him in restrained disbelief, jaw tense from holding back whatever it is he wants to say. But there’s no lecture or demands for answers. There’s just a small package that’s slid across the table.

“Keep it on you.” Jiwon says, holding his gaze with the kind of serious and steely look that he half wants to back down from. It’s not so much a request as an order. 

It burns in his hand. It burns in his pocket. He never stops thinking about it. Is it a bomb? A gun? A gift? Why did he take it home? Hasn’t he learnt anything this whole fucking time?

But it’s here now, sitting on his dinner table, wrapped in unassuming brown paper. He’s stares at it all night, pacing around his apartment until it’s nearly midnight and he’s worn himself out to the point of exhaustion, only opening the package with shaky hands because he’ll never get to sleep otherwise. 

There’s a crumpled 50 dollar note.

And a black butterfly knife. Double edged. Sleek and cold with a perfectly symmetrical black blade that barely glints under the light. There’s something sinister and ominous and, as much as he hates to admit it, exciting about that.  The handles close with a metallic click and the entire knife folds neatly to fit into his hand. 

He stares at it with a combination of disbelief and fascination, feeling the push and pull of hating violence and being drawn to it at the same time. 

He puts the knife in a drawer at the back of his wardrobe, as if out of sight will mean out of mind, but his eyes are drawn there like magnets, he can feel it’s dark ominous presence flooding his apartment, like that blood red stain that seeps further and further into his life. 

How can I get him out of my system when he’s already everywhere?

He falls asleep with the cold metal in his hand, gradually warming up because even the hardest cut steel responds to human warmth after awhile. 

[okikouji]

to the place where i won’t sway

One part buddy cop movie, one part mind-numbing domestic fluff, one part redemption fic but not in that (or any) order.

ao3 link: [ ⁂ ch1] [ ✦ ch2]

non-linear

Arc 2 - ✦ Bakugou Katsuki realizes some shit aka Feelings

Ch2- ✦ - always coming back to you    

✦

24 years old

"What am I doing here?" The words are barely audible but Inko hears them all the same. It takes a second to look up from her knitting and to look back down. It'd be easier to say nothing. It wasn't after all a question for her, not exactly. It'd be easier to just ignore it, to forget she heard it at all. It'd be easier for the both of them. Midoriya Inko is not about to go easy on Bakugou Katsuki. So instead of being silent, of giving him an easy way out, of lying to herself through silence and inaction, she stops her knitting (a forest green scarf for her boy, her baby boy) and looks up once again. He's got less bandages on this time around, compared to the last time she saw him and the days before that. (She remembers the news then; all the heroes being interviewed or caught on camera, all sporting at least some damage in their bodies and clothes, but with their hearts stronger than ever. She remembers some of the heroes she knows best, her son's friends, with their clear bright eyes and warm, even if tired smiles, and their words of encouragement in these dark times. She remembers watching Katsuki as well, the few times anyone managed to catch up to him with their mics and cameras rolling, and not being able to keep herself from worrying over how quiet he'd be, giving out simple and monotone answers before moving on or one of his team members intervening. She remembers the announcement from his agency that he'd be taking a week, this past week, off and explanation as to why. She likes to think she knows why.) His left arm is back on a sling and curiosity tickles in the back of her mind. She knows from news reports that he was supposed to be on track for a full recovery. No matter, she can ask him at another time if it comes to it. She speaks, voice hoarse, dry from crying, from not drinking a single thing in hours out of fear of leaving the room and not being there in case anything happened, from exhaustion- not just of body but of mind as well. She speaks just loud enough to make all the noise from all the machines keeping her baby boy alive nothing but background noise. "You're here," she starts, keeping a close eye on the body sitting on the other side of her son's hospital bed, slouched on the uncomfortable hospital chair. "Out of guilt." The fingers on his good hand flinch. "For not being strong enough, fast enough, or smart enough against the ones who did this to Izuku because maybe if you had been, he wouldn't be laying here." She expects him to grind his teeth or clench a fist. He does neither. "For how you treated him all those years, without reason or cause except your own weakness." He swallows, eyes still glued to her son's face, even as she throws his own words from the last time they saw each other at him. "For never apologizing for any of it. For wanting to, for knowing you should, but never having the guts to do it." She hears it, more than sees it, the way he grinds his teeth. She sees his brow furrow. Inko takes a deep breath. They've gone over all of this already, during that shouting match they had. Has it even been a full week since then, Inko wonders. Maybe it has been longer, Inko isn't sure. Time flies and doesn't seem to pass at all inside this hospital room where she doesn't count the seconds but the fall and rise of her son's chest. "Katsuki," she calls out and he turns to face her. The bags under his eyes look worse than before. She wonders for a few seconds, what he's feeling, what he's thinking. She wonders most of all, in those small seconds of silence, if he's finally acknowledged it, the little truth even she's had a hard time making sense of. "You're here because you love him." Plain and simple. Nothing grandiose, nothing of the sort along the lines of 'the truth will set you free' or 'a weight lifting from your shoulders'. A fact that doesn't ease either of their hearts. One phrase. One simple little phrase. That's what breaks Bakugou Katsuki. She's watching him, transfixed, taking in every detail, every twitch. His eyes once dull, tired, start to shine with tears. She wonders if he'll let them fall here, with her in the room, with the possibility of a nurse or a doctor coming in at any moment. He didn't last time. His breathing becomes ragged, like it hurts just to take the oxygen in and then let it out. His shoulders start to shake. He's trying his hardest to remain still, unaffected, she can tell. He's trying so hard she almost takes pity on him. Almost. "You're here because you love him," she repeats, emphasizes, has to keep herself from shouting out- and isn't that just terrifying to you. His free hand flies to his mouth, the smack the loudest thing in the room that it startles her. Though not quite as much as what happens next. Inko watches Katsuki with wide eyes, mouth dropped into a small 'o', and a single hand instinctively reaching out towards him as tears run freely from his eyes, down his face, over his hand. The sob that breaks out of him is muffled by his hand but Inko hears it, feels it from across the short distance between them, loud and clear. All it takes is that one sob for the dam to break. Katsuki curls over himself, in his chair, sobbing, quaking shoulders fighting for stillness. She's surprised by him, yet again, stupidly enough by how his sobs are anything but loud (She remembers a time before everything changed, when he used to slam his little hands on her front door over and over and shout at Izuku to come out and play already, with a voice so loud she had thought it might end up somehow related to his future quirk.). She knows he's changed, without Izuku having to say anything specifically to her. She's more than noticed, in the subtleties of her own boy. How as children Katsuki was always a topic he could go on about for hours, how that slowly changed and she heard less and less of him and more and more about heroes and villain encounters Izuku'd managed to catch a glimpse of. How that turned into talks about U.A. and his classmates, his friends. Inko knows Katsuki's changed because after almost a decade of silence over him Izuku, probably unaware of this, found it in himself to be able to speak of Katsuki and his deeds with the same awe and admiration and pride he once did as a child. It doesn't make it any easier to believe even with the proof right in front of her. "I'm sorry," she's startled to hear, almost thinks she's imagined it until Katsuki says it again and again, just as, just as broken, every time. The hand that covered his mouth now covers his eyes though that doesn't seem to stop the tears from falling. She wishes she could remain steadfast- but she's always been too much of a sympathetic crier and the past few weeks have left her with barely the strength to stand on her own two feet. So she can't stop the tears from forming in her eyes as she utters, admits to herself, just loud enough for Katsuki to possibly hear, "I know."

[artzypaw]

Living another Life (Nanny AU)

Klance Nanny AU

Chapters 1/?

Words: 1636

Ao3

Summary: Keith is saving up money so he can attend his University, so what better to do than Nanny for probably the largest family he's ever met? Keith's always been great with kids, but handsome blue eyed men the same age as him- not so much.

Or- The Nanny AU nobody asked for

Keith stands in front of a door, much taller and much wider than him, and he can’t help but notice the difference between his and this one. Mansions of course were a much bigger upgrade than his apartment.

Appearance were another factor; differing from the exposed bricks along his walls to polished paint jobs along decorative window sills.

His finger hovers near the doorbell, shaking slightly from the nerves wracking his brain. Keith knew everything was going to be okay, the family would be nice and accepting, yet he was still nervous. Shiro had given him a long talk beforehand about how to act around adults; to keep his manners in check and such. Scoffing, Keith holds his breath and presses his finger against the button.

The first sounds he hears are bell chimes, but they are quickly cut off by a loud crash and the ruckus of voices booming through the building. Suddenly Keith isn’t so sure about this decision. Before he can run away, a prominent voice, obviously not speaking english, shushes others while swinging the door open with a smile.

“Ah! You must be our nanny, Keith!” A woman says in a heavy spanish accent, smile never wavering. Keith flushes, slightly waving. He immediately notices the group of similar looking people behind the woman, ranging of heights and genders. They were all staring at him, which wasn’t making Keith feel better.

Sticking out his hand, he gestures for a handshake (something Shiro specifically told Keith to do once greeting new peers). The woman laughs and takes his hand, not before pulling him forward into a bone crushing hug. To say the least it was comfortable, but everyone behind her was still watching them.

Feeling his face flush, Keith breaks their stance saying, “Y-Yes, That’s me, Keith.”

“I’m Mrs. Mcclain, but you may call me María.” María smiles warmly. Her eyes widen and she clasps her hands together which causes Keith to flinch. “Yes! Come in, come in! I must introduce you to my family.”

She turns around and the people behind her scurry away from the door leaving a clear path for Keith to walk in. María chants, “¡Vamos, Vamos!”

Stepping past the entrance, Keith’s breath is taken away by the view. An open ceiling littered with dozens of framed pictures of the same people, maybe more. While their home was a mansion, it is overwhelmingly domesticated. Cultured rugs and furniture are displayed throughout the house, and when Keith follows María past a corner into the kitchen, it’s even more so. Decorated tiles neatly placed along the rim of each counter. Spanish cloths hang over windows, allowing the sun to shine various colors across the floor.

Keith makes sure to stay close to the woman, but doesn’t miss how each person across the room observe him with tentative eyes. María pulls out a stool from underneath their kitchen island and holds a hand out for him to sit. He obliges. In front of Keith, everyone from before is in front of him; some smaller children in the laps of others.

Switching back from Spanish to English, María speaks up, “Let’s start from left to right. The very left is my eldest son, Jóse, and next to him is his wife Emilia. Their child’s name is Lola.” The three of them wave, Lola giving Keith a toothy grin.

“Hey, Keith.” Jóse greets, and Keith waves.

“Next is my second eldest daughter, Sophie, with her son Alex.” The same procedure goes with them, except Alex doesn’t give Keith as warm of a smile like Lola did. He doesn’t blame him, he was no better as a kid.

María taps her hands on the marble counter beneath her and continues, “After my daughter is my middle child, Lance.” Looking over to see his next peer, Keith mentally curses his gay heart. The guy was pretty damn cute. Thank god Keith wasn’t nannying him, he thinks to himself. Lance quirks an eyebrow and gives a half wave before looking away. Keith didn’t have time to wave back.

“Then the last is my youngest daughter, Mía.” Keith smiles and waves, and thankfully gets one in return. She was a cute little girl; hair put into pigtails with pink bows.

Thinking about it, the whole family shared similar features. Keith noted this before, but having a closer look he’s surprised by just how much. They all have tan skin and brunette hair varying in shades. Jóse and Lance had similar scruffed hair; Jóse’s hair longer. Both little girls wore bows in their hair, but one had two. Alex had short wavy hair that stuck out with the numerous freckles along his cheekbones. Emilia didn’t have the tan skin,but she did have brown hair. Most everyone was a different height, and they for the most part had different shades of eyes. The pair that particularly stood out to Keith were Lance’s. His were such a rich shade of blue it was hard not to stare.

María’s voice interrupts his thoughts, “My husband, Pedro, is unfortunately out at work, but you will be able to meet him later.”

“That’s alright.” Keith says; smiling for reassurance. Not a moment longer, María says something to her family once again then hastily turns to Keith.

“Would you like to discuss the specifics of our nannying?” She asks, gingerly resting a hand on Keith’s forearm. The contact normally would’ve made him uncomfortable, but something about this woman was anything but.

“Yes, please.”

. . .

“Keith,” The two of them had moved to somewhere more comfortable after the family dispersed, “I’d like to thank you again for helping out our family. I know it is a large one, but we are gentle and don't bite.” María jokes. She has a cup of tea between her hands, holding the steam underneath her nose, and she speaks again (which Keith has noticed the family is quite chattery), “The three youngest aren’t too much of a handful, so I’m sure you will get along fine. Lola, Alex and Mía are wonderful children.”

Keith has a cup of tea in his hands as well. Not quite sure what flavor but he isn’t too worried. He lifts it up to his lips and takes a sip. The first thing he tastes is honey.

“I bet they are.”

The living room was spacious. Across the couch was a coffee table littered with coloring pages and crayons; Lola currently scribbling on a sheet.

Speaking of Lola, “She is our youngest, not even in pre-school. Next year though, next year she will be starting.” María speaks of her niece so fondly, Keith’s chest aches a little. The thought that someone could love another so dearly amazed him.

“She’s cute.” Keith admits, probably for the second time that day. “Anything I need to be aware of during the day when I’m with her?”

Shaking her head, María smiles, “Other than her watermelon allergy and the fact we don’t have any melon in our household, she should be a piece of cake.” Keith laughs, but it is nothing compared to the beautiful sound of María’s; her laugh mighty and worn.

“¡mamá!” A voice calls along with footsteps across their stone floors. Lance rushes into the room, but pauses when he notices Keith sitting in the chair next to his mom. He rubs the back of his neck, “I’m heading out to meet up with Hunk and Pidge, I’ll be back before dinner.”

Keith almost knits his brows together. Lance knew Pidge? María speaks up beside him.

“Alright. Stay safe, mijo. If I find you’re late for dinner again, you’ll be staying home and babysat along with your siblings by Keith here.” He flushes, not expecting to be apart of their conversation. Keith doesn’t notice Lance flush too. He was still in shock about them having mutual friends. Did that mean Lance went to their University (or the one he’s saving to go to)?

“I won’t be late! It was one time mamá!” Running up to his mother, Lance kisses her on the head and gives Keith a slight wave before running out in a hurry.

Keith hears another laugh, more fond though, “He’s the troublemaker in the family. Always on his feet.”

“Does he go to University?” He stupidly asks. The woman beside him nods.

“Yes! He goes to Florida State.” She says, placing her empty mug on the counter next to her armrest. Lola turns towards Keith, “Do you go there, too?”

He watches María’s eyes widen. Patting her knees, she gasps, “Do you know my son, Lance? He is quite the socialist. Are you studying at the same University as him?”

“N-No! I um, I don’t know Lance, but I have friends who are in FSU as well.” Keith picks his nails unconsciously. A bad habit he picked up when moving from foster home to foster home; always antsy.

“That’s great! My son is quite the man, I can’t believe I didn’t notice how similar of age you two look.” Don’t worry, Keith can’t believe he didn’t notice as well. Not that he wasn’t noticing anything about Lance…

“Not to change the subject,” Keith starts, “But I start tomorrow on Monday, yes?”

Laughing, María stands up and offers a hand to Keith, who takes it and follows her to the kitchen once again. She puts their cups into the sink and bounces a little.

“I am so blessed to have such a wonderful man like yourself take care of our children in need. Yes, starting tomorrow. I have, I think, informed you of all the precautions.”

They walk to the front door and before Keith knows it he’s in another bone crushing hug. “I will see you tomorrow dear, take care.”

And with that, Keith is riding home with the giddiest smile on his face.

[scripts4dreamers]

Shameful Behavior pt.4

Part one, Part two, Part three

As promised @pancakeswithabs1 and @gryffindor-with-an-attitude

AN: Will they finally talk? (Yes, yes they will) Pairings: William x reader Characters: William Magnusson, Christoffer Schistad, Vilde Hellerud, Noora Saetre, Sana Bakkoush, Chris Berg, Eva Mohn Spoilers: None Warnings: None Prompt: “Can you please do a William from Skam x reader where she’s his friend and they fall in love and stuff?” ----------------- You’d slept through the night, William noticed as his eyes fluttered open. Your legs were tangled up in his and you’d nuzzled further into his neck during the early hours. William felt himself filling with something warm and soft as he looked down on your sleeping face and remembered how lucky he was to have you in his life. He looked over to where Chris had been and noticed that the rest of the bed was empty. “I’m over here Mr Perfect Hair,” Chris said with a smile as he sauntered into the room, fully dressed. William smiled, but something in his chest fluttered with nerves. He still felt terrible about how he’d acted the previous night and he wasn’t sure if you and Chris had really forgiven him yet. “My folks are going to be home in like an hour so I’ve got to go,” Chris explained as he grabbed his things, “stay with her, will you? She’s going to need something to take her mind off last night.” “Of course.” William responded. “There’s a whole lot of left overs in the fridge and a takeout menu on the counter and-“ “Chris,” William smiled, “we know how to make food. We both live alone, remember?” Chris chuckled and looked down, sheepishly, “Right. Right, sorry.” He looked up and caught William’s eye, “I’m just worried about her, that’s all.” William nodded and looked down at you, stroking one finger over the bridge of your nose and smiling when you nuzzled even further into his chest. “I won’t leave her again Chris,” he swore, “and uh-you know how I’ve always had a bit of a thing for her?” he admitted, his voice soft. Chris rolled his eyes, “You’ve mentioned it once or twice, yes. Oh wait, did I say once or twice? I meant every single time you drink, which is basically every weekend. Honestly Will, keeping your secret has been a pretty full time job for me.” “I know, and I owe you big time for that but the thing is, I-well-I don’t think it’s just a crush anymore.” Chris straightened up, “Oh?” “Yeah, Chris, I think I might be in love with Y/N, like…really in love.” He said, his heart pounding from just hearing the words out loud. It sounded so…right, so inevitable, like it had always been coming and William just hadn’t realised until it was too close to stop. He was in love, hopelessly. No, not hopelessly because he had hope somewhere deep deep down. He was in love, helplessly. Chris sighed and let his eyes drop to your sleeping face again. He walked over and clapped William on the shoulder, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to the top of your head. “You need to tell her dude.” Chris said as he shouldered his bag, “You two just really, really need to talk.” William nodded. “Get home safe.” “I will.” Chris said, “Good luck.” As Chris’ footsteps faded into nothingness, William lay back and held you close, relishing in the soft sounds you made as you dreamed. He wanted to just stay there, wrapped up in you for as long as he possibly could, but eventually he forced himself up and padded softly into the kitchen to start whipping up breakfast. As he pulled out the ingredients he needed, William switched on the radio and started humming along to the tune, although he wasn’t quite listening. “And so I wake in the morning And I step outside And I take a deep breath and I get real high And I scream from the top of my lungs What's going on?” William sang, swaying to the music. Your laugh interrupted his music induced reverie and William spun, his face flushing red with embarrassment. You looked adorable and sleep ruffled in the shirt that William recognized as his and your sleep shorts, with your hair mussed up and your face soft with the memory of rest. You crossed your arms over your chest and leant against the doorframe.   “Morning Magnusson,” You smiled, “you making breakfast?” He nodded, feeling his face break into a smile and his heart filled with something that felt like helium, “Waffles with whipped cream and fresh berries, your favorite if I’m not mistaken.” You walked into the kitchen and leant into him as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder. “You’re not, of course. “ You said with a half-smile, “Thank you for staying with me by the way.” “Of course, you’re my best friend Y/N. There’s nothing in this world that I wouldn’t do for you.” William told you as honestly as he could, “I’m just sorry that I wasn’t there for you from the beginning.” You nodded and silently began setting the table for the two of you. It was comfortable and domestic and wonderful, and William desperately wanted to keep the atmosphere light but, as he watched you move in and out of the rooms, cleaning up some of the debris from the party, he knew that he couldn’t hide this feeling from you for much longer.  He watched you scoop fresh berries into a bowl and realised, too late, that he had become fixated on your hands and the way that you moved. William cleared his throat, “Uh, breakfast is ready.” He announced. He barely tasted his food as he ate, but still couldn’t help but smile smugly as you sighed and raved about how amazing the waffles were. He laughed as you piled whipped cream and berries on your plate and shovelled massive forkfuls into your mouth. You’d always eaten like this, like you would never eat again and William couldn’t help but find it painfully adorable. His chest felt tight as you gave him a sheepish smile and the urge to reach over and touch you became almost impossible to ignore. His throat closed and he suddenly understood that, if he could have more mornings like this, then the risk of ruining your friendship was worth it, it had to be worth it. “So, did you enjoy the party?” You asked casually. William nodded. “You and-well-you and Vilde seemed to be hitting it off again.” You mentioned with a slightly forced smile. William felt his heart stutter in his chest. Okay, you were going to talk about this now. It was a relief almost, or it would be if he wasn’t so terrified. “That wasn’t what you thought it was Y/N/N, she came up to me and we started talking. That was all that I was interested in but you know Vilde, she wouldn’t take no for an answer. She was kissing me before I even knew what was happening.” He assured, finding that he couldn’t meet your eye. He could still see your face as you turned the corner, eyes wide with hurt, full lips parting in a shocked ‘Oh’, it filled him with something like shame, “Y/N you have to believe me, I wouldn’t go after your friend like that, especially since you’d asked me not to.” He chanced a look up and watched a plethora of emotions glide over your face, too quick for him to identify. “I feel horrible Y/N. I can’t imagine what it must have felt like for you, thinking that I was ignoring the one thing you’d asked of me. If I’d had to see you with one of my friends,” William babbled, shaking his head, “God I don’t know what I would’ve done. I would’ve gone crazy probably. It was my fault that you ended up on that couch Y/N, I’m so sorry. I’m so so so sorry.” Your brow creased with confusion and you reached out to touch William’s hand, “Will, no. It’s no one’s fault but that asshole’s okay? You didn’t force me to run in there, you didn’t make me sit on that couch and you’re certainly not responsible for that guy doing what he did. It was a freak event that could’ve happened to anyone okay? And I’m not saying that it wasn’t awful, because it was, but it wasn’t personal and I’m really fine. I’m fine William, I was shaken last night but having you and Chris there meant everything to me and honestly, I just want to move on and pretend that it never happened.” William squeezed your hand in his, “If he ever comes near you again…” “I know.” You interrupted, squeezing back, “I know.” ------------------------- You passed the hours together, laughing and joking as you cleaned the house and pretended to get on with your homework and William felt himself relax. There was an easiness between you that he hadn’t noticed before and he found himself craving more and more of. By the early afternoon, William couldn’t bear to be in a separate room from you and, to his delight, it seemed mutual. So eventually, you gave in and collapsed on the couch together to watch a movie. As you laughed along with the film, William traced your face with his eyes. You looked so at peace that it made him feel giddy. You’d always had this type of intoxicating effect on William and he found himself moving closer and closer instinctively, like a magnet.

He didn’t get it, he’d never felt this nervous before with anyone, let alone with a girl, let alone with you. He was William Magnusson, girls were his forte, and he knew how to play the game better than anyone else, so why did he feel like a fourteen year-old again? Because it was you, a voice in his head whispered, it was you and every time he got close, he felt himself falling and it had never been this real before. “Will?” You asked quietly, sometime into the second movie. “Mhhmm.” He answered, looking down at you. “Before, you said that if I’d pulled Julian you would’ve been upset.” You continued. William froze, suddenly trapped in his own words and forced to confront the thoughts that he’d been trying to control. “I did.” He answered, keeping his eyes trained on the TV. “Why?” William chuckled tiredly, looking down at you, “You really don’t know?” he asked incredulously. You shook your head. He chuckled again, shaking his head, “Because I’m in love with you Y/N!” He exclaimed with a laugh, “Because I’m madly, stupidly, head-over-heels in love with you and I feel like I have been for as long as we’ve known each other. Seeing you with anyone makes me crazy.” He thought that the admission would make him nervous or scared, but instead he just felt peaceful, as though he’d just told you about the weather, or a piece of homework you’d forgotten. William realised that he had nothing to fear from the truth. He loved you and he didn’t care who knew it. For what felt like a lifetime, you were completely silent but then he felt your fingers on his chin and then, miraculously, your lips pressed suddenly to his. William gasped into the kiss as a million lights exploded behind his eyelids and his heart exploded in his chest. His fingers tangled in your hair as he pulled you close, savouring each second of an event he’d never dared to imagine. You broke apart, breathless and smiling as you peppered kisses along Will’s jawline. “What was that for?” William asked, still stroking his fingers along your cheek. “Because I’m in love with you too, stupid.” You laughed, pressing another kiss to his lips, “That’s why I was looking for you last night in the first place.” William laughed with you and allowed himself another, perfect stolen kiss. You wrapped your arms around his waist and he pulled you close, relishing in the simple beauty of being together like this. You watched the movie in relative silence, only stopping to press needy kisses to each other or asking one another if you were sure about this. Like, really sure, really really sure. The answer was always yes. “Is this what it always feels like for you?” You asked as he pressed his lips to your forehead somewhere into the fourth movie. You sounded uncertain and somewhat insecure and it made William’s heart pinch. He hooked his fingers under your chin and tilted your head up, so you had to meet his eye. “No,” he answered simply, “it’s never felt like this before, with anyone, because they weren’t you.” Your answering smile was soft, understanding and so dripping with love that William felt himself fill from head to toe with something that felt like pure light. He would be okay, he realised, spending the rest of his life working towards making you smile like that again. “Chris is going to be unbearable on Monday, isn’t he?” You sighed, leaning back against William. “Oh completely.” From: William To: Chris [You were right, we owe you one.] Image Attached