#inhaling a bagel and going to bed

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 65

Geralt and Jaskier attend a flower festival at a village. Geralt notices that everyone is giving each other flower bouquets, wreaths, and crowns, so Geralt decides to make a gift for Jaskier. The festival has buttercups, but not dandelions, so he has to pick some himself, add in a few cornflowers because they reminded him of Jaskier's eyes, and bam! It's done! He gifts it to Jaskier, and Jaskier is very touched, thanking Geralt profusely, and giving him a kiss. Jaskier meanwhile, is just absolutely flabbergasted that Geralt gave him courting flowers! It's a dream come true!

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

Day 2 of TUI-Mas

Warnings: pregnancy, difficulty conceiving, mention of pregnancy symptoms, lots of Eddie being a mush

WC: 1.5k

February 1999

You didn’t get pregnant that first month. Your period arrived unceremoniously, leaving in its wake blood-stained underpants and disappointment.

It didn’t happen in December or January, either, despite meticulous cycle tracking and Eddie barely keeping his hands off of you. Each negative test feels like a failure; you’ve stopped taking them when Eddie’s around because you can sense his disappointment, though he puts on a brave face to comfort you.

But now, you’re late. Only by two days–if you weren’t paying careful attention to the dates, you might not have noticed. You have to bite back a smile as you tear open the box, fingers trembling as you poorly contain your excitement. It might be nothing, just a period ironically delayed by stress of trying to conceive.

Or you might be pregnant.

You inhale, filling your lungs with air and holding it there for a while until you let it out in one strong breath. All you’re doing is peeing on a stick, but your body nervously buzzes with each passing second. You’ve likely taken a dozen of these by now, and there’s nothing that should make you think you’ll get a different result today.

With utmost care, you place the used test on the back of the sink and wash your hands. You keep pressing on the soap handle to the point where a small pool forms in your palm, but you can’t draw your gaze from the tiny result window. The control line begins forming quickly, as it always does. 

How long ago did Eddie leave to grab breakfast—maybe ten minutes? Sundays at Zeke’s Bagels are usually swamped, so you have plenty of time to wipe away your tears if that sacred second line never appears. 

“Mommy?”

A drowsy voice interrupts your inner monologue. Harris stands at the bathroom doorway, wiping the sleep from his big brown eyes and yawning. 

“What’s up, Har?” You hope your anxiety doesn’t bleed through, though you doubt he’s awake enough to recognize it. 

He squints as he adjusts to the light. “Where’s Daddy? Also, I’m hungry.”

A sigh of relief escapes you when you realize he’s too focused on breakfast to pay attention to anything else. “Daddy left to get us some bagels,” you explain, allowing your heart to slow to a normal rate. “Why don’t you go make your bed, and we can watch some cartoons while we wait for him, okay?”

Harris nods, barely picking up his sock-clad feet as he trudges back towards his bedroom. You giggle at the way he tries to fight his sleepiness, shaking your head in amusement. 

That’s when you see it, faint but still definitely present: the tell-tale second pink line.

“Oh my God.” Your hand flies to your mouth in complete shock, tears forming a film over your eyes so the results become blurred. You blink them away to get a better look, partially convinced that you’re hallucinating or projecting your hopes, and that reality will set in and show a negative result.

But when your vision clears, both lines are still visible.

You’re pregnant.

Now you just have to tell your husband; the question is, how?

You’re still mulling over the possibilities when the key clicks in the door ten minutes later. Eddie carries in a brown paper bag of bagels, whistling a tune that startles you from your thoughts. 

“Food’s here!” Eddie calls out; your stomach flip-flops at the sound of his voice. The temptation to let giddiness take over and wave the test in his face is strong, but you hold yourself back. First and foremost, you don’t want Harris knowing until you’re safely in the second trimester, but another part of you is still in denial that you truly are pregnant. That there’s a tiny little life growing within your womb, half you and half Eddie.

I’ll test again in a few days, you tell yourself, and if it’s still positive, then I’ll tell him.

You shove the test in the top drawer among your make-up and hair care products where it will be safe from your husband’s wandering eyes. Before you shut off the light, you get a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror. You look the same as you always do, but there’s no denying that you feel different.

Pregnant. You’re pregnant with Eddie’s baby. In approximately nine months, the Munsons will be a family of four.

“Mommy! Daddy’s home!”

“Coming!” You wipe away any remaining tears and make your way to the kitchen, trying to quell the excitement of knowing that you’re technically eating for two.

Breakfast drags a bit, both because of the weighty secret you’re guarding and the fact that cream cheese apparently now makes your nose wrinkle in disgust, but Harris’s animated storytelling makes the time pass a bit faster. Apparently, being seven years old is more dramatic than you’d remembered.

One particular story involving Harris, Joshua Harrington, and a celery-stick sword fight remains etched into your brain even as you brush bagel crumbs off of the table and into your cupped palm. Harris has plunked down in front of the television, gaze glued to a show about a conjoined cat and dog with screeches so grating that you find yourself wincing with each piece of dialogue. The distraction is enough to keep you from tuning into Eddie rummaging through the bathroom drawers, searching for the nail clippers.

“Um, babe?” His voice cracks on the second word, and you can sense both confusion and concern in his tone. “C-Can you come here? Now?”

Oh, shit. 

You dash into the bathroom, shrinking into yourself when you find him, one hand bracing his body weight on the sink and the other clutching a very positive pregnancy test. 

“Are…is this…” He turns to you, wide-eyed, lower lip quivering. “When…?”

“Right before breakfast,” you jump in, your pinky finger nudging his along the sink’s edge. “I wanted to do something special to surprise you after I took another one later this week, y’know, just to be sure.”

Eddie exhales a breath that’s half-laugh and half-cry, lowering the test to the ceramic ledge so he can place both hands on your cheeks. “You’re pregnant?” he asks, words thick with disbelief. He chuckles when you nod, head moving up and down between his calloused palms. “Holy shit; you’re having my baby.”

His mouth finds yours in an instant, fingers leaving your face and traveling to your waist. Eddie pulls you in close and punctuates the long kiss with several little pecks. 

“My gorgeous girl is having my baby,” Eddie murmurs, gently sinking to his knees so he’s eye-level with your stomach. It’s still far too early to be showing, but he still bunches up your shirt just above your belly button. You giggle when he presses his lips against your skin, an involuntary ticklish reaction. “I just…I’m so happy. I got kinda worried when it wasn’t happening, that something was wrong.” He looks up at you with an expression of relief and awe. “We’re having a baby, Sweetheart.” His thumb trails along your exposed flesh, the place where your child will develop over the next nine months.

You laugh, pulling him up so you can kiss him again. He tastes like the orange juice he’d drank with breakfast, sweet and tangy. “We should wait to tell people until a doctor confirms it,” you murmur as he rests his forehead on yours. “Let it just be our little secret for now, okay?”

Eddie nods, lips occupied with kisses that render him unable to speak for a minute. “I’m glad I found out when I did, to be honest,” he admits with a small smile. “I missed so much of this with Harris, and I wanna be part of everything with this little munchkin.” 

“Everything?” you ask suspiciously. “The morning sickness, the mood swings, the swollen feet? I’m pretty sure my mom got hemorrhoids when she was pregnant with me–”

“Everything,” Eddie affirms, lacing his fingers with yours. “The good, the bad, and the…hemorrhoid-y.”

You can’t hold back your amusement, throwing your head back with laughter. “I’m holding you to that.”

But you know you won’t need to, because this is Eddie, and the love he already has for this child radiates off of him.

He wraps you in a warm embrace, holding you around your shoulders so that his soft arm hair brushes the nape of your neck. He keeps you safe in his arms while you keep the baby safe in your womb.

In a little while, a commercial will interrupt Harris’s TV show. He’ll come running over to exclaim that he needs the toy being advertised, despite having a present-filled birthday just three weeks ago, and the Munson home will return to its definition of normalcy. For now, you and Eddie relish in this special moment, just the two of you and the tiny bean that is Baby Munson.

--

[adnauseum11]

WILCO (John Price x Reader)

You have a rude awakening and John makes a suggestion.

900 words

CW: swearing

feedback welcome as always!

You wake to your cell phone’s ringtone, blaring from John’s bedside table. It startles you both awake, John jerking nearly upright beside you in bed. You groan and take the ringing phone from John’s hand, clearing your throat before you answer it. 

John wilts back into the mattress, dragging his palms over his face with a deep sigh. You pat his shoulder, sliding out of bed to take your call. You realize it’s work calling to see where you are midway down the hallway, your absence eventually noticed. You explain, through your sleep roughened voice, that your home had been broken into the previous night and you don’t think you will be making it in today.

There’s some back and forth about the level of professionalism expected, to simply not turn up considered unacceptable regardless of circumstances. They agree to not write you up due to the extenuating nature of your situation but advise that notice is required when missing a day of work. It rubs you the wrong way, being chastised like a teenager. By the time John joins you in the kitchen in his jeans and t-shirt, you’re already demoralized before the day has begun. 

“Who was that?” he wants to know, taking in the slope of your shoulders and the long stare you are giving your coffee mug.

“Work, and honestly, I think I’m going to quit.”

John blinks and checks his watch and raises a brow at you, pouring his own coffee.

“It’s not even 10 am.”

“So what?” 

“Awful early to be making rash life decisions, love.” He says archly, taking a sip of his steaming mug. 

“Well, no time like the present.” You grumble, gently patting his ribs to make him move when he stands blocking the pantry. 

He steps aside and watches you, scratching his whiskered cheek with an air of uncertainty that is unlike him. You rummage around in his pantry shelves, looking for bagels but finding whole grain bread instead. You shoot him a look when he’s still looking at you a few seconds later, waiting for your toast. 

“What? I’m serious, I think I’m going to quit. I don’t give a fuck about their bottom line when I’m…what? Temporarily homeless? Shit, I gotta send a copy of the police report to the landlord-”

You set your coffee down and turn to leave your position by the toaster but John catches you, a fond look on his face as he wraps his hand around your wrist.

“Hold on, love. One second. That can wait a few minutes. Eat your breakfast. There’s still raspberries in the fridge.”

“I know, I didn’t want to finish them all on you.”

“Darling they’re for you. Eat them.” John is amused, bringing your hand to his mouth to kiss your palm.

“Yeah?” You can’t keep the elation out of your voice. Your toast pops and you pull away, preoccupied with buttering the slices for a moment.

John retrieves the berries for you instead of answering, sitting beside you at the kitchen table as he slides them onto your plate. You immediately pop one into your mouth, making him smile softly. He fists his hand at his temple and leans on his elbow, watching you inhale berry after berry for a moment before broaching the topic that’s been circling in his brain since last night. 

“If you’re still in the mood for rash life decisions, I have another for you. I think you should break your lease and move in here. Live with me, love.”

You freeze with a berry half way to your mouth, eyes widening. You know he hates your apartment. You didn’t realize he was this serious about leaving it behind. 

“Really, John? You don’t think that’s moving kind of… fast?”

You can feel your heart thrumming in your chest, nervous suddenly. John purses his lips and shakes his head ‘no’, not taking his eyes off you. His sureness is steadying, zero hint of uncertainty in his eyes.

“Not really. Feels more like home when you’re here, love. Always has.”

John’s tone is soft, and you know him well enough to know he’s being sincere. The moment suddenly feels weighted, like whatever you decide will colour your relationship moving forward. You can’t tear your eyes away from his, the sharp blue of his gaze pinning you in place, demanding a decision in one direction or another. The blanket you gave him catches the corner of your eye, draped over the back of his couch, where it’s had pride of place since it came into his care. It calls up his words from last night, spoken in frustration.  

You bite your lip and nod slowly, focusing back on John’s handsome face.  “Alright, I… yeah. We can…I can break my lease.”

The slow smile that takes over John’s face, matches the one spreading across yours. 

“I’m going to be honest love, I thought it would take more convincing than this.” He says lowly, hooking his foot in the rung of your chair to drag you closer to his seat. You feed him the forgotten raspberry in your hand, his lips dragging over your fingertips making your stomach swoop. 

“I can be more difficult if you like.” You purr, biting your bottom lip and feeding him another berry. 

The look between you turns heated but before either of you can act on it, his cell rings, breaking the moment. He leans over and kisses you before getting up to take his call, his eyes lingering on you at the kitchen table.   

Next Chapter

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[drabblesandimagines]

Dove (part three)

Leon Kennedy x female reader Part one. Part two. Warnings: Things get a bit gory in a flashback, description of panic attack.

“Anything will be great. We’ll take it slow. You ready?”

You’re not, but you doubt you ever will be.

“Ready.”

Leon taps twice on the laptop’s trackpad and it emits a beep, signaling the recording has begun, before he leans back, places his hands on his thighs and smiles. He has a nice smile, it’s reaching his eyes and you try and focus on that and not the sick feeling that’s growing in your stomach. “So, let’s go from the top. Yesterday morning…” You feel yourself inhale sharply. “..alarm goes off, or are you a natural riser?”

You weren’t expecting that to be the first question.

“I… I have an alarm.”

“What time did it go off?”

“I set it for 0630. And I got out of bed right away, otherwise I linger and then I’m late.” If only you knew what was to come you would’ve stayed in bed all day - covers pulled up and over your head.

“Then what did you do?”

“I had a shower, then I got dressed – in what you saw me in.” You hesitate - does he need that much detail, or was that too obvious and waste his time? You wait another beat, in case he wants to say anything, dismiss it from the record, but Leon just sits there there, hands resting on his thighs, looking at you, encouragingly, to continue. You press your nails into the palm of your hand, trying to concentrate. “Then I made a coffee to take with me on the walk to the office. I… I like to get there for 0745.”

“No breakfast?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Sorry. I made a slice of toast, ate it while I was waiting for the coffee to brew.” You remember leaning up against your kitchen counter to eat it – you hadn’t even got a plate out the cupboard, just buttered it on the chopping board, left the knife in the sink to wash up later… Is there going to be a later? You dig your nails into palm again, hard enough to leave indents. “Sometimes I’ll get a bagel from this cart near work, if that matters.” It probably doesn’t, but you want to stop thinking about home.

“And do you walk to the office every day?”

“No – weather dependent. I mean, there’s a bus I can take. There’s just a lot of traffic and so many stops that I found it takes the same amount of time to ride that as walk, so I get that if it’s too cold or wet. Listen to music, usually.”

“Okay, good.” He’s laying on the praise a little thick, but you accept it gratefully all the same, along with his smile. “Doing really good. So, you walked to work. Anything unusual you remember from on the way there?”

“No. Just the same walk, really. I’m pretty good at the whole awareness of my surroundings cos of the job, so…”

“Of course,” he nods. “And you got in the office at 0745?”

“Erm… Probably not precisely 0745.” You scan in through a turnstile, don’t wanna say you got in at a specific time in case it comes back to haunt you. “And I don’t need to be clocked on until 0800, but I had time to made another coffee in the breakroom before I logged on to my terminal, so probably between 0745 and 0800.”

“And are there turnstiles or a security check when you enter?” Had he read your mind? No, he probably has it noted down to cross-check your story.

“Yeah – bag searched, walk through the metal detector, then there’s a turnstile I have to scan in at.” Like any of those protocols had stopped whatever or whoever it was who had got inside.

“Okay, good. Headed to the breakroom, then from there to your terminal, and no other stops, no colleague interruptions?”

“Er… Yeah, one.” You swallow, her face flashing across your mind. “Am I allowed to use their name?”

Leon nods.

“Clara was in the breakroom when I got there, making a coffee. She had a date the night before – I asked her how it went.”

“Okay. Do you know what the date’s name was?”

“No. She’d just mentioned it the day before, though. We were leaving at the same time and she was excited about it, so I thought I’d ask. He’d been really dull at dinner apparently. She didn’t think she’d bother seeing him again.”

And no-one will be seeing her ever again either, your brain so helpfully reminds you.

“Okay. So, you’ve made it to the office, made your coffee, spoke to Clara, sat down at the terminal… What’s that, exactly?”

“It’s a computer, basically. All linked in to the main server, sit in like half cubicles. The screens have these hoods on, so no-one can see what you’re looking at unless they’re in the seat. They’re called terminals on all the internal documents.”

“Right, got you. What’s a usual work day for you? Did yesterday’s seem any different?”

“Do you know much about the surveillance department?”

Leon shakes his head. “I know you’re an intel source.”

“Yeah, that’s about it. Individuals get marked for surveillance from email scans or phone calls, travel plans, receipts, CCTV – it can be just be a word that flags them up or someone makes a tip-off, then we conduct investigations to see whether they’re involved in bioterrorism. So, I log on and open my assigned cases. We rotate every day and there’s always a few you can dismiss immediately because it’s flagged up erroneously. Some, there’s already previous analysis done, so you go through the notes and then check if there’s been any activity or correspondence logged overnight. If there hasn’t been on those cases, I open up a new case – rinse and repeat. It’ll give me a notification on the system if there’s activity on any of my pre-allocated cases, so I switch between as activity starts and stops.”

“Huh,” he muses. “How do you pick up a new case – just see what takes your fancy?”

“No,” you shake your head. “They’re random. You click a button and the system assigns you one. They change the code every week of how it does it.”

“Why’s it random?”

“Er, in case anyone is… trying to protect someone, I guess? Or being blackmailed into, like, closing a case.”

“I see. And nothing out of the ordinary all morning?”

“No. I… I had one case that had had a lot of email activity overnight, so I went through that. Then I submitted a couple of reports advising three… or maybe four cases be closed - I can’t remember exactly - but it’s not unusual to advise closing cases as people get flagged up all the time.”

“Yeah, all make sense. Did you get a break?”

“Yeah, I had a break at 1300 to 1330. I brought in a boxed lunch…” You didn’t mention that earlier, did you? “I made it the night before – not in the morning. I grabbed it out of the fridge before I left my apartment.”

“It’s all right, Dove.” Leon soothes. “I’m not expecting you to remember every finite detail – you’re doing really well.”

You nod, a little shakily. “I ate it in the breakroom. A couple of my colleagues popped in and out, but no-one sat with me that day. I made a coffee and went back to my terminal.”

“Okay.” He nods, leaning forward then and squinting a little at something on the laptop screen. “So, 1442 is when the power was cut to the building. Where were you when that happened?”

“I had an active call that I was listening in on, it hadn’t been going on very long. And then…” You fix your stare on the coffee table then – you don’t want to look at Leon’s face anymore, those sympathetic blue eyes. “..everything went dark. There was about 15 seconds before the emergency lighting came on, or it should’ve been. We have drills every so often, and it’s meant to be quick, but only enough to light the path to the fire exits, you know? But it looked like the back-up generator was coming on too, because I’m sure I saw the terminal screen reboot a second.”

“And you didn’t hear anyone say anything?”

“I think it was quiet, I don’t know if anyone said anything, but there wasn’t an alarm to evacuate. I had my headphones on still as I thought when the terminal reboots, I’ll just get straight back into the call if it was still going after I logged in because they’ll be annoyed if we all left unnecessarily, you know?” Your eyes are still fixed on the coffee table, so you don’t know if he nods or not. “But then…” You wonder if your nails will pierce through the skin of your palm this time with how hard you're pressing. “Then I heard this scream and… And…”

You let out a shuddering breath, hearing the scream echoing around in your mind.

“It’s all right, Dove,” Leon reaches out a hand but stops himself, leaving it hovering awkwardly over your knee. “Here,” he leans forward instead, picks up the glass. “Have some water, okay?”

You take the glass, not even able to say thank you, and put it up to your lips, but it clinks against your teeth, feels too cold sliding down your throat and into your stomach.

He takes the glass back from you as you lower it from your lips, placing it down on the table gently, and waits. He doesn’t press, he doesn’t smile, just waits.

You exhale, close your eyes – you’re not sure if it makes it worse.

“I… I took my headphones off and I… I couldn’t work out what it was. It didn’t sound human – something guttural. I think I heard someone swear, and more screams, but those were human. I-I got up from my chair, stepped out and looked down the hall and… there was this thing, like…” You search for the words, but not for too long. “Sorry, I don’t how to describe it.”

“That’s all right. We’ve got them on the CCTV.”

“But it had... someone in its mouth. And I should know who it was, because I’ve worked with these people for so long, but it h-had their head in its mouth. How could I not know?” Your voice breaks.

“Dove,” Leon starts, gently, “I think we should take a break.”

You shake your head, determined to get it over with. “It shook its head, like a dog shakes a toy, but it bit down and… I don’t know if I blacked it out because I don’t remember how I got there, but I was on the ground, like something had knocked me down and… someone was on top of me.”

“I am so sorry.”

“There were more and more screams and sounds I can’t describe - from all around – and everywhere I looked there just seemed another one of those things, clambering over cubicles with these awful, long tongues, snapping around limbs and, like, ricocheting people back. I got up and ran but there was blood in my eyes and I don’t know if it was mine or someone else’s, but I didn’t get far because this horrible wet thing wrapped around my arm and I got thrown into the wall or something else hard. My arm went limp – I think that’s when it dislocated my shoulder and maybe that confused it because it let go? I don’t know why it would let go when it didn’t for anyone else and… I… The stairs…”

And that’s it, your resolve has cracked and sobs erupt from deep within your chest, your whole body shaking, your vision obscured with hot tears and you can’t breathe with the grief.

There’s a beep – Leon’s frantically stopped the laptop recording, and then he’s sat right next to you, taking your good hand in his and squeezing it.

“I need you to breathe, okay? It’s going to seem hard, but I know you can do it, Dove. We’re going to breathe in through the nose for four, hold that breath in our lungs for another four, and then we’re going to exhale through our mouths for four. Okay? I’m gonna keep count with a squeeze of your hand, close your eyes if you want, I just really need you to breathe.”

You nod, sobs instead of breaths, and it feels impossible as Leon begins squeezing your hand in rounds of four. It’s poor at best, not inhaling enough, breaths still cut short as you cry, but he persists, round after round until, finally, you feel the air is finally reaching the bottom of your lungs, crying reduced to sniffles – feeling exhausted.

“I should’ve stopped you – realized you needed a break.” He stops squeezing your hand but he doesn’t let go.

“No,” your voice still feels tight. “I wanted it over with. Is that selfish?”

“Not at all.” Leon replies quickly, firmly, before his tone softens. “I know this a dumb question before I even ask, but is there anything I can do for you right now, or get you?”

“Can I have a hug?” You ask, quietly - a fleeting thought of that surely would be against protocol, but you need something grounding.

“Of course.” His arms wrap around you – strong, solid, warm arms, mindful of your shoulder, pressing you into his chest and the scent of the strawberry bodywash. You can hear his heartbeat as you press your face into him.

Leon doesn’t speak, doesn’t move either, just keeps holding you close. Hell, he needed a hug after Raccoon City, he’d just never got the guts to ask Claire for one. Not in front of Sherry anyway, and no-one was gonna hug him when he got sent off to military training.

He doesn’t know how long you’ve sat like that, but he is aware as you grow limp against his chest, falling into an emotionally exhausted sleep. He knows it’s not proper for him to be doing this with you, the DSO asset he’s meant to be protecting, but from past experience, he knows you won’t be asleep long and what the DSO doesn’t know can’t hurt them.

Speaking of, he thinks, leaning against the back of the sofa and tilting you gently down with him, he slips a hand into his pocket for his phone and types a quick message.

Interview concluded. Will have timeline of incident and report sent by 2000. Summary - experiencing survivor's guilt, not a suspect.

--

Part four.

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day! PS: I'm sorry if this was extremely boring but hopefully some nice fluff in there for you at the end x

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Back at My Place

Wake Up, Chapter 4

Series Masterlist           Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: In an attempt to stop the advances of an unwanted suitor, Matt Murdock accidentally condemns you to being his fake girlfriend.

warnings: crazy sweet fluff, swearing, a bit of angst at the very end

a/n: I had such a fun time with this chapter. I also realized that I have a very hard time not making Matt angsty. He’s just so self deprecating, it’s easy pickings. Anyway, I hope that you enjoy! Please comment, like, reblog, and request (you’ll seriously make my day. I love hearing what you all think.)

w/c: 3.6k

A breeze blew across a patch of exposed skin on your collar bone, making you shiver yourself awake. Opening your eyes, your surroundings confused you for a minute before you remembered that you’d been at Matt’s last night. But, the last thing you recalled was sitting with him on the couch, listening to Matt as he recounted stories from his childhood. Which mostly meant giggling at the fact that Matt has apparently always had a martyr complex. 

You must have dozed off because you were now wrapped in silk sheets in a bed that smelled like him. Had he carried you here? The thought of Matt picking you up and tucking you into his bed made warmth bloom in your stomach. You bit back a moan picturing his arms caring for you so lovingly. Sinking deeper into the pillow under your head, you inhaled deeply, smiling as you thought about laying there all day just breathing him in. 

The sound of voices outside the closed door shook you out of your fantasy. 

Pushing yourself up, you scrubbed a hand over your face before making your way out to the living room. 

Foggy was having a good morning. Marci had been up before him, miraculously, and had coffee ready for him when he woke. His favorite bakery hadn’t run out of everything bagels when he got there, which was practically unheard of on a Sunday morning. And now, he was making his way over to Matt’s to get proof of life. Which was only slightly dampening his good mood. 

He’d be less worried if the asshole had picked up his call this morning. Foggy and Marci had tried to get ahold of him, to see if you and Matt were alright after the gala, but he didn’t answer. Marci had called you a few times with similar success. So, Foggy had volunteered to go in person. 

Knocking less than politely on Matt’s door, Foggy nearly fell into the other man as the door flew open. 

“Fuck, Foggy, it’s not even 9. You want to wake the whole floor up?” 

“Thank the Lord, Saint Matthew lives another day. If you don’t want me breaking down your door this early, answer your fucking phone next time.” Foggy plastered on a smile, voice laced with false positivity. Barging past his friend into the apartment, he spun around, arms wide. 

“Well, I’m glad you’re alive, my friend. I was having a nice morning and finding you half-dead in your Devil gear really would’ve ruined that.”

“Foggy—“ Matt’s voice was low in warning, but Foggy ignored him. 

“Anyway, what happened last night? You never let us know if you two were ok.” 

“We’re fine. Snyder was being a bitch and it sent my fake girlfriend into a panic attack. Now, I’m sure you have a wonderful day with Marci to get back to and I have to get dressed for church.”

“HA! You think you can bullshit me, Murdock. Only a freshman in Matt-ology would believe that you attend regular Sunday mass. You prefer to go at night and speak directly to the clergy. What are you hiding in here?” Foggy set down his bagel, peering around corners as if expecting there to be a surprise hidden. 

“I’m not hiding anything, I just wasn’t expecting you.” Matt’s voice was hushed as he tried to herd Foggy out the door. 

“Am I not allowed to drop by anymore? What is going on with you?” 

Before Matt could respond, his bedroom door opened to reveal your startled face, which sat above an outfit picked entirely from Matt’s wardrobe, Foggy noticed.

A shit-eating grin broke out over Foggy’s face as he said your name. “Funny seeing you here.” 

You grimaced, “Hi, Foggy.” 

Matt made his way over to you. “Did we wake you up? I was trying to tell Foggy to be quiet.” 

“No, no!” You jumped in reassuringly. “I was already awake. And I’m—I’m sorry for falling asleep last night, I didn’t mean to crash here.” 

“Don’t apologize. I’m sure you were tired.” Matt ran a hand over your arm before pulling you into a hug. Clearly, they had forgotten that there was a captive audience. 

Foggy cleared his throat. “So…you slept here?” 

The two of you jumped apart. Matt stepped in front of you, “It’s not like that, Fog. I gave her my bed and slept on the couch.” 

“Hey, don’t need to explain anything to me. Anyway, glad to know you’re both alive. I, um, have a…thing.” Hurrying out of the apartment, Foggy rushed home to Marci. Their plot to unite two of their favorite people was actually coming together, despite the wrench Matt had thrown into the plans by nominating you as his fake partner. 

About a month after the gala, Foggy was seriously wondering if he’d been left out of the loop on Matt’s relationship status. You and Matt were hanging out more than ever and yet didn’t admit that you weren’t pretend-dating anymore. He supposed he would need to see evidence a bit more damning than Matt comforting a friend after a tough night or spending more time with them one-on-one, but he had his suspicions. 

Sitting in his apartment, mulling through paperwork as quickly as he could, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander to the events of that morning. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Matt had been tucked away in his office when he arrived. Foggy didn’t plan on staying for long, since he had intended to work from home that day, but he needed to grab some files that were relevant to the case he was working on. 

Eventually, Foggy heard a door open, and—assuming that Matt was leaving his office to finally greet him—he ran out into the central room. 

“Hey, Matt, I know I said I wouldn’t be in today, I just needed to grab the Anderson files.” Foggy spoke as he walked out of his own office. But, as he looked up, he realized that Matt was still in the other room. Instead, you stood before him, holding a brown paper bag and looking like he’d caught you breaking and entering. 

“Hey Foggy! I didn’t expect you to be here. Is Matt in…” you trailed off with a vague gesture. As you pointed to Matt’s office, his door opened, revealing the blind lawyer who faced you curiously. 

“Hey, I thought I heard you. What are you doing here?” Ignoring Foggy completely—the blond looking after him incredulously—he marched over to you, a crooked grin on his lips. 

“Well, I…um—“ You stuttered, very much unable to ignore Foggy at this moment. “Remember that bakery I told you about? The one that just opened up by the Pilates studio?”

Matt nodded and you continued. “I told you that I thought you’d like their almond croissants and, I don’t know, you mentioned that you had a bad night so I thought I’d bring you one to cheer you up.” You scuffed your shoes on the floor, no longer looking at Matt. 

“That’s so sweet of you.” Matt spoke, smiling at you softly. He was a bit shocked, but more than touched by the gesture. 

“And I’m really sorry, Foggy! I would’ve gotten you one but, when we chatted last night, Matt mentioned you wouldn’t be in today so I—“ 

“Hey, no problem! I have to run home anyway. Have a good day, my little lovebirds!” Foggy brushed off your concern. You squeaked, embarrassed at his comment. Foggy waved goodbye, and headed off, hearing Matt ask you if you wanted to split the pastry as he went. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Shaking his head at the memory, Foggy really hoped you two would come to your senses soon. 

A couple weeks after the croissant incident, Foggy found himself in desperate need of a break. 

“Matt, hurry up! Karen and I are thirsty!” Foggy rolled his eyes to the blonde as they waited for Matt to quit burning the midnight oil and go out with them. It was Friday, and they had just had a major breakthrough in their current case that had seemed unwinnable for weeks. 

“Alright, alright! I’m coming.” Matt shook his head fondly at his partners, grabbing his coat and cane. 

“Josie’s?�� Karen questioned. 

Foggy snorted. “Do we ever go anywhere else?” He sent a text to you and Marci, letting you both know that you were invited to celebrate with them, though he did not expect Marci to take him up on that offer. 

“Why would we?” Matt grinned, taking Foggy’s arm as the three made their way to the dive bar they frequented. 

Arriving at Josie’s in record time, Karen offered to buy the first round while the guys grabbed a table. 

Foggy inhaled deeply. “Smell that, Murdock?” 

“Stale beer and vomit?” 

“No! The smell of our impending success!” 

“It doesn’t trouble you that your brain associates our success with vomit?” 

“Gah! You’re impossible!” Foggy threw his hands up as Matt smirked. 

“What did he do now?” Foggy cheered as he saw you approaching them. 

“You’ve gotta help me out. Your boyfriend is refusing to admit that we are going to win our case this week.” Foggy mock glared at Matt. 

You sat down next to Matt, laughing brightly as he began to argue. “I never said that! I said, it’s weird that you link our winning a case with such an unpleasant sensation.” 

“Oh god, we just got here and they’re already going at it.” Karen murmured to you as she returned with drinks, chuckling with fond exasperation. She handed you a beer and you accepted gratefully as you slid under the arm Matt moved around your shoulders. As you nestled into his side, he and Foggy continued to bicker about what winning should smell like. 

Eventually, Karen broke in and offered them their beers. Mostly for a moment of quiet, you assumed. Taking a drink, Matt turned to you. “How was your day, angel?” Karen and Foggy looked at each other, ‘Angel??’

“It was awesome, actually! My boss approved my proposal!” You sounded thrilled. 

“That’s fantastic!” Matt was beaming at you. “Did you get to show her the mock ups?” 

“I’m sorry,” Foggy cut in with a smile. “What proposal?” 

“Shit, I forgot I hadn’t told you and Karen! I’m sorry guys.” You grimaced sheepishly. “I had been noticing some recurring names when I sat in court this month so I did some digging and found 4 property managers that have dozens of documented issues. I’m talking constructive eviction, unhabitable units, actions in contempt, a whole mess of stuff. So I wanted to ask my boss if we could set up some clinics in the area for hearing counterclaim filing and to help people file a case against their landlord preemptively.” 

Matt’s focus was entirely on you as you spoke animatedly, absolutely ecstatic about your new project. 

“I had a solid framework but I was having a really hard time working up the nerve to ask her if I could do anything. Thankfully, Matt had some great ideas and helped me put together a whole presentation at dinner last week!” You grinned, looking up at him. 

“What dinner last week?” Karen inquired, her eyes flirting between the two of you as she barely concealed her knowing grin. 

“Oh!” You shifted in your seat slightly. “Well, we’ve been having dinner once or twice a week to—um—“

“Get to know each other!” Matt suggested, helpfully. 

“Exactly! In case we have another event and have to speak to people about each other, or whatever.”

“Right,” Foggy confirmed, eyebrows raised. “Well, I’m glad that it went well! And, that you’ve been getting this workaholic out of the office. I was wondering why he’s been so chipper lately.” 

“Oh, I’m sure that has more to do with this ‘impending success’ I keep hearing about.” You bit your lip, fidgeting with the half empty glass in your hand. 

“It’s not all work-related, sweetness.” Matt nudged you, grinning. 

You smiled into your beer, draining the rest of it. “Sure, Murdock. Though, I’m afraid you’ll have to try harder to sweet talk me into buying you another drink.” 

“Hmm, guess I’ll keep trying.” Matt followed you out of the booth, taking your arm as you both walked up to ask Josie for a refill. 

Karen gaped at Foggy. “You weren’t kidding!”

“I know!” Foggy said, throwing his arms towards the bar after their friends. “They don’t see it!”

Karen snorted. “We are in for a world of hurt.” 

After the group had chatted for a bit, Foggy suggested that you and Matt play him and Karen in pool, to “settle the smell of success debate once and for all”. Everyone seemed excited about the proposition, but you hesitated. 

“I’ve never actually played pool before.” You admitted to Matt, quietly, as Karen and Foggy got the table set up. 

“That’s alright, pretty girl. I’ll just have to teach you.” He flicked your chin softly before raising his voice. “I promise it’s not that difficult to beat Foggy. I could do it with my eyes closed.” He jested, making you laugh. 

“How dare you insult my honor in front of this fair maiden!” Foggy crowed, feigning chest pain. “I’m hurt, truly hurt!” 

You giggled at their antics, sliding out from the booth and pulling Matt with you. “Better teach me fast, Matty. I have a feeling Nelson won’t be taking it easy on me.” 

While Foggy and Karen were having a good time battling you two in pool, it was becoming almost irritating to watch the two of you flirt and exchange soft touches without acknowledging the authenticity of your relationship. Matt kept holding your waist to help you position the pool cue, giving you a kiss on the cheek when any of the balls landed in a pocket. And, as the two of you became more tipsy throughout the evening, you started sitting atop of Matt’s lap, playing with his hair and resting your nose against his cheek, while waiting for Foggy or Karen to finish a turn. 

It was adorable, sure, but aggravating nonetheless because anytime someone questioned it, you and Matt brushed it off as ‘keeping up appearances’. 

As you lined up your cue to take the final shot, Matt announced your intentions for you. “8 ball, far right corner pocket.” Giving the cue ball a firm tap, the 8 ball sailed into its intended receptacle. 

You and Matt cheered as Foggy and Karen yelled in frustration. As you gave him a hug, Matt twirled you around. 

“Great job, angel. I’m so proud of you!” He pressed a kiss to your hairline. You leaned into him, treasuring the moment. 

Foggy and Karen just shared a look, shaking their heads, before Foggy asked “Anyone up for a rematch?” 

Foggy, Karen, and Matt were tiredly running over their case notes for the upcoming Jones trial. Their last few cases had all gone well, but this case was incredibly taxing. They were having a hard time getting their two key witnesses to cooperate, and the judge had denied their request for a continuance which squished the timeline in a less than optimal direction. 

Sighing, Foggy rubbed at his eyes. “Is there anyway we could get the sister on the stand? She was so much easier to work with.” 

“There’s no way we’d be able to prepare her in time.” Matt grumped, tension headache steadily brewing. 

Karen closed her laptop with a frustrated sigh. “Alright gentlemen, I don’t know about you but I will be absolutely useless if I keep working at this without food. Dinner?”

“Yah let’s go grab a pizza and give our poor minds a break.” Foggy rubbed Matt’s shoulder, hoping the idea of food would be enough to tempt him away from his computer. 

“You two go ahead, I’ll see if I can find a weakness in the opposing argument here.” 

“Matt, c’mon—“ Foggy pleaded. 

“It’s fine. I’m on the verge of a breakthrough, I can feel it…” Matt turned back to his computer, putting headphones in his ears before hearing his friends’ responses. 

Foggy simply gave Karen an exaggerated eye roll before the two headed out to grab dinner. 

The pizza place wasn’t too far from their office, so they fully expected Matt to be honed in on his case notes when they returned, but instead he was leaning against the table in the conference room. His phone held against his ear, Matt had a small grin on his face as he listened to the person on the other end of the line. It must have been you. No one else could break Matt’s intense focus so easily. 

Foggy and Karen were as quiet as possible as they brought the food into the conference room. Matt’s grin fell a bit as they entered. 

“Ok sweetness, Nelson and Page are back with food so I have to go. Call me when you get home safe tonight…yah I know you will. Love you.” Matt ended the call, placing his phone on the table.

“I found a clerical error in the original filing of the case. Should help us at least weaken the validity of the prosecution's claims.”  It was dead silent for a moment before Matt prompted “Are we going to eat or have we taken those pizzas hostage?” 

Foggy pried his jaw from the floor, looking to Karen who appeared equally shocked. “No, uh, we can eat. Yah, let’s eat.” Foggy set the boxes down as Karen rummaged around for some plates. She gave him a pointed look, her eyes swiveling between him and Matt. 

Internally debating whether to ask Matt about the terminology used at the end of his phone call, Foggy opened his mouth but Matt held up a hand. “Before you even start, she was out with friends at a bar. We both agreed to act like a couple when in public and she explicitly told me she was ok with it.” The blind man turned to his work with a barely noticeable glower, clearly exasperated by his friends’ questioning. 

“See, buddy, that’s cool and all, but you do see how this looks right?” Foggy nervously took a bite of pizza, eyeing the other man. 

“What, like I’m forcing her to say things she’s uncomfortable with? That I’m holding her back from finding someone she actually wants to be with? Yes, Foggy, I’m aware.” Matt’s scowl deepened. “I beat myself up about it constantly. I really don’t need you both breathing down my neck about it too.” 

“Wait, Matt, you think that’s what we’ve been talking about?” Karen prompted, clearly as taken aback as Foggy felt. She placed a hand on Matt’s arm in a gesture of comfort. “We’re not worried that you’re making her uncomfortable.” 

“And we certainly aren’t worried that you’re holding her back!” Foggy added. “Why on earth would you think we were worried about that?”

“Clearly you are! That morning after the gala when you rushed out after seeing she was still there, you were biting your tongue the whole time, Fog!” Matt ran his hands through his hair in distress. “It’s like everytime one of you sees us together, you’re always pointing out the illegitimacy of our relationship or calling us a name. Not to mention, the night at Josie’s where you and Karen were frustratedly saying I was causing a ‘world of hurt’?” Fully pacing now, Foggy had to stand to stop the other man from wearing a tread in their carpet. 

“Matt, that’s not what we’ve been trying to say.” Foggy broke in, slowly. 

A muscle in Matt’s jaw twitched. “Really, because everytime she gets nervous around me, we suddenly end up alone. If you couldn’t bear to watch what I was doing, you at least could’ve told me that you thought I was hurting her if it was so hard to watch.” He turned away, biting his bottom lip in irritation. 

“What we meant when we said those things,” Karen jumped in, also coming to stand in front of Matt. “Was that it seems like the two of you aren’t fake dating anymore. It seems like you’re actually dating and you don’t realize it. And, you aren’t making her uncomfortable, Matt. She adores you.” 

Matt’s nostrils flared as conflicting emotions danced across his face. “Matt, buddy, all this time you’ve been chastising yourself for holding her back? Have you stopped to consider that she might enjoy being with you?” Foggy reached out to squeeze his friend’s shoulder, but the other man pulled out of his grasp, pacing again. 

“Enjoy being with me? That’s fucking rich.” He bit out. “She’s so smart and funny and thoughtful and—“ his voice was breaking now. “All I’ve done since I brought her into this was get her hurt. She’s way too good to be stuck with me.” 

Snatching his red glasses, cane, and computer, Matt huffed before throwing a few sheets of paper down on the table. “Here’s the court's error for the Jones case. I need some air. I’ll see you both tomorrow.” Matt stomped out the door, Foggy and Karen guiltily watching him go. 

“Ok, we may have done some damage here.” Foggy grimaced. 

“How did we not realize that their own doubts are shaping their interpretation of this?” Karen groaned.

“It’s an embarrassing oversight, I’ll admit.” Rubbing at the back of his neck, Foggy turned to her. “The question is now, do we go after him?” 

“No. He needs to work it out on his own.” Karen stared back at her friend glumly. 

“Ugh. You’re probably right.”

End Notes: A huge thanks to @acewritesfics and @samspenandsword for sharing the beautiful post dividers!

Tag List: @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @scoliobean @harperdoodle @mattkinsella @leikelle

[nihiladditaenihilperdidi]

Private Beach || Rune + Anya || May 1st, 2024

Rune: "I beg to differ."

Anya: "You're not the one people would stare at."

Rune: "You're right. That's my privilege."

Anya: "In private? Sure. I trust your eyes."

Rune: "Private beach?"

Anya: "If you know of one, definitely. I've never been on a private beach. Fancy."

Rune: "Can rent one pretty much anywhere."

Anya: "For how much?"

Rune: "Mmmmoney."

Anya: "How much money?"

Rune: "I've never rented one. Brazil has some isolated pockets. Hokkaido. No luck in Willemstad."

Anya: "Hm. Well, we can look into it. Have you been to Brazil?"

Rune: "Mm. Fallen in a time or two."

Anya: "Wow. How's your Portuguese?"

Rune: "Mmm..." He winced. "As well as Papiamento can get me. Like a Spaniard picking up Italian, I guess."

Anya: "That sounds... stressful." She didn't envy his sleepwalking. "But you're still here. Lucky, lucky man. Maybe we could both use a day at the beach."

Rune: "What kind of beach do you want?"

Anya: "A warm one. I want to swim without freezing."

Rune: "Close your eyes and point anywhere on the southern hemisphere of a globe and we're gone."

Anya: "Just like that?"

Rune: "After we see your mother."

Anya: She inhaled deeply and exhaled with a raspberry. Right. That. "You're coming with me?"

Rune: "Unless you want another ruggedly handsome medium on your journey."

Anya: "I'm fresh out of backup handsome mediums, I'm afraid. And the unattractive ones just aren't as good."

Rune: "Guess you're saddled with me."

Rune forced himself up on his elbows.

"Where'd Honey go?"

Anya: "Happily." She gestured with her phone to the floating shelves above his bed. The kinkajou had found higher ground in the wee hours, and was curled up fast asleep beside his box of tissues, sucking on her paw not unlike a toddler on its thumb.

"We'll have to put her back soon. I don't want June or Cathy calling me in a panic."

With a soft hum, she added the two piece set to cart and locked her mobile. Maybe.

Rune: His head craned for a peek, seeing only her tail from his angle, back against the wall.

"What time is - mm. Bathroom, and we'll put her back."

Being on the inner part of the bed meant having the tactile pleasure of crawling over his lovely guest, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake.

Anya: It was still quite early. Before dawn, though the sky was growing brighter. Anya was an early riser, but she made no move to follow Rune out of bed. She giggled at his smattering of kisses and burrowed deeper into the sheets, stealing his pillow when he'd passed out of sight.

"Take your time. Soon, but not so soon that you have to rush."

Rune: "Then my teeth, too," he muttered through a yawn. If Anya was going to be a regular face in this apartment, perhaps a curtain for the bathroom was finally in order. He'd been putting it off long enough. Curtains were harmless.

After the bathroom, he meandered to the kitchen for instant coffee and sugar cubes.

Was he still naked? Yes.

"Coffee? There's no milk."

Anya: She rummaged about in her bag for her mobile charger, eyes sweeping the wall for an outlet. Her nose wrinkled  at the prospect of black coffee. Of course no milk.

"Mm. Maybe? Do you have sugar? If not, then no. I'll wait until later."

Rune: "How many sugar cubes?" He felt as though he should know this, but kept that to himself.

Anya: "Four?" The uncertainty of the answer was self-directed. How much sugar would she need to cut through the bitterness without milk?

"Yeah, four is fine."

Rune: Rune craned his head from the hallway, making no effort to conceal his wanton gaze.

"We can just get coffee around the corner. The place has bagels and all the salmon you could want. It's next to the flower shop."

Anya: All the salmon she could want was no salmon, but she only smiled, not shrinking at all under his dark eyes.

"Bagels! Perfect. I just need a few minutes for my phone to charge."

And to get dressed. Nudity with Rune was surprisingly comfortable, but the day awaited and she still wanted to avoid being arrested.

Rune: The corner of his mouth tightened. She was very skilled at hiding her grimace.

"Do you want your cream cheese vegan? They've got goat cheese. I was almost tempted." He turned back to the kitchen. Just a cup for himself, jeans snatched along the way.

Anya: "No, sir. How many different flavors do they have?" She was already daydreaming about garden vegetable.

With a reluctant groan, Anya rolled out of bed and plugged in her charger, leaving her phone on the desk as she padded on bare feet to the bathroom.

Mm. Maybe a door would have been preferable. Whatever.

Rune: "That's their selling point. If you can think of it they probably have it."

But he wasn't thinking about The Bagel Place, nor the coffee he was stirring. Sleeping on the inside of the bed, gated by her soft frame, he hasn't moved once. What was it about a warm body that prevented him from stumbling into a shitty situation?

"You sleep all right?"

Anya: "Oooh. Might have to get two." It was possible that it was the early-morning hunger speaking.

"Mhm. I'm very well-rested." The same could be said for Rune, it would seem. He hadn't budged throughout the night. Might've had something to do with her body blocking his way off of the bed.

"I guess we lucked out, again," she yawned.

Rune: "Tends to happen when I'm with you. I think you're a good luck charm."

Black coffee in hand, a little too much sugar, the thick mauve mug was set aside as he dropped to his knees on the bedroom floor.

"Anything else you want out of the house?" He assumed she'd be putting back her things from the bathroom, but wasted no time performing his ritual.

Anya: Her laugh was muffled by a mouthful of toothpaste, but the idea warmed her better than a cup of coffee ever could. She'd keep that to herself, though.

A spritz of leave in conditioner and another of hair oil had her curls refreshed for the day. She left them loose as she hurried from the bathroom, not thinking to collect her toiletries.

"Wait, wait, wait! Let me say goodbye!" Just a last sleepy kinkajou cuddle before he put Honey back.

"Um... I can't think of anything." Her thoughts spun for a moment as she scooped the little darling from the shelf and cradled her close. "Oh! Clean socks. Should be in the same drawer as my underwear."

Rune: "Clean socks," he echoed, glancing at the cuddlefest on his left. Perhaps, if this were a regular occurrence, having an animal visit every night she slept in his bed; any that was willing and able to fit through the hole.

The thought made him smile.

"Can she go anywhere?" Rune flattened on the hardwood, reaching for the handle of her drawer and anything sock shaped.

Anya: "Technically? Yes. But she might be... grumpy." Already, Honey was rasping her protest at being stirred from sleep. Anya nuzzled the top of her head.

"Anywhere in the bedroom should be fine." He was already there, after all. "Shh. Hush. Don't you want to have a snack before bed? June will bring you nice fruit."

Rune: "Goodness," Rune soothed, sitting up to examine the socks he'd grabbed before putting them back. "Such drama from such a little girl."

There we go, something white and darling.

"Ready to hand her over?"

Anya: Just one more squeeze, to soothe those squeaky complaints.

"Here. I'll trade you." Anya offered the kinkajou in exchange for the fresh pair of socks. She flopped onto the bed to don them, despite not having on a stich of anything else.

"Say bye to Rune, kochanie."

Rune: "Not for long," he cooed, giving a little scritch to the back of the Honey's head. Anywhere in the bedroom meant letting her slowly spill from his hand at the foot of Anya's bed. He wouldn't ask about her toiletries, nor let the warmth he was feeling break his poker face.

His hand swept over his stomach, sighing away the magnetic-like tug just below his navel. Company was coming.

"Your outfit's outstanding. What's it called? Haute couture."

Anya: Ha! She grinned at him, broad and playful, and wiggled a socked foot in his direction.

"Do you like it? I call the look 'Misdemeanor Chic.' Surprisingly comfortable, but a little much for every day. Definitely a special occasion outfit."

Blindly, she plucked her underwear from where she'd left them atop her bag and pulled them on.

"I'll be ready before you are."

Rune: Certainly the case, as he hadn't moved a muscle, save for the steady gaze of his hungry eyes. She was a masterpiece of nature and nurture. What artists strived to sculpt.

"Hm? Oh, yeah. Definitely."

The portal was closed, easing some of the tension in his shoulders and forearms. He forced himself to his feet, shuffling over to the pale plain wardrobe squished between the desk and the brick wall. Black, of course, but a dark olive shirt caught his attention. He didn't glance back at Anya before slipping it on. In her honor. Would pair well with his black suit and mulberry socks.

Anya: The heat that warmed her face was more reflective of those eyes than any lingering shyness. She watched Rune cross to his wardrobe for an indulgent moment, before snagging her dress as well. No bra Anya owned would have been suitable for it, but the bodice was fitted enough for it not to matter. It was the fit that had won her over in the second-hand shop-- as though it had been tailored for her figure.

She waited in content silence for Rune to finish dressing. One corner of her mouth curved at the sight of the finished product.

"Handsome," she said, reaching for his hand. "I really like your shirt."

Rune: Still without shoes; they could wait a moment longer. Her hand was taken without question - he couldn't recall a time he had ever hesitated.

"Lucky me." Did she mind? His lips upon her again. On her cheek, jaw, and neck. The brush of his nose against her skin, and the smile she would feel that followed.

And then the smile was gone, and so was his affection. Looking her over as if for the first time.

"I've..." The impulse of confession was and had always been a hot flash. A need so strong as to pull the first word of thought before good sense took grasp.

The corner of his mouth twitched.

"Ready to go?"

Anya: There was no resistance to his touch, nor the brush of his lips. Nothing on their agenda was so pressing that they couldn't afford a moment of closeness.

Or more than a moment.

She wasn't starving.

His mouth against her skin had her tingling from head to toe. Her free hand settled on his waist, fingers flexing against toned muscle she knew was hidden beneath that lovely shirt.

But too soon his lips were gone. Anya kept a firm hold on his hand, lacing her fingers through his. She'd be ignoring his question in favor of picking up the thought he'd abandoned.

"You've...?"

Rune: He should have known better. Her walking back his dropped thought was exactly what he would have done for her. Their mutual encouragement from each other to exist alongside thoughts, feelings, and impulses.

"I've never said I love you as much as I have with you. That's all."

Anya: That's all. As though he was merely commenting on the weather, and not causing her heart to somersault painfully in her chest. The corners of her mouth twitched. The faintest smile, gone as soon as it appeared.

"I like hearing it."

And it had been... what? A total of three days, all said? Maybe they were compensating for years spent feeling what they wouldn't say.

The hand on his waist shifted to cup his face, and she leaned forward to kiss him deeply. She lingered, savoring the taste of mint and coffee, before she forced herself to pull away.

"Let me just grab my stuff, and we can go."

Rune: His guard dissolved before it could form. Eyes closed, nose squished, blissful and ignorant of the world outside his apartment.

At least until she pulled away.

His hand pressed to his abdomen again, ignored with a sigh. He filled his shoes with feet, checked himself in the mirror, and waited at the door.

"How much hand-holding do you want today?"

Anya: She was all smiles and early-morning cheer as she collected her phone and bag. She passed by the bathroom and slipped into her boots, bending to lace them with quick, proficient fingers.

Rune was met at the door. His question had her chuckling, and she took his hand as a matter of course.

"Excessive hand-holding. Until your fingers ache and you beg for a break. And then I'll hold your arm. Let's go. I'm starving."

Rune: "You've always held my arm." Just a matter of fact. It was not an understatement to say her grasp pleased him. His arm belonged to her.

But the rest of him was on loan.

The hallway was silent. Down the stairs to the second floor, an announcer shouted over the roaring crowd of a stadium. The groan of a sofa and the tap of a walking cane. Only apartment 201 made noise.

The first floor was quiet, and so were Rune's steps. A glance was offered to the brass plaque of apartment 102, but said nothing. Not until they reached the heavy double doors, looking pointedly to his left.

"Not quite," he said to the air between them. "Two blocks. Go around this building, across the street. Behind the church with the gold onion domes." A pause. "No, old man, it hasn't moved. I'd know if it sprouted legs. If you've gone to the cleaners you've gone too far."

Anya: A single shoulder rose and fell, her smile still warm. "You've always offered it."

She took the stairs on equally silent feet. Managed despite her heavy boots. The sounds of movement had even her breath quieting. It wouldn't do to draw the attention of his neighbors with her hands still empty. It seemed she wasn't the only early riser in the building.

Her eyes cut to Rune when he began to speak. It was immediately clear it wasn't her he was addressing. Some sort of spirit, surely.

Anya held her tongue, and would only raise her eyebrows if she caught his gaze.

Rune: Anya's hand was squeezed. A good sport as usual. She didn't mind now, but someday she'd be rolling her eyes.

"Not everyone is like No," he muttered, kissed the back of her hand.

Anya: She nodded, looking at the empty space for the faintest glimmer of anything. But seeing nothing, she looked to the mage instead.

"I guess it's a relief, to find someone who understands you. It's not exactly the same as what I do, but I get it."

He could see what others couldn't. She could hear what no one else understood. A voice for the voiceless.

Rune: Anya's arm was wrapped around his own, bringing her that much closer as they existed through the iron gate and the safety of Hillkate.

"With your childhood, I'm surprised you don't see them. Can happen, sometimes, to those with trauma."

Anya: She took his arm as easily as she always did, her head tipping against his in a brief show of affection.

"Mm. Maybe it would have been too much for one person. Between ghosts and animals I'd never have a moment of quiet."

Rune: "Ha." She wasn't wrong. As useful as it could be, as fulfilling as it could be, he didn't wish his power on her. She had enough altruism on her plate.

"Together we're... some kind of superhero. Is it any wonder you chose me," he smirked.

Anya: The picture he painted had her laughing, silent but genuine.

"Dynamic duo. I like it. You're gonna have to wear a mask and a cape. All my childhood dreams are coming true."

Rune: "I think we've talked about this, or did I see into the future? Yours would be emerald, I think."

Anya: "We did. Or... we talked about me drawing my super suit when I was little. We never talked about designing yours. Emerald for me. What about you?"

Rune: He knew the answer but shrugged, opening his free arm to present himself.

"This is it." Sans an unassuming puce tie. "You're seeing me in my work clothes."

Anya: She gave him a deliberate once-over. Interesting, to know how he dressed when he did what he did.

"Handsome." She repeated her earlier compliment, but soon shook her head. "But that's just you. If we're teaming up, we have to look like it. Obviously."

Rune: "Hmm. I don't watch TV. You'd have to pick someone for me." But to look as though he were teaming up with her. He considered. "Something green, maybe. You said we have to look like a team."

Anya: "No comic books, either?" She smirked. "Dashing heroes and surprisingly sympathetic villains? We don't have to match perfectly. We just have to complement each other."

Rune: Rune looked at his suit, feeling just a bit naked without a tie.

"I'm missing my tie," he decided. "Maybe... maybe a domino mask. Is there a comic hero in a suit and eye covering?"

Anya: "A few, I think. Sharp suit with a hat to match. Mask." She smiled crookedly.

"I might have to make some tweaks to mine, but it could work. We can go back for your tie; we're not too far."

Rune: "No, no. We're talking super suits. Focus!" His smile was cheeky. "Suit, gloves, mask, hat - I'm turning into some noir villain."

Anya: "Okay, okay!" she laughed, squeezing his arm.

"I'll tell you the truth, there are definitely more villains in suits than heroes, but it's not unheard of.  I think you'll be fine. Especially if you're with me."

Rune: "What if I'm the villain?" A serious question posed with only a hint of a smile, thoughtful more than anything.

"I'll give you my weaknesses now."

Anya: "You're not," she said, with complete sincerity. Her faith in him was as solid as stone.

"I'll keep your weaknesses safe; we're a team."

Rune: "The world better watch out. You have no weakness. Men crumble at your merciless feet."

Anya: "I've never met anybody without some weakness. Men crumble at my feet, anyway."

Rune: "Have I ever told you, your confidence is fucking sexy?"

Anya: She laughed, at that, and pressed a kiss to the side of his face.

"You haven't. But better late than never."

Rune: If she left a lipstick mark he wouldn't notice nor care. Not today.

"You want a paper man or a sidekick?"

Anya: No such luck. The worst he'd endure so early in the morning was the faint sheen of a moisturizing lip balm.

"You want to be my sidekick?" she asked, grinning. "Robin to my Batman?"

Rune: "You're the one with the cape," he smirked.

Anya: "Mm. You're not wrong. Have it your way."

She gave his arm a playful little jostle.

"You'll make the cutest sidekick. I'm pretty sure that means you'll have to do what I say."

Rune: "You're taking full advantage of me." Not that he was complaining.

As they rounded the corner, the scent of fresh baked breads and sugar hung in the air. Rune glanced back the way they had come, but not for nostalgia.

"You don't need my name. Your route's that way," he pointed.

Anya: She inhaled that telltale bakery aroma with an appreciative sigh, ignoring the pang of hunger that swiftly followed. They'd be stuffing their faces soon enough.

"That's my job, as your hero. I promise not to abuse my power."

Her gaze followed his for a beat. Seeing nothing again, she turned forward with a nod. They had a shadow.

"What do they want?"

Rune: "To go to his funeral." The streets were relatively quiet. Not a procession of vehicles or pedestrians on either side. Through the hum of life beyond their sight was a solid booming voice. Beyond the bakery was the cathedral, and behind its great arches and domes lay the graveyard.

Anya: The corners of her mouth turned down in a pronounced frown. Very recently deceased, then. And not yet resting in peace. Poor soul.

"Mm. No, thank you. The last thing I need to witness is my mama falling apart and my papa trying to keep it together for her sake."

Rune: That was uniquely specific. Something she had considered before, perhaps.

"You don't have to see anything you don't want to."

Another glance behind. A sigh.

"You go on ahead. I'll catch up."

Anya: "I don't mind waiting. Do you want me to go? I can order for you, if you'd like."

Rune: "Unless you want to walk through a church." He wasn't going to make that decision for her. "Just taking him around the corner."

Anya: "It's fine. Waiting here or walking with you. I'm waiting, regardless. I can take a detour. Let's get him where he needs to go."

Rune: Could he say he loved her again? That would be too much.

"Mein Spatzi." Her hand was lovingly squeezed as they were turned back to the corner.

"Alright old man. You got your wish."

Anya: His squeeze was returned in kind. Anya walked contentedly at his side, wondering if the spirit could even see her, wearing Rune's ring as she was. Perhaps they were invisible to each other. Only Rune able to see them both.

"I'm supposed to be looking at beautiful New York City architecture anyway, remember? No time like the present."

Rune: An old man in life, a young spirit, stared at the seemingly young man, old spirit, talking to himself.

"Brooklyn is superior to Manhattan, don't let anyone fool you."

His head turned an inch to the wraith.

"By the pharmacy? That's you?" He clicked his tongue and shook his head. "Heights just lost the best Greek - mm." Rune sighed through his nose. "Then it's in good hands."

The church rivaled the height of every neighboring apartment building. Three crosses on gold onion domes stretched to the heavens. Its beauty matched only by the other historical landmarks scattered about the borough. One of the few buildings with its original iron gates. He wasn't the only mage watching over Brooklyn.

"You're in there, Papadakis."

Another pause, wherein Rune laced his fingers with Anya, and squeezed again.

"It's... a surprise. I promise it'll be interesting."

Anya: "I haven't spent as much time here, but you know I trust your judgment." Her lips twitched, listening to one half of a conversation. Rune continued to be an impossible man.

She looked up to admire the ornate building, twisting a curl around the fingers of her free hand. It really was a beautiful church.

"Is he on his way?"

Rune: His silence stretched for a breath before nodding once. "Mm. Old man never thought to retire. Left his restaurant to his son. He won't stick around for long."

Anya: "Some people need to work for their entire lives. Keeps them young. I don't think that Mr. Grzesiak would have retired if he'd lived to be a hundred. My papa will probably be the same."

She shrugged. An idle life didn't really suit her, either.

"It was kind of you to walk with him.  It must be scary, to go it alone. Or at least nice to have company."

Rune: That was the theme of their lives. He had realized along the way to the graveyard. It was the most significant of a handful of themes. One could call his reluctance to expire a reluctance to retire. Anya's life was purposeful. The lives that surrounded them shared the same fate.

The sleepless fate of the restless.

"Just talked about his restaurant and his son. Without his son, I don't think he'd be going anywhere."

Anya: "Sounds like he needed someone to talk to, then. I'm glad he had his son. And that his son had him. Maybe we can have Greek, one of these days."

On that subject, her stomach gave another uncomfortable pang, and she tightened her hold on him, turning back in the direction they'd come.

"Now, let's go eat. Before I waste away, right here on the sidewalk. I'm wasting, Rune."

Rune: "Papadakis is the place in Brooklyn Heights... apparently," the mage smirked.

"Oh, my goodness. Do you want me to carry you into the bakery, honey?" The pet name was a slip, but it was too late to take it back. He allowed it to float in the air between them.

Anya: Honey. That was new. She decided immediately that she didn't mind it. It warmed her just as effectively as 'Spatzi' did. One corner of her mouth curved upward.

"You can carry me to the door. I should be able to make it from there."

Rune: The bakery was within view. Scooping Anya into his arms was effortless and for the world to see.

"Are you sure?" Busy fighting a smile. "You can eat your bagels right here."

Anya: She slung an easy arm over his shoulders, laughing delightedly.

"Yeah, but then how do you eat your bagels? I still can't let you starve."

Rune: "You feed me yourself!" he laughed, gently wrinkling around his eyes.

Anya: Her fingers toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck as he walked, burying a chuckle against his shoulder.

"Okay, okay. My hands are yours to use. What do you have on your bagels, anyway? Butter? Or maybe one of those breakfast sandwiches with eggs, hold the cheese?"

Rune: "Hummus," he nodded. "Smoked salmon. Haven't had one in a while. My neighbor usually brings one when he knows I'm in. If I'm not with you, it's just boiled eggs and coffee."

Anya: She hummed in quiet approval. Excellent taste.

"I love hummus. Not as good as cream cheese, for a bagel. But with carrots, or crackers, or chips..."

G-d, she was ravenous. She redirected that line of thought.

"Boiled eggs and coffee. I didn't even see eggs. I'm getting you groceries."

Rune: "I can get groceries anytime." Didn't sound like an enjoyable day out for his best friend, but then again if she offered the same, he knew what his answer would be.

A sigh. "I haven't shopped in ages."

Anya: "And yet, your cabinets are basically empty."

The corner of her mouth lifted. A short trip wouldn't interrupt much, she figured.

"I can see that. I'm happy to do it. I can have them delivered, even. Or order for pickup. Just swing by in an hour or two."

Rune: "You and your fancy online whatevers." They had reached the glass door. Her decision whether she returned to her feet or pulled the silver handle.

Anya: She snorted softly. "I wouldn't call it fancy. Convenient, sure. Don't be stubborn."

In fact, she was fishing out her mobile right at that moment and opening an app. Reaching for the handle of the door was an act of pure distraction.

"Ok. Where are we starting? Eggs?"

Rune: "Making me a grocery list already, you mad woman? Breakfast first." Breakfast, flowers, old nuns, grocery run - their day was filling up. Had they intended this? Had she? The peek into his life was ever expanding.

Anya: "I can multitask." She glanced up at the menu, scanning it briefly, before dropping her gaze back to her mobile. Just as she'd suspected, she knew precisely what she wanted.

"So... eggs?"

Rune: "Mhm." Seemed she was fixed on filling his fridge now to the point of being more interesting than bagels and cream cheese. He would have laughed if it hadn't been for him.

"Ja, mevrouw. I'll eat the eggs you really want me to have," he smirked.

Anya: "I appreciate your cooperation." She gave a satisfied nod, ignoring any eyes that lingered on a grown woman being carried. She'd look back up long enough to place her order, at least. An asiago bagel with garden vegetable cream cheese, and a large soy milk latte. With brown sugar syrup, if they had it.

"What about bread? Do you even have a toaster? I didn't see a toaster."

Rune: A poppy seed bagel with hummus and lox. Coffee, black. He couldn't negotiate for his wallet and cradle her simultaneously. A decision had to be made.

"I use a skillet. Toaster broke in '93." If he started to relax his arm to let her drop, would she cling?

Anya: "'93,'" she echoed, lifting her gaze to his face. "And it's been the skillet ever since, hm?"

That felt like a revelation, though she wasn't quite sure of what, yet. Something to add to her own, private list for the future, perhaps.

The steady support of his arms lessened. She wasn't going to fight it, only slip to her feet with a sigh and add bread, quickly seeking out a table to grab and wait for their breakfast to be ready.

Rune: It hadn't occurred to him to be bothered by it, but the way her gaze lingered, and her echo of the year gave him pause. A small deflective smile creased the corner of his mouth.

"What?"

Anya: "Hm?" She'd located a table near a window and taken a seat, legs crossing at the ankles.

"Nothing. I was just wondering why you never replaced it."

Rune: "Skillet does just fine," he shrugged, sitting across from her. "You do what you're accustomed to."

Anya: "I suppose. And you don't have an issue standing at a stove." Which had to make life much less complicated.

"But you'd also probably say I'm spoiled by convenience. Whatever makes the mundane tasks easier, so I have more time for the stuff that matters most to me. On that note, how do you feel about produce?"

Rune: Ah. If she was going to be a regular visitor of Hillkate, there needed to be some accommodations. The curtain for the bathroom, a toaster...

"What are you trying to make me, healthy?"

Anya: "Healthy and happy, as always. But I don't want to be wasteful if it's just going to rot."

She hummed and scrolled.

"Shelf stable stuff, then. I know you like your oily fish."

Rune: "A toaster," he decided. "Anywhere. Maybe not Thomas and Jesse," he winced. "Probably cursed."

If this was really happening, then he couldn't dismiss her desire.

"Apples and grapes. If I don't eat them, someone else will. I've never had a potato spoil."

Anya: "I can add a toaster, I'm sure." Sooner than she'd expected, but he'd hear no complaints. She only beamed at him, and dropped her eyes back to the screen.

"No. Last thing we need is cursed toast. Apples, grapes, potatoes. Check, check, check."

They could skip right over dairy, of course.

"Bottled water? I think you gave the last of yours to Honey."

Rune: "Sure."

Rune stared out the window, considering what else he could possibly need.

"Get yourself some creamer. That dry stuff. Won't go bad."

More staring, chin now in hand. "I really... can't remember the last time I shopped."

Anya: Sweet man. Her leg brushed against his beneath the table, humming softly at the scrape of fabric over her bare skin.

"Creamer. Check."

French Vanilla, would suit her just fine. She only had her own tastes to consider. There was no dairy in the creamer, but he preferred his coffee black.

"So, who gets your eggs and coffee, then?"

Rune: One hand supported his chin, the other under the table, teasing the tips of his fingers over warm skin. Poker face.

"A nun comes by, sometimes a priest. They make a list for everyone. Most of the time I'm not around, but I still get knocks."

Anya: Anya's face could hide nothing, try as she might to bite down on a smile.

"That's kind of them. Good to know they're looking out for you."

But she still had every intention of sparing them at least one trip.

"That everything? No snacks?"

Rune: "Boiled eggs and potatoes are snacks."

Their order was called. Rune stood to retrieve, glancing back.

"Eating here or walk and eat?"

Anya: Anya begged to differ, but the food was for him. She lifted a shoulder and nodded, watching him collect their breakfast.

Walking would always appeal. Still, they had a set plan for the day.

"You said the flower shop is close by, yeah? Let's eat here, so we don't bring food in."

Rune: Their food was removed from the bag. The lady behind the counter did a double take. So many people, that man included, were usually in and out. That New York life. Sitting was generally reserved for late afternoon with dead eyes and slumped shoulders.

"Next door." The first sip of coffee was heavenly.

"Crackers," he decided. "For the fish. That's it. Whatever else you want in the cabinets... you can have one. A cabinet."

Anya: Her very own cabinet. Anya was too busy smiling at Rune to notice any eyes on them. She buried the expression behind a sip of her latte and reached for what she hoped was her bagel with an eager hand.

She really was ravenous.

"Crackers. Check. And I'll... add a couple of things for myself, then."

Mostly vegetarian or vegan staples, so they wouldn't have to order out every time she stayed over. And she would stay over, it seemed. With a cabinet, and all. She took a very Rune-like bite of her bagel and tried not to choke.

"They don't have a toaster," she said, when she'd managed to swallow. "I'll have to look for one somewhere else."

Rune: Her smile was contagious. There was nothing unusual about that, but knowing something as basic as security filled her with joy—he had forgotten what that felt like. It had taken many long years before laying down roots, only to avoid those very roots out of necessity and convenience.

But this wasn't the same. Security of a person... nothing. Not like her. Not in a lifetime. When was the last time he had told anyone? Even Jesse?

"Careful," he smiled, mirroring her bite.

"Cursed toaster it is," he shrugged. "I'll be back for another beetle, eventually."

Anya: Her next bite was much more measured, despite her efforts to fight a laugh. Hungry or not, she just couldn't keep up with him.

She cleared her mouth with a sip from her drink before speaking again.

"No cursed toasters. I'll find one! There are other stores. The groceries should be ready to pick up by the time we buy flowers and talk to your nuns. Then the day is ours."

Rune: "I warn you, talking to nuns takes twenty minutes to ten hours. Talk about the weather, the Bible, the neighbor's cat, chess, Cab Calloway. You give a signal and we're out of there."

Anya: She covered a chuckle with the back of her wrist, working on another mouthful of bagel.

"Noted. I don't mind chatting for a while. Especially about the neighbor's cat." She flashed a smile.

"I want to get to know them."

Rune: He was hiding his grin behind his cup of coffee. The question was just too easy to pluck.

"The cat or the nuns?"

Anya: She snorted. "Both. Definitely both."

Rune: "What was our code word before? Do you remember? I forget what it was for."

Anya: "Mackerel!" Not something that Anya would easily forget. Not even years later. Her eyes narrowed at him across the table, but her mouth was tight with suppressed laughter.

"For danger. And you didn't use it. What's the point of a code if you don't use it, sir?"

Rune: "Clearly I'm forgetful." Not normally like him, but it was such a throwaway discussion. He had only remembered now, because...

"We should have one for I love you."

Anya: Oh. Well, that softened her smile. She was warmed by more than the early morning sun streaming in through the window.

"Hm. Yes. Definitely not mackerel. Something you won't forget."

Rune: His smile returned, smug this time, and still behind his cup.

"Say 'tobiuo.'"

Anya: Oh, she was suspicious of that smile. She squinted at him, but obliged.

"To...biuo? Is that right? Tobiuo? What does it mean?"

Rune: "Tow-bee-oh." He nodded. She had an excellent ear for language. "Flying fish."

Anya: She burst into delighted laughter, narrowly avoiding her latte taking a path down the wrong pipe. Flying fish, indeed. She did so love him.

"Better than mackerel. Tobiuo, then. You are... so cute."

Rune: There was no hiding his delight now. Chin in hand, eyes narrowed and wrinkled, holding back laughter as he enjoyed the sight of her.

"Have I told you about avatars?"

Anya: A small shake of her head, mirth still in her eyes as she nibbled at what remained of her breakfast.

"Nope. I'm guessing you're not talking about the movie. No blue people with tails?"

Rune: "Lord, have mercy." Just for that, he was finishing his bagel. "Where do you think magic comes from?"

Anya: Her shrug was completely innocent. Anya only knew as much as she'd been told by him. And, more recently, by Vincent.

"Um... you're born with it? And I'm guessing there are probably, like, magical places."

Rune: "Magical places," he mused, then shrugged, nodding as he wiped his mouth with a napkin.

"You could say that. I'm not teleporting to Amsterdam and Cape Town. Where I go is... magical places, yeah."

A sip of coffee would help wash down the conversation.

"Some people are born awakened. Like me. Most of the time, people learn. We call it awakening for a reason. When you realize magic is real, tangible, and you're a part of it, it all clicks. Then the real fun begins. What awakens is a part of your soul, and it takes all shapes. Can you guess what mine looks like?"

Anya: Leaning forward to rest her head on her open palm, Anya hung on his every word. This new openness about his life continued to captivate her.

"I..." She really couldn't begin to guess. What did a piece of a soul look like? Did it glow? Was it like a ball of light? But she recalled his earlier smile, and what had prompted this conversation in the first place.

"A tobiuo... A flying fish?"

Rune: She seemed to enjoy this newly opened window; her enthusiasm was as infectious as her smile. Still, one story at a time.

"Mm. No two are alike. Just one of those things no one talks about," he shrugged.

His gaze was no longer upon her, but just above her, lingering where a halo should be. He breathed slow and deep.

"Ruine has always liked you."

Anya: Her gaze followed his, head tipping back to examine... the grungy cafe ceiling. She was still smiling when she looked to Rune again, her head tilting this way and that.

"Rune, Ruine. Cute."

That a little piece of Rune's soul liked her was wonderful to hear.

"I'm flattered. Is... she always with you? Or... he?"

Rune: "She. Not that she's in a skirt. She just... is." Another shrug. Aware of his body language, he sat up.

"Actually, I see her less than I see you. She just pops up when I'm with you. Comes around when she pleases. No rhyme or reason."

Anya: "I didn't think so, but a fish in a skirt is... a mental image."

One that had her cracking a grin.

"Mm. Does she speak to you? Does she speak at all?"

Rune: "Mm. You could call it that. Sounds like... bird song, if birds could sing underwater. That and," he tilted his head, "a very, very old language."

Anya: Birdsong. A favorite of hers, but that was no secret.

"Must be pretty." Possibly pretty confusing, if Rune didn't understand the language. He probably did, polyglot that he was.

"Does that mean anyone can do magic, then? As long as they learn how?"

Rune: Her question twisted his insides, eyes fixed upon the table with a faraway look behind his lashes. When he looked up, it was with a measured smile.

"With enough belief, practice, skill, of course you can."

Anya: There he went... and she wasn't exactly sure why. What old memory had she inadvertently trampled upon?

"You ok?" she asked, brow furrowed. His answer could wait a moment.

Rune: "I'm not broken." But he offered his hand, anyway.

Anya: "I didn't ask if you were broken," she countered, slipping her hand into his. "Only if you were ok. You looked sad for a minute there, but we don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to. You done with breakfast?"

Rune: "Eyes like a hawk." His smile was brief, but hardly a mask.

"Mm. Flowers for kleine nonnen." He began gathering their trash for the bin.

"Tobiuo."

Anya: Anya made no protest to his tidying. She busied herself with draining the last of her drink and tossing out her cup. His arm was taken again as a matter of course, and given a gentle squeeze. Another 'I love you', this one without words.

"Do you know their favorites, or are we going more generic?" she asked, starting for the door.

Rune: Silent or coded, the love was there. There would come a point when he wouldn't know what to do with it, but for now, cool as a cucumber.

"There's a painting on - I bet I can find it." Keeping her arm for himself, Rune pulled out his phone and did quick research while they walked to the next glass door.

"Sister Francis has this in her living room. One like it," he said, offering his brick. A painting of a nun wearing a heavy crown of flowers stared confidently back.

Anya: Arm looping more securely through his to free her hands, she took his phone.

"Oh, it's beautiful," she mumbled, mostly to herself, attempting to zoom in to get a better look at the crown of flowers the nun wore. She took another moment to examine the blooms on the spear she held, as well.

"Hm. Looks like they might be zawilec... or... or..."

For her life, she couldn't bring the English name to mind.

"These red ones might be cynie. We can show this to the florist. Make something really close. This is perfect."

Rune: Rune looked at the photo again, as though staring might translate what was lost to language. Should he know this word? He didn't even remember the name of his favorite flower if it could be called.

"We'll just shove it in her face, yeah."

There was no urgency in explaining his usual custom of color coding based on the time of year—when he was around to bother. Blue for Angelic Salutation, red for Pascha, green for Pentecost, and white for the fortunate peaceful death of yet another old soul.

In his many decades in and out of the lives of those at Hillkate, a floral gift of every color had been given at least once.

The flower shop was as unassuming as a flower shop could be. Cool-toned and relatively quiet. The dulcet sound of 1950s pop emanated from somewhere behind a split-leaf philodendron, one of the few leaf plants in the entirety of the shop. A woman in her late forties hummed along with Bobby Darin while sorting a large clear refrigerator, thick black curls swaying with her restless bobbing.

Anya: She snorted, still studying the digital image, trusting Rune not to steer her into any obstacles.

"Mm. Maybe less shoving and more politely offering. I like flowers. I don't want to get banned from the shop for life."

The promise of more time in Brooklyn was a warm and comforting presence in the back of her mind, a blanket she didn't want to shed. Surely, in time, she'd become as familiar with the businesses around his flat as she was with those near the squat, ugly building she used to call home.

Anya looked up as they passed through the florist's door, but she kept hold of Rune's brick of a phone. She inhaled the scent of freshly cut flowers with a smile, one that lingered when she spotted the woman running the shop.

"Good morning," she greeted, cheerfully.

Rune: The woman turned around with a smile behind the creases that made her mouth. The name Tammy was etched on a colorful badge pinned to the strap of her apron.

"Well hi," she greeted. "What can I do you for?"

Rune looked from the phone to Anya and back. With a breath, he turned the screen.

"Looking for these." Blunt as a butter knife, the very thing he had warned her about.

Anya: Anya's smile widened. Her affection for the man at her side was apparent in every line of her body. She gave his arm a squeeze, attention still on the dark-haired florist as she swallowed a laugh.

"Or as close as you can get. I thought that I recognized what some of the flowers might be, but I can't remember the name to save my life. Do you think you could help us out? It doesn't have to be perfect. A similar... vibe, is fine."

Rune: Tammy was quick to place her hand behind Rune's, holding him steady and pulling him closer for a better look, staring from above her gold-rimmed spectacles.

"That looks like impatiens, maybe. We ain't got any of those. All tulips, hyacinths, and daffodils this time of year. That's a rose. I think that's a marigold. I can definitely do that. How's that sound? Marigolds, roses; how about some lily of the valley or baby's breath for some white?"

Rune took his hand back and shrugged.

"Sounds like a nun would love it."

Anya: Impatiens. Not the word she was looking for; it didn't really matter, though it would bug her until she thought of it. For the florist, she had a smile and a nod.

"You're the expert, here. I trust you. I'm sure whatever you come up with will be beautiful."

She shifted her focus to Rune. "Are we just doing the one? For the table in the entryway, maybe? Or a posy for each of them?"

Rune: His expression was, for a moment, expressionless, before blooming in a sharp smile and a modest laugh.

"A posy for each sounds fine. This can be for the foyer."

Anya: Her head tipped against his for a moment. Just a quick touch.

"So," she began, looking to the florist once more, "can you do a larger arrangement, and then a few smaller bunches with the same flowers?"

Rune: "Yes, I can! Just tell me how many littles."

"Three," said Rune. His head tilted in Anya's direction. "Unless you wanna give an old priest a flower, then four."

Anya: "Four," she said, definitively. "Let the man get flowers at least once. Thank you! We'll just browse while we wait, I guess."

Rune: "Then you're giving them to him." It was about Anya, and what her presence would do for the old quiet priest on the second floor. Her presence was nothing short of lovely and refreshing. Soul healing, in fact.

"Someone out there has to know when the first human intentionally planted a flower."

Anya: If that was meant to deter her, it had no hope of working. She offered him a beatific smile. "Happy to."

It didn't matter if he chucked them as soon as they left. The meaning was in the giving. He'd feel it, anyway.

Tightening her hold on Rune's arm, she turned in a random direction and started for the nearest display. "Someone you can talk to, maybe.  Unless there's someone old enough to remember. I think someone figured out how to plant a seed way before we knew how to write the process down."

Rune: "A demon or angel, maybe. The angel would say they're the first. A wraith probably knows but that's a travel. Maybe a vampire, but one that old probably isn't in the talking mood."

His voice was just low enough, and the music just loud enough not to harbor concern.

Anya: Anya wasn't eager enough for an answer to his question to go hunting down a demon. Not after her last encounter. Which had also been her first. An angel sounded like a better idea.

"What?" she asked, matching his pitch. They were close enough that it wasn't hard to hear him. "Are older vampires less talkative, or something?"

Rune: "Oh, yeah. What, you haven't met one?" Rune smirked, squeezing her arm.

Anya: Green eyes rolled at him, playfully. "Nope. Haven't been introduced. I'm pretty sure that's your fault."

She rubbed the silken petal of a tulip between her fingers as they passed.

"There's so much to remember. I should be writing this all down."

Rune: "You don't have to remember anything. In fact, you could forget, if you wanted to. I'd understand." But he had a feeling the notion would be taken offensively.

"Are there piwonie in here?"

Anya: "I want to remember everything." And there wasn't so much as a hint of doubt in her tone. He should have known who he was dealing with.

"Piwonie." She grinned at his use of the Polish name. "That's very good."

They'd discussed the flower only the day before, but it still warmed her that he'd remembered.

"Hm. Ah! In that bucket, there." She nodded toward a table on the other side of the little shop. She wasted no time tugging him in that direction.

"Which color do you like best?"

Rune: That was one of the most romantic declarations she could give, and one that poked a fine needle in his heart.

There was only one thing to do other than tell her a truth, and that was to delay said truth and pluck a green peony from the bucket.

"The nuns can't have all the flowers."

Anya: She stepped close enough to bury her nose in soft petals, that little fern curl smile tugging at her lips.

"I agree. That's why I asked which color you like best."

Rune: "Mm, this color," he insisted. "It's yours." But he had a feeling that the answer wouldn't satisfy, so he looked toward the neighboring bucket for a dusty pink sister.

Anya: Coincidentally, being near enough to smell the flowers also meant being near enough to let her lips graze his cheek. Gentle fingers collected each of the blossoms he held, grabbing a handful more of both colors until she'd formed a small posy of green and pink.

"There. That's pretty. Now, we need a little vase."

Rune: Every day, relentlessly whittling at his defenses. Passively chipping and chipping, with the same confidence given in every aspect of her daily life.

The audacity.

A vase for the Hillkate flat, one he would look at and think of her. Then it had to be green... that modest green glass with a sheer black bow on the shelf would do nicely.

Anya: Green. The selection alone was enough to make her smile. She collected it from him and made her way to the front with their bonus haul. They'd have a time trying to carry all of their flowers home, but they'd manage.

Rune: Rune would pay in cash, gathering bouquet after bouquet in his arms with only the intent of carrying more than his guest. She, of course, could haul her personal batch of peonies.

"Fair warning, you're going to have your face touched. Her sight is no better than a straw."

Anya: She'd relieve him of as many as he would allow, taking particular care not to crush the peonies. The walk back to his building wouldn't be a long one.

"That's fine. It's just a face." Anya would let the woman 'see' her in whatever way worked for her. "Anything else I should know?"

Rune: "Hmm." No one was going to lock the doors trying to convert her. Not this decade. But what else was worth a warning? An actual warning...

"They'll want to pray with you."

Anya: "I pray," she reminded him. Generally in Hebrew and not to Jesus Christ, but G-d was the same, no?

"And I don't reject people wanting to pray for me, anyway. I appreciate it."

Rune: Rune could only nod, retracing his steps from the very day they had met. He had prayed in front of her before, never told her what she had to believe, but hadn't felt comfortable worshiping in her presence. Never wanted her to feel a shred of questioning or unwarranted shame. He didn't care what faith she had, so long as she had been raised lovingly, and not forced against her will.

"A nun passed away recently. Absolute rock. I don't think that woman ever smiled. Underneath her frown was a sense of humor. Whether someone said they were atheist, Buddhist, or Presbyterian, it was always. 'It's ok, we all make mistakes.'"

Anya: Her head tipped back with her answering laugh, the sound bright and open in the early morning quiet.  She was quick to bite down on the sound as it bounced off of the sleepy buildings. The neighborhood really was a peaceful one.

"I think I would have liked her. It's a shame I won't get to meet her."

For Anya, religion and culture were irrevocably enmeshed. She was a Jew as much by blood as she was by faith.

"We don't really... proselytize. But I've never minded hearing about other people's faiths. It's interesting to hear what's similar and what's different."

As long as there was mutual respect. She wasn't above giving a pushy asshole a piece of her mind. Or her fist.

Rune: He felt as though he'd told this story before. That sense of déjà vu followed their relationship like a restless spirit, and he began wondering if he had known her in some past life. Perhaps another reason for their amicability.

Back through the iron gate, glancing at the windows above them before pulling at the double door.

"Sisters first, or Mr. 204?"

Anya: "Mm. Let's start here and work our way up, in order."

That seemed less complicated than bouncing up and down, particularly if they were going to pick up the groceries in a reasonable amount of time. She beamed at him before making her way to the nearest door.

"Want me to knock?"

Anya was carrying less than he was. She shifted her burden to one arm and raised her fist. She'd give a polite rap at his go-ahead, and step out of the way so his was the first face seen.

Rune: "Go ahead." She had become comfortable, even here. There would never come a day when this woman was less than loved.

But there was no answer from apartment 101. It was the door to 103 that opened. A tall, hunched woman in gray and white poked her head out, squinting as though her life depended on it.

"Sister Bernadette is seeing the doctor."

Rune looked to the door and back. "Why isn't he-"

"Dashed if I know. Come, have some tea. Bring your friend."

"Sister Francis," Rune whispered, heading in the direction of her slowly closing door.

Anya: The silence that followed her knock had her smile tightening with worry.  101. That's where he mentioned his favorite nun living, right? Just the day before? She hoped the trip to the doctor was a simple wellness check. But one never really knew, where the elderly were concerned.

Anya willed herself to soften, the slight tension easing out of her face and shoulders as she followed behind Rune toward the other flat.

She gave only a silent nod of acknowledgement at his words. She'd allow their hostess to address her, before speaking.

Rune: The odor of incense and black tea wafted into the hallway. The delicate sound of bossa nova jazz greeted them in the brief entryway. The flat was scantly decorated. A cross over her mantel, a gold frame of Saint Adela in between her windows. A blue kettle steamed on the weathered stove.

"These flowers are for you, Sister."

"Are they really?" The bouquet was scrutinized behind glasses. Her dull eyes quickly brightened. "These... These look familiar."

But her gaze was soon captured by the woman at his side.

"Are you going to introduce me to this flower?"

"This one's called an Anya. Sturdy petals. From Poland."

"A pretty wildflower. Come here. Let me shake your hand."

Anya: The Sister's unit was very nearly as sparse as Rune's. But Anya's eyes drifted to each of the little details, in turn. The incense and soft jazz spoke to the woman's personality as well.

Her smile bloomed sunshine warm, cheeks pinking at the gentle compliment. She hastened forward to take the older woman's hand in her callused one.

"It's very nice to meet you, Sister. The flowers are from a painting that Rune showed me. Or, as close as we could get."

Rune: Paper-thin skin wrapped around delicate bones, but both hands cool and gentle, gave a loving squeeze.

"Oh! The one in my hallway, is it? Mm, mhm. It's very good. Yes. Let's find a vase and brighten their day." Anya was put to work, pointing at one of the white cabinets in her kitchen. "In there, I think. And what are those?" The batch of green and pink scrutinuzed.

Anya: Anya nodded her agreement, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, once she'd reclaimed her hand.

"I thought it was beautiful. Such lovely colors."

She was more than happy to lend her hands, setting the rest of her burden aside, for a moment . It felt good to busy herself with pulling down a suitable vase for the Sister's little bunch of flowers. She filled it with cold water and tipped in the packet of plant food that had come with the blossoms. Practiced fingers set to arranging them in a flattering style. There was also the matter of the larger bouquet to contend with...

"Oh, those? Those are for unit three-o-three. They should brighten the place up a little. Would you be willing to spare a bigger vase, for a little while? We got some for the foyer, too."

Rune: Rune smiled to himself. He wanted to excuse himself to the hallway for a cigarette, but there was no way he could escape Sister Francis now. He could feel her dull eyes upon his back.

"I have mason jars," she gestured again to the cabinet. "We can cut the stems shorter. Should do fine. I have more than I need."

"You haven't made preserves in years."

"Two, Mr. Rune. It's been two years."

Anya: "Mm. I can make that work."

When she was satisfied with her arrangement, she set it off to one side and made for the cabinet again.

"Do you have shears, or something?" She asked, grabbing for the largest bouquet. "What kinds of preserves did you make?"

Rune: "Strawberry rhubarb. Raspberry. Anything I could get my hands on. But these hands aren't much good for anything anymore but brushing my hair and my teeth. Wilting. Just wilting like a flower, I am."

A pair of gray and green sheers were pulled from her junk drawer, as well as a box of matches, taken from her as she waddled towards a cluster of yellow candles.

"You don't look a day over 70."

"You hush your mouth."

Anya: Tempted to offer her own hands for the Sister's use, it was fear that stilled her tongue. Not of the nun, no. Of the stove that was involved in canning of any sort.

Anya merely smiled at the exchange between Sister Francis and Rune, taking the shears with an appreciative dip of her head.

"Thank you." She snipped ends from the stems of the largest bouquet with swift, brutal efficiency. The process wouldn't take her long.

Rune: Rune set to work lighting the candles of various sizes, tallest to shortest. Sister Francis looked from one guest to the other, retreating with a sigh to her favorite chair, discolored from many hours of constant use.

At least she could crochet while she scowled.

"Why do you know this man?"

Anya: She eyed those candles warily for only a moment, quickly dropping her gaze back to the task at hand.

"He just... fell out of nowhere , one day," she laughed, quietly. That was truer than the woman probably knew.

"And he kept coming back. I decided I liked him."

Rune: "He does that, doesn't he? Fall out of thin air. As if from nowhere, but maybe Heaven."

Nun and exorcist exchanged looks.

"She knows what I am. What I do."

Her brows shot high, looking at Anya with new albeit same dull eyes.

Anya: "I do now," she clarified, separating flowers and discarded stems into neat piles.

"I didn't when we first met. I thought he was like me. A mutant, I mean." She gave a half shrug.

Rune: "Another of God's miracles."

Her comment, so casual, made Rune look in Anya's direction.

"I can speak confidently of one."

Anya: Rune's words had her face heating. She bit down on her cheek in vain effort to fight a smile, absently tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

"I've never thought of it that way. Maybe you're right. I always did consider it a gift. Not everyone feels the same."

Another shrug, as she snipped away.

Rune: "People thought the earth was the center of the universe. Didn't make it so. A miracle is a miracle even if no one sees it."

Neither could Rune keep his smile to himself, but he did keep his distance, leaving himself as a barrier between Anya and the candles.

"There was a time in my life I would have told you I was cursed."

Anya: "Mm. I agree. I think I like that way of looking at it." She just might share the concept with her friends at the community center. Possibly.

"You? Mr. Luck?" she asked with raised eyebrows, scooping up discarded stems and tossing them into the trash. She'd fill the second 'vase' the same as the first, and begin arranging the trimmed flowers.

Anya did know of one curse. The one he'd only just shared with her. But she wasn't going to mention that, not knowing how much Sister Francis knew.

Rune: "Mr. Luck," he echoed. The rocking chair by the fireplace was pulled to the center of the room. Making himself at home where he'd been standing. Their hostess thought nothing of his peculiarities. Anya was the only one standing, now.

But he'd seen the way she eyed the flames.

His hands were soon given purpose. The end of Sister Francis' crocheted blanket tossed in his lap.

"You're not the only one in this room that's had to practice."

"Oh, yes, this mutant business. What is it exactly you do?"

Anya: "Mutant business." The phrase made her chuckle. She lifted a wrist to her mouth to muffle the sound, a marigold pinched between her fingers.

Her gaze shifted briefly to Rune. It soothed something inside her to see him so at ease here. Her smile softened, eyes falling back to her task.

"It's, hm, a kind of telepathy. Limited to non-human animals. You probably won't be surprised to hear that I'm a veterinarian."

Rune: "Animals?" An inch of work later, she continued. "Do they speak words? Sentences? We give them funny voices, but I've always assumed it's just urges. Their language being yips and hisses, you can translate that?"

Anya: "Mm. Not words, no. Not usually. Depends on the sapience of the animal. It's mostly feelings. Impulses, images, memories. I can understand them, and help them to understand me. I can soothe them. And control them, technically. Maybe... compel is a better word."

She looked up to catch Rune's eye, head tilting to one side. "Compel?"

Rune: Rune caught her glance and held it, looking away only to consider. "Mm... compel. You only boss me around," he smirked.

Anya: She contemplated chucking one of the marigolds at his head, but fitted it into the jar instead.

"Only sometimes," she lied, fighting a laugh.

It took her less time to finish the second arrangement, having the first as a reference. Sneaky fingers unwound the bow from their bouquet of peonies to tie around the mason jar, instead. Her smile was pure satisfaction as she set the arrangement aside.

"There." With a deep inhale, she grabbed the first. "Where do you want these, Sister? On the table here? Maybe by a window?"

Rune: Sister Francis squinted at the bouquet. Not a scrutiny, but the everyday struggle to see through eyes past their prime.

"The window," she instructed. "They should enjoy some sun in their final days, don't you think?"

Rune remained quiet and flabbergasted. He couldn't seem to wipe the smile from his face. Not a curse or lunacy, but certainly unusual. The old nun wasn't blind to his mirth, either.

"Do you play games?" she asked. "I can't find a soul willing to play backgammon."

"It's so boring, Sister."

"You're just ruthless and drag the games!"

Anya: "I do," she agreed with a nod, turning a sunny smile on the nun and making her way to the nearest window. She was careful in placing the arrangement on the sill, and stepped back to admire her handiwork. Well done.

"I love games. But I have to confess that I've never played backgammon before. I'm happy to learn."

Rune: "Next time, next time. You'll see her again."

And there her brow rose, turning all of her attention on the exorcist. There his shoulders tightened, and her crochet blanket was tossed back in her lap as he stood.

"You're not the only face we're seeing today. Enjoy your flowers. You'll be playing chess with Sister Bernadette before nightfall."

Anya: Fully prepared to sit through an impromptu lesson, Anya stopped short at Rune's words. Her own brows rose along with the sister's. But she only bit down on her lip and nodded.

"Of course she will," Anya agreed. "And we can play whatever game you'd like."

 For now, she would take to collecting all of the flowers they'd set aside.

"It was so nice to meet you, Sister Francis."

Rune: The nun remained seated, lips thin. This conversation wasn't over. It has only just begun and he knew it. He'd said too much and now his least favorite neighbor would have words.

But for now, she raised a hand farewell.

"Be good, be safe."

Anya: "Yes, ma'am," would be her parting words. For once, she'd allow Rune to take the door, as her arms were well occupied.

Rune: Through the door they went, shut behind Anya's parting figure. Their shared peonies were taken with a sigh.

"If we played games we wouldn't see the rest of daylight. We've got 204 and... tickets to see your mother to sort."

Anya: "I get it," she shrugged, crossing the foyer to set the large arrangement on the entrance table. It did its job to brighten the space and she smiled.

"But I'm pretty sure you're in trouble." Only teasing, her grin said. "Let's go, then. Tickets won't be a problem. I just need to talk to my parents. There's no way that I can go home and not see them."

Rune: "Ahh," he waved off her teasing, managing an earnest smile, albeit brief.

"It'll be a miracle for me." But, he'd leave it at that, for now, unless prodded for an explanation.

"So, 204?"

Anya: "A miracle?" she asked, looking at him as she started for the stairs.

"Mhm. If that's where's next, with Sister Bernadette gone. We'll have to make sure she gets hers, when she's home."

Rune: "Mm... mhm." Half a flight of stairs later, "I've never used my ID to fly."

Anya: "Because you've never flown? IDs are kinda mandatory."

Rune: "Told you, I know people. People like me, we take ships, or buy a porter's favor."

Anya: "I'm not judging. We can do one of those, if you want. We don't have to fly. But a ship would take time. I'd need to work out a schedule."

Rune: He shook his head, taking the steps slower than he normally would for the sake of conversation. "I paid top dollar for the lie. It should work."

Anya: "If you get caught at Customs and deported, I'll visit you."

She battled a smile for a moment, before her expression sobered.

"Your coat will have to be run through an X-ray machine. It's not going to set off any alarms, is it?"

Rune: A moment of consideration, lips thinning, he shook his head. "It'll stay behind. I can pick it up when we land. Just a regular Joe Schmoe."

Anya: "Stay behind?" She was horrified by the very thought and her face hid none of it. "This is feeling like too much. It's too much, Rune. We don't have to go. Or we can go later. Or I can go by myself. She only has to see me, right?"

Rune: "You're worried for my coat?" he chuckled, though it wasn't but a moment later he softened. "Your mother needs you, An. I'm going with you."

Anya: "I am."

Worried for him, more accurately. Without it for however long this journey took them. Less time than if they went by boat, she supposed. Her fingers ached to take his, but she settled for pressing her lips to his cheek.

"Fine. You're the most stubborn person I've ever met, you know."

Rune: "Funny, I can say the same for you. What was that kiss for?" He could still feel her lips against his skin. Everything about her was still fresh on his mind, and there she was, still before him. She was determined to steal his breath once a day from here on.

"I'll have my ID checked before we get tickets."

But for now, room 204 was just feet away. The sound of sports commentators shouting on the other side the only sound of life. It was Rune who knocked this time.

"Open up, kid."

Wood planks groaned. The sound of leather and metal springs. Footsteps. The door opened, and the end of a metal cane poked through, jabbing at Rune's hip.

"I only have minutes to live. What do you want?"

Anya: "Yeah, but the difference is, you would be lying," she grinned. "Do I need a reason?"

Anya certainly didn't think so. Love was the answer. As always.

She turned her smile toward the shut door, waiting just to one side as they listened to the shuffling from inside the flat. The old man's words had her chuckling in an instant.

She stepped closer to be seen over Rune's shoulder, her smile sunny.

"Sounds like we got here just in time, then."

Rune: The man was caught off guard. Sister Bernadette was the eldest nun, but 204 was the frailest-looking of them all. The years had not been kind to his posture. If not for his cane, a strong wind would likely blow him away.

"What's - Who's this?"

"This is Anya, Liam. Be nice."

"Oh." The priest took a step back, fixing the stringy wisps of brown hair from his forehead. Had to be presentable for a lady.

"A pretty stranger isn't an answer. What do you want?"

"A hello, for starters. She's brought you a little something."

Anya: Her smile softened at his quick grooming, and at the compliment, however unintended. She'd offer the first greeting, stepping closer with a small dip of her head.

"Hi! It's nice to meet you. We brought flowers." She lifted the bundles in her arms pointedly.

"Just a little something to brighten your day," she explained.

Rune: Liam looked from the bouquet to the Anya woman and back. As flabbergasted as Rune expected him to be. This wasn't how things were done. Not for so many men.

"I... uh... I have a uh... this is for me?"

"Yes, it's for you, kid. Get outta the way. We'll put it on a table."

More shuffling, opening the door wider for the two of them.

"Well, you already bought em. Put em anywhere."

Anya: "Mhm." His bewilderment came as no surprise. Anya took it in stride, her smile only warming as she stepped past him and into the flat.

She eyed the layout, gaze locking on the kitchen.

"Do you have a jar, maybe? A glass is fine. Just so they can have a little water."

Rune: "I um, a mug. Yeah, the stein. That thing with the lid."

Rune gestured back to the still-rocking recliner. "Go on, sit back down. What are you listening to?"

"NBA. What else do I listen to?"

"Soccer, golf, baseball, fucking cricket."

"Don't cuss under my roof."

"Yeah, fine. Sit down. How's your foot?"

"The devil take it."

Rune's lips thinned, doing his damnedest to swallow a barking laugh. "Ah, kid. Want a drink?"

"I've got a bottle on over there. Bring it."

Anya: "Oh, that'll be nice." Her head bobbed in approval, and she set to work. It soothed her to have busy hands while the two men talked.

She filled and arranged, humming softly to herself. She was only half listening to the exchange.

Rune: "Who the - When did you get a Stanley?"

The two continued their exchange, glances from both men to the gently humming beauty across the modest flat.

"In all my years-"

"Don't start. I'll hear enough from Francis."

"Miss. Miss, come here. Come here, please."

Anya: Anya glanced up from the half-finished arrangement, a rose twirling idly between her fingers. She stuck it swiftly into the lidded mug and crossed swiftly to where Liam sat.

"Yes?"

Rune: Rune stood and stepped back with a sigh, hand sliding down his face, already exhausted. Liam turned in his chair, legs propped and arms resting on each cushion. For a beat he stared, from her eyes to her hair to her clothing.

At last, dry lips parted.

"Are you lost? Blink - Blink twice if you're captive."

"Oh, shut up."

Anya: The once-over was expected. Anya wouldn't wilt under the scrutiny, her posture straight but not stiff. Easy confidence.

His words, on the other hand, caught her completely off guard. She laughed, sharp and sudden, her body tipping forward with the force of it. She brought a hand to her mouth far too late to stifle the sound.

"Oh, I like you. I like him, Rune." She aimed that broad, toothy grin in his direction before turning back to Liam.

"No worries, sir. I'm here happily and of my own free will. If anything, I'm holding him captive. Made him buy flowers and everything. Poor man. You should pity him."

Rune: Her pleasure made the old priest's day. His expression was every bit smug when he turned back to Rune.

There wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. He'd known Liam since he was a freckled bratty child. He knew what that look meant. There would be gloating in his future.

"Are his flowers finished? I'm done with him."

"Hold him captive more often. This is hilarious."

Anya: "Nope." Her lips popped pleasantly on the 'P'. She found herself firmly in cahoots with the priest at her dear exorcist's expense. Her smile couldn't possibly wane as she meandered back toward the table and her flowers.

"And don't rush me, either. These things take time."

She winked at the elderly man as she picked up a marigold.

"Don't worry. He's stuck with me."

Rune: "Why are you all conspiring against me," was completely rhetorical. He knew the answer; as plain as the nose on his face. The answer was too surreal, belonging to some other fortunate spirit.

His gaze returned to her, and he sighed.

"Nice something sticks," said Liam, twisting his crooked spine for the magazine that had fallen.

"I've been here for years. What more do you want?"

Liam just smiled, opening the New York Times with a papery snap.

Anya: Anya only shook her head. Conspiring? She would never!

The grin that refused to wane said otherwise as she tucked the flower into the mug and grabbed another.

It was too easy to fall back into the routine of the task. With two under her belt, it was simply a matter of recreation. She was back to humming absently for the handful of minutes it took her to finish.

Crossing the room with the bouquet in hand, she set it on the coffee table with a final adjusting of stems.

"There. Thank you, for taking these off of my hands."

Rune: Unlike Sister Francis, there were no other seats in Liam's apartment. A single chair at the small square table pressed against the kitchen counter. An unplugged TV decades past its prime. A bare room with a cross and a picture of Mother Mary over the fireplace. A room too similar to Rune's.

The exorcist meandered his way to the kitchen, hovering where he knew he wasn't needed. Eventually leaning on his elbows as he watched in loving silence.

Liam leaned forward in his seat, squinting at his gift.

"Yes, those are nice. That's nice of you. God bless you."

Anya: She waved a hand, smile soft.

The flat was small, and nearly as spartan as Rune's. Anya decided she wanted to check in on him again, someday soon.

For now, she looked to the exorcist and back.

"We'll let you get back to your game.   This was fun," she said. She meant it earnestly.

Rune: It didn't seem he believed her words, but shrugged nonetheless. She was a kind soul. There was no doubt about that.

"We'll be seeing you again?"

Not this again. If there was something he could throw that wouldn't make the glass man crumble...

"Yes, Liam. You'll be seeing her again."

The same raised brows. The same damn look.

Anya: "Soon," she assured, gathering up the blossoms that remained once more. For Rune's sake, she did her best to swallow a laugh at the old priest's expression.

"Great meeting you."

Rune: Three bouquets out of their hands. Liam's sight was too weak to see Rune holding her fingers before the door closed.

"Goodbye, dear."

He could breathe easier in the hallway.

"That's enough socializing for today."

Anya: Anya's laugh was soft enough for only him to hear, grip tightening on his hand as she made her way toward the stairs and the sole flat on the top floor.

"That wasn't nearly as much as yesterday. It's not even lunchtime."

But it wasn't a protest. She was always happy to have him to herself.

"I still have to pick up the groceries, but we can figure out plane tickets first."

Rune: That laugh like sweet nectar. Her energy was contagious; everyone, save one, now knew his dirty little secret.

She was the first woman, the first anyone, he had ever brought to their doorstep; she was the first anyone with a name, with history, the first anyone who would be as constant as themselves.

How thrilling, how stupid, how dangerous.

Because before her, there was death. There was Aoi, there was Enoch, there was Arthur, there was Maximus. There was death and insanity.

Walking through the door, he couldn't bring himself to let her go.

"How about... if you get groceries, I can see to my ID. We'll go from there."

Anya: "Solid plan," she agreed, dipping her head once. If he wanted to keep her hand, he could have it.

Anya tugged him toward his tiny kitchen. His neighbors would not be the only ones to have their flats brightened.

She left the missing nun's flowers on the counter, and set to filling the little, green vase. Priorities.

"They should be ready, by now. I'll check in a minute."

Rune: Her hand was finally released for the sake of work. The one and only chair was dragged to the other side of the table, its back facing the kitchen and straddled.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

Anya: There would be no feigning ignorance. Her smile spoke for itself.

"Of course I am."

A packet of food for the peonies as well, tipped into the vase before reverent fingers began rearranging the stems.

"I like this place. I like your neighbors. I love you. What's not to enjoy?"

Rune: One gentle attack after the other. To say she loved him so casually. Such confident audacity.

His elbow rested on the back of the chair, him chin in hand.

"Mm." He had nothing to say. He just wanted to admire her for a beat, before getting back to reality.

Anya: "Mm," she echoed, stifling a laugh at his silence.

There wasn't much to be done where their personal bouquet was concerned. Anya needed to ensure a tasteful arrangement of green and pink before she sought out a place to display them.

The desk beside the bedroom window would do nicely. Fingertips brushed Rune's cheek as she passed. Gone for mere seconds, she returned with empty hands.

"I'll head out. Shouldn't take me long."

Rune: Rune leaned into her hand. His eyes closed in her absence, just existing until the sound of her voice forced them open. He was tired. It had little to do with sleep and everything to do with peace.

"Don't get into trouble." A simple request in this neighborhood. He would not move until she was beyond the door and down the hallway. Just two phone calls is all it would take. One to a phone number leading straight to voicemail. The next required patience. Waiting for the responding call and the voice of a woman on the other line. Yes, everything was up to date. So long as he allowed himself to age relative to the information on his papers, he had nothing to concern himself with for another 40 or 50 years.

So long as he allowed himself to age. He still didn't like it.

Coffee. He needed coffee and a cigarette, and his favorite wall to stare at until Anya's return.

Anya: "Promise, promise." She couldn't imagine stumbling into trouble, here. Perhaps if she went looking, but that was stress that neither of them needed.

Without Rune at her side to hold her hand and make pleasant conversation, Anya was all swift efficiency. She made the walk quickly, and was only slowed slightly by a chat with the grocer and her burden on the way home.

The shut door gave her pause. She didn't suspect that he'd locked it behind her, but she raised a fist to knock, anyway.

Rune: Gentle rapping jarred him from his taciturn mind. He sucked the last of his cigarette down, thumbing out the butt in the ashtray on his tiny dining table. The last of the smoke escaped from his lips as he opened the door, waving away the burden from Anya's face.

"You already know your way around."

Anya: Her nose wrinkled at the smell of smoke. It was an instinctive reaction that she didn't follow up with a comment.

"Basically," she shrugged, slipping past him and straight to the little kitchen. He could protest if he pleased, but she was cleaning out his fridge before anything new made its way home.

"I had my mobile, and it wasn't far." Bags deposited onto the counter, she set to work.

"The lady running the store was so sweet. She gave us a little box of peaches that are supposed to be amazing. I'd never heard of them. Did you sort out your passport?"

Rune: The door was shut behind her. Only then was it locked. As much as he wanted to reach for another cigarette, he dumped the ashes into the trash instead, glancing over his shoulder at the old food being banished from his shelves.

"Mm. I have a whole identity, just mine, for another 40 years, at least. So, passports, driver's license - just another human being."

Anya: "I'm not convinced. You're still an impossible man."

Her head shook, her smile crooked. She tossed an apple that had seen better days into the bin and reached for an old takeout container.

"Where do you get a set of fake documents, anyway? You don't drive. Is there an underground magic counterfeiter? Or just a... regular guy?"

Rune: "You really want to know?"

The fridge door was opened wider. He might as well help if she was going to play house with him.

Play house... hardly play. She had. She was.

"A whole intricate network. Vampires influence outcomes; people with an organization called the Technocracy. We all have our means. We wouldn't survive this technological world we live in otherwise. It's why so many have just... not come back from the Umbra."

Anya: "Yes." A simple answer. She was curious, rather than struck with an intense desire to commit fraud. Just another window into his life.

They could work twice as quickly with two sets of hands. Anya shifted to make room for him.

"Mm. Makes sense. They track everything, these days. It sounds complicated. And being stuck in the Umbra sounds terrifying. From what you've told me about it, anyway."

She inhaled deeply and released the breath on a sigh. "I guess we'll find out how good they are soon."

Rune: "Stuck. Yeah, some. Some don't want to come back. There's whole cities out there no sleeper has ever laid eyes on. Places I haven't even been. Doesn't help those of us that stick around. If they were all here, I imagine the world wouldn't be so... constricted."

Anya: "Whole cities," she echoed, shock flitting across her features. Everything she learned about that impossible place somehow painted a picture that was both a little clearer and a little more obscure.

She dampened a paper towel to give the shelves a quick wipe.

"Constricted?"

Rune: The rest of the groceries now waited on Anya's cleaning. So he took to the counter, hands resting between his knees.

"Consensual reality. The more of theirs the less of ours."

Anya: "Mm. Right." Another towel, this one to dry.

"So, does that mean the Umbra is like a magical free-for-all?"

Rune: "Ha!" He was staring at her now. How surreal. "I don't know how to answer that," he admitted. "There are different realms, and what you can do in those realms differs. The realm with cities, I've never been. Some places are harder to find than others. Easier to live. I usually get stuck in the same three."

Anya: His laugh caught her off guard. She poked her head out of the fridge long enough to glance at him. Then just as quickly back to her wipe down.

"Not a place, then. Lots of places stitched together, without the convenience of a map. Do you think anybody's ever tried? To map it out, I mean? Or maybe it changes... like the forest in that one movie..."

A thoughtful hum as she tossed the used towels. She was satisfied enough with the quick job, and began unpacking paper bags.

Rune: "Mm. People probably have. Scholars, someone. It spans forward and out, up and down. I've seen the sky full of rings and too many moons. Places without a sky at all. Where I've been," he voice trailed. "I've been lucky." His smile was measured.

"Are you done cleaning my kitchen?"

Anya: He'd seen a lot. It made sense. Impossible man that he was.

"Of course you have."

That much was never a surprise. She slotted herself between his legs, a jar of almond butter in one hand.

"For now. Which cabinet is mine, then?" she asked, giving the jar a pointed little shake.

Rune: His smile was unique to her. Their little secret. His legs opened without word. Hands on either side of the counter. Not touching her took conscious thought.

"That one," he nodded, not taking his eyes off her. "Or surprise me."

Anya: "Hmmm. I think I like this one better."

She reached for the handle just beside his head. It was a transparent excuse to step closer, pulling the door open as she did.

Her chest pressed to his as she leaned to slide the jar onto the shelf just over his shoulder.

"You don't mind, do you? That's not your favorite cabinet, or something, is it?"

Rune: Her scent was so inviting, beckoning him closer. Her heat felt through their clothes. That coy little smile, that mischief in her eyes. Intoxicating. The woman had a PHD in bringing him back from the brink.

"I'll let it slide," he smirked. "For a price."

Anya: A silent huff of a laugh stirred the air between them. She'd yet to step away, despite her empty hands. She met his dark eyes unflinchingly.

"Name it."

Rune: At last his hands came to life. Both reaching for her hair. Fingers lost in the depths of her heavenly curls.

He could ask for just about anything. A kiss, a confession, her hair off her shoulders, her mouth on his neck. She could make such demands of him, too. He wondered when it was she could have, realizing it was well beyond the day at the park.

"Do whatever it is you really wanna do. Right now. Don't think."

Anya: That was simple enough. Hardly a price at all. No thinking. They'd discussed something similar before, hadn't they? Years ago.

Her hands came to rest on his thighs, and she claimed his lips without another word.

Rune: What a blessing. His eyes closed, sighing out every ounce of stress that had begun accumulating in his shoulders. What a privilege.

He wanted to bottle this moment and relive it in desperate times.

"Tickets." A word finally uttered in between tiny kisses to subdue his passion.

Anya: Fingertips dug into the flesh of his thighs, and slid up, exploratory, to settle at his waist. Her mouth didn't leave his, even as he uttered that single word. She caught his lower lip with her teeth.

"What? Do you think they're going to sell out?" she mumbled, and gripped the fabric of his jacket. Ridiculous.

But she did need to phone her parents before she finalized anything. That thought was enough to cool even the most blazing heat.

"Ok." She stole a final kiss and shifted a hand to rest gently on his cheek. "Ok."

There wasn't too much food to put away. She'd step out of the bracket of his legs to deal with the rest of it.

Rune: Dangerous were those hands on his waist, making him feel delightfully vulnerable and small. He wondered if her telepathy had crossed the animal-human barrier. She knew him, perhaps more than she realized. So effortless to submit to her whims, he wondered if she had always perceived his true color.

There would be no swift rescue for her hair, cradled in both fists. He smiled into her quipping.

"Tickets before I slip my fingers somewhere distracting. Work before play."

He could dissuade her only because it wasn't forever.

"I'll do the rest. What time is it in...?"

Anya: Mouth twitching at his teasing promise, Anya was tempted to raise a protest. Like with the cleaning, putting things away would go faster with four hands. But he'd be no help to her on her call. The quicker both of them were finished, the sooner he could explain exactly which distracting places his fingers itched to wander.

"Ok," she repeated, digging her mobile out of her bag. "Świebodzin. Or close to there, anyway."

The population of the village where she'd grown up could probably fit into two blocks, in Brooklyn.

"Annnnd iiiiiit's... almost five PM. I'm not interrupting anything."

One more kiss, simply because she could, and she slipped out of the kitchen to shuck off her boots and stretch out onto his sofa with her phone.

Rune: If he chased her lips this time he would surely fall off the counter. There were groceries to sort, and other randoms to tidy while she consulted her family. He expected no mention of himself. Neither a secret nor a priority in this regard. Just another lost soul. A job. It was tidy.

Tidier than his kitchen. The last item placed in the door of his fridge, he began meandering the house looking for discarded items of clothing.

Anya: Anya had no concern for how much of the conversation Rune understood. She had nothing to hide. Not from him.

A change of heart was the explanation she'd give. Which wasn't a lie, really. She'd be home for Passover after all. The time off of work had already been scheduled, and she needed the time between now and then to sort out care for her animals for longer than a day or two, anyway.

She ended the call with a promise to offer more details when she had them. Her chest ached with the force of her inhale as she heaved a massive sigh. She didn't budge from her place on the couch, only pulled up her browser to begin the hunt for tickets.

Rune: Rune couldn't recall the last time he had cleaned his house. Any house. He hadn't seen his other haven in years. For some inexplicable reason, the Umbra didn't often spit him out on the west coast. He assumed after so many years it was the realms he frequented. That he couldn't change. Wouldn't.

By the time her phone call ended, he was in the bathroom wiping down surfaces and gathering the last of his laundry.

"I understood two words," he said proudly, squeezing her foot as he crossed the room.

Anya: She laughed, giving her foot a little wiggle when he released it.

"Good job. We'll have to practice, before we go. We're leaving end of the month."

Provided she could find suitable tickets. She was deep in a silent debate between a non-stop flight and extra legroom, but glanced up to watch Rune move through the flat.

"Are you doing laundry?"

Rune: End of the month. The urge to say her mother wasn't going anywhere tickled his tongue, but he refused. She already knew that.

"Yes. I'm thoroughly ashamed of my flat," he deadpanned. "I'm going down to the basement. Pray for me."

Anya: "Harva berkot lech, ahuvi." She wouldn't bother offering a translation from the Hebrew blessing, but her mouth curved into a crooked, knowing smile.

"I'm happy to offer my hands."

Rune: "Your hands can be on any part of my body while I start the washer," he smirked.

Anya: "Not what I meant." But did that stop her from sitting up with a groan? Not at all.

She smoothed a hand over mussed curls as she stood, the other still clutching her mobile.

"Take me to your basement, then."

After a beat, she repeated the phrase in Polish. "Crash course."

Rune: Rune stared at the ceiling as he tried to remember his basic lessons. It hadn't been that long since their last conversation, yet on the spot required a think.

"Piwnica," he sounded out.

All the way back down the stairs to the end of the hall on the first floor. To the small unassuming white door leading down a final set of stairs with massive storage on either side of the room. Twelve individual storage units caged in floor-to-ceiling chain link. Two washers and two dryers filled the space at the end of the room.

"Pralka i suszarka," he muttered as he worked.

Anya: Not exactly the coziest of spaces, but they wouldn't be down there for long. A slow curl of a smile bowed her lips at his continued practice.

Slender arms wrapped him in an embrace from behind, cheek resting on his shoulder, mindful of the hands that loaded the washing machine. She'd been given carte blanche to touch, after all.

"To było idealne." Her voice was low, just loud enough for him to hear. She went on, more quickly than she usually did.

"Co jeśli przez resztę dnia będę mówił tylko po polsku? Czy nadążysz?"

Rune: His smile was a private affair. Not a cleared throat or pause as the last sock was tossed in. But when she started in with a natural pace, he couldn't help but look over his shoulder. His eyes narrowed playfully.

"Niegrzeczny. Wszystkiego, co chcę powiedzieć, nie potrafię powiedzieć po polsku." Much slower, much more careful, and not perfectly pronounced, but there was effort.

Anya: The sound that left her could only be described as a giggle, soft and bubbling. Her arms tightened around his middle. She was as biased as ever where his progress was concerned. Perfectly perfect.

"Szkoda," she sighed, not sounding the least bit apologetic. She turned her head just so to press her lips to the hinge of his jaw. "Będziecie musieli znaleźć inny sposób komunikacji."

Still not as slowly as she usually spoke with him. The challenge was clear.

Rune: "You want me to - " His lips folded in on themselves, flat and thin. Points docked from his test. The balm of her lips was a consolation prize.

"Kiedy byłem - hmm." No. "Dawno temu... tarka. No. Dammit." He laughed at himself. "Washboard? Please."

Anya: Anya joined in his laughter, soft though hers was. She nuzzled the place her lips had been, breathing in mint and pine.

"Tak. Traka. Like... grater, but it works. Ale można powiedzieć deska do prania. Albo deska myjąca. Używałeś takiego jako dziecko?"

Rune: Rune squinted at the washing machine. Suddenly English was ridiculously easy, and yet somehow he could not read the words revolving around the dials. What was the phrase? It was all Greek to him.

"...Tak. Uh, zagotuj wodę. Wrzątek? Shit."

Anya: Her smile was equal parts delighted and amused. She took mercy on him, unwrapping him from hold and taking his place in front of the washer.

But with the change in position something needed to be rectified. She reached back for his hands to settle them onto her own hips.

"Where's your detergent?" she asked, peering into the washer to double check the color of his clothing. She twisted the dial and started the water.

Rune: He needed little encouragement to move, nor any such push to have his hands upon her. Those hands wouldn't linger on her hips for long, migrating across her ribs to her breasts, back down over her stomach, and around to her back. Permission was a two-way street. They were just as alone here as they would be in his apartment.

"Wire shelf. My hands are full."

Anya: She offered a soft hum of approval at his wandering hands. She suspected that there were no cameras in such a place.

A soft scoff answered him as she grabbed a bottle from the shelf. "Mhmm."

A tablespoon or two of detergent into the wash and she shut the lid. "Thirty-ish minutes."

Rune: "Thirty-ish minutes," he echoed. His lips greeted the back of her neck. The collar of her shirt was tugged, allowing another kiss to her bare skin, but not so far as to stretch the stitching. He wanted it gone.

"That's an awful lot of stairs for 30 minutes."

Anya: The lips against her neck elicited another soft hum; the second kiss, just shy of scarred flesh, made her shiver.

Still, there was no tension in her muscles as she turned to face him. "I was thinking the same thing. I could just ask you to carry me up. At least then only one of us would be tired."

Her mouth barely had time to twitch into a smile before she was kissing him, fingers gripping the fabric of his olive green shirt to tug him flush against her. Such a pretty color.

Rune: Her smile brightened the dimly lit room better than the naked bulb above them. Warmth bloomed outwards from her eager hands. He needed no more encouragement to begin fussing over the buttons of his shirt.

He was a man of his word. Neither Liam nor Francis ventured beyond their front doors.

So his kisses traveled south, with all the confidence of a locked door.

"Must be tired, going down all those stairs. Sit on the washer."

Anya: Anya brushed his hands away from his shirt. There were better places for them to roam. She'd work those buttons loose herself, greedy fingers seeking skin of chest and waist.

But his lips were roaming as well, and Anya was happy to allow them. She laughed, running a hand over his hair.

"I was going to tell you to do that." A confession. She braced her hands on the still-filling washer, anyway, and hoisted herself easily atop it.

Rune: Her confession gave him pause, studying the seriousness of her expression as his hands returned to her waist. It all needed to go.

"Me? And then what?" His smile was devilish, leaving her no time to respond as his lips returned as hungry as before.

Anya: She was prepared to answer, but the words died against his lips. Their kiss muffled her laugh.

"And then," she breathed, in the space between kisses. "I'd follow you up. Of course. Eventually."

Fingers made their way to the trio of buttons that kept the front of her dress from being obscene. They popped loose in seconds, leaving her free to peel the linen off of her shoulders and down to her waist. She was grateful to have no bra to fuss with.

Rune: The feeling of her laughter against his mouth was truly something of a fairytale. The room was chilly compared to the rest of the apartment building. Paid no mind as he trailed kisses down her chest, chasing away the linen to the bitter end. His hands swept upwards over her back, lips sweet on her ribs, her breasts.

"I like you right where you are," he breathed, making himself at home between her legs.

Anya: The chill in the room went completely unnoticed, with Rune's lips and hands brushing over her skin. Her blood pumped, scorching, through her veins, leaving her plenty warm to the touch.

She laughed again, hiking the bottom half of her dress up her thighs with sharp, impatient motions.

"I'm not gonna fight you, if you're happy right here."

No, she'd help him along. Fingers hooked into the elastic waist band of her panties. She wriggled to slide them past her ass and down her calves to dangle uselessly from one ankle. Good enough. Now her hands were free to bury themselves in his hair.

Rune: As pleased as they were, they were not on the same page, and rather than disappointed, it tickled him. She wanted to climb him like a tree; he wanted nestled between her legs, fingers buried deep and mouth put to purpose.

His kisses were as impatient as she felt. Cool fingers stroked from her thighs down her calves and back. As soft as perfection and impossibly warm. Closer and closer his fingers crept to her pussy. Fingertips exploring hair and lips.

But he was hungry, and needy, and selfish.

"Feet on the washer, or my shoulders."

Anya: His fingers on private, sensitive skin still sent tingles up her spine. She wondered if there would ever come a time when that wouldn't be the case.

Anya was slow to acquiesce to his command, taking his face in both of her hands to drink him in for a long, indulgent moment. Long enough for the washer to begin in earnest. It rumbled into its wash cycle. When she'd had her fill, she settled back on her elbows, sliding first one long leg and then the other over his shoulders.

"Yeah, all right."

Rune: The warmth of her tongue damn near melted the man she cradled. Her mouth was an invitation he was helpless to accept. A soft little noise escaped his throat, then a smile between the affection. This was as wrong as it was incredible.

Her efforts were rewarded with a kiss on her leg and another as he watched her. His fingers slowly spread her apart, exposing her to the air. From the hood of her clit his thumb circled, creating a gentle and frustrating rhythm.

Anya: Frustration was certainly one word for it.

Rune's little sounds would be her undoing. She craved more of them. But for him, she could be patient, mouth curving into that small, familiar fern curl of a smile as his lips pressed to her leg.

She could be mostly patient, anyway. A hand slipped between her spread thighs to join his, the other still braced against churning washer. Her palm flattened over the back of his hand. Demanding. Silently seeking the pressure he denied her.

Rune: He laughed at her determination. That was exactly where he wanted her to be. His thumb applied the pressure she desired, still back and forth as playful fingers explored her opening. No different than the night before, he didn't care if they went beyond this; to see her a writhing mess on the washing machine added years to his life without a single staked bet.

Anya: Writhe she would, her hips rocking in time with the stroking of his thumb. Her eagerness was all physical drive. She wasn't really in a hurry. They had time. Time before the machine ceased its incessant rumbling. Time before the day ended and she was compelled to return to the care and keeping of her animals. Hours and hours.

Her hand guided his fingers where she wanted them, buried in soft, welcoming heat.

Rune: With two fingers buried deep, he searched for that one motion that would elicit the perfect noise. Once found, he would be merciless, and offer his mouth to her clit, just to make matters worse. He hadn't considered how much he would come to love the weight of her legs on his shoulders until now.

Anya: The relentless crooking of his fingers left her panting, but it was the heat of his tongue that would take her apart completely. That demanding hand between her legs moved to bury itself in Rune's hair, instead. Impulse swung between loving strokes and ruthless gripping.   She'd give into both, in turn. Alternating until the pressure built past the point that she could bear. His name was a soft cry on her lips as she came. And she was quick to seek the taste of herself on his tongue, again.

Rune: He would not dare tell her to hush. Would not slow his relentless pursuit of her ascension until that familiar writhing became a plea for mercy. Only then did his hand slack, greeting her hungry mouth with his tongue and another beloved little noise.

As high as she had risen, he fell with her. Too close to her mind, he felt the same floating elation like a warm bath. Forehead to forehead, he breathed with her, and then took his fingers to his mouth.

Anya: Something in Rune's breathlessness tickled her. That her pleasure had impacted him so. She brushed a thumb over his cheek that was pure, undiluted affection. His fingers moved to taste her and she laughed, soft and inaudible over the washer. How she loved him.

Pushing herself up, she slid her legs from his shoulder, one after the other. She took his face in her hands, again, peppering every square inch with tiny kisses. When she was satisfied that she hadn't missed a spot, she slid from the rumbling machine to her feet, giving it a deliberate pat behind her as she stepped to one side. Up you get.

Rune: It was her diet, he was certain. As certain as his bias. She tasted sweet and pleasant. If he could do that every day...

Her unique affection caught him off guard. It was so wholesome; he didn't know what to do with it but exist.

From one surprise to the next. He looked from the machine to her with a curious brow.

So, up he went, chest exposed and finally feeling the air now goosefleshing his skin. Or was it her, mostly naked and perfect? It didn't matter.

Anya: She chewed on a smile at his bemused expression, but offered no answers. Not aloud. Once he was settled, she gave him an explanation without words, gripping the back of his neck to tug him forward for a heated kiss.

Her free hand's greedy fingers traced down his chest, over his waist, to settle on his belt. She'd handle it and his fly with a single hand, unwilling to release him long enough to use both. Nor would she relinquish his lips as she reached into opened trousers to stroke him, thumb sweeping over the head of his cock.

Rune: Her smile reminded him of the peonies upstairs. The playful blooming energy she carried at any given moment, in every random and purposeful instance, even here, in a basement in Brooklyn, between his legs, grasping him with ownership. He gave no protest. She could have his mouth and his throbbing cock with only a whimper - a noise he was aware of, but would not apologize for.

Anya: She giggled against his lips, delighted by a new little noise. She was inspired to tease out every one in his arsenal. In time.

For now, she was eager to take him into her mouth; the only reason she was willing to break their kiss.

Rune: He was fighting a smile now. Smiling during a kiss felt awkward and silly, but it was her fault. The urge to ask why she was laughing was hard fought. He knew why, even if he didn't want to admit it.

But articulation was a lost cause. Her mouth ceased all coherent thought. Slowly, his elbows met the washer lid, his head heavy, lulled back between his shoulders.

Anya: Anya made herself at home between his legs, looking up at him through dark lashes. She lamented not being able to see his eyes. But they weren't her only window.

There were the sounds he made as her mouth worked lazily over his cock, the rise and fall of his chest, the throbbing she could feel against her tongue .

Sudden silence from the machine beneath him made her freeze, even the hand that cupped him stilling. It was only a breathless handful of seconds before the water clicked on. Rinse cycle. Of course.

She huffed a silent laugh through her nose and pulled free of his cock with a faint pop.

"Mm. Help me up."

Rune: Breathing took conscious effort. Caught up in the warmth of her wet mouth, he wanted to freeze time and space to enjoy her a moment longer. Just five more minutes of -

His laugh wasn't as quiet. He covered his mouth and tried not to snort.

"Why did you freeze?" he whispered. And why was he whispering?

Sitting back up, rather than help, he hindered, bringing her to his mouth with both hands. Just long enough to have her taste on his tongue. Only then would he bring his arm around her.

Anya: His laugh had her stifling another. It was positively criminal for any grown man to be so cute. She had no clue why he was whispering. Likely for the same reason she'd gone still. When she lowered her voice to match his, the decision was unconscious.

"It was too quiet!"

Too still. They were alone, but outside the safety of his flat.

When his lips pressed to hers, she did nothing to resist them. He could have that kiss and another besides, before she braced against him and hoisted herself onto his lap. She trusted that arm to keep her steady.

Rune: Steady she was, held firmly by the small of her waist. Eventually he leaned away to breathe. Just an inhale before he made himself at home on her chest. Kisses to every bit of exposed skin. Tasting his way south as he pulled her that much closer.

"You're too quiet," he grinned.

Anya: She bit down hard on her own smile, silently relishing the lips that skated over her skin. His touch was intoxicating.

"You're the one who started whispering," she countered, still whispering. Her thumb brushed reverently over the dimple in his cheek.

The hesitation of yesterday was gone. Knees planted on either side of his thighs, she asked for no additional permission. She raised just enough to guide him inside, sinking onto his cock with a soft groan and catching his mouth again.

Rune: "It's more fun," he confessed, his laughter silent, and then ceased altogether with one deliberate movement of her hips. She needn't ask for authority she already possessed. The honest to Heaven's truth was, that she'd had such permission for longer than they were willing to admit. He knew why he had kept her at a distance, but staring into her eyes, he realized it had been a wasted effort.

She was as stubborn as she was resilient. But would that be enough? Would his cursed luck spare her?

His mind demanded logic, the one thing his body didn't give a shit about. Rough fingers rested on her ass, riding every roll of her hips. His fingers lost in her hair. His mouth belonged to her. He had nothing to say. There was nothing to say. Only an unspoken plea between them with every panted breath.

Anya: Anya was tireless. Each drag of his cock drove her onward, lost to the pleasure of his touch.

It was contact she returned in earnest, fingers mapping every inch of bare skin she could reach. Thumbs pressed to the tender bruises she'd left the night prior. Lingering evidence of her presence.

She could live in this moment for an eternity, but the physical world was an insurmountable hurdle. Climax was inevitable, and it came with a gasp against his mouth. The sound spilled into a breathless little laugh, but she wouldn't surrender those lips. Not yet. Just a little while longer.

Rune: His pleasure was secondary to watching her move. The feeling of his cock encapsulated in her confines was undermined by the warmth of her skin, her hair, the sounds swelling her chest; the feeling of being used. To see her so disheveled, raw, needy, aching, playful, was almost too overwhelming.

This was flesh, not marble, and she was real, tangible, and in that moment, breathing with her as one, he was obsessed with her. The way she moved, both deliberately and incautious. He could only kiss her so much.

"Anya." It was a warning he didn't expect her to heed. From a habit he had yet to shake, despite the damage long ago inflicted. Again, he breathed her name into her mouth, cradling her as he pulsed within, giving and giving until he had nothing left but to slump his cheek between her breasts.

Anya: She was no more concerned than she had been the first time. If there was any silver lining to the vicious harm done to him, it was living without that one worry. Hardly a consolation, but it was something.

With a deep sigh, she lowered her cheek to press to the top of his head. Her arms were a warm vice around him; fingers traced figure eights over the perfect skin of his back. She was happy to simply exist with him in blissful silence.

For a time, anyway.

"I have a confession," she began, tone still hushed, a hand moving to toy with the hair at his nape. "I didn't buy the tickets, yet. I was looking, but then we were doing laundry..."

He would feel, rather than hear, her chuckle. "New favorite chore, by the way."

Rune: "Hm?"

Listening to her breathe, the beat of her quickened heart, he could have fallen asleep then and there, certainly to send them toppling to the concrete floor.

"Don't say that," he smiled against her chest. "Laundry day will be every day."

What a blessing. He had to lean back and look at her. Every inch of exposed skin admired with reverence.

Anya: All but naked and perched in his lap, but it was that look that had her face heating. She tipped her head back to stare up at the ceiling, a little overwhelmed by his open admiration. Just a moment to collect herself. She struggled to put a dimmer on her smile. But she was meeting his gaze again soon enough, pink cheeks be damned.

"We'll run out of dirty clothes." Fingers smoothed the mussed strands of his hair. Hers certainly looked even wilder. "We just have to make all the other housework fun. Obviously."

The spin cycle had begun at some point without her noticing. She wasn't budging until it had run its course.

Rune: How could she blush after what they had done, and what was he doing that startled her senses to look at the ceiling for reprieve? Surely, it wasn't his wandering gaze. His traveling fingers shaped and massaged each breast, sliding between them and across her ribs. If he were a blind man, he would know beauty by touch.

"Obviously. Washing dishes is about to be a whole lot of fun."

Carefully, he laid back against the washing machine, dials digging into his back, but he didn't care.

"Come here."

Anya: His touch carved the same path that his gaze had; she only just managed to suppress a pleased shiver. "And very messy, I think."

With an amused little huff, she folded forward, settling against the chest he offered. Her face made a home in the crook of his neck. "You can't be comfortable."

Rune: "We'll be as clean as the dishes." His voice had taken on something whimsical. Eyes closed and face peaceful. He would be of no use to her for the next five minutes.

"I haven't been this comfortable in a long time," he countered.

Anya: "If you say so." She wasn't convinced. But she would ensure that he was warm, if nothing else. Strong, slender arms snaked around his waist, her body shielding him from the worst of the basement's chill. Soft lips pressed to the throat she was still burrowed against.

They could sink into this moment of tranquility. Anya wouldn't disturb it until the machine fell silent and still beneath them.

"Mm. We have to move."

Rune: "Do we?" So soft, as though talking in his sleep. "A bath is calling us." To sink into warm water and just exist. That was motivation enough to force his eyes open.

"Mm, fuck." His eyes closed long enough to rub them. For just a moment, a second, he had forgotten her unkempt state, struck again by her magnificence. Only after recovering did he realize he was still inside of her. Parting was such sweet sorrow.

"I'll - Forgot what I was gonna say."

Anya: "Ja." Atop a washing machine was no place for good sleep. A warm tub, on the other hand...

"Mhmmm. Much better for your nap."

Rune could take as much time as he needed to rouse himself. Anya stole a few slow, lazy kisses before she was willing to peel herself away from him.

A bath really did sound perfect.

Straightening and stretching, she let the chill spur her into movement. She'd have to be efficient to avoid making even more of a mess of herself. "Well, let me know if you remember."

With a laugh, she slid off of him and down from the washer. She located the panties that had slipped free of her ankle and pulled them on with swift, easy grace. The linen dress was a hopeless case, but she buttoned herself into the bodice and smoothed the skirt down past her thighs as best she could. Rough fingers raked through her curls. Another lost cause, she feared. But when she'd done all she could to look less... post-coital, she raised her arms for inspection. They likely wouldn't be spotted on the trip upstairs, but it was certainly possible.

"Am I decent?"

Rune: A bath was the most obvious answer, he didn't stop to think if it had been her idea first or his own. It didn't matter, but he enjoyed those moments when he couldn't tell if a suggestion was independent. The idea of having her so intimately, beyond that of just their bodies - he was apprehensive, and still... warmed by the very thought.

He was ruined. He could hear the seconds ticking loudly in his good ear; time until a cruel joke infected their relationship.

He would do well to quiet his mind, lest he offer what she didn't deserve to hear. Soon she was joined upright. Feet on the concrete, the basement might as well have been constructed of ice.

"Like the first spring day in Amsterdam."

Clothes were moved into the dryer, before starting the trek upstairs.

Anya: The words had her smiling. A simple 'yes' or 'no' would have sufficed. Leave it to Rune to make even the most mundane of answers poetic.

"That's pretty," was all she offered in return, taking another pass over her hair as Rune came down after her. She'd offer hands to help, if allowed, but otherwise was content to wait in comfortable silence for him to finish.

It was silence that held until the door to his flat shut behind them. She was quick to head for the couch and the phone she'd abandoned there. She unlocked it with a press of her thumb and cut to the kitchen blindly. How she had committed the paths of the flat to memory already was beyond her.

"You can run the water, this time," she sighed, grabbing a peach to rinse as she scrolled through flight options. "So I won't boil you alive, again."

Rune: He hadn't expected her to say anything in return. Not a compliment or a recognition. His words had been as much a flirtation as they were harmless teasing. It was as much trust as everything else, forward of their confessions. She was beautiful, and she would always be beautiful, but her hair needed fingers through it.

Fingers brushed her arm as they crossed paths. Mug of water in hand, he started the bathwater and stripped. Whatever hesitation had existed before had become a forgotten memory. She was as at home with his nudity as he was hers. This was her home. This was their peace. While she finalized their tickets, Rune sank into the warm bath with a sigh, slipping beneath the water until his lungs burned or he heard her approach.

Anya: It would be a handful of minutes before she joined him in the bathroom, still dressed, licking sticky juice from her fingers. She leaned her hip against the sink and watched him unabashedly.

"Almost done. I just need to know what birth year you put on those fake papers."

Rune: Rune resurfaced when her shape appeared above the water. His hair pulled from his face as he listened through the water in his ears.

"Wallet's in my coat. The outside pocket."

Anya: "Outside pocket," she repeated, already slipping away to find it. "You should probably commit that lie to memory."

Anya would, if he didn't. Just to be safe. A minute or two more passed before she returned, having left both her mobile and her dress behind. She was working her hair into a quick bun as she entered.

"We leave on the twenty first."

Rune: Was he 27, or 31? He had forgotten what the lie was, as he so often did, having little need for the ID to begin with. All that mattered were the years he won during poker.

Anya would return to the water being partially refilled with warmer water. He sat in the middle of the tub. Her choice whether he was a pillow, or she was.

"Twenty-first," he echoed, ever the sailor.

Anya: Once her hair was up and out of the way, she stepped out of her panties and slid into the water behind him. He was more than welcome to use her chest as support for his nap. Her head tipped back against the lip of the tub and she sighed. Not as steamy as she normally liked a bath, but certainly warm enough for a nice soak.

"Mhm. I couldn't find any that were nonstop. So, we'll spend a few hours in Amsterdam. And then from there to Poznań, and a train into town. It's a lot of travel, but we can get a room somewhere before the last leg, if you want."

Rune: Slowly, he laid back, arm spilling out over the side. He stared at their feet, brow arched and unseen.

"Amsterdam, hm?" Surely, that was on purpose. He wouldn't put it past her. Just something she did and would speak nothing of it. He counted the years since he'd been home to that green door. It wasn't green anymore. Someone had painted it a lifetime ago.

"Whatever you need."

Anya: "It was either there or Munich, and the layover was longer in Germany." But to say that it was only timing that had tipped the scales in one direction would taste a lie. He could read whatever he liked into that decision.

Fingers raked gently through dripping hair, her nails the lightest scrape over his scalp. Whatever she needed. She would not insist to the contrary. Only hum noncommittally as she stared up at the ceiling. "We'll figure the rest out, later. Close your eyes."

Rune: He was already there. Eyes heavy and breathing languid. His full weight rested against her, wrapped in warmth and confident his world would remain upright. The last thought of his drifting consciousness was her, how well she knew him. Her generosity seemed like an endless well.

She would be here. He would be here. There was still much to do, and for as long as she allowed him in her life, there would always be something to do.

[frostbeees]

can we get an itid snippet🥺

well i suppose <3 i didn't get anything written today bc i've been sick (hello norovirus) but my fever is finally breaking sooo.

here's a little moment between thom and his sister. this takes place before the rookie showcase in DC (and after the breakup). sorry this is kind of a long one but it was too hard to trim it down bc i just LOVE this part

“You worried about having to spend time with Brendan again or is something else bothering you?” Jade asks as she picks through the pile of clothes closest to her, choosing pieces that she apparently thinks Thom needs to take with him as she places them into the suitcase. 

Thom drops the toothbrush he had just grabbed from his bathroom and it clatters to the ground. She’s always been blunt about feelings-talks and he wasn’t not expecting this to come up eventually but he definitely wasn’t expecting it today. 

“Okay so the first one,” she says, brow furrowed as she tries to read him from across the room. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Why would you even think that?” Thom asks carefully, trying to call her bluff. She doesn’t fold.

“You left for Cali in such a good mood and you came back in the form of a little storm cloud. We’ve all been tiptoeing around you for weeks and mom’s been bugging me to talk to you. Also, I’m pretty sure I saw you crying in your car in the driveway the other day when I was getting ready to leave for training so obviously something is up. You can talk to me about it, you know.” 

Thom takes in a deep breath. His chest rattles a little like maybe he’s coming down with something, a slight wheeze to the inhale. Maybe that would explain the tickle in his throat getting worse. 

“It’s—” Thom starts, pausing to shove a pile of clothes off the bed and onto the floor so he can flop down with his head near Jade’s legs. Her hand goes to his hair immediately which is exactly what he was hoping for, scratching softly against his scalp and sliding through to the ends. “He broke up with me. Or, well. I ended it with him before he could break up with me, I guess. I don’t fucking know. Either way, it’s over. He made it very clear he doesn’t feel the same way about me as I do about him.”

“Oh honey,” Jade slides down the bed and pulls Thom against her chest, arms firmly wrapped around him and his chest heaves as the tears finally break free and start falling steadily. “Fuck him then, honestly. You’re the best and if he can’t see that, then he doesn’t deserve you.”

She’s just like their mom: soft and warm and welcoming with a touch of spice when needed. She’d probably fly to California to tackle Brendan in a way that would get her immediately booted from a game. That’s the only difference between Jade and their mom, really. Chantal has a sharp tongue. She can tear someone down in such a way that leaves them thanking her and then crying later. Jade, on the other hand, isn’t afraid to do a little physical beatdown when needed. Thom has the scars to prove it.

“Yeah, fuck him.” Thom’s a snotty mess against Jade’s soft sweatshirt but she makes no move to push him away or get up so he lets his little sister hold him until the tears dry up and his breathing steadies again.

He doesn’t mean it though, about Brendan. He doesn’t tell Jade that, too afraid of her trying to knock some sense in him or running off to get their mom involved if she thinks Thom’s being stupid. But it’s true. He still loves Brendan more than anyone he’s ever loved before. He’s still fucking pissed at him, but if Brendan called right this second and asked Thom to come back out to Manhattan Beach? To be with him again? Thom would go, easy.  

Jade doesn’t push him to talk about it anymore though. When Thom finally gets himself pulled back together he goes back to packing his bag and Jade sticks around for a while longer. Eventually, though,  she gets bored and leaves, but not before getting in another tight hug and securing a promise from Thom that they’ll get the good bagels for breakfast in the morning before he heads to the airport. 

[scribblesandink]

They got her ready and fed before the bus showed up

Apollo picked at a bagel while Audrey inhaled pancakes before going back up to bed

He fell asleep almost immediately

Do you think covid existed in the Season? Do you think that for 2020-2021 Zeus couldn't host two Seasons. He had to wait until 2022 when restrictions finally lifted?

I'm gonna assume that covid didn't exist for my own sanity

[kittenofdoomage]

Gamblin' Man

Summary: He’s not going to let it drop, not until he gets what he wants.

Prompt: John Winchester, in church, vibrating panties

Pairing: John Winchester x female!reader

Word Count: 3924

Warnings: sexual wagering, smut, sex toys/vibrating panties, inappropriate public behavior (in a church, and other places), teasing, edging, unprotected smut, exceptionally brief anal play, begging, dirty talk/degrading language, fluff (sorta), slight Daddy kink, age gap (reader is around Dean’s age), hunting (canon-level violence and gore).

Dedicated to @impala-dreamer who always encourages dirty John thoughts.

AO3 Link

The wet thud of the werewolf’s head on the ground was more satisfying than it probably should have been, but you and John had been tracking the pack for over a week now, so it was a good feeling to finally put them down. They had left a trail of carnage across the Midwest, leading you on a hell of a chase; you hadn’t even been sure how many of them there were.

A gunshot made you turn just as the last werewolf dropped from the silver bullet, revealing John standing behind him. You grinned, lifting up your machete triumphantly. “And you said I wouldn’t need this.”

He chuckled, walking over to the decapitated monster, putting a single silver round in his chest just to make sure. “You lost,” he pointed out.

The comment made you frown. “Huh?”

“You said it was four at most.”

“Really?” you asked pointedly. “You’re holding me to that.”

“Bet your sweet ass I am,” he smirked. “We shook on it.”

“I thought you were joking.”

“Well I wasn’t.”

With a groan, you turned away, surveying the scene. There had been six werewolves altogether. The other four were inside the house, and you knew there was no leaving until the two on the lawn were inside with them, and the whole building was torched. Luckily, the farmhouse was miles away from town, so the fire wouldn’t be noticed quickly.

John didn’t press the subject of the bet while you covered up the slaughter, and by the time you were in the truck on the way back to the motel, you could barely keep your eyes open. He waited, of course, until you were inside, closing the door and locking it.

“About my winnings,” he started.

You grunted, turning your head to look at him in disbelief. “Seriously. It was a joke, we didn’t even say how much.”

“I’m not after money.”

The way he said it gave you pause, but you were far too tired to continue with any bartering. It was nearing dawn, and you needed a few hours of sleep before getting into conversations about supposed bets. Not that he’d let it go even when you woke up.

“John, I’m exhausted. If I agree you won, can we just go to bed?”

His smirk widened. “Fine. As long as you agree to whatever I want.”

“Whatever,” you yawned, barely managing to get your pants off before you tumbled into the covers, “just lemme sleep.”

It took only a few minutes for you to doze off, just long enough for you to feel the dip of the bed as he climbed in behind you, one strong arm encircling your waist. You smiled and slipped into unconsciousness, forgetting all about the bet.

His warmth was gone the next morning when you woke to the sound of the door closing. You sat up and yawned, smiling sleepily as John as he approached with a drink in one hand and a bag with a cartoon bagel on it in the other. “Breakfast,” he offered, handing it over.

You opened the bag, inhaling the deliciously warm scent from inside. “Mmm, thank you.” Eating in bed only seemed uncomfortable, and you needed to pee anyway, so you got out, dropping your food and drink onto the table before heading for the bathroom. When you came out, John was at the table waiting, sipping his usual black coffee.

“Where are we heading today?” you asked, pulling out your breakfast.

He tapped a folded paper next to his unwrapped sandwich. “Duluth. Got a lead on something. Flimsy but it’s enough.”

Biting into your bagel, you groaned at the taste, chewing slowly to enjoy it. “These are almost as good as the ones in that little deli we found - where was it?”

“Colorado. Brent’s Bagels.”

“Yeah. We haven’t been to Colorado in ages.”

He chuckled, watching you as you ate, a pensive expression on his face like he was waiting to say something. You didn’t pay much attention to it, too hungry to think beyond filling your stomach. Once the last bite was gone, you licked your fingers clean, then looked at him properly, smiling brightly.

“You haven’t forgotten what we talked about last night?” he murmured, leaning back with one hand on the table.

You rolled your eyes, picking up your drink. “No,” you replied.

“Good. Because I decided what I want.”

The way he said it made you guess that whatever he wanted was sexual in nature and you weren’t surprised. Despite his stoic outward attitude, in private John had the capability to be incredibly kinky, and there wasn’t much you’d let him do that you didn’t enjoy. No doubt he’d thought about what he wanted a lot, and you knew when he got up to go for his bag, that he had definitely thought ahead.

He pulled something from the duffel, turning around and returning to drop it on the table. It was a rectangular box with a female model on the front, showcasing the contents - a single pair of black panties. You picked them up, reading the box, realizing quickly that they were vibrating panties.

Looking up at him, your eyebrows lifted. “Really? You want me to wear these?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Right now?”

“Twenty-four hours.”

“John -”

“I can pick something else if you like,” he interrupted, the leer on his face getting a little wider. “And I got plenty of ideas, sweetheart.”

The expression on his handsome features spoke volumes - this was probably the least of the ideas he’d come up with, and John Winchester was not short on imagination where it came to sex. You swallowed, looking at the box again, still thinking of excuses.

“I can’t wear these if we’re on a case,” you stuttered. “What if we get into a fight with something?”

He chuckled, pulling the remote out of his pocket. “It’ll only go off as long as I’m holding the button,” he explained. “You won’t even notice them.” Pulling the panties from the box, you ran your fingers over the soft material. “See,” he prompted, “inconspicuous.”

You sniffed, your hesitation clear. “How loud are they?”

“Baby girl,” he chided. “I’m a little more subtle than that.”

Fixing your gaze on him, you pulled a face, remembering just how subtle he’d been when he’d fucked you in the parking lot of a Denny’s, right over the back of his truck. “Not always.”

“I promise,” he reached out to take your hand, “no one will know except you and me.”

He wasn’t wrong about how discreet the panties were. Before you’d put them on, you’d asked him to turn them on, just to see how loud they were, and you had to admit, for how powerful the vibration was, they were fairly quiet. Once you had them on, you found them to be comfortable and soft, and though you could feel the pad of the vibrating insert pressed up against you, it was no worse than a sanitary towel.

Of course, John had to test them out. The sudden vibration had shocked you, and after only a few seconds, you felt flustered and aroused, and John chuckled as he turned them off and pocketed the remote.

A four-hour drive only provided him with more “testing” time. He’d tried every setting, taking great pleasure in watching you writhe in the passenger seat of his truck, trying to catch you off guard with it. By the time you reached Duluth, your pussy was aching, desperate to be filled by something, anything, so you could cum.

“How are you feeling?” John asked, pulling the truck into the parking lot of the latest motel you’d call home.

“I hate you,” you shivered, still panting from his last round of torture.

He laughed, and you scowled, folding your arms across your chest and ignoring him as he got out of the truck. You waited while he checked in, and when he returned with the key, he was still smirking. “Let’s go,” he ordered, grabbing his bag from the back seat.

“What’s our first stop?” you asked, still slightly bitter as you climbed out of the truck.

“All three victims were members of a local church group. I figure we start there.”

“Great.”

You hated wearing the fed suit, and having vibrating panties on underneath them didn’t make it any better, but John didn’t set them off again. Working a case made distraction easy, and you’d almost forgotten about your kinky underwear when you followed him into the church where a choir was practicing loudly. He took the lead, engaging with a priest by the name of Father Teddy, introducing himself as Agent May and you as Agent Taylor.

“Apologies for the noise,” Father Teddy said, leading you away, but not far enough that you couldn’t hear them. “Unfortunately, the good acoustics in here mean that the sound is inescapable.”

“Ah, it’s not a problem,” John drawled, all charm. His hand snaked into his pocket, and you went still, hoping he wasn’t going to -

The panties buzzed to life. You tried to keep your composure, focusing on the questions that John was asking, but after a few minutes, you were feeling the heat in your face and the wetness the vibration was provoking. There was a pew behind you, and you took a slight step back to grab it, hoping to stave off the quivering in your thighs. John’s eyes slid to you, the curve of his lips turning gleeful as you shuddered from head to toe.

Your action caught Father Teddy’s attention, the absolute last thing you wanted to happen when you could feel the buzzing get stronger, your pussy gushing in response.

“Are you alright, Miss?” the priest asked softly, reaching out one hand to you when you gripped the pew tightly to balance yourself. “You look a little flushed.”

The choir rose to a louder volume on the final chorus and you fixed a shaky grin on the elderly gentleman. “I think I need a little air,” you gasped, turning your attention to John with an urgent look. “Agent May?”

John was barely containing his smirk, and the vibration at your core ceased as he pulled his hand out of his pocket. “Thanks for your help, Father.”

The priest nodded, though he seemed thoroughly concerned with your disheveled state. “Of course, Agent. If there’s anything else I can help with, please let me know.” His head turned to you again. “I hope you feel better soon, Agent Taylor.”

Your smile was tight and you couldn’t get out of there fast enough now your composure was returning. You hurried down the carpeted walkway, bursting out of the huge oak doors with John hot on your tail, his mirth bubbling to the surface once you were outside. Whirling on him, you slapped at his shoulder, scowling when he only laughed harder.

“You’re an ass.”

“What?” he snorted through his laughter. “He didn’t know what was going on!”

“We were in a church,” you seethed, almost hissing at him. “Ugh, you’re such a pig.”

“Didn’t seem like you weren’t enjoying it,” he retorted, voice turning to a low rumble that had exactly the effect on you that he was expecting. With a strained groan, you turned away, striding to the car with the intent of ignoring him, but you’d forgotten one thing.

He still had the remote.

The panties buzzed to life, and the shock of it made you gasp and trip; the truck door broke your fall, palms holding your weight against the sun-warmed window as John turned the vibration up to max. You sucked in oxygen, the arousal you’d felt moments before in the church returning ten-fold.

John approached slowly, and you saw him look around in the glass reflection in front of you before he pressed up against your back, running the hand not on the remote down your side and over your hip. “Tell me how wet you are now, baby girl.”

Your breath fogged against the glass. “J-John -”

“Uh-uh,” he scolded, letting his hand slide around to your front, holding steady right over where the panties were driving you crazy. “You said you’d play the game, princess, and I’m not done yet.”

You moaned, unable to stop your hips rutting back against him. Even though it was broad daylight and outside a church, you would have given anything to have him take you right there. His name left your lips again, needier this time, a higher pitch to reflect the want in your core.

“You still got eighteen hours,” he reminded you, and you exhaled a shaky cry as the vibration stopped, but John didn’t move away. “How about a new deal?”

You didn’t move. “What?”

He chuckled again, grazing his lips over the back of your neck. “I bet you can’t last the whole twenty four hours,” he taunted. “I bet, you break before it’s even dark, and beg me to fuck that pretty little pussy until you can’t see straight.”

A lump formed in your throat, a mixture of your desire to get fucked and your reluctance to let him “win”. “W-what do I get if I win?”

“What do you want?”

You had no idea, scrambling to think of something, anything. “Uh -”

“Why don’t you think on it?” he murmured, lips against the shell of your ear now. “We still got witnesses to interview anyway.”

“John,” you whispered desperately.

“What?”

“Please don’t use it when we’re talking to people,” you begged, turning in his hold when he gave you the space. You looked up at him pleadingly. “I can’t… I can’t think straight when I’m horny. It’s dangerous.”

His smile dropped away, genuine concern on his handsome face. He lifted his hand, caressing your jaw gently. “I promise, baby girl. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” You smiled, placing your hand against his chest and leaning into him. “Can’t say it wasn’t adorable to see you all flustered like that though.”

You groaned, ducking out of his hold to walk around the truck to your side. “You’re an asshole.”

It took around four hours for you to realize you weren’t going to win. He’d behaved around the witnesses, though you couldn’t say the same for the trip to the morgue, after which you’d decided you needed a break, and persuaded him to let you go to the grocery store while he checked out the town’s history. The hunt was most likely a spirit, and no one had died yet, so the need to find whatever or whoever it was wasn’t as pressing.

Your hour alone was blissful, and you picked up enough supplies for a few days, finishing up way before John was supposed to pick you up. There was a bench outside, far enough away from the entrance that no one would bother you, so you took advantage of the pleasant afternoon sunshine to wait for him.

Around five minutes after you had sat down, the vibrator in your panties began to buzz lightly. Your head shot up, eyes scanning the lot for his truck, but there were too many larger vehicles obstructing others to be sure he wasn’t there. Maybe the damn thing was malfunctioning.

The buzzing got stronger, and you tried to ignore it, gritting your teeth as you clutched the edge of the bench, still looking for him. It had to be him, and he was fucking with you again, probably watching you gleefully. You wanted to get up and go look for him, but you couldn’t focus, panting heavily as the vibration only grew more intense.

Grabbing your phone, you couldn’t help the whine that left your lips, drawing a curious stare from an employee wheeling carts back to the store. You could barely type a message out, telling him to stop, and you were relieved when only a second later, the panties stopped, except your whole body was still electrified from the stimulation. Looking up, you spotted his truck, pulling out from behind a large white van; he was on the phone, smirking at you infuriatingly as he drove closer.

“Thanks, Bobby,” was all you heard as he rolled to a stop and hung up. “You look a little flustered, princess. This thing’s got good range, huh?”

You glared at him, dumping the groceries in the back before climbing in without a word. He only laughed, pulling away from the curb as you stewed beside him.

The back roads were quiet. You stared out of the window, feeling your irritation fading. John hummed along to the radio, both hands on the wheel where you could see them. After a while, he looked at you, a hint of concern in his voice when he spoke. “You know,” he began softly. “If this is really that bad, we can stop. It’s not exactly fun if you’re not enjoying it.”

You clenched your jaw then relaxed it. “I don’t wanna stop,” you muttered, twisting in your seat. “I just wanna cum.”

His eyes widened, then a smile spread across his face. “That’s why you’re all grumpy?” 

“I’m not grumpy,” you growled. “I’m horny. If I’d known it was gonna be this bad, I’d have… fuck…” You threw your head back against the seat, groaning loudly at your own stubbornness. It wouldn’t be hard to just let him win, let him fuck you, to just beg for him like he wanted.

“All you gotta do is ask,” John drawled casually, reaching into his pocket. “If you think about it, you’re torturing yourself.”

The panties came to life, buzzing against your sensitive sex. You cried out, grabbing for the door as if it would ground you, even though it did nothing as he turned the vibration up. “John!”

“Say the magic words, baby, and I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

“You’re an -” You grunted when he turned them up to the highest level. “ -aaaaass.” The word turned into a low moan, and you ground yourself into the seat, fruitlessly seeking more friction. 

He wasn’t even watching you, keeping his attention on the road. “Now I just wanna see if you can get off like this,” he murmured. “But I gotta admit,” he shifted in his seat, “I’m starting to get uncomfortable.”

Speaking felt impossible. Your whole body was alight with desire, and you could taste your orgasm, within reach. The truck moved to the left onto a bumpier road, which only added to your torment.

“John,” you groaned, too far gone to even consider holding your ground. “Oh, Jesus, fuck, John…”

“Got something you wanna ask, baby girl?”

You cried out, nodding as the truck came to a stop. “Fuck me, please, I can’t -” The buzzing stopped. “Oh -”

He was out of the driver’s seat in the next second, and you barely had time to realize what was happening before your door was flung open, and his strong hands were hauling you from the seat. You ended up on your front, legs dangling out of the truck, hips pressed against the edge as John pulled your pants and the panties down to your ankles.

The sudden realization of where you were made you panic. “John, wait, where -”

“No one can see,” he promised, shoving you down when you tried to lift up. The sound of his zipper lowering made you shudder, and you looked over your shoulder as he fisted his cock, drawing it free from his pants. “I need that tight little cunt wrapped around my dick.”

He didn’t waste time, stroking two thick digits through your slick folds and sinking them into you, groaning when he felt how wet you were. You gasped and then whined, clinging to the seat as he twisted his fingers inside you. “J-John!”

“Fuck, princess, you’re soaked,” he chuckled, working his hand back and forth. “Gonna make you cum on Daddy’s cock.” Pulling his hand free, he slapped your bare ass, then pressed the thick blunt tip to your dripping hole.

You weren’t sure if it was the constant arousal or just him, but it felt bigger than usual, the stretch of accommodating him making you struggle to think straight. He stopped when his cock met slight resistance, pulling back to coat himself in your juices a little more before trying again. This time, he penetrated you completely, and you cried out when his groin met your ass, whimpering as he held himself as deep as possible with a sigh of relief.

“You feel fucking fantastic,” he groaned, rubbing one hand over your ass. “Should get you strung out more often. You’re so tight around me, gonna milk me dry. You want that, baby girl? Wanna be my horny little cockslut?”

It was hard to talk with the pressure in your belly, the pleasure of being so filled making your train of thought completely derail. All you could manage was a grunt of a “yes”, and he laughed in return, rutting against you.

“Look at you,” he purred, beginning to pull back a little more, thrusting lightly. “All cockdrunk, ready to be used, huh?”

You nodded listlessly, hovering on the edge of your climax, sure you’d fall apart any second. John started to move faster, holding you down with one hand when he leaned back to look down and watch your body take him over and over. The sound of how wet you were filtered through the blood rushing in your ears, and you couldn’t stop your eyes rolling back.

“Lemme feel it,” he murmured, tugging his shirt up when it got in his way. “Lemme feel you squeeze me, princess.”

His strokes got harder, almost forcing you across the seat. You cried out over and over, unable and unwilling to do anything but let him use you, and within seconds, your pussy was fluttering around him, the pleasure curling into an almost unbearable throb in your core.

“That’s it,” he praised, grazing his thumb across your asshole.

The dam inside you broke. Your cries turned silent, body shuddering from head to toe as you came, feeling the upholstery underneath you grow damp. John groaned, tipping his head back, fucking into you harder and harder, leaving you dazed as he used you. Finally, he slammed into you, his grunts stuttering as you felt his cum fill you to overflowing, dripping down your thighs.

He slumped forward, panting out a laugh against your back. “Fuck,” he groaned.

“Uh-huh,” you managed, mouth slack against the seat. There was a ringing in your ears and your heart was pounding; if you were honest, you wanted nothing more than to sleep.

With a groan, he moved, withdrawing and leaving you where you were hanging. You were exposed and ruined, and despite the somewhat open area he’d chosen to take you in, it was hard to get yourself to move.

“I guess we should get on with this case,” he said, buttoning up his pants as you pulled yourself off of the seat, trying to fix your pants.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, yawning as you attempted to make yourself look like you hadn’t just gotten yourself fucked in a picnic area. Failing, you stumbled back, using the truck for some stability when your head swam. “Fuck, I don’t think my legs work anymore.”

John laughed, coming closer and leaning in to kiss you. “Guess I’m doing the digging.”

“You bet your ass you are,” you grumbled.

He grinned. “You sure you wanna be making more bets, sweetheart? I mean, I’m a gamblin’ man -”

You groaned and hauled yourself into the truck. “Never again.”

Let me know what you think ☺ thanks for reading!

[areiton]

The thing about dating Steve is that it's little moments of endless happiness.

He thought he understood it, what it meant to be happy in a relationship. To enjoy coexisting with someone else. He had been happy with Pepper, had loved living with Rhodey. They were part of him, woven into his soul in a way he couldn't--wouldn't-- put into words, as much because he hated the messy touchy feely bullshit as because he didn't want to quantify his love for them. Putting words to how he felt for Pepper Rhodey Happy Peter--it made them smaller, somehow.

So he knew, what it was to be happy with other people.

He thought he knew.

But then there is Steve.

Steve, who curls a strong arm around his waist and presses a kiss to the nape of his neck before he crawls carefully from their bed, a sweet apology for untangling their legs and taking his warmth from their bed, a ghost of his laugh chasing Tony as he grumbles into the pillows alone.

Steve, who leaves a bagel and coffee steaming on the counter for him, a wordless reminder that he is cared for, that even as Steve merrily chases himself around the city for twenty miles, his thoughts are of Tony, that he knows Tony well enough to know he won't feed himself when he scoots out the door for his first meeting of the day.

Steve, who tangles their feet together as they eat lunch together, a quick stolen half hour between meetings or projects or debriefs, and it's nothing special, it's cold cuts and a bag of chips, an apple shared between them and sweet tea glinting on Steve's lips as he listens to Tony complain, it's melting chocolate licked from his thumb and a salty kiss smacked to his lips before Pepper hauls him away for his next meeting.

Steve, who he finds in the kitchen, who hums a happy little note as Tony winds around him, rests his aching head against his broad back, who leans back for a kiss Tony is too eager to give, who promises dinner soon, and a quiet night, who never complains, when Tony vanishes down into the lab for a little bit of tinkering.

Steve, who he finds on the couch in his workshop, and Tony collapses next to him and burrows into him, and one strong arm tucks him close, and he breathes into it, the steady warm presense of him, the scent of lead and wood, and Steve's favorite soap, and he lets himself drift on it, on the warmth of him, solid and steady around him, and the knowledge that this moment, this moment that is like a thousand others is going to be followed by a thousand more.

They might fool around, when Steve coaxes him up and leads him to bed, and that is always it's own reward, but here, with the bots quiet and the lab still, he inhales the quiet peace of this moment, and adds it to a thousand others that are the happiest he's ever been.

i just want to read about stevetony cuddles 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[moemoemammon]

So bear with me. MC sleeps like a rock. A bomb could go off next to them, and they don't wake up. Now, add shallow breathing, and they look like a corpse. You could mistake them for a corpse if you don't check their pulse.

How would the brothers (+ datables if you're not too picky hehe) react to the first time waking them up for school only to think they probably died in their sleep on day one??

Sleeping Like a Corpse!

(Feat. GN!MC and the Demon Bros)

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

Lucifer

Lucifer didn’t think much of you when you arrived, now could he be bothered to personally make sure you peeled yourself out of bed in the morning. So naturally, he sent Mammon to go do it.

But when Mammon came back complaining about how you didn’t budge an inch, big bro realized he’d have to take care of it himself, like usual.

He figured slamming your door open would’ve done the trick, but you remain still. And as much as he wants to drag you out of bed by the ankle, he knows how fragile humans can be. He opts for giving you a vigorous shake, and.... you don’t budge.

He calls your name, nothing. He literally pulls you upright by the shoulders and jostles you around like a protein shaker bottle, but you don’t move, and- wait... are you breathing? MAMMOOOOOO-

“Haaah... It’s your first morning with us, and you’re already causing me trouble. If it weren’t for the warmth of your skin, I’d have thought you were dead. Perhaps I should give you an enchanted alarm clock, if you prove to be this difficult to wake every morning.”

Mammon

Tch, he seriously didn’t get why THE Great Mammon had to do this sorta grunt work! Why should he have to make sure a lousy human gets up for school? It’s not like he’s their babysitter! but we all know he’s a p*ssy so he’s not gonna say that out loud

But that means he’s gonna make sure you know how irritated he is! Mammon bursts into your room, calling you a ‘stinkin’ human’ at the top of his lungs, and... you don’t move a muscle. So his next step is to stomp over and rip your blankets off, and..... you still don’t move.

What the hell? It’s like trying to wake up Belphie! He leans in to try to smack you awake, when he finally notices how it...kinda...looks like you aren’t breathing.

Wait. Wait wait wait-! SURE he didn’t feel like having to watch you, but that didn’t mean he wanted you to die on the first night! Lucifer was gonna KILL him-! Did you die of fright or something?! He didn’t really mean all that stuff he said about eating you, you know?! Hey, snap out of it-!

“What the- You’re ALIVE?! I thought you died in your sleep, dammit! TCH! What’s the big idea, playin’ dead like that?! Ya tryin’ to get me in trouble?!” “-N-no I wasn’t worried about ya!”

Leviathan

Why does HE have to wake you up..? Sure, he has to go to school today anyway for the student council meeting, but what does that have to do with a human..? Couldn’t Lucifer have asked ANYONE else..?

Beyond annoyed when he enters your room. What’s he supposed to do?? Shake you?? Hit you with something???? Levi opts for awkwardly poking your side, and noticing how you don’t react. Great. Ugh... this sucked....

He tries again, then pokes the back of your head, tugs your sleeve, shakes your arm... then you roll over from the movement and he nearly has a heart attack. Not only because you surprised him, but because you.. wait, did you die?!

Stuck between “LMAOOOO ROFLMAO the human died on their first night! What a noob! #fail!” and “KDAKLFHLDSJFKL OH NO HELLO?????”

“WH- Ahhh... I thought you were dead. You know how long Lucifer would've lectured if if you died, right? He'd be so mad, i bet he'd even confiscate my D.D.D.! Normies like you are nothing but trouble. This is why a human shouldn't even be here..."

Satan

What a chore... This felt like more of a punishment than anything, and Satan hadn’t even done anything yet. Unless Lucifer already discovered the ink he dripped into his shampoo? Either way, he wasn’t the slightest bit interested in you.

But seeing as he got to hang around you in your most vulnerable state, wouldn’t it be funny if he put a curse on you? He was sure that whatever he chose would become a headache for Lucifer in some way, so the possibilities were endless.

Temporary blindness, backwards speech, rainbow colored skin, extreme bad luck, he didn’t know what to choose! Ah, and there were a few curses he wanted to use on Lucifer that needed to be tested out, so why not experiment on you?

He had plenty of time to pick the perfect one and- ah. Were you.. dead? Did someone beat him to the punch?

“Ah, so you’re alive after all. And here I thought I could harass Lucifer with knowing his human had died in their sleep. Well, it’ll have to wait, I guess...I was really looking forward to the expression on his face...”

Asmo

What? Lucifer was ACTUALLY letting him go in the cute little human’s room, completely unsupervised? What a bold move, dearest big brother~! There’s no way he’d pass up the chance to take a peek at your sleeping face! You were pretty cute, but he’d like to see if you were worth his attention.

That being said, Asmo creeps into your room like a sneaky toddler, and doesn’t hesitate to grab your shoulder and roll you over to get a good look at your sleeping face. Hmm... Not bad! 

So with that, he hops right into your bed unannounced, bouncing you around and giving you that innocent giggle of his. Aren’t you lucky? You get to be woken up by the endlessly charming Asmo-chan~! The first thing you’ll see is his gorgeous face, and you’ll be blessed with the perfect first school day! 

Why, there are hundreds and thousands of demons who wish they were as lucky as you were right now! He’s seen how they’ll fight tooth and nail for a chance to-..... hey, how come you’re not breathing..? Er, he’s not really into that sort of thing...

“Oh thank goodness! I thought you up and died before I had a chance to get to know you! You know how disappointed I’d be, right? Knowing I wasn’t able to explore the cute human living in our house... it’d be a tragedy!”

Beel

Surprisingly, he doesn’t mind that much. Having to go and wake you up reminds him of when Belphie was still around, so it’s familiar and feels kind of nice. What DOESN’T feel nice is that he’s missing valuable time he could be spending inhaling his breakfast, because you won’t wake up.

Hangry Beel enters your room with a bagel in his mouth, so you couldn’t understand what he was saying even if you were awake. Just know he’s calling your name and threatening to eat your breakfast. It’s your loss if you miss out.

Hm... You don’t wake up even after he shakes you, so he’s tempted to just leave. But he knows Lucifer will scold you if he returns downstairs without you, so he’s got to improvise.

It’s fine if he just carries you downstairs, right? He’s just tryin to eat man why can’t you- ...Beel is noticing a distinct lack of breath coming from you when he picks you up. Uhhh

“Oh, you aren’t dead. I was going to ask Lucifer if we could have you for breakfast too, but I guess that’s not an option anymore. He says hurry up and get dressed, and that you should give me your breakfast. Bye.”

Belphie

He’s in the attic, so same lmao.

Twins! Still gonna strangle and throw you down the stairs in the future tho

Couple goals amirite?

[freakiish]

City That Never Sleeps

First time posting in months, first timothée, not proof read.

Smut

I tossed and turned as the cars below screeched and beeped. People yelling through the streets, how wonderful it is trying to sleep in the city that never sleeps. I roll over with a groan grabbing my phone the bright light stunning my eyes. “Are you awake?” I send the message to Timothée. We met at a bagel shop, I complimented his jacket. To his shock, I was not a fan, I was actually totally unaware of who he was, thus sparking a lovely friendship. Moments pass and my phone dings, “I am, what’s up?” He responded. “Are you in NY right now? I need to do something before I explode.” I say dramatically. “I actually am for a few days, I can come over?” Timothée has never been in my place before, let alone this late at night. I’m in my jammies, what if my apartment isn’t nice enough, I have stuffed animals on my bed. Why am I overthinking this so bad? “Perfect.” I answer, knowing he’ll be here in less than ten minutes.

In an attempt to settle my anticipatory nerves I brush through my hair, curl my eyelashes, and add a bit of mascara to make myself look more presentable. Pulled out of my thoughts by a gentle knock, seeing it is Timothée through the peep hole I close my eyes and open the door. “Welcome,” I smile, “come in, make yourself at home.” I point to the couch for him to have a seat. He stops, pulling me in to a hug, “I’ve been in Europe for weeks you’re not even going to say you missed me?” I let out a small breath, wrapping my arms around his warm body, “I did miss you Timothée, very much,” he’s the only friend I have in the city. “I missed you,” he said. I pull away after an awkward amount of time, he clears his throat breaking the silence, “So, this is your place,” he says. “I know it’s not much bu-“ he cuts me off, “It is so cozy and tasteful, and smells good,” he smiles at me. “Thank you, it’s vanilla,” I answer. He lets out a giggle. I look him up and down, thankful that he is also in pajamas, I feel less embarrassed of my booty shorts and big ripped t shirt. “So um… it’s really late and I couldn’t sleep I was thinking we could just watch a movie?” I say. “Sounds perfect,” he says, stretching out on the couch, making himself at home as I said. I grab some blankets throwing them at him on the couch before I settle in at the corner. His head falls in my lap.

We agreed on Matilda, such a classic. My hands find his hair, messing with the soft, loose curls. Half way through the movie his hand finds my thigh, rubbing his thumb back and forth across my skin. I inhale, looking down at the beautiful boy, his eyes stuck on the tv, very invested in the movie. He must sense me looking at him, he turns his body, laying flat so our faces meet. “Hey,” he said looking up at me. I let out a laugh, “hi Timothée.” He sits up next to me. “Is the movie boring you?” He asks looking me in my eyes, inches apart. “A little bit yeah,” I say holding his gaze. “We can do something else instead,” he leans in. “Can I kiss you y/n?” He asks. I waste no time crashing my lips to his. I lean back, he falls on top of me, not breaking the kiss. One hand props him up while the other finds my cheek, resting it there sweetly as my hands wrap around his neck. I don’t know what has gotten into us. He pulls away sitting up again, we look at each other with shock.

I throw myself over his lap, straddling him. I kiss him again. His hands resting comfortably on my thighs. “What is happening?” He asks lowly. “I don’t know… but I think I really like it?” I say, almost asking. It’s been awhile for both of us, this is normal, two adults feeling things is normal. Even if they are friends, right? “I think I really want you to keep going.” He says, grabbing the back of my neck pulling me into his lips. Our tongues dance together, light hums leaving our mouths, his hands find their way up to squeeze up on my ass making a louder gasp come from me. He smiles against my lips. I grind down on him, throwing my head back his mouth attacks my neck, sending shivers all over my body. My goose bumps become more prominent as his hands grab the bottom of my big shirt, gently pulling it over my head. His eyes grow darker finding my braless, hard nipples directly in front of him. His mouth finds one, his hand squeezing and toying with the other. I let out an audible moan, continuing to push down on him, my wetness definitely soaking through my little shorts.

I reach down signaling for him to take off his shirt as well. I look down at him, admiring his beautiful, dainty body. I briefly leave another kiss on his lips, moving down his jaw, biting at his ear making him moan out, down his glorious neck. “Fuucckkk, you’re driving me crazy,” he whimpers. I look up at him, bringing myself down to my knees on the floor in front of him. My hands grip the waist band of his sweats, he lifts himself for me to pull them down without hesitation. His dick very prominently hard, I take it in my hand, without breaking eye contact I kiss up his shaft making my way to his tip. I lick the precum from his tip, he bites down in his bottom lip watching me with admiration. I finally take his tip in my mouth, he throws his head back at the sensation. I slowly bob up and down, taking more and more each time, humming as I do. “Fuuucckkk, pretty girl,” my heat throbs at the name. His hands find my hair, pulling gently.

He pulls my head up, gripping my face in his hand, bending over to press his lips on mine. He gets up taking his pants completely off. He stands in front of me, “Lay down for me.” I do as he says laying down on my back, his middle finger runs down my body starting at my neck, all the way down to the band of my shorts. His hands come up under me, and with one swift motion my bottom is exposed to the cool air. I spread my legs apart, giving him better access. “So pretty,” he says. “Can I touch you?” I eagerly nod my head “mhm,” I hum. His middle finger rubs up and down my soaking folds. He looks at my pussy like he’s in a trance. Teasingly, both hands wrap around my thighs pulling me closer to him, he peppers small kisses along my legs. His hot breath lingers over me, before finally connecting his sweet mouth to my bud. My hand wraps in his hair, the other I find playing with my breasts. He feels so good working his tongue up and down, sucking on my clit. I begin grinding my hips into him. He stops what he’s doing, sticking his tongue out for me to grind up against his pretty face. He stops, making me cry out, kissing up my body making his way to my mouth so I can taste myself on his lips.

We are both seemingly out of breath from the heavy scene that unfolded. “May I please fuck you?” He whispers, swallowing hard. “Yes please,” I practically beg. Remaining centimeters from my face he pushed his tip into me, both of our mouths fall slightly apart. He goes deeper with every thrust, nice and slow. My eyes hang low as pleasure rushes through my body and I let go, uncontrollable moans escaping my lips. He grunts as he takes his cock out of me and slowly pushes it back in, watching it happen. “That feels so good,” I say. “Yeah?” He shakes. “Fuck yeah.” I growl, making him look at me once again. His hand squeezes my jaw and he pounds into me hard. My hands wrap around him, squeezing and scratching at his back and his neck. “I’m going to cum,” he says. “Yes all over me please,” I say, and with that he pulls out, his warm liquid hitting my tummy. I take some with my finger up to my mouth, sucking it off for him, he stares in awe. He collapses on the couch, in the same position we started. Breathing heavily, my hands tangle in his hair. “We go to sleep and discuss this when we wake up?” He asks. “Yep” I pop the p. Our breathing steadies, and we drift off.

[rek1s-headband]

I'd really like to see some headcanons for a polyamorous relation between y/n, kaoru, and kojiro because I just want these boys to hug each other and me.

Thanks for the request! This was fun to write, because I too would love to be sandwiched between these two. Enjoy!

➯ random boyfriend headcannons

➯ characters: cherry x joe x reader

➯ warnings: none! Just fluff for now. I do swear a bit in my work though, please tell me if this is an issue!

-Yall literally take turns annoying the shit out of each other around the house. You’ll sit on the counter while Joe attempts to make dinner, you and Kaoru mixing his spices around and sticking labels on the wrong packets. You’ll rest your head in Kaoru’s lap while he attempts to get some calligraphy work done or make some adjustments to Carla, Joe talking the ear off him while he tries to concentrate.

-Joe has caught you and Kaoru in the parking lot of a McDonalds on more than one occasion.

-You and Kaoru will go on “dates” to Joe’s restaurant while he works, and pretend you have no idea who the man in front of you is. The two of you will go so far with it too. Joe has had to sit through “birthdays” (yours wasn’t for another eight months), marriage proposals(the poor man had to bring the two of you cake), fake breakups where one person would storm out and cause a scene in the restaurant, the list is endless.

-On the other hand, you and Joe will go to Kaoru’s exhibitions, and absolutely mortify him. The two of you will be shouting various words of encouragement(?) at him, while the poor man just tries to do his work. Yes you’ve gotten a few stares. Yes you’ve been kicked out by security on multiple occasions.

- “WORK THAT BRUSH BABY” “WRITE MY NAME😩” “GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME WE WERE JUST BEING SUPPORTIVE”

-Idk how many of yall have seen that tweet where someone got a label maker and labelled everything in their pantry stupid shit like “mini bagels” (Cheerios) and “ghost broccoli” (cauliflower) but that’s 100% something you and Kaoru would do just to piss Joe off when he’s trying to cook.

-The three of you regularly make shitty edits of Adam in those ghetto clouds every time he gets into a new scandal and make memes out of pictures you take of him every time he shows up at S.

-Joe would carry you around this house at his side and ask you stupid questions while you reply in a robot-like voice to mock Carla and piss Kaoru off

-“Hey Clara(cause yall are original), can you tell me where Kaoru is?”

-“Hello Joe, Kaoru is in the corner reading a book like a little nerd”

-He acts like he hates it, but you and Joe find it hilarious, so even he can find himself smiling at your antics.

-The three of you will sit in a line sometimes, you in Kaoru’s lap, and him in Joe’s, and yall will just sit and braid each other’s hair while watching TV. Sometimes you and Kaoru will take turns trying to put mini braids in Joe’s hair, sticking bows and clips in it anywhere they’ll stay. The two of you have given Joe hair extensions before, and he absolutely adored them.

-Joe and Kaoru are already awful when it comes to skating together, so if you can skate, you can imagine the absolute chaos the three of you would cause at S. Instead of acting like a mediator, you’re just as much of a little shit as them, yelling stuff like “BEAT HIS ASS” or “place your bets now folks!” If you’re not joining in on the fighting as well.

-The three of you sleeping can go one of two ways.

-One, a triple spoon(I’ll let you decide who’s where, maybe you swap) or yall will just be overall comfortable. No kicking or shifting in the night, just pure peace.

-Two, an absolute free-for-all of limbs and heads. Maybe your head will be on Kaoru’s chest, maybe your foot will be in Joe’s armpit. Someone nearly always ends up without a blanket, or on the floor.

-Carla has a charging port in your room, and when she randomly says stuff in the middle of the night you’ll shoot up in bed, scaring the shit out of yourself and the other two. That place quickly becomes a panic room of “WHY ARE YOU SCREAMING” “THAT DAMN ROBOT” “the forecast for tomorrow seems to be cloudy, with a chance of rain.” “BE QUIET CARLA” “sorry, I couldn’t find anything for ‘night garden’, would you like me to search again?” “CARLA”

-Joe is awful for snoring. You and Kaoru will take turns beating the shit out of him with a pillow until he shuts up long enough for the two of you to fall asleep. If he doesn’t stop, you need to violently shake him to make him wake up, this man is a DEEP sleeper. He does that dad thing when he wakes up yknow the big inhale through the nose and the bleary eyes.

-Your house is decorated from top to bottom with artwork. Most of it is because Kaoru liked how it looked, other times it’s simply because you and Joe thought it looked funny. You’ll have various pieces of art hanging in your house that Kaoru thought you and Joe just liked the look of, when in reality the two of you thought it looked like a dick.

-idk how many of yall have seen that TikTok (if not I’ll link it here) where they’re ordering McDonald’s and start fighting in the front of the car while one person vibes in the back, but yall have done that multiple times unironically. I’ll let you decide who’s where, because it changes OFTEN.

-Your birthday cakes are always TOP NOTCH. Joe pours his absolute heart into baking them, while Kaoru helps decorate it and make it perfect for you.

-The three of you are banned from Target because you and Joe decided to mess with the kids toys and set off an alarm.

-Yall regularly do that thing where two of you will be together and the third (usually Joe) will come up to you and start screaming like “HOW COULD YOU?? I LOVED YOU AND YOURE OUT HERE WITH SOMEONE ELSE? GO TO HELL.” And storm off.

-Yall fight over the front seat of the car. Like, the two who aren’t driving are sprinting towards the car, shoving each other out of the way like little kids. Yelling “shotgun” means nothing to yall if u manage to get there first. Whoever’s driving won’t unlock the car for ages, letting the other two battle it out watching from a safe distance.

-The three of you had to make a chore list because of how petty you were. Once the trash went without being taken out for like a week because you’d just keep piling shit on top, trying not to make it collapse.

[headingalaxys-sweet]

Songfic-JVKE

England x Reader

Darkness. That was the only thing that pervaded your senses and permeated your senses. Numb. You’d fallen deep into the black sea again. The pitchblack moonless nights that crept through your window only solidified the depressed state you were in.

You’d been here many times before. Torment mixed with the river of tears washed over your fresh wounds. The mere idea of staying awake was a difficult task. So, you opted to reach for the indigo pills on your nightstand and wandered over to the minifridge that you had installed in your room. The less you had to be vulnerable to the haunting eyes of your own mind projection the better.

You opted to grab the pomegranate juice that you’d bought a few days prior to wash down your sedatives. You took a long swig and slunk back to bed. Even after a solid 11-hours of uninterrupted sleep you still felt drained beyond belief. Your eyes dawdled over to your neon blue dial clock that read a quarter past 7. The sun had long bid farewell and the most you had gotten done that day was nibble on a bagel and send out an email to a professor explaining your delay in turning in your midterm essay. You had been given an extension for another week but you still couldn’t bring yourself to do any sort of work. So you went back to cowering in your soft cocoon. Maybe at some point you’d be able to fly.

*thump* Something had collided with your window but you didn’t even acknowledge it.

Your eyelids began to hang low and you allowed the rest of your body to relax. You tried to think of only darkness and not the hundreds of mistakes that continued on a constant replay. All shouted at you in your mind. Letting you only know that it’s all you’ll ever be. Thousands of dreams that can be because you're broken and nothing else matters.

*thump* *thump* Still the attempts for the outside to catch your attention was still futile.

You inhale the inky black air to distract from the battle that was raging on the inside. You were exhausted. There was not much more that your soul could give. So you laid there eagerly awaiting for the indigo pills to work their magic and at least temporarily take you out of your misery.

*thump* *thump* *thump* Yet and still your foggy mind did not acknowledge attempts from below. They had a message but now was time to try a different route.

As you waited for the numbing effects to set in you heard a melody creep in. Its angelic jubilant melody with a slow pace began to crescendo as the seconds began to tick by. You laid there just listening to it.

‘Probably someone just throwing a party nearby. But that music does sound nice though.’ Your foot began to shake along to the rhythm. It fully has your undivided attention. ‘Maybe I can play this song when I get up to work on my essay.’ With curiosity beginning to get the better of you finally decided to move from your sad lumpy blanket cocoon. You didn’t want to let your covers go as you felt like it was one of the only things that could protect you. As it draped off your shoulders and hugged loosely around your form you were curious to see if Siri could help you find and save the melody for later. As you approached your window and looked below the sight of bubbles, fairydust, and specks of sunlight everywhere. It looked like a happy ending of a fairytale where nothing bad ever happened again. Everyday would be happy. Sadness nonexistent.

Your blankets spread far behind you just like that of a butterfly gently beginning brushed by a strong summer breeze.

The gentleman that was the catalyst to all of this stood before you in his royal red and white outfit. His verdant eyes were a light with a magical glow. It was hypnotic to you and all of your senses. The British boy you knew as Arthur sang to you a poem that he wrote for you. It was an ode to you. He adored you. And his lyrics made sure you were aware of that.

I was all alone with the love of my life

She’s got glitter for skin

My radiant beam in the night

I don’t need no light to see you

Shine

It’s your golden hour

You slow down time

In your golden hour

The British man continued to shower you with praise. His words lifted your spirits. The sadness on your soul began to dissolve in the golden glitter that came from his love song. Why be sad, why fear when your knight in shining armor was here. Butterflies dancing everywhere like a beautiful daydream.

[bubblyhoney]

buncha kisses

warnings: mature language, Good music mention, slight suggestive content, lotta name calling!, basically just fluff

tags: sapnap x fem!reader (a continuation of [renamed from “a collection of moments at the beginning of your relationship”] win for me, basically, with college!au)

words: 1447

A/N: a very sweet anon requested a continuation of college!au with sappy and had some great ideas for me! i love when you guys interact and talk with me pls continue to do so! been receiving a lot of really encouraging attention from some of my favorite people (ahem, for example @strawberrymilkgeorge [among others] <3) so i just wanted to say thanks for that :)

-

It’s a sticky day in May.

It’s that kind of hot that irritates under the skin and works its way through the hair on your arms. Makes you want to either rip your skin off or sink into a pool full of ice.

May is a month that Florida doesn’t take very well; it’s either raining like it’s the Great Flood, or hot as a mosquito’s ball sack.

And to make matters worse, it’s the due date of a huge calculus project. Like— weighted heavier than the final kind of huge.

You’d gotten up three hours before your final at 9 just to cram. Your desk was littered with folders, chapter notes, and highlighters dull with use. A half-eaten bagel was off to the side, staling by the second.

That was before your AC broke. Yup. Broke. Ka-put. Just full on died—it was almost audible. Your roommate had stumbled into your room, face creased with sleep, and cursed for thirty seconds straight.

Completely understandable, actually.

But you didn’t have time to fret about the damn temperature. You just took your shirt off, kicked the box fan near your bed into the highest gear, and breathed hot anger down into your notes.

The only relief you would find would be lunch with Sapnap after your final. His apartment had air conditioning, and he was surprisingly deft with a knife and cutting board. Dude didn’t know how to figure the mechanics for emailing his film class project to you that one time last semester but could whip up a Greek salad and broiled chicken like no other. Your own little Gordon Ramsey.

He was yours now, officially. As of last month he was yours. A month full of drive-in movies, failed study dates, and an absurd amount of McFlurry’s.

And that’s what is waiting for you in Sapnap’s cup holder when you swing your way into his car with an exasperated look on your face. You just melt, eyes flicking up to his gratefully and silently taking it.

“How was the final?” He lays a hand on the gear shifter and nudges the AC up one more tick. The door closes behind you and you shuffle your legs apart, leg hair tingling in this heat.

“It was fucking brutal. I think I developed an ulcer just looking at the reference page,” you huff and he just shakes his head, laugh hot on his lips. “Absolutely not worth the studying—think I got a good grade, though.”

“Well, that’s cool. I’m proud of you.” The engine chugs to life when he shifts into drive and starts for the side street.

“Thanks.” Your cheeks blush ever so lightly but you pass it off to the heat. A moment passes. “So.” The straw makes a choking noise as it nudges at the bottom of an empty cup. Jesus, you finished that fast. “What’s on the menu for today?” Brandy’s Sunny Day lilts softly into the blasting air as you settle into a comfortable conversation, schoolwork at the back of your mind.

“Thinking of making banana chocolate chip muffins and pigging on those. Thoughts?” Flicking on his left turn signal with his left hand, the right slides onto your knee.

It’s never too hot for that.

“Sounds perfect,” you reply, voice small in a sudden bout of shyness. He double-takes with a smile, squeezing once at your leg.

Pigging is a perfect term for what you two do the second those muffins are out of the oven; it is too easy to shove three of those in a matter of seconds. Bellies full and in a sugar coma, you two lay under the whirring of his living room’s fan and stare up at the ceiling.

“This feels so good,” he mumbles, eyes half-lidded. Reaching a hand out, he pats his way to your hand and takes it, immediately squeezing it. “Wish you were kissing me right now.”

“Oh, yeah?” You taunt and hike a leg up onto his hips, swinging onto his lap and leaning to get your lips near his.

And that’s that.

The night is perfect.

Sapnap ushered you into his car at midnight and within four minutes you were on a US freeway with your head out the window. Like a dog.

A lone bird flies past in the dark air and you watch it swing into a patch of trees. You just close your eyes and breathe.

The stress literally melts. Melts into a puddle and drips out of you, falling onto the black pavement whipping past at a moment’s notice. School is a bitch already, much less an American college education. Grades and tests and professors and GPA’s and all that.

You swear Logan Lerman’s character knew what he was talking about when he said “we were infinite” in The Perks of Being A Wallflower. That’s what this feels like: infinity. Going 70 in a car driven by your hunk of a boyfriend, feeling the wind in your hair and the taste of midnight in between your teeth.

The inside of the car feels sweet when you duck your head back in, smile wide and hair crazy and a content look in your eyes. Sapnap gives you a glance before looking back at the road nonchalantly and lifting to curl and twitch two fingers at you. You instinctively move forward, eyebrows drawn together in curiosity. Three fingers grip your jaw tight, and then his mouth is on yours as the chorus of The King swells through the speakers. You only get two seconds to hum in happiness and slide a hand up his chest before he’s pulling away and has those beautiful eyes back on the road.

“You’re mean to me,” you sigh, and settle back into your seat with a ‘hmph’. He just looks smug. Bastard.

The nights Sapnap plays video games with his friends are—hm. Definitely something. You like to let him have those nights with no distractions most of the time; and you’re categorized as a distraction by the amount of times he “lags” when giving you a kiss or getting you on his lap.

Tonight, he got off work early and on the drive home called and asked if you’d come over and sit with him while he Robloxes with his friends. (“It’s like you can’t go one day without your hands on me,” you’d teased, but he couldn’t say a thing in response. You were right, needless to say.) “You can bring your paints!” he’d even added, knowing you like to watercolor as a hobby. You weren’t necessarily Etsy-worthy but it was fun and a stress-reliever.

And so here you were. Legs crossed, sketch pad in your lap, watching your adult boyfriend yell so loud that his voice cracks and breaks with every change of tone. You really had to remember to apologize to his neighbors…

“Baby—,” Sapnap starts, swinging around in his chair to hit you with a look so pouty his lip was in danger of falling off. “My dear girlfriend. My lovely woman.” His question doesn’t even need to be asked— he wants you to go get him a drink.

“You’re a misogynist. I’m calling NOW on you.” But you’re already heaving yourself off of his mattress and heading into the hallway, faux-annoyed look on your face. It melts into a smile upon seeing that little canvas mounted on the wall next to the door to his bathroom. It was a haphazard portrait of his parent’s dog Bowser that you’d drawn the few days his step-mom forced him to bring you home over spring break.

When you return to his room a few minutes later with a Bang and a couple of snacks for yourself, Sapnap has his headphones off and is swinging his feet in his chair like a child waiting for their parents to pick them up from school. You approach him, apprehensive smile on your face, and hand his drink over.

“Thank you,” he drawls, mid-yawn, and sets it down on the desk. Snaking an arm around your waist, he drags you between his legs and stuffs his face into your shirt. He inhales deeply but pulls away after a pause, hands tight on your abdomen. You press a thumb into his cheek and rub fondly at his facial hair, watching the way his eyes close calmly and relax.

“You’re so cute it causes me physical pain,” is all you get out before leaning and pressing a kiss square on his pink lips. They move against yours like they were meant to, one hand sliding up the material of your shirt and onto your warm skin.

“You smell like Subway,” he murmurs, and then the moment’s over.

Typical.

-

A/N: ask or send me some stuff!! requests, rants, anything. :D let me know what you think in the comments!

[kaunis-sielu]

Fire Dogs: 2

It’s been almost a week since Steve, Sam and Bucky came to fight the wildfires. You’ve got a routine down with the guys, and so does Cooper. You always have food ready for them when they leave and when they come home. Coffee is always ready for them when they leave and Cooper is waiting at the door for them when they get home.

Each man has taken huge comfort from your therapy dog, and he loves all the extra attention he’s getting from the three men. Cooper does force his way into each of their rooms at one time or another over the week and you’ve got a feeling that those won’t be the only time you’re alone on the couch.

Cooper had followed Steve into his room tonight and you’d gone to bed alone.

You wake as you’re being lifted. “What the hell?” You gasp with a start but you’re shushed softly, his scent fills your nose and you calm quickly.

“It’s me Fawn. I’m putting you to bed.” Steve says softly as he carries you up to your bedroom. “I’m gonna share a room with Buck, you can’t keep sleeping on the couch.”

“No, you’re fighting the fires. I’m just hanging out here.”

“And getting up at all hours to take care of us.” He argues as you try to get out of his grip. “Fawn, I’m not backing down from this one.” He says, his Alpha coming out as he tightens the hold he has on you, his face is close to yours, close enough for you to see the little flecks of green in those blue eyes of his. You sigh and loop an arm around his neck,

“Fine.” You grumble, you’ve heard the Alpha command in his voice, the voice that you literally can’t argue with. “But wouldn’t it make more sense for Sam and Bucky to share?”

“You’d think. If they have too much together time they get snippy. So I’ll just bounce between the two beds.”

“Are you sure?” You hope to change his mind but his face tells you that isn’t happening.

“Yes. You’ve opened your home to us, let us borrow your dog and taken care of us. You deserve your bedroom.” He says shoving open the door with his foot. He sets you gently on your feet and then gives you a soft smile. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” He leaves and closes the door gently behind him. You climb into your bed and sigh softly, it is nice being back in your bed. Not that you’ll ever tell Steve that. It smells like him, it’s comforting and you fall asleep quickly.

You’re up a couple hours later, you pass a sleepy looking Steve in the hallway and a slightly confused Cooper. You head down the stairs and get some coffee going for Sam and pop the blueberry bagel he likes into the toaster. Then you move on to Bucky’s food. You take the plate you’d prepared the night before out of the fridge and peel off the cover. You turn the oven on warm and slide the plate in then go back up to bed and find Cooper sprawled out across it,

“Move over Coop.” You grumble as you climb back into bed. You’re asleep almost as soon as your head hits the pillow.

The next time you wake it’s 8:30 and you’ve got to get food ready for Steve. You can hear him in the shower as you head back down to the kitchen. You like to make a full breakfast for the first meal to make sure that they don’t get hungry too quickly while they’re working. Today you’re planning on doing breakfast burritos, something that you can each assemble on your own. Steve comes down a half hour later, just as you’re wrapping up your own burrito.

“How did you sleep?” He asks reaching for a shell.

“Pretty good, Cooper is a bed hog.”

“I’ve noticed he likes to be almost on top of you when he sleeps with you.”

“Part of his training. The weight can help people with anxiety or stress and you all have such high stress jobs.”

“We really appreciate both of you. You sound like the best host from what we’ve heard from the other guys.”

“I’ve always been a caregiver so it’s nice having people to help. Even if I can’t help in the same way that you guys do.”

“Believe me, knowing that we can come home to a bed, good food, a kind soul and a therapy dog is more help than you’ll ever know.” You can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face,

“Good. Any requests for dinner tonight?”

“Something pasta?” He offers finishing off his breakfast.

“Okay.” You agree and hold a hand out for his plate.

“Thank you, for everything.” You nod as he stands up and heads for the door.

“Be safe.” You blurt before you can stop yourself.

“I will.” He says, a pleased scent rolls off of him before he heads out to work. Your conversation with him has given you an idea, but you’re going to need some help.

You get to calling other therapy dog handlers in the area. You know that it’s a big ask for them to come to the base of the mountain when it’s on fire but it’s for a good cause. You’ll set up with as many dogs for as many shifts as you can, every couple of days to give the dogs a bit of a break, the handlers too but mostly the dogs.

You’re able to get fifteen people in the area and you have two dogs per shift, even the 4 am shift. You’re able to rotate the dogs in a couple of shifts, so that no one is going too often and the dogs can get a little bit of a break.

You’re so excited that you’re able to do this for them, and you get to start today. You decide to head to basecamp to let Steve know. You want to make sure that the firefighters stop at Blots coffee shop before they head back to their homes tonight. You head toward base camp, it’s only a few miles up the mountain and park near one of the trails you know that skirts the forest. The smoke is worse here than it is near your house but it’s not terrible. You grab your bag and sling it over your shoulder then make your way up toward Pancho’s Bar where you know they run the fire fighting operation.

As you walk the air gets thicker with smoke, it’s not so bad that you can’t breathe but you can taste the smoke on every inhale. Before you get to Pancho’s you see Steve a little further down the street talking to two other firefighters. He seems so much bigger in all of his gear, as you make your way toward him he sees you and his brows furrow. He pushes past the other firefighters and makes his way to you with long strides.

“Fawn?”

“Hey,” you say and Steve looks, almost worried.

“Fawn, what are you doing up here? Is everything okay?”

“I’ve got a surprise for the firefighters. Down in town.” You tell him suppressing a cough, “I didn’t want anyone to miss it so I thought I’d come up.”

“Oh, hey Grey.” You have to stop yourself from frowning at Brock, he’s such a jerk and his smell is always so sour.

“Brock.” You say before you start to cough.

“C’mere,” Steve says pulling his face mask away from him you step closer and when he hands it to you you take it. “Take a couple of deep breaths for me okay?” He says and cool fresh air tinted with his scent flows into the mask that you hold over your mouth and nose. It soothes you more than you’d like it to. “The smoke is way worse up here. You should head back to town.”

“Please let people know to come down to Blots for the surprise okay?”

“So how do you know Grey?” You do frown this time.

“Sam, Bucky and I are staying at her place.” Steve says gruffly not looking at Brock but keeping an eye on you. You hand Steve back the mask and give him a little smile. “I’ll make sure to tell people. Please go right back to town.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Bye Grey!” Brock calls and before you can leave Steve stops you with a gentle hand on your arm.

“Why does he keep calling you that?”

“Because I’m boring. Like the color grey, there’s nothing exciting about me.” Anger crosses his face and he glares in Brock’s direction.

“That isn’t-“ he pauses as you cough again and he once more passes you his mask, “breathe.” You do as he says, “we’ll talk about this back at the house. But that’s not true okay? It’s not true.” You nod then hand back the mask. “How did you even get up here?”

“There’s a trail that Coop and I use a lot, on the edge of the woods and it’s quick and easy.”

“Straight home okay?”

“Yea.” You agree before realizing that he’s just given you an Alpha command, you glance over your shoulder at him and when you see he’s watching give him a little wave before you start walking back down the mountain. You feel his eyes on you until you round the corner. The wind has picked up a bit since you’d come up but it’s nice, and moving the smoke further up hill. It probably doesn’t make fighting the fires easier but at least it’s not pushing anything downhill.

You hear the crack but it doesn’t register until it’s too late. The branch hits you in the shoulder and you collapse under the weight of it.

You’re dazed, you must’ve hit your head because it’s throbbing but you’re not sure if you’ve lost consciousness or not. Your right arm is pinned under the massive branch and your left has some wiggle room but not enough to do you any good, especially with the throbbing pain in your left shoulder. You try to push with your legs to slide yourself out from under the branch but have no luck. Your phone is in your right pocket, right where you can’t reach it. But your watch might be able to help you still.

“Friday?” It beeps twice, “call Steve.” He’s the first person you think of.

“Calling Steve on Stark Phone.”

“Call him on watch!” You say but it doesn’t. “Damn it!” You watch the watch until it says connected. “Steve! I don’t know if you can hear me but I’m pinned under a branch. Halfway to my car. God please be able to hear me. I can’t reach my phone. I really need help.” You take a steadying breath to try and keep yourself calm. “Go down the hill by the forest, you can’t miss me. Please help.” You try to free yourself again but it’s hopeless, the branch is too heavy and you manage nothing.

God you hope that Steve heard you, or that his voicemail did. You don’t know how long you lay there, occasionally struggling against the branch but you suddenly hear him.

“Fawn!”

“Steve! I’m here!”

“Fawn! Keep yelling Honey!”

“I’m here! By the woods! Steve!” You can’t see him yet but you swear that you can smell him, so you keep yelling, “I’m here! Over here!”

“I see you Fawn! I’m coming.” Sure enough a set of hands lift the log off of you and another set pulls you out from under it. “Don’t move.” Steve says easing you gently back onto the ground. “Did you hit your head?”

“I don’t know. I think so?”

“Buck, check for concussion.” He orders from where he’s holding your head.

“Bucky? What time is it?”

“Almost 7. Sam called about an hour ago, but I didn’t answer because I was busy. When you called I knew something was wrong.”

“Steve calm down.” Bucky growls pulling a flashlight from his pocket.

“I feel like such an idiot.” You whisper as Steve takes a deep breath. Bucky shines a flashlight in your eyes then holds up a finger.

“Follow the finger.” He says and you do as he says and he gives you a smile. “You’re good.”

“I’m just glad we found you.” Steve says softly. “And that you’re okay. Does anything hurt before we move you?”

“My left shoulder but that’s what the branch hit first.”

“I’m going to just check it really quick okay?” Bucky says and you nod, he gently probes at your shoulder. He hits where the branch did and you hiss at the jolt of pain, a low growl comes from Steve. Bucky runs you through a couple of moves to see if it’s dislocated and once he’s satisfied that it’s not he gives you the all clear and Steve helps you to your feet.

“Buck, let Fury know I’m going back with Fawn.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Last time I let you go alone you got hit by a branch.”

“That’s what we call a freak accident.”

“I’m still not letting you go alone.”

“But you’ll miss the surprise!”

“I’m staying with a therapy dog. I don’t need to go meet other ones.” He huffs, you can practically feel the irritation rolling off of him. You frown but he has a point, you glare up at him, “Let’s go Fawn.”

“Stop it.” You snap, even though your stomach lurches at your defiance of his Alpha command.

“Stop what?”

“You keep Alpha commanding me!” He looks surprised for just a second then schools his expression.

“I’m sorry.” He says softly, “I didn’t mean to. When an Omega does something dangerous it just kind of happens.” You stare at him, how the hell does he know you’re an Omega?

“I’m not an Omega. I’m a Beta.” He looks sharply over at you his eyes narrowing.

“Huh,” he doesn’t say anything else but gestures for you to follow him down the mountain.

When you get to your car you look over at Steve, still in all his gear.

“Do you need to go get anything?”

“Buck can drive the truck back rather than getting a ride. Do you want me to drive?”

“If you don’t mind.” You hand him the keys, you’ve got one hell of a headache and your shoulder is throbbing but Bucky gave you the okay to go. After you get in the car and buckle you sigh softly before muttering, “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“Causing problems. I was just so excited about the dogs that I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have gone up.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” He agrees, “I had a big long speech ready for you but you beat me to it.” You laugh softly then wince, laughing hurts. “Let me know if we need to take you to the ER.”

“I will.”

“If you’re comfortable I’d like to take a look at your shoulder and probably ribs before we go to bed. Bucky is our best EMT but I still know what I’m doing.”

“Fine,” you grumble and he shoots you a look. “I’ve learned over the last week it’s just easier not to argue with you. Besides, I don’t need you Alpha commanding me again.”

“Damn right it’s best not to argue with me. But I won’t Alpha command you to do anything, at least I won’t on purpose. Please let me know if I do again okay?”

“Oh, okay.” You’re surprised, but you do appreciate it.

Tag list:

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