#just put out cold cuts and let people make their own goddamn sandwiches

[werothegreat]

Any caterer that puts wet things on pre-made sandwiches intended for a large crowd deserves public disintegration

[moonflowerlesbians]

“choose your battles wisely”

Un-beta’d and written after surgery, so please take with a grain of salt. I’ll reblog with the AO3 link in the morning!

Rated T, ~4.1k. Fluffy, Hurt/Comfort

~~~

Jamie is an idiot.

Or, to be more specific, she is an absolute goddamn buffoon of the utmost clownery.

This is, more or less, Dani’s internal monologue as she follows the sound of pained grunts to a somewhat obscured section of the sprawling statue garden, where she comes across a rather disgruntled gardener lying flat on her back in the mud. Her oilskin hat has fallen to one side, and Jamie stares, bleary-eyed, at the grey England sky overhead. There is a decently sized marble sculpture on the ground beside her.  

“You alright, there?” Dani calls, after only a brief moment of amused silence.

“Jesus!” Jamie swears, her entire body twitching, which causes her outburst to dissolve into a groan. “Christ, Poppins, wear a bloody bell,” she grumbles.

Dani rolls her eyes. “You alright?” she repeats, quieter this time.

“Oh, who, me? Yeah, ‘course. Just, you know, enjoying some ‘me time.’” She moves to raise her arm in a weak attempt at waving Dani off, but the limb makes it mere inches off the ground before flopping unceremoniously into the dirt. “Taking in the views...”

“Some view,” Dani notes, with a playful, sardonic lilt to her voice. A pause. “Owen made sandwiches if you’d like to come in for lunch.”

“Be right there,” Jamie replies halfheartedly. She does not stir, her gaze still fixed on the dreary cloud cover, a firm set to her jaw. “Don’t wait up.”

“We might as well walk back together.” Dani crosses her arms. “That is, assuming you’re almost done with your ‘me time.’”

“Almost done. Right. Yeah.”

Dani watches the deep inhale as Jamie steels herself, the muscles of Jamie’s stomach flexing with effort. With a sharp gasp, Jamie pushes herself onto her elbows, but she only lasts a quick second before she’s once again lying prone, muttered curses falling from her lips.

Dani winces sympathetically. “Oh, baby, don’t hurt yourself.”

“Bit late for that.”

“What did you do?” She kneels at Jamie’s side, moist soil dampening her jeans, and brushes wispy brown hairs from her face.

“Picked a fight with the wrong woman.” Jamie nods at the overturned statue. “Credit where credit’s due, she’s stronger than she looks. Heavier, too.”

“So, you decided you were going to move a marble statue, on your own, after a rainstorm, which resulted in you, what, throwing out your back?” Dani translates. “And you thought this was a good idea because…?”

“Never said it was a good idea.”

“And yet here we are.”

“Right, well,” Jamie sighs, “we’ve established I’m not the sharpest knife in the block.” Her eyes meet Dani’s, defeated. “If you would be so kind as to lend me a hand, I’d rather not like to die like this.”

“All you had to do was ask, sweetheart.” She thinks she catches a fleeting smile before it is replaced with a grimace.

Gingerly, Dani wedges her arm between Jamie’s shoulders and the earth below, murmuring gentle apologies at each indication of discomfort. She offers her other hand for Jamie to grab. Together, they work her into a sitting position. Jamie’s chest heaves, and her face is a ghostly shade of white.

They stay like that for a minute. While Jamie catches her breath, Dani’s fingers rub what she hopes are soothing circles into her back. How long has she been out here?

“Are you okay to walk?” Dani asks.

“Suppose we’ll find out,” Jamie says in a tone not at all reassuring.

Dani braces herself and takes both of Jamie’s hands in her own, digging her heels into the dirt. “One...two…”

On three, she pulls, and Jamie staggers to her feet, with Dani catching the majority of her weight as she topples forward and the air goes out of her.

“JesusshitfuckingChristfuckshittinghellgoddamnit-”

“Okay, you’re okay,” Dani says, trying to angle herself to best support the woman about to get herself excommunicated for blasphemy. She can feel the tension radiating off of Jamie in waves.

“I’m fine, I’m good,” Jamie promises, very much not fine and very much not good. “Nothing’s broken, I don’t think. Just, ah, a little crooked, s’all.” Her breathing is labored as they take a few tentative steps.

“Look, you just rest here, and I’ll run back and get Owen--”

“No, absolutely not,” Jamie cuts her off. “If that man finds out, I’ll never hear the end of it. Little shit still brings up the Rosebush Incident of Eighty-five whenever I break out the pruning shears.” Her arm drapes heavy around Dani’s neck as they round a corner.

“What--”

“Don’t,” Jamie wheezes, “ask.”

“You realize how dumb that is, right? And I’m definitely going to ask,” Dani says, guiding them toward the front door. Jamie stops short.

“Side door,” she explains, “servants’ hall. Won’t go past the kitchen. Can use one of the empty rooms until I sort myself out.”

“You might want to get your head checked if you think I’m leaving you alone like this.”

Dani readjusts her grip, while Jamie nimbly flips through a massive ring of keys Dani swears she’s never seen before, yet Jamie handles with the expertise of someone who does this daily. Which, Dani realizes, feeling rather stupid, she probably does.

“Fuck,” Jamie says under her breath as the door opens, revealing a hallway Dani has yet to explore. Dani sees the problem. She looks at Jamie. She looks at the narrow staircase. She evaluates her upper body strength.

Then, Jamie is making a rather undignified noise as Dani lifts her without warning, and Dani would be lying if she said the look on Jamie’s face isn’t extraordinarily satisfying. Something about seeing her stoic, mulish girlfriend, gone limp in her arms, looking at her, a little awestruck, well… it’s a sight Dani intends to cherish. And definitely not for the potential blackmail purposes.

Only after Dani gingerly deposits her on the blue quilt in Dani’s room does Jamie say, deadly serious, “We never speak of this again.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dani says, “take these.” She plops two pills and a cup of water in Jamie’s hand and disappears into the adjacent bathroom.

“That’s the spirit, Poppins,” she calls after her.

“Come on,” Dani says, reappearing in the doorway. “We need to get you out of these wet clothes before you catch a cold.”

“I’m fine,” Jamie scoffs, visibly shivering.

“The mud stain on my duvet says otherwise. Come on. Up you get. The bath is filling.”

“I can’t ask you to let me use your bath.”

“Good thing you’re not asking, then.”

The half-formed rebuke dies on Jamie’s lips, and she nods as if to say, touché, but Dani is certain she will not be hearing the end of this. She beckons Jamie up and pulls her into the other room, leaning her against the countertop. Without thinking, she begins undoing the buttons on Jamie’s top.

“Blimey,” Jamie remarks, not pushing Dani away, but stilling her movements.

Dani can feel the heat rise in her cheeks. She backpedals. “I, um, I didn’t-- I’m so sorry.”

Jamie just laughs, “Only teasing, love. But, ah, I can probably take it from here, yeah?”

“Um, yeah. I’ll just… be in the bedroom. If you need me.”

Dani slumps against the door as it closes behind her. The sound of the water running mimics the rush of blood in her ears. They’ve only been doing... whatever this is between them for a month. Not long at all. Certainly not long enough to be undressing her in the middle of the day with people in the house while she’s in pain. Dani hadn’t meant it in an erotic way but, Jesus, Dani, show some restraint.

She exhales. Right. Organize. Jamie will need a towel. She’ll need dry clothes. Maybe tea? A warm compress. Or ice? What do people put on sore muscles? A massage? Dani swallows thickly and shakes off the thought of Jamie’s smooth skin beneath her fingertips, tightness dissipating as Dani works the knots away. She absolutely does not imagine Jamie melting into the mattress or the moans that might escape through her lips, and she decidedly does not dwell upon the rare sight of Jamie, pliant and entirely relaxed.

Absolutely not. Shove that into a box and come back to it later. It’s worked well enough in the past.

Right then.

Dani sets about making the necessary rearrangements, shuffling her boots into the closet, digging out appropriately loose clothes for laying about, and swiping a plate of sandwiches from the kitchen, making some excuse about Jamie being too busy to come in, but she sends her thanks. Owen raises an eyebrow at this, but apparently does not feel the need to comment. Hannah, however, takes one look at Dani’s muddy knees and frowns.

“Miss Clayton, you had better not be tracking mud through my house.”

“Yes, Miss Clayton, or else you will have to mop up the mess just like Miles!” Flora states, intently focused on the cucumber and cream cheese sandwich on her plate.

“I told you it wasn’t me!” Miles objects loudly, his drinking glass making contact with the table with a bit more force than necessary.

“It’s in the past,” Dani dismisses, before the situation can get out of hand. She turns to Hannah, and, in her best I’m-setting-an-example-please-go-with-it voice, says, “Of course, Mrs. Grose, I made sure to wipe my feet at the door, but I will clean up any messes I made because it is very important that we all clean up our own messes.”

“Right you are, dear.”

“Could I get a cup of tea to take to Jamie as well? I’d make it but…”

“Say no more,” Owen rises from his seat at the table. “Wouldn’t want to poison poor Jamie, now would we?” Then, with a chuckle, “She’s got you properly whipped, hasn’t she? Trekking lunch out to whatever corner of the grounds she’s wound up in.”

“Why’s Jamie whipping Miss Clayton?” Flora pipes up.

Dani feels her face flush. “Oh, sweetie, she’s, um, that’s not--”

“What Owen means to say, is it’s very nice of Miss Clayton to deliver a meal to Jamie while she’s working,” Hannah says pointedly.

Owen coughs. “Ah, yeah, to-tea-lly leaf-ly of her to help out.”

“Hannah, I was thinking of taking my lunch with Jamie. Would you mind keeping an eye on these two for a little while?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Hannah chaffs, “They’re an awful lot of trouble, these two.”

“You think,” Owen chimes in, “they’d behave if I told them I could use a hand baking biscuits this afternoon?”

“I suppose that might do it,” Hannah says, an expression of faux pensivity creasing her forehead. “What do you think, children?”

“Oh, yes, Mrs. Grose, that would be perfectly splendid!”

“Can we make snickerdoodles?”

“Don’t see why not,” Owen says. He hands a teacup to Dani. “Off with you. Go find your knight in mud and dungarees.”

Dani shoots them a grateful smile and heads back upstairs, delicately balancing the cup with the plate of food. She knocks thrice.

“Yeah.” Jamie’s voice comes muffled through the heavy wooden door as Dani cautiously turns the knob.

Dani lets out a moderately embarrassing squeak and immediately averts her eyes, intent on looking anywhere except at a very wet, towel-clad Jamie. “Oh, um, good. Y-you found the towel.”

“That I did. I, ah, wasn’t sure if these were for me,” she gestures to the neatly folded stack of clothes on the bed, “didn’t want to assume.”

“They’re, um, they’re for you.” There’s a fascinating crack in the floor Dani has never noticed before. It’s about four inches long and almost invisible.

“Hey, Dani, you can look.” Jamie sounds almost concerned. ‘S’okay. It’s not like you haven’t seen it all before.” She grins wryly.

“No, no, yeah, I know. It just, I don’t know, feels different when it’s not for that reason.”

“Dani Clayton, not a fan of casual nudity. Noted,” Jamie teases.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t a fan.” Dani places the tea and sandwiches on the bedside table, stepping into Jamie’s space.

“That so?”

“Mhm,” Dani hums, “and I’m going to stop this runaway train right here. You’re injured.”

Jamie huffs. “Bloody rude.”

“How’s your back?”

“Feels fine. Right as rain. I’ll just get dressed and go back out--”

“You most certainly will not. You are going to get dressed and get in this bed and you are going to rest.”

“But I’ve still got to finish in the statuary, and Hannah’s brought up a crack she wants me to fix, and--”

“--and all of those things can wait. I’ve taken care of enough idiotic teenage sports injuries to know that straining it will only make it worse. So, put these on, and get into bed.” She leaves no room for disagreement.

“I can’t believe you just used your teacher voice on me.”

“I can’t believe you’re being this obstinate.”

“I’m fine!”

“Why won’t you let me take care of you?” It is not aggressive. It comes out softly, a hint of confusion combined with an ounce of desperation.

Jamie freezes. “I don’t…”

“You only took a bath after I practically forced you--”

“I wouldn’t--”

“You could’ve really hurt yourself.”

“I know, but--”

“How long would you have laid out there in the mud before calling for help?”

“Dani,” Jamie interrupts, an appeasing thumb running along the inside of Dani’s wrist, “look, I just…” she sighs. “It’s not that easy.”

“It is, though,” Dani insists.

“No, love, it’s not. Not when you’ve been… well, not when you’re me.” She pauses, sits on the bed, and nudges Dani down next to her. “I don’t like feeling useless, s’all. People look at you, see you laying about, they see weakness. Someone to be pitied or someone to be taken advantage of. Just once is all it takes for them to get the idea you can’t stand on your own two feet.”

She seems a million miles away, a decade, even, and Dani waits. Jamie will continue if she wants to.

“I don’t like being pitied. And I know that’s not...that’s not what you’re trying to do.” She chooses her words carefully, as if walking through a minefield. Dani stands on the other side. “No need to give me the talk about everybody needing help. ‘Cause, in theory, yeah, that’s true, but when you’ve always been the one doing the helping... it… it’s not all that easy to be on the receiving end.” The last sentence is rushed, and Jamie finishes with a humorless snort of laughter. Her thumb has halted its caress of Dani’s skin.

Dani is silent for a moment. Coddling would be met with rejection. Not outright, no, but Dani knows better. Jamie has lain bare this piece of her soul, held out a fragment of her identity in tender hands, and trusts Dani to take it under her care, treasure it. Jamie had woven the tale of her life under the moonlight, and Dani has spent the past month trying to unravel the threads, to understand. Now, Jamie has given her a new string to follow, but she cannot pull too hard, lest it fall apart.

Dani speaks, quiet, but firm. “We’ll just have to practice then, won’t we.”

A flicker of confusion passes over Jamie’s face as she processes. Then, she softens. Her thumb resumes its rhythmic movement.

There will be other times, Dani has said, and I will stay and I will be here for you because you aren’t alone anymore.

And that seems to be enough.

Jamie exhales through her nose.

“Bit nippy in here. Might, ah, might want to put on some clothes.”

Right. Yes. Of course. Jamie is still in a towel. Gooseflesh has risen along her legs, and she shivers.

“Oh, oh, yeah,” Dani stammers, “I’ll just--” She mimes turning around and is met with a chuckle.

“You weren’t this shy the other night, if memory serves.”

“That,” Dani reiterates, “that was different.” She makes a show of fussing with the corner of the duvet, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles.

Jamie makes a noncommittal noise low in her throat. “I’m decent.”

Dani had picked the clothes, sure, but for a woman who prides herself on preparedness, actually seeing Jamie in Dani’s old elementary school t-shirt and loose-fitting, flannel trousers causes the circuits in her brain to fry.

“Your tea’s getting cold,” she says dumbly. “I didn’t make it,” she adds, noting Jamie’s look of skepticism. Apparently satisfied with that answer, Jamie sips at her beverage and slides under the covers, gesturing for Dani to join her. She shakes her head. “I still need to clean myself up. Hannah’s watching the kids for now, but I really should get back to them.”

“A tragedy of Shakespearen proportions.”

“You need anything else before I shower?”

“No, thank you, love.” Modest affection shines on Jamie’s face, and she speaks so genuinely Dani’s heart aches. She smiles.

“Get some rest, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jamie gives a mock salute, at which Dani can only roll her eyes before exiting  into the bathroom with an extra towel and a change of clothes.

When she returns, wringing her hair out, she finds Jamie soundly asleep. The teacup has been placed on the table, next to the plate now missing a sandwich, and Jamie is curled on her side, puffing slow, measured breaths.

Chamomile tea. Who knew?

Dani makes sure to close the door quietly, and she does her best to herd the children away from that side of the house.

It’s about time for supper when Dani makes her way back to her room. When Jamie does not answer her knocks, Dani opens the door, praying the hinges will not squeak for once. Jamie is still nestled in Dani’s bed. She’s rolled over, though, facing the door, and Dani can see her bangs billowing slightly with every breath. Jamie’s nose twitches where the hair tickles it.

This isn’t the first time Dani has seen Jamie in her bed, and she certainly hopes it won’t be the last, but this, this casual intimacy, is something so precious to her. She wants it to last.

Dani perches on the edge of the mattress, reaching out to remove the offending strand of hair from Jamie’s face, and Jamie stirs.

“Hey,” Dani whispers, and Jamie cracks an eye. She presses a hand to her forehead. One of her shirtsleeves has fallen to the side, revealing pale collarbones.

“Hey.” Her voice is gravelly, sleep-laden, in a way that makes Dani’s stomach turn over itself. “Time s’it?”

“Around six, I think?” That grabs Jamie’s attention. Before Dani can stop her, she’s scrambling to sit up, completely forgetting that’s a terrible idea and acting surprised when she topples back onto the pillows with a grunt.

“Easy, easy…” Dani scolds sweetly, as Jamie gasps. “You’re okay. Just lay back. That’s it.”

“Christ.”

“Forgot why you ended up here in the first place, huh?”

“I can’t believe you let me sleep all day,” Jamie says, when the stab of pain fades. “Thought you’d at least wake me up after an hour or so. Had things to do.”

“We said they could wait.”

“You said they could wait.”

“You can’t seriously be mad at me for making you take care of yourself.”

“Feel like I wasted a day, s’all.”

“Well, you didn’t. Taking care of yourself is never a waste,” Dani says, effectively ending the argument. “Do you want to come down for dinner, or do you want me to bring it up to you?” Jamie opens her mouth, but Dani continues, “Before you answer, I want you to think about whether you’re making this decision based on what’s easiest for me, or what you actually feel capable of doing.”

Jamie’s brows raise. “Someone’s feeling bold this evening.”

Dani resists the urge to shirk away, to cave. She knows Jamie would drop it instantly, reassuring Dani that she hasn’t actually overstepped. Instead, Dani says, quietly, sincerely, “You don’t have to put your needs aside to make my life easier.” She considers, leans down so that she’s laying next to Jamie on the bed. “Besides, I like taking care of you.”

Jamie studies her. Whether she’s looking for the lie or for Dani to pull back and say, “just kidding!” Dani doesn’t know. Jamie presses a gentle kiss to her lips, a kiss that speaks the words she cannot. A kiss that says, I’m working on it.

Dani stays close when they break apart, their foreheads touching. “So, dinner?”

“Should probably make an appearance.”

Dani gives her a pointed look. “‘Should’ or ‘want to.’”

“Want to,” Jamie assures, amusement dancing in her eyes.

“You know,” Dani says, helping Jamie sit up slowly, “we should probably tell them how you hurt yourself, or they’ll assume it was from less, hm, virtuous activities.”

“Dirty bird.” Jamie swats her arm. “Owen, maybe, but not our good, Christian Hannah.”

“But do you really want to deal with the comments at the table?”

“Fine. We tell them I fell, and that’s it.”

“Right, so I shouldn’t mention your incredibly stupid idea to move a heavy marble statue without help?”

“Not ideally, no.”

Dani pouts. “Do I at least get to ask about the Rosebush Incident of Eighty-five?”

“You’re not gonna let that one go, are you?” Jamie sighs. “Fine. Ask Owen, then. Suppose you’ll find out about it eventually.” Dani places a gleeful kiss on her cheek.

“Come on, let’s get some food into you.”

The few hours of bedrest appear to have paid off, Dani thinks smugly, as Jamie is perfectly capable of walking herself down the hall. Jamie, however, seems to be rather content to use this as an excuse to lean into Dani, and Dani can’t say she minds all that much. She stands on her own as they near the kitchen and moves with only a slight limp and a wince Dani only catches because she’s looking for it.

At another time, she’ll wonder how often Jamie has hidden her pain.

“There she is!” Owen exclaims when they take their unassigned, assigned seats at the table.

“What happened, dear?” Hannah says simultaneously, as Owen does a double take, clearly trying to figure out what he’s missing. It dawns on him a moment later.

“Fell. ‘M fine,” Jamie shrugs.

“Must’ve been some fall,” Owen remarks, with a smirk that has Dani wary.

“Hm?” Jamie does not look up from the roll she’s buttering.

“You’re wearing Miss Clayton’s clothes,” Flora observes helpfully. Dani chokes on her water. Shit. How could she have missed that?

To her credit, Jamie continues without faltering. “Tripped, landed in a mud puddle, and I didn’t have a change of clothes in the truck. Miss Clayton was nice enough to loan me hers.”

Well, the first part, at least, is true. Dani pinches herself for not asking if Jamie had her own clothes to change into. Even if she does look divine in the free t-shirt they gave Dani when she started teaching.

Owen seems skeptical, but, blessedly, he drops the subject in favor of animatedly recounting the story of their baking adventures that afternoon.

Hannah catches them after dinner, just as Dani is preparing to send the children to bed. “Will you be staying the night, Jamie? In the unfortunate event your injury acts up, of course,” she says with a mirthful wink.

Jamie looks to Dani for an answer, her mouth moving but no words coming out.

“Yes,” Dani decides for them.

“I’m assuming I won’t need to make up the guest bedroom for you?”

“Oh, um, no, thanks. That won’t be necessary.” Dani isn’t sure why she’s blushing. It’s not as if the whole manor doesn’t know about them. They’d tried hiding at first, sneaking about and slipping into dark corners like teenagers. They were not very good at it.

Later, with Miles and Flora safely asleep and Owen and Hannah having taken their leave for the evening, Jamie returns to Dani’s bed, this time with Dani sliding in behind her. Dani nuzzles into her back, careful not to touch any sore areas.

“I know I was an idiot,” Jamie’s voice cuts nervously through the darkness, “but, ah, just wanted to say thanks. For caring about me. Not really...not really used to that.”

Dani can feel her entire body tense. She presses tender kisses along Jamie’s back. “Of course,” she murmurs, and she hopes her conviction comes across. “Always.” She hesitates. “You’re not wrong about being an idiot, though,” Dani giggles.

“You like it.” It’s not meant to be a question, though Jamie’s voice wavers.

“I do,” Dani confirms affectionately, “I do.”

Jamie relaxes against her.

[crimsonfluidessence]

Prompt 9: Friable

7:45 in the morning.

Each and every day, Esredes' alarm went off. He was not one with long startup lag- within a minute, he was always up and shutting his alarm off, dragging himself to the bathroom.

Brush your teeth, comb your hair back into those peculiar spikes, splash some water on your face- yes, perfect. And next came the closet, where Esredes mostly changed into the same repetition of outfits each day- all this time, and still he had not bothered to add much new.

Too much attention.

All this took ten minutes at most, and then he was downstairs. A quick breakfast came and went with a dose of orange juice, and he was putting on Heilyn's coat made for him like he did every morning, followed by the trusty messenger bag and sword. Long past were moments like the sheer embarrassment of shutting down on his floor or at his desk entirely- there was no time for suck weakness anymore.

The brisk and cold air of Foundation greeted Esredes as always, and he set out on the usual route to the Pillars. It was nice and quiet on his street, then it soon passed into the main streets of Foundation. Here and there on the way to work, there were sometimes eyes, stares in his direction, some which he noticed and some which he did not- but today he passed them by before his mind could begin to wander.

Ferrant's office space was always a safe escape from the outside world when he arrived- all of the man's office staff was friendly, Heilyn was the raggy-haired piece of shit he always was, and he could greet everyone and get to his office to write papers in peace. But today, Ferrant had a House of Lords person for him to go and talk to on his behalf, so Esredes didn't get to settle in to his office just yet, instead going back out the Pillars and right into another Lords' office.

"Good morning," Esredes said in his usual polite political work voice as he pushed his way into the office. Every time he went to another Lords' office, it hit him just how humble Ferrant was- and how not humble his former noble self was.

The older Elezen man looked up from his desk at Esredes with a calm indifference. "Good morning," he repeated back. "You're Durand's messenger, correct?"

"Correct," Esredes said, coming in and taking a seat, smoothing out the papers in his hands on the desk. "Lord Ferrant sends his regards he is too busy to see you in person as of now, but expect a letter within the next couple weeks for a request for a lunch appointment. Now, here is the papers he requested of you to look over," Esredes turned them around on the desk and slid them forward to the man, then set his hands clasped in his lap as he watched the man read it over with a careful, scrunched up look on his face.

It took him a long moment before he finally spoke. "...I see." He started with. "And tell me, is Lord Ferrant aware of the greater implications a proposal like this would have on the city?"

"It depends on what you mean by that," Esredes said. "But I like to believe he does know, yes. No proposal of his is without careful consideration, after all."

"The way I see it, it's exactly proposals like this which threaten the stability of the public." He put the papers down, shut his eyes, and let out a long sigh. "Is Lord Ferrant not aware how dangerous it is already for our knights most holy to deal with the remnants of Nidhogg's horde? The system in place is perfectly fine for dealing with the heretics who defected to that monster."

"It's not exactly about that," Esredes said. "It's about those who were kidnapped and forced into his ranks, you see, when he writes prisoner of-"

"The Temple Knights are already at risk of being mauled and turned by the knights who get to them." The Lord said. "You cannot ask them to change their procedures without putting countless lives at risk." He smiled at Esredes. "Send Lord Ferrant my regards, but I am not interested in more of this proposal of his. Now, what else does he have to speak of?"

Esredes forced a smile back. "Very well," he said as he took the papers back into his hands. "Then I believe we can cut right to the next proposal on the House floor..."

When he exited that building and went back out into the streets, Esredes let out a sigh and looked over the papers in his hands. Heilyn and himself had been working on that one for so many weeks now, and this was the fifth test subject it had failed without any room for further conversation. How many more rewrites did they need to make this worth any consideration?

Lunch hour was already approaching, and so Esredes decided to make his way down towards the Crozier. He was near enough that he could pick something up and bring it back to the office, and then he'd have just enough time to report the results and get his work in order before his hour break for a client coming in. It was already getting crowded, however, so Esredes opted to pick a stall with a decent line just to save time instead of his usual go tos. The merchant was selling little meat pies that overwhelmed Esredes' nostrils even from this distance back, and it was rare Esredes wasn't in the mood for them. "Hi," he said with a smile when it was his turn in line, taking the gil out from his pouch. "Two, please." He set it on the counter and slid it over.

The Hyur man gave him a peculiar stare as he did so, and Esredes had to keep his smile from faltering. "Sorry, I think it's best you look elsewhere. Stock's limited, and my usual customers show up around now."

Esredes blinked a couple times, staring back at the man before glancing down at his gil and slowly taking it back in his hand. How the hell did this random merchant even know? "Very well, my apologies for the inconvenience." Esredes replied, and off he did as he did best and disappeared into the crowd.

He ended up with a smoked Dodo sandwich instead, carrying it in a box in his hand as he made his way out of the Crozier and back towards the office. Yet as he passed by one tall and light individual on the street, he did a double take and stopped, looking back with a faint smile of recognition. "Good afternoon, Squire of the Axe." He called to the young man, recognizing one of the individuals from the Fourth Temple Knight Company he sort of tolerated, sort of didn't. While others had revealed his real name to him, he still felt the man would scorn him if he tried using it yet. "Hope you're having a decent one. Take care."

Gerivien turned around and stared at Esredes with a look Esredes recognized well out of the man by now- that of burning, unfiltered hatred. It couldn't decide consistently if it wanted to be there or soften on any given interaction, and his mouth twitched downwards.

"Mind yer fuckin' business." Gerivien said, and turned on and kept right on walking with that.

"Until another time!" Esredes called his way with a smirk before moving on. Ah, Gerivien was a hot and cold one- some days he got that, other days the man revealed his soft side he denied existing and something more interesting happened- but today he didn't have time for an interesting moment, so take his opportunity to annoy the Squire it was.

Esredes had lunch alone in his office to make up for the extended length of time that Lord had spent talking about his thoughts on the latest House proposal, munching away on the dodo sandwich while finishing up a paper. Then as 12:55 approached, he stood up and moved to the kitchen, pouring a glass of water and then navigating to the Blue Room instead, setting it down on the side table and opening a drawer to take out his binder and fake pair of glasses, slipping the glasses on and settling into his chair. The 1:00 slot was a vague name of 'Red' simply written down on the sheet, and Esredes wasn't sure who this person was at all, but a new client was always kind of exciting nonetheless. He settled in, put a bright smile on his face for the client's entry- and in came a face he did not in fact, not recognize.

Ivarault Vairemont.

He had never spoken to the man personally, but he knew him well, or so he thought- because the man had started a fight most times he saw him, including one with a dear friend of his, and he knew for a fact this man literally wanted to kill him. He was that sort of ex-Dragoon, the kind who wanted his eliminated and nothing more.

Esredes' bright smile dropped in an instant. His free hand went to his pocket, the one that kept the airborne, powder based sleeping agent in a little vial just in case. "What... what are you doing here."

Suddenly, Esredes realized just how much he took Pyralis' mediocre presence for granted.

Though the man had relatively behaved himself for a change, Esredes left that session feeling drained nonetheless. Back to work it was, until the hour of 5:00 hit.

There he was to switch out of his civilian mode and back into what lurked beneath the surface. He left work, went home, changed into his armor he wore into battles as a harrier, and slipped on his helmet as he departed for the Central Highlands. He had a meeting with an interested party about the ways of Iceheart's people, and he meant to represent his people well.

At least, that's what he planned to do. Instead, his tale of Iceheart's struggles, mixed with those of his own and that of the movement all together, was met with an angry response from the masked individual.

"And was it heroic when you allowed the wyverns into the city?" The lady said. "When you slaughtered those people merely delivering goods to their destination?"

Esredes could do nothing but blink. "No." He said. "It wasn't. I never tried to imply it was."

"There is nothing heroic about your people, as you so call them." The lady continued on, taking a step closer to him. "You are no better than the knights you keep bringing up. You spilled blood to summon a primal, and what did it accomplish? Nothing."

"It accomplished the end of the goddamn war!" Esredes retorted back, taking a step forward and curling up his fists. "If she hadn't stopped that Garlean ship, the Archbishop would have plunged the land into chaos. You and all of those pathetic Warriors owe her for your continued peaceful existence, but no, you can't even be bothered to acknowledge that much!"

The lady narrowed her eyes at him with a look of pure disgust. "You will never be anything but a monster," she said, and then she began to walk away.

Well, that was the second time this year one of these people pretending to hear the other side had turned sour when they heard exactly that. Lovely. Esredes let out a sigh and waited for her to be far enough away, then transformed and flew away.

He found himself at a bar later on in the night, 8:30. It had been a day, and he needed to grab a bottle or two before he went home. Content was he to mind his own business, but soon himself approached by a man, a specific type of man he knew the second he put his eyes on. They always had some kind of shit eating grin on their face and were only there to take an unwanted and creepy interest in you.

"What are you so down about?" The man asked about three lines into the conversation.

"I'm Ishgardian."

The man chuckled to that. "That you might, but it's no reason to have such a stick up your arse, yes? Why don't you loosen up a little and maybe you wouldn't seem so down?"

Esredes wanted to sigh all the way down into Witchdrop and then some. "I think I know what I'm doing, thank you. Please feel free to bother someone more interesting."

"Whatever you say, asshole." The man remarked, and as he turned to leave he pushed Esredes right in the abdomen with one hand, causing him to stumble back against the table and spill part of his drink onto his face. A few people in the bar laughed at the sight.

Without a word, Esredes turned and left the bar in a hurry.

When he collapsed into bed that night at 1:34 AM, he felt like he weighed a thousand pounds, yet he stretched his arms out on the bed and shut his eyes, releasing a long breath.

You did it, he told himself. You made it through the day. Another one down, gods know many left.

A lot of emotions swirled up within him, but what went up must come down. Esredes shoved them all back down to the bottom, and stared at the ceiling in complete apathy until he fell asleep.

He was stronger than the world. Other people could break and fracture, but he would remain here, just as he was.

There was no time today for being delicate and picking himself up. Tomorrow, maybe, but for now he was off to dreamland.

-- @heartofthefury / @thecalmnessandthestorms Ferrant/Heilyn

Lori for Gerivien Arius for Ivarault @1emon-vii for Pyralis

[occult-castiel]

Leave a message (after the beep!)

Suptober. Day 13: Rewind Dean has a few things to say to Cas. Word count: 2542 [Read on Ao3]

3 Weeks.

Dean's been stealing glances at his phone for over an hour. The dim light of the hall that creeps from under his door is the only reason he can see the thing, blurred out to a barely-there grey hunk of plastic.

The idea is fucking stupid. He doesn't care what Sam thinks. Sam wasn't even supposed to know. Let alone have fucking opinions.

But Dean slipped.

And it took more effort than he will ever admit to walk out of the kitchen without clocking his brother in the goddamn jaw.

Fuck Sam and fuck the phone.

He turns around, away from the stupidest temptation of his life, and demands sleep come.

It's only mildly successful.

2 Month, 1 Week.

Nothing bad can happen from a phone call. Doing it once can’t hurt you any more than you are now

Sam's a well-meaning kid. He really is. But sometimes he just needs to can it.

'Cause he had to go and say some shit like that, completely unprompted — they were talking about potential witch activity in Utah, not Dean's feelings, for Christ's sake — and now it's all Dean can think about now that the distractions of the day have bled into a dark room and cold bed.

And that gray hunk of plastic on his desk is laughing at him. He could reach it if he sat up. Stretched a bit.

But the idea is dumb. And Sam doesn't get it. He really fucking doesn’t.

Except Dean knows he's kind of full of crap.

He grits his teeth, shoves the covers to the side, and grabs his phone.

With each passing buzz, his heart stutters, breath cut into shorter and shorter spurts.

Stupidstupidstupid.

It- it isn't like he's gunna answer. Dean knows he not, but it just rings and rings and —

"This is my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail."

And it hurts.

He calls again every night for the next week. Of course, he never picks up. Sam doesn't ask.

4 Months.

Dean kicks the door after it slams shut. Throws his gun at his headboard, if it goes off and shoots him, oh fucking well. It's great. Just fantastic.

He pulls his phone out without thinking. Clicks Cas.

It rings, and for a moment his shoulders relax as the familiar greeting plays. Cause its Cas' voice. And fuck. Just… fuck.

Then it beeps, and he actually does the one thing he's wanted for months.

"None of your douchebag family will answer me. And I've tried friggin' everything, I swear to Christ."

He runs his hand over his face, glances up at the sour-yellow ceiling.

"How you ever stood them is beyond me dude."

And then, like a rational human being. He hangs up and pretends that whatever that was didn't happen.

Once the bitter taste of angels that don’t pick the fucking phone up from earlier that day fades, Dean stares at the darkened ceiling.

He left a voicemail. A fucking voicemail.

Pathetic.

4 Months, 3 Weeks.

So he hasn't called again since his, uh, slip up. And Sam keeps giving him these little looks. And he knows that Sam knows, and knows he isn't calling because he's a changed man or whatever.

Maybe Sam would drop it, whatever the hell he thinks Dean's mess is, if he could manage to eat.

Jody, Claire, Kaia, and Alex are all around the table with them. Jody's the charmer she always is, talking about how she's grateful for the help and oh, of course you guys are gunna stay for dinner! Ah-ah! No buts.  

There was a hunt in town she tracked down with Claire, a huge vamps nest — we're talking dozens — and called them over for help. And is now feeding them. Because she's a saint and never deserved to be in the know in the first place.

Dean looks at the food. Pork lathered in dark brown graveyard with a mountain of buttery mashed potatoes. There's a pile of carrots on Sam's plate. Dean opted out.

Not that he's eating now. No, mostly just pushing it all around. He does eat in general.

But Claire isn't looking at him. Hasn't. She barely managed a glance up when he saved her — just a small nod and weary glance.

Sam, on the other hand, may as well be ogling.

Dean wishes he could read Sam's mind, find out where he's keeping it so Dean can wallow in misery without his brother being keen on some of the finer details, thank you very much.

He manages a few bites. Its excellent, mouth-watering, home-cooked goodness he's missed fiercely since he got a taste for it the few days Mrs. Butters was around.

But right now? Turns his stomach.

On the way back home, Sam clears his throat. Dean grips the wheel a little tighter.

"So —"

"I didn't ask for your opinion, Samantha."

In the corner of his eye, Sam's shoulder slump. His brother looks down and sighs out a sad little noise.

But the rest of the drive is quiet. And that's a win in Dean's book.

*

It's roughly midnight, and books are scattered across the library table. They're all open to different pages, but none of it matters. Not really.

Dean's combing through it all anyway. Has been since Heavens decided they have a no-call policy with anyone named Winchester.

The piles he has laid around him have grown increasingly larger as the weeks have drug on. Spiked exponentially when he decided not to call anymore.

"Hey Dean."

Dean snaps his head up mid-sentence. Sam stands in the threshold, holding a plate. In pajamas.

Dean just looks at him. "What?"

"Made you food." He lifts the plate up a fraction

"That looks like a cold cut, so made is a generous word."

Sam has the audacity to slump into himself, full-on wounded-puppy mode. So Dean rolls his eyes and waves him over.

The plate gets sat down with a distinct clank, and Sam pats his shoulder.

"You know I just… want what's best for you."

Dean tenses his shoulders, closes the book in front of him. He speaks through his teeth.

"Yeah, well I never had it in the first place. And now it is gone, and there's nothing I can do."

"You don't know that Dean."

He glues his eyes to the back of the book. Balls his fists.

"Don't I? That — That fucking thing just —"

"I know. But it's also gone. We don't know what happened."

Dean chooses then to look over, fix his brother with a proper glare so he'll go the hell away — but sees it.

Sitting innocuously on the plate, like it isn't an affront to everything Dean would rather not, is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Sam's talking but he can't hear it. His brains turned to mush, a radio-static circus of nothing.

The bottom of his chair screeches as it drags against the floor.

And Dean can’t see.

Sam grabs his arm, he shakes it off. He moves decisively, tries too, but his eyes prickle and he can’t see shit, and he isn’t about to cry right there in front of his brother, validate every stupid thought the guy has that’s probably one-hundred percent right.

His door clicks shut, and he pressed himself against it. Slides down until he hits the icy floor.

Dean's throat is a constricted cage, each breath in has to be muscled in, down, out. Each wobble as much as the last.

Sam doesn't know shit. He doesn’t know what he's talking about. He really doesn't.

Calling someone who can’t answer, won’t ever answer, is fucking stupid. It's not therapeutic.

When he rubs a hand over his face. It comes back wet, and his eyes sting.

"Fuck."

He fishes for his phone. Going to Cas' number is muscle memory at this point.

It rings. Cause Sam can't help but keep the thing charged.

"This is my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail."

The ball in his chest is impossibly tight. Why hasn't he called? Just to hear him again, the gruff tenor that's like gravel and silk and the only thing he ever wants to hear, ever. And now he only has nine words he'll ever hear him say again.

That's it. Two sentences.

You saved the whole world. He didn’t save shit.

And what the fuck is he supposed to do now? How is he supposed to do anything? He’s never been any good, not as good as he needs to be. Maybe if he would’ve been — or did somethin’ different, anything different —

Dean threads his fingers in his hair and balls his fist. Squeezes his eyes shut against the pool of tears that just leak out, and curls in on himself. His guts are twisted and tight, just like the rest of him. Every part of him shakes, the hand vice-gripping his hair should hurt, should be enough to pull him back to sanity, but the tears don’t stop.

And really what does it matter if he cries. Chucks gone, and The Empty, that — that thing got what was coming to it.

But Cas didn't come back.

He lulls his head against the door, untangles the hand from his hair like his fingers piston operated they ache so bad

God, Cas should’ve just left him in Hell.

Maybe he's Heaven, Billy had said with a shrug. Casual. Like she didn't understand. And Dean knows she does. She gets it more than any of them, saw just what this shit did the last time. Saw exactly how much he didn't want to be around.

Jack had to fuck off to put the universe in balance, so he’s MIA and no help. And Heaven doesn't seem to give a shit.

There must've been a beep somewhere, so Dean just goes with it. Presses the phone to his ear again and works his jaw open until it’s loose enough to allow something resembling words can happen.

"It's — it's bullshit." God Dean can't recognize his own voice, pulled thin and hoarse. "You — you know that right? Bullshit." He shakes his head. Tries to take a deep breath that comes out only slightly less ragged. "You always left. And I — I get that you had to sometimes. But no one wanted you here more than me."

He wipes his face off with the collar of his shirt. His skull screams in sharp pain, and his temples thud. And normally this would be too long of a pause, but normally you don't start a voicemail off trying not to sob, and normally they're made for people who can actually listen to them. So whatever.

"This is stupid. It's not — voicemails ain't your style." His breath leaves, and exhaustion sets deep into his bones. "You always just called back for the explanation. You'd leave 'em, though."

At least Dean assumes. Every call back he'd ever gotten from the guy he'd have to fill him in on whatever was happening anyway. Guess it makes sense in a way. If you have enough time to listen to a message, you've got enough time to call.

The space behind his robes aches when he says, "We both shoulda picked up more, I guess. And Sammy wants me to call now. Like it makes up for shit. It doesn't."

He swipes the little red phone to the left, and stares at the word Cas in his contacts page.

But the screen goes blank, and all he can see are his puffy red eyes reflected in the black screen, and that's motivation, so he gets ready for bed.

1 Year, 10 Months, 13 Days

He calls a few times after that. But tries not to leave voicemails for someone that's just gone, in every sense of the word.

It’s dumb. Still really dumb. And he has no defense for it. Eventually Sam hands him Cas' old phone and a charger. All of the missed voicemails untouched.

Dean could swear he remembers ever last one.

They're mostly simple crap, sometimes. Updates.

"Sam and Eileen are getting hitched. They're pretty fucking disgusting together. But sometimes they look at me, and I can just see it, man. See how they like, bubble themselves off." He laughs, but it's strained.  "Guess it just be written on my face. Which is just friggin’ fantastic. Cause I'm happy for them. I've always wanted that for Sam. But I wanted it for us too. Fucked up that I can only say it now, huh."

"I don't like the way burgers taste anymore. And I, uh, have a bumper sticker now. It's a bee. I kept it together until Sam got misty-eyed." There's a pause for a touch too long, then, "That mixtapes been the only thing in Baby for a month."

"I kept the trenchcoat. Wore it earlier. Got cold out for the first time since —" he sighs. "You wore it better. Looks like shit on me. It pretty much lives in my closet. Can't get monster guts on it that way."

But sometimes it's just a confession, none of the other bullshit. Just the truth.

"Look. I'm not mad. So don't think that. Cause I'm not. Wish I was. It's — it's always been easier. But I was trying to get my head on straight. I would've for you. I just… Don't know how now."

"Can't tell if I like using your old angel blade or fucking hate it. Don't like much of anything anymore. You were better with it."

"Id pray to you, but this is all I got. And I wish I could hope you're up there. But then I'd hope there isn't any pay per view Earth or whatever. Cause this shit? Is pitiful." A sigh. "G'night, Cas."

And one night, a long time later, he's sitting with his back against his bed, nestled next to the end table he never used, he says the truth in a way he knows he should've years and years ago.

"Guess this is like prayin', ain't it? Sammy caught me a few months ago. He wasn't even surprised I'm still doing this. Told me it was, uh — It was okay. Even if I just… never did. And you know what? I don't think l can." He gives a small laugh. "Hell, I only leave messages when I'm feeling, I dunno, brave? Like some part of me thinks you could still hear it and tell me to get lost."

Logically, he knows Cas wouldn't have kicked him to the curb. Wanted him just as much.

"God I listen to it almost every night dude. Just hearing this stupid fucking line —  It's like hitting rewind, for a few seconds."

The rest comes off easy, in its own way

"I miss you, Buddy. And I — I love you more than I know what to do with. I wish it would've been enough. But instead, it killed you."

He ends it, and calls back. Just to listen to the only thing he'll ever hear Cas say again. It’s not a replacement, never will be until he can see if Heaven really does have an angels left.

But the only faith he ever had is just an echo on the other end.

"This is my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail."

[theassthatquits]

The Plane of Celebrations Ch1

I started writing a fic based on the plane I created for my other fic “In the Margins”! Please read and lmk what you think! It’s a lot of fun to write. This is the first chapter or you can read it on ao3.

“There’s a whole community out there! A whole civilization! We have to go explore, it’s practically required of us. That’s what we set out to do, right?” It was the first day on a new plane, the seventh cycle. The crew of the Starblaster was having their yearly argument with Lup having the same opinion every time: leave the ship right away.

“Lup, it’s much too dangerous before we do any of our tests. Let Barry get readings on the air and the gravity at least. We don’t know what could be out there - we need to play it safe we’re -“

“ - The entirety of existence’s last hope -“ That part was said together by both Davenport and Lup, but she continues. “Yes, we know. After six years of this, we all know.” She paused, and everyone remembered the weight on their collective shoulders. “All right, the nerd can finish his tests. But afterwards, Taako and I are going into town. It’s been years since we’ve interacted with anyone not in this room. Sorry my dudes, I love you all but it’s time for this girl to get some action.” She finger gunned around the room. “Let me know when you’re done, Barold!”

Lup yelled the last part as she was walking down the hall to the twins’ room, Taako trailing behind her. Barry wordlessly watched them leave abruptly, the word “nerd” still hanging in his head. After a moment he turned and left, better get going on his research before Lup got mad at him. 

—-

“Woah, Taako, this shit looks delicious.” After Barry had deemed the plane safe to walk around on, the twins took off for the nearest town and were now wandering around. Everyone looked happy, buzzing around getting ready for something. Posters were up reminding others to sign up for the potluck and to remember to show up for the bonfire at 7p on the following day. She made a mental note to come back, maybe bring Barry. Get him out of his lab a little. 

Lup had been referring to the bakery they were walking past, giant cakes and cookies in the window. “Order your post holiday desserts today! Don’t be caught in an after-loss rut! Get some sweets!” She noticed the sign. “Hey Taako, what do you think that means, ‘after-loss rut’?” 

“Who knows, sounds like maybe an economic thing. Capitalist hell, you know?”

“Eh, maybe.”

Across town, Barry was wandering around alone. He didn’t tell the others where he was going, he didn’t really want any company. Barry was content in his own existence, walking around, taking notes on the interesting things he saw. What he was really looking for was a library. He had overheard people talking about “the Deities” and all of the “holidays” and he was hoping for an explanation. 

Ahead of him was a giant ornate building with tall columns and statues of lion-like creatures perched by the door. Yep, seems like a library to him. There weren't a lot of people there, which is just what he preferred. Barry immediately headed to the history section, eager to find out more about this plane and the different, remarkable ways people led their lives here. 

—-

The following day, Barry woke up to a blood-piercing scream. He shot up out of bed, stumbling out of his room while putting on his glasses. He ran face first into Magnus’s bare back, who had gotten to the kitchen - the source of the scream - in record time. 

“Oof! Sorry, Magnus.” Barry muttered, embarrassed. Magnus didn’t pay him any mind, instead questioning Taako relentlessly. 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did you get stabbed? Where did you get stabbed? Where did the stabber run off to? I’m going to go find them -“

“Magnus, shut up!” Taako interrupted him. “I did not get stabbed. Something much, much worse happened.” 

“Taako, what the fuck happened?” Lup stepped forward, her hands coming out like she was about to set them on fire, fear in her eyes. 

“I…” He flung his arm over his eyes dramatically. “I can’t taste anything!”

The room went silent. Everyone looked around, notating a thrown iced coffee, open jars of hot sauce, pickles, anything potent they had on the ship. 

“Are you fucking kidding me? You screamed at 8 in the morning and woke everyone up because you have a cold?” Lup launched at him, tackling him. 

“Hey, this is different! Lup, get off of me. I know this is different. I feel fine every other way, my nose isn’t stuffy. My taste is just...gone.”

Lup rolled her eyes. “You’re just sick. Here,” she turned, grabbing a piece of bread and put her palm underneath it, something she did every day to toast her sandwich. Nothing happened. “What the fuck?” She tried again. Nothing. “Okay, maybe there is something wrong here.” 

“Can someone please explain to me what is going on?” Davenport whispered from behind Barry. It was unusual and kind of eerie to hear their captain, usually full of confidence, whisper a command. And it wasn’t really a command, more of a...pleading question? What the fuck was going on? 

Lup turned to Barry, panic and fear in her eyes. “Barry, do you know what’s going on?” It was a terrible, confusing time for all of them, and usually he never denied Lup anything, but Barry found himself...not really caring about finding out why this was happening. 

“I have no idea. Maybe something to do with this plane?”

“Wow, so glad Barold is here to lend his infinite wisdom,” Taako’s voice cut through the tension and right into Barry’s confidence. His face began to burn. 

“I’m going to the lab,” he replied, deadpan. 

“Oh, no don’t leave us -”

“Taako!” Lup slapped his arm. “Don’t be a dick.”

“What are you going to do, light me on fire? Oh, wait -”

“I swear to Istus, Taako, I’ll cook your favorite meal and make you eat it and you won’t be able to taste a goddamned thing -”

“Guys, can we focus? Please?” Lucrecia, unusually loud, stepped in. She had been crying. “I can’t seem to write anything. What is happening with us? Have we all lost something? Taako, you lost your sense of taste. Lup, your magic. Me, my writing. Captain...seems weird.”

“Yeah, he’s like all quiet and timid,” Magnus added.

“I’m right here,” Lucrecia heard from next to her where she didn’t realize Davenport had been standing. She turned to him. 

“Maybe your confidence? So not just like actual tangible things have been lost. Magnus, do you know what you might be missing?”

He rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “Hmm, I can’t think of anything. Let me go for a run and I’ll get back to you!” He bounded out of the room and off the ship, like it was a normal morning workout. 

“Well, I don’t think I’ve lost anything,” Merle declared. “I am perfectly fine, thank you.”

“It seems to be something of importance to us, maybe it’s your healing magic?”

“You said ‘something of importance’ Luce, that can’t be it.” 

“Taako, I swear if you don’t shut the fuck up.” 

Lucrecia turned to look at Lup who looked, for the first time since she had known her, anxious. Usually Lup was a bright light, confident and scathing and so sure of herself that she could intimidate armies. Today, she was sweating and clawing at her legs, eyes darting around the room as if looking for potential enemies. “Lup, are you okay?” Lucrecia stepped forward.

“I am fucking fantastic, I can’t cast anything, can’t defend myself or my brother, I’m a walking nuisance, completely useless.” She stomped off, attempting once again to light her hands up but failing and the guttural scream of agony that followed sent shivers down Lucrecia’s spine. 

“Where is she going?”

“Honestly? Probably to see Barold. Now, everyone get out of here, I gotta keep making food until I can’t see straight.”

[lostinbl]

Dean catches team and win kissing in the locker room after practice. Team freaks out and ignores win for a couple of days. Dean isn’t too surprised since he knows that win has like team for a while now. So he tries to give team the “dont hurt my friend” talk

“Don’t come any closer”, Team warns Win as he backs away. Win is looking at him with that goddamn smirk on his lips. He raises one of his eyebrows and takes a step forward. Team glances around but unfortunately for him, it’s just the two of them. Their practise ended well over half an hour ago after all. Team took his time showering and before he realised, the entire locker room was empty. Except for that one blond motherfucker.

Ever since that time, Team has made sure to not be left alone with Win. He can’t believe it slipped his mind this time.

Team let’s out a disapproving sound as Win takes another step forward. Win’s smirk gets even wider and goddamn Team wants to punch him.

“What? I’m not gonna do anything”, Win laughs as he keeps walking. Team’s back hits the cold metal lockers.

“P’!” Team warns but Win doesn’t care. He gets closer and soon Team can feel the man’s hot breaths against his face. A shiver runs through Team, lifting the hair on his arms. Team blames it on the cold. He’s not wearing a shirt after all. Win comes even closer, putting his arms next to Team’s head, trapping him against the locker. Team’s hands find Win’s bare chest as he tries to keep the boy away.

“We’re in the locker room!! We can’t do this again”, Team scolds Win but even he can hear the uncertainty in his voice. Unsurprisingly, Win ignores his words.

Slowly the smirk on his face fades and something much scarier replaces it. Win leans closer and Team freezes. Team would like to say he fought back, but he really didn’t. The moment Win’s lips touch his, Team’s eyes close and he relaxes against the lockers.

Win wraps his left arm around Team’s waist, pressing himself against Team. The hand that was earlier holding Win back is now wrapped around Win’s neck, pulling him closer, while his other hand is in Win’s hair. Team loves Win’s hair. He loves the way it looks but more than that, he loves the way it feels. His hair is soft and the perfect length to tangle his fingers in. That being said, Team’s fingers are intertwined with locks of blond hair and gently he moves his hand, tugging Win’s hair. Win lets out a deep groan and presses closer. The sound sends electricity down Team’s spine. Despite everything, there are some things he has learned about the man in front of him.

Win’s right hand slips down under the towel and he runs his fingers along Team’s thigh. Team knows he should stop Win, he should pull away because Win would let him, of course he would but Team can’t bring himself to do it. Not when everything Win touches turns to fire. Win’s hand moves up to his upper thigh. The blond boy moves his mouth and nibbles at a spot under Team’s ear. Team’s breath gets caught in his throat.

“Hia”, Team’s voice is shaky as he calls out. Win’s hand stops there, waiting for instructions. Win’s mouth doesn’t stop but Team knows he's waiting for an answer. Team opens his mouth, way too feverish to say anything other than yes when Team hears the door opening. The blood in his veins turns to ice and his eyes burst open. Team pushes Win away with what he admits to being a little too much force. Win looks at him with confusion and then follows Team’s wide eyes.

“Oh. Hello Dean”, Win greets his friend. He steps in front of Team to hide his dishevelled looks.

Dean lets out a sigh and presses his nose bridge with his thumb and index finger.

“Guys. Seriously? No matter how horny you are, please, not in the locker room”, Dean says in surrender. Win sighs and crosses his arms.

“You just had to come in now, did you?” Win asks but there’s humour to his voice.

“I’m sorry P”, Team mumbles as the reality of his actions finally catches up with him. In a hurry, Team picks up the pile of clothes on the bench and runs for the door.

“Team!” Win calls after him but the younger boy has already exited the room. Win takes a step after him, frowning. In the end, he decides against running after the boy. Dean leans against the wall, his eyes on Win. He can’t say he’s surprised, not really. He just didn’t think they were quite there yet.

“How long has this been going on?” Dean asks, his voice kind. Win sighs and picks up his shirt. He’s avoiding Dean’s eyes.

“There’s no this”, Win mumbles as he puts the shirt on. Dean raises his eyebrows.

“Oh?” Dean asks. He’s pretty sure Win likes the boy and from the way Team acts, he thought the feelings were mutual.

“Mmh”, Win agrees not providing an explanation. Dean stays quiet. If Win doesn’t want to talk, he won’t force him. He picks up his keys from the table, them being the reason he came back in the first place, and leaves for the door. Before exiting, he turns around and points at Win, giving him a meaningful look. Win smirks and raises his hands up in surrender. Dean chuckles and rolls his eyes, finally leaving.

The moment Dean is gone, the smile on Win’s face drops. He sighs and ruffles his hair. Win sits down and buries his face into his hands. Shit.

-

Four days later Win has not seen or heard from Team. The young boy has gone as far as to skip swimming practise. Whenever Win goes with Dean to meet Pharm and the rest, Team is nowhere to be seen. Win’s unsure whether Team has been hanging out with his best friends at all, or if he’s simply really good at avoiding Win. He hopes it’s the latter.

Once again, Win and Dean make their way over to the younger students. Win looks around with a frown. Still no sign of Team.

“Where’s Team?” Win asks no longer trying to be inconspicuous. He’s pretty sure Team’s friends have some idea of what’s going on. He has been asking the same question several times in the last few days after all.

“Team? He just left before you got here”, Manow answers as she takes another bite of a sandwich Win is sure Pharm prepared for her. Win breaths out in relief. So Team’s only avoiding him then. That’s better than avoiding everyone. Win sits silently throughout their meal which goes unnoticed by everyone else other than Dean. He knows his best friend better than that.

“I’ll go first then? See you at practise”, Dean says bye to Win as they leave for separate directions. After a quick conversation with Pharm, he got Team’s location. Since the boy has gone into hiding and Win can’t find him, he has to make a move.

Dean arrives into the library and just like Pharm said, Team is there, sitting on one of the tables. He doesn’t have any books open in front of him and it’s more than clear he’s not there to study. He’s there to hide. Team is leaning his chin against his arms, staring at something deep in thought. It’s weird for Dean, seeing Team like this since he doesn’t really know Team on a deeper level. Dean’s used to Team clinging to Pharm, always asking for food and constantly bickering with Win. His expressions are always loud and it’s strange to see him this solemn. To Dean’s luck, Team has picked a somewhat remote area and the closest people are a few shelves away. Dean walks over to Team and sits down. The younger boy only raises his head when he hears the chair scrape against the floor. Team’s eyes widen and he straightens himself.

“What’s going on? Is something wrong with Pharm?” Team asks, though clearly not alarmed. Dean smiles. His friends always come first. Win found a good guy.

“No, nothing’s wrong. I’m here about Win”, Dean answers and leans against the table, crossing his fingers. Team shrinks against his seat.

“What about him?” he asks, avoiding Dean’s eyes. Dean looks at his expression in silence for a little while longer.

“I’m not taking sides, I’m just here to talk”, Dean says and leans back against his seat. Team relaxes and nods, still looking away.

“Just.. if you’re not planning on being in a relationship with Win, tell him that”, Dean cuts straight into it. Team meets his eyes but doesn’t interrupt.

“He likes to flirt and play around but he really does like you. It’s not the first time he’s gotten his heart broken so be straight with him. If you’re not planning on being with him, stop seeing him. You’re no longer just a fling to him and he can’t walk away on his own. So if you’re planning to, you need to do it”, Dean’s voice is calm as he speaks. Team looks at his lap and plays with his fingers. Does he want to be with Win? Or… Team tries to think. This is the same question he has been battling with for the last several days. He was planning on figuring it out soon and in a way, he felt as though Dean had given him an ultimatum.

“Do you not want to be with him? Do you not like him? Or.. are you not ready to.. you know”, Dean clears his throat. Team’s eyes widen.

“No! It’s not that! It’s.. I’m not.. I..” Team’s voice drifts off. They stay in silence for a little while.

“Well.. either way, think about it. Don’t leave him hanging”, Dean says as he gets up. Team nods. Dean gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze as he leaves the table. Team sighs and lets his head fall against the table. His forehead stings but he ignores the pain. He has more important things to worry about.

-

At 2.56 am Win hears a knock on his door. Had it been any other day, Win would’ve probably been asleep. But it’s Friday and hence Win’s in no hurry to go to bed. That and the assignment he forgot to turn in three hours ago and the fact that he only finished it twenty seconds ago. Win sends the file to his professor, writing an excuse about his internet crashing and it only now working. Win’s pretty sure the excuse will pass, not that it really matters. As long as the assignment has arrived before the professor checks his email, he won’t say you’re late. He’s pretty chill like that.

Win gets up from his chair as he hears the loud knock again. Rather than knocking, it sounds like someone is kicking the door. Win grimaces at the thought of it waking up his neighbors. Win opens the door with an angry expression on his face, ready to yell at the idiot on the other side. And even though that person ends up being the biggest idiot of them all, Win can’t yell at him.

Team looks up at him with a conflicted expression. He’s wearing his nightwear clutching onto his phone and keys. His hair is dishevelled and it’s clear that coming over was an impromptu decision. Without a word, Win steps aside and Team slips past him. Team heads straight for the bed and without a word he climbs under the covers. Win is still standing at the door. With a sigh, he closes the door and follows Team inside. Win turns off his computer and the desk light then crawling under covers next to Team. Win wraps his arms around Team and pulls the younger boy in for a hug. Team doesn’t resist.

No matter what happens, Win knows he can’t push Team away. Whenever Team has those nightmares, whenever he can’t sleep or breathe the person he finds is Win. Tonight is proof. Even though Team has been avoiding him for days, when he really needed Win, he couldn’t stop himself from coming over in the middle of the night. And as long as Team needs to, Win will let him. Win presses a kiss into Team’s hair as he snuggles closer.

“Hia”, Team calls against his neck. Win tightens his hold around Team. He stays quiet.

“I didn’t mean to run. I just.. I needed to think a little. I’m sorry”, Team apologises. Win sighs.

“It’s okay”, Win answers with a quiet voice. He doesn’t blame Team. This is his first relationship and on top of it it’s with a boy. It’s only natural for him to be scared.

“I.. I want to be with you”, Team says the words quickly as if afraid he’ll swallow them if not said now. Win pulls back with surprise on his face. He meets Team’s eyes. The younger one doesn’t turn his eyes away.

“Yeah?” Win asks, his eyes not once leaving Team’s.

“Yeah”, Team replies with a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Win stares at him a little while longer and then a smile takes over his lips. He lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding and pulls Team in for a tight hug.

“Ynngh.. suffocating- over- here”, Team chokes out and Win laughs. He pulls back just a little. He brings his eyes down to Team’s lips and leans down. Win kisses Team softly on the lips and pulls back again. Team smiles. Win answers the smile and kisses Team again. Now that he’s allowed to, he’s not planning on stopping any time soon.

[iamtheblondestblonde]

Slides and Serendipity

Part Three (4.3k)

Part One   Part Two

AN: Here comes part three. Are you happy with the lengths of the chapters or do you think I should split them up into smaller parts? Feedback is appreciated as always and enjoy

Warnings: Language because Tyler is Tyler

The next morning I woke up with a pounding head. Even chugging water before going to sleep had not helped to prevent the hangover that was now haunting me. I didn’t even want to imagine how Tyler felt as he’d had way more to drink than I did but least he had the day off. 

A cold shower and changing into a comfortable outfit made things better but I still would’ve loved to stay in bed all day.

Yogi didn’t care about my headache of course and wanted attention as soon as I stumbled into the living room downstairs. After throwing his favorite ball a few times in the backyard I could at least convince him to come cuddling with me on the sofa. 

At that point my mind went back to the previous night and the way Tyler had looked at me all evening. On a whim I pulled my phone out to shoot a text to Tyler.

Me: Are you up yet?

I didn’t have to wait long until he sent back a picture of himself buried under Gerry on the couch, similar to my own position. Even sleepy he looked hot as hell, which was definitely not fair to everyone else on this planet.

Tyler: Barely.. My headache is so bad I didn’t even manage to make breakfast yet

I hadn’t gotten that far yet either so I suggested making breakfast together, mostly because I was too lazy to do all the work by myself and also because even though I had only seen him a couple of hours ago, I wouldn’t mind looking at this fine male specimen again.

I wasn’t really in the mood for walking and I definitely shouldn’t be driving in my stage so I decided on the easiest option, putting on roller skates and having Yogi pull me over to Tyler’s house. Perks of having a Husky mix. We had done this a couple of times over the last month and each time I had to do less work in my skates. Yogi was growing up so fast and his genes made him the perfect partner for stuff like this, in a couple of weeks I could probably stop skating altogether and only yell directions.

Tyler waited for me at the front gate to his house and started laughing as soon as he saw Yogi dragging me across the street. He opened the iron gates and then filmed us as Yogi kept running to his front door.

“Before you accuse me of anything, he loves this!”, I yelled over my shoulder as we passed him but I had to laugh as well. I knew we probably looked ridiculous but at least it was great exercise for the dog.

“Do you think I could get one of mine to do this with me?”, Tyler asked as I took of the skates in his doorway, letting Yogi off the leash.

“No way. Cash and Marshall are too lazy and with Gerry you’d end up flat on your ass in five seconds. One squirrel is all it’d take to ruin your day but you’re welcome to come with us sometime. I think you’re too heavy for him to pull though, he can barely do me.”

His pout made me laugh, which kind of didn’t make my headache any more enjoyable but he knew there was absolutely no way Yogi could pull him the way he’d just pulled me.

“You make it sound like I’m fat, this is all muscle baby”, Tyler joked, pulling up the hem of his shirt and flexing. I already knew that he was definitely anything but fat from feeling him up the day before, but I wasn’t going to turn down or interrupt the show he was currently giving me so I kept giving him unimpressed looks.

“You still probably weigh twice as much as I do so that’s too much for Yogi but I could probably do it, it’ll be a great workout for me”

With the way his face lit up at my idea nobody would have been able to guess that this guy probably spent half his life skating around and actually enjoying it, no matter if on or off the ice.

“I’ll definitely take you up on that but let’s do that sometime when I don’t feel like there’s a techno rave going on inside my head”

With that we moved on to the kitchen and Tyler put on some music as background noise for our cooking. Yogi was outside, happily chasing Tyler’s dogs around and taking full advantage of the pool. Rifling through his fridge I pulled out some fruits for smoothies and to snack while he prepared everything for ‘The Best Hangover Breakfast’, aka grilled cheese sandwiches. I was cutting up some watermelon and humming along to the music when Tyler spoke up.

“My friends and teammates have all been texting me nonstop about you, they probably like you better than me already”

His comment made me smile but I was unsure what to respond for a moment. As much as I enjoyed my time with him, I knew what everyone else said about him and it was stuff like this that could cause lots of problems for me in the future if I wasn’t careful.

“That’s because I’m way nicer than you are but they’ll probably never let us play beer pong together again”, I deflected, desperately trying to keep things at a platonic level where I felt comfortable.

“How are you so good at that by the way? I didn’t really peg MIT students as the type of people who would be good at frat party games”

“You’d be surprised really, you’re constantly under so much pressure that you need a way of blowing off some steam and smart people usually have the dumbest ideas. In my junior year for example we were throwing a party in our dorm and calculated the exact number of toilets we needed to flush in order to break the plumbing system. We didn’t really think far ahead though, because we had to use the showers and toilets in other dorms for over a week after that”, I told him and he burst out in a giggle that would have most sorority girls proud, gripping the counter so he wouldn’t fall over. His ridiculous laugh was so infectious that I had to laugh as well, still immensely fond of all the crazy things that had happened during college.

“Sometimes I wish I could’ve gone to college as well, from what I’ve heard most people have a blast there and I feel like I’ve missed out on a lot”, he told me after he’d calmed down, now turned around so he could look me in the eyes.

“I don’t know about that, you kinda got the best of both worlds. You didn’t have daily mental breakdowns during exam season and still got to attend frat parties and stuff. You also get to do something you love for a living, so your life doesn’t look too bad if you ask me”, I responded softly, getting the feeling that he truly did feel like he’d simply skipped over an important part in life. He smiled at me and we dropped the topic, instead continuing a more lighthearted conversation and taking our breakfast outside.

“I’m going to miss having all this time to myself soon. I still have two more weeks until my self-imposed deadline but I need to start buying stuff for my office and take care of all these other things”, I sighed, leaning back on my chair and closing my eyes to shut out the sun. I looked forward to being productive again, but I also really loved doing whatever I wanted whenever I wanted.

“I get what you mean. I have all those workouts and practice still but it’s nothing compared to when the season starts, especially when we want to make the playoffs again. I love hockey and I can’t wait to play again but it’s just a lot sometimes”, Tyler responded and I nodded understandingly.

“For you it’s worse because you’re in the spotlight all the time. If I fuck up that’s on me and reflects only on myself and maybe the people that I’m working with. People blame you for things you have no control over most of the time and get mad all the time”

He nodded and was quiet for a while after that, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. We were simply both lost in our thoughts but still enjoying each other’s presence. Eventually the pounding in my head subsided and Tyler must have felt better as well because he offered to show me around the house.

I was wrong about the waterslide into his pool being as extra as one could get because I hadn’t noticed the small lake with a goddamn fountain and private tennis court the day before.

“We’ll have to play sometime, I’ll wipe the floor with you”, I said after he told me that he didn’t really play that much. It was a mystery to me why he would need a private court in that case but that’s athletes, I guess. I wasn’t even that good myself but I was determined to beat him. He promised to end me in basketball in turn and he was probably right, because that sport had for obvious reasons, mostly my height and tiny hands, never been my forte.

The way he was proudly showing me all of his hockey related belongings was incredibly endearing and his comments were super cute. It was clear that he loved the game and that nothing could stop this passion and I admired him for it.

Quite a while later I made my way back to my house, Yogi almost not wanting to get out of the humongous pool. Once I had the roller skates back on, I got in the mood for it and for the next hour we casually continued skating around, although this time I didn’t let him do all the work. I really needed to stop slacking and look up nearby gyms soon or I could kiss all of my hard work on my body goodbye.

The rest of my Saturday afternoon was spent texting Katie about lunch and in front of my tablet, facetiming the girls so I could relay the events of the day before. Safe to say there was constant screaming, squealing and lots of questions being shot at me. Lisa was incredibly pleased with herself because her plan of getting Tyler’s attention had worked but Emily was worried that it had worked a little too well while Mara kept saying that I was living her dream.

“You need to tone it down a bit, I think. You said you didn’t want to risk your friendship through sleeping with him right now, so you need to make sure that things don’t get this heated again or you’re going to get hurt”, she said softly and I knew she had a point. Keeping my hands off of Tyler for now would be the only way to avoid unnecessary drama. I knew his type and while I usually didn’t mind hookups, famous athletes weren’t the best choice in that department.

“From what you’ve told he sounds incredibly sweet but don’t forget that that could all be an act to get you to sleep with him. Don’t shut him out completely though, just kinda slowly test the waters but stay in the shallow part if you know what I’m getting at”, Mara threw in and started wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. I wasn’t entirely sure I knew what she meant but I also didn’t know if I wanted an explicit explanation on what she considered the shallow part to be exactly.

“And if you really need to get laid to get it out of your system, I have some people in your area I can hook you up with, literally”, Lisa threw in and if there wasn’t a screen between us, I’d have smacked her across the head.

I decided to not have a lazy Sunday for once, as I’d literally had lazy days for almost two weeks straight. Instead I grabbed measuring tape and walked into the second living room, soon to be my office. For the next three hours I was busy measuring everything and slowly putting together a plan on my tablet while also cursing the US customary system of units. I had lived the last seven years in the US and while I had gotten used to the seemingly random numbers over time, I was still convinced that it was only implemented to fuck with people.

The room was thankfully big enough to fit a medium-sized conference table that I’d need and my own desk without feeling crowded. The big windows weren’t optimal because of the computer screens, but they were facing north at least. They would also help to not make this room look like a bunker once I finally had everything I needed.

Happy with the work I had done I finally relaxed on my couch with Yogi curled up on top of me. I was full on prepared to spend the rest of my day with him like this, but Tyler had other plans. We’d only met half a week ago and seen each other every day since, mostly out of his initiative and today would apparently be no different. He asked me if I wanted to watch some movies ‘with the children’ and I invited him over to my place along with the dogs.

Ten minutes later he was standing at my door in shorts and a deliciously tight t shirt, the dogs excitedly circling his legs before greeting me enthusiastically. Afterwards I leaned up to hug him while he joked that I only liked him for the dogs.

“It’s a big part I’m not gonna lie”, I teased and ushered him inside where our children were already running around and playing with each other. They got along so well and it was a very cute sight to see.

“Your place looks really beautiful by the way, you have a great taste for this stuff”, he commented, picking up a throw pillow from the couch to inspect it further. It wasn’t the first time he’d been to my house, but last time he had only really focused on the kitchen because we were both really hungry.

I took him on a little tour around the house and pointed out different things along the way while we updated each other on any possible news.

“This is going to be the office but it doesn’t look like much right now, I have to go and buy all of the stuff that I need sometime this week so don’t judge me”

“I’m not judging but if you need some help I can come with you. I think I have a noon practice when you’re getting lunch with the girls so you can come with them to the arena after and I can take you”, he offered and I mentally had a slack jaw out of surprise. This was nothing like the Tyler that was always portrayed in the media, but I wasn’t sure if it was an act like Mara said or if he was being genuine. I needed to be careful but at the same time I really wanted to figure out why he bothered being so nice with me.

The dogs were following us around of course and I picked up Yogi and carried him upstairs, explaining to Tyler that he was scared of stairs for some reason. He insisted on getting to carry Yogi back downstairs because he thought it was cute. We also kept stopping because he asked me all kinds of questions and demanded stories to most pictures so by the time we finished the tour my stomach was already announcing that it was time for dinner.

“What do you want to eat?”, I asked him once we were back in my kitchen.

“Don’t tell on me but I’ve been craving pizza all day”, he responded and I laughed because he might be 27 but from what I’ve learned so far he’d have the eating habits of a five year old if he could.

“Am I going to get you in trouble if I make us some?”, I asked, already mentally checking if I had all of the needed ingredients in the house.

“You’re going to make me pizza? I was actually thinking of just ordering some but now there’s no way I’m turning that down so it’s going to have to be our secret, I guess”

“I’m not going to make you pizza, we are going to make pizza for the both of us because I really think it’s about time you learn how to make anything besides grilled cheese”, I chided him on his terrible cooking skills. It was a mystery how he’d survived so long without barely any basic knowledge in the kitchen, but I was planning to change that from now on.

I was currently both enjoying and regretting that decision at the same time.

I leaned against the kitchen island next to Tyler, trying not to drool over the way his big hands were working on the dough. I could see his muscles working under that tight shirt and honestly kneading pizza dough should not be this sexy, but Tyler somehow made my thoughts go in directions that were anything but appropriate.

“Can you get my hair out of my face? There’s this one strand that just keeps fucking with me”, he cursed and I laughed, softly reaching up to help him out. He wasn’t wearing a snapback tonight and his hair was all over the place by now, which was kind of cute but also definitely kind of hot. At this point my body didn’t know how to react anymore.

I was taking pictures of him ‘to commemorate these first steps’ and while I couldn’t exactly post any on social media without causing a shitstorm, I sent some of them to the girls, making the groupchat explode with messages. Tyler made me film him and add it to his insta story so he could show off his new skill to the world

Gerry and Yogi joined us on the couch while we waited for the dough to rise. Cash was sprawled out on the floor and Marshall had made himself comfortable on Yogi’s bed. I let Tyler pick out a movie while trying to make myself comfortable next to him. He had one arm resting on the back of the couch and I gradually found myself snuggling closer as the time passed. I had just put my head down on his shoulder when my timer reminded me that we had food to attend to.

I showed Tyler how to properly roll it out and then let him take over. His first try was so terrible that I found myself documenting everything again but the second time around he was doing much better already. With some help from me we soon had two near perfectly round pieces of dough ready to be turned into deliciousness.

Tyler had called me an European pizza snob when I’d told him that I didn’t have any peperoni because I didn’t like the greasy fake taste of the sausage but he let me pick out substitutes for him to add instead. Soon the smell made waiting even harder and I couldn’t concentrate on the film anymore but Tyler rubbing circles on my back probably played a part in that as well.

“You might be a snob but you know how to make pizza like damn”, he exclaimed after taking the first bite and I smiled proudly. America had much to learn when it came to pizza and I was more than happy to broaden his horizon in that department.

“That’s why I try to avoid most Italian restaurants here, the food there doesn’t taste the way it’s supposed to and American lasagna is a disgrace to the Italian masterpiece “

“Like I said, snob”

Afterwards we were cuddled up on the couch again and Tyler let me pick out the next movie. I desperately tried to avoid anything with romance or sex in it because I wasn’t sure I could handle that with him so close to me right now. I was leaning against the armrest and this time Tyler was using my lap as a pillow. I tried to stop myself but eventually gave in and started to weave my hand through his hair, softly stroking his head.

He let out a low hum of pleasure and I couldn’t help the direction my thoughts were now going. This much sexual tension was not normal, was it?

“Now I know why my dogs like you so much, you give the best head scratches, especially with those long nails”, he said and I laughed softly, not knowing what to respond instead.

Halfway through the movie I fully lied down and Tyler put his head right below my boobs, wrapping an arm around my body. Now we were both fully reclined on my couch and he had to rest some of his weight on me so we could both fit but I didn’t mind. I kept my hand in his hair at first but eventually moved downwards, slowly and lightly raking my nails across his back the way I knew guys loved.

“Fuck, this feels so good”, he murmured against me and my mind went straight back to the gutter again. How could it not when he was saying stuff like that?!

By the end of the movie I was close to passing out and Tyler wasn’t any different. He slowly untangled himself from me and then called for his dogs, who had fallen asleep already. He thanked me for the pizza and everything else and then he was out the door, leaving me to fall into a peaceful slumber, my dreams filled with images of him.

On Monday a package arrived for me, even though I hadn’t ordered anything lately. I was suspicious to open it but was rewarded with a new pair of the Givenchy slides Gerry had ruined. There was even a note attached that read:

Still sorry that Gerry chewed on your shoes but I’m also happy I got to meet you because of that

-Tyler

The gesture was so sweet that I couldn’t stop smiling for the next couple of hours. I sent a picture of me wearing them to Tyler, thanking him for the present and another picture of the note to the girls, who were of course freaking out again.

The day after that Tyler texted me to see if I was up for an adventure after he finished his workout at noon, an invitation I’d never turn down.

Tyler: It’s not dog-friendly, but you’re going to love the aquarium here it’s awesome

He told me that one of his friends could watch the dogs, the same one who would sometimes watch them whenever he had to go on roadtrips during the season. He said that this way we wouldn’t have to rush through and could grab a bite to eat afterwards as well. His offer was hard to turn down, so I agreed and quickly showered before picking out a cute outfit and leaving to pick him up. It was time to get some more kilometers on my new car.

“Nice car, is that the SQ5?”, Tyler whistled as I parked in his driveway to let Yogi out, who immediately ran ahead to greet him.

“Get your facts straight dude, that’s the SQ8. I thought you were into cars?”, I teased and stood up un my tippy toes to hug him.

“I am but I never really got into Audis, although looking at that I might have to”, he responded grinning and I lightly swatted at his chest before walking inside where his friend was already waiting. I’d brought stuff for Yogi and made sure that he was comfortable before we said our goodbyes and left. We pulled out on the driveway and Tyler typed in the address of the aquarium.

I let him select one of his playlists and was surprised to hear Justin Bieber blasting through my speakers. This guy was truly unpredictable. It was quite the sight to see this 200-pound, burly and bearded guy loudly singing along and knowing all the words to ‘Love Yourself’ but the hilarity of it had me in tears soon enough. His song choices kept surprising me until we finally pulled into the parking lot. I locked the car and turned around to see Tyler looking at me as if he was trying to figure something out.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but how are you affording all of this? You live in our neighborhood, you wear 200$ slides to the dog park and you drive a car that I’m pretty sure costs well over 100 grand. Do you make this much from developing apps only or is there a side business that you haven’t told me about yet?”, he asked curiously and I mentally flinched.

I didn’t mind talking about money with Tyler per se, he was well off himself for all that mattered, but I always got embarrassed talking about my past. However, if I had to talk about the way I had made loads of money, I might as well do it with somebody who was racking in large sums as well. His life was crazy enough that he might understand me.

“Do you want the short answer or the full story?”

“The full story of course. I got all day baby”, he tried to lighten the mood and I had to laugh at the pet name.

“Consider this your heads up though, it gets kind of crazy at some points”, I warned, before starting at the beginning.

Part Four here

[folkloreguk]

Office Party (optional bias)

A/N: Ngl, I wrote this like two years ago and I didn’t like it then and I don’t really like it now...but I guess maybe some of you will?

genre: smut, semi-public (optional bias x reader (female))

words: 1.8k

[masterlist in description]

“Why did you drag me to this deadly boring event again?” he asked into your ear, as you strolled along the buffet.

“Because it's even more deadly boring without you here,” you remarked, linking your arm with his. He chuckled. Your company was holding a small party because of its recently rising success, but, from previous parties, you knew how they went. Party wasn't hardly appropriate for this environment. Sure, you were friends with some of your co-workers and you liked chatting with them. But there were so many other people you had never met or had any interest in meeting. People with an obvious disinterest in fun.

“At least the buffet is nice,” you muttered, shoving a small sandwich into your mouth. Some of the spread was stuck to your fingers, so you took them into your mouth and licked them clean. Your boyfriend stared at you as if you were a museum exhibit.

“Is there something wrong?” you asked. He blinked a few times, biting his lip. He was acting really, really strange.

“No…,” he said, but the way he ended the word it seemed unfinished. There was something unspoken in the air. You raised your eyebrows at him, knowing him better.

“H/N, you better not be thinking about sex right now,” you said under your breath.

“You know I usually wouldn't be like that,” he defended himself. He was right. Of course he made inappropriate jokes and took things the wrong way now and then, but not this easily.

“So what makes this time different?” you questioned. He bit his lip again.

“Come on. I have a right to know. Is it my dress?” you asked, spinning around in front of him. You had to admit, you looked great tonight. In fact, you had gotten more than a few compliments on your appearance already. But he shook his head, like a child. Once more, you gave him a questioning look. Finally, he gave in and told you.

“It reminded me of a dream I had, okay?” he said. Now that was the first exciting thing anyone had said to you all night.

“A dream about me?” you dug deeper, smiling.

“About us,” he said. You were standing a little away from the mass of people, by the window. Behind you, the city lights lit up the dark. From the 20th floor you were guaranteed a breathtaking view.

“You sucked me off so good and then licked my fingers, just like you just did with yours,” he whispered, bending down to your ear. You almost choked on air. “Then I fucked you against a wall, from behind.”

While you prayed to god no one around you could hear his words, he seemed to be enjoying the situation.

“I pulled your hair and your moans were so goddamn hot, I swear I can still hear them,” he went on. You didn't want to look at him. You couldn't. You knew what it would do to you. Your legs pressed together in embarrassing anticipation.

“I can't get the picture out of my head. I love your body so much, baby,” he muttered. By now you noticed how uneven your breathing was. Just from a few words he had said. You couldn't help it anymore. Your eyes looked up at him, and your heart skipped a beat. The way his gaze bore into you was obvious. He wanted nothing more than to get out of there. But you had only been there for a little more than an hour. There was no way you could go home yet.

“Let's get out of here,” he said, rushed. His hands went around your waist, and you felt fire where he touched you so innocently.

“We can't go home,” you told him. “We were barely here an hour.”

“Who said anything about going home? I saw they had great private bathrooms earlier,” he smirked, massaging the skin on your sides. You sighed. In any other situation, you would have said no straight away. What would happen if anyone found out? Would they fire you? Worries ran through your head for a few seconds. But you were horribly worked up from what he had said. Additionally, you were bored as hell. You could easily imagine his grin as you pulled him after you through the room.

The hallway was empty, luckily. You could never look anyone in the eye if they saw what you were about to do. Your boyfriend had had a point. The bathrooms really were nice. They were modern, and every stall was big, completely closed off like a separate room and always clean. One last look behind you and you pulled the door handle. He pushed you softly, his eagerness showing. Usually, he would giggle like a child in situations like these. Now he was completely serious.

The second the door had closed behind you, he pressed his body against yours and kissed you. You barely had time to look around, but you knew what it looked like anyway. Expensive, gray tiles and a wall length mirror. It smelled like lemon, and not like a toilet stall. You were thankful. While his mouth was attacking yours messily, tongues battling for dominance, you reached around your own back. Swiftly, you turned the lock. 

Finally, you turned your full attention to your boyfriend. Your hands went through his hair as he grabbed your waist roughly, shoving you against the surface next to the sink. The marble was cold against the back of your thighs when you met the stone. Your dress had already ridden up dangerously high. While his hands fumbled with the back of the material, his lips roughly kissed your neck. It made your eyes flutter like butterflies in awe. Most of the time, he was gentle, his lips were soft, but not today. You were sure you would have to cover up some marks later.

As the zipper of your dress opened, your fingers worked the buttons on his white shirt. Quickly, you pulled on his tie, loosening it a little bit. You were a panting mess, but you managed to keep in any sounds. For now. He detached his hungry mouth from your neck for a bit, just to pull down your dress. It pooled by your feet, and you stepped out of it, still in your heels. He cursed under his breath when he saw your black lingerie, along with your thigh-high stockings.

“Thank god you dragged me to this party,” he said, his eyes completely obsessed with your figure. You chuckled, watching him as he rapidly took off his shirt, shoes and pants. In the meanwhile, you opened your bra, throwing it to the side. When he kissed you again, it was even more intense. His bare skin on yours felt like flames touching you, and you wanted to get even closer. You couldn't fight a small moan when his hand suddenly rubbed over your clothed Center.

“You’re so hot, baby,” he breathed against your mouth. You only sighed in return, letting your head fall back at his long-awaited touch. Your head was spinning from the heat of the moment, but you felt amazing. Your hand went to his bulge, that was already prominent in his pants. He groaned a little, but didn't stop his actions. While you pumped his shaft painfully slowly, he played with your clothed clit. You shivered at the contact, whimpering softly.

“I need more,” you moaned quietly, but he got it instantly. Without another word he pushed your underwear to the side, fingers slipping between your wet folds easily. At the sudden intensity of his touch, you shuddered, your body reacting with even more eagerness. You could feel pre-cum leaking from his member as you kept rubbing him. He breathed against your lips, eyes closed in bliss for a few seconds. There was nothing more rewarding than seeing his face full of pleasure. It made him even more handsome, if that was possible.

“Just fuck me already, H/N,” you muttered, rocking him out of his focus. You didn't have to ask twice. He shed off his underwear quickly, as you pulled down your own.

“Keep the stockings and shoes on,” he ordered, making you smirk to yourself. If you hadn't been so needy, you would have teased him. He gave you one last look, then he grabbed you by the waist and spun you around. Goosebumps ran over your skin as you came in contact with the wall in front of you. On your left, the tall mirror reflected both your figures in the dim light. Your breath got stuck in your throat as you watched your boyfriend, who stood behind you. He pumped himself a few times. You let out a weak whimper when he ran his member over your folds, putting slight pressure onto your aching clit.

One of his hands on your hips, he used his other one to guide himself inside of you. He let out a groan, but quieted down halfway. Like you, he was struggling to keep his strangled sounds to himself. The tiles your body pressed against were cold, a contrast to your hot skin and his eager hands grabbing your waist as he slammed into you from behind. An almost agonized moan escaped your throat and you used your own hand to cover your mouth, muffling the sound a little. His ragged breath fanned over your ear as he fisted a handful of your hair, pulling your head back a little. It only turned you on more, when he was being a little rougher than usually. 

The palms of your hands pressed against the wall, your eyes closing. His lips attacked your neck roughly, while his hips slapped against yours repeatedly. Weakly, you whimpered his name, unable to think of anything else at that moment. There were stars dancing in front of your eyes, as you struggled to keep them open.

Already you were unstable on your heels, but with the way he was thrusting against you only made your knees feel weaker and your legs shake. 

“I'm so close,” you breathed, your words cut off by heavy breaths. Your message must had only motivated him further, as his fingers came in contact with your center once more. He knew your body so well. It only took a few seconds to have your body quiver beneath him. Like you had planned it, you moaned each others' names at the same time, as you shut your eyes tightly and let your orgasm run through you. 

A few more times he thrust into you, your sensitivity slowly increasing until he pulled out fully. With your hands on the sink's surface, you waited until you could catch your breath. As you looked to your side and into the mirror on the wall, you noticed him smiling at you. His eyes looked tired, but in a good way. His hair was a little messy, but nothing you couldn't have fixed quickly. When he noticed you watching him, he grinned wider, leaning forward to your ear. 

“Seriously, I'm so glad you dragged me here.”

[epicstuckyficrecs]

Weekly Recap | September 2-8

It seems this week’s rec is making up for the short one I had last week XD Enjoy!

PS: if you’re a writer/fanartist and I’ve tagged you on Tumblr, but not Twitter (or vice versa), and you have an account on both platforms, please let me know! It’s probably because I don’t know your username(s) on every platform. 

~

Complete

This Bucky with This Steve by debwalsh/ @debwalsh​ (Actors AU | 1,8K | Not rated): Ascendant star Bucky with washed up but hoping for a comeback Steve...

💙 The Barnes Exotic Animal Rescue (for Magical Creatures) by Deisderium/ @deisderium​ (Shrunkyclunks, witch Bucky | 5,6K | General): In which Steve Rogers stumbles across the Barnes Exotic Animal Rescue for Magical Creatures, meets a witch named Bucky, accidentally adopts a unicorn, and never wants to leave.

💙 You be yours and I'll be mine by verzacefatale/ @verzacefatale (Post-CW |13K | Explicit): “Oh, god. We got married, didn’t we?” Steve sounds like he’s trying not to panic. “Seems that way,” Bucky says, before he bursts out laughing at the bewildered look on Steve’s face. “Come on, pal. It’s not the end of the world.”

Keep Me by dixons_mama (Evanstan RPF | 1,6K | Explicit): After working endlessly on interviews for Disney, filming 355, and now attending GQ's Men of the Year event, Sebastian is tired down to his bones. Yet, he he finds himself wanting to just be near Chris.

A Pal in the Hand is Worth Two in the Jacuzzi by dixons_mama (PWP | 1,7K | Explicit): Bucky asks for Steve's help getting off, being the good friend (that's also stupidly in love) he is, Steve obliges.

Quicksand's Got No Sense of Humor by paperstorm (Canon | 2,6K | Teen):  And Steve will be okay, because he doesn’t have any other option. It’s only a million tiny cuts all over his body, his heart, his soul, slowly bleeding him dry. How could be not be okay, when Bucky’s been through so much worse. (💙 Part 1 of Under the Dome)

Through the Monsoon by paperstorm/ @paper-storm​ (Post-CW | 3,1K | Mature): Steve’s expression is blank, empty, except for his eyes. A hardened, cold, unfeeling look is in his eyes, as they stare unseeing into the space in front of him. Bucky knows how this goes. It isn’t a regular occurrence, it's only happened a few times in the last half-year, but it isn’t good. Steve is an expert at shaking things off – which is either fortunate or unfortunate, depending on who’s asked about it – so when he can’t, it means things went really wrong. (💙 Part 3 of Under the Dome)

A Lifetime is Never Enough by paperstorm/ @paper-storm​ (Post-CW | 3K | Mature): Bucky reaches for him with his hand, eyes still closed, and Steve curls up against his side. Bucky’s arm goes around him, fingers sliding up to tangle in Steve’s hair. The sleep-warmed skin of his neck is a heavenly place for Steve to rest his forehead, tension going out of his limbs and greedily breathing in Bucky’s smell, his warmth, the safety his bed offers. (💙 Part 4 of Under the Dome)

Chasing The Light by paperstorm/ @paper-storm​ (Endgame fix-it | 7K | Mature): “The thing about you and me?” Bucky says, "is that the world isn’t as stubborn as we are. You’re right, I can’t promise it won’t separate us again. But I can promise we’ll find each other again if it does. Because we always do.” (💙 Part 5 of Under the Dome)

like rum on a fire by mcwho (PWP | 1,4K | Explicit): “You’re the one who wanted to see how far I could push you. You know how I like to follow orders, Buck,” Steve tells him, teasing drawl to his voice because Steve Rogers has never followed a goddamn order in his goddamn life up ‘til right about now.

Flaws by dixons_mama (PWP | 1,3K | Explicit): Steve catches Bucky scrutinizing his body, and while trying to reassure him, feels and smut ensue.

Recompense by debwalsh/ @debwalsh (Endgame fix-it | 2K | Not rated): When Steve Rogers travels to Vormir to return the Soul Stone, he’s greeted with an unexpected choice that will change his life.

Warmth by debwalsh/ @debwalsh (Modern AU | 5,3K | Mature): When Bucky Barnes receives the report that there is a guy lost on his mountain, he’s not prepared for the complications that ensue.

Wheels by debwalsh/ @debwalsh (Modern AU | 2,3K | Not rated): Teacher Steve Rogers is ready to settle into a lounger and enjoy his neighbor Natasha’s pool when he finds himself staring at the most beautiful man he’d ever seen already lounging with intent.

Won’t You Be My Neighbor? by debwalsh/ @debwalsh (Shrunkyclunks | 1,6K | Teen): Steve moves into an apartment with a Captain America impersonator, and Bucky is the building super, and gets them mixed up.

💙 it takes a lot to know a man by kittyandmulder, steebadore (Modern AU |39K | Explicit): Bucky flips to the next page, and the world around him grinds to a halt as his brain struggles to process what he's seeing. The noise of the train fades and static fills the inside of his head as he looks down at the sketches of the metal-armed guy without the mask. It's—that's him. It's Bucky's own goddamn face staring back at him from this stranger's sketchbook."What the fuck."

Double Trouble by HeroicPinups, kittyandmulder/ @kittyandmulder​ (PWP, Steve/Bucky/Steve | 2,7K | Explicit): Bucky finds himself stuck in a super soldier sandwich. How unfortunate.

💙 time on my hands (could be time spent with you) by thedoubteriswise/ @thedoubteriswise​ (Post-CW | 23K | Mature): There’s no reason to be nervous. Steve’s just going to go see his best friend. This is Bucky, for God's sake, what could there possibly be to be nervous about? It's only been a little over a month since Bucky went under. He'd practically seen him yesterday.

~

Reading in progress

💙 Servitum by justanotherStonyfan/ @justanotherstonyfan (canon-divergent, Shrunkyclunks | 43K | Explicit): Steve's affection can be huge, almost palpable. His desire to take care of James can be overwhelming. But James can't think of a point so far where Steve's been overwhelming that he hasn't enjoyed immensely - and if they can roleplay some lifelong memories out of a spanking session, a shibari tutorial, and a carefully lit table, he's pretty sure providing Steve with the opportunity to do something he may not even be aware of wanting should go down a treat, and make for a pretty awesome afternoon. ( 💙Part 28 of the Honey Honey series)

~

WIP

💙 Cakes & Balances by mambo/ @whtaft (POTUS Steve | 16K | 8/? | Teen): It’s kind of hard to date the cute baker from down the street when you’re the President of the United States of America. But Steve Rogers will make it work.

oh the glory of it all by hitlikehammers (Post-Endgame | 4K | 1/23 | Mature): They end up stumbling almost unexpectedly into the white-picket-fence, apple-pie life they used to dream of. Except it’s not like that at all.

💙 An Escort's Guide to Navigating Tricky Work Relationships by Hopeless--Geek (wuzzy90)/ @hopelessartgeek​, Mystrana/ @mystrana​ (Escort AU | 24K | 4/5 | Explicit): Steve is an outspoken leader of the fight for escort legalization. He wants to show the world that they have relationships just like everyone else, but hasn’t dated in the past five years because he’s been so busy with work. Bucky’s still not quite recovered from a bad relationship with a boyfriend who degraded his choice of work. And while he can define professional boundaries like it’s his job (it is), Bucky’s not great at handling his personal life. A story of navigating tricky work relationships.

💙 This Side of the Blue by notlucy/ @notlucy (Mermaid AU | 121K | 33/44 | Explicit): A trick was the only explanation for what Steve saw floating there. This figment of his childhood. This myth. This legend. Within the tank, the siren bared its teeth.

💙 Political Animals by crinklefries/ @spacerenegades​, Deisderium/ @deisderium (Modern AU, politics | 29K | 4/9 | Explicit): Okay, so the real problem is that you shouldn’t fuck your arch-rival, political enemy, and the person you loathe the most in the world where you work. Or like, at least, you shouldn’t keep doing that.

~

Re-read

💙 straight from your heart by luninosity/ @luninosity​ (Stucky in Wakanda | 10K | Explicit): Steve doesn’t mean to have the orgasm. Not exactly. Not the first time, anyway.

💙 Tinder Is the Night by rohkeutta/ @rohkeutta​ (Modern AU, Tinder | 7K | Explicit): It’s the quality that gets him first. The profile photo looks like it's been taken with a semi-professional camera: it's sharp and remarkably unposed compared to most people on Tinder. The guy in the photo is the size of a fucking fridge but with Marilyn Monroe’s waistline, accentuated by the way he’s standing half-twisted towards the camera. He’s also in the process of getting arrested.

💙 If Only In My Dreams by odetteandodile (Modern AU | 28K | Teen): Bucky is a highly successful cooking and lifestyle blogger, the gay New England Pioneer Woman if you will. He writes all about life in his Connecticut home with his D.H. (darling husband). Only problem? It’s all complete fiction. When his agent Sam informs him that he's been offered an exclusive sponsorship deal with Stark Media and a three book contract to go with it, Bucky's forced to fess up to Sam, who's predictably...displeased. But Sam's also convinced the deal is too good to miss—even if they have to put on a little bit of a show in order to get it. So Tony and Pepper descend on Bucky and Sam's fake home for Christmas with a devastatingly handsome War Hero in tow, and their already complicated plan quickly gets even more complicated as Bucky finds himself falling head over heels for Steve. Can he keep it together just for the holidays? Did he ever have it together in the first place?

💙 took my love, took it down by LaughsAtThunder (Post-WS | 31K | Explicit): The problem, Bucky thinks now that he has most of his memories back, is that his whole entire world has always revolved around Steve Rogers. Steve has been always been half of Bucky’s identity. Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers’ best friend. Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers’ wingman. Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers’ teammate. And now, well, now Steve had other people to fill those positions. And of course, of course he’d always been a little bit in love with Steve. So when he overhears Steve telling Natasha that he’s finally found someone he’d like to date, someone with similar life experience, Bucky clings blindly to the hope that maybe, just maybe, Steve is talking about him.

💙 Sex, Drugs, & Needles by OhCaptainMyCaptain/ @ohcaptainmycaptain1918​ (Modern AU, tattoo artist Bucky | 38K | Explicit): Bucky's a bit of a masochist in that sense – needles and the buzz of a tattoo gun have always turned him on... It’s even worse that this client is what they call a ‘needle virgin’. Doesn’t appear to have a piercing anywhere on him, and he’s already made it clear that he has no prior ink. Bucky’s always found something inherently sexy about being the first person to introduce another to that experience. He has absolutely no problem popping this guy's needle cherry.

[isobel-thorm]

... 𝓕𝓸𝓻 𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓼𝓮 𝓸𝓻 𝓕𝓸𝓻 𝓑𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻

Grant and Matthew head to John’s house for Nic’s Valentine’s Party, and to share their big news. Considering their dating history, they’re less than sure it’ll go smootly.  Grant Lyons/Matthew Rook, John Seed/Nic Raylan

| Pt 1 by @amistrio​ | Pt 2:

Grant Lyons stared at the double doors of John’s ranch. He and Matthew Rook had rang the doorbell nearly five minutes before, and considering it was mid-February in goddamn Montana, they were close to freezing due to the delay. And the elephant in the room - er, entryway, was getting heavier and heavier. It wasn’t bad, it wasn’t a secret, he just wanted to let his best friend know that he was going to be a married man soon, and for once, the excitement was killing him.  He sighed and knocked on the door again. “I know it’s Valentine’s, but y’all better not be fuckin’ in there considering you two are the ones that planned this party and decided on this time!” he called. 

Matt glanced over at Grant. “... Considering we’re about a third of the police force altogether, if one of us gets murdered tonight do you think Whitehorse is gonna send someone to investigate?” 

“No one’s gonna get murdered.” 

“Are you sure? Because John-” 

“Is a relatively stable individual-” 

“Who’s about to have his current girlfriend and her best friend, who’s his ex, who’s dating his other ex, who just got engaged to said ex literally….” he checked his watch. “six hours ago,  all under the same roof,” Matthew cut him off. “Hope County is too damn small.” 

“I think that’s the hunger talking.” 

“And the cold. And the excitement. But seriously, it’s too damn small. Everybody knows everybody. Who thought living like that would be okay?” 

“Hey, you chose to stay here when Earl offered you a permanent spot.” 

“I was motivated,” Matthew protested, though there was a teasing lit to his tone, and he grinned at Grant knowingly. 

Grant paused, then smirked.  “That’s really gay.” 

“Yeah? Well…” Matthew leaned into him and Grant moved to meet him halfway - but naturally, that was right when the door opened. 

Nicolette Raylan was on the other side, and she blanched upon seeing what she had interrupted. It didn’t last long. A moment later, a grin split her face. “Wow, that’s-”

“Grant already made the joke, don’t you dare,” Matthew cut her off before she could continue. 

She didn’t miss a beat and immediately pulled him into a bear hug that he returned full force. She tossed an arm around Grant’s neck to pull him into it a moment later. “Hi! You guys are finally here! I missed you!” 

“You saw us literally two days ago,” Grant pointed out. 

“And I still missed you. Get in here.” She waved them inside, and they followed.  

The great room was decked out in all pink, red and silver decor. There were streamers and balloons everywhere, there were streamers on the stuffed animal’s heads, the dining room table had a glitzed out runner with a bunch of plates on it, as did the coffee table, and the railing of the stairs leading to the hangar was wrapped in ribbon. 

It had been the most ‘Nic’s influence’ thing they had ever seen in anything that belonged to John. Leave it to her to go all out when it was just going to be the four of them hanging out. Still, there was a strange charm to it all. 

Nicolette didn’t let them take in the sight for long. She ushered them over to the dining room table where a bunch of food was laid out- different bread, cold cuts, heart-shaped baked goods that were decorated to the nines- Nic had clearly spared no expense in any of it. Grant took a sandwich and a couple of cookies, and Matt piled on every single dessert option onto his plate. When Grant offered him a skeptical smile, he shrugged. “What? We ate lunch already, and Nic worked hard on these, I’m partaking.”

“I meant save some for the rest of us, I mean damn,” Grant teased. He went for one of the brownies on Matthew’s plate.

Matthew stabbed his hand lightly with his fork in retaliation. “There are like twenty more, get your own!” he countered before he crossed back to the couch and sat down. 

Grant did as Matthew requested then sat beside him. 

Nicolette came back over to the pair of them. She gave Grant a glass of whiskey and a bottle of coke to Matthew, then sat in the chair adjacent to them. 

“Where the Hell’s John?” Grant asked. 

Nicolette checked her watch. “Should be back any minute. Had some legal trouble. Apparently, Larry’s threatening legal action against the Ryes because Carmina’s contrails are chemtrails and they’re trying to poison the county or something. He’s apparently trespassing on their property and trying to fiddle with the plane so John’s getting paperwork ready to keep him off the property and such. Kim told me everything.”

“Fucking Larry,” Matthew sighed, and the other two hummed in agreement. 

They made small talk after that, catching up on cases, until the great room’s entryway doors opened up again.

John stepped through, and upon seeing the three of them smiling and laughing away. They all turned to look at him, and Grant and Matthew offered a quick wave and a “hi!” He looked back and forth between all of them, then sighed. “This… this is my nightmare. I’ve literally dreamt about this.” When Nicolette popped up from the couch to kiss him, he returned it, though still looked like he was in pain. 

Grant scoffed. “Why? We’re all friends, it’s not like we’re killing each other. Or plotting to kill you.” 

“Yeah, well, your dream selves aren’t that civil,” John fired back. He huffed and dropped onto the couch. 

“Could be worse, could be comparing notes on how you are in bed,” Matthew pointed out. 

“You guys could, we didn’t get that far,” Grant cut in. 

Nicolette grinned behind her whiskey and coke. “And I already did that with Holly yesterday when we went to get coffee.” 

“You what?!” John demanded. 

Nicolette grinned. “All in good fun. She’s moved on, she’s with some Barry guy now. I mean, you are the most eligible bachelor in Hope County, you’ve dated what, half the people in the entire place from twenty-five to thirty-five?”

“You make it sound like there’s a support group for people who dated me,” John sighed. 

“Well…” Matt shrugged, then looked at the gathered crowd pointedly.  

John’s face fell, and Nicolette tutted and tucked her face into his neck. “You’re looking at it, you’re fine. It’s not like we’re much better.”

“Was I that bad?” John asked. When he was met by dead silence and the other three exchanging looks that were half apprehension, half conspiratorial, he scoffed. “Come on.” 

Nicolette laughed. “We’re not doing this on Valentine’s Day,” Nicolette objected. 

“Well, technically that only means you have to be nice,” Matthew clarified. 

“And you started it, so fine, let’s hear it,” John countered. 

Matthew sighed, realizing there was no way out of this, so he figured open the can of worms right quick, then weld it shut. He motioned at John. “You’re an overdramatic bitch. Nic can handle it because she’s also one.” He glanced her way, and then when she shrugged and nodded in agreement, he continued. “ I…could sort of deal with it,  but had my own shit to deal with, and-”

Grant reached over and squeezed Matthew’s knee pointedly. “You’ve got a lot of stuff that can’t go unchecked and needs a lot of attention, some people aren’t up for that,” he cut him off. “I mean Hell, same with me. I have… a lot of shit to work through, so do you. There’s nothing wrong with that, but everybody deals differently. Hell, when we were a thing, same thing applied. I’ve had too much shit to work through to be there one hundred percent for you. There’s no shame in that, and it wouldn’t be fair to you to expect one hundred percent from me all the time,” he continued. “And then this one and that one came to town. Still had shit to deal with, but they deal better because there’s less to unpack, and they’ve got the personalities to take it head on. Listen, two majorly traumatic messes were doomed to fail. Put a less traumatized mess with each of them, you get this,” he motioned at himself and Matt, then at John and Nicolette. “Worked out just fine, didn’t it? Look at us now.”

John clenched his jaw but visibly considered the explanation, then Nic, the absolute hero that she was, lifted her glass to her mouth before firmly declaring, “Your mom’s a less traumatized mess.” 

Thankfully that got a laugh from all of them and diffused whatever remaining tension there was. John, obviously the most bristled of the bunch, having realized that no, everybody’s grievances weren’t going to be aired and had been stuck into a relatively reasonable statement, turned to Nicolette with what had been said in mind. “I suppose it did.” When she squinted at him in return, he leaned forward to kiss her. 

When it turned into two kisses, then three, then on, and what the other two thought was probably tongue getting involved, they simultaneously gagged overdramatically. 

“Payback for earlier,” Nicolette countered between kisses. 

“Oh, Hell no. We didn’t even make contact before. If anything, we need some payback. So,” he grabbed Grant, who had been snickering at the whole thing and yanked him forward into a kiss of their own - and maneuvered so he could toss his leg over Grant’s knees and scoot closer. 

Matt was absolutely elated when Grant let out an exaggerated moan to boot to go along with it. 

The other two finally broke apart. 

“Oh, thank God, we were gonna have to ask you guys to get a room so we could have this party alone,” Matthew pointed out. 

“It’s my house,” John protested. “Get your own damn room, you were further ahead than we were.” 

“Yeah, where’s the fun in going as slow as you two? You don’t wanna drag the stuff out that much,” Matthew countered. 

Nicolette laughed. “Oh, honey, it’s the other way around, do you really wanna ‘wham, bam thank you Man’ Grant after all he does for you?” 

“I don’t have a single complaint, actually,” Grant cut in. 

Matthew beamed, then flipped off Nicolette- and then stopped short when her answering grin dropped and her eyes went wide. Oh, right, the Elephant in the room. 

Nicolette launched herself across the table so quickly even John looked panicked for a moment. He landed haphazardly on their entwined legs, and Grant scrambled to keep her upright when she nearly fell off the couch. She paid the fumble no mind. She grabbed Matt’s hand and held it up in order to look at the bright gold band that had found a home on Matthew’s ring finger. She gasped, then beamed and turned to Grant, then immediately punched him in the chest. “You ass! You told me you were gonna tell me before you did it so I could get pictures!” 

“I - it was an in the moment thing, there was next to no planning,” Grant protested. 

Nicolette squinted at him. “Liar. You just didn’t want an audience.” 

His response was immediate... and devoid of regret: “I didn’t want an audience.”

She squinted at him, then scooted back so she slipped off of their legs and onto the empty part of the couch before she threw her arms around Matt and kicked excitedly. “I’m so happy for you guys, it’s about time!”  She squeezed him harder. “Welcome to the family!” 

Matt hugged her back. “Thank you, thank you.” She turned back around. “John! Say something!” 

Grant waved his hand dismissively. “Leave him alone, this is probably super weird. We wanted to wait til things slowed down or  Nic got sleepy and quiet before we told you guys,” he explained. 

“No, it’s…” John sighed. “It’s fine, truly. Congratulations, and if you’d like, you’re welcome to use this place as a venue. As for why I got quiet there,  well… why don’t you ask Nicolette why she’s wearing the only shirt she has that covers her collarbone?” 

Matthew and Grant exchanged puzzled looks, then frowned at the woman herself, who grinned after a moment. 

“Not to step on your moment, buuuut…” she reached down to take the necklace she had tucked into her shirt. Usually, it had the silver Rook chesspiece Earl had given her a few years back, the silver key ‘to John’s heart’ that he’d given her on their one year anniversary, but now there was a ring hanging between the two charms. 

Grant looked from it, to her, to John with another grin forming on his lips. “You too?” 

John shrugged. “First thing this morning. Must have been something in the air.” 

“Congratulations,” Grant replied. “Both of you.” He laughed when Nicolette threw her arms around him again. He took another look at the ring. “That is a big rock.” 

“Well, when your house is this big you can afford all that,” Matthew pointed out. 

“Stop it,” Nicolette smacked him lightly, then immediately beamed and bounced in place again. “You know what this means, right?” 

“We’re gonna get shown up announcing our engagement by you guys announcing it too anywhere we go?” Grant asked, then laughed when Nicolette smacked him. 

“No. We’ll stay quiet for a while. Promise. Anyway: Double. Wedding,” Nicolette cut him off from further protest. 

“Hell no!” Matthew called. “That’s our day. Again, I’m not getting shown up on our own damn day.”

“What, afraid I’m gonna look better than you?”  she challenged. 

Matthew promptly opened and shut his mouth a couple of times, then took a decidedly long drink of his coke. 

Nicolette sighed dramatically, then leaned against him. “Fine. No double wedding…” she began and offered Grant a conspiratorial wink, to which he put his hands up at. “But promise me I can at least plan most of yours for you.” 

“Not all of it,” Grant cut in. 

She shrugged. “Suits at least. And color scheme. I’m not letting you guys have a wedding that’s as much of a design disaster as you two are.” 

Matthew went to protest again, and when he heard John laugh and then saw the man raise his eyebrows in agreement, he sighed. “Fine. Deal.” 

“And in case everything is booked up somehow, or my fiancee here claims it’s not good enough for you two, you’re welcome to this place for the service or reception,” John offered. “I mean, I could just help arrange it at Falls End church. Must look fabulous decorated for a wedding.” 

“Where would decor that would fit your guys’ standards fit in that place?” Grant asked. 

John shrugged. “Outside? Nice lattice, maybe get some doves, have ‘em fly everywhere.” He paused to consider. “Hell, crows could be a more fun contrast. Would fit you guys more.”

Grant laughed and shook his head. “Sounds like a chintzy disaster. No thank you.” 

John shrugged. “Fair enough. Again, if you’d like my house, it’s open to you.”

Matt looked around. “We might take you up on that, on second thought. Grant’s uncles would lose their damn minds over this place.” 

“It’s… not gonna be too awkward for you?” Grant asked. “I mean we made the joke about this party being your two exes who are dating and your current girlfriend, but hosting our wedding’s another story.” 

John scoffed and waved a dismissive hand. “Contrary to… apparent popular belief,  I can handle seeing my exes happy- and judging by how this is going, in the same room. It’s not bad at all, so repeating it will be fine. Despite my apprehension and what I said earlier,  you’re two of my dearest exes, so I’d still like to do right by you.” 

Grant smiled softly. “That’s mighty kind.” 

Matthew nodded in agreement. 

“Well, you’re both worth it. Even when you take pride in insulting me,” John answered. 

“We love you too,” Matthew replied. 

Nicolette looked between them all, then reached over in order to clap Grant and John on the knees. “Look at this, my boys, we’re all gonna be married soon. Oooooh, what if we did a honeymoon together? That would be okay, right?” 

“Whitehorse would kill us,” Matthew pointed out. “We already did that joint vacation.”

“Nope, he’s caught in a checkmate because he’s gonna walk me down the aisle. He’s gonna be too giddy to say no to anything for at least a year after that,” Nicolette pointed out. She looked between them. “Pllleeeeeeeeaaaaaaasssssee?” she stuck out her bottom lip.

Grant looked at Matthew, who put his hands up. He made a mental note to stop doing that so Matthew would stop getting it from him. He sighed. “We’ll think about it. That work for you?” 

“Yes!” Nicolette flicked his nose, then stood in order to go sit in John’s lap. She reached back and got her own nearly forgotten plate of food and held it so both of them could pick at it. 

Grant rolled his eyes, then looked towards his boyfriend- fiance, now, he corrected, and the thought made his chest flutter- and raised an eyebrow. 

“No, fuck you, this is still my junk food,” Matthew objected playfully. It took him all of ten seconds to relent and feed him one of the brownies. When Nicolette ‘aww’ed in response, he threw the piece that Grant had missed at her, then went back to eating.

Grant laughed too, then took Matthew’s distraction as an opportunity to simply watch him. He was happy, relaxed- something either of them didn’t get to feel often. He looked at the other two. Nicolette was always outgoing, always recharged by people around her being equally happy, but even John looked more at ease than he had seen him before. Whatever apprehension about having exes and his current love under the same roof had already ebbed away from the good news and energy in the place. It was… beyond nice. He still couldn’t believe it. Four souls in varying states of being lost had found each other, then love had gone and paired them off, but here they were, still strong as a unit- a family in its own right. And he had never felt so at home in his life, just sitting in their company as they chatted away. It was going to be an interesting, exhausting few months or years, however long they picked until the wedding, but with them, he could handle anything- and he’d love every minute. 

[argylemnwrites]

Fire Inside

Character: ??? 😮 ???

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu) referenced

Book: The Royal Romance (The Royal Heir, various chapters)

Word Count: ~2100

Rating:  PG-13 (adult language)

Summary: Doing what needs to be done isn’t for the faint of heart. Sometimes channeling that fire inside will bring out enemies, but only the timid worry about that.

Author’s Note: So, this is something pretty different from what I usually write, but the idea popped into my head and wouldn’t leave me alone. I don’t know if anyone else will like this, but I had a lot of fun exploring motivations of this character. I just wanted to dislike this character for interesting reasons, not hate them for dumb reasons that lack all nuance. So, yeah, not trying to defend this character, just trying to make them a dislikable human instead of a silly, annoying trope.

Inspired by Day 4 of the Choices November Challenge - Rage. Tagging all my TRR peeps, so apologies if this isn’t your thing. Like I said, I know this isn’t my usual style.

How did that old saying go? You catch more flies with honey than vinegar? Something like that. She’d heard it plenty of times throughout her life. She just never really understood it.

It’s not that she didn’t get the intent; she wasn’t stupid. But she just didn’t quite get why anyone would want to catch flies in the first place. Swat those annoying buggers away. Let them live their life while she lived hers. Why would you want to attract nuisances when you could scare them off instead? And no point drawing them in to kill them. There would always be plenty more pests coming after them.

But growing up, everyone seemed to tell her she should be more nurturing, more caring. Buying her dolls for her birthday and for Christmas. Trying to get her to care for the chicks after the coyote got into the pen and ate the hen. Scolding her when she hadn’t held Bee’s hand and wiped away her tears with gentle thumbs and soothing words when she’d fallen from the tree and broken her arm, but instead had carried her back to the house, arm wrapped in her own shirt as a temporary sling. But her practical solution hadn’t been enough. She was supposed to tend to her sister’s emotional pain, not just the physical.

They all wanted her to be sugar, spice, and everything nice. Well, if that’s what little girls were supposed to be made of, it never made sense to Leona that everyone seemed to ignore the middle ingredient. You wouldn’t call two pieces of bread on either side of some sliced ham a bread sandwich. That’s a goddamn ham sandwich. So why did everyone think that girls should be sweet little angels, not spitfires full of heat and intensity? 

Leona was never cut out to play the damsel, dependent on someone else. She would fight for herself, fight for what she thought was her due. And she was never going to apologize for being that way. Her fire served her well. It’s how she got out of taking home ec in high school, instead getting herself a spot in shop class. She could live with rips in her clothes that she couldn’t mend well and food that filled her belly without winning a prize at the state fair for its flavors. But if the equipment on the ranch broke down, well being able to fix that herself would save her whole family time and money. And that just seemed a hell of a lot more useful than learning how to be a perfect little homemaker. 

Of course, in shop class, none of the boys or Mr. Linvel had viewed her as anything other than a novelty. She wasn’t sure which was worse, the boys who laughed at her anytime she made a mistake, or the ones who assumed she couldn’t do it herself, always coming over to “help” her. What they didn’t understand is that she never needed their help. They weren’t better than her just because their fathers had taught them those skills already. She would do it herself, no matter how many tries it took. 

Because the world was a harsh place. It never made sense to Leona that she was expected to stay soft. She didn’t understand how anyone could. But all the girls around her seemed to manage it just fine. Cathy and Linda and Susie braided each other’s hair and shared lipstick. They giggled and gossiped and swooned over Chip and Bobby and Kenny. They hugged each other and passed around hankies when those same idiot boys all fell head over heels for the new girl, Patty, with her bleached hair and bell-bottom jeans. They all cried over their Dolly Parton records, moaning about how “Jolene” was their song. Leona didn’t get it. Why waste any time on some boy who was inevitably gonna let you down?

But one by one, she watched them go off, get married, start their families. Cathy caught the eye of some traveling salesman, Linda finally got Bobby to put a ring on it, and Susie moved to Houston to go to secretarial school, but quit and got married 4 months after her first posting. And one by one, she watched them get broken, by bills and mortgages, by baby after baby, by unfaithful and cruel husbands. And as they cried on the front porch, wondering how they got to that point, a not-so-small portion of Leona kept thinking, “I told you so.” She didn’t feel bad for thinking it either. Because she knew what they thought of her. Bitter. Cold-hearted. Bitch.

But she took it all, because she knew that life wasn’t a fairy tale. It’s a series of hardships you just had to face head on. She told her sister that everyday, not wanting her to make the same mistakes that so many of the other girls made. And for a long time, it worked. It was just the two of them and Dad, taking care of things on the ranch. But eventually Bee wanted more. She wasn’t content, always dreaming of something different. She saved her money. Traveled. When she came back, she was full of stories. But she was different every time. Still could pull her share around the ranch, but she was teasing her hair. Had new blazers with shoulder pads in addition to her practical work clothes. Talked about some fancy-ass coffee drink she had at some restaurant. And then she saved enough to go overseas, coming back a few months later, holding hands with some fancy European asshole. Told Leona she was moving to some country called Cordonia to marry that man. Left the ranch without a backward glance, leaving Leona and Dad to manage it all. She made promises of coming back in a couple of years after Jackson’s service requirements were complete, but first a son came along, and then a daughter. And each year that went by, Leona knew that Bianca was never coming back. Sure enough, phone calls promising a move back next year soon became phone calls promising a vacation. The life they had known together was now a novelty, an escape, not a reality. She only did make it back to the ranch once with the kids.

Those two were lost causes, as far as Leona was concerned. Brought up in a world of gold and diamonds, parties and designer clothes. Hell, the boy was best friends with one of the princes. And when she was the one who had to bury Dad in the orchard all by herself, six feet down, right next to Momma, she knew she was the only one left in the family with any common sense or perspective. She just hoped that Bianca remembered a little bit of the toughness she’d tried to teach her when those ass-kissing, stuck-up nobles she’d surrounded herself with inevitably screwed her over.

Leona was surprised that Bianca lasted over there as long as she did, nearly two decades before it all came crashing down with Jackson’s death. But she did crash, hard. Her life fell apart. And who did she call up, but the sister she’d abandoned, left to carry on the family business all alone. And once again, she wanted Leona to be softer. To offer sympathy and comfort. Well, she offered a roof over her head and food in her belly when her so-called “friends” somehow couldn’t be bothered to spare a dollar. That would have to be comfort enough. 

She’d heard Bianca crying many nights. At first, she knew it was over her husband, a man who gave his life for some over-important royals, leaving behind his own goddamn family. And after years of watching her sister struggle to finally heal from that, the crying started again when Drake called, frantic, saying Savannah was gone, asking if by any chance she’d come to Texas. She recovered faster that time, though. Leona hoped that she was finally learning, that she was tougher. Stronger.

But that all came crashing down one fall morning, when Bianca bounded into the barn, telling Leona that not only was Savannah back in their lives, but that she had a baby. Baby Bee was a grandma. Not only that, but she was going back to the hellhole of Cordonia to see this baby and to watch Drake marry some fancy duchess of some sort. She was optimistic and energetic. It was as if she’d learned nothing from her first time there. 

They’d fought, Leona asking her sister how many times she was gonna get her hopes up about that place. Bianca saying that things would be better this time. Yeah, right. Leona had seen enough to know how this would end. Bianca brought her kids up in the world of posh nobles and fancy rich people. It was only a matter of time until they decided they were too good for her again.

But Bee ignored her warnings, not only flying out there for some pompous hoighty-toighty wedding, but offering to host Savannah’s wedding to some frickin’ Duke of snobbery, the same man who knocked her up and then neglected her and the baby not two years earlier. Amazing what you could get away with when you had money.

To make matters worse, Bee invited some motley crew of royals and nobles to come stay on the ranch for this wedding. They weren’t outwardly disdainful, so maybe they did learn some manners from their fancy pants educations, but still. Leona had a ranch to keep afloat. The last thing she needed was to babysit a group of rich kids playacting at being cowboys. 

She felt a little guilty selling info on Drake and his wife to the press. He was the most helpful of the group, and he was family, after all. He seemed to remember a few things from his visit as a child, seemed to have kept a handful of practical skills. But his wife was overeager, annoying, and seemed to think that she had something in common with Bianca and Leona just because she used to wait tables. That growing up in a fancy city like New York was somehow equal to hard, physical labor because she hadn’t been born with a silver spoon in her mouth. If he had chosen to marry someone like her, then he probably wasn’t much different than the rest of them. The fact that they were orchestrating some bizarre political move to get their kid onto the throne just sealed the deal for Leona. So she did what she had to do. Granted, they all ended up being much kinder than she’d guessed them to be. But their kindness wasn’t going to keep the ranch going long term, keep the hands hired and the electricity on. So, Leona kept on selling any info she had. Morality was all fine and dandy when you were privileged, but it had no place in the real world.

It wasn’t until Riley was screaming at her, yelling about how she would never forgive Leona, hand protectively placed across her very pregnant belly, that she saw something more than kind but spoiled little princess. She saw pure anger, fire-forged and intense. She saw rage and hunger. She saw someone that maybe had been hardened by life, but kept that intensity hidden away, covering her true strength with silliness and laughter.

Leona couldn’t be sure, of course. She barely knew the woman, and she had no illusion that she and this woman would be bonding as in-laws going forward, so she probably wouldn’t get the chance to find out. She had never been naive, after all. She knew that bridge was burned. But she wasn’t one for regrets. She’d made her choices, and while she’d hoped maybe her nephew would understand her reasons, calm his wife down, she wasn’t surprised when that didn’t happen. So she went back to Texas, to her parents’ ranch. To her ranch, really. What was done was done.

She hadn’t anticipated her sister’s anger. Bee had never been the overly-protective, Momma-bear type, after all. But she’d yelled, alright. Told her off about betraying the family. Selling out her own nephew. Making it so that Drake and Riley were never going to be willing to bring the grandbaby to visit. Bianca expected grovelling, contrition, regret. But she wasn’t going to get that. Leona had the fire raging inside of her to keep moving forward; she would never apologize for that. And if anyone took issue with that, well that was just their own damn problem. No one else was going to solve it for them. Certainly not Leona. Anyone who expected such a weakness could just go fuck themselves.

Tags: @choicesnovemberchallenge @dcbbw @mfackenthal @yaushie @jovialyouthmusic @iplaydrake @gibbles82 @drakewalkerisreal @riley–walker @thequeenofcronuts @notoriouscs @butindeed @octobereighth @ao719​

[beckzorz]

PREMONITIONS (3/5)

or, Adventures Adjacent to a Six-Year-Old Seer

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Words: 1457 Summary: On Halloween, your clairvoyant niece leads you straight into Bucky Barnes. It could not have gone worse. Warning(s) for part 3: None A/N: Happy Monday! I hope your week is off to a great start :-)

Part 1 | Part 2

Part 3

You shove your hands deeper in your coat pockets and glower at the shiny red heart balloons tied to the sandwich board outside the cafe. They were advertising a lovebug special—two medium coffees and two heart-shaped cookies at an unfair discount. Two cookies would be nice, but buying two coffees for yourself was beyond even you. You hadn’t been sleeping well lately, and your Sunday coffee habit had become a daily necessity. The line, meanwhile, is going at a snail’s pace. If it doesn’t speed up, you’ll have to rely on the crap they offer at work.

You give up after another few minutes and duck out of line with an aggrieved huff. The people behind you shuffle forward, ever vigilant to keep their spot.

One day you’ll get yourself a coffee maker. This is getting ridiculous. And expensive.

Your visit to the hospital back around Halloween had, by some miracle, been covered by insurance. Mostly. But between the deductible and the copays on physical therapy, you’d gone through your holiday bonus in no time at all. Back before shit hit the fan, you’d been dreaming of a cabin in the woods, a fireplace, s’mores. Books and blankets too. But a cozy getaway would have to wait for you to earn back your vacation time.

In the meantime, all you could do was stifle a yawn as you headed into work. You were over a month into tax season, and your department was already in a fine frenzy. There had been some mishaps last spring—a few managers had been fired—and now you and your coworkers were paying the price. Your manager ambushes even before you can sneak to the kitchen for coffee.

The whole day is like that. You jump from one urgent task to another until your eyelids feel like sandpaper.

The only good thing that happens is that you get out early enough to beat most of the dinner crowd at the cafe.

The sign for the damn couple’s special is horribly tempting. Sugar sounds amazing right now… And it is a good deal. Maybe you could share it!

You turn impulsively to the person behind you. “Wanna split the—”

Your jaw drops. Behind you is none other than Bucky Barnes.

“You!” you sputter.

“Nice to see you too.” Bucky’s tilted grin doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” you ask. You step out of line, too bewildered to even contemplate ordering a drink.

“Saw you ducking in, thought I’d say hi,” he says. “I just got back.”

“Back from where?”

Bucky shrugs. There’s a stray bit of hair that’s escaped from his bun; he brushes it impatiently back. “Just… away. You look good.”

You blink and glance down. Your pea coat is hardly the most flattering thing you own. “Uh, thanks.”

“I mean, considering you got shot.” At that, the little grin on Bucky’s face sneaks up into his crinkling eyes.

“Oh, that.” You tilt your head with a smirk of your own. “Better or worse than Halloween?”

Bucky’s rich laugh fills you with delight. “I’d have to think about that,” he says. He tilts his head and studies you. “The lighting wasn’t this good, but the black looked nice.”

“Wow,” you deadpan, hand over your heart. “One might swoon.” You bite your lip in an effort to keep a straight face, but Bucky’s eyes are sparkling and you can’t help but break into a giggle.

“So,” he says once you’ve composed yourself, “how’s the small one?” He puts a hand out at roughly Gemma’s height and gives you a significant look.

Your heart drops. Gemma. Right. This isn’t about you. You step back and stuff your hands into your pockets. “Oh, she’s fine. Nothing ever happened—but you must already know that.”

“Sure,” Bucky says. There’s a slight furrow in his brow. “But she’s a cute kid. I was wondering how she was doing. Being like that is… not always fun.”

“She is very cute.” You rock back on your heels and worry the inside of your cheek. “I mean… she seems normal. I don’t think she gets it, you know? And that’s… yeah.”

Bucky lets out a slow breath between his teeth. “Yeah. Yeah.”

You look at each other, not saying another word. There’s no need. You know Bucky understands the enormity of the situation. A child, barely more than a toddler—practically still the size of a toddler—with powers they didn’t understand, let alone realize they have? How could it possibly end well?

“Well, she’s got you,” Bucky says at last.

“Yes she does,” you answer fiercely. Sharp affection cuts into you, and you look away to keep Bucky from seeing the sudden tears in your eyes. Your gaze lands on the bakery case. The heart-shaped cookies are prominent in the display. “Man I could use some sugar.”

Bucky snorts. Whoops—you hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

“What, I’m not sweet enough for ya? Here,” he says, and he guides you to the register and looks at you expectantly.

You blink at him, then at the disinterested cashier. “Oh, uh, a medium coffee. And hell, one of those heart cookies, please.”

“Double that.” Bucky pulls out his wallet before you even think to reach into your purse. “I got it,” he tells you.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you murmur, bumping his shoulder with yours.

You try to look nonchalant when the cashier reads back the order as the lovebug special, but your face is warm. You do not glance at Bucky, though you can feel his eyes on your face. Sure, fine, he’s gorgeous and sarcastic and smart, but all the banter is just set dressing. The real reason he’s talking to you is Gemma.

Ugh. You screw up your mouth and look away. Gemma’s the only reason you encountered Bucky Barnes at all. Resenting a six-year old is a really, really bad look, but now that you’ve spent time with Bucky, you wish you’d met under different circumstances. No guns, no psychics, no children. Just two consenting adults.

And while you’re dreaming, might as well hope for some goddamned privacy.

“Here you go,” Bucky says. He holds out your coffee and cookie, already taking a bite of his own. They’ve given him a blue-frosted cookie, but the frosting isn’t half so bright as his eyes.

“Thanks.” You take his offering and turn away before he sees the flush in your cheeks. You have got to get control of yourself. No one’s eyes should be that distracting.

You step outside and take a bracing breath. It’s cold after the cozy cocoon of the cafe. At least the paper cup in your hand is hot against your skin.

“Don’t you have gloves?” Bucky asks.

“They’re in my other coat.” You take a scalding sip and wince. The liquid burns your throat, but warmth sweeps through you as the caffeine settles.

You glance at Bucky, who’s frowning down at his own hands and plucking at his gloves.

“Oh my god, Bucky, I’m fine,” you blurt. “Keep your gloves!”

“Yes, ma’am.” Bucky blinks, pauses, and studies you warily as he takes a quick sip. “No insult intended.”

After his amusement at your joke about insult and injury back in October; you feel confident that he doesn’t mean any harm now. Still, you can’t help a little retaliatory snark. “All good, Sergeant.”

His eyes narrow on you. You keep your expression vague and pleasant until you can’t help a giggle from escaping. Bucky relaxes and edges closer as a clump of people pass by.

“It’s good to see you,” he says.

“You too,” you reply.

“Nice to see you fully upright, too,” he adds, and you swat his shoulder with a roll of your eyes.

“Just for that I’m going to flatten you again next time,” you joke.

“Well,” Bucky says, eyes twinkling, “I can think of worse fates. See you around, ma’am.” He shoots you one final breathtaking smile and ambles off, leaving you speechless in his wake.

“God I hope so,” you whisper.

He disappears from view before it occurs to you that you should have just asked the guy out. Now you might have to deal with three more months without seeing him again. No banter, no blue eyes, no sexy smirks. No lovebug special.

You head for home, fuming at your temporarily loss of brain functioning. Typical—he distracts you so much you can’t even get yourself to make sure you would see each other before the summertime, if at all. Of course, maybe come summertime you’d see him at the beach, in a bathing suit…

You flush and bite your tongue to contain your grin. Now there’s a sight you’d be glad to see.

God willing, one day you would.

Read Part 4 here!

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[occult-castiel]

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Suptober. Day 13: Rewind Dean has a few things to say to Cas. Word count: 2542 [Read on Ao3]

3 Weeks.

Dean's been stealing glances at his phone for over an hour. The dim light of the hall that creeps from under his door is the only reason he can see the thing, blurred out to a barely-there grey hunk of plastic.

The idea is fucking stupid. He doesn't care what Sam thinks. Sam wasn't even supposed to know. Let alone have fucking opinions.

But Dean slipped.

And it took more effort than he will ever admit to walk out of the kitchen without clocking his brother in the goddamn jaw.

Fuck Sam and fuck the phone.

He turns around, away from the stupidest temptation of his life, and demands sleep come.

It's only mildly successful.

2 Month, 1 Week.

Nothing bad can happen from a phone call. Doing it once can’t hurt you any more than you are now

Sam's a well-meaning kid. He really is. But sometimes he just needs to can it.

'Cause he had to go and say some shit like that, completely unprompted — they were talking about potential witch activity in Utah, not Dean's feelings, for Christ's sake — and now it's all Dean can think about now that the distractions of the day have bled into a dark room and cold bed.

And that gray hunk of plastic on his desk is laughing at him. He could reach it if he sat up. Stretched a bit.

But the idea is dumb. And Sam doesn't get it. He really fucking doesn’t.

Except Dean knows he's kind of full of crap.

He grits his teeth, shoves the covers to the side, and grabs his phone.

With each passing buzz, his heart stutters, breath cut into shorter and shorter spurts.

Stupidstupidstupid.

It- it isn't like he's gunna answer. Dean knows he not, but it just rings and rings and —

"This is my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail."

And it hurts.

He calls again every night for the next week. Of course, he never picks up. Sam doesn't ask.

4 Months.

Dean kicks the door after it slams shut. Throws his gun at his headboard, if it goes off and shoots him, oh fucking well. It's great. Just fantastic.

He pulls his phone out without thinking. Clicks Cas.

It rings, and for a moment his shoulders relax as the familiar greeting plays. Cause its Cas' voice. And fuck. Just… fuck.

Then it beeps, and he actually does the one thing he's wanted for months.

"None of your douchebag family will answer me. And I've tried friggin' everything, I swear to Christ."

He runs his hand over his face, glances up at the sour-yellow ceiling.

"How you ever stood them is beyond me dude."

And then, like a rational human being. He hangs up and pretends that whatever that was didn't happen.

Once the bitter taste of angels that don’t pick the fucking phone up from earlier that day fades, Dean stares at the darkened ceiling.

He left a voicemail. A fucking voicemail.

Pathetic.

4 Months, 3 Weeks.

So he hasn't called again since his, uh, slip up. And Sam keeps giving him these little looks. And he knows that Sam knows, and knows he isn't calling because he's a changed man or whatever.

Maybe Sam would drop it, whatever the hell he thinks Dean's mess is, if he could manage to eat.

Jody, Claire, Kaia, and Alex are all around the table with them. Jody's the charmer she always is, talking about how she's grateful for the help and oh, of course you guys are gunna stay for dinner! Ah-ah! No buts.  

There was a hunt in town she tracked down with Claire, a huge vamps nest — we're talking dozens — and called them over for help. And is now feeding them. Because she's a saint and never deserved to be in the know in the first place.

Dean looks at the food. Pork lathered in dark brown graveyard with a mountain of buttery mashed potatoes. There's a pile of carrots on Sam's plate. Dean opted out.

Not that he's eating now. No, mostly just pushing it all around. He does eat in general.

But Claire isn't looking at him. Hasn't. She barely managed a glance up when he saved her — just a small nod and weary glance.

Sam, on the other hand, may as well be ogling.

Dean wishes he could read Sam's mind, find out where he's keeping it so Dean can wallow in misery without his brother being keen on some of the finer details, thank you very much.

He manages a few bites. Its excellent, mouth-watering, home-cooked goodness he's missed fiercely since he got a taste for it the few days Mrs. Butters was around.

But right now? Turns his stomach.

On the way back home, Sam clears his throat. Dean grips the wheel a little tighter.

"So —"

"I didn't ask for your opinion, Samantha."

In the corner of his eye, Sam's shoulder slump. His brother looks down and sighs out a sad little noise.

But the rest of the drive is quiet. And that's a win in Dean's book.

*

It's roughly midnight, and books are scattered across the library table. They're all open to different pages, but none of it matters. Not really.

Dean's combing through it all anyway. Has been since Heavens decided they have a no-call policy with anyone named Winchester.

The piles he has laid around him have grown increasingly larger as the weeks have drug on. Spiked exponentially when he decided not to call anymore.

"Hey Dean."

Dean snaps his head up mid-sentence. Sam stands in the threshold, holding a plate. In pajamas.

Dean just looks at him. "What?"

"Made you food." He lifts the plate up a fraction

"That looks like a cold cut, so made is a generous word."

Sam has the audacity to slump into himself, full-on wounded-puppy mode. So Dean rolls his eyes and waves him over.

The plate gets sat down with a distinct clank, and Sam pats his shoulder.

"You know I just… want what's best for you."

Dean tenses his shoulders, closes the book in front of him. He speaks through his teeth.

"Yeah, well I never had it in the first place. And now it is gone, and there's nothing I can do."

"You don't know that Dean."

He glues his eyes to the back of the book. Balls his fists.

"Don't I? That — That fucking thing just —"

"I know. But it's also gone. We don't know what happened."

Dean chooses then to look over, fix his brother with a proper glare so he'll go the hell away — but sees it.

Sitting innocuously on the plate, like it isn't an affront to everything Dean would rather not, is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Sam's talking but he can't hear it. His brains turned to mush, a radio-static circus of nothing.

The bottom of his chair screeches as it drags against the floor.

And Dean can’t see.

Sam grabs his arm, he shakes it off. He moves decisively, tries too, but his eyes prickle and he can’t see shit, and he isn’t about to cry right there in front of his brother, validate every stupid thought the guy has that’s probably one-hundred percent right.

His door clicks shut, and he pressed himself against it. Slides down until he hits the icy floor.

Dean's throat is a constricted cage, each breath in has to be muscled in, down, out. Each wobble as much as the last.

Sam doesn't know shit. He doesn’t know what he's talking about. He really doesn't.

Calling someone who can’t answer, won’t ever answer, is fucking stupid. It's not therapeutic.

When he rubs a hand over his face. It comes back wet, and his eyes sting.

"Fuck."

He fishes for his phone. Going to Cas' number is muscle memory at this point.

It rings. Cause Sam can't help but keep the thing charged.

"This is my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail."

The ball in his chest is impossibly tight. Why hasn't he called? Just to hear him again, the gruff tenor that's like gravel and silk and the only thing he ever wants to hear, ever. And now he only has nine words he'll ever hear him say again.

That's it. Two sentences.

You saved the whole world. He didn’t save shit.

And what the fuck is he supposed to do now? How is he supposed to do anything? He’s never been any good, not as good as he needs to be. Maybe if he would’ve been — or did somethin’ different, anything different —

Dean threads his fingers in his hair and balls his fist. Squeezes his eyes shut against the pool of tears that just leak out, and curls in on himself. His guts are twisted and tight, just like the rest of him. Every part of him shakes, the hand vice-gripping his hair should hurt, should be enough to pull him back to sanity, but the tears don’t stop.

And really what does it matter if he cries. Chucks gone, and The Empty, that — that thing got what was coming to it.

But Cas didn't come back.

He lulls his head against the door, untangles the hand from his hair like his fingers piston operated they ache so bad

God, Cas should’ve just left him in Hell.

Maybe he's Heaven, Billy had said with a shrug. Casual. Like she didn't understand. And Dean knows she does. She gets it more than any of them, saw just what this shit did the last time. Saw exactly how much he didn't want to be around.

Jack had to fuck off to put the universe in balance, so he’s MIA and no help. And Heaven doesn't seem to give a shit.

There must've been a beep somewhere, so Dean just goes with it. Presses the phone to his ear again and works his jaw open until it’s loose enough to allow something resembling words can happen.

"It's — it's bullshit." God Dean can't recognize his own voice, pulled thin and hoarse. "You — you know that right? Bullshit." He shakes his head. Tries to take a deep breath that comes out only slightly less ragged. "You always left. And I — I get that you had to sometimes. But no one wanted you here more than me."

He wipes his face off with the collar of his shirt. His skull screams in sharp pain, and his temples thud. And normally this would be too long of a pause, but normally you don't start a voicemail off trying not to sob, and normally they're made for people who can actually listen to them. So whatever.

"This is stupid. It's not — voicemails ain't your style." His breath leaves, and exhaustion sets deep into his bones. "You always just called back for the explanation. You'd leave 'em, though."

At least Dean assumes. Every call back he'd ever gotten from the guy he'd have to fill him in on whatever was happening anyway. Guess it makes sense in a way. If you have enough time to listen to a message, you've got enough time to call.

The space behind his robes aches when he says, "We both shoulda picked up more, I guess. And Sammy wants me to call now. Like it makes up for shit. It doesn't."

He swipes the little red phone to the left, and stares at the word Cas in his contacts page.

But the screen goes blank, and all he can see are his puffy red eyes reflected in the black screen, and that's motivation, so he gets ready for bed.

1 Year, 10 Months, 13 Days

He calls a few times after that. But tries not to leave voicemails for someone that's just gone, in every sense of the word.

It’s dumb. Still really dumb. And he has no defense for it. Eventually Sam hands him Cas' old phone and a charger. All of the missed voicemails untouched.

Dean could swear he remembers ever last one.

They're mostly simple crap, sometimes. Updates.

"Sam and Eileen are getting hitched. They're pretty fucking disgusting together. But sometimes they look at me, and I can just see it, man. See how they like, bubble themselves off." He laughs, but it's strained.  "Guess it just be written on my face. Which is just friggin’ fantastic. Cause I'm happy for them. I've always wanted that for Sam. But I wanted it for us too. Fucked up that I can only say it now, huh."

"I don't like the way burgers taste anymore. And I, uh, have a bumper sticker now. It's a bee. I kept it together until Sam got misty-eyed." There's a pause for a touch too long, then, "That mixtapes been the only thing in Baby for a month."

"I kept the trenchcoat. Wore it earlier. Got cold out for the first time since —" he sighs. "You wore it better. Looks like shit on me. It pretty much lives in my closet. Can't get monster guts on it that way."

But sometimes it's just a confession, none of the other bullshit. Just the truth.

"Look. I'm not mad. So don't think that. Cause I'm not. Wish I was. It's — it's always been easier. But I was trying to get my head on straight. I would've for you. I just… Don't know how now."

"Can't tell if I like using your old angel blade or fucking hate it. Don't like much of anything anymore. You were better with it."

"Id pray to you, but this is all I got. And I wish I could hope you're up there. But then I'd hope there isn't any pay per view Earth or whatever. Cause this shit? Is pitiful." A sigh. "G'night, Cas."

And one night, a long time later, he's sitting with his back against his bed, nestled next to the end table he never used, he says the truth in a way he knows he should've years and years ago.

"Guess this is like prayin', ain't it? Sammy caught me a few months ago. He wasn't even surprised I'm still doing this. Told me it was, uh — It was okay. Even if I just… never did. And you know what? I don't think l can." He gives a small laugh. "Hell, I only leave messages when I'm feeling, I dunno, brave? Like some part of me thinks you could still hear it and tell me to get lost."

Logically, he knows Cas wouldn't have kicked him to the curb. Wanted him just as much.

"God I listen to it almost every night dude. Just hearing this stupid fucking line —  It's like hitting rewind, for a few seconds."

The rest comes off easy, in its own way

"I miss you, Buddy. And I — I love you more than I know what to do with. I wish it would've been enough. But instead, it killed you."

He ends it, and calls back. Just to listen to the only thing he'll ever hear Cas say again. It’s not a replacement, never will be until he can see if Heaven really does have an angels left.

But the only faith he ever had is just an echo on the other end.

"This is my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail."

[perpetually-jungshook]

RED || 03

Genre: humor, jimin x jungkook for now, angst, fluff, humor

Summary: Life is weird. Jungkook works as Jimin’s niche porn photographer and finds it difficult to remember that the he's only flirting with the camera. Namjoon despises the world of big business but works as a manager for an international corporate company and hates it (cruel irony, he says). Yoongi is just a typical IT guy who has a secret he’s never told anyone, which is totally typical. Hoseok and Seokjin work at a retirement home, from which they one day bring back some random volunteer with fiery red hair who may or may not change everything.

Warnings: language, crude humor, pining

Word Count: 8.3k

Links: Storyboard || 01 || Previous || Next

For the amount of guys that hit on Hoseok, it’s almost painfully ironic that he’s straight. Jimin suspects it has to do with his confidence and openness, or maybe there’s just something about the way he’s able to talk to complete strangers like they’ve been best friends for a decade. It’s perplexing on multiple levels.

Earlier that day, when Jimin had picked Hoseok up from the retirement home for a quick trip to their favorite cafe for tea and sandwiches, the (male) barista started flirting with him. Then some random hot guy who appeared to be writing either an essay or manuscript. Then the parking attendant. It’s unfair really. But maybe Jimin just needs to pause and reconsider. Not every laugh, wink, and scribbled phone number should be considered flirting. Right?

To give Hoseok credit, he’s not someone that shouts “no homo” every time he makes eye contact with another guy. People might think he’s closeted (and doing a poor job at hiding it) because he’s so unabashedly affectionate, openly holding hands with his friends and even exchanging cheek kisses. Jimin also would’ve thought he was at least bi, but Hoseok himself has said he’s straight on multiple occasions and Jimin is inclined to believe his friend’s word. Still, whatever appearances suggest and despite what people may think, Hoseok is undoubtedly into girls, is simply comfortable with his masculinity, and only has one small Jimin related secret.

Yes Hoseok is Straight, but sometimes a guy just needs to get his dick wet and Jimin definitely doesn’t mind helping.

Hoseok is three fingers deep when he giggles, “Yknow, you’re so cute when you’re jealous.”

Jimin’s face flushes, heels digging into the mattress at the slick stretch.

“Jealous? Says Who?” he asks, voice a little hoarse, but ultimately playful.

“You looked like you wanted to murder that barista.”

“You can’t prove anything,” Jimin attempts to retort, laughing, but the sound is cut short as Hoseok uses his thumb to press that one spot just below the base of Jimin’s dick, causing his stomach muscles to tense. “Besides, I’m not allowed to be jealous.”

Hoseok doesn’t belong to him and Jimin doesn’t think they’d be compatible in any type of romantic relationship. It’s just nice to appreciate his friend’s lean, tanned, toned body every now and then. Like, really nice.

The older boy snorts, obviously amused as he says, “Yes you are. And I totally encourage it because it’s cute.”

“And it makes you horny.”

“Yeah. That too.”

Jimin’s hands close around fistfuls of sheets to anchor himself as Hoseok continues to pump into him slowly. Thankfully they’ve gotten past the point in their weird relationship where this might be uncomfortable and idle banter helps smooth over the parts that are still awkward.  Over the past few months, Jimin has learned that Hoseok’s fingers are long and slender, except around the second knuckle. The expected stretch is usually unexpected as the rhythm often changes to keep him on his toes, but Jimin is definitely not complaining.

A few minutes of feeling the inconsistently rhythmic drag and push has him squirming though. He wants to say something, to demand or beg for anything that involves more, but Hoseok is a tease. The more Jimin asks, the more prolonged the wait.

There’s only one “more” that Hoseok will always respond positively to.

“Lube please?”

“Of course,” Hoseok obliges immediately, popping open the cap with his free hand to reapply and ease the friction again. At least he always makes sure Jimin is comfortable and safe.

He braces himself for the brief cold sensation, closing his eyes, but it doesn’t last long.

“Okay, I think I’m—”

Jimin chokes as Hoseok purposefully pushes agains his prostate, making the younger boy’s hips lift off of the bed in surprise.

“Ready for my dick?” Hoseok finishes.

“Please don’t say that.”

“Are you ready for my dick, Jiminie?”

Jimin can’t help laughing, though it sounds breathy, “Yeah, fine, just put it in.”

Hoseok gasps, obviously pretending to be offended. He pushes against Jimin’s prostate again, making the younger boy fidget.

“I’m not going to just put it in. I’m going to slip my leaking cock inside of your warm wet walls and make sweet, sweet love to one of my best f—”

“If you keep talking, I’m gonna leave.” Both boys laugh as Jimin pouts and weakly, playfully shoves at Hoseok’s shoulder, ignoring the momentary emptiness when Hoseok’s fingers withdraw, allowing him to clean his hand.

“I’m just taking lines from one of Jin’s fanfictions. I thought you’d like it.”

“I hate it,” Jimin says, still giggling, but lets Hoseok push his knees up toward his chest, exposing his entrance to the older boy.

“Good. Because I think I’ll do a play by play narration of how I slip my throbbing dick into your pretty little hole—”

“Not listening!”

“And then pound you mercilessly into the mattress as my balls slap loudly against your tight perky ass—”

“You are seriously the worst.”

“And then I’ll shoot thick white ropes of my seed inside of you—”

“Hobi!”

“This is just revenge for my hot pocket, Jiminie.”

Jimin is laughing too hard to care about how long it takes to slip a pillow beneath his hips, or for Hoseok to put on the condom as he suppresses his own laughter. The narration of bad smut serves as a good distraction while Hoseok carefully slips the head of his dick in too, makes accommodating his length easier because Jimin is already somewhat relaxed. This is another thing he likes about casual sex with Hoseok. It’s actually fun and not heavy and tense. It’s more about feeling good and less about keeping up impressions.

“You okay?” Hoseok asks with a tone that’s now faded into something softer, accompanied by a small smile.

“Yeah, ‘m good,” Jimin closes his eyes, taking a few deep breaths as the older boy gently, slowly rocks his hips, pushing his length in just a little further each time.

It’s not often that the two get time alone in the apartment. Seokjin and Hoseok usually get concurrent shifts at the retirement home and now they have Taehyung to deal with, so today is a rare opportunity. Hoseok got out of work a little early, Taehyung went to go record his podcast, and Seokjin had signed up for some medical training program that took him out of town for the evening. So yeah, stars aligning, universe blessings, coincidences and shit. Jimin is finally getting dicked down and it feels great.

Hoseok’s hands brush up the center of Jimin’s chest, probably purposefully missing his sensitive nipples by a mere hair’s width, then travel back down to his stomach. What a goddamn tease. His palms are rough, but not exactly calloused. Jimin takes a deep breath, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as the older boy leans forward, giving him leverage to squeeze Jimin’s ass, then massage firmly along his thighs, inadvertently pressing them against his chest again and almost folding him in half. Jimin has always been flexible, but the pleasant ache of this stretch goes straight to his dick, making it twitch against his lower tummy as a small, quiet grunt leaves his lips, toes curling. Hoseok smirks, then hooks Jimin’s knees over his shoulders.

“I wonder how many people wish they were me right now.”

Jimin scrunches his nose. “That’s a weird thing to say.”

“Well look at you, like fuck. No wonder you do so well shooting porn,” Hoseok laughs as his hips settle against Jimin’s, keeping still, giving him time to adjust.

The younger boy blushes, “Thank… you? Right? That was a compliment?”

“Definitely,” Hoseok says, beaming, then pinches one of Jimin’s nipples, causing him to squeak. Such a fucking goddamn tease. Jimin loves it. “Why don’t you ever do streams? I’m sure people’d pay a shit ton to see you like this.”

“You mean hanging off a straight boy’s dick?”

“Totally.”

They share another laugh, though Jimin’s is shaky and short lived as Hoseok wraps a hand around his length, pumping slowly. The older boy’s hips continue to remain still.

“I dunno,” Jimin’s voice is unsteady as he watches the fist move up and down, flicking quickly every so often, and he tries to form complete sentences despite the increasing difficulty. “I shoot niche porn. Can’t exactly stay in full makeup and costume on a stream. And I’ve never been good at the whole camera thing.”

“Camera thing?”

“Yeah. Editing and setup and w-whatever,” he says, stuttering as Hoseok finally swivels his hips, a small action that has heat blossoming in Jimin’s abdomen.

“Maybe Jungkook could help you out with that too.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“I’m sure he would.” Hoseok chuckles, pushing his hips forward, sheathing himself inside Jimin once again. “Except you might want to get life insurance just in case he spontaneously combusts?”

“Hobi, not right now.”

“I mean, don’t you think it’d be the opportunity of a lifetime for him-?”

“Don’t.”

The one word is more powerful than any of Jimin’s former protests, and causes Hoseok’s leisurely rhythm to come to an abrupt stop. The younger boy tries to backpedal.

“Sorry, I just… please don’t talk about him while you’re inside me.”

Tension hangs in the air, but only for a moment as Hoseok’s expression softens.

“Right, I’m sorry,” he apologizes too, leaning forward to press a kiss into Jimin’s hair. “I’ll stop.”

He’s the one person who gets to kiss Jimin while fucking, and only on the forehead, cheeks, or temples. Jimin doesn’t know exactly why he self-imposes this rule. Maybe it’s because kissing strangers during sex feels too intimate, even more so than the penetration itself. Maybe he feels as if letting anyone be that emotionally close to him is dangerous, being that it’s always him who gets left behind. Or maybe he’s shallow and doesn’t like inexperienced tongues and lips and doesn’t want to deal with figuring out who has which or worse, both. Whatever the case, he trusts Hoseok, but only so much.

“Do you want me to…” the way Hoseok says this implies the sentence would end with “pull out.”

“No it’s fine. Just fuck me already, please?” Jimin laughs, but the sound is strained.

After that, there’s no more talking, no more humorous banter. There’s only the awkward sounds of soft grunts and sharp sighs and skin on skin. It’s not that Hoseok is bad at sex or that his skills are slacking. Far from it. Jimin’s mood has simply been thoroughly ruined and all of the tension that had been building up in his body and mind over the past two weeks goes from being a heavy concrete solid to a murky, gritty molasses as one of the most unsatisfying orgasms of his life hits him. He feels disgusting, but in a way that has almost nothing to do with Hoseok and everything to do with Jimin being a fucking slut.

The older boy’s thrusts get sloppy when he reaches his own climax, huffing, shoving himself deep enough that Jimin winces. As his small fingers press into Hoseok’s sweat slicked shoulders, tugging him down to lie chest to chest and smearing Jimin’s mess between their stomachs, he wants to scream in frustration. The post-orgasm fog was supposed to help clear his thoughts, but naturally (as all fog does, he supposes) it only makes things more difficult.

Jimin does not like Jungkook, not in the way that Jungkook likes him. But he wishes he did… He wants to like him, to be in love with him because then maybe everything could be simple, maybe Jimin wouldn’t hate himself, and maybe the ever pervasive gritty, viscous feeling of guilt would finally go away.

Stories in the Clouds

Today it’s overcast, a little more gray.

Jungkook looks out the window to see if it’s gray with an “e” or with an “a.” He’d once heard the only difference was preference. Another person had told him gray is darker and grey is lighter. Working under the latter explanation, it’s definitely gray outside.

So there aren’t many individual clouds to look at… but that doesn’t mean we can’t find a story to tell, right?

Taehyung’s voice is soothing, deep, a little different in ways Jungkook can’t quite explain as it filters through his earbuds.

Seeing the under side of clouds that are kind of smudgy like this makes me wonder what the tops look like. Are they smudgy too? Or is there something hidden beyond this gloomy grayness? Delicate wisps and spires of water vapor stretching toward the sun…

Jungkook wonders if he’s reading from a script, or just making it up as he goes along. The only clues he has are that it’s currently streaming live and the sole noise beyond his voice are the distant sounds of traffic. If it’s scripted, he’s doing a great job at hiding it. If it’s not, then Taehyung is a ridiculously skilled orator.

If there were a palace in the clouds, do you think it would look like that?

A rhetorical question, but Jungkook tries to picture it anyway.

All spires and wisps and winding stair cases. When I was little— and I think a lot of us have experienced this at least once— I used to want to live up there. Rule over my own cloud kingdom high above the ground. I wondered if it would feel dense but springy like cotton balls, or if it would be as light and soft as a handful of feathers.

Taehyung laughs quietly, making a pleasant shiver run through Jungkook. His voice is so nice.

Over the next thirty minutes, Taehyung builds the intricate story of a castle in the sky, with each soft breath forging fantastic imagery, conjuring up lords and ladies and warriors and customs with honey sweet words that Jungkook is helpless to defend himself against.

… but like all kingdoms over the course of history, the destruction of our castle of clouds is inevitable. With the sun and the wind eroding its walls, it is doomed to dissipate or change so substantially that it is no longer recognizable. Maybe one day we will see it again, in the sky or in our memory. Or maybe it’ll just evaporate in the fog of our thoughts. Whatever the case, thank you for joining me this week and tune in next Saturday for a new episode. Until we meet again.

The podcast stops playing, but Jungkook continues to stare out the window, willing the vibrant images to come back. They do, but not with the same vivid detail as when Taehyung had painted them in his mind. It’s an easy decision, to download all fifty seven available episodes. The time it takes to actually download them, however, is a lot longer.

He groans as he watches the progress bar, silently thanking the universe that Yoongi and Namjoon aren’t home right now to complain about him hogging the bandwidth. Jungkook sets his phone down on the coffee table to go find something to snack on.

He feels… odd. Like, he doesn’t actively feel worried, which is very unusual.

It’s completely normal for him to feel anxious about everyday things such as driving, being indecisive about what he wants to eat, and interacting with people who aren’t his family or five best friends. But today? He’s low key getting anxious about not being anxious, which ironically alleviates some of the anxiety. It’s irrational, he knows. But who’s rational nowadays?

Jungkook is halfway through an episode of a telenovela he doesn’t understand and a carton of strawberries that Yoongi must have bought (he’ll repent for this later, no doubt, but they’re delicious and he regrets nothing) when there’s a knock at the door.

He doesn’t even have time to question it before Taehyung’s deep voice musically assures him, “It’s me. Taehyung. Anyone home?”

Pushing himself up and setting the strawberries down, Jungkook’s socked feet help him to shuffle his way to the door without too much effort. He opens it with wide, surprised eyes.

“Oh good, it’s you,” Taehyung says, laughing.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I dunno, Yoongi kind of terrifies me?”

Jungkook smiles, “He does that to a lot of people. But he’s really just a crusty marshmallow.”

Taehyung makes A Face.

“Did you just say ‘crusty marshmallow?’”

“Yeah, kinda hard and lumpy and burnt on the outside, but soft on the inside.”

“So you mean a burnt marshmallow.”

“Do I?”

“Do you?”

They pause, staring at each other with comically wide eyes before sharing a round of giggles. Taehyung continues, “Okay you can describe him however you want but please don’t ever use the word crusty in that context again.”

“Crusty. Marshmallow,” Jungkook draws out and punctuates the words, earning him a smack to his shoulder, which only causes him to laugh harder.

“Anyway, you busy? Mind if I hang out for a bit?”

“Did you get locked out again?”

“Actually no,” Taehyung takes a deep breath like he’s about to reveal some earth shattering news. “The front door was unlocked but I’m pretty sure someone’s getting fucked.”

Jungkook tries to be casual like he hadn’t just heard said earth shattering news.

“Fucked like… in a good way?”

What the hell kind of question is that?

“Actually, I couldn’t tell,” Taehyung’s nose scrunches as he obviously tries not to cringe. “Without disclosing names, there was some really weird dirty talk. But it also sounded like arguing? And they were laughing?”

Jungkook feels the heat creep onto his face, scorching the finally acne free skin there. But now? Hello, stress pimples tomorrow.

“It was Jimin, wasn’t it.”

Taehyung holds up his hands in mock surrender, looking mildly guilty as he says, “I said no names.”

Jungkook nods and steps aside to let the boy with the fiery red hair inside.

“I guess I can’t make you listen to that.” His subsequent laugh is strained, but probably only to his own ears.

“Thanks,” Taehyung sighs as he walks in and plops down on the couch. “If I feel awkward about it, I can’t imagine how you feel.”

Jungkook shrugs as he slowly lowers himself into a comfortable position on the other side of the couch, back pressed against the seat cushions, one leg crooked up, arms crossed on his tummy.

“It’s alright. He does it a lot.”

“How often is ‘a lot?’” Taehyung asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Like once or twice every month.”

“Oh.”

The only sound for a solid minute is the wailings of a distraught woman speaking rapid Spanish on the TV.

“Do you speak Spanish?”

“No. You?”

“No.”

Jungkook picks up the remote and changes the channel, pressing the button a few times before he settles on the news. They’re talking about slight chances of rain in nearby cities. It reminds Jungkook to say something.

“I listened to your podcast today.”

Taehyung’s head tilts toward Jungkook, a smile playing across his lips as he says, “Yeah? And what’d you think?”

Jungkook shrugs like he isn’t currently single handedly destroying their router to listen to other episodes of Stories in the Clouds.

“Pretty good. I might try out a few more.”

“Great! That makes me really happy,” Taehyung relaxes into a boxy smile. “It always helps to know someone’s actually listening.”

Jungkook can relate to that. He takes pictures of landscapes, sometimes objects, sells them, and never knows if the buyers actually take the time to look or if his photos just hang anonymously in dentist offices and retail employee break rooms. Of course people look at the porn, because one: it’s porn and two: Jimin’s boss keeps asking for more. In that way, Jungkook knows some of his art is being appreciated, but what about Taehyung?

“Do people ever like, leave reviews and stuff?”

“Sometimes,” Taehyung laughs lightly, a deep sound that makes Jungkook’s scalp tingle pleasantly. “Maybe once every two months. I occasionally get emails. They’re usually pretty nice.”

“That’s cool.”

“Yeah.”

The woman on the TV is talking about a possible cold front, but Jungkook isn’t ready to believe her. Weather people on news networks are the reasons he has trust issues. Not really. They’re actually the only people he sees (or listens to) on a regular basis that he tends not to trust. And with that he runs out of things to readily distract himself.

The silence feels a little heavier than last time, but Jungkook highly doubts it’s Taehyung’s fault. It’s likely the circumstances he brought with him. It’s at this point he’s grateful he can’t hear Jimin and whatever person with whom he’s messing around. Despite the relatively thin walls within the apartment, the insulation is great between floors. Jungkook takes a deep breath, then lets it out as a long sigh.

“Are you gonna fuck Jimin?”

The question is abruptly out in the room like a dildo found on a bathroom counter.

Taehyung’s first response is apparently to burst out laughing, which is both an expected and unexpected reaction to something so straightforward. It’s a full body laugh, one that has his knees lift from the couch cushions and has his hands clapping.

“What?”

Jungkook can feel the blush creep up on his cheeks again, “I, ah, I mean like… are you attracted to him?”

Taehyung takes a couple breaths before his laughter peters out to the point where he can talk coherently. He then reaches over and places a large, pleasantly warm hand on Jungkook’s shoulder.

“Dude, it would be totally uncool of me to fuck Jimin if I know you like him.”

It doesn’t go unnoticed that he didn’t answer the refined question.

There’s a small lump forming in Jungkook’s throat, making it hard to speak as the other boy’s hand is withdrawn, “But… is that like, the only reason you’d say no?”

“Okay before I answer that, let me ask you this,” Taehyung pauses here, and Jungkook isn’t sure whether or not he’s doing it to purposefully make Jungkook’s whole body feel like a compressed spring. “Do you do this because you enjoy emotionally abusing yourself?”

His expression must obviously read as confused because Taehyung explains after a moment, “Like asking about Jimin and taking his pictures.”

Jungkook’s reply is hesitant, but completely honest, “I don’t know.”

“Well maybe this isn’t my place—”

“It probably isn’t,” Jungkook murmurs, but the comment is a lot less derisive than he intended it to be. It makes him sound like exactly what he is, a sad lonely boy.

Taehyung continues, unfazed, “But I don’t think doing this to yourself is healthy.”

Jungkook’s first reaction is to get defensive because what does Taehyung know about his life? About his relationship with Jimin? He does manage to remain vaguely respectful because of the nagging feeling of “this isn’t Taehyung’s fault,” and only the slightest bit of aggression seeps through his tone.

“What are you saying? That you don’t think I should help Jimin with his shoots anymore?”

“That’s up to you,” Taehyung appears to stay completely calm, which sort of gets on Jungkook’s nerves more than the words themselves. “I’m just saying you have a choice.”

“A choice?”

“Yeah. You don’t have to work with him. He can find someone else.”

Jungkook has to fight the petulant jealousy that starts pressing on his chest.

“We work well together. And I keep things professional.”

“Feelings aren’t professional, Kook,” Taehyung’s voice drops a note or two lower, becoming softer, almost a warning.

“So now you’re saying I can’t have emotions-?”

“That’s not what I meant.” He pauses, likely to rethink his words. “What I wanted to say is, you can’t control your feelings, no matter how much they pay you or how good something looks on your resumé or in your portfolio. Feelings don’t follow rules.”

Jungkook bites back the retort he wants to make about how the hell Taehyung would know. But he’s right, no matter how much Jungkook doesn’t want to admit it.

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter.” Jungkook knows his ‘reason’ is a weak excuse before it even leaves his lips. He’s regressing. He can tell, and the pressure increases. “He’s my friend and I need the experience. I can bottle up feelings.”

“Sure you can. But for how long?”

“Forever.”

Now he just sounds like an angsty teenager again and he hates it.

Taehyung’s expression is sympathetic, “You and I both know you can’t. You’re breaking.”

“That’s a stupid cliche.”

Taehyung talks right over him, “You can see it, your friends can see it, even I can see it. What does that say?”

“What the fuck do you know?” The defensiveness starts to press harder, and Jungkook is so pissed off that he doesn’t even want to finish the internal metaphor about dents and shit. “You only met me like a week ago. Don’t pretend to—”

“I know you haven’t gone to the gym in over three months,” Taehyung’s soft voice is somehow more powerful than Jungkook’s raised voice. “I heard Jin talking to Hobi about it. I know you get lost in your thoughts or try to block them out by watching trash TV in languages you don’t even understand. And I definitely know how you look so fucking sad when you talk to Jimin.”

“Shut the hell up.”

It’s not even an exclamation. If it was, Jungkook is sure his voice would have cracked.

“What I’m trying to say is it does matter. It matters to your friends and it should absolutely matter to you. You can’t just keep pushing this aside and abusing yourself.”

Jungkook remains silent, not knowing what to say.

So Taehyung continues, a little quieter, “We care about you, Kook. Myself included, even if we did only meet a week ago. And… and if you don’t start fixing things to help yourself, then fix things before they start hurting Jimin too.”

It’s a twisted line of thinking, but it’s not meant maliciously. Jungkook can tell Taehyung isn’t favoring Jimin. In fact, he’s pandering to Jungkoook’s feelings for him. The worst part? It’s working. Jungkook can feel himself start to collapse inward like a crushed soda can, the facade of anger melting into what he really feels, pain.

“Trust me. I understand when you like someone so much that you’d do anything to make them happy— drive hours, spend thousands, throw yourself off a cliff if it would make them smile,” Taehyung says, letting out a soft, nervously macabre chuckle.

Jungkook continues to remain silent.

“I understand… when every breath you take makes it feel like your heart is going to explode and everything you see you associate with them and there’s nothing that feels good or healthy about it anymore but you can’t help it because you love them.”

Because you love them. Because Jungkook loves Jimin. He’d never dared to even think the words before, but he does and he knows it. Has probably known for a while. He’s so in love with a boy who won’t ever love him back.

Jungkook has never been a loud or dramatic crier, so it takes Taehyung a few seconds to notice the change in his body language. Or maybe he notices and just doesn’t want to bring attention to it. After all, he goes quiet and simply reaches over to give Jungkook’s hand a gentle but firm squeeze as the hot tears collect in his eyes. He won’t be weak like this. Never again.

One shaky breath later and he’s able to nod, voice cracking, “Yeah. That sums it up.”

Maybe it wasn’t just that Taehyung’s words were novel worthy— either spoken from experience or due to the fact that he’s a natural storyteller. Rather, maybe they not only opened the door to the closeted thoughts and emotions Jungkook has been repressing, but also dragged them into the light, shook them out, and then beat them like a dusty old rug. Maybe both, but Jungkook feels vulnerable. So painfully vulnerable because this stranger knows all of his secrets.

Taehyung slowly scoots over and wraps an arm around Jungkook’s shoulders, drawing him close in what’s probably meant to be a comforting gesture. The angle is awkward, but Jungkook appreciates the sentiment.

Okay, maybe Taehyung isn’t a “stranger.”

“I wish I had a solution for you, Kook. I really do. But all I can offer is to support you how you feel supported.”

“I’ll let you know when I figure out how that works.” His reply is slightly facetious, but after a pause, he adds a genuine, “Thanks.”

“Of course.”

The boy with the fiery red hair held up by a faded navy blue bandana gives Jungkook’s upper arm a soft pat as the latter drags his shirt collar over his eyes, wiping away any evidence of those despicable tears.

The news has moved on from weather to traffic.

Taehyung clears his throat.

“Oh, and my answer from earlier…? No. You aren’t the only reason I wouldn’t fuck Jimin.”

If Jungkook had looked down at his phone in that moment, he would’ve seen the notification telling him that the podcasts had finished downloading.

Jimin watches curiously as Hoseok takes a seat across from him at the small dining room table. He arches an eyebrow, smiling over his bowl of soup (courtesy of one lovely, angelic Kim Seokjin). Hoseok’s hair is still messy from a couple hours earlier (courtesy of one not so angelic Park Jimin), but he now has sweatpants on, hanging low on his hips like some stupidly handsome character out of one of Seokjin’s fanfictions.

“Sometimes it really sucks that you’re straight,” Jimin teases after a beat of silence, knowing full well that this is a conversation they’ve had multiple times. It just never ceases to amuse him.

“Why?” Hoseok asks as he peels a banana halfway.

“Because you’re hot and it’s annoying that I have to wait for you to be like, spontaneously horny.”

“I think I’m worth waiting for,” Hoseok winks, then purposefully sensuously bites into his banana.

Jimin wrinkles his nose, holding back a laugh, “Can you not wink at me while you’re eating that?”

“You mean like this?” Hoseok does it again, this time in dramatic slow motion.

Despite their little hiccup during sex, as Jimin decides holding back his laughter isn’t worth it, he can’t help but be glad he has a roller-coaster relationship with Hoseok. They get thrown for a loop sometimes sure, but at the end of the day, it’s fun, gets his adrenaline pumping, and always has him looking forward to riding again (sometimes literally). Even better, Hoseok helps Jimin feel relaxed, happy, and like he isn’t disgusting, isn’t alone.

About halfway through the giggle fueled impromptu banana blowjob, Seokjin comes through the door and looks like he’s about to walk right back out. Thankfully he doesn’t.

“Should I ask what’s going on here?”

Jimin smiles innocently, “Not if you don’t want to.”

Seokjin pauses as if he’s contemplating, then shakes his head and bends down to untie his shoes.

“How was training?” Hoseok asks first.

“It was alright. Nothing too exciting.” Seokjin pulls both lips between his teeth for a moment, a blush dusting his cheeks. “Namjoon texted me though.”

“He did?” It’s Jimin who pipes up this time, almost spilling a spoonful of his soup.

“It wasn’t anything important. He just asked if I wanted to go to dinner-”

“What?” both Hoseok and Jimin squeal.

“No, no,” Seokjin shakes his head as he slumps down at the table. “Not like that. He asked if I wanted to go with him and Yoongi.”

Hoseok seems to deflate a little, but Jimin prompts, “And you said?”

“No.”

“Why?” Hoseok almost scoffs.

Jimin smacks his forehead, regretting it when one of his rings makes contact with the sensitive skin. He probably deserves that.

Seokjin shrugs, rubbing at the back of his neck as if trying to alleviate tension from sitting at a desk all day behind a computer. His voice is small, “I had my training and they’ve been out for like an hour now.”

“Go to them oh my god,” Hoseok huffs and throws his hands up in affectionate exasperation.

“Okay I will! Just let me like, take a breath,” Seokjin says, almost a sigh as his head lolls to rest against the back of the chair. “I’ve had a long day.”

The silent tension Seokjin used to incite that originally followed a hookup between Hoseok and Jimin is now completely absent. It’s not so much a guilty secret anymore as a simple reality they don’t talk about. They continue with brief conversational pleasantries until the eldest boy asks, “Where’s Taehyung?”

“Hot-Taehyung?”

“Hobi, there is no other Taehyung.”

“I’m just clarifying. Gosh.”

Jimin giggles, “I dunno. Last I heard he was doing his podcast.”

Seokjin’s eyebrows pinch, a small crease forming between them.

“But that was supposed to end hours ago.”

“Oh,” Jimin purses his lips, trying not to feel guilty. “Then I have no idea.”

“What great friends you guys are,” Seokjin retorts with less bite than the words suggest, fishing out his phone. He taps a few keys, then sets the device down. “What if he was locked out again or something?”

Hoseok shrugs, “The door wasn’t locked, so…”

“It wasn’t?” Jimin has to consciously keep his eyes from bugging in surprise.

“No?” Hoseok glances over, head tilting subtly in obvious confusion.

Jimin isn’t sure whether he’s doing a bad job at communicating urgency in his gaze or whether Hoseok is just being terrible at picking it up. Alternately, as a possible third option, maybe Hoseok isn’t as (ashamed or) afraid of people finding out that they’re fucking as Jimin first thought he might be. Could Jimin be the only one concerned about it? Had he simply assumed and projected the same sentiment onto Hoseok? But why would Jimin be afraid of someone finding out?

Seokjin looks between both boys, ping ponging between a nonexistent silent conversation because really, Jimin is sure they’re both internally monologuing.

“What’s up with you two?” Seokjin asks after a few solid seconds of silence. Before either boy can answer, his phone pings and he picks it up, informing everyone, “He’s at Kook’s place.”

“Well great now that that’s established, go to your not-boyfriend,” Jimin offers with a teasing giggle.

Hoseok catches on immediately, playing along, but likely for entirely different reasons, “He’s probably really bummed and will be super surprised when you show up on your white horse in shining armor.”

“I have neither armor nor a horse.”

“Details,” Jimin waves off Seokjin’s concern with a flap of his hand.

“Okay, I’ll go,” Seokjin pushes himself up with what looks like a mix of annoyance, excitement, and willpower actively fighting exhaustion. “But don’t burn the house down while I’m gone please.”

“Why do you think we’d burn-?”

Hoseok doesn’t finish the sentence, instead smothering a laugh at the look Seokjin gives him.

“Have fun,” Jimin gives the eldest boy a bright smile, genuinely wishing him well. He’s pretty sure everyone knows about Seokjin’s giant crush on Namjoon except for Namjoon himself. It’s almost physically painful to watch. And listen to. But that’s what friends are for right? Listening to constant pining and deciphering not-at-all-coded text messages.

The most frustrating part is the fact that no one seems to know how Namjoon feels.

“Goodbye my beautiful gay son,” Hoseok pretends to dab at tears under his eyes. “Enjoy yourself and use condoms.”

“Hobi, I am older than you.”

It takes a bit of shoving (plus tripping over and into shoes) to get him back out the door and yeah, Jimin feels a little sorry for him. The poor guy seems exhausted. Anyone would be after a full day and a half of work. That, and it can’t be easy to be around one’s crush whose feelings may or may not be reciprocated while feeling so tired.

“He’s gonna be okay right?” Jimin whispers, watching from the doorway as Seokjin trudges down the hall and jabs at the elevator call button.

“Course,” Hoseok says with a nod in agreement. “They’re just hanging out.”

“Who knows? Maybe something good will happen, right?”

“Right.”

Thus naturally, when Seokjin comes home two hours later with red eyes, blotchy skin, and uneven breathing, both Hoseok and Jimin immediately jump off of the couch where they had been watching anime to ask what’s wrong. Instead of giving them a clear answer, Seokjin pushes past them and locks himself in his room without a word.

Both boys take turns attempting to comfort him. Jimin goes and knocks, offers water, and reminds Seokjin that he’s “there if you need someone to talk to.” Hoseok knocks once too, but then resorts to texting, to which Seokjin doesn’t reply either.

Jimin would be worried if he hadn’t known the guy for years. Seokjin just needs time to process, that’s all. Time to process, and room to breathe. He’s probably playing with his sugar gliders. Knowing this doesn’t mean he isn’t concerned though, and Jimin is at the ready with whatever his friend might need. Ice cream? Water? A shoulder to cry on? An ear to listen? Jimin will be there.

Yoongi once told him that he overdoes the whole “comfort” thing, but Jimin would rather be over prepared than have someone hurting. Maybe it’s because he’s a good friend; or maybe it’s because he wishes someone would do the same for him, would see the hurt he tries to hide behind numerous smiles and giggles.

He’s surprised about an hour later when the first thing Seokjin replies to is the group chat.

Generic BEST Friends:

Yoongi: [10:45 pm]

Namjoon did you wash the dishes

Namjoon: [10:46 pm]

Yes, why?

Yoongi: [10:46 pm]

There’s this nasty residue on half of them

Wtf did you do

Namjoon: [10:46 pm]

I washed them with the new soap you left by the sink

Yoongi: [10:47 pm]

Joon

That’s fucking hand lotion

Namjoon: [10:47 pm]

WHY IS THERE LOTION BY THE SINK

Yoongi: [10:48 pm]

KOOK’S HANDS GET DRY

Jungkook: [10:49 pm]

Aren’t you guys like in the same house?

Y r u texting?

Yoongi: [10:50 pm]

Ur in the same house with us

Dumbass

Jungkook: [10:50 pm]

But I have a guest! lol

Seokjin: [10:51 pm]

Tae’s still over there?

Jungkook: [10:51 pm]

Ye. He says hi

Jungkook: [10:52 pm]

Hiiiiiii Jinnnnn~ -Taetae

Yoongi: [10:52 pm]

Guess who gets to rewash the dishes

Seokjin: [10:52 pm]

Hi Taetae

Namjoon: [10:52 pm]

Jin

Namjoon: [10:55 pm]

Jin? Why didn’t you pick up when I called?

Yoongi: [10:57 pm]

The answer is me

Namjoon: [11:31 pm]

Seokjin answer your phone

Namjoon: [11:32 pm]

Please?

Relief floods through Jimin when he gets up to investigate the sound of a door opening and sees it’s Seokjin’s. Yes, the older boy manages to get in the bathroom before Jimin can stop him, but that doesn’t mean the latter can’t lean up against the wall and wait for him to come out. It doesn’t take that long either.

Seokjin visibly startles as he opens the bathroom door, pressing a hand over his heart, “Jimin, you scared me.”

“Sorry,” he tries for a laugh but it sounds tense, or maybe nervous. “I didn’t mean to be creepy, I just wanted to catch you before you locked yourself back in your room.”

Seokjin’s laugh manages to sound more natural, but there’s still a hollowness behind it, especially as he replies, “Well standing in the dark outside of the bathroom didn’t really help your ‘not creepy’ case.”

The younger boy quietly apologizes again before straightening up and crossing his arms, “So, you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “Playing coy is for immature people.”

“You do it all the time.”

“Yeah exactly.”

Seokjin laughs again, this time, it’s genuine even if it fades rather quickly into his response, “Okay, no. I don’t really want to talk about it. But thank you for being concerned.”

“Of course, I just need to know if I gotta beat anyone up.”

“Jimin, you’re a small mochi.”

“But I have muscles— don’t distract me,” he says, taking a deep breath. “Are you okay? Like, obviously not but…”

Seokjin reaches out and puts a hand on Jimin’s upper arm before promptly dropping it again.

“You don’t need to murder, maim, or lecture anyone. Don’t worry. Nothing happened.”

“But if nothing happened, why are you upset?”

The older of the two reaches up, brushing the hair out of his eyes with fingers that tug at the strands like he’s trying to forcefully evict a memory. His voice is soft, “Because nothing happened. We were talking and I said one of my cleverest jokes ever and Yoongi was all grumpy about it so I told him he needed to get laid and he was like ‘fuck yeah’ and I was like ‘same’ and do you know what Namjoon said?”

“What?”

“He didn’t say anything. He just sat there and kept eating. Didn’t even look up.”

Jimin wants to smack himself in the forehead, but he learned the first time that rings hurt, so he settles with pinching the bridge of his nose, “Okay I don’t want to seem like I’m belittling your problems-”

“I feel a ‘but’ coming.”

“— because your feelings are absolutely valid; but Jin, just because he didn’t jump at the opportunity to stick his dick in you doesn’t mean he isn’t interested.”

“But he’s never interested,” Seokjin laments. “I keep casting out lines and he just swims right past the hook.”

“You’re using boat metaphors again.”

“Sorry I regress to maritime metaphors when I’m upset.”

“It’s okay, breathe,” Jimin says, taking both of Seokjin’s larger hands in his, hoping to give him something to… anchor onto. Damn those boat metaphors.

“Breathing,” he confirms, despite his voice sounding thick.

Jimin gives his hands a gentle squeeze.

“Three things. One, maybe Namjoon isn’t into casual hookups with friends. Two, maybe he’s just like, really oblivious. Three, there are endless other possibilities and we don’t know how well you’re reading the situation.”

“True,” Seokjin says as he takes a shaky breath.

“So why don’t you just talk to him? Even if it’s not an epic anime— sorry, wrong audience,” Jimin briefly pauses to correct himself. “Even if it’s not an epic dubcon fanfic confession, I think you should still talk.”

“Not to burst your bubble, but there aren’t usually a lot of confessions in abo fics-?”

“Abo?”

“Alpha beta omega.”

Reading. Loading. Failure.

Rebooting.

“You get the point,” Jimin sighs, scrunching his nose and releasing Seokjin’s hands. “Get on the same page. Or… ugh… be in the same boat.”

“Oh good, now that you’ve used a boat idiom I’ve gained all the courage I need.”

“Don’t be sassy with me.”

“You’re sassy with me all the time.”

“Yeah but I’m younger.”

“And I’m older, so you should respect me.”

Jimin is on the verge of laughing. That’s one of the great and terrible things about Kim Seokjin. He always knows how to lighten the mood, but often at the expense of his own plot and character development. Thus, Jimin back tracks a bit.

“Promise me that you’ll talk to him.”

“Okay fine,” Seokjin huffs, shoulders as wide as the goddamn ocean (fucking hyperbolically accurate boat simile) slumping a little. “I’ll talk to him.”

“And I mean soon, not like a month from now.”

“Okay, I will not wait until a month from now.”

“To clarify, not any longer than a month from now, not like two months or a year or whatever.”

“Okay, I will not wait—”

“Actually, this week. Tomorrow would be even better.”

Seokjin pouts, “You’re making too many demands for my poor, gay broken-heart.”

“No excuses.”

“Fine.”

Namjoon cleans when he’s stressed, not because of a need for neatness or organization, but rather a need for control. This much Jungkook has noticed after living with him for so long. But a cleaning Namjoon is usually followed closely behind by a disgruntled Yoongi, who has to clean up further messes in the former’s wake.

Jungkook hasn’t heard much about what caused this round of stress induced, frantic cleaning, but he does know that it has something to do with three of his friends going out to dinner. And from the group chat? It appears something maybe went wrong between Namjoon and Seokjin.

The younger of the two is currently wreaking havoc in the bathroom, scrubbing at the tub with an abrasive sponge. Yoongi, who is probably still fixing the whole “lotion is not dish soap” situation, is blissfully unaware. Namjoon had been dusting and sweeping earlier, which seemed pretty harmless and is why everyone had left him alone, but he’s starting to get back into dangerous territory.

Taehyung and Jungkook exchange a glance as they stand in the bathroom doorway.

“You can keep watching the show if you want. I’ll… yeah,” Jungkook says, rubbing the back of his neck, watching his friend scrub at a stain that probably wouldn’t come out even if they set the whole house on fire.

“You sure?”

Jungkook nods and Taehyung pats him on the shoulder, a silent “good luck.” He’ll probably need it. Taking a deep breath, Jungkook waits until his bedroom door closes before walking over to the bathtub and kneeling beside Namjoon.

He tries to keep his voice gentle, but humorous, “Yoongi’s gonna kill you if you scratch the porcelain.”

The older boy lets out a throaty sound of distress, “But, but I need to clean it. When was the last time anyone actually came in here with a sponge, Kook? Like what if there’s billions of billions of little bacteria-?”

Gentle and humorous part two. “Just tell me what’s wrong before we have to pay for damage.”

Namjoon, looking so pathetically vexed that Jungkook almost pulls him into a hug, sits back on his heels with a long sigh, “I don’t even know what’s wrong. He won’t talk to me.”

“Jin?”

“Yeah. He just got up and left and said ‘I’m fine’ when I called after him but really even I could tell he wasn’t fine and he didn’t answer his phone and no one’s telling me anything and now he won’t talk to me and I don’t know what to do and the bathroom needs to be cleaned.”

When Namjoon gets stressed, he also starts using run on sentences. It’s odd, considering he’s usually so well versed with a wide vocabulary and knack for complex grammatical terms.

“That really sucks,” Jungkook says, puffing out his cheeks as he exhales slowly through pursed lips. Yeah, he’s severely lacking in the “comforting people” department too, but he’s pretty sure his fumbling comment is preferable to “rub some dirt in it and write another poem” from Yoongi. Jungkook continues, inadvertently taking a “be supportive” page from Taehyung’s book, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Namjoon pulls off his rubber kitchen gloves and tosses them onto the rim of the bath tub, sitting back with his knees up, arms around them, and feet planted. He looks lost.

“If you can somehow get him to just… text me or call me or something, that’d be great.”

His tone suggests that he does not, in fact, think Jungkook can do this, which leaves both boys surprised when Namjoon’s phone rings. Jungkook doesn’t know what to expect. If this were a romantic comedy, it would be Seokjin. Or maybe, simply because that trope has been used so many times, it wouldn’t be Seokjin just to give the story humorous false hope and not use cliches, which itself has become cliche. So really, anything’s possible, which leaves Jungkook a little disappointed when Namjoon answers the phone with:

“What? I’m busy right now. No, I’m not in the office.”

Jungkook stays in the bathroom, joining Namjoon by sitting on the floor instead of kneeling on his aching knees. He listens to the one sided conversation for a minute or two before there’s a knock on the door frame. Looking up, he finds Taehyung standing there with his phone.

“Jin just called you. I figured you might want to know.”

Jungkook scrambles to get to his feet, only slipping on the sleek tile once before getting upright and taking the device. He thanks Taehyung before redialing with a slide of his finger. The phone rings once, twice, then Jungkook’s ear is bombarded with, “Eomuk, you are not allowed in that drawer-! Hey Kook. Sorry. I— give me a sec.”

There’s a bit of rustling on the other end of the line.

“Okay sorry, he’s back in his cage. Is, ah… Is Namjoon there? I called, and it went straight to voicemail.”

Jungkook’s eyes dart from Namjoon’s expression to the phone in his hand.

“Yeah. He’s here, but he’s currently on a business call? Should I tell him to call you b-?”

“No! No,” Namjoon throws his own phone aside so dramatically that when it clatters onto the tile floor Jungkook winces. “I’m free. Here.”

He extends his hand and Jungkook, in the heat of the moment, doesn’t think twice about handing over his phone. He will regret it five minutes later when he’s still standing there awkwardly, staring at Namjoon as he talks. It’ll be at the ten minute mark that he decides to leave the bathroom, going back to his own bedroom to finish the movie he’d been watching with Taehyung. In fact, he won’t see his phone for an additional thirty minutes at which point Namjoon will return it and cause him to wonder why all interesting things in his life seem to happen in, near, or because of a bathroom lately.

But for now? Jungkook feels a little bit of pressure lift off of his chest as Namjoon smiles, relief washing through his voice as he talks to Seokjin.

[Next Part]

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The Shaman Society | An Excerpt, Part 7

And I’m back with another excerpt from my WIP! Second draft continues to come along well, as I’m a little more than 1/3 of the way through it now. Once I’ve finished this draft, I’m cnosidering opening it up for betareaders, if anyone’s interested. I’m not really sure where in the process you’re supposed to look for betareaders though, so maybe that’s too early?

In any case, enjoy the new excerpt, with Christine being way too kind for her own good, and Rei being super protective.

Tagging: @mania-junkie-writes​

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After paying for the saddest meal of a single ham and cheese sandwich, a side of carrots and dip, and half a pint of milk, Rei carried her tray towards the back of the cafeteria. Goddamn, these lunches were getting worse. And for three bucks? Freaking highway robbery.

“Still can’t believe your cousin is a shaman too,” said Christine, pulling in stride next to her. She’d opted for the ever classic PB&J, and a side of celery. Chocolate milk, of course. “I guess she did sort of have an intimidating vibe, but who’d have guessed?”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Rei turned through the back row of tables towards the far corner of the cafeteria. “Not much better on the job, either. Still got a massive pole shoved up her ass.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll get better. You haven’t known each other long, is all. I mean, you’re family, right? You’ll work it out.” Christine paused, blinking towards the corner of the room. Behind the vending machines sat a small, lonely table, falling apart with several loose stools. Rei and Christine always sat there, if only because no one else ever did. At least, not since today. “Who’s that?”

Rei squinted at the figure. No telling whether it was a guy or girl, due to the overly large hoodie, with hood pulled tight around the head. The student sat hunched over a food tray, but wasn’t eating. Just staring, as though lost in thought. Or maybe there was some fascinating riddle buried in their sandwich.

Taking a few steps closer for a better angle, Rei tilted her head to see a few dangling strands of blonde hair falling from beneath the hood, along with a taped nasal splint over the figure’s nose. “The fuck? It’s Jessica.”

Christine let out a quiet gasp. “What on earth is she doing here?”

“Beats me. That’s our table.”

“I meant at school. I’d have thought she’d take a few days after what happened. Do we talk to her?”

Rei stiffened. “What? No. Why?”

“Uh, because she was attacked by monsters? Because she watched her friends die? Because she saw you in your shaman getup?” With each point Christine made, Rei’s grimace deepened. “Besides, she is at our table.”

“Alright, fine.” Rei huffed towards the table. And here she’d been hoping not to cause another scene on her first day back. “Just don’t go forgetting who we’re talking to.”

Jessica jumped so high when Rei and Christine sat down, she nearly fell out of her seat. When she steadied herself, she snapped a look back and forth between them with wild, bloodshot eyes. Rei stared in surprise. She’d only ever seen Jessica Palmer as the perfectly groomed pretty girl with flawless hair and preppy makeup. The girl sitting across from her was a disaster.

Jessica blinked through fresh tears, wet lines streaking into a sticky mess on her cheeks. She hadn’t put on makeup today, and if she’d showered this morning Rei couldn’t tell. Tight clumps of unbrushed hair hung like a sickly veil in front of her face. She peered out through the blonde strands, eyes puffy and soaked. Less Jessica Palmer, more Creepy Drowned Girl from The Ring.

“So…” Rei cleared her throat. “Why are you at our table?”

“Rei. Tact,” said Christine, with an exasperated glare. To Jessica, she added, “I’m so sorry for what happened, I mean it. Is there anything we can do to help?”

Rei grumbled, but remained silent. Damn it, Christine—way too caring for her own good.

Jessica’s entire body broke into a rapid stutter, fingers tapping incessantly across the tabletop. Words came out in cracked, breathless sentences. “I—I wasn’t sure… Didn’t know where else to—I can’t… I’m not…”

When Jessica’s voice fell into indistinct whispering, Christine offered a consoling nod. “It’s okay, take your time.”

Ever so slightly, the jittering in Jessica’s arms and legs lessened. Her voice remained a hoarse whisper. “They think I’m crazy. But I’m not—I need to know I’m not crazy. Please, tell me I’m not crazy.”

“Who thinks you’re crazy?” As if sensing the imminent snide comment, Christine shot another look towards Rei. Damn. Christine knew her too well.

Jessica gazed across the cafeteria towards a pair of tables near the center. A group of girls in short skirts and low cut tops sat at one. At the other, boys with neat haircuts and T-shirts two sizes too small, showing off their barely developed teen muscles. They laughed and joked, their overbearing voices carrying loudest over the mindless chatter of the cafeteria. The typical crowd Jessica usually ran with, outside of Tammy and Sarah. Bunch of popular pricks.

“When I told them what happened, they said I was—they said awful things. For getting Tammy and Sarah killed. Said I was making it up. Or high. Or…” She choked on a hiccup, grabbed at the sides of her head. “But I’m not! What I saw… It was real! Wasn’t it?”

Well, shit. Yesterday had screwed with Jessica something fierce. For good reason, maybe, but still—she was a wreck. And as cathartic as it was seeing Jessica wallow in some of her own medicine, given the circumstance, the whole thing left a bitter-sweet tang on the back of Rei’s tongue.

Keeping her voice low, Rei leaned in and said, “No, you’re not crazy, alright? Those monsters that attacked you, what you saw—it was real.”

Jessica sucked in a quivering breath, combined with what sounded like half a sob and half a laugh. Relief spread across her tear-streaked face, and with a nervous swallow she looked straight at Rei with all the wonder of a child discovering candy for the first time. “What was all that? The thing attacked that us, what you did—what you were wearing. And that weapon… You fought those monsters?”

Rei looked away. “It’s—it’s complicated. Nothing you need to worry about. Honestly, the less you know the better.”

“Oh. Right.” Jessica shrank into her seat, once again staring at her food. Her voice squeaked, barely audible over the chatter of the cafeteria. “You saved me. Both of you. I could have died like Tammy and Sarah, but you saved my life. After everything I’ve done to you, how awful I’ve been… Why?”

Christine balked, her brow lifting. “Look, I know we don’t get along, and yeah, you’ve been…not great to me. But it’s like we told you yesterday. That doesn’t mean we want you dead.”

Rei forced an angry snort through her nose. Staring Jessica dead in the eyes, she said, “If I’m being completely real, Jess, you’re a bitch. To me, to Christine, and anyone else who doesn’t fit your perfect little mold. If I never had to see you again it would be too soon.”

Christine’s mouth fell open, but Rei continued, “But you’re still a person, and my job is to protect people. Even the ones I hate. So yeah, I wasn’t gonna let you die, and I’m sorry I wasn’t in time to save your friends. But that doesn’t mean we’re suddenly on good terms, got it?”

“Rei!” Christine leaned in with a harsh whisper. “That was too far!”

“No, it’s fine,” said Jessica, shrinking deeper beneath her hood. “I deserved it. For what it’s worth, I won’t give you two anymore problems. I swear.”

Rei entered a silent argument with Christine, both shaking their heads at each other and whispering without words. She knew that look. Whatever Christine was thinking next, she wasn’t going to like it. Sure enough, Christine flat out ignored Rei’s insistent muttering, turning back to Jessica with the mother of all horrible ideas.

“So, we have a Physics test next week.” When Jessica looked at her, Christine smiled. “Maybe you’d want to come by my place later, and we can study? Might take your mind off things.”

Before Jessica could answer, Rei grabbed Christine’s hand and pulled her away from the table. “A word. Now.”

When they were out of earshot from the table, Christine yanked her hand away. “Rei, what’s the matter with you?”

“‘What’s the matter?’ Look, I get it. What happened to Jessica was awful, and you feel sorry for her, but come on! This is Jessica Palmer! The same girl who’s tormented you the past three years, even before you came out! And it only got worse after that, you remember?”

“Do I remember?” Christine’s brow fell low in a cold glare. “It’s been my life, Rei. That’s not something you forget. But that doesn’t mean I can’t show a little compassion. She’s clearly in a bad place, and I don’t see anyone else trying to help her. We’re the only other ones who even know what happened!”

“Okay, sure, show some compassion. Doesn’t mean you have to invite her over for a damn study party!”

“Look, it’s not like I’m trying to be besties with her or anything, and nobody knows the shit she’s done to me better than I do. Obviously. But it can’t hurt to show her some support, right?”

“Of course it can hurt. Because we know her. She’ll turn right back around and treat you like shit, the way she always does.”

Christine huffed through her nose and glanced towards the table. Jessica sat staring at her food tray, twiddling her fingers together. “Maybe, but people can change. If you give them the chance.”

With a frustrated groan, Rei pinched her fingers against her eyes. “Know what? Fine. You wanna go study with your arch-nemesis, have at it. I got other things to do tonight, anyway.”

[blackaquokat]

For Those Who Wait (Part 3)

(Part 1) ,  (Part 2)

Pairing: DAtective

Oo00oO

The next morning, Abe brings his partner to a café he regularly visits due to his consistently empty refrigerator and lack of skills in the cooking department.

“You mean after all this time, you haven’t tried cooking yourself?”

“Hey, I’m not here for you to judge me, Partner!”

“All I’m saying is you should be taking advantage of a world without war rations—”

“Just shut up and tell me what you’d like, will you, you sarcastic little shit?”

A sound escapes their throat that sounds more like a coughing breath than an actual laugh, but Abe takes it as a good sign. He places an order for the both of them (his partner took one look at the menu behind the counter and the heavy uncertainty of their expression prompted him to offer to pick something for them and they agreed) and leads them to a table in the corner where the two of them can see the entire café. Or the exits, more accurately. He doesn’t ask about that particular quirk.

“Alright, Partner, let’s get down to—”

“Not until I have coffee, Detective,” they interrupt. “This’ll be the first cup I’ve had since…well, you know.”

“Since you rejoined the land of the suffering?”

The quip doesn’t elicit even a micro-chuckle and Abe’s concern rises. “Partner—”

“Food and coffee first, please. Then I’ll tell you when we get back to your place.”

Oo00oO

Eating takes longer than Abe expects, but this is mainly because his partner is taking small, slow bites of their breakfast sandwich. He tries not to watch them over his mediocre dining table, but honestly it’s hard not to when they’re staring at their sandwich like it’s the best thing they’ve ever tasted and drinking their coffee like it’s the Holy Grail.

Wouldn’t that be a horrifying thought?

At first, he thought they were putting off the conversation, and he debated saying something to hurry them along, but then he saw those looks and figured he better hang back while they enjoy the food.

Come to think of it…they approached the cold pizza last night the same way, with this almost reverent patience. He wasn’t sure what to make their reaction then, and he still isn’t now.

Finally, they finish eating and down at least half their coffee and Abe blurts out, “Where the hell have you been?!”

“Excuse me?”

“You died in that house! You should’ve come back like I did! I already figured out that Mark stole the Mayor’s body and that another…thing is also wearing the Mayor’s skin, but we never found your body or the Seer’s or even Mark’s! It’s been half a goddamn century, Partner, how in the fresh hell did you come back and why did it take so long?!”

His hands flail into nonsensical gestures as he speaks, and he really needs to shut up, but he’s on a roll now, too many decades of agonizing guilt and depression, one lost partner too many but no picture to commemorate but now they’re sitting in front of him and he needs to talk, needs answers.

Do you have any idea what I went through? Do you have any idea how much I missed you?

“Abe—”

“I went to your funeral!” he stresses. “I had to bury an empty coffin, your empty coffin for nothing—!”

“Will you shut UP??!!” they snap, slamming a fist on the table, sending crumbs everywhere and leaving him in stunned silence. It’s the loudest they’ve spoken since he found them. “Good God, you’ve been so nice the past twenty-four hours, I was worried I had the wrong Detective…” Their face drops into their hands, fingers pressing into their eyes.

Abe gapes at those words for a moment. “I…was that supposed to be a compliment?”

“No, it wasn’t,” they mumble. They lift their head up again, arms folding on the table, and give him an intense, almost tortured expression. “Look, I…I’m sorry you had a rough time trying to deal with the aftermath of all that shit, but believe or not, I’ve been dealing with my own shit since then. I would have come back if I could have, but I couldn’t.”

Abe leans back in his chair, arms crossing as well. “You just said you’ve only been alive a week, what would you have needed to deal with when you were dead?”

He intended the statement to be a little more lighthearted, partially to make up for his outburst, but unfortunately he thinks the edge isn’t quite out of his tone and even if they didn’t notice, his words only seemed to hurt them more.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. He looks away from them because apologies are hard, even now. Resurrection doesn’t come with much needed humility, apparently, as he’s learned. “I shouldn’t have said all of that. It’s not fair to you.”

As if sensing his discomfort, they merely nod in acceptance before answering his first question. “I haven’t been dead…not really, anyway.” They take in a deep, shuttering breath and let it out. “I was just…trapped.”

Abe is disturbed by the forced disconnect in their voice. They only ever did that to shield really intense hurt. He’s only ever heard it twice: when they first mentioned their father and during their last argument before the party at Markiplier Manor.

Not exactly happy times.

“What do you mean by ‘trapped’?”

“I mean…I…”

He’s waiting for the rest of their sentence, but then he sees the way their hands are shaking and realizes that whatever happened to them…they can’t talk about it now, despite their promise to do so.

I could push, Abe thinks. There could be a clue in their story that’ll lead me to the Colonel. We could finally have justice. Maybe that would help them...

But even as the justifications formulate, he discards them. Abe can’t do that to his partner, not even for the case.

“If you’re not ready to talk,” he says, “you don’t have to.”

The relief in their face is apparent, but then he catches guilt too. “I’m sorry.”

“Nah nah, it’s fine, Partner. You’re here now, and I’ll help you get a place of your own, some clothes—”

“Wait, what?”

“Clothes, you know, those things people wear—”

“No, what do you mean, ‘my own place’?” they ask. “Where do you expect me to go? I don’t have money, or family, or anything.”

“Uh…is this a trick question?”

They break eye contact all of a sudden, fingers tapping against the table. “I guess what I’m asking is…can I stay with you for a while? If you don’t feel comfortable with it, it’s fine, I just don’t want to be too far—”

“You want to live with me?” Abe’s brow furrows. “Have you lost your mind?”

He intended that as a joke, so it worries him when they seem to be considering a serious answer. “Honestly? Probably. But…” They sigh. “I…I don’t really want to be on my own again. Not yet, anyway.”

Abe blinks in utter disbelief, thinking back on all the occurrences where they had established their preference for solitude quite vehemently.

What happened to them?

He shoves the question away. This arrangement works out better anyway. Abe doesn’t feel easy about letting them out of his sight anyway and perhaps the close proximity will ease his partner into their story.

“Sure, you can live with me,” Abe answers. He looks around his meager living space with yet another grimace. “We should probably get a bigger apartment though.”

“After the mold I saw growing in your bathroom, I’m inclined to agree.”

“Hey!”

Their smile at his reaction, however, is enough to soften the insult to his sub-par home and send his heart thumping in a way it hasn’t in a long time.

Shit.

A/N: So this turned out to be the last part of For Those Who Wait, but not the overall DAtective series, definitely not, so the plot holes and questions about the DA returning will be answered in later installments! I really struggled with this one and cut it short when I realized this whole arc was going to take more time than I expected because the DA is kind of an emotional wreck right now for obvious reasons. Hope you enjoyed! Please reblog and comment!

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