#man i should i recorded the process...oh well *shrugs*

[foxyd101]

Hiya everyone, here's a wally drawing I drew!

"Hello Neighbor"- @:3

("Under the wool" was playing in loop while I was working on this drawing :3)

[junixscribble]

The Holiday Spirit

I was seized by the spirit of creation and held by the throat till I wrote this. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays I guess! (thanks to the tk server for the fuel!)

Title: The Holiday Spirit

WC: 1621w

Summary: Viktor is stubbornly refusing to get into the Snowdown spirit and leave his work alone for an evening. Jayce uses the only method he knows of to get him to chill, only to realise this deal goes both ways.

-------

Piltover had grown cold with the change of seasons, and with it came a healthy dose of cheer tinged with worry for Jayce. The first snowfall on the city made him anxious and sent him back to the swirling blizzard he had been trapped in before the mage appeared to save him and his mother. It was manageable, but storms left him on edge more often than not. 

Thankfully, Snowdown was a welcome distraction. Houses were lit with warm hues and decor was slung over trees and buildings in the city, so Jayce could find as much business as he wanted in the decoration of his own home. The fire roared in the fireplace, filling the small apartment with heat and light while Jayce stood atop a cobbled together ladder and hung bunting on the window frame. A record blasted holiday tunes to fill the silence and Jayce was happy with his progress.

His peace was interrupted when the door was flung open by an appropriately disgruntled and cold Viktor, shopping bag in one hand and crutch in the other.

“It is fucking shitty out there.” He stated, chucking the bag on the counter and shutting the door before starting to take off a multitude of layers. “My crutch was slipping all over the ground and frankly I’m offended that I left the house at all.”

“Vik, you insisted you’d be fine to pick up the groceries.” Jayce said, coming down off the ladder with a grin. Viktor glared at him.

“Well Viktor from an hour ago was an imbecile and should not have been trusted.”

“You threatened to smack me with your cane if I went instead.” 

“As I said. Imbecile. Now why are you hanging fabric from the roof?” Viktor asked, head tilted.

Jayce shrugged. “It’s Snowdown. Bunting is nice!”

“Ah, yes. Consumerism central masked as a fun holiday.” 

That earned Viktor a long enduring sigh from Jayce. “Vik, you’ve gotta make fun for yourself somehow.”

Viktor hummed and started putting away the groceries, examining the apartment as he did so. “It certainly looks… festive.” 

“That’s the point! Oh, I’ve actually got something for you.” Jayce ran out into the bedroom and came out with a maroon sweater with white snowflakes embroidered on.

“This is for you!” 

Viktor took it from his hands, feeling the fabric over. “This is a holiday sweater, no?”

Jayce nodded, a proud smile on his face. Viktor couldn’t say no to him like that - and from what he could tell the sweater was very well made. 

Viktor took off his cardigan and pulled on the sweater to find it offensively soft and warm. He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it before starting again. 

“I was going to say something witty and perhaps a little insulting, but this is… comfortable. Thank you, Jayce.”

“My mother made it. You should have seen the ones she made when she was starting out - they were as wonky as they come. She’s gotten quite good at it though.” 

“Tell her I appreciate it.” Viktor said with a smile, and then pulled out a thick tome filled with taped in notes. He opened it on the table, brought out a pencil, and started puzzling over an equation. 

Jayce huffed. “Seriously, Vik? We’re like 4 days out from the holidays, surely you can stand not to bring work home with you.”

“Progress waits for no one. Least of all a man-made excuse for avarice.” 

“Viktoooor, come ooooon!” Jayce wheedled. “We’ve both been working since the sun rose. We can go back tomorrow.” 

Viktor kept writing, lost in his own head. Jayce sighed and cracked his knuckles. “Well if you’re not going to get into the Snowdown spirit yourself, I’m gonna have to make you.”

It took a minute for Viktor to process the sentence and by the time he realised and tried to scramble out of his chair Jayce was almost on top of him. He braced himself for the awful feeling of fingers on his sides but when the attack came all he felt was the movement of fabric. Viktor stood in shock for a minute before looking at Jayce’s face and barking out a laugh.

“Ha! The sweater is too thick for you! Suck on thahahAT FUHUCK OFF!” 

Jayce had sent his hands under Viktor’s jumper in the middle of his sentence and that crawling feeling Viktor had been anticipating was now directly over his sides. 

“By Janna, how many layers are you wearing, Vik? I’m surprised you’re feeling this at all!” Jayce teased, genuinely amused at how much Viktor was twitching at him tickling through what felt like six layers of fabric. 

“Yohou are a cruel and unjuhust pahartner!” 

“Eh, no I’m not. If you’re that resistant about getting into the holiday spirit, then I think you need more convincing.” Jayce pulled his hands down from Viktor’s sides and found the top layer of fabric, slipping back under it and scuttling up to spider under his arms now. Viktor’s arms pinned to his sides and he hunched his shoulders up, leaning into Jayce’s chest as he laughed. 

“Coal! Coahal and beetles are all you are getting thihis year!”

 “That doesn’t sound all that cheerful to me. Do you need another layer?” Jayce cocked his head and smiled when Viktor buried his face in his neck. 

“Nohoho! Let me go!”

Instead of answering Jayce pulled his hands out again and stuck them under another layer, this time scribbling all over his stomach. He could feel that there weren’t many layers left, and by the looks of Viktor immediately trying to pull his hands away he could feel it too. 

“Jahahayce! You’re a fuhucking fiend and I am going to put snohow in your pajamas-”

“That’s it.” 

Jayce pulled out all the stops and slid his hands under the final layer of fabric, squeezing Viktor’s hips before scrabbling towards his upper ribs, completely unprotected by his brace. In one motion Viktor threw his head back and cackled while losing his footing and dropping to the floor. Jayce took a second to break his fall before going right back to drawing spirals over his ribs. This kind of tickling wasn’t as intense, but Viktor was still squirming around like a fish out of water under him. 

All Viktor did in response to Jayce’s raised, questioning eyebrows was stick out his tongue, so Jayce kneaded and wiggled his fingers between the bones of his ribs. Viktor shrieked and started swearing in Czech, hurling out several that Jayce recognised. As punishment he pulled one hand off his ribs and set it on his tummy, squeezing and spidering over the skin. 

“Are you cheered up now? In the Snowdown spirit?” Jayce asked. Viktor glared through his giggles and Jayce shrugged.

“Guess I’m pulling out the raspberries. Come on, let me at your belly.” 

“NO!” Viktor yelled and in a burst of energy rolled to the side and away from Jayce, ending up face down and protecting himself. “Keep your evil beard away from my fucking stomach!” 

Jayce laughed and sat back, giving up the game. “The beard tickles that badly, does it?” 

Viktor flushed and sat up with his arms firmly around his middle. “What the hell do you think?” 

“I’ll be sure to keep it then.”

Viktor sputtered through some words before standing with the help of the couch. Jayce handed his crutch back to him which he accepted before moving to the kitchen. 

“Get your round ass in here and cook.” 

…

A few hours later Jayce was snug on the couch with a book while Viktor was in the shower. All was well until a high pitched yelp rang out and Jayce jumped to his feet, sprinting to the door.

“Viktor, are you alright?” 

The shower cut off and was followed with some select insults at the plumbing before a reply was heard. 

“The water turned fucking ice cold! Again!” 

Jayce winced. “The wind must have blown the boiler. I’ll fix it.”

It only took five minutes for Jayce to reset the boiler and by the time it was done Viktor was dressed in warm pajamas. Despite the heavy fabric, he was shivering. Jayce stood and closed the closet door, gesturing over to the couch so they could sit down. The two of them curled up together, Viktor leaning into Jayce’s side with his eyes closed. They sat like that, content for a while, until Viktor grumbled and started pulling at Jayce’s sweater. 

“Let me in.” Viktor said, quite literally trying to crawl into the jumper with Jayce. Jayce would have been fine with this if Viktor’s hands weren’t the same temperature as an ice cube. He jumped at the contact, squirming away with half a yelp. 

Viktor was of brilliant, sharp mind, and it didn’t take long for him to connect the dots. He slid his hands further up Jayce’s deliciously warm sides and grinned at the resulting laugh. 

“My hands are cold. I think you can help with this.” Viktor said, and that was all the warning Jayce got before freezing cold, nimble fingers were crawling all over his torso. He pressed into the back of the couch, snickering and trying to take it but all it took was Viktor kneading his belly for him to break into full laughter. Viktor perked up at the sound and a dangerous glint caught his eyes.

“I wonder if you can take raspberries as well as you dish them out?” 

Jayce had less than a second to protest before Viktor pressed his lips to his stomach and sent him into a laughing fit like no other. There was no doubt about it - Jayce was completely and utterly done for. 

[perpetuallydaydreaming]

ghost of a smile.

sirius said, “you fall in love with anything with a pulse.” so naturally james proves him wrong.

tags: james potter x reader,, they/them pronouns,, you’re a ghost,, sirius is vv protective of james,, wolfstar (it wasn’t supposed to be but then when i kept writing it just felt right),, crack,, age gap(???),, magical inter-racial relationships(???)

“prongs, it’s a fuckin’ ghost.”

“i love them.”

“it’s a ghost!” sirius punctuated the sentence by grabbing james by the shoulders and literally shaking him to sanity. but proved to be futile as the messy haired man clicks his tongue and shrugs off sirius’ hand as if it offended him.

“i know that, and my feelings won’t change. they make me feel alive.”

sirius groans, oh the irony, eyes wild in disbelief and turning to the rest, hopefully as exasperated and bewildered as he is. the look on his face as if saying, can you believe this guy?!

peter still looks disturbed and mooney looks like he’s trying to understand what james’ thought process was.

but that’s the thing. there is no thought. that’s why they’re in this situation in the first place. sirius likes to think there is no sane person to fancy an incorporeal being. much less, ugh, love them.

but leave it to james to prove him wrong. sirius almost laughs at the absurdity of it all.

“i know you like to go above and beyond expectations. but when i said you can fall in love with anything with a pulse, i didn’t mean for it to be a challenge.”

you cleared your throat, “i’m guessing this isn’t the best time.” you interjected sheepishly. hovering just a little above the floor. sirius thinks you almost look like a normal student. if normal students were translucent and dead.

when nobody said anything, but gave sheepish (remus and peter), worried (james) and judging (sirius) looks.

“i should just go and let you gentlemen talk things through. i’ll see you later james.”

“no don’t go,” he pouted. actually pouted! the love sick fool. “i’ll come with you.”

you shook your head, translucent hair swaying with the movement. “no it’s alright, you can stay and talk with your friends.” you smiled.

you gave him an encouraging nudge, or so to speak, since he can’t really feel you. because, again—dead.

james just nodded, and like a puppy, stayed.

once you were gone, remus was the first to speak,

“james, i think what sirius is trying to say here is how did this even happen?” remus asks softly, scratching his cheek, like he does when the puzzle he’s solving isn’t as easy as he thought it would be.

james sighs, he actually sighs like a besotted maiden, “i was— just a lost soul,” sirius blanched. “—wandering on this earth and then i met them, my beautiful love.”

“that isn’t the only lost soul that day, i bet.” sirius scoffs.

completely ignoring sirius now, james continues, “and then it just feels like everything clicked into place. they were always there when i needed someone to talk to. they were always so warm and kind. they always listened to me, they don’t make fun of my feelings. they don’t disregard them. they’re so beautiful and so smart. they’re crazy smart, knows a lot of things about history and all. you two would get along well, mooney.”

“they should know about history considering they died in it.” sirius hiss out but ultimately ignored.

“but james…” remus starts, and sirius almost sighs in relief at least somebody was also using their brain.

but then james interrupts, “i know they’re a ghost, and there’s not much else i can do about that. but remus, i can feel them. when we talk, i know they understand me and i don’t think i’ve ever felt this way about someone before.”

sirius rolls his eyes, having heard a similar speech when james said he fell in love with the store clerk in a muggle record shop in london.

sirius wanted so badly to scream out louder, in hopes to wake his friend from his delusion.

james clearly isn’t sound of mind right now. and it’s his duty as his best mate to help him. with the help of remus, they can do it. so he took the first step.

“james—“

“i think that’s beautiful james.” remus cut in.

sirius have never felt so betrayed in his life. and by remus of all people. and his face made sure to show this betrayal. lips curling into a horrified gape, eyes in a frenzy of rage.

remus clicks his tongue at him and covers his face with his large warm hand.

“thank you remus.” his crazy friend gave his crazier friend a lopsided smile.

hells, he was even blushing.

“are you fucking serious right now remus? they’re dead!” he shouted, muffled by remus’ hand.

remus ignored him turning to a now frowning james, “why don’t you go ahead and catch up with them while i talk to sirius quickly.”

james gave sirius a brief look and nodded. walking back, searching for the poltergeist in the castle.

“what’s wrong with you?!” remus hissed once james was out of sight.

sirius removing the hand on his mouth, growling as he says, “me?! i’m not the one getting it on with a soul, remus. what you’re okay with this?”

“yes,” remus gave a noncommittal shrug, “i’d be okay with it even if you were the one totally enamoured by a ghost.”

sirius gave him a dead look, “you’d be okay with your boyfriend in love with a ghost.”

remus rolls his eyes, a light dust of pink glowing on his cheeks and ears, “not like that, i just mean if the situation was different, you’d want somebody to support you. besides, it’s james, i’m sure this is all harmless.”

“harmless?! am i really the only thinking this is down right strange? i mean it’s a spirit for merlin’s sake! i know my family isn’t exactly picky with their romantic counterparts, fucking cousins and all, so i might not be the best person to defend my case. but this is a dead thing! a ghost. haunting hogwarts. that has to cross some boundary, right?”

remus softly groaning in frustration, “do you think i don’t know that? of course i think this is crazy! but what else could we do? when has james ever listened to us? especially with his penchant for following skirts.”

“and the occasional pants.” peter added with a shrug.

“it’s even crazier that you agree with me but is still willing to let this go on?!”

“if it’s anything like his previous escapades then i’m sure this won’t last as long.” remus sighs, rubbing his neck and stretching his neck.

“ultimately, let him make a fool of himself then. great idea.”

“i think we should trust james more,” peter shrugged, “i mean i’ve seen more weird pairings than a wizard and a ghost. my neighbour’s first boyfriend was a goblin, you know.”

remus lifts his hand to peter, as if to say, see? peter gets it!

“et tu peter?” sirius deadpanned. “traitors. both of you.” turning away as he swiftly walks away from the group.

“what did i do?” peter calls out to him.

“you, especially were no help!” sirius shouted back. his huffs and angry steps echoing in the stone castle.

if they weren’t going to stop james from being barmy then it’s up to him to stop this from going further.

it was a week later and james was still dating the damn ghost. he was even off celebrating some obscure couple holiday. maybe it was your death anniversary, who knows. sweet circe, james is down bad.

sirius slammed a thick dusty old book in the quiet corner of the library.

madam pince already looking over to them aggressively hushing the group.

remus immediately called out a flustered apology before turning to sirius to whisper.

“what is that?”

with smug grin and a hand on his narrow hips, “this, my sweet mooney, is the answer to our haunting problem.”

an ancient, dusty, dirty book that was practically falling apart titled, polly’s practical practices to the paranormal and poltergeists.

“i told you to leave it.” remus clicking his tongue and glaring at the overly smug man.

peter gingerly grabbed the book and started to comb through the pages. “how is this going to help?”

“go to page 189, it talks about exorcisms.” leaning over peter’s shoulders.

“you’re going to exorcist james’ lover?” the tone remus used was full of judgment and condensation. and sirius does not welcome that energy into his space. so, he rolls his eyes and crosses his arms— ready to shut down the negative energy.

“it also says on page 7 that ghosts are simply souls that are unable to cross through the spiritual realm. so if anything, i’m doing them a favour.”

peter chewing his lip in contemplation. “shouldn’t we tell james about this first?”

“james is biased, therefore his opinion is invalid.”

remus leaning back into his seat in a slump, “james is a grown man. he can decide for himself what he wants to do in his free time, even if that includes hanging around with a ghost all day.”

sirius feels a twitch in his eye coming. remus for every ounce of his prettiness, equates that to his stubbornness. so you can just imagine how stubborn this man is when he wants to be.

“babe,” sirius groans out, “i don’t understand how you can just let james make a fool of himself like this!—“ there’s a distinct shushing sound, and sirius looks over to sheepishly nod in apology, continuing in a much lower but just as aggressive tone, “he’s dating a fucking ghost, and i’m going to stop it, okay?”

remus levelled him with a glare. “have you even tried getting to know them?”

“the ghost?”

remus levels him with a stare, “they have a name.”

“whatever.” sirius scoffs before straightening up and looking at two of his friends betrayal dawning on his face, “don’t tell m—“

“i’ve gotten to know them very well actually, peter has too. hung out multiple times now.”

“you have? since when? how? why didn’t you tell me?”

peter, closing the book softly, “since james told us, they’re actually pretty cool. not as mental as the other ghosts for one.”

sirius gawks, the familiar sting of disappointment and betrayal brewing in his navel. “and you didn’t think to inform me of this development?!”

“mr. black, please leave the premises if you can’t keep the decorum expected in the library!”

“—sorry!” sirius calls back, before turning back to them, whispering harshly, “some friends you are.” swiftly grabbing the book back.

“someone has to be since you’ve refused to talk to james.”

“because he’s gone crazy, i don’t talk to crazy people— already had enough of that from my mother.”

remus now reaching for the book and reading the table of contents, “how do you even know if this book is accurate?”

sirius rolls his eyes, “it’s the only book left about ghosts,”

remus raised an eyebrow at that, “the only book left? or you just don’t know where to look?”

peter snickered. “considering this is the longest time he’s been in the library for the last six years, i’m guessing he doesn’t even have a library card.”

sirius let out a quiet gasp, petulant as he defends, “this is not the longest time, i know where the sections are.”

“right. well good luck on whatever it is you’re planning. if i wasn’t clear enough— i want no part of this whatsoever, assuming it all blows up in your face.” remus raising a scarred hand in the air and sauntering away.

sirius clicks his tongue, annoyed, “peter, hand me some parchment. i need to make notes about cleansing haunted areas.”

sirius already has a solid plan. he had thought of everything! he’s already practiced the ceremony in the dorms, with peter acting like the ghost. he even practiced drawing the runes and the enunciation of the incantations. he just needs to know where you usually reside in the castle, so he can draw the runes.

the only problem is, he doesn’t know where you are and what better way to know than from romeo, himself.

“james,” sirius calls out.

“here we go.” he hears peter wince, but resolutely ignoring him.

taking a deep breath, “i want to apologize for the way i acted, you deserve to be happy. and if they make you as happy as you say they do, then okay. as your best mate, i’m going to be more supportive of you.”

james, like a big softie that he is, immediately beamed a smile, grabbing sirius by the shoulders and crushing him into a hug.

“i knew you’d come around!” he gushed in his ear. sounding so utterly elated that he almost feels guilty for lying. but he has to do this. for james. “sirius you’re my brother! of course, i forgive you! i don’t think i can even go on for longer not speaking to you. bugged me like mad.”

remus all but looked at sirius in complete suspicion, which he ignores in favour of looking as earnest as he possibly could. peter looking down right nervous as his gaze filters through all three of them.

“to prove my support. i want to meet y/n and be their friend. get to know them a little bit better.”

and if it was even possible, james shone even brighter, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling in excitement. he hadn’t seen that look on his face for quite some time now. looking equivocally happy.

“let’s go right now!”

“now?!”

“yeah, they should be on the third floor.” james grinned. walking a brisk pace and everyone jogging to keep up.

“what are you doing?” remus whispered as he power walked beside him.

sirius feigned innocence, “i’m supporting my best mate.”

remus frowned, not buying it, “and this is after you exorcise them or? or do you plan on damning their soul now?”

sirius clicked his tongue, “you told me to support james and when i do, you doubt me. it’s like you don’t love me.”

“you better be supporting james or i swear to god—“

“so james!” looking ahead, resolutely ignoring the stare burning to the side of his face. “anything i should know before meeting this special apparition of yours?”sirius says, lips stretching into an easy smile.

james slowed his pace, perfectly chirpy to divulge any information about his lover. glowing pink on his cheeks as he starts, “well, they’ve been a ghost in hogwarts since 1902, they were sorted in—“

“do you know how they died?” sirius cut off. resulting in a rude elbow jab from remus and a small frown from peter.

“what?” he said indignantly. isn’t that a vital question to ask? asking how a ghost died?

“they said there was an incident, an ogre got into the castle and, um, killed them,”

yikes.

the book said ghosts may not know how they died. associating their willingness to pass because they haven’t had the closure to move on. though if you knew how you died, it seems counter-productive to tell you about your death in order for you to pass on. so that’s crossed out.

“so are they secretly disembowelled or something? like almost-headless nick?”

james looked back and pursed his lips, gaze turning a little bit sharper, “no, they look perfectly okay. beautiful even.”

oh sure, he thought.

“they do,” remus piped up giving him a stern look. as if he heard him, “very pretty.”

sirius rolls his eyes, “oh of course, puts veela’s to shame, i’m sure.” waving his hand, opting for nonchalance as he continues, “so, what do you usually talk about with them then? surely common interests with an old ghost is hard to find.”

“they’re actually quite young compared to the other ghosts. that’s why they mostly keep to themselves on this floor.”

sirius grimace, fighting a shiver down his spine. “yes being over sixty. very young.”

james glared at him, and he raised his arms in surrender, “just joking.”

“—we talk about a lot of things, quidditch is one.”

“quidditch.” he repeated. do ghosts even follow the leagues?

remus placing an arm around james, “they used to play quidditch, a chaser.”

“quite good too, found their name on past rosters in the library.” peter grinned.

james beamed, encouraged by the others to prattle on. louder and faster like he can’t help but talk about you. like he was just waiting for a reason to. “and they liked potions, helps me study sometimes—“

“study.” he repeated. “with your ghost lover.”

“—oh, we’re here! my love?” james calling out into the alcoves and the barren hall. “i bought my friends, are you here?”

and then like a chill going up his spine, you showed up. floating a hair just above the ground, making it look like as if you’re walking.

you were a pale translucent thing. he had hardly looked at you the first time he’s seen you. confidently thinking he didn’t have to until james inevitably moves on from you. frankly, he didn’t know what to expect once he saw you, again. maybe look a bit alive, since his very much alive friend is very much in love with you.

you looked pretty, sure. but it was nothing to write home about. certainly not the kind that he would be willing to overlook the state of your mortality. but yeah, sure, pretty.

he almost wants to rolls his eyes.

“james, i was going to look for you.” you breathed. looking equally enamoured.

“what for my love?” he asks.

then you noticed the other approaching individuals, “oh hello, remus, peter, and—?“

“this is sirius, remember? i told you about him, didn’t i?” james but all grinned, going up to you and raising his hand as if to touch you. if he even can.

you looked like thin sheets blowing in the wind. if thin sheets can talk and haunt.

“that you did.” you laughed, and then your hand started to look fuckin’ solid. like a solid, human hand grabbing james’ and even squeezing back.

“nice to see you again, y/n, how have you been?” peter smiled.

you shrugged, smiling a little strained. “still very much dead, and here. thanks.”

sirius looked at your joined hands. tight and secure.

remus nudges him out of stupor and he flashes a strained smile.

so you can materialize. at least that answers some questions. though it opens a new array of questions for him now. questions he has no problem vocalizing.

“you can materialize?”

you turn to him, looking beyond nonchalant and relaxed with the whole situation. you obviously also hold no objections to the peculiar relationship. looking all too willing to be james’ dead lover.

“if i try hard enough, yes.”

“how long can you materialize?”

“if it’s just my hands, i can probably hold for a good hour or so.”

the book didn’t mention this.

sirius looks at you, up and down, apprehensive and suspicious. “can every ghost do this then?”

“i think so, though i haven’t seen them attempt it. i’m guessing they never really had any reason to.” you turn to james and grin at him. like some secret was just shared.

james looked at you twice as bright and giddy. hopelessly, happy and pink.

sirius thinks he’s going to hurl.

“so, do you just go materializing your hand, touching school boys every decade or so?”

“pardon?”

“sirius!” remus hissed.

sirius smiles the fakest smile he has, “just a joke.”

you raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t comment. he can feel the heat of james glare and hear the insistent shuffling of peter to his side.

“why did you decide to date james? are you planning on possessing him for his living body?”

“sirius black!” remus grits out, pinching his side.

james stepped forward to shield you, a frown deep in his face, but you just tug at his arm, and he softens.

you laugh, “no, i don’t plan on possessing my boyfriend. as for why i’m dating him,” you turn to look at james again, sharing a secret smile again, “well, i quite like him.”

sirius clicks his tongue.

the night continued on. he asked questions, and you answered them.

he would be, admittedly, very difficult. maybe even down-right rude but you seem to assimilate to his attitude soon enough.

every jab and attack he would aim at you. you would receive with grace and an amused ghost smile.

eventually james wanted some alone time and sirius was just glad for a reason to finally leave.

“you know you could have been a bit nicer or at least decent to y/n.” remus hissed once james and casper went away.

“oh trust me, that was me being nice.” he scoffs.

“asking insensitive questions is not nice, last i checked.” peter said.

shaking his head, “i could have said it was fucking creepy that james is fucking dating a ghost. or maybe tell james he needs to make an appointment with a mind healer soon —that his impulsivity with the concept of “falling in love” is all twisted and, let’s face it, short-lived— pun-intended. i could write to fleamont that his son is fracking with a soul trapped in hogwarts! but i didn’t. trust me that was being nice.” he all but shouted, panting as his face blotched red.

“finally dropping your supporting your best mate agenda then, are you?”

sirius turns to remus, huffing and beyond betrayed, “have you not been listening?!”

remus clicks his tongue, “i understand, but it’s just as you said. all of this is short-lived that will eventually die out. so why bother stressing about it? y/n is a pretty cool spirit if you get to know them.”

“it’s a spirit from the 1900, what else is there to know?”

“you are a real piece of work.” remus giving him a hard glare, pulling at his fringe hard.

peter all quiet and mousy said, “i don’t even know why you’re so worked up about all this.”

sirius groans, “the reason why i’m so worked up about all this is, because it is james, we all know how he is. this is going to be another repeat of him falling for somebody, getting his hopes up and fall face down on the ground. and i’ve seen him fall way too many times to let it happen again. it’s a fucking ghost. there is no future with them. james doesn’t see reason, so it’s up to us to help him.”

remus blinked, and then sagged.

“i get it, okay? i get where you’re coming from. but i think out of everyone here, james is the one that understands this the most. just trust him on this. he’s not daft, he knows what he’s doing.”

“but what if he gets hurt again?”

“then we’ll be there for him.”

you can still somewhat hear them argue in the empty halls. you were sure james can too, if his frown was anything to go by.

“sirius is… lovely.” you hummed.

james groans, pulling you to to sit with him on one of the benches. “i’m so sorry about that, he’s just—“

you raise hand to stop his blabber, “i completely understand, he’s protective of you. i feel the same way.” you whispered.

james looks at you abashed and pink, before he looks away. still, rubbing his thumb to your knuckles even as it slowly becomes faint and pale, once again.

“he’ll warm up to you soon,” he nodded.

you smiled, “should i be worried if he doesn’t?”

he turns to you again, looking at you completely besotted, “you shouldn’t, he’ll like you.”

“you sound sure.”

“because i know him, and i know you. you are, after all, the most charming ghost in the castle.” he grins.

“what a title,” you softly sighed.

“just give him time,”

suddenly you��ve been reminded why you wanted to meet with him. you felt the phantom rhythm of your dead heart thrum through your veins. nervous after so many decades, funny.

“i’ve been reading, lately.”

“oh? about what?” he grins at you, cheeks a healthy glow of life and eyes bright like the light in the morning.

you almost falter, but thank merlin you don’t.

you were sure you wouldn’t be able to tell him if you postponed any more.

“about… leaving.”

“leaving?” he straightened. “what do you mean?”

you flowed to the other side of the room, higher than you would usually go, whenever you were with him. wanting to keep the illusion of normalcy of walking with him. like you were still alive. like a normal student with their boyfriend.

“i’ve been researching about this for a while, even before you came here—hogwarts, i mean, and i think i’ve found some sort of break through. this is what i wanted to talk to you about before— before meeting sirius and all that.”

“what like leaving the castle grounds? or—“ he gulps, looking absolutely terrified. “or leaving?”

you know he was smart enough to answer his own questions. but you also considered he would be in denial, unabashedly hopeful, so you clarified. “about passing on. leaving, for good. i’ve already talked to some other spirits in the castle, who wants to go too and some have already agreed.”

“but don’t you—“ james licked his lips, shifting one foot to the other, “don’t you want to stay with me?”

your chest is hollow, nay, non-existent. but the way he looks at you, his voice, and his warm hand reaching out to you, made you think your chest might be aching with pain.

for all your years in purgatory, haunting and never moving on. all these years of weaving through the halls, seeing different faces every year, it all seemed so short.

and the stretch of your time comprising of moments of when james potter was seeking you out. talking to you. making a companion out of you. and being with you. making you feel alive again.

he was young, bright, and callous, and rough. but he is also sweet, soft, and kind.

you knew from the start, this would never last.

you knew, like everyone else, that he’ll eventually leave too.

there was no life with you. that ended decades ago.

but he still has time.

“james,” you softly called out, floating over to him. thinking long and hard to be corporeal. even if it’s just your hands, so you could touch him.

“don’t.“ he looks down, biting down on his lips, refusing to look at you now. but he did nothing to move away from your hold, he never did, instead lifting his own to touch yours, soft yet firm. “don’t tell me some bull about living my life.”

you sigh, lifting his head to see his ever beautiful eyes, “but you have to.”

he softly shook his head in your hands, his grip tightening afraid to let go. “and i want to spend every moment i can with you,”

“and then what?” you ask.

he stops, his gaze moving all around your face, as if memorizing it to the fullest extent.

“i’m to stay now, and then you leave, and then i stay here? forever?”

he shook his head, pouting like kid, and you always endeared.

“i could get a job here and live here all year long, you can stay in my quarters where we can talk and be toge—“

you laugh letting him go, your hands turning translucent like before, like always. “there is no life with me, james. we’ve talked about this.” you look at him. you see his lip harshly bit down, gnawing, as he pulled to release the blood.

“you know this.“

james turns away from you. scratching his neck, his eyebrows furrowed. like the first time you saw him in the halls. after another failed attempt at wooing birds.

“i know.” he conceded. “i’ve been reading too. i’ve checked out books on how you can pass on. i think i’ve checked out every damn book about ghosts in the library.” he laughs bitterly.

you didn’t know this. he didn’t tell you. somehow that made the pain in your chest clench more. you always thought he would be against you leaving. something on your face must’ve shown this because he clarifies, before looking down again.

“i thought that if— i was the one to find the solution, find the way for you to move on, it wouldn’t feel— it wouldn’t hurt. i thought if it was on my own terms, i would be able to accept it easily. but i’m wrong, of course. it wouldn’t be that simple. especially not with you. with us.”

“you were looking for a way for me to pass on?” you ask gently, stopping low to catch his gaze.

he looked as earnest like the day you met him, nodding as he said, “because i know how miserable you felt. i know you—you don’t have enough reason to stay here any longer than you have. i know us, being together, isn’t reason enough for you to be stuck here for all eternity. i know this, but i was still hoping—”

“oh james,” you sighed.

“some irrational part of my brain wants you stay. i even thought of being with you here too. be with you after—“

“james potter.” you sharply cut in, gaze hardening in anger. but his gaze of despair made you soft and sigh again.

“i will not let you.”

you think of all the ghost trapped in the castle. you see them through the years, losing all sense of themselves more and more. becoming irate and miserable. seeing the same grounds, the same routines, the same days, mashing together in an endless cycle. never moving forward.

and then you see his eyes so full of love, and life, and bravery, and sweetness and roughness. even just thinking he might succumb to the cycle—

“i will not let you.” you repeated.

james reached out again, “i love you,”

you smiled at him, the faux fuzziness spreading down to your phantom toes. “you’ll find someone else to love james. someone who can spend more years of life with you, with so much love to give, i have no doubt about it.”

you think back to the boy crying with a broken rose in the halls, another heartache. the bright eyed look you see him give the person he’s chosen to love that day. another love. always so earnest, always with so much love that he has to give it to someone else.

you brush over his soft cheeks, committed to feeling him for the last time.

“do you—“ he breathed, leaning into your touch and bashfully looking down, “do you think i could see you on the other side?”

you gave a loop-sided smile, seriously how utterly charming, you thought. “i would like to think so. i can even greet you myself once you arrive if you’d like.”

he looks up at you, giving you a pretty smile, “yeah, okay.”

you didn’t leave immediately. you waited for another week.

james drew the runes for you, with sirius eagerly helping. you spent your last days, exploring the hidden parts of the castle with james, showing him all the secret passages you’ve come across. you spent your last day with james talking. taking in a full-body corporeal form and hugging him for the first time. and kissing him.

you left quietly, in the night when he was asleep.

he looked for you in the halls, the next morning, hoping you’d change your mind.

when you didn’t show after an hour, he left—blinking the embarrassing tears collecting in his eyes.

eventually though, james will move on. he doesn’t quite understand true love all that well yet. he’ll still mistake other feelings for love. maybe fall quickly. maybe love more than one person at the same time. eventually, he’ll fall in love, for real this time, find someone else to give his seemingly endless amount of love to and it’ll be returned ten-fold.

or at least it’s what sirius says to remus and peter. after remus reprimanded him for being too happy that you were gone.

extra:

later, when james opens the door on that halloween night. the living room glowing bright with green and the echoes of his son’s cries and his wife’s fast stomps upstairs. he would close his eyes in a swift end. thinking how peaceful it is, how quick— his face graced with a ghost of a smile, he would think of you, and hope you’re waiting on the other side.

[sundeathh]

Thanks to the Elevator

Part 5

Fanfiction | Masterlist

Pairing: Aizawa × Fem!Reader

Fandom: BNHA | MHA | Word count: 3,2k

Categories: Workplace romance, enemies to lovers, tsundere, angst & fluffy.

CW: None worth mentioning. This chapter is SFW.

The next morning, you were awake before the alarm clock went off, your eyes fluttering open to gaze lazily around your bedroom.

You smiled at the sight that greeted your eyes: Shouta sleeping peacefully next to you, his head resting inches away from your shoulder, one of his legs draped across yours.

Carefully, you shifted your way out of bed, making sure not to wake him up in the process. You grabbed some clean clothes from your closet and headed toward the bathroom to start the day. 

After a quick shower, you cleaned up the mess from the night before. A few moments later, you walked over to the bed, gently shaking the man awake. "Hey," you whispered as he opened his eyes. "Time to get up."

A sleepy rub to his eyes accompanied his sigh as he finally met your gaze. "Good morning. For how long did I sleep?" He muttered.

"Morning." You greeted, glancing at the clock to formulate an answer. "I think it should be about five hours."

He sat up slowly, yawning as he stretched his arms above his head. "Five hours? That's a record." He observed, rubbing his eyes again.

"I'll go make breakfast, okay? Make yourself presentable. You can use the shower if you want, I left a clean towel hanging by the door. We still have time to get to work on time." You assured him, pointing to the bathroom door.

"Mmkay, thank you." He agreed, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed and standing up as you turned on your heels and headed toward the kitchen.

The soothing symphony of pouring water harmonized with the gentle click of scrambled eggs on the pan as you cooked, the constant buzzing of the coffee machine catching your attention as well. 

A subtle, affectionate smile curled at the edges of your lips. It wasn't every day that you had to cook for someone besides yourself.

The rhythm of footsteps interrupted your contemplation about how you should start the conversation. Turning your head to glance at the source of the sound, you observed Shouta timidly taking a seat at the dining table.

"Hey. How's my guest doing?" You asked, noticing he wore yesterday's clothes, the first buttons of his shirt undone. He looked tired, yet adorable.

"I'm good. Sleepy." He said, looking at you from under his bangs. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Didn't you get enough sleep?" You asked, pouring two cups of coffee before bringing it to the table, repeating the path to bring the plates of eggs and toast.

"I never do. But I slept better than usual." He confessed, sipping at the hot liquid. "Thanks for the breakfast."

"No problem." You smiled, having a seat next to his. "So, what's on the agenda for today?"

"I have a class to teach and some paperwork to do... But, as soon as we finish that, I'll probably just sit in my office after class and read something." He shrugged.

A tranquil silence settled, punctuated only by the quiet clinks of utensils and the distant hum of morning traffic outside, allowing the last delightful bites of breakfast to be savored. Curious, your cat came out of its hiding and walked towards you, meowing to get your attention. 

"Oh! Here you are!" You smiled as you picked it up, scratching behind its ear and setting the fluffy animal down on your lap. The cat purred.

Shouta glanced at you as you focused on the cat in front of you, absentmindedly petting its fur. You met his gaze, and Aizawa averted your eyes. 

You gave the cat a few more pats, enjoying the feeling of its soft fur between your fingers. 

After enough spoiling, you put the cat back down, turning your attention back to Shouta, who was staring at you with a faint blush on his cheeks.

"What is it?" You asked softly, smiling warmly at him.

His blush intensified. "I just thought of something." He admitted, his eyes shifting down to look at his dish.

You raised your eyebrows amusedly as he looked back up at you. "What is it? Tell me, I'm curious now." You urged.

"Well... I've always liked cats." He said slowly. You could hear the uncertainty in his voice, and that made you chuckle.

"Well, cats are adorable." You reassured him as you stood up, picking up your cat and holding it carefully close to him. "See?" 

Shouta stared at your cat for a few seconds, his expression unreadable. Then, he reached out and stroked its chin gently with his index finger.

The cat leaned into the touch, rubbing its head against his hand. Suddenly, you couldn't contain your laughter.

The man lifted his head, blinking in confusion. As he met your gaze, he joined in, huffing, the sound mixing with a chuckle.

"You're such a dork." You smiled, calming your laughter.

"Yeah..." he mumbled, "I guess so." He added, smiling down at the cat.

For a moment you only stared at each other before you spoke up again. "We should get going." You stated, glancing at the clock on the kitchen's wall. "We still have to go to our jobs." You explained.

"Sure." Shouta nodded, standing up from the table. He helped you clean up the dishes, leaving before you so he'd get the chance to stop by his house and change.

When you arrived at work, you walked over to your office, dropping your bag on the desk before plopping down in your chair.

You groaned as you pushed the thick stack of papers in front of you to the side, deciding to deal with them later.

Instead, you leaned back in your chair, closing your eyes. The muffled sounds of chatting in the hallway created a soothing background to your mind.

A few minutes later, however, your phone vibrated on your desk, startling you from your dazed state. You glanced at the screen, noticing a text notification.

'Would you like to meet at the cafe near campus tomorrow afternoon?'

A small, content smile graced your lips as you tapped out your reply.

'Sure. See you then.' After sending your reply, you placed your phone back on your desk, turning your attention towards the stack of papers.

It didn't feel like it took you long to fill out the pile. But when you were done, it was past lunchtime. You pushed your chair back and stood up, stretching your arms and popping your back before walking out of your office.

Just as you left the room, you ran into Mic, who was walking toward the teachers' room. "Oh! Hey there, Hiz! What's up?"

"Hello, buddy! Just passing by. Where are you off to? I haven't chatted with you in a while." He commented with his excited tone of voice, placing his hands on his hips.

"Oh, you know, work stuff. Nothing special, just paperwork." You brushed it off.

Hizashi nodded. "Alright, then. See ya later, sweetie! I'm in a hurry now." He excused himself, and you smiled at him reassuringly. He waved at you as he walked away, and you resumed your way to the break room.

When you stepped in, you immediately spotted Shouta, who was sitting in a chair, his laptop open on the table in front of him. He seemed to be immersed in whatever he was working on.

You approached the table, your thoughts dancing with a mix of curiosity and the remnants of morning warmth as you took a seat across from him. He glanced up at you. "Hey," he greeted, offering a nod in your direction.

"Hi." You replied, returning his nod with a smile before glancing down at his laptop. "Working on something interesting?"

He shook his head with a hint of a smirk. “Just plotting a lesson. And you, any adventures in paperwork?”

"Just finished it." You answered, and footsteps approaching the table echoed low in the room as the both of you turned to see Nemuri, who was embodying her provocative mood all over her demeanor.

She glanced between you and Shouta, her curiosity turning into a questioning eyebrow. "Hello, guys. Glad to see you getting along. How's it going?" She asked.

"Yeah. Everything's fine." Shouta told her with a quiet tone. He gave you a brief look, which you returned with one of your own.

"That's good to hear." Midnight smiled. "By the way, I was wondering where you disappeared to last night, but since I saw you here earlier, I assumed you had gotten home okay." She said, looking between the two of you.

You exchanged a glance with Shouta, silently agreeing to evade direct eye contact with her probing gaze. You knew that she would try to interrogate you if given the chance.

Then, she let out a sigh and shook her head, noticing your avoidance. "Fine, I'm not gonna pry anymore." She mumbled. "But know that if I find out something weird is going on between you two-"

"-then you can tell the others." You cut her off.

"Okay, alright." Nemuri rolled her eyes. "You know me too well. Just call me when you have time off. We need to catch up." She said, looking at you.

"Of course. I will." You nodded, gracing her with a smile.

Midnight's presence loomed for a moment longer before she seemed to relent. "Well, just remember, I'm always here if you need advice or someone to spill your secrets to," she said with a playful wink before sauntering away.

As she left, you let out a subtle sigh of relief, exchanging a glance with Shouta, both of you sharing a silent moment of gratitude for her understanding.

Once she was out of earshot, you turned back to Shouta, a subtle smirk playing on your lips. "See? Easy peasy. We just need to be careful."

He nodded in agreement, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Anyway, we probably shouldn't act so close in our workplace. We weren't like this, people will notice."

You nodded slowly, understanding what he meant. "Well, if it helps..." You shrugged nonchalantly. "If anyone asks, we'll just deny it."

Shouta chuckled lightly. "That doesn't exactly help the situation."

"They won't ask us anything like that." You argued. "Besides, we're not doing anything wrong."

He narrowed his eyes, a hint of suspicion plastered on them. "Are you considering what I said?" He asked.

You smirked. "Of course I am." 

He sighed once more. “Okay. But please, let’s make sure not to draw any unnecessary attention."

"I promise." You swore. "But seriously, if anyone asks, we can just say that we understood each other when we got stuck in the elevator, which is still true." You reminded him.

He smiled. "True." He agreed, before standing up from his seat. "Now, I better get going. There's some important stuff I still have to check up on before the weekend arrives." He informed you.

"Okay." You smiled. "See you soon." You waved him goodbye, watching as he turned and headed toward the door.

-  -  -

As the seasons changed, so did the dynamic between Shouta and you. The once-muted glances that spoke volumes evolved into shared looks, brimming with a silent understanding that only the two of you comprehended. The air around you buzzed with unspoken words, and the interactions, once bound by professional constraints, now flowed with a natural ease.

One chilly evening, after facing down a particularly formidable villain, Aizawa found himself seeking refuge in a cozy little café with you. The warmth of the place mirrored the growing comfort in your friendship. The clinking of mugs and the gentle hum of conversation created a backdrop for your shared connection.

Seated across from each other, you couldn't help but reflect on the journey that brought you here. Shouta, usually stoic and reserved, would genuinely smile at your stories. The way your eyes sparkled with passion as you described the success of a challenging patient or the mischievous grin that accompanied tales of your exploits in life made him appreciate the person beyond the coworker. He realized that amidst the chaos of his profession, you slowly had become a source of solace.

Similarly, you discovered a side of Shouta that few were privileged to see. The subtle twinkle in his eyes when recalling a successful mission or the rare, genuine chuckle that escaped him during a particularly amusing story revealed a warmth beneath the stern exterior. Your conversations flowed effortlessly, free from the formalities that once constrained them.

The café, with its warm ambiance and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, became a witness to the blossoming connection between two unlikely friends.

This unexpected turn of events with Shouta brought a pleasant surprise into your life. The initial awkwardness gave way to a genuine connection, and despite his demanding schedule, the moments you managed to meet were always enjoyable.

As your relationship deepened, Shouta started spending nights at your place, preparing for his early departure to work with you. While you occasionally visited his home, the convenience of your proximity to the U.A. made your place the go-to.

Besides, Shouta's unexpected affection for your cat brought a delightful and endearing element to your shared experiences. His interactions with the feline added a touch of warmth and charm to your time together, showcasing a side of him that others rarely got to see.

During breaks from work, you both made it a ritual to visit the quaint cafe near campus. These moments became a cherished escape from the demands of your daily routines, offering a space for shared interests and the simple pleasure of each other's company.

Whether it was discussing mutual hobbies, sharing stories, or simply enjoying a quiet cup of coffee, these breaks became a haven of relaxation amid your busy lives.

At work, quiet collaboration became a norm during breaks, and observant colleagues noticed the absence of once-typical disagreements.

The unspoken understanding between you and Shouta added a new layer to your professional relationship, subtly altering the dynamics in the eyes of those closest to you.

In one of those breaks at the cafe, you found yourself sitting with Shouta during lunch hour, enjoying the calm atmosphere. The fragrant aroma of coffee wafted through the air as you exchanged stories and light conversation.

As you immerse yourselves in the moment, Hizashi, with his vibrant personality, strolled into the cafe. Spotting the two of you, he couldn't resist joining your table, his friendly grin stretching from ear to ear.

"Well, well! Look at this cozy little gathering. Mind if I join?" Hizashi chimed in, pulling a chair from a nearby table.

Smiling, you motioned for him to sit. "Of course not, Hizashi. Have a seat."

Hizashi sat down, immediately diving into the conversation. "So, what's the hot topic today, lovebirds?" He teased, winking playfully.

Shouta remained neutral, though he felt like rolling his eyes. "Just catching up. Nothing exciting."

Hizashi raised an eyebrow, his playful expression turning more observant. "You guys seem to be getting along pretty well lately. It's like there's a new vibe in the air when you're around each other."

Shouta glanced at you, a subtle nod confirming Hizashi's observation. Hizashi leaned back in his chair, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Ah, I see. The winds of change are blowing, huh? Are we witnessing the birth of something more than friendship?" Hizashi teased.

Shouta sighed, giving Hizashi a deadpan look. "It's not that dramatic, Hizashi. We're just... getting to know each other better."

Hizashi leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "Getting to know each other better? That's how it starts! Next thing you know, love is in the air, and boom! Cupid's got you both in his sights."

You couldn't help but chuckle at Hizashi's theatrics, appreciating the lightheartedness he effortlessly brought into the conversation. Despite your mutual efforts to avoid attention, Hizashi's teasing had grown significantly, and dismissing it wasn't working anymore.

Shouta, on the other hand, sat there with an expression that seemed to be a mix of mild amusement and contemplation, as if he was silently considering the most effective ways to escape the whims of his overly enthusiastic friend.

Yamada, true to his nature, continued the banter, playfully pushing Shouta's buttons about the newfound friendship between you two.

His animated gestures and exaggerated expressions made the shop feel like a stage for his spontaneous performance. Despite the teasing, there was an underlying sincerity in Hizashi's eyes, and it was evident that he was genuinely happy.

"Come on, Shouta! You can't fool me with that 'nothing major' nonsense. I've seen the way you look at her. It's like someone cast a love spell on you!" Hizashi exclaimed, his arms flailing dramatically for emphasis.

Shouta merely grunted in response, his usual stoicism momentarily giving way to a small, almost imperceptible smile. He shot back, "Love spell? You've been spending too much time with Midnight."

Hizashi gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "Shouta, my dear friend, love is a beautiful and magical thing. You should embrace it!"

A breath of laughter escaped your lips at the playful banter, thoroughly entertained by the friendly dynamic between the two teachers. Despite Shouta's reserved nature and Hizashi's flamboyant personality, the two complemented each other, creating a balance that could turn any place into an unexpectedly lively one.

The banter finally subsided, and Hizashi gave Shouta a final, encouraging pat on the back. "Alright, alright. I'll spare you from my love advice for now, but remember, I'm just a shout away if you need some guidance in matters of the heart!"

Shouta rolled his eyes but offered a small, appreciative nod. The air seemed to carry a hint of unspoken support, lingering like an echo in an empty room.

After the cafe rendezvous, the three of you walked back towards U.A., engaged in a light conversation about your day. However, Hizashi, being the perceptive friend that he was, noticed a certain tension in Aizawa's demeanor.

Later that day, Hizashi found a moment when he and Shouta were alone in the teachers' room. He grinned, a mischievous spark in his eyes.

"Alright, Shouta, spill it. What's going on between you and [Y/n]?" Hizashi asked with a playful yet probing tone.

Shouta, who was engrossed in some paperwork, glanced up at Hizashi. "What are you talking about, Hizashi? Nothing is going on."

Hizashi raised an eyebrow, leaning against Shouta's desk. "Please, I've known you for ages. There's something different. Spill the beans, my friend."

Shouta sighed, realizing that Hizashi wasn't going to drop the subject easily. "It's just... we've been spending more time together, that's all. Nothing major."

Hizashi nudged him with his elbow, a knowing smile on his face. "Come on, Shouta. You're not fooling anyone. There's a spark there. I can practically see it."

Shouta scratched his head, a hint of discomfort in his expression. "It's not that simple. We're just friends, getting to know each other better. That's it."

Hizashi sighed dramatically, feigning disappointment. "Shouta, my man, you've got to learn to embrace these things. Life's too short to keep everything bottled up. If you like spending time with [Y/n], just go with it. Who knows where it might lead?"

Shouta grunted in response, clearly not entirely convinced. Hizashi, however, was determined to be the voice of reason.

"Look, Shouta, I've seen you buried in work and responsibilities for as long as I can remember. You deserve a bit of happiness too. If [Y/n] is bringing that into your life, don't push it away. Talk to her. Figure it out. It's about time you let yourself enjoy something good," Hizashi advised with a sincere undertone beneath his usual exuberance.

The black-haired man sighed again, nodding in reluctant acknowledgment. The blonde patted him on the back, offering a supportive grin. "Just think about it, alright? And remember, I'm here to offer advice whenever you need it," Hizashi teased, earning another appreciative nod from Shouta.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated! Check the fixed post for requests.

[jellieland]

"Joe Hills?"

"Recording as I always do from Nashville, Tennessee! Who's askin'?" Joe turns around, and blinks.

Looking very incongruous in the vast and empty seabed he is in the process of digging out below his pinball machine, is a man.

He has a sword, sheathed, at his hip. Tied to the pommel is something that looks a bit like those charms - the ones you used to be able to put on phones, y'know? Hanging from it is a shard of green crystal, a wooden carving of a sunflower, and a red feather. It's a nice little charm, if a fairly random collection of objects.

The scar across his face is very obvious, although Joe is never going to be the kind of jerk who would make that the first thing he comments on.

He's also holding a poker chip, which he keeps tossing and catching. That's some fairly impressive dexterity!

"I'm here to give you a warning." Says the man.

Joe squints at him. "You're not one of those dreamsimps, are you? I keep hearing about that, whatever it is."

"Excuse me?" His expression suddenly looks pretty intense, although Joe can't really work out why. Unless...

"Or wait, no, I saw this! Oh, I wasn't sure, you can probably clear this up- are you a cat, or a municipality?"

"Fucking excuse me?"

"Your name?"

The man - Quake city, wasn't it? - narrows his eyes. "Quackity."

"Huh! That is not how I thought that was pronounced! Well, it's good to meet you! Convenient, in fact. I was just thinking about how I should know my enemy, since I've been putting so much effort into knowing myself lately!"

Quackity glares at him, hand twitching towards the scar on his face for a moment. "Sun Tzu. Really." He tosses and catches the poker chip again.

"Yeah, I feel like he has a lot of wisdom worth considering! Why, do you disagree?"

Quackity turns away slightly, though not enough that Joe would be out of his field of vision. "You've done your research, huh?"

"I mean. I tried! It was a bit confusing - there's so many different kinds of dream, you know? Like- have you heard of the Butterfly Dream?"

Quackity tosses the poker chip one last time, catches it, and shoves his hand in his pocket. "Why should I care?" He practically snarls. "Why the fuck would that be relevant?"

"Oh, uh. I think it's relevant to basically everyone, all the time, since-"

"I am here," Says the man with the poker chip, "To tell you that you are going to loose. I was planning on letting you try to bargain, but I'm already done with your stupid mind games. I am not like any of those idiots you've faced before. You're gonna have to try harder than that if you want to manipulate me."

Joe blinks at him. "Ok??"

He rolls his eyes. "Fine. Go on. Tell me about the Butterfly Dream".

"...sure! It's a story by Zhuang Zhou - a different ancient Chinese philosopher, if you're not a fan of the last one."

"Sounds great."

"It is! The basic premise is that he dreamed he was a butterfly. And in that dream, he wholeheartedly believed that he was a butterfly - that was his whole life, with everything that entailed. And then he woke up, and- well, of course he was a human, with a human's life and ideas and hopes and dreams."

Joe makes a gesture that attempts to capture all the enormity of the human experience with the green stained glass pane he's holding.

"But how could he really know which was true? Was he a human dreaming of being a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming of being a human?"

Quackity gives him a look that he can't quite read. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. And believe me, I've heard some pretty stupid things."

Joe shrugs. "I thought it was interesting. And I've decided to believe it means dreams can be basically as good as true until you're given reason to think otherwise! Like that time in the Falsewell Motel in-"

"I don't care what you've decided to believe. I'm not entertaining your weird thought experiment about how maybe everything I've built is just a dream. I've told you to be ready, and if you're not then that's on you." He turns, ready to go.

"You know I haven't lost so far either, right?"

And he stops. Turns back. "Oh, but you will. You will. And when you do, you will remember this moment. And you'll know who beat you."

"I mean. If I do, I won't really care. Don't get me wrong, I would love to win! I've put a lot of work in, I even bought some extra eyes. But it's just a competition." He shrugs. "I think it might be kind of nice to be a butterfly, anyway. Lot less to worry about."

Quackity stares at him for a long moment.

"You're not what I expected." He says.

"Glad to see that the "cryptic and unknowable" part of my campaign is going well!"

"Don't think I'm done with you. I will win. Whatever it takes."

"You seem like a worthy opponent! Good luck, because you should know - even death herself could never stop me! At least not for very long!" He grins. "And oh boy did she try!"

Quackity laughs. "Luck? Luck works for me. Haven't you heard?" He tosses Joe the poker chip. Joe fumbles and drops it. "The house always wins!"

And with that, he's gone.

Joe picks up the poker chip. It's an interesting little thing, but poker isn't the card game he's most concerned with at the moment.

He's lost a lot of the matches he's played in the TCG to poor draws, recently. That hasn't stopped him enjoying it, though!

He's never really needed luck to be on his side. Which is good, because it rarely is.

He tends to get by anyway.

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 4: Barren

Summary: Lucy receives some news.

Word Count: 1,865    

Warnings: Pregnancy scare, infertility, mensuration, past sexual assault, sexual content, drug use, and references to abortion.  

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It was a Thursday when she realized that her blood was over two weeks late.

Not that she’d ever been particularly regular to begin with. Perhaps that was why it had been so easy for her to lose track. That and the constant list of tasks that she kept in her head, spinning like a record player. From one thing onto the next. Her days were full from dawn to well past dark most of the time. Taking notes for Tommy at meetings, gathering intel on the latest mark he’d given her, helping out around the betting shop or at Charlie’s yard. 

She wouldn’t have even thought much of it, had it not been for the uncharacteristic, extreme fatigue that hung heavy over her for the past week, or the consistent, throbbing headache and dizziness in her skull.

Sitting there at her desk, staring off into space, she bit her lip. Oh, no. No. No.

She and Tommy had never even really talked about children. But she knew from watching him interact with them that he loved them. It was almost a certainty that he wanted them. The idea had, on occasion, danced across her mind, carrying with it a sharp stab of anxiety.

Lucy liked children. Didn’t even mind the idea of raising one or two. But the idea of carrying one inside her, pushing it out when it was the size of a watermelon, was not something she’d ever considered to be a particular personal goal. The entire process really all seemed quite horrifying to her.

Prior to Tommy, she’d never thought she would even feel safe enough to be with a man after what happened with Matthew. Maybe that was why the thought of someday having children had always seemed so abstract and out of reach to her. 

Fingers pressed to her lips, she fought hard to keep her breathing steady. To stave off the panic attack spreading through her chest. It was probably nothing. It was very possible she was just late due to stress. 

Or it could be the product of her spending every night for the past month with Tommy’s cock buried inside her.

Lucy groaned, letting her head fall to settle on her hands on her desk. Oh, she was so fucking fucked.

∗ ∗ ∗

She watched Polly like a hawk throughout the entire meeting, looking for any signs that the Shelby matriarch sensed something in her. Tommy had once told her that Polly was a more accurate pregnancy test than going to the doctor. That she’d sensed it each time, without fail, when his mother had been pregnant with his younger siblings. Sometimes even before she’d started to suspect it herself.

Nothing. Not even an eye twitch. It wasn’t rare for Polly to ignore her unless she had no other choice. Lucy supposed that she should be relieved. But instead the lack of a concrete answer just left her feeling jittery.

“You alright?” Tommy asked as they walked side by side down the street after the meeting had concluded.

“Hm? Yeah. Why?”

“You’ve been quiet,” he frowned, eyes examining her face carefully. “And you look…paler than usual. Are you sick?”

“No. No. I don’t…think so. I’ve just been getting these headaches the past couple of days,” she rubbed at a temple. It wasn’t exactly a lie. “Actually I was thinking of going to the doctor and getting a prescription for some pain killers. If it hasn’t let up by tomorrow.”

“I can go to the nine o’clock meeting by myself. You can go then and meet me after.”

“You’re sure?”

He shrugged. 

“Okay,” she could feel his eyes still boring into the side of her head. He probably knew that she wasn’t telling him something. He was too perceptive not to. But he didn’t push it. Lucy wasn’t sure if she was grateful or not for that.

She should have told him the truth. But she wasn’t sure how he would react. She didn’t think he would be angry, or kick her out, or run away or anything like that, but…

There just wasn’t any point in getting him all mentally tied up in this either until she knew for sure, anyway. Tommy had enough to think about already; he didn’t need to be worrying about a baby that may or may not even exist.

∗ ∗ ∗

Her legs swung back and forth in the air as she sat against the edge of the examination table. The doctor’s lips had pursed as she rattled off her symptoms before he set about examining her, frown only deepening before he swept out of the room with a mumble, leaving her to sit anxiously by herself. When he came back, he handed her a little prescription slip.

“You have an iron deficiency. I’ve written you a prescription for some tablets.”

“Oh,” she looked down at the little slip. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“So, I’m not…”

The doctor’s brow furrowed. “Of course not,” his assuredness in his answer caught her off guard. At the sight of her frown, he sat down very slowly in the chair beside her. “You don’t know.”

“Know what?”

And then he rambled off some very complicated medical jargon, only half of which made sense to her. But the more he talked, the more the meaning, the outcome of everything he was telling her, started to make sense. 

“I can’t have children.”

He looked at her with wide, sympathetic eyes. “No, you can’t. I’m sorry…I thought you already knew.”

“No,” she whispered, sitting there with her eyes staring at the wall, hands braced against the edge of the table she was still sitting on. “There’s really no chance? At all?”

The solemn look on his face was enough of an answer, even before he shook his head. 

You’re empty inside. Polly had said to her shortly after she first joined up with them. Turns out she’d been right in more ways than one.

Taking in a slow, deep breath, Lucy nodded, reaching to grab her coat, riffling through the pockets until she pulled out a stack of notes, holding them out to the doctor.

“You won’t tell anyone about this.”

“Of course,” he said, taking the notes and tucking them away.

“If Mr. Shelby asks, I just came in for a headache and you gave me the prescription for the tablets, that’s all.”

The doctor hesitated.

“You won’t be lying.”

“If Mr. Shelby asks, and then finds out I omitted information…”

“I’ll make sure you aren’t punished. You have my word.”

The doctor nodded, slowly. “Okay.”

Turning the prescription paper over in her hand, she held it up. “This will help with the headaches, yes?”

“They should.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded, moving to the door. Hand gripping the doorknob, he turned. “There are other options, you know.”

“That’ll be all, thank you,” she didn’t look at him as she jumped off the table. The door creaked as it opened, then closed.  

∗ ∗ ∗

“What did the doctor say?” Tommy asked, closing the door to his office as soon as they were both inside.

“I have an iron deficiency. He wrote me a prescription for some tablets,” she held up the paper for him to see.

“That’s what was causing the headaches?”

“I guess,” she shrugged. Tommy’s hand reached out to catch at her wrist, thumb stroking the back of her hand.

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

Eyes snapping up at him, she felt her face soften at the sight of concerned blue eyes. He really had been worried about her. Sweet man, much as he might try to hide it. When she reached up, to brush his dark fringe from his forehead, his eyes fluttered, and he smiled softly at her.  

She almost blurted out the truth right there, but bit her tongue. Perhaps later, when they weren’t in the middle of work.

And she still needed some time to herself, to process all of it. 

The shock was starting to wear off, and, to replace it, had come a tremble of relief. And with the relief, confusion. Because she was pretty sure that wasn’t how she was supposed to feel. There should be grief, or sorrow, at what she’d lost. But instead she was over the moon. Never would she have to go through the months of pain and discomfort she remembered witnessing her mother experience each time she bore one of Lucy’s brothers. She would not have to give up her job, because she was unable to physically fight or move nimbly throughout the streets of Small Heath thanks to a swollen stomach. There would be no locking her away in a house, to cook and clean and sew and change diapers, waiting anxiously each day for her man to come home to her.

And she supposed, that if she ever did want a child of her own, she could go down to the orphanage. She was beginning to realize that had been the path she’d always seen herself on anyway.  

But there was one spark of fear. Because she did not know how Tommy would react to the news of her barrenness. And the idea of him leaving her over it was nearly enough to make her throat close up in grief.

∗ ∗ ∗

She didn’t actually tell him anything until about a week later, when her blood had finally come and she was laying sprawled out in bed with his chest against her back, whining at the cramping in her stomach and wondering how in the hell she could ever have possibly missed this. In her head, she’d rehearsed what she was going to say over and over, but in the end it didn’t come out nearly as gracefully as she’d hoped.

“I thought I was pregnant.”

Poor Tommy nearly dropped the opium pipe he was busy cleaning with a cloth, going rigid against her, lips parting.

“That’s the real reason I went to the doctor’s.”

He very slowly reached around her to set the pipe down on the bedside table, then pressed on her shoulder until she rolled over to face him.

“I figured something else was going on,” he murmured quietly, touching her cheek. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Lucy shrugged, fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt. “I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to…I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure.”

Tommy stroked her lips with his thumb. “We would have been okay,” he said softly. “I would have helped you. You know that, right?”

“Really? What if I’d wanted to get rid of it?” she was only half teasing. Based on the seriousness in his eyes, she suspected that he knew that.

“That would be up to you,” he kissed her softly. “Either way, I’d hold your hand in the delivery room or in the clinic. I want you to know that.”

Lucy nodded, lashes fluttering, and he kissed her again.

“Next time, you tell me, okay?”

She pressed her face into the crook of his neck, so he would not see the way that her smile broke slightly.

“Okay.”

She did not tell him that there never would be a next time.

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[oddsandendsandthings]

Tattered Puppets AU

The Welcome Home puppets were ripped to shreds and left to rot in the recording studio! And my OC Adrian who made his career in fixing up toys to resell buys the studio to expand his business and finds them. Wally sees the opportunity to save his friends and himself decides to convince the man by any means necessary.

Some horror elements, angst with a happy ending, and Wally/Male OC if you squint

You can read it here or find it on Ao3 here

He’d lost track of how long he’d been here. All this time in the dark had made time lose all meaning.

It was quiet. So so quiet. He couldn’t even hear their crying anymore.

All there was to fill the silence was the ever-swirling ringing of static echoing in his ears.

“Hello?” His voice echoes so quietly that he can barely hear it himself. “Helloooo?”

Tears drip from his cheeks when there is no reply.

“Beautiful dreamers, wake unto me… Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee..”  If they’re all still sleeping, then he’ll sing them a lullaby to lure them to a pleasant dream. And when they wake, they can all laugh and play and sing together again.

Until then, he’ll watch over them. Just like he always has.

—-------------------------------

Today was going to be a great day! Adrian grinned as he clutched the last of the paperwork he needed to submit to get the keys to his new studio. Sure the place had been abandoned since the seventies and was supposedly haunted. But who cared about that when it came at a quarter of the price of anywhere else in a hundred miles!

“Are you sure you want to buy this place without even looking at it first?” His leasing agent Rachelle asked when he slid the paperwork across her desk and took a seat.

“I mean I saw the pictures you provided.” He shrugged casually and sat back. “And you were the one to refuse to take me to see it in person.”

“And I still refuse to step back in that place after the last guy I sent to survey the place turned in his camera and quit that day.” She says as she levels him with a wary look. “The last people I leased the building to also returned their keys in the first 24 hours. Shoot! This place hasn’t had a tenant last longer than 3 days before abandoning it again in the past 50 years! I just don’t want to deal with having to fill out more paperwork and save you from making a poor financial decision in the process.”

Adrian shrugs, completely unaffected. “I hear you, but I’m gonna do it anyways. I need a place big enough to house all my sewing supplies and still have room to work. And my tiny little apartment isn’t cutting it anymore! Plus I've been wanting to expand my business into a real location for a long time now.” He laughs and shrugs dramatically. “This place has triple the space I need for way less than the price of anywhere else! Which will mean more money in my pocket for my growing business! Maybe even enough to hire someone else to help out!”

“If you can find anyone as crazy as you.” She mutters under her breath and sighs as she looks through the paperwork. “Well, everything appears to be in order and the deposit you submitted last week did clear. So here are the keys to your new studio, Mr. Summerset.” She says and stands to shake his hands as he takes the keys. “Just don’t make me regret this.”

“Oh come on!” He laughs standing as he takes her hand. “Even if the place is haunted, I’m sure I can handle some wannabe Casper.”

“I hope you’re right,” She sighs as she flops back into her chair and reaches into her cabinet to pull out a flask. “For both our sakes.”

Adrian smiles brightly as he pulls up to his new studio. He was practically vibrating with excitement. He was finally onto the next step of his dream of turning his little hobby of fixing up toys into a real business! Sure the place looked more than a little shabby all boarded up like this. And who knows what the inside looks like through 50 years of neglect? But as long as there’s no angry drug addict living in here, he should be fine!

Just in case he does a quick walk around the building to look for any signs of a break-in. Surprisingly, there are no signs of forced entry which was a great sign of there being no crazy hobos! Hiking back to his car, he pulls out his prybar from the trunk he bought for just this special occasion.

Time to take down those boards and bring in the light! It would probably be another 72 hours for the electric company to turn back on the power for this place. And he did NOT have the extra dough for a generator to last him in the meantime. So he will do all the things he could do without electricity in this place in the meantime! And the first step to that was to onboard these windows. He cracked the crowbar into the gap between rotted plywood and the wall and pulled. With a sickening SHUNK, the board easily pulled away from the window like wet paper and fell to the ground.

“One down!” Adrian huffed as he haughtily swung his crowbar onto his shoulder and walked to the next window. “Nine to go! Easy peasy, lemon squeezy!” He laughs as he repeats the process. “At this rate, I’ll have plenty of time to start on the inside before lunch!”

—---------------------------

Light. There was actual light streaming through the windows.

When was the last time he had seen the sun? He’d forgotten how warm it felt.

His brief moment of happiness was shattered at the realization of what this could mean.

Someone was coming.

—--------------------------------

The lock gave quite a fight from years of disuse. But eventually, the redheaded man was able to finally get it to relent and let him into the building. “Honey I’m home!” He couldn’t help but call into the empty building with a laugh.

The windows were so dusty he couldn’t get a good look inside while he was pulling off the plywood from the windows. But he was happy to see that, although very dusty and dirty, the entrance to the place was pretty usable. The floors and ceiling were intact and all the light fixtures still hung from their proper places. There was even a desk and chair still in here that looked to still be pretty sturdy! Bonus work surface!

He walked up to the desk to get a closer look. It still very much looked to be from the 70s, but it could still be of use for his purposes! There were still papers in it that would need to be cleaned out though. “Guess this place used to be a recording studio for a knock-off Sesame Street.” Adrian hummed as he looked at the desk calendar that listed off a recording schedule and various meetings. There was even a magazine ad for toys for the show and a copy of a kids' book of the characters

“Wonder if the place is haunted by the vengeful spirit of Elmo for straying on his turf!” He laughs and puts the book back on the table.

He walks into the studio proper and is greeted by a sight that sucks the previous levity out of him. It looked like someone had filmed a snuff film for puppets in here. Pieces of the smiling, child-friendly characters were scattered all over the place. On the stage proper was what he guessed was the main character of the show. Wacky? Wally? Something with a W! The roughly 3-foot-tall puppet was pinned to the giant red house by its hand almost like an Elvis puppet Jesus with his chest cut open. All of it was enough to give Hannibal Lecter some ideas.

“I guess the place was broken into after all.” He sighed and shook his head sadly as he carefully picked his way through the carnage. “Just by some sickos with nothing better to do than rip apart dolls instead of loot the place.” He carefully picks the head up of a blue dog puppet to inspect the damage a little closer. “None of you deserved that.”

He froze when something fuzzy brushed past his leg. Oh god, he hopes this place isn’t infested with rats. He looks to the ground and shrieks and he drops the plush head. A pink puppet arm was grabbing his leg. Not just draped on his leg. Actively gripping it as he flailed it around.

“What the fuck!” He shouts as he finally shakes it loose and flings it across the room.

“...-lp” A voice whispers so quietly he almost doesn’t hear it. In Adrian’s defense, he was much more preoccupied with the various other puppet limbs that seem to have also come to life and begun crawling towards him.

“Help.” He hears more clearly as he climbs the stage to get away from the puppets’ grasp. He turns to the sound only to come face to face with the pinned puppet. It’s looking at him now with black goo dripping from its eyes that look like tears. “Please… Help us.”

Adrian curls up tightly into a ball unable to cope with the horrifying sight. He feels his breathing quicken as he hears the limbs of the other puppets slap into the lip of the stage as they pull themselves up to continue their chase after him. He blacks out as soon as he feels another felt arm crawl its way up his back.

��------------------------------------

Wally watches as the redhead in front of him collapses from a panic attack. This human was stranger than the others who had come in the past. He was the first to show any kind of compassion towards his friends’ sorry state.

“Friends… please.” He coughs trying to speak louder than a whisper. “G-give him some space. We don’t want to scare off a new neighbor do we?”

He glanced at the crowbar that had fallen from the man’s grip. Even when he was clearly terrified of them, he hadn’t used it as a weapon against his friends. Maybe this one would actually listen and help them.

Time would tell in the end. If his guess was wrong, he would get rid of him the way he did the others.

—-----------------------------------

Adrian awoke with a loud gasp for air as he sprang bolt upright. Based on the dim lighting in here it was now closer to sundown than noon. He looked around himself and it seemed the puppet limbs had gone back to their original positions. Did he get heat stroke and imagine all that?

“Oh good. You’re awake.” A gravelly voice says, making him freeze and stare up at the puppet still pinned to the house prop. It was looking at him with a stare that made him feel like he was the one pinned in place. “You're not going to scream again, are you?”

“Please,” Adrian begs as he scrambled backward away from the strung-up puppet. “I-I don’t mean any harm! I’m just a starving artist in need of a place to work! You know artists, right??? I’m really just skin and bones so please don't eat me!”

“Ha ha ha ha!” The laugh was so distorted it felt like nails on a chalkboard. It immediately shut the ginger man up from his mad ravings to just stare wide-eyed at the puppet. “Now why would we eat you? You humans come up with the craziest of ideas. What’s your name, friend?”

“I-it’s Adrian.” He stutters out not wanting to aggravate the demonic puppet. They may not want to eat him but that doesn’t mean they don’t want to hurt him. “I’ll do whatever you want! Just please let me go!”

Wally stared at the man in front of him for a long moment. His crowbar was still in his hands but he still didn’t use it in favor of just begging for his life. Maybe he could get this human to do what he wanted after all. He smiled to himself, the first genuine one he’d had in a long time. “Well, how can I deny a friend such a polite request? It’s a pleasure to meet you, Adrian. My name is Wally. And there actually is something you can do for me.”

Adrian nodded his head rapidly in agreement. He just needed this thing to let him go and then he could be free of this place! Sure he just lost a massive security deposit from leasing this place. But at least he’d still be alive!

Adrian gulped and flinched as a grey arm inched its way to him. “A-and how can I do that?”

“My friends and I have just gone to pieces.” Wally laughs humorlessly at him. “In exchange for your freedom, I want you to put us back together again.”

Adrian nervously looks at all the pieces of puppet scattered around the room. He was still terrified. Who wouldn’t be when face to face with real, living puppets? But, he remembered how sad it made him to see them in this state in the first place. And maybe if he fixed them up, they’d keep to their word of not killing him.

“I don’t really have anything on me to do that right now.” He started carefully as he stood back up on shaky legs. “And this place won’t have any power for a few days even if I brought my sewing machine with me.”

“Then take me with you,” Wally says evenly as he stared the human down. One last scare should have the man crumbling to his whims. “Show me you’re worthy of fixing them and once they’re all fixed we’ll let you go and you’ll never hear from us again. Or I could simply…” He reached into that blackness within his soul that terrified him and summoned it to the forefront. The world around them went dark around the two of them like a shrinking spotlight and the ground began to rumble violently under their feet.

“Ok! Ok! I’ll take you with me!! Just stop! Please!” Adrian shrieked as he inched closer and closer to the puppet to try and stay in the light. He clutched the crowbar in his hand tight to his chest more like a security blanket than a weapon.

The world immediately returned to the original brightness and Wally smiled brightly at him that would actually be kind of cute if he hadn’t been so terrifying 2 seconds earlier. “Perfect!”

Adrian carefully examined the nails holding the puppet in place. They looked like whoever had done this had used a nail gun to pin him. They were almost buried in the felt. “Is it going to hurt you to take these out?” He couldn’t help but ask curiously.

“I’m just a simple puppet made of felt and fluff. How could you possibly hurt me?” He says solemnly and for the first time breaks eye contact with the human to look at the floor. It was easier to bear the pain if he didn’t see it happen.

The man couldn’t help the sad ping that tore through his heart at that response. Even though the puppet could clearly end him in an instant, it still took a shocking amount of trust to allow him this close.

“Well… I would say you’re more than just a simple puppet.” He laughs nervously and looks away when the puppet’s gaze snaps back to him. “S-so it makes sense to ask, y’know?”

“They need to be taken out whether they’ll hurt or not,” Wally said instead of answering the human’s earnest question. “So just make it quick.” The redhead nodded in understanding and, as carefully as he could, slid the crowbar behind the puppet’s hand and pulled.

The hand pulled free easily and fell limply to Wally’s side. The puppet slowly held his hand in front of his face and flexed his fingers. He couldn’t even remember what it was like to be able to freely use his hand like this. It barely registered to him as the other hand quickly followed suit. Without his arms being forcibly held up, he couldn’t help but sink to his knees.

Adrian stood there helplessly as he watched the puppet sitting on the floor just staring at his own hands. He didn’t know what to say or do in a situation that was so clearly emotionally monumental for the tiny being. After a minute passed he couldn't help but utter “Uhhh…. you okay?” Nailed it.

Wally’s head snapped to the human after being reminded of his presence. Right. He needed to be a scary “demonic” monster to get the human to do what he needed him to. “You’d have a hard time standing too if you were nailed to a wall for.. glory knows how long.”

Adrian flinches at the sudden stare, but he has to continue if he wants to be out of there before dark. Judging by the fading light, it was sundown now and they’d be lucky to have another half an hour of daylight. “So how do you want me to do this? I don’t know if we have the time to gather all your… friends.”

It would probably take at least an hour to collect all the little parts and pieces of the shredded puppets and probably multiple trips in his tiny sedan to transport it all. And secretly, he didn’t want those puppet parts crawling all over him in his car.

Wally looks desperately around at his friends’ scattered parts. He didn’t want to leave them here. They had suffered so much for so long. How could he possibly leave them? But if he let the human go without him, he would never return. Nobody ever returned. He closed his eyes tightly and sighed. “Take me tonight, and we can return for the rest of them tomorrow.” He said finally turning back to the man.

“...Did-Did you need me to carry you?” He asked nervously not wanting to upset the puppet. When all the puppet did was stare, he backtracked. “I mean- Not that I’m not saying you’re weak or anything! You just- You said that you had a hard time standing! So I c-could help you!”

Wally laughed at the nervous man in front of him. He couldn’t help but find it funny how skittish the human was. “Yes. You can carry me.”

He hesitated for a second on grabbing the little yellow puppet. But he carefully scooped him up and gripped him similar to how you hold a sleepy toddler with the puppet's head propped up on his shoulder. “Alright, let’s head out.”

As the two walked towards the entrance of the building, Wally waved at his friends. “We’ll be back tomorrow, friends. Please… wait for me until then.”

—--------------------------

The car ride back was awkward as hell. Wally spent most of the drive staring out the window. Adrian couldn’t help but wonder if this was his first time seeing the outside world. All signs pointed to that being the case. He had no idea what to say in these situations.

Eventually, he made it back to his apartment complex and carried him up the stairs the same way he had back at the studio. He fumbled one-handedly with the keys and opened the door to his shitty one-bedroom flat.

“Welcome the Chez Adrien’s!” He couldn’t help but laugh awkwardly as he flipped on the light switch.

The place was just as messy as he’d left it with pieces of yarn, fabric, and thread all over the place. He placed Wally down on the ratty couch he’d gotten from a nearby thrift store and turned to walk into the kitchen.

“Before I do anything else, I need to eat! I haven’t had anything since breakfast this morning and man am I starving!” He was rambling and he knew it. It was just too awkward not to fill the silence! “Did you want anything?” He asked as he dug out some Chinese takeout from the fridge and popped it in the microwave.

“I’m a puppet.” Wally’s laughed incredulously. This human just kept throwing his expectations in terms of how he’d react to his presence. Sure the man was scared, but even then he showed a surprising amount of care and consideration despite that.

“Oh. Right. Yeah, that makes sense.” Adrian laughs nervously from his spot in the kitchen.

Wally takes the time to look around the cramped apartment. There’s a ton of fabric lying around all over the place. There's a table in the corner that he can see houses a sewing machine. So he wasn’t lying about saying he needed power for the machine.

Glancing back to the kitchen and seeing the human’s back was turned towards the microwave. Carefully, so as not to gain the redhead’s attention, he slid from the couch and walked over to the table to see what was on it. His eyes widened seeing the hollowed-out husk of a large stuffed brown dog.

“Huh? Where’d you go?” Adrian’s voice called making the puppet jump. He placed his plate on the coffee table and walked over to him. “It didn’t take you to start exploring, huh?”

“What is this?” Wally’s voice was eerily calm as he pointed at the seemingly mutilated stuffed toy.

The redhead followed his hand and blinked in confusion before a realization dawned on him. “Wha- Oh! Oooooh! It’s not what it looks like I swear!” He waves his hands in front of him as if to dispel the bad energy pouring off the puppet. “Th-this is actually my business I bought the studio for!” The energy starts to darken around the room as the lights flicker. “Let me explain! Let me explain!!”

“It better be good, Human.” The puppet says darkly.

“I’m fixing him!” He says panicked as he picks up the deflated brown dog toy. “This is Darby! His owner has had him for decades and her partner paid me to fix him up for her birthday!” The dark energy releases a little as the lights finally stop flickering. “So while yes, I did have to take him apart to be able to patch his missing sections of fur and completely resew him a new nose and replace one of his eyes-” He glanced over at where the puppet was staring at him he coughed. “All that is to say, I had to take him apart a little to make him better again. I was going to restuff him and sew him back together tonight if I hadn’t gotten…” He trailed off before he could finish that sentence. Best not to antagonize the pissed-off puppet any further.

Wally couldn’t help but blink in shock at the man. “You are by far the strangest man I have ever met.” He couldn’t help but laugh incredulously.

He blushes and clutches the doll to his chest. “It’s a legitimate business! I started with just fixing up dolls and toys I got for cheap in thrift stores and reselling them. After a while, a friend suggested I record myself doing it and suddenly it skyrocketed and I was flooded with requests for different restorations.” He looks down at the doll in his hands with a sappy smile. “It’s actually really nice to give these toys a new lease on life to bring joy to more people.”

If puppets could blush, Wally would have been bright red. This man was just adorable in the earnest joy of his craft. He almost felt bad for scaring the man into this. Maybe he could have just asked him to help them earnestly instead of using intimidation and it would still have ended with the same results. He shook his head to clear that thought. Humans couldn’t be trusted to always put their best foot forward. He and his friends are proof of that.

“Then it should be no issue to fix me and my friends quickly then.” He says instead of responding to the man’s adorable ramblings.

“It really shouldn’t!” He placates rapidly and places the toy back on the table. “Speaking of… Let me finish eating and then I can start sewing you back up.” He points back to the couch where his leftovers were rapidly cooling on the coffee table. Wally nods and the two sit back on the couch, though the puppet himself needed a hand to help him up.

The room was completely silent save for the sound of Adrian eating his two-day-old lo mein. This is more awkward than the car ride! He mourned silently as he took another bite. The puppet was just sitting there watching him eat! Usually, he’d put on the TV while he ate. But his mother taught him that it was rude to do that with guests.

“S o! ” He coughs when his voice cracks and blushes in embarrassment. “T-tell me about your friends.”

Wally just tilts his head and stares at him for a long moment. It was just fun watching this human squirm. “What do you want to know about?” He finally asks instead.

“Anything, honestly.” He scratches the back of his head nervously. “The only thing I really know is that you and your friends were part of some kind of TV show… I think.”

It stung worse than he thought that all of his and his friends’ hard work was so easily forgotten by the public. “... Well there’s Barnaby. He’s the head you picked up. He was also my best friend. He loved to tell jokes and gave the best hugs. And then there’s Julie. She was as bright as a rainbow and would do anything to put a smile on your face. It’s why she was never far behind Frank who was always a sourpuss. About the only thing that could put him in a good mood is his butterflies or getting a visit from Eddie. Eddie was our mailman but he was also our good friend. He’d always teach us a new craft or skill he learned on his journeys. You could always rely on him to be a good shoulder to lean on. He was just like Poppy in that sense. She was a lot like how I imagined a mom would be. Always there to help if you had a problem or were just in need of a treat! Though she was also a huge scaredy cat. One time Sally put on a performance of Chicken Little that had her cowering in the dressing room all day because she thought the sky was going to fall on her. Sally was always looking for new stories to perform for us. And of course, there’s Howdy! He always had what you would need both in the show and out! He was also just as funny as Barnaby when it came to telling jokes. We were all such good friends through it all.”

Adrian nervously gulped down the last bite of his food. Sure he was doing all this to fix his friends. But he talked as if they were dead. And what caused them to end up in the state that he’d found them in in the first place?  But something told me nothing good would come of asking that.  Instead, he said, "They sound like a lot of fun... You really care about them, don't you?"

“We’ve been through everything together. I’d do anything to make sure they’re safe.” The puppet said solemnly and turned his gaze towards the sewing machine table.

The redhead followed his gaze to the table then back at the sad puppet again. Well, he wasn’t gonna be rid of this nightmare unless he fulfilled his end of the bargain. He stood, empty plate forgotten, and rolled his shoulders. “Ready?” He asked with his hand outstretched for the puppet.

Wally looked back and forth between the man’s face and his offered hand. Now that the time had come to be fixed, he was nervous. If this human wanted to, he could destroy him the way the others had destroyed his friends. Even if he used his parlor trick on the man, he would still be stuck in this place without any way of getting back to his friends. Could he really go through with trusting him?

“Listen,” Adrian started and nervously rubbed the back of his neck. “I can’t begin to imagine what you’ve been through. But I’m sure it makes it hard to trust others. For what it’s worth: I can at least promise you that I’ll do my best not to intentionally hurt you.”

Wally stared at the man for another long moment looking for any reason to distrust the man. But he didn’t see a hint of malice in him. So hesitantly, he reached out and grabbed the offered hand with a smile. “I’ll hold you to that, neighbor.”

—---------------------------------------

6 Months Later:

“Hiya everyone! I know it’s been a while since I last updated but that’s because I have some exciting news I’m finally ready to share!” Adrian says cheerfully to the camera and waves for the camera person to follow him inside a brightly painted building.

“As many of you know I was approved for a business loan and would move forward with making Stitched Together a real place you could visit.” He excitedly bounces as he opens the doors wide open. “It hasn’t been easy, but I was able to find help in some new friends that really helped speed up the process!”

The portion of the studio that was once the dilapidated front desk had been converted into a cheery shop that any kid would dream of. The shelves were lined with toys and art kits. “This is our store where you can come and shop my stock of custom-made toys in person! We’ll also sell crafting supplies and craft kits. There’s also a rotating stock of limited edition plushes that you can only find here!” He says with a bright grin and takes a plush Barnaby doll off the shelf to wave at the camera.

He walks further in and turns to a counter off the side with a sign hanging overhead reading Hospital . “As the sign says, this is where you can come to drop off your plush friend for repairs!”

He rings the bell and Poppy walks out with a nervous smile on her beak. “We-Welcome to the Doll Hospital!” She nervously stammers out.

“This is Poppy!” Adrian smiles and dramatically waves his arm to present her. “She will be here to help you fill out the intake form and ensure your friend gets the best of care!” He fake-whispers to the camera, “She’s a little shy so please be nice!”

Poppy’s feathers ruffle in embarrassment. “You didn’t have to tell everyone that!”

“Sorry!” The redhead giggles and waves to Poppy as he walks to the adjacent counter where Howdy was wiping down the counter. “When you’re ready to check out, Howdy is your guy!”

Howdy waves and smiles. “I’m always here to help! And don’t be afraid to ask me any questions.”

Adrian’s face goes serious as he nods along. “He honestly knows more about what’s in stock than I do. Howdy! How many pottery kits do we have in stock?”

“We have 10 out on the floor and 20 in the storage in the back.” The large caterpillar states without batting an eye.

“See? Man’s a genius.” Adrian says proudly while the puppet rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment from the praise. He then turns and walks to the area off from the counter where they had set up several tables. Eddie, Frank, and Jullie were sat at one of those tables working on making friendship bracelets.

“This is our crafts area where you can work if you just can’t wait to get home to try out our craft kits.” Adrian introduces and goes to sit at the table with the puppets. “We’ll also have craft classes for people of all ages hosted by our teachers: Eddie, Frank, and Julie!” He points to each of them by name and they wave to the camera.

“I’m just soooo excited to meet you!” Julie smiles at the camera and waves excitedly. In doing so she sends the bracelet Frank had been tying to her wrist flying. “Ooops! Sorry, Frank!”

Frank huffs grumpily and walks to sweep up the beads. “Guess I’ll have to make the next one Julie-proof.”

“I think I could help you with that!” Eddie chimes in and starts to cut some long pieces of embroidery floss.

“You guys are meanies.” Julie pouts in a way that is still utterly adorable.

“We’ll leave them to it!” Adrian laughs and stands to walk through the double doors leading to the back.

The studio had another wall put in separating the studio from the very back of the warehouse. All that remained was the stage where they had set up some chairs for performances. Sally and Barnaby were on the stage chatting, likely about what to perform next.

“This place used to be a studio and we decided it would be a shame to throw out the stage. So instead we will host shows and dramatic story time for kids! Entry to shows will be free with any purchase in the store!”

“Our opening day performance will be a retelling of the age-old classic: Stone Soup!” Sally says brightly with a show of jazz hands.

“It’s going to rock .” Barnaby laughs as Sally groans in dismay at the pun. “Hey! Don’t take my rock puns for granite ! A good performer should keep their coal . Of quartz, you should already know that.”

“Stopstopstopstop.” Sally giggles helplessly behind her hands.

Adrian and the camera guy are laughing outright from all the puns. “As you can see, it’s going to be a rocking good time.” He laughs as Sally groans even louder.

The video cuts to everyone on the stage waving at the camera. Adrian glanced down to Wally where their hands were clasped. He was looking the happiest he'd ever seen him. It had been a long journey with a fair share of arguments and compromises, but they'd finally done it. He glances back at the camera to begin his closing remarks. “Our grand opening is this weekend and we hope you enjoyed the tour. If you live in downtown LA and hope to join us, you will find our store hours posted on our website! We hope to see you soon and thanks for watching!"

[redflagshipwriter]

Jason didn’t actually know if he wanted sonic cannons or not. Would that be upsetting or- well, it would definitely be useful. But he’d never be able to board a regular plane again- shit, he’d have to let Bruce lend him the fucking Batplane anytime he had to leave the country. “Oi!” he bellowed. “I have questions!”

“Oh look, we’re almost to the library.” Danny took off at high speed. Jason had to sprint to keep up. They crossed a huge open room where his bootsteps echoed ominously and then Danny zoomed up another set of spiraling stairs, which sucked.

It was fast enough that he honest to god couldn’t continue yelling. He glowered instead. When Danny turned around to check that he hadn’t totally lost him, the ghost king got an approving expression that kind of made Jason want to deck him on principle. Just, fuck you man, he groused internally. Just because the guy was a fuckoff-powerful immortal king with the power of flight didn’t mean he was in better athletic shape than him. Jason somehow found the strength via spite to run a little faster.

“In here,” Danny said, and zoomed out onto a landing. Jason pounded up the stairs a breath behind him and then stopped hard in his tracks.

Danny had turned to keep a wary eye on him. But Jason didn’t give a fuck about him for the moment. He was busy drinking in the room. 

First off, it was impossible. It extended back over where he knew the staircase was. It was so wide that he couldn’t see an end.

“Where’s the fiction section?”

Danny blinked and bobbed in place a little, caught in a gentle invisbile current. “Uh…” He paused for a moment and then pointed. “I’ve never needed it before, I’m usually in here for references.” He made a face at that. “You think that’ll be useful?” He cautiously followed behind Jason.

Jason shook his head, but he didn’t bother to answer. “What’s the organizational system? Dewey Decimal?”

“It is now,” Danny said in a weird tone. “It was …piles. It was in piles when I inherited this.”

Jason sneered involuntarily. 

Danny let out a surprised laugh.

Jason ignored that he thought it was a nice sound. He walked up close enough to a stack to start to get his bearings. “...There’s an extra digit,” he said. It didn’t quite come out as a question.

Danny startled. “Ah- right, that marks the universe of origin. Some of them are near copies, I think, we consolidated identical versions where we could but depending on like, what editor someone worked with, they ended up with slightly different books.”

He was frozen. Those words took a moment to process. “...I need to be here for a while,” Jason eventually said.

“Clockwork said …” Danny frowned, clearly struggling to remember what exactly he’d said. “I really should have written it down,” he said, as if to himself. Then he cleared his throat. “Technically, what he said was basically just that I should bring you here. I took that to mean that there was something there about dissolving ghost bonds, but-” he shrugged. “I’ll leave you to whatever research it is you’re doing and I’ll go… look at old royal records.” His nose crinkled in disgust. He seemed to deflate a bit. “Depressing,” Danny said to himself, as he turned away. 

“Don’t rush on my behalf,” Jason called out.

Yeah, sure. Being here might be like, killing him or whatever. But when would he get a chance to come back? Never, that was when. He scanned the stacks for copies of his favorite novels. He had to do a comparison, right now. Maybe he could just take out everything he wanted and Danny could come and return it when he finished.

Hot Ghouls in your area ch 3 progress

(500wordish)

Un-fucking-believable that some guy named Danny was the ghost king of this iconic goth horror castle, and yet he had to believe it was the truth. Jason freely gawked at the architecture as they made their way into the main hall. They entered at an upper level and immediately began to work their way down.

Jason privately related the space to where musicians would have been playing in an actual historical castle. Were there ghost musicians? Could he hear the greatest pop hits of 1482? Did anyone have a hurdy-gurdy?

Jason cleared his throat. Danny glanced back at the slight sound.

…Now that the guy was looking at him, it seemed like a bit of an insensitive question. He managed to pull back to less assholish phrasing at least. “Do you know any ghost musicians?”

His original question was gonna be “do ghosts have music?” Wow. Jason chided himself. Might as well ask ‘hey do your people have culture?’

Of course the answer was a nod. “Yeah, I know one.” Danny snorted and floated a little higher. “She's terrible, man, nightmare of a person.”

“...But the music is good?” Jason ventured.

Danny scoffed. “It's derivative,” he said fearlessly.

Jason looked up and around for any roaming creatives who might get offended. None of them descended. “... Castle is empty, then?” He asked. Casually. Like a guy who wasn't marking every potential exit away from the guy he'd been…

‘Was I human trafficked?’ Jason blinked. Holy shit. ‘Sure, Danny doesn't seem to want me, but that's literally what those cultists were doing… They gifted me to him last minute. Like a mall candle.’

Wild. He made a mental mark for his Bat trauma bingo sheet. He wasn't sure if they had a square for that, but exchanges for comparable trauma were sometimes negotiable.

It belatedly occurred to him that he was offended. “This is a dumb situation to be in by accident,” Jason said aloud. He huffed and folded his arms. “Those nerds didn't even pick me, you know? It's not that I was the super special perfect victim, I was just the guy who knocked on the door.”

He felt more aggrieved by the end. Where was the drama? The respect? The class, even. Hadn't he razzle dazzled enough to be specifically targeted by the criminal underbelly?

Danny put a cold hand on his shoulder. “I'm sorry, you deserve someone to recognize your unique potential as a victim,” he empathized. “You're not just some interchangeable sacrifice.”

Jason shook him off. “No touchy,” he warned. He lifted a finger in threat. Belatedly he remembered how unbothered Danny had been by his guns. Shit. He put the finger down. “I’ve got a big personal space bubble,” he said lamely. No threats. He couldn't back ‘em up here.

[caitimetravels]

she's insignificant

chapter 10: where you've gone

the umbrella academy x (fem) reader

disclaimer: i do not own the plot/storyline of the netflix tv series and i do not own the umbrella academy characters.

warnings: none

masterlist

with a sigh, y/n stood. five was still writing away behind her on the walls non-stop. she didn't dare interrupt him, simply leaving. she would be back anyways. all she needed was a nice walk. 

as she wandered down the street with no destination in mind she spaced out, eyes trained on her feet. suddenly someone knocked her shoulder and brought her back to reality. she raised her head, hoping they weren't someone looking to start a fight or argue with her.

"y/n?" instead she was met with allison. her technically older sister seemed frustrated.

"allison? are you okay?" y/n's eyebrows furrowed, looking up at the curly haired woman. 

"yeah.. i think so" she frowned, "i'm worried about vanya. she won't listen to me but her boyfriend, whoever he is.. i think he's dangerous. i couldn't find anything about him-"

"you went searching for his records?" y/n pulled back in disbelief, "allison! you know vanya doesn't like-"

"i know, she already got angry with me" allison sighed, shaking her head.

"why would you do that?" y/n tilted her head up at her, eyes narrowing incredulously. "where are you even going?"

"well, i found his address. i was going to see if anything's weird.." she earned a disapproving look, "i can't just sit around and do nothing y/n! please, help me, for vanya?"

y/n's expression only darkened, "why are you trying to ruin one of the only good things in her life?! she deserves to be happy for once and im not going to help you take that away from her!" she begun to shout, freezing as she realised her powers were getting out of control in the middle of the street. "just.. leave them alone!" 

she took off, hoping to get away, she needed to get away.

————————————————–

as the sweet melody came to soft halt y/n smiled up at her sister. vanya donned a similar grin, placing her violin down and joining y/n on the floor, cross legged and leaning back against her bed.

"one day, you're going to be amazing, v" y/n mumbled quietly, looking like she was in a slight daze, "more amazing than you are now.. you're going to be a famous violinist, i can see it now. 'vanya hargreeves, the world's best violinist'" 

vanya softly nudged her shoulder, shaking her head. "no way, the world? c'mon" 

"i'm serious!" y/n was adamant, sitting up straighter to see her better, "you're gonna be so cool! and everyone here is going to see you and say 'damn, wish i had seen how awesome our sister was back then' and you're going to have lots of fans!"

vanya snorted, shyly brushing her long hair to the side, "yeah, right"

".. you won't forget me when you're famous, right?" y/n leaned back against the bed to avoid direct eye contact, her voice was much softer now. "don't forget me.. okay?" she nervously side eyed her sister, trying to gauge her reaction.

"i could never" vanya shook her head, leaning into the h/c haired girl. both of them shared small content grins.

————————————————–

as she walked upstairs to five's room she heard a commotion, hopefully he hadn't gotten into a fight with one of their siblings again, right?

wrong.

"put her down" five snarled, holding a gun up to luther who held dolores' body out the window. y/n grinned at the sight, highly amused. who would have thought luther would ever threaten someone? well, y'know excluding their missions.. but five nonetheless? she leaned casually against the doorway, arms crossing and waiting for them to sort out whatever issue she walked in on.

"put the gun down, you're not killing anyone today. i know she's important to you so don't make me do this" luther paused, waiting to see what five would do. "it's either her or the gun.. you decide"

eventually five did decide that dolores was more important and dropped the gun before spacial jumping to catch dolores before she could fall. not that much damage would have occurred to the mannequin anyways, maybe a few scratches.

"i can keep doing this all day" luther spoke triumphantly, now holding the gun at his side. y/n snorted, catching their attention.

"you're such children" both glared at her in response, "c'mon, surely you have a better plan than whatever ended up in this-" she gestured vaguely between them, "squabble"

"we did not squabble" five hissed, placing dolores down and straightening his jacket. "but yes, i do have a one other plan" 

————————————————–

the three of them, five, luther and y/n, drove down an empty road before slowing to a stop. five unbuckled his seatbelt and sighed, looking around.

"you know, i never enjoyed it" he started and luther turned to him in confusion.

"what?"

"the killing. i mean i was- i was good at my work and i took pride in it but it never gave me pleasure" he took a deep breath, "i think it was all those years alone. solitude can do funny things to the mind"

"yeah well, you were gone for such a long time.. i only spent four years on the moon but that was more than enough. it's the being alone that breaks you" luther placed a hand on the briefcase, "you think they'll buy it?"

"well, what i do know is that they're desperate. it's like a cop losing his gun" he alluded, "if the commission finds out they'll be in deep shit, well not to mention that they'll be stuck here until they get it back"

"i should hold onto it" luther suggested, patting it with one hand.

"hm?" five's eyebrows furrowed,

"incase they make a move on you" he added to explain his point.

"okay, luther.. but be careful. i've lived a long life but.. you're still a young man, you've got your whole life ahead of you. don't waste it" y/n snorted and five turned to her, unamused.

"what?" they stared at each other for a moment before five shook his head, looking away with a small smile.

suddenly a car began to drive towards them and they all made to get out of the car. "here we go" five sighed again, he was doing that a lot, y/n realised.

the car continued to drive past them, stopping a few metres away.

"if this all goes sideways.. do me a favour and tell dolores i'm sorry" five turned to luther who nodded slowly.

as five walked away from them y/n leaned back against the car.

"i have a bad feeling about this" she nervously picked at her nails and luther frowned, looking over at her.

"why? what's wrong?"

"that.. i don't know yet" she looked down the road, "i just.. feel like something's off" she shook her head as five walked back, leaning next to her.

luther stepped forwards a bit, "what happens now?"

"now we wait" 

barely a moment later they heard the music of an ice cream truck. y/n squinted against the sun and wind, trying to work out who it was. she took a moment to focus, sensing klaus, diego and ben. uh oh.

as the car got closer luther turned to five, "is that her?"

"luther, you idiot" y/n shook her head, "it's klaus and diego" right on time klaus waved to them as they passed.

the two assassins begun shooting, thinking it was a set up and y/n raised her arms to cover her head as luther stepped in front of her and five to block any shots.

suddenly time stopped.. well, only for five.

he frowned down at y/n next to him, the girl cowering in on herself. he felt bad for bringing her into something like this but she was very persistent.

he slowly stepped under luther's arm, looking at everyone frozen in slight confusion.

"neat trick, isn't it?" a feminine voice called out behind him and he turned to face the woman he had asked to see. the handler. she stared at him, pulling the veil over her face up and onto her hat instead before pulling her sunglasses off.

"hello, five" she smiled, "you look good.. all things considered" she softly gestured to all of him.

"it's good to see you again" he nodded back,

"feels like we met just yesterday, 'course you were a little bit older then" she teased, "congratulations on the age regression, by the way. very clever, threw us all off the scent"

"ah, well, i wish i could take credit" five shrugged, looking away. "i just miscalculated the time dilation of projections and.. well, you know, here i am" his gaze met hers once again, throwing his hands up before putting them back in his pockets, casually.

"you realise your efforts are futile" the handler shifted so that her briefcase was behind her, "so, why don't you tell me what you really want?"

"i want you to put a stop to it" five moved his own hands behind his back. 

"you realise what you're asking for is next to impossible even for me" she shook her head, "what's meant to be is meant to be. that's our raison d'etre" 

"yeah?" five smiled sarcastically, pulling a gun from his shorts "well how about survival as a raison?" 

"i'll just be replaced, i am but a small cog in a machine" the handler waved it off, ignoring the gun pointing straight at her heart. "this fantasy you've been nurturing about summoning up your family to stop the apocalypse is just that.. a fantasy. i must say though, we'll quite impressed with your initiative, your stick-to-it-tiveness, really quite- quite something. which is why we want to offer you, a new position back at the commission, in management" the handler held a hand up, smiling like her offer was an obvious choice.

"sorry what's that now?" five scoffed as she stepped closer, hand tightening on the gun.

"come back to work for us again, you know it's where you belong" 

"well, it didn't work out too well the last time" he glared up at her, not liking the persistence.

"oh but you wouldn't be in the correction department any longer, i'm talking about the home office, you'd have the best health and pension and an end to this ceaseless travel" she laughed freely, "you're a distinguished professional in.. school boy shorts. we have the technology to reverse the process. i mean you- you can't be happy like this" she slowly pushed his gun down, stepping ever closer.

"i'm not looking for happy" he spat through gritted teeth.

the handler only tilted her head, eyeing him carefully before raising a hand to stroke his cheek, "we're all looking for happy. we can make that happen, we can make you.. yourself again"

five huffed a laugh, gesturing to his siblings. "what about my family?"

"what about them?" the handler raised an eyebrow, acting like she didn't already know he intended to save them.

"i want them to survive" 

the handler took in a deep breath, taking in the sight of luther protecting y/n who was still crouching against the car as well as diego and klaus who were in the middle of crashing the ice cream truck.

"all of them?" 

"yes, all of them" he narrowed his eyes at her,

the handler gave him a small smirk, moving towards the recoiled girl. five watched carefully, waiting to see what she would do.

"it's such a shame.. she would have done well with us. if only we could take her too" she reached a hand out, about to touch her but five moved first, spacial jumping in front of her and grabbing her hand. he held her away from y/n.

"don't touch her" he snarled, unmoving from his protective stance. 

"my my, five, i didn't expect such protectiveness from you" the handler merely smirked, stepping away. as they walked back she once again proposed her deal.

"well" the handler begun, reaching a hand into her pocket and pulling out her sunglasses before putting them back on her face. "i'll see what i can do from them.. do we have a deal?" she reached a hand out to him, awaiting his acceptance. he merely stared at her hand before sighing,

"one thing" five stepped back, putting his gun in his shorts again. he walked over to hazel's gun on the floor, taking out the ammunition and chucking it on one side of the road before chucking the rest of the gun to the other. he turned and walked back, noticing the bullet headed towards luther and y/n. he frowned, using his pointer finger and thumb to move it over so that it would hit the car instead of them.

as soon as he shook her outstretched hand they disappeared and time was restored.

y/n shivered, ignoring the bullet hitting the car next to her and the way her siblings scrambled around to get away quick. she allowed herself to be shoved into the car with klaus and diego, spaced out.

"you alright?" diego turned to her while klaus stuck the middle finger up at hazel and cha cha. 

"i felt someone else.. it was only for a moment but i felt someone.." she spoke solemnly, staring at her shaking hands. "and then five just.. disappeared"

tag list: (if your name is crossed i couldnt tag you) @rxses-and-reverie @lostgreekgod @on-yourmark-99 @bicyhot1 @navs-bhat @midnightmystic @shawkneecaps @baby-bi-bi-bi-yeah @velveticxyyy

[4townie]

Road to 4☆TOWN

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8

“Ugh, I hate when Kendall’s off.” Beckett complained. “There’s no one to get my coffee.”

Taeyoung furrowed his brow. “Who’s Kendall?” He whispered.

“I think he’s talking about Courtney.” Robaire answered. “I think…”

“I need one of you to run to the nearest coffee shop and get me coffee and a sandwich.” Beckett ordered. “And don’t take too long. We still have a lot on our schedule.”

“I cannot stand that guy.” Jesse frowned. “He’s such a jerk, meanwhile we’re over here breaking our backs to make this album. I have to resist the urge not to get his coffee just so I can spit in it…”

“Does anyone even know where there’s a coffee shop around here?” Aaron Z mentioned.

“Ooh! I think I do.” Taeyoung raised his hand. “I passed by one once when I got lost on my way to the bus stop.”

“When you what?!” T’s eyes went wide. “When did this happen?”

“That time you told me to wait for you while Robaire helped you practice.” Taeyoung shrugged like it was no big deal. “It’s fine, I figured out how to get back.” He got up. “Anyway, I should get going so I can be back in time.”

“Wait, I’ll come—”

“I’ll go with him.” Z cut T off. “I still owe you for sharing your water bottle with me.” He winked before following Taeyoung out of the studio.

T blushed. “So that’s what that feels like…”

“Do you guys wanna practice the first song while we wait?” Robaire asked energetically. “We’re recording soon and I want to sound perfect.”

“No offense, but I’d rather take my time getting tired of hearing my own voice.” Jesse chuckled. “Now if you’ll both excuse me, I’ve got an essay to finish.” He grabbed his backpack and scooted away.

Robaire sighed. “College life does not look fulfilling. Guess I got lucky.” He turned around and jumped when he noticed Aaron T staring intensely. “Uh…T? You good?”

“You know, every time we have a free moment, you want to rehearse more.” T noted. “I think you’re a little loco, but it’s really cool how passionate you are about this whole thing.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve loved performing ever since I was in first grade.” Robaire said, smiling to himself as he recalled his first performance. “I played a king with one line in a Christmas production and everyone told me how great I was. After that, I wanted to be on a stage whenever I had the chance, whether it was singing in choir or a small role in school productions.” He frowned. “I never got any leading roles though, but I loved it anyway.”

Aaron was quiet as he processed. “I mean…I think you’re leading man material.”

“…really?” Robaire’s expression brightened a bit.

“Well, yeah. I mean, you’re helping me with my dancing, you helped Z loosen up during our rehearsals, and you even stepped on Jesse once.”

Robaire narrowed his eyes. “For the last time, I wasn’t stepping on him. I was helping him stretch.”

“See?” Aaron waved his arms. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. I think you’re actually a pretty great leader.” His smile vanished when he noticed the look on Robaire’s face. “Um…are you okay?”

Robaire was staring back at him with tears in his eyes and a huge smile. “Thanks, man. That means a lot to me.”

“Well, I happen to be a professional ego booster so I’m glad to be of service.”

A moment of silence passed between them.

“What about you, huh?” Robaire asked with a slight nudge. “Why’d you audition?”

Aaron’s playful smile suddenly became sad. “Oh, uh…” He averted eye contact. “It’s kind of embarrassing actually.” He chuckled awkwardly.

“That’s alright, I don’t judge.” Robaire leaned in a bit. “Go on.”

Aaron was quiet, still avoiding Robaire’s eyes. “Well, half the story is Tae-Tae. He asked me to come with him since his parents would only let him audition if I went with him. I spend a lot of time at his house so they trust me to look out for him.”

They were quiet for a moment.

“So…what about the other half?” Robaire prompted him to continue.

Aaron nervously tapped his fingers. “I kinda wanted to do something nice for my mom.” He started to smile. “She’s always loved music, and she used to have these big dreams of moving to New York and being on Broadway. But…being a single mom was hard on her.” His laugh was somehow both nervous and depressing. “I dunno. She gave up a lot for me, I guess I just thought I could somehow pay her back like this. If we make it big, maybe I could finally treat her like a queen.”

“Wow…that’s actually really sweet.” Robaire smiled a bit. “But you know we’re never gonna make it if we don’t rehearse.”

“Ugh, fine. We can run the damn song again one more time if you really care that much.” Aaron laughed and rolled his eyes. “Jeez, you must’ve been super annoying during your school’s rehearsals.”

“Well hey,” Robaire shrugged, “I’m a leader. It’s what I do.”

[nctsworld]

spin me right ‘round

✩‌ johnny ‌x‌ ‌reader‌ ‌|‌ record store owner!johnny | fluff | smut | 4k‌ ‌

SUMMARY‌ ‌⇾‌ buying from the local records shop leads you to eventually bed the hot owner on the night of your first date.   WARNINGS‌ ‌⇾‌ ‌smut (in the second half), oral s*x (f and m receiving), f*ngering, johnny has a big d*ck and f*cks you hard???, office s*x in the epilogue (kind of) RATING‌ ‌⇾‌ explicit TAGLIST ⇾‌ @infnteen​ @sehunniepot​ (thought you might be interested in this nikki 👀) 

⇾ gif created by me, please don’t share or repost without credit! 

Opening the store’s door, the ringing of the bell above you signals your entrance. 

You moved into the neighbourhood recently and since someone gifted you a record player for your last birthday, you thought it’d be a quaint idea to drop by the local records shop that you always pass by on your way home.  

Rows and rows of vinyl records, organized both alphabetically and by genre, welcome you with open arms, along with a faint musty smell, likely due to the faded, vintage records hanging between the posters on the cream walls. 

The outside of the store is misleading to its size; there’s enough space here for at least thirty people easily. However, besides you, it looks like there’s only one other customer in the shop.  

Although your surroundings captivate your senses, the striking blond man bent over the rock section in the middle of the shop is the true cynosure of your eyes. 

His long fingers flutter seamlessly over the records, seeming to be on a dedicated search to find one in particular. He towers high over the low stacks and oozes coolness with a thumb stuffed in his front pocket and donning a stylish green beanie atop his medium cut locks. 

Not to mention that his jeans tug perfectly over the curvature of his prominent ass, but you merely steal a glance or two at his backside as you stroll towards the pop section. 

Okay, maybe three glances.

With your back facing the man, several minutes pass as you rummage through the sea of mainstream music, ranging from recent to old, but all the while pleasing to your tastes.  

“See anything you like?” 

Your eyes meet the figure standing nearby with a hand on the edge of one of the stack dividers. His smooth voice matches his strong aura and his gorgeous face, which you’re now blessed to be viewing up-close. 

Your gaze pursues downward, soaking up his sturdy frame hidden behind his flattering clothes. Darting your eyes up his lengthy body back to his face, you lick your lips and swallow, in hopes to dampen the sudden dryness in your throat, and naturally raise the corners of your mouth.        

“Yeah—” You, you think in the back of your head and execute a nod, “—there are a few things.” 

He smiles endearingly towards the floor before glancing back up to you. You wonder if he can read your thoughts, or maybe it’s simply written all over your face.

Releasing his grip, he says, “Take all the time you need. If you need any assistance, let me know." 

Your eyebrows perk up in realization. “Do you work here?”

“Yeah.” Bobbing his head, he runs a hand over his beanie. “I’m the owner of the store.”

“Oh, wow,” you exclaim, jaw hanging slightly. “You’re so young, I wouldn’t think someone in their 20s would have their own store, especially one like this." 

A frown falls over his face, and in that moment, you knew you fucked up any chance you had with him.  

“Yeah, 26 to be exact,” he shrugs, tight-lipped, prior to the folding of his arms. His eyes become slits of bitterness. “Thanks for the ageism."

Immediately shaking your head at the misunderstanding, you stammer, “I didn't mean it like that—"

The owner’s expression melts in an instant and a warmness emanates from him once more. The knot in your chest loosens at the sight and relief waves over.  

“I'm just playing with you, don’t worry." 

He opens his mouth, about to continue, but his attention is interrupted by the ringing at the door, and you turn to see another customer over your shoulder. The attractive individual begins to stroll over, but still faces your direction, beaming. 

“Well, if you decide to get anything, you know where to find me, and I'll ring it up for you." 

With puffed cheeks, you nod and watch him greet the incoming patron. Trying to leave the embarrassment behind you, you shift toward the records again and browse for a little longer. 

Finally deciding on a few choices, you walk toward the front register and peer over at the beanied blond. In the classical section, he’s listening intently to the bumbling customer. Not wanting to disturb them, you lay the vinyls on the counter and thankfully find a pen and a stack of sticky notes upon it. 

After sticking the following note on the top vinyl cover, you head out of the store:

“Put these on hold for me?  I'll be back for them.  Thanks!  -Miss Ageist” 

“Well, if it isn’t Miss Judgmental."

A couple of days later, you drop by the store again and find the spirited owner at the front counter. Today, he’s channeling his inner grunge style, adorning a half-up, half-down ponytail and a loose white t-shirt over a tight, long black sleeve shirt. Is it possible for him to look even cuter than he did last time? 

“Sorry again for that,” you scrunch your nose at the memory. He grabs your records from beneath the counter and rings them through. “You just look so young to own a store.”

The blond airily laughs, “I'm gonna take that as a compliment." 

He spots you twisting your mouth to one side and nodding shyly. “It is." 

As you pay for the items, he gestures to your vinyls on the counter. “Good choices, by the way.”

“Are there bad ones?” From the pay pad, you glance up at him and he’s feigning a hurt look. 

“Oh, most definitely.” 

You banter with a tilt of your head, “Isn't music subjective though?” 

“Not to me. I am the king of music taste." 

Both parties exchange laughter while you wait for the transaction to process. Once it finishes, he rips the receipt and places it into the bag with the records. 

“I mean, I do own a records store, so I think I should know." 

Flashing you his pearly whites, he hands the filled bag over to you. 

“Here you go, Miss Judgy Pants.” 

“Actually, you can call me—” You properly introduce yourself.

He leans back a little, straightening himself and tucking his thumbs into his pockets. 

“I'm John, but you can call me Johnny." 

With a glimmer in your eye, you question, “Is Johnny exclusive to me, or does everyone else also call you Johnny?”

His eyebrows raise, impressed by your straightforwardness. “I only let the pretty girls call me Johnny, if that’s what you’re asking.”  

The wink he gives is short-lived, but it’s enough to cause heat to blossom over your cheeks. You brush some hair behind your ear. 

“So, Johnny,” you enunciate, indulging in his name. “When does the store close?” 

You lift up your bag and cheekily add, “Gotta know when to break in to steal more vinyls." 

Johnny chuckles, and your heart bursts knowing you’re the reason behind it. Looking aside, his hand rubs the counter casually and you can’t help but stare at his large palm dominating the surface, along with his elongated fingers. Eyes blinking rapidly, you attempt to break the fantasy assembling in your brain—his hands are the guest stars alongside (and within) your body in the leading role. 

“I can close whenever I want to, but thanks for the heads up; I'll make sure to keep you away from the store,” he jokes.  

Catching your gaze, one of the sides of his mouth lifts. “Why do you ask?” 

Shrugging nonchalantly as you play with the handles of your dangling plastic bag, you reply, “Just wanted to know when the cute worker got off so I can potentially go on a date with him.” 

You scan around as if someone else is there in the empty store besides the two of you and point your thumb to one side, whispering teasingly, “Not you, but the other guy.” 

His tongue grazes against his bottom teeth, nodding understandingly with a deeper smirk. “The store closes at nine usually, but I can make an exception for him to get off earlier." 

Satisfied with Johnny’s answer, you bounce your head and make your way backwards toward the door.

“Sounds good, I'll be here at eight for him tomorrow night. Maybe I'll see you around then, too.” 

Granting him a wink of your own, you turn on your heels and leave. Intrigued, Johnny watches you disappear down the street through the store window. 

At 7:58 the next evening, you show up to the store. 

A customer is at the front counter finishing a purchase. As they pay for the products, the worker takes notice of you, smiling in recognition. You return the same, beaming back at him, and casually stride over to a random section to wait until they’re done. They make some small talk, so you delve in the opportunity to admire Johnny’s outfit for tonight—a tight black t-shirt that showcases his blatant pecs and a loose red plaid shirt overtop of it. 

When the customer exits, you make your way over to him as he puts on a light jacket. You lean your elbows onto the counter. 

“Surprised to see you here.” 

“Likewise," he jests back, snaking out of the counter to be in front of you. You glance at him, consuming the tall drink of water.   

Nodding to the door, you ask, “Ready to blow this popsicle stand?” 

Johnny hums affirmatively and you follow behind him outside as he flips the open sign and locks up the store.

“So, where we heading off to?” 

Informing him of what you had in mind, the two of you decide to take his car to the downtown pier. Once there, both of you grab take-out and eat together at a bench table under the clear sky and dazzling stars. Conversation comes easy, making the night fly by fast. 

While talking with him, since his hair flows freely today, he sometimes shyly brushes some of it behind his ear. Although you’re listening intently, you also ponder how it’d be if you ran your fingers through his soft, silky locks. 

Dinner eases into dessert, with the two of you having ice cream side by side on the pier railing, looking out towards the twinkling water. By the time you’re halfway finished with your cone, you hint at not wanting to end the night just yet. Agreeing with your sentiments, Johnny makes the suggestion of going back to the store. 

After finishing the ice cream, you head together back to his car. The back of your hand brushes up against his. Taking a chance, you curl the tips of your fingers around his, half-holding his hand.  

Pressing up against his arm, you whisper, “Thought you said you gotta keep me away from the store."  

He peers down at the partial hand holding and the grin he gives you reaches his eyes. He gives your hand a small squeeze, ensuring the burgeoning attraction is mutual. 

He whispers in reply, “At least this way I can keep an eye on you." 

At the shop, Johnny locks the door from inside, in case of any wandering bodies, and blasts some upbeat, electronic music onto the store speakers. Intercepting your hand, he guides you to the back corner of the store and starts to dance with you. 

At first, your bodies are separate vessels, grooving to the beat of the music, but as the songs play on, you gradually gravitate towards each other. Soon enough, one hand settles comfortably upon your waist, the other on your hip, while yours are hooked around the nape of his neck. Before you know it, you merge together as one with parted lips, finally satisfying the tension in the air and within your bodies.       

The kissing is intense, electrically charged and sending currents to the tips of your fingers. Although you’re barely acquainted, you two kiss like you’ve been deprived of each other your whole life—every kiss and every touch quenching your thirst for one another.  

Wanting to change it up, you step over to an empty counter and hop onto it. Johnny steps in the space between your legs and his lips meet yours again. You cup his face, clutching onto his strong features, and occasionally run a hand through his hair to caress his head. 

You answer inwardly to your previous thoughts, confirming the silky texture of his hair, and your touch relishes in his golden locks.  

Suddenly, his mouth channels hunger onto your neck and the electric currents divert directly to your rising arousal. At the sensation, you rashly grind your hips into Johnny’s body, and he groans heavily in the crook of your neck.  

He mumbles into your skin, “Do you wanna take this further? My place is nearby." 

Sighing further into his embrace, you half-jokingly reply, “You know, I was really looking forward to getting fucked in a records store." 

He easily breathes, “We can do that next time, I promise." 

You snicker. “Aren’t you a little presumptuous?” 

Tugging his shirt by the neckline, you force him to leave your neck and to greet your mouth instead. Pressing the top of your forehead against his, you match his gaze.   

“And what if I don't like you after tonight?”  

Something in you already knows that won’t be true, but you mischievously ask regardless. 

The simper Johnny flickers is enough to send another wave of bolts downward to your core. 

He peels his head away to bring it beside your ear. His thumb on your thigh may be gently rubbing you, but his following assurance is hoarse, absolutely drenched in pure lust.  

“Oh, you're definitely going to like me after all the things I do to you tonight." 

You barely have an opportunity to scan around his bachelor pad because his lips capture yours upon arrival. In his entryway, Johnny entangles with you, pushing you up against the wall. Impatiently, he drags you to his bedroom for the long-awaited spectacle of the night. 

After hurrying to turn on his bedside lamp, Johnny presses his weight against yours on his bed, embracing the full body contact. His lips continue to attack the terrain of your skin as he denudes you. You hum softly as he pursues south to your aching desire. Hoisting your backside and with his assistance, you’re finally completely bare. 

Sitting up at the edge of the bed, Johnny pulls his top layers off, revealing a sculpted physique, the kind that artists muse and obsess over. You knew he was fit from how his clothes constantly hugged his body, but this was just insane. 

“Holy fuck,” you murmur, staring blankly. 

Chuckling, he does the same bashful gesture from dinner—tucking some of his hair behind his ear. The gentleness is a contrast that nicely compliments his Adonis qualities. His soft side is flipped onto its backside in a second as he begins to creep his way over between your legs, his eyes darkening. 

Upon resting on his chest, you didn’t notice it before, but there’s a hair tie on his wrist, which he uses to effortlessly make himself a quick ponytail. 

With anticipation, you sigh into the kisses he leaves on your inner thigh, making his way toward your pulsing sex. When his tongue issues the first swipe, you inhale sharply with fluttering eyes. Johnny isn’t in a rush, taking his sweet time to lazily lap up your slick and learning what incites you.           

Once he has a better understanding of your desire, he dives in and devours you whole. 

Realization sweeps over as to why he has to put his hair up.

In accompaniment to the painting of your folds, Johnny spreads them gently and ensures he dunks his tongue in your wetness. One of your hands drift away from the bed sheets to one of his snaked around your upper thigh, clutching onto his fingertips in reaction to the swift rotational swirls on your raw flesh.   

He draws back, lips lustrous from your nectar, and hastily replaces his mouth with two fingers.

Your half-lidded eyes shoot wide open. His long, thick fingers fill you greatly, scissor you so far in your sex, so much that you fear what his cock is like if this is how his digits feel. 

You’re overcome with bursts of pleasure. Further bursts ensue as Johnny tongues your clit alongside the fingering. Your throaty cries and the squelches of your pussy is melodious to his ears, better than playing his favourite vinyls on the best record player he owns. The lewdness of it all overwhelms his jean-bound arousal, so Johnny retaliates by grinding against the bed.  

After Johnny retreats, he stands by the foot of the bed and starts unbuckling his belt and pants. You crawl your way over, still panting and reeling from the rush of your high. As you reach him, he drags his pants and boxer-briefs towards the floor in one-go, freeing his unsurprising lengthy girth.    

On your knees, hunched over his cock, you chuckle in disbelief. “Now that’s unfair.” 

He watches in amusement as you examine his desire with delight, before taking it into your hand, pumping it languidly. “What is?” 

You peer up, cocking an eyebrow. “Seriously? You’re hot, own a record store, really funny, and you’re packing. God really has his favourites.” 

Johnny’s about to respond, but his brain short-circuits momentarily at the pad of your thumb rubbing his precome over the tip of his blunt head. He cranes his neck back, exhaling a groan. 

“Well, what can I say? Guess I’m just-fuck—” 

You suck the words out of him. Literally. 

Your warm embrace encompasses his entirety, possessing a strong hold over him. Since you can’t possibly take him fully into your mouth, your fist solves your problem by stroking him by the base. Aiming to please, especially after his oral act from earlier, you slurp and bob your head mercilessly, disregarding the saliva leaking down the sides of your mouth. 

One of Johnny’s hands arranges your hair in a make-shift ponytail to get a clearer view of the obscene display. His hazy eyes skim over the gorgeous curves of your bent back and ass jutting high up in the air. His breathing turns heavier and he’s about to tug on your hair, motioning for you to slow down, but you thankfully come up for air just in time. 

The stately figure attacks your lips with urgency. The kiss is wet and messy from going down on one another, but it merely adds to the intensity. While lip-locked, he lowers you into his pillow once more, then stretches an arm out to his bedside stand to fish out a condom. 

He nimbly rolls on the cover, but is confused to find you back on your knees instead of laying on the bed. You grasp him by the wrist and press your fingers against his firm pecs, indicating to him to recline backward. In awe, he obediently obliges. 

Hovering over him, you suck in a breath as you line your sex up with his, cognizant that you need to acclimatize to his size. You steadily sit onto his length and when it finally reaches the end, you release a piercing groan at the deep sensation.

For a bit, you don’t move too much to get used to his great desire. In the meantime, your fingers wander over the chiseled flesh in front of you—his defined, veiny arms; his solid chest; and the valleys of his abs. 

Once you think it’s been enough, you transfer more weight onto your knees and slide on his cock with more vigor. You throw your head back in pleasure. 

On the other end, Johnny’s gaze wavers between the main action, your bouncing breasts, and your supple neck. He can’t see your face clearly, but he knows you must be enjoying this as much as him by the breathy moans that follow each thrust.    

When your legs start to tire, Johnny tries to hold you close and roll you over onto your backside. You both giggle at the unsuccessful attempt to keep himself still inside of you, but that’s an easy fix. Despite just having him within you, you gasp again at the penetration. Him being on top hits you at a different angle and you truly feel the length of his inches. 

Johnny reaches down to meet your lips. You brush your fingers over his pulled back hair as he consumes your existence. In addition to each passing drive of his body into yours, you also grip harder onto his hair in ecstasy, which leads to the unraveling of his long locks upon your face. The gold ocean of silkiness drowns your senses, the strands stroking your skin like extra caresses. 

Retreating back onto his knees and raking a hand through his tousled mane, his hands then attach to the flanks of your body and he pounds you breathless, leaving you heaving for air. 

In your dazed state, you desperately grab on to whatever you can—the sheets, his upper frame, his ass, anything. Throughout it all, your core contracts even tighter over the way his clavicle, tendons, and muscles protrude and flex like they’re about to break through his skin.  

At this point, you’re beyond delirious and definitely beyond gratified. You assume he’s about to finish when he decreases his pace and bends closer to you, but instead, he continues to still move inside of you.  

“Jesus. Fucking. Christ,” you gasp and grunt between his rough, buried thrusts. “How are you not close?” 

“I’m not ready to be done with you yet, beautiful,” Johnny rasps into your ear. You catch a glimpse of his cocked eyebrow and smirk. “Unless you can’t handle me?” 

Denying his accusation, you haul his cheeks to yours and kiss him fiercely.  

And with that, Johnny’s weight is on his knees again and he fucks you like there’s no tomorrow. 

However, Johnny might’ve been right because it doesn’t take long for you to beg repeatedly for him to come.  

“So, what’s the verdict? Still like me after that?” 

Both individuals are still nude on the bed, but now covered by a blanket. Resting on his chest, you drum your fingers over his skin in thought (as if you need to even think about an answer besides the obvious). 

Pouting up at Johnny, you say, “I’ll only like you if you keep your promise on fucking me in the store next time.” 

“Of course.” He palms your cheek and inches forward, preparing to kiss you tenderly. 

“A gentleman never breaks his promise.”  

EPILOGUE 

One month later, the record store’s business has been growing, so Johnny decides to hire one of his friends, Mark, to be a part-time worker.

Which means that Johnny has more spare time to do other things... like taking you from behind in the back office over his desk. 

“Shit, fuck,” you grip harshly onto the edges of the worn-out wooden desk as he thrusts endlessly. Even after a month of dating, your pussy still isn’t fully accustomed to the size of his girth. You’re unsure if it ever will be. 

No matter, it always feels amazing. 

“Johnny, Johnny—” 

“Johnny!” Mark’s voice suddenly cuts in and calls from outside of the office door. You immediately bite down on your lower lip to shut yourself up. “Someone’s asking me about a limited edition vinyl and I don’t know how to answer.” 

“Uhhh,” Johnny drones absentmindedly, yet jabs into you with more rigor. You bite down harder, but you can’t control the rising volume of your stifled moans. “Give me five minutes.” 

A silent beat passes. 

“Dude, are you fucking in the office again?!” the part-timer exclaims. You can practically see him shaking his head in disgust. “Ugh, I’ll give them the store’s card. Hurry up, though.”

As he walks away, you hear him faintly say, “Sometimes I think this is why you hired me...” 

Simultaneously, you both giggle heartily. Your lover pecks you lovingly on your shoulder prior to diving again into the wanton moment. 

In the end, Johnny actually spends ten more minutes with you. But he can afford the extra minutes—he is the owner of the shop, after all. 

[honorhearted]

“Many of the scientific and theological minds that have changed our world also had time to go wandering down those holes. They were not in the middle of a war—they were sitting quite comfortably in manors and monasteries.”

Benjamin hummed in agreement. "Some of them still are," he argued. "There's many a brilliant mind that's presently sitting at home, tucked away behind the fortification of their homes and, in some cowardly instances, their own families." He shrugged. "I'm not trying to judge, but I also don't carry much respect for those who expect us to fight, and yet won't extend the same courtesy."

A look of gentle ease washed over Maggie's face, and she asked, “Then, when the war is done, do you intend to do as your father did and move away from this new creation entirely? Or do you still wish to keep your hand in it in some way?”

Oh... Well, it wasn't as though the thought had never come to mind, but Benjamin found himself thrown nevertheless. Offering a sheepish smile, he lifted his shoulders. "In a way, I feel too far involved to just step out once all is said and done," he replied. "While my father bled and sacrificed for this country as much as the next man, I'm much, much too deeply ingrained to part from its core -- not without tattering up a bit of myself in the process." He chewed his cheek. "As for how I wish to serve, I suppose I'd like to maybe consider Congress... If I wish to make my mark, then that seems like the logical step. I no longer wish to fight, to shed blood, so tackling the very foundation seems like a worthy cause."

Maggie appraised him sagely. “Well, that’s the nature of war,” she said. “But, on your own time and outside the scope of your duties, do you intentionally seek to harm others? Do you go out looking for fights, or deliberately antagonize others with the intention of doing harm?”

Benjamin broke into a cold sweat. Did she truly believe him so frigid? So far gone that he'd stoop to such lows?

"No," he softly said. "That's not to say I haven't engaged in verbal spats, but...only if there is a just cause. I haven't needlessly sought to endanger anyone."

Because Reverend Worthington was necessary, wasn't he? Although he should have left his sins up to God's judgment, was the world truly worse off for Benjamin snuffing the man's light a touch early?

“That’s all I can ask of you men. I’d be creating unrealistic expectations of you all if I tried to pin you lot down to anything more complicated.”

Slowly, Benjamin found his smile returning. "Are you saying you don't believe us capable? Not that I can blame you, of course...our track record isn't exactly exemplary." Chuckling, his expression grew more thoughtful as he added, "Do you have any children, Mrs. Sullivan? I hope it's not uncouth of me to ask, I just...I feel you've got quite the remarkable bedside manner. My brother, on the other hand, did not."

Grinning at the memory, he realized it was the first time in a long time -- a long, long time -- that thinking of Samuel didn't chafe his soul akin to a gaping wound.

“Are you saying I don’t use common sense? Perhaps you shouldn’t answer that…I know all too well what you think of my impulse control – or lack thereof. Still… Sometimes, wandering down rabbit holes is what leads to answers. Had many of our scientific greats not kept asking questions, we might still be beating rocks together.” “Many of the scientific and theological minds that have changed our world also had time to go wandering down those holes. They were not in the middle of a war—they were sitting quite comfortably in manors and monasteries.” Maggie had great respect and understanding for scientific inquiries—in fact much of her work was built off those men and their studies. She could certainly not fault them… but that did not change the fact that they had time to indulge in experiments and ruminating about the mysteries of the universe over a tankard of ale. People like Benjamin and herself had no such time on their hands. Not in this current climate, anyways… Benjamin turned his attention toward the more pressing issue of his own life, and the inordinately heavy burdens he was placing on his own shoulders. His desire to match up to his father, and even be like the man, was admirable… but no man could hope to be exactly like another. For Benjamin, at least, he might be proud to be his father’s son, but he was also his mother’s son as well. That would have to play a role in how he saw the world, and moved through it. A smile eased over Maggie’s features as Benjamin spoke more freely of his father, and how the man swore a path of peace after the French and Indian war had ended. “Then, when the war is done, do you intend to do as your father did and move away from this new creation entirely? Or do you still wish to keep your hand in it in some way?” Maggie knew that was a large question to ask, especially with the war still looming over all of them as heavily as it was. Still, if they did not start even thinking about what the future might look like, then the war would end, and they would all be abruptly cut adrift without having anything to stabilize them. It was better to make tentative plans that could be altered quickly, than to become so entrapped in the moment that the changing of seasons caught them off-guard. Benjamin’s pause at her question was notable—if only because his hesitation was telling in its own right. Most of the people whom she asked a similar question to were able to assure her that they did not go around seeking fights, or excuses to maim and hurt others. The fact that Benjamin stammered over his reply indicated that something else was there, something he was trying to justify without wanting to come out and admit to it. Such revelations, and learning to live with them, were not in her field of experience. She might be able to recognize them for what they were, but to actually address them? That lay in the realm of the religious leaders more than in her own hands. She knew her own area, and she liked to stay there as much as possible. The Major amended his statement a moment later, the answer equally as damning as the pause had been. “I do what I have to do. Ugliness and all, it’s for the greater good.”

“Well, that’s the nature of war.” Maggie agreed before taking a step back toward the topic. “But, on your own time and outside the scope of your duties, do you intentionally seek to harm others? Do you go out looking for fights, or deliberately antagonize others with the intention of doing harm?” If he pursued such activities in his free time, Maggie would accept that as proof that the ugliness of war had begun to infect his heart. If he did not, she would be confident in saying that he was still a good man who had been forced to make some terrible choices for the greater success of a cause that he believed in. The conversation had become heavy enough to drag down on both of their shoulders. The mutual attempts to inject some levity into the discussion were well-received. Benjamin met her quip with one of his own. “Heaven forbid I become predictable. Still, I’ll try – key word being try – to stay in one piece. Just this once.” “That’s all I can ask of you men. I’d be creating unrealistic expectations of you all if I tried to pin you lot down to anything more complicated.”

[myckicade]

Prompt: Ok so we all know Coco is touch starved, and would be clingy af in a relationship. What about Coco x wife!reader, while she’s trying to do basic errands/chores and Coco is her shadow?

A/N: I’ve been waiting for this one. I really have. Hee hee. I just adore Coco. <3 . This piece sort of follows the story of the last two Coco x Reader pieces I have written, but it will stand-alone, just fine. And, I swear, these things just have a mind of their own. I can continue to apologize for length, and content, but, in the end... I let the story tell itself. ;) . <3 .

As a warning, I come from Vermont, where we have a plastic bag ban. Last I knew, California was the first state to have one. I don’t know how that would translate to Santo Padre, but… When I mention fabric bags, I mean reusables, and the ban is why. ^^;;;;.

Title: Worthwhile

Teaser: He’s a little rough, your Coco, foul-mouthed, and quick to anger. Untrusting, and bitchier than a woman, on his best day. But, once you have his love, you have it. All of it.

“Okay…” you murmur, slowly, eyes scanning over the paper in front of you. Fifteen items, nothing crazy. Shouldn’t take you more than an hour, tops, and that includes travel to and from the store. “I think I’ve got everything we need… And, specials included your beer, and those little frozen cream puffs.”

Beside you, Coco groans, deep and guttural. “Fuck, I love those things.”

You giggle, but keep reading. Your man is too damn cute. “Feminine products.”

“Do those count as special?” Coco genuinely sounds thoughtful, as he steps up behind you, where you are leaning over the counter top. He wraps his arms around your waist, chin coming to rest on your shoulder. “Kinda’ a necessity, ain’t they?”

Tipping your head, you glance to your husband. Seriously. This man is a treasure. “Why don’t you run for political office?” you tease, pleased when Coco chuckles.

“Yeah, my record’ll look great, on the campaign trail.”

You shrug. “You can tackle pink tax, and tax evasion, at the same time.”

Coco grins, and steals a peck off your lips. “What else you got on there, muñeca?”

“Hmmm, let’s see…” You turn back to your list, tapping the pen against your lips, thoughtfully. Spying the next item on it, you try not to let out another giggle. He’s not going to like this one. “Letty asked if we could have that cauliflower pizza thing for dinner, tonight.”

As expected, this groan is decidedly not from food lust. “Fuckin’ vegetarians. When the hell is she gonna’ get over this shit?”

“It’s just a phase, Coco,” you remind him, for the… Well, honestly, you’ve lost track. It started shortly after the wedding, Letty’s change in diet, and you’re still not convinced the two aren’t related. You’re just not entirely sure how. But, two months in, and she’s still looking healthy, so you won’t send up any alarms. “It’s very popular at her high school, right now.”

Coco scoffs, disgusted. “When the hell’d she start copyin’ other people, anyway? My girl ain’t no follower.”

The words send a shot straight to your heart. He’s a little rough, your Coco, foul-mouthed, and quick to anger. Untrusting, and bitchier than a woman, on his best day. But, once you have his love, you have it. All of it. The love he has for Leticia is the greatest proof. They may carry on like cats and dogs, but when push comes to shove, there is nothing they won’t do for one another. My girl. It brings a warmth to your soul, and a smile to your lips.

You shake it off, enough to formulate a response. “She’s figuring out how to be her own woman. Trying new things.” You shrug, not wanting to make a big deal of it. You were Letty’s age, once, of course. And, a girl, to boot. Some things, Coco just won’t be able to understand. “It’s a process.” He hums, still disgruntled, but doesn’t push out another word. “You want anything else?” you ask, holding up your list. “I’ve gotta’ get going, before I run into the football widows.”

Before you can even take a step away, Coco tightens his arms around you. “You sure you gotta’ go, though?” he asks, leaning in to brush his lips against your neck. “With the house all to ourselves, like this?”

“If I don’t go,” you start, as Coco’s touches gain intent, becoming teasing kisses. Damn him. It feels nice, you won’t lie, but there are other things on your mind, right now. Priorities.

You’re just… having trouble remembering what they are.

Oh. Yeah. Shopping.

“If I don’t go, we won’t have anything for dinner.”

Another kiss, accompanied by a barely-there swipe of tongue. You shiver, and Coco moves his lips to your ear. “We can order in,” he whispers, breath so invitingly warm against your skin.

Oh, this asshole.

“And, what are we supposed to have for breakfast, tomorrow?” you try, again. “Half an Eggo, and a pack of Skittles?”

Coco cuddles you closer, again. “Ain’t you never heard about livin’ on love, baby?” Some of his smoothest work, that is. And, it’s almost convincing. Almost. You can imagine the afternoon ahead, if you give in. Your clothes will come off, and won’t be back on until the last second, before Letty walks back through the front door. By that time, you’ll be too tired to roll your ass off the bed, let alone go grocery shopping. And, you promised Letty you’d talk Coco into that cauliflower pizza.

“Great as that sounds,” you agree, preparing to capitalize on the truth. You ease yourself away from Coco’s stubborn hold, and give him one more smooch, just to soften the blow to come. “I don’t think Letty will appreciate the sentiment.”

A third groan. You must be going for a record. “C’mon, (y/n).” Oh, he’s whining. It’s so cute, it’s unreal. “We’ll find some place that delivers that rabbit food shit.”

Unfortunately for Coco, you’re already grabbing your bag. Lucky for you. You’re still two seconds from giving him what he wants. (He just doesn’t need to know so). “I’ll be back in a while.” God willing. “If you think of anything else, call my cell.” You rush out the front door, and don’t look back. If you see the look on your husband’s face, you know you’re as good as done.

*

Well, what the shit? Coco stares at the front door as it closes, you on the wrong fucking side of it. His arms are at his sides, palms turned toward the ceiling. That went so well. He kind of can’t believe you just walked away, like that. Left him alone, and wanting. In your big, empty house.

He probably should have volunteered to tag along, instead of just chasing you off.

Fuck.

Glancing around, Coco tries to find something to do. Something to clean, at the very least. But, that’s the trouble with having moved in with you, after the wedding, he supposes. Ain’t nothing to tidy up. Not that the three of you don’t have possessions. They’re all just in their proper places. Probably Leticia’s doing, in the end. He’d had a long talk with her, before the move, that she absolutely has to keep her shit where it belongs. Your house isn’t like their house. There aren’t burn marks in the carpet, or gouges in the coffee table. Dishes go in the damned dishwasher, not left to pile up on the counter, or in the sink. Beds get made. Laundry gets folded, and put away. No more wrinkled heaps in the clothes basket. So far, the kid’s been doing good. Real good.

Coco, though? He’s never felt so unnerved in his life.

It was different when he just visited. Spent a night or two, here or there. He’d almost felt at home, then, stupid as it sounds. At home, with the knowledge he wasn’t staying. But, now? Now, the reality has settled in, and he feels so-so… out of place. There’s so much he’s struggling to adjust to.

You have a purified water system installed under the sink, where Coco is used to buying bottled water.

You have a dining room, where Coco and Letty are used to eating on the couch.

You have an extended cable package, whatever the fuck that is.

You kind of have it all, here, certainly by comparison to what Coco is used to. The best of everything. Which really makes him wonder – not for the first time – what the hell you’re doing with a dirt-poor biker for a husband? You’ve had this conversation, on multiple occasions, and you’ve explained yourself, every time. But, this time… This time, you’re not around to give that speech. You’re not around to hold him, and kiss his face, and reassure him in a way that only you can. No, you’re at the grocery store, shopping for Coco, and his kid, which was apparently a better offer than staying home with him.

Oh, nope. Nope, he’s doing it, again. He can feel it. You love him, he reminds himself. You’ve got his ring on your finger, his last name, and – God-willing – his baby in your belly. By choice. All by choice.

Coco takes a deep breath, in. Lets it back out, slowly. Tries not to get sick, for all the nerves coming up to greet him. He wraps one arm around his own torso, free hand moving up to cover his mouth.

Fuck, he hopes you get back, soon.

*

You let out a deep sigh, as you park your car in the garage. Oh, it is so good to be home, at long-last. Talk about Old Home Week. You’d run into everyone, and his brother, at the grocery store. Shopping had taken nearly twice as long as you’d meant for it to, and you just know Coco must be losing his mind, by now. You hate to think about it, in such terms, but, sometimes… Well, sometimes, Coco reminds you of a new puppy. You can’t really leave him alone, without some kind of separation anxiety creeping up on him.

Ah, well. At least he isn’t ripping down the drapes, and shredding the couch cushions.

You blink. Well. That you know of.

Shaking your head, you climb out of the car, mentally preparing to unload armloads of bags. Maybe, if you really, really try, today will be the day you can finally get all twenty bags in, in one trip.

Right. And, shortly thereafter, you can have both forearms set, and casted. Be a real turn-on, in the bedroom.

You’ve managed to grab half a dozen bags, when the door to the mud room opens. “Hey, don’t grab too many!” Letty warns, as she comes hopping down the steps. “Let us help!”

Glancing up, you smile. For having had such a rough start, Letty can be a sweet girl. You know she gets that from her father. “Well, thank you,” you reply, resting a few, fabric handles onto her outstretched hands.

Letty grins, lowering her hands to her sides, before leaning in. “Did you talk him into it?” she whispers, conspiratorially.

You snicker, and whisper back, “He isn’t getting a choice. He’s outnumbered.”

“Yes!” Her hiss of victory is hardly subtle, catching Coco’s attention as he pokes his head out the door.

“You two plottin’ against me, again?”

“Yes,” you and Letty reply, in unison, leading you to erupt into a fit of giggles.

Coco is all grins. “’Course, you are.” He strides closer, he and Letty dancing around one another as she moves into the house. You lean into the car, and retrieve a few more bags. If Coco’s out here, he might as well assist. He’s peering into the car, once you stand back up, and lets out a low whistle. “Damn, (y/n)! You buy out the whole store, or what?”

“Hardly,” you reply, dryly. You hold up your hands, offering Coco the bags. “Here you go.”

“Oh, don’t mind if I do.” Thankfully, your hold on the bags is solid. Instead of grabbing the groceries, Coco’s hands are suddenly groping all over you. One hand is settled firmly at your ass, the other sliding into your hair, at the back of your head. He wastes no time diving in for a slow, deep kiss, and, damn, does his timing suck. He could have at least let you put the bags down, first. The contact makes you tingle, and has you regretting your decision not to stay home. Coco pulls back, after a few seconds, and hums. “Mm. Best delivery ever.”

You can’t help the small snort of amused laughter that leaves your throat. “Good try, Coco,” you praise, easing back far enough to offer him the bags, again. The look of disappointment on his face is just pitiful. “I’m not banging you in the garage.”

He has the grace to mock gasp. “I’d never!” It’s a crock, and you both know it. He looks too amused to be repentant, and you look too aware to be angry. You just raise your hands, slightly, in a third offer. Coco sighs. “All right. All right.” He takes the bags from your hands.

“Thank you.” You grab another load for yourself, rounding the open car door to follow Coco’s lead, into the house. One more trip for each of you, and you should have it covered. So much for only buying fifteen items.

Coco might be right about buying out the store.

*

Watching from the dining room, Coco has a good view of you and Letty unpacking the last of the groceries. Damn kid, she’d thrown him out, about ten minutes prior.

“Less groping, more helping, Coco,” Letty had warned him, after he’d tried to pin you against the sink.

It had been his last warning. Now, he’s been banished. Not the worst thing in the world, not really. Over the last few weeks, he’s really learned that there are some tasks he’s not so fond of. Pruning roses… Yeah, he’s pretty sure you’ll never let him do that, again. And, hey, nobody told him what to fill the bird feeder with. Unpacking groceries goes on that list, somewhere between line-drying laundry, and a streak-free mirror. He’s not sure why. Goodness knows, it makes him feel like a kid at Christmas, most times. Since being with you, though…

Since being with you, he feels like he’s taking advantage of something.

Yes, groceries are a strange place to let that feeling land, but he can’t help it. Coco’s been responsible for feeding himself since before he cares to remember. The only time anyone provided his meals was during deployment, and half that shit barely passed for edible. You, though… You keep the house stocked with more food than he’s seen anywhere, outside of a corner market. Letty always has options to take to school, and there’s a nutritious dinner on the table, almost every night. (Some nights, he actually does win the battle for delivery). If Coco goes on a run, you send him along with snacks for the road. And, yeah, he kinda’ likes that. He also likes the energy bars you picked out for him, last week. Something with cherries, and dark chocolate. He wonders, for a second, if you picked up any more. Come in handy during his mid-week trip outta’ town.

Coco blinks. Then, he does it again, just for good measure. That’s it. That’s what’s so fucking weird about this whole thing.

It’s you.

Okay, no, it’s not you, you. But, it’s you. It’s you, taking care of him. It’s you, seeing to his needs. Letty’s needs. It’s you, being his wife, his partner. It’s you, slotting into the place of role-model for his teenaged daughter. Welcoming them into your home. Not treating it like it’s your home. It’s you, being so fucking perfect for him, it’s taken his mind all this time to catch up with reality.

Coco doesn’t get perfect. Perfect doesn’t want him.

Except, now, it does.

Before he knows what he’s doing, Coco strides into the kitchen. He doesn’t wait for you to put the box of pasta in the cupboard. He just takes it from your hand, ignoring your confused look, as he tosses it onto the counter.

“Coco!” Letty admonishes, but it’s no use. He’s already lifting you off the floor, arms around your perfect backside. The kid gives a long-suffering sigh, he hears it, but pays it no mind.

Nothing – nothing – is going to keep him from holding you in his arms.

Your own arms go around Coco’s neck, and you smile down at him, surprise still lingering in your eyes. “Uhm… Hi, there.”

Coco grins. “Hey, muñeca.” Leaning up, he pecks you on the lips.

“Can I help you with something?” you ask, to which Coco shakes his head. Closes his eyes, as your fingers play in his hair.

“Nah. Got all I need.”

*

Pulling a package of mixed vegetables from the half-unpacked shopping bag, Letty rolls her eyes. You two… God, you’re gross. Coco always has his hands on you, no matter what you’re trying to do. It’s a wonder you don’t carry a damned fly swatter around. Actually, it’s a wonder you ever accomplish anything. He’s always smooching, and smiling, and snuggling at you. It’s disgusting. It’s pathetic.

It’s so damned cute, it’s sickening.

Really, Letty’s enjoying seeing Coco so happy. Like, genuinely happy. Not the false pride he carries around with his kutte. He’s more relaxed, nowadays. He drinks less, and he spends more time at home, both of which mean he’s not hanging around with those skanks at the clubhouse. He eats more, he’s healthier… Nothing to complain about, there.

And, hey, she has no complaints about you, either. You’re pretty cool, all-around. A woman who takes care of herself, and her family, and doesn’t bitch about either one. You’re not using Coco for money, or status, none of the shit she’s always been worried her father would fall into. There aren’t arguments, every night, not even between herself and Coco, as of late. No hostilities, nothing to avoid the house over. Just good dinners, and movies, and a new fish tank in her room. (Okay, so, you’d earned some major points with that birthday gift. She hadn’t actually expected to get one, when she’d mentioned it). For the first time, she understands what a peaceful, happy family feels like. It feels nice. It feels like home.

Glancing back to where Coco now has you perched on the counter top, stealing the most syrupy-sweet smooches… Letty can’t help but smile. Home is A-okay by her.

*

The sound of the air conditioner humming in the bedroom usually lulls you right to sleep. Tonight, it’s just providing you with white noise, a low background track to your thoughts. You don’t mind, not really. It gives you a few minutes to reflect on the day that’s just ended. To plan your day, tomorrow. To weave your fingers through Coco’s hair, and listen to him breathe. That, alone, makes it worthwhile.

Coco has been asleep against your shoulder for nearly an hour, now. Your arms are wrapped around him, comfortably, his own around your waist. You’d urged him up to bed, after he’d fallen asleep on the couch, his head in your lap. He’d snoozed from the middle of the movie, to the end of the nightly news report. Letty had tsked, and complained that no one had any business, whatsoever, in falling asleep during Zombieland. (How he’d stayed asleep was still a wonder to you, both, for how hard you’d been laughing at Tallahassee). With your fingers in his hair, Coco had been blissfully unaware for a couple of hours.

Glancing down, you take in the sight of your husband’s sleeping face. He looks so damn peaceful, the kind you’d outright murder to preserve for him. Coco’s still struggling with sleep, and relaxation, even though you’d hoped it would ease up, once your nuptials had passed. Most of it, you know will never go away. Anxiety doesn’t have a magic wand, or some perfect little on/off switch. And, all things considered, today wasn’t a terrible day. You’d been able to leave the house, with minimal panic on Coco’s part. Granted, it had taken extra time to get the groceries put away, and dinner made, but… You understand, as much as you are able to, that Coco needs the reassurances. It doesn’t cost you anything to carve a few moments from the day, every here and there, to give him what he needs.

Okay, so it did cost you that first batch of pancakes, this morning. They’d burned on the stove, and set off the smoke alarms, when he’d insisted on a dance through the living room. But, Coco loved the song you’d been playing on your Spotify, so there was really no denying him.

Oh, and… Yeah, you’d missed that phone call from the bank, the week before. Your husband had slipped up next to you, on the porch swing, and snuggled you to within an inch of your life. An easy fix, and you still got the business loan, but…

And, sure, you’ve been late to work, on numerous occasions. Coco has a habit of sneaking into your morning shower. And, after that… Well, hell, you own the company. It’s not like you have to explain to the boss that you’re late to your shift, on account of baby-dancing. (Fucking forums).

Point is, you’re more than happy to take care of Coco’s emotional needs. It may take you an extra hour to pay your bills. Daily tidying may have become every-other-day-if-you’re-lucky tidying. And, your ass may have gone numb, tonight, while he slept on your thigh. During which time, you could have loaded the dishwasher. Taken out the trash. Any number of tasks that have been neglected, in the name of Coco. They can wait.

Leaning in, you press a tender kiss to your husband’s forehead, before settling back in, and closing your eyes. Yes, chores can wait. Work can wait. The whole world can hold it, with both hands. So long as you’re around, Coco’s well-being will never have to take the back seat.

*

P.S. If Coco denies it, he’s full of it. He fucking loved that cauliflower pizza. Fucking vegetarians, indeed.

Masterlist | Request | Tag List

[dreamwritesimagines]

Burn The Witch 13 - Trouble [Bucky Barnes x Reader]

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support and feedback my loves ! ❤ Here’s the next chapter, I hope you like it as well and please let me know what you think! ❤ Thank you! ❤❤❤

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, fake dating, mentions of blood, sex, violence, death, manipulation, language, guns, knives.

Summary: Fights can be inevitable.

Series Masterlist

Oh God damn it.

This mission was not supposed to include anything from your real life, and it certainly was not supposed to include your real life ex-boyfriend.

Not only was this going to make things very, very complicated, it also put the entire operation in danger. No part of the background that was specifically created for your cover had any details on your ex relationships and you didn’t think you would have to come up with something now.

Well. For what it was worth, you weren’t the one who came up with it.

“Just joking man. I’m her ex-boyfriend but no worries, I pose no danger.”

Bucky didn’t even dignify that with an answer and you heaved a sigh, trying to control the anger bubbling in your stomach.

“Yeah,” you managed to say, “Yeah, we used to—um, we used to date.”

Bucky frowned, “Didn’t you say you moved here two months ago?”

“I did move here two months ago.”

“We used to date back in Oregon,” Julian explained and Bucky huhed.

“Yet here you are.”

“Yeah you know, the big apple,” Julian motioned around you, “I just got a job here and I figured I could come and see Y/N. Small town people have to look out for each other, you see.”

You gritted your teeth, watching him with narrowed eyes.

“She took you there yet?” Julian asked Bucky “Cannon Beach?”

“No,” you answered on his behalf and Julian clicked his tongue.

“I guess you could take him with you when you visit next month,” he said, “Surely you are visiting next month?”

“I don’t think I am.”

“Come on, no way.” he said, his voice filled with disbelief. “It’s sand castles contest time, you love that contest!”

Right.

Julian had always been the best at playing the civilian and memorizing the back story of any cover. He was great at lying and that was why every mission you had gone on with him was that easy, he could fool anyone.

Including you.

“She came in fourth place two years ago, she made this dragon castle, you should’ve seen it.” He told Bucky, and you rolled your eyes.

Fourth place.

Easy enough to make someone believe, hard enough to find a trace of on the internet.

Julian was an asshole for sure, but he was a great spy and now you were beginning to remember why though every mission with him was a success, you had still avoided it even before your break up.

This was what he did, he took over every single assignment, no matter who was the leader.

Not this time. This was your mission and your mission only.

“Y/N, did you….” Julian let out a chuckle, “Did you tell him about the time your grandma caught us at the—“

“It was good so see you,” you cut him off, glaring at him “But you should probably go now, I’m kind of busy.”

Julian paused only for a moment before holding up his hands, gesturing surrender.

“Okay,” he said, “It was nice to see you too. Again.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“It was nice to meet you Bucky,” he said, “Take care of yourself, Y/N.”

He walked away from you and you closed your eyes for a moment, leaning your head back to the wall.

“Fuck this shit,” you murmured under your breath without even realizing it wasn’t something your cover would say, and opened your eyes to look up at Bucky.

“Was he bothering you or something?” he asked you and you scoffed.

“Please,” you muttered but then pulled yourself together. “He’s not…that type no. Just annoying, that’s all.”

“Are you sure? Because I can—“

“No,” you shook your head fervently, “No, please don’t. It’s fine, it’s just— who he is.”

How dare he?

How dare he try to take over your mission? You had put so much thought into this, coming up with multiple strategies, trying to convince yourself that-

That you were doing the right thing. Even if you felt yourself getting lost in this cover, it didn’t mean that Julian could swoop in and take this over as if you were a rookie agent in need of help.

This whole assignment belonged to you, not to anyone else.

If you were going to betray Bucky’s trust and feel like the most terrible person in the world, the least you could do was not let Julian take the credit.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” you attempted to change the subject and Bucky tilted his head.

“Come on Y/N, don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“You don’t have to pretend like it’s fine,” he shrugged his shoulders, “I mean you don’t have to pretend, ever.”

Okay, this was too much. You could almost feel your defenses going up, the whole hangover and stress and anger and now Bucky being able to tell you were faking something, it was all getting the best of you and if you weren’t careful, you would say something you would regret later.

“I’m sorry?”

“I just,” he took a deep breath, “Sometimes you’re like…too good to be true, you know? And Sam has this theory that you’re—you’re somehow you’re doing this for me or the people around you but you don’t have to.”

“You think I’m pretending?” you asked, your voice coming out way too defensive for your own cover but you could hardly care.

You were slipping, and you didn’t have the luxury to slip. It seemed to take Bucky by surprise because for the first time since you had met, you were-

Aggressive. That was the word. Less like your cover and more like your real self.

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” he said and you let out a bitter chuckle, nodding.

“Yeah,” you said, “Okay. I’m kind of busy you see, I have so much to do at the shop so I should probably go back inside.”

“Y/N—“ he started but you pushed yourself off the wall.

“No it’s fine,” you managed to say, “This is me not pretending, for the record. I’ll see you later I guess.”

With that, you walked past him and went back to the milkshake shop, fury still poisoning your insides.

                                                 ***

You could hardly wait until you could go back to the base. Even though you thought that by then you would have calmed down, that didn’t seem to be the case.

You were fucking good at your job, and you were going to prove it to anyone and everyone. Without any help.

“Is he here yet?” you asked Chloe who rushed to greet you as soon as you stepped out of the elevator into the base and she cleared her throat.

“Who?”

“Don’t even, I know you heard what happened,” you cut her off and she shifted her weight.

“Yeah. I read his report.”

“Exactly. Where is he?”

“Okay, before I tell you where he is I feel like it’s important that you remember we’re not supposed to kill our own agents,” she said, “The paper work is a nightmare.”

“Where is he?”

“Keith says it’s considered rude to kill your team members.”

“Chloe,” you looked her in the eye “Where is he?”

She heaved a sigh, “In the training room.”

“Great, more weapons to use,” you muttered as you walked away from her to walk downstairs to the training room. Anger was pulsing through your veins and you kicked the door open, making the pair currently trying to hit each other stop.

“Get out,” you nodded at the other agent and Julian let out a small chuckle before he wiped his face with the towel. The agent rushed out of the room and you narrowed your eyes at Julian.

“You look upset,” he commented, “Want to exercise it out of your system?”

“What the fuck was that?”

Julian uncapped his water bottle to take a huge sip. “Come on, I saw an opening-“

“You made that opening,” you cut him off, “And crossed the line.”

“Oh please,” he waved a hand in the air, “It worked out perfectly fine.”

You could barely control your voice now, “You almost blew my fucking cover!”

“I would never,” he said, “Trust me, if anything I did you a favor.”

You dug your fingernails into your palms, “A favor?”

“Yeah. Guys love competition, an ex-boyfriend being in the picture will even speed up the process.”

“This is my mission.” You said through your teeth, “You don’t get to make spontaneous decisions without running them by me first.”

“When was the last time you had a proper fight?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You always get cranky if you haven’t had a good challenge in a while,” he stated, “A good fight. I take it your boyfriend doesn’t tire you out enough?”

The innuendo wasn’t lost on you and you let out a small chuckle.

“You couldn’t tire me out if you tried.”

He tilted his head, “Is that a promise?”

You shot him a look and lunged but he easily dodged you, scowling.

“Come on Y/N,” he taunted you, “I won’t hold back, you shouldn’t either.”

“Oh don’t worry, I won’t hold back.” you grinned at him and darted to grab at him but he twisted your hand to push you back, making your back hit the wall. You pulled your hair into a ponytail and jumped to wrap your legs around his neck, spinning in the air to shove him to the ground. As soon as you both fell, you straddled him and pulled the dagger out of your boots to raise it and slam it to the ground right next to his head. A sly grin pulled at his lips as if he was having the time of his life.

“Look at you babe,” he said, “You got even better.”

You were very, very aware of the position you had both found yourself in. You used to find this whole thing hot, it was like foreplay to you. Mock fighting, training, all of it -especially with Julian- it used to be your second favorite activity.

Now, all you could think about was just how much more fun it would be with Bucky.

Maybe Julian was right. Maybe you were just a wild card.

A smirk curled your lips and you leaned in slightly to lock your eyes with his, looking down at him.

“My mission,” you growled. “Not yours. The next time you try to control what’s mine, I won’t be so nice.”

You pushed the dagger into your boot again and got off of him before storming out of the training room, still trying to keep your anger in check.

For some reason, you had a feeling it wouldn’t work.

                                               ***

No matter what you did for the rest of the evening, it just wasn’t enough to calm you down. Now to think of it, it wasn’t even completely about Julian and his nonsense, it was because—

You didn’t want Bucky to think you were pretending, even if you were.

Just because it was a cover, didn’t mean your reactions and the happiness you felt with him was fake as well. But he could still tell something was off— Sam could still tell something was off despite your best efforts.

Great.

You poured wine into your glass and changed the channel, trying to decide whether you should go and bug Keith or not. You heaved a sigh and tore your eyes from the screen to lean your head back, nibbling on your lip.

Dealing with feelings was much more difficult than taking down a target.

You groaned to yourself and took a huge sip of your wine, but before you could grab your phone you heard the doorbell ring. Your head shot up and you grabbed your gun to walk to the door, but as soon as you looked through the peephole to avoid yet another mistake like actually opening the door to Julian, you froze.

Bucky.

….Fuck.

“Um- just a second!” you called out before rushing to your room to hide your gun, then quickly looked around the apartment to see if there was anything that could tip him off. Overall, it looked perfectly civilian and you ran a hand over your face to pull yourself together.

Your cover was supposed to be angry at him.

You threw your shoulders back and walked to the door to open it, then leaned sideways to the doorframe, your lips pulled into a slight pout.

“Hi,” you murmured and his gaze lingered on your shorts and flimsy tank top before he looked away for a moment.

Ah.

Compared to 1940s, it was almost the same as you opening the door in your underwear.

“Hey,” he said and held up a small box of bagels. “Listen, I know you’re angry but um…I was hoping we could talk?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Keith’s door opening and he stepped out but as soon as he caught the sight of Bucky on your doorstep, his eyes widened and he froze. He quickly fixed his jacket so that it would cover his gun tucked into the back of the waistband of his jeans and gawked at you.

“What the fuck?” he mouthed and you got momentarily distracted, causing Bucky to follow your gaze over his shoulder to Keith.

And Keith, the badass spy, probably the only spy in the whole division who could give you a hard time in a fight, whom you had seen take down five armed soldier by himself with no weapons-

He waved at Bucky.

“Hi- hi neighbor,” he stammered as he turned to you and you shot him a forced smile.

“Hi.”

“Thanks for the cookies, I was going to bring you your plate the other day,” he said, “Do you need it now?”

Translation: Do you need back up?

“No, no,” you shook your head, “No worries, it’s fine.”

“Alright then. See you later.”

You cleared your throat and took the box from Bucky.

“Come in,” you turned around to walk to the living room, hearing him close the door behind him. It didn’t take him long to step into the living room and his eyes darted around as if trying to take in as much as he could. You figured it was natural, homes always gave clues about who their owners were.

Not to mention, as an ex-assassin he was automatically finding the nearest exits and things to use as weapons.

You would know. You did the same thing whenever you were in a new place.

You peeked into the box and frowned.

“What is this?”

“To be honest with you, I have no idea,” Bucky admitted, “It’s supposed to be a bagel. I just asked the guy to give me the most modern and weirdest combination.”

“Is this—is this glitter?”

“He said it was edible glitter, yeah. With lavender and cheese with honey.”

“Why is there two of them?”

He put his hands into his pockets. “I figured I could try one.”

You blinked a couple of times, “You want to try a lavender cheese honey bagel with edible glitter.”

Even the sound of it seemed to be painful for him but he pressed his lips together and nodded fervently. “Mm hm.”

You tried to stop the smile threatening to warm your face and put the box on the coffee table before looking up at him.

“Bucky, listen—“

“I’m sorry,” he cut you off, “That comment back there, it was so uncalled for.”

You crossed your arms, “Why did you say that though?” you asked, “Is that—is that what you think?”

“No,” he shook his head fervently, “Of course not.”

“Then?”

“I don’t know if I can give an explanation without it sounding incredibly weird to you.”

“Try me.”

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” he said “It’s like— the way you are, it’s like someone somehow looked into my whole life back in 40s before everything and saw every single detail of what I wanted and made you.”

Yeah. That was exactly what you and the division had done.

“I’m not used to…” he motioned at you, “This. It’s like you’re too good to be true, like you’re perfect, does that make sense?”

A dull pain flipped your stomach and you stared up at him, trying to ignore your throat tightening before you went to sit down on the couch.

“I’m not,” you rasped out, “I’m not perfect. You’ll see it sooner or later.”

That right there was as honest as you could be with him. You rubbed at your eyes and grabbed the wine glass to take a huge sip as he sat down beside you, his gaze fixated on you.

“I’m sorry too,” you said, “It was an overreaction, it’s just… Julian’s effect on me.”

He stayed silent for a couple of seconds as if he had no idea how to approach the topic.

“Rough break up?”

“You could say that,” you scoffed a laugh, looking down at your glass, “I mean….you think you know a person, right? And they have no problem with proving you otherwise, prove that you didn’t know them at all. They—they betray your trust and everything was a lie all along and—“

And just like that, the realization hit you like a ton of bricks, making you stop talking.

You were doing exactly the same. It was just another version of the betrayal you had seen from Julian, and you were doing the same thing to Bucky.

He thought he knew you, and you would prove him otherwise, and betray his trust and walk away when this mission was over. In fact, by the time it was over, he would hate you even more than you hated Julian.

You cursed under your breath and took another sip of your wine, trying to ease the crushing guilt making you feel almost breathless.

“Sorry,” you managed to say, “I didn’t mean to unleash it on you, I just don’t want him anywhere near me.”

“I could pay him a visit if you want?”

You pulled your brows together, distracted for a moment before you tilted your head to the side.

“What?”

“To warn him to stay away from you.”

“Uh, I appreciate the chivalry,” you said, “But I can take care of myself.”

“Never said you couldn’t,” he pointed out, “It’s just the old-fashioned thing.”

“Oh the old-fashioned thing?” you repeated with a smile and he shrugged his shoulders.

“Yeah,” he said, “You know, taking care of my girl.”

You thought your heart would leap out of your throat as the warmth spread through you before the idea of betraying him hit you once again. The words felt like they were trying to escape from your mouth, the urge to come clean getting heavier and heavier before you leaned in to brush your lips against his, making him wrap his arms tight around you to pull you closer. You settled in his embrace, the back of your eyes burning but you blinked a couple of times to get rid of tears. He nuzzled into your hair, inhaling your scent.

“Can we stay like this for a while?” you asked and he smiled, pressing a kiss on top of your head.

“Sure thing,” he said and nodded at the TV screen, “What is this movie about?”

“I don’t know, it has cars and criminals,” you said, the guilt making you feel almost nauseous, “Bucky?”

“Hm?”

He would never understand what your confession actually meant, but you felt as if you would choke if you didn’t say it.

“I like who I am when I’m with you.”

A chuckle rumbled in his chest before he reached out to caress your cheekbone.

“Makes two of us darling,” he murmured, “I like who I am when I’m with you too.”

A bitter smile curled your lips and you bit inside your cheek to control yourself, sniffling inaudibly before you closed your eyes, enjoying his warmth.

Chapter 14

[citrusfield]

with a slight grimace at the state of the current dating pool, she can only shrug. “yeah, the bar is quite literally on the floor, but what can i say? that’s the sad reality of trying to date a lot of men these days. they don’t want you to be smarter than them, to make more money, to have your own needs. i don’t know why they even bother getting into a relationship when they know they’re never going to be satisfied… so yes, i do agree with your sister. you shouldn’t be a rarity, but you are. it’s a relief, honestly. you don’t have to sit there and listen to me whine about my feelings over an ex, yet you do. there are plenty of people out there who work for someone they can’t stand, someone who would roll their eyes at any type of complaint, and knowing that i can trust you is… i don’t know, it’s nice.” they never would’ve thought they’d be having a personal conversation with their boss — assumed that since there are so many staff, they would always be kept at a distance — but it’s already made them feel more relaxed. he may be in charge, but he clearly hasn’t let that power go to his head. “well, it certainly did that at least. i think i know better now.” she’d rather chew glass than find herself in a relationship that’s anything like her last. maybe that’s why she’s been so hesitant to enter another one these last few years; her self-esteem, while still nowhere close to where it should be, is considerably higher than it was back then. she’s no longer foolish enough to be with anybody who views her as inferior and she isn’t going to go begging for somebody to finally treat her well. “wait, you’re offering to help me study for the boards?” there’s a hint of surprise in riley’s voice that can’t be hidden. he’s already shared with her how devastatingly busy he is on a daily basis and adding another task that’s so inconsequential to his life on top of that has no real benefits for him. why on earth would he want to do that to himself?

“oh, i don’t think she would ever hate you. you’ve taken something monumental that you didn’t ask for, something that was thrust upon you, and you’re still doing all you can to turn it into something special. you’re making sure she’s not forgotten and that everything you do is done with her in your heart. how could she not be proud of you for that?” if she were in his shoes, she’s not sure she would’ve been able to handle the same type of pressure. discovering you have siblings is one thing — they aren’t their father and his actions should not reflect badly on them — but an absent parent suddenly showing up in your life to guilt you into continuing his legacy? she’s never been one for meanness or cruelty, but the urge to tell the man to go fuck himself would’ve been strong. “not exactly. in fairness, i didn’t know him, so maybe i shouldn’t be allowed to judge him so harshly, but from everything i’ve heard, both from you and a few others… let’s just say that he doesn’t seem like someone i would’ve gotten along with. i don’t know if i could’ve worked for a man like him. i probably would’ve left a long time ago.” there are a number of other hospitals out there that would be happy to take on a prospect such as riley and she would’ve taken full advantage of that fact. “i know. don’t worry, i’m not going to start dumping all of my problems onto your shoulders just because you were nice to me once — and i definitely don’t expect any more dinners, for the record.” they hadn’t even expected this one and they aren’t entirely over the shock of the invitation just yet. their day has been full of surprises around every corner, not all of them good, and they haven’t had more than a second to try and process it all.

“yeah, they’ve had it for years now. the place was refurbished just after i finished med school, so it's gotten a little fancier too.” she has many childhood memories of sitting at the counter with a milkshake for sustenance as she finished her homework for the evening. it’s a shame she doesn’t get to visit as often these days, but she does her best to drop by every now and then when she isn’t quite as busy. “oh, ouch,” they say as theatrically as possible. the teasing is deserved, but that doesn’t mean they’ll let him get away with it so easily. “i see how it is… you are so lucky there’s nothing i can throw at you right now.” although the napkins sitting atop the table are suddenly looking real tempting. “i’ve been doing it since i was small, i suppose. i’d see my mum baking all the time and like every curious child, i’d insist on trying to help so she’d let me do the easy bits at first until i was old enough to properly learn how everything worked. i wouldn’t say that makes me a professional or anything, but… i think i’m pretty good. i mostly just do it now when i’m stressed out or need a distraction.” there’s also the odd occasion where they’ll bake something for a loved one and if tonight goes well, hayes might be on the receiving end of a thank you batch of cookies soon enough. “oh, i can definitely believe that. i try my best to be a good influence on her, i swear, but she can be very convincing when she wants to be. i’m almost jealous of her liveliness.” if riley could get through the day without feeling drained right down to the bone and still have enough energy left to go out for a drink, they absolutely would, but it’s never been a part of their nature. maybe that’s why she and jenny are such good friends; they help balance each other out. 

“uh… technically, i was very vague in what i was trying to say so it was entirely open to interpretation, but… whatever you’re thinking is probably right. i’m not calling you out or anything, i’d be a bit of a hypocrite if i tried to do that. i just think that there are some pretty huge differences between having family around and having a partner that can provide you with other things.” not that he would have any trouble with finding physical affection somewhere if that’s what he chose to do, but she’s beginning to realise that maybe this isn’t the smoothest topic of conversation to be having with the man who owns her place of employment. he did say they were friends and this is something that would fit with that dynamic, but the last thing she wants is to make him feel judged in any way, so it might be time to rein it in. “i’m sorry, did you say that i’m cool?” a bemused laugh slips out next and their head shakes in disbelief. “because if so, we’ve definitely gotten our wires crossed here. that is not a word that should be used to describe me at all.” intelligent would be one thing, compassionate another, but cool? never in a million years would she think that would be an apt choice. 

for someone who always appears to be so composed and in control of the situation, watching as hayes begins to fumble is such a shock that they can only stare for a moment, brain freezing into a brief panic and replaying everything they’d just said back on a loop. they can’t immediately identify which specific part it was that made him flush and the uncertainty has her shifting in her seat, restlessness re-entering her body as if trying not to curl in on herself in embarrassment. this is exactly why she’d asked him not to hold her words against her. “i’m… i’m sorry, i shouldn't have said any of that. i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. we’ve already established that i talk too much, so you really don't have to listen to me... like ever.” at least whatever nonsense she spouted gave him enough confidence to actually consider asking out his crush for real. if one good thing had to come from this, she’s glad it was that. “i was just kidding about my mouth, by the way. i’m not delusional, i don’t actually think that you want to…” their voice trails off and they gesture vaguely towards their mouth before cringing at their own actions and quickly dropping their hands into their lap instead. yeah, definitely not cool. “good… good, i’m glad. i think you deserve it, that’s all. you shouldn’t be worried about whether or not they’ll be into you or how it might be received by them. you’ll be fine, trust me.” they try to smile, but there’s an underlying sense of nervousness to it and for a split second, she wonders if she’s just royally messed up this newfound friendship before it’s had a real chance to begin. that would be a typical riley move.

“you really need to stop flattering me, sir. i don’t want to blush again.” why he believes in them so fiercely, they’re not sure they’ll ever understand, but they aren’t going to turn it away. they know that they’re smart, but he seems to see more of them than just their intelligence, which is a lot more than they can say for most. she’d grown used to being known merely as ‘the one with the good memory’ a long time ago. it's strange to finally be experiencing something different for once. “i probably wouldn’t be able to succeed in my career at all if the hospital i worked in wasn’t run by someone who cared so much, so… thanks for that.” now their smile is more genuine and they wonder how they could’ve gone from being at one of their lowest points to joking over dinner. “i’ll admit, it makes the idea of potentially running a whole clinic a little less daunting.”

"Well, then let's hope you don't have to run into him ever again." Hayes let out a soft chuckle, hoping to move on from the subject of their ex, considering that this prick did not deserve either one of their time of day to begin with. Upon hearing Riley's words, he could not hide the fact that he had become rather flushed. He felt his cheeks grow warm, the smile on his lips growing wider as he glanced down at his lap, and shook his head. He had never been the best at taking compliments to begin this, but this might had been a step too far. "You're really going to agree with her on this? I was so certain that she was just taking the piss." He remarked, another laugh leaving his lips before he shook his head. "I can never get myself to understand how being a supportive man has become this... extraordinary thing. It's literally the bare minimum, being a decent human being. But the fact that it's so rare... I have never been more appalled by anything else in my life." Truth be told, Hayes would never consider himself to be rare, or special, just because he had treated women with respect. The fact that it seemed that way was quite infuriating, as it had shown him just how low the expectations are for men to be considered as decent in this society. "I like to believe that attracting the wrong ones, as you say, is something that is necessary... it's a learning experience on what not to do, or what not to put up with. It teaches us to have better standards." He shrugged, his genuine smile remaining plastered across his lips. "I mean, you did pretty well on your own, if I do say so myself. I don't think you needed anyone to help you get through medical school, though I won't deny that it's always nice to have some support. I mean it, Riley. If you ever need any help, whether it's studying for the boards, or questions about patient care, anything... my office is always open." As a matter of fact, it was open for everyone, but certainly for her.

"I like to think that my mother's proud of me... that she's been watching over me since the day she left me, watching over me from wherever she is. I know she's still here... somewhere. I definitely know that she's not happy with the way my dad managed to weave his way back into my life, or with the fact that he made me take on his legacy, a legacy that I never wanted. My mother hated that man, but I was so worried that she might have hated me too... for taking that on, you know? God knows that I only stayed for my sisters. But now that I've taken over the hospital, I've been trying my best to keep her legacy alive. I still hold onto the values that she instilled in me, and no matter how far up the bureaucracy I may be, I'll never let that change who I am. I may be my father's heir, but I am my mother's son. It's why I practice with her maiden name. I'll never be an Adams." Nor did he ever want to be. For as long as he lived, he would always be Hayes. "You're really not all that fond of my father, are you?" He could not help but tease them upon noticing the way they had rolled their eyes upon mentioning, another soft chuckle escaping his lips. "Don't worry, you're definitely not the only one." Truth be told, almost everyone who ever knew his father had loathed him with a passion, and it was not surprising. The man had cared more about his legacy than his children - all five of them. "Now, I wouldn't mind buying you dinner... but talking to a professional might help you deal with a lot of things that I'm not fully equipped to help you with. But don't do it if you're only doing it because you don't want to bother me. Do it only if you want to." He trusted Riley to make the right choices for herself. But he also understood how important it was for anyone who was dealing with a tough time to know that they had someone in their corner. He was more than willing to be that for them.

"Your parents own a cafe? That's so cool." Hayes perked up at the thought of that, unable hide his surprise. "And you bake? Oh, wow... you do have a life outside of the hospital, huh? Who would have thought?" He could not help but tease them once again. He could not even bother criticizing her need to be a perfectionist when she had just shared something about her that he could not have known from an employee record. "How long have you been baking?" Hayes' voice was laced with curiosity as he grinned at her, shaking his head upon hearing her words about his sister's antics. "Yeah, that sounds about Jenny. Believe it, or not... she has always been so energetic, ever since she was little. She never gets tired, it's actually a little concerning at times. Tequila... is definintely not the most effective form of unwinding for anything, but if I remember correctly, she's under the impression that she can only have all of the fun she could in her twenties, and she's trying to make the most of it. At least, that's what she told me." He admitted, exhaling a sigh before he shook his head. "I worry about her sometimes, but I guess I can trust you to be a good influence on her as well?"

"I'm not entirely against the sentiment. I understand it... but it's all just easier said than done, at least for me." He admitted, offering them another shrug of his shoulders. Truth be told, Hayes had often found it difficult to have any real emotional connection since his mother had passed. His mother had been his entire world from the day he had been born, and then she had gone so suddenly that it had caused him to become quite closed off. Even when his father had reached out, he had initially refused his invite to be a part of his family, albeit being quite angry at the man for only showing up in his life once his mother was gone. But being told that he was dying, and meeting his sisters for the first time, that was all that it had taken for Hayes to accept some form of affection. Even then, he had opened up to them gradually over the years, and not all at once. But he knew that Riley was right. Having a family was not the same as having a partner. "Riley, are you telling me... what I think you're telling me?" He was already getting enough crap from his sisters for what they had been referring to as his 'impending sexless future', and he certainly did not need that from his resident as well. "Yeah, I guess you're right about that. We both need a life outside of the hospital, so we should probably get one." He remarked, letting out another laugh before he shook his head. "There's nothing in this world that brings people closer together like trauma... and we've all got our fair share of it. Besides, I don't think I've ever had a friend who is as cool as you, so I'm not letting go of my chance."

No matter how hard he tried, it did not seem like Riley was willing to drop the subject of getting him to date... well, herself. At this rate, Hayes was certain that he was going to break. But he also found it quite endearing that they really wanted him to be happy. If they only knew. But their words still catches him off guard, and he dropped his jaw, his eyes wide in disbelief. "I..." Did she just confess that she liked him? Had he been wrong to have concealed his crush for this long? Should he not have worried about his privilege, and how that might harm her career? Should he have just been honest with her instead of holding onto his righteousness, and professional ethics? A million thoughts had flooded his brain with every word that came out of their mouth, and Hayes found himself struggling to keep his composure. He was certain that he face was as red as a tomato, and he could feel his heart thumping against his chest. He reached over to pick up his glass of water, and took a rather generous sip while he gathered his thoughts. "Fine... I think you're right. I'll ask them out, but only when the time is right." He gave in. He had been truthful, but he had also hoped that it would be enough to get her to drop this particular subject. "I... your mouth, I... that's not what I..." He could not figure out how to respond to their words. Still, she continued on, and he was certain that he was about to start running a fever, given how warm he felt. "Riley... I promise you, I will ask them out." Now can you please drop this subject before I confess my feelings to you? Leave it to Riley Ellis to break Hayes, and his iron will.

"I only keep an eye on the good ones." He felt the need to clarify, letting out another soft chuckle. "I let the attendings keep an eye on all of you, but I check in with them every now, and then, check in on all of your progress... at first, I only started doing it because I wanted to make some changes to the residency program. But soon enough, I became interested in all of your potential. I wanted to make sure you all had the right tools to succeed in your careers." Needless to say, he had wanted much more for Riley, but that was besides the point. "It's hard for me to find you annoying, Riley. Don't worry about it." Hayes glanced down at the menu once again, deciding on the entree portion of the house salad. Once the waiter approached them, he placed his order, offering Riley a rather genuine smile. "Fine, Riley, as you wish." Truth be told, breakfast did not seem like a bad idea, if she was offering.

[bluejayblueskies]

For the Touches Ask Game, if you can, a little Jonmartin with Touching/9?

Thank you so much, I love your writing!!! 😭💕

touches prompt list

9 - holding hands across the table

i did a season two lunch dinner date fic! cw for mentions of paranoia/stalking and murder (in typical s2 fashion)

.

They’ve been having lunch together for two months when Martin asks, with enough stuttering that it takes Jon a moment to process his words, if Jon would like to get dinner with him.

Jon hesitates only briefly before agreeing. Between finding out about Martin’s CV and the newly delivered CCTV footage, he’s almost entirely convinced that Martin did not, in fact, murder Gertrude Robinson and that his various attempts to make sure Jon eats and sleeps and drinks tea are simply a result of Martin being… well. Being nice, he supposes. If overbearingly so.

Why Martin feels the need to coddle Jon, he doesn’t quite know. But if he’s being honest with himself, he’s… not complaining. His frequent skipping of meals often isn’t an intentional thing, born instead of his tendency to get so wrapped up in his work that hours fly by without him noticing, and while sometimes he’s irritated when his flow is interrupted by Martin’s cheery greeting, more often than not it’s… a relief. To step out of the Archives, away from the feeling of eyes on the back of his neck, and pretend like he isn’t working alongside a murderer.

Maybe a murderer. He… he doesn’t know. According to the CCTV footage, Tim and Sasha and Martin and Elias all have alibis. But he still can’t shake the feeling that he gets, sitting in his office or walking down the corridors or reading through statements, that something isn’t right.

That there’s something in the Archives that’s not supposed to be there.

So, it’s… nice to get outside. And as much as Tim may joke about it—or… used to joke about it, at least—Jon does, in fact, try to eat three square meals a day if he can remember to do so. Try being the operative word. He’s been… caught up in work lately, and often he glances at the clock to see that it’s well past ten and he’s accidentally skipped dinner entirely. He hadn’t thought Martin had noticed, given that the man doesn’t live in the Archives anymore and typically leaves promptly at five along with Tim and Sasha, but evidently, he was wrong.

As Jon sits across the table from Martin at the small café they’ve chosen for lunch, he has the fleeting thought that Martin’s been sneaking back and watching him work and that’s how he knows that Jon has been missing dinner. He lets himself feel it, takes a deep breath, and pushes it away with considerable effort. No, that’s not… he trusts Martin. He does. Or he… he wants to. He’s trying.

“Jon?”

“Hm?” Jon blinks up at Martin, who’s clearly waiting for a response. “Sorry, I-I didn’t catch that.”

Martin’s cheeks are dusted a rosy red. He fiddles nervously with the black ring on his finger—a bit thicker in width than Jon’s, the metal smooth and bright where it reflects the sunlight. “Is—is this Friday okay? At—at seven? I-I can, um, meet you at the Institute. U-Unless you’d like to meet there! That’s, er. That’s fine with me too.”

“The Institute is fine,” Jon says, picking at his sandwich with a frown. The bread is damp and squishes under his fingers. “Perhaps we can go somewhere a bit less… soggy.”

“R-Right, yeah. I, um. I was actually thinking… you know that new bistro o-over in Clapham? M-Maybe not, it’s, er. It’s new. But I-I heard it has good South Asian food, which, um. I know you like.”

Martin’s face is fully crimson by this point. Maybe we should sit inside next time, Jon thinks. Or at least in the shade. The sun is rather intense. Martin picks up his mug of tea and takes a long sip, staring resolutely down at the table once he’s done. Jon waits, but it appears that Martin is done rambling, so he says, “Yes, that sounds fine.” Then, because it’s polite (and not untrue): “I am… looking forward to it.”

“O-Oh? Oh!” Martin looks at him, a wide smile spreading across his face. “Y-Yeah, um. M-Me too.”

We should definitely sit inside next time, Jon thinks as the back of his neck grows warm, the tips of his ears surely darkening. Good lord.

He doesn’t think the heat is responsible for the way Martin’s smile makes something in his stomach flutter. He decides to blame that on the atrocious sandwich because… well. It’s as convenient an excuse as any.

Because Martin is just looking out for Jon’s wellbeing. This is no different than him bringing mugs of tea when Jon is recording statements or accompanying him to A&E to get stitches after Michael or inviting him to lunch in the first place. This is not, he tells his ridiculous, over-zealous, butterfly-filled stomach, a date.

Because it’s not. Martin is simply a coworker—an employee—and a friend. Who he trusts. Maybe. Probably. And thinks about sometimes when he’s unoccupied. His hands, mostly, which look very soft and very capable. His smiles as well, each one like a gift meant just for Jon. The way he carries the heavier boxes that Jon can’t quite manage and can reach the top shelves to retrieve statements without even having to clamber up onto the bottom ones.

All completely normal thoughts to be having about a friend

So, when Jon wears the soft maroon button-down on Friday that he’s been told brings out his eyes and takes care to arrange his hair into something other than the haphazard braid he’s been managing lately and digs a bottle of peach nail varnish out of the bottom of his drawer the night before to coat his fingernails with, it’s just because he feels like it. Not because this is a date. Because it’s not a date. It’s just dinner. With Martin.

Who shows up to the Institute at quarter to seven wearing a nicer jumper than usual—cable-knit and mustard yellow, looking incredibly soft to the touch—and with small black studs decorating the lobes of his ears. He smiles widely when he sees Jon, also standing outside earlier than agreed upon, and Jon almost turns around to see if someone’s behind him. But there isn’t. That smile, unfettered and full of joy—it’s… it’s for him.

Surely, Martin is just… happy to see him leaving the office while it’s still light out for once. He’s certainly chided Jon enough times for his habit of falling asleep at his desk. (Which he’s been trying to do less lately, if only because it would be easy for someone to sneak up on him while he’s unconscious and slip a knife into his back or poison his tea or shoot him three times in the chest or—)

“R-Ready to head out?” Martin says, abruptly halting Jon’s train of thought. He tries not to look like he’d just been theorizing about his own inevitable demise as he mumbles his assent and follows Martin away from the Institute and into the still-bustling streets of London.

And if he presses close to Martin’s side while they walk, well. It’s just because every brush of unfamiliar contact against him feels overwhelming, enough so to make him flinch away. And if he takes Martin’s hand for a small period of time, well. It’s just because the crowd has thickened and he doesn’t want them to get separated. And if he feels particularly warm in his jacket when Martin laughs awkwardly at his own joke and rubs at the back of his neck, well. That’s just from exertion. It is quite a far walk to the restaurant.

The bistro is lovely. Jon typically doesn’t go for places like this—tucked between two nondescript buildings with a glass front that reveals soft, intimate lighting within and flowers planted in boxes outside—but once they’re inside and seated at their table, it’s… oddly charming. Jon shrugs out of his jacket, and even though it’s the same shirt he’s been wearing all day, Martin compliments him on it with a flush. The change from frigid winter air to the warmth of the bistro brings heat to Jon’s face as well, and he rolls up the cuffs of his sleeves to just below his elbows. Martin makes a choking sound, but when Jon looks up with a frown, he has his glass of water pressed to his lips.

“Sorry,” Martin says once he’s placed the glass back on the table. “Just, um. Uh. Tickle in my throat. A-Allergies, you know.”

Martin’s face pinches in what looks like a repressed wince, and Jon tries to be reassuring. After all, Martin is taking time out of his schedule to be here with Jon, and Jon doesn’t want to seem ungrateful. His grandmother taught him proper manners, and besides, he is… rather glad to be here.

His commiseration about his own experiences with seasonal allergies turns into a mini-lecture on the species of pollen-producing plants in their area. He only realizes he’s doing it when the waiter comes by with a cheery smile and asks if they’re ready to order.

Jon’s mouth snaps shut mid-sentence. He has not even opened his menu.

“I. Um.” Jon is about to ask for more time—which he strongly dislikes doing, as he’s had the waiting staff forget more than once about his table and he’s had to go through the mortifying ordeal of hailing them down like a-a bloody taxi—when Martin tilts his own menu toward Jon and points to an item in the middle of the page.

“They have chicken karahi and naan. I, er. I heard it’s good if you’re… interested.”

Jon blinks at the menu in surprise. “That… sounds great, actually. Er, medium spice, please.”

Martin orders his own squash curry, and the waiter takes their menus when he departs, leaving the spot in front of Jon oddly empty. Jon taps his fingers on the newly barren tabletop a few times, trying and failing to remember where he’d left off in his lecture. Ultimately, he gives up, deciding that Martin isn’t going to be interested in hearing about all of that and he’s already said enough on the subject.

Then, Martin says, “So, you were saying—about the pollen?” and something in Jon’s chest squeezes, an emotion he doesn’t know the name of. Relief, maybe, as Martin’s words manage to spark his memory and he picks up his train of thought again easily enough. Yes, that’s… that’s probably it.

The first few times they’d gone to lunch, Jon had made an effort to stop himself from rambling, as he was prone to do any time someone gave him the opportunity. He’d engrossed himself in his sandwiches and rice bowls and mediocre Chinese takeaway in order to keep from launching into an explanation of the origins of said folding takeaway containers or the documentary he’d watched recently about the Zhou dynasty. And the first few lunches had been… awkward. It wasn’t because Jon thought Martin was a murderer—he doesn’t think he’d have agreed to go for lunch if he truly believed that Martin might harm him. It was just… how things like this went when Jon was involved. He knows he struggles with casual conversation, and he’s never understood the purpose or execution of ‘small talk.’ He would be perfectly content to eat and exist in silence, except all too often he feels expected to provide some sort of conversation or entertainment, upon which point the silence becomes horribly oppressive and stress-inducing.

But he also knows that talking too much can be just as bad as not talking enough. His grandmother had always told him so. So he suffered through the awkward silences for the first few days, and Martin had let him, clearly assuming that if Jon wasn’t speaking, he shouldn’t either.

Then, around their fourth or fifth lunch together, Martin had begun to ask him questions. They were casual, genuine, and so clearly targeted at Jon’s interests that Jon was convinced that Martin was somehow following him home or searching through his computer history or—or something. On their eighth lunch together, Martin asked Jon about the newest exhibit at the museum—it had been about sharks, if Jon remembers correctly—and Jon couldn’t help asking how Martin knew that he’d gone to see it. He hadn’t explicitly asked if Martin had been following him, but he’s sure the sentiment was clear in his eyes.

The tips of Martin’s cheeks had grown red, and he’d said that Jon had mentioned a few days prior that he was planning on going. All traces of fear and paranoia had left Jon’s mind then, replaced by surprise and, beneath it, something warm and bubbly. Martin had remembered.

Their conversations had gotten a lot easier after that.

Despite how Martin seems to enjoy Jon’s long-winded tangents, he… does still make an effort not to hold a completely one-sided conversation. So, a few minutes into the continuation of his pollen discussion, he finds a natural stopping point and says, “So, er. You… like being outside?”

Not the most… articulated question Jon has ever asked. But Martin doesn’t seem to mind. His fingers curl around the bottom of his water glass, his palms smudging the condensation. “Yeah, w-when I can find the time, I suppose. I-I try to go for walks around my neighborhood if I can, if it’s not too dark by the time I get home, and there’s this park in—”

Martin cuts off with a small cough. He lifts his glass and takes a long sip, while Jon sits and drums his fingers against the table and tries not to bounce his leg too noticeably. “Sorry,” Martin says as soon as the glass leaves his lips, giving Jon an apologetic smile that somehow seems… artificial. Like it’s been plastered atop another, heavier expression. “S-Something in my throat again.” He hesitates, then continues, “There’s a park in Devon that I-I like, whenever I’m in that area.”

Devon’s quite a trip away, Jon thinks but doesn’t say. Why do you go to Devon? he doesn’t say. Is that where you go on Saturdays? he doesn’t say, because—well. It’s rather embarrassing, among other things, to admit to the fact that you’ve gone through your employee’s desk calendar because you thought he might have shot an old woman three times in the chest and had plans to do the same to you. Particularly when you are having dinner with said employee.

Ugh. Probably best not to think about the fact that he is technically Martin’s boss when he’s sitting three feet away from him at a candlelit table on what, to an outside observer, might look startlingly similar to a date.

But it’s not a date. Because Martin didn’t say it was a date, and he’s just trying to care for Jon, in that… over-the-top way that he does. Jon tries to muster up some irritation at the reminder that he’s likely being coddled, just for habit’s sake, but comes up empty.

He hasn’t been truly irritated with Martin in quite some time. He… doesn’t really know when that changed. When Martin became a source of comfort, rather than of annoyance.

“Jon?” Martin says. Right. Martin is still sitting across from him.

“Right,” Jon says, trying to sound like he hasn’t been drifting off in a hundred different directions. “That sounds… nice.”

Martin’s lips curl up into a small smile. “Yeah. I-It is. It, um. It makes the trip worth it, to be able to sit on one of the benches and just… write poetry.”

Jon has read some of Martin’s poetry, though Martin doesn’t know that. Jon doesn’t like poetry. Jon liked Martin’s poetry. These are, apparently, two truths that can and do coexist.

Jon does not mean to say, “Could I hear one?” But it appears that he is weary enough and relaxed enough and distracted enough that his verbal filter has small, critical holes in it. Damn.

Martin sputters. “U-Um, well, I-I suppose… I could, I-I do have a few, er. M-Memorized, if you—you really…” He trails off uncertainly. “You’re. Um. You’re sure?”

Well. Nothing to do but lean into it, Jon supposes. “I wouldn’t have asked if I weren’t sure, Martin,” he says, a bit snippier than he intends. The tips of his ears are hot, and he is deeply thankful that the dimness of the bistro hides the way they’re surely darkening.

“R-Right.” Martin clears his throat, looks down at the table. “I-I suppose I’ll just… do a short one?”

He proceeds to recite, in quiet, surprisingly stutterless lines, one of the poems that Jon already knows from the notebooks he’d left behind in the Archives. It’s… his favorite, if he were forced to pick one. But there is something different—something more—about hearing Martin speak the words aloud rather than simply reading them on a page. Martin pauses in places Jon hadn’t thought to pause, lingers on words he hadn’t thought to linger on, and adds a softness to the ends of lines and phrases that Jon finds himself enraptured by.

Logically, he knows that it’s not good poetry. He’d begrudgingly taken a poetry class during uni, had hated every minute of it, and had donated all of his books to charity shops the moment he wasn’t in need of them anymore. He’s read Dickens and Poe and Whitman—all the works that are considered great representations of their art form.

Martin’s poetry is nothing like theirs. His lines don’t follow the same rhythms; his words are clumsier, his images less profound. But still, even though Jon knows that it is technically not good poetry, he… he likes it.

He tries not to analyze that feeling too closely.

“So, um. Yeah,” Martin says after he finishes, rubbing his thumb over his ring. “I-It’s not really… great work, heh, you know, s-sorry.”

Jon is not the comforting sort. He’s been told that he’s too sharp at the edges, skin too full of spines and thorns. So he surprises himself, and probably his grandmother from beyond the grave, when he reaches across the table and takes Martin’s hand in his. It’s soft and big, the pads of Martin’s fingers lightly calloused from a past history of manual labor, and Jon thinks just for a moment how small his own hands look in Martin’s. He surprises himself even more when he says, honestly, “I enjoyed it, Martin.”

Martin blinks at him, eyes wide and owlish. His hand is rigid in Jon’s, like he’s afraid that if he moves, he’ll frighten Jon away like a skittish cat. “O-Oh.” It’s hard to tell in the dim light, but Jon thinks Martin might be blushing. “Well. T-Thanks.”

Jon nods once stiffly. He does not retract his hand. At first, it’s because he doesn’t think to do so, too wrapped up in the feeling of his skin against Martin’s. Then, it’s because it’s been long enough that doing so would be more awkward than keeping his hand there. He asks Martin about the inspiration behind the poem, for want of another conversation topic, and Martin talks about the trip he took to the countryside once and how it stuck with him, and Jon’s hand remains atop Martin’s. Martin takes a drink from his glass, and Jon takes a drink from his, but both of them use their free hands, as if in unspoken agreement that this is just how things are now. Jon’s hand is resting atop Martin’s and it will be until he has just cause to move it and that is just the way of the universe. Nothing to be done about it.

Their food comes, and looking extremely regretful about the fact, Martin extracts his hand from underneath Jon’s and reaches for his fork. They don’t mention the loss, and it’s quiet for a period of time while Jon eats his chicken karahi and Martin eats his squash curry and Jon tries not to openly moan at how good the food is.

Something must show on his face, because Martin smiles warmly at him and says, “Well? Was that Yelp reviewer correct when they said that the chicken karahi is ‘literally the best food they’ve ever eaten in their entire life’?”

Jon swallows a bite of admittedly very good chicken. “Well. I don’t know that I would quite go to that extreme, but it is rather enjoyable.” Reminds me of the way my grandmother used to make it, he doesn’t say. That feels like a date conversation, and this isn’t a date.

(It feels very much like a date.)

(It isn’t a date.)

“Good,” Martin says. Then, he smiles, wide and unabashed and like a ray of sunlight, and Jon quickly buries himself in his food again so he doesn’t say something foolish like I really like it when you smile at me like that or Is this a date? or I would very much like this to be a date.

They finish eating, and the waiter takes away their plates with the promise of bringing the check soon. Jon’s hands rest on the table, index finger fiddling with the edge of the cloth placemat in front of him. He’s in the middle of trying to convince himself that yes, it would be ridiculous to take Martin’s hand again, you should definitely not do that on this very much not-a-date, when Martin reaches out and takes Jon’s hand in his. Properly takes it, pressing their palms together and slotting his fingers easily between Jon’s and knocking their rings together as he squeezes gently.

“Um,” Jon says eloquently. He should very much not ask if this is a date. “What are you doing?”

Nope, that’s worse. That’s definitely worse.

“Oh!” Martin lets go of Jon’s hand immediately, and Jon does not try to chase Martin’s hand as it retracts, thank you very much. He’s more dignified than that. “S-Sorry, I thought… I, um. Never mind. I-I shouldn’t have… sorry. Again.”

“It’s fine,” Jon finds himself saying. Then, in an effort to do damage control: “I… didn’t mind.”

“You… didn’t?” Martin seems confused, which is understandable. If Georgie were here, she’d tell him that he’s giving, quote, ‘mixed signals.’ He’d never quite understood what counts as ‘mixed signals,’ and he doesn’t know that he ever will.

“I did not,” Jon confirms. “I just… I suppose I…”

He should not ask if this is a date. He really, really shouldn’t.

“Is this a-a date?”

It appears he’s found another one of the holes in his verbal filter. Lovely.

Martin’s eyes grow impossibly wider. He makes a series of sputtering sounds as Jon waits and tries not to bounce a hole through the floor with the heel of his foot. “You—you didn’t…” Martin seems to have a miniature internal debate with himself, his face cycling through a dozen different expressions over the next few seconds. Finally, he sighs and says, eyes fixated on the table between them, “I had… intended it to be. Though I suppose if—if you didn’t know it was a date, that. Um. Kind of defeats the purpose.”

“Does it?” Jon’s mouth says without his permission.

“I-I mean… you can’t really have a one-sided date,” Martin says with an awkward laugh. The waiter is nowhere to be seen, which Jon is grateful for and disheartened by in equal measure. This situation would certainly be easier with a convenient escape.

“I… suppose.” Jon worries at the edge of the placemat, pulling on a loose thread. “Though, it’s… if this were a date—or, I suppose, if I-I’d known it was meant to be a date—I… wouldn’t have acted much differently.” He pulls harder at the thread, feeling a bit bad for the way the fabric bunches around it. “I… would not have been… that is to say, I would have liked it if… rather, to say that I didn’t think about it would be, er… well, incorrect.”

Martin stares at him, clearly unable to make sense of Jon’s admittedly disjointed, half-finished sentences. Jon sighs and says, under his breath, “I am not opposed to considering tonight a date.”

Martin’s cheeks are red enough now that Jon can see the flush, even in the dim light. “U-Um. What?”

“I am not opposed,” Jon repeats, louder, “to considering tonight a date.” Lord, that’s mortifying to say out loud. How do people do this? To emphasize his point, he sticks his hand out, palm-up on the table. It’s stiff and awkward and he probably looks like a cat with its hackles raised. He focuses on the cable knit of Martin’s jumper so he doesn’t have to see whatever amused or mocking or disappointed expression is on Martin’s face as he realizes just how bad Jon is at all of this.

Martin is quiet for a moment. Then, just as Jon is about to pull his hand away and flee for the exit, he feels a touch against his palm. Martin’s hand settles tentatively atop his—not weaving their fingers together, not even properly holding it, just… pressing together, palm to palm. Jon can feel Martin’s heartbeat faintly against the tips of his fingers where they press against the inside of Martin’s wrist. “Okay,” Martin says softly, like Jon has just given him a precious gift. “Then it’s a date.”

It’s a date. Jon’s skin has absolutely no reason to prickle at those words, nor does his stomach have any reason to squeeze and sprout butterflies. He nods, a bit brusquely, and opens his mouth to say something—god knows what—when the waiter appears next to their table, somehow having both comically bad and impossibly good timing.

Martin pays, despite Jon’s insistence that he can cover his own share, and then they’re back out in the cool night air, making their way toward the tube station. The first few minutes are quiet. There’s a tension between them that feels more anticipatory than awkward. Their hands brush once, twice. Then, on the third time, Martin hooks his fingers around Jon’s and clasps his hand in his, and Jon lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

They hold hands all the way to the tube station, up until they have to part ways to take separate lines. Jon runs through all the things that he thinks he’s supposed to say in a situation like this—I had fun tonight or We should do this again sometime or… something—but ends up saying instead, “How long have you…?”

He trails off, squeezing Martin’s hand a few times thoughtlessly, like a warm, bony stress ball. Martin seems to infer the rest of his question, however, because he squeezes Jon’s hand in return and says, “It’s… new for me too, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Jon nods and squeezes Martin’s hand again. He thinks that’s going to become quite a habit if they keep this up. “Right.”

Martin hesitates, before letting his grip on Jon’s hand loosen slightly. “We… we don’t have to do this again if you don’t want to. I-I know things are complicated right now, and I…” He worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “I want to do this again, for… for what it’s worth. But I get it. If you don’t, that is. For—for any reason.”

“I do,” Jon says, surprising himself with his conviction. “I-I don’t… you’re right. Things are… complicated.” That’s certainly a word for it. “But I… I trust you, Martin. O-Or… I want to trust you.” He takes a deep breath. “I am making the decision to trust you.” It’s hard and it’s terrifying and there’s an animal instinct deep within Jon that’s telling him not to expose his vulnerable side, but… somehow, despite all of that, Martin makes him feel… well. Not safe, but as close to safe as he can get right now. Which is an accomplishment in its own right.

Martin exhales slowly and gives Jon a small, hesitant smile. “Thank you. I-I know that’s difficult, and I…” Martin squeezes Jon’s hand, just once. “I-I’m happy.”

And Jon finds that he means it when he says softly, “I’m happy too.”

Martin gets on his train, and Jon gets on his. And despite the ever-present itching beneath his skin and the persistent belief that something isn’t right and the knowledge that he is likely a hunted man, from the moment he lets go of Martin’s hand to the moment he closes his eyes and curls onto his side in bed, that happiness remains.