#me when someone eats my leftover but leaves the empty container in the fridge

[sarcasticpenguini]

Painful story aside, these panels have so MUCH meme potential

[jinxs-gf]

snack thief

the team x spider!reader

summary: someone is stealing your snacks and you’re going to figure out who.

content, warnings: kind of a crack fic, spider cusses a lot? not proofread

word count: 1.8k

a.n. Aunt May mentioned! who cheered?

It was peaceful in the confines of Mount Justice. So peaceful it was almost suspicious to the team. They barely get downtime nowadays, something they used to practically beg for. Now all they want is a break.

It's perfect and quiet and peaceful.

Until they hear their friend scream bloody murder.

Spider.

Everyone jumps up, alarmed and ready to fight.

You're in the kitchen holding an empty container, the refrigerator wide open, and looking more stressed out than they've ever seen you. But there was no threat?

The team is still worried but confused. There was no one else in the kitchen with you so...? Why were you screaming? And there was seemingly no spider on the container you were holding, the only creature that could scare you bad enough for you to freak out like this. (You denied this claim again and again, unfortunately they didn't believe you. How embarrassing was that? Spider had arachnophobia? How damaging to your reputation.)

You continue to stare at the container, and your friends have concluded their near heart attack at your cry for help was all for not.

Their shoulders all sag simultaneously, breaths of relief leaving their mouths.

Kaldur is the first to speak, "What has gotten into you, Spider? You scared us all." He does not sound happy.

And if you took the time to look at the rest of your teammates, the annoyance would be evident.

But no. You continued to stare at your stupid container.

"Hello!" - Artemis

"Earth to Spider!" - Robin

"We're not getting any younger over here." - Wally

Roy only sighs, shaking his head, Conner raising a brow beside him, amused for the most part.

M'gann just stands quietly, wondering if she should read your mind without your permission to figure out the problem or not.

"Which one of your imbeciles did this?" Your voice was eerily calm...it was disturbing.

They all shared the same sentiment. What?

You glare in their direction, eyeing each one of your supposed friends carefully.

"One of you is the cause of this," you hold up your empty container. "Someone ate my cookies. I've had the worst day of my life and the only thing that could help was having my precious cookies. Only I get here and they're gone!" Ah. They get it now.

"I'm going to find out which one of you is responsible. And it won't be pretty."

"Uhh why was it in the fridge anyways?"

"Shut it Robin. They’re leftovers. And you’re at the top of my suspect list. You and your little buddy there," you eye Wally.

He squirms in his spot.

You were grocery shopping for your aunt when you spotted them.

Spider-Person gummies.

You wince, the name Spider-Person did not roll off the tongue correctly. You prefer Spider like the team calls you. Or maybe Arachnid would be cool? Oh well, it's too late now. The name Spider-Person was plastered onto kid's snacks for Pete's sake! There was no coming back from that.

Whatever. You threw it in your basket and immediately opened the box when you got home. Showing off to Aunt May, she was very proud, just like you thought she’d be. Except for when—

"I always thought you'd be known for curing diseases or something, but children’s snacks? This'll do!"

"Hey!" She was joking of course (right?).

And later that day you brought it to the team's kitchen, wanting to show off to them. You didn't want them to eat it of course, it was going to be your post-mission snack. A little pick-me-up.

No one but Red Tornado was there, which was a little weird but it was a rare day off. You'll just come back when everyone is here.

You made sure to stick a post-it on the box of gummies, effectively claiming them yours that shall not be touched.

You hadn't left your snacks alone in the kitchen of Mount Justice since your cookies disappeared a mere week ago.

You still hadn't figured out who the culprit was.

You will. One of these days.

You leave and don't come back until the next day, everyone is there.

"Oh goodie! I have something to show you guys!"

Only you get to the kitchen cabinet, open the box, and...no.

Nonononono

The box of "Spider-Person Gummies" was completely empty.

The box that clearly had your name written with the words "DO NOT EAT!" on the post-it!

You scream like the first time.

"Who did it?!"

The team is a little slower this time around, not trusting your panicked screams after the first incident.

Robin face palms, "Come on spider, it's not that serious."

You gape at him, "Not that serious?! Are you crazy?!" You eye him suspiciously, "it was you, wasn't it?"

"What?! No! I'm just being reasonable here. You can always buy more,” he shrugs, clearly not seeing the bigger picture. Someone is eating your snacks without permission. Deliberately ignoring your name that was written in bold on the post-it stuck to the front. You try a different approach though.

"First of all, I don't exactly come from a background of money. I can't just waste valuable green for some fruit snacks! And second, it was the last box in that section. How do I know they'll be restocked by the time I get back? What if they were there for limited time?!" The thought terrifies you, "oh no."

The team watches you nearly have a breakdown over your gummies "...those snacks are usually less that 10 dollars, Spider."

"And that's too much!"

"You can't be that poor."

"Eh, you'd be surprised."

It’s a full two weeks of the snack thief’s attacks.

Your spidey senses go off at the two week mark and they lead you to the kitchen.

You gasp.

"You!"

Wally is caught mid slice into the chocolate cake you made for the team, he looks petrified at being caught.

His voice cracks, "what?"

"It's been you! I knew it was you!"

"What! No! You made this for the team, right? That's not fair to pin the blame on me when I have permission to eat this!"

Okay, he's got a point.

"Whatever. You're still at the top of my list."

You’re in stealth mode with the rest of the team, waiting for your cue to attack.

You communicate through the mind link to keep yourself from boredom, this is gonna take a while.

You decide to bring up the most recent snack attack.

‘I still need to figure out who this snack thief is. They took my leftover brownies this time! The ones May made for me. Do you know how upsetting it was to see the brownies made by my very precious, hardworking Aunt all gone?’

You hoped to weed the rat out through sympathy.

‘Oh...that was yours?’

‘M'gann!’

‘I'm sorry! I didn't know!’

Just then, Kaldur makes your cue to attack. And before you know it, you’re in battle. However, your mind is elsewhere.

The distraction earns you a kick to the face, your spidey senses were screaming but you couldn't be bothered to really care at the moment, too focused on the fact that M'gann admitted to eating your brownies.

She's the snack thief?! But she was at the bottom of your list...

You regret ignoring your senses immediately, that kick was more powerful that you thought it’d be. Definitely going to bruise later.

‘I'm not the snack thief! I just thought Red Tornado left them! Remember? He said he wanted to be more involved with us outside of missions? I swear I know better! You forgot a post-it with your name this time. I'm really sorry, I should've known.’

You sigh, she sounds too sincere for it to truly be her.

‘It's alright, I forgive you. This time. It was my bad anyways.���

There’s many instances of coincidences as your friends would call it.

Robin caught digging into your chips;

“But you said I could have some!”

“No not those ones! My other chips!”

“Wow, thanks for specifying that.”

Conner caught…eating your candy?!

Conner doesn’t even eat sweets like that, so what changed? Or was that all a ploy? Pretending to not be fond of sweets only to eat yours behind your back…

But his eyes pleaded forgiveness, truth. Damn him.

Roy, Kaldur, and Artemis also had their moments of suspicion.

So who was it?

You only had one more course of action. You beg May to let her borrow your phone.

“It’s an emergency!”

“An emergency that could last all day? Or more?” She lifts a brow, don’t let her intimidate you, Spider.

“Pleeeaaaase,” you bat your lashes at her.

She can’t resist you. The child she’s come to see as her own. You are hers, no one could tell her otherwise. She sighs, “Don’t know why I even try with you.”

“Thanks May!” You plant a kiss on her cheek, “love you!”

“Whatever kid,” trying not to show disappointment in herself for allowing you to get to her.

Set your phone up in the kitchen cabinet of Mount Justice with your snack. Hit FaceTime with Aunt May’s phone and accept on yours.

There’s no way you don’t catch your thief now.

~~

You wait a good 20 minutes before you’re already tired of your plan.

You groan in annoyance, can they hurry up and attempt to take your snack already?!

It takes another three hours before something happens.

Your spidey senses blare, making you jump from your place on the couch with Artemis and Roy. They look at you like you’re crazy, yeah you were getting used to that.

There’s shuffling on the other end of the call.

Whoever is in the kitchen is toast. You look down at May’s phone.

“You!”

“Uh oh.”

“I knew it! I knew it I knew it I knew it! From the beginning! How could I be so stupid and not listen to my gut?!”

Wally states back at you through the phone screen, eyes wide.

“You lying son of a-”

“Listen, we can talk this out-”

“Put my cookies down! You know damn well my name is written on the box!”

He surrenders, placing the cookies back in its place.

The rest of your team came out to witness this very amusing and long awaited moment.

It was funny, the living room you were in was right next to the kitchen, meaning speaking through the phones was pretty useless. They won’t say anything, lest they catch your attention and get yelled at.

“I’m going to ruin you for what you did, Speedy Bitch.”

Roy hears his code name and it’s enough for him to scare. He holds his hands up, “whoa! What did I do?”

“Not you! Obviously not you!”

You get up from the couch, bolting to your “friend.”

Wally panics, “Someone call Superman! Spider’s gone crazy!” And he books it.

It’s okay. He may be the fastest man alive, but no one messes with a Spider’s food.

so who’s attending Wally’s funeral? definitely not spider.

this is based off a video I saw, someone’s sibling was on FaceTime w a phone in the cabinet to catch who was eating their snacks 💀 I just HAD to use it

[everydayfrimmel]

July 20, 2024

"The L Word (Love and/or Leaking Roofs and/or Late-Night Cable Television)" 1400 words, roommate au, part 14/15

Frieren isn’t reading as much these days.

Granted, there is still always a book on her nightstand, and it rotates out frequently enough that he knows she’s still going through them, even if at a less alarming rate. But he almost never actually sees her reading, when that used to be all he ever saw her do. Probably because there are other things on her mind when they cross paths these days.

Himmel used to think of himself as a pretty tactile person, someone whose need to give and receive affection was unextraordinary but a little higher than average. He would have categorized Frieren as someone who never thought about it at all. Now, he’s realized that his hunger for touch is more than a little above average, and Frieren—well. 

He almost can’t escape her. 

Take now, for instance: all he’s trying to do is heat up leftovers on the stove, and Frieren can’t even leave him in peace to do that. They aren’t even steaming yet when she knocks her forehead into his upper back to alert him of her presence and then slips her arms around his waist.

It’s sort of the best thing he’s ever felt.

“Hey, clingy,” he says fondly, squeezing her joined hands with his free one. 

Frieren lets out a soft, happy sigh and squeezes. 

“You getting hungry?”

“Mm.” 

“Oh, what am I talking about,” he mutters, “you’re always hungry.” 

She giggles. “Mmhm.”

“Where do you even keep it?” he teases her. “Where in your tiny little self does all of that food even go?” 

“I’m not that short.” 

“You know, whatever makes you feel better-“ 

“You’re just too tall,” she grumbles. She has to rise on the balls of her feet to put her chin on his shoulder, which only corroborates his point. “That’s not my fault.”

“Mmhm. Sure.” 

She makes a huffy noise of disagreement and lets go of him. Pity. 

“Oh, by the way,” he says. “You never did tell me if you were having any of this.” 

“Himmel.” Her head’s already in the fridge, so her voice is a little muffled. “It’s food that I didn’t make.”

He sighs. “Fair point.” 

“But it’s gonna take too long,” she explains, then emerges from the fridge with the plate that contains the remaining of the falling-apart cheesecake they made together last weekend. He watches her take a fork to it with slight concern and a little bit of awe. 

“So you’re pregaming with dessert,” he guesses.

“Mmhm.” 

“You really are somethin’, Frieren, you know that?” 

Cheeks full of cheesecake, she turns and smirks at him. 

“You’re never getting rid of me,” he says. “I hope you’re aware of that.” 

“Mmhm. 

Then he lets her eat her appetizer cheesecake in silence, unassaulted by his feelings, which he feels is quite a gallant thing to do. He’s spent too long shutting up and swallowing his words to want to do it very much now that Frieren is willing to indulge him, but now it seems like the right call. He quietly hums to the music from his speakers and watches the frozen leftovers steam in the skillet so he won’t look at her. 

“Turn that up,” she tells him after a few moments of this. 

“Hm?” 

“Your music.”

“Oh.” He hadn’t realized she was paying attention to it; probably, he would’ve chosen a different playlist if he had. Something cooler, less middle-aged. Definitely not the soft rock hits of a decade he wasn’t born in.  But she’s asked, so he has no choice but to reply, “of course.”

Frieren has never talked about music before—what she likes, what she doesn’t, if she even cares—so he’s always assumed it doesn’t interest her much. Maybe it doesn’t, but she bobs her head a little to the rhythm as she eats her cheesecake, walks to the fridge in step with it. Sort of like she wants to dance but isn’t sure how.

He’ll have to ask her someday—to dance, that is, maybe in the kitchen like this, maybe when she’s not carrying a now-empty plate of crumbs to the dishwasher. But he’ll have to figure out what she’d like to dance to first. She might not even know, but he’ll get to an answer.

It’s like a game, getting information about Frieren. It is one of the things he loves most about her—that he needs to puzzle her out. 

“Frieren.” 

She nudges him aside to make space for herself at the counter. “Himmel.” 

“You like this song?” 

“Mmhm.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you listen to music.” 

“I don’t, really.”

So she’s not going to end my career for having bad taste, good to know.

“Mm.” He lifts her chin, studies her pouting lips for a moment, then, without really knowing why, he takes off his glasses and sets them gently over her nose. “You’re missing out, you know that?” 

“I don’t care,” she replies. “Why’d you do that?” 

“Dunno, thought you’d look cute, I guess.” 

“Do I?” 

He kisses the tip of her nose. “Very.”

He lets go of her chin; the song changes; Frieren’s cheeks flush a little with pleasure. He loves the way they do that. Himmel turns back to his leftovers, stirs them so they won’t burn while he’s looking at Frieren instead. Her shoulders sway a little, as if she is trying on the music for size, and it feels like a sizeable risk indeed.

“I think I like this one more,” she says.

“Me, too.” 

That’s all she says. He isn’t expecting her to move or speak for a while after that, but when he sneaks a glance at her, she’s peering up at him through her lashes, evaluating something. 

“Hi,” he says, smiling back.

She tilts her head curiously. He’s learned not to ask what Frieren’s thinking faces mean. 

“Hi,” she replies, slowly, as if unsure that this is the right thing to say.

“What?”

And it takes a while to arrive there, but it happens quickly. 

Frieren pushes herself up onto her toes with more speed than balance, pulls him down to meet her, and ever-so-briefly brushes her lips against his.

Himmel makes a terribly undignified noise and she stumbles back, not yet having regained either her balance or her composure. He puts his fingers to his lips, briefly, and they part a little in disbelief, because he half-believes he’s seeing things, because he’s stunned she had it in her to do it first, and then. 

And then he comes to his senses, and remembers what the proper response is if the woman of one’s dreams gives one an unexpected kiss, and returns it with one that is a little longer and a little more careful but no less a surprise.

And—it thrills Himmel as much as it takes him by surprise—Frieren is an excellent kisser.

Not because she really knows how; of course she doesn’t—but because she’s a quick learner and unashamed, and because she has trained herself to keep doing anything that seems to be working until it is no longer necessary. She kisses, in an endearing way, as if for a grade, and it charms him, warms him to the bone that she cares so much if he’s happy with her efforts.  

Top marks, he decides. The very top. 

“Hi, pretty,” he murmurs, resting his forehead against hers, thumbs caressing both of her cheeks. 

“Hi.” 

He laughs, nudges one last brief, aching kiss against her lips before he makes himself stop. “Been waiting a long time to do that.”

“Then why didn’t you?” 

“Dunno,” he laughs. “Glad I waited, though.” 

“Mm.” 

“And I’m not gonna lie,” he says, because he thinks he deserves a break from being gallantly romantic every once in a while, “it’s kinda hot when you make the first move.” 

“Is it, now.” 

She looks like she’s really considering that, which usually means she’s going to have an itemized list of ways to do just that within a couple of hours. Frieren in love is no different than Frieren the engineer: a tactician, an analyst, and a student of what’s worked before and what hasn’t. It never fails to delight him to see how her brain makes sense of him. 

“So hot.” 

She giggles. “Noted.”

The food is going to burn. Himmel can’t keep himself from one last fleeting kiss. 

And, after: “Please do.” 

[digital-corruption]

Let's get this show on the road...

Also, geography, smeography.

Unrecognisable Part 15

“What? Now!?” my sleep was interrupted by Jake. He was trying to speak in a hushed voice on the phone as to not wake me, but he couldn’t hold back on his distress any longer. “Yeah, I know the situation is shit, but no, you don’t get paid until after we collect. That’s the deal. That’s always been the deal,” he stressed. “Central fucking station? Could you have chosen a more exposed location? If I had wanted convenience, I would’ve told you to fucking deliver it to me directly. No, leave it. I’ll get it, but if anything goes wrong, you’re not getting another fucking cent from me. If you even think about crossing us, I will rip your system apart and leave you to the vultures.” Jake tossed his phone on the table angrily.

I sat up and rubbed my eyes groggily, “Jake? What’s wrong?”

“Sorry, to have woken you, but we need to leave now. That asshole has already made the drop without telling me,” he shook his head, then slammed his hands on the table. “We need to get it before some idiot finds it first.”

“So we get it and come back?” I questioned.

“Given that he’s chosen the worst possible location for a drop, I doubt we’ll be able to get out without notice. I expect we will have to make an immediate run for the border,” he explained as he closed up his laptop. “We leave in 10. Pack everything. We won’t be back.”

Hastily, I climbed out of bed and started to get changed into my clothes when I noticed my new phone on the bedside table. I picked it up on turned it on. Jake had given it my old lock screen. Curiously, I entered my PIN and sure enough the phone unlocked. I smiled, but immediately locked it again and shoved it into my back pocket. Now was not the time to be playing with it.

I finished getting dressed and saw Jake’s hoodie that I slept in on the bed. Rather than wearing my jacket, I decided to wear it instead. As soon as I pulled it over my head, I noticed Jake staring at me.

“Oh, did you mind?” I questioned.

“No, not at all,” he shook his head. “It looks good on you.”

I blushed as he went back to packing up his things. I grabbed my jacket and the extra clothing and shoved them into Jake’s clothes bag. It was quite full, but I managed to get it to fit.

“Hey, eat this,” Jake said as he pulled out the containers from the fridge. “It’s cold, but I don’t know when we’ll be able to eat food again.”

Jake scooped up some of the leftovers with a clean spoon and then practically shoved it into my mouth before I could react. I nodded and he slipped the spoon out of my mouth and began shovelling the food into his mouth. He glanced at me and gestured questioningly to see if I wanted more. I opened my mouth and he fed me the next spoonful. He continued to alternate between the two of us until the container was empty. Then we each finished getting ready.

“All right, are you ready?” Jake asked as he slung the backpack containing his laptop over his shoulders.

I nodded as I lifted the clothes bag and my handbag, “Yup, let’s go.”

“Ok, it’s early, no one will likely see us exiting. I will drop the key into the drop box at the front. I normally try to avoid walking the streets during daylight, but as it is unavoidable, please keep your hood up and your head down. Don’t look at any cameras. If you can see a camera lens, then they can see you. I will walk in front, try to stay 10 meters behind - no more, no less. And walk where I walk. If I jump any barricades, you are to jump the same barricades,” he explained as he pulled his hood up.

“Wait, why 10 meters?” I frowned.

“If we travel too close together, people are more likely to notice us,” he answered.

“You’ve done this before. With someone else I mean,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, a long time ago. A story for another time, maybe,” he glanced away. “We’ll ride the express to Central, collect the documents, then get on the train for the border.”

“What if we get split up?” I questioned.

“That’s why I’m telling you this. If we get split up, track 5 at Central, get on the train, head for the border. I’ll pick up the documents and meet you on it,” he clarified.

“You’ll definitely be on it?” I asked worried.

“Of course I will,” he smiled. “Even if I have to hack the server and force it to do an emergency stop.”

“Jake,” I bit my lip. “I’m scared.”

Jake put his hand on the back of my head to pull me closer and kissed my forehead, “You’ll be fine. I won’t let them catch you.”

“That’s not what I am scared about,” I narrowed my eyes.

He laughed, “I won’t let them catch me either.”

“Jake,” I tugged on his hoodie.

“Yes?” he tilted his head as he pulled his mask up over his nose and mouth.

“I love you,” my voice shook.

Jake paused and leant his forehead down against mine, “I love you, too, MC.”

After a moment, Jake opened the motel room door and we quickly exited. The hallway was quiet as we headed swiftly to the stairs. Surprisingly, even the stairs were empty, but then, it was only 7 am. The sun was already up so the rest of the tenants had retired.

Jake slipped the room key into the drop box in one swift move and then opened the door to the outside. I silently wished Patrick Kempsey of Toronto well and thanked him for paying for our stay.

Jake glanced side to the side before stepping out onto the sidewalk. I soon followed behind. The streets were nearly empty, aside from the occasional early worker heading to their job. Jake led us, twisting and turning on an indirect path to the subway station. Now my sense of direction wasn’t the greatest, but even I could tell his path was weaving back and forth. I glanced back at one point when I realised, we had rejoined a road we only just left. I noticed a set of CCTV cameras and I understood his bizarre path had us avoiding them. I remembered he mentioned had stayed at that motel before, but still I was impressed he had remembered the positions of the cameras well enough to remember how to avoid them. After a while we had reached a subway station entrance and Jake went down the stairs, clinging to the left side. Following 10 paces behind, I stuck to the left side of the stairs. As I went down I noticed the camera and lowered my head to avoid its notice.

Just as I reached the bottom, I saw Jake jumping a turnstile to head into the station. I quickly glanced around and noticed that the guard at the security station was hardly awake. Cautiously, I jumped the turnstile too and went up to the platform just as the next subway arrived. I hopped on right away, but it was noticeably more crowded. I looked around nervously until I spotted Jake at the end of the car. He was leaning against the wall beside the door watching me. Suddenly the subway started moving, which caught me off guard, but I quickly recovered by grabbing the handlebar. I swear I saw him laughing at me.

Inside the subway car, there were a few digital screens rotating through various advertisements, but they suddenly cut to the news.

“Authorities remind all citizens to be on the look out for the dangerous criminal known as ‘Nym-0s’, believed to still be in the area,” the reporter droned on.

The people in the subway, didn’t pay much attention to the news announcement, but I still lowered my head and tried to avoid all eye contact. Out of nowhere, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I pulled it out and had a look thinking it was Jake.

Jessy: Please contact me ASAP!!

I stared at the screen baffled. I wasn’t sure what I should do and Jake was too far away for me to ask. I opened my phone and sent a quick response.

MC: What’s wrong?

Jessy: I am sorry for bothering you so suddenly. It’s just I thought you should know.

MC: Know what?

Jessy: They’re looking to release him, MC!

Jessy: They’re looking to release him on good behaviour!

MC: What?

Jessy: I know, right?

Jessy: Hannah’s still got another two years…

Jessy: But he gets a fucking parole hearing!

MC: How could they do that?

Jessy: Please, I know it’s a big ask, but please, I beg of you, come to his hearing!

Jessy: We’re all going to speak against him. The more the merrier, you know?

Jessy: Please, we can’t let him get out before Hannah. It’s just not fair!

MC: When is it?

Jessy: 2 pm tomorrow.

Jessy: I know. It’s such short notice. We only just found out.

MC: Jessy, I’ll be there.

MC: That monster will not get out early! He will see every second of his sentencing.

I glanced up and realised the subway had already reached Central station. I quickly jumped off and started walking down the platform after Jake, but as Jessy sent me the location for the hearing, I got distracted by my phone again. By the time I looked up again, Jake was out of sight. I panicked and I went through my phone looking for a way to message him, but just like my old phone, there was nothing. I realised I needed to start heading to platform 5, so I headed for the escalators, keeping my head to my phone as much as possible. I opened the map app and looked at our current location in comparison with Duskwood, which was across the border to the east. The train we were going to get on was going to take us southwest. At the top of the escalator I went up to one of the route maps to examine it. If we take the train leaving platform 9, that would take us to the east border. Then we could change trains to head towards Duskwood. But I had no way of telling Jake. If I get on the train at Platform 5 though, we’d lose a lot of hours heading in the wrong direction that we might not make the hearing. To make matters worse, we probably have to head back to Central station, which would be suicidal if they detect us.

Ok so head to the east border instead. Next train was leaving in five minutes. The next train after that wasn't for another three hours. Definitely cannot miss the train. Only problem, I have to find Jake and let him know that the plan had changed in the busiest train station of the city at the cusp of rush hour.

My train of thought was interrupted by the sound of an annoying announcement for lost property. I cursed it for a moment, but then I realised that was my solution.

“Hi, excuse me,” I approached the information counter.

“Yes, how can I help you?” the woman asked cheerfully.

“Can you make an announcement for me? I lost my friend in all this chaos. I just want him to know to meet me at Platform 9. Is that ok?” I asked nervously.

“Mmhmm, sure dear. What was your friend’s name?” the woman questioned.

“Patrick Kempsey,” I answered.

“Sure thing,” she nodded. I stepped back as she got ready to make the announcement. “Your attention please. Would Patrick Kempsey please head to Platform 9? Your friend is waiting for you there.”

“Thank you,” I bowed my head slightly in appreciation. The woman smiled and went back to her work.

Now for the next part, getting on the train. At this point I realised Jake never actually mentioned that part. He just said to get on the train. Normally I'd pay with my phone so curiously I pulled it out again and checked the Pay app. Sure enough there was a card attached to it. And sure enough, that card wasn’t in my name. I rolled my eyes and went up to a ticketing machine and bought a ticket anyway. Time was running out, so as soon as the ticket printed I snatched it and head for the escalator for the platform.

Just as I reached the bottom, the train rolled in. I looked all around, but I couldn’t find Jake anywhere. Passengers had finished exiting and now people were pushing into the cars. The train would only wait for another minute. I had to get on and hope Jake would catch up. I started to regret changing the plan so suddenly, but I just couldn’t rest knowing that a monster was about to be released early.

I took a seat beside the window on the track side of the train hoping I would catch a glimpse of Jake. As the doors closed and the train rolled away, that hope turned to despair.

[imagine-a-life-like-this]

Idiot (J.JK)

Warnings : swearing, mentions of cheating, mentions of fighting

Synopsis : they were childhood friends, but now they hate each other. so why did he fight her ex for breaking her heart? 

Word Count : 1969

I met his eyes after the words left his lips, and I could tell a part of him regretted it, but he stood his ground. All of our friends fell silent as they waited for either one of us to say something. So many things bounced around in my head; so much dirt I could spill about him. But I took the high ground and decided to be the bigger person. “That was low, even for you.” He opened his mouth to say more, but I stormed out of the apartment, deciding it was a Netflix alone kind of night.

           “Hi!” A young boy, about my age, greeted me. His smile was bright as he held out his hand for me. I took his hand and introduced myself. “I’m Jeon Jungkook. You just started today, right?” I nodded. “Come play with me then!” He ran away from the school wall I was standing by and towards the playground. I wasted almost no time as I followed behind, excited to make a new friend on my first day at a new school.

           I curled up into my bed, looking through the scrapbook Jungkook made me as a graduation present, 1 year before he decided I was the worst thing that ever happened to him. It happened so suddenly, one day we were the best of friends, and the next he avoided everything to do with me. I just wanted to go back to the days where he was the one who protected me.

           “Just leave her alone.” As always, Jungkook showed up as a group of guys surrounded my desk. He had stepped in between me and the leader of the group.

           “Or what?” He smirked, cocking his head to the side. “You going to make me?” He was instigating and I knew if I didn’t step in, Jungkook was going to do something he’d regret.

           “Jungkook, it’s fine. Just sit down.” I reached up and grabbed his wrist. When he turned and met my eyes, the anger quickly disappeared and he did as told, taking the empty seat beside me.

           “Ooh little Jungkook takes orders from a girl.” The bully instigated again, causing Jungkook to stand abruptly from the seat he had just taken and grab him by the collar of his shirt.

           “You shut your mouth before I knock all your teeth out.” He threatened before throwing him back against the lockers behind our seats. Jungkook turned to sit back down, but the bully jumped him from the lockers, the two of them landing on the floor and going at it, throwing as many punches as they could. The rest of the class stood from the seats and gathered as close as they could without interfering in the fight.

           As the two stood and continued to throw punches, I stood from my desk and got in between them, grabbing Jungkook by the shoulders. “Stop fighting, you idiot!” I yelled at him and turned to give the bully a piece of my mind, just as he went to punch Jungkook again, missing and punching me instead. It knocked me off my feet and all I remember is Jungkook screaming my name, picking me up and rushing me to the nurse despite his own injuries.

           I smiled at the memory the picture of our matching black eyes brought me. All three of us got expelled that day, and I wasn’t surprised. Mine and Jungkook’s parents on the other hand, were furious. Friends who get expelled together, stay together. Jungkook wrote under the picture, and my heart ached at the thought that we were no longer friends.

           “Just leave me alone. You’re nothing but a nuisance.” His words rang through my head, bringing tears to my eyes just as it did the day he said them.

 Jungkook’s Point of View

         Before I could say anything else, she was out of the apartment. The guys just looked at me with disapproving stares and shook their heads. “What? She’s just being sensitive. She’ll get over it.” I shrugged my shoulders and went to the balcony for fresh air.

           “You fucked up, and I know you know that.” Namjoon said, stepping beside me and leaned on the banister, looking between the night sky and me. “What even happened between you two? You said she used to be your best friend.” I scoffed and looked down to my hands and laughed at the memories of our friendship.

           “We just grew apart.” I shrugged, sparing him a quick glance.

           “That doesn’t cause this kind of animosity. You know the real reason; you’re just scared to admit it.” With that, he clapped me on the shoulder and went back inside, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

           We sat across each other at the library, our books spread out in front of us. Despite taking different majors, we decided to study together as a way to keep up our daily hang outs. I looked up at her as she let out a quiet but very frustrated sigh and threw her pencil onto the table. She brought her feet up and curled up on the chair, wrapping her arms around her legs and placing her head on her knees, pouting at me. She looked so cute, so beautiful, and I couldn’t stop these growing feelings. “Can we stop for today and go get something to eat?” She asked, still pouting at me.

           “Let’s go, my treat.” Her face brightened at my answer and she quickly packed all of her study materials into her bag. How is it possible for one person to possess so much cuteness? I took her bag from her before she could sling it over her shoulder and the two of us made our way to our new favourite diner just off campus.

           I snapped a picture of her as her face lit up at the food placed in front of her. I smiled at the picture, basking in just how absolutely adorable she is. As we sat across from each other in comfortable silence as we ate, I came to terms with the fact that I was falling in love with my best friend.

           I fell in love with her. And I was okay with that fact until Mark came along and stole, then later broke, her heart. I thought I could watch her be happy, but knowing it wasn’t me she loved tore me to pieces and I pushed her away.

           I walked into Jin’s place just wanting to raid his fridge for something to eat besides ramen. I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw Y/N crying into Jin’s chest. The smile on my face quickly faded at the sight and I went to sit on the other side of her, but I had to remind myself I pushed her away. I had to keep her at arms length. “Ah, if it isn’t our least favourite drama queen.” I sneered and made my way to the kitchen.

           “Not today, Jeon.” Her words were barely coherent, but I knew her, I knew exactly what she said. Jin shut me up as I opened my mouth to say something else.

           “Seriously, Jungkook. Today is not the day.” Hearing his aggressive tone, which was very rare coming from Jin, I apologized and made my way out, deciding to go to Namjoon and Yoongi’s place.

           “Anyone know what’s going on with Y/N?” I asked as I entered and went right to the fridge.

           “Went to Jin’s?” Namjoon asked from the couch. I nodded as I closed the fridge, some leftovers in my hand. “Y/N found Mark with her roommate, in her bed.” The container of food fell from my hands as shock and anger took over my body. “Yoongi, Taehyung, and Jimin went to her dorm to pack up her things. Hoseok is setting up his spare room for her. I was at Jin’s with her, but I too got kicked out.” He updated me on the happenings of our friend group, but I couldn’t calm the anger flooding through my veins.

           I stormed out of the place before Namjoon could stop me and went on the hunt for Mark. No way was this piece of shit getting away with what he did.

           I looked down to my hands again, my right hand bandaged from the fight I got into with Mark two weeks ago. He had the most beautiful, kind-hearted, caring, smart and funny girl I had ever met, and he threw her away. She’s the kind of girl that always puts her friends first. She even cares about me, even after all I’ve done to her. She’s the girl you bring home to your family, and they end up loving her more than you. But that’s okay because you love her too. She’s the girl you picture your future with. A wedding and a family. Coming home after a long day at work and all your troubles disappear as soon as you see her.

           And I looked at her and said Mark cheated on her because she’s annoying. All she asked was why I fought him. I couldn’t tell her, so I ignored her, as impossible as that is. She kept pestering and the words fell from my lips before I could stop them. I regretted them as soon as they were in the air, but I had to stand my ground. “Fuck.” I said to myself.

           I stormed back into the apartment and then left out the front door before anyone could say anything. And then I started running. I ran as fast as I could all the way to the apartment she shared with Hoseok. I banged on the door as I caught my breath, yelling her name, not caring about the neighbours hearing me.

           “What the fuck, Jeon Jungkook!” She exclaimed as she threw open the door. As soon as I saw her, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I cupped her face and kissed her. I put in all the feelings I’ve been holding in into the kiss, expecting her to push me off any second, but she didn’t. Slowly, I pulled away from the kiss and brought her into my arms.

           “I am so fucking sorry.” I whispered.

           “Again I ask, what the fuck, Jeon Jungkook.” She said, a lot calmer than before, as she pulled away from me and looked up at me in confusion.

           “He had the girl of my fucking dreams and then had the nerve to toss her away like she was nothing, when she’s my fucking everything. That’s why I fought Mark. He wasn’t getting away with breaking your heart, not on my watch.” I spit out the first thing that came to mind. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at me.

            “You are probably one of the dumbest people I know, Jeon Jungkook.” Her words were harsh, but her tone was soft. “Did you really revert to a child who shows he likes someone by teasing them?” I gave her a shy smile as I casually shrugged my shoulders.

           “I didn’t want to see you with Mark.” I admitted and she started hitting me in the chest lightly. I chuckled as I grabbed her hands to stop her and make her look at me. “I’m sorry I’m an idiot. An idiot in love with his best friend.”

           “I missed you. You hurt me over and over again. Yet any time anything happened, I wanted to turn to you.” She told me and I apologized again before bringing her in for another hug. “I guess I’m also an idiot who’s in love with her best friend.” She whispered into my chest. I kissed the top of her head and held her tighter, whispering to her that I wasn’t letting her go.

[thepartyresponsible]

For the wip ask (they all sound very interesting ngl it was hard to pick just one!) LostSteve

lost steve! yeah, so. what if shield defrosted captain america, and he broke out and just...kept running? what if they lost him? what if he ended up hiding out in tony’s tower, away from the fight for long enough to get his feet underneath him?

this fic is mostly about steve and tony finding each other first, so they can form the heart of the avengers, instead of the fault line that splits the team in half. here’s the first part of it.

                                                          —  

There’s an alert from Nick Fury that Tony chooses to ignore, for the sake of his convenience and Fury’s ongoing character growth. JARVIS announces its arrival and then diligently reminds Tony about the message twice before Tony tells him to mute it until morning.

“If it’s really that important,” he says, “they’ll just send someone to break in anyway.”

Which is why, on some level, he’s not at all surprised to find a man sitting on a couch in his penthouse twenty-seven hours later. He will admit to being caught somewhat off-guard by the specifics of the situation, though, because Steve Rogers has been dead for longer than Tony’s been alive.

“Zombie?” Tony asks. “Hallucination? Oh, clone? Are you a clone?”

Steve Rogers looks at him the way people look at wax sculptures. Like he’s interested in the details of the creation in front of him, but doesn’t believe for a second that what he’s looking at is real. “Mr. Stark,” he says, politely. His voice is deeper than Tony would’ve guessed.

“Robot,” Tony theorizes. “Sexbot? Updated Trojan Horse? If I let you inside me, are you gonna--”

The man’s brow furrows, and his mouth twists down, and his eyes are too sad for circuitry. No one would code that kind of grief.

Tony pauses for a moment, rocks forward onto the balls of his feet and then back onto his heels. He studies this intruder carefully. Someone sent him a Steve Rogers lookalike in a white t-shirt and stained khakis. He’s hale and healthy, built like a god, but his feet are bare and dirty.

Bloody, too. There are bloody footprints on the carpet.

“Wait,” Tony says. “Wait. Who the hell are you?”

There’s a long beat of silence. The man on his couch just stares at him, eyes tracing over Tony’s face, his shoulders, looking at him like he’s starving for something. He’s quiet and small, somehow, in a way that doesn’t relate at all to the amount of space his body takes up.

And then he stands, light and graceful on his bloody feet. His jaw tightens, and his shoulders pull up, and he’s an American Hero, suddenly and decisively, like he’s made some kind of choice about it.

“Mr. Stark,” he says, again, “I’m Captain America.”

And he is, Tony thinks. The same way that he’s Iron Man. Because once you put on that kind of armor, whatever else you used to be is irrelevant.

                                                           —

He’s Captain America, and he’s back from the dead. SHIELD had him and lost him, and Nick Fury wants Tony to go looking for him. That’s the message he left with JARVIS over a day ago. And Tony can’t imagine he was the first name on their list, which means Steve Rogers has been alone in the wrong century for an unknown but considerable amount of time.

“Hey,” he says, calling out from where he’s slouched against the kitchen island, watching Captain America dutifully eat through every scrap of leftovers Tony had in the fridge. “How long have you been here?”

“I was born here,” he says, through a mouthful of fried rice that he hides behind a napkin. He chews, swallows, and jabs his fork over Tony’s shoulder. “In Brooklyn.”

Tony knew that. Of course he knew that. He memorized everything about Steve Rogers back when he thought he could become enough like him to make Howard consider him worthwhile. “No, I mean,” he says, waving his hands, “in this century. How long have you been--- Jesus. I dunno. Awake? Aware? Unfrosted flakes?”

Steve blinks at him. He stares for a second and then ducks his head, stirs his fork through the open takeout box in front of him. “Spent a couple days,” he says. “Looking around.”

Looking around. Steve Rogers, unwitting time-traveler, barefoot in New York. What had he been looking for? Why did he come here?

“Why didn’t you get any shoes?” Tony asks, instead of any of the more complicated questions.

Steve tucks his feet under his chair. He washed them half an hour or so back, walking uneasily into the bathroom Tony showed him and then locking the door behind him, like he thought Tony was some kind of pervert who would bodyslam through the door to catch a glimpse of him sudsing up his bare ankles.

“Didn’t have any money,” he says, surprisingly mulish about it.

“You couldn’t smash and grab a pair of Sketchers?” Tony shakes his head. “If you get lockjaw, you’re gonna have to tell Fury you caught it from somewhere else. Fuck’s sake, when was your last tetanus booster? 1943?”

He shrugs. He doesn’t seem concerned. He’s busy eating his way through enough calories to keep your average winter-starved grizzly happy.

It’s hungry work, coming back from the dead. Tony remembers the unholy things he would’ve done for a cheeseburger.

“Didn’t have any money,” he repeats, scraping his fork around the sides of the takeout box, diligent and serious, like it’s the very last scrap of food he’ll ever get.

Tony clears his throat, hip-checks the counter to heave himself to standing. “I’ll get you some cash.”

                                                           —

There’s a weird moment, when Tony gives him the money. It’s just a few hundred dollars. He’s not Tony’s problem, not his project raised from the dead, but he still doesn’t want to give Steve Rogers the means to get himself truly lost in a world he doesn’t know.

Five hundred dollars will get him some food and somewhere to sleep for a few days, but it won’t get him far enough out of SHIELD’s orbit to get himself in trouble.

He looks up when Tony gets close. There’s a well-worn wariness in his eyes. He watches him the way a dog from a bad home might watch him through the bars of the shelter’s kennel. Resigned instead of hopeful, like he knows how this goes, like he knows he can survive it.

“Here,” Tony says. He leaves the money two chairs away from him, within easy grabbing distance. “And I have shoes your size, if you want to borrow them.”

“I don’t need that,” Rogers says, pointing at the money.

Tony lets his mouth tip up sideways, smirks like this is the part of the whole situation he finds truly unbelievable. “You’re going to come into my house,” he says, “uninvited, unannounced, and then you’re going to refuse to accept my hospitality? Rogers, what would your mother think?”

There’s a stall point in Roger’s stare, like watching a bird fly into a window. There’s a moment, right around the word mother, when those blue eyes blank out, and Tony’s just staring into empty space.

“She didn’t,” he says, and it’s fascinating. He’s stitching himself up right here at Tony’s dining table. Tony can practically see it happening, vertebrae stacking up, pulling him taunt like a needle tugging on a thread. “She never liked charity.”

Tony is familiar with pride. He has something of an overabundance himself, although he comes by it honestly. He knows hurt pride hates an audience, so he looks away.

“I imagine she hated the idea of you starving, too,” Tony says. “Probably worked very hard to make sure that didn’t happen. Going to waste all her work now, Rogers? Seems ungrateful.”

He’s half-taunting by the end of it. He’s not sure why. He finds weak points like a magnet finds iron. Sometimes he doesn’t even know what he’s pulling on until after he’s accidentally ripped out someone’s heart. It’s not one of the traits he’s proud of, but, like his pride, he knows where it came from.

Rogers glares at him, but he hooks the next takeout container over anyway.

“I’ll get those shoes,” Tony says. JARVIS has already measured; Rhodey left some boots that should fit.

Steve doesn’t say anything, but, when Tony comes back, the money is gone, and so is he.

                                                           —

Tony doesn’t tell Fury a damn thing. If Fury lost a national icon, that’s his problem. And anyway, Tony’s still not completely convinced that the blonde who materialized in his penthouse was actually Steve Rogers and not some kind of really confused, really well-built homeless man. Or a stripper.

Tony’s never actually met a stripper who showed up in khakis, refused to disrobe, and then ate ten pounds of takeout before silently disappearing, but he’d be willing to pay another five hundred dollars for a repeat performance.

He figures out how the maybe-Steve got into his penthouse. He upgrades the security, but he tells JARVIS to let him in if he ever comes back. He’s not sure what he’s hoping for, but he’s too curious to lock him out.

                                                           —

There’s a bit of nothing that kicks off in New York, some Hammer tech that goes haywire. Tony puts it down like the cheap knockoff that it is, but he gets stuck in debrief with Phil Coulson afterwards, because he’s not quite quick enough to abandon the scene after the fight’s over. In his defense, he was holding a car above a partially-trapped bicyclist, and Coulson caught him before the EMTs could finish disentangling her.

He makes it back to the Tower after an hour of mostly-wasted time. Steve Rogers is sitting at his dining table. Tony bites back the ludicrous urge to “honey, I’m home!” him.

“Hey,” he says instead, as he steps in from the balcony, stripped down to the skintight suit he wears under the armor. He didn’t expect company. “You get something to eat?”

Steve seems somehow offended by the question. “I didn’t break in here and steal anything,” he says.

“Okay,” Tony says, moving past him. “Well, that’s a gold star and an empty stomach for you, Rogers. We’re all very proud.”

“It’s not my food,” Steve tells him. If he had hackles, they’d be raised. Tony wants to pat him on the head, but only because he’s always had a sort of neurotic tendency to see how hard people bite before he decides whether to trust them.

“Yeah, and a twenty-dollar grocery bill is really gonna break me,” Tony says. He takes a smoothie out of the freezer. “You want pizza? I’m gonna order pizza.”

Steve stares at him for a long moment before he shrugs. “I could eat,” he says.

“Great,” Tony says. He has JARVIS order three pizzas, because he wants at least half of one for himself, and Steve Rogers is a human garbage disposal.

Steve takes a shower while they’re waiting. He asks first, which Tony supposes is the polite thing to do, and he takes his backpack with him, like he’s worried Tony’s going to steal his wallet.

“You know,” Tony says, when Steve remerges, wearing another knockout set of some grandpa’s Goodwill khakis and button-down shirt, “you keep showing up like this, and it’s gonna get harder for me to lie to Fury about having no idea where you are.”

Steve flips open a pizza box and carefully selects a slice. His hair is wet and neatly combed back from his face. He’s handsome from a distance but damn near devastating at close range. Tony takes another bite of pizza, hopes it’ll help swallow back the urge to sink a few grand into war bonds.

“Fury’s the guy with the eyepatch?” Steve doesn’t settle into a seat. He takes his pizza and wanders over to the window, stares out at the skyline.

“Yeah, that’s him,” Tony says.

Steve makes a face. Tony can see it, dulled and faded, in the reflection on the glass. “He’s persistent,” he says, slowly. Not like it’s a compliment.

“Yeah,” Tony says, again, “that’s him.”

Steve doesn’t say anything else. Tony finishes his slice of pizza, eats another one. There’s an ache in his right shoulder from being wrenched around by Hammer’s ridiculous creation, and he should be icing it, but he doesn’t want to. Not with Steve Rogers here.

He’s never liked looking human in front of an audience. His problem has always been that he couldn’t figure out how to stop. At least, not until he built his armor.

Steve comes back when he’s out of pizza. He’s catlike in his wariness, in the way he seems pissed at Tony for daring to exist in his proximity.

“That fight,” he says, apropos of approximately nothing at all. “Earlier.”

“Oh,” Tony says, rising out of his chair and moving toward the bar, giving Steve the room to loom over the pizza like he’s defending his kill. “You see that on the news?”

“Saw it on the street,” Steve says. “Heard the screams.”

Heard the screams and came running. So he’s still in the hero business. Fury will be happy to hear it.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed,” Steve tells him. He sounds angry about it. At Tony, not the situation. “Where’s your backup?”

“Backup,” Tony repeats. “Cap, c’mon. Read a newspaper. I work alone.”

Steve Rogers looks up from his pizza perusal just long enough to roll his eyes. It should feel like a slap across the face, and maybe it does. However it feels, Tony likes it. Wants more of it. There’s always been something grounding in being dismissed, like Tony’s never known where he stands until someone shows him how he doesn’t measure up.

“Is that supposed to be impressive?” Steve asks. “Men who work alone die alone, Stark. And they’re not very effective when they do.”

Tony knows he’s meant to be offended. He is, probably. But he couldn’t bite back his smile for anything. “I think I liked you better when you called me ‘Mr. Stark.’”

“Seems to me,” Steve says, “you want everyone to call you Iron Man these days.”

“Oh Captain, my Captain,” Tony says, “surely they had that line about glass houses in the ‘40’s?”

Steve frowns at him. “I never asked anyone to call me Captain America.”

“And yet,” Tony says, tipping a bottle of whiskey his direction, “that’s how to introduced yourself to me.”

Steve gives him a look like he thinks Tony’s being deliberately obtuse. “That’s who I am,” he says.

Tony rolls his eyes and flips a tumbler right side up. “But when I start using a stage name,” he says, “suddenly I’m a narcissistic asshole who doesn’t--”

“Do you think,” Steve says, looming up suddenly, shifting gears like something mechanical, going battle-ready with more decisiveness than a faceplate clicking down, “that anybody spent years, spent—I don’t know. Millions of dollars? Do you think anybody did that for Steve Rogers?”

Tony’s caught wrong-footed. He did it again. Drilled until he found the nerve, cut until he broke the skin.

“I think you don’t get one without the other,” Tony says, trying now to soothe. But he’s not very good at it. His instincts don’t run this direction. His whole life, the only things he could ever repair were machines.

Steve shakes his head. He steps away from the pizza. He looks around, eyes zeroing in on his backpack.

“Stay here,” Tony says, sidling out from behind the bar, whiskey now in hand.

Steve straightens up like a cobra, like he’s going to spit venom in Tony’s face. Tony wants to put his mouth on him, which is probably only half because he’s always been hellbent on his own destruction. The other half is that Steve Rogers is beautiful like something made in a lab for aesthetics alone, carefully designed for universal appeal. Tony likes to tell himself he has a taste for the exclusive, but the reality has always been he wants exactly what everyone else does.

“You don’t want SHIELD to find you,” Tony says, “then stay here. Trust me, this is the last place they’d think to look.”

He’s not standing between Steve and the exit. He was careful about that. Whatever SHIELD might think about him, he doesn’t have a death wish. And also, when he’s thinking about it, he’s not usually deliberately an asshole. It’s just that, most of the time, he’s not thinking about it.

“Why should I trust you?” Steve asks.

Tony shrugs. Hell, he has no idea. “Why’d you come here? The first time. When SHIELD lost you, you came here. Why?”

“I went home,” Steve says, argumentative, all squared shoulders and tight jaw. “I went to Brooklyn. But it wasn’t there anymore. None of it was—I couldn’t find…”

He trails off, shakes his head, sharp and agitated, a horse bothered by a fly. It’s hard to look in his eyes. There’s something in them that Tony doesn’t want to see. It’s like watching a statue bleed.

“I heard there was still a Stark in New York,” Steve says. “I read about you. I thought maybe you’d--”

“You thought I’d be like Howard,” Tony finishes for him. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“I thought you’d be like me,” Steve says, which doesn’t make any sense at all.

“You,” Tony says. And then, a little helplessly, “What?”

Steve looks away. He shrugs, looks back. “I saw the suit,” he says. “On the news. I saw what it can do. I didn’t think--- things have advanced a lot. I didn’t understand. I thought Howard had…”

Tony squints at him. “You thought Howard did a Rebirth redux and tested it on his kid?”

“I thought a lot of things,” Steve says, snappy. “It was a very confusing couple of days.”

Tony can imagine that it was. “So you thought I was Rebirthed, and you wanted--”

“I didn’t want anything,” Steve says, and there’s that flash of exposed nerve again, that look like a sinkhole in the backs of his eyes. “That’s not the point.”

Tony takes a sip of his whiskey. It settles, warm and sweet, into his stomach.

I didn’t want anything.

I shouldn’t be alive, unless it’s for a reason.

Tony holds the tumbler out. Steve needs the warmth more than he does. “Here,” he says.

Steve takes it, seemingly on reflex. “I can’t get drunk,” he says.

“Well,” Tony says, circling back toward the bar, “not with that attitude.”

[dangerouscommiesubversive]

someone behind me was tracing my steps / maybe you’re better off this way

Fandom: Kamen Rider Ryuki

Characters: Asakura Takeshi, Kido Shinji

Songs: "After the Fall," October Project & "Passive," A Perfect Circle (playlist here)

Takeshi’s sitting against the wall, bleeding out, and the mirror guy—Kanzaki, right—is standing over him, mouth twisted in something he vaguely recognizes as dismay. “I can’t use this, there’s barely any energy left,” he says, not to Takeshi, and there sure as hell isn’t anyone else in the room. “I’ll have to reset.”

“Hang on a second.” Takeshi coughs and feels his mouth fill up with the taste of copper, which isn’t such a bad flavor when you get down to it. “What about my wish?”

Kanzaki doesn’t even look at him, already fucking around with the mirror. “You don’t want anything, there’s no point.”

“Sure I want something.”

“…what on Earth could you want at this point? It’s all going to be reset anyway.”

Takeshi grins up at him, knowing that it’s sure to be an unnerving sight with his teeth all over blood. “Lemme remember.”

“Out of the question. Giving one participant unnecessary foreknowledge would interfere with the procedure.”

“Nah, nah, I’m not gonna interfere with shit. It was just a hell of a time.” Takeshi looks up just as Kanzaki is looking down and grins his bloody grin a little wider. “I like to remember times when I had fun. Looking forward to doing it over again. Let me remember.”

---

It’s not until he graduates university that Shinji realizes that he’s missing something.

Slightly after, really. He graduates, he works some shitty part-time gigs, he does some freelancing, and then Ookubo gets in touch and offers him a job at Ore Journal. That’s all fine, but when he steps through the door of the Ore offices he’s hit with a wave of déjà vu so powerful that he nearly trips and falls face-first into Reiko’s desk. Fortunately he catches himself before anyone notices. It had been bad enough trying to explain to his mother about the girl who lived in his mirror when he was thirteen; he can’t imagine how the people here would react to, “I remember walking into this room for the first time at least eight times over.”

He gets a grip on himself, but the feeling of loss stays. He’s missing something, and he doesn’t know what. Sometimes he’ll get a glimpse of it, he’ll pass someone on the street or overhear a snatch of conversation and a fragment of memory will overwhelm him, but he never gets everything.

From the bits that he sees, he’s not sure that he wants to get everything. It might be better to be missing something than to remember.

---

Takeshi’s known that he’s missing something for a long time now, and whatever it is, he wants it back.

He’s not exactly an educated guy, but he knows himself pretty well, and the idea that there’s a big chunk of him missing is galling. He can feel its absence. He can’t tell what it is, it hasn’t got any kind of useful shape, no edges that he can detect, but it’s his. And since he wouldn’t just go carving out part of himself, that means he’s been robbed.

He doesn’t take kindly to being robbed.

Mostly, though, he can ignore it, the way you ignore a hole in the wall that you don’t feel like repairing yet. He does what he likes, gets what he wants, eats when there’s food, and doesn’t think about it unless he reaches for something in his mind and finds that it isn’t there.

And then he sees the journalist.

Some sweet-faced kid, he is, showing up at a bar that Takeshi likes and bugging the regulars about a local ghost story that Takeshi knows for a fact is bullshit. He doesn’t try coming over to Takeshi’s corner, because the bartender visibly warns him off, but he’s talking to everyone else. That suits Takeshi fine. He can just sit with his drink and watch and remember, in shards and splinters, tantalizing and incomplete.

Kido Shinji is what’s printed on the business card he swipes from the bartender once the journalist leaves, with the address of a tea shop written on the back in pen.

Now there’s a name that rings a bell.

He stares down at the card for a moment, not sure whether he’s pleased or furious, and then heads out. Guy couldn’t have gone far.

---

Shinji gets through the door and is immediately handed an apron and a bandana for his hair. “Dishes.”

“What—Ren, I just got here.”

“Yeah, and there are dirty dishes. I don’t have time to deal with them, there are customers.” Ren squints at him for a moment, frowning. “What’s wrong with you, anyway?”

Shinji pauses in the middle of tying back his hair, uneasy. “I’ll tell you once there aren’t customers. Where’s Miyu—he’s still working, ok.”

Ren rolls his eyes. “Apparently that middle schooler who was here last week told all of her friends about him, he’s been busy all day.”

There are a lot of dishes piled up, and it keeps Shinji busy until Ren’s shooing out the last customers of the day. Atori’s different without the old lady, but it’s not a bad different; hopefully she’s happy in whatever warm place she moved to after she sold the shop to Ren. She’d certainly never seemed happy here.

He’s happy here. In a stable place, with a little bit of stable work apart from Ore, with people who inexplicably love him for reasons that none of them quite remember clearly.

When the last customer is out the door, Ren leans back against the counter, arms folded across his chest, and says, “So something’s bothering you, spit it out.”

Shinji frowns down into the dishwater. “I think someone was following me again today.”

“What, again? How long’s this been going on now, two weeks?”

“Three and a half. Ever since that thing I was looking into about the ghost, do you remember that one?” One saucer in the dish rack, start washing the next piece. “Maybe I pissed off the ghost.”

“You said there wasn’t a ghost.”

“Well, yeah, but what if there was and now it’s following me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re not being chased by a ghost.”

Shinji glances nervously over his shoulder, as if he’ll see his ghost reflected in the tea shop window. “How can we be sure, though?” He picks up another dirty cup and starts to wash it. “Some of the things I remember…”

Ren’s arms wrap around him from behind, chin resting on his shoulder. “They aren’t here,” more softly and gently than he usually speaks. “No ghosts. Just you, me, and Miyuki.”

“No ghosts.” Shinji takes a deep breath. “You’re right. No ghosts.”

---

The place isn’t tough to break into. Decent locks, but nothing Takeshi can’t get past with a crowbar. He lets himself in and looks around the vaguely-familiar tea shop with interest before heading past the counter and to the back. Stairs lead up to the apartment above, and sure, they creak a little, but that’s nothing to worry about. After all, he’s still got the crowbar if he really needs it.

Upstairs, the place is chaotic in sort of a cute way, decorated as it is by three people with clearly pretty different sensibilities, fragments of three very different lives on display. It smells faintly of frying oil, too. Someone made something good for dinner tonight. On a whim, he checks the fridge, finds a container of leftover gyoza, and eats them absently as he contemplates the shopping list stuck to the freezer door. Eggs, rice, sliced pork belly, in neat handwriting that definitely isn’t Kido’s.

He finishes the gyoza and the tail-end of a carton of milk, leaving the empty containers behind on the counter and picking up his crowbar again as he heads toward the back of the apartment.

There are three bedrooms, and none of them are marked, doors closed against the darkened hallway. Checking each one would be a hassle, and might lead to more trouble than Takeshi feels like getting in right now. Instead he just remembers how jumpy Kido seemed even before Takeshi started following him and lets intuition lead him to the room closest to the fire escape.

The door swings open, and the first thing he sees is a cloth square on the wall. A covered mirror.

There we go.

Kido’s asleep, sprawled across the bed with his head tossed back and his hair spread out on his pillow, throat pale and exposed. Alone, which makes things a little easier. There’s a computer desk set up in the corner of the room; Takeshi grabs the chair from it, drags it over next to the bed, and sits, resting the end of the crowbar on the floor as he’s saying, softly and cheerfully, “Hey, Kido. Wake up.”

A shift, an irritated mumble, “Not time to—” and then one eye opening halfway and the jolt, Kido scrambling upright in the bed, one hand flung out to the side reaching for something that isn’t there.

What isn’t there?

Splinters reform into another regained memory: a deck of cards in an elaborate case, gleaming purple metal smooth and cool in Takeshi’s hands. There’s a name that goes with it, or maybe more than one, faint and still lost but centimeters from the tip of his tongue.

Kido’s gone white as a pan of milk, hand still empty because they’re in a world with no decks, now, no monsters that Takeshi suddenly remembers with fondness, not nearly as much fun, and Takeshi leans forward on his crowbar and smiles, friendly, like, and says, “Come on, Kido, I remember you being more interesting.”

---

Shinji can hear his heart beating over the ringing in his ears. There’s a bit of light coming in from between the mostly-closed curtains, just enough to see by, and with his hand coming up empty and his unwelcome guest illuminated so that only golden hair and white teeth are visible, he is assailed by memory.

He knows this man.

From the corner of the bar where he’d been looking into that ghost story, sure, the one the bartender had told him not to bother, but also from before, from ten befores or more. A killer, vicious and cheerfully so, dangerous to be around, but beneath the adrenaline thrum Shinji can feel another pulse, pity, pity, pity, perhaps misplaced but still there.

He fights to get his breathing under control and says, “Asakura. What are you doing here?”

“You took something of mine.” Asakura’s head tilts slowly to the side, semi-friendly grin still visibly. “I came to get it back.”

“I don’t have anything of yours.”

“Never said you did. I said you took it. Didn’t say I thought you had it.”

“That…you know that doesn’t make sense, right?”

“None of this makes sense, Kido. We live in a world that revolves around a guy like you.” Asakura leans forward, one hand darting out to grab Shinji’s chin, ragged nails digging into his skin. In the dim light his eyes are flat and dark and predatory as their gazes lock, only taking on any gleam as he drinks in…something, whatever he’s getting from looking at Shinji like this. Shinji nearly asks, in fact, but he can’t quite speak, and anyway Asakura’s talking again, still as cheery and conversational as he has been. “Used to be, I got the deck in my hands and I’d remember all of it. That was the deal. Don’t know how the mirror guy finally bit it, but whatever happened, you’re the key to everything now.”

Shinji’s considering shouting for Ren, because even if he did have a dragon at his beck and call, the mirror is covered. Then, of course, he notices the crowbar. And Asakura continues to look at him, searching for something that Shinji is apparently giving him.

“Pathetic.” Abruptly, Asakura lets go again. “You used to be fun, Kido.” He stands, shouldering the crowbar like a baseball bat, and heads for the open bedroom door, only pausing briefly to say, “Call me if you ever decide to get the band back together, yeah?”

Shinji remains frozen for what seems like a long time after he’s gone, dizzy with memory and his heartbeat noisy in his own ears.

He doesn’t remember the end of things. None of the ends of things, actually, and he’s not sure if the others know that it happened more than once, how many times they were put through the same wringer. Whatever it was, though, whatever he or they finally did, it was permanent.

He never would have expected someone to resent him for it.

Finally he finds the focus to move, raising a hand to rub at the sore spots on his jaw before getting out of bed.

Miyuki’s bed is disturbed by unoccupied, and this fills him with a banked and indistinct dread until he comes to Ren’s room and finds them both there, Miyuki sprawled as inelegantly as always and snoring lightly at Ren’s side. Ren is awake, barely. “Bad dreams all around tonight, I guess,” he slurs as Shinji closes the door, and moves over to make space. “Wha’ was yours about?”

Shinji curls up beside him and says, softly, “Just ghosts.”

---

Takeshi strolls down the middle of the empty street, crowbar on his shoulder, in such a good mood now that he’s very nearly whistling. It’s a damp night; the streetlights make shadows in the fog that look like old friends he now remembers, any number of enormous beasts stalking him as he walks. Which makes him want to laugh, and so he laughs, and the sound bounces off the buildings and the fog in an echo that could go on forever.

“Goddamn,” he says to a fog-reflection that shifts and changes with every step he takes, now a vast snake, now a rhino, now a stingray. “That was a good time, wasn’t it.”

The fog makes no reply, but the shadow continues to follow him down the street as the echoes of his laughter die away, and after a moment, feeling almost jaunty, he starts to whistle.

[justthehiddleswrites]

Don’t Eat Curry At Bedtime | Tom Hiddleston x Adam x Reader

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Adam x Reader

Summary:  A cheap black wig, curry, and Halloween leads to some very weird and arousing dreams.

Warnings: Smut, Halloween,Dream Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, Oral Sex, Sex, Vaginal Sex, Spitroasting, Cunnilingus, Blow Jobs

-

“How do I look?” Tom called out from across the massive Halloween store. While it was not Tom’s first American Halloween, having spent last year in New York, it was his first time in a Halloween store.

You turned on your heel, holding one of those slutty whatever costumes in your hand, to find Tom wearing a long black wig. You giggled as you walked towards him.

“You look…” You studied him in the cheap polyester wig. The strands sticking out at all angles. “… like Adam, actually.”

Tom chuckled and found a mirror. He fluffed the chunks of hair. “Perhaps a bit, with the black clothing.” He tugged on his black sweater. Tom noticed the costume in your hand. “Are you planning on getting that?”

“Perhaps. Are you getting the wig?” You wiggled your brows at him.

Tom’s eyes darted between you, the costume, and the wig.

“I will, on one condition…”

“Which is?”

“You wear that only for me.”

“Deal.”

The two of you shook hands. Tom grabbed your arm and pulled you across the store. “Now to find you a more appropriate costume.”

-

“Are you sure you should be eating that so late at night?” Tom questioned, pulling back the sheets to the bed later that day. “I thought spicy food gave you weird dreams.”

You shoved another mouthful of curry in. “But I’m hungry and I ate all my food.”

Tom’s shoulders dropped. “That’s mine?!” He crawled across the bed and pulled the container out of your hand and glanced down into the nearly empty container. “I was looking forward to eat that tomorrow.”

You smacked your lips. “You snooze, you lose.”

Tom headed out the room. “I’m going to write my name on the rest of my food in the fridge. Pick a movie.” You perked up. “Nothing too scary.” Tom pointed a finger at you. “We do not need a repeat of last night.”

“What was so bad about last night?” You snuggled under the sheets.

“For one, I ended up on the floor when you had a nightmare.”

“Sorry.”

Tom kissed your forehead. “You’re forgiven. Now I’m off to claim what is rightfully mine.”

You pressed your forehead against him. “Full disclosure, I ate your samosa too.”

“You’re ruthless.” Tom smirked.

“All’s fair in love and leftovers.”

Tom chuckled and left. By the time he returned, you were asleep.

-

You snuggled up against Tom behind you. His arm holding you tight and in place.

His warm lips nuzzled against your skin. Tom’s teeth nipped at you, leaving tiny marks. His chin smooth.

“Where’s your beard?” you twisted to glance behind you. “Did you shave…” Behind you was Tom with long dark hair, clean shaven. He smirked at you. “And why are you wearing that awful wig?”

Tom’s face darkened. “I’m not Tom.”

“What?” you chuckled. “Of course, you’re…” Your voice trailed off as the bed creaked.

Your head snapped back around to find Tom lying next to you naked. Your head swam.

“Darling… “ Tom, the one in front of you purred. “… you always said one of me was hardly enough.”

“But how?” The man behind you returned to nibble along your neck right at the spot that makes you moan.

“Does it really matter, love?” The man behind muttered against you. “I’m here and the name’s Adam, not Tom.” A sharpness scratched your skin. “And you are delicious.”

Tom kissed your lips, and you moaned against him. “You have no idea. Taste her.”

Adam quirked an eyebrow. “You’re willing to share?”

Tom gazed at you, running a finger along your cheek. “What do you say, darling? For one night, I share you with our guest.”

You nodded, your head heady and fuzzy from the overstimulation of Adam sucking on your neck and Tom teasing your nipples through your shirt while peppering kisses on your lips, light and soft.

“Then allow me.” Adam shifted your body, so you laid on pressed against Tom’s torso while Adam situated himself between your legs. He peeled your pajamas off and dropped them to the floor, pushing your legs wide with his shoulders. “So wet already. Thomas?”

Tom sucked hard on your neck, leaving a dark mark as he released you. “I know. Always ready for me. Aren’t you?”

The only response you managed was a whimper and gasp. Adam kissed along the inside of your thigh before licking along your folds. He hummed against you. “Well, aren’t you a treat?”

You wiggled underneath his touch. With a grunt, Adam wrapped an arm around your waist and pushed you into the mattress. “Tom, let’s help her relax.”

Adam licked at you and your head fell back against Tom. Tom’s chest rumbled against your back as he chuckled. “Someone is enjoying the attention.” He continued to kiss your neck, back, and lips as his hand squeezed your boobs and worried your nipples into hard pebbles under his touch. Adam slipped not one, but two long fingers inside of you and thrusted. You came with a scream, digging your nails into Tom’s thighs as you gushed onto Adam’s tongue and face. As the wave of pleasure rushed through your body, you hardly noticed Tom and Adam shifting you onto your stomach and switching positions.

“My turn.” Tom growled as he impaled himself in you. His thrust made a delicious squelching noise. “My god, you have never been so wet. Adam, what have you done to her?”

Adam kneeled in front of you, stroking his cock. “Nothing she didn’t want done to her.” Adam pulled your head to stare up at him. “Right?” You nodded, bucking your hips back against Tom. The sound of skin slapping against skin bouncing off the walls.

Adam grabbed his cock and positioned it in front of your mouth. “Open your mouth.” Adam commanded. Your mouth fell open and you let loose a moan.

“Fuck me.” you groaned. Tom smacked your ass cheeks.

“I thought I was.” He thrusted particularly hard, causing you to surge forward onto Adam’s cock, gagging. “I shall redouble my efforts.”

Tom and Adam set a brutal pace at fucking your face and pussy. You overheard Tom grunting behind you as he edged closer and closer to his own release. Your tongue swirled and sucked along Adam’s cock. Adam’s balls tightened, and he spilled into your mouth, you did your best to swallow it all, leaving only a small trail of cum from one corner of your mouth.

“Good girl.” Adam praised as he slumped back against the pillows.

Tom’s thrusts grew more and more erratic. “I want to feel you come on my cock, darling.” He pulled your torso up, placing you on display for Adam. His finger found your clit and pressed against you. You shuddered against him as you came for a second time that night.

Tom spilled into you as you came, walls clenching his cock with each thrust. “You do that so well, darling. He turned your head and kissed you, slipping his tongue inside of your mouth, tasting you and Adam all at once.

-

“Darling?” You woke to find Tom rubbed your back. The sheets soaked with sweat underneath you.

“Huh?” You blinked your eyes, adjusting to the dark bedroom. “Tom?”

He smiled and tucked his chin against your shoulder. “You must have had a nightmare, love.” He kissed your shoulder, sending a shiver down your back. “You were moaning and writhing.”

Your cheeks grew hot. “Yeah, a nightmare…” You pulled the covers over yourself.

Tom’s eyes widened in realization. “Was I at least in this sex dream?”

“You were there.” you smirked.

“Anyone else?” Tom raised an eyebrow. His fingers rapped against your hip.

“Adam.” you mumbled into the pillow.

“Adam? So I was there twice.”

“That was definitely not you!” you scoffed.

Tom huffed and rolled back onto his side of the bed. “That settles it, darling. No more curry at bedtime.” With his long reach, he pulled you into the crook of his body, before kissing the nape of your neck. “Because I don’t share. Not even with myself.”

[samingtonwilson]

Apartment 8C - Chapter 4

The First, First Date

SERIES MASTERLIST // PREVIOUS PART

Summary: college au. you and bucky are the closest of friends, the most functional of roommates, and… exes. but just because it didn’t work out romantically doesn’t mean he has to move out! it’s not like he’s so deeply in love that he can barely breathe. totally not in love. at all. not even a little. maybe.

Pairing: bucky x reader

Warnings: LANGUAGE, the use of marijuana/pot/weed/reefer/that loud

A/N: i had a bad thought while writing this chapter and i’m not going to share it with y’all because that might put y’all off this story. actually fuck it, i’ll share the thought. isn’t it so weird how obsessed we all are with love? like these are college students with so much more happening in their lives but they’re sitting around and always talking about love. and a lot of us do that shit too. weirdos. 

There’s a knock at the door and Bucky replies to it with a groan. A loud, I don’t give a fuck if the neighbors hear me kind of groan. 

Slumped on the couch, phone balanced on his stomach and remote control set on his thigh, he very nearly snarls. He doesn’t bother to pick up either electronic as he stands, letting his phone fall face down on the area rug while the remote knocks against its corner with a clang. 

His journey to the door is comprised less of steps and more of a slide, a glide, a bit of a skate. He’s thankful he kept his socks on and unlocks the door, eyes half-lidded and heavy head tilted back. “The delivery instructions said to text and leave the bag at the door, not to knock and make me get up.” 

“That how you talk to delivery people? They should ban your sorry ass from Doordash.” 

He straightens his head and glares at Steve— smirking, smug, smart ass Steve who holds a large brown paper bag in one hand and a six pack in the other. It somehow makes Bucky frown deeper. “You intercepted my delivery?” 

“And brought you beer,” he holds the cardboard case up and shakes it, smiling. 

That smile fades, however, when he pauses in thought for a moment. He frowns then, indignant. Pushes Bucky out of the way to cross the threshold into the apartment. “So, you know, you’re fuckin’ welcome, you ungrateful jerk.” 

A sigh and Bucky shuts the door. He watches as Steve appraises the room and feels no shame at the look of disgust on Steve’s face. Instead, he rolls his eyes when Steve fully faces him. “I don’t want to hear it.” 

“You clean out your fridge? It broken or something?” Steve asks. He sets the bag and beer onto the coffee table, shuts Bucky’s dead laptop that he hasn’t bothered to charge. Steve then places Bucky’s phone and the remote control on the couch and begins to gather the empty take out containers still cool from the refrigerator. 

Bucky grits his teeth at the sight. “Steve, just— What the hell are you doing?” 

“Picking all this shit up so we can eat and watch the game,” there’s a cheerful lilt through his words. He sends a smile Bucky’s way, humor in the blue of his eyes, as he passes to toss the containers into the trash. “Thanks for asking, Buck. What the hell are you doing?”  

“I—” Bucky still stands by the door. His arms are crossed over his chest, his brow furrowed in incredulity when Steve crosses to the couch once more and falls into the cushions with a sigh of relief. “Steve, I’m not in the mood today, man.” 

“In the mood for what?” The volume of the television is turned up, Steve hugs the elephant cushion to his chest. “You were gonna watch the game anyway, so was I. Might as well do that in the same place and eat a li’l somethin’ while we’re at it.” 

Bucky’s sigh is one of defeat. He takes steps back to the couch rather than skating over, and sits beside Steve with a mumbled, “I didn’t order anything with your fat head in mind.” 

Steve leans forward to pull the bag open, paper crinkling as he pulls a sandwich from the depths. He tosses what remains in the bag onto Bucky’s lap. “Stopped at a deli on the way here. Don’t know what the fuck you’re eating but it smelled like dog shit.” 

He smiles to himself. Wryly. “What deli you stop at?” 

“Shelsky's.” There’s pride in Steve’s voice. Arrogance in his posture. “I didn’t want to cheap out and settle for something worse.”

“That’s where I ordered from, you fucking snob.” 

“Must’ve ordered something nasty then.” 

A sarcastic hum of agreement and Bucky shakes his head. He narrows his eyes at the television as Steve flips through the channels in an attempt to find something more entertaining than the advertisements currently airing on Fox. “Why’re you really here?” 

“It’s Thursday night,” he replies, using a keychain to pop the cap on a bottle of beer. “Titans are playing the Jags.” 

“You don’t care about either of those teams.” 

Steve drops his smile now. He scowls and settles back on Fox, unsatisfied. “Can’t a guy eat a sandwich, drink a beer, and watch a game with a friend without the third degree?” 

“Couldn’t have done that with Sam?” 

“I do a variation of this with Sam almost every night. Wanted to spend time with you today.” 

“But—” 

“Buck, for shit’s sake, let me be here for you without making us both live through me saying why.” He reaches forward to pull another beer from the carton, placing it in Bucky’s lap, and slouches back against the soft grey velvet. “And if you wanna talk about it, I’m here for that, too.” 

“What’s there to talk about?” Bucky asks, more rhetorical than expecting an answer. 

There’s a pause as Bucky gazes at the television with practiced focus. His arms fold over his chest again. His knee bounces.

“She’s on a date,” he continues after the lull stretches for too long. “She was going to start dating eventually. I’m okay with it. Happy for her. T’Challa’s a good dude. Good looking, good soccer player. Smart. It’s nice. Good for her. I’m happy for her. She deserves someone like him. I’m happy for her. 

“He actually came to the door. Didn’t text her to meet him downstairs, didn’t show up empty-handed. We both know how uncomfortable she is with actual romantic gestures and I guess he knows, too, because he gave her a Ziploc of peaches like she had in class the day they met. It’s nice. He’s a good dude. I’m happy for her.”

Through the thick silence that falls over them, Steve blinks. “Christ, you know you just spoke for a minute straight without taking a breath? I think you said ‘I’m happy for her��� thirteen times.” 

Bucky’s inhale is loud and pointed, his exhale a huff. He’s no longer interested in eating the sandwich he’d ordered, suddenly full from all the leftovers he’d tucked into just minutes ago. All he wants is for Steve to leave. 

Well. That’s not all he wants. 

But it trumps his other desires. Momentarily. 

“I know you’re happy for her,” Steve says as Bucky parts his lips to tell the former off. Bucky shuts his mouth now, though. And just listens as Steve’s voice grows softer, eyes no longer dancing in humor. “But I know you’re fuckin’ miserable, too.” 

He knows there’s no point denying it. No point denying what’s so plainly written across his face. 

But he tries anyway. “M’not miserable. I’m ha—” 

“You can be both.” Steve, unwrapping the parchment from his sandwich, keeps his eyes on the television. “It’s possible to be happy for her but miserable at the idea of it all deep down. S’why I thought you might wanna move out.” 

“She’d still go on dates if I’d moved out.” 

“You wouldn’t have to watch her going on them.”

“I’m okay with her dating.”

“I’m okay with a lotta things, too. Doesn’t mean I wanna see it all happen in front of me.”

Bucky watches as Steve takes an impossibly large bite out of the sandwich, Russian dressing smearing over his lips. “I’ve got a date, too.” 

“Buck,” Steve’s mouth is full. Horribly so. And Bucky scowls at the sound of his thick voice. “This ain’t a date. Don’t know how many times I gotta tell you. I just don’t feel that way about you, man.” 

A sarcastic smile and even more dry laugh. “Shut the fuck up. I’m talking about Connie.” 

Steve scowls as he swallows. “That perky little brunette from the bar?” 

“Perky?” 

“I can just look at her and tell she was on her high school cheerleading squad.” Around another bite, he adds, “Seems nice enough, I guess.” 

“She is nice.” He pauses only to mumble more to himself, “And emotionally available.”

Steve cocks an eyebrow and briefly looks at Bucky in skepticism. “What, you determined that from just a few days of talking?” 

“On the second day she told me she’s liked me since freshman year orientation.” He sighs your name then. Slowly. Laboriously. “She was somethin’ else entirely. You know how long it took her to admit she liked me?” 

Steve nods upwards and flips the channel when the commentators on the pregame show begin to argue. 

“Took her three months after we started dating to admit she liked me. And she never said it again after that.” 

Steve drags the back of his hand over his lips, wiping off a bit of stray dressing. In visible disgust, he wipes his hand on the discarded butcher paper. “Some people show their feelings rather than say them.” 

Bucky seems to smile at that. Unbeknownst to himself, there’s a slow grin spreading over his lips. 

He thinks of instances. Instances when silence would act as a wall but actions a wrecking ball. 

The morning after your third date when you’d tried your best— despite your absolute inability to cook— to make the breakfast he always orders at the diner in Astoria. 

The eggs were runny in places, burnt in others and the bacon was traumatically floppy under a layer of not-even-close-to rendered fat and added oil. You’d apologized as he scrubbed the pan and plates, bright yellow dish rag waving as you insisted repeatedly that you couldn’t live if you’d given the guy you’d only just begun to date salmonella. 

Independence day when you’d Irish-goodbyed from Steve’s birthday party only twenty minutes after arriving to steal away to the rooftop of Mama Wilson’s brownstone in Harlem. 

You’d said something about fireworks and pizza, a six-pack of beer already snagged off the kitchen counter. Played it off as Sam’s idea, his house keys in the pocket of the navy blue bomber jacket you’d “borrowed” from Bucky. Nothing about Bucky’s hatred of parties at the Rogers-Wilson residence, though. Not even a hint until he overheard your apologies to Sam’s mother for the intrusion— an apology you later denied, kissing him silly to make him forget any further questions. 

The week before you’d broken up— a week Bucky remembers less for the distance you’d successfully created— when you sought comfort in him after a long day. 

Your boots had been kicked off by the door, your bag and its contents scattered beside them. You’d tearfully slurred words together, words he barely caught, in explanation. Something about work, and school, and your mother’s unnecessary opinions about your major and future. Something which forced sobs from your chest as you set your head against his. You’d wrapped your arms around him tightly, the two of you huddled together on his worn barcalounger as he stroked your hair and pressed kisses to the crown of your head. 

It’s well after the game has ended— Steve vengefully chowing down on your once-hidden stash of This is for when I have my period chocolate, Bucky barely paying attention to the episode of The Office the two had resorted to watching— when you come home. 

Hair mussed, lips swollen with gloss smudged every which way, you stumble through the doorway with a laughed, “No more rule-breaking on the first date, T’Challa.” 

The door is shut and locked just as T’Challa begins to respond. You spin and press your back to it, still laughing but quietly, more to yourself. You open your mouth to greet Steve and Bucky, both looking at you in either confusion or amusement, but shut it as a knock at the door cuts you off. 

“I’ll call you,” T’Challa promises through the wood. There’s a chuckle laced through his words, a smile in his voice. 

Exaggeratedly, you scoff. Still grinning however. “Who calls?” 

“I do,” he replies without concern that your neighbors may complain about his volume. “And you’re gonna pick up.” 

“Oh, am I?” 

“Yeah, you are. ‘Night.”

You don’t respond beyond a hum and stand at the door until you’re sure he’s gone. A nod to yourself and you step away as you remove that navy blue bomber jacket to toss it onto the counter. You also toss a smile over your shoulder to Bucky. “You here just to eat my chocolate, Rogers?” 

“No,” Steve says without a glance in your direction. “I ate your ice cream, too.” 

You shut the freezer. Empty-handed. Frowning. “Your stomach’s just a bottomless pit, huh?” 

“I’m a growing boy.” 

“Have I told you how uncomfortable it makes me when you call your grown-ass self a boy?” you remark, settling for a bottle of water from the refrigerator. You pause before shutting the heavy steel door. “You clear out all the leftovers, too?” 

Steve peers at Bucky, the latter stuck in a thoughtful, sad stare, and nods. “Yeah. We’re all out of food at my place and I don’t get paid ‘til tomorrow night.” 

You’re frowning in consideration as you walk to the barcalounger and fall into it sideways, legs swung over the opposite armrest you’ve set your back against. “Fair enough. How was your day, Buck?” 

The question breaks him from whatever daze he’d fallen into and he blinks. Averts a steady gaze when you shift a bit to look at him. “The Jags won.” 

You smile. It’s warm, a little honeyed. “Is that good or bad?” 

“Neutral.” He can’t help but smile himself. It doesn’t even falter as he asks, “How was your date?”

A shrug. Your eyes narrow at Michael Scott as he attempts to toss pizza dough. “T’Challa got a large popcorn at the movies.” 

“Damn, he’s got money.” 

You laugh, startled. Bucky grins when you do, too. “That’s what I said! I also beat your high score at pinball in the theater arcade.” 

“Went on a date with a guy who’s got money, beat my pinball score. You’ve just had a magical day, haven’t you?” 

There’s a softness and affection in the way Bucky speaks and looks at you, your responding giggles just as sweet. Steve, sitting between the two of you, almost feels as if he’s intruding on something, an empathetic ache in his chest as he watches. “Explain the pinball thing.” 

“Bucky and I went to the movies last month and fucked around the arcade while waiting for our showtime. And he got so competitive.” You roll your eyes at the memory. “We ended up missing the movie because he was determined to beat the high score this poor kid had just set when we got there. Took him hours and, like, forty bucks in tokens.” 

“It didn’t take me hours.” 

“We got there in the afternoon and by the time we left, the employees were cleaning the popcorn machines,” your expression and tone leave no room for argument. “Only took me two hours.” 

Steve looks between you two, fighting the urge to scoff at the satisfaction in your eyes and the combination of annoyance and so much adoration in Bucky’s. “Two hours? You miss the movie again?” 

“No, I snuck out before the movie ended. Said I had to pee and went straight to the machine so none of the kids in our auditorium could take it before I got there.” You ignore Steve’s disappointed gaze. “T’Challa was confused and probably unhappy I made him sit there for so long while I played.”

“Probably unhappy?” 

“I didn’t ask.” A nonchalant shrug and you flash them a knowing smile. “Beating Bucky’s score was my priority so I could come in here and casually mention it like I’m not bragging only to bring it up everyday for the rest of his life.” 

Your eyes meet Bucky’s and, at the look you’re giving him, Bucky has to remind himself that the two of you are no longer in a relationship and he can’t just kiss the arrogance away. “Sucker.”

—

It’s a makeup caboodle. 

Pale pink and lime green. A tropical flower sticker pasted to the clasp. There’s a ribbon tied to the handle— deep magenta velvet in a neat bow. 

It’s unassuming. A little innocent looking. Like it should belong to a seventh grader in the nineties just learning how to use glitter eyeshadow and lip balm palettes. 

It’s when you pop it open, the mirror attachment springing up only to reflect Wanda’s skeptical features, that the pungent smell permeates throughout the kitchen and small living room. Skunky, but a little floral. 

A speckled glass pipe, multicolored glaze splattered over a white base, sits in the top compartment alongside a few toothpicks and a package of rolling papers. In the compartment directly below rests a round steel grinder, three-tiered and emblazoned with the engravement of a manufacturer’s name. 

The biggest compartment holds many small glass jars. Tiny mason jars you’d bought at a flea market. All different colors, all labeled with white circular stickers. 

Wanda sits up in her stool at the sight, pulls the caboodle toward herself and sifts through the jars. She removes three of the jars and looks at you with widened eyes. “You’re insane.” 

You shrug and take the grinder when she hands it to you. “I like being organized.” 

“You should see her room,” Bucky says as he shuts his bedroom door behind him, shoes in hand. He smiles at the two of you, beard freshly trimmed to just barely above stubble and eyes a bright blue. “Most organized mess I’ve ever seen.”

You nod, tearing a bit of the sour diesel bud apart to place carefully between the metal teeth in the topmost chamber. You smile at her from your spot atop the counter, legs folded and back pressed against the shelves behind you. “There’s a method to my madness, Wan. Hand me a toothpick.” 

She complies and removes a blue jar without a label. “What’s in this one?” 

“Blue dream. Jar’s blue and I ran out of stickers.” There’s a click as the lid is magnetically snapped back onto the grinder. You twist it to the left twice, then to the right once. “You picking her up or meeting her there?” 

Bucky, leant against the wall as he slips his shoes on, looks up. “What says ‘This is a real date, not a hookup’?” 

“Going to dinner and not having sex after.” 

He replies with a dry laugh and narrowed eyes. “Which of the two options— picking her up or meeting there— says that?” 

“Picking her up.” You tear the stem off the bottom of the bud and place it as a barrier over the hole in the pipe’s bowl. “Might be too late to tell her that now, though.” 

“Already told her I’d pick her up. I was just making sure I did the right thing.” You see his lips spread into a self-satisfied smirk when you finish filling the bowl. “Looks like I did.” 

You smile back, though sarcastically. “Girls like a little humility in the guys they date, you know.” 

“She’s liked me for three years now,” he says. He pulls on a jacket and pats every pocket on him to make sure he’s got his wallet and keys. “She knows what she’s herself getting into.” 

“Bucky, baby, I live with you and I had no idea what I was getting myself into.” 

Wanda snorts a laugh at that, taking the pipe and a bright pink lighter from you. 

Bucky’s eyes fall into a glare. “So normal first dates don’t end in sex?” 

“No, they don’t. Most people actually wait until after the third date. It’s, like, in the dating manual for successful relationships.” 

“Huh,” he breathes. He takes his phone when you remove it from the charger to pass it to him, smiling up at you. “Looks like we were doomed from the start.”

“Maybe.” You watch as Wanda exhales a steady stream of opaque smoke punctuated by a soft cough. You slide her bottle of water to her. “Or maybe we’re the exception to the rule. Apart, we should follow normal date conventions. But together, we were too hot to wait that long.” 

Wanda hands you the pipe and lighter. “What happened to humility?” 

Before sparking the lighter, you answer, “I’m not dating a girl.” 

Your next inhale, once you’ve adequately charred the top layer of pot, burns in your throat and you hold it in your chest. You smile at Bucky when he shoots you a sly grin, lips in a cirlce as you exhale. “Have fun. Don’t order the tiramisu. They skimp on the espresso.” 

He nods once and straightens his jacket. You watch as he unlocks the door, opens it, and steps through with a simple wave. Your eyes remain on the door even after it shuts. 

It isn’t until Wanda’s fingers brush yours that you break your stare. “What?” the question is nearly barked when she offers you a look of something eerily similar pity. 

“Nothing! You just— You look a little lovelorn.”

Your features crumple. “Ew. No, I don’t. I look amazing, you look lovelorn.” 

“Okay, Queen of the land Defensiva,” she mutters once she’s exhaled. “I’m just saying. You were staring at that door like you want to take it home to meet your mother.” 

“Maybe I do. It’s a nice color. I picked the yellow out myself.” 

“Nat told me about that night at the bar. About how Bucky flirted with that Connie chick right in front of you.” She watches as you take a hit and your head lolls back against the shelves. “That must have sucked.” 

“It did.” You trace the bumps on the ceiling and sigh. “But it’s okay. Larger picture, broad scheme of things. It’s okay.” 

“What’s that mean?” 

A shrug. You take a sip from your own bottle of water. “We’re both okay. We’re both moving on, we’re still able to be friends and roommates. I can sit here and watch him go on dates with her if that’s what it takes. A little pain for the larger cause.” 

There’s a beat of silence as Wanda takes a long drag. You break it as you muse, “Do we talk about this shit too much?” 

“Yeah, maybe. Should we order a pizza?” 

--

CHAPTER 5: ARE YOU OVERCOMPENSATING?

[angelkurenai]

Impossible - Dean Winchester x Reader (French Mistake AU)

Title: Impossible

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: Imagine finding out that the two dogs you adopted were Dean and Sam from Supernatural, cursed by a witch and transported to your universe. You spend a long time with them, only for Dean to fall in love with you and to feel torn when he gets back to his human form between staying with you and leaving.

“Boys, I'm home!”

If someone had told you that this would be your life then... you would have totally believed them. Coming home from your part-time job to your own apartment, about to watch the newest episode of Supernatural and savor your favorite pie and burgers which you had just bought, and above all to your two most favorite boys in the world which also happened to be your dogs seemed like the life you actually wanted and got. Speaking of which-

“Sammy!” you grinned as the Australian Sheppard happily made his way from the kitchen towards you. You knelt and he rested his paws on your legs to push himself upwards and lick your cheek before continuing to lick your hands. You giggled, rubbing his head and back, happy to see him wagging his tail. Although he didn't get as excited as your other dog did – oh that one was the epitome of a happy dog, the past couple weeks he had not been feeling well and you were trying your best to make him happy, so it made you feel better to see him go back to his old self.

“How's my boy today? Feelin' any better?” you got a bark in return, and you wrapped your arms around the big dog in a warm hug “I hope that's a yes. Don't worry, big guy, I'm here for you. I've got your favorite treats and after the newest episode of Supernatural we're gonna watch your favorite movie too, ok?” another bark, certainly more cheerful and pulling away you grinned at him “That's my boy. It seems like you and Sam Winchester do really have more things in common than I thought.” you kissed the top of his head “Don't worry, everything will go alright, promise!” you grinned, getting back up on your feet.

You took off your shoes and jacket, looking all around the place with a frown “Hey Sam, where is Dean?”

Usually when you came back from work the second you'd open the door, the German Sheppard was the first thing you saw before your own house. He'd be jumping, practically pushing the door open, and while standing on his two feet he'd be licking the heaven out of you. On many occasions he had knocked you over because of his excitement. Well, at least you could say that Dean Winchester - at least a version of him? - was peppering you with kiss while eagerly awaiting your return every day from work. That was something.

However it didn't seem this would be the case this time. It struck you as off when you didn't hear his happy barking but you thought he had not heard you. However, you actually started to worry when you heard a loud sound come from your kitchen, of something breaking. Your eye widened and before you could realize it, you were making your way towards it in a heartbeat. Nobody could have certainly prepared you for what was to come, though, and just as surprisingly a giggle escaped your lips.

“And what do you think you're doing there mister?” you placed your hands on your hips, raising an eyebrow and trying to look as stern as you possibly could; but it was impossible with how adorable he looked while trying to hide the mess he'd made and attempted to look innocent but was clearly guilty.

A small whine came from him as you looked around, taking the scene in front of you. Both the pies you'd bought not a day ago were gone, some leftover burgers and fries gone as well, some noodles and milk spilled on the floor. There were two plastic bottles of water on the floor as well next to the glass you'd just heard break, no wonder having knocked it over the counter. The door of the fridge was still slightly ajar, no wonder him having tried to close it and cover up for the mess he'd made but not fully succeeding. Which would explain how he had not rushed to greet you.

“Dean?” you asked accusingly, voice stern “Did you do all this?” you wouldn't need a verbal answer even if he could give it to you, there was still some filling on his nose from how messily he'd eaten it, but him avoiding eye-contact was more proof too “Dean, look at me.” you said sternly and after a long pause he looked up and gave you a small, cute bark “Oh don't try to play innocent on me. Did you do that?”

His eyes were immediately cast down as he tried to push with his paw one of th empty pie contains under a chair and out of your view but it didn't work as you took a step forward, crossing your arms over your chest “Dean, look at me. Did you cause the mess? Did you eat the pies?” well, he did have more in common with the human Dean after all.

“This is why you didn't come to greet me huh? You were trying to cover up for the mess you'd made.” you said with a raised eyebrow and he let a small whine escape him, he slowly laid down to show his belly as a sign of obedience but you still remained stern, or at least did your damn best to keep a straight face “Oh now you're trying to pull that off huh? You did this hm? Even though I told you to stay away from the pies.”

You tapped your foot, face stern and firm despite how hard it was. He had lowered his ears, his eyes big and pleading – a special bright and beautiful shade of green that looked identical to the man he was named after – soft barks and whining leaving his lips as he wagged his tail. When he saw you weren't caving in, he got up on his feet and made his way to you, nudging on your hip with his head and on your leg with his paw.

“Oh you're apologizing now hm?” you raised an eyebrow “You think those pretty eyes will do it again this time?” you remained as stoic as you possibly could, already having gotten the message across. To say that Sam and Dean were the smartest dogs you'd met in your entire life would be a great understatement, they were so much more than that. Sometimes it felt like you were talking to yourself and you shouldn't expect a reaction, much less answer, from any of them; and yet they always did something to prove you wrong by giving you a sign they understood everything. Or it was probably your own wishful thinking.

“You know what? I don't even wanna know.” you sighed at those puppy eyes “How you managed to open the fridge in the first place is remarkable as it is.” the second the smile formed on your lips his ears perked up. A yelp left your lips when he jumped up and, as per usual, knocked you over. With most of his weight on top of you he started licking you like there was no tomorrow, his tail wagging so fast you could barely see it. Uncontrollable laughter left your lips as he wiggled and tried to nuzzle his nose in the crook of your neck, licking even your jaw and neck in the meanwhile.

“Alright, alright! Dean. Dean!” you squealed, laughing and rubbing his sides and belly “Dean, alright- enough kisses, please, I'm about to get an overdose!”

It took a full minute, and a small bark from Sam you were pretty sure you heard, for him to pull back. He made sure to give you a another lick over the lips, making you laugh as you tried to clean yourself, but certainly not complain.

“Ok ok I sure missed you too, buddy.” you giggled, kissing the top of his head, earning a grin from him - or what you could at least describe as that “Why don't you go and spend some time with Sammy while I clean up the mess you've made? I'll be back with food for you two soon.” you both knew you could never stay mad for too long at him and you were 100% sure he took advantage of it.

He gave you a happy bark and did as told.

~*~

“No, Dean, wait.” you said, ignoring the whining at the other side of the door or how he scratched on it; asking to be let in “Stay” you said patiently, hooking on your bra. But before you could take hold of your shorts, you heard more effort from the other side of the door before the handle shifted and, after a try or two, the door was pushed open, allowing the big German Sheppard to enter.

“Dean!” you nearly screamed, but you didn't know what you were more surprised at. The fact that he managed to open the door, he had done that before, or walked in on while you were getting dressed, got comfortable on your bed and grinned at you, he had again done that before “You perv.” you grabbed a pillow and threw at him, which he effectively caught in his mouth and played with it.

“Don't tear it to pieces.” you said with a chuckle, shaking your head but grabbing your shorts and a T-shirt and wearing them “Getting comfy, ain't ya?” you grinned, making your way to your side of the bed. It had long ago been established as this.

You had found Sam and Dean a little over a year ago, abandoned by the side of the road and in a terrible condition. You couldn't bring yourself to just walk by and, despite how hard you knew it would be (for a person that could barely make ends meet, was all the time busy with work and barely had enough space in the apartment for herself), you immediately gathered them and took them to the vet. Beaten, bruised and malnourished as they were on the road for a couple of days without any food or water, you just felt your heart break for them. They needed someone to give them their fullest of attention to heal and get them back on their feet and as hard as it was for you, it was hardest to let someone else take care of them, so you took up the opportunity.

And just like that, a little over a year later, you'd grown to love them so much you couldn't say goodbye to them. They had become your family, much like the fandom of the show the characters of which they were named after. And it was no coincidence because they were identical to Sam and Dean Winchester in any way possible.

“Wait- where's Sammy?” you looked around when you didn't spot the Australian Sheppard near you, only to peak through the door and find him in the living room sleeping next to his favorite book. You couldn't tell why you'd find him in this state so often lately, because there was no chance he could read a book (even if you'd once or twice caught him looking at pages), but you weren't going to complain if it calmed him down.

“Seems like it's just you and me tonight, buddy.” you yawned, making your way back to your bed, a sigh of content leaving your lips “But I'm telling you-” you got under the blankets, Dean wiggling his way in as well “No Supernatural tonight as much as I'd love it, I'm beat. We'll watch the new episode tomorrow as much as my heart breaks a little over that.” you layed your head on the pillow, your eyes closing for a second “Oh wouldn't I give everything to see Dean Winchester now.” you mumbled “Gosh, would I give everything to see him for real. Just for a hug, just for a sincere thank you for everything he's done for me without even knowing it. Just to let him know... how much worth it he is. I would be the luckiest girl on Earth if I got that chance.”

The show had a special place in your heart, Dean even more so than anyone else. And your dogs very well knew the fact.

You heard Dean bark but couldn't bring yourself to open your eyes as you hummed and snuggled to his side “Yeah, I love you too buddy. I know, you've got his spark, but Dean is Dean.” you whispered, wrapping and arm around him as he cuddled more with you with another lower bark “Mhm don't get jealous, big boy, or possessive, that's totally different. He's Dean Winchester... he's special.”

The last thing you remembered was his body rumbling softly with a bark that never came, before sleep finally enveloped you.

~*~

The first thing you realized when you were pulled slightly out of the darkness of your sleep was the warm body wrapped around you. And even more the lack of warm fur but presence of soft and smooth skin, human skin.

You heard a small although deep and rough groan from beside you. The surface that your head was laying on rumbled softly, earning a small hum from you, but you were too sleepy to realize it wasn't your pillow. You snuggled to the person's side even more, a pair of big and strong arms around your waist made you feel secure and cared for. You heard more sounds, shuffling of your bed sheets, followed by some murmuring and grumbling. It was all in a whispered voice so whoever the person was, they didn't want to wake you up. Your mind however was so fogged up and laced by sleep that it didn't even occur to you to think, in the first place, how someone had found their way into your bed.

And, in all honesty, whatever ability you had – during such a time – to think vanished into thin air when you slowly opened your eyes and saw who the person really was. You blinked slightly, your vision blurry as you struggled to keep your eyes open. It was hard, you could barely understand what was happening in the whole darkness of your room; but even the soft light of the moon outside was enough and you caught yourself smiling when your eyes met those breathtaking green orbs.

“Dean?” you whispered in a low and sleepy voice, the man freezing in his spot. His eyes were wide and it seemed as if he was holding his breath as if he was scared for some reason. “Dean... You're here.” you added in a whisper, your smile growing as you wrapped your arm around his middle as well.

“H-hey sweetheart.” he finally forced out, his voice deep, the nervousness crystal clear. His breathing was heavy and you could hear his heart was racing inside his chest, but you still cuddled more with him, the feeling of his soft skin against your cheek making you smile to yourself again.

“You're a little tense.” you murmured in a small voice “Why?” it was so innocent and simple, as you looked up at him with pouting lips, but it made his heart skip another bit.

“I-” he frowned, licking his lips as he kept opening and closing his mouth with an adorably perplexed look on his face.

“D?” you questioned.

He sucked in a breath, clearing his throat before he forced out a laugh that came out nervous “Well, I'm naked for starters.” he tried to give you a smile but it was awkward and it died out very soon.

“Hmh” you hummed, licking your lips before you nuzzled your face in the crook of his neck “But you're a good naked... as far as I've seen at least.” the giggle that left your lips made his pull into a boyish grin.

“Well, now I'm naked naked. But-” he took in a small breath “Glad you think so.” he whispered, licking his lips that felt so dry, his smile fluttering as a look of awe took place. It never seased to amaze him just how beautiful you were when you were peacefully sleeping next to him, even if he had to be walking on four and you didn't even realize he was more than just a dog that bloody witch had turned him into.

He slowly brought a hand to your cheek, feeling such relief and peace by being able to touch your cheek like any normal human, tucking away a few stray strands when your eyes fluttered close. But it only lasted a moment because as he rubbed his thumb on your cheek, they opened again and you watched him with a sleepy smile and hazy eyes.

“It's so good to see you smile.” you whispered, bringing your hand up to cup his cheek.

Dean tried his best to ignore the crazy leap his heart did and as hard as it was, he forced himself to keep his voice even and his face straight yet gentle “Go back to sleep, princess, you're gonna need it.”

“No” an adorable, to him at least, whine left your lips “No, I don't- I dont' want to, Dean. I just... I want to keep seeing you smile. I just want to keep seeing you calm and relaxed, just lemme please.”

“(Y/n)” the lump in his throat was hard to swallow and with you wrapped around him, the effort to breathe became a struggle.

“Gosh, you should smile more often, it looks amazing on you. You deserve to smile, D. You deserve to be happy, to becalm. You deserve so much... you deserve the world.” you tried to emphasize on each word as much as you could.

“Trust me...” he let out a shaky breath “I'd be the happiest man on the world if I could just have you.”

You smiled, the kind of smile that had made him fall for you. He had long ago come to terms with the fact that he didn't just see you as a friend, or the girl who took care of them when they couldn't fend for themselves or even the chick he'd hit on if he was human from the first moment he met. Sure, he would be drawn to you from the first second – and he had been, because he was fully conscious all this time of everything around him – but after a year he realized that you were much more important to him than any of that. He had feelings for you.

“You deserve so much more. You should have it, you... You're worth so much, Dean.” your arm sneaked around his neck “Gosh, I wish so bad you could know it. I wish so bad I could let you know it... I could show you how good you truly are, Dean. How much good you've really done. How much you mean to me.”

“I know.” he breathed out, the words sounding foreign in his lips for such a subject, but having gotten to know how you saw and thought of him over the past year had made him feel all sorts of things he had not had the chance to before “Believe me, princess, I really know.”

His chest felt as if it was on fire but despite every cell in his body screaming differently at him, as he leaned in, he kissed your forehead. His eyes fluttered shut and a sigh of content left his lips, the lips which lingered on your forehead for longer than appropriate. And then came the hardest of it all “Go to sleep, (Y/n). When you wake up... everything will be better.”

And it would be better because he'd be gone, leaving you to live a normal life away from the horror, pain and death that haunted him. Leaving you... behind. And that felt like a stab to the chest.

“No” came a soft protest and he looked down at you with a deep frown “No I- I don't want to go to sleep. I don't wanna close my eyes cause if I- if I do then you'll be gone and I'll be back to reality. And I don't want it.”

“Wh-what are you-”

“I just want...” you trailed off, your lips parted as you watched him for a full minute. His eyes moved back and forth, eyebrows softly furrowed together before he heard you take in a small breath and lean in to press your lips to his. His eyes widened and his eyebrows shot up in shock.

He took in a shaky breath as your lips moved against his, soft, sweet and timid yet still with a boldness and surge of courage that all in all knocked all air out of his lungs. His eyes fluttered shut and despite every ounce of logic in him, every fiber in his body told him to kiss back and he did. His lips moved slowly against yours, savoring the moment he knew and feared wouldn't last long. He felt your arms wrap around his shoulders, one hand coming up to rest on the back of his neck as you deepened the kiss. He instinctively tightened his hold on your waist, bringing you as close as possible to himself as he could. He needed it worse than he needed the air to breathe.

His fingers danced with the hem of your shirt, the second his thumb brushed over the skin of your hip his heart did a jump. His gasp was synchronised with you licking his lower lip. He didn't even realize it when you moved so that you were laying beneath him, his body too seemingly having a mind of its own. He felt you wrap your legs around his waist and the shivers of excitement rush down his spine.

But logic and even more the need to protect you and care for you was bigger so as much as it hurt he pulled away from you with a small groan. He heard you let out a sound of protest and despite how hard it was to watch the rise and fall of your chest along with your kiss-swollen lips, he said “(Y/n)... close your eyes, sweetheart. Go to sleep. Please.” it was a plea for you to stop this because he didn't have the strength to.

“But I don't want to.” you whispered, bring your hand to cup his cheek “If I close my eyes you'll... you'll leave.” his breath got caught in his throat, fearing you knew what he had to inevitably do “I'll close my eyes and when I wake up you'll be gone but I- I don't want you to leave, Dean. Please don't leave me, I need you.”

“It's-” his mouth felt dry and he already felt terrible, so instead he said “I'll never leave you, princess.” he whispered, leaning in to press his lips to yours in a sweet kiss. He felt your lips pull into a small smile.

You kissed back before he pulled away, only a couple inches mind you though “I know you won't... I just don't want to wake up. I rarely have dreams, much less of you. I want to make this last as long as possible.”

“Dreams?” he frowned until it dawned on him. You didn't think this was real, you thought you were still sleeping and that this was all just a dream, of course. That would at least make more sense than your favorite fictional character from your favorite TV show being real and on top of that being turned into a dog, thrown into your universe, which you took in to take care of and adopted.

“Don't worry, baby girl.” he breathed out, smiling although sadly “I'll be here, just close your eyes. You're tired.” he said softly,moving to lay on his side again and tucking you next to him, kissing the top of your head which you rested on his shoulder.

“I don't want to...” you mumbled sleepily.

“Ssshh just sleep.” he said softly, watching you without another sound as you fought but your eyes fluttered shut anyway.

“I don't...” you only trailed off, losing the fight against sleep only a couple seconds later. He heard your breathing slow down and become even. He smiled, although it was bittersweet, not moving an inch so as not to wake you up.

Sleep wasn't bound to overtake him, like you, though. Deep down he wished it would, maybe then he'd have an excuse to let you know of his existence and above all stay for as long as that was supposed to be. But his heart sank when he heard the footstep at the other side of the door, and there was only person that could be there.

“Dean?” Sam's voice whispered, pushing the door slightly open.

Dean tried his best to swallow over the lump in his throat and tear his eyes away from you to look at his brother, thankfully fully clothed, standing in the doorway and squinting at him “Dean are you awake? Are you- are you back to yourself again?”

A heavy sigh left his lips “Yes and be quiet, you're gonna wake her up. I'll be there in a minute. Just... give me a minute, that's all I need.” it was a lie, he needed a lifetime with you and it would still not be enough, but at the moment that was all he could get.

Sam frowned for a second but clearing his throat, he nodded his head in understand “I'll- I'll leave a couple clothes here, alright? Just... hurry.”

Dean could even hear it in his brother's voice, a bitterness and sympathy; understanding even for his struggle and pain. The door closed softly behind Sam and the older Winchester just focused on the soft rise of your chest instead of the seconds ticking by, until the time to finally came.

As much as it hurt him he took a deep breath and did what he had to do. Knowing that the longer he stayed the harder it was going to be on him, he decided he should just man up and pry himself off you. It was hard, not just because of his feelings, but because you insisted to snuggle even closer to him and your grip around him was firm. It was nearly impossible pulling away, freezing more times than he realized whenever you'd shift or let out a small whine, but in the end he managed to get off the bed.

Pulling the clothes Sam had left for him on the chair he paused for a moment. He looked at you, even though he knew he shouldn't, holding his breath. He struggled with everything in him, against ever instinct and want, to not lean in and kiss you at the moment or even touch your cheek one last time because he knew he risked waking you up and that was something he couldn't afford.

Shaking his head he took a deep breath and with fast steps exited the room before he could regret it.

“You ok?” Sam asked softly, their eyes meeting but Dean clenched his jaw.

“Just freaking peachy.” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

“Dean” the younger man sighed nonetheless, seeing more than his brother let out “You know we don't have another option.”

“Yeah, yeah I know. She doesn't deserve to be dragged in all this, I've heard it before... And I agree.” he said sharply, clenching his fists as Sam nodded his head sadly. Dean's frown only got deeper when he took notice of what he was really wearing.

“Did you seriously give me her ex's clothes?” or maybe he needed a change of subject.

“They are all her ex's clothes, Dean. Be thankful he had forgotten some and she kept them in the closet otherwise we'd have nothing to wear.” Sam shrugged, ignoring the glare Dean gave him “Besides, Dean, just because you didn't like that dude to the point you bit him-” he snickered, and at that Dean looked more proud than offended “Doesn't mean we have another choice.”

“Yeah, well-” Dean gave him a smug grin, defence mechanism “Guilty. But didn't you see the way he broke her heart? He did deserved it. He was a jerk and I was right!”

“Not you were jealous. That's different.” he pointed with a small smirk “It wouldn't matter if the guy was perfect, either. You'd still hate his guts.”

“Still, I ended up being right when he did hurt her the way I predicted.” he shrugged again “Good thing she had Dean to cheer her up though.”

“Yeah, on the screen of her TV.” Sam pointed out, making reality crash down on him again, and clearing his throat he added “You know... we need to get going, before she wakes. Find a way to contact Cas.”

“Yeah I understand.” the smile fell as he chewed on his lower lip, taking another step away from the door of your bedroom “It was good while it lasted, though huh?” he asked with a half smile that fell all-too-soon.

“Ye-yeah I... I guess.” Sam frowned but pursed his lips, understanding very well how bitter and sad it was. Sure, there was a hint of relief that they'd finally be back, they had at least many more chances as humans too, because being away and helpless from their lives had taken a toll on both of them; Sam above all.

“I mean I-” Dean licked his lips, sure not all of it had been good because they had to be away from the people they cared for and called family, they had almost lost their minds thinking that it could never be undone but in the end what he felt here, the small heaven he found in your apartment with you was something he had only dreamed of in his wildest dreams at that “I miss them all too, but I just- what we got here we could never have. And I ain't one for the perfect life but this-” his eyes roamed the place, lip drawn between his teeth “It was good here, real good. And she was-” a small breathe left his lips that stayed parted.

Sam was frowning until realization hit him with something he doubted even his own brother could see, and his eyebrows raised, back straightening “Dean”

The older Winchester blinked, gathering his thoughts before willing himself to be strong “I'm ok. It doesn't matter now.” he dragged a hand down his face “We uh-” he already started making towards the door of the apartment “We should get going huh?”

“Dean” Sam said softly, eyes filled with sadness. But Dean wouldn't dare meet them.

“She could wake up any moment now.”

“Dean”

“Come on, Sam. We need to find a way back too. People can't see us moping around like-”

“Dean” it was more firm, forcing Dean to look at him with a clenched jaw “Are you-” he huffed slightly “Are you sure about this?”

“I-” he hesitated, chest puffing out before he shook his head “Yes, can we leave now?”

“I don't- I don't mean if it's the right thing. I know it is. I- I mean-” he looked him straight in the eyes “I mean, are you sure this is what you want?”

His words ran deeper than he expected, his eyes finding the door of your bedroom again. He held his breath for a second before his shoulders just slumped and his eyes lowered. Sam didn't need a verbal answer after that.

[find-felicity]

Yet another part of my deh fic

I thought I would never finish this fic but I just wrote a scene for the third time and... I'm seriously considering actually doing it. Maybe on ao3 or wattpad. Would anyone be interested? If so please tell me which one would you prefer.

Here are the other two scenes:

https://find-felicity.tumblr.com/post/641319228376547328/another-part-of-my-deh-fic

https://find-felicity.tumblr.com/post/640961612463915008/a-sneek-peek-of-the-deh-fic-ill-probably-never

About the story: in this au after Connor’s suicide attempt he falls into a coma, but he is also seen as a ghost by Evan (actually, only by Evan). Things happen pretty much the same as they do in the musical. This scene takes place after Connor storms out of the computer lab

DISCLAIMER: attempt of suicide

To sleep for days, weeks even

Connor felt exhausted even though he's been lying on his bed for the past 3 hours. His stomach growled which reminded him that he hasn't eaten anything since breakfast and even that was basically cut in half by the argument he had with his mother.

So, like some toast maybe? Or some milk... I can't even remember.

Thinking about food only made him feel worse, so he slowly got up and headed to the kitchen. His knees shaked comstantly, and he could loose his balance any minute. He had to firmly grab the handrail while going down the stairs and still managed to stumble down the last few steps.

Luckily noone was home. Zoey and Cynthia went shopping together and Larry was working late as usual. The house was really quiet. Uncomfortably quiet.

Connor's arm felt week as he opened the fridge. The first thing he saw was the leftovers from last night neatly packed in new tupperware. One of the containers even had his name on the lid. It was spaghetti which he quite liked, although since Cynthia experimented with keto noodles it was harder to enjoy.

He almost smiled thinking about his mother's spaghetti. Same recipe since he could remember but some ingredients always substituted according to Cynthia's newest ideas about a healthy lifestyle.

Like it's going to make any difference in this house. That's almost pathetic.

Suddenly he could clearly remember why he didn't eat dinner last night.

Pathetic. That's what his father said when he told his parents he's thinking about skipping a year before going to collage. Originally, his reason was to gather some ideas and finally figure out what he's going to do with his life, but...

Larry did not care for that. He could only talk about how he wouldn't give him any money if all he wants to do is spend it then do nothing all day.

Connor couldn't even argue with him. He was too mentally drained to even listen to his lecture or his mother's whining about him wasting his opportunities. He just got up, went to his room and stared at the ceiling while listening to some music. Couldn't really help with feeling any better.

Later Zoey came upstairs too and gently knocked on his door.

"Hey, if you... "

"Leave me the fuck alone! " he shouted almost immidiately.

"I just wanted to say" he could hear the sudden change in her voice as she shouted back at the closed door "that you should probably eat something! But fine, starve to death then! "

That is more and more likely to happen each day. Connor thought as he closed the fridge.

His hunger turned into something more like nausea. There were tons of fruit, yogurt and whatever else his mother could think of while grocery shopping but it was already too late. He filled a cup with water and went back to his room. It was still more than nothing.

He placed the glass on his nightstand and laid down again. The ceiling seemed to slowly rotate above him. His eyelids were heavy and his head felt like it could shatter into a million pieces any minute.

Who could say no to another depression nap?

But somehow he couldn't fall asleep. His thoughts kept wandering back to what his father has said to him.

"All you do is sitting in your room! What do you need time for? To figure out your newest addiction? "

How would he even know about the things I do? Of course Larry's always preoccupied with his very important duties as the head of the house. Almost as busy as his lovely wife!

Connor turned over a little too fast and knocked a pillow on the floor.

Fuck both of them.

He bent down to pick it back up but something under his bed caught his eye. He climbed down and pulled out an empty peanutbutter jar. Well, almost empty. Something was ratteling inside and as he wiped some dust off the lid he could clearly remember what it was.

A few months ago his mother was prescribed sleeping pills. He could even remember the proper name: diazepam. It was a serious drug so at first she refused to actually take any. But as time went by she slowly gave in and the pills disappeared from the little orange prescription bottle.

What a familiar feeling. Connor thought with a bitter smile. That's almost ironic.

Cynthia didn't even notice he had taken some of the sleeping tablets. She instatly hid the bottle but it was easier to find than the candy from last halloween. Plus she became forgetful because of the diazepam.

He shaked the bottle so the pills landed in his palm. He grabbed the glass of water and started swirling the liquid around.

I could sleep for days.

Larry may have guessed that Connor had taken some of the sleeping pills but he certainly couldn't find the jar. Instead he found some weed so they had a huge fight as usual.

Maybe he needs some diazepam too. Fuck, diazepam for the whole family!

Connor felt a sudden rush of anger. With one quick move he shoved all the pills in his mouth and swallowed them with a few big gulps of water. He almost choked but managed to get them down.

Seconds, minutes or maybe hours have passed he couldn't tell. His arms and legs started to shake and he dropped the glass he was clutching in his hand. It shattered into a million pieces as Connor's vision started to blur.

It's really happening. I can't believe it.

He collapsed as the front door opened downstairs. He could barely hear their voices.

"Hi, honey! We're back! I bought you a nice new shirt. It's not black but I hope you'll... Connor? "

"He's not even home. "

"He is. His bag is right here. "

There were a few seconds of silence as Connor's room turned into a dark abiss. He could hear his mother coming upstairs and calling his name but her voice was muffled and more and more desperate.

"Connor? Did you lock your door again? Connor?"

Then he couldn't make out the words anymore. With one big sigh everything disappeared as if someone has blown out a candle. Something was pulling him down and Connor was more than ready to give in.

Finally. I could sleep for weeks.

[blissfulalchemist]

“Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?” + WesCat (Friendship)

Thank you for sending this in! Please enjoy Kate!

The phone vibrated away for the third time in a row as Cat looked at the screen. Wren’s name showed up again and Cat couldn’t bring herself to hit the hang up button as she laid curled up in bed. The time on the phone read two in the afternoon, she was supposed to be at work today, she called off last night, not telling Wren. It had to be the reason she was calling Cat now, wasn’t like Cat to just not show up with no warning. 

She had tried though, the whole week she kept going to work, putting the smile on her face, keeping herself upbeat and busy….and still she would sit in her car exhausted and crying driving home or to Raf’s. She stopped going anywhere else but home and work a few days ago. Her communication limited and dwindled over the week with everyone. Now, here she was not even going to work or making contact with anyone. 

Cat groaned and put the comforter over her face, shielding the small rays of light peeking through the curtains. She didn’t want to be mean but she also didn’t want to have to explain everything to Wren. They were just starting to become friends and she didn’t want to screw that up….though she probably was by ignoring Wren’s calls. Catlina sighed under the sheets, I’ll text her after a nap. Tell her I came down with a cold and I’ll be back to normal soon. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Wes slammed the door of the cruiser gathering the bag of hamburgers and drinks from the roof of the car, making his way to Wren. She had found a picnic table with a good view of the river, something she normally enjoyed admiring if she didn’t seem frustrated looking at her phone. She hit the redial button as Wes got himself and their lunch settled, her foot tapping as she waited for someone to pick up. Wes could hear the faint voice of a computer woman informing Wren that she should leave a message for whoever she was calling. Wren rolled her eyes, running a hand through her hair, letting out a breath, “Hey Cat it’s me Wren….again. Look can you just call me back when you can? I’m worried about you.”

Wes looked at Wren, eyebrow raised, “E’erything okay?” He asked as she pulled out her burger and fries taking a sip of her drink. 

She sighed shrugging, “Mostly. I just- Well Cat didn’t come into work today. They said she called out last night.”

Wes shrugged, “Maybe she got sick,” he let out a small laugh, “Raf finally gave her food poisoning.” He took a bite of his food watching as Wren tapped a French fry against the paper surrounding the burger. 

“That’s the thing though,” she started, “He came in and asked for her. He told me he hasn’t seen her for a few days now and she cancelled their plans for the week. He was hoping to bring her lunch.”

Wes’ mind replayed all that she had said, the pieces starting to click. Wren had the two statements backwards, Raf was bringing lunch because he hadn’t seen her due to the canceled plan. Cat was wanting time alone and during those times she didn’t always eat or care for herself as she should, Raf was trying to gauge how bad she had gotten. If she was still making it to work things weren’t bad yet, if she missed she was getting to a point where she needed more care. It had been awhile since she got this bad. “He tell ya not to worry?”

“Yeah, but how can I not worry,” Wren drew lines in the ketchup, “She’s my friend, Wes. We just started to get close and now she disappears like this,” she shook her head, “just doesn’t feel normal for her.”

Wes reached out, grabbing Wren’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, “I’ll check on her. Think I know where to start.” He gave her a reassuring smile before going back to finishing their lunch quickly. Wes watched as Wren drove away in her Jeep before pulling out his phone sending a text to his friend: 

Going to check on her. Unless you already did. 

The response time was quick from Rafael:

Haven’t gotten a chance yet. Still at work. I'm going to when I finish, I’ll meet you at her place when I do. 

Wes nodded to himself as he put his phone away starting up the car making his way to the small studio above the Spread Eagle. Her purple sedan was parked next to him behind the building, a good sign. Wes looked at his key ring spotting the silver key with a pink flower sticker at the base, spares Raf made without her knowing after last time. Felt wrong to have it without her knowing but last time they had to break the door down after she stopped communicating for almost a week. It was a bit of a misunderstanding as to what the two men had walked into that day; Cat passed out in the bed, a medication bottle emptied on the counter, another, sleeping pills, beside her empty, the small uniformed cuts along her inner arm is what kicked their worry into overdrive. Both men worked to try and get her to wake up or respond to them in some way. When she wouldn’t they rushed her into the car making their way to the hospital. 

The actual story, Cat hadn’t eaten for three days straight and hadn’t slept for two days, she’d taken two sleeping pills to try and help get back to normal. They hadn’t agreed with her as she sleptwalked, her body trying to go about a normal day, flushing the sleeping pills down the toilet in the process. The cuts were shallow and created not for the purpose of wanting to die but for trying to regulate her mood. Rafael and Wes were halfway to the hospital by the time she started to wake up. 

Wes hoped it wasn’t so bad this time as he walked up the stairs, it seemed like they caught it early this time around. The studio was small and easy to see the mess of brown hair underneath the blankets, and other than the mess of dishes and take out, everything else seemed to be as it should be. He shut the door quietly as he walked towards the mattress on the floor, she was breathing still, asleep, but breathing. Her phone rang with another call from Wren, hand reaching to try and turn it off, Wes beating her to it. She didn’t wake and Wes didn’t want to wake her. He looked around and decided to pick up some of the empty food boxes and dishes lying about, trying to not make too much noise. When that was done Wes took the time to text Wren and Raf with his findings, his friend getting more details, leaving it up to Cat on how much she wanted to tell his girlfriend. He took a seat on the chair she had, turning the tv on to a low volume, the cooking he’d leave to Raf once he got here. 

By the time Catlina had stirred the sun had started to set and her stomach was twisting in hunger. The only other light in the room came from the black and white cowboy movie Wes was watching, she didn’t want him here. “You don’t need to keep watch,” she mumbled, turning to face the other side, “This isn’t a psych hospital.” Her hand felt around for the sleeve of crackers that she left on the other side of the bed last night, “Where are my crackers?”

“They ain’t a meal,” he replied, looking at his phone.

She grumbled, closing up into more of a ball clutching her stomach, “Don’t feel like cooking.”

Wes got up to look in the fridge, “You got leftovers,” he opened them making sure none of them were bad. Cat stayed silent as Wes let out a slow breath, “That bad huh?”

It was bad that she hadn’t even been able to heat up the food in the microwave, more than that though it felt like too much work to eat the meals. Crackers were easy and less hassle, she could keep them near, never had to leave the bed to eat. She felt her eyelids get heavier, the energy leaving her body quickly, “I’m tired Wes. You should go home.”

He shook his head pulling out some pasta they had over the weekend, the contents going onto a plate and then the microwave. She covered her head, the aching in her chest feeling painful, her eyes shutting as she tried to keep the tears from falling. “Take your meds today?” Wes asked as he nuked the food another thirty seconds, trying to figure out if she had based on what was left in the bottle. Math was never his strong suit and it looked like this would be something to leave to Raf when he got here. 

He grabbed the plate bringing it over to the bed sitting next to her, offering it to her. She looked up at him through narrowed eyes, the smell of the food calling her to wake up and eat. She gave a small shake of her head, her stomach betraying her. 

“Gotta eat. Worked hard on it,” he joked, smirking, putting the plate closer to her face, “Ain’t leaving till you eat.” Catlina sighed, releasing herself a little from the ball she had put herself in. She grabbed the fork with a bite on it chewing slowly once the pasta made contact with her mouth. As soon as she swallowed she felt like it was going to come back up. Wes set the plate on the ground next to him, “Here,” he grabbed her, moving her so her back hit the wall and she was mostly sitting, “Better.” He put the plate in her lap, getting up to grab her some water. Wes looked back at her watching as she slowly brought another bite to her lips, her hand falling limply back to her lap. 

Wes scavenged her cupboards for the stash of kool aid powder she had lying about, there was a lot she had stashed trying to keep her air of decent eating habits with Rafael. It was a mystery as to what she would do once they decided to finally just move in together, she’d still try to find places to hide them. He finally found what he was looking for in the top of a cupboard, “Do you jus’ climb everywhere?” He asked, reaching for it, his eyes straying to a plastic container with a panting coyote with a bright red tongue and a red pepper running away in victory. Wes pulled it down also looking it over, habanero pepper peanuts, his favorite. He looked up to Cat who had moved on to the third bite, “Thought you didn’t like spicy peanuts?”

She looked up to him briefly, her eyes not fully focusing on him, “I don’t,” her voice flat, “Got them for you.” 

Wes set the peanuts down, “They’re my favorites.”

“I know,” her tone of voice made it sound so matter of fact, Wes’ heart fell a little at the difference in his friend. 

“Raf?” He guessed, giving a smirk looking at the comical picture.

She shook her head, “No. You told me that night we got drunk, when we played twenty questions.” Wes mixed the water with two spoonfuls of mix, “It’s four spoonfuls.”

He rolled his eyes adding the two more scoops, “You ‘membered that?”

She gave a small shrug, “Yeah, why wouldn’t I?” Wes stopped stirring the drink taking her in as she continued to look down, “I kept an eye out for them,” she gave a small snort and smallest of smiles, “I almost bought the whole box they had in the store for you.” She looked up to his face, “Only reason I didn’t was ‘cause I became unsure if they were the ones you mentioned.” Wes looked down to the container of peanuts, the corners of his mouth lifting, “Meant to give them sooner but….,” he made his way over to her as he saw her eyes fill with tears, “Sorry I didn’t. I didn’t mean to, I just-.” 

His arms wrapped around her tightly, Cat stiffening before returning the hug weakly, “Thank you. I love it.” He pulled back away from her with a giant smile on his face, laughing when his eyes looked at the bottle’s picture. 

Cat did a double take, “Wait,” she looked at his face, blinking back the tears, as he tried to go back to containing his emotions, “Wes did I sleep my way into an alternate universe or did you really crack an actual smile?”

“What of it?” he replied, getting up to grab her drink, waving off her comment.

Cat looked down pushing some hair behind her ear, the ache in her chest alleviating a little, “Nothing, just-. It- well you should smile more. It lights up a room.”

Wes didn’t respond, just shook his head as his phone went off, glancing briefly at the screen, “Raf’s here.” Cat looked down at the plate of pasta, it wasn’t very filling for her and felt tasteless.

“You think he’d-,” she stopped listening to something outside. It was muffled but was clearly music and nothing that would be played in the bar below. Cat tried to place the melody of the song, feeling it familiar, “With her sweetened breath,” she mouthed, “and her tongue so mean,” the song title hitting her, someone was playing Hozier outside her window. The knock at the door proved it to not be Raf as he walked in placing a grocery bag on the counter. 

She was slow as she moved off the bed, comforter wrapped around her as she made her way to the window. She pushed the curtain back a little looking down, there in the neon lighting she saw Wren, portable speaker in hand above her head. Cat opened the window a little bit, the song clearer now, Wren smiled at her, “Wes said you weren’t feeling well!” She shouted turning the volume down a little, “Thought you could use a little bit of a pick me up!” Cat gave her a smile, turning back to Wes who was already making his way to the door. 

Cat only turned away once she saw Wes come up the side of the building, making her way to Raf in the small kitchen, resting her forehead against his shoulder. He smiled, placing a kiss on the top of her head, “Should I make the usual, Conejito?” She turned her head looking at what he had on the counter through her messy hair, boxes of Kraft mac and cheese in various shapes and a package of hot dogs. She felt her eyes fill with tears nodding against him. He moved the arm she leaned against to wrap around her shoulders pulling her closer to him, “As you wish mi amor,” he gave her a kiss on her forehead as Wren walked in through the door. 

“Okay I want in on this rotation now,” she demanded gently pulling Cat towards her. Wren gave her a once over before pulling her in a hug, “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” she said into Wren’s dark hair, “I didn’t mean too.”

“No need to be sorry,” her hands ran over the blanket where Cat’s hair was, “Should have told me. You know I would understand,” Cat nodded against her, “But I know it’s because you don’t want to feel like burdening another person in your life. Now I know and I’m telling you that I do not feel like you are a burden.” She walked Cat back to the bed, “We’ll still give you the space you need,” if she wasn’t so tired Catlina would laugh at how quick Wren was in taking control of the situation, “but one of us will come by to make sure you’re at least eating one proper meal a day, got it?” Wren pointed a finger at her waiting for her response, Cat nodded, “Good. Now I made sure to get you at least a week off from work so you don’t have to worry about that. And tonight we are all watching your favorite movie and having dinner before we leave you alone.” Wren sat her on the bed taking a spot next to her grabbing a few movies options Cat had lying around. 

Cat nodded, snuggling into Wren, resting her head against her shoulder, “Thank you,” she said softly. Cat glanced to the bed’s orientation, “We should turn the bed around. Make sure there’s enough room for all of you to sit comfortably.”

Wren smiled, lying Cat down, “Wes,” she instructed pulling his attention, “You heard her. Let's get this bed reoriented.” They were fast at making sure the long side of the bed faced the television, Wren settling back into place next to Cat. She helped her pick a movie that they all could watch while the two men cooked. Bowls were passed around once the food was done and Stardust was loaded up to play. The group only paused the movie to switch from dinner to dessert; a pint of raspberry cheesecake ice cream for Wren and Cat, lemon bars from a local bakery for Raf, and the spicy peanuts for Wes. 

Cat was exhausted by the end of the movie and watched as everyone put things back in order. Wes put the bed back into place when she reached for his hand, he sat next to her on the bed, “Why did you call them here?”

“You needed us,” Cat looked down avoiding his face, “Can’t tell me you’d do any different.”

“You guys deserve all the love in the world,” she sighed, closing her eyes.

“So do you,” Wes laid her down, “It’s what friends do. Remind you how loved you are.”

[chroniclackofselfpreservation]

Creatures of the Night

Chapter 3 - dark though it is

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(no TW for this chapter, if there’s something you want a warning for, please message me)

(The title of the chapter comes from “Thanks” by W. S. Merwin)

Logan glared at the mug of coffee before him, his elbows propped on the counter and his fingers laced together. He couldn’t get the image of Roman coming home earlier this morning out of his head. Logan had known for a while—going on two months, five days, seven hours, and forty minutes ago. Roman told him there was nothing he could do; the curse was irreversible according to Ursula's letter. Forget the fact that he was risking his life every single day, because Roman had that stupid amulet that supposedly negated all of his fatigue and injuries once removed, as if that also negated any worry that Logan endured. What would happen if the chain snapped, or it fell off while he was fighting? What then?

“Is something bothering you, kiddo?” Patton asked, sliding onto the stool next to him. Logan blinked and muttered something about nuclear fission and thermodynamics, something to keep him oblivious. It would break Patton to see what was happening to Roman, Logan was sure of it. He already took care of the three of them; he didn’t need something else to keep him up at night. Patton didn't seem too convinced of the evasion, but didn't push the issue any further. Instead, he pushed a bowl of cereal and a plate of orange slices toward him.

"Eat up, Logan. Can't be missing out on all that Vitamin Yes."

"What are you talking about?" he said around a mouthful of Cheerios. "Oranges contain Vitamin C, along with minerals like thiamine, folate, potassium, and—wait, was that a pun?"

"Vitamin C is Spanish for Vitamin Yes!" Patton giggled, dancing away from Logan before he could smack him with his spoon.

"That doesn't even make sense! You can't—"

"Come on, Lo! It was funny!"

"—isn't even spelled the same. C is a letter, not a word! Linguistically, they are completely diff—"

"Virgil! Help!" Patton cried from behind the couch and dissolved into a fit of laughter. Logan looked up, still brandishing his cereal spoon like a weapon. Virgil stood at the base of the stairs looking tired. A hint of a smile graced his face at their antics and he shrugged.

"Don't look at me."

It wasn't long before Patton surrendered, allowing Logan a victory tap with the spoon, and returned to preparing breakfast. The oven beeped, alerting them all that the chocolate chip muffins were done. Virgil lowered onto a stool next to Logan, resting his chin on his hand.

"Were you out in the living room last night?"

"What?"

"Last night, I heard someone walking around and voices and stuff. I assumed it was you just studying and talking to yourself, but if it wasn't you... it must be a ghost," he said with a grin.

"A what?" Patton yelped.

"That's preposterous. Don't listen to him, Patton. Yes, I was up last night, but it's nothing to concern yourselves with."

"Well, I wouldn't say that," Patton said, putting his hands on his hips. "You boys need your sleep. If you two keep this up, I'll have to charge you with resisting a rest."

Virgil squinted at Patton, "I don't get—oh, wait. Arrest. But, like, with a space. That's pretty good, Patt."

"I'm getting really tired of this," Logan groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. Virgil snorted and Patton beamed.

Logan tensed, pointing a warning finger at Patton who squeaked, "I guess you could say we're... exhausting?"

"I swear—" The stairs creaked and they all looked up. Roman rubbed his eyes and yawned as he descended the last few steps, his hair wet and noticeably not matted down with demon blood. He opened his eyes and froze, smiling nervously.

"Why are you all staring? I mean, I know I'm handsome and all that, but really, control yourselves."

Patton smiled, arranging another plate of oranges. "Good morning, Roman. How did you sleep?"

"Well, thank you—Ooh! Chocolate chip muffins?"

"They're still hot! Hands off!"

Virgil sniffed and pulled the sleeves of his jacket halfway over his hands. "Speaking of hot, did you enjoy taking all of the hot water this morning?"

Logan stiffened and glanced at Roman, but he just scoffed, "It isn't my fault it takes time to look this good, Virgil."

"I just don't understand why you have to shower for an entire hour. Our water bill's going to be through the roof."

Logan's brows knit together, "It's a piece of paper, Virgil. How would it be through the roof?"

"Play nice, guys," Patton said, pulling the oven mitt off his hand and sticking a toothpick down the center of one of the muffins. It came out clean.

"So, Logan gets to lecture me about wasting electricity and leaving the lights on, but when Princey over here takes his sweet time—" Virgil ranted, stopping short when Roman's spoon clattered out of his hand and back into his bowl. Virgil paled, a mortified look on his face. Logan looked between them, racking his brain for a quick solution. Virgil might not know the reasons behind Roman's reaction, but he would definitely recognize it for what it was; he was the most anxious of them all. Truth be told, Logan didn't know what had set Roman off either, but if he didn't change the subject soon, they might start asking questions neither of them were prepared to answer.

"Er, Patton!" he blurted, "How would you like to have a picnic for lunch today?" If anything would distract him, it was a picnic. Summer was almost over, and he'd been begging the rest of them to do one before it got too cold.

Patton gasped, "Really?"

Logan shot a meaningful look Roman's way. "Of course. I don't start teaching for another few weeks and Virgil, you're working a grave again tonight, aren't you? I think we could all use a nice relaxing picnic, don't you think? Guys?"

Patton began removing muffins from the metal tin. "We could have sandwiches, and I could cut up some watermelon! I'll have to go shopping later and pick some up. I think I saw some at Mia's for a dollar-fifty," he rambled.

"That sounds nice," Roman said, another spoonful of cereal hovering indecisively between the bowl and his mouth. Virgil opened his mouth, then closed it, biting his bottom lip and pushing away from the counter. Patton turned around with a plate of fresh muffins. His look of content devolved into confusion as Virgil slunk back up the stairs. A bit of an overreaction in Logan's opinion, he didn't think any of them had seemed angry at him, but he wasn't the best at predicting Virgil's reactions.

"What happened?" Patton asked, setting the plate of muffins down. Roman grabbed three, apparently relocating his appetite.

"Nothing," Logan assured him, "I'm sure he'll be fine."

"These are amazing, Padre," Roman said, his voice muffled by the sweet cake.

Patton smiled softly, his eyes fixed on the empty stool where Virgil once sat. "I think I'm going to have a little chat with Virge." He took a single muffin from the plate and excused himself. Logan watched him go, then turned his eyes on Roman, who was stuffing the third muffin into his mouth.

"Care to explain what happened a minute ago?" he asked, standing and carrying his now empty cereal bowl to the sink—well, empty except for the milk. Logan hated drinking cereal milk from a bowl.

"Not really," Roman said, opening the fridge and looking through the contents. He swallowed and cleared his throat. "Sweet cheese and crackers, I'm starving. Are these your leftovers? Can I have them?"

"If you tell me what Virgil said to upset you."

"Fine, I guess I'll find something else, then," he said, the playful edge to his voice sharpening. He grabbed the carton of milk and poured himself a glass. Logan watched as he looked through the pantry in tense silence, eventually settling on the jar of peanut butter and a spoon. Not the healthiest breakfast, but Logan wasn't about to call him out on it. Roman sat down on the couch, furiously eating his peanut butter. Logan leaned against the counter, unsure what to do. Patton would know. Of course he would, he always did. Oh, how Logan wished he could tell him what was going on, but he knew as well as Roman that it would tear him up inside.

                                              * * * * * * * * * *

"All right, is everyone ready to go?" Roman asked, basket full of lunch fixings hanging off the crook of his arm. Patton beamed and Logan looked around, nodding as he made a silent double-check. Virgil avoided his eye, playing with the strings on his jacket. Roman felt bad. He hadn't meant to react so visibly, but when Virgil had called him Princey, his mind had immediately flooded with images of a giant demon serpent. He knew he sang, loved Disney, and could even be grandiose at times—it was kind of his thing. Many people had compared him to a prince in the past, so Virgil making the connection wasn't exactly suspicious. Now, however, the word had turned sour from fear. Terror had dyed it an ugly color, and he couldn't get it out. He certainly didn't blame Virgil for what happened, but was at a loss for what to say without inviting more questions about it.

"Looks like it! Let's go!" Patton said happily, marching into the garage and clambering into the truck. Logan grabbed a thick blanket for them to sit on. Roman followed Patton with a smile, sliding into the driver's seat as the other two piled into the back.  

The drive was nice. Patton played songs from his favorite playlist, made jokes so bad they were hilarious, and gave Roman gentle directions on when and where to turn. Apparently, he knew of a spacious meadow just perfect for a picnic. Wakeby wasn't very large, so he was interested to find out where it was. Near the forest, no doubt. Roman attempted to swallow the lump forming in his throat. The last thing he wanted to do during the day was spend time looking at the forest. It surrounded Wakeby on all sides, parting only slightly to allow the interstate to pass through town. Roman had tried entering the forest in different places to try and avoid running into the demon, however, the longer it took him to get into the trees, the more painful the curse became. Eventually, he'd settled for entering in the same place and just dealing with whatever the snake had up its sleeve. Not that snakes had sleeves, but you get the point.

Pulling off the road onto a patch of gravel, Roman put the truck in park and pulled out the key.

"You weren't kidding, Pat," Virgil said, gazing out the window. He was right, the meadow was gorgeous, hidden behind the movie theater. Roman couldn't have said if he'd been there before or not. Wakeby looked different with the sun shining. Nearly bouncing with excitement, Patton hopped out of the truck with the basket on his arm. They eventually found a place to set up. Roman found himself experiencing a silent, internal dilemma as he tried to decide whether he wanted to sit facing the forest, or with his back to it. If he turned his back to it, he'd be paranoid the entire time about not being able to watch for danger, and yet, if he faced it, he wouldn't be able to stop glancing over, watching for the glint of golden scales. Come to think of it, Roman had never seen the serpent during the day. This was mostly due to the fact that he avoided the forest like the plague during the only time he had away from it. It was curious, though, what the demon did with the rest of its day. Surely, Roman wasn't the only person to ever enter the forest in Wakeby, right? If so, how come no one had noticed the enormous snake squatting there? Could it leave the forest? Did it stay that big, or just turn into a normal snake?

Hopefully, I'll never have to find out, Roman thought, finally deciding to sit facing the trees. Patton handed out the sandwiches and watermelon, and Roman enjoyed himself. Truly and thoroughly enjoyed the time he got to spend with his roommates. Strange, how not knowing if you'll come home alive every night changes a person's perspective on what's important. He'd easily give up any chance at a college education if it meant getting to see all of his friends achieve their goals before... you know. He died. So, wanting to make the absolute most of however much time he did have left, Roman proposed a game of frisbee. Logan and Virgil politely declined, but Patton whole-heartedly agreed, running to the truck and retrieving the plastic disk from under the back seats.

                                              * * * * * * * * * *

Logan watched Roman and Patton throw the frisbee back and forth, the faintest of smiles on his face. Patton made up increasingly ridiculous names for the "special throws" he performed, and Roman was laughing so hard he couldn't catch the frisbee—which only made him laugh harder. Virgil seemed the only one in a dour mood.

"Virgil?"

"Hm?" he looked up from picking at the leftover crusts of his sandwich.

"I...I'm sorry, if you felt attacked at breakfast. That was not my intention," Logan said, placing his hands in his lap awkwardly. He wasn't the best at apologies.

Virgil shrugged, giving a half-smile. "Nah, it's okay. I just... felt bad, you know? I don't really like dealing with conflict, and I know it's a bad habit and all that, but it just makes me really nervous. Nothing against you or Patton."

Logan sat up. "Do you have any idea why Roman reacted the way he did?" He doubted it, as Virgil didn't know about Roman's escapades as of yet, but there was a slight possibility it was having to do with something else.

Virgil stiffened. "Uh, no. I—I don't." He went back to picking at his bread. Roman had mentioned something about Virgil acting different since the summer, and at first Logan had written it off as nothing, just Virgil being Virgil. He was always like this after visiting his parents—an uncommon occurrence, for sure, but each summer since they'd all met, Virgil had stolen away into the wilderness to spend time with them regardless of how it affected him when he returned. But this "funk", as Roman put it, was going on a little longer than normal.

Logan went quiet for a moment, thinking. After a moment, he pulled out the book he'd brought along with him and said, "Would you like me to read aloud for a bit?" He knew that Virgil found the activity calming, and hoped it would help somewhat

His eyes lightened and he looked up. "What book is it?"

"Rhetoric and Logic. It's actually quite interesting."

Virgil snorted and reclined onto his back, lacing his hands behind his head. "All right, then."

Logan read to him. It was something he wouldn't have done given usual circumstances. Most people didn't care about the things that Logan found interesting. Virgil, on the other hand, found it calming and would ask him to read aloud whenever he was feeling anxious. Logan had read the book before many times, and found his mind wandering as he read. He could still hear Roman and Patton's game going on in the background. It made him glad to see Roman enjoying what free time he was allowed. Logan had been researching everything he could find on demons, curses, and dragon witches. So far, all he'd found were children's stories and folktales. There were many myths and legends about serpents and demons that took their shape, but from the details Roman had given him about it, there was nothing written about his specific opponent. The closest things Logan had found to Roman's curse were punishments mortals received after death.

If anyone was living hell, it was Roman.

They went on like this for nearly half and hour before Roman and Patton grew tired and returned to the blanket. Logan put his book away, and they all talked about anything and everything. Logan would be lying if he said he didn't notice Roman glancing over at the tree line every few minutes, but it would also be false to ignore the lack of tension in his shoulders, the ease with which he smiled, and the genuine laughter bubbling out of his throat. Even Virgil had relaxed and inserted himself into the conversation more.

Eventually, they cleaned up lunch, and all lay back on the blanket watching the sky.

"So, is college just like how it is in the movies?" Roman asked. "You're the only one of us who's actually gone to school on a campus."

"What do you mean?" Logan looked over at him.

"You know, frat boys, and sorority girls, and parties, and stuff," he said, gesturing vaguely with his hands.

Logan looked back up at the partly cloudy sky. "Yes, they exist, if that's what you're asking." He paused. "I even attended one of those so called 'frat parties'."

Virgil choked. "You what?"

Roman sat up, a mischievous grin on his face. "I can't believe it. Logan was a frat boy."

Logan reddened, "I was not one of them, you heathens. My attendance was a singular, accidental event."

"Sure, Lo," Patton muttered, hiding his laughter behind his hand.

"You all are blowing this way out of proportion, it wasn't—"

"Did you drink anything? Wait, did you get drunk? Oh, I would pay money to see you drunk, teach," Roman laughed.

"Of course not, I only had... a few drinks. I think," Logan trailed off, a look of genuine concern crossing his face.

Roman gasped. "Oh my heck, you got wasted, didn't you?"

"Guys..." Virgil muttered.

Logan propped himself up on his elbow. "I didn't pass out or anything, if that's what your insinuating."

"Just got a bit absinthe-minded?" Patton offered, and Logan ran a hand down his face and flopped back onto his back.

"Guys," Virgil repeated, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

Roman glanced over, "Oh, come on Surly Temple, it wasn't that bad of a pun, even for you."

"No, my head..." Virgil managed, grabbing his head and curling in on himself. The group sobered. No pun intended. Logan met their eyes, and they both nodded. Another migraine. Virgil suffered from what Logan had called thunderclap headaches. They came on suddenly, at times without warning, and lasted about five minutes. They were extremely painful, from what Virgil had told them. As quietly as possible, Roman and Patton gathered up the blanket and picnic basket while Logan helped Virgil to his feet and across the meadow to Roman's truck. Patton shot Roman a concerned look, and he tried to give him a comforting smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. He was sad to have to cut their outing short, but he wouldn't dream of furthering Virgil's pain.

The drive home was silent, but not in a bad way. Virgil sat hunched over in the passenger seat, and Patton extended his seat belt as far as it would go and rubbed his back from the backseat. Roman drove as smoothly as he possibly could, and was just glad, for once, he wasn't the one having to be taken care of.

                                              * * * * * * * * * *

Three hours later.

"I'm just going to take a walk, I'll be back in a bit," Virgil called, already out the door. Stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets, he hurried down the street toward the far edge of town. Once the houses and establishments had thinned, he ducked behind a fence, checked once more for any onlookers, then crouched down and muttered a quick phrase under his breath. His entire body thrummed with magic as he felt the familiar feeling of returning to his true form. Unlike most of the shows he watched on the others' television device, consistency with clothing wasn't a problem he faced. It simply shifted with him. He couldn't imagine having to constantly worry about leaving piles of empty clothes lying around, or shifting back completely naked. He shivered, the hair along the back of his spine prickling. Approaching a small puddle on the ground, he looked down.

Pointy ears? Check. Two eyes? Check. Whiskers still impeccably groomed? Check. The perfect image of a black cat. But of course, why wouldn't he be? He was a cat, originally, that is—though Ursula's magic had changed him from a normal feline into his current magical self who-knows-how-many years ago.

Being a familiar wasn't all that hard. Being a familiar who was defying their witch? That proved an entirely different matter.

Logan had attempted to diagnose the sudden, debilitating headaches he suffered without any warning with some human explanation. In reality, it was simply what happened when he resisted Ursula's connection to him. His decision to quit being her spy on Roman had been going on for about ten months now, not too long after Roman had been cursed. Needless to say, she wasn't too happy about it. Despite his resolve, every once in a while, she attempted to see through his eyes as she had used to. Defying someone as powerful as her was considered brave by few, and stupid by most.

Attempting to shake the thoughts from his head, Virgil leaped up onto the top of the fence and darted down it. After what had happened at the picnic, he'd become paranoid about the state of the protective "anti-Ursula" border he'd created around Wakeby and hadn't been able to sit still until he'd checked the runes. Ursula had destroyed them the first few times, but Virgil had proved persistent in his efforts to keep his friend safe, and she'd given up for the most part in her battle with him. She had what she needed.

Roman. His friend. His friend that he'd betrayed and then been too much of a coward to face the consequences. Roman, who hadn't done anything to deserve what he'd received simply because he existed. It wasn't his fault that his thrice great-grandmother had been the Witch Queen; the Chosen One. He hadn't asked for this. Neither had his mother before him. Virgil's stomach twisted at the thought of Roman ending up just like his mother, and yet there wasn't much he could do about it.

No. That was a lie. There wasn't much he was brave enough to do. Because he was a pathetic coward who would rather let his friend risk his life every single night than stand up to his witch. His mind dragged him back to that morning. He couldn't believe he'd actually given Roman a hard time about the shower. The truth was, Roman was an actor. An amazing one. So good, in fact, that Virgil often forgot about the curse. About being an imposter. When he was home, he was just a normal guy hanging out with his friends. Nothing more—or so he'd managed to convince himself.

He arrived at the dilapidated gas station at the far east corner of Wakeby, slinking around the back and swiftly locating the rune he'd carved into one of the white painted bricks. It looked largely untouched. Virgil quickly moved on, trotting down the side of the highway toward the next way point, mind rife with conflict and pain.

                                              * * * * * * * * * *

Later that night.

"Logan, I thought we'd already been over this," Roman sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I will not be going to bed without knowing you are safe, Roman. Arguing with me on the matter is futile," Logan replied, folding his arms.

He looked up at his roommate, exasperated but internally thankful. It was nice to know that someone cared if he came home each night or not. He shifted the sword in his grip and stepped toward the door. "All right, but you're going to bed as soon as I get back. Deal?"

"Satisfactory. Oh, and Roman?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I may have a way to locate a possible solution to your curse."

Roman froze with his hand on the door handle, his brain still trying to register what he said. "Don't say things like that," he breathed. His voice was soft, and scared to hope. "Don't promise me the impossible." He felt a hand on his armored shoulder.

"At least hear me out?"

The curse tugged at his insides, but he didn't move. He turned. "Fine."

Logan smiled. "Have you tried reasoning with this demon?"

Roman's throat constricted. "Reasoning with it? It's been trying to kill me every night for the last twelve months. How do you propose I reason with something like that?" he snapped. He didn't have time for this.

Logan didn't seem fazed in the slightest. "It can speak, yes?"

"Yeah, but I don't—"

"Does it have a name?"

Roman threw his hands into the air, "I mean, probably. I haven't really had time to ask it since it's been trying to kill me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go try not to die for the next six hours."

Roman turned back to the door and turned the handle. Logan grabbed his shoulder and flipped him around, pushing him back into the door. "Roman, you need to begin thinking objectively and listen to me. I'm trying to save your life. Trust me on this."

"It can't be reasoned with. It's a monster."

"Have you considered the possibility that it's just as cursed as you are?" Logan spat, and Roman fell silent. "That's what I'm saying. Yes, you two have your differences, I can't even begin to imagine, but you can't go on like this, Roman. You can't. You'll die."

Roman swallowed. "We all die, Logan."

"Don't quote facts at me, Roman Kingsley," he said shakily. Roman thought he could see tears pricking in his eyes, but couldn't have been sure. "Just promise me that you'll try. Please. If it doesn't work, I'll abandon the theory, but there's only one way to find out if it will work or not."

"Okay," Roman relented, though it drove a spike of fear straight through his heart. He'd be making himself vulnerable on purpose in front of a beast who wanted nothing more than his blood on its tongue.

"Good luck."

[peach-jaehyunie]

The Descent

Pairing: Lee Taeyong x OC, (minor) Johnny Suh x OC x OC, (former) Kim Taehyung x OC

Rating: 18+

Warnings: swearing, suggestive content, implied drug use

Pt. I

Words 4,263

Genre: Fantasy, Fallen Angel AU, slow burn

Synopsis: Vada spends her days working in a restaurant, letting all the desires of her true nature remain mostly unfulfilled. Where passion had once been in her life she is left with only half memories—secrets of her past that haunt her heart. A man with blue hair catches her attention he and his friend begin to ignite the feelings within her that have long been dormant.

You had known a man like that as a sophomore in college. He had been your dorm roommate’s boyfriend, and he had radiated an unfamiliar energy. He was ethereal and his aura pulled you in. One time you asked how he got the two scars on his back “I had my wings ripped off,” he joked. He was gorgeous, but one day he was just gone and your roommate curled up in her tiny bed to weep over everything Kim Taehyung had taken and given.

He had made you look twice when you had first seen him a month ago. He rode a bicycle and his blue hair ruffled in the wind, you couldn’t help but look at him—the ethereal beauty you had seen before in someone else. It had become routine to see him as you walked to work: he would fly past, his shirt billowing, sometimes followed by a hooded figure with downcast eyes on a longboard. Eventually, his eyes would catch yours as he passed: they were deep brown and calming, there was always a twinkle of hope to be seen in them for a fleeting moment as he sped by. You noticed days you didn’t see him, they felt slightly emptier and work would be lacklustre.

“Vada?” You snapped to attention as your coworker said your name,

“Yeah, sorry, what did you say?” You quickly replied as you went back to whisking a pastry cream twice as hard.

“Katerina needs to know what to put on the menu for the desserts this week.”

“Oh, um,” Devo had caught you at a bad time as you were daydreaming about a blue haired stranger. “I made a white cake filled with almond pastry cream between the layers and an Italian meringue icing; I have blood orange panna cotta setting right now, which will be served with a blueberry sauce...oh! I’m making trifle with the leftover cupcakes, and I’m going to make a chocolate cherry mousse and serve it in martini glasses.” You noticed that Devo didn’t write any of this down and braced yourself for when Katerina would inevitably come and nitpick your work. You furiously whisked in the eggs yolks and were relieved that the cream remained perfectly smooth as it took on a yellow hue. You felt as though you could probably whip up a triple batch of pastry cream in your sleep, so thinking about the two men that chose a bicycle and a longboard as their methods of transport in a hilly city like San Francisco kept your brain busy.

A handsome man caught your eye for a second as you walked home with your bag of groceries. His eyes met your gaze and you felt unable to turn away. A chill came over you and you felt that his eyes were enough to suffocate you in the crowded sidewalk, every step drew each of you closer together. You fought back a grimace as the street narrowed and the mass of people were forced closer together. You were able to force your gaze from him, but the stranger’s arm bumped into your shoulder as he walked past. The hair on your neck prickled, your stomach felt like ice; he felt wrong. You couldn’t shake the feeling of repulsion even when you got home and set your TJ’s bag on the counter and began to unpack it.

“Hey, Vada,” your roommate greeted you without even looking at you as she breezes from the bathroom, through the tiny living room, and into her bedroom before shutting her door. You could hear two voices through the door; Brian must have been over and now they were getting ready for a night out. You considered an evening spent at home alone: you weren’t much of a Netflix watcher, and a string of bad first dates had left you in a dry patch romantically. You couldn’t go out with Ana and Brian, because you had fucked Brian first and now it felt awkward because he wasn’t quite your sloppy seconds; he just mostly was.

You ate the dinner you had brought home in a to-go container from work; it was delicious and the flavours were balanced, an array of textures should have been enough to excite your palate, but tonight it felt as tantalizing as eating cardboard. You picked up a book; any attempts to read it failed as you continuously got up to scour the cupboards and fridge for anything attractive. You spent the evening fidgety and almost...hungry. It was an odd sensation, a mix of physical hunger; for food, excitement, sex—anything to pull you from the mundane— and an even deeper hunger: a yearning. You thought of the blue-haired man on the bicycle, a warm and pleasant feeling filled you. It was the exact opposite sensation that you had felt from the other stranger while walking home. A streetcar outside the window clanged and you rolled over in bed, irritated by its sound.

The next day the blue-haired man was not to be seen on the way to work. A somewhat familiar feeling of unfulfillment took hold of you upon reaching your apartment at the end of the day. While you got ready to out to a bar with Devo you remembered someone else filling you with that feeling before: warmth, hunger, and insatiability that you couldn’t describe. You flinched like a wounded animal when you recalled the sharp grip of guilt that had clawed at you in punishment for giving in to such base desires.

“Here, you look like you could use it,” Devo said, sliding you his Manhattan as he ordered another.

“A Manhattan?” You looked at him skeptically.

“Sophisticated; like me,” he immediately quipped “No, but seriously, what happened in the two hours since I last saw you?”

“I guess I’m just kinda bored and very lonely.” You take a sip of your drink, already regretting the lasting taste the alcohol leaves on your tongue and the cloying aroma it will leave on your skin.

“What about your roommate?”

“She’s out with Brian,” you weren’t jealous, or at least not of the Brian factor, but no one would have possibly known that from the way you gulped down the rest of your drink.

“The one you fucked first?” Asked Devo.

“Yes,” you replied with a laugh in his direction, “The one I fucked-first. I’m very generous that way, you know, bringing people together like that.”

You and Devo’s friend, Adrian (boyfriend, but Devo’s parents don’t approve and, no, he doesn’t want to talk about it) must nearly carry poor, drowsy Devo back to his little bachelor apartment. It’s tidy but dark; there’s enough room for two men in love as long as lavish amenities like oxygen aren’t that important to you. The only pieces of furniture are a bed, two bean-bag chairs in front of a TV sat on the floor and a table in the kitchen area that’s used as an extra counter when Devo is experimenting with a new culinary delight at home.

“Vada, let me walk you home,” Adrian tells you right after you two have put Devo in his bed.

“Sure, thanks,” you tell him. You like Adrian, but he proves to be a slow walker and a fast talker on the way home. He asks you what Devo is like at work—Devo is the first guy he’s gone out with since moving to San Francisco from Ohio.

“What brought you out here?” He’s young and curious: Devo is the mutual friend, but no one talks about your past because the parts you make public are boring and you keep all the gritty and smutty stories to yourself.

“UC Berkeley,” you sighed, but not audibly. “My dream school; I dropped out Junior year, first semester.”

“Shit, didn’t like it?”

“Nah, it’s a great school, it just wasn’t what I wanted at the time.”

“What did you do after that, I mean before working as a pastry chef?” Damn, could he walk any slower.

“Just kinda bummed it on what I had leftover from student loans,” Liar. Someone had gotten you a lucrative job as a stripper in a club off of Broadway. You thanked Adrian and quickly left him out on the street as you hurried up the two flights of stairs to your apartment. There wasn’t a sound from Ana’s room, but empty takeout containers sat on the counter illuminated in the dark kitchen by a strand of lights that hung above the sofa. Your mouth felt dry as your senses were suddenly overcome with the bass of loud club music and a hint of chemical cleaner to cover up the odour of spilled alcohol. Your skin felt sticky with sweat and your hands felt grimy from money—but when you opened your eyes it was just a little two-bedroom apartment in a house with a blue facade staring back at you. It was not special, it was not grand; there were fairy lights strung up and a half-dead cactus (too much water) in the corner. You could close your eyes and remember a room for special guests who wanted a private show...after they inhaled from a blue balloon they were too out of it to do anything more to than slip a hundred into your g-string.

That night you had a dream (or maybe it was a nightmare, but it wasn’t all bad) that you were back in your Berkeley dorm. You laid in the bed and felt warm and full, it felt like happiness but there was a dusting of excitement: a *secret*—which is sometimes just a cute word for a lie. Your limbs felt tangled and you could hear yourself whispering, which was strange because you felt that you were alone until Ally came in and saw you on your little bed and started crying as she shouted and threw items from her side of the room at you. She didn’t want your apologies—were they yours? The dream began to feel claustrophobic; Ally wouldn’t talk, only cry and push away any comforting hands and you could feel yourself standing there...were you apologizing? watching? All you knew was that guilt was suffocating you.

You felt him before you saw him. For the first time, you were aware that you weren’t the only one who looked at him as he passed by on his bicycle. His gaze was as welcoming as a lover’s kiss and his eyes still felt hopeful and warm. You thought (foolishly? hopefully?) that he only looked at you.

You saw him again the next morning and you brazenly returned his gaze: his eyes were like a deer’s, you wanted to spend hours staring into them because they felt safe, welcoming, nonjudgemental. His sharp jawline made your mouth water, but the small smile that broke from his beautiful lips made you feel warm and happy.

Devo came to where you worked in the kitchen to complain about the new line cook.

“Does he ‘Yes, Chef!’ too much for your liking?” You ask him with a straight face.

“No—“

“Oof, he reeks of Axe—“

“No,—“

“Does he have mutton chops like the last guy? Those were gross.” Devo often came to you to complain about the new staff. You enjoyed listing off his complaints about coworkers more than you would like to admit.

“This dude just...creeps me out. Like, he seems nice and everything, but fuck, this sounds ridiculous, I just get this really bad vibe from him, you know? It’s like bad...energy.” You stifled your laugh because Devo was so earnest.

“Well, I feel like I have to meet him now.” You say wiping sticky sugar from your hands and setting a timer on your phone.

“He’s nice! He just makes my skin crawl,” Devo nodded and laughed as he said this before heading back to his prep station.

“Behind, oven door!” You said loudly as you stepped onto the line to put a sheet of rolls on the oven.

“Oh, hey, Vada?” The chef addressed you,

“Yes, chef?”

“This is our new line cook, Johnny.”

The tall cook turned to you and despite having not seen his face before today you knew, you felt that he was the man on the longboard.

“Hey,” Johnny gave a small wave “Vada...I like that name, have I seen you somewhere before? You look really familiar.” He looked at your face intently for a moment before you spoke.

“Um, no I don’t think so. I haven’t worked at many restaurants before.” Being under his gaze felt like a microscope, but...it wasn’t a bad feeling. He shook his head as if to get rid of a thought.

“Well, it is nice to meet you, Vada.” Johnny offered his hand for you to shake. There was a strange and sudden internal pull when you grasped his hand and he must have felt it too by the way he smirked at you.

You couldn’t be sure that he was the longboard guy; when Johnny left work he left on foot to catch a tram. He was talkative and easygoing, behind his outgoing demeanour there seemed to lurk a sedate and tormented individual. You could only see it sometimes: it was there behind his eyes as he worked, sometimes it was written on his face for just a second before the jovial mask would return. Devo avoided him as best he could and Johnny (strangely) didn’t seem at all offended, regardless of how obvious Devo was.

“Drinks and staff night out at Gus’s tonight!” Katerina yelled into the kitchen as closing started. You quickly cleaned up your work station and grabbed a bucket of cutlery for polishing to help the servers get out faster. An hour later the group of you were turning out the lights and locking up, stuffing the split tips into a safe place to be spent later on. Gus’s Bar was a short walk and extremely casual and therefore suitable for a bunch of sweaty kitchen workers.

“First round is on me,” Katerina stated as she sat down at the bar and the old barkeep slowly approached while he was polishing a glass. He nodded and remained quiet as everyone placed their orders, never writing anything down, and began to make drinks more efficiently than you had ever seen in your life. The barkeep (possibly Gus) soon had a row of drinks up for all of you. As soon as Johnny downed his first in one go he exclaimed with a mischievous glint in his eye:

“Third round is on me!” He winked at you as you realized what that meant because no one had offered to buy a second round.

“I guess I’ll buy round two,” said one of the waitresses with a chuckle, her long, blonde waves shaking as she laughed. You felt pleasantly buzzed after round three, not really needing a lot more but also not anywhere near turning down an offer for another one. You ordered a whiskey sour—neat; this one you were paying for. You sat between Miles and Johnny at the bar: Miles was laughing at everything anyone said but paying you no mind because you just wanted to sit there and enjoy the feeling.

“I know where I know you from now,” Johnny spoke resting his arms on the bar comfortably.

“Oh yeah, where?” You grinned at him, unfazed.

“The Velvet Angel,” he said it loud enough that you knew you could only hear him, but you still felt that your heart stopped for a few moments. His eyes stayed on your face, but your thoughts raced and your mouth felt dry when you realized what this meant.

“How did you—“ you began licking your lips

“Don’t worry, I won’t say anything—it’s our secret.” He assures you upon noticing your hands shake as you tried to bring the whiskey sour to your mouth. You looked at him, blushing at how kind and welcoming his gaze seemed despite the fact you felt nearly like drowning. You wanted to run away...but you couldn’t, not from Johnny. Everything seemed foggy, but you finished your drink and ordered another. Adrian came and you felt the brush of his hand on your back as he said ‘hello’ and you thought you must have said something back but you couldn’t remember. Miles fell asleep with his head on the bar as Johnny comfortably nursed a beer on your other side. Strangers came and went, and one by one your coworkers left until it was just the three of you—two if you considering that Miles was passed out.

“Do you know where he lives?” Johnny asked you as he finally finished his beer.

“No,” you had to clear your voice as it cracked from disuse. Why weren’t you more shattered, why did this not feel so bad to have Johnny know of your past life.

“I have someone in my couch at my place, can Miles crash at your place?” You wanted to ask Johnny if it was the blue haired man of your fantasies that was on his couch. That thought felt silly and hopeful, especially because you were nearly just operating off of a hunch.

“Yeah, I don’t think my roommate will mind. Wait—“ You grabbed Johnny’s arm as he moved to get up and, you thought, leave. “—I don’t think I can move him by myself,”

Johnny chuckled at your panic, and you felt your face heat up even more than just from the alcohol.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get him home for you; I won’t leave you.” He said as he gently patted your shoulder. Johnny went to help Miles up, but the young man turned out to be drunker than expected and your jaw dropped as Johnny picked up Miles easily and began to carry him out.

“Are you okay to carry him by yourself? That’s not what I meant when I said I couldn’t; I can help if you want!” You called after him, nearly tripping out of your barstool and trotting to catch up with his long strides.

“No, I’m fine, he’s light. Just walk us in the right direction.”

It’s quite a few minutes before you pluck up the courage to say anything to Johnny about The Velvet Angel. You choose your words carefully, wanting to keep the conversation lighthearted.

“No offense, but you don’t really seem like the type of person that would have frequented The Velvet Angel.” You finally say.

“A man?” Johnny joked after a moment. His breathing wasn’t laboured even though he was carrying another person up a hill.

“No, I mean, like that place had other stuff going on.” You began to feel uncomfortable, maybe you had completely misread him.

“Oh...you mean the private rooms and the balloons...well, I try to avoid that a bit now, but I haven’t always.” His voice was soft and low, you turned to look back at him and there was that sad tortured look again. You regretted saying anything.

“I think I deserve some credit for remembering your face, though.” Johnny suddenly quipped with a shy smile.

“Yes, that was very gentlemanly of you,” you replied sarcastically.

“It was the expression you wore on your face,” he began after a pause, “Some of the women...you could really tell that you were just paying to see their body, and some liked to play as if they were teasing you, but you—your face was that of a lover.”

“A lover?” You dubiously queried.

“It’s… You looked like someone in love, your eyes invited an intimacy if you looked closely enough. You didn’t look fake or cheap, it was all art and the beauty of love in your face.”

Your mouth felt dry, and your walking slowed down as Johnny spoke. Love, what did that even feel like? Did you remember, had you ever known it? There was a void where memories of feelings like that should be stored. All you could remember was guilt...disgust, remorse, and guilt. You had slowed to a stop without realizing it.

“Are you okay?” Johnny asked, worried as he stopped by your side. You looked at him, unable to form a complete thought until the building behind Johnny took shape in the dark.

“This is my house.” You finally manage as you lick your lips and think to take keys from your bag. You unlock the main front door and hold it open as Johnny walks in carrying Miles.

“I live on the second floor, I’m so sorry,” You grimace thinking of him having to carry another man up the stairs.

“I said not to worry about it, Miles is light.” And he easily carries him to your apartment where Miles is laid on your sofa with a pillow from your bed and a spare blanket.

“Thank you so much, I hope you don’t have too far to go.” You tell Johnny as he walks toward your door to leave.

“Nah, it’s fine. It would be faster if I had my longboard, but I can catch a bus.” He shrugged.

“You have a longboard?” You asked, hoping you didn’t sound too curious.

“Yes,” he turned to you and chuckled a little “But you already knew that.” He couldn’t see your blush in the dark. How could he have known that you suspected him?

“Vada,”

“Mhm,”

“If you ever want to meet Taeyong...all you gotta do is ask.” In the hallway, a streetlamp illuminated his face enough for you to see his grin and wink in your direction before turning around and trotting down the steps and out.

———————————————————-

The blue haired man is absent for the rest of the week, but on Saturday night you follow Johnny out the back door to shout after him:

“I want to meet him; I want to meet Taeyong.” Johnny sets his longboard down and pulls his phone out to check it before he answers you.

“Okay,” he looks at you with a slow grin, “I’ll find out when he’s free. Now get back to work, I gotta hot date I have to meet.” He winks at you as he gets on and rides off.

You feel giddy—butterflies like a schoolgirl when you get back inside the restaurant. You have trouble sleeping that night: trying to figure out every possible scenario as to how Johnny knew about your hunch; all the ways you could meet Taeyong, and imagining a first date in which you were overflowing with wit, intelligence, and good things to say; and also a terrible dread and anxiety that Taeyong was just some random person and not the man with the blue hair.

Your eyes are bleary the next day, the cookbook in front of you seems to keep going out of focus.

“Fucking shit!” You curse as you burn your hand on a cake pan, a silent stream of fucks threatened to be uttered by your tongue as you cup your tender wound. Disheartened, you peer into a mixing bowl of clumpy custard. It will need to be strained. Nothing is going right and you feel frazzled. You check the fruit purée in the freezer to see if they have set in their molds yet—they haven’t. You go up to the main kitchen and pour yourself a coffee with extra cream, avoiding the warmth of the mug with your burnt hand. It’s not a glamorous place to enjoy a coffee or a five-minute break, but the sun lights up the alley and even the dumpster doesn’t look too bad in this lighting.

He hops lightly off his bike as he reaches the alley corner, his frown is matched by your own. The hood of his sweater is up but it doesn’t stop the blue fringe from peaking out. He walks straight up to you with his bike, his frown softens and his eyes look like two inviting pools of melted chocolate.

“Is Johnny here?” He asks after a moment of you staring at him. You nearly choke as you try to speak and swallow your spit at the same time—

“Um, no he hasn’t come into work yet.” You finally manage after clearing your throat. The beautiful man’s frown returns and he almost seems to scowl at the back of the restaurant.

“He was off early last night, and said he was meeting up with a hot date.” You added, it felt rude but you were really unable to take your eyes off of him.

He looked back at you, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. His expression was safe and inviting and you suddenly felt less bad for having been staring at him.

“He didn’t come home after his date, and I can’t reach him on his phone; so I thought I’d check here just in case.” His grip on the bike loosened and tightened. Finally, he shyly averted his eyes for a second before offering you his hand to shake.

“It’s nice to finally meet you; I’m Taeyong.” His eyes confidently search yours out when he says his name.

“I know—“ you want to slap yourself as the words fall from your lips, but your hand meets his and you feel a warm and familiar pull in your very core. “I mean, my name is Vada.” You blush as you stumble over the words.

“I know,” and a soft blush breaks out over his smooth cheeks, his grip on your hand never loosening.

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

Overgrown Metal

Series Summary -  Almost two decades ago, the fae rose up from beyond the veil with technology far surpassing the human race, quickly taking over after laying waste to nearly everything in their wake. Now eight paths cross to right the wrongs on both ends, working to uncover secrets that would have rather stayed hidden.

Chapter 3 - Keep Moving

The spacious barn creaked lazily as the sounds of swearing and hammering overflowed its weather worn walls. It had been repurposed years ago, the old owners either long dead or moved out once the forest began to take over. As it was now it had been cleared of the twisting roots and oddly growing branches that had once threatened to consume it completely, now standing in a small clearing with a house beside it sitting just as pristine. The barn, though repaired, leaned slightly to the side, braced on an extension that housed a lab of sorts with one other room branching out that acted as cold storage.

The main room itself was currently where loud banging could be heard with the occasional swear sprinkled in as the owner tried valiantly to seperate pieces of plate metal from the skull of a fallen beast, eyes vacant and jaw slack as it sat on the table surrounded by already disassembled parts of itself scattered about and repurposed to varying degrees. Jars of different colored oily substances sat on a cart nearby, with empty ones still waiting to be filled. The hammer was thrown down suddenly, its owners pointed ears twitching in irritation as he dragged a hand down his face and took a breath. Sighing loudly, Logan turned and stalked off to the other end of the room to get a crow bar off the rack in hopes that his new method would work.

As he began trying to pry between plates he felt more than heard the halting footsteps outside the barn, though who it was was clearly trying his best to be quiet. Rolling his eyes Logan slammed the crowbar in a weak spot and pulled hard enough to bend the plate and send the bar snapping back to narrowly miss his face. He scowled as sweat dripped into his eyes, rolling his shoulders and gripping the tool with a white knuckled grip.

"It truly is a wonder you haven't killed yourself yet. To think of all that education going to waste with a cracked skull in an old barn, it's almost enough to make me care to check in more."

"The only reason you come in here is because I'm the only thing within a hundred mile radius who doesn't wish you dead on sight."

"How you wound me. It's at least two hundred when I'm far enough away from the coast." Logan smirked as he heard the irritated tap of the others cane punctuating his statement.

Sighing, he placed the crowbar on the bench and turned to face the intruder, leaning against it while crossing his arms. "Hyden."

"Logan." The other greeted mutually. Though he was typically a bit more put together his thick caplet lay crookedly across his tense shoulders, arms taunt as he leaned heavily on his cane with both hands resting on the top. His long hair curled in the afternoon humidity and Logan definitely didn't miss the slight furrow of his brows, though he knew he would be loathe to admit he was in any sort of pain.

Letting out a heavier sigh Logan pushed away from the bench and gestured for the other to follow him. "Join me, I need a break anyway."

Hyden gasped. "The head scientist admitting he needs a break? Who's hand do I need to shake for downloading an once of self preservation into that thick skull?"

"I'll have you know I take breaks on a regular basis, something you clearly need to be reminded of."

"The audacity! I walk all the way here to visit a long time friend-"

"You walked?" Logan shot him a sharp glance as he held the door, gesturing the other into the old farmhouse.

Waving away the concern, Hyden continued. "I flew most of the way don't worry. I only ducked below the treeline the last few miles so I wouldn't be followed, you're welcome for the concern and forethought."

Snorting, Logan pulled out a chair and moved to collect containers of herbs and thr kettle, sighing for the fourth time as it was blatantly ignored for the refrigerator. As the kettle heated he carefully measured out the proper ingredients, glancing over every now and again to try and catch what his guest was poking at.

"Are those by any chance agarose gels?"

Walking past the fridge to put things away he caught sight of what the other was observing, humming his confirmation.

"Logan, why do you have DNA gels next to leftover chicken salad in your refrigerator?"

"The chicken salad seems irrelevant." The kettle whistled to give him an excuse to avoid the question, carefully pouring out the boiling water.

"Logan."

"Hyden." The name slipped out easily despite his annoyance, making him wonder for a brief moment if he would struggle when he was finally told his real name.

The mans cane taps were heavier than normal as he made his way over to the table and flopped down without his usual show. Giving Logan a quiet thank you he proceeded to wrap his hands around the steaming mug, frowning in concentration. "Are you trying to find them again?"

"I fail to comprehend what you could possibly-"

"Because they're trying to find you. And they're getting close."

Logan was quiet as he sat, his wrapped hands folding somewhat painfully around his own drink. Pursing his lips he avoided looking at Hyden for a long moment, nevertheless feeling his gaze attempting to pick him apart. Arranging his expression to be carefully neutral he took a drink, smiling as the other did so as well.

"Make sure to drink all of it, it'll help with pain."

"Did you even listen to what I said?!" Throwing his hands up in exasperation he fixed Logan with his best glare.

"Hard not to with that grating tone."

"Well this grating tone," he growled out. "Is telling you to get your head out of your ass and maybe make sure you're safe before telling someone else to take care of themselves."

Logan dragged a hand down his face, suddenly tired. "Where exactly do you expect me to go? I'm so close to figuring out what they're using to power those things, if I move now I won't have any access to the equipment I need, no studies will be concluded, and nearly all of my experiments will be left behind to rot! I need more time."

"Time isn't exactly a luxury here. You're being stubborn and ignorant, as usual, and if you would just listen-" he stopped short as he caught the look the other was giving him, letting out a breath of defeat and softening his tone. "It doesn't have to be today. But it does have to be soon. I'll even come with you, help you scout out a new location if you'd like. I'm sure there's plenty to be found with a little digging."

Mugs empty save for the dregs silence rang between them as they lost themselves in thought. Distantly Logan was aware of the old grandfather clock ticking, suddenly thinking what a shame it would be to leave the sound behind. He knew the other was right even before he fully decided to voice it. Instead he quietly looked over at him, the scales that freckled his face gleaming with the last rays of the evening sunlight. If they were truly leaving, they would have to be careful. Though he knew Hyden was loathe to do so he could easily shift his appearance to hide his scales. Logan wouldn't be so lucky, his slightly off colored skin and pointed ears a dead give away to what his heritage was, even if he had defected from it when the war broke out. He was obviously fae, and that would do him no favors outside of the protection of his remote location.

But he really couldn't stay. If the guard was truly zeroing in on his location he would much rather abandon his research and try to pick it up wherever he could than even think about getting caught and wondering whether he could escape before he was undoubtedly punished for his crimes against his people. He shuddered uneasily as he stood, carefully avoiding eye contact as he took the mugs to the sink and began to wash them. He stared out the window towards the treeline as he did, having to squint to make out the weak protective barrier set around the perimeter by Hyden years ago. Beyond that lay dense forest only a madman would dare trek through.

Or fae guards with strict orders.

Squaring his shoulders before they could droop in defeat he turned to face his companion with a level stare.

"Give me two days."

-------

"Two more days? I thought the town was closer than that." Virgil irritably kicked a stone into the water, splattering the bottom of Roman's pants. They huffed in response, their frustration easily matching Virgil's as they shifted the pack on their shoulders.

"I said at most two more days, it might be sooner than that. We've never really been this far out before, which is a good thing but it means guessing the distance. Pouting isn't going to make it be any closer."

"Not pouting." Virgil pouted, crossing his arms before realizing what he was doing and angrily shoving them in his hoodie pockets.

Snorting with amusement Roman shifted the pack again before grunting and heaving it up and off their shoulder, immediately sagging in relief. Their burden was lifted further as Virgil tugged it out of their grasp and shouldered it easily, walking ahead while adjusting to the weight.

"Thank you."

"You were slowing us down. Somebody's gotta make sure we stay on schedule."

Roman squawked with indignation, jogging a bit to catch up with the emos longer gait. Their mouth thinned as they thought of how to bring up a concern they'd been thinking about for a while, gripping the straps of their pack tightly in apprehension.

"Alright. Spill it." They blinked as Virgil stopped, dropping both the packs and plopping down in the dirt.

"What?"

"Being anxious is my job and right now you're forcing me into unemployment. So either talk or I'm throwing you in the river."

"You do and I'm eating the last two cans of spaghettios tonight while you get nothing but croutons."

Virgil narrowed his eyes. "I fucking dare you to go through with that threat. You do not come between a man and the last can of shitty microwave pasta."

"I have the food pack."

"And I have the flint and steel so start talking before I decide to set you on fire instead of drowning you."

Unceremoniously flopping to the ground they let out an annoyed huff while shrugging off the back pack. "Fine. I've been thinking....that with this next town..maaaaybe finding another person or two to travel with would be in our best interests?"

The last half of the thought came out rushed and nearly incomprehensible but Roman could tell Virgil had heard them clearly as his face adopted a carefully neutral expression, hands twisting tightly in his lap.

"Roman..."

"I know! I know, I definitely get it. But, it would be easier to carry supplies and we could have more! We wouldn't have to stop in towns so much-"

"Roman."

"And it might be safer! More people means more weapons means more protection right?"

"Roman."

They shut their mouth in worry at the defeated tone Virgil had adopted. He twisted his hands tighter, hesitant to continue now that he actually could.

"Am I not....do you not feel safe enough with me?"

Roman sucked in a breath as they realized how Virgil had taken their concerns, rushing to try and fix it. "It's definitely not that! I-Virgil I'm so sorry that isn't what I meant at all!"

They leaned forward and began gently detangling his fingers from each other, holding them tightly once they finally managed it. "Anx it isn't like that. I honestly worry that you aren't safe enough with me. And once our load gets heavier with trading supplies we slow down and it never seems like we're on the road long enough before what little supplies we can carry run out. It was only a thought I wanted to discuss, not an attack on your skill as a fighter."

Their eyes met Virgil's and they breathed a sigh of relief when they were met with understanding, nonetheless continuing to rub soothing circles across his knuckles until he pulled away.

"I guess..." he glanced over at the near overflowing pack of trading goods. "I guess I can see that yeah. But I don't-Roman how can we trust anyone?"

"We probably can't. But we'll look anyway and if we don't find anyone then we don't find anyone. Just, keep an open mind?"

Crossing his arms Virgil looked away to stare out at the water instead, face drawn with apprehension. After a minute he ducked his head in defeat, nodding slowly and standing up. "Yeah. We'll keep a look out. But if we do find someone and after a while they start to act shady we drop them alright? No debate."

"No debate." Roman readily agreed as they stood as well. They began walking again, the silence much less tense than it had been all afternoon. Grinning a bit, Roman smacked their lips in thought. "With that delay it might be two and a half days now."

"Oh come on!"

This work is also available on AO3!

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[exasperatedmoron]

5+1 times Barry says he has a boyfriend and the 1 time they realized he wasn’t kidding

*1*

Cisco walked into the lounge with his arms full of chocolate, movies and those sappy scented candles. It was Valentine’s Day and him, Barry and Caitlin had a tradition of spending it together since they all had very, very miserable love lives.

“Who’s ready to cry over a dying dog!”

Caitlin was already sitting on one of the beanbags Barry placed in front of the mini-movie screen. She raised her glass of wine towards Cisco, already dressed in her sweats without makeup on. Barry, however, was dressed up in a maroon button down and hair gelled up. He was setting the stereotypical ‘ILY’ teddy bears on Cisco and Cait’s beanbags.

“Why do you look like you’re going on a date, Sonic?”

“Erm. Cause I am?”

“With who?” Cisco tried to think back to anyone Barry has interacted with recently, assuming it was someone new. The only new friends he’s made so far were Ralph and Julian. “Oh no. It’s not Ralph, is it? You always seemed to be in each other personal spaces”

Barry looked affronted, even holding up his hand to his chest. “Cisco, no! I- What- Cisco!” Barry’s face contorted as he tried to come up with words. “It’s not him! It’s... someone you guys know. But that’s all I’m saying!”

Barry stood his ground and seemed very insistent on keeping quiet, but Cait and Cisco were invested now. Barry’s last crush was on Iris and that ended years ago before she and Eddie got married. In those years, Barry has only gone on two dates - with Patty and Linda - and both didn’t work out so well. But even in those cases, Cisco and Caitlin were updated (like best friends were supposed to be).

Huh. “Why didn’t you tell us about this date?” “It was very last minute. I didn’t even know he was in town today. Turns out he was so... yea.”

“So, he travels out of town?” “Yeah, he does.”

“Huh. What’s his job?” “Oh, you know. A little bit of this and that. He deals with... uhm... artefacts? and... problem... solving?”

Wow. Pinocchio would be disappointed.

“Okay. Have fun on your date.

Barry nearly stumbled on his own two feet getting out of there, yelling a ‘Bye Cait! Cisco!”. Cisco picked up a beer from the chiller and sat beside Cait as she pressed ‘play’ on the remove.

“He doesn’t really have a date, doesn’t he?”

“Nope.”

*2*

Iris barged into Barry’s apartment, hands full of take-out and ice cream. Normally, she’d pick the lock to get in, but for some reason, Barry upgraded his lock. It was the same as before, so she could still use her key but it couldn’t be picked so easily anymore. Barry must have listened to her, for once.

“Barry! Eddie and I are fighting so I need to have a Disney marathon! Get your lazy ass out of bed!”

Iris heard him squeak, followed by a ‘thud’ as he fell out of his bed. She smiled to herself and placed the take out on the table, knowing that the speedster would be less grumpy once he saw the food. She made her way to the kitchen to put the ice cream in the freezer for later when he saw that his freezer wasn’t empty. Her eyebrows scrunched up as she opened the fridge and saw that it filled too.

Barry never had a filled fridge. Not even a half-filled fridge. Even before he was a speedster, he survived of ramen and pizza. The most his fridge would contain was leftovers from his junk or from whatever meal Iris brought over. It was even worse when he became a speedster, almost causing his fridge to be obsolete.

“Iris? Why are you staring at my fridge?”

Iris snapped out of her thoughts and turned around to stare at her foster brother with bed hair. “Since when did you have food?”

Barry looked confused for a second, eyes going from her to the fridge. As soon as his eyes saw the contents of it, a small smile grew on his face. “Oh. My boyfriend must have left some last night.”

Iris’s thoughts on food and Eddie were completely pushed back. “Boyfriend? Bartholomew Henry Allen, are you having secret rendezvous with a man and not telling me?” “Geez Iris, you’re almost as dramatic as he is. And no, I told you about him, remember?” 

Now it was Iris’ turn to be confused. “When?” “On Valentine’s Day? I asked you to fill my place with Cait and Cisco since Eddie had work and I had a date?”

Ohhhh. “Barry. You don’t need to use your imaginary boyfriend as an excuse to have your fridge stocked. You could just say it as it is. You finally decided to act like an adult instead of a bachelor.”

“What? What do you mean bachelor? Wait - What do you mean imaginary?”

“Cisco and Caitlin told me you made up a fake boyfriend so that it’d hurt less when you stood them up. It’s fine though, they took pity on you so they aren’t mad.”

“Fake?! I-Wha-They-”

“Barry relax. Come on, heat up your ‘boyfriend’s’ leftovers. I wanna taste it while telling you about how much of an overprotective husband Eddie is being again.”

Hours later, the two were stretched over the couch with cartons of ice cream balancing on their torsos while watching Singin’ in the Rain.

“I really do have a boyfriend, you know?”

“Sure you do.”

*3*

Barry was late for work (again) and Joe had to cover for him (again). He needed the results for a case so he sat on Barry’s chair and waited for the CSI to arrive. Soon enough, said CSI ran into the lab, clutching onto his messenger bag and a mini-cooler.

Julian took one look at him and snorted, “You sure that’s enough food, Allen? I can call a caterer if you’d like.” “Shut it, Jullian.”

“Joe! Hey I -” “You woke up sick, so I sent you to a doctor to get you checked up. I’m assuming you’re feeling better and ‘bout to give me the results for the Williams case I needed two hours ago?”

Barry nodded and tossed his bag to his chair as he frantically sifted through his desk, ignoring Julian’s comment about tidiness. He plucked out a file from the bottom of the clutter and passed it to Joe. “Thanks Barr. Now, why were you really late? Mugging? Little ol’ lady bein’ robbed?”

Barry started to scratch the back of his neck, face turning a light shade of pink as he avoided eye contact with Joe. “Ah. Actually, I overslept. I stayed over at my boyfriend’s place last night so... yeah.”

Joe’s eyes went wide, almost popping out of his head, “Boyfriend?”.

“Dear Lord, not this again,” Jullian mumbled from behind Joe as he continued writing his report. Joe turned around to look at Julian with an incredulous look. “You knew Barry had a boyfriend?”

“I knew Barry had an imaginary boyfriend. Cait told me about the Valentine’s Day Ditch.”

“Imaginary - What?! And seriously? You guys are putting a name to it?!” Barry nearly dropped the things he was holding on the floor.

“Ah. Iris told me about him too.”

“Joe, I really - “

“Barry, if you overslept, that’s fine. You didn’t need to lie. We know you’re workin’ hard on Flash duties anyway.”

“No, Joe. Really I-”

Barry was interrupted by Captain Singh’s appearance at the door, spurring the three back to work. Before Joe left though, he patted Barry on the back.

“You gotta work on your lying skills. Caitlin, Cisco and Iris saw right through you.”

Barry sighed.

*4*

Felicity and Barry were watching a movie marathon in the Arrow cave while Oliver was busy doing mayor stuff. The team needed Barry’s help with a meta who moved to Star City, so Barry ran over and even after the threat was cleared, he stayed for a while to catch up with his best friend.

Barry was finally starting to relax until Felicity just had to bring up a certain topic. “So what’s this I hear about you making up a fake boyfriend to get out of situations?”

Barry groaned into the popcorn.

“He’s not fake,” Barry asserted. “They just think he is because I won’t give out any details.”

“And why not?”

“Because he... well... it’ll be a disaster.”

“Okay,” Felicity sighed, setting down her popcorn, “I’ll play along. Why would it be a disaster?”

“They... Well, he doesn’t have the best reputation?” “Uh huh. And what kind of ‘reputation’ does he have?” Felicity leaned forward, eyes staring into Barry, trying to get him to slip.

“Well. You know, it depends. A bad but good one. But to some people, it’s a good one with a little bit of bad. He’s in the middle of good and bad? Or kinda like a see-saw, what side he’s on depends on the day.”

“Barry, this is why people don’t believe you.” "Not again.”

“You either need to work on your lying skills, or give out details that aren’t so vague.”

Barry groaned. He was so done. He picked up his popcorn and tossed one piece to Felicity’s head.

“Just eat your popcorn.”

*5*

Captain Singh was reading a report when Barry knocked on his door. “Come in, Allen.”

Barry walked into the office and placed a file on David’s desk. Just as he was about to leave, he stopped and turned to David. “Captain?” he asked.

“Yes, Allen?” “Can I request for a day off on the 18th?” David checked the calendar on the desk and saw that most of the other CSIs will be in.

“Okay, submit a proper request and I’ll approve it. If I may ask, why do you need to take it? Albert seems to be less of a pain as he was before.”

Barry chuckled as he fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “Actually it’s my boyfriend and I’s one and a half year anniversary. Our one year didn’t end well, so I wanted to make it up to him.”

David sighed and removed his glasses, turning to face Barry properly. “Barry, I’ve known you for over 10 years now. I think by now, you would know that excuses like that wouldn’t work on me.’’

Barry looked confused and a little bit upset at his words. “Sir? I...’’

“If it didn’t work on Joe, Iris, or your other friends, it won’t work for me too. I know you’re the Flash, Barry. You didn’t need to come up with an elaborate fib like that.” Barry looked like he was about to protest or deny any allegations, but his shoulders just slumped. Barry looked like he wanted to roll his eyes at the world. He nodded and turned again to walk out when David mentioned something.

“Also, if you ever used that excuse again, one year anniversary sounds more believable than one and a half.”

“Of course. Sure thing, Captain.”

+1

Since Joe found out Captain Singh knew about Barry being the Flash, he decided to let his old friend around the labs, re-introducing him to Cisco and other members of the team. David was slightly surprised at how many people he knew were in the team (”Albert and Dibny? You guys are involved in this?”). He was surprised at their involvement, but at the same time, he wasn’t. Barry had the type of personality that just drew people in.

Just as he was talking to Caitlin in the med bay, a series of beeps emitted from the computers in the cortex. “What’s that? Is that some kind of Flash alert?” he asked as him and Caitlin walked into the cortex where the rest were in, excluding Barry, who was patrolling the city.

“Nah, that just means the waverider landed on the roof. The Legends will probably stop by here to say hi before visiting their families.” Cisco answered as he had another lollipop in his mouth. Caitlin scowled at him and he removed the sweet from his mouth, not wanting her to go into another tirade about dental health.

Minutes later, a group of nine walked into the cortex, exchanging pleasantries with team Flash.

“Didn’t know the Captain of the CCPD is now on team Flash.”

David turned away from his conversation with Ray Palmer and saw Leonard Snart leaning against a wall, smirking. Beside him was his partner Mick Rory, who was being fussed over by Caitlin (”You keep letting your burns heal like that and I’ll cover it in ice until it reaches your bones.”) “Leonard Snart. Didn't know you played on the hero’s side now.”

“Well, I tend to swing both ways.” He turned and sauntered off to Cisco, but not before giving David one last smug look, causing him to think that there was a double meaning behind what Snart said.

“Hey, where’s Barry?” Sara asked Joe, who was catching up with Stein. “He’s on patrol. I can call him back.” Joe went over to the computers and patched in through Barry’s comms.

“Hey Barr, the Legends are here. Come over and say hi.” “The Legends?” Barry sounded excited, but team Flash thought it was because he got to catch up with his friends. The Legends, on the other hand, gave Len a quick look before returning to their conversations.

Five seconds later, a figure appeared in the middle of the cortex, followed by a lightning trail. “Barry!” Sara exclaimed as she threw her arms around the speedster, still in his Flash regalia. “Hey Sara, how was the 1800s?” “Sexist. But I kicked some bigots into a river, so I’d say it went well.” Barry and Sara exchanged a few words before someone in the corner coughed.

“Lenny!” Barry exclaimed and sped over to the reformed criminal. He kissed the thief in front of both their teams, unaware of the heart attack he gave to the members of his own team.

“Bartholomew Henry Allen!” Iris shrieked, causing everyone in the room to wince at the octave she reached, “Since when were you dating Captain Cold?!”. Barry opened his mouth to respond when Nate beat him to it.

“What the hell, man? You didn’t tell your team about it? It’s been years!” Barry sighed and put his head on his hands. Len’s arms were still around his waist, his back leaning on Len’s front. “No. I did. Multiple times. No one believed I had a boyfriend.”

The Legends half of the group burst into hysterical laughter while team Flash was still frozen in disbelief. “Wait a second. Your ‘fake’ boyfriend is Leonard Snart?!” Joe pointed from Barry to Len, taking a moment to process it. He wasn’t as mad as he thought he’d be, but definitely surprised.

“To be fair, they aren’t dating anymore.”

That caused the team to snap out of their stupor. “What do you mean they aren’t dating anymore?” Cisco questioned, trying to comprehend how this all happened. “Did you guys break up?” Caitlin asked from her position beside Mick, who was laughing so hard that he held onto her shoulder for support.

Barry blinked at all his friends and family, asking himself how massive of a situation this led to. He shook his head and removed his gloves, taking Len’s hand and doing the same.

“Guys. I've been wearing a ring for the last 2 months. I haven't been hiding."

"We thought it was part of your... psuedo boyfriend scheme..."

Captain Singh was the first to get over the shock of everything and put all the information together. "So. For the last 2 years, you actually do have a boyfriend. Who's Leonard Snart. And not only did you tell us you were dating someone, you also flaunted your ring around, showing us you're engaged, and we didn't even believe it."

"Most people think the superspeed is what's unbelievable about me..."