#salad would fix me or at least make me forget for a little bit though

[professional-benaddict]

part 36🖤 - AO3 link

part 35 in the reblog @winterspiderpurrs

The next day, Peter heads out to have lunch with Christine. The doctor was one of Peter’s mentors when he did some of his training in the emergency and trauma department. He trusts her judgement.

While he waits for Christine to show up, Peter looks over the large canteen, scanning the people lazily with his gaze. At the back of his head, Peter thinks of the possibility that Stephen is working today and thus might show up in the canteen. Peter really hopes not, but soon enough he forgets his worries as he spots Chrisitine.

“Oh, Peter, it’s been so long! You look great!”

The two of them chat animatedly for a while, catching up a bit. Peter obviously has to answer her questions about where he is currently working, but he keeps in short, blaming it on the NDA, which is very much real. Christine understands, though. She has a lot of crazy stories from the ER, and Peter would love to talk about it for hours, but he knows the woman is busy. He will have to get to it before she has to leave.

“This might seem random, but- uhm…” Christine fixes her kind eyes on Peter while chewing her pasta salad. “What do you think of Stephen? Like- what’s he really like? At his core?”

Christine takes some time to think while she chews.

“He’s the greatest man I’ve ever met. But, he wasn’t a good life partner, not to me at least. I know he’s married now though, so he must be compatible with someone.” Christine laughs lightly. “Why you ask?”

“I-I’m sort of working with him now.”

“Hmm, and how is he?”

“Controling.” Peter says quickly.

Christine gives the young man a moment, seeing if he has more to say, but he looks to be lost in thought.

“Listen, Peter.” The woman says more gently. “He’s a great man, and an even greater surgeon. But, even surgeons have to be held accountable for their mistakes and shortcomings. No one in this field can work alone, I mean- we treat human beings, and we are human beings ourselves. We gotta talk to each other, yeah? That’s how we can make it work.”

Christine is saying Peter should talk to Stephen, and Tony. He figured she would say that, since he is only giving small pieces of information of what actually is now a huge mess in Peter’s mind and heart.

Soon enough, and it really is too soon, Christine has to return to work. She gives Peter a warm hug, and tells him that they will have to go out to dinner soon. Peter nods with a smile. He really hopes he will, but he is not sure in this moment.

Once Christine has dashed off back to work, Peter sits for a minute or two at the table. He sighs a little, then gets up to leave as well.

While Peter walks out, he feels something pull in his stomach. That man over there… he looks familiar. That beard… It is the man he bumped into at the café the day before. What a considence.

——

Outside, in a black car with blacked out windows, Bucky and Steve sit in the back, eyeing Peter as he walks out of the hospital and down the street. Steve tells Happy, the driver, to follow the young man.

[thessalian]

Thess vs More Adulting

Payday is always a happy day, but it's also a little more than that. I mean, it is for me, but I assume that other people do the same thing as I do - that thing being "prep for the month ahead". By which I mean grocery shopping. After all, a person has to eat. Which I have to keep fucking reminding myself because I've fallen back into some significantly disordered eating the last little while. So this month is all about trying to fix or at least mitigate that.

So here's the list and the plan for the month:

So many emergency calories, because I keep forgetting to put food into myself when I'm working and I get hangry and weird. So nuts, crisps, dried fruit, corn thins, cold cuts, some tinned peaches, and clementines.

Fixings for potato salad. Because nothing's easier than just scooping some potato salad out of the bowl in the fridge and stuffing it into one's face.

Things To Roast - a big ol' chunk of pork shoulder, a large chicken, and lamb breast (which was an accident; I wanted shoulder for lamb dopiaza but apparently they were out). That'll be roast dinners plus everything I can do with the leftovers - risotto, stir-fry, stuff like that.

On the subject of stir-fry, I found ho fun noodles when I was out picking up meds and stuff yesterday. I like those way better than the vermicelli rice noodles. I also got tater tots because they're a fairly recent addition to Sainsbury's frozen-food repertoire and I will single-handedly demonstrate that it's a worthwhile thing to keep around if I have to because I HAVE MISSED TATER TOTS SO MUCH.

Further additions for batch cooking, since I've got some meat still in the freezer that just needs little additions to make into multiple meals. Specifically passata and courgette for spaghetti bolognaise, and carrots for chicken stew.

Drinkables and treats. As well as my usual couple of bottles of cherries and berries squash, I treated myself to an eight-pack of Coke. Picked up some marshmallows for hot chocolate and to make Rice Krispie treats, and some chocolate chips for cookies. Also one small bag of gummy sweets and a big bag of prawn crackers, which are thankfully gluten-free.

The standards - eggs, butter, sugar, coffee, etc. I mean, the first three are largely for baking (though the sugar's as much for the coffee as the baking) and I have some plans for French toast, so it's at least partly treat, but never mind.

Of course, this led to a need for more adulting. Not only putting all the stuff away, but apparently my bag of sugar had a leak at the bottom and sugar kind of got all over the kitchen floor. But never mind, I had to hoover anyway. Did the rest of the flat while I was at it. I'd already started a load of laundry at that point (it's on the drying cycle now), and while I do need to clear out the fridge a little more, things are mostly uncer control. Aaaaaaaaaall the adulting.

Of course, at some point in the not too distant, I'm going to have to go and pick up the bits that were missing. Not too many things, but I still want them, so that'll be a thing. I think I'll wait until tomorrow, though. Much as I hate going to the supermarket on a Sunday, Saturdays are worse unless I'm going late, and I really don't want to leave the house today. Still feeling the whole mess of this week, including the idiotic attempt to walk to the corner shop without my cane the other day.

(The shrubbery still has my cane, but I have a new one now - it's actually better than the old one, so that's a good thing.)

One last ... well, silver lining nice thing. My stepfather called yesterday - while I was working, but he apologised for disturbing me. He also apologised that the other flat isn't going to be ready for habitation by the end of this month the way he said it would be. I was honestly fine with that for two reasons: 1) I'd already figured that out because he promised he'd give me a goodly amount of notice so I could book time off, and 2) Scruffman's off in Greece for two weeks as of Monday and I couldn't have taken the time off anyway. It's already going to be an absolute fucking mess at the office without him - however cursory his attempts to ride herd on the lazier of the lazy fuckers in the office have been, it's better than nothing, which is what they'll have for the next two weeks.

Yeah, yesterday was a complete joke because of ... well, the usual. Friday was "New Girl sits on reports from Thursday morning until Friday afternoon, then dumps them back into the queue, and also completely ignores the ten-minute monstrosity by one of The Annoyances (who specifically creates a truly epic word salad every time she speaks) for the entire day". I mean, everyone else ignored the ten-minute word salad too, but I felt I had every right to because I not only took everyone else's long ridiculous reports that day, but also picked up the ones that New Girl had been sitting on all day because she picked them up but refused to actually type them. So I figure the "Leave the long ones for [Thess] to do" is going to be the rule for the next two weeks from these lazy fuckers.

But I have a fridge full of food, plans for glorious dinners, and a weekend of TTRPGs. It can't be all bad if I've got that.

[dickwheelie]

This is a little specific so feel free to give it a pass if you're not into it, but would you like to like to do season 2 Lunch Date Era jonmartin with the 'friendly hugs' prompt? Thank you, and have a good day!

specific prompts are actually really nice, they give me something solid to work off of, so this was actually perfect! I had a lot of fun writing this one. thank you and enjoy, anon!

____________

Jon can't stop bouncing his leg.

He keeps forgetting that he's doing it, and then noticing again, and then forcibly stopping himself, but it never lasts long. The cafe is crowded and loud, which is distracting enough on its own, but Martin is also there, sitting across from him and tucking into a sandwich, gamely trying to engage Jon in conversation even though Jon keeps getting distracted and bouncing his leg.

"Jon? You there?"

Martin's voice fades back into Jon's awareness, and he shifts his gaze back to him. "Sorry," he says for the fifth time that lunch hour, "um, say that again?"

He feels bad. He does. Ever since he found out about Martin's CV, Jon's been kicking himself over how paranoid he'd been, thinking that Martin was out to get him, shouting at him over what turned out to be nothing. Jon doesn't want to be that sort of boss, that sort of person, but he'd just been so overwhelmed. He could hardly believe it when Martin asked him to join him for lunch, after all the things Jon's said to him. Still, he's grateful for the olive branch. It's too bad he keeps messing it up by forgetting to listen to Martin when he talks.

Speaking of--

"Oh, damn," Jon mutters, interrupting whatever it is Martin is trying to tell him. "Martin, god, I'm so sorry, I just got--"

"Distracted?" Martin says, and to Jon's surprise he doesn't seem annoyed, just . . . concerned. "I've noticed. Jon, are you feeling alright?"

"What? Yes, I'm fine." Jon eats the last few bites of his salad so he doesn't have to meet Martin's eyes.

"Sure? Because you seem really anxious." Martin's voice has that soft, worried lilt to it that Jon used to get annoyed by. It doesn't bother him so much anymore. It's . . . sort of nice, really, to be worried over, sometimes.

Not now, though. Because right now Jon doesn't need to be worried over. "I'm not anxious. Just . . . it's distracting in here. It's loud."

"Oh, well, let's go then," Martin says, finishing up his sandwich and standing up to gather his coat. "It's not too cold out. We can walk around downtown until lunch hour is over."

"I--" Jon wants to protest, but he realizes that yes, getting out of this small cafe would be very welcome. "That's . . . that's a good idea, actually."

His leg can't bounce when he's walking, and the early winter air is cold but not biting, and the walkways aren't crowded. Jon can feel himself calming down by the time they get a block away from the cafe. Maybe he had been a little anxious, after all. This was a very good idea. Martin has very good ideas, he thinks.

"If that cafe was too much," Martin is telling him, and thankfully Jon is actually able to listen to him now, "there's another place we could try next time. New Indian place, right around the corner from the Institute. Tim says he goes there whenever he has a PT appointment, to treat himself."

Jon wants to go back to the fact that Martin wants there to be a next time, but for now there's something more pressing to address. "Tim's still doing physical therapy?" he says. He'd thought he was finished weeks ago.

"Yeah, he says it's just follow-up appointments. He's mostly okay, they just need to make sure he's improving, I guess." Martin shoots him a sidelong look. "I thought you and he were close."

"Not, um . . . not so much anymore." Jon stuffs his hands into his coat pockets, ducking into his collar. "We don't really . . . talk."

"Oh," Martin says. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah." Jon doesn't want to get into it. Thankfully, Martin doesn't press the issue.

"Are you still going to PT?" Martin says instead. "You don't have to tell me, obviously. I just . . . I never see you outside the archives anymore."

Jon bites the inside of his cheek. "I, um . . . I sort of . . . stopped going. After the second appointment."

Martin stops short in the middle of the sidewalk, and Jon has to double back. "Christ, Jon!" he says, not angry, but aggravated. "You can't just skip out on that stuff, you could do permanent damage--"

"Martin, I'm fine," Jon says. "See, I'm walking around and everything. Trust me, if it was bad, I'd have kept going, but the whole thing was a waste of time and I had work to get done--"

"Your health comes first," Martin says, with finality, before his demeanor softens. "I'm not an idiot, Jon, I notice you staying late and coming in early, I notice when you skip meals. You're running yourself ragged. It's a job, Jon, and trust me, I know how important this work is, I get it, but none of it, alright, none of it's more important than you."

Jon blinks at him. He wants to protest, but every half-formed rebuttal sounds either defensive or outright silly. Martin is right, after all. Jon just wishes that he weren't, because then he wouldn't have to reevaluate everything he's been doing for the past two months.

Martin goes on, taking a step closer to him. "Just . . . you don't need to keep throwing yourself at a wall, Jon. At least give yourself a break every once in a while."

"I can't just walk away, Martin. O-Or, I don't--" Jon's voice has gone shaky. He clears his throat and tries again. "I--I don't really know how. There's just . . . there's so much, and I don't know where any of it leads, if it's leading anywhere at all, and . . . I just . . . I've no idea what I'm supposed to do about all of it."

Martin gives him a look that Jon doesn't know how to place. It's not pity, or condescension, which Jon would expect from most everyone else. He just looks . . . sort of sad. His hands are clasped in front of his chest, tugging restlessly on his fingers. "Jon, would you . . . um, that is . . ." Suddenly Martin thrusts his open arms out towards Jon and blurts out, "Would you like a hug?"

Jon's speechless. What a thing to be asked, he thinks, and especially by a coworker, no matter how well they know each other, it's completely unprofessional, and even if Martin were his closest friend, which he isn't, but even if he were, why on earth would Jon of all people need a hug? Sure, he's not doing all that great, but Martin doesn't need to know that, and anyway how is a hug supposed to fix anything, especially a hug from someone who doesn't know the half of what Jon's been going through lately, or how scared and confused he's been, or about Jon's very serious problems that are complicated and terrifying and can't be fixed with something as childish and simple as a--

"Yes, please," Jon says, the words coming out in an exhale of pent-up tension, and he all but collapses into Martin's open arms. His face lands just under Martin's chin, half-tucked into his shoulder, and he's just barely able to wrap his arms around Martin's midsection as Martin hugs him back tightly, squeezing him against his chest, and Jon had never known how strong Martin was, how much he had been hiding beneath those soft jumpers of his. His arms, all muscle beneath fat, feel as though they could fight off an army if they really wanted to, and despite his nagging paranoia, Jon can't help but feel utterly protected by them. He feels himself relaxing, bit by bit, sinking into the softness of Martin's chest, letting him hug him closer, just tight enough to be secure without hurting. As he leans into the hug, he doesn't feel any concern about Martin losing his grip or slipping backwards. Martin can take his weight; he knows this. He is as solid and reliable as a wall, and just as stubborn, and he will not drop Jon. Jon lets out a deep sigh, his breaths evening out and slowing, tension seeping from his limbs until he feels entirely relaxed. He feels cared for. He feels safe. It's been so, so long since he's felt safe.

He doesn't even notice that he's closed his eyes until Martin's arms shift around him, and Jon realizes they've been hugging for probably way longer than is normal. His eyes snap open and he backs off, hands sliding away from Martin, clearing his throat awkwardly. He tries not to miss the gentle security of Martin's arms.

"Um," Martin says, sounding like he's about to apologize, but Jon interrupts him.

"Thank you," he says, trying to keep his voice even. "That was--I, um. I needed that." When was the last time he'd hugged someone? Jon can't even remember. "It was really nice," he says quietly. Another one of Martin's brilliant ideas.

Martin nods, looking relieved, and perhaps a little fond, though it may just be Jon's imagination. "Anytime," he says, and Jon thinks he might mean it. He hopes he does. "What are friends for, eh?"

Jon blinks. Are they friends? How long has that been the case? He looks at Martin, hands stuffed into his coat pockets, a small smile on his face, and he thinks that yes, maybe they are friends. It would be nice to be friends, anyway. If Martin says they're friends, Jon won't correct him. "Yeah," he says, and he's very glad to see Martin's face brighten at the word. "I, um," and Jon needs to clear his throat again, "I-I'll try. To have a break once in a while."

"Promise?" Martin says, and Jon can't help but laugh.

"I promise."

Martin nods. "Okay. Good."

"This, today, lunch I mean, this was nice. I'd . . . um. I'd like to do it again."

"Oh! Um, sure. Definitely," Martin says, smiling.

"We can go to that Indian place," Jon says.

"Sure," Martin says. "Tomorrow?" His look is hesitant, but Jon's answer is immediate.

"Yes," he says, letting a smile run over his lips. "Yes, Martin, I'd like that very much."

[goldentsum]

━ thirst post with idol! reader - spin-off

REQUEST: abt the idol reader thirst, imagine one day you read the thirst on vlive and react to it, and you're just "oh? OH" HAHAHHAA

🎕 asked by: nonnie 🎕

CHARACTERS: kuroo tetsurou, matsukawa issei, miya atsumu, and sakusa kiyoomi

GENRE: suggestive themes, comedy, fluff?

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i can’t with this scenes lmao! i had too much fun with this pft! 

setters ver. | captains ver. | middleblockers ver. | wingspikers ver.  | libero ver. | spin-off 2

you were in vlive, watching the thousands of comments flash on the side of the screen. you ate some pineapple in your fruit salad as you tried to read some of the comments in your vlive, chuckling as you do so. there were a lot of funny and heartwarming comments.

[tetsulovesy.n]: (y/n)!! you’re so pretty! D: please step on me, queen :D

[isseiissei]: you always inspire me to start drawing, (y/n)! you’re just so beautiful, every moment with you is so picturesque 

[tsumwannahit]: you’re so hot (y/n), it’s not fair 

[omisparadise]: (y/n), you’re always so clean and lovely 

you giggled at the last comment, you don’t really know what that means but hey, it sounds like a compliment! (fanbase’s name) are always so funny and seeing their comments makes your day

“isseiissei, is that how you pronounce it? aw, that’s so sweet of you! your words make me soft, love” you cooed sweetly, the soft light on your hotel room making you look angelic. meanwhile, the male who you replied to was screaming and panicking at the other side of the world.

“i want to browse through twitter because i love seeing the content you guys make,” you said, getting your phone at the table beside you and showing your clothes to the camera. a black spaghetti singlet with short shorts that stops on your mid-thigh. when you sat back down, you saw the comment section going wild.

you chuckled, confused, while you try to read some replies and leaned closer to the phone that’s recording your vlive. as you leaned in, your collarbones and neck were more prominent in that angle. your pretty face was closer than ever, your soft confused smile still intact. 

[tsumwannahit]: AASDFJKJHGFDS--

[isseiissei]: wanna draw something right now :D

[tetsulovesy.n]: this would look great in a phone call edit 

[omisparadise]: :)))

you saw the four usernames again and shook your head when you finally knew what was going on. you narrowed your eyes playfully at the camera and started scolding them. 

“you guys are dirty, ya know. that’s naughtyyy~” you teased, wagging your finger with a small smirk

you saw the comment section going crazy again and giggled. you opened your secret twitter account on your phone and searched your name in the search bar. your eyes widened at what you saw, blushing a bit. you looked at the camera then to your phone again.

“you guys are really... creative”

━ kuroo ♡

kuroo really saw his life flashed before his eyes when you said his username in your vlive he was watching. he just froze and looked at you in horror when you scrolled through his page, chuckling in bewilderment. 

you: these are--... um.. very creative 

fuck! omg omg! this is by far the worse thing that happened to kuroo wtf! the embarrassment is too much to handle! he just wanna dig a hole and die! 

at least you don’t know who he was. 

 you: [yn.makesme_hARD] said: “you guys like my edits a little too much but i can’t blame you, while making them I get hard myself… pLEASE LET ME HIT (Y/N)!!” um, you’re very creative sir-- you’re kinda cute too

did you hear that? it’s kuroo screaming at the top of his lungs. how can he forget that he did a (fanbase name) selca day on that account-!!

━ matsukawa ♡

issei was just watching your vlive, smiling softly at your cute actions as you try to interact with them, laying on his bed. when you replied to his comment, he really did scream. his heart was beating so loudly and a red blush almost covered his face. 

when you said you were going to twitter to see the content, his mind went straight to his 18+ fanarts from his other art account. but he was rest-assured cus he remembered that he blocked you on that account like any 18+ creator. 

you: [y/ns_daddydom] huh... that’s a nice username...

issei stopped smiling and sat up so fast that he was seeing black spots. he grasped his phone in alarm, gasping when you just described his latest fanart of you wearing a skimpy pink lingerie. 

you: they draw really good though. i approve, um, mattsun-ssi~

mattsun watched the vlive in panic when you said his name, he signed all his fanart with his nickname and now you know him... he closed his phone and laid in bed, staring at his ceiling with a blank face. 

mattsun: pls let me die now

━ atsumu ♡

tsumu was a cocky little shit who hides in his identity in a fan account so he usually just says what he thinks with no hesitation. when he watches your vlive, he likes commenting a lot. like a lot. 

when you said you were going to twitter, he wasn’t really alarmed or scared because his fan account was not a big one and he just usually thirst tweets in that account. 

you: you guys-- when you thirst tweet, ya’ll don’t tone it down huh. you guys go all out. 

okay, he was a bit alarmed at that. but you won’t see his tweets, right? 

you: this one has a lot of likes and retweets. [iwanna.raw.yn] said “(y/n) REALLY SAID DADDY LIKE IT WAS NOTHING?… brb gonna fix something and if you see my right arm getting beefy, lol we been knew. sigh i want to raw (y/n) so hard tf” okay then... daddy~ 

tsumu watched you giggle after saying that. he just short-circuited, a frozen and faltering smirk on his face as his eyes started wavering. he threw his phone in his bed, cupping his hands together and then hid his face, screeching. 

osamu: tsumu! shut the fuck up! 

atsumu: you shut up! i’m having a crisis here! 

━ sakusa ♡

when watching your vlives, omi likes to imagine that it was just the two of you, video calling each other. his (fanbase name) heart is screaming. 

sakusa watched you spill the tea and expose your fans about their thirst tweets and content and he was lowkey panicking. he grabbed his phone as he watched you on his laptop. he opened his account and went to delete any thirst tweet he made but it was too late. 

you: you guys have really cREATIVE names! like this one, [mother.ynismykink]. (fanbase name) are funny 

he felt a chill run down his spine when he heard his username, his eye twitching a bit. sakusa continued to watch you and listen to you say his most famous thirst tweet. 

you: i don’t like being dirty, though~ 

sakusa grabbed his chest, feeling his rapid heart as he gaped at you. you teasingly pout at the camera, making goo-goo eyes. you almost looked like that emoji, 🥺, but with a pout and looking much cuter. 

omiomi: i.. i don’t know if i’m lucky or not..

[neighborhood-houseplant]

Damian Wayne x Reader

__________

♡ Pairing: Damian Wayne x reader

♡ Relationship Status: Dating

♡ Type: Fluff

♡ Requested: @yourcatcoffeeaddictfan

♡ Gender: Female Reader

♡ Prompt: "It's time to get up."

♡ Au: Normal Au

♡ Warnings: There's nothing sexual going on, but both Damian and the Reader are 18.

____________

____________

The morning rays cracked through the gap in the curtains, shining on the two people lying in bed. Birds chirped, and flew around, beginning their days. Damian and (Y/n) lay in their bed, still fast asleep in a tangled mess of limbs. Subconsciously pulling (Y/n) closer to his shirtless frame, Damian lowly groaned as a buzzing noise filled the bedroom. Sighing in annoyance, the male attempted to turn off the noise.

Gently removing his arms from her waist, Damian rolled over and reached for his phone, charging on the bedside table, hastily turning off the alarm. Sighing, he ran his hands through his messy locks, attempting to somewhat fix his bedhead. His eyes trailed over towards (Y/n) who was still fast asleep, burrowing herself deeper into the blankets. 

Moving closer to her, Damian lightly shook her shoulder, a fond smile on his face. "Beloved, It's time to get up," he spoke, his voice a little raspy, having just woken up. However, only receiving a groan in response from the girl. Continuing to shake her shoulder, the girl finally turned towards him. Rubbing her eyes in an attempt to wake herself up a bit more. 

Lightly groaning, she looked at him with a quizzical expression. Smirking at her lightly, he spoke. "It's time to get out of bed." Letting out a playful and dramatic groan, she flopped herself back onto the mattress. Damian rolled his eyes, getting out of bed, lightly hissing when his feet hit the cold floors. Opening the bathroom door, he glanced back to (Y/n). 

Seeing her begin to go back underneath the covers, he spoke up. "Beloved, I'd better not find you in bed." Smiling in satisfaction as he watched her get out of bed, a very annoyed look on her. Entering the bathroom, she washed her face with cold water, hoping to wake herself up a bit more. "We're going over to Grayson's later." The male glanced at her, waiting for an answer. "Yeah, I know."

Walking back into the bedroom, (Y/n) opened the closet, pulling out one of Damian's turtle necks, some jeans, as well as her socks and undergarments. Quickly changing into the clothes, she rolled her shoulders to wake them up. "At least we get to skip training today," she mumbled, hoping Damian hadn't heard her. Arms wrapped around her waist as Damian rested his head on top of hers. 

"Unlikely." He spoke, having obviously heard her. His eyes trailed to the top she was wearing. "Beloved, why are you so insistent on taking my clothing?" Damian asked, "Do you want me to stop?" (Y/n) responded, glancing into his emerald green eyes. "No, you look ravishing in my clothing." He mumbled. Humming in response, (Y/n) finally took notice of the lack of a shirt on Damian. "You should get changed, Dami."

"I suppose." He mumbled, rummaging through the cupboard, pulling out his own clothes and shooing (Y/n) away, as she laughed, shutting the door behind her. Sliding down the railing, she hopped off, entering the kitchen to make breakfast for two of them and Titus. Washing her hands, she dried them and began to cook. First filling up Titus's food and water bowls. Deciding on just making the toast. Adding a few strawberries to both the plates, as well as some tea, since Damian wasn't the biggest fan of coffee.

Just as (Y/n) finished setting the table, and putting out Titus's food, Damian came downstairs, Titus following right behind him. Lightly kissing her temple, Damian sat down. "Thank you for making breakfast." He paused to take a sip of his tea. "It was delicious." (Y/n) grinned at him, silently thanking him for the compliment. 

After this, (Y/n) collected the plates and mugs. Damian offered to help with washing the dishes before they headed out. Scrubbing away at the dishes,  (Y/n) finally finished rinsing out the dishes, handing them to Damian who dried them off. Finally drying their hands, the two walked towards the front door, where their shoes were. 

Putting on their shoes, (Y/n) placed her hand on the doorknob, stopping as Damian piped up. "Beloved, I believe you are forgetting someone important." Turning around to look at him, with an irritated expression, she spoke. "We are not bringing Titus." Watching as Damain recoiled in horror. "And what is the reasoning for that." An equally irritated expression adorned his features. "We're only going to be gone for a few hours Damian, he'll be fine."

"And how would you possibly know that?" He glanced at her, awaiting a response. Rolling her eyes at him, (Y/n) grabbed her phone and keys and exited through the front door. Flabbergasted at the gesture action, Damian quickly petted Titus goodbye and grabbed his things before leaving and locking the door behind him.

(Y/n) was already in the car, in the passenger seat scrolling through her phone, and could do little to stop the small smirk that played its way onto her face when Damian finally got in the car. An annoyed scowl set on his face. Starting the car as the two pulled out onto the driveway, still very annoyed. "We could have taken Titus with us." He grumbled out when he realized that (Y/n) wasn't going to fall for his petty attitude. Gently placing her hand on the one he wasn't using, (Y/n) gently smiled at him. "Titus will be fine, we'll be back home soon anyway." 

Letting out a defeated sigh, Damian kept his eyes on the road, rubbing circles on (Y/n)'s palm as she was doing something uninteresting to him on her phone. She would occasionally look up from her phone when Damian pointed out something that had changed since the last time they'd come here. Soon, the neighborhood they pulled into became familiar. Making a final turn, Damian parked the car in Dick and Kori's driveway, turning off the engine but slightly frowning when he let go of (Y/n)'s hand.

Walking up to the front door, (Y/n) rung the doorbell, and not long after Kori opened the door. Pulling (Y/n) into a hug, Kori said gleefully. "(Y/n), it's been too long!" quietly laughing as she pulled back from the hug, as Kori turned to Damian. "Hello Damian." She smiled at him warmly as he waved uninterested. "So, where's Dick?" (Y/n) asked, peering over Kori's shoulder.

"I would also wish to know the whereabouts of Grayson." Damiam piped up. "I actually left him in the kitchen, he's making dinner." She spoke with a worried look on her face. A string if curses left the kitchen, which the three heard. Realization dawned on Kori's face, as she opened the door wider. "It's pretty cold outside, please come in." Thanking her, (Y/n) grabbed Damian's hand and dragged him into the house with her.

For the next few hours, Kori and (Y/n) engaged in conversations that were either beyond Damian's understanding, or his interest. For the most part, he was on his phone, reading something in Arabic but he was grateful that (Y/n) would try to involve him in their conversations, even if he was giving one word answers. Soon, Dick called them into the to eat, as the three sighed, finally happy to eat something.

Upon entering the dining room, the three glanced at the food that was spread out. Half of it looked over cooked, while the other half appeared to be undercooked. Kori and (Y/n) tried their best to be polite, thanking Dick for making the wonderful food, however this wasn't the case for Damian. "What is this rubbish?" As he glared at the food in complete disgust. "The only thing that doesn't look burnt is the salad." He crossed his arms.

Delivering a swift kick to his shin from underneath the table, (Y/n) interrupted him. "It looks lovely Dick, thank you for making the food." Glaring at Damian. From there, Kori and (Y/n) forced down the food, as to not hurt Dick's feelings. Whereas Damian completely refused to eat anything. When the food was finished, the four were ingaging in some light conversation.

"So (Y/n)," Dick began, as (Y/n) glanced at him, awaiting his question. "Can you cook?" He asked. "I guess so, not anything too complicated though." She quietly laughed when Damian rolled his eyes and spoke up. "You give yourself too little credit, Beloved. I'm sure you could cook much better than Grayson and Kori" Watching as Kori feigned mock offense, however Dick was quiet the opposite.

"Well, I bet Kori is much better than (Y/n) at a lot of things," he narrowed his eyes in Damian's direction. "Do you wish to name those things?" Damian glared back with just as much intensity. "Yes, just take how strong Kori is." Dick said gesturing to his girlfriend, as Damian scoffed at him. "My Beloved could rival Kori's strength effortlessly." "But she can't fly can she?" Dick responded, adding fuel to the fire.

Both Kori and (Y/n) both made uncomfortable eye contact, watching the two males argue back and forth. Kori gestured for them to slip away, as they both got up but Dick and Damian were too invested in their argument that the two didn't notice. Back in the living room, the two females sat there in silence for a moment before bursting out into fits of giggles and laughter. As their laughter died down, (Y/n) spoke up.

"I'm really sorry about Damian." As Kori shook her hand in dismissal. "Its alright, Dick is just as bad." As (Y/n) nodded in response. The two decided to play a game of card to pass the time. Roughly an hour in, Damian came in and looked around the room. Once he'd spotted (Y/n) he grabbed her hand and dragged her out of the house. "We're leaving, I refuse to be around to Grayson's utter stupidity." Quickly waving goodbye to Kori, she let Damian drag her into the car.

"You seem mad, huh?" (Y/n) stated in a teasing tone of voice. Rolling his eyes and refusing to look at her, Damian continued to drive. Once again grabbing the hand that he wasn't using, (Y/n) began to trace small shapes on his knuckles with her fingers. It was a silent attempt to calm him down, which more often than not, worked. Letting out a sigh, Damian spoke. "Thank you." Humming in response, (Y/n) continued to play with his fingers.

At something during the car ride, (Y/n) stopped tracing shapes on Damian's hand, he turned to glance at her, smiling in content as he noticed that she'd fallen asleep. He was thankful to have her, even if he didn't often show it. That was the exact reason he'd fired up when Dick tried to compare her to Kori. It was nights like this, he was grateful he could experience.

"Good night, Beloved."

____________

How was that? I hope you liked it!

- Pinky

[thescullyphile]

Dana Scully, Handyman

Drip... Drip... Drip...

Mulder’s sink is broken, and he doesn’t know what to do. Maintenance was not a skill taught in the Vineyard. He places a bucket under his leaking pipes and goes to work with the optimistic hope that the bucket won’t overflow.

356, 357, 358...He mentally counts the drips throughout the day, something to distract him other than throwing pencils at the ceiling. Unlike chasing a religious sect of possible aliens, office work is boring. It’s even worse when Scully leaves, like she has now, to get her lunch. He is so engrossed that he misses Scully’s return, and her calling his name, until she waves her hand in front of him. “Sorry, sorry, what were you saying?”

Scully places a bottle of sweet tea in front of him. “The vending machine gave me two.” She explains. “What’re you thinking about? You were pretty far off there.”

Mulder cracks open the tea, nodding appreciatively in her direction. “Just wondering how many drops of water a two gallon bucket can hold.”

The quizzical look that he garners from Scully prompts him to give a better explanation.

“My kitchen sink’s leaking and I don’t know what’s wrong with it.”

“Oh.” Scully pauses to unwrap her salad. “Do you want me to look at it?”

Mulder finds himself nodding before he knows what is happening. His brain is functioning in a different realm than his mouth as they settle the details. Scully will come over to his apartment after work. She will go home first to change and pick up her tool box. (Mulder only has some duct tape and a hammer.) Those are the facts, but Mulder doesn’t fully finish processing them until he is checking out the ingredients for spaghetti from the grocer’s near his apartment. It occurs to him, as he swipes his card, that they never actually talked about dinner. But it’s too late now. He’s twenty dollars poorer, and finds he doesn’t mind it, if making Scully dinner is the reason. Why he’s happy about making dinner for his partner is a good question, but Mulder doesn’t have the time to put his psychology degree to use.

Laden with groceries, Mulder takes one step inside of his apartment and grimaces. This will not do. Though definitely not a bachelor pad, 42 Hegal Place has seen its better days, and was, Mulder realized, not fit for company. After about thirty minutes of opening windows and picking up socks, Mulder was satisfied that Scully, upon walking in, would not think she had been transported to a prehistoric cave dwelling.

A knock sounds from his front door as Mulder is chopping onions. His eyes are watering as he trips over himself to open the door, irrationally afraid that if he’s not fast enough she’ll just walk away and he’ll be left with a table for one and spaghetti for two. And a leaky sink.

“Hi, come on in.” His voice is a little breathless but Scully smiles anyways. She’s wearing worn blue jeans, cuffed so she won’t step on the hem, and a t-shirt. Work clothes. Real work clothes. It occurs to Mulder that this is the first time that he’s seen her bare arms since that night in Oregon a few months ago. She looks good.

Scully follows him into the kitchen, eyeing his preparations for dinner but saying nothing, which makes Mulder nervous. He opens the cabinet under the sink, motions to the leaking pipes halfheartedly. “I can only tell you that it’s leaking, I really don’t know much about plumbing.” The bucket, which had occupied his mind so stubbornly earlier that day, had been forgotten, and now stands half an inch from overflowing under his sink. It sloshes as he yanks it out by the handle. “I’m gonna- I’m gonna go empty this out. In the...bathroom.”

Mulder makes his escape, facepalms a little, because why is he being so weird? It’s just Scully.

Bucket empty, he returns to the kitchen to find Scully on her back, looking like she knows what she’s doing. So that makes one of them. Her knee jerks a little, surprised, he thinks, from the unexpected sensation of a drop of water falling onto her face. Mulder offers her a towel, and her voice sounds tinny from under the sink as she thanks him.

Left with nothing to do, Mulder stands there for a moment, but watching Scully fix the sink feels somewhat creepy, so he turns back to the stove and tries to remind himself how to cook pasta. Fifteen minutes later, she finishes working and gives him the all clear just in time to drain the spaghetti. He almost forgets a colander, and is ten seconds away from pouring pasta down the drain before common sense kicks in.

Scully explains what was wrong with the pipes like he knows enough to understand her, but Mulder doesn’t really know what she’s talking about. He can’t think about anything, too anxious that he’s going to miss his window to invite her to join him for dinner. Her sentence is barely ended before he’s blurting out “Will you stay to eat?

“I don’t want to impose, Mulder.”

“Please? It’s the least I can do, really.”

Scully smiles a bit. “Well, if you insist.”

--

Scully sets the table while Mulder serves, thinking fleetingly that he wished he had some parsley for a garnish before deciding it would be stupid. What kind of person just has parsley on hand?

They eat in silence for a moment, briefly awkward before Mulder clears his throat. “So, any fun story about how you became a one woman maintenance company?”

“Sort of.” Scully gives a fond, private little smile. “I was eight, and my dad had just come back home, and the house needed some work. I wanted to help so badly, but my dad only asked for Bill and Charlie. So I spent the week at the library, reading every manual and guide I could get my hands on- God only knows what the librarian thought- until I was certain that I knew more than the boys.” She chuckles at the memory, eyes twinkling as she looks at Mulder like they now have a shared secret.

“That weekend my dad needed help again and I just hung around until he finally gave me something to do. The boys weren’t much help after that...And the rest is history.” Mulder can imagine it, young Dana Katherine with steady hands, more patient than her brothers, as good a partner as she is now. “When my dad died,” Her voice wavers, the wound still fresh, “he left me the tool box. Bill was kind of bitter about that.”

It’s then that Mulder notices the ‘Scully’ neatly penciled in a hand he doesn’t recognize on the side of the box. He smiles, tries not to think about how Captain Scully raised a better son in his daughter than Mulder’s father raised in him.

The conversation flows more smoothly after they’ve broken the ice as friends, and Mulder has a better time than he’d dared to hope for. His apartment gets dark as night sets in, and Scully checks her utilitarian little watch hopefully, only to cock her head to the side in apology. “I should go home, it’s getting late.”

Unable to argue with the passing of time, Mulder sees her to the door, uncharacteristically bashful as she thanks him for dinner. “It’s nothing, I mean, you gave me a sweet tea today, so,” He trails off with a shrug, pleased that he’s earned a smile from her. She steps into the hallway. “Well, thank you anyways.”

They part hesitantly, like children. The door clicks shut.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Omertà👄4

Warnings: noncon sexual acts (sexual intercourse); tags to be added throughout series

This is dark!Bucky and dark! Loki and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father was a bookie and taught you everything you know about numbers. After his death, you were taken on as a bookkeeper for Loki Laufeyson, resident crime boss in Manhattan. But can you keep your place in the background when a man from Brooklyn threatens to drag you to the forefront?

Note: You guys are awesome. Just thought you should know! Thanks for reading and following along. :D I am always so thankful for everything y’all do.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Aside from the colour, you were not a fan of the dress. The black number was little much for you; the long sleeves couldn’t make up for the length of the skirt or the strappy back. You were still unaccustomed to your new wardrobe and you doubted you ever would be. When you arrived that morning at The Attic, you’d felt like an idiot. 

After noon, you excused yourself if only to escape Loki for an hour. He hadn’t failed to remind you of the day’s meeting. Over a week and a half since the last. Just as long spent in dread. It was bad enough facing Loki each day but another to know you’d be book-ended between him and Bucky.

You went to a restaurant not far from the shop. You passed it now and then but never thought of stepping inside the ultra sleek bar. You did that day; a reluctant retreat. You sat by the window and ordered an organic juice and a salad. 

You rarely ate anything more than microwaves dinners and non-perishables. You often found yourself forgetting to stop and eat when you were at work and you gave little thought to what awaited you after.

You poked at the baby spinach and glanced out the window. The strawberry juice was a little too sweet and made your jaw twitch. You looked back to your bowl as you tried to hide your recognition. The man across the street; you’d seen him before.

It would be easy enough to shrug off his brief glance as coincidence as he walked casually along the pavement, but you hadn’t missed him as you emerged from The Attic. Or a few days back on your way home. His golden hair shone above his chiseled jaw and his bright eyes made him a beacon on the streets. He was following you and he wasn’t even trying to be subtle.

You left the last few leaves in the bottom of the bowl to drown in dressing. You took your last sip from the glass and folded the bills in the little leather folder. You stood and nodded at your waitress on your way out. The blond man was gone. For now.

You returned to the shop and slipped into the office. Loki wasn’t there and you were thankful. You sat and pulled out your phone. You pulled down the skirt which had a tendency to slip to your thigh. 

As you wiggled in your chair, the door opened and Loki appeared. He didn’t miss the little shimmy and smiled as he neared your desk. His eyes sparkled at you as his fingers rubbed along the edge of the wood.

“We should go soon.” He said. “But we should talk first.”

“Right,” You kept your phone propped up but spared him a brief peek.

“First, listen,” He reached over and tapped your phone. “Important. I tell you to do something, you do it. No back talk. It would be as bad for you as for me should you choose to undermine me in the presence of those men.”

You nodded and lowered your phone. You looked at him and squished your lips together.

“Play along. I know you’re not stupid so I know you can play your part well.” He grinned. “This man is simple; even you can rile him.”

You shook your head and swayed your leg as you crossed your arms.

“Is that all?” You asked.

“I shouldn’t have to remind you of what this world means; of the consequences of such repugnance.” He frowned. “Remember your father, perhaps that will keep you in line.”

“Perhaps,” You sneered.

“Well,” He drew away. “I’d rather this over with. I am not a fan of these places. Sad, really.”

You stood and tucked your phone in your purse. You slung it on your shoulder and sighed.

“Well, at least we can agree on expedience,” You said.

👄

The She-Wolf looked grim in the daylight. The neon sign flashed although the flicker was hard to notice so early. You followed Loki to the doors but he swiftly sidestepped a patron stumbling out. You watched the man, already drunk, as he wobbled away. 

You swallowed your discomfort and entered as Loki opened the door for you, the bouncers eyed both of you. He was greeted by a woman in a crop top and booty shorts. He looked at her as if she were a leper.

“Laufeyson for Barnes,” He announced. “Is there a man who I should--”

“Over here,” She interrupted him and his brows drew together. “Just by Tiffani.”

Loki hesitated but followed, his arm curled around you as he swept you along with him. There were only two stages in use and the bar was almost empty. Still the music buzzed and the dark room was swathed with coloured arcs of light. You sat along the half-moon stage as the woman offered you drinks. 

Loki sniffed as he peered around and refused. You thanked her but forewent the offer as well. Loki sat back and draped his arm behind you. He looked over at you and you didn’t miss his gaze as his hand flitted down to your dress. His hand snaked over and he caressed your leg just beneath the hem.

“Well…” He kept his voice low. “I am pleasantly surprised.”

“Stop,” You grabbed his hand.

“Stop? Ah, you know, I never expected to share tastes with Barnes but I might see a little of what he does.” He purred. “This might be more fun than I expected.”

“Loki,” You hissed as he flipped his hand and twisted yours back. “Enough.”

“We should’ve taken our time back at the office.” He slithered.

“I mean it.” You wrestled with him. “It’s not funny.”

“I am not joking, darling,” He rolled his R coyly. “And seeing as…” His eyes went to the woman spinning up on the pole. “He has such low standards… you’ve made this pleasantly easy.”

He shook you away and pushed his hand between your knees. He gripped your leg as he took a breath. He cleared his throat and rescinded his touch as he stood. Bucky appeared from a doorway along the back of the club and you rose too. He was flanked by two other men and they followed him to the stage as he smirked at you. He barely acknowledged Loki as he offered you his hand.

“Sweetheart,” He looked you up and down. “Mmm, you look wonderful.”

You thanked him softly and stiffened as you shook his hand.

“Loki,” He released you and extended his hand to the other man. “Early. As always.”

“We take our time seriously in Manhattan,” Loki gripped Bucky’s hand firmly. “It is, as they say, money.”

“Mmhmm,” Bucky withdrew and sat. His men stayed behind him, like statues. 

Bucky leaned his elbow on the table that lined the stage and gazed up at the now topless Tiffani as she hung upside down from the pole. He smirked and his eyes slowly fell to you.

“So, you thirsty?” He asked.

“It’s early,” Loki answered for you.

“Not that early,” Bucky insisted as he raised his hand. “What do you like? You seem like a scotch man.” 

His eyes never left you as the woman who greeted you returned. 

“Or whiskey,” Loki replied, annoyed that he was all but being ignored.

“And the lady?” He wondered. “Champagne?”

“That’s a bit much,” You sat straight. 

“Rose? Chardonnay?” He continued. “I have a rather extensive cellar. I could let you have a look if you wish.”

“We didn’t come here to peruse your wine collection,” Loki intoned.

“No,” Bucky slapped his hand on the table. “You came here to give me my money and to accept my hospitality. It would be rude to bite the hand, wouldn’t it?”

Loki’s jaw jutted out in anger and he nodded, a snarl slowly left his nostrils.

“Gin,” You said sternly. “Gin is fine.”

“Gin,” Bucky repeated as his expression softened and he turned to the waitress. “Scotch for my friend,” He waved to Loki, “And two gins. Top shelf.”

“Yes, sir,” She recited and her smile betrayed her attraction for the man. Bucky, despite his person, could not be called hideous.

“You know,” Bucky turned to Loki, his eyes strayed to you for a moment, “I was thinking of this new arrangement and while I appreciate that your men are working so hard, I would prefer a few of mine help out.”

“Help out?” Loki squinted.

“Allies, you said.” Bucky leaned back and pulled his thin lapels straight. “So we should work together. If I sent a few of my hands down to our warehouses, they wouldn’t be hassled, would they? Especially not if they were helping with our business.”

Loki swallowed. It was one thing to split up the take, but another to allow others onto territory he still felt was rightfully his. The compromise was temporary in his mind; a means to an end. A patient plot.

“Surely not,” Loki forced out. “I would make sure of it.”

“Very good,” Bucky smiled as he watched the waitress set down the drinks. “I will send them down tomorrow then.”

“I’ll make sure mine are aware,” Loki inhaled deeply and took his scotch. His other hand wandered over your thigh and he rested it there as he sipped. 

You grabbed your drink and swigged down a bitter mouthful before you could chide him. Bucky didn’t miss the movement and his eyes followed Loki’s arm to his hand. Loki’s long fingers squeezed and you winced. Bucky took a drink as he looked you over.

“I’ll take my money now,” He gritted out. “Drinks are on me though.”

Loki set down his glass and dragged his hand from your leg. He shifted your skirt as he did, enough to expose your upper thigh. You fixed it and Bucky hummed. You looked up as he shifted in his chair. He was focused on your lap and you pushed your legs together tightly.

Loki reached into his jacket and pulled out the bundle. He planted it on the table before Bucky who quickly took it and began to count. When he finished, he smacked the stack on his palm and then handed it over to one of his men.

“You like her?” Bucky pointed to Tiffani and Loki frowned. “The night shift is better. The girls are… skilled.”

“I’ve never been one for dancers. Or escorts.” Loki sneered.

“My girls are clean and I’d not call them escorts, they’re good company. Especially for men like us.”

“Men like us?” Loki huffed. “I don’t pay for my company.”

“So you must be lonely,” Bucky countered.

A tense silence followed as they stared each other down. Loki chuckled and finished his drink.

“Not that lonely,” He stretched his arm behind you. 

Bucky scratched his chin and nodded.

“It’s not always money you pay with,” Bucky mused. “Is it?”

“I have been told I am charming,” Loki’s fingers tickled your shoulder. “I’ve never wanted for much.”

“Is it charm or hot air?” Bucky challenged. “You talk a lot.”

“I won’t deny that,” Loki smirked. “But you know, a sharp tongue is truly a gift. Isn’t it, darling?”

Both men looked at you. You tapped your fingernail on your glass and chewed on your irritation.

“Truly,” You answered rigidly. “It must be.”

You lifted your glass and drank. Bucky watched you intently. Loki stared at him until he looked away and their gaze met. There was a moment of understanding; an unspoken challenge. You felt as if you were suffocating in your dress. You wanted another drink desperately.

👄

You left shortly after the pissing contest. You were glad to be away and didn’t stick around much longer at the antique shop. Loki was agitated and barely noticed when you left. Despite his well-honed veneer, he hadn’t been able to withhold his chagrin once free of the strip club.

The next day, you sensed little difference. He was silent, grumbly. He sat behind his desk and made the occasional call. He was impatient and bossy. He had Bucky’s men in his warehouses and he was talking his own down from igniting another war. Each call ended with a scribbled list of numbers for you to add to your ledger.

Your work was disturbed in the late afternoon. You heard Lopez in the showroom, his voice panicked as he neared the other side of the door. There was no knock as the squat man’s voice was left unmatched. The door opened as Loki reached under his jacket. He gripped his gun and watched the man who entered.

“No need for that,” The blonde man said coolly. He held a box and smiled as he looked around the room. “Just got a delivery.”

Loki scowled and reluctantly lowered his hand. “Delivery? Did Barnes forget something?”

The blonde’s jaw squared as he turned to you. He placed the box atop your open ledger. 

“Boss sends his regards,” He smirked. You said nothing as he nodded and glanced at Loki one last time. “To both of you.”

As quickly as he’d come, he was gone. You watched him go and frowned as Loki bid Lopez shut the door. You were silent as you shook your head at the box.

“Who was--”

“Rogers.” Loki snorted. “Barnes’ little lap dog.”

You were quiet. You wouldn’t let on that Barnes’ man had been tailing you. You didn’t think that would help with either of them. Or you.

“Well, open it.” He demanded.

You glanced at him and he lifted a brow. His eyes pierced you as you slid the box closer and let out a long breath. You rubbed your thumbs over the cardboard and carefully shook the lid free. The box fell to the desk and you set aside the top. You brushed aside the tissue paper and gaped at the swath of sparkling diamonds.

Loki sighed and tapped his fingers as he leaned forward.

“Do go on,” He said dryly.

You cringed and reached into the box. You hooked your fingers under the diamonds and lifted the glittering pair of panties. Your eyes met Loki’s over the top and his face paled with anger. Fuck.

[hekate1308]

Fictober #13

Prompt: “The things you make me do…”

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairings: Crowley/Dean Winchester

Warnings: N/A

Dean was very aware that the demon he had accidentally summoned a few months back was annoyed.

He also took a lot of satisfaction from the fact.

“The things you make me do…” Crowley began yet again.

“Yes?” Dean asked without looking up from the potatoes he was busy cutting. No family dinner without his famed potato salad, after all.

“They are hardly proper work for a demon like me.”

“Well, Peaches, sucks to be you I guess.”

“Look, the local paedophile being thrown down a bridge and eventually being carried by the river into the waiting arms of the police I can bear. He was alive, which was a disappointment, I own, but at least it was something. But the orphanage? There have to be some standards…”

He let the words wash over him, well aware that Crowley would eventually stop complaining, or at least calm down enough that his rant would fade into a grumble. He had not meant to summon him, of course. Most of the time, even with the magic running through the family’s veins, he managed to get by just fine – here and there a little spell to unscrew a particular stubborn bolt or make sure the small kitten from the girl next door got off the tree okay, but that was it – and it was hardly his fault that about three months ago, some idiot had painted a pentagram in his driveway, which he had stumbled across as he was putting out the trash.

But be that as it may, the result had been that a rather grumpy demon had appeared, eager to cause havoc, and that Dean had quickly put him to good use instead.

Granted, in the first week or two, Crowley had obviously still believed that he cold tempt Dean to go dark. And it wasn’t like he’d never thought about it – magic could be both good and evil after all; every day, people snapped, and maybe, in another world, it could have been Dean, but frankly, with Mom’s early death and Dad going crazy, he had seen too much, grown too careful, and was now not the least bit interested in the power fantasies Crowley kept trying to feed him.

So, instead, putting the demon’s powers to good use it was.

While ignoring that said demon could be… well, first of all, he was easy on the eyes, he was pretty sure everyone agreed on that, at least Jody did. When Dean had tried to complain to Sam about it, he’d stared at him as if he had lost his mind, and perhaps he had, who knew? There was also the fact that Crowley could be charming and funny when he wanted to be – and it seemed to Dean that he wanted to be more and more often – or no, forget it. He was most definitely losing his mind.

Still didn’t change a thing about Crowley being frustratingly attractive, though.

“At least let me fix this up” he was now complaining. “I don’t see why you still perform menial tasks when you’ve got a demon enslaved to do your work…”

He very carefully was not thinking about the word enslaved as he replied, “You know as well as I do that that’s a slippery slope. One moment, you decide you no longer want to clean your own windows, the next you’re cackling and sending the flying monkeys after the little girl with the amazing footwear.“

“As if you were in any true danger” Crowley muttered then tried again, “But maybe some deserve punishment. What about that Ketch fellow today – no one should treat an Easton Martin like that.”

Trouble was, Dean had to agree with him there. “Yeah, maybe, but its still his car. He’s got the right Tio do what he wants with him.”

“The right. You think way too much about that word, you know” Crowley said, stepping up to him. “What’s right and what’s wrong…”

“Maybe” he repeated “But it’s still a safeguard from going bad, and I don’t intend to, so –“

“But being bad can be surprisingly fun” Crowley said quietly. He was now close enough that Dean could feel his body heat.

“Yeah, well” he said, stepping away to put the potatoes into a bowl, “Who knows? Thing is, you haven’t really been trying the last few weeks, have you.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Come on, would’ve been the easiest thing in the world to tempt me to sleep with Ketch. And then there’d be the slippery slope you apparently want me to get on.”

“I didn’t think he was your type” Crowley said stiffly.

And Dean deicide to win back the upper hand.

“Oh, you know” he said, looking for a spoon, “Bastard in a suit. Totally my type.”

He winked at Crowley and went back to making the salad as the demon tried to formulate an answer.

[imaginedhaven]

Reluctantly Rooming: Part Three

Link to Masterpost

This has been so much fun, and it’s just going to keep going! As always, I am accepting prompts for this in my ask box.

This addition to the series uses two prompts:

“The salad here is really good.” / “Do I look like a fucking rabbit?” 

and

“Why’d you hug him? You love him?”

 Enjoy!

~*~*~

Aelin grinned and sauntered over to her newest customer a few minutes into her shift. “Good evening,” she purred. “What brings you in tonight?”

Green eyes met hers, completely unamused at her antics. “Considering that you insisted I come in, I think you know very well why I’m here,” Rowan replied.

It was completely true, of course. The previous Sunday, Rowan had kept to his word and helped Aelin get her flat tire fixed. He had also immediately taken her to the nearest grocery store and carefully watched her select fruits and vegetables like a hawk eyeing its prey. Once they had gotten home he had immediately flown into a flurry of meal preparation, and soon Aelin’s entire half of the fridge was full of little glass containers of portioned snacks and meals while Aelin’s roommate was glaring from the counter.

She had mocked him for it endlessly, of course, but truth be told she was immensely grateful. And so she had insisted that he pick a night to come out to the bar, so she could get him a free meal and a drink in thanks. He had picked Friday, and now he was here in the place she spent so much of her week. When they had first started rooming together, and even just two weeks ago, it would’ve been strange and she probably would’ve swapped halves of the bar with Lysandra just to avoid him. Now, though, she felt a strange warmth at seeing him so clearly out of his depth for her sake.

“I’m kind of hoping you’ll trust me on the drink, but is there something in particular you want to eat?” she asked.

“You’re the one who works here,” he retorted. “Surely you have a recommendation, seeing how you chose to eat here most nights rather than just admit you can’t cook to save your own life.”

Where that jab would’ve started a real fight just a few weeks ago, now Aelin just gave him her sweetest smile. “The salad here is really good.”

Rowan lifted a single eyebrow. “Do I look like a rabbit to you?”

“Well, since you seem intent on turning me into a rabbit I thought I would offer,” she said, finally bursting into laughter.

Before Rowan could say anything else, a lilting high tenor sounded behind her. “Is there a problem here, Laena?”

Aelin only laughed harder, nearly doubling over as Rowan’s eyes widened. “Oh, don’t be an ass, you know everything’s fine,” she wheezed.

Beside her, a man with dark curls offered a hand to Rowan, who warily shook it. “I’m Sam,” he explained, “bar manager and old college friend.”

Rowan nodded, gaze flicking back over to Aelin. Laena? he mouthed.

Aelin rolled her eyes. “The nickname is short for Celaena. It was the name on my fake license when we met, and he’s never let me forget it. It helps here, sometimes, if someone’s being a little too pushy. Whoever it is walks out of here without my real name, so I let him get away with it.”

Sam chuckled. “I do what I can. But I’ve embarrassed you enough for now, I think.” And without another word he faded into the bustle of the room, where she knew he would be carefully overseeing the crowd.

“Sorry about that,” Aelin said to Rowan. “If I knew he was going to come over and be an ass, I’d have warned you.”

Rowan shook his head, but she could see the faint glimmer of a smile. “It’s good that you have someone looking out for you at work,” he replied.

She smiled back and got to work. Together, they decided on a burger she’d had before for his meal. “Do you trust me?” Aelin asked.

“As much as I feel like I’m going to regret this, go ahead,” he sighed.

Aelin grinned and gathered her ingredients, dropping a single cube of sugar into a glass and soaking it with a mix of bitters. “I’ve been thinking about what I’d serve you for a week,” she began. “I won’t lie, it was tempting to serve you straight amaro and nothing else just to watch your face. But all jokes about bitterness aside, I wasn’t going to actually be that mean.”

“I’m eternally grateful,” Rowan deadpanned.

“You should be,” she laughed, reaching for a muddler and crushing the cube down. “But none of the sweeter drinks seemed like you, either. If I had to guess, in your personal life you don’t mix drinks at all, you just drink your spirits straight.”

The guess earned her a nod. “Even that isn’t often, but when I do, you’re right.”

Aelin nodded as well, dropping a sphere of ice into the glass as well and then reaching for the bottle of rye she’d selected. “So I didn’t want to deviate too much from that and give you a glass that was basically full of sugar, but I wanted to take you just a little outside your comfort zone.” Deftly she added the alcohol to the glass and then began to stir. “That left me with a much shorter list. Spirit forward. Classic pairings. Something even a joyless buzzard like you can appreciate.”

The name had started as an insult, Aelin mused as she reached for an orange and deftly carved a strip of its peel away from the fruit. Now, though, it was… almost an endearment. If friends traded endearments, that was.

Rowan’s eyes widened as she reached for a match, expression turning wary. “What exactly are you doing?” he asked.

Aelin grinned. “Helping you live a little,” she said as she struck the match and held the peel to the flame.

The smell of caramelization and warm orange oil reached her nose soon enough, and she blew out the match and set it aside before gently twisting the peel over the top of the now-completed drink and rested it on the rim of the glass. With a smirk, she slid the glass across the bar and watched as her roommate looked it over. “What is this?”

“If I told you, you’d think I was making fun of you,” she laughed. “So we’ll call it a ‘Trust Me, Rowan’ instead.”

The remark earned her another roll of those pine-green eyes, but he obediently lifted the glass, swirling its contents gently and inhaling delicately. “I wouldn’t have thought scorching the orange peel would change its scent so much,” he remarked.

Aelin grinned. “And that’s why I’m behind the bar and you’re in front of it. Go on, try it.”

As she watched, he carefully lifted the glass to his lips and took a small sip. She bit her lip, doing her best to wait out his reaction as his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Finally he let out a pleased hum, and she could no longer contain her smile. “All right,” he said. “If I admit that I like this, will you tell me what it’s called? Or did you just make it up?”

Aelin tugged on a stray strand of hair as she bit back a laugh. “I didn’t invent this, no,” she said. “It’s been around for a while.”

“And?”

She glanced at him again and finally lost the battle with her mirth, leaning heavily on the bar as she broke into a fit of giggles. “It’s called an old fashioned,” she wheezed as Rowan rolled his eyes and grumbled into his drink.

~*~*~

Rowan left about an hour after that, but Aelin was still laughing about it with Lysandra as they worked to wipe the bar clean after closing. Suddenly a pair of arms wrapped around her from behind, and she laughed and turned, tossing her rag into Sam’s face. “Haven’t you caused enough trouble today?” she teased.

“Not quite enough yet,” he grinned. “So why’d you hug him? You love him or something?”

Aelin laughed as she remembered back to Rowan leaving the bar. He’d obviously intended to slip away without calling attention to his departure, but she had noticed him and chased him down to give him a giant hug and a smacking kiss on his cheek. He had growled and immediately gone to wipe his face off, tossing her a glare that once would’ve left her shaking in her boots. Now, though, she had simply laughed and told him it was revenge for him trying to sneak away. “No,” she finally said as she turned her attention back to Sam. “No, that’s my roommate. We’re trying out this new thing where we actually get along.”

“Oh, so this is the roommate from hell we’ve been hearing so much about,” Lysandra chimed in. “You didn’t say he was hot.”

“I feel like that wasn’t relevant to what I was telling you,” Aelin pointed out. “Hot people can be jerks just as much as the rest of us.”

“She says as though the three of us aren’t hot,” Sam laughed.

“He’s got a point,” Lysandra agreed, green eyes bright with mirth as well. “But anyway, we’ve got a mess to clean up here. We can sort out Aelin’s future domestic bliss later.”

Aelin scowled as her two friends laughed. “I wouldn’t go that far,” she cautioned them.

“Ah, but if we don’t, who will?” asked Sam.

“You’re assholes and I hate you both,” Aelin said with no heat in her voice.

“Oh, come on, you love us,” Lysandra grinned. “Sam, what can you do about all three of us having the same day off sometime soon?”

“You know I don’t control the schedule,” he sighed, but his brown eyes were glimmering with amusement. “That said, we all have this coming Sunday off. Why, do you have a plan?”

“I’ve always got a plan,” she replied. “But in this case, I suppose I can extend my plans to include the two of you.”

“This is all well and good,” Aelin drawled, “but at least one of us would like to sleep at some point tonight.”

“You just want to get home to that roommate of yours,” Lysandra retorted.

“Oh, would you—”

Aelin’s words cut off with a yelp. She had been turning to face Lysandra, but suddenly her ankle buckled and she hit the floor with a cry and the sound of something cracking.

~*~*~

If anyone has questions about any of the mixology involved in this, I am of course happy to answer to the best of my ability! I don’t do it professionally, but in this quarantine it has become an... extensive and somewhat expensive hobby. Yikes. Lol.

Tagging:

@ireallyshouldsleeprn @queen-of-glass @fangirlprincess09 @sassys-world @morganofthewildfire @superspiritfestival @perseusannabeth @sis-it-dont-add-up @jlinez @julemmaes @emilyoftheshadows

[nerdyfangirl67]

Now I Know - Criminal Minds Reader Insert

Pairing: Hotch x reader

Warnings: language, slight angst, fluff, wide range of emotions expressed by reader in the letters

Word count: 2248

A/N: This is a sequel to If You Only Knew, set in the future when Aaron finds the letters the reader wrote. The reader is married to Aaron now. And my requests are always open so feel free to send me some!

Aaron is cleaning out the attic and finds the box of letters the reader wrote for him during a relationship break. He reads them and finds out how the reader truly feels

AARON’S POV

It was one of those days when I didn’t know exactly what to do with myself. I had fixed the squeaky step leading up the front porch, replaced the garage door light, and even cleaned the gutters. And it was only one in the afternoon and I wasn’t sure what else to do for the day. 

On any typical day off, Y/N and I would be spending time doing something with Jack. Today though was different. Y/N was out with Garcia and Prentiss on a much-needed girls’ shopping trip. Jack was over at a friend’s for a playdate and wouldn’t be back until Y/N picked him up on her way home. 

After a quick lunch of a PB&J sandwich with a side of a macaroni salad Y/N had made the other day, I decide to head up to the attic and clean out some of the many boxes that had been pushed aside and forgotten when we had moved into the house.

Pushing open the attic door sends up a dust cloud, causing me to have to wave my arms around like a mad man to clear the entry as I let out a harsh cough. Once the dust clears, I trudge up the rickety stairs, my eyes scanning the room as I reached the top. There were quite a few more boxes than I had anticipated, all strewn haphazardly across the floor. 

Heaving out a sigh, I move forward, examining the boxes and decide to start with those marked miscellaneous.

Two hours and six boxes later and the attic looked no cleaner than it had when I started. I start looking for the next box of seemingly random crap when I come across a small wooden container, resting atop a large cardboard box with Aaron written across it.

Curiosity had me stepping forward to grab the wooden container. Intricate designs were carved into the top of the container and a small gold latch held the lid closed. I trace a gentle hand across the top before carefully opening it. 

I pull out a thick bundle, quickly realizing that it was a stack of letters wrapped in gold and silver tissue paper. I slowly unwrap the paper, careful not to tear it. 

Written in thick, black ink and staring back at me is my name and the address of my old apartment. No name is in the left upper corner, leaving me with a mixed feeling of confusion and curiosity. 

After deliberating for a solid five minutes on whether I should open the letters, as all were addressed to me, none of which had a return address, I decided to go for it.

I grab the top letter of the stack and neatly open it. A glance at the paper tells me that it is from Y/N, dated four years ago.

Aaron,

I don’t have words that will ever truly tell you what I feel.

How could you do this to me? To us? I’ve spent the last year falling a little bit more in love with you every day. And I love Jack as if he was mine. He feels like he is.

But you threw that all away. You told me I deserved something, someONE, better and then walked away with my heart.

You are the sun to my moon. How in the hell am I supposed to be me without the biggest part of me?

I hate what you did. I hate that I can’t make myself go into work because I’m afraid that I might run into you. I fucking work in an entirely different unit, on a completely different floor, and yet, your presence hangs over that building like a shadow.

I hate that I let myself become someone who didn’t know who they were without their partner. I hate that I’m constantly looking at the door, hoping you’ll walk back into my apartment, pull me into one of those bear hugs I love, and tell me it was all a mistake and you’ll never leave again. But the thing that I hate most is that I am still in love with you. That’s what I hate the most.

You ripped my heart out and walked away, leaving me a blubbering mess. 

How could I ever forgive you?

Y/N

The letter leaves me breathless. She never told me how she felt during that almost two-month break. And I can’t believe that I ever let her feel that way. 

It takes me less than a second to rip open the next letter, much more destructively than I had the first.

Aaron,

It hurts so bad. I feel like I’m slowly dying and I can’t bring myself to care. It’s like I was flying and then you brought me crashing to the ground. Hard.

Whenever you speak, I hang on to every word, as if I was drowning and your words could save me. Well, I’d do anything not to have clung so tightly as you ripped my buoy out from under me and let me drown.

That’s what I’m doing, drowning. 

How can I ever live life without you, when I know how good it was with you?

I know it’s all cliches, but that’s how you make me feel. Like a protagonist at the end of a cheesy rom-com, running away with my prince to live happily ever after, except I don’t get my happy ending.

Gosh, it hurts so bad, the pain of losing you. You were my everything and it turns out, I was more of your nothing.

She didn’t sign her name at the bottom of this one. Combining that with the dried, smeared ink on the page and it becomes apparent that she was crying so hard that she couldn’t finish.

A lump settles in my throat, making it hard to breathe as the guilt consumes me. I’m slower this time, as I move to grab another one, afraid of finding out how much I truly hurt her.

Aaron,

I miss you.

And I will always love you.

And if I can’t make you as happy as you make me, then, as much as it will hurt me, I hope you find someone who will.

With love always

Although this one is short, the profoundness of what was written is clear. 

She had been willing to give up if she knew I wasn’t happy with her, no matter how much it hurt her.

I open another, ready to see more of what she wrote in these letters.

Aaron,

The past couple of nights I have been having the same dream.

It starts normally. I’m in the kitchen, making breakfast on what I assume is a Saturday morning. Jack comes barreling into the room, excited to help make pancakes. You come in a short while later, much slower and quieter than the first Hotchner did.

In your arms is our four-month-old son, whom you had grabbed from the nursery on your way downstairs. Jack is rambling about a dream he had as he starts pouring a bag of chocolate chips into the pancake batter. I smile at you, which you return with a silent ‘I love you.’

The scene changes and instead of being in the kitchen with the three of you, I am in my bed, waking up to light shining through the crack between the curtains. I roll to my right to find another person in the bed with me.

At first, I think it’s you, with the dark head of hair peeking out from under the quilt. I move my hand to trail through it, realizing it is not you. At all. 

My hand, which I had quickly removed upon coming to the realization it wasn’t you, causes the person next to me to stir and turn over, revealing someone nondescript, someone who wasn’t you. I scramble out of the bed, finding that this isn’t the home that I had just been in with you and Jack and our new son. 

I scramble towards the door and fly down the hallway, only stopping to open the doors along the way. None of the rooms I open have any evidence of you or Jack existing. There are no pictures, no children’s toys, no red ties casually strewn across the back of the vanity chair, no case files scattered on a bedside table, nothing. 

I soon come to the realization that you don’t exist in this version of my life, which absolutely breaks me. I can’t even imagine a life where I didn’t have you or Jack at least as friends. 

I couldn’t be happy in this version of my life and I know it. That’s what makes this dream a nightmare. The fact that it shows me what my life could very much end up like if I don’t fight for you, or for Jack. 

I don’t want to share my life with anyone but you Aaron. Forget the idea of ‘you deserve someone better’. That doesn’t matter to me because all I want is you. YOU are perfect. YOU make me a better person. YOU make me want to strive for a life full of laughter and love. 

No one but you.

Y/N

This letter truly makes me realize what could have happened had Y/N not come to my door, had she not fought for our relationship, for me. 

I reach for another one, but just as my fingers grasp it, I hear a car pull up in the driveway. A glance out the window tells me it’s Y/N and Jack.

I set down everything that had been in my lap while I was on the floor and hurry down the stairs to the kitchen. I manage to beat you there and I lean back against the kitchen island as I wait.

Jack comes rushing into the room and excitedly starts telling me about his play date. I admit I was only listening half-heartedly as I watch Y/N enter the kitchen. She has several different bags in her hands, yet she doesn’t seem to be struggling.

I listen to Jack for a while longer before I send him to pick up his room. Although Jack’s room wasn’t the neatest, I mostly sent him there to get a moment alone with Y/N, who had just returned from our bedroom after dropping off her shopping bags.

I stand fully and call out softly across the kitchen. “Come here, Y/N.” I open my arms up, inviting her in for a hug.

She doesn’t even question my request. Rather, she sets down the knife she was using to prep for dinner and steps into my embrace.

I pull her as close to me as I can, wrapping one arm around her waist and another up to pull her head into my chest.

I simply hold her, the feelings that came when reading those letters rising and falling within me. I don’t know how to bring up what was in those letters, but I know I have to. Not only because me reading them was a violation of her privacy, but also because what she wrote about in those letters was something I had never known about, something she never talked about with me.

“Y/N,” I murmur as I pull back just enough to look her in the eyes, her Y/E/C that always seemed to pull me in. “I found the letters you wrote and put in the attic.”

As I watch her, I can see the moment she realizes exactly what I am talking about. Her eyes widen and she moves back a step. She opens her mouth to respond, but I place a gentle hand on her face.

“I never realized how I had made you feel. I always thought that I was doing what was best for you. You didn’t deserve a man who works all the time, who can’t leave the job at the office, who brought home the darkness and evil he saw every day. I thought you deserved better than that.” I pause, brushing away the lone tear that was trailing down her face. 

“I realize now though, that despite what my intentions were, I still hurt you. And it kills me that I can’t go back and take that hurt away or keep myself from doing what I did.” I step closer to her, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“What I can do is promise you that I will never let you feel that way again. I promise you that I’ll tell you how much I love you and how important you are to me everyday.” I finish my impromptu speech, watching her as she looks at me.

She doesn’t say anything for a while, which honestly scares me. But then she is throwing her arms around my neck, pulling me down to her lips. 

The kiss is hard and short before she puts her head on my chest. “Thank you Aaron. I know what I said in those letters and a lot of it came from deep down in me.” She presses a kiss to my t-shirt covered chest. “And to me, you’re perfect. You always have been and you always will.”

A feeling of contentment and happiness bubbles in my chest. And I know that whatever happens, as long as I have her by my side, I’ll be able to get through it.

[panevanbuckley]

You already know who I’m gonna ask for! BradRay for the domestic ship ask?!

ahh yes you know me too well!! sorry this took so long to answer, i am but a dumb, gay procrastinator fighting the feral urge to (yet again) become bradray trash 💜

who reaches out to new neighbors:

ray. but like, in an obnoxious way? he just talks shit to anybody okay. neither of them actually go out of their way to introduce themselves to their neighbours though (especially not anyone new). ray moved in with brad at the house he'd lived for ages and it's not until almost a year after THAT that they finally learn the names of the elderly couple living next door

who remembers to buy healthy food:

brad. ray is junk food all the way. brad tries to at least treat his body with some amount of respect (as he tells ray daily). although ray has a strange love for fruit and makes sure to buy a different one each time they do the groceries (one week he brings home tomatoes and brad bitches about then not being 'real fruit', leading to one of ray's infamous rants. brad wins, kinda, when he makes ray use the tomatoes in a fruit salad)

who remembers to buy junk food:

oh ray. no doubt about it! he has hoards of junk food stashed in all kinds of crazy places (cupboards, the bathroom cabinet, under the mattress...brad even found a snickers bar tucked by a damn plant pot). brad can't complain though because half of the treats are shit he loves - and, yes, ray bought it specifically for brad because he's, not-so-secretly, head-over-heels in love with him

who fixes the oven when it breaks:

ray! okay, this one was legitimately a toss up for a second there because i always imagine brad in his garage fixing his bike up so immediately went to say him but like...mechanics is a whole other playing field compared to kitchen appliances. which ray tells him. brad CAN fix the oven, he knows how to, but ray is just better at that shit and that's just the facts. besides, why would brad stress himself out fixing it when he could watch ray getting sweaty and dirty, shirtless with a tatty toolbelt clipped to his low-hanging jeans?!

who waters the plants/feeds their pet(s):

ray. ray has an obsession with house plants, particularly cacti - which he names. brad, on the other hand, is utterly hopeless when it comes to plants. before ray moved in, there was one flower pot on the kitchen windowsill and that was a gift from his sister. it was a fake plant. ray is also just more of an animal person than brad so he never forgets to feed their cat. brad is the one who sneaks her little bits of his own dinner

who wakes up earlier:

brad. he's a marine through and through, his body naturally wakes up at 6am on the dot, ready for his usual morning run. ray used to be like that but ever since he left the marines, he prefers to sleep in (unless he has class/work)

who makes the bed:

both of them. but only when they really have to. they're both messy okay, it's their house and their bedroom so why should they force themselves to keep it all tidy and neat?! that's their arguement when poke accidentally walks into their bedroom on his search for the bathroom

who makes the coffee:

they both do! they're coffee addicts and have long since memorised exactly how the other likes their coffee

who burns breakfast:

ray is surprisingly a great cook; he used to help his mom growing up, so it's rare he has any mishaps in the kitchen. brad however? yeah, brad can't cook anything but the basics. one time he tries to surprise ray by whipping up pancakes for breakfast and managed to stick the first one to the pan until it was nothing more than a crisp. ray found it hilarious, naturally

how do they let each other know they’re leaving the house:

ray shouts absurdly loud no matter where brad is in the house, shit-eating grin no doubt plastered to his face. brad prefers to find ray and loop his arms around his neck, kissing his cheek with a whispered "see you later"

how do they greet each other when one of them gets home:

ray 100% tackles brad no matter what he's doing. napping mapping the couch? he gets the wind knocked out of him when ray jumps on top of him. on a video call with family? think again; he has ray clinging to him like a sloth as he takes over the conversation. trying to work out? okay well obviously ray is gonna have to kiss him breathless. brad is more normal. he'll shout that he's back and then get on with his stuff, only wrapping ray up into a hug and planting a kiss to his hair when he finally comes across him

who brings home little gifts like flowers/chocolates more often:

neither of them are huge on this BUT, that being said, once brad finds out about ray's love of little plants he gets into the habit of buying cute cacti if he finds them in a shop

who picks the movie for movie night:

both of them! they have pretty similar taste in movies (unlike music) so there's not really any arguments on that matter

their favourite kind of movie to watch:

shitty or cliché action/comedy movies! collateral damage, top gun, fast and furious, pacific rim, the matrix...that sort of stuff. they're also both guilty of quoting these movies ridiculously well, to the point that their friends (if they're with them whilst watching) will start complaining about how they didn't come to hear their dumb fucking voices talk over the whole damn movie

who first suggests a pillow fort:

ray! he LOVES pillow forts and always wants brad to let him build one

who builds the pillow fort:

they do it together okay, two heads are better than one. brad is good with the structure side of the pillows, ray is great with the adding blankets into the mix

who tries to distract the other during the movie:

brad. because he's secretly a little shit. it'll start with making stupid comments, then he'll throw his arm casually around the back of the couch, sneaking closer to ray before finally peppering kisses up his neck. ray, depending on how into the movie he is, will either swat at him to get off or just give in completely

who falls asleep first:

ray. he sleeps everywhere. and if he's next to brad, snuggled up close to his own personal human radiator, then he has no chance of not drifting off to sleep. brad finds it endearing as fuck

who is big spoon/little spoon:

RAY IS THE LITTLE SPOON!!!

domestic ship headcanons

[thronesofshadows]

Salt Bridges (pt. 1) || Nicole & Evelyn

TIMING: A couple weeks before Christmas LOCATION: Al’s Diner PARTIES: @nicsalazar​ and @thronesofshadows SUMMARY: Nicole and Evelyn go out for dinner and find out they might have a little more in common than they previously realized.

Seated in the most secluded spot she could find, Nicole’s fingers picked at the extra hair tie on her wrist, looking up every time the door opened and the wrong person walked inside the diner. She was never early to any kind of appointments. Being early meant second guessing everything she thought she  knew. Questioning whether she had made it to the right place, on the right day or at the right time. Worrying about plans getting cancelled and not getting the corresponding text. Going back to recheck the information multiple times, though she had done it a hundred times before. She was always five minutes late to everything, perfectly calculated, to avoid that. She had to be early for this one, however. Against her better judgement she had invited Evelyn to a diner. A very loud one, it seemed. She couldn’t shake the feeling that food had been a bad idea. The worst kind of activity to do with someone she had only met once. The pauses, awkward silences, the sounds, the mess. Terrible, just terrible. She breathed out, forcing herself to not go there. Pointless to dwell on it when she was already sitting there, fifteen minutes earlier than they had agreed on, going over the menu for the tenth time. Besides, Evelyn had to be the nicest person she had met so far, she probably wouldn’t care. She wanted to spend time with her, right? No? She had never been to Al’s diner before, but she quickly understood the popularity. The smell was driving her insane. When Evelyn walked through the door, her frown finally relaxed. She sighed and offered a shy smile, keeping her gaze on the woman until she spotted her. She averted her eyes down to the menu as she approached.  

Nicole was unlike anyone Evelyn had ever met. She didn’t usually eat, and Al’s was certainly not her usual sort of place, but if that was where Nicole felt most at home, she would agree. Though it seemed a bit contrary to what she knew about Nicole. She hardly minded. She could easily get a salad here and pick at it, let Nicole talk about whatever she needed to - or wanted to. She’d arrived a couple minutes early. The buzzing of the diner would have been overwhelming if she concentrated too much on it, and she was more than a bit puzzled about why Nicole had chosen such a place. Perhaps she had a certain craving for a burger. Regardless, Evelyn adjusted the skirt of her dress and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her head before she pushed the door open. Nicole was already there, she realized, gaze focusing in on the other woman. She made her way over to the booth, one in a far back corner that wasn’t right in the middle of everything. Okay, that made more sense given what she knew about Nicole. “Apologies for keeping you waiting.” Evelyn raised an eyebrow, nodding at the menu. “What looks good?”

She shook her head dismissively, eyes darting to the clock behind the register when Evelyn apologized. “Hey...uh, think you’re right on time, I just— ” she trailed off, unsure where she was going with that sentence. She just needed some extra preparation. Her fingers drummed on the menu, waiting for Evelyn to get comfortable in her seat. Fortunately for Nicole, the table provided enough space between them. She would’ve hated having to worry over the woman stepping into her personal space for the entire evening. Her biggest concern was the eye contact, almost impossible to avoid when Evelyn was sitting in front of her. Out in a diner, really? Bad idea. Terrible idea. Should’ve asked her for a walk instead. She cleared her throat to keep those thoughts at bay, giving the other woman a strained smile. “What looks...good?”, the repetition only served to buy herself more time to think. She lifted her eyebrows, seemingly forgetting everything she had read a minute ago. “I’ve...never been here before—first time” she couldn't recall who had recommended the diner to her, but they had clearly made a lasting impression for her to come up with it on the spot. By the smell of it, the burgers definitely won. And the fries. The chicken too. She couldn’t hate the waffles either, despite the milk. “Gonna take a wild guess here...but I think the burgers are kinda their thing” she let out a chuckle and pointed at a particular picture hanging on the wall, displaying a monstrous looking burger. “Would you eat that one?”

“I am often early, but it pleases me to see that you are, too.” Evelyn couldn’t help but smile again. There was something about being around Nicole that made her feel calm and at peace with herself. Evelyn often considered herself a fairly calm person, but there were people, whether she wished to admit it or not, who brought about a feeling of even greater calm, and Nicole already seemed to be one of those people. Even if she was human, she was a delightful partner in conversation, even if Evelyn could tell that this didn’t always come so easily for her. Furthermore, despite the fact that it had taken a good amount of persuasion, she was willing to let Evelyn dote on her and purchase things for her, which was always a plus in Evelyn’s book. “I cannot say that I am an expert on any of this,” she flipped through the menu, glossy painted nails tapping against the plastic. “Well, it is a popular place in town, or so the rumors say - it is often filled up from what I can tell.” She crossed her legs. “Well, I do think that is how diners go. I - well, no, not unless it is vegetarian, but I fully endorse you trying it. After all, is there not the cliché of when in Rome - and I am well-aware that we are not in Rome, and that I explain my jokes too much but I say go for it. I think I may get a salad.”

“About that…” her laugh was strained and nervous, but felt the need to explain. “I just— had to make sure I got a booth I wouldn’t...” pick up too many things. “Get overwhelmed by—  Sorry to disappoint but, I’m not— I’m not usually...this punctual” it felt strange being honest about it, and though her eyes darted everywhere in the room to avoid looking at Evelyn, she preferred it. Nicole was sure the other woman didn’t need the explanation, but seemed to be the way things were meant to flow between them. She glanced down at the menu again, but her brain was fixed on Evelyn’s tapping, distracting her. Most of the time she was capable of tuning out things like that, anxious thoughts occupying her brain enough to ignore sensory stimuli. Being so out of her comfort zone appeared to be affecting her in different ways. She tried her best not to pay close attention to Evelyn. Felt like intruding. The words pulled her back to focus. She assumed vegetarian options existed, but Al’s wouldn’t be the place to get them. “No, it’s...salad might be the better option”. Could she eat that burger? Yes, she was certainly capable of finishing that. Wouldn’t be pretty at all, however. She had a healthy appetite, and blamed it on being part-animal. “The…” she glanced at her with narrowed eyes, repeating some words under her breath. Cliché of Rome? What was she talking about? Sounded familiar, but she couldn’t recall what the saying meant. “I— I don’t…” Her smile was sheepish, but she was saved by the waiter approaching to take their order. She nodded to Evelyn. “I think she’s...her mind’s made up.”

“Of course. Do not worry, even if you are only punctual this time, that is still more than enough.” Evelyn grinned. “Remember, this is all about whatever works best as a distraction for you, and if this is working, then I shall certainly not fault you for that.” Had she been a more tactile person, and had she assumed Nicole was, too, Evelyn might have reached out to offer a hand to the other woman, but things being what they were, she instead held back. Not yet, and maybe not ever, but she enjoyed Nicole’s company regardless of anything else, and for now, that was what mattered most of all. “Salads are usually nice, and even if it is not of the highest quality, I did not come here for the food, solely.” Especially because I do not actually need human food in order to survive, though it was not as though she could tell that to Nicole. Not now, at least - perhaps, if they continued to get along as well as they had thus far, she would be able to be more open, but not yet. “Sorry, it is a cliché. When you are somewhere, you might as well do what is customary. Or something to that degree.” She shrugged, glancing up at the waiter. “I have. I would love a Greek salad and just water to drink.” She flipped her menu shut and let Nicole order, watching as the waiter walked away before focusing back on the other woman. “So, how is this for a distraction so far?”

“Right, yeah—“ Nicole let out a nervous breath, a thankful half-smile reached her lips. It was slightly overwhelming that Evelyn always knew the right thing to say. Almost too understanding. She wondered if that had come with all the training she experienced as a kid. A fleeting, less logical thought followed. Could she—? Maybe she was capable of reading minds. Crazy, sure. She had seen weirder things in her life, though. Shaking her head, she frowned at the absurdity. People just happened to be good sometimes, she reminded herself. “Yeah—- wouldn’t pay for a restaurant salad, really…” Maybe being an ex model had something to do with her concern for healthy eating, but if Evelyn wanted salad, then she’d pay for it. “Good thing you aren’t though… cause this one’s on me, okay?” quirking an eyebrow, she raised a finger at her. She had to remind her, just in case. Yes, she had invited Evelyn for more than food. It was strange. When they talked online, she knew exactly why she had needed her company. But now, everything seemed incredibly hazy. Something about...bones and pens? Why would she need to talk to Evelyn about that? She watched in silence as the woman placed her order, her pulse racing at the thought of going next. She asked for a beer first. That would put her into a chattier mood. Then she tripped over her words to order a chicken sandwich, after she was assured it came with a portion of fries. Would she eat that? She wasn’t sure, but at least the hard part was done. “I— uh...never been more distracted in my life” it was the truth, at least. Whether it was a good thing or not it remained to be seen. How long could the food take to be ready, 15-20 minutes? That was a lot of time to fill with conversation. She could get through it. “Thank you, by the way—for coming,” she lifted her eyebrows as she met the other woman’s gaze, surprised by her own voice. “Gonna owe you...a couple guitar shows.”    

Everything with Nicole felt strange and new, even if the overall pattern of their conversation was hardly anything abnormal. Evelyn shrugged. “Some are good, maybe this will be one of those cases.” Not that she entirely minded either way. Human food was human food in the end, and though she certainly preferred that which tasted better, it never served to nourish her in the way that nightmares did. “Okay. Only because you did permit me to purchase that guitar for you and because I find myself rather fond of your company.” Evelyn raised an eyebrow. She enjoyed the time she had spent with Nicole so far as well as the conversations that they had, and so she saw no reason to do anything other than agree to spend more time with the other woman. “It is okay. Sometimes we find ourselves more keen to be distracted than others, and this is no fault of yours. There was a time a bit ago when I found myself unable to sleep for a long while and I know my focus was less than ideal.” She offered a shrug at the other woman’s remark. “Of course. I find your company enjoyable, and I have been looking forward to spending more time with you ever since we have met.”

Nicole nodded, despite being suspicious of the diner’s ability to deliver a decent salad. Though if Evelyn wanted to order something else after, she wouldn’t have a problem with that. “Good” her hand tapped the table with finality, as if her words settled their agreement. Her eyes stayed fixed on the table, struggling to shake the awkwardness off. She didn’t understand why Evelyn liked her company. A woman like her was likely to know people far more interesting than her. Better conversationalists too. But she was trying not to second guess herself too much. Unable to find the right words, she moved onto the next topic. “Was that— were you under stress or…?” She understood the connection between lack of sleep and lack of focus, but it was often triggered by something. “Never been too good at sleeping” her gaze lifted slightly at the admission, focusing on Evelyn’s shoulder. Her leg bounced under the table. For the longest time, she was haunted by the thought of going to bed and not waking up again, her body transforming in her sleep. “Guess... I was bound to end up with issues” it would’ve been easier to see a specialist, she reminded herself, though that would imply she was willing to get better. Her nerves caused her to laugh again, as Evelyn repeated she was good company. She was genuinely puzzled as to why. What had she offered that one time that seemed to go over well with Evelyn? Maybe she could keep doing that, with other people. Did people give each other feedback like that? Deep down she knew there was no magic formula. Maybe Evelyn was just trying to be nice. Embarrassed, heat rose to her cheek. “That’s...yeah— I think I...I do good with...bossy people. Not that— you’re...” she noticed the waiter approach, and she breathed out in relief “it’s not...not a bad thing”.

Evelyn sighed for a small moment, though it was evident that it was not out of frustration but merely out of relief in the comfort and ease that Nicole’s company provided. “Of course.” She watched Nicole’s fingers drumming against the table. “In a manner of speaking.” She didn’t wish to go into it with too much detail; didn’t want to risk explaining seeing giant eyes - Nicole didn’t deserve having to deal with that. “Luckily I was able to work through it, and that is all behind me.” Other things weren’t, other odd sleep behaviors weighed heavily on her mind - because she wasn’t supposed to have faults with her sleep, if anything she was supposed to be the one in control, particularly the negative ones that had seemingly overrun the town. “Oh? That is the case with a number of people. Even when you were a child?” She looked over to Nicole, though there was not a speck of judgement present on her face.  “Well, I do not think this guarantees issues. Sleep is incredibly complex, you should not fault yourself for anything.” She bit her lip to hold back a laugh at Nicole’s next comment. “You can call my bossy. I am well-aware I can be, though I think that the tutors I had as a child preferred strong-willed.” She fought away the urge to roll her eyes. Evelyn watched the waiter come back over, dropping off their drinks and a few tabletop condiments - including salt. Evelyn grabbed her drink quickly. Salt wasn’t even a proper condiment, though she supposed many people liked to have it on top of their dishes. “Well, so far so good, I think.” She nodded. “How are you finding it?”

“I’m glad it’s in the past,” she nodded. The fact that Evelyn had managed to work through her sleeping issues gave Nicole some sort of comfort. Maybe it would pass, maybe she just had to be patient. “Light sleeper” she raised her hand, as if she was taking the blame on something. “Noises and...I’m—sensitive to it,” she shrugged, debating whether to continue or not. “It got worse after…” no, she should’ve stopped. Being a light sleeper was one thing, nightmares were something entirely different. “Bad stuff happened” the tight smile she gave after her words felt odd, but she didn’t Evelyn to feel uncomfortable. She was used to bad sleep anyway. Wasn’t so bad. “Strong-willed, huh?” she repeated, her eyebrows rising as she broke into a smile. “Yeah, you terrorized those tutors, I bet” she pressed her lips together, trying to suppress her grin. Although she felt for the adults in charge, she found the thought of a spoiled little girl bossing tutors around very entertaining. Why did a kid need so much tutoring anyway? She should’ve been playing free outside. Regardless, bossy was good in her mind. She needed bossy in her life. She was never inclined to take the lead on anything.  Someone willing to push a little was a change she welcomed. She leaned back in her seat, letting the waiter place the condiments and the drinks. She shook her head when he offered to pour it in a glass. The bottle was fine. Without even realizing, her hand ghosted over the table before reaching for the salt shaker. Instinctively, she slid it to the end of the table, towards Evelyn. Then she rearranged the rest of the containers. She often had salt in her meals, she even favored that type of food, but she didn’t want to risk the chance of an accident in public. Her distraction meant she had lost track of their conversation. She looked up at the question, eyes widening. “How am I— finding what? oh...” she glanced down at the beer in her hand. She lifted it, sending Evelyn a questioning look.

“I am as well, as the case may be.” Evelyn looked over at Nicole with a kind expression. She didn’t wish to lie to someone who may well have been human, but explaining that her sleep expertise went beyond just being a childhood (and still) bookworm with too much time on her hands. Anything beyond that was too much, she knew that - even though she also knew that keeping the truth of what she was hidden away could only serve to cause trouble. She chose not to focus on that right now, and instead focused onto the woman across from her. She found that Nicole was someone incredibly grounding to be around, and she didn’t know why. Instead of getting all done up about it, she’d decided to ignore that and focus on how pleasant it felt. Even though the idea of having friends was still a relatively foreign and odd concept to Evelyn, she didn’t think to question it with a select few people - not Nicole, and certainly not Miriam - to a degree. Others too - Deirdre for one, even Lydia, before everything (and she chose to not think about all the what ifs) - things she never would have expected years ago when she’d been shut into her home, accompanied only by her nannies, tutors, and housekeepers. “You are permitted to be sensitive to noises - not that, well, obviously I am unable to control that - not that I would, if I could, I think people controlling whatever it is someone is dealing with is unjust, but I am sorry that you have that. It is no bad thing, we are all different.” Her gaze softened again. “Bad things? You do not have to expand, but should you wish to, I am able to listen. I am even quite alright at it, most times.” She sucked on her lip for a moment. “I think they used that in lieu of any number of other words they might have preferred to use were my father not their main source of income.” She scrunched up her face. She watched Nicole play with - rearrange - the salt and felt her shoulders tense up just slightly as she pushed it over towards her. Evelyn took it, careful not to touch any of it too much, and pushed it with the tip of one nail away from them, back to where the waiter had first placed it down. “Yes, that.” She nodded. “Though it may not be the quality that you could have if you came to my bar, I hope it suffices.”

Nicole’s eyebrows rose again, surprised to see the woman string a sentence with less eloquence than usual. Rambling didn’t seem to be her thing, but she had definitely over explained something that seemed obvious. Her eyes narrowed, finally looking at her face. “I know,” she said simply with a subtle smile, her voice small but calm. Had she been braver, she would’ve asked if she had issues with control. But she didn’t want to risk upsetting her if that was the case. Her eyes darted outside, a break she needed from the current conversation. When Evelyn offered an ear, she almost smiled. Her kindness wasn’t surprising. Or the way Nicole’s eyes began to tear up. She got rid of them, blinking quickly. God that was embarrassing. For once, the idea of sharing part of her story wasn’t terrifying. Time. It was the one thing she needed. The one thing stopping her from speaking to her. It seemed unquestionable that with time, Evelyn would be able to coax the truth out of her.

“I know” even smaller the second time. Nicole shook her head. “We all got baggage, no?” she said instead. She doubted anyone living in a town like White Crest was completely normal. The way she spoke about her tutoring sounded a lot less amusing than what she had pictured first. She frowned. “Was that… did you rebel against them? Or just— you being a kid”. With an apprehensive look, she noticed the way Evelyn moved the salt again. Maybe she was very particular about condiment placement? It was a little too close to the edge for her liking, though. If anyone were to run and— No. She was too paranoid, what were the chances of that even happening? She let the saltshaker where it was. They would be fine. Moving it again would look odd. “I’ve had a lot worse, trust me” the taste had never mattered much to her. Not when it used to be about getting drunk above everything. Tilting the bottle, she took a gulp. Yes, not great, she confirmed with a grimace. “I think I’d like some of that quality alcohol, though” She’d have to save for that. “How’s your...water? Sure it’s fancier at your place too”.

Nicole’s response remained simple - which was to be expected, it was how she was, Evelyn had learned. Though not for any sort of negative reason, nor any lessening respect. She did respect and care for Nicole a great deal, regardless of whether or not that was something typical of her. “I know - and yes, I suppose that we do. Though it is all different, and I sometimes do not see any point in focusing on such things.” She figured that she could leave things be for now, but if they talked again, she might poke a bit more - as she was rather curious but she knew that Nicole was someone who seemed to be a bit shy, at least when compared to Evelyn. She liked her too, and so she didn’t want to stress her out, at least not more than she already did. It was one thing to persuade Nicole to permit her to purchase a guitar, but this was something else entirely. “No, not especially, I simply did my own thing sometimes and so I think mostly being a child, but I also do not know quite what is typical for children, given that I grew up mostly on my own.” She took another sip of her water. She watched Nicole eye the salt and for a moment she wanted to ask her if she, too, was a mara. She didn’t, because maybe she wasn’t and was just curious about Evelyn’s constant movements. “Well that is good. You should come by sometime, and perhaps I will find nice beer and we can enjoy that.” She grinned. “I can make exceptions for those whose company I enjoy. Especially if it is at my place and not my bar, though I do not feel bad about giving you a more reasonable price than I do for most of my clients.” She grinned. “It is fancier, but I have always loved the fancier things in life.”

A half grin reached Nicole’s lips. She had to admire Evelyn’s uncomplicated mindset. She would’ve achieved a lot more had she moved on from all her traumas, she mused. “Not much of a dweller?” She wanted to make sure she was understanding her words right. She took another swig of her beer. “What’s your secret? Cause I’ve...I’ve tried telling myself— shit’s in the past and all that...” she frowned, unsure whether she wanted to go down that road or not. “Can’t get it through my skull, though” she shook her head, her fingers tracing the bottle before drinking again. She probably should’ve waited until the food had arrived, but the anxiety wanted her to keep her hands busy. Her expression turned serious as Evelyn expanded more on her childhood. “Typical children stuff, like...just— not behaving the way adults want cause...cause— they’re not wired that way yet. That’s pretty typical, I think” there was a lot of wrong in the way kids were treated, but she wasn’t sure how to put her thought into words. “As an older sister— I’m allowed to say, kids are really annoying, though” she quipped to lighten the mood, but didn’t feel right. Joking rarely did. “Don’t think there was anything wrong with you, trust me” she added calmly, offering a sympathetic smile. She entertained herself holding the beer by its neck and swinging it idly, an inch over the table. “Now that I’m...officially invited, yes. Booze is one way to lure me in” tasting actual decent alcohol did sound like something she’d enjoy. “Uh, isn’t— the bar your place?” She let out a chuckle, eyebrows furrowed. “C’mon, all water’s the same!” she knew it wasn’t true, but she was curious about what counted as fancy water. Looking past Evelyn’s shoulder, the waiter came into view. She wondered if the plates he was carrying belonged to them.  

“Not if it is something I wish to not dwell upon, yes.” Evelyn paused for a moment. “I mean - yes, you are correct. If something is unsavory, I do not wish to put my focus into it. I see little reason to.” Which she knew made her seem overly detached sometimes, but that was better than letting emotions overwhelm her completely. “Years of practice?” She shrugged. “I do not know, I think being alone much of my childhood allowed me to be alone with my thoughts, and I have never thought that getting too done up does anyone any good.” She took another sip of her water - she didn’t know why she kept telling Nicole so many things, but she also found that she didn’t always mind. “I guess so. It may be typical, but I have no proper experience with children outside of reading about them - I can imagine you might find them annoying.” She pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “I do trust you, though I do not know. That remains to be seen, for some.” She gave an off-handed shrug. “Yes, please come, and I have found that alcohol is the way to get many people interested. I can promise my selection is some of the best you’ll find here.” She giggled, the sound causing her to blink a few times extra. Perhaps there was something particularly special about Nicole. “You may say that, but there is a difference, sometimes.” She turned to see what Nicole was looking at, the waiter making their way over with the plates of food, and Evelyn watched as they placed them on the table, though as they turned to go, their elbow knocked against the salt, causing it to fall onto the ground and break, salt spreading out in front of their booth. Shoot. The waiter hadn’t noticed and before Evelyn could call out they’d disappeared back into the kitchen. Evelyn eyed the salt warily, scooting further away from it. “What a mess, right?” She bit her lip. “I - I have - I am unsure if I am able to clean this up.”

Nicole managed to conceal her disappointment when Evelyn mentioned the years of practice. If it were up to her, she’d want to be done dwelling right in that moment. It was up to her, she reminded herself. Getting out of her head seemed to be a theme in her life lately. Like Evelyn, she had been alone with her own thoughts for too long, but it had the opposite effect. She let out a tired sigh at that, but didn’t say anything. From the first time they had met, it was obvious there was more to Evelyn than what she presented. The things she said always left her more curious. Confused too. She was about to ask what remained to be seen according to her, but it was all interrupted by the waiter bringing their plates. She was surprised at how quick the food had come. The conversation hadn’t been torture at all. At her alcohol comment, she raised an eyebrow. “Alright, I’m sure that’s not biased at all”. She smiled, eyeing her salad with amusement.Before she could say a word, things went awry.

She tried to reach for the saltshaker, fingertips barely missing the container. Despite her quick reflexes, it slipped from her fingers all the same, shattering on the floor. Nicole winced at the sound, her heart rate jumping immediately. She could sense the heads turning in their direction. “Fu—Shit!” shit, shit, shit. That’s why she had moved it in the first place. Shifting slightly, she checked under the table if the salt had extended to their shoes. Despite the initial scare, there was a minor relief when she saw her boots were clean. Had it fallen differently, she would’ve had to give Evelyn an extremely awkward explanation as to why she couldn’t move or get up. If only her chest could get the message that there was no imminent danger, though. “It’s— it’s fine. I’m...I’m sure we can get the—” she trailed off, eyes fixed on the salt. She tried to think for a moment, but everything around her was distracting her. Was it her own scared heart racing in her ears, or— she glanced at Evelyn then, noticing her shying away. She frowned. Was she worried about the mess? It was bad sure, but they’d get someone to clean, no? Her own worries slipped to the back of her mind, concerned eyes focusing on the woman. Maybe, like her, noises freaked Evelyn out too. “What’s… are you— did the sound freak you out?” It’s okay, it’s just—” she worried her bottom lip between her teeth. It wasn’t just salt. Not to her, at least. But why would Evelyn share the same worries? “You’re unsure if...what?”

Evelyn couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at Nicole’s comment, finding herself glad that Nicole was smiling - whether or not it was entirely due to her remark or something else she wasn’t entirely sure, but she did know that she liked when Nicole was happy - which was odd, given that they hardly knew one another but it was also an unavoidable fact. Before they could say anything more, the salt had broken and she looked curiously at Nicole, regarding her reaction with a certain level of confusion. Maybe she was just very into things being clean and orderly, which this was distinctly… not. Nicole was panicking though - although Evelyn couldn’t directly sense it, she knew enough about how people behaved when they panicked that she could understand what was going on. “A bit?” Evelyn pursed her lips. “I mean, I like music for ballet to be loud sometimes, but suddenly…” her voice trailed off. “A bit startling. I suppose.” Nicole was still asking her things and she knew that she needed to come up with a further explanation, and soon. “If I can clean this up.” She repeated. “I mean, I am plenty able to clean just … not this. I have sensitive skin and it sometimes acts up.” Even she knew that that sounded ridiculous. “Could you walk over and get the waiter, maybe?”

Nicole was hardly an expert on human emotions, but for a second their eyes met she believed her own fear was mirrored in Evelyn’s eyes. It made everything much more confusing. What were the odds of— no, she put that thought to rest when the woman confirmed she had been scared by the sound, that made sense. Glass breaking was never nice to hear. “It’s fine...it’s okay” she repeated, shaking her head. Evelyn didn’t look like something who did extreme emotions. Even startled, she seemed to try and keep it together. On the edge of the table, her hand opened and closed a few times while she hesitated over reaching out to comfort her or not. “Yeah, yes— it was kinda loud but…” her fingers dug into her palm as her hand clenched into a fist. The moment had passed. Her eyes landed on the food they had both clearly forgotten about. Didn’t matter, she wasn’t hungry anymore. “What, you’re allergic to... salt?” eyes narrowed, tilting her head. Her chest stirred again. There was a sensation inside her, heavy and uncomfortable in the pit of her stomach. And when her eyes met Evelyn's again, something in her told her she couldn’t trust her. She leaned back, attempting to put some distance between them. She clenched her jaw. Whatever she was feeling, it didn’t belong to her. She liked Evelyn, she was nice. She had to forget about that cold distrust building within her because she heard a question. “Can I— ” she licked her lips nervously, eyes back on the salt. She could, technically. But Evelyn would find it incredibly odd if she circled around the pile instead of just skipping through it like any normal person unaffected by salt would. “But you— you’re closer to the… you’re closer to the kitchen” she reasoned.

She’d never run into this sort of problem in public before. Of course, there had been the time - when she was little - when one of her cooks (sillyannoyingridiculousawful she remembered thinking, after the fact) had spilled some while making some sort of dish for a party. Evelyn had been sat up on a stool, eyes wide, hair spilling over her shoulders when it had happened and she’d hopped off, eager to find a way to help the cook clean up, finding herself unable to move. She hadn’t truly understood what was going on, except that she’d started screaming at such a high pitch that one of her nannies had come running - and her father too, eventually. He’d brushed away the salt and all of a sudden she’d been able to move again. She’d grown up a great deal since then, a great deal that meant she didn’t react in such an extreme way any more but it didn’t mean that she couldn’t feel her body tense up, at least slightly - at least as much as she’d found herself able to. “I - yes.” She blinked rapidly -- too much for what was normal, but all of this was a reminder of how very much not normal she was and she took in a breath, because Nicole was good and there was no way she was a hunter (though she’d been so very wrong about that before, hadn’t she?). She looked over to Nicole for a moment, watching the other woman push herself away. She didn’t know what she was planning and she could feel her own throat growing dry. “I - no. I cannot. It - you spend time outdoors,” she began, knowing that that excuse was certainly unimpressive. “I -” she began again, pulling her lower lip in. “I cannot go past it.” She finally settled on, not daring to look at Nicole. “I will not be able to move.” If she was out to hurt her, then she would already have figured it out. “It - I have been this way for as long as I can remember.” If Nicole was completely normal, then she might think Evelyn was losing her mind, but some small part of her hoped that Nicole would just understand it all without any undesirable consequences. If not - well, the small amount of time that they had known one another had been lovely.

“What?” Nicole had to laugh at the excuse Evelyn gave. It was nervous and out of place, but in any other moment she would’ve found the humor in it. Her laugh died in her throat only a moment later. The woman’s next words didn’t sound real. Her expression morphed from nervous to puzzled in a beat, before registering the meaning. She had never been too bright, but there was no other way to interpret what Evelyn was saying, right? Ghost, spirits, they couldn’t move through salt, she recalled an exorcist’s words a few months back. But Evelyn didn’t look like a ghost. Her heart was drumming so loudly in her ears it was hard to form coherent thoughts. There was so much she didn’t know. There was another explanation, right? Something she was missing. Instead, she was jumping to conclusions. Because— It couldn’t be. Was that the reason they had connected so quickly? Her chest heaved, eyebrows furrowed so tightly, she believed the lines would stay there forever. Just briefly, she allowed herself to consider— After years by herself, had she finally found someone like her? No. She was grasping at straws. There was nothing else to draw that conclusion from, except for the salt. That could mean anything. It seemed a waiter had walked past the table and spotted the mess, muttering something about cleaning it in a second, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the woman. The salt was forgotten. She didn’t care about it anymore. It was nothing. Just a catalyst for something much bigger. She leaned forward, eyes studying her intensely. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, a clue, a tell, anything from the woman to would give away that they were more alike than she had initially thought.

“Evelyn,” Nicole called gently, despite how uncomfortable she felt using people’s names. Too personal. There was so much she wanted to ask, so many thoughts jumbled together. She was on the brink of possibly finding someone like her. The first one since— really? Was she gonna cry already? She let out a shaky breath. “I’m— what do you mean you can’t cross salt. Look— look at me,” she kept her voice as even as possible, but the words rushed out of her mouth, pushing and demanding. She didn’t want to sound angry — far from it, she only needed confirmation— but she doubted she had the nuance in her tone to not startle Evelyn. “You’re not...are you— are... are you—” she clenched her fist, frustrated. And when she thought she wouldn’t let it out, it came a whisper. Hopeful, curious, charged. “Are you not... human?”

Nicole was laughing and it didn’t seem to be right at Evelyn, at least not as far as she could tell. Except she wasn’t reacting to what Evelyn had said - at least not entirely, and she took a sip of water -- too much, filling up her mouth so much so that she could just focus on that and not whatever was going on with Nicole. Don’tbeahunterdon’tbea - she forced those thoughts out of her mind, because if she were one, Evelyn would have to find a way to deal with that but she didn’t believe that Nicole was. Her disposition was far too gentle, too nervous, too kind to be one. “What?” Evelyn’s eyes grew wide, jolted entirely out of her thoughts, though she found that she didn’t mind Nicole actually using her name - was this was it was like to have would-be friends? - she shook her head. “I - I -” Look at me. She did. Looked over to Nicole, avoiding direct eye contact but taking in her kind eyes, the way that her hair flowed over her shoulders. “I - no. Not human.” Her voice was barely above a whisper as she tried to process everything. Her tone had changed and Evelyn could feel her own expression shift to one that was far more calm than it had been just moments ago -- the waiter not returning the furthest thing from her mind right now. “Are - are you not, either?” Was she a mara? That could have explained while Evelyn found herself drawn to her - she knew that Nicole wasn’t a ghost - Evelyn knew that she couldn't see ghosts, no matter how much she might have wished to (but then again, with what Nadia and Deirdre had told her she wasn’t quite as sold on those any longer). That didn’t mean there wasn’t another species out there that had some of the same difficulties as Evelyn did. “I - can - I  - I am a mara.” She bit her lip, sighed gently. “I hope that is okay.” Her voice got quieter then, nails tapping on the side of her water glass.

Silence hung over them as Nicole took everything in. For once, she couldn’t tell whether it was uncomfortable or not. It was just silence, she had too much to process to care about social cues. She had rehearsed for the evening dozens of times in her mind. Prepared as much as one could. Went over every scenario she could create, from decent, to bad, to terrible to disaster. Evelyn revealing she was not human due to a broken salt shaker hadn’t been in the cards. It was a struggle to figure out how to take the revelation. They should’ve learned about one another with time, when they had trusted each other enough to say the words without fear. Not in a loud dinner because of a preventable accident. She wasn’t human, Evelyn’s words confirmed. Her heart skipped a beat. Excitement? Was she like her, then? She didn't get the chance to ask. “I— am I? Uh...I—” she held her breath at the question. That was new, had she been too obvious? It had always been easy to conceal her otherness from the world, pass for human, stifle the animal so it was nothing but a dull ache in her chest. She had never told anyone before. Then again, no one had asked so plainly either. She didn’t fancy her chances lying, not when she never had a good poker face. It all showed in her eyes, she had been told. And Evelyn didn't deserve lies anyway, not after her unprompted honesty. Maybe she’d read her mind, somehow. Maybe she wouldn’t have to say it.

The woman continued talking, and the pressure in Nicole’s chest was too heavy to ignore. Was it disappointment? A Mara. She didn’t know that word. They weren't the same, then. She was something else entirely. A different creature? She had new questions. “I don’t—I’m not sure what...what’s that”. Evelyn’s last words made her throat tighten. She swallowed hard against the knot, blinking away the tears she knew had to be gathering in her eyes already. Was it okay? How many times had the woman asked that and gotten a negative response? How many times would Nicole have to do that if she ever felt brave enough to be honest? Unsure on what to say, she settled for what she would’ve liked to hear instead. “That’s— that’s okay. Of course, why wouldn’t—” she mumbled, lingering on the hand tapping against the glass before her eyes flicked back up, bright and understanding. She wanted to reach out and offer some comfort, but her limbs didn’t receive the message. “You’re good, please don’t think— I’m not scared, or anything”.

She let the moment hang between them, quiet and though Evelyn liked to consider herself someone who knew how to use her words well, she felt at a loss for them - for just now, she hoped, though she was not entirely sure. She certainly knew that she hadn’t gone into this evening expecting for her friend - for whatever Nicole was - to find out that she wasn’t human. This was supposed to have just been a nice outing. Something normal for Nicole, something that made her feel comfortable. She couldn’t help but feel her mind flash back to the night with Alain, when something else entirely normal and supposedly benign had outed her as not-human. Thankfully, Nicole hadn’t left her yet and Evelyn breathed a small sigh of relief.

She was stammering though and Evelyn pressed her hands against her thighs for a moment, willing any calm energy to concentrate then and now - to focus and not freak out about whatever Nicole’s eventual response would be once she was able form complete sentences. She’d give her time though - that much she more than deserved, having something like this just suddenly dropped on her.  “I - it is okay. I do not expect you to know.” She pressed her thighs against one another, taking in another deep breath. “I - I feed on fear.” Her voice was so quiet now, she wondered if Nicole could hear. “I - I promise I do not feed on fr - those I - people I like. Trust. You. I have not and shall not ever do that. I am a living nightmare, I suppose. That is likely the best manner of phrasing.” She shook her head. “You do not have to be scared of me. I - I am not bad.” She didn’t know why she felt such a desperate need to insist upon this, rather than to just leave things as they were - to state it more assuredly. “Thank you. Not everyone responds well, is all.”

If Nicole thought further explanation would clear things out, she was wrong. Evelyn’s words didn't make sense. “What is—” What exactly did she mean by feeding? How could anyone feed on fear? Impossible. She eyed the untouched salad then, swallowing all the questions she wanted to ask. “What...” referring to herself as a living nightmare didn’t help either. Knowing she wouldn’t be able to understand, she focused instead on how the woman acted. Someone who was trying her best to stay calm, whose words weren’t exactly the most coherent. Too familiar. Despite learning she was a creature who fed on fear —whatever that meant—, Evelyn had never looked more human to her. Her breath grew shallow as her throat tightened. How could she judge her for something she didn’t ask for? It wasn’t right. They lived in a cruel world, scared, persecuted, ashamed —in her case— of what they were. None of it was right. It hurt to hear Evelyn defend her nature to her. She looked down to hide her face, tears were threatening to spill. Great, had she upgraded to crying for others too? Worst of all, she didn’t know the right thing to say. Evelyn was baring secrets and she didn’t have the emotional capacity to deal with it. There were more barriers between them than just the table.

“I’m not scared of you” Nicole repeated, voice low but firm. “I don’t understand…I don’t get anything of what you’re saying, but listen—” she licked her lips as her mind went blank. Where was she going with that? She was about to find out. “You’re—” she looked at Evelyn again, heat rising to her cheeks as it often did when she was ashamed of being honest. “For some reason, the first person I thought of when I needed to talk... was you,” the reason they were at the diner, the catalyst for all the events that led Evelyn to reveal she wasn't human. New information could change opinions, sure, but she was talking to the woman who bought a guitar for her the first hour they met. There was hardly anything that could change her mind about the kind of person she was. “And you came. You said yes! To meet a— You don’t think I already know you’re not bad?”. She swallowed, getting her thoughts together. She had a lot of questions. Some that could wait until Evelyn felt safe enough with her, but there was one she couldn’t keep inside. “What did you mean by...how can anyone feed on fear? that’s not—it’s...it’s not— you can’t eat that”.

Nicole was doing a number of false starts and reformulations and Evelyn wished, if for only just a moment, to take back everything that she’d said. It was too much, maybe. Even if Nicole wasn’t getting up and leaving it could just as easily be all too much to expect her to understand. As much as it frustrated Evelyn when people didn’t seem to understand, she also couldn’t expect them to - though she figured that was more her father’s words getting to her - they often stayed away but seemed to have a tendency to reappear in moments of doubt - they had, shortly after she’d broken up with Alain and she found that they were reappearing now, much to what would have been her dismay if she’d let it.

Instead, she refocused on Nicole, who seemed to have found her own voice again and Evelyn let out her breath. “Good.” She replied. “You needn’t be scared.” Since when am I supposed to sound like my tutors from when I was a child? She mused for a moment. Nicole’s next words made her bite her lip softly, gaze growing soft, and she wasn’t quite sure what to make of the stirring of emotions that ran through her body, then. She imagined for a moment that this must have been what it would have been like to have had a friend (that word was alright to use, she figured, because that was the only way she could describe Nicole) as a child, having someone who wanted to come and talk to her and not because of her money. At least, she figured as much, given how much Nicole seemed to actively push away her offers of aid for any number of things. “I know, but I just - some see those who are not human - and they push away, they think that this changes things, even though it was not. I know of plenty of proper humans who have done more harm than anyone who is not human has ever done.” Her hands found her glass of water again and she took in another sip, Nicole’s next question not a surprise. “It - well, it is the way my body processes things. Truly, there are times when I do not understand it myself, but I just know that I - well, I can touch someone and create nightmares and that provides sustenance. Perhaps it is like how plants can take in sunlight and change it to nutrients?” She shrugged. “I am able to eat normal food too, I just need to feed on nightmares in order to survive.” Another sip of water - “I can explain further, best as I can, if you would like.”

Nicole considered the woman’s words for a second. She didn’t agree with it, but it made sense. She understood Evelyn because she wasn’t human either. She could relate. But had she been human, with no knowledge of the strange creatures that walked among them, she would have reacted differently to the revelation. She would’ve thought the woman was crazy. “That’s pretty dumb of them” to push away someone because they were different. Though, if she was being understanding with Evelyn, who could be dangerous to others, why couldn’t ignorant humans receive the same treatment? Maybe with more knowledge, their minds could be changed. The moral dilemma gave her a headache. “But I guess— guess we can’t be too hard on—on...people ” she shot a quick glance at the woman, catching herself before she could say humans.

Nicole’s eyes narrowed at the way Evelyn explained feeding, the plant analogy helping to better visualize it. It sounded terrifying and fascinating at the same time. To have the ability to unleash that sort of terror at her fingertips. It brought on more questions, but it was hard to articulate any. More than anything, it helped her understand why Evelyn had tried to reassure her she wasn’t bad. How scary were those nightmares? Could people die because of the distress? After what felt like eternity for Nicole, the waiter rushed to their side, endless apologies spilling out of his mouth. She didn’t care, she understood. The diner was full and busy, the staff not big enough to cover it. She eyed him briefly as he swept the remains of glass and salt. Only then, the pressure in her chest eased, her heart slowing down. It had to be a relief for Evelyn as well. “Yes, please—” a shy smile pulled at the side of her face. She glanced down to Evelyn’s hands, following every unintentional move. “So just… you touch someone and— does it depend on…” she paused, grabbing her beer again. She toyed with it instead of drinking.“The worse the nightmare is, the— your meal is it….meatier? or—” she cringed at her wording. She had to sound stupid.  

“It may be dumb, but it also cannot be helped, sometimes.” She knew that was why, despite everything, she still felt some level of sympathy toward her father. He should have acted better with everything, but in the end he was just scared. Evelyn knew his position and title meant nearly everything to him. So much so that he stayed married to her mother even when he knew what she was. So much so that he kept aspects of his life - so many aspects - secret. Made Evelyn play human - because being anything other than perfectly normal was frowned upon. Nicole’s words were a breath of fresh air and it made things feel at least a little bit okay. She shrugged. “I guess not.” Try living with this for years, try finding out what you are and having answers and being shut down. Try being so alone in the middle of a party thrown just for you. Though she knew that there was no way that Nicole meant any of what she’d say in any sort of negative way, Evelyn couldn’t help the desperate and uncomfortable feelings that rolled throughout her whole body.

The waiter arrived finally and had Evelyn been younger, more prone to her snobbery (though she knew that she certainly held a good bit of that now, still), she would have scoffed, asked why they had taken so long. She didn’t, now. She offered them a small smile, as if to say It does not matter. As if to entirely avoid that something so simple could so easily render her helpless. Turn her into a child again, too-long hair and bright eyes, melting down in the house’s kitchen. At least this hadn’t turned into that. At least she was safe. “I have to concentrate.” She murmured, fingers brushing along the tabletop. “I - well, they are fulfilling on different levels. I am unsure entirely, but I do find a certain satisfaction in ones that are worse, I suppose. It creates more fear which is - well, that is the essence of what I need.” Thankfully nobody else was paying them any attention. “How about we get out of here? My bar is open whenever I please, and I can tell you more there.”

“That is…” Nicole should’ve been scared, right? A person was telling her she was capable of causing people nightmares at will in order to survive. That was unlike anything she had seen in town. She should’ve been scared, because she generally had common sense. But each new bit of information she learned, only made her more curious. Only made her wonder what else was out there, hiding in plain sight. “That’s kinda cool. Shit— I mean I wouldn’t like to be the...but—” she had believed Evelyn when she said she wasn’t bad, but that sort of power in different hands—it had to be dangerous. “Oh” she was surprised by Evelyn’s suggestion to leave. Neither of them had even touched the food yet, but she couldn’t blame the woman for wanting to get as far away as possible from the diner. She looked down at her plate as she pondered. They weren’t exactly in the right place to have that sort of personal conversation, she figured. As loud as the diner was, she had to assume there were others like her among them, with keen ears. Who might not take Evelyn’s revelation as well as she had. For their safety, it was probably the best idea to follow the woman’s suggestion.

Nicole found that she didn’t mind going either.  She was drained already from being surrounded by so many people. Trying to tune out noises and smells was a struggle. She still couldn’t figure out why she had chosen Al’s to meet in the first place. Bad idea from beginning to end. She glanced at the now clean floor. They were allowed to leave now, so why not? She tried to push down the guilt over the disastrous evening. She couldn’t have known. It wasn’t her fault. “Uh— sure. Yeah, that sounds— why not?” it took everything in her to fight the urge to call it a day, and just go home, avoiding more social interaction. Deep down is what she wanted, but what she wanted wasn’t always what she needed. “Let me just...” she bit the inside of her cheek, awkwardly waiting to be noticed by the waiter to ask for the check. “I could really use a drink— a real one, after all...this. So, let’s— let’s  go”.

[thealphabetmurders]

Irises

Pairing: Prinxiety

Word Count: 2522

Summary: Virgil knows exactly 3 things: 1. He is stressed about finals more than a normal person would 2. Impressionists are the worst 3. The barista at this new coffee shop has the prettiest eyes

Triggers: anxiety, insomnia, implied/referenced drug-use, lack of self care

Authors Note: I wanted to challenge myself and write a fic with a pairing that I don’t normally do. I am definitely more privy to Logince, Analogical, and Moxiety, but I gotta love Prinxiety, how could you not?  

(Read on AO3)

Virgil tugged off his earbuds as he walked into Monet’s, an unfamiliar coffee house and a new experience for Virgil. Virgil hated new experiences. The smell of vanilla filled his senses as he walked in a dream-like state to the counter (standing a little bit away to let the employees know he wasn’t ready), rubbing his eyes from exhaustion, getting his fix here because he did not have the energy to go out and buy more grounds. He knew that it was most likely extremely unhealthy for him to have only consumed Takis, coffee, and Adderall the past couple days, but it was finals week, which meant it was crunch time. 

Virgil tells people he is a bit more anxious than most people, and by a bit, he means a fuckton. So, of course, finals week has him questioning everything in his life, from his study methods to his career path. Virgil is a smart guy, so he doesn’t actually have anything to worry about, as long as he studies, right? Wrong. As a fine arts major, not all of his classes are just knowing that the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell, you have to apply the skills you learned into a creative piece, and while Virgil is a talented artist, he was always second guessing everything he created. Which is why, in the 11th hour, Virgil decided he hated the medium he was working in, completely scrapped it, and had 48 hours to create 3 completely new “transformative” pieces. Sleep was not an option until it had to be. Which, it seemed it had been, when he fell asleep on the bus after class, missing his apartment by 11 stops. Coffee seemed necessary at this point. 

Pulling his hoodie off his head, smoothing out his hair, he looked at the pretty standard local coffee shop menu with some lunch items as well, and just looking at those made his stomach grumble. 

“Suppose you cannot create on an empty stomach.” Virgil thought. “And while I’m here…”

 As he was reading, he noticed each combo had a quirky name relating to Monet’s works. Berry spring salad with bagel was Luncheon on the Grass, sesame soba was The Japanese Footbridge….

“Give me a break…” Virgil muttered, before finally deciding on what to get. The shop was completely empty, so Virgil didn’t feel too bad about taking his time, though he did feel a bit nervous looking like a mess in front of the handsome barista. 

His olive colored skin tone with black wavy hair made Virgil feel a bit woozy, but he became dazed when he looked into his beautiful emerald eyes, almost forgetting why he was there, until he asked, “What can I do for ya, man?” 

“Uh, yea, can I get the tomato soup and grilled cheese with a medium espresso frappuccino,” He looked around the empty store, “For here, I guess,”

The barista turned around and looked at the two other employees behind him, one on their phone and one inspecting their nails absentmindedly, “Does anyone want to make a frap?” 

They both looked up and looked at each other before turning back to the one taking Virgil’s order. The one with a large scar on the left side of his face put his thumb down while the other one who looked very similar to his cashier blew a raspberry, shaking his head. The handsome cashier turned back to Virgil, and shrugged, “Sorry, gonna have to pick something else, no one want to make it,” 

Virgil sighed, rubbing his eyes, “Okay, whatever, is an iced flat white with some espresso okay?”

The three looked at each other then back at Virgil, before the cashier said, “Dude… It was a joke,” 

“Yea man,” The barista with a scar said, “We can’t just say no to what you order,” 

“What kind of business would that be?” The third one piped up. 

“Are you okay?” The barista, Virgil looked at his nametag, Roman, asked. 

Virgil merely sighed, “I’m kind of going through it,” 

Virgil pulled out his card, but Roman put his hand up. “On the house,” Normally Virgil would protest, despite the cheesy food names it was still a local business,  but being so stressed and depressed he honestly could bring himself to care. He choked out a thanks and sat down by a window, leaning his temple against the it, cool condensation comforting and making him a bit more awake. 

His food and his coffee eventually arrived, Virgil thanked Roman, who then proceeded to sit down across from him, elbows on the table and hands folded. 

“Can I help you?” Virgil asked, probably being harsher than intended, it was just his natural speaking voice. 

“Probably not, I wanna see if I can help you,” Roman shrugged. 

Virgil frowned, “Help me?” 

“I have been told I am good company and good at advice, and you, Brad Pitt-iful, seems like you are falling apart at the seams,” 

Virgil chuckled dryly, “Trust me, I hardly think you are qualified to handle hearing about all my problems,” 

Roman sat up straighter, looking into Virgil’s brown eyes against his gorgeous green, “I work as a barista by day with a bunch of dysfunctional idiots and I am a bartender at night, there is nothing I haven’t seen before, I am probably more qualified than some therapists”  He crossed his arms and cocked his eyebrow, “Try me,” 

Virgil, intrigued, took the bait, and spilled. He talked about his anxiety, the insomnia, the fear of failure, the days where he debates dropping out, his nerves going into overdrive everytime he thinks about what he is going to, how he abandoned his final project, how he has to start on a new one- essentially everything that has been swirling in Virgil’s mind the past semester. 

“Hmm, okay, so you are pulling all nighters to finish all your work, and you only had one piece to do before you were completely finished with your final, and you then decided it looked all wrong and scrapped it?” Roman recapped and Virgil nodded, “Might I give you a suggestion?” 

“You can try,” 

“When you get home, go to sleep. Sleep for at least 9 hours, in a row, look at your old project again, and see how you feel,” Roman shrugged, “Maybe with a clear head you will feel differently about your project, maybe even get some inspiration,” 

Virgil gripped the bridge of his nose, “Roman, I do not have the time to sleep for a full 9 hours, that is ridiculous, I have to do so many projects,” 

“You’ll have one less to start from square one in if you end up actually liking what you did,” 

“It is a nice thought, I appreciate it, but I probably won’t be able anyways, not after the coffee,” Virgil took another sip, as to prove his point, but Roman just smirked. 

“That’s actually just a frozen hot chocolate with coffee flavoring in it,” 

Virgil eyes flew open wide, “Really?” He stared at his drink for a bit before looking at Roman, “They taste exactly the same, I cannot believe I let you fool me like that,” 

“Janus, Remus, and I made an executive decision, you do not look good,” Roman frowned, concerned, most likely looking at his swallowed out skin and circle under his eyes. 

“Well-” Virgil half-chuckled, “Not a lot of people look good compared to you,” Virgil would later wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat because of his flippant flirting that he never engages in, but for now he doesn’t care. 

“Charmed.” Roman said, a fond smile present on his face, “I am sure you are a catch as well, when you don’t look like a skeleton” The door opened and a gaggle of people walked in, dressed in the local high school’s uniform. Roman sighed, “That’s my cue,” 

He stood up and frowned, quickly patting his front and back pockets before pulling out a sharpie. He grabbed Virgil's arm, the other one yelped, blushing slightly at the contact. “I would do the cliche ‘write my number on a napkin’, but now I know if you don’t text me it’s because you don’t want to, which is okay too.” He capped his pen, “Message me about what you decide to do, if you want. Would love to see your art,” And with a flourish of his hand, Roman walked away to the counter to take the many orders of the teenagers. 

Virgil looked down at the 9 numbers on his arm, swallowing thickly, feeling a bit sick, though it is not just from Roman’s number in bold, black ink. God, he was tired. 

His body was not attached to his brain as he walked to the bus station, got off, and walked up to his studio, unlocking the door and banging his head against the wall (not too hard, though, these walls are so thin they might as well be made of rice paper). Virgil looked at the numbers on his arm, remembering what Roman said. 

Virgil shrugged off his jacket and jeans,  throwing them on his ‘stuff’ chair and pulled on a pair of sweats, collapsing on his bed. He looked at his phone, the time reading 3:35pm. 

“9 hours from now… That’s midnight. Is he mental?” Virgil muttered to himself. He attempted to pull himself out of bed to get started to study for his history of art final, but his body would just not cooperate. How long has it been since he has had a proper sleep. 

If you have to think about it, it’s been too long… 

That tomato soup and grilled cheese combination was beginning to make him sleepy. Virgil groaned, face-palming. He went on his phone and set an alarm for 6:00pm. 

“Fine, a short nap,” He said to himself. He hit the lights and it took maybe two minutes before he was sleeping, dreaming of impression paintings and emerald eyes. 

***

this is Virgil. 

i didn’t end up sleeping for the 9 hours like you asked

i ended up sleeping for 13.

i hate you. 

And how do you feel, now?

……….…

much better actually. you were right. after my coma i looked back at my final and realised it was a lot better than I remembered. 

i even ended up finishing it. 

That is fantastic! I am soooo glad I could help. What did you end up doing?

Can you send me a picture? 

oh uh

idk if that is a good idea

i don’t want you to think i am weird

Virgil. 

I beta read my twin’s fanfiction. 

I am so desensitized, I do not think I am allowed to be weirded out. 

ok...

img.cm/1029483

Incoming call (Roman- Monet’s)....

****

Virgil yelped when he saw the incoming call. He doesn’t like phone calls at the best of times, but especially not now, not after he showed Roman his final piece. Stupid, stupid, STUPID! He should have just said no, people don’t press about that kind of thing. But Roman is clearly a liar because he said he wouldn’t be weirded out and he is, and Virgil just met this guy and he already messed everything up, why does he have to be such a fucking weirdo all the time, goddamnit, everything is falling apart, Virgil may have gotten sleep but he can’t fix himself. He groaned and snatched up the phone on the last ring, attempting to put on his best, most positive voice. 

“Hey, Roman, wha-what’s up… Bro?” 

“Hello!” Roman answered the phone, not sounding angry or upset, which calmed Virgil a bit, “I apologize, I should have prefaced that I loved the painting. I understand why you might have been worried, but it is absolutely wonderful.” 

“Really?” Virgil let out a breath, “I was really worried that-” 

“Are you kidding?” Roman almost shouted through the phone, Virgil having to pull it away from his ear, “A profile of just my eyes surrounded by roses and irises, in the style of the impressionists, even though I know you hate that style,”

“I don’t hate it,” Virgil muttered. 

“You ranted about Renoir, Degas, and Monet for longer than anyone I have ever met, and one of my closest friends is a curator at the art museum,” 

Virgil sighed, “Yea, you’re right, they suck. Sorry about that…” 

Roman laughed, “Ha, are you joking? That was the highlight of my day. But all that aside, how could you even fathom me not liking the piece? 

“I mean,” Virgil rubbed the back of his neck, “I just met you yesterday, it’s not exactly something people do for someone when they do not even know their last name.” 

“My last name is Perez, my middle name is Thomas, my twin brother is Remus who you met yesterday, I am left handed, my favorite food color is red, and I love attention, it’s why I have done theater for 20 years. Does that help?” 

Virgil grumbled, “I guess it does,” 

Roman laughed, “I love it, Virgil, trust me, it is now my phone background,” 

Virgil’s heart swelled, “Really?” 

“Really. Honestly after us talking for like, 45 minutes yesterday, I would have been more offended if I wasn’t your muse, I mean, what about mean isn’t inspirational?” Both Roman and Virgil laughed at that, “But I could have told you all this over text, I called because I don’t like texting to ask pretty boys out on dates,” 

Virgil’s heart leapt into his throat, he felt as though someone dropped a ton of bricks on his chest. How was he supposed to respond to that? Roman first impression of him was a literal dead man walking and he still wants to go out with him?

“A date?” Virgil responded, still shocked. 

“Unless the pride pin on your jacket was just as an ally, and you just spent hours painting my eyes in a straight way, I would like to, if you want,” Roman said simply. Before Virgil could respond, Roman started speaking again, “And don’t say no just because I saw you at your rock bottom, I can see where this is going,” 

Virgil smacked his lips together, “You got me,”

“What do you say,” 

Virgil smiled, genuinely, for the first time in a while, “Let’s do it,” 

Virgil was only speechless for a full minute when Roman laid out an entire romantic picnic, scheduling it perfectly to watch a matinee Shakespeare in the Park production of Much Ado About Nothing, both of them happily munching on the brownies and sandwiches Roman had made that morning. Virgil only complained for 3 minutes when Roman wanted to take him to the art museum, the blushing lasted for 4 times that long when Roman confessed it was because he wanted to hear Virgil about the paintings, his voice being one of the most pleasant he has heard. When Roman grabbed Virgil by the waist, pulling him in for a kiss, Virgil responded with equal passion and emotion that Roman was, not even noticing they were in front of Monet’s Irises. 

[stoppit-keepout]

when nobody is listening

Kissing prompt 8. Laying a gentle kiss to the back of the other’s hand. (I realise most of the prompts are v romantic, but I listened to some Mountain Goats and couldn’t stop myself from writing sad things, oops. Title from Long Neck’s Rosy)

Heads-up: this is about Nile Freeman’s family dealing with death--hers and her father’s.

Tony has a few memories of Dad’s funeral. They have hard edges, and they shine through tears, crystalline.

Auntie Kai singing Amazing Grace, a red flower on her black dress. Mom pressing a kiss to his praying hands. “Come here,” collecting him roughly into her arms with Nile, God, Nile.

He’s not going to remember Nile’s funeral. He’s not going to go.

He tells Mom while she’s making a salad to go with dinner on Thursday. Auntie Kai dropped off lasagna and tried to stay, but Mom wasn’t ready to see her, see anyone yet, so it’s just the two of them.

“What do you mean ‘I can’t go,’ you got plans?” The retort comes fast, before she’s looked at him.

Mom’s always on the move--ADD, Nile calls it, though who knows for sure--and it’s only gotten worse since they got the news. Since Tuesday.

There’s a lot to do, she says when Tony asks if she wants breakfast, and she can see the TV from where I’m ironing, thanks, baby, you just watch your show, and she’s just going to call Father Willem to make sure everything’s set, but she’ll go to bed soon, she promises.

“I can’t,” he says. His grief presses a greedy hand across his throat, strangles the rest of what he’d wanted to say.

Mom knocks over the salad dressing. The plastic thunks when it hits the counter. “Baby,” she says, and she’s there.

Tony pushes his face into her shoulder, and her hands push against the back of his head too, hiding his twisting sobs in her at-home sweater. “I can’t, Mom, she’s gotta come back,” the words lurching out around his crying.

“Shh,” Mom says, and holds him tighter. “I’ve got you.” Her voice trembles so hard that it shakes the bones in Tony’s legs, and they’re folding, Mom slowing his fall, but both going down together.

“Who’s gonna keep me out of trouble now?” Tony doesn’t know if anyone but Mom would be able to understand the words, they’re so clawed-up from tears; he doesn’t know if they really make sense, but it was what they always said. Mom and Nile, keeping their boys out of trouble, but Dad’s dead, and then Nile enlisted, and now, and now--

Mom’s crying just as hard as Tony, now, but he can still hear her say, “She’s still watching out for you, baby, she always will.”

The lasagna doesn’t taste like anything, but at least the lid was on the salad dressing when it fell. Nothing spills.

Tony goes to the funeral and stares so hard at that stupid flag that it shows up, inverted, when he blinks.

-

Tony’s heart churns in pain that whole first month. It’s somehow even worse than when Dad died, because at least then, he and Nile had been a team. Mom took care of them, and they’d make sure she didn’t stay up alone. Nile always made their cousins take Tony, too, when they go out for bike rides, always let him tag along and play his music. Tony made sure that when Nile got mad, she didn’t get mad alone.

Mom’s not mad now. The closest she gets is when Tony gets detention for getting in a fight with some guy trying to get him to join JROTC--she descends upon his principal like an ice storm, and Tony doesn’t get a mark on his permanent record from the incident.

But mostly she’s sad, and Tony’s sad, and it’s new enough that he doesn’t have a clue what to do.

His friends start coming over to hang out. The Sunday after the funeral, they just show up, and from that point on it seems like someone’s always around--he can’t complain about it. They teach Mom to play Breath of the Wild on Jalen’s Switch, and they pull a jagged laugh from him when Mom tries to catch the giant horse.

When Auntie Kai finds out that Mom’s letting Tony’s friends come over and play video games, she practically moves in. “Let me take care of you,” Tony overhears her telling Mom one night, and the echo of Nile hits him so hard that he has to sit down right there in the hall.

Auntie Kai’s able to be around all the time because work is giving her some paid time off--something about a bunch of vacation days she needed to spend, though she also told Mom the days definitely hadn’t been there in December when she’d wanted time for Christmas. Tony’s dimly grateful for whatever glitch had hidden the vacation from her then, though, because it means now she’s here, and she can help.

They spend a lot of time in the kitchen, even though food still doesn’t taste right. Tony sleeps in Nile’s room sometimes and tries to tell himself she’s still there looking over him, like Dad.

It doesn’t get easier that Nile’s gone, but it gets easier for Tony to still be around.

-

He gets into U Chicago. He gets into a few other schools, too, and has a couple rejections he didn’t care to read, but he gets into U Chicago.

“You deserve it, you worked so hard,” Mom says. He picks her up off her feet in a hug, and she laughs, loud.

“Thanks for making me work,” he says. “And thanks for fixing my application essays.”

“Oh, for--” She’s grinning as she slaps at his arm, and he puts her down. “How many times do I have to tell you, I didn’t do that!”

Tony rolls his eyes, but he’s sure he’s still grinning like a fool. “Sure, Mom.”

“You need to give yourself credit, you earned every bit of this.”

Sure, he did, but he knows he’s never totally perfected the right ‘their/there/they’re/whatever,’ no matter how many times Nile had tried to explain it. He also has some proof that Mom went and fixed things even after she gave him her approval for his submission--when he’d checked the system the day after he’d uploaded his application, the PDF didn’t look quite the same as the one he had on his computer.

Mom probably doesn’t want to bring down the moment with reminders of what they’ve lost, so he doesn’t bust her for it just yet.

She’s his mom, though, so she sees the bite in his smile even without him saying anything. “They’re so proud of you,” she says, and gives him another hug. “I just know it.”

-

In a weird twist, one of Nile’s old friends is the TA for Tony’s object-oriented programming class. He hadn’t recognised her name on the syllabus, but when she walks into the tutorial saying, “Okay, students of MPCS 51410-B, please correct your syllabi because you are now in Sandra’s section,” her face and voice shove him abruptly back in time.

He’s eight and he’s threatening to tell on her and Nile for cutting gum out of Nile’s hair, he’s ten and he’s trying to convince Nile to let him watch horror movies with them, he’s twelve and got roped into taking pictures of her and Nile posing in Hallowe’en costumes.

She looks shaken when she sees him, then shakes it off.

He doesn’t know how to bring it up, but he goes to her office hours in the second week of class anyway. Before he goes in, he doesn’t really want to talk about Nile. He doesn’t want to cry, he doesn’t want to have to lie that it’s okay, he doesn’t want to listen while someone talks about Nile the way people talk about Dad. Like she’s gone. Like she’s over.

He goes in anyway.

“Tony,” Sandra says, and she’s not crying yet at least. “I’m so sorry.”

It ends up not being too bad. They talk about Java for a bit, because there’s an assignment coming up next week, and Sandra mentions she just got a grant to work on something about databases that Tony doesn’t totally follow yet (but he will).

He comes back a few more times. It eventually ends up being nice to trade stories back and forth with someone who knew Nile, and Nile’s drive, her sharp wit, her big heart. Tony learns again that Sandra and Nile had met on the first day of kindergarten, and that Nile had screamed when the teacher had tried to partner them up with different people in the second week of school.

“She always said she just knew, with me,” Sandra says like a badge of honour.

“She was like that,” Tony says. It settles, a small betrayal, in his ribs. She’s still like that, he silently, irrationally papers over.

--

“You coming today?” Mom asks. She’s already dressed for church, but she’s sitting half-on the chair in front of the computer, distractedly typing something into a comment box on Facebook. “I’m leaving in a minute, just have to do...” She trails off, her typing picking up tempo.

Tony doesn’t bother responding out loud, just ducks back to his room to change his shirt and goes to wait by the door for Mom to finish up.

“Okay, okay, we’re already late,” she says, grabbing her purse and rifling through it for her keys. “Is your sister already in the car?”

The words pounce on them both. Stillness, then explosive motion as Mom flinches, as she drops her purse and her little tin of breath mints bursts and scatters.

“Mom,” Tony says, and she’s already on her knees, gathering up her things. His knees thud on the floor, following to help.

“I’m sorry, it’s just--”

“I know,” he says, and he repeats it because Mom wasn’t looking the first time. “Mom, I know.”

“I didn’t forget,” Mom says, hands finally still, eyes meeting Tony’s. “I could never.”

“But it’s like she’s still here, right?” Mom blurs and glows in the tears filling Tony’s vision. “You feel it, too.”

That’s what tips Mom over into crying, too.

They’re late for church, but they still go.

Peace be with you, murmuring around them, and Mom holds his face in her hands and makes him bend so she can kiss him on the forehead, like she always does.

Communion, and prayer. Please protect Mom, and bless the whole family, and let me get through finals okay. Tony prays the way he’s been praying for almost a year now: to God, and to Nile.

Mom’s kneeling beside him, her shoulder against his, and he crosses himself when his thoughts have smoothed out. Mom catches his hand in a tight grip as he’s lowering it; they hold on to each other.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Dazed and Confused (Part 9)

Summary: Dean Winchester grew up wanting to be a cop. When he gets kicked out of the police academy on a fluke though, he turns to a life of crime. After breaking up with Dean and seeing him committing a crime in the act, the reader becomes an officer herself and eventually a detective. Four years after that day, the reader is sent undercover to figure out what Dean is up to. Only she has no idea how far Dean is willing to go to keep her from finding out the truth…

Pairing: AU!Dean x reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 2,000ish

Warnings: language, scary situations, violence, murder, etc.

A/N: This series has been on Ao3 only for awhile now and I am finally reposting here as well. It’s not new but it may be new to you. Please enjoy!...

______

“Y/N. I said to take a seat,” said John. He nodded at the empty chair beside Dean, Dean’s fists clenched as he tried to break free of the zip ties around his wrists and ankles, panting as he struggled.

“No thanks,” you said, pointing your weapon at John.

“I told you, he’s a killer,” said John. “I’m taking care of this one way or the other.”

“Y/N, I didn’t-” said Dean, coughing when he got a hit to the face.

“Don’t lie to her! You tried to kill her!” shouted John.

“You tried to kill Sam. You almost killed her,” said Dean, spitting out blood, glancing to you. “Y/N, I didn’t...I wouldn’t…”

“Why’d you stab your little brother?” asked John, pointing his gun at Dean. “Why’d you sneak in her apartment and try to kill him? Why didn’t you try to kill her too?”

“Y/N, help me,” said Dean, turning his head away when John brought the gun closer.

“You thought you were going to run off with her and everything would be alright again? You thought you could run away from me? You thought you could cuddle up with this one and pretend you were the good guy? Pretend you wanted to start over, huh?” asked John.

“He is the good guy,” you said. “Put the gun down John.”

“He tried to kill Sam and Jack and you and-”

“And how the hell would you know we were starting over unless you were listening in on us,” you said.

“Ah, fuck,” said John, rolling his eyes. “Always with the fucking technicalities. Shit. If you were a little bit dumber you could have lived through this you know.”

“Sorry. It’s a good thing you’re dumb enough for both of us,” you said.

“Get in the chair, Y/N, before I blow his fucking head off,” said John, Dean looking his father up and down, swallowing hard. “Don’t act surprised. You’ve known this was coming for years.”

“Why?” asked Dean. “What did we ever do to you?”

“Nothing,” said John. “By the time I realized your mother and I had our problems that I wanted to resolve a certain way, I realized I had to set up a fall guy. And you existed so there was that issue to deal with as well. You were always a little jealous I gave Sam more attention, done purposefully of course to piss you off, but you just...you were still a good kid. I had to set you up for them both, wait until you were old enough to be angry and strong. I was so damn careful to set it all up and then Sam just had to go to a friend’s after school. The one fucking time the kid didn’t ask permission. The little prick. When he didn’t show up and I heard you coming home, I had to improvise. The plan was always to pin it your way but until I could find a way to get Sam too I had to wait. Unfortunately, I had too many eyes my way and Sam got bigger and it was more of a problem. A federal investigation was way more complicated but I could keep my hands off it and let you fall into it easy once Sammy was taken care of. Sucks about that Jack kid. Good cop. At least he isn’t going to pull through.”

“Actually, he’s going to be just fine,” you said, John glaring at you. “Did I forget to tell you about that?”

“You got three seconds before I-Ow!” shouted John, dropping his gun as you hit his shoulder once and then his leg, John growling as you kicked his gun away.

“You okay?” you asked, pulling out a knife, sliding through Dean’s ties.

“Not really,” he said. “Sammy going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” you said, looking Dean over, noticing the marks all over him. “We’ll see if we can get you bunked up with him.”

“You had to know it was a trap, right?” asked Dean, looking over as you secured John, pulling out your phone to call for backup. “You didn’t think…”

“He tried to make me think it was you but he sort of messed up there,” you said.

“How? I mean the way I woke you up...I wouldn’t blame you if the thought crossed your mind,” said Dean, rubbing his wrists, glancing down.

“You’d die before you ever hurt Sam. Or me,” you said. “Then that text message. I mean, it was like he wasn’t even trying. All direct. No code to decipher. Slacker.”

“A stupid fucking text message!” shouted John. “That’s what-”

“Yup. Let’s get you out of here, Dean.”

“Hey, Bobby,” you said, grabbing a cup of coffee from the hospital vending machine. Bobby looked like he’d aged about five years in the span of as many hours. You handed the cup over to him, grabbing another for yourself.

“I always knew something was up…” said Bobby. “How those boys doing?”

“Well,” you said, leaning back against the machine. “Jack woke up. Doc said he’s going to be okay. Sam and Dean were arguing over who got to have the cherry jello last time I saw them. They’ll all be alright after some rest.”

“I heard from a Castiel at the FBI. Those boys’ case is wrapped up. I’m pretty sure Dean’s getting fired for going off the grid though,” said Bobby.

“I’m pretty sure none of them really want to stay on. Sam was talking about preparing for law school and Jack was wondering if he could get a street cop job around here. If the new chief would be down for that,” you said.

“If the runt brings in donuts and not those stupid bagels you did he can be senior fucking detective,” said Bobby, a smile tugging it’s way onto your face. “Yeah. He’s got a job here. What about you and Dean?”

“We’ll figure it out. I talked to the Doc about a nursing gig. I was supposed to join a few years back but...shit happened,” you said.

“That’s a word for it,” said Bobby, sipping on his coffee. “Black.”

“Like your stone cold heart,” you said with a grin.

“I’m going to miss you around the station,” he said with a smile. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“Oh, I hear anything from Jack I���ll come down there and personally kick your ass,” you said.

“Yup. You’re going to be alright,” said Bobby, his phone going off. “Oh great, it’s the guinea pig guy again.”

“Later Bobby,” you said, heading back down the hall towards the boys room, poking your head in to find it empty. You walked towards the other wing of the floor to ICU, giggling when you heard Dean giving flirting tips to Jack.

“That nurse with the blonde ponytail? She’s totally into you,” said Dean. “Work up that injured puppy dog thing.”

“Dude, let the poor boy relax,” you said with a smile, wrapping your arms around Dean’s shoulders. “And it’s so the redhead that’s into you, Jack.”

“How you doing?” asked Sam, picking at a bandage while you scowled. “You try being wrapped up like a mummy and see how much fun it is.”

“Uh, I win that fight,” said Jack, waving down at his body.

“Boys,” you said, pulling over a chair, sitting beside Dean, his head resting on your shoulder. “I’m okay. So when can I start breaking you mutts out of this joint?”

“I can go home today,” said Dean with a snicker. “Suckers.”

“Who knows how long,” said Jack, glancing around.

“Forget about that. How about you guys tell me what kind of food you want me to sneak in here for you. Pizza?” you asked, a room full of smiles popping up. “Pizza it is.”

Two Months Later

“Officer,” you said, Jack stepping into your new condo with a smirk. “Shoes!”

“I’m on duty,” he said, slipping off his boots, padding through your living room past Dean, going straight to your kitchen.

“That steak sandwich is mine and I will destroy you if you even think about touching it,” said Dean, giving Jack a wave.

“You want me to eat Y/N’s crappy salad instead?” he asked.

“How about you go to your own damn house and insult the contents of your fridge,” you said, Jack pulling out a package of deli meat with a smile.

“But your house is in my patrol area,” he said with a smile, starting to fix himself a sandwich, your front door opening as Sam burst in. “Sam, you want a sandwich?”

“Starving,” said Sam, walking right into your kitchen, Dean holding up his hands.

“I told you we shouldn’t have given them extra keys,” said Dean.

“Your condo is closer to school than my place,” said Sam, Jack sliding over condiments to Sam while he worked. “Speaking of which, what’s lazy ass doing over there?”

“I came home for a quiet lunch with my girlfriend when the two stooges showed up,” said Dean, hopping up off the couch.

“That must make you the other stooge,” said Sam with a cocky smile.

“Shut up,” said Dean, reaching into the fridge for his sandwich.

“Can I have some?” you asked, Dean holding out half to you. “Thank you baby.”

“Why’s she get some?” asked Jack. “We help saved your life too.”

“Oh I rode that gravy train into the ground,” you said. “It’s just because I’m cute, isn’t it?”

“You’re all such dorks,” said Dean, grabbing your salad and tossing part of it on a plate. Sam’s jaw was nearly dropped. “It’s for you, dumbass.”

“Oh thank god. I thought we might have to have your head looked at for a second there,” said Sam, grabbing a spot at the table, Jack grabbing a soda, sliding into his normal spot, all three chowing down, talking about work and Sam’s classes.

“Hey, you’re zoning,” said Dean, waving a hand in front of your face. “You alright?”

“Yup,” you said, sitting beside him, nibbling at your lunch. “I’m perfect.”

Ten minutes later Jack was off, Sam saying he’d be back for dinner, Dean chuckling when they were gone.

“I’m really glad those two didn’t die,” said Dean.

“You want me to go with you today?” you asked, Dean shaking his head.

“You ask that everyday, you know,” he said. “It’s therapy, not prison.”

“Any day you ever want me to go, I will,” you said, Dean kissing your cheek. “I know you don’t really like going.”

“It’s growing on me,” he said with a shrug. “He’s the guy you went to as a kid and you turned out to be not too much of a weirdo.”

“Go,” you said, smacking him on the chest, earning a chuckle. “And thanks.”

“I used to go for you. Now I go for both of us,” he said, stretching as he stood up with a smirk. “And thank you.”

“For not eating most of your sandwich?” you teased, grabbing your uneaten slice and putting it back in the fridge.

“For everything,” he said. “I’ll see you soon sweetheart.”

“See you soon baby.”

_______

[beautifulletdownfics]

Twenty Good Reasons :: Part Nine

I woke to hands running up and down the back of my thighs.

"There she is," Harry croaked softly, the duvet falling moving off me as he rose up, so his chest pressed against my shoulder while his mouth traced the line of my jaw, "G' morning."

"Hi," I sucked in my tummy when Harry pressed one hand into my stomach, and the other rose up the small of my back, "This is nice.”

"Hmm," Harry agreed, his lips vibrating against the skin of my neck, "Arms," He said quietly, drawing my t-shirt up with his hands and moving back to pull it up over my shoulders and then off my head, "That's better, lemme see you.”

I lay beneath him naked, but yawned and stretched my arms up above my head to push away the tightness in my muscles from sleep. Harry's eyes greedily took me in, and I could feel him hardening against my thigh. We'd not gone to bed until around 3am the night before, and after a quick fuck in the shower had collapsed into bed without the tender reunion I had been craving.

This was more like it.

"You're beautiful," He said, pressed a warm kiss to the skin under my left breast.

My hands came down to tangle in his hair, holding him in place for a moment before Harry raised his mouth and licked up and over my nipple. His face appeared in front of mine, wearing an expression that told me he was planning on driving me absolutely insane.

His dimples popped in a glinting smirk, and he gave me a sweet, chaste kiss, "What time did you want to leave for Bath?”

"You're coming?" I asked hesitatingly, he'd not given me an answer last night.

Harry nodded, "Yeah, I am. Sent Dan an email, might have to take a few calls but they should be fine without me."

I wound my arms around his neck and pulled him down, pressing my smiling lips against his, "Thank you. Thank you," I kissed his mouth over and over, "I think this is a good idea."

"Me too. Now, how much time do we have?" His fingers pressed into the skin of my hips and pulled me back to the moment.

"We can go whenever," I replied, distracted when Harry's hands slipped under my thighs, and he started hitching my legs up around his waist, "Whenever you want."

His head tilted to the side, amused that he was flustering me, "Whenever?"

"Don't be a tease, Harry," I breathed.

Harry rocked his hips against mine, and sucked in a breath when his cock slipped between my legs and pressed into me there, "M'not teasing," He muttered, "M'being sexy."

I clamped my hips together to try to hold him in place, and Harry's sucked in a breath, "Be sexier if you were inside me."

I knew I'd won because he groaned and cursed, dropped his forehead to my shoulder and swiftly slipped inside me. Harry held himself still for a moment, watching the ecstasy play out on my face before he pulled out and started pumping. Watching Harry like this never got old. He bumped his nose against mine and covered my mouth with his, only halting a moment when I scraped my nails down his back and held onto his backside, urging him on.

With a satisfying gleam to his skin, Harry brought us both to orgasm, letting us come down from them slowly. When he pulled out and away, he laced his fingers through mine and pulled me up on shaky legs for a shower.

Under the spray, Harry held me tightly against his chest, and we stood together for a long time, not speaking. I watched the water bouncing off his shoulders and running down the front of his chest while his fingers mindlessly sorted out the tangles in my hair.

"We're gonna be alright," He murmured so quietly I almost missed it. "Promise we are."

++

Harry drove to Bath, and for the first little bit Dan, his manager, was on speakerphone giving an update on the meetings he missed that morning.

I didn't mind. I put my headphones on and worked on my laptop.

After an hour, Harry's hand landed on my thigh, and I pulled the headphones off, "How's it coming along?"

I saved the program I was working in and shut the lid, "It's going okay, actually. Struggling with the strings, but I always do."

"Hmm," Harry hums, knowing the tears that I've shed over violas and cellos over the years, "Maybe your dad could help over the next few days."

"I'm hoping he will … He's got an exciting announcement to make tonight at dinner," I grinned at Harry when he looked over at me, "I'm sworn to secrecy though, so you have to wait. Not even my mum knows."

"Tell me," Harry states plainly, shaking his head at me, "You have to now that you've said that!"

"I can't," I propped my knee up to my chest and held Harry's hand up to my cheek, "But we should stop somewhere on the way and get some champagne."

Harry rolled his eyes at me but agreed if there was one thing I knew about him it was that he didn't shy away from a celebration that warranted champagne.

By the time we were rolling into the driveway of the sweet AirBnB my parents had booked for the week, it was nearing 4pm. We had stopped on the way for lunch and for Harry to spend nearly forty minutes deciding what celebratory drink everyone would want for a celebration he had no idea of the details of. I'd already called my mum to let her know Harry was coming back with me, and part of Harry's extreme detail orientation I decided might be down to him being unsure of how much my family knew about our last few rocky weeks.

My parents were standing on the front step when we walked up to the house, "Hello!"

"Hiya," Harry smiled up at them both, "Nice digs!"

"It is beautiful, isn't it?" My mum responded, taking a bag from my hands and going back through the door. "Laykn's putting the kettle on for a brew."

We all walked through to the kitchen, Harry put our bags near the stairs up to the bedrooms. He walked around, sticking his nose into every room to check them all out then eventually found his way to my side at the breakfast bar.

"What have you all been up to here," Harry asked, taking a sip of the tea my dad handed him.

Almost an hour later, between Harry and Laykn, nearly all the afternoon tea baking my mother had prepared had been devoured. Everyone slowly retreated and left the kitchen—Harry and Laykn went for a run, and my dad went back to finish some work—but I stayed watching my mum prepare the lasagne for dinner. After a few minutes, she started bringing out items for a salad and held the knife up to me, inviting me to help if I wanted to.

"How are you?" She asked quietly once I was settled chopping the celery.

The worried look on her face was warranted.

When I arrived in Bath by myself the night before last, the moment I saw my parents, I burst into tears. I spent the night on the sofa with my mum pouring my heart out about Harry and I, and how scared I was we were going to break up. I still hadn't completely let go of the fear, but at least Harry and I had gotten somewhere since he landed in London.

"Better than I was," I told her simply, "Still worried about Harry. Maybe more so now … But … I think we'll be okay."

"Relationships are hard," Mum told me, repeating the line she'd used multiple times two nights ago. She was waiting for me to offer more. I knew she wouldn't push me if I didn't want to, but I was surprised by how much offloading it all on her had helped, and I knew nothing good came from any of us bottling things up.

"The first hour or so with him last night was awful," I started slowly, "He's so wrapped up in work at the moment, and I've never seen him so angry about anything as he is about this leak. I think …" I shook my head, "I don't know. He bottles things up, which scares me. When it comes out there's stuff bothering him we haven't spoken about, and I just feel blind-sighted or like I've failed on something I never had the chance to help with in the first place."

Mum didn't say anything for a little while, "You know … When your dad and I got married, it was normal to do marriage counselling before your wedding. Maybe you and Harry should consider some kind of couples therapy … It might help iron out any kinks or bad habits you don't want to take further into the relationship."

Both Harry and I had separately spoken to people over the years. Harry had a therapist in L.A. I knew he liked and often used to talk to when he was touring. I hadn't heard him mention them in a long time though. And I had my own monthly check-ins with my own psychologist.

I'd never considered seeing anyone together. That felt like a last resort, anomy gut reaction was that Harry and I weren't at last resort.

Maybe this was how to avoid that, though.

"I'm not trying to suggest anything—

"I know you're not," I cut her off, "I was thinking … It's probably not a bad idea. It's just …"

"Tricky to bring up," She finished for me.

"Yeah."

My mother, in her wisdom, left me to think about it and we spent the rest of the time together cooking chatting back and forth about what we could all do as a group the following day. Harry and Laykn returned from their run, traipsing right through the kitchen to see how long dinner was. As he passed me, Harry pressed a sweet kiss to my cheek and went up to shower. I wondered if his head was swirling like mine was, a hundred little fixes and doses of care our relationship needed running ragged in my thoughts.

Over dinner, my dad shared his exciting news. We popped the bottles of champagne as the letter he received was readout. The letter detailed his being awarded an Order of the British Empire for contributions to Music and the Arts. Dad managed to keep it a secret from my mum, so her reaction was the one I waited to see. Tears instantly rimmed her eyes, and she snatched the precious letter from him, having to read it herself.

"Dad's a bloody knight!" Laykn cried out.

"And a Sir," Dad laughed, "Don't forget that, son."

"It's incredible!" Harry added happily, "Congratulations! That's … I mean it's … So well deserved. Cheers!"

Our glasses all chinked together again as everyone cheered, and it was impossible not to be swept into the celebration.

I caught my dad's eye, and he gave me a wink.

++

After dinner, Harry and I ended up curled up on the small outdoor sofa on the patio. Harry lit the fire pit, and we put on extra layers of clothing and stole a blanket. With legs tangled together and Harry's arm around my shoulder, we watched the flames quietly.

I coughed into my hand and dropped my head to Harry's chest, "Harry?

"Yeah."

"I think we need to move."

"Move … Like houses? In London?"

I nodded, "Yeah, I do. I love our house … So much but …"

Harry rubbed his hand up and down my arm when I started getting choked up, "I know. I love that house too. But I don't know how we can make it more secure. We should look for something more secure."

I pulled his hand out from under the blanket and settled his fingers through mine, "And maybe we just have to think of it as like, a new start for when we get married? Something with a garden big enough for the dog that you'll convince me to get someday."

Harry's chest moved behind me as he chuckled, "I'm getting close to convincing you, hey?"

I only nodded in response.

"I'll ask around for a good agent in London," Harry continued slowly, "We can start looking together when I'm back."

Harry had just three weeks left of this half of his tour. Then, there would be a whole month until he started again in Europe and the U.K. Thankfully the second half of the tour was shorter, the countries were closer together, and I'd be able to see him more often. The Asian and U.S. legs always dragged on.

"There's something else," I said before I could back out of it.

"Hmm?" Harry took a sip of what would now be a cold tea. He leant forward to put it on the ground near our feet. "What?"

I bit my lip, not sure how Harry was going to react. I was terrified it wouldn't go well.

"I …"

"You?" Harry squeezed my arm lightly, "Spit it out, you're starting to freak me out, love."

He wasn't going to take this well. I knew he wasn't.

I took in a deep breath and tried to say it as best I could, "The last couple of weeks really scared me, Harry … And I wonder if when you're home, maybe it could be worthwhile going to see someone together?"

My words hung in the air, no reply came from Harry for long enough that I craned my head around to look up at him. He was frowning harshly at the fire, jaw clicked in and eyes set. I watched his nostrils flare slightly and then looked away, waiting.

"I think it could be useful to …" I thought of my mother's words from earlier, "Sort out things we don't want to become habits."

Harry looked out to the garden, "So that's it then, you've decided?"

"No," I shook my head, "I just wanted to talk to you about what you thought. Whether you think it's something we should do."

"Well, obviously I look like a wanker if I say no," He retorted quickly.

"I didn't mean to make you feel trapped in it," I said, "Twenty four hours ago I thought we were going to break up, Harry! I don't want to get to that point again. You didn't feel like you could talk to me about what was going on and I hate that, I need to get better at that."

"So you go see someone then," Harry said, standing up abruptly, "I'm going to bed," He mumbled out, leaving me alone in the with only the sound of the door to the kitchen closing a little too hard.

I'm not sure what I had expected. Not from Harry at the moment. Not when he had everything else going on. I piled onto it and ruined the tiny island of peace we'd managed to construct in the midst of it all.

"Shit," I whispered into the night, unable to stop the tears that arrived almost immediately.

My first instinct was to go upstairs after Harry straight away. I decided to stay put though, deciding going now with my emotions pouring out of me wouldn't be helpful. My instinct was what got me here in the first place. So I spent my second night in Bath with tears falling down my face, worried about Harry and I.

It was such a strange landscape to be in. I could honestly say in all of our relationship I'd spent hardly any time doubting it or worrying we weren't working. Even when the first break-in happened, and we had time apart, I never arrived at the thought Harry and I weren't suited. We broke then because fear and anxiety and trauma sullied the water and my depressive episode had me completely self-destructing.

I wiped my face with the sleeves of my jumper, not wanting to go back to that place. Right now, it wasn't about me. Harry was struggling, and it would serve us both well if I remembered that and didn't get caught up in my own mind.

"I'm going to bed," I said to my parents as I walked passed the living room, "Dad, can you put the fire out?"

"Sure thing," He nodded.

"Sleep well," My mum said, smiling warmly at me. I was glad for the darkness hiding my red, puffy face.

"G'night," I waved before making my way to the stairs.

The bedroom was dark when I slipped through the door, trying not to let too much light from the hallway in. Harry was just a lump on his side of the bed. A few of his belongings were around the room. I turned on the light in the ensuite and then mostly shut the door, giving off just enough light for me to find what I needed in the dark.

A few minutes later, in complete darkness, I sided up to the bed and slipped under the covers. I held my breath, hoping I hadn't disturbed Harry or woken him if he was asleep. I was fully expecting him to pretend to be asleep or rollover to face away from me. But after a long time of lying on my back, starring into the dark, I started easing my shoulders into the mattress, beginning to relax.

I woke with a start to the bed, shifting around me, in sleep, I had rolled into the middle. My eyes opened to see Harry's back rising above me as he got out from under the sheets. I listened to him move around the room for a few minutes before the door opened and clicked shut behind him.

I turned back for my phone and read the time, 5:27am.

My mind naturally compared this morning to the one before it, when I woke up to Harry running his hands all over my body. Now, it seemed he couldn't face lying next to me a minute longer than necessary.

I let out a long sigh and tried to stop the tears, instead of rolling back into the middle of the bed and willing myself to go back to sleep for a few more hours. Harry probably took his laptop down to the kitchen to do some work with a coffee. Or he was figuring out a way to get an earlier flight back to where the tour was picking up again. I squeezed my eyes shut and banished the thought.

For the second time that morning, the bed moved around and woke me from sleep.

"I'm sorry," Harry said quietly, his hair wet from the shower as he sat on top of the covers watching me. A drop fell on my exposed shoulder, and his eye followed it before he lent down to press a gentle kiss there, "I was a jerk. Again."

Barely awake, I blinked at him and wondered where the softness in him was coming from, "I didn't mean to upset you."

"I know," He smiled sadly, standing up and joining me under the covers, "I got defensive. Felt angry about it for some reason."

"Where did you go?" I asked, taking in his freshly showered state and the pink on his cheeks from the cold outside.

"For a run with Laykn."

I felt my eyebrows rise, "Another one?"

"He's got girl troubles," Harry supplied carefully with a look that told me not to pry, "Helped me clear my head too. I'm … I'm scared about the thought of us needing help, Nina. I hate feeling like we're failing at this somehow. It's shit. I … I just want things to feel … Not like this."

"Me too."

He pushed some hair off my cheek and left his hand, resting comfortably on my neck, "I know. And I think seeing someone … It definitely can't hurt, can it?"

I swallowed, "I'd rather go see someone now than two years down the track when it's too late, and we've hurt each other too much."

Harry nodded against the pillow and gave me a strained smile, "I figured that out at about mile four."

There was something about the security of being in bed that was both calming and somehow propelling. I reached for Harry's hand and slowly brought his knuckles up to my lips. After a few soft kisses, I pulled back and rested my chin against the back of his hand, "I love you."

"I love you," Harry returned, "You're my favourite soul on earth, always."

++

"What's all this?" I stood in the kitchen door, emerging after working on my compositions for much of the afternoon.

Harry frowned and pressed his wrists to his hips, mucky fingers sticking out in a deliberate attempt to keep his sweater clean, "Well, it's a …" He waved one hand around over the kitchen bench, searching for his words, "It's ravioli. Mushroom ravioli with truffle oil and sage." Harry gave his handiwork a decisive nod.

"Oh."

"It's got truffle oil in," Laykn piped up from where he was crouched in front of the oven.

I frowned at my brother, "Ravioli goes in the oven?"

Harry's frown line got more profound as he looked up at me, "We've never made it before! Don't be rude."

I held up both hands and shuffled into the kitchen, laughing, "I'm not rude! It was a genuine question."

"You were judging us, I could hear it," He accused, flour coating the wine glass he brought up to his lips. Harry and my brother were quite a pair.

"I wasn't, you know I couldn't do any better, but at least I can follow a recipe … You never do which sometimes ends up great but often ends up … Interestingly."

"You really are being rude today, aren't you," Harry narrowed his eyes at me, "And you've stolen my clothes again!"

I shrugged, "They're comfier. And they're clean."

"You could wash your clothes, you know," Harry grumbled, but it wasn't genuine. He was grinning at me.

"Okay," I rounded the bench to Harry and slotted my arms around his middle, "Conversation do-over, I love you, and I love that you've made us pasta for tea. It smells delicious, and the cook never does the cleanup, I'll wash up after."

"I helped you know!" Laykn yelped behind us, "Why does he get all the credit."

I turned to my brother, "Because you're a pathetic cook and Harry's a fantastic one. It's not hard to figure; he did all the heavy lifting."

"Thank you," Harry nods, "I am a bloody fantastic chef."

"Cook," I corrected teasingly, "I didn't call you a chef."

"Finally," Laykn grinned at Harry, "M'glad to see her giving you shit for once. Picks on me all the time but the sun shines straight out of your arse."

I was dying to ask about what Harry had diagnosed as Laykn's 'girl trouble' but didn't. I hoped that with their time running and cooking together, my brother had been able to find a dependable friend in Harry. I wondered if it was reciprocal but figured it probably was only to a degree. My big sister urge to step in and demand an emotional declaration from my brother itched.

"Have you made a dessert?" I asked them instead.

Laykn tutted at me dramatically, and Harry sighed heavily, pushing me away gently, "She's got no bloody faith in us, Layk."

"None at all," Laykn returned, pulling a dish from the fridge and holding it out in front of me.

"Honeycomb mousse?"

"The Anne Styles Classic," Harry confirmed, "Rang her for the recipe and everything."

"Could we skip the ravioli and go straight to the second course?" I asked cheekily, knowing Anne's mousse was absolutely to die for.

Harry flicked me with the tea towel I hadn't noticed was right next to him on the counter, "Alright, that's enough out of you, out. Out! Go away until we say dinner's ready."

I skipped out of the kitchen happily, holding my bottom where he'd managed to whip me multiple times. The day had settled nicely. Harry and I went for a long walk after breakfast. We talked more about the process of buying a new place in London and listing the old one for sale. Harry wanted to discuss budgets and money, but I managed to get him to agree to wait until we properly started looking. I wasn't keen on going all out with something luxurious, I wanted something that felt like a home.

We spoke about our wedding as well, and by the end of that conversation, I felt a weight lifted I hadn't realised was there. I was exhausted by people asking—all well-meaning, of course—about details Harry and I just didn't have yet. They were decisions I didn't want to be making on my own.

A lot was going to have to fit into the month break Harry had coming up.

++

"Can you tell me what's going on with my brother?"

"No," Harry replied, eyes on the road.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," Harry confirmed.

I sat back in my seat, Bach playing through the car speakers as we drove back to London for Harry to catch his flight, "Is he okay?"

Harry's head turned to me quickly, "Of course he is. I wouldn't keep anything severe from you. He'll share when he's ready. I think he's going to go on a trip somewhere though, just a heads up. Getaway, out of his own head, you know?"

"Like overseas?" I asked with a frown, "Why didn't you just invite him to tour with you for a bit."

Harry smiled, "That was the first thing I did, love. But he needs to get out into nature for a bit or go explore someplace he's never been. I've told him before he can come to meet me anytime, he knows that."

"Did Layk get his heart broken?" I guessed sadly.

"Something like that," Harry provided carefully. "Stop asking me about it though, he asked me not to share it."

"Okay," I gave in finally, accepting Harry's hand when he offered it to me, "How are you feeling? Excited to get back to it?"

"A little," He began, "Gets harder leaving you every time, though, doesn't it?"

My heart sank a little, I felt the same but didn't want to bring Harry down or contribute to the feeling, "We'll be better this time. We've got a plan, right?"

"Right." Harry nodded.

I desperately wanted to suggest that Harry contact his therapist and start-up that habit during touring but didn't want to push him. It felt like something I should let Harry come to himself. I didn't want to over insert myself, which was hard when I knew without a doubt, it was what would be best for him.

"And you need a few weeks of performances before I come for the last one anyway," I tried lightening the mood, "You need practice, so my show is the best one."

++

Oh boy are you guys ready for this?