#sleeping in the mailroom

[itscubetime]

Where were you on Friday the thirteenth /j

eating an potatoe

[admirxation]

Delusional - Leon Kennedy

yandere!Leon Kennedy x afab!reader | 18+ mdni | oneshot

summary: the chief felt sympathy for you and let you have a job as a coffee girl, but along the way you start to do favours for your favourites in the department, only the label of the favourite brings unwanted attention from the new rookie.

warnings: DARK CONTENT, heavy smut 18+ mdni, dead dove do not eat, yandere, obsession, heavy smut fantasies, masturbation, stalking, watching porn, moments of misogynistic language, voyeurism (peeping tom), non-consensual picture taking, breaking in, thoughts of kidnapping, putting someone to sleep with chloroform, tit play, grinding, unprotected sex (p in v), non-con, and somno // please read the warnings carefully, and understand this fiction is made for 18+ only and if any of the warnings make you uncomfortable this fic is not for you; please remember this is just fiction where real people cannot get hurt, and no actions in this fic are condoned.

Stage one: noticing

Navigating the labyrinthine corridors of the job market proved to be an unexpected odyssey, a reality starkly different from the rose-tinted visions of post-college life. You harboured the naive notion that securing employment would be a mere formality, a recipe of time, persistence, and nothing more. However, the harsh truth unfolded before you, revealing a landscape that was desolate and unforgiving, where the promises within the market of ‘urgently hiring’ were nothing more than a lie that echoed hollowly against the deafening silence of unreturned emails and failed interviews where people couldn’t even be bothered to follow-up, just letting you wonder about your failure into obtaining your first real job. 

In your frustration, you confided in your father, lamenting the arduousness of the job hunt, how this pursuit was draining you and how unfair it was. You told him it wasn’t what it was like when he first entered it, how he was given the chance to climb the ladder, and you weren’t even given the sight of it—it was just starting to feel tedious.

His empathy was palpable as he sought avenues to alleviate your plight. Despite his respectable standing within the professional sphere, his efforts to secure a foothold in your proved futile search were met with the obstinate resistance of corporate bureaucracy and entrenched biases; when he asked his boss for a simple job, perhaps in the mail room, he was only met with: “If I allow your daughter, I’ll have a whole mailroom of incompetent daughters.” This was met with your father feeling disheartened, unable to fabricate a response, and not wanting to go against his boss’ boundaries.

Yet, amidst the encroaching despair, a glimmer of hope emerged from connections through the benevolence of an old friend, the chief of the Raccoon City Police Department. Your father had met him back in high school, and despite the distance over the years, there was an inextricable bond where favours were allowed to continue being asked. A lifeline materialised in the form of a humble role at the department, as you were designated as a simple ‘coffee girl’ to make the coffee runs for his workers and help clean up the area; it all worked in the chief’s favour anyway, with him needed workers to stop being distracted and continue with their designated cases. 

At first—when you started—everyone was curious as to who you were, wondering why the chief allowed a coffee girl when the department never had one; no one could think of any other department that allowed this; this practice was out of the ordinary as the usual practice was having someone nominated to take their turn and collect everyone’s order, but hey, they weren’t going to complain about having someone take care of them, people who were constantly nominated were even more thrilled about you working here. 

Before starting, you had some thoughts before going to bed that maybe no one would be friendly or accepting of you, but this was all proven wrong; as the months continued, you were welcomed, becoming a favourite with how you remembered everyone’s usual order, but you also had your favourites. Everyone was kind to you, but you still had your favourites; being your favourite meant you would always sneak an extra sweet treat for them; the way someone knew to expect being a favourite was if you asked them what their favourite treat was. This started with Jill Valentine, then rippled to a man called Chris Redfield; some people even went out of their way to be marked as your favourite, but for a good while, it was only to them two until after a month or so, you found another to be labelled as your favourite; the newest recruit in the department who was the newest target to be picked on, the ‘rookie’ everyone liked to make jokes about, Leon S. Kennedy. 

When you first met him, you noticed how reserved he was, how he stuttered in his speech and how shy his demeanour was; when he had a seat allocated for him, you wanted to be the first friendly face after a long time of being subjected to what the guys liked to call ‘harmless bullying’ a term they used to describe it as a state of teasing that ‘built character’, but all you could see was a group of guys that never grew up and stayed in the state that piqued in high school—you had encountered that all your life, and many others. You remembered tapping him on the shoulder and introducing yourself, waiting for him to fabricate his words to introduce himself to you; you told him you were the coffee girl around the department and gave him the times you would go out and get everyone what they wanted, giving him a piece of paper to put his order down. You remembered that shy, small smile as he wrote it down, thanking you for spending time with him. 

That was the first stage of him noticing you. 

Inescapably, he found himself ensnared by the genial ambience you provided, discerning the elegance of your smile and the picturesque framing of your countenance by your styled locks, reminiscent of an ethereal masterpiece. Yet, he refrained from delving deeper into such impressions, recognising that your amiable demeanour was intrinsic to your professional role. These cogitations united into a resolute acceptance as he seamlessly integrated himself into discussions concerning you, recognising such interactions he noticed were just the result of friendliness being a part of your job. With a nonchalant attitude of seeing the truth, he dimmed any personal inclinations, instead redirecting his focus to his duty as a law enforcement officer, immersing himself into the very reasons he chose this line of work when going through the academy. 

As the weeks drew on, your reasonings of favouring started to manifest; the reasons resulted in a mix of his manners and sympathy for Leon. You heard how people talked about him in the breakroom or the reactions to being partnered with him. The titling of ‘rookie’ always left a bad taste in your mouth when you were watching full-grown men bullying him like they were back in the walls of the school—how pathetic it was, you thought to yourself, but you could tell it was doing a number on Leon’s mentality. You were never given slack for being new; at the very most, some people called you ‘cute’ but not in a complimentary way, more to describe your lack of experience within the chief’s sympathy towards you. Still, you were never subjected to what Leon was to. You decided to do something small, to make him feel better, asking him the next time you gave him his usual what his favourite treat was—you were aware how odd this was to him, you could tell with his facial expression, but you knew it would make sense the next day. You could tell the others knew what was happening when you noticed people waiting for that question, just looking at Leon and wondering why him. He quickly answered that he was simple and loved raspberry and white chocolate muffins; you greeted his answer with a quick nod and scurried away to put it in your notebook, ready to give it to him the next day. 

When that day rolled along, you managed to collect everyone’s order and pick up the treats for Chris and Jill, later remembering the order you wanted to make for Leon; you looked at the glass dome surrounding the cakes and pointed to the one that you thought was perfect, hoping it would pick up his spirits, even if it were just a little bit. When it came to you walking back to the building and giving out everyone’s orders, you made sure Leon was left til last; you saw him look over to you with a tinge of sadness, perhaps thinking that he was forgotten, but after your little conversations with Chris and Jill you made your way over to Leon, being greeted with that shy smile that you couldn’t help but describe as cute. 

“Hey, I’m sorry I took a while to get to you; please don’t think I was ignoring you,” you reassured him as you placed the coffee in front of him. 

“It’s o-okay. I know you have loads of people to get to,” he wrapped his fingers around the warm cup, curiously watching as you remained a few moments longer around his desk and reached in your bag for something. 

“Oh, don’t be silly, I couldn’t forget you.”

Couldn't forget me? Leon thought.

“Remember that question I asked you yesterday… Well, I hope this answers why I asked it,” you handed over his favourite treat, watching as his eyes widened with happiness, and a dust of blush appeared on his cheeks. 

“T-Thank you so much… You didn’t have to go out of your way-” 

“It’s my treat,” you said, grazing your hand on his, “Consider it a thank you for being so kind to me.” 

He watched your lips curl and stretch into a warm and inviting smile—he couldn’t help but feel a connection from that smile. 

That was when it all changed. 

That was the day Leon felt connected to you, feeling a need to cling to the idea of you, thinking the more he clung to it, the more the fixation of connection would manifest into a physical connection, much more than just a graze on the hand, but physical intimacy—something he craved, and now only craved with you from now on. When you walked off, you didn’t notice how the blush intensified as he grazed his finger along the paper casing of the muffin you gave to him; one of the corners of Leon’s mouth turned up, his hand smoothed over the warm drink before lifting it to his lips, letting it glide down his throat, before clenching his jaw as he thought and looked to you across the room. 

Your name would be on his mind for a long time now. 

As he continued to watch you before going into the chief’s office, he made his way into the breakroom, ready to dispose of the paper casing surrounding your provided present; before putting it in the bin, he caught Chris' attention. 

“Oh, I see someone else has joined the club,” he laughed lightly, adding to Leon's confusion. 

“Club? I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you mean.” 

“You know the coffee girl, yes?” Leon nodded, "She has her favourites, and you know you’re a favourite if she asks you what your favourite snack is and gives it to you; so far, you're the third person; you must have been very kind to her.” 

Favourite. I am her favourite. He continued to think about being a favourite, a tinge of jealousy within his mind as he thought about being the ‘third’ favourite, but he was a favourite non the less, steps ahead of many of the guys in the department—and he loved that he was on your radar. 

Stage two: obsession. 

Leon always thought you looked pretty; he thought it was an objective fact that you were the most attractive girl in the precinct, but he never formed any true feelings about that. However, since that day, his behaviour and feelings towards you started to change; he couldn’t get the word 'favourite’ and the notion that he was your favourite out of his mind. He often thought that he wasn’t the only favourite, but he didn’t need to think of them; they weren’t a competition—the way Chris said it, it had a casual tone, not one of endearing description, granted whenever he heard you in the breakroom laughing with Chris, jealousy was often felt. However, he knew if Chris wanted you, he would have made a move already—but he was still one to watch. As more time drew, he constantly thought of you; no matter the time of day, you were fixed in his mind, a constant that would not change. 

As the weeks drew on, he started to notice you more, noticing everything about you with just the simple act of watching; it wasn’t hard to collect this information, especially with how you were a creature of habit, a person who worked with continuous routine—a huge mistake from you. He knew the times you would go off for your coffee runs from the paper you gave him; he knew the order you would go around the room and how you left Leon for last and always had a longer conversation with him. He also noted when you would have your breaks and how long you would talk to Jill and Chris; he made sure to listen in to ensure Chris was never overstepping the boundary he placed ever since his obsession was created. He always felt a burning within his chest, a heavyweight hanging on his heart every time he heard you laugh from one of Chris’ jokes; he couldn’t help but curl his fists into a ball, feeling his head get warmer as the feeling of jealousy expanded further within him. 

Calm down, Leon; he would have already asked her if he wanted her. He constantly told himself to calm down and stop thinking of how close you two were together, remembering that Jill was in the middle of you two. If he wanted to be closer, he would spend time with just you—that thought comforted him.

Your small conversations lasted a little longer when you gave him his coffee and muffin. It was Friday, and the easy conversation was on its way. 

As you were about to turn around, you were greeted with an extended conversation with Leon, who asked, “Have you got anything plans for the weekend?” he fiddled with the paper casing as he tried to concentrate on the conversation you two were having. 

You were taken aback at this imposed question, not shocked at the content, but curious about how he started to take interest: “Oh, nothing much; I’m thinking of just chilling at home and relaxing a bit; what about you?” 

“Oh, I’m just working on some cases; see how much I can get done over the weekend.”

“Don’t overwork yourself; there’s a reason you have the time off.” 

She cares about my well being, Leon thought, your kind nature only adding to his obsession growing.

“I’ll see you around; I need to do something for the chief,” you went off, leaving Leon in a pool of his thoughts that never stop being around you. You were kind to everyone, but it felt different to him; you cared for him more with how your words were strung together. 

~~~~~

The weekend felt long; usually, Leon would enjoy the time off, using this time to be as lazy as possible and have a break from his other colleagues, but his weekends now consisted of longing and counting down the minutes until he went back to work until he could see you again and sneak a few minutes of conversation with you. He couldn’t help but think about what you were doing at your place; he wondered if you lived alone; he wished you lived alone as he fantasised about growing closer to you and spending time with you—if only he had the courage to initiate that. 

Leon thought about where you lived; he knew it wouldn’t be too far from the police station, and he was even thinking of getting some information through a series of questions. But he could tell you were a smart girl and wouldn’t give that information out by mistake. You seemed overly cautious, but not too cautious, as you had a few mistakes let slip—like your continuous routine, which was easy to plan around.

But right now, all he could think was the idea of having you, not just in a romantic way where you could be his person for as long as he needed you, but thinking of an intimacy he so long desired. 

He wasn’t exactly the rookie everyone described him as; he had a girlfriend before finishing the academy and joining the department. It wasn’t like he was oblivious to it all, but that ended a long time ago when the thought of her disappeared the moment she left his everyday life, and now you were the beautiful and endearing replacement that he couldn’t stop thinking about. 

He was confined in the same four walls he had lived in for years. He felt the urge to pull his laptop and fix up a website everyone had at least wondered about, even if it was out of curiosity or plain desperation; he hadn’t touched this website in a while, but thinking about you wasn’t enough, his imagination needed stimulation, and watching porn was the only way he could settle that yearning that was bubbling inside of him for a long time now. 

He slowly looked at the screen, looking at the most popular videos that were the most watched, but none of them was attracting him; he just wanted you, and everyone he looked at was just inferior to how he put the thought of you on a pedestal. So, he typed, looking through several pages, looking for girls that emulated your features, perhaps having similar hair colour or style, similar body type, and facial features; he kept scouring through the internet to find a video with someone that looked like you, of course, none of them even came close, leading him to have to settle. His mouse hovered over results that came close to what he needed before the window for settling decreased in chance with an overwhelming wave of uncontrollable desire wash over him, pressing against his pants as he continued to have you on his mind, the thought of you being the source of his mind and body running on adrenaline. 

As soon as he watched, he jerked his hands away from the keyboard, pushing the laptop further down as he unbuttoned his trousers, palming the imprint of his clothed cock for a moment, watching as the girl in the video—an inferior doppelganger—undressed slowly for the camera, teasing her viewers with the perfect execution of timing and a smile that just enticed you further; of course, Leon wasn’t enticed by her, he was only watching for the similarity she had to you, but she was a good enough vessel for his imagination to run rampant. 

He pulls out his cock, which is throbbing painfully, making him moan and whimper slightly as he wraps his calloused hand and lets it run along his prominent veins, smearing the dribbling of precum along his warm shaft, his cheeks flushing deep red as he continues to morph her face into the perfect imagination of you, imagining you opening your legs and biting your lip, running your fingers along your wet folds, imagining you begging and desperate eyes looking up to him to beg for his cock inside you—god he needed that more than ever right now. He was practically salivating, drooling as he watched the woman fit her fingers inside her wet cunt, continuously thinking about what you would look if he fit his cock inside your aching pussy; he just knew you would be a screamer. His cock continued to painfully throb as he pressed his fingers around his member, even harder with another squeeze, kicking his head back as he continued to think about how you would moan his name, thinking about what you would sound like; he imagined even further how much of a dirty girl you would be. She has an innocent facade, but I can bring it down, he continued to think as he was lost with an unbearable ache within his core, his heart racing as he leaned back and pumped his hand even harder, laying your name on his tongue. 

His eyes closed, listening to the woman’s moans in placement for yours, fantasising about what you would look like naked, wet and squirming just for him and only him, his fantasies becoming vivid as he thought about watching your tits bounce with every thrust inside you wet core, pounding his hard cock inside you repeatedly, wanting to just fill you up to the brim with his cum. 

That was it. That was the thought that sent him over the edge. The thought of making you his by pumping his hot seed inside you, fucking it further inside your cervix. His fingers were wrapped around his shaft tightly as he let out a whimper, a quiet ‘fuck’ with a release of your name like a blissful treat laced on his lips; his hips bucked as he refused to let that thought of you being his little cumslut be fixed in the lines of memories and fantasies—he needed to bridge the gap with you. 

After reaching a sweet release, he looked at the woman in the video, hearing her talking and her high-pitched voice, looking at her with disgust. “Shut up… annoying bitch,” he hissed in a curse, closing down the tabs. 

He couldn’t let this be in his imagination; Leon’s obsession would no longer live in his fantasies, and he needed to ask you out. 

This was routine with Leon; he always found himself in the same pathways, no matter how much he denied that part of himself. He always noticed a girl, then went to know them a little more, continuously thinking and then… asking them out and letting everything he wanted manifest into a reality of physical connection. That’s all he needed to do. He planned the next time he would see you would be when he asked you on a date, perhaps dinner at his place. All he needed to do was wait for you to say yes and let it continue from there—you would be the most perfect, his favourite girl he laid his eyes on and continued the repetitive journey with, perhaps be the last one with him now finding perfection. 

Stage three: rejection

In the dimly lit break room, Leon hesitated at the threshold, his heartbeat pounding against his ribs, his blood flow quickening through his veins with the tumult of his beating heart. Each breath felt laboured with anxiety, weighted with the burden of anticipation and trepidation. Adjusting his shirt—in a futile attempt to regain composure—Leon stepped himself for the task he provided himself the previous night: to summon the courage and ask you out, the enigmatic coffee girl he just couldn’t forget ever since he was exposed to your heart of gold. 

As the door creaked open, Leon was exposed to you, immersed in preparing your coffee; you were in your world before you heard the click of the door close. Leon’s breath hitched in his throat, beads of sweat drawing along his brow as he tried to maintain calm and remain at the task at hand, subtly, well to what he thought was subtle, he rubbed his hands on his trousers from them heating up in fear, trying not to become distracted from what he had set out to do.

Summoning his courage, Leon cleared his throat, the sound echoing unnaturally in the space: “Morning… Hey… Um,” he paused for a moment, “The coffee girl making her coffee… heh,” he let out nervous laughter at a failed attempt at what he thought would come out as a joke… If you could call it that. 

“Um, yeah… I get my breaks like you lot,” you let out a sympathetic, breathy laugh, but Leon could see through it, knowing it was a sympathy laugh. Nonetheless, he was still warm inside, knowing you were trying to make him comfortable; your smile continued to beacon a feeling of reassurance that made Leon’s heart flutter within its beats. 

Embarking upon the precarious precipice of confession, Leon forged ahead, his words carefully fabricating into what he had rehearsed the night before: “So um, I’m glad to find you here… Alone… Since I- there’s something I want to ask you.. For a while now,” he rubbed the back of his neck as you raised an eyebrow out of interest. 

“Oh, do you want to change your regular order? I’m happy to do that for you,” you naively reached for your notebook. 

“No, no, that isn’t what I wanted to talk about,” he couldn’t help but find your naivety cute; how you were always ready to please was captivating to him; you continued to watch as he was trying to find the words. “So I’ve wanted to ask you this… For a while now…You’re a very kind and pretty girl, and I find… I find…I-I think about you often, wondering if you want to… Go out with me. You’re a really nice girl, and well, I’m a really nice guy; we already have that in common and, yeah, what do you think?” 

A flicker of confusion danced along your features, your brow furrowing into gentle bewilderment as he kept blabbing on; you watched how he rubbed the back of his neck, how he couldn’t keep up eye contact longer than a few seconds, and how his foot kept grazing along the wooden floor as he kept gently kicking it back and forth. “Oh,” you said as you tried to figure out what to say, tapping the ceramic layer of your cup as you tried to piece it all together. 

Oh… fucking oh, that’s all you got, Leon thought to himself. 

“Look, I think you’re lovely, but I’m not ready to go on dates; it’s only nearly been a year after finishing college; I’m not ready to start dating again.” 

Again? Who else has got their hands on her? Leon felt a sting of jealousy. 

Rejection pierced Leon’s hopes, feeling like the jagged rocks of reality came crumbling down on him; with a nod of resignation, he acquiesced to the painful truth. “I-I understand,” his fists were bawling up and his teeth grinding, “I’m sorry I asked,” he walked off slowly, hoping that you would stop him and tell him you changed your mind. 

But you didn’t. 

You had a boyfriend in college. Nothing serious happened with him, but you were close to that man; you even thought you loved him at one point until he betrayed you with another woman. You weren’t ready to start going out on dates, especially in a new job where you barely knew anyone. 

Just as you were planning to exit, your friends came through the door, noticing how shaken up you were. 

“Are you okay? you look like you just saw a ghost,” Jill said with concern, coming over to you and placing her hand on your shoulder for reassurance. 

“I-I had a weird encounter with… Leon.” 

“The rookie? what’s the little weirdo up to now?” Chris asked while folding his arms, coming closer to you so you wouldn’t have to raise your voice. 

“He… He asked me out.” 

Both of them widened their eyes, looking at one another and gesturing you to sit down; while the topic of asking someone out was an innocent one, you looked shaken up by Leon’s advances. 

“I was here making myself a coffee, and I think he was trying to make a joke. I don’t know; he wanted to ask me something. I thought maybe he wanted to change that coffee order because we all know it’s gross. Who orders that?” Chris cut you off your emerging tangent.

“Back to the topic, you said Leon asked you out?” 

“He said he had been thinking about me for a while and was saying that we’re both nice. He asked, and I rejected him, but… I don’t know; I feel weird. Was I leading him on? What’s it that muffin I gave him? I didn’t want to give that idea.” 

“Look, I’m not going to defend him, but-“ 

“Then don’t finish that sentence,” Jill cut Chris off, “Look… It was just a case of a man misreading friendless for attraction; it happens a lot; men are stupid,” Chris looked offended, “especially the one opposite me.” 

You both laughed. 

“I just… I just find that it’s delusional to start liking someone because they did their job. I gave him a muffin, nothing else,” you told them. 

“Giving muffins isn’t in your job; you do that extra. I’m not blaming you, but he might not be that used to women, and before you come back talking, we’ve all thought it; look at the guy,” Both you and Jill agreed, “Also, I did tell him you give muffins to favourites, to people you find kind, he must have taken it as favourite equals attraction. You’ve turned him down anyway. Just forget it happened; I’m sure he’ll forget about it.” 

But he didn’t. 

He was nestled in the corner, a blind spot for people in the break room, and heard every word. The moment you uttered “delusional”, it pricked a spike right into his chest, feeling like you just couldn’t help yourself but injure him and twist the blade for a bit of enjoyment; he curled his lips into a line as he heard Chris insult him, wondering what it would be like to drive him away from you, to hurt him back like he verbally hurt him. A darkened fog casted over his mind of clarity, putting him back in that dark space he worked hard to get himself out of. 

No, no, no, don’t think like that. You wouldn’t want to hurt Chris. You can’t be messy. It leaves tracks. Remember your ex… All you need to do is be persuasive. Leon’s internal monologue kept feeding his delusional nature. 

~~~~~

The next day approached, and Leon patiently awaited your coffee run. He watched the reflection of the glass and continued to look at you, hobbling into the building with numerous coffee orders, all with post-it notes and that brown bag for your favourites. He waited patiently, keeping his back turned to not make him seem too desperate as he awaited. 

Just as routine kept providing, you went around the room in exact order, starting from left to right, then sneaking a conversation with Chris and Jill, and then to him; Leon’s heart quickened in beat as he heard your deep breaths become clearer as you got closer to him, but to his surprise, all you did was plant his coffee and muffin in front of him—no greeting, no few sentenced conversation, not even the usual grace with care as you just basically threw his order in front of him like a waitress getting awful tips. There was a strange feeling within him, one of anger for ignoring him and one of sadness as you went straight to the chief’s office—you had never quickened your pace like that before. 

Probably just in a rush, chief overworking you, he thought as he let the scalding hot coffee pass through his throat, not wincing or reacting to its temperature as he kept replaying your distance in his mind, over and over again. He looked at the muffin you gave him, which was still his favourite, and it looked to be the best quality from that coffee shop with its raised top and good ratio of white chocolate and raspberry. As he analysed every aspect, he concluded that you still cared to treat him. 

She’s just teasing me. I can tell. She wants me to work for it. Of course, women don’t want to accept it, and it makes them look desperate; they love it when a man works for them; it’s only an act of chivalry that those women crave. Yes. Yes. If she didn’t care about you, she would have ignored you. She wants you. She does. Leon was trapped in his thoughts as he bit into the fluffy muffin, biting into a sour and sweet raspberry-rich quadrant that fueled his delusions even more. He watched the chief’s door intently, knowing that he just needed to be more persistent with you; the next time he saw you in the break room, you would say yes. Leon had it all planned in his mind. 

~~~~~

You were overly cautious now. You knew Leon didn’t do anything wrong, per say, but it made you uncomfortable; something about his demeanour threw you off. It wasn’t even the fact you weren’t attracted to him; you felt an unnerving aura on him. Your eyes darted around you before you entered the break room, watching the coffee machine and tapping your fingers on the counter, blinking every time a second went past and wanting time to hurry up. 

Come on, come on, come on, you kept saying like the machine would obey and go quicker. 

You heard footsteps linger around the room. 

Oh god, not now. 

Of course, who else would it be? Leon peered through the corner, watching you, already glued to the door, with an unwelcoming gaze piercing him. 

“Hey… Can I talk to you?” he was back in that shy demeanour again. 

“If you must,” you coldly replied. 

“I’m sorry if I came onto strong… I didn’t mean to creep you out; I’m just not used to this sort of thing,” your brow relaxed for a moment as you waited for a real apology, “but I do really like you and-“

“You don’t know me, Leon,” your arms were folded, knowing he would try his chances again. 

“I mean… We can get to know each other… that’s kinda what dating is about, yeah?” 

You rolled your eyes. 

Look at her, acting rude and nonchalant. It’s all part of her act, Leon. You’re just wearing her down, he continued to tell himself. 

“I’m going to say this once and only one more time, Leon,” you said, stepping closer to him. “I’m not interested. It has nothing to do with you. I’m not interested in dating anybody now; I’m just here to do my job for the remaining time. Please understand I’m not looking for anything at the moment. I’m flattered, but I don’t want this.” 

When you exited, your fleeting touch upon his shoulder sent shockwaves of longing coursing through Leon’s veins. In that fleeting moment, he entertained the notion that you liked the long game. Perhaps, just perhaps, your gesture or touch harboured a silent encouragement to persevere. 

Once you left and went out of sight, you left Leon with another bitter taste of rejection upon his lips. he designated himself to the harsh truth: some desires are destined to remain unrequited, lost in the labyrinth of unspoken longing and unfilled yearning. Yet, in the depths of his despair, a glimmer of resolve ignited within him—a need to persevere despite the spectre of rejection that loomed over your conversations. His heart had fervent whispers that hoped you would stop this chase and let it just happen. 

Leon’s darkened thoughts continued, standing still as he let those thoughts unfold; he wanted to keep trying to keep wearing you down, but he needed to satisfy a hunger to get it all out, to get his yearning and built-up frustrations out before he continued his chivalrous courting—a description he kept providing to make him feel better, in all reality anyone would just call this creepy. Still, Leon thought he was just playing the game. 

Stage four: stalking

His fingers kept tapping as he waited in his car, tapping on the steering wheel at night for you to come out of the building. 

You rejected him. Two times. But the second wasn’t the last, to Leon’s thought process; he was willing to play the long game with you, to wear you down; it wouldn’t take that long. However, there was one problem with all these build-up frustrations within him. He just wanted a taste. Just to see what you look like, but you weren’t so willing at the moment; no, you were holding back, and this led to darker thoughts bubbling and festering inside his mind, thoughts he needed to let out before it became overwhelming. He just wanted something to keep him going, to stop relying on bitches who couldn’t compare to you, to take his pictures, perhaps to let his motivations keep running. 

He wanted you. Just you. No other girl. 

His car was parked at the back, watching your car and waiting for you to enter. He saw you give one final wave and a comforting smile to a group of his colleagues—a smile only he wanted to be directed at him. You didn’t notice how he stared at you. The darkened atmosphere made it difficult to see anything that far, and as you stepped in, Leon started his engine, ready to follow you at a distance and find out where you dwelled. 

He followed the road, making sure not to get too close, watching you from the back window to make sure you weren’t looking back in suspicion; when you finally stopped at your destination, he made a loop around the corner to make it look like he was just taking a similar path and went on if you noticed his car. In all honesty, you did notice that car, but you couldn’t make out who was in there. but after he had driven past, your piqued anxiety levels went down, telling yourself that it was just some person taking a similar route, feeling silly for overthinking. 

After Leon had done his little tangent driving, he found a place right in front of the building, watching as the window lit up. 

That’s got to be hers. 

You always had your curtains open to get some sunlight in during the day at work. Still, your innocent affairs managed to make Leon’s job easier as he watched you from the distance of his car—he was parked in the perfect spot, a place you couldn’t see when looking down from the top floor, but somewhere that gave a clear view of what you were doing by the window. 

He watched as you unpacked everything, feeling emotional responses and inpatient anger when you strayed away from his sights.

Unknowingly, you started to undress, taking your blouse off and revealing your lacy bra; this was it; this was the moment Leon pulled his phone and pressed that button to take dozens and dozens of pictures of you, watching you stand in front of the window without a care in the world. Watching as your hand slithered to the back of your hooks, his eyes widening as he moved closer to the window of his car, ready to take pictures of your beautiful body, he felt his cock hardening against his trousers as he waited for you to expose yourself.

You winced as you unhooked your bra, feeling where the underwire pressed into your skin all day, exposing yourself to Leon as he zoomed his camera in to take pictures; he cursed at his phone for blurring and not taking better quality, wanting to see your bare chest. As he was practically salivating, your head darted to the window, recognising you had forgotten to draw the curtains, placing your blouse back under your arms before hurriedly covering Leon’s shot, looking around and thankful that no one was in the streets to see you—oh if only you knew. 

“Fuck,” he let out a low curse as his cock started to no longer press against his tight trousers watching your windows be nothing but a dark-covered void now.

But he wasn’t all that disappointed. He managed to get some decent pictures to settle him for a bit longer. 

~~~~~

He drove back to his apartment. To his glee, it wasn’t too far from his, perhaps a fifteen-minute drive from yours to his. He hurriedly fumbled with the keys of his place, kicking his shoes off and stripping naked in a matter of seconds as he lunged for his bed, wanting to indulge in those pictures before he lost his high. 

He lay on the soft covers, naked, looking at each photo of your unknowing face, how blissfully ignorant you were; he couldn’t help but smirk as he zoomed into your face of shock when you realised the curtains were open. 

“Such a tease. You wanted someone to notice you… You wanted me to notice you,” he whispered. 

He kept swiping and zooming into your bare chest, circling his thumb around your exposed nipples, wondering what it would be like to suck on them, to pinch them until you squirmed with delight, to press his cock in between your tits; all these thoughts continued to make him harder. Before you covered yourself up, the last photo was perfect; your hair was messy, forwardly in front of Leon’s view as he kept zooming in to look. He imagined a scenario where you were a complete whore for him. Imagining you looking down and pressing your hardened nipples against the window, perhaps leaving a kiss mark on the window while looking at him with those beautiful eyes and leaving a lipstick mark on the glass; that was it, that was the imagined scenario that got him going. His phone was leaving indents on his fingers from his tight grip; he could feel his balls tighten as a dribble of precum started to ooze out the tip, his fingers tightening their grip around his large and thick shaft as he followed the flow of his thick veins, smearing the precum along the direction of his hand pumping along his length. He bit his lip as he whimpered out your name, his core tightening as he continued to look at your unknowing face. He started to think what your face would look like if he pushed his hard cock inside your wet cunt; he could just tell you were a screamer, and he wanted to hear that pretty mouth scream out his name. He imagined how you would feel as your tight hole would wrap against him. 

He could barely breathe, and his breathing patterns became laboured, and his chest continued to rise and fall at a rapid pace, a groan released as he kept moaning your name. “Fuck I need you,” he moaned as his head was thrown back into the pillow, cum spurting all along his torso, slowly rubbing himself before letting go and being left to think about what his next course of action was. 

Stage five: possession. 

What was the point of asking you out again? Leon tricked himself into believing you set out a game for him to play, believing that you wanted him just to try a little harder for you; no matter how much distance you placed between him, he kept thinking you were just making the test harder—to him this was just another challenge he wasn’t going to put down. But this game, Leon forced himself to believe, was difficult; this game of yours would be over if he got fired; if he asked you out again, he knew you would go telling the chief, and every single person knew how much a soft spot the chief had for you. He hated how other people held that spot for you, hated how people noticed the good in you; that was something only he should notice; a burning rage within his chest flowered every time he thought about people experiencing the kindness only he wanted to experience and witness. 

He wasn’t going to lose interest until he got you. Hence, he felt drawn to execute his plan for a little treat. 

Leon needed to ease his frustrations and pent-up desires just to get a taste of you, to obtain further motivation to keep seeking you out, to keep wearing you down until you realised you were made for him. 

For the past week, Leon kept going to your place but could only snap pictures with you fully clothed; how boring, he thought every time he pointed the camera to your window and waited for another good shot like that first night. Every time he left without seeing more of your bare chest, he still smirked behind the screen every time he saw your unknowing face, oblivious to how close he was to you—but he needed more. 

To execute his plans, he needed to do some research. He planned to stop having the building be a physical obstacle against his needs, looking up your apartment complex and looking at the rooms ready to be rented out, focusing on the ones on the top floor—your floor—and looking at the floor plans. With just a few clicks on the internet and a few drives, the type of information you can get was amazing; we all know the saying, if there’s a will, there’s a way. He found those floor plans with the available pictures, seeing that all of them were similar, the only difference being the placement of the bedroom and bathrooms—the only thing in his way now was getting inside. 

When your lights turned off, he was ready for his plan to continue; he marched up to the doors, running through the rain and making his way to the doors, waiting for someone, making a show of forgetting his keys—it came easy to him to lie and perform. 

“Oh god, not again,” he started patting down his pockets, looking around until an older woman came along, giving him a gentle smile that signalled how his acting was believable. 

“Have you forgotten the key to the front door?” 

“Yeah… I always forget the key to this door; I moved in only a week ago; I need to get used to it.” In another email, making a whole other identity, Leon managed to send a few questions to the landlord, knowing that there were two keys given to the occupant, a front door key and an apartment key—as said, he did his research before coming to your place. 

“Oh dear, here you go,” she let him in without a second thought. His innocent facade took her in as he thanked her: “Don’t worry about it, sweety. Forgetting is an easy thing. You have a great night.” 

She waved him off as he pressed the elevator button, thinking to himself I will have a great night, clutching onto the straps of his backpack, waiting for the elevator to ascend to your floor; every time the number of the level changed, a jump in his chest was felt, excitement and anticipation running through his emotions as he thought how much closer he was getting to you, to be with you outside of work—finally. 

It was almost too easy to find where you were; he knew what side you were on and only needed to count the windows he saw on the inside until he made his way to yours; it was just two windows away from the very edge of the end; he pressed his ear against the door, hearing no sounds of your consciousness still roaming around. As he made sure his coast was clear, he collected a lock pick from the smallest pocket in his bag; he was a cop, after all, he knew his way around and learned how people did this; they ought to be careful who they let in this field of work. 

The silence within your place made the room feel empty; he was hit with your signature scent that sent a blush rushing to his cheeks, his heart beating at a constant quickened rhythm as he processed how close he was to you, how close he was to your private realm that he snuck into, everything about you could be learnt just within these walls—but he needed to stay at the task he provided himself. He made his way into your room, padding silently down the hall; he breathes in deeply as he reaches for your white-painted bedroom door, thankful it wouldn’t make a sound as you had left it a crack open. 

She’s practically asking for it; Leon’s delusional monologue kept running rampant in his thoughts. 

You were fast asleep, as planned, curled up in the countless pillows and blankets you had surrounding you; Leon couldn’t help but find you adorable how you were cuddled up, but he couldn’t let his admiration of you stop his tracks. His backpack hit the floor, making you jolt in movement, but only shifting your legs into a more comfortable position; you were out cold, giving Leon the perfect opportunity to continue with his plan. He retrieved a cloth, draining every last drop of chloroform on it, it dripping all over the floor; with a few searches, he knew it wasn’t going to be a quick breath in like the movies presented; he knew he had to press this on your nose and mouth for at least a few minutes, the fact you were a heavy sleeper made it very easy for this to happen. While you were away in dreamland, he gently pressed the wet rag on your nose and mouth, pressing just enough for you to inhale deeply but not enough to force you awake; you felt almost a tickle sensation on your nose, just thinking it was your fan pushing air on your face and causing an itch; oh how your naivety just made it ten times easier for Leon to indulge a little. 

He watched your digital clock to wait for the appropriate amount of time to pass, listening to your breathing becoming shallower with every minute that past; just as the recommended time has been completed, he presses his ear to your chest, your heartbeat and breathing patterns being a murmur now; he couldn’t mess up now, he was in your room and ready to complete everything his fantasies were forcing him to do, he grabbed your face, his fingers pressing into the plush of your cheeks to give more evidence that you were asleep, but you would awake within due course.

It was time. 

In a matter of seconds, he stripped off his shirt and jeans, throwing all the layers you put on yourself, his fingers tightening around the bands of your sleep clothes and peeling them off, exposing your naked and bare body right in front of him; his pupils dilated, his blush deepening, and his cock hardening as he processed how close he was to your naked form, your naked helpless form that was ready for the taking, ready for his taking. 

As his eyes widen to encapture your whole form, he pressed a desperate kiss on your limp lips, pressing his hands on your chest, grabbing and squeezing them the more he placed wet and rough kisses on your soft lips; he couldn’t believe how you were just there, ready to fulfil everything he had been thinking of—this was the kick he needed, the little taste of motivation to keep going before you would be all over him, he kept thinking about the day you would help him get undressed and let him fuck deep inside you, but he had to settle for this time with you now before that happened. He released whimpers as he grinds his hips into yours, his hands underneath your thighs as he makes them go around his waist, kissing you like you were a hungry couple experiencing their first night together. He couldn’t help but be amused as he pinched your nipples, shocked as they sprung into hardened buds; lapping his tongue around them and letting them be covered in his saliva as he slid his tongue around them and placed gentle nibbles; there was just so much to do; and so little time; he wanted to feel and experience every inch of you, but time was limited, and this was just a taste for him before he wore you down. 

He gulped as his fingers collected around his waistband, freeing his throbbing erection from his boxers, adjusting your panties to the side so he could slip his length inside you; his fingers started following the line of your folds, a spurt of precum forming around his tip as he watched your glistening cunt ready for him, pushing his hips closer to you and sliding his tip to push along your slit and hit your clit now and again, he felt his breath hitch as he stared at your wet pussy, biting his lip and letting out quiet and whispered whimpers as he pushed himself inside you, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he placed his hands on your hips before bucking his hips and watching your motionless frame bounce with every thrust he forced onto you.  

“Fuck, you feel amazing, baby,” he cooed like you could hear and feel everything he was doing, pushing his hard cock further into your sopping wet cunt that dribbled all over him, making it easier to slide and feel your walls grasp around him, making it hard to last long and savour this blissfully moment, to him, with feeling his dick be placed in something he wanted to own and possess. 

He focuses on grinding the head of his cock, pumping it further and letting it continuously hit and bruise your delicate cervix. As he watched your tits bounce, your closed eyes in a tranquil state, he pictured what it would be like to hear you moaning his name, to feel you roam your hands over his biceps and chest as you begged him to cum inside you. He bent down to the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet and addictive scent with a sigh; as much as he wanted to fill you with his seed, to fuck it further inside you and take ownership, he didn’t want to make such a mess; most importantly, he didn’t want to make a mess that could be tracked. 

As he felt a deep gruntle moan erupt out of him, he pulled out and let it spurt all over your soft skin, watching how much of messy darling you looked underneath him.

He thought how easy it would be to drag your helpless body somewhere where you could realise your love with him, somewhere where Leon could fulfil every fantasy he wanted to on your gorgeous frame. 

“You’re mine, sweetheart. Forever mine.” 

Being delusional is a dangerous thing for the obsessive. 

star divider is from @/inklore

please note the best way of supporting your writers is by liking and reblogging, i send so much love to everyone that took the time to read this and hope everyone has a lovely day/evening.

[yaekiss]

#Mailroom Open!　─ Hello Qi! I hope I am able to get this letter in before the cutoff 😖 May I send a love letter to yan!Jing Yuan, and have him address a Foxian!reader w gn nicknames?

\\\______\\\\________\\\

To my dearest Scoundrel,

You are quite the terrible influence my dear general, are you aware of this? How am I supposed to resolve this trade agreement with our fellow Xianzhou flagships in a timely manner, when you have more or less conditioned me to take naps during most hours of the day?

Truly despicable of you really. And on top of that, your "parting gifts" you left on me are still very tender; very distracting from my work. Efficiency and diligence, I fear will be strangers to me during this trip.

Regardless, I hope you are doing well and are not causing to much trouble for the commission during my absence. (Please try to not stress Fu Xian too much, I don't need further distractions from her blowing up my phone because of your shenanigans.) Maybe if you are on your best behavior, I might even give you a reward. Perhaps even something of your choosing if you are especially well behaved~.

Before I sign off and leave you to return to my work, I have sealed a gift for you. Consider it...my own unique "parting gift" to you until I return to you. Which I know in our vast lifespans will be over before you know it my beloved.

-Sincerely, your sleepy vixen

(Enclosed in a small red and gold box, is a simple blue collar with golden accents and filigree with a note that says "wear it until I come back ;)" )

꩜ Letter Content: Dom! GN! Reader x Yan! Sub! Jing Yuan, no gendered terms for reader, Jing Yuan calls you "my tranquility", unhealthy obsessive relationship from Jing Yuan, lightly implied drugging, mentions of reader topping and edging Jing Yuan, quick mention of biting and blood, lmk if I missed out anything ! ꩜ Delivery Notes: You have quite the roster of guards at the door of your hotel room huh? Looks like nothing's going to slip past them if they were chosen by Jing Yuan himself! ꩜ Wanna write a love letter yourself? Check out it out here!

As you return to your temporary quarters after sitting through a particularly arduous trade meeting, you’re alerted by your guards assigned to you (by none other than Jing Yuan) about a suspicious delivery left for you while you were away.

Inspecting the box, a laugh escapes you when you catch the ink paw prints of a lion stamped haphazardly on both sides of it. After explaining that this was a personal delivery from the Xianzhou Luofu’s Dozing General, it seemed to dissolve any remaining apprehension your guards had and they handed the box over to you. Thanking them for dutifully carrying out their work, you step into your room.

Your room is spacious, ridiculously so. Why would one person need such a massive room for themselves? It’s the kind that only a general could manage to procure. The open sliding window leads to a balcony that showcases the bustling lively environment of the streets below and a cool evening breeze fills the room. Settling down on the edge of the bed, you set the box in your lap.

Upon opening up your delivery, it seems that Jing Yuan had prepared a pair of gifts in return for you. The first of two is an intricate small glass spray bottle set within a satin-lined box. The small tag tied around it says, “Some of the fragrance that I often use. For you to spray on your pillows when you sleep. :3”

Spritzing a fine mist onto your wrist, the scent of your lover wafts from the area; not too strong such that it’s unpleasant for your keen sense of smell, nor too faint that it’s hard for you to pick up. The fragrance is soothing and familiar, a thoughtful gift that will no doubt improve the quality of your sleep, as evident from the yawn it draws out from you.

The second gift you retrieve from the box is a soft sleep mask in your favourite colour. Sliding it over your eyes, you find that the fabric is smooth against your skin and the mask manages to completely block out all light, fully blacking out everything. The elastic strap isn’t overly tight but secure enough that it ensures that the mask doesn’t slip off too easily. Perfect for tossing and turning. 

Finally, laid at the bottom of the box, is the reply from Jing Yuan, concealed in an elegant envelope. The quality is top-notch and flawless, and it’s sealed securely. Running your hand over the envelope, you feel the crest of the Cloud Knights embossed lightly on the surface. You break the seal and remove the letter contained within. 

His handwriting is steady and dignified, each and every brushstroke on the page graceful. At the end of his letter, is his own name seal, stamped in red ink. Jing Yuan’s reply reads:

“For my dreamlike haven,

My apologies, it seems that Mimi got its paws on the box while I was out of my office and left a couple of paw prints on the sides. Sigh, you should’ve seen how much ink I had to clean off the surfaces, truly troublesome. Perhaps it knew that the box was meant for you and wished to leave something for you as well, haha!

I have to admit, Mimi is not the only one missing you, my tranquility. I find myself looking over to my side to ask for your wise input on things, only to realise that you’re away. Fu Xuan laughs at me whenever I do this. :( 

It's just not the same to take afternoon naps without you by my side. Nothing is as comforting as your warmth in my arms, or for me to jokingly complain about the tips of your furry ears tickling my nose when we cuddle together. My slumbers are no longer restful when I can’t spend them with you, my tranquility.

The things I would do to have you next to me again. Are the marks and scratches I left on you still visible, my tranquility? Judging by how the ones you left on me are fading, I assume my parting gifts left on you are doing the same. Would you let me mark you up again, and won’t you extend the same generosity to me too? I yearn for your searing touch, my tranquility, for your fangs to pierce my skin and bring forth the vivid red beneath. Whenever I close my eyes, the only thing I can see is you, as if you linger in my every thought and dream.

Speaking of dreams, it seems that lately, my dreams have taken quite a raunchy turn. The starring role for all of them is obviously, you, my tranquility. You’d have me pliant and satisfying your every whim. In one, you had me bent over my office desk, fucking me hard as I rocked back against you. In another, you were edging me mercilessly, over and over again, until I could do nothing but beg helplessly for my release. That look you had in your eyes still sends a shiver down my spine. I’m hoping that soon, you can help turn these dreams of mine into reality.

Additionally, thank you for the collar, my tranquility. I’ve taken the liberty of adding a charming little bell at the front of it, I think you’d find it quite endearing. (And perhaps deserving of a reward? :3)

Do take care of yourself, or else I might just have to come and do it myself, haha. I’ll try to be on my best behaviour but no promises! I miss you dearly, my tranquility, come back to me soon.

Your rascal of a general,

- Jing Yuan -

P.S. Remember to use the fragrance on your pillows and the sleep mask!”

Rising from your seat on the bed, you pack everything back into the box before stepping into the shower to… cool off after reading Jing Yuan’s letter. In the bathroom, you find yourself relaxing as the water patters on your skin. Your ears flicker slightly whenever they pick up noise from beyond the locked door. A shout from the busy streets below, a soft sigh and the tinkle of a bell, the water splashing onto the floor around you.

Whilst clothing yourself, you lift your wrist to your nose and sigh when the scent of Jing Yuan has expectedly, (begrudgingly), been washed off. However, when you return to your bed, the scent of him still lingers, one that wasn’t here before. 

Your heightened foxian senses can just about make out where it’s concentrated the most, and it points towards your pillow. It’s saturated with the smell of him, to a disconcerting degree. Lifting it up, you’re greeted with the sight of the usual red ribbon he has tied around his hair.

The world falls silent around you.

He was in your room.

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

[freelancearsonist]

el chico del apartamento 512

➔ Frankie Morales x gn!Reader - 1.6k

➔ There's a rumor going around your building about the resident of apartment 512, and you're eager to investigate.

➔ Rated PG-13 for allusions to sex but otherwise just some plain old fluff and fun. post movie canon wife and kid erasure sorry, takes place in colombia, both reader and frankie speak spanish and everything is translated.

➔ this is my entry for the Selena Drabble Challenge hosted by mi esposa @fhatbhabie <3 sorry i've been sitting on this forever hehe but i hope you enjoy

Frankie barely manages to pull himself out of the slump he’s in for the first year or so after the absolute disaster in the Andes.

He misses his family, misses his friends, misses his crew–his brothers. He tries to convince himself that it’s for the best, that it’s only a matter of time before those assholes who were in cahoots with Lorea come after him–that the people he loves will be safer and happier if he’s not around them when it happens. And most of the time he can block all that sadness and pain out by throwing his whole mind and body into the earnest construction job he picks up in this new town within this new country. But it catches up to him late at night in dreams and quiet whispers of intrusive thoughts; that he’s a coward for abandoning the ones that needed him most, that he could’ve done more to make that damned mission less of a disaster. That he could’ve come out of it rich and happy if he wasn’t such a fuck-up.

He wakes up screaming in the middle of the night, an ache so deep in his chest that it feels like he’s been shot. He clutches at his sternum and tries to catch his breath but he can’t. His body wracks with sobs and he knows he’ll never be okay again.

But somehow, he ends up okay anyway. Somehow, he falls back to sleep just to repeat the cycle the next day.

There’s a rumor going around amongst your neighbors that apartment 512 is haunted.

People hear things–weird things. Screaming, crying, banging–and always at the dead of night. And everyone swears up and down that they’ve never seen the guy who supposedly lives there. The people who say they have seen him get more dramatic with their descriptions every time–toweringly tall, shoulders that could stand up to a wrecking ball, hauntingly sad eyes and gaunt face. It’s like he’s a thing of legend–a story they tell their kids to make sure they behave. “Don’t run in the halls or the guy from apartment 512 will get you.”

You figure he’s probably just some guy who works long hours and likes to watch horror movies to unwind or something–not a monster or a ghost, just misunderstood. You haven’t seen the guy yourself, but you kinda like him anyway. The building’s certainly been a lot quieter since he moved in… well, everywhere except his own apartment, at least. 

You find yourself keeping a more vigilant eye out, alert to any face in the building that doesn’t look familiar. It seems kinda silly to want to see someone you don’t know, but you’re a little nosy and a little more than curious. If there’s some truth to the rumors that have been going around by the people who claim to have seen him, you want to find out for yourself.

It’s a completely ordinary night when you notice an unfamiliar face in the mailroom, and you have to do a double take. This stranger is handsome–tall and dark with shaggy brown hair and an even shaggier patch of stubble across his jaw.

He’s just standing there, staring blankly at a row of mailboxes, looking so… foreboding. You approach slowly, cautiously; part of you thinks you should just walk away and let this man do whatever he’s doing. But there’s a large, louder part of you that approaches with curiosity. There’s just something about him that draws you in, that makes you put on your best smile and ask, “Señor? Necesitas ayuda?” (Do you need help, sir?)

He blinks slowly, heavily, and then dark brown eyes flicker towards you.

“Oh!” He clears his throat and it’s like he’s coming back from an out of body experience–the color returns to his face, his eyes lose that glassy sheen, and his posture loosens a bit. He looks friendly now, sheepish even. He wrings his big hands and shifts on his feet, as if he’s been caught at a vulnerable moment. “Lo siento, estaba en la nube.” (Sorry, I was spacing out.)

“Está bien,” you tell him with your most disarming smile. “Andas buscando algo?” (It’s okay. / Are you looking for something?)

“No, solo estoy recopilando mi correo,” he rumbles before flashing you the most charming smile you’ve ever seen in your life. (No, I’m just getting my mail.)

He fishes through his pockets and finds a small silver key–and then he inserts it into the box labeled “512”.

“Tú vives en el apartamento 512?” There’s a strange air of reverence in your voice despite trying to hide it. This is the guy everyone’s been talking about, and he doesn’t seem nearly as monstrous as everyone tried to make him sound. (You live in apartment 512?)

“Uhhh… sí?” He chuckles and looks over to you, and you can see the way his brow furrows at the look of shocked surprise on your face.

You realize you’re actually gaping open-mouthed at the poor guy, and you snap your mouth closed as soon as you see the little crease between his brows deepen. Not soon enough for it to go unnoticed, though–the corner of his mouth flickers up in a pseudo-smirk, and god he’s handsome.

“No hemos tenido la oportunidad de conocernos aún.” You look up at him and give your best, winning smile as you give him your name. There’s a strange, fluttery feeling in your stomach as his dark eyes meet yours–have you mentioned how handsome he is? (We haven’t had the chance to meet yet.)

“Mucho gusto,” he says with a smile. “Soy Frankie. Supongo que vives en el edificio también?” (Nice to meet you. / I’m Frankie. I’m guessing you live in the building too?)

“Oh, sí,” you say with a slight laugh. “No soy ningún tipo de acosador, vivo en el apartamento 526.” (Oh, yes. / I promise I’m not some kind of creep, I live in apartment 526.)

And then you catch his eyes dragging along your form, not even the least bit subtle, and you try your best to be nonchalant about the way you have to lean against the wall to avoid melting into a puddle on the mailroom floor; especially when you see those full lips of his curve into a smile, and you know he’s liking what he’s seeing.

“Nah, no creo que seas un acosador,” he hums–and there’s that damned smirk again. If you don’t get out of here you’re going to start drooling. (I don’t think you’re a creep.)

He grabs two letters from his mailbox, examines the envelopes, and then unceremoniously dumps them both into the trashcan in the corner with a mumbled, “Malditas estafas por correo.” (Damn junk mail.)

“Eso es lo único que recibo ahora también,” you tell him sympathetically. (That’s all I get anymore too.)

He brushes past you slightly as he moves to the door, and you get a whiff of distinctly woody cologne that makes your heart pick up a beat. You try to act normal and go to open your own mailbox, but he stops in the narrow doorway and leans against the jam to look at you.

“Te volveremos a ver aquí?” (Will I see you around again?)

You think the rumors about him were right, at least a little bit. He’s towering and imposing–he fills the entire doorway with ease. He’s firm and broad and sturdy and big. Maybe he would be intimidating to someone else, but all you can think about is climbing him like a tree.

“Sí. Puedes verme cuando tú quieras.” (You can see me whenever you want to.)

His eyes flicker indecisively for a moment, and then he draws his bottom lip between his teeth. “Qué tal viernes por la noche?” (What about Friday night?)

You try not to focus on how you want him to bite into you like that as you tell him, “Sí, eso sería perfecto.” (Yes, that would be perfect.)

“Perfecto. Te veré luego.” And then he flashes you that damned adorable boyish smile again before he retreats from the mailroom. You think he’s going to be trouble for you. (Perfect. I’ll see you then.)

The monthly building meeting is Saturday morning, and you’re glad to see Frankie’s decided to join in finally. Everyone throws curious looks his way as he walks through the room towards where you’re seated, but no one is curious or brave enough to ask who he is.

“Buenos días, querida,” he murmurs, discreetly ghosting a kiss against your cheek as he drops into the seat beside yours. There’s a hint of amusement in his eyes as they trail over your outfit: the same one you wore to dinner last night, the same one you picked up off his bedroom floor this morning and shoved on hastily to get to this meeting in time. (Good morning, dear.)

Before you get a chance to respond, your neighbor from across the hall plunks down in the seat on your other side.

“Escuchaste ese ruido anoche?” She asks, sounding more amused than annoyed. (Did you hear that noise last night?)

“Qué ruido?” You ask with a raised brow. (What noise?)

She smirks with satisfaction, like she knows something you don’t. And then she looks pointedly between you and Frankie. “Suena como si nuestro fantasma en el apartamento 512 hubiera conseguido un socio para él.” (It sounds like our ghost in apartment 512 got himself a partner.)

You nearly choke on your own tongue, but Frankie just chuckles raspily and wraps an arm around your shoulders. He learned all about the rumors from you last night over dinner, and he thinks they’re hilarious. Besides, they’ll die out soon enough anyway–he’s never slept quite as peacefully as he did last night in your arms–if he doesn’t feed them a little bit. And if feeding the rumors means keeping you moaning and groaning the way he did last night, he can’t say he minds it one bit.

➔ beta: @shakespeareanwannabe; dividers: @saradika-graphics

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[coneyislandbabey]

going to california. -> e. roundtree

WARNINGS: some swearing, alcohol, sappy shit, use of my own personal headcanon that eddie's full name is edwin.

SYNOPSIS: you move to Los Angeles, and are surprised to run into an old childhood friend. word count: 3,351

The heat was different in Los Angeles. Not like New York City, where you’d spent the last few years of your life; all humid, thick walls of wet air that cloy inside your lungs and make you hot from the inside out, relentless, merciless warmth even in the dead of night, even with the windows open laying naked on the bed. No, here the air was thin and dry, the egg-yolk sun warming but not ruthlessly so. You stepped out of the car, joints creaking, and swallowed up a great lungful of that thin bright air, felt the clean glare of the sun bouncing off the hot car and onto your face. New. Everything you’d been hoping for already. 

After graduating from your Pittsburgh high school a semester early, you had booked it onto a train to Manhattan about five seconds after your diploma was in your hands, getting a job in the mailroom of a newspaper and crashing on your cousin’s couch, sleeping only a few hours a night and spending every other waking moment writing or wandering the five boroughs sniffing out experiences to write about. Writing was your lifeblood, and it had been practically since you’d first learned how to hold a pen. You never knew exactly what you wanted to do with your life– where you wanted to go, what you wanted to see, where you wanted to end up– you only knew that you’d be writing the whole way through. And that’s what you did for those few years in New York. You wrote feverishly, a woman possessed. Your cousin complained daily of the little green desk lamp you kept on at all hours of the night, sitting in your sleep shirt with your notebook propped on the arm of the couch, fingers bruised from the ever-present pressure of pen against skin. 

It worked out for you, though. All those sleepless nights, accepting strangers’ invitations to parties in Brooklyn or Alphabet City or even the Rockaways, dropping acid in people’s basements or getting drunk on the subway, even rising in the ranks of your job at the paper until you were a real and true reporter: after a year and a half, you had a half-presentable essay collection and a publisher who wanted  to make your wildest dreams come true. And that was that; your essay collection was published a little over six months later, and every week it climbed higher on the best seller’s list. In the wake of your immediate success, your publisher wanted to start working on a second publication, another collection of essays or short stories or a novel, whatever you wanted, they just wanted your name on another book in their arsenal. You readily agreed, of course– this was the only thing you’d ever wanted to do. But you walked out of that meeting, and onto the streets of Manhattan, and all you felt was suffocation where there used to be inspiration. 

It wasn’t a surprise to anyone in the city who knew you, and therefore knew your more impulsive tendencies, when you told them you’d bought a shitty old car for a hundred bucks and were planning to roadtrip your way to L.A. You hadn’t been behind the wheel of a car since before you’d moved to New York, but you’d seen the old thing with the ‘for sale’ sign tucked into the dash and you knew you had to have it. Already the inspiration was pouring in; a novelized account of your roadtrip across the country and ensuing introduction into Los Angeles society. The idea consumed your brain until there was room for nothing else, until you turned right around on the sidewalk and bought the car then and there. You spent the next 24 hours on a goodbye tour, visiting everyone you had come to love in those last few years, and then your meager belongings were all shoved into the backseat of your new acquisition and you were sitting in the driver’s seat, hoping to god you still remembered which pedal was the gas and which was the brakes. 

You made it to the opposite coast after two weeks of seedy motels, eating roadside burgers with strangers, and climbing up to the roof of the car every night to lay out and see the stars the way you never could living in the city. And here you were, a week into your new Los Angeles life, having just spent most of your book earnings on buying a tiny, dilapidated house in Laurel Canyon with huge windows and the perfect little overgrown backyard for you to sit and write in. You felt it in your bones already, that this was where life would start to become important for you. 

***

You had met Brandi the day you moved in. She and a few friends lived in the house across the street, and being the only one home at the time, she came over to help you move your stuff in when she noticed you unloading the car in the morning. She had a golden California tan and big blonde hair, and the kindest smile you’d ever seen. She was your best friend five minutes after meeting her. 

“You have to come by tonight,” she said by way of greeting as she let herself in the front door. It was late afternoon, and you were stretched out across the couch on your stomach, editing something you’d written in your notebook on the road trip here. Old habits die hard. She worked as a cocktail waitress at The Troubadour, and in the few weeks you’d been living in Laurel Canyon, she’d tried to get you to go nearly every time she had a shift, to no avail. 

“I don’t know, Brand–” you started, flipping your hair over your shoulder shifting to face her. 

“No, man. Enough of this writing bubble thing you got going on. You’re coming out tonight,” she said sternly. You couldn’t help the laugh you let out– Brandi was spot on. Every time she asked you to go out, you told her you weren’t interested because you were trying to double down and polish up the road trip writing you’d done on the way here. “How are you supposed to– how did you say it? ‘Be inducted into Los Angeles Society’ if you never go out and see Los Angeles society?”

“Okay, fair point,” you responded, sitting up. “I’ll go tonight, alright? You got me.” 

Brandi grinned, clapping her hands together in delight. “Okay, Yaz and Lynn will walk over and get you and you’ll all drive in together, alright? And I’ll see you there.” 

“Sounds good,” you nodded. 

“That was a lot easier than I thought it would be. I’ll see you later!” With that, Brandi disappeared down the front steps just as fast as she’d arrived. You sighed, closing your notebook and falling back onto the couch. After your few weeks of relative seclusion, you were more than ready to get back out into the world and have some fun, and yet, there was something uneasy growing in your chest. Actually going out in the city, that meant really starting this new part of your life, and well, honestly, that was a little terrifying. Better to rip the band-aid off now instead of rotting inside the house any longer. 

***

A few hours later, you were dressed in a pair of bell bottoms and a sheer orange tie-front top with big bell sleeves, your makeup and hair more done and put together than they’d been in months. You observed yourself in the mirror one last time, before lighting a cigarette and loping down the stairs to where Brandi’s two roommates were waiting, equally glammed up, for you. You sat in the backseat of Yaz’s car on the way over, window all the way down and your chin resting on the sill. You were used to city sights, you knew your neighborhood and so many others in New York intimately, but L.A. was different, and so thrilling. 

The Troubadour was different from the clubs you’d frequented in New York, but it still held some level of familiarity, and you were hit with an unexpected pang of nostalgia when you walked in with the girls. You grabbed Yaz and Lynn’s hands and pulled them farther in, toward the stage where an upbeat band was in the middle of a song, and immediately began dancing, trying to shake off the more complicated feelings of being here in this new place. When the song ended, you whistled loudly for the band, who were packing themselves up and off stage, making way for the next one. 

“Our next band is one we know and love here, give it up for The Six!” a silky-voiced man announced into the microphone before vacating the stage. In his place, a band made up of four guys and one blonde woman took the stage, setting up their instruments and getting ready. You cheered with everyone else in the crowd, though you weren’t familiar with them the way the locals clearly were. Within a few seconds, the guitars had struck up, and the front man was at the microphone, lashing out the first lyrics of a song. 

And you realized. No, you didn’t know them the way the locals did, but you knew them. The boys, at least. You recognized Graham Dunne first, that cherubic face and big baby blues the exact same as you’d last seen him in high school. Warren Rojas was behind him on the drums, unmistakable mop of curly black hair dancing as if it had a mind of its own on top of his bobbing head. The front-man, you guessed, was Graham’s brother Billy, just familiar enough to place the face despite never knowing the older boy back home. And, sure enough, there was Eddie Roundtree on bass. The last time you’d seen him, he was just a lanky kid with a guitar that he still gripped awkwardly in his too-big hands. (‘Not ‘too big”, you remember him telling you back then. ‘The rest of me just hasn’t caught up yet.”) He’d grown his hair out, you noted. Grown broader in the shoulders, too. His hands were no longer comically large, compared to the rest of him. He had such an easy command of the bass he was playing, so relaxed on the stage, like he belonged and he knew it. It was kind of hard for you to reconcile this version of him with the juvenile one you used to know. 

And they were good, too. You could see the way a group like them could become something great, something once in a lifetime. They weren’t there yet, but you could vividly see just how it could happen for them. Eddie Roundtree and the Dunne boys and Warren Rojas, all in Los Angeles at the same time as you, all of you so far from home. You couldn’t help the startled laugh that bubbled up and out of you. Lynn turned a questioning look on you, but you didn’t have time to turn and start explaining yourself before Eddie’s eyes swept your way, probably drawn by the laughter. Those brown eyes settled on your own, lazily, for a few seconds, before widening ever so slightly. His hands slowed, but never faltered, on the strings for just a second. Something zinged through your chest when you realized that he recognized you, too, even after all these years. 

You watched Eddie for the entirety of his band’s set. You couldn’t help it– his fingers dancing across the strings of his guitar were mesmerizing, and besides, you couldn’t get over the fact that this was the same boy from your childhood, that all of them were boys who’d slept through your shared classes, who had walked to your house after school to drop off your homework when you were home sick, who you commiserated with about running the mile in high school gym class. 

Brandi found you during the last song, pulling you into a hug and squealing about how happy she was that you actually came. Reluctantly, you tore your eyes from the stage and gave your best friend your full attention, allowing her to drag you back to the bar so she could buy you a drink. By the time you had a drink in hand, The Six’s set was over and a new band was coming on, so you stayed back by the bar even after Brandi had to leave you alone to go do her job. 

“I knew it was you, bluebird.” You whirled around at the nickname, coming face to face with Eddie. He was a few inches taller than you remembered, smiling down at you with a curious mix of surprise and something else swirling in his brown eyes. 

“I haven’t heard that nickname in years,” you laughed. “Hi, Edwin.” 

He groaned. “Nobody calls me that, woman.” 

“I always have,” you pointed out, arching an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, that’s true. What are you doing in L.A?” 

“Writing, mostly,” you shrugged. “I’ve got one book out and now the publisher wants another. You know how it is.” 

Eddie’s grin grew wider, if possible. “Glad to hear you’re still writing. I remember you back in high school, always carrying that notebook around that you’d never let anyone look at.”

You laughed, recalling the notebook yourself. You had treated that thing like it was your baby. “Yeah, well if you’re curious about my writing, you could buy my book and see.”

“First thing on my agenda tomorrow is to go out and get a copy,” he said easily, and you snorted. 

“Good, you better like it. And what about you guys? When did you get here?”

“Few months ago. We’ve been playing gigs at a few regular spots while we put together an album.”

“I want a copy of that record as soon as it comes out!”

“You’ll be the first one to get one outside of the band,” Eddie grinned. “Where are you staying?”

“I bought a place in Laurel Canyon a few weeks ago. It’s tiny, but still a hell of a lot bigger than the living room I was sleeping in in New York,” you laughed. 

“That’s where we are, too,” Eddie said, jerking his head in the direction of backstage. “And, New York? What have you been up to since high school?”

“Many things, Edwin, many things,” you grinned. 

Eddie stayed quiet, all soft smile and soft eyes aimed in your direction. You felt something long dormant start to shift in your chest. 

“I’m really glad to see you, bluebird,” he said after a moment, voice quieter than before. A sentiment just for the two of you to hear. 

You nudged his shoulder affectionately with your own. “Me too, Roundtree.”

“What do you say about us getting together some night soon? You can fill me in on this whole New York story,” Eddie suggested. 

“Only if you tell me how you all wound up here, doing this,” you responded. 

“Deal,” Eddie said, sticking out his hand to shake. You took it; his palm was warm and calloused beneath your own. 

***

“It was not like that!” you insisted through your laughter. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, Roundtree.” 

Three nights later, and you and Eddie were sitting on your living room floor, bottle of scotch between you, very much on your way to being drunk and well into reminiscing about your shared high school days. He had shown up at your door a few hours earlier with a smile on his face, and the scotch and a copy of your book in his hands. You laughed so hard at the fact that he’d actually gone out and bought a copy of the book that you almost forgot to ask him how the hell he knew where you lived. Sheepishly, he told you that he’d seen you talking with Brandi and asked her after you left that first night. 

“I promise, birdy, Jimmy McKenna was gone for you for years. You drove the poor kid crazy because he would try to flirt with you all the time and you just never picked up on it,” Eddie explained through his own laughter. You sorted quickly through memories of the boy Eddie was talking about, and as what he said slowly clicked into place, you only began to laugh harder. 

“Oh, god,” you said, throwing an arm over your eyes. “I have always been such an idiot.”

“Not an idiot, just oblivious,” Eddie countered. “You were too wrapped up in your writing to notice anyone around you.”

“Not true! I noticed you,” you said defensively. 

Eddie’s eyebrows raised slightly, a split second look of surprise washing over his features before they settled back into that soft smile he always seemed to be wearing around you. He took another swig of whisky, humming. “Lucky me, then.”

You scoffed, trying to cover the way your heart stuttered with another drink of whiskey. “You were one of the only people I liked hanging out with back then, Ed. I liked stopping to watch you and Graham and Warren mess around with your instruments in the garage whenever I walked by. When I took off to the city, I really did miss you.” 

“Well, if it means anything, I missed you, too. We all did,” Eddie said. His voice was softer now, more serious, matching your own. “Nobody knew where you went, you were just gone when we got back from winter break.” 

“I just had to get outta there, you know?” you sighed. “I worked my ass off so I could graduate early. I had all these visions of the life I wanted to live, and it was so big. I was so focused on getting there that I didn’t even realize there would be anything to miss until it was all gone.”

“Yeah, I get what you mean. Don’t tell the guys this, but even now I sometimes miss Pittsburgh,” he admitted. 

“Me too,” you nodded. “I just keep collecting places to miss. Pittsburgh first, and now New York, too. I felt so suffocated there by the end, too, and now? Some nights I can’t even sleep because I’m not back on that awful couch in my cousin’s apartment, listening to the Manhattan traffic.” 

“Guess that’s life, right? You just keep collecting things to miss,” Eddie said. At some point, he had shuffled closer to you, both of you sitting with your backs leaning against the bottom of the couch. You leaned your head on his shoulder. “I’m really happy I don’t have to miss you anymore, bluebird.”

You looked up, and there were those eyes, big and brown and full of affection, so close. Looking right at you, right through you, like he could see all your guts and bones and thoughts and desires all at once. Riding the tide of whiskey-fueled courage and extreme affection you were feeling for the man sitting next to you, you reached out, palm against his cheek, and pulled his face to yours. The kiss was slow and languid, noses nudging softly against skin, Eddie’s mouth gentle against your own. His hand moved to rest on your hip, a warm and comforting pressure against your skin. 

When he pulled away, your breath catched at the sight of the silly little smirk gracing his face. “You don’t know how badly I’ve wanted to do that the entire time I’ve known you.”

“Oh fuck off Eddie, don’t tell me you had a crush on me in high school too and that’s just another thing I was too oblivious to realize,” you said, lightly shoving his shoulder. 

“Okay, I won’t tell you if you kiss me again,” he said, grinning.  Rolling your eyes, you grabbed his collar and pulled his face back to yours. You could feel his smile against your lips, which only made you want to hold him closer, to make up for all the years you’d gone without him in your life. 

[x-just-another-fanfic-writer-x]

Chapter 2

Summary: Continued bump ins leave you feeling a little awkward! But you finally learn his name.

Word count: 1.2k

It was three days later when you saw him again. After a long week at work, you stopped by the local corner shop desperate for a sugar fix. You both loved and hated your job. The amazing people there kept you tethered to the company, but you hated the pressure of your role. As part of the projects team, you inevitably were a decision maker. Over time, the pressures of making choices day after day then coming home to mother your boyfriend were getting to you. And no matter how healthy you tried to be, after a week of shit from work and him, you needed some comfort food.

You waited in line, not paying attention to the dark haired stranger two people ahead in front of the cashier. When he turned to leave, you awkwardly made eye contact and realised who it was. For a split second you wondered if you should smile, but his sullen demeanour made you avert your gaze. Though not before noticing his eyes flit down at the pile of junk food in your hands. You clutched the items tighter to your chest as he walked past, trying to ignore your embarrassment.

Ten minutes later, you dumped the bag of goodies onto your dining table.

“Babe, I'm home!” you called out into the apartment. Your boyfriend emerged from the bedroom as you emptied the contents of the bag onto the table. 

“What have you got here, little miss?” he asked playfully as he wrapped an arm around your waist from behind.

“Your favourites,” you replied, an impish smirk spreading across your face. Without fail, buying him food would always earn you brownie points. 

“Was work okay?” he asked, planting a kiss on your temple before he walked around to inspect the items. 

You shrugged. “Yeah, it was fine,” you replied, the white lie barely tasting bitter on your lips anymore. “You?”

“Stressful as ever,” he murmured. “Ooooh you got me the gummy bears!”

You smiled gently, “Yep, I got you the gummy bears." You mentally settled in for another evening of meaningless talk. The two of you ended up watching TV late into the night. Justin, the takeaway addict, ordered pizza and chicken wings. Despite tasting delicious, you knew it was a mistake when you struggled to fall asleep that night.

The next morning you woke early, still feeling gross from the previous night's fast food. Your boyfriend was sound asleep, but after waking up too much from going to the bathroom, there was no way you’d be able to get back to sleep now. So you decided to start your day and go for a jog, determined to burn off the extra calories. 

The air was fresh and crisp as you stood outside the apartment building doing some last minute stretches before your run. You were bent down touching your toes when, between your legs, you saw an upside down figure walking out the door. You quickly stood upright, hyper aware of the pose you were just in, and tried to nonchalantly stretch a different limb. You snuck a glance of the male- him again.

You internally groaned, wondering how you managed to keep bumping into him. You continued to stretch for far longer than necessary, until he had walked down the road and out of sight.

Over the next two weeks, it almost became a habit. You began to worry the guy would think you were stalking him. You saw him in the corner shop again one Wednesday night; he walked in, his hair dishevelled from the rain, whilst you left with an impulsively bought tub of ice cream. You offered him a little smile which he didn’t return. Two days later he was in the complex’s lobby, a waft of his cologne hitting your nostrils a moment after he walked past. This time, he made eye contact at least, but neither of you smiled. At the weekend, you ended up crossing his path twice on your jog in the local park. You went home without reaching your desired goal, not wanting to risk seeing him a third time. When you saw him in the mailroom a few days later, the awkward silence was almost too much to bear.

You made eye contact with him, and smiled. You weren’t sure what to expect, but he held your gaze, and gave a small smile back.

“Hi,” you said tentatively.

“Hi,” he replied, before another uncomfortable silence.

“Are you… settling into the building okay?” you asked, gesturing absentmindedly around the room.

“It’s okay,” he shrugged.

“Well if there’s anything I can help with let me know.”

“Why would I need help?” he said, turning to face you more fully as he narrowed his eyes slightly. 

“Well your accent. You’re not from, um…” you cleared your throat uncomfortably. “The offer’s there, anyway.”

The man nodded, and you thought the conversation had ended, but he didn’t make any moves to leave. He just stared at you. His blue eyes were starting to make you feel uncomfortable before he finally looked down at the pile of letters in your hand.

"Gonna assume your name's not Justin?"

It took you a moment to realize how the hell he knew your boyfriend's name, AND that he was asking for your name. "Oh! No! No, it's Jess."

"Mine's Bucky."

"Short for Buckbeak?" you quipped, finding yourself mildly amusing. He gave you a puzzled look. "Harry Potter?"

"Never seen it. Short for Buchanan."

"Oh. That's not a first name?”

"No. It's not.” 

You looked at him, naturally expecting him to elaborate on what his first name was, but it didn't come. "Well… nice to officially meet you. Now I can stop thinking of you as ‘guy who lives down the hall’." Who I keep bumping into and promise I’m not doing it deliberately, you add internally.

He smiled tightly but remained hovering in the room. You weren’t sure what he was waiting for, but took it as your cue to leave.

“Well I will see you around, Bucky.”

"You too," he replied. 

You ended up spending the next half an hour worrying if he thought your comment alluded to the fact you kept bumping into him. And if he therefore thought you were stalking him. You were practically planning out ways to avoid the man by the time your boyfriend got home later that night.

“I officially met our neighbour,” you mentioned over dinner. 

“Which one?”

“The new guy down the hall. His name’s Bucky.”

“Like Buckbeak?” Justin asked. You smirked.

“That’s what I asked, but no. Just a nickname.”

“What’s he like?”

“American. Kinda stoic. Really blue eyes…”

“Really blue eyes, hmm?” he asked. You noticed the jealous glint in his eyes, and rolled your own.

“Relax, babe,” you gently chided. Though secretly, you kind of enjoyed it.

You only felt slightly bad about those eyes and the smell of his cologne being on your mind for the rest of the evening.

[holdinbacksecrets]

seventeen: chapter 1 to page 218

♡it’s a tuesday when you receive the keys to your new apartment. the city feels like a brand new book: edges crisp and vibrant, title alluring. the first chapter’s name keeps a spotlight in your mind, and he’s sitting in the lobby. he sees you with your suitcases. there’s three; they’re periwinkle. your mother sent them- the last package to arrive before your move. he’s on the phone, but he smiles at you, softly, like he knows the scent of waterfront landscape hasn’t yet embedded you, but it’s going to (jeonghan, jun, mingyu)

♡the life behind his door floods through the wood, through the light escaping from the crack just above the floor. you wonder how that happens. how a life is so radiant. you wonder for weeks. the thought keeps you busy on every elevator ride until your paths meet, and one focused gaze unravels understanding. a pool of brown, so inviting. a ring of golden hugs each pupil. you take a step forward as if a dive into them would hasten the journey to his heart, like it’s a possible option, entirely within reason. patience. be patient (hansol)

♡he’s moonlight, somehow. nothing else feels right. no other description melts into his name, into his aura quite the same. but he hates the darkness nighttime brings. he hates any moment clouds cover the glowing, guiding satellite. he hates the sky for reminding him of you. it never used to, not before his next door neighbor became his best friend, became his lover, became a craved, crescent disaster (minghao, seungkwan)

♡you gave pieces of yourself away every time he came inside. a leaky faucet. a squeaky door. he wondered if you even tried to fix the broken things. he wondered if they’re even bothersome, or if you’re lonely, seeking another in the space that can’t quite reach Home. there are too many corners it’s yet to seep into, but he’s a distraction. he hides the hollow spaces, sprinkles warmth before he goes. it lasts. you think of him, he lingers longer, and then you’re asking him back for more. he alters the pitch. his tone creates a welcomed depth. so yes, he helps: you’re baking again; you’re barefoot, drinking tea on the balcony each morning; you’re seeping into the corners, and it feels like home (seungcheol, joshua, chan)

♡there’s a spiderweb on your ceiling. you only know because you’re laying on the floor. you watched the fan spin spinning, ready for takeoff, and then your eyes shifted. the spiderweb is missing its dweller. you wonder where it’s gone. if it’s hiding, collecting supplies, letting tiny, spider-curiosity guide a spontaneous journey. you smile: you have a roommate. the smile sticks through your travels to the mailroom where you ask the man who’s always there on thursday evenings after dinner if he wants to see something. he lays beside you. he wonders aloud if this something is the ceiling fan. you giggle. his heart melts. you point to the spiderweb. “i have a roommate until you agree to live with me.” “can it keep my side of the bed warm?” “sleeping quarters don’t include my bedroom. did you hear that, little guy? we’re not as close as he and i.” “thank god. i was starting to worry.” “ mmm, predictable.” “…can i keep your bed warm tonight?” “the night of a snowstorm? absolutely.” (soonyoung, wonwoo, jihoon, seokmin)

[preservationofnormalcy]

Oh Stars this'll be a long one, but I just don't know who to contact other than the Office about this. I saw an ad for y'all's business and even though I was raised by ex-Circle members, I've never actually been involved in the paranormal or whatever the acceptable term is these days.

So to start, I live in Seattle but was born off-grid in a time fold. Not a big deal, just not many visitors. Functioned like normal and we could leave whenever. Just couldn't let anyone in if iykwm.

Because I left for good, therefore severing my connection, I'm mostly unable to return. Again, no big deal, but it is a little strange to not be able to see Sir and Ma'am anymore. But a month ago I started getting heat flashes and coughing up blood. I'm an extremely healthy 26 year old, I don't think I've ever even had a cold. But then it got worse, and every time I coughed up that blood, I'd cough up letters. They said shit like 'return to the fold' or 'time is worked into your blood, do not let it spill.'

I've been unable to sleep or eat and I have started puking up boxes that I refuse to open. I'm so close to breaking down. I have no clue what to do and I live alone. Please help me Norm. I'll tell you anything you want about the fold. I'll be loyal to the Office forever, I'll even give you info about the Circle my parents spilled when they were drunk. I'll do anything, I just don't want to die, or become some eldritch horror. I haven't even finished nursing school. Please.

Hey hey hey, woah now. Let's not get carried away. You don't need to swear loyalty to anyone. And frankly I know about as much about the Circle as I care to know. Anything else and I'll start seeing the interdimensional eels. We probably have the fold on file, but we also have to balance people's privacy with their ability to commit temporal crimes.

This does sound serious, though. What I'm going to suggest is an observation period in one of our physical locations. If you're comfortable with it, we can get some Yellow Circle folks to monitor your condition.

I have a hunch that this may be a little....empty nest syndrome. Empty hatchery? Hm.

If your parents are the type to want you back in the fold, so to speak, they may be trying to communicate that to you, or effectively blackmail you back into it. We can try and get you on a Refusal of the Call list, but it may be too late for that if you're already having physical manifestations of the Call.

As for those boxes, please bring them when you come in. We have some Circle folks in the mailroom we can get to open them.

Hm. Your parents...last name starts with N? Something's coming to mind.

This one, uh....file it under P, puking up letters.

Don't look at me like that, Cold.

[adammyuu]

All the Furbys I’ve acquired throughout the summer!

I was mostly out of town so a lot of them have just been sitting in the mailroom, I finally picked them up today!

The bumble bee Furby for some reason came with battery still inside, so I would like to think he has been terrorizing the usps with lots of “ME SLEEP AGAIN”.

Most of them need a good scrub. I also just moved into a new apartment, which means I will have proper space to display my Furby! Stay tuned on the new Furby shelf.

[rvspecter]

ramble about each of ur suits ships for as long as u can (might result in a novel)

omg sweet anon asking about all my ships <3

ok so first i don't ship something because i want to see two ppl get married i don't do that. i'll ship it because i find it interesting/sexy etc

LET'S START WITH THE SEXIEST

jessica/harvey

-everyone sleeping on this ship makes me so mad. like they are so sexy!?!?!?!?!?? even when they banter they are sexy. THEY ARE TOTALLY FLIRTING?!??!?! anyways i particularly like when they fight for dominance which is basically every scene with them. oh and i like how she's taller than him in heels and how she stares him down like he's breakfast. SO WHY ISN'T THERE MORE FIC!??!? what i need is for someone to help me establish their backstory. like i know they fucked in a bathroom stall on the 53rd floor but i'm not sure when. was it when harvey was working in the mailroom? i feel like they are the hardest ship to write for actually and make believable. BUT I KNOW THEY FUCKED!!!!!

mike/harvey

-mike legit has harvey wrapped around his finger. if that boy said “hire me as a lawyer even tho ive only finished high school and then offer to go to prison for me when im found out” harvey would be like “how high”. i don't think anyone can argue that harvey loves mike

but to me marvey is an unrequited love story. idk what to say. mike doesn't love harvey. sometimes i don't even think mike likes harvey as a friend. that's how soured by s6+ i was. mike treated harvey like shit and harvey kept coming back for more. it was actually painful to watch. i read marvey and usually the stories i find believable r the ones where mike leaves with rachel and GROWS UP (even tho he's a 30 yr old man at the start of the show) and everyone's wounds have had time to heal. i can buy marvey getting together then. what i don't find believable are stories where mike is pining for harvey!?!??! i don't know what show that is. the guy literally couldn't get away from harvey fast enough. he gets out of jail and almost immediately fucks off to seattle with his wife and doesn't even tell harvey about it like??

when i first got into the fandom side of suits i really liked the romanticized version of marvey where they wud do ANYTHING for each other. but when i watch the show - this only goes in one direction

donna/harvey

-this is this ship i was rooting for when i watched the show the first time. the thing about them is their history and emotional connection. to me they are a single entity. they r partners and they have always been partners. u don't even get to talk to harvey without going thru donna - she is literally the physical border between him and the outside world

i love how they protect each other. harvey has never let anything bad happen to donna. it's a fact. he'd do anything to protect her and we see that. but here's the thing about their relationship - it's mutual. donna does INSANE THINGS for harvey like KEEP A DOCUMENT THAT SHE STOLE FOR OVER A DECADE ON THE OFF CHANCE THAT SOMEONE GOES AFTER HARVEY FOR CAMERON'S CRIMES. they wud do anything for each other and they both know it

i also love how highly they think of each other. we always see donna defending harvey. she defends him because she thinks he's a good person ("because ur worthy"). she's one of few ppl on the show who does. most ppl think of him as a dick and that group includes mike

the way harvey views donna is almost worshipful. he thinks she can do no wrong. “donna doesn’t make mistakes.” he trusts her completely. she's his compass. every success he has is a shared success. “we made partner.” he doesn’t even think he can be himself without her. and don’t get me started on how debilitating her moving 3 doors down the hall was for him

anyways tldr their relationship is a two way street. they love each other and they both know it. and i'm not talking about after they finally get together (let's not talk about s9). i'm talking about before. because even if they didn't know the other person wanted to be with them - they knew they loved them and would do anything for them

MIGHT AS WELL GO THROUGH ALL MY SHIPS

scottie/harvey

-s1 version of them was so fun! i wanted this to have been a long term friends with benefits type thing. when they became a couple i didn't like it because it was always her sacrificing stuff for him and not the other way around

sean cahill/harvey

THIS SHIP NEEDS MORE FIC. i was just thinking about them. sean tells harvey 'I MOVED HEAVEN AND EARTH FOR YOU ONCE BEFORE AND NOW THE WELL IS DRY' like sean was totally IN LOVE WITH HARVEY. it's crazy how much he did for him actually. like what did sean get out of it??!?!?!?!??! anyways they totally fucked while mike was in prison

travis tanner/harvey

they way i see them is travis is obsessed with harvey's hair and hands and generally thinks he's just a pretty girl he wants to get with. harvey is like eww no but also we know harvey likes fucking the competition. so i think they fuck on and off, after or before cases and it's very kinky because travis is a total freak in the sheets

LAST BUT NOT LEAST

cameron dennis/harvey

plz see this fic for details

[itscubetime]

Hi! You're cool!

OH MY MACKREL HIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!!!!!!

YOU’RE SO COOL TOO :D

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Zoe's Reprise: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.2k

Summary: Rossi needs your help when a young girl brings a case to his attention, unfortunately, at her death. High School reunion invitations have gone out, and you receive yours, unfortunately.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

x

"I never teach my pupils; I only attempt to provide the conditions in which they can learn." - Albert Einstein

Today is an early day since you and Spencer can't sleep. Usually, you'd find something to do like play indoor mini golf or play some chess, but may as well come to work and get ready before everyone else comes in. Spencer is at his desk doing his morning puzzle while you get coffee for the both of you. You cap both cups and start to make your way to your desk when someone from the mailroom stops you.

"Are you Y/N?"

"Yes."

"This came for you."

You have to balance the two coffees in one hand in order to take the thick letter from the young man. Spencer notices you're struggling and comes over to take one coffee from you.

"What is that?" he asks when the young man walks away.

"I don't know. Nothing ever comes for me. Everything goes through JJ."

You set your coffee on your desk so you can open your letter. Inside is an invitation to one of your high school's reunions. Instead of keeping it the normal ten or twenty years since you've graduated, your classmates thought it'd be fun to make it a lucky thirteen years.

Thirteen years since you've seen some of the worst people you've ever met. You've seen a lot of criminals in your day, but nothing compares to high school girls and boys. They're ruthless, especially to someone with your abilities.

"It's a high school reunion invitation."

"What's wrong? You don't look too happy."

"I went to two high schools in Texas because my family had to move at the end of my sophomore year. The first high school I went to was in Dallas and then in Corpus Christi."

"So, what happened?" Spencer asks.

"I was a quiet kid. I didn't really join many clubs or stood out because that's not who I was. I got good grades but I was bullied a lot because of what I can do. I didn't have a lot of control over it like I do now.

"At my Dallas high school, I caught a teacher having sex with a student. I told the principal which got the teacher fired. When the whole school heard what happened, she became a laughingstock. She started bullying me, then her friends joined in, then the whole school and it got so bad that I had to transfer. I finished junior and senior year in Corpus Christi," you finish.

"Wow, I'm so sorry. Were things better for you at that other school?"

"In the beginning. No one knew who I was but then the same thing happened. I was more quiet than before, but I saw a kid in my class with bruises on his face. I knew he wasn't being treated right at home because all I could see was his father and alcohol bottles. I tried talking to him but people overheard. Once again, I overstepped. People hated me again until I graduated."

"Are you going to go to this reunion?"

"I don't know if I even want to. I'm afraid of what they'll say to me."

"That shouldn't matter. Who cares what they think?"

"You're absolutely right but I'm still scared. I'll think about it. If we have a case in that city at the same time as the reunion, then I'll go. If I do, then you have to be my date."

"I can do that," he smiles.

You kiss him quickly before heading over to Penelope's office with him. She, Derek, and JJ are in there to see the pictures of JJ's son.

"Ooh, let me see my godson!" you grin. JJ passes a few photos over to you, and your heart melts at how cute he is. "He's so cute! You really need to bring Henry over. We really want to babysit. You can sleep all day and relax and leave him to us."

"I did talk to him. We're going to make that happen," JJ chuckles.

"Yay!"

Penelope's phone rings, showing Rossi calling her from being on his annual leave.

"Is this David Rossi, the famous bestselling author David Rossi?" she jokes.

"What are you doing?" you ask over speakerphone. "You're not supposed to be calling on annual leave."

"I think it just ended."

"What do you mean?"

"Garcia, Cleveland police are sending you some files. Get JJ to distribute them to the team right away."

"What are we looking at?"

"I don't know yet. Just see if the team can find a connection with these crimes. I'll call you back in a few hours."

"Yes, sir."

"Back to work," JJ says and puts away her photos.

Zoe Hawkes was found dead this morning by a woman walking her dog. Her dog wouldn't stop barking until Zoe was discovered. Apparently, Zoe was at Rossi's book signing with the intention of talking to him about something, but you don't know if there is any other connection between the two of them.

Zoe was found next to her car with her keys still in her pocket, the car alarm was still activated, and there was no sign of a break-in. There was blunt-force trauma to her head and signs of strangulation. The murderer asphyxiated her with the scarf she was wearing. The motive must not be robbery otherwise her things would have been stolen. She had unused pepper spray in her purse, but you're unsure if she didn't want to use it or never got the chance to.

Local police went door-to-door to see if there were any witnesses but nothing came of it. Police theorize that Zoe was looking into murders that occurred in the area. Most recently, Kayla James was murdered and raped three days ago in a burglary-homicide, and they theorize that she was killed because she was snooping around the older case.

As the team gathers in the briefing room, Rossi is on the phone to give his input since he's in Cleveland right now. He has Zoe's laptop so Penelope can go through it, so while JJ presents the case, Penelope is working on getting access. JJ puts a map on the board with the location of all five victims, not including Zoe.

"All crimes are within a seven-mile radius," you note, "but all the neighborhoods are completely different. They range from poor to rich to industrial to residential."

"The physical locations are dissimilar but the operating zone's well-defined," Hotch adds.

"Okay, I'm in," Penelope says. She immediately looks at what she was looking at last through her search history. "The first thing she looks at is a crime column to probably stay current on her studies. The first three are the most recently opened documents she created."

"It looks like she was compiling empirical data about homicide trends in Cleveland," Spencer says. "Do you think she knew the killer?"

"I don't see any notes indicating suspects," Rossi says.

"Well, Dave, she's a criminology student. She's been taught to analyze statistics and apply theory, not investigate killers. Let's talk about what we know."

"Alright. Victim one is Travis Bartlett who was last seen at a gay bar," JJ lists. "He was shot at night in a park. Victim two is Lily Nicks, a thirty-four-year-old prostitute with her throat slashed. Victims three and four are June Appleby and Troy Wertsler who were shot in their car at a parking lot outside of a movie theater. Victim five was twenty-eight-year-old Kayla James who was killed in her home. She was bound with a bag over her head, and evidence of rape."

"The sixth victim was Zoe," you state.

"Victimology, weapons used, and COD are all different. It's hard to imagine it's even the same unsub."

"It can't be a coincidence that Zoe goes to Kayla James' house and gets murdered," Rossi argues.

"Alright, let's say it's the same killer. Does anyone see a pattern?" Hotch asks.

"With the first crime, the unsub shoots the victim. In the second crime, he rapes a woman and slashes her throat. With the third crime, he escalates to killing two people. By the fourth, he escalates even more to raping a woman, binding her, and suffocating her. It seems like every crime escalates to something worse. If it's the same killer, we can argue that there's a progression of violence with every kill."

"It could be an anger excitation offender getting more daring with each crime."

"I think I got something here," Derek chimes in and shows some of the pictures of the bodies. "Look at this: the slashes in the prostitute's throat are all shallow, unsure cuts. A telephone cord, rope, and duct tape were used on Kayla. It's like he couldn't decide how to bind her. Without a gun, this guy is inexperienced."

"Wait, doesn't the crime scene of the couple in the car remind you of anything?" you ask. "It looks like they were shot with a .44 Bulldog just like the Son of Sam used on his victims. The second crime reminds me of Jack the Ripper with similarities being it's a prostitute whose throat was slashed. Kayla was bound, tortured, raped, and suffocated with a bag over her head like BTK. Pen, what neighborhood was Travis found in?"

"At a park in the Kingsbury Run area."

"Zoe reminded me last night that Cleveland's most famous serial killer was the Butcher of Kingsbury Run. He found his victims in gay bars, shot them, and dumped their bodies there. Travis was last seen at a gay bar and his body was found in Kingsbury Park," Rossi says.

"This unsub is a serial killer studying other serial killers."

"See you in Cleveland, Dave," Hotch concludes the meeting.

He's heard all that he needed to hear.

Cleveland is a little over an hour away by plane, so you get there fairly quickly. Rossi didn't seem too anxious over the phone but when you see him in person, you can feel the guilt radiating off him in waves. Your heart feels heavy, there is a weight over your chest, and you feel uncertain about what you're doing. All of these feelings are coming from Rossi who is feeling them for Zoe.

"Are you okay?" you ask when you greet him.

"Why?"

"There's no reason to feel guilty, Rossi."

"Don't do that," he immediately shuts you down. "I don't need you reading me right now. Don't worry about it." He takes the team into one of the empty conference rooms that he's set up. "We'll get started on the evidence boards. Detective Dan Brady's our point. I'll let you all introduce yourselves."

Dan walks over and Hotch introduces the entire team.

"I know it may seem far-fetched, but copycat killers are not entirely uncommon. This one happens to be copying several different killers."

"If he's trying to be the butcher of Kingsbury Run, why didn't he cut up and mutilate the victims like the real guy?"

"That was seven weeks ago. He was just getting started. Beginning killers are often frightened of the crime itself. They're more interested in getting it over with as quickly as possible and fleeing the scene," Emily answers.

"He was just using the Butcher's ruse as a way to lure the victim to be alone with her. By the time he killed Kayla, he'd progressed. He came very close to copying all of the BTK's MO. He's reading, learning, and borrowing from others because he doesn't know who he is yet."

"Because of this, we think he's young and impressionable, maybe even a student. He's someone probably enrolled in criminology classes. Our technical analyst is going through the names of local students right now."

"Up to this point, changing his MO has prevented investigators from linking the crimes. That's why we need to work quickly."

"Are you sure about this?" Dan asks.

"It's not a coincidence that all of these random, violent murders in this localized area are copycats of serial killers."

"It's as if all the worst serial killers have converged on Cleveland. Every time he plans to kill, the murder weapon, the MO, and the victimology will all change. Detective, will you let your team know we're ready to give a preliminary profile?"

"Sure."

"Garcia found three male students enrolled in criminology classes with felony records," JJ says. "Before you say it, we don't need to interview them because one of them is studying abroad and the other two are in jail on other charges."

"Tell Garcia to check enrollment in online and correspondence courses and see if we have any luck with those parameters." Rossi leaves the room without a word. "Will you guys handle the profile?"

"Is everything okay?" you ask.

"Everything is fine."

Hotch leaves to talk to Rossi while Dan gathers his men and women to hear the profile. You want to go out there and help Rossi, but you're needed in here right now. Plus, Rossi doesn't want you to read him and you're respecting his wishes.

"We have six homicides in a seven-mile radius in east Cleveland," Derek gets started. "Now, this small zone indicates that he's a geographically stable offender. This type of offender is characterized as young, socially immature, of average intelligence, with psychopathic personality traits. They also usually live alone and have an antisocial nature."

"A serial killer's first murder is very telling. This unsub chose the MO of Cleveland's own butcher of Kingsbury Run for his first murder. The butcher isn't as well known as other famous serial killers, but he is a local legend."

"Because he picked the butcher to be first, we believe he's a native of Cleveland and probably grew up hearing stories of the Butcher. This is someone who is obsessed with serial killers. His computer will be filled with research on them. He'll have abundant images of murderers on his computer and possibly even snuff films. He uses these like pornography as they provide some sort of sexual release."

"Sorry to interrupt," JJ comes into the room. "There's reports of another body."

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[rose-in-a-fisted-glove]

@afanbeingatheart

I am proud to say that you are either 2 or 3 promotions out of date!

I forget if you knew about the promotion out of the mailroom or not, but I've had 2 more since! It's been a busy couple of years and I am now mid career professional!

...sadly still suffering from insomnia though

And nervous about the neurosurgeon tomorrow, which while ironic, does not help ths sleeping situation

[wordpimp]

Film silent awards

Working in a strange post office/mailroom trying to be an assistant to someone told me to find some letters to stamp on the box, M and E, but they stood for a city, floors are shiny in dept stores, they polish them at night, wonder if that's all automated now. We had a pusher. I helped them staple a box for christmas, flat and rectangular, human sized. A doll might have lived there right inside it. Tiny home mannequin. The staples kept popping out. The wrapping came off. She looked ok but we mangled it. Bandaged sleep is so tiring in september. The body wants to be up and lifted, to be held. Red and muddy. A linen cradle is a grave start. The word cloud reminded me of spit, so I spit in my mouth. You can too. I wanted to be soft like a woman, I want to be opened by a woman.

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Ocean View

Fandom: Superfam, Batfam, DC Comics

Summary: A pair of shoes, a fragmented memory, and a collection of newspaper clippings.

An empty box of cigarettes, a second phone, and a beach house with locked rooms.

Chapters: 6/?

Characters: Laney Kent, Jason Todd, Clark Kent, Lois Lane, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Chris Kent, Tim Drake

Relationship(s): JayLaney, Clois

Additional Tags: No Powers AU, No Capes AU, Secret Identity, Social Media, Romance, Angst

Chapter Six: Valentine's Day

Jason woke me up to breakfast in bed, and he'd washed my clothes. "Did you sleep at all?" I mumbled. He nodded.

"I fell asleep right after you. You went to sleep at seven o'clock, almost eight," Jason replied. He sat next to me in bed, and he ate some of my strawberries. "Eat your breakfast. You can wear whatever you want in the house." I ate my pancakes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

I showered and picked out one of the outfits he left lying around. I got dressed, and Jason met me near the front door. "Saturday?" Jason asked. I grinned.

I said goodbye to him and drove straight to work. I ran into my parents in the parking lot. "Morning, Mom and Dad," I smiled.

"I can't wait to hear all about your second date," Mom grinned. I never dated, so this was special for my mom.

Dad pushed up his glasses and looked over at me. "He made dinner, and we talked. Then he woke me up for work with breakfast," I whispered. Dad held the door for us as we all went into work. Mom sat down at my desk and fixed her makeup. Dad stood close by.

"How many more dates until you start calling him your boyfriend?" Dad asked. I grew quiet as I thought about his question.

"Ten. Let's make it a nice even ten dates before we start using that word. We're going out again on Saturday. So that'll make it our third date," I whispered. Dad looked at Mom, and she gave me a kiss on the cheek before going straight to her desk. "What's wrong?"

"And Christopher's birthday?" Dad asked.

"I never miss Kit's birthday. I was actually hoping I could talk to you about that," I smiled awkwardly, "Can we have his party at my place?" Birthdays were a big deal in the Kent family. They came second only to gotcha days. Hosting a birthday party was an even bigger deal.

I think it surprised Dad to see me taking that responsibility. "Do you want my help?" Dad asked. I nodded.

"I already have ideas," I whispered. Dad beamed. "Listen, I'm not going to mess this up. I promise."

"Lane, I love you so much," Dad whispered. I wanted to hug him. I really did, but I was afraid he wouldn't hug back. I chewed my lip and almost bit down out of shock when he embraced me. "I love you so much, and I see that you're trying." I held onto him and tried not to cry, but I couldn't hold back the few tears that forced their way down my cheeks.

I finally felt like I could breathe. "Can I stay the night?" I asked. He nodded.

"I'd like that... And I'm so happy that you're dating someone," Dad whispered, "Shame for some of the kids in the mailroom, though." I knew he was joking, but I couldn't help but be a little puzzled as I watched him walk back to his desk.

I thought it'd be a slow Friday, but Uncle Jimmy came back from his trip, and he was immediately called away to take pictures of a beached whale. Then, the new girl asked me to go with her to do a story about an older couple that was born on Valentine's Day. The car ride there was unbearably quiet. "So... Where are you from?" I asked. I really hate small talk.

"Muskogee, Oklahoma," she answered.

"Oh nice, I'm from Smallville, Kansas... We left when I was thirteen, but I was living there with my grandparents up until a week or two ago," I explained, "I lived with them for five or six months."

"I figured you were from somewhere else. You like it here?" the girl asked. I nodded. "I got here just a month or so before you came back. I'm just now getting used to it."

"It can be a lot on the senses... Sometimes I have to go back home just to get some quiet, so that doesn't ever really go away," I whispered.

"You date in the city?" she asked.

"Well, I date this guy who visits the city a lot. We just started going out, but I don't know if it's-. I used to live in this building," I whispered. We got out of the car, and the older couple buzzed us up. When we got up there, I recognized them both, and they recognized me.

I raised my shoulders out of discomfort. "How're you doin', kid?" asked the older man. I nodded. "We thought something happened to you. Maggie made me talk to the landlord, but he said you'd moved out."

"Yeah, I stayed with my grandparents for a little while. I'm back for now, but I live somewhere else," I explained, "I figured nobody would want me back in the building." I tried to laugh it off.

I was a horrible neighbor. Between the noise and the stray cats, I was surprised that they'd reacted kindly to seeing me. I let them do their interview while I took pictures. After the interview was over and I got in the car with my coworker again, she looked at me. "Why'd you move?" she questioned.

"Know how I said I go to Kansas to get away from the noise?" I asked. She nodded. "I'm the noise." We didn't say anything else for the rest of the ride back to work.

When I got back, my mom pointed to my desk. I saw a little heart-shaped arrangement of succulents and a note sitting on my desk. I sat down and read the poem attached to it. "I look for you in dreams/ In daylight's hours/ I fear I will never find you/ As you are in moonlit nights/ I only hope that when night's hour returns/ You'll bring sunlight back into my life." I touched the letter to my lips and smiled.

Mom came by and sat across from me. "What'd the note say?" Mom asked.

"He wrote me a poem," I whispered, "Mom, do you still love Dad the way you did when you first started dating?"

She gestured for me to lean in close, and she whispered, "No one starts out in love when they're dating. I wasn't in love at first, but I am now." I grinned. That was what I needed to hear. She patted me on my cheek. "Ten dates is quite a number. Eight more to go, right?"

"Right," I whispered.

[project-v175]

Out on a Limb

Brutal fighting. That's what the wizarding world had succumbed to. Violence. All her life, she had only known the peace of magic. That changed when she became an apprentice at the ministry. She wanted to be an auror. She wanted to restore peace. He who shall not be named had ruined everything for her, and it needed to be set right. Nothing felt normal for her.. not until him.

Chapter 17: Get out of My Head

Watching her on that bed sent chills through Alastor’s spine. He hadn’t known a woman’s love since Hogwarts. Venus was a blessing. Yet here she was, half dead in front of him. The first time in over a decade, and he nearly got her killed. She would die if he stuck around. He had too many enemies. She was too fragile. Too inexperienced. Too.. much. She was too much for him. He had fought battles easier than this one. Walking away from her bedside broke him inside. He had given her a white lie. She was a distraction and his reason to keep going. She was his escape and his return. She was everything he wasn’t and more. A perfect compliment. She chased him down the hall. His guilt-ridden mind blacked out. When he came to, he was in his home. His home. Not hers. Not the House of Black. His home. The place where he felt safest. The place where he was safe from the world. The one place he could bring Venus and hide her from the world. She would never fear again. She could know comfort... Love... Peace... Ro- No. He could never show her those things. If he did, the world would take him from her and rip her soul to shreds. He had to stay away. 

Staying away was easier said than done. He watched from a distance at first. Hidden in the shadows, he watched her home be deemed livable again. The men he hired were offered extra to help finish those renovations. She needed to focus on her health. When she could work again, she would forget all about him. He hoped he would too. 

Neither of them did. They exchanged looks in the hall. If she saw him, she made sure he knew. That was what ate at him the most. The sad, desperate look in her eyes. She was different without him now. Venus looked tired, no matter how much sleep she claimed she had gotten to others. She looked thin. So, so thin. It wasn’t a surprise to Alastor that Venus was constantly getting thrown around before she brought in the death eaters she was hunting. There were so many, that the Aurors were never finished. Just when they thought everyone was locked up, another hideout popped up. Some of them, Alastor knew at Hogwarts. Those made him cringe the most. 

Nothing compared to the way his heart and gut twisted when he saw her. She was right next to him. Within arms reach. His heart screamed at him to grab her, hold her, hug her. Something! Do something! The most recent cut glared at him. The scars on her body, the most obvious being the cut on her hairline and a fresh one healing on her lip, made his blood boil. Do something.. Do something. Do. Something! 

Alastor snuck into the mailroom. He stared at the new file in her mailbox. The owl feathers were still attached. That was the first time he took her assignment. He read it over, grimaced, and left with the file. After the first theft, he couldn’t stop. It was almost addicting. Deatheaters, which would have broken Venus like a twig, couldn’t last ten seconds against him. He dropped each one off with the file stuck to their backs at Azkaban. Venus would still get her pay, and be safe from a life of pain and violence. It wasn’t until she started trying to find her mail three weeks later that he realized how far he had taken it. He waited another week to even consider letting her go back to work. No.. she was finally looking healthier. Just a little longer. 

Getting her mail became more and more difficult. She was waiting after everyone left, into the late hours of the night. Then coming early in the morning. She barely slept anymore. The dark circles under her eyes reminded Alastor of that. He had to stop. He needed a different approach. 

The next piece of mail came, from Alastor’s owl. Not that she would recognize the bird. He wasn’t much for words. He didn’t know how to tell her. The words wouldn’t come to him like they would come to her. All of her letters were pages long. Sometimes, she just wrote about her week, wanting the same comfort as when he was her mentor. Others, the pages were shorter and tear-stained, cursing him for leaving her alone in the world. Some of those letters made him sit outside her home at night. Those were the nights she cried herself to sleep. The nights Alastor hated himself the most. Those nights were the reason Alastor couldn’t look her in the eye anymore. 

The letter was simple. Only a few words. 

“House of Black. Sunset.”

--- Author Note

Hope you guys are doing well! I plan to keep my chapters coming out on Monday after I write them on the weekends. Please prepare for next week, it was heart-wrenching to write.