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Mixed Signals - 10

Severus Snape x reader

Summary: Set between 1989 and 1998, Severus Snape and Katya Borislova attend the European Potioneers' Assemblies, where they meet and begin a pen pal friendship that confuses them both.

This is a prequel to another of my Harry Potter fanfics, The New Founders.

A multi-entry, slow-burn, colleagues to lovers, smut

Chapter 1. Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9

Continuation of the story: The Art of Deception

You can also read it at AO3 here.

If there was something Katya couldn’t understand, it was the enthusiasm most wizards had for Quidditch. In England, just like in Russia, the sport was so ingrained in their culture that it was even a subject taught at school. When she was at Koldovstoretz, she had never been good at keeping her body elevated off the ground and would often get dizzy easily, so the mere thought of playing a sport in the air didn’t appeal to her. The same couldn’t be said for her best friend, Nikita Godunov, who had travelled to England with his husband solely to witness the Quidditch World Cup being held in Devon, England.

Nikita and his husband, Emil, had both been Quidditch players during their time at Koldovstoretz and made it a point to attend tournaments whenever they could. With an apartment in England and Katya already there, they took the opportunity to visit her and stay with her until the championship concluded. Nikita’s apartment was spacious enough for the couple and Katya to live together for a few weeks, and Nikita insisted that Katya spend time with them after work. He also made it clear that she absolutely had to attend the opening ceremony of the Quidditch World Cup.

“Hello, darling. Have you missed me?” he said upon arriving and greeting her at her apartment. “I’ve come to rescue you from the Brits,” he teased.

Katya let out a small squeal upon seeing him, excited that her friends were there. The last time they had seen each other was in 1993 when she visited them in Aspen. Katya and Nikita exchanged letters frequently, and she was grateful that her friend had lent her his apartment during her stay in England. So, when he asked her to join him and Emil at the Quidditch World Cup, Katya simply agreed.

The Quidditch World Cup campsite drew much of the country’s tourism. According to what Katya had heard at Gringotts, the Muggle Prime Minister and the Magical Prime Minister had agreed on a commercial statute due to the large number of witches and wizards attending that year’s championship, which would positively impact national tourism.

Katya had never attended a Quidditch World Cup before, so she found it fascinating how popular it was within the magical community. They had even introduced a kind of “holiday” where employees of banks, shops, and other establishments could leave work earlier to make it in time to the various Portkeys located in Diagon Alley that would take them to the championship’s meeting point.

The Quidditch World Cup was held in Devon, England, beside an isolated moor. The campsite was designed to resemble a Muggle camping ground with tents that appeared as ordinary as possible from the outside. However, inside, their owners had added features such as fireplaces, bell-pull cords, weather vanes, staircases, bedrooms, kitchens, and more. Katya, Nikita, and Emil opted to rent a tent with two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a kitchen in the French sector, intentionally distancing themselves from the Russian tents. Nikita and Emil didn’t want to run into any family members or old school friends who might spoil their experience. Katya, for her part, couldn’t have been more grateful.

At the first match, Nikita and Emil decided to enjoy the event from one of the most exclusive boxes in the stadium, having paid a considerable sum for the privilege of sitting near the United Kingdom’s Minister for Magic. Katya watched attentively as the Malfoy family began taking their seats beside the Minister. She couldn’t help but wonder how close the Malfoys were to the Minister and whether that connection might yield useful information to report to her father.

“It’s vulgar, Draco,” she heard Narcissa Malfoy say firmly to her son.

“But, Mother, they started it—”

“I don’t care. You must behave and not stoop to their level,” she reprimanded sharply.

After speaking, Narcissa turned to adjust her gown as she sat down, and that was when her eyes met Katya’s. Katya, seated just behind them with only the railing of the box separating them, observed her intently. Narcissa offered a poised smile before leaning towards her husband to whisper something. Lucius Malfoy immediately turned to look at Katya, a smile spreading across his face.

“Oh, what a perfect coincidence, Miss Borislova!” Lucius exclaimed theatrically.

The remark caught the attention of the Minister for Magic, who raised an intrigued eyebrow upon hearing Katya’s surname. Even Draco turned abruptly to look at her, clearly surprised. Aware of the attention, Katya decided to handle the situation with composure.

“Lucius, Narcissa, Draco,” Katya greeted them with polite warmth.

Beside her, Nikita, wearing his characteristic sunglasses, observed the interaction with interest. Emil, on the other hand, discreetly withdrew his hand from his husband’s, mindful of the Malfoys’ influence and how even the smallest detail could be misinterpreted, despite England’s more liberal stance.

“I thought Quidditch wasn’t to your liking, Miss Borislova,” Narcissa remarked with an amused expression. “Have you changed your mind these days?”

“Oh, I’m just accompanying some friends,” Katya replied with a measured smile.

Nikita, more inclined to join in, gave a casual wave.

“Nikita Godunov,” he introduced himself elegantly.

Lucius regarded him with clear disdain before replying, “The designer?”

“The very same” Nikita answered with a feline grin, evidently enjoying being recognised.

Immediately, Narcissa and Nikita launched into an animated discussion about his latest clothing line, covering everything from his sources of inspiration to the enchantments applied to fabrics to ensure a better fit. Meanwhile, Katya, grateful for the distraction her friend provided, managed to catch snippets of a hushed conversation between Lucius and the Minister for Magic. Though she couldn’t make out the details, she noted how unusually close their relationship seemed. Could Minister Fudge be corrupt? she wondered.

“I’ll send you a gift once we’re back in New York,” Nikita was saying enthusiastically. “I love the idea of witches around the world having a bit of Godunov in their wardrobes.”

“Oh, what a delightful thought!” Narcissa replied, visibly pleased. “I must say, I saw one of your designs on Katya a few months ago, and the colour combination was simply sublime.”

“That’s because my Katya here is my favourite model,” Nikita said, winking at her conspiratorially.

“Oh, I didn’t realise Katya had a designer among her suitors,” Narcissa teased with a sly smile.

Katya let out a restrained laugh, while Nikita smirked sarcastically.

“Oh, no. I’m a married man,” Nikita clarified, raising his hand to show his gold wedding band. “Besides, I fear Katya has her attention elsewhere.”

“I think that’s enough, Nik,” Katya interjected with a warning glance, though she couldn’t help but smile at her friend’s boldness. She knew, much like Narcissa, Nikita enjoyed playing matchmaker for her.

“Oh, yes,” Narcissa added playfully. “I know quite a bit about that. I believe her interest lies in academics, much like herself.”

“Is that true?” Nikita asked, feigning curiosity as he glanced at Katya. “I feel like I’m missing out on my own friend’s news.”

Narcissa let out a soft chuckle and was about to add something more when, fortunately for Katya, the loud noise marking the start of the match interrupted the conversation.

“Just shut up, Nik” Katya whispered, relieved.

“Oh, I’m just having a little fun. You’re becoming dreadfully dull, Kitkat” he teased with a playful tone. Crossing his legs elegantly, he sipped from a charmed champagne glass that never emptied as the match began.

The match between Brazil and Italy unfolded with great intensity, filled with spectacular plays and nearly impossible catches that kept the audience on the edge of their seats. The stands shook with the cheers of the fans, and Katya, though not an avid Quidditch follower, found the spectacle surprisingly entertaining. Nikita, however, seemed more interested in analysing the players’ uniforms, making sarcastic remarks about the lack of style in some teams, while Emil watched every move with the focus of a true enthusiast.

Italy dominated the scoreboard for most of the match, and when their Seeker caught the Golden Snitch, sealing the victory, the stadium erupted in cheers. Katya clapped with a calm smile, although her attention was divided between the celebration and the movements of the notable figures attending the event, including the British Minister for Magic.

Once outside the box, the crowd began to disperse. In the organised chaos of witches and wizards heading towards various transport points, Katya felt a slight tension as the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, approached with his aides.

"Miss Borislova, is it?" he greeted, extending a pudgy hand with his characteristic mix of politeness and awkwardness.

"Minister Fudge," Katya replied with a flawless smile as she shook his hand. "It’s an honour to meet you."

"The honour is mine," he said, studying her closely. His small eyes glimmered with curiosity. "I’ve heard very good things about you. The Malfoys speak highly of your work."

"Well... it’s a pleasure to work with them," Katya explained naturally, gesturing towards Emil and Nikita, who were watching the scene from a cautious distance.

Fudge nodded slowly, though his attention seemed fixed solely on her.

"Fascinating," he said after a moment. "Your father, Pyotr Borislova, is a highly respected name within Russia’s Federal Magical Committee. His influence does not go unnoticed, even here in England."

Katya maintained her smile, fully aware of the need to measure her words carefully.

"My father is married to his work. He has devoted his life to serving the Committee and our company," she replied neutrally.

"I imagine so," Fudge said, attempting a casual tone that couldn’t hide his interest. After a brief silence, he added, "I must admit, I am curious. What brings the daughter of such an influential man to work here in England?"

Katya noticed the undertone in his words: Should I be concerned? Although Fudge didn’t seem suspicious of the Malfoys, it was clear he was testing the waters regarding her family.

"I’m merely an accountant. I wish my work were more... disruptive, but I’m just a simple accountant," she said gracefully. "England seemed like a good place to broaden my horizons."

Fudge nodded, appearing satisfied with her answer, though his gaze remained laden with curiosity.

"I hope you enjoy your stay in our country, then," he said finally. "Although, I must say, I like to think we all share certain common values. I trust you share them as well."

Katya raised an eyebrow with feigned curiosity.

"What values would those be, sir?"

Fudge leaned in slightly, as if ensuring no one else would overhear.

"I mean security, Miss Borislova. Keeping ourselves safe from... dark influences that threaten our magical community. I can’t help but notice that certain rumours follow your father, though I’m sure they’re nothing more than that—rumours."

Katya kept her face impassive, though internally, she was weighing each word carefully.

"My father is a pragmatic man, Minister. But I must assure you that whatever he does—or doesn’t do—is unrelated to my presence in this country," she lied effortlessly. "While his decisions are always motivated by the wellbeing of our magical community, I am merely his daughter."

Fudge smiled, though his expression remained hard to read.

"That’s what I like to hear. I believe we must foster closer relationships between our magical communities. Of course, it’s always best to do so with those who share our vision."

Katya understood the subtext: Fudge was making it clear that he deeply distrusted any association with Dark Wizards, and her father, with his growing power in Russia, was precisely that—a powerful Dark Wizard. While Fudge didn’t see the Malfoys as a threat, it was evident that suspicions surrounding her father were a sensitive matter.

"I’m sure my father would wholeheartedly agree with you, Minister," Katya replied with a calm smile, inclining her head slightly.

Fudge seemed pleased with her response and straightened up, giving her one last evaluative look.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Borislova. I’m sure our paths will cross again."

"The pleasure was mine, sir," Katya replied.

As Fudge walked away, Katya felt the weight of the interaction. Her carefully chosen words were a reminder that, although her life in England appeared peaceful, it was anything but. There would always be watchful eyes on her—more than she’d like. Pyotr Borislova, with his reputation and connections, remained a polarising figure even beyond Russia.

Nikita approached then, his smile tinged with curiosity.

"That was... interesting. What did the great Cornelius Fudge want? Did he ask you to sort out the Ministry’s finances?"

Katya let out a short laugh, shaking her head.

"He just wanted to make sure I’m not a threat to the British magical community."

"Are you?" Emil teased, stepping up beside them.

Katya gave him a knowing look.

"That depends on who’s asking."

Nikita raised an eyebrow, his expression laced with unease. What exactly was his friend getting involved in?

The days passed in a whirlwind of emotions, spectacular plays, and the buzz of the Quidditch World Cup. Katya, Nikita, and Emil made the most of their time by attending every match, immersing themselves in the vibrant energy of the stadium and the infectious enthusiasm of the fans. Though Katya wasn’t particularly drawn to the sport, she couldn’t help but be captivated by the passion with which the teams competed and their catchy chants.

Nikita and Emil, on the other hand, lived each match as if they were on the field themselves. On more than one occasion, Katya caught them discussing strategies and reminiscing about their own days as Quidditch players at school. Emil, with his athletic build and nostalgic smile, often spoke of his time as a Beater for his school team, while Nikita, always more refined in his movements, had been a Seeker.

"Reminds me of your last match, Nik," Emil commented one afternoon as they walked back to the campsite. "It was one of the longest matches ever held at Koldovstoretz."

"Yes, I also remember how I broke my shoulder in the process," Nikita replied with a wry smile. "Though I must admit, hearing everyone chant my name was a decent consolation."

Katya smiled softly, enjoying the stories her friends shared. However, she couldn’t ignore the shadow of her true mission in England, which lingered at the back of her mind.

One evening, as the trio returned to their tents after an exhilarating match between Bulgaria and Japan, they found Lucius Malfoy waiting by the entrance to their tent. Lucius, as impeccable as ever, offered them a polite smile.

"Miss Borislova, gentlemen," he greeted them in his characteristic affable tone. "I trust you enjoyed the match. My wife and I are hosting a small gathering tonight in our tent. It would be an honour to have you join us."

Katya exchanged a quick glance with Emil and Nikita before replying.

"It would be a pleasure to attend, Mr Malfoy. Thank you for the invitation."

Lucius inclined his head slightly before taking his leave, leaving them alone. Once inside the tent, Katya adopted a more serious tone as she addressed her friends.

"Before we go, there’s something important you need to know," she began, looking at Emil and then Nikita. "There will be witches and wizards there with Legilimency skills. It’s crucial that you keep your minds closed."

Nikita frowned, crossing his arms.

"Why are you here, Katya? I thought you were just an accountant."

Katya sighed, anticipating the confrontation that was coming.

"I can’t give you all the details, but I’m gathering information. My father believes it’s important to observe certain movements in England at the moment."

"What?" Nikita replied, raising his voice slightly. "Do you realise you’re putting your life in danger just to please your father? This isn’t a game, Katya!"

"It isn’t," Katya responded firmly. "But there are things you don’t understand, Nikita. This is my ticket to freedom. If I do this, I’ll be able to break away from my family once and for all."

"And what if this goes wrong?" Nikita pressed, his tone full of frustration. "What if they find out you’re spying for him? Is it worth risking everything for this?"

"It’s not for you to decide," Katya replied with severity. Her gaze reflected both determination and sadness. The last thing she wanted was to argue with her best friend. "I’ve made my choice. All I ask is that you trust me."

The tension lingered between them for a moment before Emil stepped in, placing a hand on Nikita’s shoulder.

"We should focus on not drawing attention tonight. Katya knows what she’s doing."

Though Nikita didn’t respond, he eventually nodded, allowing the silence to settle over the tent as they prepared for the gathering.

When they arrived at the Malfoys’ tent, the atmosphere was one of understated elegance. Lucius and Narcissa welcomed their guests, while their house-elves circulated with trays of champagne.

Katya recognised several prominent figures from the Ministry of Magic. Cornelius Fudge was chatting animatedly with Barty Crouch, while Pius Thicknesse listened intently nearby. In another corner, Kingsley Shacklebolt and his wife, Athenea, were exchanging words with a group of officials.

Katya moved gracefully among the guests, greeting those who approached her while attentively observing the interactions around her. Emil and Nikita stayed close, though their behaviour remained reserved, following Katya’s instructions to reveal no more than necessary.

At one point, Fudge approached her with a smile.

"Miss Borislova, how delightful to see you again. Are you enjoying the evening?"

"Very much so, Minister," Katya replied. As they spoke, she couldn’t help but notice Lucius watching the conversation from a distance, as though evaluating every word. It served as a reminder that in this place, every gesture and every comment was observed and scrutinised.

As the night went on, Katya made a mental note of the most significant interactions, especially those involving discussions about alliances and international politics that would interest her father. Although she maintained a calm facade, she was acutely aware that she was walking a tightrope, where a single misstep could have severe consequences.

The tension of the evening weighed heavily on Katya’s shoulders as she tried to keep her composure. Her earlier argument with Nikita still lingered in her mind, but she couldn’t afford to be distracted. Her mission demanded her full attention and unshakeable focus. However, she couldn’t ignore the oppressive feeling that came over her when she noticed someone staring at her. Discreetly, she turned her head and found herself meeting the dark, intense gaze of Severus Snape, who seemed to be examining her as closely as ever. Her stomach tightened with irritation. Why is he here? she thought bitterly. This was not the time or place for personal distractions. She was here for information, to gather all that she could and be free of his father, not to relive old memories or face unresolved feelings.

Katya’s lips curled into a faint, lopsided smile as she looked away, forcing herself to maintain her composure. Severus wasn’t just watching her; his attention was also fixed on Nikita, who remained nearby with his usual stoic expression. The jealousy she sensed from Severus was almost palpable, and though part of her found it amusing, another part found it infuriating. After all this time, why did he still have this effect on her?

She hated that his presence made her falter, that it stirred memories she had worked hard to bury. It had been over a year since she had been with anyone, and she had convinced herself she was fine with that. Her life was too dangerous, too complicated for intimacy. Yet every time her path crossed with Severus, her body betrayed her resolve, reminding her of the nights they had spent together. Nights filled with lust and a connection that no one else had been able to replicate.

It wasn’t just the physical aspect, though that was undeniable. It was the way he challenged her, the way he understood her in ways few others could. She despised how easily he could unravel her defences with a single look, and tonight was no different.

At some point during the evening, the atmosphere inside the tent became suffocating. Katya needed air, needed to escape the weight of his gaze and the memories it dragged to the surface. Slipping outside, she lit a cigarette, the familiar act grounding her as she took a long drag, exhaling the tension slowly.

She had barely been outside for two minutes when a deep, familiar voice broke the silence.

“I thought you’d given up that habit,” Severus remarked, appearing at her side with his infuriatingly silent movements.

Her irritation flared again. Of course, he had followed her. She exhaled smoke slowly, refusing to meet his eyes immediately. 

“I had. For about two days. But England has a way of unsettling me.”

“And what’s troubling you, Katya?” he asked, his voice low and probing, crossing his arms as he looked at her with the same intensity that always managed to leave her unbalanced.

Katya finally turned her head, her expression calm, though her eyes betrayed her inner conflict. Part of her wanted to snap at him for intruding, for disrupting her carefully constructed focus. Another part of her wanted to close the gap between them and relive the moments she had sworn to forget.

“Nothing you can help with, Severus,” she replied flatly, taking another drag from her cigarette. She hated how her voice softened just slightly when she said his name. “I must admit, I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“The Malfoys invited me. This isn’t really my sort of scene,” he said, his gaze shifting briefly towards the tent. “From what I can see, you’re in good company.”

Her lips quirked in a brief, genuine laugh despite herself. “Are you referring to Nikita and his husband?”

Severus arched an eyebrow, his mouth curving into the faintest hint of a smile. “Nikita? Your famous friend you used to talk about in our letters?”

“The very same.”

The way his brow furrowed ever so slightly told her he was already analysing her tone, her words, looking for deeper meaning. He always did this—always dug deeper than she was ready to reveal.

He stepped closer, and she felt the tension between them shift, becoming almost palpable. Her pulse quickened, and she cursed herself for it. She could feel his eyes on her, their shared history hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break.

“You’re as inscrutable as ever,” he said, his voice softer now, almost contemplative. “Still just as evasive. I wonder if you’ve ever been completely honest with me.”

Katya extinguished her cigarette, letting the silence hang between them for a moment before murmuring, “I was…” Her voice was almost too quiet, as though the words were meant more for herself than for him. Then, she turned to meet his gaze head-on. “Do you really want to talk about honesty? Do you really want to go there, Severus?”

The question seemed to catch him off guard, and for a moment, his mask of indifference slipped. But it was only a moment. He stepped closer, his tone low and deliberate. “I’m not here to argue the past. I’m here because I’m concerned about what you’re getting yourself into.”

Her heart ached at the concern in his voice, though she hated herself for feeling it. Why does he care? she thought bitterly. But deep down, she knew. Despite everything, despite the years, there was still something between them, something neither of them could completely sever.

“And what would that be?” she asked with a bitter laugh. “The last time we spoke, you promised to tell me about your connection with the Malfoys.” Her voice grew sharper, the irritation finally breaking through. “Funny, it’s been weeks, and I’ve heard nothing from you.”

“I haven’t forgotten; it simply isn’t the right time.”

“If you’ve lost interest, just say so.”

“Don’t underestimate my interest, Katya,” he said quietly, his voice dipping into that familiar tone that always left her off balance. “I’ve never stopped… thinking about you.” He hesitated, his words trailing off, but the implication was clear.

Her breath caught, and her pulse quickened against her will. Damn him.

“If you wish to continue thinking about it,” she said, forcing her voice into a casual, almost mocking tone, “I might suggest somewhere more private.”

Severus studied her for a moment, and she thought she saw a flicker of something—hesitation? Desire?—in his dark eyes before he gave a small nod. “Tell me where.”

She didn’t have time to reply before she felt his hand on hers, the faint touch sending a shiver through her. It was a gesture that reminded her of simpler times, times when things between them had been less complicated. A second later, the world shifted, and they left the tent—and the curious eyes inside—far behind.

In the distance, Nikita and Emil observed the scene with evident satisfaction.

"So that’s the famous professor," Emil whispered, sipping his champagne. "A bit… older than us."

"I’m glad to see Katya has finally given in to love," Nikita murmured, smiling.

"Always the romantic, my love," Emil said, taking Nikita’s hand and kissing his knuckles.

Nikita chuckled, and the pair left the tent.

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Conclusion: Sterling Cleaners Ltd with Pedro is your go-to solution for all your cleaning needs in Birmingham and Solihull. From specialized tenancy cleaning in Birmingham to reliable office cleaning services, we offer a wide range of cleaning solutions tailored to meet the unique requirements of our clients. Our team of professional cleaners is dedicated to delivering outstanding results, ensuring that every space we clean is left spotless and refreshed.

[customconcessions]

Importance Of Running A Food Truck Business

Food trucks are becoming increasingly popular, and having one has several advantages. The primary decision you will face if you want to launch a food business is between opening a restaurant or a food truck. It is better to opt for a food truck. You can search online for a food trailer for rent near me to find the best option. Here mentioned are the importance of running a food truck business:

Customers are drawn in by food trucks:

Most consumers purchase food from food trucks rather than street vendors because they offer higher-quality cuisine at more reasonable prices. Compared to street food, eating from food trucks is healthier and safer. As health consciousness increases, more individuals choose to get their meals from food trucks and local eateries instead of larger chains since they are more affordable.

Specialized marketing possibilities:

Food trucks may readily use social media and word-of-mouth marketing to become neighborhood attractions. With the help of restaurant kitchen builders, you can make your kitchen based on your needs. They are visible and interesting to buyers because of their distinctive branding and frequent attendance at festivals, events, and crowded street corners.

The head is far lower:

When you own a food truck, you usually have a small staff. Most will only have a small number of employees who often switch shifts, but you can also operate a profitable firm with just one or two employees. You can have custom commercial kitchen equipment for your business. Paying wait workers or cleaning crews is optional. While costs will undoubtedly continue, once you have a clientele, they are easier to manage and more predictable.

Partial words:

Food truck businesses are intriguing to entrepreneurs because they offer several benefits. You can get a wide range of options by clicking custom concession trailers near me. With proper planning, commitment, and inventiveness, any town may witness the successful growth and enduring presence of a food truck enterprise.

[flat-creek-solutions]

Dumpster Rental Near Me

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Opting for a dumpster rental near me offers numerous benefits that enhance convenience, efficiency, and environmental responsibility during home renovations, cleanouts, or construction projects. From streamlined waste management and cost-effectiveness to promoting sustainability and ensuring compliance, renting a nearby dumpster simplifies the disposal process while supporting local businesses. Whether you're tackling a small home improvement project or overseeing a large-scale construction endeavor, choosing a dumpster rental near you provides the necessary resources to effectively manage waste and maintain a clean, organized work environment.

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[pestcontrolbloguk]

PEST CONTROL BLOG

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Bed Bugs: How to Identify, Control, and TreatUnderstanding the Bed Bug Cycle and How to Kill Bed Bugs

Where Do Bed Bugs Come From And How Do You Get Bed Bugs?The History of Bed Bugs

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[olivemac]

heartbeat | chapter two | b.b.

Summary | When Steve Rogers asks Kate Stark to find the Winter Soldier, she gets too involved.

Notes | Captain America: Civil War re-write, essentially. Starts just after the events of CA: Winter Soldier.

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x fem!oc, Bucky Barnes x Stark!oc

Genre | romance

Rating | explicit

Story Warnings | angst, fluff, romance tropes, so many romance tropes, coarse language, alcohol use, canon-typical violence , smut (m/f), oral sex (f&m receiving), 18+ ONLY

Chapter Warnings | coarse language

master list | AO3 link

_____

prev chapter

_____

Kate is on the next commercial flight to Bucharest. She's worried Bucky will move on before she can get to him, but she knows Tony would never approve of the use of one of his jets to chase down an ex-assassin in hiding. The less he knows, the better. Which is why she told him she was escaping to Europe for a long respite after feeling oh so overwhelmed with her work at Stark Industries.

Tony barely bats an eye when she told him. There were some advantages to being Tony Starks' baby sister. The first being he feels guilty about his ineptness at raising her after their parents' death and would literally let her get away with murder. The second is an almost unlimited bank account left to her by her father and supplemented by Tony's previously mentioned guilt.

Kate Stark was her mother’s mid-life crisis. Maria, three decades younger than her husband, had – at forty-two years old – decided she wanted another baby. Tony, who was eighteen at the time, had balked at the idea. But Howard relented and called in the best team of fertility doctors money could buy, and Kate was born.

She doesn't remember her parents, not really. She was only three when they died, and she doesn't remember that event either. Though she was there, in the car, when it crashed on Long Island.

Tony's only ever spoken to her about it once, after she accused him of hating her for surviving when their parents died. Really, he hated that he survived.

When rescue workers arrived at the scene of the wreck, they found her parents dead in the front seat and her tucked safely into her car seat in the back, bundled up against the December cold. She was an orphan, and Tony, at twenty-one, was suddenly responsible for a toddler.

So, he did the only thing he could think of. He hired a series of nannies to raise her, then sent her off to boarding school as soon as she was old enough, all the while playing genius, billionaire playboy.

He wasn’t surprised when it turned out she was just as smart as him or their father. And it surprised him less when she followed in his footsteps and attended MIT. What did surprise him was when she started hacking government databases for fun. She only agreed to work for him at Stark Industries in exchange for him not sticking Rhodey on her after she released documents regarding the US Air Force‘s involvement in some less that savory overseas dealings.

On the plane, she starts an email to Steve telling him where she was headed and what she had found. Then she deletes it and starts over. Then deletes that. She chews her thumbnail and thinks. If she tells Steve where Bucky is, he'll come blazing in, shield at the ready, and Bucky will.... She doesn’t know what Bucky will do, but she has a feeling the encounter would end with a fight and Bucky running. Which will kill Steve. Again. So, she decides she doesn't need to tell Steve – not right away. She'll see if she can figure out what Bucky remembers – if anything – before telling Steve where he is.

_____

A little over forty-eight hours after her software found Bucky, Kate is assembling IKEA furniture in her new studio apartment in Romania. Getting the landlord to lease her the empty flat next to Bucky's was easy enough when Kate offered him double what he was asking in rent. He was discreet enough to not ask any questions. Most of the people in the building were hiding from something so a young American woman who paid cash upfront wasn't the most unusual thing he'd dealt with.

She makes her bed, unpacks her suitcase, and re-reads the Winter Soldier file. That night she dreams of her parents and the wreck that killed them. In the dream there's always a man outside of the car, but she can never see his face. Her father begs for help: "Help my wife, my daughter. Please. Help."

She wakes up sweating, a scream caught in her throat.

_____

The apartment next to his is no longer empty. Bucky can hear music and soft footsteps through the paper-thin walls. If he focuses his hearing, he can hear a heartbeat other than his own, but he's working to turn off the super soldier reflexes, so he tries to ignore it. He's enjoyed the silence that the empty apartment afforded him, and he hopes the new tenant isn’t as nosy as his neighbor in Kiev who had asked so many questions. He hadn't stayed long after that meeting.

Around two in the morning, he wakes to the sound of a strangled cry from his new neighbor. Bucky sits up straight, suddenly on alert. He listens closely, focusing for the sounds of a struggle, but he only hears the unfamiliar heartbeat. His neighbor was having a nightmare, he imagines. He had plenty of those himself.

Sometimes he was staring down the barrel of a gun, his only intent to kill. Other nightmares took him back to the HYDRA base and their machine that scrambled his thoughts over and over again. And others found him falling from a train, the blonde man from the Triskelion reaching out toward him. He always wakes up just before he hits the icy river he knows awaits him.

Bucky knows now that the blonde man is Steve Rogers. Without HYDRA's influence, he's started to remember more: flashes of Steve and a group called the Howling Commandos during the war, but also flashes of Steve before the war, smaller, shorter. And flashes of a family – his family – a father, a mother, a sister. Rebecca. The name comes to him one afternoon while he's browsing the used bookstore near his flat.

He's started eating plums and jogging to improve his memory. He isn't sure if it's helping, but the memories are becoming longer and more frequent. He sees himself with Steve at Coney Island, riding the Cyclone until Steve lost his lunch and Bucky laughed so hard tears were streaming down his face, and he sees himself flirting with an auburn-haired combat nurse in Italy, following her back to her tent and undressing her slowly.

He wakes the next morning feeling restless. He had slept in fits and starts, listening for any more disturbances from next door. None came.

He dresses and goes for a run, and when he returns, he catches his first glimpse of his new neighbor. She's coming out of her apartment, her face turned downward toward her phone. When he reaches the top of the stairs, she lifts her head and smiles. Bucky is struck by how pretty she is, a thought he hasn't let himself have since leaving HYDRA. He turns away quickly and slams the door to his own apartment. He doesn't need pink lips and dark curls reminding him of what he can never have again. He's too broken for her, or anyone else for that matter.

_____

Bucky has seen his new neighbor more times in five days than he's seen anyone else in the building over the past two months. They always seem to be coming or going at the same time.

The first time he actually speaks to her, she's dropping groceries up the stairs from a rip in her canvas bag.

"Fuck," she mutters as an apple rolls beneath the railing and falls to the landing below.

Bucky has a brief vision of her uttering that same word while his head is buried between her legs, but he shakes if off quickly.

"Let me," he says in English, scooping up some rogue potatoes and taking the bag from her.

"Thanks," she says before unlocking her door and holding it open for him.

Her apartment is the same layout as his – one room, with a tiny bathroom at the front and a small kitchen along the back wall. He sets the bag of groceries on the kitchen counter and steps back.

"I should—"

"Thank you—"

They both speak at the same time. Bucky bows his head and motions for her to continue.

"Thank you for your help." She pauses. "And it's nice to speak English for a change. My Romanian is atrocious," she laughs. "How’d you guess?"

"All the music you listen to is in English," he replies brusquely.

She cringes. "Sorry. I'll turn it down."

"No," he says, "It's fine. Really."

There's an awkward pause as they both stare at each other.

Bucky breaks the silence first. "I should go."

"Right." She leads him to the door. "Thanks."

Bucky nods.

When his own apartment door closes behind him, he sighs and scrubs his right hand over his face. He needs to avoid her. He doesn't need anything to distract him from regaining his memories, and he certainly doesn't need to get close to someone he'll inevitably hurt. He doesn’t even begin let himself entertain the thought that she could be a HYDRA agent waiting to turn him in.

_____

Later that evening, he's startled by a knock at his door. When he peers into the hallway, there's a plate of food on the floor, covered with a cloth and a note. He picks it up.

Thanks for saving my groceries.

- Kate

Bucky considers the possibilities that she is a HYDRA agent and the food is poisoned, but he decides it's unlikely HYDRA would take that approach. If anything, they would want their soldier back, and if they didn't, they wouldn't kill him quickly. Also, he can't remember the last time he had a home-cooked meal – definitely before the war – and he’s starving. Protein bars aren’t really cutting it anymore.

He studies the note as he eats. He runs his fingers over the name written in curling handwriting: Kate, and debates what his next move should be. He needs to ignore her – for her own safety – but his mother raised a gentleman so he should at least thank her for dinner, right?

_____

Kate nearly steps on the plate when she leaves her flat the next morning for a run. It’s sitting right at her doorway, clean, the dish towel she had with it folded with a note peeking out.

Kate,

You’re welcome. Thank you for dinner.

- Bucky

If she knew how long Bucky had agonized over whether to write back, she probably would have cried. Kate definitely would have cried if she knew he had debated whether or not to sign the note “Bucky” or “James.” He’s been using James at any off-the-books odd jobs he can get, but with his memories returning, he’s been feeling more like the Bucky Steve referred to in DC.

_____

Kate makes a potato soup that night and leaves it outside his door sans note. She brings him dinner for a week straight before she asks him to dine with her.

"Come over,” she says the next time they pass in the hall.

"What?" Bucky freezes.

"Come over tonight,” Kate repeats, “for dinner.”

"Why?" He sounds rude. He should really work on that, but she’s caught him in one of his broodier moods after another sleepless night.

"Why not?” she shrugs. “I have wine."

He’s staring at her. He realizes he needs to stop staring at her and answer.

“Okay.”

“Seven thirty?” she suggests.

"Okay," he replies.

"Okay," she laughs.

For a second, Bucky wonders if she's laughing at him, but there's a softness in her eyes that makes him think not. Talking to women used to be easy, he thinks. It took him hours to come up with the simplest response to her note the other night, and now he can't even form a sentence in front of her. He spends the rest of the day worrying he's made a huge mistake in accepting her invitation.

He's not the only one. Kate has half a mind to call it all off, phone Steve, and get on the next plane back to New York. What if he doesn't remember anything? What if he's still the Winter Soldier? She has a brief vision of Bucky snapping and wrapping that metal hand he's been hiding around her throat – and not in a fun way. But when he knocks on her door at seven thirty, she thinks she might actually die from how sweet he looks.

"Hi," she says.

"Hi," he responds, running his tongue over his lips nervously.

They're caught in another awkward moment of just staring at each other when she finally invites him.

The old Bucky would have bought flowers and then made some quip about how the flowers aren't nearly as beautiful as she is, but this Bucky – post-HYDRA Bucky – feels like he's forgotten how to interact with women at all and his tongue has suddenly turned to lead.

Kate's debated how much to reveal about herself. Finally, she decides she'll tell him everything. Well, mostly everything. He doesn't need to know that she's a Stark or friends with Steve Rogers or here on some crazy rescue mission to save the Winter Soldier because maybe, just maybe, she read his file one too many times and got caught up in the look in Steve's eyes when he talked about Bucky. No, he doesn't need to know that.

Kate's also considered how much to ask him about himself. She wants to know what – if anything – he remembers, but she also doesn't want to give herself away by revealing she knows who he really is. And she doubts he’ll tell her outright. The fact that he signed the note Bucky seems like a good indication that his memories are returning, though.

"How long have you been in Bucharest, Bucky?" she asks, plating their dinner.

"Almost two months," he says.

"Here for work?" she asks casually.

"Uh...it's complicated," he says, scratching at the back of his neck. "You?"

She looks up at him. "It's complicated."

They're staring at each other again, and Bucky has to force himself to look away.

"Family?" she asks.

"Also complicated," he says. God, he thinks, he sounds like a jackass. But it's not like he can tell her he's a ninety-eight-year-old ex-assassin in hiding so his family is probably long dead.

She motions for him to sit at her small kitchen table and sets a plate in front of him.

"You're not hiding a wedding ring under those gloves, are you?" she asks, a smirk on her lips. She knows about his arm; she just wants to see what he’ll give away.

He blushes and looks at his hands. Then he realizes he's taking too long to answer, and she probably thinks he's an idiot. "No... uh...no. No," he finally says without elaborating.

Kate can sense he's nervous so she does what Tony would do in a situation like this and just keeps talking. She tells him about Tony – minus the Stark detail. She talks about MIT and New York and the last book she read. He listens closely, laughing softly when she makes jokes and asking questions where appropriate. He likes the way her lips look when they form his name and the way her eyes light up at her own humor.

When they finish eating, Bucky helps her wash dishes. She considers asking him to stay, watch a movie or something, but then she thinks maybe she should take this slowly, not overwhelm him, so she bids him goodnight and closes the door behind him.

Bucky thinks Kate might be the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. Then he thinks that might be because she’s the first woman he’s interacted with in so long. Either way, he tries not to think of her that night when his body remembers what it's like to be a man.

He decides that staying away from her would be too hard.

On the other side of the wall, she’s thinking of him, too. She hadn't expected his eyes to be so impossibly blue. She had stared at the black and white military photo for hours, but seeing him in person, she was caught in the Arctic waters that made up his eyes.

_____

next chapter

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[piracytheorist]

A Kiss for Good Luck (9/15)

Summary: So this is the story of one born lucky, and one born unlucky. Fate will keep making them cross paths, but is it to bring them together, or to test them? Captain Swan AU.

Rating: T (make sure you’re okay with the warnings on AO3)

Word count for this chapter: 3.1k (48k in total) AO3

Read from the beginning: Tumblr | AO3

~

Chapter 9: Emma Swan, October 19th 2015 – May 19th 2016

The kiss doesn't get deep, but Emma's insides are melting; damn it, it feels so good and he feels so sweet. She breaks the kiss, fearing she's already gone too red and hoping the cold lights around them won't show it.

He's looking at her, and she feels she'll have to run or she'll turn into a pool of goo right at his feet.

Thankfully, his eye catches something and he turns his head to the side. Emma turns as well, only to see a woman a few yards away, about their age, looking at him with a scorned expression.

Killian just shrugs at her, and the woman seems to scoff and turn her back at them.

He turns back to Emma. “Don't worry,” he says. "Wanna add me on Facebook? It's Killian Jones, if, if you're interested... we can share favourite songs."

Emma snorts. "Like we're in high school?"

He laughs, a bit awkwardly so. "I won't stalk you if you don't add me, just saying."

Emma smirks at him, then reaches into her belt bag and takes out her phone, which immediately slips from her fingers.

"Shit," she says, picking it up and gasping when she sees that the screen cracked a little. "Shit!"

"Oh." Killian bites his lip. "I feel as if I've caused that."

Emma shakes her head. "It's replaceable. Don't worry. Killian Jones, you said?"

He looks to be debating himself. But Emma quickly opens the app, finds him and adds him. "Friend request sent," she says. "So we can chat about hot, new releases," she says, only half joking.

"Hey," Ingrid calls at her. Emma turns to see Ingrid's eyes go from her to Killian.

"Coming," Emma says. "So, we'll keep in touch," she tells him, pointing at him with her phone.

For the first time in so long she finds herself hoping that this near stranger will actually respond.

“Who was that?” Ingrid says as they start walking to their rented car.

“He's Killian,” Emma says with an innocent smile.

“You know him?”

“No, actually. We just met.”

Ingrid's brows shoot up. “You were just kissing a guy you just met?”

Her tone isn't accusative, just curious. So Emma's smile widens and she says, “Yeah. Yeah, I-”

She's cut off by her own gasp when her ankle bends unexpectedly and she falls down. For one long second she feels cold sweat at the back of her neck; first her broken phone screen, now tripping on flat ground?

“Emma?” Ingrid is kneeling next to her, face full of worry.

“I'm okay,” Emma says, collecting herself.

“Sweetheart, did he give you something?”

Emma laughs, trying to break the tension despite that small but insistent piece of her mind that's still worried. “If you're referring to butterflies in my stomach, yes.”

“I'm serious.”

“I'm alright. I just... didn't step right. And I'm a bit tired, to be honest.”

Ingrid's face relaxes a bit. “You did dance a lot tonight. Are you sure you're okay?”

“Yes, Ingrid. We were just talking and then... kissing felt right.”

“In any case, perhaps you should let me drive.”

Emma's jeans got a bit dirty and she scraped her palm after falling, but they're too small to rival the amazing birthday night she just had.

She wakes up with a bit of a headache, ringing ears, and a sore throat. But that day it's the goodbye to Ingrid that takes priority.

Ingrid promises to do her best to come to Boston for Christmas. Emma holds back her tears, hugs Ingrid, then waves her goodbye as Ingrid boards her plane.

Emma sits back. And waits. And waits.

Her flight was supposed to have left only twenty minutes after Ingrid's – she had considered herself very lucky to have found two cheap flights so close to each other – but now it's been delayed for more than two hours, the waiting chairs full of exasperated passengers and too many tired toddlers.

The food isn't great, the air conditioning hits her a bit too much and she doesn't get much rest. The lines at passport control are long, and she's happy she decided to take just a cabin trolley and not have to wait at the baggage carousel. She's already too tired, her body stiff, and she regrets not asking Ruby to come pick her up as she waits for a taxi while it's raining and a little too cold outside.

The next morning she scrolls through the line of notifications from Ruby asking her again and again to wake up and tell her everything, and it's only then she sees that Killian has accepted her friend request.

And he's active now. She checks the time – it's afternoon there and a Sunday.

She gives herself ten minutes. Her hair is not cooperating and she smudges the eye pencil on her lower eyelid.

She just shakes her head. Maybe the connection will be bad enough that he won't be able to see that much detail.

She settles herself on her bed and takes five deep breaths before calling Killian on video.

It takes a bit too long for him to answer. Maybe she should have asked first?

Eventually, his face fills her screen, and her stomach is all in happy knots again.

“Good morning,” he says. “Or afternoon? Have you gone back yet?”

“Yeah,” Emma says, noticing her wide grin on her preview, “I arrived last night.”

“How was your trip?”

“A bit more tiring than I'm used to. But safe.”

“Than you're used to? You do it often?”

Maybe she's not ready to go fully into her history with Ingrid, but he seems to catch up with what little she shares. They talk more than just their favourite music. For now, it's food, and how they'll spend their Sunday, then Halloween and Christmas...

She doesn't realize a whole hour went by until Killian, seeming a bit conflicted, says he has to go eat. He's staying with his family, and his parents are 'already experiencing retirement by eating early'.

Emma laughs, swallowing her own bitterness. She keeps it at bay until the call ends, then she sighs, looking at her cracked, black phone screen.

He's with family. He doesn't have to move countries and choose whether to celebrate holidays with them or with friends.

“Ugh,” she tells herself. She doesn't actually know much. For all she knows, he's had it as bad as her.

Work isn't going well. There are enough cases to go by, but they wear her out every day. Ruby is busy with work and her new girlfriend, and David's mother has gotten sick and the Nolans don't have the time to invite Emma every Sunday anymore.

At least, she manages to talk to Killian twice a week. She knows she'd like to talk more often to him, but she's still a bit insecure. Not just about whether she's annoying him, but because she feels like an old pessimist again, and caring for this will only end up breaking her heart.

She can't help it, however, especially when half the time it's him calling her, staying up late because it's already evening when she finishes work, then they spend the next at least two hours equally listening and talking.

She still gets to see Ruby and the Nolans occasionally, and she still gets enough to go by. But her one constant these days is Killian.

Ingrid tells Emma that she can't issue a visa in time and she won't be there for Christmas. Emma knows her bank balance isn't enough to afford a last-time trip to Norway; the Nolans will spend the holiday with David's mother in a small town in Maine, and Ruby is taking Mulan to New York City. Bless their hearts, though, they offered. It was only the white lie that she found super cheap tickets to Norway that convince both Ruby and the Nolans to not cancel their plans.

She gets a gift from Ingrid – a hand-sewn sweater that apparently got coffee spilled on it during shipping and she has to wash it. It shrinks and the coffee stain hasn't left. She doesn't dare use the word 'luckily' to describe the fact that her other gifts weren't ruined. Killian sends her a collection of seashells, with a note telling her that he gathered them himself.

She spends the little money she kept aside on a grand meal and many boxes of pop-tarts for Christmas. She calls Killian as she eats one of them, teasing him about eating her favourite “sugar-coated sugar,” as he called them once.

It's still late for Killian, but he talks to her even longer this time.

“What about your family?” she asks.

“It's four in the morning, Swan. If anyone's awake they're probably sneaking around the kitchen for a 'very-late-night' snack.”

She's the one falling asleep to him talking to her that night.

Just five years ago, Emma would watch the ads on TV and everywhere else talk about “family time”, or a “time to share the love”, and they would wash over her like everything else did in her life. She was the one everyone else counted on to not take the days off during holidays. But since reconnecting with Ingrid and making new friends in Ruby and the Nolans, Emma got slowly used to being part of something. A family, a company, where she learned to appreciate that time again. A time when she would go shopping for someone other than herself, when it wouldn't be a given that she would work on a holiday, when she would expect it just for the extra time and coziness she would live with someone else.

Now the commercials hit as hard as they did when she was seventeen and homeless; eighteen and in prison; nineteen and alone.

Being loved and thought of has really spoiled her, hasn't it?

She barely has the heart to call Ingrid when it's the latter's time to change the year. They wish each other a happy new year, and she feels glad that there's a lot of celebration going on where Ingrid is, so Ingrid doesn't get the time to truly see how difficult it is for Emma, to see what she's missing and all for a stupid lack of money.

At eleven in her own time, Emma breaks down crying in her bed.

She feels so alone. The past few years of reconnection with Ingrid and having new friends seem to weigh nothing over the emptiness she feels now. She didn't even have the heart to decorate her house this year.

She lies curled up in bed, hoping she can fall asleep before she surely hears the neighbors start the countdown, but, of course, no such luck.

Instead, four minutes before midnight, she gets an sms from Killian. An sms?

Turn wifi on, he tells her.

Breathing shakily, her throat thick with sobs, she turns it on but is still surprised to immediately receive a video call from him.

She checks the time, and tiredly tries to do the math. It's four minutes to five in the morning there. What is he doing?

She accepts the call, and her first glimpse of Killian is his tired but smug face. As he gets a good look at her, though, his face falls.

“Oh, Swan...”

She bursts into sobs again. He doesn't speak, but from the few glances she gets of him until she calms down, she knows he's waiting patiently.

She wishes she could reach her arms into the screen. She knows that his would hold her back.

She knows.

She gets her breathing under control and she looks at him, wiping away her tears.

“Thank you,” she says, and he smiles softly.

Damn it, that smile. She almost starts crying again, but he takes pity on her and looks somewhere away.

“It's thirty seconds now. Do you want me to count with you?”

“Yes, please.”

He smiles again, still softly but a bit more cheerfully now.

The connection lags two seconds, according to her neighbors' countdown. But the two seconds between the cheers across the wall and Killian popping a confetti cannon in front of the camera are theirs and theirs alone.

“Happy New Year!” he says.

His smile is so bright. Her tear-stained face in the preview looks so out of place, it feels wrong.

“You stayed up,” she says, voice harsh from crying.

“I... woke up. I mean, I went to sleep a bit early, and even I would say two is early for New Year's, so I snuck in a few hours of sleep before the alarm went off.”

He did it for her.

How wrong is it to wish she could kiss him now?

Her words will have to do.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“I wouldn't forgive myself if I let you change the year alone. Especially after you told me what you didn't tell your friends. Losing a bit of sleep is nothing.”

Her friends. He says it as if he's not one of them.

Well, he's not in that group of friends, but he belongs in that category.

Only that, though? Just a friend?

Once again, he stays up with her. He's properly prepared – snacks and music and lights and, well, soda, considering how late it is there – and she just feels stupid all she has is the sugar-coated sugar.

“Perhaps I chose the wrong flavor,” he says. “If I visit Boston one day you'll get me your favorites and I'll taste them all.”

Her heart flutters at the idea of him visiting. She's tempted to correct his 'if' with a 'when'. Because she wants him there. She wants it to be certain.

But she decides to keep it low for tonight. He already gave her the best surprise she could have had.

Perhaps she loves him.

But she's known better than to hang onto hope.

The last thing she remembers seeing is the view from his window, at the tiny show of the sky getting brighter.

The last thing she remembers hearing is him singing Auld Lang Syne.

None of them ask, and none of them organizes anything more, but their video calls become daily. Depending on Killian's schedule, of course, they talk from ten minutes to three hours at a time. Even on very busy days, they manage to sneak in at least five minutes of talking, even if it's just voice chat.

Gerda is having health issues, forcing Ingrid to not visit at all nor call often, and Emma's work is still hectic. She manages to meet Ruby for drinks or the Nolans for dinner, but it's not on a constant basis like it used to be.

The only constant in her life is coming back tired from work and talk to Killian, who will stay up and chat no matter how late it is for him.

And he once told her he's an early bird.

It feels silly, but Emma can't help thinking of it as a compromise he's making to himself for her sake.

Killian tells her about his childhood; about his mother dying, his father leaving, and then nearly losing himself after losing his brother as well. How getting adopted saved him.

Emma tells him about Ingrid saving her. How she took a disillusioned kid with no family and gave her love and a home.

She tells him about being alone at seventeen and leaning on the wrong person. But her admitting that she has done time comes differently.

He tells her about losing his first love and resorting to things he is not proud of, including getting himself into a relationship that he knew would hurt him.

“I've done some stupid things myself,” she tells him.

“Well,” he replies, “I have a criminal record.”

She shrugs. “So do I.”

He actually raises his eyebrow. “Well, you can say we're equal in that.”

“Mm. I've done time.”

“Oh. Okay. You win.” He seems super casual about it.

“You don't mind? That I've been in jail?”

“Well, did you kill or otherwise harm someone innocent?”

“No.”

“Then, if you've moved on, who am I to judge?”

“What did you do?”

“Hacking, breaking and entering...”

She was a thief herself, but she didn't expect to find such a kindred spirit in him in that way – as well. “What? What for?”

His brows furrow. “Nothing too dangerous, and I was too stupid to think rationally, and it was a very difficult time.” He pauses for a while, then looks at her seriously. “I was an alcoholic. I've been totally clean for about six months now. It had only lead me to make more stupid decisions.”

“Well, you're working through it, right?”

He smiles at her, that smile that always threatens to rip her to pieces. “Aye. I never believed it at first, but it gets easier.”

It's always easier when one is not soul-crushingly alone, she thinks.

She had underestimated him and how much he understood what being alone can do to someone. Conversation flows easier the more they talk, and in early May, he surprises her by telling her he's thinking about visiting her.

Emma immediately offers to let him stay with her.

She fakes a broken connection to recover from the smile he gives her. Jesus. How will she handle it when they're face-to-face?

They come to a mutual understanding; neither thought light of their first kiss, but both knowing of each other's pasts, they decide to take things especially slow.

She hasn't been so excited to count the days for something good since the first time Ingrid visited.

She drives her Bug to pick him up from the airport, but it breaks down midway there. A long string of curses and many calls to a service center later, she manages to send Killian a text letting him know she'll be late.

After a tow truck takes her car away for service, she takes a cab for the rest of the way to the airport, only to find that her message to Killian hasn't been received, and that his flight has just landed, nearly an hour late.

However, he looks fresh and cheerful when he exits arrivals. Even from afar, she can already feel his smile turning her knees into jelly. She steels herself to at least walk normally to him.

They embrace and it's as if a weight is lifted off her shoulders. And if she judged by his face, it looks the same for him.

His eyes trail to her lips, and she gives him a quick peck.

[vanityloves]

anyways im gonna listen to/read the fuckin...rise of the ogre shit bc ive been putting it off 🪓🥴 im gonna put stuff under the cut bc im gonna be TALKING n dont wanna make a new post everytime

piss

ok he performed for 2 pounds 50. which is basically $3 today i- well it was absolutely a power play on his father behalf that also had the promise of money so.

also lol he said Rejection fueled my ambitions which, yknow,, i already knew but it still hurts and i will continue to talk ab it xoxo

AH HELP. "...if ebay had been invented at the time he would've sold me online there and then,"

"man hands on misery to man, yknow"

THEN PROCEEDS TO CONNECT IT TO MUSIC/HIS CAREER. this man said :) the one thing i truly have a passion for. the one thing i fucking like.

oh yeah. bullied by students AND teachers.

oh god hes 42ish during this interview? ok.

the fuckin school bully saying he wouldve acted differently if he knew what hed become

getting called "faceache", then proceeds to call 2d that. jfc he really does just repeat what everyone says. really "treating others how i was treated/how they treat me"

maybe thats why? hes kinder to fans? bc :] you support me and like me so, ok ill return that energy

MURDOC GETTING HIS ASS BEAT N PARADING HOME LIKE WELL I WON BC 'I PISSED YOU OFF' SJDJD

a real rowdy boy. absolute nasty boy. fraud and arson... shooting ppls windows with his air pistols

black sabbath being a huge inspiration? fucking absolutely.

became a satanist n shit at age 16? "it fitted me like a glove" "heavy metal and devil worshipping became my favorite past times" ajsj funny that ppl in trying times often seek religion or following of some sort

heavy metal being his favorite, n loving the clash, while hannibals was more punk based

hannibal breaking murdocs nose for the 2nd and 3rd time for playing his music on hannibals turntable

he doesnt sound that bitter? ab hannibal? he doesnt sound incredibly fond but he talks ab how he got him into a lot of music. so, i imagine they we're a bit closer than i thought?

international baccalaureate in antisocial? anthropology?

MURDOC IS ACTUALLY SMART HE WAS JUST. NOT INTERESTED IN THE SUBJECTS? I GUESS? (also,,, he literally Built cyborg noodle and i think he had a PhD too lol. but its always nice to hear hes actually...yknow, interested or good at other things)

alright but murdoc having a fascination w/ other cultures - or at least some interests, that lead him to actually study the damn subject and "pass with flying colors"

'fuck college though. im gonna be a rockstar'

he sold his soul at 18ish? whenever the fuck he got kicked out but college was mentioned so my brain goes to 18ish idk

he lived with his father still and paid rent via low paying jobs one including 'part time dressing as santa'

help he was ab to take a Personal Job for quick cash and uhh well, "still made me call him sir though" he really said 20 dollars is 20 dollars, huh "that story was totally true"

alright, 1997,,,

2d stuff

loves zombie stuff? thats really cute, and is freaked out by the way they move. god he rambles

both he and murdoc are horses in the chinese zodiac

[[jfc ok if the official shit compares them a lot i understand why ppl ship them but Dont. its a narrative foil and that doesnt always mean Romance jfc.]]

SUMTHINK.

truly... a lil stinker. super cute bouncing baby and a "bit thick" which is stull so endearing to me. hes just a happy man!

excitable 10 year old and would dance around his room

jfc the fact he has normal/caring parents. i kinda forget how opposite hes supposed to be from murdoc but i think thats another thing jsjsysg (murdoc said why isnt my tragic story making me famous why does he get to be the Star. no wonder he acts like a loon)

i still dont get how gettin bonked by a tree branch made him go bald and also turn his hair blue

big tiddy nurse mommy,,,

went to the same school as The Cure and got decent grades despite hittin the noggin quite hard. WANTED TO BE A STORM CHASER... OMG??

oh thats really cute, hed bond with his dad by building keyboards toegther 🥺💕

messed around with paints and graffiti? artistic king

MURDOC AGAIN: QHDJ 'VILLANOUS' GANG HELP

oh yeah d day...new instruments, new band, new singer - and 'had to be the best or no dice' and absolutely CONFIDENT that his songs were bangers ajsjd

but on that same note, had absolute faith (or desperate) in 2d which i love

ransacked the fucking music shop jdjdj and 2d said he was Just Standing There behind the counter the whole shift hdhdh

"thats when your eye came out, yeah" "yeah!-" HELP WHY DOES HE SOUND SO HAPPY AB IT ?? yes he said ut hurt but he sounds...ok

jfc murdoc ragdolling this poor mf around. dunking him and slapping him around. actually? so incredibly terrible and abusive and i hate him for that 🔫 im sorry 2d stans. we dont condone that behavior here ong.

how and why the FUCK did 2d's parents allow that fucker near their child after that i??? help. wtf. his moms a nurse why didnt she just have murdoc sit in plain view of other people. god damn.

2d flying out the window n hitting the curb "whoops"

"just two black holes...[ah] it looked great...a blue hair, blacked eyed GOD- the girls would go wild-" "pretty boy looks" ???? HELP. HE DOESNT GO LIGHT ON THE COMPLIMENTS, HUH

RUSS TIME

oh yeah, he straight up kiddnapped this man help. idk how he managed that, russ is a Big Man??

AND MURDOCS MUSIC WAS SO FUCKING SEXY GOOD that russel said hm alright ill stay, :] out ifbhis owm free will im screaming.

"oh this is one of them febreeze commercials" "uh . yeah sure. *murdoc turning on his Sick Tunes*" but that either means? it was just his guitar playing the convinced russ? unless he and 2d recorded sumn?

"2d was the looks, murdoc the brains, then russel truly was the heart"

'while 2d and murdoc liked music, this man was a MUSICIAN' god fucking bless this book holy shit ny man russ getting some respect. he said back hurts from carrying this band.

murdoc basically heard this guy had big trauma that gave him So Many Skills n said "thats what i want" ok idk thats actually really? inch rest ting to me. seems that murdocs fine handing out compliments but i guess that where his charisma really helps out yeah?

"he was going to be in my band whether he liked it or not" ...murdoc-

HELP. 2D IS LIKE BRO GO ON IM LISTENING 🥺 despite hearing the story 50-60 times and murdoc said fuck off you lil shit.

ok irrelevant but i love his voice! its super comforting n nice to listen to 🥺

HELP MURDOCS SO BITTER. "NOTHING THAT HAPPENS TO US IS NORMAL" WELL YEAH. THIS IS TRAUMA CENTRAL.

idk how/why he sucked up all his friends souls though ... how are they all possessing the same person. they said "its my turn on The Russ"

DELL IS HIS ACTUAL, LITERAL SOULMATE...KING...😭

went to a private school,,, and was already possessed? and the thing where he gets bigger and smaller is a reoccurring thing?

was in a coma for 4 years?

hiphop machine...time and history...the ultimate set i guess.

his knowledge was infinite and hes a "Renaissance man" hes so fucking smart our king. jack of all trades but a master of drums. he said i know im good and what of it

PAULA.

HELP. HE RMBRS THE STALL: CUBICAL NUMBER 3 🥴 IF I DO RECALL 🤤

yes russel our king. fuck up his nose 5 more times. probably stunted his growth too. he shrunk after russ gave him a wallop im sure

why dies paula sound like tracer overwatch

also only dated 2d for 2 months before joining the band?

HELP SHE REALLY WAS THE FIRST MURDOC FUCKER: "but when i saw murdoc with his thick greasy hair, green teeth and yellow skin i thought 'oh this is the ine for me!'" "OH HES SUCH A DANDY-" HELP ME IM HQJDHD

sick in the head...like i want to hurt people help girl. shes fucking Crazy. but she rly said damn i didnt hear back from him again 😭 and my purse is gone JSHHD

MURDOC: SHE WAS DEPRESSINGLY UGLY *still fucked her*

NOODLE TIME

"small japanese person!"

2d: we werent gorillaz until noodle arrived!

im dying the reason he chose gorillaz. 'swinging through the jungle baring my ass'

noodle really said "im just happy to be here" and she balanced everyone out 😭 "she gave off pure love and the fact that she could laugh at murdoc REALLY helped too" RUSS... IS BABY

JFC MURDOCS SO FUCKING CONFIDENT IN THIS BAND IM LIVING FOR THAT. HE SAID YOU WANT US SO BAD IT MAKES YOU LOOK STUPID. THE CHARISMA

2d rambling ab some girl he met and "ssSs" "whats the s stand for hawhaw" "i dont know!".

THE RECORD LABEL GUY.

one song is all it took i ❤ good for them

just murdoc talking ab the party that they threw for thier deal and saying "you dont know how much of a dick i felt like [when carrying one of those huge checks]" like oh thats whatll make you a dick? alright.

A FOOD FIGHT THAT WENT SO HARD THAT IT KNOCKED 2DS TONSILS OUT? WHAT THE FUCK

ahshdj damon and murdoc not getting along bc of Rival Band One Uppery + damon calling murdocs cuban heels crap since ge wore steel ones with gold spurs.

MURDOC FEELIN EMBARRASSED BC HES 'QUITE PROUD OF HIS SHOES'

but the band and damon getting over music and their ambitions and became a "paternal figure"

HELP MURDOC SAID AWIOGA @ RACHEL WHICH MADE HER THROW HER DRINK IN HIS FACE AND SPLIT FROM 2D. kinda sad actually, she said i still like 2d but murdoc kinda ruined it by trying to get it in with me, it put a strain in our relationship :/ oh god murdocs That Dude

nov 31 1998: started recording :]

40 tracks that got cut down to 15 holy shit

KONG STUDIOS 🤲

hooking up cameras in every room ejdjsu

webby artist of the year in 2006? holy shit

noodle learning ab kong studios omfg

JFC. YES I KNEW KONG WAS BUILT ON/IN A CEMETERY BUT I DIDNT KNOW PPL FOR THE FUCKING PLAGUE WHERE THROWN THERE HDJD

built in 1739?

the ghost of the first owners ghost still roams around in the kitchen in the early hours and moans 'aaa glass of water'

theres some rotting bullshit near the studios and in the summer its fucking TERRIBLE

the former owners were a biker gang, and they all died in a fire

murdoc said this place has bad vibes. i want it.

grim weather

the building feels impossible to escape from huHgg

[scarletfish]

don’t worry, you will

Summary: Two weeks ago, Juno was engaged. Now he's quarantined with a complete stranger who can't operate a microwave and has no sense of personal space.  And they were quarantined (oh my god, they were quarantined!)

Pairings: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel, background Vespa/Buddy in future chapters Word Count: 3000 Chapters: 1/5 Warnings: canon-typical alcohol abuse, depression AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24016468/chapters/57779629

A/N: Thanks @space-city-traffic for the prompt, and @pipis-pods for the suggestion that Juno and Vespa communicate and become friends 

Chapter 1

Diamond paid you $1520 . Your Venmo balance is now $1520.  

Fiancee. Rent. They’re the first and last things on Juno’s mind. He realizes he’s been sitting in the parking garage for over ten minutes, idling and staring at the alert on his cracked phone screen. He turns the car off.

His car with a long crack in the windshield. Everything is goddamn broken. He gets out of the car, pauses. Gets back in the car.

This calls for a detour.

***

Twenty minutes later, Juno is ready to take his newly acquired liquor to his room so he can introduce it to his newly acquired headache, but he still has one more stop to make.

Hyperion Apartment Complex twists eight stories high, and the tacky light grey brick facade is almost reflective at night. Semi-nice rooms in a mostly bad part of town. Hyperion city makes cheap look beautiful, the way fast-food commercials brush up plastic meat with shoe polish and glue. Diamond had always hated it.

Juno shoulders into the leasing office with two large grocery bags. The front desk is empty, and everything is fading or peeling. He rings the bell and sits on a peely, faded chair to wait. Might as well put the whisky to good use.

Taking a swig, he looks out the floor-length windows to the filmy outdoor pool. (Rita swears security fished a body out of it a couple years ago. Juno told her she needs to stop watching so much Law and Order.) For the hundredth time, he wonders if this is even worth it. She's going to ask questions, it's inevitable, and he doesn't know how to answer them. Doesn't know the answers himself.

He starts poking holes in the plastic grocery bags with his thumbnail. Takes another swig. Then a couple more-

“Boss!” Rita bobs into view with her tablet in hand, Cheeto dust on her bright purple jacket.

Since the police force scandal, Juno runs a small PI business from a shitty downtown office, which is where he met Rita. To this day Juno’s not sure how or when she wormed her way into a position he wasn't even offering. He’s also not sure when she sleeps. As far as he knows, the part time leasing office representative is her third job- she also does... something with computers.

“Rita,” swig, “I need a favor.” The shorter woman has already started talking, anticipating their usual back and forth.

“And I know I ain’t supposed to call you that here, but you are my boss, and I don’t think my other bosses-- wait, huh?” Confused by the change in script, Rita eyes the half-empty bottle of whisky in Juno’s hand. Her eyes jump to the clock.

“Mista Steel, are you okay?” One pro of hiring Rita: she’s very perceptive. Con of hiring Rita: way too perceptive.

“Fine. I need you to check someone out for me.” Rita’s eyes immediately light up.

“Oooooh, boss, another case already? Is it gonna be as exciting as the one with Mista Prince Julian? Are we gonna get to travel? I’ve always wanted to go somewhere exotic, like Maine, or Florida-” Juno cuts her off before she can get going.

��He was a dramatic politician with a cheating husband who ended up dead, Rita. Not everything is a Netflix rom-com.”

There's a bitterness in his tone that might not have been there a week ago, but the smaller woman doesn't notice. She's already sunk into her desk chair, head propped in both hands, sighing dreamily as she swivels back and forth. Time to bring out the big guns.

Juno reaches into his shopping bag and pulls out the chips, dangling them in front of Rita’s heart eyes. She snatches. He raises them just out of reach.

“Focus. It’s not a case. There’s this guy I need you to find. I’ve got name and place of employment. Can you do it or not?”

Rita pouts. “But boss,” she whines, “you don’t even need me for that, you can just Google his name like I showed you. I thought we were gonna do something exciting.” Juno pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, well, Google isn’t gonna cut it this time, because,” I wasn’t really paying attention when you showed me that, “because, he’s highly secretive. And, that’s potential name. And potential place of employment, my source isn’t very,” he almost chokes on this last word, “reliable .”

The gears start turning. “Secretive… hang on Boss, is this another high-profiler? Have you been holding out on me?” She lowers her voice (not much). “Boss, this is about a case, right, you just can’t tell me because they might have tapped the phones!?”

What… who does she think they are? Juno drops his head into his hands to rub his temples. When Juno doesn't immediately contradict her, Rita continues in her stage whisper.

“Don’t worry Boss, Rita’s got your back! I’ll have this secretive criminal tracked down before they even know we’re on their case!”

“It’s not a case.”

“I’ll be as quiet as… as those monsters in The Quiet Place! Except they ain’t so quiet when they’re attacking people, but neither are we when we’ve got the bad guys cornered and we’re ready to take them out-”

Besides the recent political debacle with Julian and his missing husband (that one was a high-paying scrap tossed Juno’s way by an old friend), most of the cases he’s hired for are affair investigations and insurance fraud.

He’s certain neither he nor Rita have “taken anyone out” ever ... unless you count that time he tried to teach Rita to drive stick shift. Or the Hot Tub Debacle. But those were accidents.

Juno slings the bag of snacks onto her desk. “Just find out whatever you can about the guy, okay?”

“Fresh shrimp flavored?” Rita squeals, “Aw, you’re the best Mista Steel!” She digs into the large bag and talks around a mouthful of orange crumbs while Juno tries not to vomit in his mouth.

“Shipping ish ‘aking fore’er wi’ this crathy thirus thing goin’ gon,” she swallows, “speaking of, have you been watching the news Boss?”

“Every morning with my sunrise yoga. Listen Rita, I’ll check in with you tomorrow, okay?” Juno’s limbs are… heavy, suddenly. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s because he hasn’t slept well in that last, oh, ten years... or maybe it’s the weight of that single text, sitting in his phone for almost a week now. Looking at Rita, he thinks of telling her everything. Just spilling his guts right onto the scuffed linoleum floor.

The engagement. The text. The Craigslist ad. The man he’s supposed to be meeting tomorrow.

Rita’s still chattering on, and her voice cuts through the haze. “-but you never told me the name of Mister Criminal?” She happily shoves another handful of chips in her mouth. “Oooo, or is it so secret you need to write it down on a piece of paper and then I can read it and eat the paper-”

“Peter Ransom. Might’ve done a job for Vallas Vicky’s hotel recently.” That’s all he knows. “And he’s not a criminal Rita, he’s just a normal guy.”

Rita’s dialogue wanders around to closing borders and something about Italy, but Juno’s already moving towards the door (it shuts a bit harder than he intended). He doesn't know why he's so upset with Rita, when all she's done is try to cheer him up and offered her help. He makes his way back to the parking garage elevator. It smells like cotton candy vape and something vaguely mossy. A group of ragged kids is flying down the incline around the corner on penny boards.

Juno takes another swig of whiskey in front of the chrome doors and jams the elevator button about twenty times before he remembers.

Of course the fucking elevator is down for the weekend.

He wants to sit at the bottom of the stairwell and drink himself into oblivion. He want to wallow in this feeling for a moment, the feeling of the universe kicking him while he’s down.

Instead, he drags himself to the stairwell, drudges down the second floor hall, and practically collapses through the door.

An eager chittering greets him from the cage in the living room. “Hey, Smallfry.”

Diamond wouldn’t go near the ball of fluff (“It’s so dirty Juno,”) so when they moved in together eight months ago, the rabbit was a launching point for multiple arguments. Juno drops his grocery bag of Timothy hay and carrots by the cage, not bothering to stash it in the kitchen.

He pointedly doesn’t look in the smaller second bedroom that Diamond claimed as an office space. He doesn’t look at their shared bed either, because the sight of the rumpled sheets will just wrap around his ribcage and squeeze and squeeze until he can’t breathe again and everything is spinning-

Juno takes another swig and collapses on the couch. And then, because he wants to hate himself a bit, he thumbs through his phone to his fiancee’s most recent text. No matter how often Juno reads it, it never changes.

3:56AM: Diamond

Juno. I’ll forward my part of two month’s rent before the month is over. That should be long enough for you to find a temporary roommate, at least until the lease expires at the end of the year. Do what you’d like with the furniture.

Ex-fiancee.

***

Juno bolts upright, disoriented and confused. The decorative couch pillows left lines on his cheek, and he’s nursing the beginning of a monster headache. He gropes around for his phone. 7PM. It’s only been a few hours.

It feels like days. Months. Years.

Juno shivers. He left the door to the porch open, and a cool fall breeze is raising goosebumps on his arm. A nearby screen door slams, and heavy boots tread the balcony next door. “Hey piss-bucket, you been day drinking again?”

The green-haired nuisance next door is only loud when she chooses to be, so Juno knows she's hoping to stir him out for a cigarette or two. He wonders briefly when Buddy will be back. Vespa only gets this chatty when her partner is gone for long periods of time on work trips.

He toys with the idea of stepping out. Hey Vespa. How're the axe-throwing students? (She refuses to tell him what she does for work, so Juno assigns her a new job every night.)

She’ll respond with something like, Great. If your failed PI business finally tanks, we could always use some new targets.

Maybe if Juno gets drunk enough, he’ll tell her why he’s not planning on ever being sober again. Tell her that he’s such a fucked up human, his fiancee ghosted him three weeks before the wedding with no forwarding address. Over text.

She’ll have to laugh at that. It’s the goddamn joke of the century, and Juno’s the punchline.

He jumps violently when his phone starts ringing. “I know you can hear me, Steel,” Vespa sneers from her balcony.

Juno groans at the name lighting up his screen. He was wrong- he’s not the punchline. Fucking Mick Mercury is.

He almost sends it to voicemail, but at the last second he crosses to the balcony door, wrestles the screen closed as Vespa flips him off (“What, too busy getting wasted alone?”) and finally slides the door shut with a bang.

He leans against the wall by Smallfry’s cage.

“Whaddya want, Mick.” Juno’s brain struggles to keep up with the excited babble streaming out of the phone.

“Juno! That hit we got on your listing? The Peter guy? He messaged again!”

No one’s outright asked Juno, “Did your fiancee ghost you three weeks before your wedding over text?”, so he’s not lying to his friends, per se. He just isn’t ready for the inevitable string of I-told-you-so’s from Rita and Vespa, who have hated Diamond since the moment they waltzed into Juno’s life ten months ago and stomped all over his heart with their designer boots.

Mick, bless him, is blissfully ignorant of Juno’s recent string of unfortunate life events. He’s blissfully ignorant about most things, actually, but his unending stream of well-intentioned business ventures mean he knows how to advertise.

Juno isn’t sure who Craig is, or why he keeps lists of random shit online. All he knows is that he can't afford rent on his own, and Mick owed him a favor. A lot of favors.  

“Let me guess, he's found something better and he's not interested anymore.”

Fuck Diamond for putting him in this situation. Even if he deserves it. Even if he should’ve known better.  

“No, Juno! He says, and I quote,” he clears his throat and reads dramatically, “‘Juno, would it be possible to move our rendezvous sooner? Due to personal issues I find I’m in need of accommodations a bit sooner than expected, and your ad did say the room was available post haste.’” Mick drops his voice back to normal. “He wants to meet sooner!”

“Yeah, I got that Mick. ‘Post haste’?”

“I went for a 'trustworthy but not desperate' vibe, ya feel?” Juno is quickly wishing he read and approved the ad before Mick posted it across the internet in his name.

“All right Mick, whatever, sure, just let me know when you set it up for.” There’s a long, telling silence. “...Mick?”

“Okay so here’s the thing,” and with that, Juno knows the universe is screwing with him again, “I kinda already told him you could meet him tomorrow morning? At eight? And I gave him the address of the apartment?” His words get faster with each blow.

“You gave him the address? Goddamn it Mick, I thought we were meeting for coffee somewhere first so I could make sure he’s not some wackjob who wants to hack me to pieces and wear my skin as a suit!” Juno’s less worried about becoming a potential skin suit and more worried about waking up before noon with the spectacular hangover he’s got planned, but he’s not going to tell Mick that.

“Oh Juno, you’re so,” he chuckles, “you’re hilarious! Skin suit. Ha! You’ve been watching Law and Order with Rita again, haven’t you?” Juno resists the urge to slam his head into the wall and end it all.

“Anyways, get some sleep tonight and make a good impression on our friend tomorrow! I’ll pass him your number. And hey, maybe you could mention my new Hair-in-a-Can line? One good turn and all that. The recall went real smooth with the last one!”

“Mick, hang on, listen to me-” Juno’s cut off by a loud crash in the background.

“Sorry Juno, gotta go, the cans are a bit more,” a high-pitched scream, “uh, high-pressured than we expected, good luck pal, don’t be a stranger!”

The line goes dead. Perfect. Juno eyes Smallfry.

“Not like I have anything worth stealing, huh? Unless he deals in small, neurotic rabbits.” He restocks Smallfry’s hay before he’s too drunk to remember. Vespa's convinced that a hungry rabbit might be inclined to chew through the apartment wall and go on a carnivorous hunting spree.

“My last roommate had a rabbit. It got mad when their sister’s rabbit got a nicer cage, so it chewed straight through the bars and,” she snapped her fingers, “chomp chomp. Nothing left but rabbits feet.”

“Bullshit.”

“What are you Steel, the rabbit whisperer? Okay, maybe it was a gerbil! Whatever, same difference.”

Then he grabs an extra blanket from the hall closet (it really is starting to get cold), two bottles of liquor, and the TV remote and settles onto the couch for another long night.

***

The best mornings are the mornings Juno wakes up still drunk and pleasantly fuzzy. This is not one of those mornings.

His alarm is playing quite loudly, meaning it’s probably been going off for quite some time, and two things happen in quick succession as his brain painfully struggles towards consciousness.

He rolls over in bed to grab at his phone and realizes the bed is actually a narrow couch. He hits the floor with a heavy thump . He's blindly swiping at the floor trying to turn the damn thing off, ignoring the nagging anxiety that he’s forgotten something important... There!

Blearily, he reads the alarm label… “SOUR CREAM.” What?

There’s a sharp knock at his door. His tipsy brain stumbles around in tight circles. He set that alarm weeks ago while cooking… never bothered to re-label it.... that doesn’t explain…

A second set of knocking, more forceful this time, accompanied by a muffled voice.

It’s 7:50AM and he honestly can’t remember why he’s supposed to be waking up or who could possibly be at the door. No, wait… he vaguely remembers…

Mick. The phone call. The desperate roommate.

All at once, Juno’s certain that he doesn’t need a roommate. It’s only four months after all, and the idea of a complete stranger snooping around his stuff, asking questions about his life, getting tangled up with his job, makes Juno’s skin crawl. It’s not worth the money. He can figure that out… somehow.

It’s decided. He’ll ignore the knocking. This Peter guy will eventually give up, he’ll tell Mick to take down the advertisement, and he’ll figure something else out.

Then a noise outside the door makes his blood run cold. He knows that giggle.

“Sorry Mista Criminal, lemme just, ngh-hungh, try that key.” Rita, traitor secretary and ex-best friend, is using her spare key to let this man into Juno’s apartment. The stranger’s muffled voice leaks through the door. “Could you maybe...?”

There’s no time to think. Juno’s only on the second floor, there are bushes underneath the window. If he can get out quick enough, he might be able to avoid a meeting altogether-

“Thank you Rita, you are an absolute gem, and twice as beautiful if I might add...” the door clicks open.

Might’ve been able to. If he’d moved a little quicker.

“Hello! Juno, I presume?”

Fuck.

[h-e-l-l-b-r-o-k-e]

Stains on the Memory [B. Hargrove x you]

Request: @awildkaitlynhasappeared

Inspiration: Disintegration by The Cure

Word Count: 2421 Warnings: profanity and angst.

Written Date: 8/6-24/2019 Posted Date: 8/24/2019

The new Lego set includes too many pieces to count and a manual too difficult for the four-year-old to read. The pictured King’s Castle on the box brings wonder, but not enough for the stubborn boy to stick to the instructions or ask for help. Either way, blocks lock on together by able hands and his imagination runs far too wild to be tamed by boring words and numbers.

It wasn’t playful excitement that had him push past his dad and run past you, with your hands on your hips as your eyes flew from him to Billy, but rather a desperate eagerness to escape what is now taking place on the other side of his bedroom door.

“You forgot Jason in your car for two hours!”

Your muffled words pierce through Jason’s crayola-scribbled bedroom door. That tone in your voice is always reserved just for his father; it’s never been directed at your son even when he’s worn your patience thin by throwing a tantrum when Looney Tunes hadn’t been on TV while your feet were sore from wearing pumps at work all day.

Jason knows that this is only the beginning of an endless night.

The wires in his brain steer him to focus on the Legos he had been begging his parents to buy ever since he’d first seen the commercial on television. He’d asked and asked and asked but the answer was always a prolonged no.

There were far too many excuses his parents would give him that it was tough for his little head to wrap around the truth. The pieces proved hazardous for a child his age, you’d tell him. They weren’t sold in the stores in their town, Billy’d tell him. They were sold out last time you checked and were waiting for a restock, but, in reality, the price had driven you away. Billy simply just hadn’t seen any around―not that he was actually looking.

“Don’t tell me he was safe! You ditched our son to have drinks with fucking Perry!”

But, what had been the truth? After being strapped in with a seat belt with no form of entertainment except for watching strangers stroll by the sidewalk in front of the bar every now and then, Billy had returned to the car with a quick stride and a nervous twitch to his eyebrow. No apology. No explanation to the boy who was promised his father wouldn’t be gone long. Nothing that made any bit of sense except the drive to Target, and finding out that Legoland sets hadn’t been in some faraway land like Jason had been growing to believe and that his father had no problem pulling out a wad of bills from his pocket to pay for it. So why did his parents lie?

The knight figure has quickly become the favored piece as Jason mounts it on a horse, charging it against another figure he decided was the enemy in this private battle. A whoosh pushes past thin lips as the impact between plastic erupts, the enemy crashing against the carpet a few feet away.

Brain waves continue to buzz through his trickling veins in a vain attempt, like palms pumping against a dwindling chest, to keep his spirit from retreating into a cocoon. It seems to be working as the proud digits on his bedside table flick through the evening even though his heart isn’t fully invested in the activity.

“I didn’t mean to―”

“And yet you decided to get behind the wheel with our four year old son while who knows how drunk you were―”

“I wasn’t fuckin’ drunk…now will you keep your fucking voice down?”

Jason doesn’t know that his toy collection is decent at best. He has yet to start Kindergarten, so he doesn’t know many children his age to compare. The only children he knows belong to Billy’s co-workers down at the mechanic shop and yours from the restaurant you waitress at, but even then, most of the kids are too old to want to play with him whenever they visit.

If only he was old enough to read all the clear signs right in front of him. His parents are living paycheck to paycheck, and they just don’t have the heart to tamper his blissful ignorance with such a heavy burden.

“No, because it’s always the same thing with you! Is that what was normal when you were growing up? Butter up the kid with gifts bought with rent money every time your dad screwed up?!”

Small fingers loosen around the knight in matte armor and it’s white horse, falling out of Jason’s clutch. His sleeveless forearms rise past the Hulk logo printed across his chest as his palms cup his ears.

Your rambling is long and far too scrambled for Jason, yet certain words are stressed enough to slither down the hallway, slip through the cracks of the bedroom, and nail your sole pride and joy. Even when he doesn’t fully understand why these words hurt him.

The mention of possible family members who never call nor visit is part of the void that breathes between his fragile shoulders. He only had pictures tucked away under his parents’ bed in some weathered album. The faces had names he often forgot, and some even had titles of relation, but that’s about the extent of the knowledge you indulged him in. It hurt you too much to go any further and explain why your and Billy’s little family lived states away from everyone, but you handle it better than Billy who only ever changes the subject with a flick of his eyes whenever your boy asks about the redheaded women who’re pictured with an older man with a mustache who oddly resembles his father.

The photograph had been hidden in the last page of the photo album in which Jason had discovered on his own after flipping through the empty pages. The expressions of the three mysterious figure are anything but happy, yet the women do not send shivers crawling up his spine like the stern-looking man does. Jason knows he doesn’t like him, whoever he may be.

“Why don’t you just come out with it and say what you really mean?”

Behind the door, with ears taped closed by stiff fingers and eyes sewn shut by quaking muscles, Jason isn’t aware that Billy’s slammed a palm against the kitchen counter, nostrils flared and protruding vein on the side of his jugular, nor that you’ve merely dismissed a flushed Billy with nothing more but the shake of your head and an apologetic frown etched on your weary face.

Jason opens his eyes and drops his fingers, kneading the fibers of the carpet for a moment, when his bedroom door opens and your bare feet slip through the crack.

Standing before him with the doorknob pressed against the lumbar of your spine as your hands rest on the bronze, you don’t look a day over twenty-two, perhaps you even look a little younger. But, not to your son’s untrained gaze. To him, you and Billy look like just any other boring adult who has presumably completed high school, gotten their degree, and are now living their best course.

Instead, you and Billy are thousands of miles away from those who were meant to support and love you unconditionally, family and even friends alike. You both packed up whatever you could fit in the Camaro on a school night, cashed out whatever savings were available, and set out on a journey to Billy’s hometown.

Your knees sink onto the floor beside your little boy and you look at the mess of scattered miniature blocks. When you pick up a stray Lego and attach it to the clump in front of Jason, he speaks up, “Are you taking the toy back?”

“No,” you shake you head, “It’s yours, baby.”

You envelop him in your arms and kiss his curly crown. “This is the one you’ve wanted?” you ask even though you already know by the amount of begging he squeezed out of his lungs the past month.

“Mmhmm,” Jason nods against your sternum.

He pulls away after another second or so, peering up at you through curls that fall over his forehead. “Are you still mad at dad?”

A little bit, you think. Frustrated, definitely. It’s no longer about the money, especially not after walking in on Jason playing with the guilt-tripped gift. Picking up a few extra shifts is worth it if it means you can pull a few more grins out of Jason. But, no, the frustration comes from watching Billy constantly stomp on egg shells when it comes to being a father.

By no means are you a supermom―you’re still learning how to parent every single day―but at least you aren’t forgetting about your precious baby in the backseat of a car just to abandon responsibilities for a few hours. No, you’ve been holding it together since the minute you sat in the passenger seat and Billy shifted the gear back in Hawkins. It just seems that no matter how much you and Jason mean to Billy, it’s in his nature to rebel in some form―even when he knows the guilt is only a step away.

The acts that keep him from conforming into a father he’d wished he had as an adolescent could be something as mundane as bringing home a carton of low-fat milk when you had specifically said two-percent twice before. Billy just couldn’t get it right, and you didn’t know if it was somehow on purpose or not.

Before you could respond to Jason’s question, Billy enters. Ruby no longer rushes up his neck nor speckles across his cheeks in angry splotches.

Billy’s thick eyelashes flutter towards you and Jason, and he knows that you have every right to feel as you do, to yell at him as you did, and walk away before the argument could escalate to places he doesn’t want to imagine. And, he knows that you had just been a hairbreadth away from speaking it into existence, that Billy had inherited some of the qualities that made him hate his own father in the first place. He doesn’t think he could ever handle that.

He kneels down near the two of you, tucks a loose strand behind your ear, and ruffles Jason’s fluffly head of hair. “Hey buddy, you wanna continue reading the Hulk?”

Billy’s never been a fan of comic books, but Jason enjoyed the noises, the voices, and sometimes the acting that Billy did when he read to him. Max had given her older step-brother a few of her old copies before he left as a gift to her future niece or nephew she’d probably never get to know. She’s just another faceless shadow that will haunt every dark corner Jason comes across.

Your boy shakes his head and reaches out for the blocks he had formed to resemble what he thinks is a fort. “I just want to play.”

Jason goes to pick up the knight with the horse as Billy’s fingers caresses your knuckles before holding your hand in his own. Your gaze meets Billy’s, and somewhere in the blue of his pupils he’s apologizing without further dragging Jason into the mess. You nod and give him a small smile, hoping that Billy can see that you’re sorry too.

The King’s Castle box lays on the carpet a few feet away. Billy reaches for it and pulls out the instructions. “You want mommy and me to help you?”

“Yeah!” It’s the best idea Jason’s heard all day.

You glance back at Jason’s clock. It’s almost seven and you haven’t prepared anything since you’ve gotten a call by Gwen who told you she’d seen Jason in the car by himself in front of Stokey’s, Billy’s and his co-workers’ place to meet. By the time you’d gotten there, Billy and Jason had already left. “What about dinner?”

“I’ll call Domino’s in a bit,” Billy says as he reads some of the instructions.

You pinch Jason’s cheek then begin to gather the stray pieces that surround his bent knees. “You wanna help me get all the pieces together, hmm?”

Soon, all the blocks except for the yellow figures lie in a pile between the three of you as Billy begins describing the pieces needed to begin building the foundation of the kingdom.

You both know that there will be more bumps down the road, even Jason knows these moments don’t last forever. In the following years, Jason will realize the truth, in which imperfections haven’t expanded as he’s aged but that they’ve been sprinkled all over his home all along, waiting to finally be uncovered one by one.

Jason’s grin grows when Billy makes the horse gallop, letting out a horrendous neigh in the process and prompting you to jokingly throw a Lego or two at his head.

Happiness envelops the three, but that cannot be said for tomorrow or even next week without spilling a lie. Something will happen to drag everyone down, and it’ll be up to them to build everything up again. But this, this memory is engraved and will forever stay the same among stains that cannot be scrubbed off.

A/N: Boy, I really lagged on this one, but I’d say I’m pretty happy with the outcome. Leave some love.

[dishefsllc]

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[thenocturnalmushroom]

Time to Heal - AshEiji (Chapter Two)

Chapters: 6/? Fandom: Banana Fish Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ash Lynx/Okumura Eiji Characters: Ash Lynx, Okumura Eiji Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Fluff, Lots of fluff, Angst/Comfort, Lots of comfort, Healing, Mentions of past child abuse, Happy Ending  

Read on AO3

Eiji felt very tempted to throw his phone to the other side of his small apartment when the alarm started to ring. But, even only half conscious, his mind was awake enough to remind him how much it would cost him a new one - a little too much for his college student wallet. Contending himself to just turn the alarm off, the boy came back to bury his face into his soft pillow, promising to never staying up so late at night reading again - a promise he knew he would never accomplish.

Allowing himself to have a few more minutes of laziness, Eiji stretched out his body on the bed, letting the timid sunbeams, that were coming through the curtains, warm his face pleasantly. The boy didn’t have so much to do that day; he just needed to start his shift a bit earlier in the café that afternoon, to help his uncle to reorganize the storage, but his whole morning was completely free for him to start a new book or watch the show that his best friend, Shorter, had recommended to him. While Eiji tried to decide what to do before leaving the bed, he let the sounds of the already busy store downstairs reach his ears, indicating the true beginning of a new day.

After going to brush his teeth, Eiji headed into the kitchen to prepare his breakfast: a cup of hot green tea and the last chocolate donut in the package - an unexpected match of flavors from both cultures, but a very welcomed one. The boy loved how the bitterness of the green tea balanced the too sugared taste of the American sweet. Accompanied by his breakfast, Eiji came back to his bed, taking the opportunity to grab his laptop in the “living room” – two old, but pretty armchairs he had positioned in the free space between the kitchen and his bedroom, trying to make it look like his tiny apartment wasn’t that tiny. The boy ended up deciding to find out if the show that Shorter had insisted so much for him to watch was as good as his friend claimed it to be.

**

The show ended up being so gripping that Eiji completely lost his track of time. He dived so deep into the story, getting so involved by all the small mysteries that led to a bigger and exciting one, the interesting characters, the unique atmosphere of the world where the story was settled… and when he realized, the morning had almost reached its end, dragging him back from the fictional world to the real one. The clock ticked just over eleven o'clock when he turned his laptop off, making a mental note to thank Shorter for suggesting him that amazing show later, right before starting to get ready for his chores of the day - being the first one, preparing the lunch for him and his uncle. The boy couldn’t help but let a resigned sigh get out of his chest for not be able to finish the first season of the show that morning, while he locked his door and headed for his uncle's apartment, right beside his own.

The kitchen of Eiji's apartment was enough for the small meals he prepared to himself; but when it came to larger or more elaborate meals, the boy borrowed his uncle's kitchen, as was the case that day. Ibe's apartment was more than twice the size of Eiji's, with well-divided rooms and three bedrooms. When he moved to America to help his uncle during his recovery from cancer, about two years ago, Eiji had shared the apartment with Ibe for little more than eight months, but he had never felt comfortable with it; the boy couldn’t stop thinking that he was somehow invading his uncle's privacy. Then, as soon as the man was completely healed and recovered from the treatment, Eiji voiced his wish to rent the empty efficiency apartment. Uncle and nephew had some discussions on the subject; Ibe didn’t want to accept that his nephew would pay to live there, but the stubborn boy insisted on doing it, after all, he didn’t think it was fair to stay in the apartment as a favor. The uncle still tried to make him change his mind, but soon he found out that when Eiji puts something in his mind it was easier to just accept the defeat. Still, Ibe had made it clear to him that his house would always be Eiji's as well - which has been proved to be very convenient for the boy, like at moments like that.

Wasting no time, Eiji took all the ingredients he would need to prepare the lunch: rice, two pieces of fish, some vegetables and spices. The boy was better at preparing sweets dishes, but there was nothing to complain about his savory meals; he always seemed to know the right spice and the right amount of it to enhance the taste of each food - unlike his uncle, who always seemed to use either too much or too little spice. A little over half an hour later, Eiji was already serving the food in the obentou boxes and as soon as he finished cleaning the kitchen, the boy grabbed both obentou and started walking to downstairs to the first floor where the Banana Fish café was running full blast.

The boy hesitated for a moment in front of the door that separated the silent residential part of the build from the hectic commercial one. At this point, he was supposed to be used to deal with lots of people, once he has been working at the store for almost two years, having to interact with the costumers everyday during long hours of his day, but… the truth was that he still feeling like he hadn’t improved so much when it comes to his social skills. Eiji still feeling that annoying uneasiness in his stomach every time when he was about to start a new shift, every time when he needed to smile and exchange a few words with a stranger, every time when he needed to step outside that door in front of him.

Taking a deep breath, Eiji opened the door and gave his first step to beyond his small, silent world.

**

Eiji found his uncle in the staff room, but he wasn’t alone; Ibe was talking with Max, his business partner and best friend. A smile automatically came up to the boy’s lips, only to falter a moment later, making his heart ache a little bit.

Since Eiji had met his uncle’s best friend, he had never seen the man without a gentle smile on his face, but… the only thing that seemed to adorn his face since the month before was a deep expression of concern and exhaustion, darkening his kind eyes and making the tips of his lips - so used to be turned upwards - point to the ground. The loss of his younger sister had really messed with Max and, no matter how much the boy wanted to help him, he couldn’t thinking about anything to do. The feeling of impotence made Eiji’s chest even heavier.

“Hello, Eiji!”, Max greeted him with a broad smile, but that wasn’t enough to erase the marks that the tiredness had left on his face.

“Good afternoon.”, the boy returned the smile kindly, approaching the two older men and taking a sit next to his uncle. “How are you doing?”

Max visibly suppressed a sigh. “I won’t lie to you… it’s been a tough time, but…”, a small, but sincere smile took shape on the man’s lips. “I’m gonna be fine. I’m feeling like things are finally starting to settle down.” And with a glow of fun flicking into his eyes, he added: “I’m even missing working! I can’t wait for the end of these vacations!”, If Eiji wasn’t mistaken, the Head Chef of the Banana Fish café still had another week before returning to work, after taking a couple of weeks off to handle with all the things related to the passing of his sister and brother-in-law, besides the custody of their son.

“And how’s your…”, the boy hesitated for a moment, uncertain about the proper word to use in that case. For someone who used to have a very poor knowledge of the English language when he arrived in North America lands, Eiji had improved a lot during his time living there - but it didn’t mean that the Japanese boy  had stopped to struggle with the language sometimes.“… stepnephew going? Does this word even exist?”

Max burst out laughing at the last question of his best friend’s nephew for a moment, right before his smiling face melted back to his tired expression.

“Well… it’s really hard to tell how Ash is actually feeling… He seems to be pretty good at cover his emotions with some layers of indifference and self-confidence, as if he doesn’t care so much about what’s happening around him because he knows he would be fine no matter what. As if he thinks he can deal with everything all alone. And that’s what worries me the most.”, each word that came out from Max’s mouth seemed to put more weight over his shoulder instead of relieving it.

Eiji knew near to nothing about the Chef’s nephew. Ibe didn’t want to go into too much details, but he had told him once that unfortunate events seemed to chase the boy along all his life since he was a child, including the loss of his parents around a month before. It broke Eiji's heart to hear that someone so young has had already to face so much in life.

“The only thing I’m sure about Ash…”, Max continued. “… is that he's not very excited about the idea of living in a small town like this one, but…”, his concerned expression started, little by little, giving way to a fragile smile with a hint of hope on it. “But he’s getting along very well with Michael. Those two got attached to each other the moment they met, like they had adopted the other as a brother or something like that instantly.”,  and with the softer expression Eiji had seen on his face for the past month, he added: “The only times Ash seems to be himself is when he's with Michael. That's a good sign, isn’t it?”

It was Eiji's turn to allow a smile to reach his lips. The little Michael was a very special child, so it didn't surprise him that the other boy got attached to him so easily; it was hard not to have a soft spot for that sweet kid.

“You should invite him to come here.”, Ibe suggested, tapping his fingers lightly on the lid of the obentou box. He seemed eager to devour his lunch, but he didn’t want to be rude. “I'm sure he will not resist to our delicious sweets. They are… irresistible!”

Max smiled at his friend gratefully. “Thank you, Shunichi. I’ll talk about it with him later. But, now…”, he began to stand up calmly, resting one hand on the back of the chair. “Now, I'm going to let you two have your lunch in peace.”

Ibe tried to persuade Max to stay a little longer, but his friend declined the invitation, affirming that he had promised his wife to help her with some things at home, but he promised to return to visit them before his kind-of vacation was over - and that he would bring his nephew next time.

“I've never seen Max so down before…”, lamented Ibe, chewing his lunch in a melancholic way. He must have been really worried about his friend not to be excited about the delicious food his nephew had prepared for them. “I hope things get better for him soon.”

“Me too. Seeing him like this makes me feel so sad.”, Eiji agreed, poking his piece of fish absently with the hashi. “But I'm sure everything will be fine sooner than we expect!”, the boy smiled at his uncle with confidence, making the man smile too.

The Glenreeds had always been so kind to Eiji, making him feel comfortable around them, almost as if he were part of the family. No matter what they were going through, the boy was sure they would get over that much in no time. They were good and kind people... Eiji could bet it wouldn’t take so long for even that new member of the family to feel welcomed by them.

The boy couldn’t help but wonder what kind of person Max’s nephew was.

[fajar78]

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