#the way she barked at someone yesterday made me finally decide she should have one in public

[seabeck]

So dogblr, how does one start with finding a good muzzle for your dog? Juniper doesn’t react to men well and while she hasn’t tried to bite anyone I’d feel a helluva lot more secure knowing she can’t (and it might keep people from letting their dogs run up to her). Like what brands and styles are good and how to you figure out what size? All I know is how to train it

[maemelany]

Fixing the Broken (Part 3)

Summary: People say that time heals all wounds. In your case, time made it worse.

You’ve been married to Chris for five years, but his absence spoke louder than his words. After 5 years of trying, you’ve decided that you’ve had enough, and you left him. But Chris doesn’t want to let you go; he doesn’t want to give up on your marriage.

Would he be able to fix what you consider irretrievably broken?

Warnings: Angst, tiny tiny mentions of sex

Word Count: 2.6 k

Pairing : Chris Evans x Reader

A/N: I hope you like this one. I can’t wait for your reactions about this one. I can only imagine what @fallenoutofrose will have to say about Chris’s behavior in this part 😂

Enjoy and let me know if you want me to add you to the tag list

Love x  Mae ❤️

Masterlist 

Prologue , Part 1 , Part 2 Part 4 

“It is better to hope than despair.”

-Lailah Gifty Akita,

You finally knocked. After standing in front of that door for what felt like an eternity now, you finally knocked. Your legs felt like jelly, and your heart was pounding in your chest. You were feeling more anxious than the day of your wedding, and the irony of the situation made you almost laugh. Almost, but not quite. You were about to when Lisa opened the door.

She was as radiant as ever, a big, warm smile on her face. Honestly, it surprised you. You knew that she knew. Now that Chris was back, there was no way Lisa wouldn’t know what was going on. That man told everything to his mother.

Lisa let you in, and you followed her into the living room. The house felt like a second home to you. Actually, it felt more like home than your place with Chris sometimes. There was always something happening here. When you left your house, you almost came here. But you felt like it was unfair to Chris. Lisa was his mom, and her house was his safe place, not yours.

“Chris told me everything. How are you holding up honey, are you okay?” Lisa asked you

Her kindness broke your last defence. Her genuine, motherly concern about you made you feel guilty that you didn’t come to her sooner. Lisa had always been so kind to you, taking you in as her own daughter from the moment Chris introduced you as his girlfriend. Your lips started to shiver as you were trying your best to hold the tears back.

“Oh, honey… please don’t cry.”

She took you in her arms, and you broke into tears. It may have lasted five minutes or an hour; you weren’t sure. These days you were crying so much it was just the new normal.

Your best friend had been a great support to you, but she had to. She was your best friend. Chris’s mom was supposed to be on his side, defending her son’s best interest. Not yours.

“Why didn’t you tell me things were that bad, Y/N?” Lisa asked you

You looked away. Somehow ashamed that you thought Lisa would reject you.

“I … I don’t know. Chris is your son, and…”

“And you’re my daughter. Y/N, you’re family. We all love you!” Lisa said, taking your hands into hers. “Plus, I bet some even love you more than Chris,” Lisa joked.

You laughed, feeling a little bit more at ease now. “I’m sorry…” you whispered.

“Don’t be. I am sorry we didn’t see anything,” Lisa said

You shook your head. It wasn’t their fault. They weren’t responsible, Chris and you were. It was your marriage, after all.

Lisa asked for your version of the story, and you could tell she was trying to be as partial as possible. You hated that you had to put her in that situation. She cringed when you told her Chris didn’t notice you were gone until he went to Carly’s place.

“That boy…” she said, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry, honey,” she said, a sad expression on her face.

“It’s not your fault Lisa. Actually, it’s not even Chris’s fault. I can’t force him to stay married to me,” You said

“You think he feels… forced to be with you?”

You shrugged. “I mean… why else would he be as far away from me as he possibly could?”

Lisa watched you closely. You could tell she wanted to say something but was refraining herself.

“You two should talk. Maybe you could solve this…” Lisa said

“I don’t think us talking would do any good. We tried that yesterday; you should have seen how shi… messy it was”

Lisa tried to hide her smile when you stopped yourself from swearing. “If talking to each other doesn’t work, maybe you should try talking to someone else…” Lisa suggested

You frowned. You didn’t see how Chris and you talking to Lisa would help. Yes, Lisa was a wise woman, but as she said herself, she was your mother both. Knowing Chris, he would take it personally if his mother called his shit out about his marriage. You still remembered what happened the last time Lisa agreed with you instead of Chris. He was salty for days.

“I love you, Lisa, but I don’t think talking to you would fix this,” you gently said

Lisa laughed. “I wasn’t talking about me, honey. I meant a therapist.”

“A therapist? Like couples therapy, you want us to go to couples therapy?” you asked.

Lisa nodded. You never thought about that.

“I thought couples therapy was supposed to happen before couples decide they want a divorce.”

“Not necessarily. It could help you express your feelings in a safe place. And, you decided you wanted a divorce, honey. I don’t think Chris agrees with you.”

You frowned. If Lisa thought the warm smile would help you accept the subtle criticism easier, she was wrong. You were even worse than Chris when it came to being right. 

You loved being right and hated being told that you could have done something wrong, especially in that very particular situation. You were right. You had to be right. It would kill you to realize you were wrong and left the man you loved for nothing.

“Do you think I went too far…” You said, the tears resurfacing

“Oh no,” Lisa immediately told you. “You did what was right for you, and that’s the most important. I can’t even imagine how you must have felt, alone in that big house.”

A huge weight lifted off your shoulders. Secretly you thought people didn’t understand you. You were married to Chris Evans, living what they thought should be a fairy tale. 

Even though you and Chris were what people called a private couple, he would sometimes tell things about you or express his love for you when he was being interviewed. When those things happened, your friends would always send you messages, reminding you how lucky you were. 

They didn’t know how far they were from the truth. Most of the time, you were alone in your bed when you were reading their messages. Alone and lonely. 

People think they know things about your life, your marriage, but they don’t. They would have to walk in your shoes, feel what you daily felt to actually understand.

When you left Lisa’s house, she had convinced you. She made you realize that even though things between You and Chris were pretty bad, your relationship was worth saving, or at least you owed it to Chis and yourself to try. Even if therapy didn’t work, you still owed it to yourself and Chris to end things the most peacefully possible. Before being your husband, he was your friend. You needed at least that friendship to be saved.

Instead of going back to your best friend’s place, you went home. It wasn’t even a conscious decision. You started driving and found yourself taking the way home. Instead of turning back, you continued. You realized waiting wouldn’t help. You’d waited so much already, now was the time to act.

As you opened your front door, you felt submerged with that particular sent. You were home. Despite what you told Chris yesterday, this house was your home. You chose almost every piece of furniture.

 Chris was more than happy to leave it to you; he didn’t understand why you needed so many pillows on the bed or a particular shade of beige for the dining chairs. Instead of explaining everything, you would just ask for his opinion when it was absolutely necessary. Plus, it was hard to decorate a house via FaceTime. 

Thinking of it now, decorating this house helped you manage your loneliness for some time. You were proud of every single room, from your bedroom to the laundry room.

You found Chris and Dodger sleeping on the sofa. You weren’t surprised. The couch was probably Chris’ favorite spot in the whole house. You had your office, and he had this sofa. 

You were tempted to lay next to them. They felt like home. But you didn’t want to wake Chris up. If there was one thing Chris was lacking, it was sleep. You also noticed the dark circles under his eyes yesterday, and the current situation was not helping his sleep deprivation.

When you noticed a few takeout boxes in the room, you knew exactly how to occupy yourself. Chris used to love your cooking. Your skills were definitely better than his, but as your husband liked to say, one cannot be good at everything. You smiled when you remembered how you would tease him about his horrible cooking skills, and he would remind you how messy you were.

Even now, after thirty minutes of cooking, the countertop looked more like a war zone than a kitchen island.

“It smells good.”

You jumped. You didn’t see Chris coming, and now you had tomato sauce all over your blouse.

“Chris! You scared me!” you said, looking at him.

He was leaning against the opposite wall, observing you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

You looked at him with more attention. He looked less tired. You wanted to say something, but Dodger was all over you before you could open your mouth.

“Hey, baby. I missed you so much,” you said to your dog.

Dodger started to bark. The high pitch he usually reserved to Chris when he was coming back home after long periods of absence.

It broke your heart.

“He missed you,” Chris finally said

You didn’t know what to reply. You didn’t want to say something that would create a hostile environment for the rest of the evening.

“I need to change myself,” you said, showing your now stained blouse.

You were gone before Chris could even blink. Once in your bedroom, you found everything exactly as you left it. You rolled your eyes, mentally asking yourself how Chris could be so organized. And then you realized he wasn’t that organized. It wasn’t just the bedroom that was exactly as you left it. The walking closet and the bathroom were too.

Chris wasn’t sleeping in your room, and you wondered why.

When you went downstairs, you found him making the table.

“I thought I’d made myself useful,” Chris said when he saw you.

You smiled. That was the kind of evening you used to dream about. You and your husband casually sharing dinner together.

Chris was very attentive, serving you wine, asking you if you needed anything. You wished you could be so relaxed. You wished you weren’t about to drop a massive bomb on him.

“Why aren’t you sleeping in our bedroom?”

Your question surprised you both.

“I… I don’t know. It doesn’t seem… right.”

You looked at each other, your eyes saying more than a thousand words. Again, you were reminded how easy it would be to just give in, to just come back. But it would be a temporary relief, one you would only enjoy until he’d decide to leave again.  

It took you the whole dinner, and filling the dishwasher, and watching the first part of a show to gather enough courage and tell Chris you two needed to see a therapist.

It happened before he was about to kiss you. You could feel it in his eyes, the way they became darker, and the way his body leaned closer to yours. You could feel your heart beating faster and the room suddenly feeling hotter than before.

You wanted to give in, you missed his touch, you missed his kisses. You missed sex with your husband. But you knew it would make things more difficult. Sex had never been a problem in your relationship. Actually, it made you forget about the problems. You couldn’t remember how many times you were on the verge of telling Chris you weren’t happy with the situation and totally forgot about it the minute his hands were on you.

“No,” you said, standing up.

You started walking around the room, trying to compose yourself. It was frustrating how all your perfect, well-prepared plans got ruined the second you were around Chris.

“Y/N,” Chris whispered.

“No, we are not having sex!” you half screamed.

You needed to convince not only Chris but yourself that you were not having sex tonight. But looking at him, looking at him, looking at you made things very hard, literally and figuratively speaking.

“We’re going to therapy,” you quickly said

Chris blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

You cleared your throat. “I said, we are going to therapy.”

You could tell he was surprised. You didn’t know if it was good or bad.

“Y/N… I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

It was your turn to be surprised. You opened your mouth but closed it immediately after. You wanted Chris to explain himself before jumping to conclusions.

“With how public we are and…”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you said, anger quickly possessing your whole body.

“Y/N…”

“You’re worried about your reputation? Do you even want us to be together, Chris?” you asked him.

“I’m not worried about my reputation. I’m worried about… our privacy.”

“Chris, therapists have a duty of confidentiality,” You said, raising your voice.

“Well, you won’t believe how many people would break it given the right sum,” he screamed back.

You wanted to scream, anything that would release the frustration you were feeling inside.

“Do you even want to fix this?” you ask, as calmly as you were able to

Chris huffed. “I was begging you to come home with me yesterday. Of course, I want to fix this.”

You crossed your arms. “me coming home right now would not fix things; it would bring us back to this,” you said, throwing your hands up.

“And this is so bad, right?” Chris asked, bitterness in his voice.

“No, this is perfect. This is what I want permanently. It will kill me to come back to this if this is not forever.”

The room went silent. So many emotions went through Chris’s eyes, and you were trying to decode them all.

Chris finally drew a long breath. “I am not going to couples therapy.”

His words stung more than you could have imagined. They also unleashed the silent anger that was rising inside of you since the beginning of that conversation.

But instead of screaming and crying and pleading with Chris, you reached for your handbag. You were done trying to negotiate with him. You were done trying to spare his feelings.

You removed the divorce papers that had been sitting in your bag for days now. You threw them on the coffee table near Chris and waited for him to look at them.

You could see him become very pale, and if you weren’t that angry, you would be worried.

“Are they…” He started

“Yes. Divorce papers. We go to therapy, or you sign them. It’s your choice.”

Chris was startled. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m more than serious. I have a pen if you want to sign now.”

You looked serene, but inside, your heart was dropping lower with every second Chris wasn’t doing anything. You knew you were forcing his hand, but he left you no other choice.

“So, what is it going to be, Chris?”

Chris took the divorce agreement into his hands, and you held your breath. Your heart started beating again when he tore them in half.

He gave you a deadly stare, but at this point, you didn’t care anymore. He could be angry, scream at you, even hate you, as long as it meant you were doing something to try to fix things, you could take it all.

“Text me when you find a therapist you can trust,” you said before taking your bag to leave.

If he thought you’d be the only one sweating for this, he couldn’t be more wrong. It takes two to tango. It was about damn time for Chris to act. Because you were sure that this time feeling sorry or even good sex wouldn’t fix things.

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[wlwmarvelenthusiast]

Could you do carol x fem!reader but like so angsty that I can cry myself to sleep even tho I’m on antidepressants and can’t feel anything but plz let there b a happy ending thank u so much love u

I'm not sure if this qualifies as angst but here's a draft I had that I edited a little to fit the request. I hope it does the trick :)

It Wasn't For You

Summary: A mission gone horribly wrong drives a wedge between you and Carol. Is the bond fixable, or are the things you both said unforgivable?

Pairing: Carol Danvers x Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 2,998

You weren't sure what that emotion was that was boiling in your blood as you stormed back to your apartment. Was it worry? Were you just upset? You let it sit with you a moment as you unlocked the door. It wasn't either one of those things. It was rage. It was hot, unbridled rage. The cause of it was a certain Avenger who you had thought loved you enough to not do what she'd done. Clearly, she hadn't.

She was right behind you, stepping through the doorway before you could slam it behind you. You growled under your breath as she invited herself into your home, closing the door only once she was in. You didn't even bother turning to face her. You went straight to the bar and poured yourself a drink, not offering her one and not planning to let her touch a single drop of your alcohol. You took a sip of the hard liquor.

"Would you listen to me for one goddamn second?" She huffed out.

"I listened to you for multiple seconds, Carol. It doesn't change any facts."

"I did it for you!"

"I don't give a fuck."

Truly and honestly, you didn't. What she'd done was immoral, infuriating, and wholly unforgivable. She could get down on her knees right there in front of the bar and you wouldn't have batted an eyelash. It wouldn't be enough. In fact, you were convinced that nothing would be enough for you to forgive her. It didn't matter how much you had loved her yesterday or the day before. It didn't how much you loved her today.

"I'd do it again," she assured.

"Then I would do this again," you turned to finally face her, eyes locking with the brown ones that could usually instill a sense of peace in your chest, but today seemed to have no effect. "We're done, Carol. I think it'd be best if you left, please."

You could practically hear her heart dropping into her stomach. There was a part of you that ached to bring her into your arms and soothe that hurt look off her face. You knew better. That piece of you would fade eventually. You'd learn not to love her anymore. In fact, you could probably learn how to hate her. The boiling rage that was flowing through your very veins could assist you with learning that.

"Please-"

"I'm asking you to go," you said, firmer this time. "Please, get out."

If she'd had a tail to tuck between her legs, she absolutely would have. She didn't even bother to protest again. The expression you'd plastered on your face made it clear it wouldn't have done anything anyway. She slowly made toward the door. Her hand touched the doorknob and she cast her gaze back to you once more. You didn't dare let your features soften. You could've sworn there were tears in her eyes as she turned the doorknob and left.

You breathed out as the door closed behind her, finally daring to let tears streak down your cheeks.

*

You stared down the super soldier, neither of you wanting to speak first. He was the team leader though, and basically your boss. You knew even if he was the first one to speak, you were going to be the one spilling everything. You didn't want to, not one bit, but you knew you were going to have to anyway. You wondered if you had the strength to talk about it. You wondered if he had the strength to listen to your recollection of events.

"I just need to know what happened so when they ask-"

"Fuck, Steve! Natasha fucking died and we're sitting here having this stupid conversation," you shouted, rising to your feet, tossing the papers in front of you off the table, and moving to the window. "I have a goddamn funeral to plan!"

"Look, neither of us wants to talk about this, but we have to!"

You sighed, clasping your hands behind your back as you looked out at the compound grounds. There were agents training, running laps around the building. Sam was the one guiding them, seeming to enjoy barking orders at them. You tore your gaze away from a sight that seemed to have lost its beauty now that Natasha wasn't there alongside the Falcon, chuckling with him as they watched the new recruits huff and puff.

"It was me or her and Carol chose me," you finally gave. "I was what would have been fatally outnumbered and Natasha was down. She was in the jet. Carol could have either gone and stopped the jet from crashing, or she could pull me out and neutralize the enemy. She chose the latter. That's what happened. Happy?"

"I need your report."

"I need to plan Natasha's funeral!"

You stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind you. You let out the breath that had been stuck in your chest, leaning your head against the wall and shutting your eyes. It hadn't been an easy couple of days. You'd have been surprised if you'd gotten more than three hours of sleep in the last three nights combined. Somehow, though, you still didn't feel tired. You felt a lot of things, but that wasn't one of them.

As if losing Natasha wasn't hard enough, you were also grappling with crippling amounts of anger and guilt. Natasha should have been the one that was saved. She was the obvious choice, and yet here you stood, and Natasha was gone. The anger, though? That was all for Carol. She had promised you that her relationship with you wouldn't have affected her at work, but it had. She'd saved you when she should have saved Natasha and all of those people in the impact zone.

"Can we talk?"

Speak of the devil.

You opened your eyes, using your shoulder blades to push yourself away from the wall. Immediately your entire stance got defensive. You crossed your arms over your chest. You watched as she searched your eyes in hopes of being able to read them like she usually did, but knew it would be to no avail. You didn't want her to know anything about what you were feeling. She didn't deserve to know what you were feeling. All she deserved was to be on the receiving end of your rage.

"No. I told you we're done, Danvers. We don't need to talk anymore."

"I'm not letting you go that easy."

"You don't have a damn choice!" You laughed humourlessly. "You can't stop me. You don't own me, and you definitely don't own my heart."

With that, you stepped around her, walking toward the doors of the compound. You could hear her footsteps trailing behind you. You didn't bother to turn around and glance at her, or even open your mouth to tell her to go away. You just let her follow you as if she were going to get something out of you. She wasn't going to. The last thing you wanted to do was hear some sort of failed explanation as to why she'd decided to save you. You knew why. It was because she couldn't separate home and work. You never should have trusted her to be able to.

You stepped out into the sunlight, cursing the sky for being so bright and sunny when it felt like it should be dark and gloomy. A storm cloud and roaring thunder might appropriately match the way you felt inside. Instead, you were forced to pull your sunglasses down over your eyes as you headed back toward your car, feeling you could use the walk toward it instead of making it come to you- a feature Tony has insisted you needed. As you arrived though, Carol finally reacted.

"Jesus Christ, would you hear me out?" She said, anger in her voice as she grabbed your wrist.

"Let go of me."

"Talk to me."

"I already said no. Let go of me," you demanded.

You ripped your arm out of her grasp, glaring at her as she retracted her arm. You unlocked your car, getting into the front seat. You didn't even glance at Carol as you started the engine, put the car into drive, and pulled out of your spot, leaving her behind.

*

It was early when you woke up the next morning, and immediately your day went different than normal. Your eyebrows furrowed when you stepped out of your bedroom and found an envelope slipped under your apartment door. It was completely unmarked. You knew the danger of anything unmarked. You were an Avenger. You couldn't find it in you to care, though. Without Carol's arms around you, you tossed and turned. Losing Natasha hurt so much more without Carol there to hold you through it. But it was her fault.

You reached down and picked up the envelope. You sliced it open with the knife that was resting on the table beside the front door. What you pulled out was a single piece of lined paper. It had clearly been ripped out of someone's notebook, the torn rings hanging off the left side. You unfolded the paper and immediately recognized Carol's handwriting inside. You crumpled it up and prepared to throw it, but then you hesitated.

She wasn't there. You didn't have to talk to her. You didn't want to talk to her one bit, but you were dying to hear her side of the story. This way, you didn't have to risk breaking and losing yourself to emotion in front of her. You uncrumpled the paper and held it out in front of you. You took a deep breath and let your gaze drift over Carol's familiar handwriting once before you moved your eyes to the top of the page.

Y/N,

I really hope you didn't throw this out. I suppose if you're reading this, you didn't.

I know you don't want to talk to me. If I were you, I might not want to talk to me either. Your best friend died and it is entirely and completely my fault. I know that. It is my fault. I could have saved her, and I didn't. I just need you to know why.

I know you think that I broke my promise. I promised you, Steve, and every Avenger, including Natasha, that I would never let our relationship affect our work. It must seem like I failed to do that. I didn't break that promise. I love you. I do. But I wouldn't do that.

I knew that saving Natasha was more likely to be successful than saving you. Saving her would have meant saving those three civilians too. Not saving you, though, meant that they would have gotten away, and it meant they would have killed dozens of our agents on their way out. There were so many of them. They outgunned our men by too much. I didn't do it for you. I did it for them.

It breaks my heart that I couldn't save her. If I could have given my life for hers, I'd have done it in a heartbeat. If choosing her over you had been the right choice, I'd have done it. I promise you that.

I love you, even if you can't love me back.

- C

*

Tears spilled from your eyes as the empty casket was lowered into the ground. When a hand brushed ever so lightly against yours, you stiffened. You glanced for a moment over at the woman beside you. Those brown eyes were locked on you as well, for a moment, before turning back to the burial. You took a deep breath before moving, threading your fingers between hers. You pulled a little closer to her.

Maybe you should have listened to her. That letter you'd received yesterday had been a lot to think about. You'd been so angry with Carol because she'd closed you over Natasha and you'd been selfish enough to think it was because she couldn't separate her feelings for you from work. When you'd found out that wasn't the case, it had taken away all your reason to be angry at her. What happened to Natasha wasn't her fault.

Once the red had faded, you'd realized how stupid you'd been being. Carol had obviously been hurting and you'd been gatekeeping pain because you'd been blaming yours on her. The guilt stewing in her gut was probably millions of times worse than yours. She'd had to make that choice out in the field. It was the right choice, you saw now, but that would never matter. You knew how that felt, and you'd pushed her away and left her to deal with it alone. You wouldn't blame her if she couldn't forgive you for that.

When the funeral ended and people started heading toward the reception, you stayed glued to the spot. You could tell Carol wasn't sure what to do. Her hand had tried to pull away to give you space, but this time it was you that didn't let her leave you. The hand that was in hers tightened enough that she got the message. You had to wonder if she'd stay to hear it. As always, though, she was better than you. Her efforts to move away stopped.

You stayed silent for a moment, standing in that position and wondering what to say. There might not have been words enough to express just how sorry you were. There might not have been anything you could say that would make her forgive you. You deserved that, though. You broke up with her. There was no obligation for her to take you back and you hadn't given her any reason to want to. You were the one who had pushed.

"I'm sorry, Carol," you muttered, knowing full well that wasn't enough. "I'm sorry for everything. I was selfish."

"I get it," she admitted. "It's okay."

She was better than you.

But it wasn't okay. What you'd done to her was far from okay. You'd taken one look at the guilty relief in her eyes after that mission and decided that she'd sacrificed Natasha for you. She was allowed to be relieved. You would have been, if the roles had been reversed. Just because you lost Natasha, didn't mean Carol wasn't allowed to be a little relieved that the love of her life survived. Now, you didn't get to be that.

"Baby... Carol, I just wanted you to know that I read what you wrote and I'm sorry for how I'd reacted. I'm sorry I didn't stop to hear you out before that and I'm sorry I pushed you away when you were obviously hurting."

She dared to pull you a little closer. "You can still call me Baby."

You had to let out a light chuckle at that, despite the tears on your face. You wondered if you were mourning Natasha or your relationship with Carol. Whatever the case, she reached out and brushed the pad of her thumb across your cheek. You couldn't resist leaning a little harder into her hand. She got the message, opening her hand and cupping your cheek, her palm pressing delicately against your skin and her thumb continued to trace your cheekbone.

"You were hurting too," she assured quietly. "You reacted that way because you were grieving. You needed someone to blame."

"It shouldn't have been you."

"I was easy," she said, hands sliding down so they were both in yours. "I could have saved her and I didn't. Whatever reasoning I might have had, that was the truth."

"I'm supposed to love you."

"You don't love me?" She questioned.

"I do! Of course I love you, Carol. But I haven't been great at doing that recently. I should have-"

"You love me and you were grieving your friend. That's it. And I love you too," she said, squeezing your hands. "Can we stop being broken up now?"

She was standing in front of you, a tiny smile on her lips, and forgiving you. She was asking you to take her back, like it wasn't supposed to be you on your knees begging for her forgiveness. You stepped forward, taking your hands out of hers so you could instead put them on her cheeks, and pulled her toward you until your lips had met. She kissed you back immediately, her hands finding your hips. She pulled away from you.

"So yes?" She said, a hint of teasing in her voice. "Because Natasha got us together and breaking up for good over her casket would not be honouring her memory very well."

"No, it wouldn't," you said, leaning your head onto her shoulder. You looked down at the wooden casket. "I miss her so much already, Carol."

"I know. Me too, Honey."

Your heart felt the slightest bit lighter now. You would've given anything for Natasha to be okay. The fact that she was gone still felt like a knife through the chest. At least now, though, you had Carol to hold you at night and kiss the tears off your cheeks. She had you to do the same for her. That was all either of you could do. Now, only time could lessen the pain. Carol put her arms around you and held you closer.

Just as you went to tell her once again that you loved her, her phone rang. She pulled it from her pocket, frowning at the number that was coming from outside the country. She showed it to you and you took the phone from her.

"Hello?"

"Did it work? Do they think I'm dead?" Said the so familiar voice.

You glanced up at Carol, sure the shock on her face matched yours.

"Natasha, what the hell-"

"We've got a new mission. Are you and your lovebird up for it?"

Carol kissed your cheek and then spoke to the woman on the phone. "Absolutely."

[waitimcomingtoo]

Where We Start Again - 4

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: how do you fake date someone you have real feelings for?

Series Masterlist and Regular Masterlist

Playlist by @tiny-friggin-human

“Wasn’t lunch crazy today?” Your friend Naomi giggled shortly as she leaned against the locker next to yours. You made a face as you finished putting your books away and hoped she didn’t catch it.

“I wasn’t there. I haven’t sat with you guys since Monday.” You told her, a little offended that she didn’t notice you were gone.

“Really? Huh, I didn’t realize.” Her eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Anyways, Colin and Henderson were flipping water bottles without the caps on and it was the funniest thing. Until Colin got Abby’s hair wet and she told him his girlfriend was cheating on him with Henderson. It was so funny.”

“Sorry I missed it. Is Colin okay?” You asked her and she snorted.

“Who cares?” She replied and you figured you should have seen that answer coming. “Anyway, are you coming tonight?”

“Tonight?” You shut your locker and turned to her.

“Fallons party. He just texted it in the group chat.” Naomi explained and you briefly thought back to the groupchat you never checked. “And I heard from Effie who heard from Lacey that he specifically asked if you were going to be there. He totally wants you.”

“I can’t tonight. I have plans.” You gave her a falsely sympathetic smile and hoped she’d drop the subject.

“What could possibly be more important than Fallon’s party?” She asked like the thought was impossible. “He said he got like, six cases of White Claw and his parents are away. You have to be there.”

“Sounds like fun.” You lied. “Sorry I have to miss it.”

“But Y/n!” She whined and you sucked in a breath. “There’s no laws when you’re drinking Claws. You have to come.”

“I have the science fair and then I have plans with Peter and Ned. I told you yesterday, remember?” You asked her but her face showed no sign of recollection. From the other side of the hallway, Peters ears perked up from the other side of the hallway at the mention of his name. He used his advanced hearing to listen to your conversation after hearing the tension in your voice.

“Who’s Peter Annid?” Naomi scoffed and you had to bite your tongue to keep from screaming.

“Peter and Ned.” You corrected her sharply. “Peter Parker and Ned…I don’t actually know his last name. But I’m hanging out with them.”

“Omg, ew why?” Her nose scrunched you in disgust. Peters face fell upon hearing this, reminding him that you and him lived in different worlds. You looked at her for a moment before deciding what to say next.

“Because I’m dating Peter and friends with Ned. Ned Leeds.” You stared firmly as you remembered his last name.

“You’re actually dating that guy?” Naomi grimaced. “I thought that was just a mean rumor Flash started.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing and laughed in disbelief. You made eye contact with Peter from across the hall and he gave you a sympathetic shrug.

“It’s not a rumor.” You snapped. “Peter makes me really happy. And I have to be at the science fair to see him win.”

Peter smiled to himself at your words and started walking over to you.

“Y/n, people like us can’t be seen with people like them. We definitely can’t be cheering them on at the nerd fair with all the other nerds. What if someone sees you?” She looked genuinely worried for you and your jaw clenched in frustration.

“Is everything okay?” Peter asked as he came behind you. He put his hands on your shoulders and rubbed your arms to calm you down, immediately feeling the tension leaving your body. You leaned your back into Peters chest and looked at Naomi.

“Then they’re gonna see a supportive girlfriend cheering on her genius boyfriend. Enjoy the party, Naomi.” You smiled at her and took Peters hand. “Let’s go, baby.”

You walked down the hall together, away from Naomi’s dropped jaw. Peter couldn’t wipe the smile off his face from you standing up for him.

“What was the about?” Peter asked you once you were far enough away from her.

“Nothing.” You answered. “Conversations with her are never about anything.”

“Are you okay?” Peter could hear the annoyance in your voice lingering from your conversation with Naomi and wanted to help you.

“Yeah. I’m sorry.” You stopped walking and turned to Peter, still holding his hand. “Don’t worry about me. You need to focus on your acceptance speech when you win the science fair today.”

“You don’t get to make an acceptance speech. You get a sweaty handshake and a firm, passionate pat on the back from the principal.” He told you and you laughed happily.

“That’s kinda hot. Are you cheating on me with Principle Mendoza?” You teased him.

“I’m sorry. I have a thing for spider veins and your legs are too perfect.” He played along, making you look down at your legs shyly.

“I hate you.” You shook your head and continued to walk to class. “I’m gonna fake break up with you just for saying that.”

“But I cant fake live without you, baby girl. Can you give me another fake chance?.” He pouted. You giggled and wrapped your arms around Peter, pulling him into an unexpected but welcomed hug.

“I’ll give you a million fake chances, baby.” You mumbled into his ear before pulling away. “But I’m about to be late for real math. I’ll see you at the science fair.”

“Okay. I’ll see you there.” Peter smiled in content as you squeezed his hand and walked away. It had been five days of fake dating. That meant there was only more week to go. As much as Peter loved the time you spent together, he couldn’t the shake the fact that it was ending soon. The moments he had with you felt real, but that didn’t change the fact that they were rooted in a lie. Still, you had chosen to blow off a party to come to the science fair with him. That had to mean something.

It meant something to him, at least.

~

“Look at you with your informational poster.” You smiled fondly at Peter as you walked up to his table. The LEGO lamp you had glued together sat in front of a poster about the science behind solar power. Peters eyes lit up at the sight of you and he stepped aside so you could get a full view of his presentation.

“Thanks for coming, daisy.” He grinned and pulled you into an embrace. You were surprised with him taking the initiative to show affection, but you appreciated it nonetheless.

“I’ve been walking around and you definitely have these people beat.” You said as you squeezed his arm for good luck. “One kid just had a baby carrot taped to a battery.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t actually go to this school.” Peter told you. “They tried to kick him out but he started barking so they let him stay.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, the judges have made their final decisions for the winners of Midtown Techs 75th annual science fair.” A teachers monotone voice came through on a microphone. Ned joined you guys with a box of popcorn, holding it out to you to offer you some. You and Ned stood on opposite sides of Peter as you impatiently waited the heat the winners.

“Let’s go, baby. This is all you. All you, baby, all you.” You mumbled just loud enough for Peter to hear. He chuckled and looked at you from over his shoulder.

“I am so scared of her right now.” Ned whispered to Peter.

“I know.” He whispered back. “I am so turned on.”

“In third place, Madison McDermott.” The teacher announced. Scattered claps sounded from the crowd.

“Madison has nothing on you, baby. Nothing!” You said into Peters ear as you bounced up and down.

“Second place, Chirag Saini.” The teacher said, earning more claps.

“Chirag wishes he was you right now baby, he just wishes.” You hyped him up and rubbed his shoulders.

“And in first place, Peter Parker.”

“AHHHH!” You screamed, wrapped one arm around Peters neck and pointed to him with the other. “That’s my boyfriend! That’s my boyfriend!”

Peter laughed happily and hugged you back, more excited to be holding you than to win the science fair. You buried your face in his neck and squeezed him tightly before running away to collect his trophy.

“She seems excited.” Ned commented with a knowing smirk.

“I have never felt this loved.” Peter squeezed Neds arm in excitement as he watched you bounce around.

“MY BOYFRIEND WON THE SCIENCE FAIR. FUCK YOU CHIRAG - I don’t mean that though your model of the universe is gorgeous- BUT YEAH PETER.” You ran back to Peter and threw your arms around him again as he lifted you off the ground.

“Remember, all I get is a sweaty handshake and a pat on the back. It’s not that big of a deal.” He tried to tell you but you didn’t listen.

“This is the hugest deal!” You grabbed his face and shook it. “You won the science fair four years in a row. And you did it after everything you’ve been through. I’m so proud of you.” You said sincerely and Peters heart melted.

“Meet me outside in five minutes.” He said as he rested his hands on your waist. “I have to show you something.”

“Okay. What’s-“

“Mr. Parker, you’re needed for a photo.” Principle Mendoza called for Peter.

“Go take your picture. I’ll see you outside.” You assured him. Peter kissed your forehead before he lost the nerve and went to get his picture taken.

As the camera flashed, Peters eyes drifted to you. You had your hands clasped together and a proud smile on your face as you bounced on your heels. It almost made Peter emotional to realize he had never been looked at that fondly. In the moment, he knew the truth.

He loved you.

He had developed real feelings for his fake girlfriend.

~

After waiting the allotted five minutes, you went outside to see what Peter had to show you. You walked slowly, taking the time to think about the past week with Peter. Even you didn’t know why you were so happy that he had won. Something about getting to know him gave you a newfound need to see him happy. As much as you liked spending time with him, you regretted getting attached. You only had a week left of your fake relationship and once it was over, you’d be left crushing on a guy who only saw you as a way to get Flash off his back.

You rounded the corner and saw Peter standing in the courtyard holding a bouquet of daisies.

“What’s this?” You asked curiously and he gave you a bashful smile.

“Will you go to the dance with me?” He asked as he held out the bouquet. You stepped towards him and accepted the bouquet with a confused leer.

“What?” You chuckled shyly.

“I know were already going together but you still deserved a proposal.” Peter explained. “You Flash this is how I asked you and I know you like daisies and I-“

“I would love to go to the dance with you.” You cut him off and sniffed the bouquet.

“We love to see it.” Peter used your own words and made you laugh.

“You are such an idiot.” You shook your head. “Can we go get that sandwich now?”

~

“Hola.” Ned bellowed as the three of you entered Delmar’s sandwich shop. “Do you know what today is?”

“Oh no.” Delmar gulped at the sight of Peter and Ned.

“Peter won the science fair!” You held up Peters trophy and screamed. Ned started pumping his fist and grunting while Peter hid his face behind his hand.

“Por favor, don’t make me make this sandwich.” Delmar pleaded. “It hurts me as a chef.”

“We’ll take one sandwich which every ingredient please.” Ned ordered and Delmar shuddered.

“Can we get it on whole grain bread?” You asked the boys and Ned gagged.

“Sure. Anything for my girl.” Peter touched your chin fondly. Delmar noticed the display of affection and folded his arms.

“Su novia?” He asked Peter, who looked at you in confusion.

“I’m sorry?” Peter stammered.

“Sí. Muchas gracias.” You smiled politely at Delmar as you dropped a five dollar bill in the tip jar. Delmar smirked at you and held up his hands in defense.

“Fine. I’m make it.” He agreed. “But only because I’m happy for you, niño.”

“His name is Peter.” Ned deadpanned.

“It means kid.” You told them. “You’ve been in my spanish class all four years, Ned.”

“I know.” Ned sighed dreamily. “I love that class.”

“Hey. Quit staring at my girlfriend.” Peter snapped his fingers until Ned stopped gaping at you. You smiled proudly at Peter calling you his girlfriend and wrapped your arms around his torso.

“She’s your fake girlfriend.” Ned reminded him. “Why do you care?”

“Because she’s right here. And she can hear you.” You said sarcastically as Peter wrapped an arm around your shoulder.

“Here. I made your disgusting sandwich.” Delmar slammed the sandwich on the counter angrily and Ned paid him.

“Grassy ass. Me gusta el sandwich.” Ned took the sandwich and bowed.

“Get out of my store.” Delmar ordered. You and Peter stayed in each other’s embrace and you left the store.

“We usually eat it on the rooftop of my apartment building.” Peter told you as he squeezed your shoulder.

“Let’s go. I’m hungry and it almost smells edible.” You quipped.

Ned watched curiously as you and Peter walked in front of him to Peters apartment. From his perspective, you looked like an actual couple. And with Flash nowhere around to see you faking, he wondered what you were doing it for.

As he heard you laugh loudly at a joke Peter said that couldn’t possibly be as funny as you made it seem, he realized something.

You liked Peter.

“Haha, just kidding”, he thought, “…unless.”

You got to Peters apartment and rode the elevator to the rooftop. Peter laid one of the towels down so you all had a place to sit. You took a seat next to Peter and put your feet in his lap.

“Y/n should have the first bite since it’s her first time.” Ned declared as he unwrapped the sandwich.

“You are going to love this.” Peter grinned as he handed you the sandwich. “Here.”

You took a bite and chewed it slowly. You could taste the mustard, salami, and peanut butter with the first bite. Your face twisted in disgust as you painfully swallowed the sandwich.

“So what do you think?” Ned nudged you.

“I think that’s the grossest thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.” You whispered hoarsely.

“Well you haven’t been dating Peter for that long so-“ Ned began until Peter smacked him.

“Ned!” He scolded and Ned retreated.

“It’s making my eyes waters. Are my ears supposed to be ringing?” You looked at them for answers.

“That would be the jalapeños.” Ned nodded in approval.

“Here. I can’t have this near me. It’s making me hate myself.” You handed it off. Peter took the sandwich and took a bite, wincing as it went down before passing it to Ned.

“This was the last science fair. That technically means this is our last sandwich.” Ned said after he swallowed. Peter realized he was right and felt a sadness settle into his tummy. You noticed Peters face and interlocked your hands.

“It doesn’t have to be.” You piped up. “We could come back and do this every year. On this exact date.”

Peter stopped sulking when he heard your suggestion. You were already planning ahead for your future. And by some miracle, it included Peter.

“I like that idea.” He told you. “I’m not planning on leaving New York. Mr. Stark said I could work for him during and after college so I’ll be around. Where will you be?”

“I’m not sure.” You answered. “Anywhere but here, hopefully. I want to go somewhere where not one person knows me. I just don’t know where that is yet.”

“Well what about that Harvard application on your kitchen table, says your friendly neighborhood stalker?” Peter quipped.

“I don’t know, it’s a long shot.” You shrugged it off. “I probably won’t even apply.”

“I think you should.” Peter encouraged. “They’d be lucky to have you.”

“Maybe.” You smiled softly at him.

“Guys, what does GYHAHN mean? My mom just texted that.” Ned asked in a panic as he looked up from his phone.

“No idea.” Peter shook his head as he rubbed soft circles into your hand with his thumb.

“Get your Hawaiian ass home now.” You translated and got puzzled looks from Ned and Peter. “What? I speak angry mom.”

“How’d you know she meant Hawaiian?” Peter wondered.

“I took an educated guess.” You replied. “Why does she need you home?”

“YGFL?” He read the follow up text out loud.

“You’re grounded for life. Here.” You handed him one of the daises from your bouquet. “Give her this and tell her you were helping Peter carry his giant science fair trophy home.” And tell her you appreciate her waiting.”

“Okay. Me appreciate.” Ned nodded. His face faltered when he realized what he said. “Why does this always happen? Bye guys. And congratulations Peter.”

Ned picked up his bag and did an elaborate handshake with Peter before leaving. You fell into a comfortable silence with Peter following Neds absence.

“I hope you don’t mind that I spared a daisy.” You said as you scooted closer to Peter.

“It’s okay.” He smiled. “Thanks for helping him. I promise he’s cool when he uses full sentences.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it.” You chuckled. “I still like hanging out with you guys. Even if you made me eat that sandwich.”

“Hey, you wanted to come.” He reminded you when you insulted the sandwich. You smiled softly and looked down at your intertwined hands. “Are you really not going to apply to Harvard?”

“I mean, yeah it’s my dream but what if that’s all it is? Just a dream that isn’t supposed to come true.” You shook your head. “As long as I can start over somewhere, I think I’ll be okay.”

“Well I hope you change your mind an apply.” Peter told you.

“Peter?” You said after a beat of silence.

“Yes?”

“Today was the most fun I’ve ever had in high school.” You told him honestly. A grin broke out on his face when he realized the same could be said for him.

“I thought you were a party girl. Are the popular kids really that bad?” He teased you. He thought it would make you laugh, but it caused a sad expression to cloud your face.

“Do you want the truth?” You asked quietly.

“You can tell me.” He leaned forward when he saw how vulnerable you looked.

“It’s like they’re not even people. They’re all just a collage of different personas they put on so people like them. And they need people to like them. It’s like an addiction. And yeah, people like me but, but what if I don’t like me?” Your voice broke as you looked to Peter for answers he didn’t have. “What if they’re following around a leader who isn’t all that great?”

“It doesn’t have to be such a bad thing. They follow you because they like you.” He tried to make you feel better but you shook your head.

“They don’t even know me.” You said in exasperation. “I haven’t been myself for one second in that building. I was too busy trying to please everyone. And for what? Once high school is over and we all get out of here, what will it have been for?”

“I don’t think people are thinking that far ahead. I think they just want to be the center of attention in a given moment.” Peter reasoned.

“But that’s not what I want. I want weird, kinda unsanitary traditions with friends and people to talk to when I’m sad.” You laughed sadly. “I want people who notice when I’m missing. I want- I want…”

“What?” He asked.

“I want to be loved.” You confessed. “You and Ned love each other so much. Any idiot can see that. No one loves me like that.”

“But you have all those friends.” He wondered.

“I have followers.” You corrected him. “I don’t have any friends.”

“As far as I’m concerned, you have two and a half friends.” Peter tilted your chin up so you had to look at him and your eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“Half?”

“Ned isn’t a full person yet but he’s so close.” Peter explained and you laughed spritely.

“This is why I can’t wait for college.” You sighed. “I can start over and finally be myself.”

“At Harvard?” He smirked.

“I would never get into Harvard.” You laughed softly.

Peter let go of your face, content that he had made you smile until he remembered something you had said.

“What did you mean before when you said you didn’t like you?” He asked and your smiled faded. You took your hand out of his and picked at your nail polish nervously.

“I know you think it’s hard to be you, but it’s hard to be me too. I wake up every day terrified that people are gonna realize I’m nothing special.” You looked up at him with watery eyes. “Everyone wants something from me and they don’t even know why. And I’m scared that once they really think about it, they’ll realize I’m not good enough. That I’m a fraud. I feel like I can’t breathe.”

“You can breathe with me. It’s okay, daisy.” He pulled you into hug and rubbed your back as you nuzzled into his neck.

“It’s so much pressure. They want me to be this perfect, happy girl but I’m not.” You sniffled. “It’s so hard to look at yourself and not be able to find anything you like. I threw myself into planning the dance but when the planning was done I was left empty. I thought I was going to lose my mind and then…”

“What?” He pulled away a little to look at you.

“I saw Flash picking on you in the hallway.” You smiled. “And I made a split second decision to pretend to be your girlfriend.”

“I knew you didn’t think it through.” He chuckled as you confirmed his suspicion.

“Maybe not, but,” you shrugged, “four years of high school and I finally found someone I actively want to be around. I wish I started pretending to be your girlfriend freshman year. I would’ve been so much happier if I had.”

“Let’s go to that party tonight.” He said suddenly. “The one that girl was talking about. You seem like you need a party.”

“We don’t have to. I know you’re not really a party person.” You scrunched your nose.

“Well I can’t know I’m not a party person until I actually go to a party.” Peter pointed out. You pulled away from Peter and took both his hands in hours.

“Peter Parker, would you be my date to the party?” You proposed.

“Daisy, I’d be honored.”

Tag List 🏷

@a-villain-vying-for-attention​ @wendaiii​ @dorbiksbitch​ @t-monosapiens-h​ @badhollandfluff​ @silteplaittais-toi​ @thisisthebiplace​​ @seasidecrowbar​​ @spideygirl2003​ @5-seconds-of-mendes​ @bitchylittleredhead​ @oh-whatabeautiful-parker​ @everydaymj​ @write-from-the-heart​ @blackpetalsmeandeath​ @electraheart-3174​ @shawni-h​ @peterparkoure​ @sleepythighsweat​ @steebbb​ @traveleraroundsworld​ @averyfosterthoughts​ @bralessandflawless @viwihere @eridanuswave @the-greatt-perhaps @spidey-lillies

[refinedbuffoonery]

Looking Through A Window (3)

macriley married undercover au

masterlist.

Fun fact: the final scene of this chapter is part of my original brainstorm for this fic. The rest of the scenes I initially dreamt up won’t come until much later, so I’m thrilled to have at least one of them come early on in the story. 

To Carrie and Anna, the lights of my life: I named the neighbor after you two. She’s annoying as shit and nothing like either of you, but I needed a name and decided if anyone deserves to have their name as an Easter egg, it’s the two of you. 

*****

Despite the storm, Matty has the shipment of borrowed guns delivered to the Port of Houston in the middle of the night. While they eat breakfast, Mac and Riley study Matty’s excruciatingly detailed directions for navigating the port and finding their shipping crate. She certainly didn’t make it easy on them. 

Riley leans back in her chair, looking around until her eyes land on Harley. “Time for you to earn your keep,” she says between mouthfuls of toast. 

Supposedly, this is what Harley specializes in—sniffing out weapons. The dog should be able to confirm which shipping container the guns are stashed in without Mac or Riley having to check themselves. Theoretically. 

Mac finishes his own plate of eggs and toast in a few ravenous bites. “Thanks for making breakfast.�� He gets up to clear the plates and start rinsing dishes. After living with her for more than a year, Riley making breakfast is routine, but Mac still thanks her for it every day. 

Living in the apartment together, they fall right back into their old habits. Mac wakes up early and goes for a run. By the time he returns, Riley is awake and making breakfast. After they eat, Mac showers while Riley goes on her own run. And so on and so forth. 

While Mac was out this morning, he wove through the whole neighborhood, making sure it’s safe for Riley to go out alone. She can handle herself, but Mac has no delusions about the overall quality of men on the streets, and even though he can’t fix that, at least he can help minimize her chances of encountering creepy dudes. 

Before they leave for the Port, Mac and Riley scour their car for a bug or any other surveillance equipment the organization might’ve hidden while they were inside the warehouse talking to Conrad yesterday. They find none. Thankfully. 

Once again, they’re going in armed, and the weight of Mac’s gun feels just as foreign and unwelcome as it did yesterday. He tries not to fidget with it while Riley drives, but she notices his discomfort anyway. “You’ve got to relax,” she says. “All your squirming is stressing me out.” 

“Sorry.” Mac stills, even though his whole body screams to put the gun somewhere else. 

Anywhere else. 

Once they arrive at the Port, Mac guides Riley through the maze of cranes and crates and warehouses until they find the one Matty had the guns stashed in—dark green and otherwise nondescript. 

Unfortunately, there are multiple shipping containers that fit that description at the location Matty provided. As they get out of the SUV, Riley glances between the boxes nervously. “Uhh, which one is it?” 

Mac doesn’t have a clue. “I guess that’s for Harley to tell us.” He looks down at the dog standing obediently beside him. “Find it.” 

He releases the leash as Harley takes off like a rocket, sniffing each container and the surrounding area. She inspects more than half of them before sitting and looking back at Mac. He waits for her to bark, but she doesn’t. Whoever trained her clearly did so with stealth in mind. 

“Do we open it to double check?” Riley asks. 

Mac opens his mouth to say yes, but he doesn’t get a chance to answer before a muddy, dark-blue diesel truck parks beside their SUV. Conrad jumps out of the driver’s seat, accompanied by two younger men, wearing matching scowls and Carhartt jackets. He walks with that same entitled swagger, and a cheap smile spreads across his face. 

“Mr. Turner!” Conrad exclaims, shaking Mac’s hand. His grip is too firm to be friendly. Stepping back, he sneers at Riley, acknowledging her just long enough to impatiently say, “Genevieve.” Mac doesn’t miss the way Conrad’s eyes drop to Riley’s chest, nor the way Riley bristles beside him, wrapping her jacket more tightly around her and crossing her arms to hold it in place. Mac clears his throat. “Sorry,” Conrad says, not sounding sorry at all, “but your wife is very attractive.” 

Riley rolls her eyes so hard they nearly fall out of her head. 

“Your order is this way,” Mac says, cutting off Conrad before he could make another gross statement, “Follow me.” Mac puts a hand on Conrad’s shoulder, squeezing hard as he steers the man toward the shipping container. Harley is still sitting beside it, waiting patiently, and Mac scratches her head with his free hand. 

Riley whistles, a single sharp note that sends Harley running back to her side. Mac buries his relief that she’s not alone, although he’d still much rather the hulking bodyguards were closer to him than Riley. 

Focus, Mac reminds himself. Riley can hold her own. Just get this over with. 

Mac opens the container, revealing two nondescript wooden crates. Still sneering—at this point, Mac’s starting to think that’s the only expression Conrad is capable of—Conrad waves over his bodyguards, gesturing for them to open the crates. 

For just a second, Conrad’s sneer edges toward a smile. Inside the crates lie exactly what he ordered: military-grade, semi-automatic rifles and enough ammo to kickstart the apocalypse. Mac’s gut churns. He hates this. He hates everything about this. He hates that he’s arming terrorists. He hates how these men look at Riley like dogs drooling over a steak. He hates that he can’t do anything about any of it, that he has no choice but to play along. 

Mac wishes he could bury his feelings the way Riley does, locking them behind a carefully controlled mask. Instead, his linger just beneath the surface, waiting to make themselves known at the first available opportunity. 

Counting backward from five, he steels himself to finish the game. Just as Conrad brushes a reverent finger down the barrel of a rifle, Mac chides, “We followed through on our end of the bargain. Did you?” 

“Of course.” 

One of the bodyguards pulls out his phone. In a deeper voice than Mac expects, he says, “We can wire the payment to your bank account right now.” 

“Good. My wife will help you set that up.” Mac gestures to Riley, and the bodyguard walks over to her. 

Conrad extends his hand, and Mac takes it, trying not to wince when his arm brushes his concealed gun. “Pleasure doing business with you, James,” Conrad says. 

“I hope this is the beginning of a long and prosperous partnership.” Long and prosper? Who was he, Spock? 

“Indeed. Welcome to the Patriots.” Conrad gestures for his men to start loading the guns into their truck. “Expect another order within the week.” 

Mac doesn’t know how to respond to that. Thankfully he doesn’t have to, because Riley waves him over, apparently having finished her conversation with Conrad’s lackey. “I’ll leave you to it,” Mac says, then turns his back on the terrorists and rejoins Riley. On instinct, he reaches for her arm as he murmurs, “Are you okay?” 

Riley tenses under his touch, but doesn’t pull away. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

“Good.” He said the same thing to Conrad just a minute ago. Good. But the word is light years different from before—soft and caring, not curt and vaguely challenging. Bozer pointed it out to him once, how he talks to Riley differently than he does anyone else. 

Mac shakes off the thought. He can’t get distracted, no matter how much his mind only wants to think about Riley. Releasing her arm, he says, “Let’s get out of here.”

*****

Back at the apartment, Riley settles in on the couch to dig into the Patriots' bank records. By wire-transferring the money instead of paying them in cash, Conrad practically offered up the organization's entire digital footprint on a silver platter, at least to someone like Riley. She doesn't speak as she works, so Mac listens to the melody of keyboard clicks while he makes them each a grilled cheese. 

Contrary to popular belief, he's not completely incompetent, although Bozer has nearly everyone convinced otherwise. Mac will never be able to cook something fancy, but he does make a mean sandwich. 

He even spreads mayo on the bread, the way Bozer does, because Riley prefers it that way. 

The sizzle of the sandwiches hitting the hot pan joins the keyboard clicks right as Riley announces, "I hacked into their bank records." 

"What've you got?" 

"From the look of it, the shell corp they used to pay us has only been around for four months. Before that, they must've either paid in cash or used personal accounts." 

"That makes sense though, since the Patriots haven't been around all that long." 

"That's what I thought at first, but come look." Mac does, leaning over the back of the couch so his head is right beside hers. Riley points at the screen. "The first three transactions were all big deposits, each one two weeks apart." 

Frowning, Mac squints at the tiny numbers on the screen. "One hundred thousand dollars?" 

"Times three deposits," Riley adds. 

"Where the hell did they get that kind of money?"

"I don't know. The deposits were cash." 

“Damn. Did you at least figure out who their previous arms dealer was?” 

“Yeah.” Riley shifts, causing her hair to tickle Mac’s nose, and he brushes her hair to the opposite side of her neck without another thought. “Turns out their previous dealer has Mexican cartel connections, which explains why the Patriots only paid them twice. I’m guessing they found out about the cartel part and broke it off before they made a long-term deal.” 

“At least they’re not complete idiots,” Mac mumbles. Tired of squinting, he leans closer to better see the screen. 

Except now they’re cheek to cheek, and Mac suddenly can’t focus on the screen at all. 

Riley twists to look at him, and it takes every ounce of Mac’s willpower not to glance at her lips. "Are you burning my grilled cheese?" 

"No." He straightens, simultaneously disappointed and relieved by the space now between them. Mac shakes off the thought. He can’t keep getting distracted like this. 

"Uh huh. Sure." 

Retreating to the kitchen, Mac calls, "That was one time!"

*****

As expected, they don’t hear anything from Conrad or the Patriots the following day. Mac doesn’t know what to do with all the downtime on this op. There are plenty of books in the apartment, but he’s too restless to sit and read. He opens the fridge, more out of boredom than actual hunger. 

They’re on day five of the undercover op, and it’s starting to feel an awful lot like quarantine. With nothing to do but hurry up and wait, hanging out in the apartment and doing nothing is starting to make Mac go a little stir crazy. 

When Riley emerges from the bedroom wearing workout clothes, it’s clear she feels the same way. “I’m going for a run,” she announces. 

“Want company?” He hopes she says yes. Anything to get out of the apartment for a while. 

Riley unplugs her phone from the charger and slides it into her pocket. “No offense, but no.” 

Dammit. Mac shoves down his disappointment. “None taken.” He closes the fridge. Nothing in there looks good. 

“Tell you what,” she says. “After I get back we can go to the space museum, okay?” 

His heart skips a beat at her offer. “Is it that obvious I’m bored?” 

“Yes.” Riley gives him a pitying smile. “So do you want to go?” 

Mac smiles. It feels like she just asked him out on a date. It’s not, but it feels like one anyway. Be cool. “What kind of question is that? Of course I do.” 

“Okay then.” Popping in her earbuds, she walks out the door. 

“Enjoy your run, muffin!” Mac calls, stealing Bozer’s go-to pet name for when he’s undercover with Riley. She reaches back inside to flip him off before slamming the door shut, and Mac chuckles. Riley really hates that nickname.

Now it’s just him, Harley, and this tiny apartment. 

Resuming his search for food he’s not even hungry for, Mac opens the pantry, and Harley comes running into the kitchen. She must’ve learned the sound of the door opening since they keep the dog food in there. Harley looks up at Mac expectantly. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” She whines, and her pleading expression reminds Mac of the wide-eyed look Bozer mastered as a kid while begging his parents for something. Neither are very effective. “You just had breakfast an hour ago,” he insists.  

Harley glances at the open pantry, then back at him. 

Mac doesn’t give in, but he does kneel to pet her instead, scratching Harley’s neck and ending up with a handful of hair. Frowning, Mac digs through every drawer in the kitchen in search of a dog brush. No luck. He checks the bedroom and bathroom, coming up empty once again. Who even organized this house? It makes no sense. His gaze lands on the laundry room door. 

Ah. 

Sure enough, there’s a dog brush on the shelf above the washing machine. 

Leash and brush in-hand, Mac calls out, “Alright, girl. Let’s go de-floof you.” 

Harley takes one look at the brush and sprints in the other direction. 

Well this is going to be harder than Mac anticipated. 

He ends up chasing Harley throughout the apartment, zig-zagging from one room to the next. Every time Mac gets close, Harley slips by, just out of reach. After the fourth time she sends Mac stumbling into the furniture after lunging for her and missing, he realizes what she’s doing. 

Harley is playing him. This is a game to her. And, so far, she’s winning. 

Mac stares the dog down, and she seems to narrow her eyes in response. “Challenge accepted,” he tells her. 

This time, he knows exactly where to find what he’s looking for—peanut butter. He smears an unnecessarily large glob into Harley’s dog bowl, making sure she sees exactly what he’s doing. Harley’s stubborn, and does a good job of appearing not to care, but Mac has a hard time believing any dog would turn down peanut butter. 

Harley, it turns out, is no exception. 

She follows him to the door, and Mac rewards her with a few licks of peanut butter while he clips on the leash, careful not to let her eat so much that there’s not enough to last while brushing her. Despite Harley’s obvious enjoyment of the peanut butter, Mac is no fool. She let him win this round, no doubt about it. 

He leads Harley down the stairs to the small lawn in front of the apartment building, where it wouldn’t matter if he left dog hair everywhere. The brush pulls away thick chunks of her undercoat with each pass, and it doesn’t take long for the lawn to look like something died there. 

The peanut butter, unfortunately, doesn’t last nearly as long as Mac hopes. 

Mac figures out pretty quickly that Harley does not like her tail being brushed; she turns away and tucks her tail and generally makes it impossible for Mac to reach it. He sits back on his heels, formulating a new strategy. “If I don’t brush your tail,” he says, “you’re going to look like a squirrel, and neither of us wants that.” 

Harley’s ears prick at the word squirrel. 

Mac tries again, and this time Harley lets him…sort of. It’s not perfect, but at least she won’t be leaving hair all over the apartment anymore—hair that he needs to vacuum, because Riley asked him to last night and he’d completely forgotten until now. Tucking the brush into his back pocket, Mac scratches Harley’s ears the way he learned she likes, and when she leans into his touch, Mac’s heart swells. 

“Good girl.” He kisses her head, and Harley licks his chin in return. “See? We’re not so bad.” Mac sighs. “I know we’re not who you wanted, but we’re going to take good care of you.” 

Riley made the same promise in the war room. Even if she doesn’t stay with them after the op, Mac will make sure Harley ends up with people who will love her for the rest of her life. 

“I promise,” he murmurs into her fur, kissing her head again.

Mac startles when a feminine voice calls, “You could make a whole other dog from all that hair.” A middle-aged woman stands in the walkway, oversized blue purse on her shoulder and car keys in hand. She smiles at Mac. “I haven’t seen you before. Did you just move in?” 

“Yeah,” Mac says, standing up. “My wife and I moved in this week.” 

“Well, welcome. My name is Carrie Ann, and my husband and I live in apartment 317. Feel free to stop by anytime. I think you’ll like living here, though I must warn you that it gets pretty loud during football season.” 

Mac nods. “Nice to meet you. I’m James.” He expects Carrie Ann to keep walking—presumably to her car—but she doesn’t, and Mac suddenly gets the feeling this conversation is about to be much longer than he wants. 

“And who is this cutie?” she asks, directing her attention to the dog. 

“This is Harley.” 

Carrie Ann sounds like a squeaker toy, greeting Harley in a voice so high-pitched it’s almost inhuman and petting her without bothering to ask for permission. Harley eyes the woman warily but surprisingly sits still. “I love dogs,” she says at a mercifully normal decibel. “Sadly my husband is allergic.” 

“That is unfortunate.” Mac shifts from foot to foot, eager to escape the small talk. He’s never really had the patience for it. 

Carrie Ann, it seems, is completely oblivious to his discomfort. She prattles on, asking asinine questions about what he does for work, if he’s been to the coffee place down the street, and when she can meet his wife. 

Mac doesn’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse when Riley appears in his peripheral vision, as if on cue. “Actually,” he says to Carrie Ann, “you can meet her right now.” Mac flashes Riley a wide, bright smile that she returns half-heartedly, chest still heaving after her run. Sweat glistens on her body, and a few wispy curls that escaped her ponytail are now plastered to her face. “This is my wife, Genevieve.” 

Giving Harley a quick scratch, Riley stands beside him, close enough that Mac can feel the heat radiating off her body. Instinctively, he starts to put a hand on her back, but he quickly pulls away. She’s not wearing a shirt—only a sports bra and those stupidly tight leggings—and the intimacy of putting his hand on her bare skin is too much to handle. “Hi,” she says, completely oblivious to Mac’s internal panic. 

Carrie Ann introduces herself again, and Mac is only half-listening while she and Riley chat. Riley’s so much better at small talk anyway. 

He’s much too focused on how Riley grabs his shoulder to use him for balance while she stretches. She’s so casual about it, like she’s done it a million times before. His skin burns under her touch. 

Mac wants to feel more of her, wants his whole body to feel like that. 

Stop it, he chastises himself. Stop thinking about her like that. 

He can’t. 

Even after Riley lets go, the feeling lingers, and Mac can’t stop thinking about that too. She’s standing slightly in front of him now, almost as if she’s protecting him from their nosey neighbor.

“When are you having kids?” Carrie Ann coos. “An attractive couple such as yourselves would make such beautiful children.” 

Shit. He and Riley never talked about that. 

Before Mac can come up with an answer, Riley pulls his arms around her, a smile blooming on her face. She guides his hands to rest low on her abdomen. “We’re actually trying right now.” 

Mac’s brain short-circuits. 

He blushes, both at the casual intimacy of Riley wrapping herself in him and at the implications of what she just said. Pressing her body fully into Mac’s, Riley looks up at him, smiling like he’s her whole world, and Mac’s heart stops. He’s not breathing. 

His whole body burns, and the feeling is so much more intense than he imagined just seconds ago. 

Alight with mischief, Riley’s dark brown eyes draw him in, and suddenly Mac is picturing Riley with that exact same expression while wearing far less clothing. 

Mac thinks he might die from spontaneous combustion. 

You are so beautiful, he barely stops himself from saying. His blush deepens as he’s snared in the mental image of him and Riley doing said “trying.” 

Their neighbor has the audacity to laugh. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it, Genevieve. Your husband looks like he’s ready for another round.” 

That makes it worse. So much worse. If he doesn’t spontaneously combust, then he’ll definitely die of embarrassment. It’s not how he wants to die, but it’s better than explaining his reaction to Riley. Because she’s going to ask him about it. Mac knows this—knows this like he knows grass is green and gravity is what keeps his feet on the ground.

As soon as Carrie Ann leaves, Riley does exactly that. She extricates herself from his grasp, putting her hands on her hips and furrowing her brow the way she always does when she knows something’s up. “Are you okay?” she asks. 

Mac’s voice is strained as he replies, “Yeah. I’m good.” 

He is not good. He is definitely not good. 

And Riley knows it. 

This op feels like all Mac’s worst nightmares coming to fruition. Simultaneously. 

Riley can’t know. Her knowing would ruin everything—their friendship, their work, their trust. Mac can hardly look her in the eye. How is Riley supposed to trust him when he’s secretly thinking about her like that? He’s her friend; he’s supposed to protect her from guys who want her like that, not become one of them. 

But god does Mac want to be one of them. Not one of them, he corrects himself. The only one. 

He’s screwed.

.

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[avyssoseleison]

Funnily enough I was going through a lot of your old fics yesterday for nostalgia reasons and now can't stop thinking high school enemies to lovers deancas ideally with some punk!cas nerd!dean maybe? Fully understand if that prompt doesn't tickle your fancy though

Please enjoy these 3.2k of enemies to homework buddies!

“Winchester.”

Dean will ignore him.

“Hey, Winchester!”

Dean will most definitely ignore him. Just keep on walking. If Novak thinks he can’t hear him, surely he’ll leave him alone. He’ll go bother someone else, and Dean will finally be free of him.

“Winchester!”

Dean hears, but doesn’t listen. He starts humming to himself when there’s suddenly a hand on his shoulder, ripping him out of his thoughts.

“Hey, I’m talking to you, you assbutt!”

And there he is, of course: Castiel Novak. With his dumb boots and even dumber leather jacket, and, dumbest of all, that small little frown that slowly morphs into a way too pleased smile the longer Dean glares at him.

Christ.

By the time when Novak’s smile turns into a full-blown grin, Dean finally musters up the strength to look away. The soft rustle of tree crowns in the distance reminds him of what a great morning he has been having, and what a perfect day it could have been, had Novak decided to leave him alone. As it is, his day might turn out a bit marred, after all. A bit more normal, perhaps.

“‘Assbut’?” Dean quips, way too late. “What kinda insult is that?”

“What kind of delayed comeback is this?” Novak counters. 

“It’s not as delayed as your…” Dean doesn’t really know enough about Novak to be able to insult him in any meaningful way, and what he knows of him, he doesn’t want to use. So, instead, he finishes lamely with, “...development.”

Novak could not look any less impressed, especially because the raise of his eyebrow alone continues their little banter in a manner that clearly suggests that if anyone’s development is delayed, it has to be Dean’s. However, that level of insult is apparently not one Novak deigns to lower himself to, as he continues to look smug while busying himself with lighting a cigarette and blowing out a lungful of smoke with obvious relish.

Dean makes a face and pointedly waves his hand in front of his face. “Smoking’s bad for you,” he simply states, making Novak chuckle lightly.

“So’s a lot of things, if society is to be believed. I am not much of a believer, though, and I do enjoy the small pleasures in life.”

The small, self-satisfied smile Novak shoots him sends a strange feeling through Dean’s body, from his lips down to his very toes, and everything in-between.

Dean swallows. “What do you want, Novak?”

“Oh, nothing much.” Novak takes a drag while trotting along Dean who starts moving again, trying to put some distance between himself and the self-proclaimed anarchist. “I just have a small favor to ask you,” he says, sounding as though whatever he is asking for is actually not that small at all.

“Again?” Dean grumbles, thinking of Novak quickly copying his homework last week, secluded in that small parking lot that no one but Novak and some people in the know ever seem to use, and of what Novak did in return. “I’m not doing you any more favors, man,” Dean scoffs, and stomps on.

Nonetheless, Novak stays hot on his heels.

“Why not?” Novak presses, “I’m not asking for much -- I just need today’s Math homework. I didn’t hear Mr. Singer give us any, but Meg just told me he wanted us to solve like 15 fucking problems, and she didn’t do them either.“

“Of course not.“ Anything else would’ve been shocking enough — if Novak has a bad reputation, Meg Masters‘ is even worse. All kinds of rumors are going around about her, ranging from drug use to prostitution to downright witchcraft. Although Dean cannot confirm nor deny any of the rumors, he is inclined to believe most of them. And Meg Masters herself would probably laughingly accept any accusations -- she is that kind of person. And although Dean cannot help but grudgingly respect her for her attitude, he also resents her for it: and how could he not, when he works so hard to do what is asked of him, and stick to the rules? Yeah, the only way someone like Meg could shock Dean would be to actually do her homework for a change.

“Now, now,“ Novak chides playfully, even if it doesn’t seem like he cares all that much about it. “Meg does her best.“

“Just like you do, huh?“

At that, Novak‘s grin turns darker, a bit more dangerous. “So harsh, Winchester. I think you know better than most how sometimes, things are not as easy as they seem. That circumstances are different for everyone.“

“Yeah, yeah,“ Dean dismisses, with a pang in his chest, though he gets it. Unfortunately, he really does. “Anyway, I won’t give you the homework.“

“Why not?“

“Because why would I? I don’t like you and you only hit me up when you need stuff from me. Besides...“ he begins, then swallows back a proper explanation. “You know why.“

“Oh, I do?“

“You damn well know you do.“

“Hmm, alright.“ Novak takes another drag, unbothered. “Listen, if you give me today’s homework, I’ll make it worth your while.“

“Not interested,“ Dean says, already having a hunch of where this is going.

“No? Could be something similar to last time. You liked last time’s payment, didn’t you?” Novak asks, and it’s just like Dean expected.

Dean avidly fixes his gaze on the school building, still hidden behind some trees, but not too far off anymore. He will be safe there -- Novak would never dream of bothering him where anyone else could see. 

“I fucking did not,” he argues, already feeling heat creep into his cheeks.

“Really? I could’ve sworn you did, what with all the blushing and squirming and your pants going--”

“Novak!” Dean barks with a swelling sense of despair. His entire face feels hot by now, and is probably as red as a tomato, “I sure as hell did not enjoy whatever you call ‘payment’ for last week. Besides, I wouldn’t even call it ‘payment’ so much as fucking ‘harassment’.”

There is a beat of silence. Then, “Are you serious?” Novak asks, in an unidentifiable tone of voice.

“‘Harassment’, ‘molestation’, ‘taking advantage’,” Dean recites, enjoying this now that he is gaining momentum. “You call it payment, I call it an affront, and--”

“Is that really what you think, Winchester?” Novak cuts in at the same time he stands still, his eyebrows drawn together in an unfamiliarly serious way. “That I harassed you?”

Dean stops as well. He looks back at Novak, his straight back and straightforward face, the way that he seems not just annoyed by the accusation, as Dean would have expected, but unsettled. As if he were taking Dean’s half-joke seriously, and reconsidering his own course of action.

Guilt wells up in Dean, and he holds his hands up in reassurance. “I didn’t--” he doesn’t know how to actually finish that sentence, so he just leaves it hanging.

There is nothing to say there, not really. What Dean said was half in jest, and half in… half in what he knows anyone else would think of the situation, or should think. It’s what Dean himself should think: that it was unexpected, unwanted, unreciprocated. That his animosity towards Novak just grew over it, that he truly hates him now. That there was no part of Dean that enjoyed any of it, no part of him that longs to do it again.

Novak keeps staring at him, though, reassessing. His stillness is as unnerving as his little smiles and contemplative looks usually are, even if in different ways. Regardless, he seems to come to some sort of conclusion as he takes in Dean’s still figure, the flush in his cheeks and whatever else there is to see, since he suddenly steps forward, closer towards him again.

“Harassment, was it?” Novak says, now with cold fire burning in his eyes that takes away Dean’s breath for just a moment. “Because I do seem to remember that you were the one who not only told me it was okay if I gave you a kiss on the cheek, but turned it into something more. By turning your head, parting your lips, not letting me go. You were the one who slipped me the tongue and kept going and going. You were the one who begged me to do more, kiss you more, touch you more, fu--”

“No!” Dean interrupts him, with burning cheeks and a stomach that has already dropped all the way down. “S-Stop making shit up, Novak. You know I’m not like that -- I’m not like you --, so I’d really appreciate it if you could leave me out of your fantasies. You were the one who harassed me--”

“--I just said--”

“--who pushed me to give him my homework in the first place--”

“--I asked you if it was okay to--”

“--and who made me do something I sure as hell neither enjoyed nor wanna do again.”

“Oh, really?” Novak asked, raising an eyebrow, in what might constitute a challenge or a feeling of false imputation, or both. “So, if I told you I’d love to kiss you again if you let me copy your math homework, you’d tell me no? Would what, cry harassment again if I dared touch so much as your wrist or even came close to you again? Or,” he continues, voice dropping into a darker tone while he does indeed inch closer towards Dean, close enough to touch him, and who remains where he is, rooted to the spot, “would you tell someone about it? Mr. Singer, perhaps? Or the counselor? Hmm, one thing’s for sure, though.” He laughs, but there’s no humor behind it. It sounds pained, even to Dean’s ears, knowing. “You wouldn’t tell your dad, would you? That you made out with a guy, and liked it? That you wouldn’t mind doing it again, given the right circumstances, some good excuse? Such as taking the long way to where you’ve parked your car, past the small parking lot you know where mine is and where I usually hang out? So that, I don’t know, perhaps I might come over when I see you, and all you had to do was bat your long lashes at me, bite your pretty lips, and wait for me to make a move again?”

It feels as if all the air is sucked out of Dean’s lungs. Standing there in front of Novak, feeling the heat of both his words and his body, he feels seen-through, known; and as lacerated and repugnant as an open wound.

Dean  wants to draw back into himself, into his safe shell, but he can’t. “You’re ridiculous, man,” is all he can mumble out in return as he twists his gaze away from Novak.

They remain there like this for God knows how long. Dean, looking somewhere between their feet and Novak’s almost heaving chest, and Novak, with his face hidden from Dean’s view, but his hands clenched into fists.

By the time Novak’s hands open again, it feels as though an hour has passed, though it probably were mere minutes.

“Alright,” Novak blows out on a breath, “let me make you a deal. Just so we’re on the same page, and we’re both absolutely clear on what is okay and what might be harassment or anything of the sort.”

Hearing Novak say that word again revives the feelings of guilt in Dean, but he knows he’s made his bed, so now he has to lie in it. So, he swallows and nods, feeling all of his body tense. “What kinda deal?”

“It goes like this: you either refuse to let me copy your homework and I won’t ever touch, much less kiss, you ever again. I’ll leave you alone. Or, you allow me to copy today’s homework at the very least, so Mr. Singer won’t call my foster home again, and you can choose whatever payment you want, as long as it’s somewhat reasonable. Money, cigarettes, beer, anything you want me to do, you name it. As long as you name it. I won’t give you what you’re not explicitly asking for.”

Dean frowns. “What? How is that a deal? It’s either you win or I do, no in-between. I mean, fine by me, but you get nothing out of it, so what gives?”

“It’s not that bad of a deal,“ Novak says, finally flinging his cigarette to the ground and grinding it out. 

He gives no further explanation, though, which gets on Dean’s nerves even more. “You suck at coming up with deals, you know that?“

“Not really,“ Novak says, shrugging a little. “As I see it, it‘s win-win for you and win-lose for me. Which, for me, too: is fine. It all depends on what you want.” There’s something strangely soft in the way he is looking at Dean, something almost wistful. “And on whether you’ll actually express it.”

Put on the spot yet not, there isn’t much for Dean to do but nod in acquiescence. He’d like to pretend he still doesn’t get what Novak is going for, but he does, deep down. It’s both an in and an out -- what he was hoping for, but couldn't have asked for. Now he has to ask for what he wants, and if he doesn’t, he won’t get it. And he’s not sure he can. Not when there’s rules and expectations and the shadow of a man larger than Dean, larger than life itself, endlessly looming over him.

“Okay,” Dean says, pinching the bridge of his nose. Novak keeps staring at him in that stiffly intense way of his. “Alright. I mean, it probably would be pretty bad if you turned up without homework again, huh? Last I heard, you got into some pretty dire straits when Mr. Singer called your foster home, right?”

Novak huffs out a sound of amusement, his shoulders sinking in what looks like relief. “You’re well-informed.”

A furious blush threatens to stain Dean’s cheeks again. “It’s just what I heard. People talk. About you. And, uh, everyone else, I guess.”

There it is again, that soft expression. And Dean thinks he might recognize it now, impossible enough: Novak looks fond.

“They do,” Novak agrees, showing no offense at any possible implications of him being the talk of the school, which he most definitely is. “And yes, it was ‘pretty bad’, as you’ve said. I’d much rather not have a repeat performance.”

“Easy way to avoid it.”

“Yes, I’m working on it at the very moment.”

In spite of himself, Dean huffs out a laugh. “I meant doing your own damn homework. I know you’re smart enough to do it, even if you barely show up in class. You ace all the tests even when you weren’t there, so I don’t believe you couldn’t just as well hand in your homework if you fucking wanted to.”

Novak hums in open amusement. “Is that your own observation or people talking again?”

Feeling as though caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Dean just lamely stammers out a, “It’s-- it’s common knowledge, okay?” before setting into motion again.

Novak’s laughter follows him the first few steps, then he is beside him again.

“Who knows, maybe you’re right and I could take care of my own homework. But maybe I like not doing so, and asking certain other people for it instead.”

It’s obvious what -- or rather, who -- he means by that, that Dean is pretty sure his skin will never be anything but pink again. “Oh yeah?” he needles, “You got many people doing your homework? Giving them the same payment, too?”

“No,” Novak replies surprisingly quickly, “there’s only one person, and only one time I offered that type of payment.”

For a minute, they walk in silence as they almost reach the stairs of the school house. There’s few other people around, most of them just entering the building or looking at their phones, unheeding of the pair.

“So, we have a deal?” Novak eventually asks into their waiting silence.

“You can have today’s homework,” Dean relents, holding out on what he knows Novak is actually going for.

“Thank you, Dean,” Novak says with a gummy smile.

The sound of his name stirs Dean him up a bit more, reminding him of the only other time when Novak called him by his first name: when he was crowding Dean up against a wall, removing his glasses, and kissing his cheek so softly that Dean needed more, needed to be closer to this other guy, to this enigma of a person.

“Don’t mention it,” Dean mumbles.

“As for your payment…?” Novak probes, though with his voice in a whisper as they are close enough to other people now that they might otherwise be overheard.

“Don’t know yet,” Dean says, his voice clipped.

“I’m sure you already have something in mind.“ It’s completely uncalled for Novak to say this in such a low and heady way.

“Maybe you do, but I don’t.“ He doesn’t know, he thinks. He can’t, is why. He won’t, he tells himself.

“Dean,” Novak says, using his first name again, as if they were friends or something more, sounding intimate in the most casual way, and that does it.

“Damnit, Novak, I want—“ Dean bursts out.

Novak looks at him in expectation, all of him turned towards Dean, listening.

He won’t, he won’t, he can’t.

Can’t he?

“—time,“ Dean finishes lamely.

Novak pulls a face that clearly says, ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed.’

Which is all the worse.

“Listen, Novak, you… you might be right.“ Dean pulls a face. “I can’t believe I just said that. But yeah, I might have an idea of what I want, what I’d like to have,” he pointedly does not look at the other boy or anything else but straight towards the school. “But you’re also right in that my dad wouldn’t— I can’t--” He swallows, tries to shake the thought out of his head, but it unfortunately stays stuck. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll think about it, okay?”

“You will?” Novak asks, sounding hopeful.

“Yeah, sure. Maybe.“ He blows out his breath, scrubs a hand through his own hair, and continues, “Might take me some time, though. Maybe a long time. Maybe forever.“ He laughs mirthlessly. “So, today’s homework might actually turn out to be a freebie for you.”

The expression on Novak‘s face is hard to read, but undeniably one he usually does not show in public. For a second there, Dean thinks Novak wants to reach for him: his hand lifts and opens just so, swerving in his direction. Before anything comes off it, though, he drops his hand again, burrows it in his pocket and says, “Take all the time you need, Dean.“

He might have to, Dean thinks. Probably nothing will come of this, not right now, maybe not for as long as he is as young as he is, dependent on his father’s will, bound to him for freedom. Perhaps, though, some other time, in some distant future, or hidden behind some bleachers, he might find a taste of liberation, or the touch of Novak’s lips again.

Dean turns away from the other boy as the school bell rings, the call-back to the present not quite as oppressive with blue eyes and a soft smile still impressed on his mind.

[deja-you]

Starlight

m. de lafayette x reader

chapter two | spies and white lies

summary: it was never your intent to be anything more than a common thief, but fate -- and a rather attractive general -- have other plans for you.

word count: 3.6k

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“What are we at now? Twenty argenti?” You grin and lean forward, elbows resting on the table. “Another round, Mulligan?”

The tailor gives you a look that only makes your smile widen. “I don’t know if I have anything left to wager.”

“Mulligan, your deployment is about to head out, you should get down to the loading dock.”

The look of relief on Mulligan’s face is nearly comical when Hamilton interrupts the next game you are setting up. Mulligan mutters a half-hearted apology, you wish him luck, and then he is all too eager to leave.

Hamilton places a hand on your shoulder and points you in the direction of Lafayette’s office. “The general would like a word with you.”

“Am I in trouble?”

“Aren’t you always?”

“Fair point. Wish me luck, Lex,” you mutter, making your way into the lion’s den.

You knock twice on the door, and without waiting for a reply, you push open the door and let yourself into Lafayette’s office. Dim, warm light greets you – a stark contrast to the harsh white lighting found in most buildings on Philia. Lafayette sits at his desk, thumbing through pages and pages of paperwork. The navy cape usually worn around his shoulders is draped over the back of his chair, and he absently scratches his beard as he continues to read the papers in front of him.

“You wanted to see me?” You ask.

He nods toward the empty chairs in front of his desk. “Yes, have a seat.”

You sit down across from him and wait for him to inform you as to why you’ve been called into his office. The two of you sit in silence for a few minutes before Lafayette finally puts down his paperwork and leans back in his chair.

He appraises you silently, then finally: “Hamilton says you’re cleaning my men out of their money.”

“I want you to know,” you say quickly, “that my actions have been completely legal. It’s not my fault you never taught your men how to gamble.”

“How much did Mulligan lose today?” He asks.

“Twenty.”

“You don’t feel bad about taking money from the poor guy?”

“It’s Mulligan.” The both of you share a laugh. “Did you call me in here to tell me to stop taking your soldiers’ money?”

“Not at all, feel free to continue scamming them out of their money,” he says with a shrug. “As long as you keep supplying me with intel on the New British battle plans, you can do whatever you want with your off hours.”

“I take it you’ve got a new mission for me?”

“Perceptive. This is why I hired you.”

“I thought you hired me because I’m expendable,” you say bluntly.

He stiffens at your comment and slowly shakes his head. “No, that’s not it. You’re incredibly good at what you do, and I think you’re the perfect person for this job.”

Lafayette hands you a tablet with the information for your next mission. This one is a bit different than the previous jobs he had you run. It had been your job to lay low at shady bars around Philia that had been known as sympathizers of the New British crown and report back any information you had overheard. On occasion, you had been sent to spy on wealthy sympathizers at dinner parties, galas, races, etc. All these events took place on Philia or neighboring planets. Looking down at the tablet, your eyes widened a little at the name of your next location.

“You’re sending me to Hesse?” You say in surprise.

“It would be…” he pauses and thinks through his words. “It’s rather vital we send someone to observe negotiations between the leaders of Hesse and New Britannia. We have reason to believe they’re discussing more than just a renewal of the neutrality act.”

“I see. It’s just that… Hesse is quite far. It’s not even part of the United Planets of Amerigo,” you say. Lafayette knows this. Hesse is a part of a large federation of planets that has remained neutral during the war between Amerigo and New Britannia. It’s out of Lafayette’s jurisdiction, if anything happened to you there…

“You don’t have to go,” he says quickly. “You can say no. If you don’t think you can—”

“You said this was vital, yes?” You say. “Who else would you send?”

Lafayette is silent while he tries to come up with another name. There isn’t anyone else they can send; his silence tells you.

“Alright. I’ll go.”

He eyes you warily. “This is a risky idea. Maybe I shouldn’t have suggested it. We can find another way. You shouldn’t go.”

“General,” you say firmly, “I’m going to Hesse. You said yourself that I’m the perfect person for this job; I already speak Alemanni.”

“You speak Alemanni?”

“There’s a lot you still don’t know about me, general. Glad I’m still full of surprises.” You scan the information on the tablet and stand from your chair. “Guess I should be going, then. I’ve got a lot of studying to do.”

“Our contact will be limited while you’re on Hesse, but if you run into the slightest bit of danger, press this button here on your bracelet and we’ll fly in to pick you up immediately.”

Lafayette hands you the bracelet in question, and you give him a nod before sliding it onto your wrist. You’re a few minutes out from the capital city, and the general is running through any last-minute details with you before he drops you off and the ship heads back into orbit around Hesse.

“Remember, this is a reconnaissance mission. You are not to engage in any combat whatsoever. Get in, get information, get out. Do you understand?” He asks.

Lafayette misses it when you roll your eyes, which is probably for the best. “I got it, general.”

He lands the ship, opens the cargo door, and turns his chair to face you. “One more thing.”

You groan. “What could you have possibly forgotten to say?”

Lafayette crosses his hands over his chest, taking one more good look at you. “Be safe out there.”

You’re a little shocked by his sudden switch to a softer tone, and it must show. You stare at him awkwardly for a minute before giving a small nod, grabbing your pack, and stepping out of the ship. Behind you, the ship begins to depart. You don’t turn back to watch it leave. You are now on a mission.

Hesse is vastly different from Philia. Where Philia has a temperate, warm climate, Hesse is considerably colder. Fortunately, it’s not snowing when you arrive, but the chilling winds are so harsh you don’t think it would make a difference. Traffic on the streets in Hesse is minimal, and you attribute this to the less than desirable weather. You’re not going to get any information from the inanimate light posts or street signs, so you find what looks like a promising tavern and head inside.

The tavern contrasts the icy Hesse environment; inside is warm and bright, backed with patrons from wall to wall and buzzing with conversation. As you make your way to the bar, you pick up on bits and pieces of the conversations happening around you. You’re in your element.

“You have to stop worrying so much. She’s a smart girl, she would call you if she needed any help.”

It’s been a few cycles since Lafayette dropped you off on Hesse. He didn’t expect you to call for him immediately, but he can’t stop himself from worrying a bit when he doesn’t hear from you for a few days. Lafayette is on a spaceship by himself with nothing better to do except work through piles of paperwork and think up every scenario that could go wrong for you on Hesse. If anything happens to you, he will be to blame.

In his defense, Lafayette had never wanted to send you to Hesse in the first place. It had been a rather forceful suggestion from General Washington after the head of the army had seen your success rates. Of course it made sense that you would be the one to take on this mission, but that didn’t make Lafayette feel any better about it. He voices these concerns in a call to Hamilton while he orbits endlessly around the planet.

“I’m serious, Lafayette,” Hamilton says, beginning to sound a little exasperated. “There’s nothing you can do at this point. I’m sure she wouldn’t want you panicking over this anyway.”

“Was this a huge mistake?” Lafayette asks, effectively ignoring all of Hamilton’s previous statements.

“No, it wasn’t. We need information on these treaties, I have no doubt New Britannia has something up their sleeves. If anyone’s going to figure it out, it’s her. You didn’t have a choice.”

It must be the eleventh or twelfth time Hamilton has repeated these sentiments on this call alone. Lafayette decides there’s no point in continuing on this line of conversation, so he surrenders for the time being.

“You’re right,” he says. “No point in worrying. So, have I missed anything while I’ve been gone?”

“Not much. Mulligan’s sent some intel back to us from his latest mission, nothing big yet. Oh, Laurens arrived back yesterday. A few bruises and a broken finger or two, but other than that, he seems to be fine.” Hamilton is happy enough with the subject change.

“He made it back in one piece? Well, how about that. The way he fights, you’d think he’s got a death wish.”

On the other line, Hamilton releases a bark of laughter. “You’d think so. Most men in your battalion are rather careless when it comes to safety. You think you had a hand in teaching ‘em that?”

“Me? I hardly think—”

He pauses mid-sentence when the light on his computer begins flashing a few times and a succession of beeps start sounding. Whatever he was about to say is lost at his lips when he stares at the blinking light. Lafayette has been waiting for this.

“I have to go,” he says to Hamilton, “it’s her.”

Lafayette doesn’t offer more of a goodbye, not that he needs to, and hangs up the call with Hamilton. Immediately he kicks into gear, sliding into the pilot’s seat and speeding toward the surface of Hesse in the direction being sent to the ship from your bracelet.

He’s surprised to find your tracking signal coming from a few miles outside of the capital, but he’s even more surprised when he finds the position you’re in. Amidst a forest of snow-covered trees, a fortress peaks out over the treetop with Gothic towers and intimidating sculptures. Along the top of one set of battlement walls, a fight has broken out and blasts of light are being shot from one side to the other. As Lafayette gets closer, he sees that you are on one side of this battle, doing your best to fend off a squadron of joint Hesse-New Britannia troops. It could be going better for you; you’re crouched behind a heavy shield, leaning out now and then to fire a blast at the soldiers who are gaining ground second by second.

Lafayette can’t be sure from this distance, but when you see the ship approaching, he swears he sees a grin spread across your features. Then, in a move that surprises both Lafayette and the soldiers, you stand from your position, and with a few steps, you’ve flung yourself off the castle walls. Lafayette curses under his breath, racing forward in the ship, opening the bay doors, and turning the ship sideways to catch you while you plummet from the air. Somewhere behind him in the ship, he hears a loud thud and is relieved to know you’ve made it onboard.

The soldiers recover from their shock and begin targeting the spaceship instead. Lafayette is able to avoid any significant damage to the ship by weaving through the trees, but it isn’t an easy task. When the blasts begin to fade and the fortress is far enough behind, the spaceship shoots up into the air, racing out of Hesse airspace. Lafayette navigates the ship for a bit, but once he feels they’re safe, he switches the ship into autopilot. He has a spy to debrief.

Lafayette finds you in the cargo bay, looking a little worse for wear. “Are you alright? Injured?”

You look up at him and grin. “Fantastic.”

After a quick observation, Lafayette concludes that “fantastic” would not be the word he used to describe your current state. Your hair is a mess, your face is covered with dirt and cuts, and you are cradling your wrist that looks bent out of shape, the skin around it already turning into a purple-blue color. He raises an eyebrow.

“Alright, I suppose I’ve been in better shape,” you say casually.

Lafayette steps closer, gently pulling your arm to him so he can inspect the injury. His  eyes darken as they move from your wrist to your eyes, and you’re suddenly aware of the proximity between the two of you.

“Who did this?” His voice is quiet, but the low growl in the back of his throat sends chills down your spine.

Your uninjured hand takes the arm that is holding you, and his grip on your arm softens. “No one. I think I might’ve broken my wrist on landing.”

His eyes lower and he releases you. Suddenly aware of your closeness, he takes a step back.

“You think?” He scoffs, walking over to the wall and opening up the first aid kit. You’re sitting on the ground, back pressed up against a crate, and Lafayette kneels beside you and begins to tend to your wound. “Tell me about the mission while I patch you up.”

“I think it went rather well. I found a job as a translator my first day on the planet.”

“How did you manage that?”

“Turns out there’s a lack of Alemanni-English speakers on Hesse, and the New Britannia diplomats were in need of a translator. Right place, right time, I suppose.

Anyway, I was brought to this Hessian duke’s castle where the negotiations were being made. The first few days of negotiations gave me nothing to report on; just usual diplomatic pleasantries and treaty renewals as had been stated by New Britannia. However, last night negotiations took a different turn.

The New Britannia ambassador told the duke that the New British army was in need of troops, and they were willing to pay large sums. They’re hiring Hessian soldiers as mercenaries.”

“Mercenaries? I thought Hesse wanted to remain neutral in this war,” Lafayette frowned, placing a bandage over one of your larger cuts.

You nod in agreement, “That’s what I thought, too. Apparently, many of the Hessian princes are in a lot of debt – they need the money and the Brits backed them into a corner. I was going to call for you to pick me up last night, but I thought I could dig up some more information.”

“And did you?”

“Of course I did, general,” you grin again and pat the leather bound journal next to you; Lafayette hadn’t even noticed it before. “Snuck into the ambassador’s office this morning and found this. Looked like it had some information on upcoming battle strategies, but I didn’t have much time to read through it, I was caught by one of the ambassador’s guards. Barely made it out, guess I was lucky you were there when I needed you, huh?”

“Lucky only begins to describe it. You shouldn’t have put yourself in unnecessary danger.”

“I took care of myself, didn’t I? Besides, I think General Washington will find this information rather helpful.”

Lafayette can’t help but smile when you hand him the journal. He flips through a few pages, his eyes widening in pleasant surprise. This is more information than he had hoped to get out of this mission. Lafayette sets the journal down beside him, pulling a sling out from the first aid kit and gently lifting your arm into the fabric.

“I’ll make sure you receive proper medical attention once we get back to Philia, but this should do the job for now.” Lafayette tucks the journal under his arm and stands to his feet. “I need to make a call to the generals to update them on the information you’ve just shared with me.”

“Of course.”

“Get some rest, you look like you need it.” He begins to walk in the direction of his personal quarters but pauses before he leaves the room. “Oh, and starlight?”

You look up at him.

“Good work.”

Once Lafayette leaves the room, you can’t stop the proud smile that appears on your lips. Still, Lafayette is right about one thing: you need some rest. With whatever energy that is remaining, you pull yourself to your feet and begin to search for somewhere more comfortable to sleep. You were provided with your own quarters on the ship, but the room is small, windowless, and cold. You doubt you could get any rest there. It’s been a long couple of days, so you give yourself the authority to wander the ship in search of something comforting. You’re careful to avoid the direction of Lafayette’s personal quarters, even though that’s where your heart is being pulled toward.

Somewhere in between the kitchen and the bridge, you find a large observation room, and it takes your breath away. A large window gives you a view of space that leaves you in awe. Stars and planets swirl past you in a mixture of colors and brightness as the ship races back to the familiarity of Philia. The vastness of space should be intimidating, but for some reason, you feel safe. There is a world of opportunities open to you, and somehow you’ve managed to end up on this little spacecraft drifting through space and time. There is nowhere you’d rather be.

The observation deck is by no means extravagant or luxurious, the metal walls have sustained a fair amount of scrapes, a stale odor hangs in the air. Somehow, it feels more like home than anywhere else on the ship. You curl up on one of the old, stiff couches pushed against the back wall. As stars pass by, you count them. One, two… thirty-eight, thirty-nine… It’s somewhere between eighty-two and eighty-seven that you finally lose count and your heavy eyelids finally succumb to sleep.

Hours later, or maybe it’s days – you can’t really tell the passage of time in space – you begin to stir. When you open your eyes, the planets and stars outside the observation window are passing by slower, and in front of you, you can see the brown and green landscape of Philia. You pull your blanket around yourself tighter and enjoy the moment of peace. Who knows when you’ll have a chance to relax once you’re back on Philia, most likely you’ll be given another mission.  

It’s not that you don’t enjoy your job; it’s the best job you’ve had in decades. You wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, but you like doing work that feels important, work that makes you feel like you’re making a difference. The paycheck is a nice benefit as well. Still, the life of a spy for the United Planets of Amerigo isn’t exactly relaxing. Taking on new identities each week and the risks that came along with it was exciting, but incredibly stressful. Maybe one day when the war ended you would settle down. Picket fence and an army of kids might be too much to ask, but you could see yourself moving to a quieter planet and building a home for yourself… and maybe someone else. You gazed out the window, looking at all the planets and picking which one you would one day grow old on.

“Great view, isn’t it?”

Your eyes flick from the window to where Lafayette stands in the doorway. He wears his white uniform as always, watching you carefully, the gold in his dark eyes bright underneath the starlight. He crosses his arms over his chest and casually leans against the doorframe.

“I come here when I need to clear my head. It puts things in perspective, gives me a sense of…”

“…peace,” you finish for him.

Lafayette stares out the window for a moment, nods and turns back to you. “Yes, peace.”

The two of you sit in a comfortable silence for a moment, Lafayette watches the way the light dances over your skin and can’t help but admire the artwork. You stare back into his eyes until you feel that he’s on the verge of staring right into your soul. You’ve never been completely open with someone before, and you’re not ready to be now, so you look away. The connection is broken, and he takes a step back, looking anywhere but at you.

“I just came to let you know that we’ll be landing in Philia soon,” he says, turning to leave.

“Wait,” you shrug the warmth off your shoulders, “I believe this belongs to you.”

It had taken you a moment in your sleepy consciousness to remember that you had no blanket when you had fallen asleep. At some point, Lafayette must have found you and covered your sleeping body with his navy cape. Always the gentleman. You fold up the fabric in your arms, already missing its warmth, and cross the room to return it to its owner.

“Thank you,” he says politely.

Your hands briefly touch when you hand him the cape, and the both of you linger for a moment too long. The moment is over when you pull your hands away, and the both of you silently agree not to address it.

[callmeelle22]

Blue Dream VIII

Pairing: Iris West x Barry Alen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count: 9, 182

Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool

Chapter III: Anything

Chapter IV: Comfortable

Chapter V: The Way

Chapter VI: Say Yes

Chapter VII: Brave

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream; Her eyes close and she lets herself lie in the feeling: opens a space for him to stay as he slides his tongue against hers; lets the feel of his mouth on her pull her from the dream she swears she’s been living since she first laid eyes on him; stencils the same story back onto him, plotting out a scene that only ends after forever comes and goes. She lets the kiss say what she can’t yet, reminds herself that he’s talking with it too, that he’s telling her what she’d seen in his eyes yesterday, and in his touch the week before, and in the curve of his smiles weeks before that. (Read below or on AO3 linked on the chapter title.)

Chapter IX: He Loves Me

We were coastin' on the coast when you opened my eyes

Made me notice where the ocean was holding the sky, right

I was blinded, your smile shining behind those green eyes

The horizon so enticing, please, say you'll be mine

The second Friday in the month of November finds Iris at home as she usually is, tucked into her living room sofa, a large glass of wine on the coffee table in front of her, right next to a loaded pipe.

This week in particular has been grueling, though in the best way. Her classes are going swimmingly, so much so that she might be able to skip the final in her multimedia journalism course; but that means she has to stay on top of every single assignment, making sure everything she turns in is up to par. Not only that, Her segment on Good Morning, Central City is in less than a week, and with the television promotions for it, there has been an increase in traffic on her blog, an increase in comments on her posts, an increase in stories in her inbox waiting to be told. It’s mind-boggling, and Iris finds herself so giddy, she doesn’t always know what to do with it.

Some of it she channels into Barry. Since opening up to one another after Barry’s visit to his dad, everything about them has been more: more exciting, more passionate, more intimate. Iris can honestly say that she’s never been fucked as well as Barry fucks her, and she can’t decide if that’s just because apparently nothing turns her on more than Barry sliding thick and slow into her and muttering, ‘yes, take all of me, baby; good, good girl,’ or if she feels the way she feels because it’s him, because he is a dream of a man, some fantasy she must have conjured up in a daydream she doesn’t remember having. She finds herself always wanting him: the heavy fullness of him, and the way he smiles at her every time he sees her after they’ve been separated for even minutes; the whispered words of ardor, and how his eyes always track her movements, watching and observing and cataloging; the feel of him lean and long and hard on top of her, and the attention with which he listens to her, validates her.

And when she thinks she needs even a moment from that, there is her Friday night ritual. She’s already showered and dressed in a silk nightgown, this one in a deep purple color with thin straps and an open back. She takes a sip of her wine as she scrolls through her phone looking for a song; she chooses one, don’t wake me up ‘cause i’m in love with all that you are, and then she settles into the sofa corner, pipe in hand. Lighting up, she inhales, and releases.

She is full and high when her phone rings sometime around midnight.

Movements slow, she grabs her phone from where she’d tossed it on the table next to the half-empty carton of pad thai. Barry’s name flashes on the screen over the picture taken of them at Wally’s birthday party. Her smile is easy and so is the absurd little flutter in her belly.

(But high Iris will concede that, while she figures she should be past this stage now, this jittery, nervous stage, she’s not at all ashamed that it is still how she feels, because there is something so delightful about being with someone who gives you butterflies, even as time keeps passing).

Her stomach dips as she brings the phone to her ear. “Hello.”

“Hey, baby.” The sound of his voice, a little bit deeper than normal, a little bit slower than normal, makes her stomach tighten even more.

“Hi, Bear.”

It’s then that she notices the sound in the background, music and loud voices. She thinks she hears someone saying, “Barry, are you talking to your girlfriend?” but then Barry hushes them and comes back onto the line.

“What are you doing, beautiful?”

“What I’m always doing on Friday nights.”

“Getting high in those sexy pajamas you like wearing?”

Iris laughs softly, noting the effect of his voice on her, how even over the phone and even when he’s apparently surrounded by people, it travels, quiet and steady, over her skin.

“Are you drunk, Barry?”

“A little bit,” he says, “mostly tired though.”

Iris shifts on the sofa, snuggling deeper into the couch. “Where are you?”

“I don’t know. At some bar with Cisco and Chester. We were only supposed to grab food and a couple beers but then they had some sort of two for one special happening, and Chester and Cisco are degenerates, so here we are.”

Iris shakes her head at that, and there’s a short pause before Barry speaks again.

“I miss you.”

“You saw me yesterday.” The part of Iris that wants to appear less affected by him is glad that he can’t see the grin that lights her eyes as her cheeks warm, as she bites her bottom lip. “And we talked this morning.”

“Hmmm,” Barry hums. “Tell me you miss me.”

“What if I don’t?” Her taunt is quiet, like the whisper of her hands on her own body, trailing along her thighs at the hem of her nightgown.

There’s another pause and the sound behind lowers a little, becomes duller. Her own music comes to her attention again, you make me see the truth in things, i think that you are, the remedy for everything, it seems that you are, the truth itself ‘cause nothing else can take me so far, and it makes her shiver from the truth of it.

“I wouldn’t believe it,” Barry tells her, finally. “Yeah, I saw you yesterday, but I had you shaking on top of me.”

“Faking it,” she quips back and Barry lets out a small bark of laughter.

“Tell me you miss me, Iris.”

She licks her lips slowly, thinking of last night when she had seen him, the encounter he’s talking about, when he’d had her climb into his lap after dinner at her small little dining table and fucked her right there.

“Tell me, baby.”

“Yeah, I miss you, you cocky jackass.”

His answering chuckle was a low thing, deep and dirty. “Now tell me what your pajamas look like tonight?

“Barry, are you asking me this around your friends?”

“No. I'm standing outside of the bathrooms now. Boys' night shifted when they saw a couple of pretty women and I got tired of fifth-wheeling. And I couldn't stop thinking about you.”

She can picture him, standing in the corner and leaning against a wall, a hand in his pocket as he clutches the phone to his ear; his cheeks are probably rosy with his indulgence and his lips pink from licking at them, his hair messy from touching it.

His voice dips again. “Now tell me.”

Iris can admit to herself that she likes when Barry gets a little stern with her, when his voice deepens and he sounds so sure of what he wants, what he needs from her. It makes goosebumps crawl along her skin, and it does so doubly now, her senses already loose, dipping into the warm, heady place that intoxication takes her.

“It’s a nightgown,” she explains. “Purple. Silk. Stops at the middle of my thighs. Has a low back.”

His groan is loud and clear. “You had to come from one of my dreams. There’s no way you’re real.”

The statement sobers Iris, if only a little, but enough that the smooth and easy flow of her breathing stutters, much like the beat of her heart, stilling until she thinks she’s gonna lose breath, and then hammering back.

“I could say the same for you.”

The responding silence is piercing, expansive, a space where words left still unsaid are scattered along the floor, merely waiting for one of them to pick it up and say it.

“Iris,” he starts, and then he pauses again. “Can I come over? I know it’s your self-care night, and you can tell me no, but I need to… I really just want to see you.”

She doesn’t even think about it. “Yeah, Barry. You can come over.”

Twenty minutes later, she peels herself off of the sofa to open the door for him. He’s standing on the other side, in dark blue chinos and a baby blue and white checkered shirt, his favorite tan desert boots on his feet. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and he’s leaning against the door frame when she pulls it open. His hair is a mess and his jaw is covered in stubble, but other than the faint red tinge in his cheeks, there is nothing that tells her he isn’t as lucid as talking to her had made him seem.

She smiles up at him, aware that her own eyes are probably low and red, but he smiles back, just as softly. He doesn’t come in right away, instead reaching out to pull her to him, one big hand holding the back of her neck. He looks down at her, eyes traveling down the length of her body.

“Hey my good girl,” he greets at last, and before she can respond, he leans down and kisses her. The kiss is chaste at first, one peck and another. Then he pulls back, only enough to scoop her up, gripping her by her waist and settling her in front of him, her legs wrapping easily around his hips. She yelps at the action, but then he’s kissing her again, and they’re moving into the apartment, Iris noting the faint slam of her door behind them.

He carries her to the couch and drops down in the center of it, keeping her atop him, keeping his mouth on hers. The kiss is slow, so slow, the sort of kiss that has no purpose, not one other than allowing them the space to be together. He holds on to her by her hip, free hand trailing up and down the length of her exposed spine, but he doesn’t make any move anywhere else. He seems content to just kiss her, this deep, open-mouthed kiss.

It’s like he’s trying to get inside of her, to climb in and settle down, to take up space with his searing, insidious presence.

It’s as if he’s trying to tell himself that this isn’t a dream, that it’s really her, it’s really them, moaning into each other, holding onto each other, breathing each other in.

It’s as though he’s trying to cement their story, to write it clear into her skin so that she can’t deny it’s veracity, like he’s promising that the only thing she’ll get on the other side of her climax is this, a gentle, effortless sort of fall.

Her eyes close and she lets herself lie in the feeling: opens a space for him to stay as he slides his tongue against hers; lets the feel of his mouth on her pull her from the dream she swears she’s been living since she first laid eyes on him; stencils the same story back onto him, plotting out a scene that only ends after forever comes and goes. She lets the kiss say what she can’t yet, reminds herself that he’s talking with it too, that he’s telling her what she’d seen in his eyes yesterday, and in his touch the week before, and in the curve of his smiles weeks before that.

When he pulls back, Iris cannot say how much time has passed. She only knows that her body has molded to the shape of him, that her heart has found the rhythm of his, that she’s there with him, my afternoon dream when the world is speedin’, i am still sleepin’, in my blue dream.

“What was that about?” she asks him. She stares back at him, and the way he looks at her is more intoxicating than the wine he’d just tasted on her tongue, more so than the weed that so effortlessly floods her bloodstream.

“Told you I missed you,” he replies, voice husky with exhaustion, and likely the arousal she doesn’t think ever really disappears.

She nods, a little dazed. They sit together for a while longer; Iris tucks her head into Barry’s neck and he keeps rubbing his warm hands along her spine. The atmosphere is delicate, peaceful. She takes him in, inhaling the citrusy scent of him, savoring the feel of him so close to her, surrounding her. They stay that way until Iris feels her own exhaustion tugging at her. She climbs off of him and, after turning off her music, she pulls him through her bedroom and into her bathroom. They brush their teeth, Barry with the toothbrush that he’d bought to keep at hers, and Iris reties the silk scarf she’s wearing on her head.

Inside her room, Barry strips down to his boxers, laying his clothes neatly on the arm of the chair by her window. They get into bed, Barry spooning her, his arm holding her tight against him. She settles in, fitting herself snuggly against him, and he kisses her temple before resuming his stroking, this time on her belly through her nightgown. It doesn’t take long for her to drift off, her breathing deepening before evening out. And just before she goes under, she hears it, Barry muttering, “I love you, Iris,” into her hair, so low that she’s sure she’s only just dreaming it.

When Iris wakes up, the first thing that happens is she hears it again, hears him, Barry’s night-rough voice whispering “I love you, Iris.” It runs in her head on a loop, an anaphora to every other thought, every question she’s having: i love you, iris, did he think she was asleep? i love you, iris, did he mean it? i love you, iris, does he want her to say it back? i love you, iris, i love you, iris, i love you, iris.

Over the past few weeks, Iris has become more comfortable with the idea of it, with the reality that what she feels for Barry is real and big and grand. It still takes her aback, how quickly she’d, they’d, fallen into it. As naturally wary as Iris is, she can’t discount what she’d felt last night when he’d kissed her, when he started into her, like she was the sun and the stars and every other bright light in the galaxy all at once; with awe and reverence and yearning; like he wanted to be consumed by her, and he didn’t care how close he got to that fiery, burning light, as long as she was standing there waiting for him.

And it’s enchanting to be looked at like that. Iris has been trying to get it out on paper, that feeling, trying to make sense of the contradictions: the fear that comes with caring about someone enough that they could break you; the power that follows knowing it’s the same for him too; the overall potency that comes with falling in love.

Still, the thought of saying it aloud, right now—when she’s still working on writing it all out, still trying to explain it to herself first—makes her seize up, her eyes darting wildly, her limbs frozen in anxiety.

Barry begins to shift behind her, loosening his arm from around her, and she takes the opportunity to slide out of the bed. She pads across her carpeted bedroom floor into the bathroom where her feet meet cold tiles. She uses the bathroom, washes her hands and brushes her teeth, and throws water on her face. She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, chocolate brown eyes bright in her face, her skin clear, her mouth turned down in consternation.

She goes back out into her room. Barry is fully away now, lying on his back, both of his hands cradling the back of his head. Her comforter is pooled at his hips. She takes in his bare chest, the way his biceps bulge in this position, how clear his eyes look in the sun, even as his lids are low with sleep. Those candy eyes catch her as she walks over to him, staying on her as she kneels on the bed and crawls over him, settling herself on top of him. He’s half hard under her and he lets out a soft little grunt when she sits her butt right on his crotch.

“You sleep okay?” she asks him as he reaches up and traces at his iris tattoo. She loves it, the violet ink that has sunk into his skin, the hints of blue and orange giving it depth, the fact that it’s an iris, placed big and pretty over his heart.

“Are you alright?” he asks instead of answering her question. His voice is still sleep-rough and scratchy. The sound of it sends a soft little tremble through her.

She smiles, the gesture real but uncertain. Well, maybe not uncertain, but she’s aware that she’s in her head again, trying to parse through her feelings. Or, rather, trying to figure out which of her feelings is taking precedence, which one she thinks that she should address first.

“Yes, I’m okay.”

Barry hums as he drags a hand from behind his head, placing it at her hip. “You know it’s okay not to be, right? Okay, I mean. And you can talk to me about it, whatever it is.”

He gives her hip a squeeze.

“No, I am okay. I’m good, really. I just…” she licks her lips as she hesitates, unsure if she’s even ready to bring it up, unsure if she even should. But she knows that she’ll think about it all day, will hear it in her head all day, will wonder and question and drive herself sick with the thoughts of it. So she bites the bullet, lets out a long exhale, and takes him at his word that she can talk about it.

“I heard what you said. Before we fell asleep last night.”

His expression doesn’t change, but his entire body stiffens, his hands stilling on her hip. He doesn’t break, though, and continues to watch her face in that way that he does. For a moment, Iris wonders if he even remembers what he said, if the words were just some half-drunk confession he hadn’t actually meant to say,

(and the flicker of disappointment that follows is tangible, an almost visceral response that tells her much more than anything else could have).

“Okay,” he says after a moment, tilting his head. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

She wishes she was as good at reading him as he is at reading her. She’s supposed to be able to make the observations, to understand the truth behind what people don’t say. Sometimes she thinks that she can, thinks that when she really looks at him, she can see what’s simmering in those eyes, can understand his intentions in the grip of his hands, and the curve of his spine, and the shape of his mouth. But it doesn’t feel constant, not like he is with her, and that fact is doubly true right now. Because she can’t tell anything about what he’s thinking, his only tell being the way his hand is still on her hip, tighter than it was before, holding her to him.

“I don’t know,” she tells him, truthfully. “Did you mean it?”

For the first time, he averts his eyes, gazing over at the window. There’s nothing to see; the blinds are closed and the curtains are drawn, but he focuses there for several long seconds, brows furrowed and lips pursed. She blinks, and then she’s suffused with something foreign, something cold and bitter.

“You didn’t,” she says, and it isn’t a question. “Okay, that’s, that’s…”

She moves to climb off of him, but he’s quick, bringing her back by sitting up and wrapping both of his arms around her.

“Where are you going? I’m not done.”

Her eyes flash. “Well you haven’t said anything and I don’t need to sit here like this and listen to you tell me that you didn’t mean to say you love me.”

“What are you upset about, Iris?”

“I’m not upset, Barry,” she says, her frustration evident. She tries to move again, but he holds on to her. “It’s fine. Of course you didn’t mean it. It’s only been a few months. We’re just…”

“We’re just what, Iris?”

He’s looking at her again, with those pretty, too-knowing eyes, and she feels a little like she can’t breathe. Because he didn’t mean it. And the thought that she’d managed to get this all so wrong is, is horrifying.

“I don’t know,” she mumbles, and even though she didn’t actually believe it to be true, she continues, “sex, I guess. Apparently.”

She shifts again, but he tightens his grips even more and she can’t understand it, why he’s still surrounding her like this, the look of him and the smell of him and the feel of him so potent.

“Is that really what you think?” he asks, and he doesn't sound angry so much as annoyed. “That I’m just here for sex. When it’s you that initiated all of our first encounters, when…”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, fuck you, Barry. Like all that slick talking isn’t initiating. You’ve got some fucking nerve.”

This time, when she tries to yank away from him, he lets her; and with a grace she doesn’t feel, she climbs off the bed. She strides towards the living room, but she doesn’t get far because Barry grabs her by the arm and presses her body against the wall near the door.

“Let me go, Barry,” she says, heart hammering angrily against her rib cage. He releases her arm immediately, but he cages her in, planting his hands on the walls on either side of her.

“Look at me, Iris,” he commands, his voice a raspy whisper. She blinks over his shoulder, taking in the messy blue comforter on her queen bed in the middle of the room, and the pale cream curtains on the windows to the right that don’t hide much light, and the blue and cream striped lounge chair where Barry’s clothes are.

“Baby, please,” he tries again, and it’s the pleading that makes her turn.

He looks a little like he sounds, frazzled and out of sorts, his eyes darting quickly across her face and the shadow at his jaw far past 5 o’clock.

“I meant it.” The words come out softly, a little strained, and he blinks once, twice, before repeating. “I meant it. I love you. I’m in love with you.”

“No,” Iris shakes her head. “You’re just saying that now. You didn’t mean it.”

Barry lets out a heavy sigh as he steps back from her. She doesn’t move, though, she can’t. Instead, she watches him, her body lost in the turmoil of the past few minutes. He walks towards the bed, then steps away again, stepping in a circle before coming back to her. This time, when he looks at her, she sees it, him, his feelings.

“You looked terrified this morning, Iris,” he explains, “thinking about what I said. I think that I can read you, that I can see into what you aren’t saying to me. I see the way that you look at me, the way that we are together, and I can swear that you also…”

“What if that’s just sexual chemistry?” she interrupts, because she’s still spiraling, her body still so heavy with the range of emotions she’s experienced in the span of just minutes. And what if he really didn’t mean it, what if she’d actually started writing this story wrong, what if this has all been some dream she’s just starting to wake up from.

Barry stops pacing to look at her, incredulous, and then he narrows his eyes at her.

“Is that really what you think, Iris?” He steps, no stalks, towards her, steps slow and measured. He looks up and down the length of her, eyes lingering at the spread of her hips, the dip of her cleavage, before settling on her face. “You really think that the way we are together is, is just sex?”

She opens her mouth but doesn’t answer, and he closes the distance between them. He stands so close that she has to throw her head back against the wall in order to see up at him.

(She tries but can’t find it in herself to be ashamed of what this does to her, even as she’s not happy with him, having his attention on her like this, having his hard length pressed against her like this, the look of him and the smell of him and the feel of him like this.)

“I know that no one else fucks you like I do, Iris.”

That makes her snap and he pushes at him and he stumbles back near the bed. “You’re a smug fucking bastard, Barry Allen.”

She moves to grab her phone off the counter, intending to, she doesn’t know, throw it at his head. But then she’s plucked off her feet. She squeals as he tosses her onto her back and straddles her hips, holding her by her arms above her head. She bares her teeth at him, but doesn’t try to get away from him this time. She’s breathing heavily, and he is too, and for a second, Iris thinks that this love stuff is too much. Because that’s what’s going on here, isn’t it? It’s their first fight and it’s about love, about the fact that they’d slipped into it so simply that they (and by they, she means she) is finding it difficult to just let it be.

“I don’t mean it in an arrogant way, Iris,” he murmurs. “I just… you are a fucking goddess, baby, and if you’d ever been with anyone the way you are with me, there’s no way they would have ever let you go.”

He presses down on her arms a little, presses his hips into hers a little. “And no one has ever made me feel like this, the way that you do, in bed and out of it. And you don’t have to say it back. Not until you’re ready. I meant what I said but I didn’t think you would hear me. I just needed to say it.”

His eyes roam her face and she stares back. Her breathing has begun to level out, but she’s still left with, with adrenaline or something, a heavy, aching sort of feeling flooding through her, making her warm and jittery and, and wet. Which, she’s never been turned on by arguing before, but, by god, she is. She is. Turned on and in love and so gone on the man above her that she doesn’t think of anything at all before she leans up and kisses him.

For the first time since they’ve started doing this, Barry doesn’t take his time. He kisses her back, just as hard, the kiss more teeth and tongue than mouth. He keeps a hold of her arms in one of his big hands and then reaches down to push her dress up over her hips, lifting his own hips just enough that he can pull himself out of his boxers and spread her legs, hiking them over his waist. He doesn’t bother with taking her panties off; he just yanks them over to the side, probably ripping the delicate lace, and then runs a couple of his sure fingers through her slit to see if she’s wet enough to take him. Satisfied, he grips himself and then slides into her.

“Fuuuuuuck,” he groans, dragging the word out, and Iris seconds that, throwing her head back at the heavy, hard, full feeling of him. He gives her one experimental thrust, and then another, and then he’s setting a pace, fucking into her in hard, shallow strokes. He clenches hard around her, her head filled with the press of his body and the smell of his skin and the thought of his love, i know the meaning’, for all the seasons, you are the reason, my love. Then Barry leans down on her, so that his chest brushes her nipples and his pelvis rubs against her clit every time he rocks into her, and her head clears of everything but this.

“God,” she moans, eyes fluttering closed.

He moves his mouth to her ear as he picks up his pace, murmuring as he always does, “fuck, baby, yes, you feel so good, girl; my good girl, shit” but his words aren’t as smooth as they usually are. He is frayed, his breathing choppy and his pace brutal. She likes it though. Her pussy grows wetter with every thrust, her hips rocking up to meet him, and she breathes out through her nose when she finds her mouth stuck in a round “o.” They’re both slick from the exertion and Iris can’t tell if it’s his sweat or hers or theirs. He holds on to the meat of her thigh, widening her so that he can ride her deeper, harder. She drips, down onto her thighs, soaking him too, and she knows that were she to look down, his dick would be so obscenely slick with her. He kisses at her ear, down to her neck, along her jaw, biting and licking and sucking on her skin. His grip on her is hard, and it isn’t so much rough as it is raw, inelegant and sensual and crude and so so so so good.

The thought of it is just as arousing as the act of it, and Iris manages to breathe out, “shit, Bear, how, how, how are you always so gooood?”

He flashes her a grin, her Barry coming back to her, and he says into her ear, “because it’s us, baby. Because I love you and you’re falling for me and we were meant for this.”

When Iris comes, it’s so hard she swears she goes blind for a minute. The world darkens and all she can do is feel: passion and euphoria and ecstasy and every other expression like it.

She’s thirty minutes late meeting Linda for their monthly brunch..

She and Barry shower together, and she drops him off at his car downtown and then she drives the couple blocks over to Golden’s. Before he gets out, he leans over and kisses her, a long slow sort of kiss, licking deep into her mouth as he cradles her face gently in the palm of his hand, and then he taps the top of her car twice before ambling over to his jeep without saying a word.

She feels a little funny after all of that, wondering why she still hadn't been able to say the words to him. He hadn’t said much to her as they’d dressed and gotten ready to leave her apartment. But he hadn’t stopped touching her either: taking her loofah from her and washing her down in the shower, running his hand over her hip after she’d hopped into a pair of light denim boyfriend jeans, rubbing on her thigh as she’d driven them downtown. She doesn’t think he’s upset with her; he’d told her she didn’t have to say it back. But he’d retreated, at least verbally, and it’s fucking with her, making her realize how much her fear is keeping her from him.

Golden’s is already open by the time she gets there so she walks in through the front door, throwing a hand up at Kamilla as she heads to the back in her stiletto heeled ankle booties, tugging lightly at the long, faux pearl necklace lying over her white half tucked in sweater. It’s packed as usual, the Saturday lunch crowd filling most of the seats, and she has to walk around chairs half pushed in and groups of people laughing and enjoying their Saturday.

She slides into the booth across from her best friend, the table already littered with food, Linda’s mango mimosa mostly gone. The other woman looks up at her, perusing, her brown eyes curious. Iris ignores her to grab her champagne flute, dropping a frozen mango slice into the glass and pouring a smidge of juice in, topping it off with champagne. She downs half of it in one gulp.

“You’ve been fucked,” is the first thing Linda says, when she finally decides to speak.

Iris chokes on her swallow of mimosa.

“Freshly,” Linda adds. Her red painted lips curve up in a devious little grin. “Is that big ass hickey you’re sporting the reason you’re late?”

She rolls her eyes, but touches gently at where she knows it’s sitting, an uneven patch of darkened flesh about the size of a quarter on her neck just under her left ear. She’d been in too much of a daze while she was putting on her minimal makeup earlier, the moisturizer and a little concealer, a bit of bronzer on her lids, liner and mascara. She hadn’t noticed the hickey, not until she was putting on her lipstick in the car and she didn’t have any foundation to cover it with.

“I’m too old to have a hickey,” she says to Linda instead of responding to her question.

“Tell your boo that,” Linda responds.

Iris wrinkles her nose at “boo” and starts spooning some sticky sesame chicken onto her plate. She forks a dumpling and bites at it as she goes for the lo mein and she doesn’t realize she’s reaching for the edamame until Linda stills her hand.

“Okay, what’s up?”

Iris chews the rest of her dumpling. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re eating.”

“Is that not why we’re here?”

“No, I mean you’re eating, doing that thing where you just throw food into your mouth without stopping or even really tasting it. You only do it when you’re really anxious and there’s no notebook or wine handy.”

Iris stills with a piece of shrimp in her hand. She drops it back onto the platter and sits back into the booth, chewing and swallowing while Linda waits patiently, sipping from her glass.

And then she blurts, “I’m in love with Barry.”

Linda nods, not yet committing to a response. “Okay.”

“And he told me he’s in love with me and I didn’t say it back.” Iris lets out a breath, tension releasing like a pressure valve has been turned.

“Why didn’t you say it back?”

“Because I’m a coward,” she answers.

Linda’s head shake is automatic, her brown waves brushing at her neck. “There’s not a hint of coward in you, baby girl.” Iris takes her best friend’s white silk blouse just as she says, “Now why don’t you really tell me what’s up.”

To give herself some time to put it all together, she finishes her mimosa and mixes another, though this one with less champagne, and she eats another dumpling, chewing slowly. Then she clears her throat.

“For a while now, I’ve been feeling, I don't know, lost. I was single, school was boring. Work was too, and it seemed like all of you were moving forward while I was just watching. Nothing felt exciting, not even my blog really. And then Barry came along, and I swear, the moment I saw him, it’s like my entire world lit up. There was this, this spark, and even when I was claiming that he was just around for sex, there was always this feeling that it was bigger than all of that, bigger than anything I’ve felt before.

And suddenly, I feel so different. I feel good, Linda. Everything is starting to feel good. My blog is getting real recognition now and Dr. Jamison must also be getting good sex because she’s been an actual joy to be around. And Barry...and Barry is…”

“Putting you to sleep every night?”

It makes her laugh, the way Linda wiggles her eyebrows as she says it, the way her eyes light up with mirth, the way her smile is a soft thing.

“Yeah, he is,” Iris says, her mouth twisting wryly. “But what if it’s a fluke, Linda? This man is everything I’ve wanted in a man and so much more than I even knew I wanted. What if we do this and I learn that he’s been, just, fucking with me this whole time?”

“You know that’s not true, Iris.” Linda picks up her own glass and drains it.

“But how can I trust this?” she pushes. “This happiness that seems to have only come when Barry stepped into my life?”

Linda reaches over and grabs Iris’s hand, and Iris clasps it like a lifeline, her pale orange tipped fingers pressing hard into Linda’s hand and Linda’s own pink tipped fingers pressing back. “There are no guarantees. So maybe we do find out that Barry has been faking this entire time. But what if he’s not? What if he’s as kind and loving as you say he is? ” She lets that digest for a moment.

“Love, and life, is a series of ups and downs, of good experiences and bad, Iris. The timing of it all is just coincidence. And I hear you. It feels so scary to realize that someone has that sort of power over you; that the care of your heart is in their hands. But what I’m learning with Dan is that love, love is always worth it. Because what you’re feeling, it doesn’t go away just because you don’t say it back, just because you don’t acknowledge it. And when you don’t you risk cutting it, him, off, and you’ll get hurt anyway. And that, my love, will be your own fault.”

Iris thinks about Linda’s words as they finish brunch, moving the conversation to Linda’s upcoming trip to meet Dan’s family. She thinks about it as she gets into her car and drives back home, forgoing working on a story in favor of plopping down on the couch and letting music play, my mind is open, so wide since you came inside, i feel so alive, without you life just passes by, passes by, lost in the reality of what she’s feeling.

She thinks about the words as she goes out to grab dinner, picking up a salad for herself and a chicken sandwich and fries for Barry, the intention to take him food not one fully realized until she’s parking in front of the precinct that Barry works out of.

She thinks about the words because Linda is right.

(She would never tell the other woman this, but she is right more often than she’s not, her poise and curious nature making her one to offer sound advice, always realistic and with love.)

She loves him, she does: his wit and his hands and his eyes; his compliments and his patience and ability to make her feel as if everything he’s ever wanted is present in the curves of her body; as if it is his profound pleasure to coax it out of her, with every touch, every moan, every dirty, mumbled thing.

Buoyed by the fact that she’d said it aloud, at the very least, and she didn’t wither away after she had, she grabs the food bags and her purse and walks up the steps to the precinct.

Her dad is working tonight but since she’ll see him tomorrow at dinner, she doesn’t drop by his office. Instead, she heads downstairs to where CSI is located, following the stairs to where they’ve apparently put them in the basement. The hallway is well lit, and there are several windows covered in closed blinds that lead to the lab door. She balances the bags in one hand and opens the door with the other. And she’s stopped short at what she sees.

The room looks like how she’s always imagined a crime lab to look like: lots of white, microscopes, and computers, shelves full of test tubes and petri dishes. Barry is there and so is the Cisco guy she remembers from Fall Fest. There’s a woman there too, in the utilitarian black pants and matching blazer that Iris knows is the norm for detectives. And it’s not that she’s there, because that’s not weird. But she’s there, next to Barry, close to Barry, leaning on his counter with her hand on his arm as she talks. She’s as tall as Iris is in the four inch booties Iris is wearing, with shoulder length dirty blonde hair and the sort of white girl next door look that men fall all over themselves for.

Cisco notices her first, as the door closes softly behind her, and Iris feels a bit mollified at the way his grin rises up when he sees her.

“Iris,” he calls, eyes twinkling. “Nice to see your beautiful face.”

Iris winks at him, pulling out a flirtatious grin so that she doesn’t scowl at the sight of the woman touching Barry.

(She’s not jealous. She’s not, but Iris can’t stand the thought of Barry looking at someone else the way that he does her, can’t stand the thought of him touching someone else the way he does her, can’t stand the thought of him whispering, yeah, baby, fuck, ride me just like that, to someone else the way he does her.)

Cisco, though, is loud enough that Barry hears him, and she watches as he straightens at the sight of her, eyes wide. “Iris!”

He gives her his look, the one where he rakes his eyes over the length of her and then lingers on her face, always trying to read her. She’s still a little frustrated at how she’s always such an open book for him, apparent after he’s finished his perusal and he smiles, slow and with more smirk than anything else. The woman next to him only moves her hand from Barry hesitantly, turning to see what all of this commotion is about. She gives Iris the same once over that Barry did, though decidedly colder, and Iris tilts her head at her before settling her gaze on Barry.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Iris says. “I know that you’re busy, but I thought I’d drop off dinner for you.”

She steps further into the room, and her heels clack loudly in the too quiet space. She pauses in front of where Cisco is sitting. She turns to him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t bring you anything. I should’ve texted Barry to see who else was around, but I was picking up dinner and just decided to get him some too.”

“It’s fine,” he says. “You can get me next time.”

Iris passes him and lets her eyes wander back to Barry and the detective, who’s stepped back in a bit. As soon as Iris catches his eyes again, Barry steps away from her, moving around to meet Iris. She stops at a point along a wide expanse of empty space on one of the tables, and Iris feels it’s a safe enough spot to place the food without contaminating anything. As soon as she drops the food on the table, Barry cups the back of her head and stares down at her. His thumb traces the mark he’d left on her neck.

“Hi, beautiful,” he says, eyes wondering, smile tender.

She looks over his shoulder to where the woman still stands, looking at her too. She gives her a smile in greeting. Iris thinks it’s returned.

“I’m sorry. You look busy,” she responds. “Should I go?”

“Absolutely not. I’m just surprised to see you.” Without stepping away from her, he turns to address the detective. “Patty, I’ll come down as soon as I have the results for you.”

Her gaze trails over to Iris once more, observing where Barry holds onto Iris’s neck, onto her waist. “Of course,” she murmurs, finally.

She walks out of the room, her low-heeled boots nearly silent on the floors. Both Iris and Cisco watch her go, but Barry doesn’t pay much attention, his focus on Iris as he continues to rub along his mark.

Cisco stands, sort of abruptly, his chair skitting across the floor. “Barry, I’m gonna step out for a minute.” He shrugs out of his lab coat, tossing it on the back of his chair. His thick brown hair brushes against his shoulders with every shake of his head. “It’s good seeing you again, pretty lady.”

Iris offers him another smile. “You too, Cisco.”

She turns back to Barry who’s eyeing her, expression curious. “You’re here,” he says, voice low.

“Yeah,” she nods at the bags she’s placed on the table. “I don’t know, I went to get dinner and I was, well, I was thinking about you.” She shrugs with a nonchalance she doesn’t feel.

“Yeah?” Barry’s answering grin is wide, and a little bit boyish, cheeks reddening; it makes Iris smile back in turn.

“Come on,” Barry says, picking up the bags and walking over to a desk tucked into the corner. “I've got a few minutes.”

The desk is messy, stacks of folders and sticky notes all over the place, and he moves some papers around so that he can place their food down. He rolls his desk chair over for her to sit in and he grabs the bag, pulling out her salad container and his sandwich and fries and placing them in front of their spots.

She waits until he sits down in the hard back chair he’d gotten from under one of the computers and she snaps the top of her salad before she says, “so why wasn’t I introduced to the detective?”

Barry takes a bite of his sandwich and looks at her in question. “Who? Detective Spivot?”

“Don’t you mean, Patty?”

Barry pauses with a fry poised for his mouth. “Sure,” he says. “Patty is one of the detectives on the case we got called into.”

“Hmm.” Iris stabs at her salad. She takes a bite and chews, though she doesn’t really taste it.

Barry places his half eaten sandwich into the cardboard container and he turns to her, giving her his full attention. He inclines his head, watches for a second. She thinks that the corner of his mouth tilts up, that humor brims in his eyes.

“What do you want to say, Iris?”

She rolls her eyes, annoyed that she can’t focus on how cute he looks with his lab coat and glasses on, annoyed that that woman was touching him, annoyed that she’s annoyed.

“I didn’t know you were so close to the detective. Y’all were very...touchy.”

Shaking her head, she starts to go back to her salad, but then he drops his food and rubs his hands together. He leans towards her.

“Come here,” he says.

She ducks away, but he grabs her wrist gently and pulls at her. She goes, because her tripping heart and her heaving chest and her warming sex won’t allow her to not. Barry sits her in his lap, sideways so that her legs are half hanging over his. She’s a head taller than him in this position, and he presses a hand at the small of her back as he looks up at her.

“You’re jealous,” he announces, seemingly pleased with the fact.

Iris rolls her eyes. “Of course not.”

Barry laughs. “So you’re just really grumpy right now?”

“I’m just curious,” she says.

“Oh?”

“About the touching.”

“She’d literally just put her hand on me as you walked in the door. I was about to move it.”

Iris harrumphs. “Doesn’t Detective Spivot know that you’re…” Iris waves her hand as she trails off and it makes Barry’s slight grin widen.

“That I’m what?”

Even she knows that the huff she lets out would only be completed with a foot stop.

“That you’re taken,” she says, boldly. Because whatever she was feeling, whatever he was feeling, this morning, they are still them: two people who’ve crawled into open, waiting hearts and made space for one another; two people who are pages deep into a story that the stars must have already been writing; two people hours into a dream that is so vivid, it has to be real.

The statement seems to sober him, because his eyebrows furrow. “Am I?”

She wants to be bothered by the genuine question in his eyes. But they’ve never blatantly talked about them. There has been some conjecture, sex-fueled mutterings that hinted at the reality of them, of their feelings. There have been looks between the two of them that tell far more than Iris has ever even realized could be portrayed through eye contact. He’s told her that he loves her. But they’ve never defined or drawn out the lines or made it real.

But like she said, they are them. And he is. Taken. So she slowly licks her lips, and nods her head. “Yeah, you are.”

This time, Barry’s smile is a sexy, lilting thing. “I’m fully yours, Iris. You have to know that.” He turns her so that he can hold her gaze, and reaches up to curl his fingers around the back of her neck, his thumb hitting that mark again. Then he says,

“I love you. I will until you love me back and forever after that. And that means that I don’t see anyone but you. I haven’t seen anyone but you since the minute I laid eyes on you in that slinky dress you had on, dancing in the middle of the crowd by yourself.” He presses a soft kiss to her lips. “Even before, for months before, I couldn’t see anyone else. Because I was waiting for you, Iris.”

He gives her another kiss, this one longer, deeper, like the one he’d given her before he left her car. She finds herself humming into his mouth, her arms tightening around his shoulders. He rubs against her thigh, higher, then a little higher, until Iris is opening her legs to try to get some sort of friction.

Minutes or moments or eternity after, he pulls his mouth away, though he doesn’t move away from her fully. Instead, he looks at her, and she finds herself lost in him, in this dream of a story. She sees the words of it, my afternoon dream, when the world is speeding; i am still sleeping, in my blue dream and i know the meaning, for all the seasons; you are the reason, my love, and she wants to add to it, wants to let herself live in it, wants to finally fall into this love story without fear or reservation.

“Barry,” she says, whispers, and she notes how hooded his eyes look through the wire-framed glasses he’s wearing and how just the act of sitting here on his lap calms her at the same time that it inflames her. Then she thinks about his infinite levels of patience as he’s waited for her to be ready for him and how he’s always been interested in what she thinks or feels and how no one has even treated her body with the, the homage that he seems to. And she...and she loves him. “Barry, I…”

“Alright, Barry, we have…whoa.”

Iris blinks out of her haze, startles out of the confession she was about to make, at the sound of Cisco’s voice. Still, it takes a second before she’s able to pull herself from Barry, and from the expression he’s saddling her with, she thinks he might have an inkling of what she was about to say.

“None of this hanky panky,” Cisco continues, either oblivious or uncaring, Iris doesn’t know. “Spivot and Mitchell need to see us.”

“Alright,” Barry calls over her shoulder. “I’ll be down in five.”

When Cisco nods and leaves again, Iris is pulled back into Barry’s orbit. He palms the back of her neck, thumb brushing the mark on her throat. She assesses him.

“Did you do that on purpose?”

“I’m sorry.” He immediately goes red. He averts his eyes for a moment, before they drift back to her. “It’s tacky, I know, and I didn’t realize what I was doing until it was too late. This morning, I was, I don’t know, confused about us and I just…” He pressed his thumb into her skin. “I told you I’m not composed around you; I’m a mess.”

Iris covers his hand where it’s still on her throat. “You know that I’m yours too, right?” The earlier moment seems to have passed, but she can, needs to, give him this. His stare is hard and almost unreadable.

“Yeah,” he says after a while, sort of breathless. “Yeah, I guess you are.”

She wishes that she could stay in this moment with him, such a stark deviation from the way they’d left each other this morning. So she takes that feeling with her as she packs her salad up and helps him clean up the trash. Together, they venture into the hall and Barry leads her back out into the bullpen where Cisco is standing with Spivot and a tall, dark-skinned man with a baldhead and a beard. All three of them turn at the sound of Iris’s boots on the floors. Something about the look of them makes Iris grab Barry’s hand. Barry stops her a few feet away and leans down.

“I like how territorial you’re being,” Barry all but whispers in her ear. “I’ll come over after work and remind you why you don’t have to be.”

The thought of them this morning, the hard press of him, his breath rough in her ear, makes her look up at him, her eyes bright, bottom lip between the white of her teeth. It’s only Cisco’s pointed throat clearing that keeps her from falling mouth first into him.

Barry’s grin is knowing. “Bye, baby,” he says, a little louder this time, and Iris shakes her head, knowing he’s saying it in front of Patty for her benefit. He drops a kiss on her check and Iris nods at his coworkers.

“Detectives. Cisco.” She squeezes his hand once and drops it. “See you later, Bear.”

She steps away and walks out of the station, but not before she hears Mitchell say, “Damn, Allen, how did you bag that?”

She wishes she could explain that she’s the one that doesn’t know how she got him.

Barry does come over later, and as soon as he walks through the door, he pushes her up against the wall and fucks her, groaning “mine, mine, fuck, mine” into the bite on her throat, as Iris moans it back in kind, “yours, yes, Barry, I’m yours.”

My afternoon dream when

The world is sleepin'

I am still thinkin'

Of my blue dream

It's bliss

[sly-merlin]

KILLING ME - 4

(minor friendly chapter)

pairing : law student! Reader + yuta

Genre : angst, mafia au/arranged marriage au

Warnings : none.

Words : 5k

Summary:

"life's never fair y/n. Realise it as soon as you can. It is the only secret for living a regretless life."

Or

"curiosity got the cat hitched"

K.m masterlist

A/n : this series is totally minor friendly now. ✨

Previous morning in Taeyong’s office

“What was that for!” taeyong questioned jaehyun, clearly annoyed by his previous hostile mannerisms towards you. Jaehyun was on the receiving end of taeyong’s infuriation immediately after you departed from his office with doyoung.

“What!?” Jaehyun tried to act oblivious to Taeyong's accusations.

“Why were you trying to scare her? Escort ring! For fucks sake Jae, I expected better from you.”

“But it wasn’t a dead loss. And even you went along in the same wagon, so don’t put everything on me alone.” Jaehyun justified himself by shrugging his shoulders lightly. “And admit it! She was giving you a hard time. That bitch was not buying anything!

Taeyong knew jaehyun was right. Your unsatisfied replies and never ending enquiries were exasperating him, but he would rather preserve his precious ego than admitting that to jaehyun.

He ruffled his well-made hair before replying to Jaehyun, who was expecting some gratitude with a smug face.

“I-- just be careful and refrain from doing and saying anything that might put a dent in my plan. It’s a chance Neo would never get again. So be patient and don’t go around opening your mouth about this to anyone.” jaehyun reluctantly nodded,not hearing what he wanted but his affirmation calmed taeyong’s nerves. He couldn’t trust jaehyun entirely but his options were limited.

All the pieces were in the right place, for now. Nothing could go south right!

But jaehyun couldn’t completely understand the rationale behind Taeyong’s design.

and nor could the figure standing outside, completely hidden from the insiders.

The dread of the forthcoming finals substantiated the shortage of vacant seats in the kwanjeong library. You tried your best to arrive as expeditiously as possible for a person who partied, got abducted, arranged her own marriage, and again partied in grief, all in spam of about 34 hours. Finding no available seat, you decided to settle down on the floor. You gulped your cup of Americano in one go and began with the donut. As per a wise saying, Caffeine and sugar were the best combination as a breakfast for someone trying to get through their day with only 4 hours of sleep, the intellect being none other than your own self!

Yesterday was a pretty long day. Though you were worn out from the adventures with wonwoo last night, your brain wasn’t exhausted enough to shut down properly when you tried to close your eyes.The flashes of the events had shrouded you with a mixture of regrets and worries. What was the guarantee that you won’t end up dead tomorrow! What if taeyong was lying! But the fact regarding moon industries was absolutely legible. Maybe you should get a restraining order or something! But the existence of a person is necessary for that and yuta was a fucking corporate in the public eye and you were sure taeyong held some powerful position in the rich hierarchy as well, otherwise, covering the shits without revealing their true identities was not the job of some measly gang leader. There was more to taeyong than what someone could perceive just by looking. Will you be considered one of them now! After the little stunt that landed you straight into yuta’s life, you weren’t sure that he’d not strangle you in sleep. And What were you going to say to them? Chelin, yeom, guk, yeong.

and your thoughts spiralled from taeyong,yuta towards chelin and your friends and didn’t rest anytime before 4a.m. Waking up at 8 sharp , you took a shower and made your way towards the library.

And now you were here. 2 students passed your figure indicating that there were 2 vacant seats. Finally, after 15 minutes. They might have been the overnight students, you thought and walked inside before anyone else could claim the treasure. You had to find a new topic of thesis and do some research for an international paper your professor was writing, and you being his designated so-called subordinate had to help him, involuntarily of course. But in this world, the student who could refuse their professor’s demands was yet to be born! Marking the place by placing your bag, you started the search for last month’ law journals and digests. One and a half hours passed, but you couldn’t find anything on the international court of justice i.e. what your professor hadn’t already included. The urge to go out was profusely weighed down by your own sentiment of avoiding your friends. So you decided in favour of swallowing the bitter pill.

5 hours passed. The vibration of the timer in your phone prompted you to run off and get some food. It was already 2:30 and the lack of real food was making the tasks harder than they already were. Stepping outside into fresh air, instant regret of not bringing an umbrella washed over you. The sun was too bright unlike your mood and walking all the way to your favourite canteen would end up in you getting another headache. But you silently wished that every being from yesterday’s party was suffering from the same treatment of the over-the-top optimistic planet. why to suffer alone!

“Shortie” you lifted your head, spotting the combo of buy 1 get 1 free, heading your way.

“Where were you the whole day? And if you aren’t going to pick calls then please do that poor thing a favour and sell it!” yugyeom barked while running his hand through his hair.

You shrugged jungkook’s elbow from your shoulder and replied “I was busy with prof. Joong’s work. And I have to be somewhere after 4 so I was a bit-

“Joong should adopt you already man!” Jungkook interrupted, nudging your sides with his fingers.

“ but I thought he wanted to be her sugar daddy!” At that gyeom gave a serious and stern look to kook, pretending to ponder over his statement for a second and then suddenly they both started laughing, hands hitting you everywhere to support their doubling figures.

“Get away from me, idiots!” you shouted, trying to get away from them. Once they were done with showing their exaggerated emotions, you all giggled together in unison. they were wearing their fundraiser t-shirts, you noticed.

“When is the fundraiser?”

“At 5. But you won’t be there to support us cause you are busy with your daddy!” kook exclaimed while bumping your shoulder with his arm.

“I didn’t say I’m going for Joong’s work and no, he’s not my sugar daddy, doofus. I’m busy with tutoring. I missed someone’s Saturday class so—

“Okay, chill tiger. You need to breathe. It’s a boring event anyway.” gyeom said in a comforting tone, interjecting your rapid fire speech.

“I’m gonna have lunch, are you two going?” you suggested.

“Yeah, it’s our break and Yeong and Minjun have eaten already, so that leaves you!” kook pouted when gyeom mentioned his boyfriend’s name.

“Let’s go! I want my sugar” your dramatic pout made yugyeom pet your hair lovingly and the three of you started walking on a stone pathway on the way to the canteen.

“Where’s your umbrella?” jungkook asked you. He knew how much you hated walking under the sun after the drinking escapades.

“I forgot but let’s not talk about it. it’s making me grumpy.”

“Okay! but why don’t you cover your head with that scarf instead.” he said pointing towards the silky material around your neck.

“Naahh, it ruins my fashion” they gave each other a puzzled look, shrugging their shoulders for they both couldn’t gather the reason for your weird behaviour.

At lunch, you talked to them about the fundraiser and gave your own contribution for the noble cause. The conversation with them progressed too easily and for about an hour you forgot about the turmoil in your life, which was still unknown to them.

After parting away, you went straight to your professor to show him your progress. He took note of the materials you found on recent cases and dismissed you without showing any gratitude. Not even a word of appreciation.

A ping!

Jaemin: noona, doyoung hyung is picking you up at 4 but he won’t enter the campus. Be out at 4!

You let out a frustrated groan at his text. You had only met him once, when he conferred upon you the honour of connecting your phone to his server but that was not the only favour you received! He also saved his contact number with various hearts that you obviously removed after reaching home. you could only pray to heavens that he won’t be there today as well!

You made your way to the library again, this time to work on your thesis. The time passed faster than you thought. The alarm you placed earlier vibrated, indicating it was 4 already! You hastily made your bag and ran out of the library. It took 10 minutes to reach the gates of the campus. When you passed your dorms building, the idea of ditching doyoung and going to bed sounded tempting but as usual, nothing was going your way these days. You felt like the old catch 22 was in action.

You passed through the gates and looked around the road to find doyoung's car but he was nowhere to be seen. While you were scanning the whole area, a low voice called your attention.

“What are you finding, I’m right here under your nose” a voice said through gritted teeth.

Yes, he was indeed sitting in the car right in front of you and the only one you missed apparently. You walked around the car to sit on the passenger seat, the tinted windows hiding you from the outside funfair.

“What took you so long? It's 4:15 already.”

“I don’t have a car like you so I walked myself here and it’s not like I did it purposely anyway.” You contended, the annoyance in your voice matching his own.

“Whatever, we are already late so turn around. Taeyong would be mad.”

“No I’m not turning around. First that cloth bag, then the handkerchief you tied on my eyes yesterday, its painful man. I’ll lose my eyesight this way. And I can navigate the whole city from this place, you can’t hide your dungeon from me now” you reasoned. He didn’t tie your hands yesterday but your eyes were still covered.

“Then give me your scarf. I’ll cover your eyes with your own choice of article. It’s not painful or else you won’t be wearing it right! he said mockingly, pointing towards your neck.

“Umm, this scarf is act-

“Give me that already. I have some other things to handle as well.” assessing your options, you hesitantly removed the scarf, turning around to face the window immediately. Doyoung tied it across your eyes, checking the knot twice and tapped your shoulder. As you turned around, doyoung’s doe eyes widened, if that was even possible. Your collarbone and neck, which was visible through your v neck top, was covered with pretty purplish bruises. You fidgeted with your hands, flustered, feeling his eyes on you. But he remained quiet, focusing on the task at hand.

The whole drive was quiet and though your hands were not tied, you kept them on your backpack, hesitant to start any conversation. The car stopped finally, the mixed feelings coming back. The same process followed. He guided you inside but this time you passed only one door and the walk was quite shorter as well.

As doyoung was about to remove your scarf, a hand stopped him, or that was what you understood from the movements at that time.

“Silky scarf, blindfold and hickies haan! Being kinky doyoungie. She’s your sister-in-law. Show some respect boy!” a voice remarked, the air around your face suddenly filled with chocolate and coffee. You hiccupped all of a sudden, earning a chuckle from the unknown presence.

You tried to reach for the blindfold, but your hands were caught mid-air, the said hands removing it. You blinked your eyes a few times to make out the figure’s face. He was standing, mostly bending to match your stature, face smiling to show all of his teeth.

Yuta.

You, surprised, took a step back but instead bumped into the one behind you.

“I’ll take over from here, doyoung.” but fortunately, he didn’t budge. Your hold on the backpack tightened, your eyes lowered to avoid his gaze. The only thing in your view were his baggy pants and white sports shoes.

But yuta could see only you and nothing else. Taeyong wasn’t the only one awaiting your arrival. Yuta was equally anticipating you. His night was just as sleepless and anxious as you. He was afterall at the other end of the rope.

He raised your head, fingertips lightly grazing your chin. His hooded eyes roamed around your face like he was expecting you to show some contempt , hatred,nervousness! He straightened up abruptly and started tying the silk around your neck. You flinched at his touch but he remained void of any reaction. His half denim jacket and white t-shirt hid you from the surroundings, his arms almost engulfing you. He repositioned himself to match your height again, arms crossing against his chest.

“Looks like someone had a fun night.” and in a second, his honey smile changed into a smirk, letting go of any trace of earlier softer expressions. And the look on his face was enough to scare the shit out of anyone.

“Stop yuta” a taller man you recognised from yesterday as Johnny, pushed yuta aside from your view. It was then you saw that everyone was there. Including the one you were yet to encounter.

Your eyes wandered from one side to the other. Johnny let you inspect.

“Doyoung, what was the need to cover her eyes?” Johnny whispered to doyoung, breaking your trance.

“Why is everyone nagging me so much” he whined in a screeching voice.

“Karma bitch” Johnny pointed his forefinger towards him before giving his attention to you.

“Hey, how are you y/n.” he asked, his cheerful voice totally in contrast with the weather of the room.

“I’m- ummm.” you cleared your throat before continuing. “I’m fine Johnny. As fine I can be.” you mumbled the last part but he surely heard you.

“You remembered my name!” he clapped, his eyes turning into crescents. You gave him a tight lipped smile in return, waiting for some instructions. As if on cue, taeyong’s loud voice graced your ears.

“Come y/n. make yourself comfortable” he indicated towards the couches that were almost already occupied. Johnny gestured to you to proceed, walking with you. You passed yuta who was still smirking and sat on the single seat available next to taeyong. You placed your backpack on the large table in the middle of the room. It looked like a normal living room for guests, just with too many couches to accommodate the gang. You felt like an uninvited because apparently everybody was watching you like a hawk. Their stares changed sight only when yuta came to take a seat on one of the couches, exactly opposite to yours. You met his eyes briefly before turning your face towards your bag again.

Who knew the rusty zips of your bag were so interesting!

“So y/n I thought you should meet everyone. You are going to be part of this family soon. Better get acquainted with all.” taeyong addressed you while he sat on his couch majestically like a king. You heard a dry laugh and if you had to guess it had to be from jaehyun or yuta.

You didn’t understand why he wanted that. You were just a risk till yesterday and now means to discipline yuta.

And why all the formalities if you were gonna leave anyway.

“I’m going to leave anyway, taeyong. So I don’t see a need to do it!

You were too consumed to notice how your sentence turned all the heads around you. Some started giving side eyes to each other. There was something they were all missing.

“I said you could leave. But not without my permission. So, you’d be stuck for now, maybe till months or years.”

You gulped at his words. Taeyong turned your only hope into a distant dream. Maybe you were too foolish to gauge the situation.

“You want something to eat or drink before we continue” he asked in a sincere voice. Shaking your head, you rubbed your eyes with the palms of your hands to stop them from moistening. There was nothing more embarrassing than to cry in front of a bunch of strangers who didn’t give a shit about you.

“No, please continue.” you emphasised again to not draw any more attention to yourself than already was. And you internally thanked Taeyong who continued as if you weren’t just gonna cry!

“You will move in with yuta on Saturday,” it was Monday. “The wedding ceremony would be held in the morning. So you have a few days to prepare, everything from your dress to every other thing you need shall be arranged. Just name it and you’ll have it!”

Wedding ceremony! That was not on the plate!

“I don’t want a cerem-

“Leave the bullshit ta-

You and yuta both cut off each other simultaneously. You glanced at his side, finding him already piercing his gaze into yours.

“There’s no need for it. The paper signing is enough. It’s not like we are in-

You knew taeyong understood what you were trying to say, so you didn’t continue. But you were already having a feeling of superiority over yuta for being the first to offer your opinion. It felt like a payback for flustering you earlier. You refrained from facing him again, your body turned towards taeyong only, but you felt satisfied with the thought of him being riled up.

“Oh, but I want a ceremony taeyong and mark is going to be the best man. He’s so excited. You can’t do that to him!” yuta emphasised through the variation in his voice. You knew he changed his argument purposely , but you maintain your cool, opting to ignore him . bear and forbear.

Taeyong raised his eyebrow at you but you shook your head again.

“I don’t think it’d be a good idea. It’s not a normal one anyway so why pretend!” you held your ground.

“You aren’t getting married to a mannequin.” yuta retracted. “I’m getting married as well and don’t anyone dare say that I made a mistake and blah blah. At last I’ll be hitching so I want a ceremony and Japanese at that!”

Oh yeah, he was Japanese. You have missed that as well.

All the other men in the room, 9 to be exact, were nodding at everything that was being said. They were unable to decide whose argument was worth taking side for. Finally Johnny spoke-

“I think y/n is right” looking at nowhere in particular, he continued. “What’s with pomp and show when it’s nothing more than an agreement”

“But if yuta hyung wants it, then why not. They are going to live together, he should have his say as well.” It was Mark who took yuta’s side. He didn’t know why but watching yuta losing ground urged him to support his brother.

You looked briefly at the boy who just argued with Johnny.

“He’s mark y/n.” taeyong said the answer you were looking for. “And he’s Jungwoo, jeno, doyoung, you have already met him, then jaehyun, johnny, renjunie, hendery. Others are busy so you’ll meet them some other day probably.”

A few waved towards you, including Mark, who shyly withdrew his hand quickly. They all probably hated you as there was no other reaction towards a person who almost put your life in danger!

“Can we get to a middle ground now? I’m already getting tired of this” jaehyun grumbled, leaning into the couch.

“Ok so, he wants a celebration of a lie! What about me then? You are all here but I have no one. I’m alone and probably will be. Because taeyong, you haven’t told me how am I going to reveal this to my friends? I may not have a family, but still there are people close to me. They are my best friends, roommate, and many others who need to know! How am I going to explain to them that their friend who didn’t even have a boyfriend, is getting married suddenly? I don’t even have parents to cover it with an arranged marriage. How to convince them? Give me a way and I’ll agree” you pointed out the very important detail that they were missing. But they needed to know that there was other side of the paper as well and your reasons were not just a cry in the wilderness.

Nobody made a sound. Everything went quite like a dark night until-

“I hope this is not the calm before a storm!” you looked over to see the person who broke the silence. It was another young man coming with a food trolley, probably from the kitchen.

“I thought we have a guest so I prepared some coffee and donuts. I hope you like sweets y/n” the man was smiling ear to ear, seeming too happy with your visit.

“I-

“I’m kun.” he introduced himself and you shook his hand. He seemed too polite for a criminal. “Have this and tell me how it is” he forcibly handed you a dessert plate with a chocolate glazed donut. You took it out of politeness but felt a bit weird to be the only one eating it. You watched him with quizzical eyes as he took one for himself and sat on the arm of your couch. Everyone was now staring at your movements.

“Eat it, eat it. These are for you and me only.” he cajoled.

You decided to take a bite and then place it back just to stop the awkwardness.

As you bit it from one side, your brain short circuited. “Holy shit, bro. What is this sorcery.” your genuine and innocent reaction made Kun laugh loudly, some of the others joined in as well.

“Thank god, you like it! I’m so glad you aren’t one of weight conscious ones, otherwise it’d have been weird.” he started munching on his own piece.

“I’m a sugar bear. I can’t live without sugar. I just had a donut in the morning but it was bleh compared to this. You are a master chef bro.” and for a minute you forgot the previous tense environment. Everyone was glad that Kun came to save the situation and except to you, it was known that obviously he heard everything from the kitchen.

“You ate one in the morning! Then it’s the last one you’re getting. Everyone help yourself. She’s not having any more!” as if they were waiting, everyone except mark and yuta picked them up.

“Mark” Kun motioned towards the tray and he grabbed one as well.

“What if I was allergic to chocolate, kun” you asked him while finishing your treat.

“Oh please! Even ten eats it.” he laughed to himself at his reference, which went over your head.

“Now coming to the point.” Everyone looked at taeyong who was already done with eating. “Y/n doesn’t want anything special so it’ll happen like that. No!yuta, lemma speak. And you y/n, it’s upon you to make your friends believe. Make up a story or do whatever you want. You don’t want to tell them about the wedding. Fine with me but do let them know at least that you have a boyfriend that you are moving in with! It’s on you both to make this arrangement believable.

“okay , sho now I shuggenly hab a voyfiend” you started speaking without even finishing the bite in your mouth. you continued once you chewed it.

“won't they be suspicious. They know exactly what I do and what I don’t. It’s almost impossible to put a façade in front of them.”

“Oh please, don’t tell me they even know from where you got those hickies” jaehyun’s curt statement was a hit below the belt. Kun was about to scold him when you elaborated his statement further to prove that he was doing nothing but burning his own fingers.

“Yes, actually they happen to know. When, where and from whom I got these. Anything else you want to ask?.” he rolled his eyes on your reply, busing himself with the delicacy instead.

“They don’t know yuta. So if you want you can introduce him to your people. He won’t be posing any problem, take my word for it.”

“I’ll go with you if you also accompany me,that I guess would be a problem for you. You don’t want to be seen with a criminal, or do you!” yuta jabbered. He was trying to push your buttons to measure your limit. But little did he know that you were far from being that easy.

“I just said I don’t want a wedding. I’ll agree to anything that is reasonable and is not degrading to me.”

“Ok then, nobody would force you to do what you don’t want.” Taeyong decided to take matters into his own hands now. “And we’ll organise a small, very intimate gathering at taeil’s office to celebrate as yuta wants. And you’ll be introduced as Mrs. Nakamoto to our corporate world.” taeyong finished gauging both of your reactions. The surname was foreign and cringing to you. But it was going to be yours, so there was nothing you could do, for now.

“What do you mean ‘our’ corporate world.” you got puzzled at his choice of words.

“You’ll find out soon and it's nothing scary, don’t worry.” Kun responded on behalf of taeyong this time, handing you your cup of coffee. “Tell me if it’s cold, I’ll-

“No it’s totally fine.” you assured him, without even taking a sip. He was being nice enough already.

“If my opinion has no value, then what am I even doing here!” yuta shouted, getting up from the seat.

“yut-

Before Kun could say anything, he stormed off. Mark tried to follow but taeyong stopped him from doing that.

“Don’t mind him. He’s a hot head.” Johnny laughed in between his bites.

You only nodded, sipping your coffee. You were glad he was gone. Sugar has always done wonders for you and it was having the same effects now as well. You were able to think more rationally now.

“One more thing” you furrowed your brows at taeyong. What was left now! “Do you want any specifications in the house? It’s my responsibility. A wedding gift you can say. If you need anything like extra closet, a more spacious kitchen-

“Kitchen?” you let out a brief chuckle at that. Everyone’s eyes were on you now. “It’ll be totally fine if I don’t even get a kitchen. I can’t cook anything besides ramyeon and salads. So I won’t even need that.”

“You are a student. Don’t you know anything basic.” It was Jungwoo who spoke in the sweeter voice than Kun's.

“No. I grew up in an orphanage and they provided us everything. I left when I started law. So all in all, I never had anyone to teach me. That’s why if you want to know best food trucks and restaurants in the city, I’m your best option.but, if that yuta knows how to cook, ask him about the kitchen.” you spoke nonchalantly .But you didn’t realise how uncomfortable the air had become. a heavy silence took over the light atmosphere.

“I’m sorry noona” Jungwoo apologised sheepishly.

“It’s fine. After all there are some things that your hacker can’t find out. only I can tell you those.” saying that, you faced taeyong again. “But if you insist, I can always use a study room.” you tried to enlighten the mood again.,ppp

“Ok. I’ll find something suitable for you both.” you hummed, not knowing what to say anymore.

“Can I go back now?”

“Yes, doyoung will drop you.”

“No, I’ll go with her.” Johnny said, grabbing your attention. He didn’t look sulky like doyoung so, it’d be fine, you guess.

They said you goodbyes. Mark seemed hesitant to even look at you, but you couldn’t care less. He was just a stranger after all.

Yuta couldn’t realise why everyone was trying to be so nice to you. Till yesterday, he was allowed to put a gun on her head but now every being was against him. He didn’t know why he was so furious at Taeyong, to force him to marry you or for dragging Mark into this mess. Taeyong knew how to play dirty, but yuta never thought he’d use his own brother. There was no option for him as well, as taeyong has said. He showed interest in a fucking celebration to contradict you, but you were not backing down and that felt like a punch to his gut.

He drove towards his stress reliever. The infamous Japanese club, the only place where he could drown his sorrows.

The club was packed despite it being Monday. That was one thing he liked about it, you’ll never be disappointed in this place.

“ゆた!” The hostess chimed seeing yuta. “久しぶり” [ long time, no see!]

He signed her to give him 2 shots. She did as told but her gaze was following yuta’s, which rested on her cleavage. He came here only for 2 things after all.

He gulped the drink in a second without blinking an eye.

“バックルーム” [ back room]

She wasn’t someone to be told twice. She handed her hand towel to her co-worker and followed the path. Who was she to reject him after all?

He drove back silently again. The relief he felt was all dissipated now. Instead his mind was already wandering towards you. Your headstrong attitude was troubling him. his plans were all down and out. He hated you , from the moment he laid his eyes on you. You acted like you were invincible but he knew it was just a mask to protect yourself.

He had noticed how you rubbed your eyes to hide your disappointment for you didn’t want to appear weak. All he had to do now was to find a vulnerable part of you, to hit you where it’d hurt the most. It’d be last time he lost to you.

Afterall, beginning is always easy, it is continuing that’s hard!

[katnissmellarkkk]

Chapter Two

Hiiii! Okay, soooo I wanted to get the new chapter out ASAP! I really, really love any of you guys who read/kudoed/commented or anything on AO3 🥰🥰🥰🥰. Means the world to me.

As I mentioned on here yesterday, my one eye is basically sore and I went to the eye doctor and basically can’t wear my contacts for a few days. So because of my how nearsighted I am and the fact that I haven’t updated my glasses prescription in over a decade .... I edited this chapter on my phone? So yeah. I think it turned out just as well as any of my other writing but ya know. For verification, if there’s some mistakes here or there. Ya girl was tryin, ok. 😂😂😂😂😅😅😅😅😬😬😬😬😬😬.

Okay anyways I’ll stop talking, here’s the next chapter :

“You just have to get to know her,” Peeta claimed. “Bailey’s a good person. Don’t let her outer shell fool you.”

What I really wanted to ask him was how he ever got beyond her—as he so delicately phrased it—outer shell.

Never big on social interactions, on top of being generally awful at making friends, I did my best to get all the information Peeta would willingly offer about his new, mysterious girlfriend, before having to deal with her directly.

Which wasn’t much. Peeta, the boy who gossiped about his father wanting to marry my mother while we were in a televised death match, who seemed to always have some insight on other people, who never hesitated to share his gossip with me before now, suddenly had tight lips when it came to Bailey Robyn.

The biggest emission I got from him was, “she had a childhood a lot like mine.”

I don’t know what that means? Bailey was the child of District Nine’s baker? District Nine had a class divide as well and she was of a merchant equivalent? She was a popular wrestler?

And then it hit me all at once. Like a train storming for the Capitol, it hit me with crushing force. Peeta never confirmed the fact, but the look in his eyes when I made the guess was enough to suggest I was right.

Bailey also grew up with an abusive mother. Just like Peeta.

The idea was a lot for me to process suddenly. I knew people who looked perfect could hide dark secrets. Peeta and Finnick Odair were both evidence of this. But for some reason I was taken aback by the notion that Bailey, who seemed so lively and pristine and collected, could have come from a violent and vicious household like the Mellark’s.

I mentally berated myself for the shock. How many times had strangers misjudged me in the last couple of years? How much had that infuriated me to find out?

When I go over to Haymitch’s house the following week for dinner, I make considerable effort in preparing myself to see Bailey sitting at the table.

And I’m not disappointed.

Bailey Robyn is sitting in the dining room when I walk in, half her hair gracefully combed into a cascading updo, looking as porcelain and perfect as ever. In her hand is a cookie covered in pink frosting, her mouth pulled up in a sparkling white smile as she laughs at something Haymitch has said.

Evidently Bailey puts my old mentor in a good enough mood, because he gives her a real genuine grin in reply.

Before turning to me with a scowl, of course. “Well, sweetheart, look who decided to join us?”

“I’m on time, Haymitch,” I immediately grumble, eyeing him with aggravation.

“If we give or take twenty minutes.”

But Bailey apparently wants to be my buffer. “Like you’ve ever been on time for anything, Haymitch Abernathy,” she retorts, looking at me knowingly. Like she’s trying to let me in on her joke. Like we’re old friends, who gang up on Haymitch together all the time.

A part of me feels displaced, as this interaction, if I didn’t know better, gives me the idea that I’m the odd one out and Bailey is the aquatinted one in this dynamic. But still, I take a deep breath and smile back in her direction.

I promised Peeta I would try. I promised to give Bailey a chance. And I’m not going to break another promise to him.

Not after everything that’s happened to him because of me.

Before I can find a semi-conversational thing to say back though, more voices join us.

“Katniss!” Delly chirps, rounding the corner from Haymitch’s pigsty living room with Peeta by her side.

“Oh, look who finally showed up,” Peeta says, teasing me.

I have an entirely different reaction to him nudging me versus Haymitch. Instead of getting defensive, I feel myself immediately blush, suddenly a little embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I got held up in the woods.” My words somehow get choked in with a giggle and Peeta smirks in response.

Luckily for me, Bailey seems to not mind our interaction. Instead she laughs once again. “Held up in the woods by what?” She murmurs curiously.

“Knowing her?” Haymitch mutters, eyeing at me wryly. “Squirrels.”

/

I give the night my best effort. I talk to Bailey, ask her questions—pretend not to notice how elusive her answers are—and plaster a completely fake smile across my face, trying my best to appear as sweet and as pleasant as I am capable of.

However, by the end, I’m so glad Delly is there by my side that, without hesitating to think about it, I invite her to be a permanent member of our weekly dinners. If Peeta can bring Bailey every time—as I suspect he will—I can surely have someone here too. Someone else who is a bit apprehensive about the new addition, someone who doesn’t think I’m just blatantly rude for remaining on my guard.

I expected Haymitch, at least, would be a little unsure about Bailey. I expected he’d be at least slightly cautious of her presence. But instead the opposite seems to be true.

Instead Haymitch almost seems more apprehensive about me being at dinner.

Every time I glance at Peeta too long, every time I cringe—in my mind, internally, but evidently the old, paunchy man notices—when Bailey plants her lips all over Peeta, I feel him kick me in the leg, step on my foot, nudge me roughly as he passes by.

Delly finds the whole thing really funny. She finds Haymitch and my subsequent glares and glances more entertaining than any of the stories Bailey shares about District Nine.

And Delly Cartwright has never been one for subtly. She’s never been one for holding back her emotion either.

What should be her quiet chuckles are loud, snorting giggles and her standard laughs are practically hysterics.

And I find unexpectedly, when mixed with such a tense air, the sound of her boisterous laughter cracks even me up. Even Haymitch smiles a little.

Of course, the fact that this conjures up an image of me and Delly sharing some kind of inside joke is sort of an unexpected gift. I only realize it after the fact, but the idea that it looks like me and Delly are laughing together makes me feel suddenly less alone. Makes me feel suddenly like I belong here again.

Bailey is pleasant enough, I note to myself. She smiles in all the right places when someone else speaks, she manages to softly laugh in all the appropriate spots, she tell us vague details about her home in Nine easily enough.

Apparently she was born and raised on a farm, learned to produce grain from a young age and left her parents’ home at fourteen.

She makes no mention of the abuse Peeta implied but I never expected she would. It takes practically a microscope to uncover it in Peeta’s own tales. And even that’s from my point of view. An outsider who didn’t survive two games and a war with him would be hard-pressed to decipher it at all out of the stories he tells. I anticipated Bailey would be just as allusive.

I did not anticipate however, that Bailey would grow so uncomfortable when asked where she lived after she left her parents’ home. I didn’t expect her to look around the room in an abrupt, stiff silence, that she would stare past the walls of Haymitch’s home with a glassy look in her stone blue eyes, or that she would stand from the table without warning and flee down the hall.

And I’m thankful now that it was Delly who asked the question and not me, as surely my old mentor, who’s nearly smashed by this point, would find a way to cast the blame onto me.

“Did I say something wrong?” Delly asks, genuinely disturbed that she apparently must have hurt Bailey. She may not be her biggest fan, but Delly Cartwright isn’t one to intentionally upset people.

Peeta hesitates for a moment before shaking his head. “No, she’s just... it’s nothing you did, Delly,” he promises but his voice is far away now too, and his gaze flickers towards the hall the blonde disappeared down.

Still, Delly bites her lip in fear she caused an issue and excuses herself from the table in a haste, offering to clean everyone’s dishes.

Neither me nor Peeta—or even Haymitch himself—say not to bother. The house itself is in atrocious condition after the decades of neglect and washing the dishes will only cover the plates in grim and mold instead of food. But it’s not about the actual cleansing of the dishes and we all know it. It’s about avoidance.

Something the three of us know more about than anyone ever should.

I use the given opportunity to catch Peeta’s eye. “What’s going on?” I murmur under my breath, hoping Haymitch wouldn’t insert himself into the conversation for once, that he won’t shut my question down and bark at me for being nosy.

“Bailey just needs a minute,” Peeta states, and I can tell from his tone it’s better not to ask again. Whatever’s going on with his girlfriend has him on edge as well. It seems to me, at least.

The next thirty minutes feel like hours as they pass. No one speaks. Haymitch is almost out cold from his liquor. Peeta refuses to meet my eyes or even so much as tear his gaze from the direction Bailey walked off in. I’m about to tell him to just go after her, when she decides to reappear.

Like magic, she reappears, her face seemingly flawless, her smile as bright and as stunning as before, her poise back again like it never slipped.

“Are you okay?” I ask anyway though, because there’s no use in pretending she didn’t just run off after a harmless comment. Delly obviously wants the answer to the same inquiry or she wouldn’t be currently lingering in the doorframe, afraid to even enter the room.

Still, I receive a pointed glance from Peeta and an outright disgusted look from a barely coherent Haymitch.

I fight my natural instincts that says to justify myself. My natural instincts that tell me they’re being far too defensive over a simple question.

And for what reason? Peeta just met her a few months ago and Haymitch probably wouldn’t be able to tell her apart from half the merchant girls in the district. What is it about Bailey that makes both of them take up their metal armor to protect?

“I’m fine,” she says lightly, and offers a tight, closed-mouth smile that doesn’t come across as real for a second. “Delly, do you need any help in the kitchen?”

“No,” the typically bubbly blonde says almost instantly. There’s a waiver in her voice and I feel a pang of sadness spread across my chest, because Delly is obviously afraid of even being in the same room as Bailey now.

“Okay well, we should be going anyways, Peeta,” she says definitively and tugs on his hand with a bit too much force. If you ask me.

“Me too,” I murmur before mentally kicking myself, realizing that I just boxed myself into a corner, looking like I was playing a game and trying to tag along with them for the walk home.

Well, the entire two minutes it takes to get to each of our respective homes, that is.

Even without the added awkwardness of tagging alongside Peeta and his girlfriend, a part of me—a naive, juvenile part—doesn’t want to watch Bailey enter through Peeta’s front door, doesn’t want to accept the fact that she isn’t just spending the night, that his home is now hers too, as a definitive fact.

Within a matter of days, his home is officially her’s. I already know it must be true. But that doesn’t mean I’m anxious by any stretch of the imagination to have the suspicion confirmed.

Haymitch chuckles darkly though, seemingly at my expense, as he lifts his head from the grimy table. “I see someone’s trying to escape before we can light the candles and start singing.”

I blanch the same moment I feel Peeta’s eyes turn and land on me in shock.

I was hoping everyone had forgotten my birthday somehow.

/

Read The Rest On AO3

[wrenhyperfixates]

The Gift

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: Tony says no pets in the Tower, but since when has Loki ever listened to him? Warnings: like one curse word A/N: Any Tom Hiddleston stans out there should get the Easter egg in this one :)

Disclaimer: Picture not mine

“Oh, come on, Tony! Please,” you whined for the fifth time that week. “Not even just a little one?”

“Absolutely not. It’d make a mess of the place. Not to mention that this isn’t exactly the safest place for a pet.”

“So it gets into a lab accident and we have a super dog. Not the worst thing ever,” you said, half joking, though Tony actually seemed kind of intrigued now. You changed your tactic before he got any ideas. “Besides, it won’t make a mess. I’ll train it. And not all dogs shed.”

“I guess, but someone might be allergic,” Tony countered, thinking he delivered a winning argument.

“We can get a hypoallergenic dog,” you shot back, though you’d already checked with almost everyone and no one said they were.

Tony grumbled, running out of excuses to give as to why you couldn’t get the pet you’ve been pleading for the past few months. Tony had become somewhat of a father figure to you during your time in the Tower, and you’d been pretty sure you could use that to your advantage. Sadly, though, nothing had been working. In fact, that relationship had been more of a detriment to you than anything else as you didn’t want to make him upset with you. Otherwise, you might just go out and buy the pet of your choosing. Maybe even more than one. Although, to be fair, it was Tony’s building, and he was allowing you to live here rent free, so you should probably just drop it. But you really wanted a pet, and you knew you weren’t the only one.

“Sorry, but still no.”

“Fine,” you relented with an overdramatic sigh. “For now, anyway.”

“Thank you,” he said, going back to whatever he was tinkering with before you came in.

You pouted in the lab for a bit, hoping he might change his mind, but to no avail. Eventually you slinked out and went into one of the common rooms, plopping on the couch between Peter and Bucky.

“So, how’d it go?” Peter asked after popping a handful of Skittles into his mouth.

“No luck," you responded sourly, stealing some of the colorful candy from him. “None of my strategies are working.”

“What if we tried for something smaller?” Bucky offered. “Like a gerbil.”

“I guess,” you grumbled as you flopped back in exasperation. “But we’ve had our eye on that Cocker Spaniel for a while. A gerbil just wouldn’t be the same.”

“Yeah, I know.”

You all sat in silence for a bit and watched as Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck argued about what hunting season it is, mulling over the situation. Admitting defeat seemed to be the most likely option at the moment, but you hated to just give up when you were sure there was a way to get what you wanted and not have Tony be upset with you.

“I’ve got it!” Peter suddenly shouted, bubbling with excitement. “We go and adopt it and then tell Mr. Stark that it just followed us home!”

“Except he wouldn’t let us keep it even then,” you stated, having already thought of that yourself.

“So we hide it. Simple,” Bucky chimed in. “By the time he notices, Peter will be so emotionally bonded to it, Tony wouldn’t dare take it away.”

“Great idea, Mr. Bucky,” Peter said, high-fiving him.

“Yeah, if only there weren’t cameras everywhere. Not to mention a home system that tells him everything,” you added, growing more upset at the lack of options by the minute.

You pushed up from the couch as the episode’s end was heralded by Porky Pig’s “Th-th-that’s all folks.” After waving bye to your friends, you headed to your room to brainstorm in silence. The figure lurking in the shadows didn’t even register in your mind, so you had no idea that a certain god heard your whole conversation. Not only that, he was about to fix all your problems.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Mr. Loki, where are we going?” Peter inquired as he and Bucky were led into the city by the trickster god.

“All will be revealed, spiderling. I assure you.”

Bucky just shrugged when Peter looked at him, and so they continued following Loki through the busy New York streets. After hearing about your plight, he had hatched a plan to get you what you wanted. All it took was a bit of research on that infernal computer device, and he was pretty sure he’d found the right shelter. It was a far walk from the Tower, and since neither he nor his travel companions could drive, he resorted to taking the subway, an experience he’d rather not have again. Finally, they arrived at the destination, and Peter was about to burst with excitement.

“Mr. Loki!” he gasped. “This is exactly where we were looking for dogs!”

“But I have a feeling you knew that already,” Bucky said.

“Indeed,” Loki replied. “I must confess that I overheard your conversation in the common room yesterday.”

“Oh I get it now. You’re doing this for-”

“No time for speculation, we are here to get me a pet,” Loki interrupted, “Go on. After you, spiderling.”

Peter, still blissfully unaware of Loki’s true intentions, led the way into the shelter. They were greeted with the sound of happy barking and the distinct smell of dog treats. Loki had to admit, he wasn’t the biggest fan of animals. He found some to be more agreeable than others, such as a good steed, but overall he thought them to be more of a nuisance than anything else. Thor had bought a cat for Jane once, and it tore up half of his capes before he presented it to her. Loki was glad his brother kept it away from him and his belongings. Not to mention he didn’t appreciate the sheer number of similarities people said he had with felines. Dogs, however, he was fine with, so long as they were trained properly.

“Hello, how may I help...” the girl behind the front desk trailed off, her eyes going wide with excitement upon realizing who the trio was. “Y-you’re... Oh my gosh. My friends are never going to believe this! But, uh, how may I help you?”

None of the heroes were particularly comfortable with the attention and star struck gaze of the girl, so it took them a minute to get over their sheepishness. Loki looked at both his companions before realizing he would have to do the talking. He sighed but knew the look on your face would be worth it. You’d look at him the same way you had so many times before, whenever he did little things for you, whether it be rubbing your shoulders after a stressful day or brewing you a cup of tea on a chilly morning. The two of you weren’t dating, exactly, but you weren’t exactly not dating, either. Loki found himself incapable of asking you to make it official, lest it ruin what you currently had. He didn’t know what he’d do if you no longer casually held his hand or rested your head on his lap while reading in the evenings. Even though he was fairly certain you felt the same way, that last bit of doubt wouldn’t leave him alone. Besides, despite usually being quite a great thinker, he couldn’t come up with a good way to confess. He supposed that kissing you would do the trick, but he wasn’t brave enough for that, so getting you a dog would have to suffice for now.

“My friends here were looking at some of your dogs recently, and there is one that they are quite smitten with. We are here to adopt it.”

“That’s right! A Cocker Spaniel named Bobby,” Peter offered. “He hasn’t already been adopted, has he?”

“Nope!” the girl responded in a perky voice. “He’s all yours as soon as you fill out the proper paperwork.”

“Mr. Loki, are you sure about this. Mr. Stark told me I couldn’t get a dog.”

“Exactly. He told you, not me,” Loki replied, picking up a pen.

“Well, yeah, but I don’t really think he meant it just for me. I think it was more of a general kind of thing.” Loki and Bucky looked at him in exasperation for a second, wondering how he could still be so innocent, before he caught on. “Oh, ok. I get it now. Carry on.”

The three boys huddled around the page as Loki filled it out, providing Tony’s credit card as payment when the time came. It seemed appropriate, Loki thought, that Stark should have to pay for making you upset, and taking that in the most literal sense was the only somewhat acceptable way, it seemed. No longer could The God of Mischief go around stabbing those who hurt the ones he cared about. In a way, he missed the good old days, as he referred to them, but his new life led him to you, which made the rest of it fine with him, he decided, as he finished his signature with a flourish.

“There,” he declared, admiring the loop of his fancy, cursive L. “Finished.”

The girl disappeared into the back, only to return with Bobby a moment later. After giving the paperwork a quick once over, she handed the leash over to Bucky, who couldn’t stop the smile from growing on his face. Peter immediately bent down to scratch the dark brown dog behind his ears.

“Who’s a good boy? You are! You’re a good boy!” he cooed.

“Spiderling, he hasn’t even done anything yet,” Loki said, somewhat perplexed, as Bobby rolled over onto his back, stopping at the god’s feet. “Though, I do suppose he is a rather good boy,” he added, an inexplicable smile tugging at his lips.

One stop at the pet store and a taxi ride later, both unknowingly paid for by Tony, they arrived back at the Tower with the newest member of their family. It wasn’t even ten minutes later that Tony strolled into the room where they were playing with Bobby. He stopped dead in his tracks as he noticed the dog, happily playing tug of war with Bucky.

“What is that?” he asked, pointing at the Cocker Spaniel.

“A dog,” Loki deadpanned.

“Yeah, no shit. I mean what is it doing here?”

“I adopted it. Really Stark, for a supposed genius you ask a lot of obvious questions.”

“Don’t get snippy with me, Rock of Ages,” Tony quipped back, gritting his teeth a little. “This is my Tower and I say no pets, except for maybe a goldfish.”

“Yes, this is your Tower, but it is our home, is it not? As thus, we should be allowed the simple pleasures of life, such as having a pet. After all, studies show that having a dog can reduce stress, something I’d say is rather important for people in our position.”

Tony glared for a minute, not really having a good response to that. Then he called your name, certain you were behind this.

“No, Mr. Stark,” Peter said. “They had nothing to do with this. Don’t blame them.”

“That’s right,” Bucky also defended you. “It was all us.”

It was already too late, though, and you appeared in the doorway. Loki had been planning on presenting your gift to you in some cute or clever way, but all he had time to do was a magic up a bow on the pup’s head, a green one, of course. Bobby started happily yapping at your arrival and trotted over to you, looking for a scratch behind the ear.

“Oh. My. Gosh. He’s adorable!” you exclaimed as he rolled over for belly rubs. “You finally got a dog for me, Tony? Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Sorry, but I can’t take credit for this,” he said, turning down the hug you were offering him by putting a hand up. Then he pointed at the mischievous trio whose doing it was.

“Well actually, it was mainly Loki,” Bucky said, nudging the god in the ribs.

“But Mr. Bucky, we all- Oh wait. Awwww,” Peter gushed as he realized what Loki was feeling.

“Oh. In that case, thank you Loki!” you shouted, throwing your arms around him in a hug.

Without a second’s hesitation, he wrapped his arms around you, too, returning the embrace. “You are quite welcome, my darling.”

You nuzzled into the spot where his shoulder met his neck. In turn, he put his head on your own and breathed in your scent, forgetting the others in the room for a minute. It seemed you had, too, because you looked equally startled when Tony cleared his throat.

“Ok, fine. He can stay,” Tony conceded, “but only if he doesn’t wreck the place. And keep him out of the lab.”

You all chorused your thanks and, despite his harsh tone, could tell that Tony had already taken to Bobby, who was now the center of attention again. After playing with him for a bit, Bucky made some excuse about having to leave and took Peter with him, both of them wanting to give you some alone time with Loki.

“This really is very sweet, Loki,” you told him after a few minutes.

“Think nothing of it. It is my gift to you.”

“I feel bad, though. I don’t have anything for you,” you said, biting your lip. “Well, actually, I do have one thing that I can give you.”

“Oh? What would that be, my darling?”

The end of his sentence was nearly cut off by your lips crashing into his. The kiss was a little sloppy, but filled with so much love and desire that neither one of you cared. After gathering his wits, Loki kissed you back, cupping your cheeks as you grabbed his shoulders, still a little unsteady from surging forward.

“That,” you breathlessly whispered, pulling away as Bobby began barking again.

Later that night, Tony found you and Loki passed out on the couch, Bobby sprawled out across both your laps.

“Huh,” he mumbled, draping a blanket over your shoulders. “I guess it’s a good thing they got that dog, after all.”

[misslynn99]

Epicenter: Chapter Two

Pro Hero! Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Link on AO3: Epicenter

Link to Chapter 1

Author: misslynn_99 (Me!)

The next morning, the café regulars buzzed around the TV monitors, excitedly chatting about the news. Official footage of the attack had finally been aired. Concrete flew everywhere as the villain lashed out against heroes, sending distraught civilians fleeing from the scene. The scene that every news station had on repeat, however, was that of several tons of concrete on a direct collision course for a young family, until Ground Zero put himself between the two. He squared back one shoulder to pulverize the rubble with a blast, and in that moment, his wild eyes were molten flames, the fine cascade of dust casting a hazy halo around his form.

It was such a harsh contrast to the villain swinging a pillar of concrete immediately after, colliding directly with the hero’s chest and sending him hurtling back against the harsh exterior of another building, slumping bonelessly on the ground.

“He saved them.” You whispered to yourself. Icy needles twisted in your chest. Eijirou had  trusted you to care for his closest friend at his most vulnerable. The café was much closer than any hospital to the scene, but your heart skipped a beat, fluttering in astonishment. “He could have died. It’s a wonder he didn’t.” Just how close had Ground Zero been to death’s door when he showed up here?

“Blasty is lucky he’s got a rad, manly partner like me.” Eijirou’s voice startled you, suddenly far too close to your ear.

“Hi!” You squeaked. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

“You think I’d let my best girl go un-thanked after saving my partner’s ass yesterday?” His arms swept you into a tight bear hug, twirling your feet off of the floor. Eijirou’s easy smile seemed to smooth over the awkward tension from the day before, as if it were no more than an insignificant blight of an otherwise sunny day.

“Quit harassing the woman, Shitty Hair. We’re here on business.”

“She likes it.” Eijirou had the gall to stick out his tongue. “Isn’t that right?”

“I, I don’t mind.” You couldn’t help but squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment, dropping your head forward, and you prayed that no one would notice. This crush was spiraling out of control, as the sturdy muscles that could shatter any obstacle and strong enough to lift cars supported you easily in his embrace.

“ ‘Don’t mind’ isn’t the same as ‘like’.” Ground Zero’s mouth turned even further downward into a scowl. Reluctantly, Eijirou set you down, and you felt cold at the absence of his touch. The tension settled again like a thick cloud, choking out whatever embers of affection you felt for the red haired hero.

“I didn’t mean to impose.” The red-head’s own face was dusted with faint pink, nervously scratching the back of his neck.

“It’s no problem.” You tried your best to smile kindly, wincing internally at the memory of his flinch. “Why don’t I get you both some coffee on the house? It’s the least I can do for everything you two do to protect the city.”

“One black coffee it is then!” Eijirou perked back up.

“So, I take it you’ll have the latte, extra heavy cream with two pumps caramel, two pumps cinnamon, and cinnamon-brown sugar mix dusted on top?”

Ground Zero’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t have to say that so loud.”

“No shame.” You chuckled despite yourself. “Plenty of people take their coffee sweet, too.”

“Don’t spare Blasty’s feelings!” Eijirou laughed. “Even Mr. ‘Nothing is spicy enough’ likes sweets on occasion.”

“You better shut your mouth!” Ground Zero snapped, his tone climbing with each word. Curiously, Eijirou kept laughing, and tapped at his own ear.

“Right, got it.” The blonde grumbled. “Too loud.”

“Here you go, boys.”

“I have a name, you know.” The blonde held the cup up, scowling. “I’m off work, damn it. You called Shitty hair by his name on the cup.”

“It’s not like you introduced yourself between eating shit against the building and going in for surgery.” Eijirou scoffed.

“And you did?”

“Kiri stayed with me while they gave me IV fluids.” You supplied bashfully. “And I wanted to know when you made it out okay.”

“Call me Bakugou then.” He made a strangled noise. “When I’m not in suit tearing shit up, I don’t wanna hear ‘Ground Zero’ from you, got it?

“Not your given name?” Eijirou seemed to take a savage joy in goading on the explosive hero. “That’s awful cold, Katsuki. She did save you from a hospital stay and a month off of hero work.”

“Or Katsuki, whatever.” If looks could kill, Eijirou would have dropped dead in his tracks. Bakugou’s eye twitched and small firework-pops crackled off of his palms, clenched into fists at his side.  You hoped that the café regulars were too enamored with the news and their own conversations to notice the sparks flying.

“I can call you Bakugou, if that’s what make you more comfortable. Wouldn’t want to get on your bad side.” You chuckled, carefully watching his expression for his reaction to the playful jab.

“Kacchan’s bark is worse than his bite, at least off of the battlefield.” A new voice drifted in from the door. The emerald curls, gelled up from his undercut, were unmistakable. “I’m afraid that we didn’t get introduced last night. I’m Deku, but you can call me Midoriya if you’d like.”

“Kacchan?” You grinned wickedly. “Isn’t that so cute!”

Bakugou bristled. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, you fucking nerd!” He whipped around to snarl at the green-haired hero that had just walked in. For someone who was effectively co-workers with the number one hero, Bakugou acted like he despised the man.

“Aw, pump the breaks Kacchan.” Midoriya scrunched his freckled nose in a wide grin. “I’m just here to say hello to the woman who saved your life last night. So, this is where Kiri has been getting your coffee from? It’s such a nice little café, I think I’ll have stop by more often.”

“Like hell you will! We found it first!” Bakugou growled, stepping between you and Deku, while Eijirou chimed in the background, “I think you mean that I found it first.”

“Boys, boys, you’re all very pretty.” You ducked around the pro hero’s side, attempting to soothe the bickering. “I have plenty of coffee to go around. “

“You’re not keeping her as your personal barista and healer, Kacchan.”

“What happened to keeping this on the down-low?” Bakugou suddenly stiffened, whispering harshly.

“I think someone is feeling a bit embarrassed.” Eijirou rolled his eyes.

“I got my shit rocked on national television, of fucking course I feel embarrassed.” The blonde snapped. “But for her safety, I thought we agreed to keep any rescue shit-talk out of the public eye.”

Wincing, you looked up at him. “I think they’re calling you saving that family the rescue of the year though. And lots of people have minor healing quirks.”

Whipping his head back and forth, he snagged the strings of your apron and tugged you behind the coffee bar, through the doorway into the kitchen.

“Wait!” The two other heroes followed suit, chasing you as Bakugou dragged you out of the public eye.

“You don’t have a ‘minor healing quirk.’ “ He scowled, placing a hand on each of your shoulders, hands trembling as if he were resisting the urge to shake you. You could feel the residual heat of his calloused palms, the threat of an explosion ghosting along your skin and sending shivers up your spine.

“You have a self-destructive healing quirk that has major potential to get you kidnapped. Do you know the League of Villains would do to get their hands on you? Or fuck it, the Hero Commission? They’d keep you caged up like some animal to fix up their toys as they broke so that they could be sent out scot-free again.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Midoriya and Eijirou recoil, especially as the blonde hero turned his ire towards them once again. “Is some kind of joke to you two? Kirishima, if you could take two minutes to keep it in your pants, and Deku, if you could be serious, we need to come up with a plan.”

“Yes, Kacchan.” Midoriya and Eijirou nodded.

“Where do you live?” His burning eyes narrowed in your direction once again.

Swallowing thickly, you met his gaze. “In the loft above the café.”

“Hmm. Who all knows about the full extent of your quirk?”

“Just my parents, and my best friend from middle school, who moved to the states while we were in college.”

“Maybe she should stay with one of us?” Midoriya offered. “Just to see if anyone’s decided to target her?”

Panic froze your feet to the floor. “I don’t think that’s necessary.” You laughed nervously, fiddling with the apron strings tied at your hip. “I mean, you’re all very nice, but I could never ask that of anyone. I’m up at 4 in the morning to get the café ready to open at five, and walking alone in the dark is not my forte.” Especially if I might as well have a big target painted on my forehead now.

“The League definitely keeps an eye on our flats. They might not have made the connection that she’s done anything yet, but moving her in would be a surefire way to draw their attention. Also, there’s no way the Commission would just ignore someone else hanging out all the time.” Eijirou argued. “I think it would be better to set up surveillance on the café and her loft, and maybe get her a panic button or something.”

“A panic button.” Bakugou snorted. “I don’t know if you’ve heard of it, but there are these novel things called ‘cellphones.’ “

“And if she can’t call?” Midoriya raised an eyebrow.

“Brave words for someone who dropped his location to Icy-Hot, with literally no context, in the middle of an alleyway, and he magically appeared anyways.”

Sighing and stepping between the two bickering men, Eijirou held his hand out expectantly. “Here, I’ll put our numbers in your phone. We should probably scope out your apartment later.”

“I close at five tonight.” You offered, passing your cell to him, contacts open. “I’ll probably be done cleaning up by six, but you’re free to drop by whenever you get the chance after that. All of this feels pretty crazy though. It’s not like I did anything out in the open.”

Turning on the full force of his overwhelming intensity, Bakugou rounded on you once again, having caught the tail of your conversation. “There’s a couple articles floating around. You’re in the pictures, being floated to the hospital, and some low life bloggers are wondering how I was fine so soon afterwards, when Recovery Girl was on the other side of the country for some other case.” Venom dripped from his words, as if this were your fault somehow.

“It’s not my fault that I helped you!” Anger leaked into your voice. You couldn’t believe that he had the audacityto blame you for this. “Don’t talk to me like it is. I couldn’t not do anything. It’s a wonder that hit didn’t do worse, and I am certainly not responsible for them taking me to the hospital with you.”

In frustration, you stormed out of the kitchen, straightening your apron and apologizing to the handful of customers who were waiting by the cash register. A friendly smile and a few discounted coffees later, they sat down at a booth. The heroes were still in your kitchen, and you felt your resolve to ignore them crumbling. “I did give Kiri and Bakugou free coffee earlier.” You mumbled to yourself, a mischievous idea taking root; Bakugou’s buttons were so easy to press.

Leaning around the corner, you poked your head back through the kitchen doorway. The heroes froze, their argument in low tones evaporating with your return. “Midoriya!” You grinned, drawing out the syllables playfully and deliberately ignoring the blonde hero’s angry stare. “How do you like your coffee? Sweet as you are?”

“Uh, umm” He stuttered and his eyes darted between you and the door. “With oat milk, white chocolate and toffee, and iced please.”

“Coming right up! On the house.” The sound of sparks dancing off of Bakugou’s palms eased your flare of anger, taking a little bit of satisfaction in riling up the blonde in return, and you set about making the drink.

The trio must have finally decided to drop their discussion, and shortly followed you out to wait by the coffee bar. Bakugo turned his back to you, eyeing the door and clutching his coffee  while Midoriya and Eijirou resigned themselves to facing you, their awkward expressions apologetic. The other café patrons were thankfully still transfixed by the TVs, oblivious to the situation at hand.

“Here’s your phone back.” Eijirou mumbled, setting your phone on the counter. “He doesn’t mean it. He’s just frustrated and annoyed, nothing against you personally. It’s just kinda how he is, ya know? He takes it out on everyone. He’s been this way since he was a teenager, but he doesn’t blame you. Promise.”

“Hmm. I suppose I can accept your apology on his behalf, just this once.” You whispered back, sliding a coffee cup to Midoriya, who sipped it gratefully.

“We’ll be back later. Come on, nerds.” Bakugo’s voice was gruff as he called over his shoulder. “We have a meeting and a patrol shift soon.”

The heroes left and an unease settled in your gut at their absence, acutely missing their larger than life presence. Even as the customers milled about, coming up for refills and pastries, their words weighed on your mind. Villains and Heroes had never been a major point of contention in your life; a quirk like yours wasn’t suited for the spotlight, and like thousands of others, accepted your fate as a civilian.

The coffee shop felt like a homage to another era, before quirks existed. The small planters bloomed in the window display under your mindful care, without any sparks of magic to enhance their color or growth. The coffee beans that arrived each week were roasted delicately by hand, and each new drink was born from trial and error; no surprising powers of charm or persuasion lured customers to your door. It was an honest life that you were proud of, built with hard work and love.

Ringing up another customer and brewing the earl grey tea for a London Fog, it felt like your head was ringing. Your quirk had never been an active threat to your well-being. You had gained some control over the years, having only been able to tend minor scratches and bruises as a child, but never showed enough promise to be recruited into the medical field as a young teen. Even now, the drawbacks were too great. Healing left you exhausted, and the more extensive the injury, the greater the fatigue.

It wasn’t like you came from a family of fantastic heroes either. Your mother worked as a doctor in a wound care and surgical center because she could clean infected tissue at the expense of the patient’s energy. Your father’s quirk was completely unrelated to your own, allowing him to sculpt metal by heating his hands, albeit without flames. It was hard to believe that the arguably worse version of your mother’s quirk made you a target, but the underlying assumptions behind it sent shivers of fear down your spine. If there was no regard for your well-being, your quirk could be indispensable, could be used to patch anyone up at the expense of draining you dry.

Nevertheless, the hours ticked by, dread worrying the pit of your stomach. Bile rose in the back of your throat the longer your anxious thoughts raced. Without the grace of someone with a more offensive quirk, there was little you could do to defend yourself.

Maybe Bakugou was right to be annoyed, but he didn’t have the right to be such an ass about it. Closing time was only half an hour away, and the customers had dwindled in the shop. The pleasant humming of customers faded, exposing every raw nerve that you had. The last person was out, and at 5:06,

... there was a knock.

Snapping to attention, you jerked towards the doors, feeling a strange mixture of relief and annoyance upon seeing Bakugou waiting by the door. Sighing, you called out, “It’s still unlocked.”

He didn’t enter though. He leaned partially against the window with one hand, the other shoved deep into the pocket of his white jeans. He had the hood up on his black and gold hoodie, but not enough to conceal his distinctive blonde hair and you could have sworn his red eyes could burn a hole through anything as he peered in the window. He must not have heard you, and you steeled your resolve to go and let him in.

“Shitty Hair sent me.” He grumbled.

“Hmm.” You hummed in response, wandering back behind the counter to tuck away the extra bottles of syrup and take down the pastry display. “Make yourself at home then.”

The hero looked even more uncomfortable, his shifting gaze never lingering on anything for too long, before he spotted the bottle of disinfectant. To your surprise, he started wiping off tables, but you don’t breath a word, afraid to break the uncanny silence.

At 5:45, Eijirou, Midoriya, and a woman you could only assume was Uravity knocked, and Bakugou dropped the supplies as if he had been burned. Midoriya was the first to heckle him, teasing “Kacchan, I didn’t know that you could be helpful!”

“I was bored, you damn nerd. That’s all.”

The heroes were almost unrecognizably causal. Uravity and Midoriya were in matching letterman jackets, sky blue and patterned with delicate pink cherry blossoms falling from slender black branches, with Shouto written across the back in a beautiful script. Eijirou was also devastatingly casual, wearing baggy, low-rise black jeans and a white v-neck that dipped dangerously below his collar bones. His long red hair was up in his trademark loose ponytail, spilling over his shoulders and down his back.

“So nice to see you again! I’m Uraraka.” Her smile glowed as she bounced forward to greet you. “It’s nice to really see the place that Kirishima and Bakugo talk so much about.”

A frown creased your features. “I think I would have remembered Bakugou coming in for coffee. Doesn’t Kiri just get his?” You mumbled, panicking as you realized it was out loud.

Thankfully, Uraraka giggled. “No, he just won’t let Kiri get coffee from anywhere else now. I think the whole agency knows his order by now.”

“It’s just the least shitty.” Bakugou growled. “But whatever. I have shit to do, so let’s get this over with.”

“Lead the way.” Midoriya smiled kindly.

The stairs to the flat were in the kitchen, the door tucked out of sight next to a supply closet. Butterflies fluttered in your chest, and a sudden self-consciousness that almost froze you in place. The apartment was an intimate insight into your life and personality. Your reading was on the living room table, and cherished photos hung on the walls. Is my laundry hanging up to dry? You winced at the thought.

“Welcome!” You forced a smile and led them to the kitchen table. “So, what do you need to check out?”

“We’re not trying to invade your privacy more than necessary.” Midoriya looked solemn, glancing at you shyly from underneath his lashes. “I was thinking we should put a camera right in the stairway that faces the entrance, another on the fire escape, and one on the outside of each of your windows. Then, we can just set up a bunch around the café.”

“Oh,” You relaxed into your seat. “That’s not as bad as I was expecting.”

Midoriya and Uraraka were  sitting ram-rod straight at your table, posture stiff and schooled. Eijirou was examining your end table in the living room, carefully turning your favorite candle in his hands, while Bakugou trailed behind like a sullen shadow.

“We just want to make sure you’re safe.” Uraraka reassured. “We’ll probably change the patrol route to make sure that we stop by here, but we won’t be in the shop every time. If nothing is weird, we’ll leave you be after a while.”

“I’m glad.” The remaining tension left your shoulders, and you let out a sigh of relief. “I really don’t want to put my life on pause. I’ve worked really hard for what I have here. “

“Of course!” Eijirou looked over his shoulder, now surveying the sliding glass door that led to the fire escape. “This is the best place in town, and I don’t think I’ll ever stay awake through another Commission meeting without my usual again. Plus, we owe you big time. It’s our fault that you’re starting to get some media attention.”

“Do the cameras need plug-ins or batteries?” You asked cautiously.

“Nah,  they’re the special surveillance ones Chargebolt rigged, and we’ll get a notification if the battery is less than 25%. We’ve just gotta get them set up. Uraraka can up to stick them, then make ‘em weightless so they don’t fall down.”

At Eijirou’s words, you could see Uraraka tapping her fingers, jumping up to stick the device to the ceiling. With a frown of concentration, she pulled out her phone, checking the feed and fiddling with the camera until it was angled to her satisfaction before drifting back to the floor.

“We can take it from here. Feel free to go back to closing, or what you usually do in the evening. Don’t be afraid to let us know if you need anything.” Midoriya nodded before excitedly leaning in closer, eyes sparkling with the enthusiasm of a little kid. “Also, at some point, can I study your quirk? I keep notebooks of all different quirks I encounter, and yours is so interesting.”

“Shut your trap, nerd!” Bakugou growled from behind Eijirou, who jumped and clutched his partner’s arm. “Stop acting like we’re at the damn zoo. Save it for later.”

“Am not, Kacchan!” Midoriya whined. Turning to you, he put up his hands in a peace gesture. “I think we better get going, though. I think today’s probably been quite the day for you. Uraraka will set those up outside, and we’ll be out of your hair.”

Snagging Bakugou’s sleeve, Midoriya pulled him unwillingly down the stairs, with Uraraka having already moved on to install the security cameras in the café. Despite his tough front, the blonde didn’t fight too much, only grimacing and batting away the other hero’s hand as they left.

“Hey Kiri,” You said nervously, before the hero had the chance to follow his teammates out of your apartment. “Thanks for having Bakugou come over to be there while I was closing. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what you guys said this morning. I just feel so uneasy, like every stranger could be dangerous and I can’t do anything to save myself. It really set my mind at ease to have someone else there.”

“I bet.” He winced with sympathy. “But I didn’t ship Bakugou out here. He volunteered, and you didn't hear that from me.”

[terrm9]

Count Me In (Ethan X MC)

Words count: 3 800 Warnings: none. this is just pure fluff and I like to believe that there are also funny parts. 

Author’s note: I had an idea about the gang roasting Ethan for a long time and Chapter 17 made me write this (set some days after the chapter). It was supposed to be just the gang making fun of Ethan, but in the end I got a little bit carried away and it’s basically Bryce Lahela appreciation post oops

Getting dressed for their roommates Sunday brunch has been filled with a newfound nervousness this Sunday. Yesterday evening, as Sienna and Aurora were discussing whether they would make waffles or pancakes and Jackie added that Bryce and Kyra would be joining them, so they need to make more of anything that would be served, Elijah subtly nodded towards the girls and then turned to Chiara with a wide grin on his lips.

“We were actually thinking about inviting Dr. Ramsey too, now that you guys are official and everything. We know that Sundays are his days off too.”

Chiara’s eyes widened at the offer, not sure if they were joking or not.

They were not.

And so now she was sitting in her room, ready to eat and drink while also comforting her… boyfriend? Partner? What was he?

Whatever he was, she was comforting Ethan through the phone, secretly smiling at his nervous rambling about the wine he was planning to bring and sweater he was wearing (‘Is it too formal? Or should I wear something more formal? My white Oxford?’)

“Deep breaths, Ethan. Jackie is probably going to stay in her pajamas the whole day, so there really isn’t a dresscode. Just wear whatever you feel comfortable with.”

“Okay. Yes, of course, whatever I am comfortable in,” he muttered, and Chiara could hear Jenner’s barking in the background and then a soft thud, muting the dog’s calling. “I am leaving the apartment now, so I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

As Chiara hung up, she heard new voices coming from the living room, indicating that Kyra and Bryce were already there. She decided to take the chance and talk to her friends before Ethan comes.

After hugging both Kyra and Bryce and helping Sienna set the table, Chiara took a deep breath and said: “Ethan will be here any minute now. Please, please, please guys, be nice to him, okay? He is so nervous, and I don’t want him to feel uncomfortable.”

Bryce smiled sweetly and nodded, while Sienna replied: “Don’t worry Chiara, we will be nice, stuffing his mouth with the best pancakes he’s ever eaten and smiling politely. No worries.”

“Exactly,” Kyra nodded in agreement. “We would never do anything to embarrass you.”

“Or him,” Jackie added, smiling all too innocently for Chiara to believe a word of what they were saying.

Before she could inquire any further, the soft knock on the front door disturbed them and all she could do was to shoot everyone a deadly glare before opening a door.

“Hey, handsome,” she whispered with a smile as she spotted Ethan standing in the hall. He was wearing a knitted cream-color sweater and dark jeans, a bottle of wine in his hand.

He kissed her softly before stepping into the apartment, trying his best to maintain his usual attitude of composed, distant Dr. Ramsey they all knew.

I am still their boss. I shouldn’t be nervous about having an early lunch with them.

“Dr. Ramsey!” Sienna jumped out of living room before Chiara could even try to calm him down. “We are all so happy you decided to join us. Come in, everything is ready.”

Glancing at Chiara one more time, Ethan moved to the living room, where all of Chiara’s friends have already been seated around large dining table.

The room was filled with sweet aroma of freshly-made pancakes, maple syrup and raspberry jam, whipped cream and coffee. He handed the bottle of wine to Sienna.

“Thank you for the invitation,” he finally said as he sat down on the chair next to Chiara. “The pancakes look delicious. Which one of you is such a good cook? I know for sure it’s not Chiara,” he couldn’t help but tease.

She smacked his arm lightly but didn’t say anything, knowing rather well that Ethan was right.

“Sienna is the best cook and baker of all of us,” Elijah smiled just as Sienna made her way to the table, the bottle of wine already open. “This is hers and Aurora’s work.”

“Yeah, I was even more terrible cook than Chiara when I moved in and ever since Sienna discovered the fact, she’s been giving me private lessons. Today, I’ve learned to make pancakes,” Aurora chuckled.

With everyone seated, they started to fill their plates with pancakes and fruit and chocolate chips, the room filled with sounds of cutlery meeting plates and occasional sipping of wine.

“This wine is really good, Dr. Ramsey,” Jackie nodded in approval. “I never took you for an expert on wine.”

He chuckled softly at that and after swallowing his bite, he answered: “I am not, but I thought you aren’t such big fans of whiskey as I am. Few years ago, it was the last year of my residency I think, I saved the man who owns vineyards in Tuscany and he sends me few bottles of the wine every year, no matter how many times I tell him there is no need to do so. I brought some more, it’s in the trunk of my car. I’ll go grab it.”

Chiara beamed at his words, thankful to her friends for actually sticking to their words and acting nice. Ethan’s hand found Chiara’s knee under the table and he gave it a light squeeze, their own way of communicating without attracting the attention of others.

Another silence followed, however not an awkward one, rather simply comfortable silence between people enjoying the good food and company of each other.

Thank God they are not embarrassing us-

Before she could finish her thankful thought, Bryce cleared his throat and spoke.

“Surely you understand, Dr. Ramsey, that now that you and Chiara are officially together, we need to ask you some questions to make sure that your intentions with Chiara are absolutely pure.”

Ethan swallowed the pancake a little bit harder than he normally would, but he knew how important these people were to Chiara and also how important Chiara was to him, and so he simply nodded.

Meanwhile, Chiara put her fork down loudly and exclaimed: “What the fuck, Bryce?”

She looked around the table only to see all of her friends smiling mischievously and it all clicked.

They invited Ethan for the brunch so that they could roast him. That was also the reason why Bryce and Kyra made sure to come too.

“What? Your mum asked as to do so,” Bryce shrugged.

“No she didn’t,” Chiara shook her head, throwing murderous glances at her so called best friend Bryce Lahela.

“Okay, no, she didn’t, I made that up,” he admitted, grinning. “But I am sure she will be happy to know that your boyfriend passed the test.”

“Just shut up, Lahela. We are leaving,” she gritted her teeth. She could feel her cheeks flushing and hot at the word ‘boyfriend’ that Bryce used so easily. Even she didn’t dare to call Ethan her boyfriend yet!

She turned her head to look at Ethan and to her surprise, he was leaning against the chair, amused smile on his lips.

As he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, he said: “It’s okay, Chiara. I can answer the questions. I am an open book.”

At that, Chiara snorted loudly and murmured: “No you are not.”

“Bring the questions on then, Dr. Lahela,” Ethan nodded in the young surgeon’s direction. “As long as they are not too private, I am pretty sure I can pass your test.”

He wasn’t sure, of course. He was even more nervous than before and all the terrible scenarios ran through his head faster than Jenner ran while hounding squirrel in the park.

But to fake a confidence was his only weapon right now and he made sure to use it.

“Great, I’ll start then,” Bryce smiled even wider and Chiara clenched her hands into fists to not to wipe that smirk off his face. No matter how hard Bryce tried to explain that what they were about to do was for her own good, she knew that her friends stupidly enjoyed the position they were in right now.

Because right now, Ethan Ramsey wasn’t their boss. Right now, he was Chiara’s boyfriend and an intruder in their group and they could tease him and roast him and use all those sarcastic comments he’s been using their whole intern year on them, on him.

She crossed her arms on her chest and waited for Bryce’s question.

“I’ll start lightly, we don’t want to scare you in the beginning after all. We all know you are an outstanding diagnostician – I mean, even I have read parts of the textbook you wrote – and that’s pretty cool, sure. But what are the other things you are good at? Can you dance? Sing? Swim? Can you offer more than just your abilities to diagnose everyone?”

“There’s no ‘just’ in his abilities to diagnose,” Chiara barked at him, the need to protect Ethan stronger than anything else. She couldn’t let them scare him. She knew better then them about his habit of running away when things get too hard or too uncomfortable and right now, the amount of ‘uncomfortable’ in the room was enough even for her to run away.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have too much time to do anything big other than being doctor, the free time is precious commodity for me. Answering your suggestions, I can dance, yes. Singing? Probably not, but I have never had a chance to hear anyone’s opinion as I don’t sing in front people. And yes, I can swim too. Other than that, I like to think that I am rather good cook-“

“Oh, you cook?” Elijah interrupted him. “For how many people do you usually cook?”

“Just myself, usually,” Ethan shrugged, confusion clear on his face. On the other hand, Chiara knew very well where Elijah was heading and despite being terribly angry at them, she had to grin. “Sometimes for two people, when someone comes over for dinner.”

“Do you think you would could cook for, let’s say, eight people?”

“I think I would be capable of doing that, yes.”

“Great! You are welcome to crash in anytime you want and cook anything you would like to for us. I am so tired of living on ramen and plain pasta,” Elijah sighed and at that, everyone let out a short laugh. “However, sorry to disturb you. What else besides cooking?”

“I don’t know. I am good at learning languages, I guess. I speak German, Italian, French, Spanish and at the moment am learning Swedish.”

“Holy crap, that’s a lot of languages,” Kyra whistled under her breath.

“I choose wisely on what I spend my free time on and what occupies my mind. But when I choose something – learning a language, learning a new recipe, dating someone – I make it my priority and I am trying to give my everything into it. I once said to Chiara that I make it my mission to be good at everything I try and so I can assure you that I am willing to try my hardest to be a boyfriend Chiara deserves,” he answered nonchalantly, looking right into Bryce’s eyes at the word boyfriend.

He smiled at Chiara and kissed her temple, while Sienna whispered something like ‘that was so beautiful’ at the same time Jackie muttered ‘that was so sweet I might get cavities’.

“You are doing better than we expected, Dr. Ramsey,” Kyra smiled with devilish spark in her eyes. “But now it’s my turn to ask questions. You made sure to let us know that you, indeed, are capable of bunch of things but there also must be something you cannot do. Something you are seriously absolutely terrible at.”

Chiara couldn’t help it – she was beginning to enjoy this little show. It has probably everything to do with the fact that Ethan was handling the situation so well and wasn’t showing any signs of an escape.

“There is one thing that comes to my mind but Chiara already knows about it.”

“Oooh, so it’s a matter of an… intimate nature? You don’t have to share that, of course.”

Ethan choked on the sip of a wine he was just having and his eyes widened at the obvious misinterpretation of his words. The tips of his ears turned bright red and Chiara – more and more relaxed every minute – had to add her friends that have been viciously laughing at the sight.

“No! Jesus Christ that’s absolutely not what I was saying. I just thought it wouldn’t be important to share as Chiara already knows about it and still decided to give me a chance. But if you must know, I am seriously absolutely terrible at making… pancakes. I never get them right. That’s why I am so impressed by whomever made these,” he gestured at the table, where the rest of pancakes laid.

“I can teach you!” Sienna squealed. “It’s seriously so easy once you get it.”

“I am afraid it will not work, Dr. Trinh. My father tried to teach me, Youtube tutorial tried to teach me and still, my every attempt fails.”

“Please,” Aurora stepped into the conversation. “If she could teach me, she can definitely teach you. Next brunch, you are learning with her and I will be watching,” she grinned.

Aurora was nervous about this brunch. She was excited for Chiara and she was even more excited to enjoy a little bit of fun by teasing Ramsey, but even more she was terrified of what it would feel like to talk to him about anything else but work, knowing that he dated her aunt for six years.

Harper has made it clear, several times, that her time with Ethan has been more about physical attraction and supporting each other’s careers than affection, just as she admitted to Aurora that she knows Ethan Ramsey and she has known that his relationship with Chiara wasn’t simply professional for a long time. When Aurora asked her about her opinion on the new couple, Harper simply smirked and said that she was happy Ethan found someone who could tame his stubbornness.

Knowing that neither Harper nor Ethan felt any kind of hatred, jealousy or anger towards each other, she felt more relaxed about him coming as her friend’s partner. Yet, until this moment, when she teased him herself, about something as mundane as pancakes, she couldn’t get rid of a certain tension in her body.

But now, laughing at his expression as she suggested that he should learn to make pancakes with Sienna, she knew – even without any further investigation – that Ethan was a good man for Chiara.

“Okay, so you can’t make pancakes. Bruh,” Kyra rolled her eyes. “What else? You can’t be good at everything.”

“I am also rather terrible at drawing. Every time I am with a child patient with a broken leg or arm, I just hope they don’t ask me to draw something on their cast. For so many years I refused to draw anything and when they insisted, I tried to draw what they asked me to draw and they were so disappointed. Some of them even cried, that’s how ugly those drawing were,” he chuckled to himself, deep in his own thoughts and memories. “I decided to step it up a little bit a few years ago and after many, many Youtube tutorials, I can now draw a decent cat, dog, princess, car and dragon. So now, there are five different pens in the pocket of my coat and every time a child asks me to draw something on their cast, I pull the pens out and say ‘Okay little buddy, I have a red pen that can draw a nice car. I have a pink one that can draw a princess. I have a blue one for a dog and an orange one, which can draw a cat. And at last I have a green one and that one can draw an impressive dragon. You have to choose one of the pens’. Usually, that does the trick and for the last three years, nobody cried after I finished the drawing.”

He finished with a small laugh and looked around the table, only to find Bryce, Jackie and Elijah grinning, Aurora smiling softly, Sienna wiping her tears with a napkin and Chiara staring right back at him, her eyes filled with so much affection it warmed his heart.

“I wanted to hear something embarrassing and you proved that you are even better man than we expected. That’s not fair, Dr. Ramsey.”

“I think it’s okay for all of you to call me Ethan at this point,” he replied, ignoring Kyra’s compliment. He didn’t want to blush. “I probably won’t even be your attending much longer.”

There was a slight shift in the mood as the weight of his word settled down on them. Edenbrook was doomed and they all knew that the damage was beyond repair at this point, but right now, they didn’t want to talk about that.

Therefore Jackie decided to step in and turned to Ethan: “Okay, Ethan. I know you said you don’t have spare free time, but when you do and you decide not to learn anything, when you just want to relax, if you know what that word means, what do you do? How do you relax?”

“I have a dog which needs to be walked twice a day. I take him with me when I go for my morning run and then I walk with him through the park every evening I can. It makes an hour in my day, but it’s a relaxing hour. When I decide to relax at home, I usually read a book. Historical novels and poetry, mostly.”

Jackie wanted so badly to find something in his answer that she could tease him about, but really, there was nothing. This man was both, pretty impressing and pretty boring.

“You are a successful, famous, rich doctor,” Sienna smiled at him. “So, cards on the table now. What is your weakness? You know, those vices that successful, rich people have? What is it that you can’t resist? Beautiful women? Fast cars? Yachts? Golfing? Watches that cost more than my kidney? Tell us.”

Chiara shook her head in amusement, not expecting that kind of question from Sienna, of all people. However, she was curious too. She knew it wouldn’t be yachts nor golfing, but what are his vices? And so she didn’t even try to salvage him from answering.

“Well, I think it’s pretty obvious that I have a weakness for one particular beautiful woman,” he answered without missing a beat, pulling Chiara closer to him. “Other than that, I don’t think something will come to my mind. Yachts and golf, Christ no. I despise those activities. Fast cars? There might be something about that. I have a dream car, Mercedes C 300. I almost bought it, but it’s sedan and it’s too small for me. There was no space for my legs and getting in and out would be a torture. As my father like to say, I am too tall for my dream car. But I like the one I have now, it’s a reliable car,” he shrugged, not knowing what else to say. Yes, his car was incredibly expensive and probably luxurious, but he bought it because it was elegant and reliable and didn’t attract too much attention.

“If I would have to choose a vice of mine, it would probably be whiskey in the end. Sometimes I surprise myself with how much money I am willing to pay for a good bottle of whiskey.”

“Okay, you are a decent guy with a brain of Tesla and almost as little bad attributes as me,” Bryce sighed dramatically. “Do you at least snore?”

“Okay Bryce, now you are just nosy,” Aurora laughed. “You don’t need to know that.”

“I don’t, but Chiara does! She is going to spend nights with him!”

“I already know that, Bryce,” Chiara rolled her eyes. “He doesn’t.”

Ethan lowered himself so that nobody else but Chiara could hear him and whispered: “But you do.”

She turned to him with her eyebrows raised, the silent question visible on her face.

Are you serious, Ramsey?

“Okay, I guess we should let you go for now. Next time, I’ll be asking about your teenage years, med school parties you attended, if you ever got arrested and the sex positions you prefer,” Bryce grinned, putting his hands behind his head as he leaned into the chair.

“I am not going to discuss the last one with you.”

“So you just agreed to discuss the other topics!”

“No.”

Bryce pouted at him and disappointed, added: “Okay, I won’t bring a marriage and kids up, either. I will probably leave those for Diana.”

“Diana?!” Chiara sang out. “Since when are you on first name terms with my mother, Lahela?”

“It just happened,” Bryce shrugged carelessly, finishing his glass of wine. “I told you the women can’t resist my charm. She is no exception.”

Chiara wanted to make a remark about not needing to know about the charm Bryce used on her mother, but stopped herself when she noticed how Bryce’s face was slightly pink and he still held the empty glass near his lips to hide the fact.

She knew what it was all about. Bryce Lahela was her best friend and knew all about her secrets and problems and also everything about her past. And she knew about his.

When she decided to spend her two free weeks in the summer after her intern year back home, in San Francisco, she invited Bryce to go with her. He agreed gladly and while their fourteen days in Chiara’s house, he became incredibly close with both, her mother and her younger sister Alicia.

For Bryce, Diana Ray was a mother he never had. They called each other at least once a week, he would send her postcards from all of his trips and she would send him presents for Christmas and birthday in return.

For Diana, Bryce Lahela was a son she lost six years ago. Chiara’s brother Liam, along with her father died in a car crash and being with Bryce felt like being with her brother again. And she knew that her mum felt the same way. After all those years, she had a ‘young handsome man’ to call, to care for, to be proud of again.

A pang of guilt found its way into Chiara’s chest as she realized that this whole brunch idea was Bryce’s idea and that it might have been an opportunity to roast Ethan for others, but for Bryce, it was exactly what he said it was. It was making sure that his little sister would be taken care of with the man she chose.

It was making sure that this time, Ramsey wouldn’t break her heart and leave.

‘We need to make sure that your intentions with Chiara are absolutely pure.’

He meant it.

taglist: @takemyopenheart @maurine07 @senseofduties @mercury84choices @flightlessbirdiee @udishaman @honeyandsunfl0wers​ @ohchoices​ @adrex04

[snelbz]

Lost Time {19}

Summary: It’s been four years since Azriel ran away from Velaris and left behind everyone he ever loved  — including the girl left standing at the altar. Now, he’s back home, but can he try and pick up the broken pieces of his life, or has there been too much lost time?

@snelbz / @tacmc collab

Lost Time Masterlist

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A/N: Whoops has it been 12 years since I updated this? Yes, it has. Another chapter written with @tacmc. Enjoy!

Elain had made it her mission to give Nesta the best party of her life. She had no idea how many people would actually end up showing up, but Nesta would definitely be feeling the love. 

Her house was decorated to perfection. She had spent the entire morning cooking and baking, and her entire kitchen was loaded up with goodies, which is where she found Azriel, his mouth full of a chocolate cupcake.

When Elain came around the corner, he looked like a child who had been caught doing something his mother had told him specifically not to do.

“Hi,” he said, his mouth full, words muttered. “You look beautiful.”

“And you,” she said, pressing a kiss to his cheek and wiping chocolate icing off his face, “were told to wait until after the guests got here.”

He grabbed her hand and sucked the excess chocolate off her finger but ignored the fire it ignited in her eyes, knowing they didn’t have time to play before everyone arrived. He knew Elain would have washed the icing from her hand, since even the smell of chocolate made her slightly nauseous these days. He couldn’t let that go to waste. “They needed to be taste tested.”

Rolling her eyes, she said, “You’re worse than your son.”

As if on cue, Donovan ran in, dressed in his jeans and plaid shirt, nearly identical to Azriel, and asked, “Mama, can I have some of celery, please?

Azriel raised a dark brow. “Are we sure he’s mine?”

Elain snorted and put a few pieces of celery and a glob of peanut butter on a small plate. “Trust me, your terrible eating habits are nearly the only thing he didn’t inherit from you.”

Novan took the plate and sat down at the table. “Yeah, daddy, terrible eating habits.” 

The way he said habits had Elain laughing. Meanwhile, Azriel looked highly offended. 

The front door was pushed open and Nesta’s voice fluttered through the house. “El, this is beautiful!”

She came around the corner to the living room to find Nesta, teary-eyed, and Cassian standing behind her, shaking his head.

“I told you to get here after all the other guests,” Elain chuckled, looking pointedly at Cassian.

Cassian rolled his eyes. “She couldn’t wait, and she overpowers me.”

Elain sighed and was about to say something when small feet ran from the kitchen. “Uncle Cass!”

“Hey, bud,” he smiled, scooping him up. “You clean up nice.” The compliment was lost on the four-year-old as he replied, “Thank you, I took a bath this morning.”

After a breathy chuckle, Cassian set him down and he hurried over to his aunt. He gently hugged her belly. “Hi, Aunt Nesta. Hi, baby.”

With a fond smile, Nesta ruffled his hair. “Hey, bud. You look nice,” she said, throwing a glance at Cassian, especially when Donvan beamed up at her.

“Thank you! Look!” He ran over to where Azriel had just entered the living room. “Me and daddy are twins!”

The word had Azriel’s eyes finding Elain’s and he smiled softly before picking his son up. When he saw Elain getting misty-eyed, he turned the conversation to the couple before him again. “Did you figure out how to announce the gender yet?

Nesta’s eyes hardened and she turned to glare at Cassian. “I don’t know, Cass, have you decided how to tell your fiancée what we’re having?”

Elain spun and looked at him. “You peeked?”

He was biting his lip. “I peeked.”

“He peeked!” Nesta cried, crossing her arms over her stomach. “And now he won’t tell me. Or anyone, so don’t you dare ask.” She pointed at both Azriel and Elain.

Elain was gaping, and Azriel was just shaking his head. “That’s cruel, taunting a pregnant woman with information she wants to know.” 

“She said she didn’t want to know,” Cassian said, defending himself. “Until I knew, of course.”

His grin only widened as Nesta groaned. “He’s a complete a-.” Her words dropped off as she looked down at Novan. “Meanie,” she finished, after a moment.

Elain shot her a grateful look and said, “Well, you, sit down and relax.” She pointed to the couch and Nesta wisely did as she was told. She turned to Azriel, “Would you mind taking some pictures of…” She trailed off and gestured around the house. “I’m, just, sort of proud of it.”

“You should be,” Azriel said, kissing the top of her head. “Everything looks amazing. Of course I will.” She smiled up at him and he kissed her before turning to Donovan and saying, “I’ll need my assistant though, where’s your camera, bud?”

“In my room!” He was off, running up the stairs on all fours.

Azriel chuckled and followed him.

Finally, Elain pointed at Cassian, “You, follow me, I need to ask you a question.”

His eyebrows rose but he did as she said, following him into the kitchen. Nesta called, “You better not tell her!”

Shaking her head, Elain said, “As much as I’d love to grill you about my niece or nephew, that’s not what I need to ask.”

“Okay,” Cass said, leaning against the counter, eating the last remaining celery stick from Novan’s snack. “What’s up, Lainey?”

“Azriel’s ex came to see me at the shop yesterday,” she admitted.

Cassian’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “Ianthe did?” Elain nodded, gnawing on her lip. He chewed slowly. “She’s got some balls.”

“She didn’t tell me who she was, but that almost unsettles me more,” she admitted. “It made it feel more like a threat than a social visit…”

Cassian was quiet for a moment as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I never met her, but from what Az has mentioned, she does seem pretty...unhinged.” 

The look on Elain’s face fell even more. “You don’t think she’s dangerous…do you?” 

Cassian hesitated, and it was all Elain needed to form an answer. “I couldn’t sleep last night, Cass. She left me so unnerved that I… I don’t know. I’m paranoid.” 

“We already told Az that there’s nothing we can do unless she makes a move,” Cassian said, his voice low. “But, if you’re feeling unsafe, I’ll be sure to have someone hang around here throughout their night patrol. Alright?” 

Elain nodded, but grabbed his wrist as he went to turn back toward the living room. “I don’t want Az worrying because I’m paranoid. You know? Because it’s probably nothing. So, just…keep this between us, yeah?”

Cassian frowned, but he nodded, nonetheless.

It wasn’t long after that guest after guest began to arrive and she heard the telltale sounds of merriment in her living room as they all greeted Nesta. The back door opened and Rhys appeared, carrying a massive tray of cupcakes.

“Fridge?” He asked, inclining his head towards.

Elain shook her head and told him to go ahead and take them into the living room, with the rest of the food. She heard steps on the wooden stairs and then Feyre appeared, carrying Lila.

“Hi! I’m sorry we’re late!” She hugged her sister and said, “Everything looks so good!”

Elain scratched behind the pup’s ear, earning her a happy bark and many attempted, sloppy kisses to the back of her hand. She chuckled and went to the sink to wash her hands before going back to chopping up more veggies.

Excited, little footsteps headed towards them. Donovan appeared and his eyes were as big as his grin. “Lila!”

Feyre smiled and put the pup down, who ran straight to her “cousin”, hopping and ready to play.

“Aunt Feyre, I took some really good pictures of Aunt Nesta’s party. I should take some of Lila,” he announced.

“I think that’s a great idea,” Feyre beamed, kissing the top of her nephew’s head. “Show me your favorite one and I’ll get it framed and hang it on my wall at home. Sounds good?” 

Novan’s eyes lit up. “Yes! C’mon Lila!” 

He excitedly disappeared around the corner, Lila just behind him.

“They make a good team,” Elain said, as she watched them go, fondly. “Don’t blink, Novan will try to hide her here so that you won’t take her back home.”

Feyre chuckled. “Oh, good, maybe he can potty train her, too.”

Elain laughed and closed her eyes, resting a hand on her stomach. She sighed dramatically. “Oh god, I’m going to have to go through potty training all over again.”

Feyre chuckled and said, “At least you have Az to clean up the bad ones this time.”

Elain tossed her head back and laughed. “Thank the Cauldron.”

Feyre helped her carry the veggie tray into the living room and Elain began playing host. She kept catching Azriel’s eye from across the room. The smile on his face, the secret the two of them kept, had Elain’s heart so full, she had to look away before her own smile was too telling to those around them. She kept checking on everyone, asking if they needed anything, until she felt slim fingers wrap around her wrist and tug her down on the couch.

Nesta said, “Sit with me. You’ve done more than enough today.”

Elain just rolled her eyes. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“No, you’re pregnant, and I am also pregnant, which means I know you’re exhausted,” Nesta said, laughing quietly. “Please? We’ll do gifts or something.”

Elain looked around hesitantly, but eventually sighed. “Okay, alright. Az?” She caught his eye across the room, where he had Novan on his shoulders and Lila propped up on his legs, wagging her tail. “Mind helping hand gifts?”

His smile was soft. “Of course.”

Elain got the room hushed down as she begrudgingly took a seat next to Nesta on the couch, Feyre on her other side with a notepad, ready to keep track of gifts for thank you notes.

One by one, Azriel gave gifts to Novan, who brought them to Nesta. Elain’s heart was so full. Her entire family there with her, Nesta happy and nearing the end of her pregnancy.

After Nesta had opened an entire nursery worth of gifts and had cried an insane amount, most of the guests had left and everyone was relaxing. The three sisters were sitting on the couch, discussing nursery colors when Cassian brought the three of them each a cupcake. Feyre immediately unwrapped hers and took a bite, as did Elain. Nesta just continued to explain the theme of the nursery they’d begun a few days before.

“Nes,” Cassian laughed, interrupting her as she debated the merits of having the changing table by the door or by the crib and she looked at him.

She asked, “What?”

He shook his head. “Eat your cupcake.”

“Not right now, I’m not hungry,” she said, turning back to her sisters.

“Take a bite of your damn cupcake, woman,” he chuckled.

She glared at him and unwrapped the cupcake without looking at him, and took a bite. Mouth still full, she asked, “Happy?”

He was shaking his head and laughing and Elain realized she heard a camera shutter just as Donovan asked, “Why does Aunt Nesta get a pink cupcake?”

Nesta froze, her eyes slowly trailing down to the cupcake in her hand as she swallowed the food in her mouth. Sure enough, the inside of her cupcake was pink.

“It’s pink,” she breathed, looking up to meet Cassian’s humored gaze.

He nodded, his smile widening. “It’s pink.”

A joyful sob left her mouth as she stood and made her way across the few feet of space that led her to her fiancé. She wrapped her arms around him as Miryam lifted Novan in the air and spun him around, making him giggle. 

Elain found Azriel’s gaze from the other side of the almost-parents and smiled, softly. 

“A girl,” Nesta cried.

“A girl,” Cassian agreed, brushing the hair out of her eyes.

Elain, pregnant and emotional, reached for a tissue on the side table. On the other side of the room, Novan tugged on Azriel’s hand. “Aunt Nes is having a girl baby?”

Azriel picked him up and stepped off to the side. Miryam was hugging Cassian, who had never looked more proud. “She is, buddy.” He frowned and crossed his arms, and Azriel couldn’t help but chuckle. “What is it?”

“I can’t play with a girl baby,” he pouted. “I wanted it to be a boy.”

Azriel smiles and kissed the top of his head. “I’m sure you did, but I promise having a girl cousin will be fun, too.”

He nodded, but the frown and subsequent line between his brows stayed. They watched the scene unfolding before them and Donovan rested his head on Azriel’s shoulder as he yawned.

“Looks like it’s just about nap time for somebody,” he said, singing the words.

Donovan shook his head, but asked, “When is she going to be here?”

He explained, “It’ll be a little bit longer. She’s not ready to come out yet.”

Nodding, he yawned and asked, “Will she be here before or after mama’s baby?”

He gently swayed, saying, “Before. Mama’s baby will be here around Halloween.”

“Spooky baby,” he mumbled and Azriel chuckled.

He repeated, “Spooky baby.”

After one more yawn, he asked, “Can mama have a boy, please?”

Azriel chuckled as he started with Novan up the stairs. “That’s kind of out of our control, buddy.” 

“Why?” He asked, quietly, his eyes starting to close on Azriel’s shoulder.

Azriel sighed, trying to think of the best way to explain the ways of the world to a four year old. Getting him to understand that babies grow in mommies tummies without getting too detailed was difficult enough. “Just because,” he said, at last.

Thankfully, he had taken long enough to reply, because Donovan was too sleepy to reply. His little arms had snaked around Azriel’s neck as they walked to his bedroom, and Azriel didn’t bother with more comfortable clothes as he laid Novan down and tucked him in. He was asleep before Azriel even left the room, softly shutting the door behind him.

—————

It had been a week since the Ianthe incident when Azriel got a call from an old friend in the photography business. The conversation was innocent enough, a discussion on different lenses and the best location for a subject in front of the sun.

“Alright, I’ll talk to you later, thanks, man,” she’d said before hanging up. “Oh, and by the way, congrats. I’ve heard you have a kid on the way. That’s awesome.”

He chuckled and said, “Thanks. Yeah, it was kind of a shock.”

He and Elain had been walking on air the past few days. They were having a family dinner tonight, after Elain went to her check up. She was a couple days shy of sixteen weeks and the family knew there would be new ultrasound pictures to ogle over.

“Yeah, to all of us, too,” Nuala had said. “We didn’t even think you and Ianthe were still together.”

It was a good thing Azriel wasn’t driving or he would have crashed without a doubt. Nuala said something else, but Azriel interrupted her and asked, “Did you say Ianthe?”

“Yeah, it’s all over her Facebook.” He could hear the unease in his friend's voice. “Why?”

“I gotta go, Nu,” he said, breathlessly, not waiting for her reply before hanging up and opening the browser on his laptop. A quick search had him on her page and all he could do was stare.

She had an ultrasound picture as her cover photo. Elain’s ultrasound photo.

He stared in shock, unable to process what he was seeing. He grew nauseous, and purely panicked. Aside from wondering how the hell Ianthe got those pictures, he wondered what other lies she was spewing across social media.

He scrolled down, each post making his heart beat faster and the need to puke stronger.

Every day, she had updated her status, sharing with the world her journey to motherhood.

Azriel was calling Rhysand before he could think twice. 

“Hey, I’m about to head into a meeting-.”

“Ianthe is making the world believe that she's pregnant with my kid.” The words rushed out of Azriel, and he didn’t take a breath as he continued, “She somehow got Elain’s ultrasound pictures and is posting them all over the internet.”

Azriel was greeted with silence, then a low, “Fuck.”

He could hear the typing of Rhysand’s keyboard and then a low whistle. “Elain at work?”

“Yeah, I just talked to her not long ago, everything was fine. She hasn’t mentioned seeing Ianthe again. Neither have I.”

The clicking of his keyboard continued and he said, “I’ve reported the posts, but you know as well as I do that she can just repost them. I can write out a cease-and-desist letter if you want, but-.”

Azriel was shaking his head, regardless of the fact that his brother couldn’t see it. “No, that’s exactly what she wants. She wants to know she’s getting a rise out of me.”

Rhys sighed and said, “I know.”

“Don’t tell Elain about this, please.”

The line was silent for a minute and Rhysand finally started, “Az-.”

“No, promise me you won’t tell her,” he said, interrupting him. “She’s already freaked out as it is, even though she doesn’t want me to know. I can see it. She’s barely been sleeping, and in her condition…” Azriel sighed and let his head hang. “I’ll handle it, I’ll deal with Ianthe. Just don’t mention this to Elain or Feyre.”

Rhysand groaned, and even though he didn’t approve of the request, he said, “Fine. Let me know if Ianthe tries anything else.”

Azriel stared back at the ultrasound picture on the model’s profile as he said, “I will. Thanks.”

Rhysand hung up and Azriel’s nerves went haywire. He was caught between the thought of wanting to track down Ianthe and shake some sense into her and wanting to go to Elain to make sure Ianthe didn’t make anymore appearances. If he tracked down Ianthe, though, she would know her plan was working, which would only inspire her more. And if he went to Elain, she would only grow more nervous and paranoid, which wasn’t good for her or the life inside of her. 

Azriel needed a drink.

Or a smoke. 

Or to pack up his family and take a vacation.

Currently, none of those were an option. He glanced over his shoulder to where Donovan had fallen asleep on the couch watching Power Rangers. It was close enough to his nap time that Azriel hadn’t bothered to wake him, just letting his son get some much needed sleep. He smiled softly, and turned back to his laptop, closing Ianthe’s profile and turning his attention back to the photo editor he’d been using.

True to his word, Donovan had taken tons of pictures of Lila, around three hundred to be exact. Most were of a vague black blur surrounded by rich hardwood or soft grass, but there were a few that actually turned out that he could work with. 

Azriel wanted the best for his son, he wanted him to know that he could do anything he dreamed of, even at four-years-old.

An hour later, he had three images edited to perfection, ready to print.

He woke up a sleepy Novan and packed him up in the truck, heading to a local print shop. It just happened to be across the square from the antique shop. After handing the printer a thumb drive, they told him the prints would be ready in a little under an hour, right about the time they’d be leaving for Miryam’s for a family dinner.

Donovan was a ball of excitement, so ready to see his first job, he continually called it.

Leaving the shop, Azriel eyed the antique shop’s store front. “Want to go see mama while we wait?”

“Yes!” He replied, without any hesitation. 

Azriel took his hand and they crossed the street, Novan a rested ball of energy. The moment the door opened and the bell chimed, Novan was yelling, “Mama!”

Elain came around the corner, a hand on her stomach as Novan ran toward her and threw his little arms around her waist. She raised her brows, laughing as she looked up at Azriel. “My two favorite boys, what a nice surprise!”

“Me and daddy are getting pictures made,” Novan said, smiling brightly. “One for Aunt Feyre, and one for our house!” 

“Is that so?” Elain asked, impressed. “Well, I can’t wait to see them.”

Azriel had just reached her, moving much slower than his toddler. When he kissed his wife, softly, Novan was covering his eyes. “Gross.”

Azriel snorted as he ruffled Novan’s hair. He looked at Elain, letting his fingers dance over her belly. “How did everything go today?”

She chuckled and ran a loving hand over her stomach. “It’s definitely getting cramped in there, that’s for sure. But all good. I go back in two weeks.”

Azriel released a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. “Good. I’ll be there this time, I promise.” He kissed her again. “When can you close up? The prints will be done around five-thirty and I figured we could all ride to mom’s in one car, rather than two.”

She chuckled and looking down at her son, who was resting his chin on her growing stomach, gazing up at her. She picked him up, seeing the look on Azriel’s face, and shot him one that said I dare you to say something. He, wisely, did not.

Elain turned and headed back to the office. “I just finished up with inventory. I need to touch up this piece and then we can head out. But can you do me a favor, please?”

She sat Donovan down and he ran off to play around the store, before she turned to Az.

“Of course,” he said, leaning against the doorway.

She wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his chest. “Please go get me a decaf coffee. I know I can’t have caffeine, but I think I can trick my body into thinking it’s getting it.”

Azriel chuckled, softly, and pressed his lips to the top of her head. “Of course. Novan, you wanna come with me or stay with mama?”

“Stay with mama!” He was currently sitting upside down in a refurbished chair, so Azriel wasn’t going to argue with that.

“Okay,” he breathed, smiling at Elain. “I’ll be right back.”

She nodded, watching him go as he made his way back through the shop. There was a little coffee house just across the street, and after looking both ways, he hurried across the pavement, onto the sidewalk, and through the double doors. A cool blast of air hit him as he stood in line, waiting to order a simple large, decaf coffee.

The thought of Elain tricking her own self into drinking something with caffeine had him laughing where he stood. Gods, he loved that woman.

He ordered a coffee for himself, a frozen hot chocolate for Novan and Elain’s decaf and stepped to the side. He was scrolling through his emails when he froze.

“Funny. You never drank decaf before.”

Her voice had him on red alert and he’d spun to face her before she’d even finished speaking.

Her turquoise eyes sparkled as she cooed, “Hi, Azzie. Did you miss me?”

He couldn’t speak, didn’t know how to speak as he took in Ianthe standing in front of him. And how she was cradling her stomach.

Snapping out of it, he grabbed her by the wrist, not nearly as gentle as he should have, seeing as they were in public, and dragged her to the corner. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Her face was the picture of innocence. “What do you mean?”

“This!” He said, his voice raising slightly. “All of this. Coming to Velaris, scaring the shit out of my wife, pretending you’re having my baby? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He had the vague notion of someone calling his name, knew that his order was ready and he should leave, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

She was smiling and that was the scariest part of it all.

“Leave my family alone,” he seethed, finally dropping her wrist. He backed up toward the counter. “Don’t talk to me or my wife, and don’t you dare think about doing anything to my kids. Go home, Ianthe.”

She said nothing as he backed away, but that sly smile on her lips remained. 

It sent chills down his spine.

He forced himself to turn away, forced himself to take the drinks off the counter, and forced himself not to look back at her as he exited the shop. Everything felt wrong, every last ounce of comfort he had been clinging to have vanished.

She was crazy.

Actually insane.

And he knew for a fact that his words had meant nothing to her.

Azriel tried to look calm as he re-entered the antique store, finding Novan bouncing up and down as Elain painted an old vanity.

“Decaf for my wife, and chocolatey goodness for little man,” Azriel announced, forcing himself to sound chipper.

Novan was instantly on his feet, reaching for his drink with a thank you, daddy.

Elain took the coffee and put it to her lips, scalding hot or not, and murmured, “This will give me energy. This will give me energy. This will give me energy.”

Az chuckled quietly and pressed a kiss to the top of her head before heading into her office and sitting down at her desk. He dropped his head in his hands and sighed. He knew he needed to tell Elain, but now was not the time. He’d tell her tonight, when they got home, after Donovan was asleep, after spending the evening with their family.

His phone rang, and it snapped him out of the downward spiral his thoughts were taking. After answering and finding out the prints were finished, he took a deep breath and made his way back into the store front.

He pressed a kiss to Elain’s head and said, “I’m going across the street to grab his pictures. Want to finish up and pick me up over there?”

She nodded and asked, “You want to leave your truck here and take my car?”

“It’ll save room at mom’s,” he said and nodded.

“Okay, give me five minutes.” She stood and kissed him and he was on his way.

He took Donovan’s hand and brought him with him across the street to pick up the prints. When Elain pulled up just over five minutes later, Azriel and Novan were sitting together on a bench outside of the storefront, looking at the two massive prints of Lila they had ordered.

Novan’s joyous laughter as he took in his work was a sound that Azriel would remember for the rest of his life.

“I’ll bring them to get them framed and then we’ll hang it up, okay?”

Novan nodded, excitedly. “Can we give Aunt Feyre hers at Meme’s? I really, really want to!”

Azriel laughed as Elain rolled down the window. “Of course.”

“Mama!” Novan yelled, jumping up from the bench and pointed at the print in Azriel’s hands. “Look! My picture!” 

Elain’s reaction was equivalent to someone admiring an ancient, prized masterpiece, which had Novan beaming.

Once they were in the car, Novan was going on and on about his picture, about how Aunt Feyre was going to love it, and how he was a photographer just like his daddy. Azriel thought his heart was going to burst.

“Can I see them?” He asked, and Elain smiled as she handed Azriel the two small, black and white images. He gazed at them, finally able to see a baby in each the pictures, rather than just a blurry blob. He didn’t realize he was crying until Elain took his hand over the middle console. He cleared his throat and whispered, “Wow.”

He couldn’t think of any other words to explain what he was looking at, how happy he was. Elain agreed, though, smiling and glancing at him. “Wow.”

Pulling into the driveway, Novan was bouncing in his seat, begging Azriel to get him out as soon as Elain had parked the car. After safely tucking the ultrasounds away in Elain’s purse, he did just that and Donovan was up the stairs and in the house before Az and Elain had time to laugh. He started for the porch step, but Elain grabbed his hand.

“Are you okay?” She asked, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “You seem off, baby.”

He’d tried his hardest to act normal, not to let Ianthe’s appearance affect him, but Elain knew him inside and out. She knew him better than he knew himself, so of course, she’d notice.

Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he said, “I’m fine. Just…got a lot on my mind.”

She nodded, completely understanding. “Well, come on. Let’s take some time to not think about anything but our family.”

His smile was genuine when he took her hand in his and led him up the stairs, and into the backdoor. They were all there, already, everyone circled around Novan, praising his camera skills and the picture of Lila.

“I’m going to hang mine right in the entryway so that everyone who comes to my house will see it the moment they walk through the door,” Feyre promised. 

“It’s just what we needed,” Rhysand agreed, with a wink. 

“Now I’m a photographer, like daddy,” Novan said, turning to smile at his parents. 

“Yes you are,” Miryam promised, as she wrapped Azriel into a hug, then Elain. “Everybody hungry? The tables all set and ready.”

“Yes, please,” Elain said, sighing as she rubbed a hand over her stomach.

“Before we eat, though, I need to see the new pictures!” Feyre called, Nesta agreeing as they went into the dining room.

Elain laughed as she pulled the little envelope out of her purse and set the bag on the counter before wrapping an arm around Azriel’s waist and walking with him through the threshold of the dining room.

She handed one of the pictures to Miryam and the other to Feyre and then stepped back to wait with Azriel. Rhys asked, “No gender yet?”

She shook her head. “We’re waiting until twenty weeks. I’m not dealing with another color swap fiasco.”

Elain’s very first nurse had jumped the gun and told her Donovan was going to be a girl. Naturally, so did Feyre and Nesta, and Elain had a nursery full of frilly, pink sparkles.

And then a month later, she’d found out she was having a boy.

Feyre handed the ultrasound to Nesta, who was already crying, and she looked at it with a hand over her mouth.

Cassian chuckled and pressed a kiss to her head and looked at the ultrasound in her hand and then to the one Miryam had just handed him. His eyes narrowed and he looked back and forth between the two.

“Wait,” he began, scooting closer to Nesta. “Why does mine say baby B, and hers says baby A?”

All conversation stopped as everyone looked to Cassian, where he was still looking back and forth between the two pictures. Nesta’s mouth had fallen open, Miryam’s hands had flown up to cover her mouth, but it was Feyre who was smiling brightly up at Elain, whispering, “Twins?”

Elain fell into Azriel’s side, her laughter contagious as she announced, “We’re having twins.”

“Twins?” Novan repeated, as everyone around him celebrated. “What’s twins?”

Miryam picked him up and sat him in her lap as Cassian handed her the two ultrasound images. Nesta was already crying with Elain in her arms and Feyre was hugging Azriel. Miryam set the two images on the table and said, “These are two different babies, but they’re both in mama’s tummy.”

His eyes went wide, “I get two babies?”

He’d begun to refer to the baby as his baby, and Elain thought her heart would explode every time.

“You get two babies, buddy,” she said, tears shimmering on her face.

Novan’s awed expression turned into utter excitement. “Two babies! Two brothers!”

Azriel hesitated, but Elain just laughed. “We’ll have to see, buddy. We don’t know if it’s brothers or sisters yet in there.”

Novan was quick on his feet, standing in front of Elain and pressing his cheek to her belly. “Please, someone in there be a brother.”

Everyone laughed, but Elain just ruffled his dark, messy hair. “Even if they’re both sisters, you’re going to be a good big brother to these two babies, buddy.”

He looked up at his parents and smiled. “I’ll be the best big brother in the world.”

[keanureevesisbae]

Protection - Chapter 2

Summary: August might’ve made a pretty bad impression on Mia, however, will she help him when he has a slight problem?  

August Walker x Mia Makaruku (ofc)

Wordcount: 3.5k

Warnings: None

Masterlist // Previous chapter // Next chapter

The next morning I finally decide to do the smart thing: I get up at seven in the morning, to clean my apartment, start prepping some meals and work through the piles of laundry I have neglected these past few days.

Okay, I didn’t necessarily do that because I decided to be a productive woman for once and try to get most out of my day, but it is mostly because I couldn’t sleep anymore. I have been having nightmares since I can remember, which is probably since the fatal car crash that killed not only my parents, but also my brothers.

At least, that is what I’m told.

I remember crashing, I remember being out of the car and waiting for the emergency services, but I don’t remember my family maybe running away, their bodies being dragged away from me. They could be anywhere, really.

Dead or alive.

But ever since that crash, I have nightmares. Sometimes there is a loud crash or a fire I can’t escape or I’m drowning.

Usually I wake up at least once—but mostly twice—in the middle of the night, but last night I slept through. That seems nice, but I was woken up abruptly, since it felt like I was falling off a building.

While I’m putting the salad in the containers and I place them neatly in the fridge, I hear someone knocking on my door. This early? What idiot is up already and wants to bother me? I walk to the door and once I open it, a nasty surprise awaits me.

‘What do you want?’ I ask the one and only August Walker. After yesterday, I have decided that I don’t want to be his friendly neighbor. He hurt me feelings and doesn’t deserve anymore of my kindness.

‘My heater is broken,’ he simply announces.

And for that he knocks on my door? ‘Sucks to be you,’ I tell him.

‘I only have one blanket and my other clothes are coming in later this morning, just as the mechanic.’

I’m flabbergasted to say the least. ‘And you are sharing this information with me, because…?’ I know damn well why he is sharing this with me, but I’m not that easy.

August sighs, visibly annoyed. ‘Because I was hoping I could stay here with you for a while.’

I bark out a laugh. ‘Are you kidding me? After what you said to me yesterday, you honestly think I would let you in my apartment? I would be bat shit crazy if I did that. You insulted me, August.’

‘I barely insulted you.’

He has some nerves. ‘You said you hated women’s soccer to a professional female soccer player.’ I give him a do I need to explain any further-look.

‘You told me my moustache made me look like a pedophile.’

I cock an eyebrow. ‘That was only after you insulted me. Had you never been mean to me, I would’ve kept it to myself. But that is beyond the point, really. The real question is: why are you bothering me?’

He clenches his jaw. He probably thought that with his brooding look and broad build, he could intimidate me into letting him in my house. Well, he thought wrong. ‘I just want to stay here for a few hours, till eleven. I won’t bother you, I promise, but I’m really cold.’

I lean against the doorframe, as I check my watch. ‘That is three hours,’ I tell him. ‘I can barely deal with you for three minutes, let alone three hours. The answer is no. Just fuck off, will you?’

August wants to hold back a laugh, but fails miserably. ‘You sure mean that,’ he chuckles. I know I shouldn’t think like this, but he looks actually very friendly when he laughs, even if he is laughing at me. ‘Listen, I might’ve made a bad impression on you yesterday.’

‘You might’ve? Goodness gracious, do you have any self reflection? You definitely made a bad impression.’

He sighs, but almost has something from a growl. ‘It’s a few hours, Mia. What’s the big deal?’

What’s the big deal? This man has got quite some guts, it’s almost admirable. ‘Well,’ I say, incapable of saying no to him, ‘if I can get an apology, you can stay here. Saying sorry is not that hard, even you can do it.’

‘I don’t do apologies.’

Of course he doesn’t. I’m not even surprised. ‘And I don’t give shelter to my shitty neighbors, even if it’s only for three hours. Goodbye August. Please, freeze to death.’

I want to close the door, but he simply places his hand on the flat surface. Fuck, he is strong, those arms certainly are not lying. The battle August Walker vs Mia Makaruku is a quick one and not in my favor, I can tell you that. ‘I don’t want to freeze to death, so I’m gonna say this one time and one time only, so you better listen carefully: I’m sorry I was rude.’

I smile. ‘See, it wasn’t that hard. I also liked it that you really sincerely apologized, meaning in from the bottom of your heart.’

I know I’m pushing the limits here. August glares at me, but even through the death glare he is sending me, I can actually see some humanity in his light orbs. I actually feel a bit sorry for him. I know, that surprises me too.

‘Come on. Just don’t bother me too much and the second the mechanic is here, I want you out of my apartment.’

‘Doable.’ I have barely stepped aside, when he barges into my apartment. He has the audacity to plop on my couch, grab the remote and turn on the television.

‘Yes August, please make yourself at home. Do you want a coffee with that? Some homemade chocolate croissants? A fucking massage?’ I slam the door shut and when I look at him, I notice the smug smile on his face because of my offers. I let out a growl. ‘Don’t even think about it.’

Unbeknownst of the company, Bobo trots into the room. When his eyes land on the stranger on the couch, he arches his back with his hackles raised and hisses. I’m glad to know my furry companion thinks just as lowly of the—sort of—uninvited guest as I do. ‘I’m not a big fan of cates,’ August notes.

‘I’m almost assuming this is your first time you’re over at someones place,’ I say. ‘You sure know how to not behave yourself. If you don’t like him, go back to your own place.’

‘Okay, okay, I’ll stop. What do I do if he comes near me?’ August looks up at me. ‘Do I just hiss back?’

Thankfully I can manage to keep a straight face. ‘That’s an option,’ I tell him, as I walk back to my kitchen. Do I hiss back? It’s nearly endearing, especially since it’s coming from a tough looking guy like August Walker. I prepare my coffee machine and ask: ‘Do you want some coffee?’ While I don’t necessarily want him here, I might make most out of it. Besides, I can’t possibly imagine someone is as rude as him without a reason.

Maybe he had a shitty youth. I mean, I encountered my fair share of foster siblings and some of them were rude as hell, but when I learned about their family situation, prior to this foster home, I realized they had every reason to act like they did. While my coping mechanism is to charm my ass off and make a good impression on everyone (and I mean literally everyone), August’s way to dealing with his trauma’s can be to push people away. However, I do think he desperately wants to make a connection. Despite not totally getting it, he did come to me when his heater broke, so that must mean I’m maybe the only one who is trying to be nice to him? Give him a chance, while he might not deserve it?

Right?

‘Sure,’ August says, while keeping a close eye on Bobo, who stares at him with his back still arched. ‘What’s the cat’s name?’

‘Bobo,’ I answer him. ‘I got him from the shelter. Fun story: I was actually looking to adopt a dog, but when I walked passed Bobo’s cage, I couldn’t say no to him. Like it was an instant click between us.’

August doesn’t say anything, so apparently he doesn’t agree on this being a fun story. While the coffee is running, I walk back to the living room, but as I pass a mirror, I manage to hold in my gasp.

I look like crap! I’m still wearing my flannel pajamas that are actually three sizes too large for me and I actually don’t think I can call this frizzy mess on my head, hair. I also have not put on any moisturizer yet and it shows.

To kind of make myself a bit more presentable, I twist my hair in a bun, to sort of contain it.

Yesterday I looked pretty put together. Today I look like an utter mess. I can barely blame August for not taking me seriously. I plop on the seat and Bobo jumps on the armrest. The orange cat sits down, but continues to take August in.

‘The staring is making me uncomfortable,’ August mentions.

‘You seem so tough, but looks can be very deceiving,’ I chuckle.

‘That’s not funny.’

‘It’s hilarious, you should grow a sense of humor,’ I retort. ‘Okay, tell me something fun about yourself.’

August frowns. ‘Why on earth would I do that?’

‘Because I’m providing you shelter,’ I say. ‘Honestly, it’s the least you can do. Tell me something fun. There must be something fun about you.’

‘You have to give me more than that,’ he mutters. ‘I don’t like talking about myself and I certainly can’t do it on the spot.’

Okay, that’s fair, I can’t do that either. ‘From where did you move here?’

August lets out a deep breath, as I watch him caressing his own thigh. It almost looks like he is soothing himself. Is this question making him uncomfortable? ‘Montana,’ he says, but it’s not very convincing. Hearing from his tone, he doesn’t want to talk about it.

‘You want a pet?’ I continue trying to strike up a conversation. I don’t want to stare at him for three hours (not that I would complain about it, because the view is pretty okay, it’s just slightly weird) and I need him to talk, because otherwise I have to kick him out.

‘I’m not a big fan of animals. As a matter of fact, I don’t even like animals.’

‘That’s really sad,’ I say, as I scratch Bobo behind his ears, earning me some load purring. ‘Animals are very nice and you always have someone to cuddle with. Or doesn’t August Walker like cuddles either?’

He looks over at me, not amused. ‘Do we have to talk?’ he asks, expertly avoiding my question, sarcastic or not.

‘Yes, we do. If you don’t want to talk, ask me something and at least pretend to listen when I do so.’

August cocks an eyebrow, before he thinks about it for a while. ‘Are you ever afraid of life?’

‘Geez,’ I exclaim, ‘way to make it this depressing in the morning!’

He simply shrugs. ‘You wanted me to ask you something.’

I sink deeper into the backrest of my soft one person sofa. The question does make me think. I’d like to surround myself with positivity, ignoring the bad things happening in the world and not think about the darker aspects in life. I know that is not very healthy and you should be aware of the things happening around you, but it has helped me through tough times in life.

But when I think about it, about the uglier side of life, I realize one thing. ‘I am afraid of life,’ I say.

‘Why?’ he asks.

‘Because it can be scary sometimes. Unpredictable.’ The sounds of screeching tires, a loud crash and the car tumbling over all flashes through my mind. ‘It can be painful.’ Realizing how upsetting this all sounds, I grab a pillow from behind me and throw it to August. ‘Why are you so damn miserable?’ I ask him. ‘We should start the day on a happy note, not make it this depressing.’

August breaks out in a smile and when he does so, he looks approachable. Not like my shitty and rude neighbor, but like a nice guy. ‘Well, your questions were too generic.’

‘Yours are too depressing.’

For a few seconds we simply look at each other, before we both burst out in laughter. It’s nice to see August Walker like this. He doesn’t look stuffy anymore and he lost the arrogant glow. ‘Well, while you think of more lighter questions, I’ll get the coffee. You want milk or sugar in it?’

‘No, just black will do.’

I walk to the kitchen, pour in the coffee in two bright red mugs and hand him one. ‘There you go,’ I say to him.

He simply takes it out of my hand, but I continue to hold it. ‘What are you doing?’

‘One usually says thank you when he or she receives something from someone.’ I remember it clearly, when one of my first foster parents taught me some lessons in being polite. Back then it was said in a loving way. Now I recreate the entire scene in more of a mocking tone.

August rolls his eyes, exactly as I expected him to do. ‘Thank you,’ he grumbles. ‘You happy now?’

‘Absolutely delighted.’

◎ ◎ ◎

At eleven ‘o clock sharp, August left because the mechanic arrived. Not long after that, I had to go to practice. Because of the presence of my neighbor the entire morning, I actually forgot about having to train with Tristan on the side of the field. I wondered what on earth I did to displease coach Riley. Okay, I know she does this because it is for my own good, but for fuck’s sake, I have never felt so humiliated in my time I’ve trained with the Red Stars.

Thankfully the awful training finally ended and at around five in the late afternoon, I’m back at my apartment building. When the doors slid open, I see Harold standing behind the reception as usual. I glide through the hallway and manage to stop right in front of him on the other side of the desk. ‘Hello Harold,’ I say to him.

‘Hello miss Mia,’ he says to me, as he places his under arms on the flat surface of his desk. ‘You seem awfully cheery today. I thought you had to take it easy today during training.’

Am I cheery? My teammates said this to me as well today, before I remembered I had to train on the side of the field and now Harold mentions it too? I don’t really know why I would be— Oh no! Does this mean what I think it means?

Did I enjoy August’s company this morning?

Well, to be honest, it was actually quite nice from time to time. I have been spending most of my time alone in my apartment (actually all the time). I mean, I love my teammates and we hang out after practice sometimes, but they have their own lives, their own families.

I don’t want to intrude, though they invite me from time to time. It’s more that I’m scared to join them. What if they only ask me to join them, because they want to be nice and polite?

After we talked for a while this morning, August and I, we spend some time watching television. It was almost as if we were alone together and that felt quite nice.

‘Just woke up in a cheery mode,’ I say, though it’s not exactly the truth. ‘Is there any mail for me?’

He shakes his head. ‘No, miss.’

‘For my new neighbor then?’

Harold shakes his head again. ‘How is he anyways? Heard about his heater being broken.’

I smile. ‘Well, he quite nice actually. Bit stuffy, like you said, but once you get to know him, he can be nice from time to time.’

‘Is that why you are cheery?’ he asks.

‘What?’ I exclaim. How did Harold guess that right away? Yes! ‘No, what on earth would give you that impression?’

Harold tries to keep a straight face, but he fails and I realize I’ve been caught red handed. ‘Well, miss Mia,’ he says, thankfully not adding any fuel to this disastrous situation, ‘I’m glad to know that you manage to make even him likable. You are a very special lady.’

‘Right,’ I say, after I cleared my throat. ‘I’m gonna go. See you later, Harold.’

He chuckles. ‘Later, miss.’

When I step out on the right floor, I let out a deep sigh. Is it true? Am I cheery because of August Walker? Who would’ve guessed. When I pass his door and I fumble with my keys, I hear a door open. I look to my side and see August stepping into the hallway.

‘Good afternoon, neighbor,’ I say to him. ‘How are you?’

He doesn’t smile and the nice August I saw every so often this morning, has disappeared into thin air. While I want to be annoyed by it, I can’t help but notice to see the slight pain in his eyes. I saw it this morning and I see it now. From the looks of it, he is hurting and I relate. I know how it feels.

But what I also know is that deep down there is a lovely soul, it’s just protected by a very thick wall.

‘Good afternoon,’ he hums. ‘I realized I took this from you.’ He holds out the red mug I handed to him three times this morning. This man gulps down coffee as if it is water and for a second I was genuinely concerned he would have a caffeine overdose.

He seems to have managed just fine.

‘Oh, thank you,’ I say as I take it from him when he stepped closer to me. ‘I probably wouldn’t have missed it. I have way too many mugs, but thanks anyways.’

The way August is hot and cold within a matter of seconds, is something I should put up with from now on. I have decided to give this man with some pretty poor social skills the benefit of the doubt. Besides, I actually quite enjoy having him around.

No wonder I was cheery today.

August buries his hands in his pockets and is probably waiting for me to say something.

‘Your heater fixed?’ I ask.

He simply nods. ‘Yes, all good now.’

Is he waiting again for me to say something? This man… Before I can even think about the pros and cons of my very impulsive idea, I ask him: ‘Do you have plans tomorrow night?’

‘I don’t,’ he says, before he frowns. 'Why?’

‘I have two tickets for a Bulls game.’

He looks confused. ‘A what game?’

‘Bulls game. Chicago Bulls. Basketball,’ I clarify. ‘I mean, you can go with me if you want.’

‘And why would I want to do that?’

‘Because I’m the loveliest neighbor and human being for that matter, you have ever encountered in your life and you desperately want to spend more time with me.’

August doesn’t smile. Maybe he is conflicted, because he occasionally let his guard down this morning.

And maybe this question is way too much. I don’t really understand I was questioning his social skills this morning, while I’m out here overstepping all sorts of boundaries.

‘Sure,’ he however says to my surprise. ‘I can’t really think of worse things to do tomorrow.’

‘You’re such an asshole,’ I tell him. ‘You were quite nice this morning in my apartment.  What changed?’ I don’t give him time to answer. ‘Oh wait, I think I get it. It’s this hallway that turns you into a complete asshole.’

‘You can still un-invite me,’ he says, with an amused glimmer in his eyes.

‘I can do that of course, however believe it or not, I barely have friends and the few I have, all have their own social circles and don’t like to go to Bulls games.’

‘Then why did you purchase two tickets?’

‘Because it was cheaper to buy two tickets and I’d like to live up to the stereotype that the Dutch are stingy cheapskates.’

‘I can tell you, Mia, it’s working,’ he says. ‘Someone without friends who want to go to Bulls games with her, purchases two tickets, simply because it’s cheaper.’

I stick out my tongue. ‘Well, whatever. It starts tomorrow at six and it’s within walking distance from here. You have time?’

‘I sure do.’

‘And you still want to go with me?’

He nods.

‘Well, see you tomorrow then, August.’

He looks at me, a long and intense stare, before he says: ‘See you tomorrow, Mia.’

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

Breakable Heaven (pt. I) - p.l. dubois

As promised, here’s the first part of Breakable Heaven! I’m really excited for this one, there’s so many things I can’t wait for you all to read. This chapter is more setup and background, but I promise it’s all worth it! I’d love it if you reblogged (helps me know people like my work!) or pop into my inbox and let me know what you think! I read all the tags :)

part I part ii part iii part iv

June 4 (thurs)

Laurel clipped her pager back onto her scrubs, leaning over the counter of the nurses’ station. “You ready to go grab lunch?” She had just finished changing the bandages and administering pain medication for a little boy who was recovering from a heart surgery, and was looking forward to getting off her feet for a few minutes. The PICU floor was quiet, only about half of the rooms being filled, and there were no pressing matters that required her attention. If something drastic changed in the next half an hour, she always had her pager. 

Madeline looked up from her chair, where she was finishing up filling in a patient’s chart. “Sounds good,” she said, letting their charge nurse know that they were headed down. Madeline Peltier had been one of the first people to introduce themselves to Laurel when she started; having only been on the unit for two weeks herself, she was still getting a handle on the reins and was more than willing to show Laurel around. 

Madeline was also one of the few on the floor who was just as comfortable in English as she was in French. French had been Laurel’s foreign language through college, but she was made rudely aware upon her move to Montréal that the pronunciation and slang of Canadian French was very different from the Standard French of Madame Anderson’s rural Minnesota classroom. Her grasp of the language was good enough to take the Québec nursing licensure exam — which wasn’t even offered in English — but the spoken dialect was proving much more difficult to pick up. They walked down to the cafeteria, on the second floor, grabbing some sandwiches before swiping their ID badges for the employee discount. 

“I still think they should give us free food,” Madeline said moodily, unscrewing her water bottle and taking a sip. 

Laurel laughed. “When hell freezes over, maybe. Doctor’s lounge usually has some pretty nice stuff set out, or at least that’s what they say. Pity our cards don’t let us in, I’m not above identity theft.” Madeline snorted into her sandwich. 

“What are you doing this weekend?” Madeline asked a few minutes later, starting to peel an orange. 

“Uh, not much?” Laurel said. “Getting my papers together to resign my lease in a few weeks, grocery shopping, but nothing big. It’s been a long few shifts this week and I’m mostly just looking forward to taking it easy. Why?”

“If you’re up to it,” Madeline shrugged, “Patrice and I are going out for dinner Saturday night and we’d love for you to join us.” Patrice was Madeline’s long-time boyfriend, they started dating in university and had been together ever since. 

Laurel rolled her eyes. “Madeline, thank you for the offer, but I don’t want to keep being your third wheel.” 

Madeline let out a conspiratorial grin. Oh no, Laurel thought. This can’t be good. “As it would so happen,” she said, “you wouldn’t be third wheeling. One of Patrice’s friends is back in the city for a few months, and I think you two might hit it off,” she sing-songed. Madeline had been trying to set her up from practically the moment they met; whether it was someone from her gym, one of the critical care fellows, or apparently, her boyfriend’s childhood friend. They were always nice guys, but nothing had ever stuck for more than a date or two. 

---

Twelve hour shifts meant that, at least on work days, there was no way Laurel was going to have the emotional or physical capacity to make herself a real dinner. She’d order in occasionally, but it more common to just pull together something quick like a frozen pizza or grab whatever leftovers she could find in the fridge. Yesterday’s chicken and rice it was, then. Sticking it in the microwave, Laurel opened the door to her balcony, letting Piper out to use the bathroom. Piper was an eight-month-old chocolate lab, the love of her life who she had adopted just after the new year. Laurel had always grown up with dogs; back in Minnesota she had Jackson and Lucy, and she had been missing them more than a little bit since moving to Canada. Piper was incredible. Intelligent, loyal, and so friendly that even her neighbor’s notoriously picky five-year-old son had taken a shine to her. She wolfed down her food, grabbed Piper’s leash and her water bottle, and headed out the door. 

June 5 (fri)

The intricacies of language were hard. And, somehow, learning the intricacies of a language you already knew was even harder. Laurel was trying her damndest to pick up Québecois French as fast as humanly possible, but while she could conjugate l’imparfait in her sleep, the accent and vocabulary were what was really throwing her off. But she intended on making a life in Montréal, and staying as long as she could, so there really wasn’t any option but to hit the books. Immersion worked for some people, and thank God she knew the medical terminology to communicate with her patients and their families, but it wasn’t quite the same when she was struggling through telling the mechanic her car needed an oil change. In a perfect world she’d have someone to help her one-on-one, but she didn’t want to ask Madeline for that big of a favor. And while she made decent money at the hospital — she could afford her own apartment and had a little left over every month to put into savings — it was nowhere near enough to pay for a tutor. So Duolingo, and podcasts, and Youtube lessons it was. 

Letting out a groan, Laurel leaned her head into her hands, shutting her laptop. She wasn’t going to make any progress being this frustrated. She bent down to scratch Piper, whose favorite spot for naps was a blanket right beside Laurel’s desk, between the ears, pulling her leash and collar off of their book by her bedroom door. Piper’s ears perked up, and soon enough she was running around the apartment wagging her tail as fast as it could go, a slightly exasperated but nevertheless laughing Laurel following. She finally managed to clip on her leash; at fifty pounds, Piper still had a little bit of growing left to do, but she had already proven she was more than capable of bending the will of a full-grown and otherwise capable 23-year-old woman. 

She had discovered Parc Saint-François-d’Assise a few weeks after adopting Piper, and had thanked her lucky stars for finding a dog park so close to her apartment. Having a schedule like hers meant that she couldn’t always get her to a weekly training or obedience class — plus, the French that she did know certainly didn’t include ‘heel’ — so the time spent socializing was well-appreciated. It was only a fifteen minute walk, and Piper was good enough on a leash that she only stopped once to bark at a squirrel in one of the many birch trees that lined the street. The park was an acre or two, small enough that she could see all the way across and keep an eye on Piper as she let her off-leash, but big enough that there was more than enough room for all the animals. It wasn’t particularly crowded that Friday; Laurel was confused for a moment before she remembered that most people were busy at 11 AM on a weekday. There were a few families, with kids out for the summer from school, and a man playing in the far corner with his two small dogs, but not much else. 

Laurel leaned down, unclipping the leash from Piper’s collar, and gave the chocolate lab a scratch on the head. “Have fun, girl!” Piper never needed much encouragement, and took off running almost before Laurel had even wrapped up her leash. Rolling her eyes and laughing, she picked up her phone. A text from Allison, one of her only friends in the city aside from Madeline, inviting her out for her birthday next week. Madeline, giving her the address for the restaurant the next night. The Duolingo owl, threatening her with bodily harm if she didn’t log her language progress for the day. She was so engrossed in checking her email that she didn’t hear the shout for her to look out, or the two bulldogs barreling towards her at full speed, until they had knocked her off her feet and she landed straight on her ass. 

“Desolé. Vas-tu bien?” The man asked, holding out a hand and helping her up. Laurel nodded, brushing the dirt off her jeans. 

“Ouais, ouais. Pas de problème, pas de mal. Ils sont chiens, non?” 

He chuckled, patting the smaller of the two bulldogs, which had decided to take a break from accosting passers-by to get petted. “C’est vrai.” They talked for another minute or two before saying goodbye, but she could have sworn it was an hour. 

Walking Piper home half an hour later, Laurel was struck with two realizations. The mystery man — bulldog dad, as she had started calling him in her internal monologue — had very possibly the prettiest eyes she’d ever seen in her life, and she’d be cursing herself for the next week for not getting his number. 

June 6 (sat)

Saturday meant Laurel had a day off, but more importantly, Saturday meant she didn’t have to set her alarm for 5:30 and could actually wake up at a semi-normal hour. Her internal clock didn’t wake her up until half past seven; even then, it was Piper’s soft barks that finally got her up, throwing on a pait of shorts, and leading her out to the courtyard down the hallway to use the bathroom before coming back to her apartment and throwing open the fridge doors. No 7 AM shift meant that she mercifully had enough time to make a proper breakfast. On shift days, there never seemed to be enough time to actually sit down and eat, and Laurel usually ended up just having a quick bowl of cereal or some overnight oats and making a protein shake to drink on the drive over. Eggs, bread, yogurt, a peach she had picked up from the farmer’s market. 

After the bread was done toasting and her tea was finished steeping, she gingerly carried the food out to the balcony, placing it on the table as Piper trotted out behind her. Laurel crunched her toast with one hand as she flipped the pages of a book with the other, a Shirley Chisholm biography that Victoria, her best friend from high school, had recommended her. It was almost an hour later when she finally found a good place to stop. As much as she may have liked to just camp out on her balcony all day and blow through the rest of the book, her pantry was crying out for a grocery run and she was running desperately low on ice cream. 

---

The dinner reservation was at 7, and by 6:30 Laurel was almost ready to leave. Her blue skirt fanned out on the couch as she sat killing time on her phone, tapping the floor nervously with the same pair of block heels that she’d worn to her university graduation. The restaurant wasn’t far from her apartment building, so a few minutes later, she decided to go, leaving Piper with a pat on the head and plenty of food in her bowl. Laurel laughed to herself on the way over, her eyes flickering over the skyline as she walked alongside the St. Lawrence River. 

It’s like what she had told Madeline over and over again, every time she tried to set her up on a blind date with a friend of a friend. She wasn’t actively looking for a relationship but wouldn’t be opposed to it. Whatever happens, happens. Biting her lip, Laurel decided that even if she didn’t hit it off with whatever guy Madeline was trying to set her up, even if things go horribly wrong and he’s the exact opposite of what she’s looking for in a partner, she’ll get a free meal and, hopefully, a new friend.

Laurel hadn’t been told much about her blind date, or anything, really. She didn’t even know his name. From what she had been able to figure out, he was from the area but didn’t work in Canada most of the year — so maybe he was in business? All Madeline told her was that he was tall, attractive, and had a dog. Or was it two? She honestly couldn’t remember. She trusted her and Patrice’s judgement, so if he had gotten their stamp of approval, it was good enough for her. She grabbed her phone out of her bag as she neared the restaurant, letting Madeline know she was almost there and asking where to meet her. She told the hostess she was meeting some friends, and Madeline walked around the corner less than a minute later. “Hi, love!” she said, reaching out and wrapping Laurel in a warm hug. “We’re over this way.” Laurel followed her around the corner and past the bar to a four-seater against the wall. She slid into the seat closest to the wall, leaving a space empty. 

“He should be back in a minute, just ran to the bathroom,” Patrice said, nodding towards the vacant seat and referring to her mystery man. A minute passed, Laurel scanning the wine list, before Madeline threw her hand up in greeting. 

“Salut, PL!” When Laurel looked up, she almost dropped her menu.

 “Oh my God!” The stranger — PL’s — eyes widened in recognition. “You’re the bulldog dad!” 

He chuckled, rounding the table to greet her with a kiss on the cheek. Left, then right. It had taken Laurel a while to get used to; even going to university in Toronto, cheek kissing was practically obsolete, but that changed very quickly upon her move to Montréal. “I am. Pierre-Luc Dubois, good to meet you properly this time.” 

Madeline looked between the two, clearly confused. “You know each other?” 

Laurel shook her head. “Not really, no. His dogs ran into me at the park yesterday when I was there with Piper, we talked for a minute or two.” 

Pierre nodded in affirmation. “So, Piper. The chocolate lab’s yours then?” 

“My pride and joy.” 

June 13 (sun)

 Over the next week and a half, it became more and more common for Laurel to meet up with the group on the weekend, or one of her off days, or really whenever she had spare time. She had learned that Pierre-Luc was a hockey player, Patrice explaining that they had played atom league together growing up and the friendship had somehow stuck. Come to think of it, he had looked a little familiar. The University of Minnesota Duluth was less than an hour drive from her hometown, and besides being the college that the majority of the 50% of college-bound graduates of her high school went to, it also had one of the best hockey programs in the country. So she knew the sport, followed enough to be informed, and had even become a de facto Maple Leafs fan from her time in Toronto. 

Sometimes Madeline and Laurel would bring another friend from the hospital along, sometimes it was just the four of them. Once, a Sunday afternoon coffee meetup turned into just Laurel and Pierre-Luc; Patrice had come down with a bad cold and Madeline was staying behind to look after him. If she was being honest, it was far less awkward than she had anticipated. Pierre had insisted on buying her iced capp, and they had settled in a corner booth, sharing a box of Timbits. 

“Patrice mentioned you’re from the U.S., somewhere in the Midwest?” Pierre asked, sipping his coffee. 

She nodded. “Cloquet, Minnesota,” Laurel sighed, “where there is exactly one hotel, one high school, and life revolves around the mines.” 

Pierre sucked in. “That sounds...interesting,” he said diplomatically. 

Laurel laughed. “It’s okay, you don’t have to mince words. The people are nice, if you think like they do, and the scenery is gorgeous, but…” She gathered her thoughts. “It’s not the place you can really dream big, you know?” He nodded. “Neither of my parents went to college, my mom’s a receptionist at the elementary school and my dad works in the mines. I knew by the time I was in high school that I wanted something more. There was just nothing for me there, and I didn’t ever want to feel as trapped and beaten down as some people I know.” 

Pierre leaned back in his chair. “Do you go back often?” 

“Once a year, maybe twice?” Laurel said, shaking her head. “I’ve only got a few good friends back there, and trust me, they’re much more excited to come to big-city Canada than I would be to go back to a town of 12,000 people.” 

“Fair enough.” 

Conversation between them flowed easily, so easily that before she knew it, two hours had gone by and he had to leave for a skate. As she walked back to the metro, Laurel couldn’t help but shake the feeling that the two hours she had spent with Pierre had felt more like a date than any she’d been on since moving to Montréal a year ago. But it couldn’t have been a date, because it wasn’t supposed to be. Right?

 June 15 (tues)

 It was half past seven on Tuesday, and Laurel was just getting home from work. She loved her job, genuinely, but twelve hour shifts were no joke. Spinning her key ring around her finger, she stopped in the mailroom, unlocking her box and fishing out the stack of envelopes that had accumulated in the two days since she’d last checked. Walking over to the elevators, she held the bundle in one hand as the other punched in her button to the third floor. Laurel flipped through the envelopes as the doors opened. Water bill, bank statement, letter from Immigration, Refugees, and Citizenship Canada. Hang on. Laurel stopped at the last envelope, running her finger under the flap as she turned her key in the lock, opening the door with her hip and letting it slam shut behind her. 

She had applied a little over a month ago for her permanent residency card, which she had been assured by everyone she asked would be a relatively easy and painless process. “You’re a nurse, and a good one. I could use ten of you,” her charge nurse had stated. “You went to school here, you have a Canadian degree and a Canadian license. There’s no reason they would cause you any trouble,” Madeline had said. And she had done her due diligence, double-checked every piece of information, checked off every document on the list. Done everything she was supposed to do. So when she unfolded the paper, the words shocked her. 

Denied. Laurel brought her hand shakily up to her mouth as her eyes raced down the letter. No explanation was given, all she was told was that her application had been rejected and she had until September 17, when her work visa expired, to leave the country. The first thing Laurel did was frantically grab her laptop, seeing if there was some way she could apply for a visa extension, but the deadline had passed; she’d have to go back to the consulate in Minneapolis and try to re-apply from there, but her chances weren’t good if she’d already been rejected. The second thing she did was collapse on the floor, Piper nosing herself under her arm, and cry. 

June 16 (wed)

When the group met up for lunch the next day, Madeline noticed something was off about Laurel almost immediately. Normally someone who was hyper-focused on the task at hand, she was stirring her straw around in her glass, nibbling at a piece of bread and answering questions shortly if at all. “What’s up?” she asked carefully, catching Laurel’s eye as she tried to busy herself with straightening her napkin. There wasn’t really a way she could get out of answering that one. 

“I, uh, I got a letter yesterday,” she said. Pierre and Patrice stopped their conversation. All eyes were on her. “From immigration services. They told me,” her eyes pricked with tears, “they told me my PR application was denied, and I only have until the middle of September before I have to leave.” 

“Like, leave the country?” Pierre asked. She nodded. “But can’t you renew your visa or something?” 

“No, I looked into everything.” Laurel said in frustration, shaking her head. “There’s not enough time for it to be processed, I’d have to go back and reapply in the States, and even then the chances aren’t great.” 

Madeline leaned over, wrapping Laurel up in a hug. “Oh, Laur. I’m so sorry,” she said. “You don’t deserve this.” 

“It’s just hard,” Laurel started, “knowing that there’s nothing there for me back home. That’s the whole reason why I came to Canada in the first place, to get away. To get out. I’d have to retake all my licensure exams and find a new job and I don’t want to have to start all over when that’s not at all what I planned for. I thought I’d stay. I thought this was going to be my home” 

“I can call my friend who’s a lawyer, see if he’s got any ideas?” Patrice offered. 

Laurel smiled weakly “Thanks, Patrice, but I really don’t think they’d be able to do much. I was on the website for hours, and there’s like two ways I wouldn’t be kicked out of the country. And I don’t think I’m going to be able to give birth by September 17,” she said, letting out a watery laugh. 

“You’d have to marry someone or something to stay,” Madeline said. 

“Yeah, that’s the only other way it was going to happen,” Laurel agreed. “But seeing as how I’m obscenely single, I don’t see that happening…” She trailed off. 

“I’d marry you,” Pierre said suddenly, shrugging. 

Laurel’s head whipped to her side. “You’d what?” 

“I’d marry you. We’re both single, by all accounts you’re an amazing nurse and deserve to stay. We get married, stay ‘together’ for a few years until you get your citizenship, and then tragically inform the citizenship and immigration people that while we tried, it just didn’t work out, and get a divorce. Easy peasy.” 

Laurel almost burst out laughing, the idea was so ridiculous. She almost couldn’t wrap her head around what he was offering to do. He couldn’t be serious. Right? 

---

Laurel slung her arm over her head, body tangled up in bedsheets. According to her phone, it was well past one. She couldn’t sleep. She had tried rain sounds, counting sheep, drinking a cup of chamomile tea, but nothing was working; she just wasn’t able to still her mind. Honestly, she couldn’t stop thinking about lunch earlier. More specifically, what Pierre had said. 

As much of a bad person as it may have made her sound, the more she thought about Pierre’s offer, the more it made sense. He was incredibly attractive, so it wouldn’t be hard to fake a marriage to him for a few years. She really didn’t keep in contact with anyone from back home in Cloquet aside from her family and a few friends from high school, so it’s not like there would really be anyone to blow her cover. And she really, really wanted to stay in Canada. It wasn’t just the scenery, or the general human decency of everyone, or even the universal healthcare that pushed her to stay. She had fallen in love with the people, the city, and didn’t want to go down without a fight. 

Rolling over, she grabbed her phone from her nightstand, pulling up Pierre’s contact. Hey, she texted. Laurel immediately cursed herself as the three dots popped up on his side. Hey? She was going to ask this man to marry her and the best she could come up with was hey? He wrote back immediately. Hey. You’re up late, what’s up? Laurel took a deep breath. How serious were you about offering to marry me? His second response was even faster than the first. As a heart attack.