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denjjisgf · 4 months

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untitled 2.03

eren jaeger x reader

SYNOPSIS ✧˚⋆｡ when the end of the semester gets busy, you find yourself swamped with grading papers. if only you could get some time away from your needy boyfriend.

CONTENT WARNINGS✧˚⋆｡ general: 18+ minors dni, (afab) grad student reader nsfw: somno/cnc, m! masturbation, oral (f! receiving), squirting, panty sniffing

W/C✧˚⋆｡ 2.6k

AUTHOR'S NOTE✧˚⋆｡i was thinking about this post while writing it (nsfw gif!!)

finals week on campus is nothing more than the school buildings being powered by stress and caffeine as students and professors scramble to meet deadlines. it’s your final stretch. its been a nonstop course schedules and years of thinking, “is this even worth it?”, but this past year, you were accepted into university x’s graduate accelerated course. you were just a stack of 1st years’ papers and a couple eren-free nights away from graduating.

“i don’t know why i have to suffer when it's your fault for assigning the homework to begin with,” he’s tugging at the hem of your shirt as you pour coffee into a mug. you're both off today- free from classes and work- and situated in the breakfast nook of your “shared” apartment. shared is a loose term the two of you choose to describe your living situation. you find stray socks that don’t belong to you under the couch and he buys new hangers to hang up his clothes in your closet.

“i know, but we both know i'd get no work done with you here. i’m absolutely drowning in my students final papers.” eren separates from your hip to pull open the fridge, grabbing the creamer from the door, "so stay away for just this weekend. please?" he twists the lid off and begins to pour some into your mugs, "what am i supposed to do in the meantime?" he pouts.

he sets the carton onto the counter with attitude, the liquid sloshing as it hits the sides aggressively. with bed head and a frustrated knit of his brows, he looks like a spoiled child, you can't help but laugh, "i trust you'll find something to do with yourself. you're resourceful!"

you hear him huff, unsatisfied and extremely discouraged by your firm stance. he drops it and for the rest of the morning, you two sipped from your mugs and soaked in the sun, tucked under bed sheets.

you didn't hear any lip from eren for the rest of the week. you were honestly shocked- not once has he listened to you so easily, with such little resistance. he had to be up to something, you thought. but you let that worming feeling of suspicion recede into your thoughts and brought your tasks to your forefront. you got a full eight hours of sleep every night for the first time in ages.

on saturday night, you ordered yourself some take out, set up a pillow fort on the couch, and readied yourself to grade the stack of research papers sitting on the coffee table. halfway through the folder, your eyes began to feel heavy, the words blurring and floating off the pages. you had been at it for hours, the sun long set. shifting your work off your lap and onto the floor, you let your head hit the cushion and drifted off to sleep.

you had a key made for eren months ago. he never used it, choosing to pick you up and go home with you on most days, so he never needed it. but on the rare chance, he'd let himself in to surprise you with dinner or tidy up after a long day. tonight, when he slipped his key into the keyhole, he caught his heartbeat in his throat, turning the knob so slowly, urging the hinges not to creak as he snuck into your place.

he knew he wasn't supposed to be here. you had specifically asked him to stay home for the weekend and let you be. but it was saturday and it was late. it had been so long since he spent a weekend alone, in bed, alone, and the tickle that pulled his abdomen tight and made his cock jerk at the thought of you guided him here.

slipping his shoes off, he straightened them along the wall and walked softly to the living room. he smiled to himself, his chest warming with adoration at you curled on the couch. you just looked so cute!

his eyes traced your face, locs of hair framing your sleeping face and the slight open of your mouth puffing sweet exhales. he was in love all over again, like seeing you for the first time, he let the butterflies settle in his stomach. you rolled to your stomach and let one leg roll off the side of the couch.

eren swallowed, this time, his gaze latched to the little exposed skin peeking out from under the blanket. in an instant, he dropped to his knees, crawling to the edge of the couch. his hand skated across pages and he panicked, hoping the shuffling sound wouldn't wake you while he reorganized your work stuff and slid it out of the way.

eren felt silly getting so worked up over your bare leg, like a virgin, his mind raced. he was dizzy on your scent filling the familiar apartment, dizzy from your figure outlined under the blanket, dizzy from the painful ache of his cock. he let his palm fall to his lap, languidly jerking it over his sweats to alleviate himself.

he imagined you waking up, overjoyed to see your boyfriend, not angry at all that he let himself in and started jerking off to you sleeping, and smacking kisses over his face and neck.

after a few minutes, teasing hands dipped below the waistband of his sweats. eren toyed with the idea, taking a sigh as he watched you sleep and pulled his fully hard dick out of its confinement. he dragged his finger to collect the precum beading at his tip and continued to fuck into his fist, trying his hardest not to let the wet squelching stir you awake. he was panting, a fist in his mouth to hold in his weak moans. it had been so long since he'd seen you (not even week), he was dying for your touch, to feel you in his grasp, it was driving him crazy.

so he let himself go closer and pulled the blanket up over your side, carefully, and let it fall off the couch. long abandoning his cock, he let his hands roam your lower body. eren was grateful you were on your tummy, you must've felt him coming, he thought giddily.

he let his hands run along your legs, kissing at your ankles and making his way up. situating himself on the floor and between your legs, his hands made work of dragging you closer to the edge until your knees were resting just over his shoulders and your cunt was at eye level.

his cock bobbed against his abs, red and angry, and his chest hot with desire. he fought the urge to touch himself, if he wanted to jerk off, he could’ve just stayed home! he came here for you, he told himself, he wanted a taste of that sweet honeyed slick you were keeping from him.

he let himself go. he let his fingers toy with your shorts, massaging your thighs under the fabric, letting himself re familiarize with the curve of your ass. curious fingers slid to tug at the fabric and in one swoop, he was freeing you of your pajamas. he slipped them off each leg, his nails dragging against your skin to watch the way you shiver in your sleep.

all that stood in the way was your underwear now. eren sat and admired the wet spot growing between your legs, soaking the fabric. his breath was shaky as he was tried to keep his cool, but it was getting harder for him to want to hold back. you were whimpering with every touch now and eren could feel your skin getting hot.

it was risky taking your shorts off completely, he thought, worried you'd wake up any minute. he was getting bolder with his actions, and you were reacting so well to him, he was sure you wouldn't mind if he took it another step farther. so he planted kisses against your skin, pushing up on his feet to get closer to your clothed cunt. his fingers worked to shimmy the band of your panties lower until the material was slipping off and onto his face.

he let himself breath in the scent, his mind fraying as he pressed your panties to his face. his tongue wet the fabric and he groaned when he finally got to taste you. his hands were still on you, pulling your cheeks apart as he stared with fervor at your tight holes inches away from him. eren knew he was getting rough, a little too rough if he intended on keeping you asleep the entire time.

"you know i can't live without this," he stuck two fingers in his mouth to wet them, then brought them to your pussy messily. he lets them roam without intention; he didn't want you feel good yet, he wanted you so worked up, you needed to feel good. he smiled when you moaned softly at the sensation of his tongue, the warm stripe of his saliva hot as he swallows the sticky precum collecting with every pulse of your pussy.

he lapped up everything you gave him. his fingers worked nonstop, molding your ass between them, pushing his face further between your legs. it's not enough, he was growing tired of waiting, tired of being gentle, and tired of hearing you so quietly moan his name, he needed you to scream it. he moaned when his tongue dipped into your tight hole and you clenched down at the intrusion. your slick poured over his tongue and his eyes rolled at the taste.

"to think you thought you could keep this from me," he groaned as he roughly grabbed you, rolling your plump ass cheeks between his hands, kneading at the fat and landing a harsh slap against it. you jerked awake at the impact, legs locking in fear and eyes foggy with sleep. you tried to get away, squirming on the couch, only to be held tight in someone's grasp. your heart raced and goosebumps raised on your skin, anxious of the situation you were in.

"good morning, sweetheart," he cooed with another smack of your ass.

eren. of course it was him. your body was hot and your head was light, every nerve and sensation focused on eren between your legs. his hand clapped against your ass again, this time harder than the other two and you yelped at the pain. his thumb was circling your clit, each time it dragged down, the pad of it pulled its hood back and sent chills down your spine.

with you now awake, eren felt no need to go gentle on you anymore. he smiled into your pussy and pushed two fingers deep, letting them curve down to caress your g spot. you were grinding down into his hand and stringy drips of slick and saliva made a mess on the couch cushion.

his mind was thick in fog, his vision narrowed on the sweet pull of your cunt as his fingers plunged in and out, deeper in and watched them strain to pull out. his cock was begging to be touched, pleading for eren to snap and shove his length inside of you, but he couldn't tear his lips away, his moans buzzing against your clit and making you tremble.

another slap against your ass, another roll of your hips, and eren was cumming, thick ropes spilling out from his cock and spreading messily on his lower abdomen. his face flushed bright red and he was panting against your pussy, still eating you out while he came. fat droplets dripped onto the carpet below him while he let out whines, his balls drained empty.

but he couldn't stop, he had waited for you all week, and after all you were so stressed, he wanted to be of some use. he winced as he grabbed his softening cock in his hand, jerking it a few times to get himself hard once again. you were grinding along his tongue now, he could tell with each needy drag that you were chasing your orgasm.

"well would ya look at that? all you needed was a little relief- dontcha feel better now baby," he said teasingly, smiling like a fool with every kiss against your ass. his hand was furious as he overstimulated you, the flat of three fingers rubbing your cunt raw in mind numbing circles. each slow drag of his palm, the middle finger catching to hook inside of your hole, slipping in so slightly before pulling out with pressure.

your muscles felt tight, the strain in your calves burned, willing you to collapse into his touch, crying, "stop- mmph- i can't take anymore!" your lewd slick was everywhere, coating his hand, your plush thighs, and left your skin cold as the air hit it. you ached, grasping at straws and for your breath, for any moment to think straight, "e-eren, please," you hiccup. he took his time; slowly, he breathed against your skin and selfishly inhaled your scent.

he plunged his fingers inside of you, long enough to make you throb around them but too short to feel any pleasure, he teased you relentlessly. and he grinned a shit eating smile, lost entirely in the loud squelch of your cunt. he spat on your clit and let his fingers work fast on rubbing circles.

your chest flushed and you felt the familiar coil pull tight in your gut, you were so close, it hurt. eren was all too much, his fingers still dragging against your walls. each pull had wetness spilling from your hole and into his greedy mouth. your legs were about to give out, they were shaking around his head and your back bowed when he pushed you deeper into the couch, his hands coming around your waist to hold you in place.

he could tell you were close, you moans were short and quick as you gasped for air. in the corner of his eye, he could see your hands grasping for stability on the cushion as he finger fucked you to heaven.

he pushed a third finger in and you both moaned at the stretch. a strange sensation filled your womb and you felt your body go cold. your entire body seized up in eren's hands, but he continued his assault, slow strokes of his fingers now faster. your hands shot down to shove his hands away as you came, clear liquid shooting out from you as you cried in pleasure. your mind felt blank as your body went rigid, and eren fought with your fingers to let his own back in your cunt. he desperately craved the feeling of your clenching down on him.

he selfishly swallowed your cum, letting his face get drenched in you. his cock was hard now, again, as you tried to regain your breath. you rolled onto your back and shot him a look of disapproval, "what the fuck, eren?!" still between your legs, he squirmed up from the floor and to lay on top of you.

he pouted and nuzzled his head against your chest. "i just missed you, that's all," he said, his bottom lip pushed out and puppy dog eyes at work. you tossed your head to the side, away from his gaze, and sighed, "still i thought i told you not to come over. don't you ever listen?'

despite your scolding words, you couldn't help but deny you missed your boyfriend. however, he complete disregarded what you said all the time and gets away with it every time! you're weak to his efforts of persuasion. so when you turn to meet his gaze, unfaltering and only full of love, you smile and lean in for a kiss.

#eren jaeger x reader #eren x reader #eren x you #eren x y/n #eren smut #eren jaeger #aot smut #aot fanfiction #snk smut #snk x reader #aot x reader #denjjisgf #eren yaeger x reader #eren jaeger smut #eren jaeger fanfiction #eren jaeger x you #attack on titan #eren yeager

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blessedwithabadomen · 4 months

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in love with the mess - day one

summary : Aubrey is going on tour and, for once, she's decided to focus on having as much fun as possible. Oli can be a little shit but he does nothing short of adore Audrey and... well, maybe Noah a little, too. Noah likes the flirting, as long as no one gets too close, emotionally. But what will happen when the three of them take it too far?

content : fluff and flirting

length : 3.1k

tags (let me know if you want to be tagged!) : @veronicaphoenix @cookiesupplier @lma1986 @jilliemiw86 @bngurngheart @lacktoesandtoddlerants @narcissisticbehavior81 @flowery-mess @shilohrosechicken

a/n: I'm not home this week so I hope this posts correctly from my phone 😬 enjoy the chapter!!

•••

day one

If there was one thing to know about me it was that I was an absolute whore for a breakfast buffet. And the one at this hotel had both a waffle station and a chef to make you omelettes on demand so really, I couldn't be to blame. It was simply unfortunate that I was elbows deep in a plate of chocolate croissants I’d balanced on my table when Noah appeared.

For a singular moment I still had hope that he would not see me or even then, decide to ignore me and enjoy the quiet morning by himself, but after a quick detour to the coffee machine, he confidently took the seat across from me.

“You stuff everything in your mouth with that much vigour?”

Both of us froze in the middle of our movements. From the look in his eyes, I was pretty sure that he was not insinuating what we were both thinking now, the realisation of what his words could mean hitting him only after they’d already been spoken. I was trying so hard not to let my face twist into a grin, or full on laughter, and it was becoming increasingly difficult with every second of horror passing through his eyes.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Finally realising that I was very much seeing the humour in his slip-up, he cracked a handsome smile, half-hidden by the hand that was rubbing his face as he groaned. I had half a mind to throw another remark at him, tease him about his faux pas a little further, but my eyes were trained on the back of his hand and the dark flower design inked into the skin.

Carefully reaching for him, I pulled the hand away from his face, lying it palm-down on the table between us between my plate of sweets and his coffee, just to study the tattoo further. Tracing every line on every patel, I committed the design to memory. It was gorgeous and it was perfect on him.

“You got any tattoos?” Noah tried very hard to sound normal, but I heard the huskiness in his voice, one that hadn’t been there before. I hoped it had to do with my touch. It was why I didn’t quite let go of him when I answered.

“A couple,” I mused. “Most of them hidden away though. Had some, quite ridiculous I can say now, ideas about wanting to have the option of a normal job that might not like to see me covered in ink. Although I’m pretty sure that ship’s sailed, so I’m definitely looking to get started on my arms soon.”

“Where’s the ones you have so far?”

He was probably expecting my legs, my shoulders, something easily shown with barely any clothes removal. Something I could let him see right now. He wasn’t entirely wrong. I did have a couple in those spots, too.

“I don’t think I can show you in a public place without becoming a menace.”

Noah’s hand visibly flinched underneath mine and he pulled back, immediately making me miss his warmth. He took a long sip of his coffee and I wondered if it was an attempt to buy some time.

“This was, um,” he coughed in between his words, “a great talk but you’re a fucking flirt and I need a bit more caffeine to deal with you.”

Disappointment flooded my veins as he got up from the table - had I been too much? Said the wrong thing? Come on too strongly? I knew I had vowed to take Lia’s advice at being a little more offensive and letting myself do whatever I was in the mood for, but that didn’t mean it was appreciated. Maybe I should back down. Keep more to myself after all. Not be so damn-

“Find me later?” He asked with a grin as he stopped next to my chair on the way out.

Well. Maybe I didn’t need to change much at all.

•••

I had forgotten how much running around was involved in a job like that. I wasn't complaining really, I did enjoy that it kept me on my toes, but I was thoroughly exhausted by the time I basically dropped Oli off for soundcheck. He'd had several appointments beforehand that I accompanied him to and even when he was busy, he still found time to think of fifteen different things he had forgotten in some place or other and needed immediately, making me cross the arena and the hotel several times more than necessary. He had way too much fun with it too.

Now I finally saw a chance to take a breather, so I grabbed a couple of things from catering (surprisingly good catering actually, Bring Me The Horizon had really moved up in the world it seemed) and went on a hunt for a quiet backstage room. I was fully planning on bunking up in one of Bring Me’s dressing rooms as they should all technically be empty now, but when I walked past a different door, half open, half closed, I couldnt help but stop as I looked inside. Noah was sitting on a couch - well, I said sitting, I really meant he was halfway to sliding down off it, his head collapsed onto the back ledge, eyes closed, looking ridiculously uncomfortable.

I didn’t mean to disturb him. In fact, I didn’t quite know what the plan was at all, but in one split decision, I walked into the room, quietly closing the door behind me and sitting down on the couch next to him. Balancing my stuff on the table, I scooped some of my (honestly deliciously smelling pasta) on a fork and carefully held it under Noah’s nose.

It was like watching a dog sleep that suddenly started dreaming of the very smell that surrounded him in real life. His nose was starting to twitch in the most adorable way, then his breathing changed a little. One by one, his body was waking up, not quite sure yet why, but pulled from his sleep anyway.

His eyes finally opened, a little at first, then more, slightly swollen from the nap had seemingly had taken him by force, as he tried to focus on where we was. Blinking, then blinking again, he finally set sight on the fork in front of him, brows furrowing as he pulled his head back to look at it better in utter confusion.

“What the-”

Noah finally sat up properly, only just now noticing me sitting next to him, amused beyond belief as I finally pushed the fork in my mouth. The pasta was a little cool already, but still surprisingly tasty. Good venues came with good catering apparently.

“Want one?” I asked, scoopin up some more pasta and holding it out to him. Still a little dazed, he simply opened his mouth and let me carefully feed him a portion.

“Didn’t you two meet, like, yesterday?” I looked up in surprise as someone entered the room. Folio, I think his name was, drummer for Bad Omens, currently looking at us with an questioning, but not unkind smile. “What’s with the married couple behaviour?”

“Very funny,” Noah commented, but there wasn’t the usual playfulness in his voice. I instinctively pulled back a little.

Both men exchanged looks I couldn’t quite interpret. I didn’t know either of them well enough to know what they were silently communicating, but I knew there was a conversation happening that I wasn’t part of. The intensity of it was felt in the whole room though. If I was the reason for it, I wanted to never be put in this position again. It even put me off the pasta I’d been shovelling in my mouth with vigour.

Then Folio turned away from him and toward me, once again showing his smile which seemed so out of place for a moment that I wondered if I had purely imagined the unease I had felt before.

“Oli’s looking for you, by the way. Apparently he left his phone in his dressing room.”

“I’d wondered why it was so quiet,” I mumbled with a look toward my own mobile. “Not sure why I thought I could escape him.”

Folio sent me a pitiful look, even though I was sure he knew as well as I did that I wasn’t really complaining. Getting up from the sofa, I cradled my pasta again, determined to finish it one way or another, putting my phone into the pocket of my jeans, when I felt a hand on me.

Noah’s fingers were wrapped around my wrist. He had sat up slightly just to reach me. I both wanted to lean into his touch and pull away, almost overwhelmed by the sensations running through my body with his fingers on my pulse point.

“Are you watching the set later?”

“Yeah, I… Oli said I could watch the show from the sound desk.”

“Good. I hope you enjoy it. I’d say I’ll look for you but I don’t think I can see that far.”

And then he sent me a smile that had my heart soaring and I was once again ready to throw all caution in the wind.

•••

“Are you sure this is okay?”

I carefully slid into a designated spot at the sound desk, giving everyone around me smiles that I hoped would convince them not to hate me for intruding into their workspace.

“Well if you touch anything, we’ll have to burn you at the stake… Other than that, welcome to the sound desk!” The woman next to me cheerfully explained. “Don’t worry, Oli vouched for you, so unless you’re extraordinarily clumsy and manage to undo all our work with the sweep of a hand over our stuff, you’re grand.”

“I’ll try my very best,” I promised. “And if I fuck anything up, take it from Oli’s wages please.”

“Oh, gladly!”

I watched as she went back to work, preparing for the upcoming Bad Omens set, and I couldn’t help but study her a little bit. If I hadn’t known from the AAA pass around her neck and, well, the fact that she seemed to know what she was doing and wasn’t in the process of getting kicked out, I couldn’t have told her from the fans that were starting to crowd around us in the venue.

She hadn’t overdone it by any measure and her face, as far as I could see, was blank of any make-up, but she had dressed the part with ease. Heavy boots accompanied her black shorts perfectly, making her look both tough and delicate somehow, her black top was wrapped in a corset, she was wearing a choker and several earrings. It just made sense. Looking down at myself, I was suddenly less thrilled with my hastily put-on choice of clothing from that morning. A simple pair of dark jeans, a non-descript shirt, no accessories whatsoever.

I didn’t know why I hadn’t made more of an effort. It wasn’t that I thought it was expected of me or necessary in any way, but looking at the sound tech reminded me of how much fun I usually had dressing up. In fact, half of my wardrobe at home was stuffed with elaborate pairs of trousers, laced tops, skater skirts, platform boots. Only I hadn’t really packed any of it.

Pulling out my phone, I shot a text to Lia.

Aubrey

Have I been hiding myself away lately

Lia

context pls

Aubrey

I can’t remember the last time I dressed up and it’s just hit me with everyone in this venue looking so fucking fab

For a moment, I wondered if she was already giving up on messaging me, but when I looked back at my phone, I realised that she was instead recording an audio message. Oh dear. Checking the time, I made sure I would manage to get a good listen before the lights dimmed and Bad Omen’s show began.

“Babe, since you’re finally realising it yourself now, yes, you’ve been letting yourself go. I didn’t want to push you too hard - well, I would have if you’d gotten really bad, you know that but then Oli called so that was off the table. But since… you know, you had that girlfriend and it was all fucked up and your family basically - well, let me just say I’m still available to beat any of them up. The ex and the family. You know that. But yeah. It’s taken a toll on you and you’ve not been yourself lately and it’s been painful to watch. Which is why I’ve been telling you to have some fucking fun on this tour. Put on that dress and that lipstick and get back to being yourself, yeah? And now enjoy the show and give Noah some air kisses from me, love you, bye!”

I felt dumbstruck. Had it really gotten that bad? Had everyone noticed but me? I knew I’d been struggling a bit since my last relationship drama and everything that followed (and technically preceeded) it, but… Lia’s words were ringing in my head. Maybe I had been letting myself go. It wasn’t worryingly bad, surely, but had I been my usual self? I thought I was seeing glimpses of it again now that I was on tour.

Quickly checking the schedule on my phone I realised that after today it was one more gig before a day off between Bournemouth and Birmingham. I shot Oli a message.

Aubrey

I don’t care what kinda disguise you need to go out but you need to take me clothes shopping in two days xoxo

Oli

I’ll get a fake moustache

•••

Bad Omens were a force to behold on stage. I couldn’t help but keep my eyes on Noah as much as the distance would allow me to, hanging onto his every word, studying his every movement. It was mesmerising. I’d never had the pleasure of seeing them live before but I already knew I’d make sure to catch them several more times on this tour. There was simply no way around it.

The break was spent chatting to the sound tech whose name I finally learned was Becky. It turned out she was extremely passionate when it came to talking about her craft and I was a willing listener. Nothing she said made a lot of sense so far as she threw all kinds of technical terms at me, but it was fascinating to hear her explain how much of a part she and her team really played in making this an experience, rather than just a live show.

She barely managed to stop talking by the time she was nudged by someone else on her team to notify her of the performance being about to start, which left her busy for the next one hundred minutes and me with too many thoughts and no one to voice them to. So I did the only sensible thing I could think of. I spam-texted Oli all of them for him to find after the show.

Aubrey

Opening with darkside is bold but I love a bold man

Aubrey

I love this setlist so much

I know you showed it to me yesterday but it doesn’t compare

Also the visuals wow

Aubrey

You look very good in red btw and so does your ass

Aubrey

Cause you got a taste noooow drank the kool-aid by the juuuuug

Oh dear I hope everyone’s ok

I’m glad you’re stopping shows liberally these days to make sure

Aubrey

I said it before and I’ll say it again, strangers into diamonds is fucking insane and I don’t know who allowed you to do that

Aubrey

Antiviiiiiiist!! Tell Noah he looks good in that mask

Aubrey

Also why were you getting a headrush after that song hmmm was it performing with Noah do you love him I’d get a headrush to if I screamed with him like that and got to give him two hugs

Aubrey

Yeah the doomed montage is making me cry, fuck you

Aubrey

I hope you have fun whenever you find these messages

I promise I wasn’t drunk when I wrote them just high on live music heyyyy

•••

Walking backstage, I immediately ran into the band leaving the stage. Lee held out his hand for a high five, massive smiles all around from a successful start to the tour, and I wasn’t one to leave him hanging. It ended with everyone who came up behind him following suit on the high fives, until Oli appeared at last, who instead grabbed onto my hand and clumsily twirled me around myself. I was still stumbling over my feet, uncoordinated feet unable to keep up with the sudden movement, when he pulled me into his chest for a hug.

Oli was made of pure adrenaline. I could basically smell it radiating off him. There was laughter in my ear, exhilaration from the first show having gone well, his hands pushing against my back so tightly I had no choice but to melt into him. Any attempt at not touching his bare skin were futile as my fingers slipped under his cropped jacket. He was hot and sweaty, but I didn’t mind one bit. If anything, it awakened something more primal in me. Something that begged to claw at his skin, push him against the nearest wall, have a taste of the droplets running down his chest. I was almost glad when he let me go for fear of what my hands would do if he didn’t.

“I sent you a couple of messages during the set by the way. You can read them as a slightly unhinged bedtime story,” I explained as he nudged me to get a move on toward the dressing rooms.

“Oh I bet those will put me right to sleep,” he laughed.

“Did you actually say that you had a headrush on stage after performing with Noah?”

“Fuck, yeah, my head was fucking spinning, thought I was gonna faint.”

“Was it so stimulating be around him?” I teased, moving to tickle his side, but he quickly dodged me and fell onto the sofa alone. “Does he make your heart race?”

Oli eyed me for a moment, pushing his hair back. I tried my best to ignore how good it looked on him.

“See, you talk about him so much, I can’t tell if you wanna hook up with him or if you want to set me up with him.”

I genuinely didn’t know how to answer that. I didn’t think I quite knew it myself.

#Noah Sebastian fic #Noah Sebastian #Oli Sykes fic #Oli Sykes #Noah Sebastian x reader #Oli Sykes x reader #in love with the mess

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ragnarokhound · 2 months

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((you don’t have to do both if you don’t want to, you can consider this one a back up / alt))

“If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.” 💞

From this writing prompt list i reblogged in...november lmao fljdsjfa

anyway this grew legs and sprinted away the second I picked it up yesterday - clearly it just needed some time to proof lmao. Thank you for the ask, tauria!! From *checks watch* almost 5 months ago fjdslafjsa I will be cross-posting it to Ao3 in my new oneshot collection fic :)

Warnings for: Vague allusions that Ra's Al Ghul is a creep (what else is new), threats of gun violence, canon-typical violence

15. “If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.”

When Tim arrived in Gotham this morning, he had no way of knowing that his day would end in Jason Todd’s bed.

Frankly, he wasn’t really sure what bed he’d end up in— because his own certainly wasn’t an option right now. But If he had to pick, Jason Todd’s was somewhere near the bottom of whatever list he’d make.

He didn’t exactly plan on this, okay?

But, uh. Let’s back up a little.

—

Tim knew his day was going to go to shit when he got back from the airport at 7 AM.

He had his driver drop him off two blocks away from his townhouse for the sake of caffeine at the hole in the wall place he likes. Wealthy CEO he may be, but a sixteen hour flight is still a sixteen hour flight and Tim is cursed with an inability to sleep in the air.

Don’t ask. He’s tried. It doesn’t work.

So he wants coffee, and he wants a shower, and he wants his own bed. In that order.

With the first thing on his list acquired and blessedly burning his tongue, he managed to tug his brain cells together enough to realize that the building they’d passed that had been shrouded in tents and canvas was his building.

"What's going on here?"

The worker outside his building looks up from her clipboard, her face wrinkling into apprehensive confusion.

"Hello, sir. Can I help you?”

He hasn’t slept in roughly seventy two hours. He is not awake or patient enough for this.

“My name is Tim Drake. I own this building. What’s going on here?” He repeats.

The woman raises her eyebrows and looks down at her clipboard again. “Mr. Drake?” She questions, clearly expecting him to look like a grown-ass man and not a sleep-deprived college student coming home from spring break or whatever.

“Yes. Timothy Drake-Wayne. Why are you—” he tries to gesture with the hand still holding his suitcase handle, walking towards the tarps and tents erected around his townhouse with increasing trepidation, “—here?”

“I’m sorry sir, but you can’t go in there. Not for at least forty-eight hours.”

Tim stops in his tracks.

“Forty-eight—?”

“We've been scheduled to fumigate the property today.” She says it like she’s reading it out of a handbook. “It won't be safe to enter the building for at least forty-eight hours. You should have received prior notice. Uh. Sir.”

Tim's jet-lagged brain kicks into overdrive.

Bruce hasn't made any disappointed noises about Tim’s perfectly normal work ethic lately so it probably wasn't a misguided attempt at benching him. And besides, rendering Tim’s apartment inaccessible is counterproductive on that front.

Dick wouldn’t. They haven’t been exactly— great, lately but he wouldn’t. Besides, if he wanted to get Tim out of the house more, he’d show up to drag Tim out into the daylight himself. This is a little too roundabout for him.

It’s too much work to be Steph. She would think it’s funny, but there’s no way she’d follow through.

Damian might, but this doesn’t quite fit his preferred methods for making Tim’s life hell. It could be some cloak and dagger maneuver to leave him vulnerable, faking a complaint to the city so he’ll—

And then Tim thinks about the call.

The call he’d brushed off at fuck o’clock in the morning somewhere over Europe, too busy with another project. The call his secretary took for him instead. He thinks about the distracted confirmation he’d given to whatever it was she’d asked him about five minutes later.

He also thinks about the form he signed about two weeks ago, before this last minute trip to Hong Kong had consumed his entire attention. The one with “Two Weeks Notice” stamped across the top. His stomach sinks.

“Today,” he repeats.

She looks apologetic. “Today,” she confirms. “And we just started about an hour ago. I’m very sorry, Mr. Drake-Wayne but—”

"No it's—" he says through gritted teeth, "fine. I'll just. Make other arrangements."

—

He does not make other arrangements. Though not for lack of trying.

Tim has a handful of safehouses scattered throughout the city. He has options. He gets a taxi to the closest neighborhood, and nearly falls asleep in the backseat. The cabby has to knock on the glass divider to get his attention when they come to a stop. He grumbles and hauls his suitcase out of the backseat, and tips the man excessively.

Shower. Bed. Sleep. He’s so close he could cry.

Except when he finally rolls around the block, coffee half gone and trying to remember if this safehouse is the one with in-unit laundry or if he’ll have to haul his shit down to the laundry room, his building is a blackened husk with police tape all around it.

He stops on the sidewalk. He peers up at the window of his unit, squinting at the peeling black wood and shattered glass. He ponders whether two is enough data points to be considered a pattern. And whether he could get away with napping in the alley on this street or if that’ll end with him stabbed and robbed.

As he’s pondering, he catches sight of a passerby and stops him.

“‘Scuse me,” he says apologetically. “What the hell happened here?”

The guy looks up from his phone and takes in his rumpled clothes, his suitcase, and the scorched remains of his apartment.

“Oh, uh. Yeah, there was a big fire about a week back? Bad fire. Took out, like, half the block. Cops are saying it’s arson.”

“A week ago,” Tim repeats. The guy’s eyes widen.

“Oh shit, bro, did you live here?”

“I’ve been out of town,” he explains numbly.

“Dude, that sucks. And right in the middle of con’ season. Good luck finding a hotel!”

“Yeah,” Tim sighs as the guy walks away. “Thanks.”

—

The next safehouse he tries isn’t in much better shape.

He remembers hearing about Freeze going on a rampage a few days into his trip, but he hadn’t realized another one of his places had been caught in the cross-fire. The cold burst the pipes, and now the whole place is undergoing renovation.

He hears all this from the crotchety old lady who lives in the next building over (her building needs renovation too, but will the city pay for it? Of course not, they weren’t ‘directly impacted by disaster’ so they won’t see a penny of relief funds even though their pipes are on the same line. Typical) and when he finally extricates himself from the conversation, it’s almost noon, his second cup of coffee is long-since empty and he’s at the end of his goddamn rope.

By the time he sees his next safehouse, he isn’t even surprised anymore.

“Does God hate me?” He asks the boarded up building. “Is this a punishment? What did I do? What the fuck did I do?”

He is 99% sure at this point that someone is burning his bolt holes. There’s a short list of people with the resources and the intel to do it, and while he’s not above ruling out the likes of Damian just yet, he seriously doubts anyone wearing a bat is behind this.

Besides, Dick would have noticed by now if Damian were sinking this many resources into convoluted covert ops designed to make Tim suffer. Definitely. Probably.

Fuck it.

He goes around the back and hops on top of his suitcase to reach the clunky camera watching the back entrance. This building is on the shittier side, closer to Crime Alley than his other haunts; cameras break all the time around here. He’ll have it replaced after he’s a functional human again.

Reportedly, this building was tagged for ‘high toxicity levels’— which is pretty typical for any building where fear toxin or Joker gas are found in any amount. They must have found a lot to condemn the whole building, but Tim is confident he’ll be fine. The airborne shit dissipates to safe levels within hours depending on the ventilation. If it was in the air, it’s long gone. Anything else needs to be injected to be effective.

Once the camera’s busted, he kicks out the boards and heads inside.

He drags his suitcase in after him, and mourns the shower he probably won’t be getting. The hall lights are out, and chances are the water’s been shut off along with the electricity. But at this point, he simply does not give a shit. All he wants are four walls and a mattress.

Leaning on the door to his floor to make it open, he stumbles out into the hallway—

And catches sight of the glistening curved dagger stabbed into the wall next to his door, the hilt gleaming green in the sinking sun.

“Nope,” Tim says, spinning on his heel and going back down the stairwell double time. “Nope, nope, nope.”

He is now 100% certain that the League of Assassins has been burning his bolt holes. Ra’s al fucking Ghul can eat his whole ass.

—

Seven blocks away, Tim sits on the sidewalk in front of a bodega and contemplates a third cup of coffee. The shittiest one yet.

See, here’s the thing.

The thing is, he has options.

He could go to the Manor. Or the penthouse. Or to Steph’s place. He’d have to answer some unnecessary questions like ‘Master Timothy, you know you can’t sleep on aircraft, why didn’t you sleep before your flight’ or ‘Tim, why didn’t you come here first, you know you can still come to me if you’re in trouble, right’ or ‘why did you agree to fumigate your fucking house, you loser, lmao’. (Stephanie is not going to let him live this down).

He is absolutely certain that he would be welcomed in any of these places and after a completely undeserved amount of fussing, he could take a fucking nap and someone else would deal with the League bullshit for him.

And that’s the thing. There’s the rub.

No one should have to deal with the League bullshit for him. This is his problem. He’s not in a hurry to bring them down on anyone. Not even Damian.

With grim resignation, he reaches for his phone to try and find a hotel room (during a con’ weekend apparently, RIP) and maybe get a fucking handle on this whole stupid thing, when he hears:

“Hand over your wallet!”

He lifts his head slowly and finds himself looking down the barrel of a gun. A gun held by some guy wearing a ski mask in broad fucking daylight. There’s another guy next to him who’s watching the street. There’s a third guy somewhere behind him who he can’t see, but he can hear the scuff of his boots.

Sure. Why not. With the day he’s had, this might as well happen. He holds up his hands placatingly.

Tim contemplates his muggers. The guy with the gun is jittery, probably new to this, or hopped up on something. He keeps glancing between Tim and the bodega behind him, so they were probably planning a run on the till. Might have chickened out, or thought Tim was an easier target, an unexpected meal ticket plopped right in their path. Or they were already inside when Tim sat down, which wouldn’t bode well for his situational awareness seeing as he just came out of there himself.

The grinding gears of his tired brain keep getting caught on the fact that this is happening in the middle of the fucking day. Tim glances at the street corner and bites his cheek in frustration. Yeah, he’s smack dab in the middle of the Alley. Figures.

“Are you deaf or somethin’ man?” The guy with the gun is saying. “Hand over your fucking wallet!”

The other guy doesn’t seem as crazy-eyed. He’s nervous, though. He keeps looking around like he’s expecting Batman to materialize, to come whistling down the street like a beat cop.

“Dude, come on, it’s not fucking worth it,” he says, grabbing at the gunman’s shoulder. “We got the money, let’s fucking go.”

The third guy kicks over Tim’s suitcase. “Yeah, come on, Don, let’s just grab this shit and bounce.”

Tim can’t do anything. He’s not Red Robin right now. He’s Timothy Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, and he’s getting mugged in front of a bodega at two in the afternoon in a rumpled suit and tie and still toting his suitcase from his early morning flight.

His hands are trembling from unspent adrenaline, too much caffeine, and not enough sleep. His eyelids are the heaviest they’ve ever been in his godforsaken life. His ears are ringing. He could knock all three of them down in less time than it takes to tie his shoelaces. But he can’t.

“Shut up, Johnny, look at him shaking! What’s he gonna do? If he doesn’t wanna get shot, rich boy’s gonna hand over all his fucking shit!”

“Hey, let’s just—” Tim tries to say.

Stars explode across his vision as Tim takes a punch he genuinely wasn’t expecting. He stares up at the blue sky for about half a second, more confused than anything else, before the gunman grabs him by the front of his shirt and hauls him up to shout in his face.

“What’s it gonna be, pretty boy?!”

Caught on the exhausted edge between vigilante training and the preservation of his identity, Tim is frozen. He doesn’t know what to do. He kind of wants to cry.

“Gee, Donny, what is it gonna be?” A fourth voice says, full of false cheer.

Tim blinks. So do the muggers.

He knows that voice.

“Who the fuck—?” The gunman drops Tim, spinning around and into a fist. He tumbles down to the ground, out cold.

Everything happens pretty quickly after that.

Jason Todd is in civvies. He’s sporting a worn out looking hoodie and a pair of jeans that have seen better days. But his heavy boots are the same ones he wears for his uniform, and the kick he delivers to Johnny’s face is all Red Hood.

Almost in a daze, Tim watches him fight with the usual mix of seething envy and raw desire that rears its ugly head any time he gets to see Jason in action. He’s fast, decisive. Efficient. Beautiful. Tim wishes he had Jason’s skill. And he wishes—

Well. He wishes a lot of things about Jason Todd.

Tim is pretty sure he and Jason are friends. Maybe. Probably. They’ve pretty much moved past the whole “replacement”, “zombie-dickhead” part of their relationship and have graduated to occasionally providing backup on ops that overlap in each other’s sectors, ganging up on Dick when they’re all in the same room, and maintaining a surprisingly steady stream of vigilante gossip to keep each other in the loop.

So, ok, yes, due to the aforementioned, he’s pretty sure they’re friends. And also because Jason wouldn’t have stuck his neck out for him otherwise. He would have just let him get mugged.

Watching Jason fight is one of Tim’s favorite pastimes. But right now, Tim’s usual appreciation is soured by the gut-roiling embarrassment of being caught in this position by Jason of all people. His eyes itch. His cheek throbs. He’s so fucking tired.

“Hey, little stalker,” Jason says suddenly, holding out an expectant hand in Tim’s face. The muggers are groaning on the ground around them. Tim isn’t sure when that happened. He might have zoned out. “Did you know that you had a stalker for a change?”

Tim flushes. “I resent that. I haven’t stalked anyone in years.” He takes the hand. It’s warm, and calloused, and big around his.

Jason laughs at him and yanks him to his feet. “Liar.”

Tim’s mouth twists into a scowl. He tries to glare at Jason, but he can feel himself swaying and Jason still hasn’t let go of him, and it’s ruining everything.

Also, lowkey, Jason is right. But in his defense, it is literally their job to stalk people, so.

“I haven’t stalked you in years then. Just other guys. Bad guys. Not non-bad guys. Fuck. You know what I mean. Whatever.” He pauses; recalibrates. “Had?” He asks.

Jason’s eyebrows inched higher and higher the longer Tim talked. Tim doesn’t blame him.

“Yeah. Had.”

So much for the League, Tim muses.

Jason gives him a once over before tugging decisively on Tim’s wrist, easily grabbing the handle of his suitcase and starting to walk with both in tow, to Tim’s rising horror.

“You’re coming with me, shortstack. What’s wrong with you? Are you drunk? You look like shit.”

Tim tries to yank his wrist out of Jason’s grip, but the asshole doesn’t budge. “I’m not drunk,” Tim snaps. “I’m fine. I’m just. I’m just… really tired.”

Jason stops abruptly, and Tim stumbles into his shoulder.

“I can see that,” he says, steadying Tim with an amused but ultimately sympathetic look. He loads Tim’s suitcase onto the back of a motorcycle that Tim literally just now noticed.

God, he’s fucked. And not even in a fun way.

“C’mon,” Jason says. “Don’t fall asleep on the way over— road rash sucks ass.”

—

They don’t talk on the way to— wherever Jason is taking them, but once they’re parked in a random garage and walking towards the elevators, the game of twenty questions begins.

“So why’ve you got League assassins after you, anyway? Piss in a lazarus pit? Push over the baby brat on the playground?”

“Ra’s al Ghul wants my body,” Tim says, dejected but resigned to this bizarre fact of his life. “Since I was seventeen, I’m pretty sure.”

Jason wrinkles his nose. “Ew.”

“I don’t think it’s a sex thing? But it could also be a sex thing.”

“Again. Fucking ew.”

“Yeah. Also I blew up a bunch of his shit and I think he’s still salty I got away with it.”

“Is that why you weren’t at the Manor?” Jason asks, herding Tim out of the elevator and down a long hallway. “Or anywhere but a random street in Crime Alley?”

Tim nods. “Yeah. They found all my safehouses, but— my mess. My problem.”

Jason thwacks him upside the head.

“Ow! What the fuck?”

“You’re the dumbest person on the planet.”

“Am not. B is on-planet right now.”

“Then you’re pretty fucking close,” Jason snarks, fishing out some keys and opening one of the apartment doors.

Tim scoffs at him as he’s pushed inside. “Oh, please. Don’t try to tell me you would let Dick swoop in and solve all your problems for you.”

Jason rolls his eyes, stepping into the side kitchen and popping open the freezer door of the fridge.

“Dickiebird can’t even solve his own problems,” he says as he rummages. “But maybe when I’m fucked up enough to let three nobodies robbing a fucking bodega get the jump on me, that’s a sign that, maybe, it might be time to call in the cavalry. Dick isn’t the only person who’s got your back.” He presses an ice pack to Tim’s face until he takes it himself, and keeps steering him through the apartment. “Just saying.”

Tim would protest with all of his very good reasons why Jason is definitely wrong here, but he’s too busy processing the fact that Jason has led him into a bedroom. With a bed. There’s a bed, with a mattress and pillows and blankets. Right there. Tim stares at it with lustful eyes.

Jason catches him staring. He rolls his eyes, but he’s sporting a small smile that Tim has the presence of mind to memorize. He walks over to a dresser and pulls out a big shirt and a pair of shorts that he hands to Tim.

“Look. If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here. No guarantees I’ll be always around, but, yeah. Mi casa es su casa, or whatever.”

Tim eyes him up, clutching the bundle of Jason-smelling fabric in his hands. “And you’d do that for me because…why, exactly?”

Jason flicks his forehead, a stinging reprimand. Tim hisses.

“Because, dumbass, you need help and I feel like it. And you don’t actually suck to be around, so shut up and be grateful.”

“Oh, yes,” Tim deadpans, rubbing at his forehead. “So grateful to be allowed the privilege of squatting with you.”

The thing of it is, Tim is grateful. But Jason doesn’t need to know that.

Jason squawks, and before Tim can duck, he’s snatched Tim around the neck in a headlock. His arm is thick and doesn’t budge no matter how Tim shoves and kicks. The ice pack and the clothes go flying, and Tim just about dies. Jason is warm.

“Jason—!”

“Brat!” Jason crows, not giving an inch. “I paid for this place fair and square— you’re the only squatter here!”

“Blood money doesn’t count as square!”

“Tell that to half of Gotham, kid.”

“I’m trying to, thanks for noticing,” Tim says, finally wrenching himself free of Jason’s grip, stumbling into the bed and giving into its siren song. He sits down heavily on the edge, toppling over sideways and reaching pathetically for the fallen ice pack that’s just out of his reach.

“And don’t call me kid—” he complains, muffled by the pillow. It also smells like Jason. “You’re barely two years older than me.”

The cold ice pack is pressed into his fingers. He cracks an eye open to look, but Jason is just smirking at him, like he’s giving Tim the win. Ass.

“Coulda fooled me, shortstack.”

Tim rolls his eyes, and onto his back, toeing off his shoes and letting them clatter to the floor. He can’t tell if Jason’s bed is the best bed in the world, or if he’s just deliriously inventing things.

Frankly, Jason Todd’s bed is the last place he ever thought he’d end up, this morning or otherwise, so he’s never bothered to speculate. He does not have a contingency plan for this.

“Is there a reason you keep calling me short,” he complains, “Or will I just need to fill in the blanks myself?”

“Can’t help it. You’re just so small,” Jason coos. Tim props himself up on an elbow at that, raising a disgusted eyebrow.

“You don’t hear me constantly talking about how big you are.”

Jason grins like he just won the lottery; Tim shuts his eyes the second it’s out of his mouth.

“Baby, you don’t know how big I am.”

He does, actually. Not in a creepy stalker way, just— there was this one time. A big rogue breakout at Arkham, all-hands on deck type of situation; Tim, Cass, and Jason were covering Poison Ivy in the park. Acid-spitting pitcher plants were involved.

And look, Jason’s tactical gear is fine in the day to day, but it’s not like any of them had time to prep a neutralizing agent, so when Jason needed his pants off, stat…uh. Well. Tim was right there.

He knows, okay?

“Alright,” he rallies, trying desperately not to replay the memory of Jason adjusting himself through his boxers. All of himself. “I walked right into that one.”

“Oh, trust me. You’ll know if you’ve walked into it.”

Tim scoffs, but he can feel how red his face is.

And the thing is. He says it without really meaning to.

But he still means it.

“You gonna put your money where your mouth is, big guy?”

The change is immediate. Jason had been halfway out the door, but now he turns to Tim, giving him his full, undivided attention. He looks at Tim, laid out in Jason's bed, giving him a very slow once over. The scrutiny is at once nerve-wracking and thrilling.

“Thought you didn’t want my money,” Jason murmurs.

The temperature in the room spikes. If it weren’t for the slow throb of his bruised cheek, Tim would think that he’s already asleep and dreaming.

But he isn’t. He’s very much aware that he’s wide awake.

Tim swallows. “Well. It’s not your money I want.”

Jason’s grin is electric.

He stalks over to the bed, and Tim is frozen like a rabbit, waiting to see what he’ll do next. Jason settles a knee on the sheets between Tim’s legs, looming over Tim and boxing him in against the mattress. Tim’s free hand reaches up of its own accord to tangle in the collar of Jason’s hoodie, and the cotton is softer than he expected.

Jason’s eyes rove over his face, dark and heavy. He catches Tim’s face in his hand, swiping his thumb lightly across the bruising hot ache of his cheekbone. He leans in deliberate and slow and—

—and stops about an inch away from Tim’s mouth.

“Get some sleep, babybird,” Jason teases, his breath puffing gently over the skin of Tim’s lips. “You can proposition me again tomorrow.”

“It’s, like, 3:30 in the afternoon,” Tim argues, breathless.

“Yeah, and your body thinks it’s 3:30 in the morning. You’re dead on your feet. Don’t make promises you can’t keep, and go the fuck to sleep.”

Jason moves to rise. But Tim hooks a stubborn arm around his neck and pulls him down that last remaining inch.

The kiss is— bad. At first.

Tim basically smashed their mouths together to prove a point, and Jason muffles a surprised sound against Tim’s teeth. He lands heavily on top of Tim at an awkward angle, and he’s kind of crushing him. Tim refuses to let go, but— Jason doesn’t pull away.

Jason gentles the kiss instead, and Tim thrills. He levers himself up onto his elbow, wrapping an anchoring arm around Tim’s back. He finds a home between Tim’s legs, and he lets Tim kiss him until Tim's lips are tingling and his fingers go slack; until he can’t keep his eyes open anymore.

Somewhere between fifteen minutes and a small eternity later, Jason presses one more kiss to the corner of his mouth. He curls around Tim on his side, and Tim turns his face into Jason’s neck with a soft wondering sigh.

“I’ll keep it. Promise. Wait n’ see,” Tim mumbles. Jason snorts, but doesn’t budge, and Tim can hear his smile in his voice, lilted and lulling.

“Sure, babybird. I’ll wait. I got nowhere else to be.”

Tim is already asleep.

#one hundred thousand years have passed #i creak up out of the soil gasping and hacking and coughing #'i lived bitch'#'have some jaytim that grew legs on me'#my writing #asked and answered #jaytim #ladytauria #hurt/comfort #this one is sillier and more light-hearted than the other ones #the hurt is more like 'near tears travel exhaustion' than your typical aftermath of violence lol but it so definitely counts #i held a gun to the head of the muse that said 'this is way too short' and pulled the fucking trigger #i KNOW it's a very fast get together but i did Not want this to become my next 5 digit wordcount fic okay. okay. oka #the bones of a long 'tim and jason vs the league of assassins' fic is hiding here #and if i actually wrote that this would have ended much differently #but i am Not Writing That okay I am Writing Cowboys and also Werewolves Right Now. I Do Not Have Time For This!!!!!!#prompt fill

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cupcakemolotov · 5 months

Text

Ex's and Oh's

I have finally finished a thing, but honestly, with the 2023 has shaped up, this is a triumph! Happy Holidays, all.

Summary: Caroline's return to New Orleans is a little less triumphant than she'd like. There is a dead body in her trunk and a magical artifact in her passenger seat, and no matter how much she'd like too, the chances of avoiding her ex-husband are astronomically small. What, with the mate bond and all, but a girl's gotta hope.

Warnings: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence; Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known; Minor Character Death; Magical Realism; We Make War Not Love; Post-Divorce; These Two Fools in Love; Klaus and Caroline Being Territorial; for each other; tyler is dead; kind of; Canon-Typical Violence; Violence; Murder

“You aren’t supposed to be here.”

“I know.”

Bonnie rubbed a hand down her face after she handed Caroline a cup of coffee, her expression exasperated. “Do you?”

Caroline bit down on a tired smile. “Bonnie.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” she huffed, her eyes narrowing. “Enzo and I won’t be able to hide this. You know he has my place watched. He knows we talk. He knows I used to visit you, on occasion. He let it slide, because to do anything else would just piss you off more.” She sat and sighed. “This he will not let slide.”

Caroline shrugged, reaching carefully for the cream. Her ribs tugged uncomfortably at the motion, and she was careful to hide it. She needed caffeine too badly to let her friend be distracted. It’d just been her and multiple five hour energies over the past twenty hours, and there were things that needed to be said. “He’ll get over it.”

A choked noise escaped from her oldest friend, her expression pinched. It was still early in New Orleans, dawn not having quite creeped over the edge of the horizon. Her walk from her parked car had been quiet, the city slow and sleepy in the early morning hours, only the most adventurous of tourists staggering home. Bonnie had clearly rolled out of bed when Caroline had woken her, her clothing rumbled and mismatched. She’d have felt bad about just showing up after so long, if the circumstances hadn’t been an emergency.

“Caroline, Klaus does not ‘get over things,’ particularly when they involve you.”

“It's been just over ten years since the divorce, Bon.” Three years, fifty-one days since she had last talked to him. Since she had been in the same state as him. If she thought about it too long, her chest would start to ache with the weight of it. She had just never been able to decide if it was grief or rage that she carried like a cloak.

“Oh, I’m aware,” she said flatly. “The entire bayou is aware, Caroline.”

A pause, as Caroline scrunched her nose. “I didn’t think the divorce would still be hot gossip. A decade is more than long enough for people to stop wagging their tongues.”

Bonnie let out a groan. “If you think the kind of gossip your divorce from Klaus Mikaelson inspired is going to die down this century, you’ve forgotten how insular this place can be.”

“Kol lives here.” Caroline shrugged, winced. “He has a new antic every week. They can’t be bored of things to talk about.”

A peculiar look crossed Bonnie’s face. “Would you like to know what the last bit of nonsense Kol got into?” She didn’t wait for a reply. “He threw a block party.”

Caroline blinked. “That��s… not unusual for Kol. I can think of at least three block parties he threw in the last year that I lived here.”

Bonnie made a noise. “I don’t think you're really appreciating the scale of this party. It spilled across six streets. He brought in margarita trucks. Two live bands. Cops were called, SWAT intervened after the second fireball, dozens of wolves ended up in jail overnight, and it took a week for Elijah to untangle the legal shenanigans.” She arched her brow. “A week. Even the post-Esther shindig didn’t explode through the city quite that way.”

And neither of them had mentioned a word of this to her. She wondered if Enzo had a video. “Where was Klaus?”

“Business trip.” Bonnie said succinctly. “He showed up an hour after the SWAT team had been brought in to deal with the drunk witches. Do you know what Kol was celebrating?”

Caroline shook her head.

“Your divorce.”

The noise that caught in Caroline’s throat was strangled, torn somewhere between a laugh and a shriek. Bonnie’s expression darkened into that of a martyr before a judge.

“There was a banner, Caroline. Kol hung it across the front of the mansion, right above the entrance, and he had someone set up two spotlights to make sure it was visible. I have no idea who made the banner, but it had to be someone out of state, because supposedly no one died. Would you like to guess what it said?”

Caroline opened and closed her mouth, but couldn’t quite find the words. What exactly would Kol have put up to celebrate her divorce?

“No?” Bonnie crossed her arms. “Too bad. It read, “Congratulations to Caroline Forbes, Ten Years and Counting.”

It was a physical strain, not to laugh at Bonnie’s unimpressed look. Her ex-husband had enough pride to keep the Titanic afloat, having their disaster of a marriage waved in his face had to have made him apocalyptic with anger.

Bonnie nodded at her expression. “Elijah had to smuggle Kol to Eastern Europe. He’s still there.”

Struggling with her composure, when she finally spoke, Caroline managed to mostly sound normal. “Kol can occasionally be likable, can’t he?”

“You would find it hilarious.” Bonnie made a face. “Enzo certainly did. But it’s made my life unnecessarily complicated. Rebekah is refusing to talk to Klaus until he brings Kol back, and Klaus threw her last messenger through the front doors. Werewolves can apparently bounce. “

Caroline looked everywhere but Bonnie’s face. She would not appreciate the laughter Caroline was struggling to hide.

“The pack has started referring to the party as The Event, and every time someone is dumb enough to mention it in Klaus’ hearing, he gets that particular look on his face.” Bonnie waved her hand. “You know the look: he’s clearly weighing just how useful you are and if dead would be the better state of your existence.”

Caroline cleared her throat, trying to look contrite. It was difficult, when all she wanted to do was lean forward and ask for more details. Ask just how much Klaus was suffering, if the wound of her leaving matched the one he’d left in her. “That sounds terrible.”

AO3: Link Here

Please remember that my A03 account is unfortunately locked due to AI scrapping. You will need to be logged into an account to see all of my stories.

#klaroline #klaroline fanficion #my fic #story preview

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jerzwriter · 4 months

Text

Pen-sive

Thank you so much for this three-word ask @thosehallowedhalls: Ethan, Kaycee, pens. You have no idea how excited I was about this... I'll tell you why at the end of the fic. 😊

Book: Open Heart (Post Series) Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x Kaycee MacClennan (F!MC) Rating: Teen Words: 582 Summary: Something is missing, and Kaycee is not amused. A/N: @choicesjanuary2024 Day 17 - Rest (It's a bit of a stretch, but the poor man was resting - for a bit 😊)

It had been a fairly quiet afternoon by Edenbrook standards, and Ethan was relishing the relative quiet in his office. Finally catching up on work he had put aside for a day just like today, he stopped to take a break when he felt the warm sun beaming in from the window. Sitting back in his chair, he closed his eyes to relish the peace and tranquility.

It was short-lived.

Kaycee came barrelling into the room with the force of a hurricane (and we're not talking about a category one). Slamming the door behind her, there was a fire in her eyes as she marched up to Ethan’s desk. He let out a breath; the break was nice, while it lasted.

“Yes,” he said with his best manufactured smile.

“What is this,” Kaycee spat, tossing an object that clearly offended her onto Ethan’s desk.

He picked it up and examined it as meticulously as if it were a newly admitted patient. Then, after much thought, he placed it down before him.

“It’s a pen, my dear. A Bic pen, if we’re being exact. Classic style in clear plastic barrel casing. It appears to be a ballpoint with the blue cap still intact. Is that a sufficient explanation? Or do you require more?”

Kaycee plopped into the chair with a weary sigh, rubbing her temples to release the tension.

“And, my love, what is my opinion on this variety of pens?”

“You find them to be vile and an affront to humanity. You lie awake at night, baffled over why Congress has not taken adequate steps to rid society of each and every one.”

Her lips curled upward, and that dimple Ethan loved so much appeared. She wanted to maintain the level of exaggerated fury she had burst in with, but as usual, he wore her down.

“You are insane,” she chuckled.

“I’m insane? I'm insane? Should I bring in an impartial third party to determine who the insane one is?”

“Where is my pen!” She demanded. “I was sitting with you this morning, and I had it... my baby! My beautiful Uniball Jetstream retractable pen. You know, the one that glides across the page like silk, leaving a nice bold line without one single smudge or skip. WHERE is it Ethan, and don’t lie to me... I have my ways of finding these things out.”

Ethan smiled and shook his head. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out Kaycee’s treasured writing implement and handed it to her across his desk.

“In fairness, YOU grabbed the wrong pen when you left the office this morning. I had nothing to do with this. I didn’t even use it, just had it in my pocket for safe keeping... I know better.”

“I was still not caffeinated!" She said defensively. "I'll cut you a little slack, but did you page me 911 telling me to get back to your office and get it right away? No. So I still hold you accountable for making me use that... that vile excuse of a pen all morning.”

Ethan took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “How can I make it up to you, dear?”

“Take me to lunch?”

He smiled and stood up from his chair, tossing his car keys in his pocket as he did.

“Let’s go, and perhaps we can swing by Staples on the way back.”

“Staples? Why?”

“To get you a new box of those Uniball pens. I can’t take this kind of stress at work.”

Beaming, she reached over and kissed him on the cheek. “You know, you’re the best boyfriend ever!”

“Yep!” He nodded. “I certainly am.”

A/N2: OK, so you don't know this, but I am OBSESSED with pens. I am an utter pen snob, and it's not healthy. To make it worse, my boss's boss is the same way. We keep the cheap, shitty pens on our desks and "our pens" locked away so no one can get to them. If someone inadvertently takes one, we have been known to spend the morning hunting the offender down and making them pay. So the JOY this prompt brought me... you have NO idea. And now you have a peek into my variety of mental illness. lol Thank you!

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Tagging others separately.

#open heart #open heart fanfic #open heart choices #choices open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #playchoices #playchoices fanfic

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deans-baby-momma · 2 months

Text

Anonymously Yours

Will a wrong number lead to love?

BOLD = wrong number's messages

Italics= Y/N's messages

A/N: Thanks to @kazsrm67 for being my beta for this story and also @chriszgirl92 who bullied me into letting her read it before it was posted, who actually found mistakes that had been overlooked. LOL

‘Hey girl! I had fun last night with you. Maybe we can do it again sometime.’

‘Wrong number.’

‘Girl, quit playing! It's me. Did you get so drunk you developed amnesia?’

‘DUDE! It's 6 am. I've been asleep all night. As I said before, wrong number!’

‘Oh come on darlin’. I know you didn't give me a fake number.’

Y/N's phone lights up her face as she reads the last message. This guy just wasn't giving up.

‘Listen Romeo. Whoever you met last night either gave you a random number or you put it in your phone wrong. Sorry but I'm not her.”

‘I can't believe this. This never happens to me. Well, I'm sorry for waking you up. Have a good day.’

Y/N slams her phone down on the mattress and closes her eyes, willing for sleep to overtake her. But it never comes. She can't stop thinking about the poor schmuck at the other end of the conversation.

She sighs as she re-opens her eyes and grabs her phone

‘I'm sorry for being such a bitch. It's early. I didn't sleep well and shouldn't have taken it out on you. I hope you find the girl who fooled you…..but seriously if she just gave you a random number, she probably wasn't all that into you.’

‘Yea. That's pretty obvious. But thanks for laying it out like that. And sorry for waking you up. Again.’

Y/N read the message and then threw the comforter off her body, sitting up and placing her feet on the cold concrete floor of her room.

That's the thing about living in an underground monster-proof shelter….it's always cold! Especially in the deeper quarters, like the bedrooms and restrooms.

But being in the business of keeping the world safe from what goes bump in the night, Y/N and the Winchester Brothers must adapt and overcome the inconvenience of living off the grid.

So, an old defunct Men of Letters safe house is Home Sweet Home for the martyrs.

After using the facilities and brushing her teeth, Y/N heads toward the kitchen area, her stomach growling for sustenance.

She and Sam had spent days researching and analyzing tomes, trying to gather lore on how to kill a Khiksaz, the newest threat to the population. So much so, that it has been close to 24 hours since she had eaten anything.

She was starving!

The delightful aroma of coffee engaged her senses as she neared the kitchen. Inhaling the caffeinated fragrance, she entered the room to get her fill.

Dean, the oldest brother, stood at the stove flipping bacon. The sizzle of the meat met her ears and she hummed in bliss.

Y/N loved Dean's cooking skills. He could turn the most mundane ingredients into a delectable, magnificent meal.

“Good morning sweetheart,” he says as turns to look at her. “Sleep well?”

Y/N sips the hot beverage, letting the liquid brew wake her more and warm her from the inside.

“I guess,” she answers as she takes a seat at the table. “No nightmares, so that's a plus I guess.”

Dean approaches the table with a plate of bacon and pancakes that were warming in the oven and sets it in front of her.

“Progress though, right?”

That's the thing about Dean and Y/N; they share a connection of both suffering from nightmares. Dean’s of Hell and Y/N’s of witnessing her family get murdered by a rugaru while on the annual family camping trip.

The only thing that saved Y/N from the monster who stole her family was the fact that she had stepped out of the tent and wandered into the woods to find a spot to relieve her full bladder. She had watched from her hiding place behind a big oak as the giant beast tore her mother, her father and little brother to shreds. The guttural screams still haunted her all these years later!

“Yea, I guess so,” she admitted. “But I also feel like if I don’t dream about them, it means I’m forgetting them.”

“I know sweetheart,” Dean says from his side of the table as he pours a generous amount of molasses on his hotcakes. “But I’ve told you before. Just because you don’t dream about them doesn’t mean they’re not still in your thoughts; doesn’t mean you don’t love them or miss them anymore.”

“Yeah,” Y/N answers forlornly. “I know you’re right.”

She takes a bite of her own breakfast and moans obscenely at the burst of flavor.

“So how was your night?” she asks, knowing Dean had left to search for a hook-up to take his mind off the monotony of research. “Did you find some willing girl to get your rocks off?”

That’s another thing about Dean and Y/N’s relationship-friendship; they were crass and blunt with one another. They were like two peas in a pod. And it all started when Dean came to Y/N for advice on what exactly women want in a hook-up.

FLASHBACK

“Y/N,” Dean says as he sits at the table where she had been scouring an old journal she’d found in the library. “You’re a female, right?”

The question catches Y/N off guard and she laughs. “Yes, Dean. Unless I’ve been cursed in the last 5 minutes, I am a female. I have a vagina and boobs.”

“Smart ass,” Dean says with a smile. “Can I ask you something though? Something that only another female might understand.”

“Sure, Dean. What is it?”

“What do women look for in a hook-up?”

“I’m going to be blatantly honest with you here,” she says and continues once Dean nods. “Plain and simple. To get off. Someone who knows what to do with what the good lord gave him. We don’t really care about size but if you don’t know how to use what you got, we have to do It ourselves. And while that gets the job done, it's not as fun. As the saying goes, ‘It's not topside of the boat; it's the motion of the ocean’.

“So, Mr. Winchester,” Y/N smirks as she places her elbows on the table and rests her chin on her palms. “Do you know how to use what you got?”

She smiles as she notices the blush creeping up his neck. Who knew Dean Winchester could get flustered so easily?

Y/N would be lying if she said she'd never noticed how handsome Dean Winchester is. She has eyes with perfect vision, she can see the sex appeal. But she swore to herself that she would never be the fly caught in his web.

Dean Winchester was a player and a philanderer. He didn't do romantic relationships. Something else they had in common.

Y/N found out very early in her adult life that her choice of profession didn't lead to having a partner who understood the need, the commitment to keeping others safe from attacks of the paranormal.

So, much like the oldest Winchester, she sought out one-night stands, a love-em-and-leave-em situation was what worked best.

“Awww is Dean-o embarrassed? Well, tell me this then. Canoe, yacht or cruise ship?”

Dean flips her off and pushes up out of his chair and rushes off down the hallway, Y/N's laughter following him.

END FLASHBACK

After breakfast was finished, with Sam popping in after his early morning run to mix up a smoothie Y/N and the Winchesters gathered in the library to research more about the Khiksaz.

About an hour and one less brother later, Y/N's phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulls it out and notices it's the same number from earlier with another text.

‘You single? There's not some big burly man out for my head for waking you up this morning is there?

‘No worries Romeo. Single as a Pringle over here.’

‘That's good. You seem nice.’

Y/N couldn't help but laugh at that. This morning she had been bitchy and quite frankly rude to this stranger and he just called her nice.

Sam looked up from the book he was reading, an eyebrow raised in question.

“Sorry. Just read something funny on my phone.”

As soon as Sam was once again studying what he was reading, Y/N began texting her new friend.

‘Is that your way of asking to be friends?’

‘What if it is? What would your answer be?’

Y/N left him on Read as she contemplated his question. Would it be so horrible to befriend this guy? She knows nothing about him and he knows nothing about her. It could remain anonymous and be something to get her through the boring task of research.

‘It stays anonymous. You don't ask my name and I don't ask yours. We'll keep it casual unless one of us has a bad day. Then we'll help the other out. No pictures, no voice messages, no videos. Capichè?’

‘You sure do drive a hard bargain RG. But okay.’

‘RG?’

‘Yea. Regina George….you know the bitchy bitch from Mean Girls.’

‘Are you seriously calling me a bitch this early in the friendship?!’

‘NO!!! God no! You said it yourself this morning. You apologized for being a bitch. Sorry. I'll come up with another name for you.’

‘Oh. Haha. You got me. Okay, Regina or RG is fine.’

‘Good because I already gave you that moniker in my phone.’

The rest of the afternoon consisted of researching this new species of monster and texting Romeo, as he was now labeled in her phone.

Dean was once again absent from the library after he had brought in some sandwiches he had whipped up.

As evening approaches, Sam and Y/N were still poring over the lore and taking notes. Dean walks Into the library with a whistle on his lips and his keys twirling around his finger.

“See ya later nerd,” he calls out as he heads up the stairs.

“Wrap it before you tap it,” Y/N yells.

“Fuck you!”

“No thanks.”

And then he was gone. Off to find some floozy in a bar to make him forget the awful world they live in.

Y/N retired to her room around midnight, her eyes tired and her back aching from leaning over all day.

As she changes into her pajamas She hears her phone ding with a message.

‘You awake?’

‘No. I'm sleeping peacefully. Ha! I just climbed into bed. What's going on?’

‘Eh. Nothing much. Just lonely.’

‘Lonely? You mean Romeo didn't go out and try to find another conquest?’

‘Not really in the mood. Just wanted to have a conversation that didn't lead to anything.’

‘Okay. So tell me about your day.’

Y/N laid in bed, reading texts about Romeo's job in pest control and how he hated that customers would call him in about their problems but when he eradicated the vermin there was no appreciation, no gratitude.

She tells him about her work as customer service and how she suffers the same fate.

‘The adage “The Customer is Always right” is bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit!’

‘I feel you there sister.’

The two of them keep texting back and forth throughout the night until Y/N hears Dean’s early morning return from wherever he’d been. She made a note to sanitize Baby’s backseat before their next trip.

She listens to his footfalls approaching and then continues past her room to reach his, further down the hallway.

‘God this night sucks! I just want to fall into bed and sleep. Text tomorrow, bestie?’

‘Tomorrow Romeo.’

That night, Y/N’s sleep is plagued with nightmares. They consist of the anonymous person on the other side of the phone. As the night continues the images behind her eyelids morph into more pleasant ones. Her dream guy is tall, muscular with beautiful features and a complete sweetheart; a complete and adorable heartthrob.

She wakes the next morning with a smile on her lips and an urgent need to masterbate. She sends out a silent thank you to the girl who gave out the wrong number; before making her way to the bathroom.

A week later, Sam and Y/N finally had enough knowledge and data on the Khiksaz for the three of them to venture out to the small community of Sikeston, MO and take this monster on.

With help from the immense amount of lorebooks and tomes in the library of the Bunker, they figured out that a Khiksaz was a phantasm from a tribes of Arabian descent that had been captured and stored for millennia in a handspun clay jar after the spirit ripped through the older members of the tribe and began to beseech the still infantile and juvenile members to allow it to lead them.

One of the oldest chiefs, a religious man, conjured up a binding spell that captured and trapped the Khiksaz creature into the urn for all eternity. Unfortunately, someone in Missouri had come across the container and, not knowing what it contained, unleashed the beast which was causing chaos and devastation in the small town.

Sam and Y/N had worked mercifully at creating a copy of the enchantment and found a similar vessel to once again apprehend the offending spirit.

It was a 9 hour drive that took Dean only 7 to accomplish. Once they were checked in and unpacked, the three of them set out to make sure they had what they needed to accomplish the job.

Well, Sam and Y/N did. Dean sulked and flipped through the television channels until he found an old John Wayne western to watch.

Y/N felt her phone buzz in her pocket, but she was too busy perusing the spell once again to check.

After a few minutes, Dean huffed and turned the tv off and announced he was going out to find some fun in this one-horse town.

Y/N had had enough of his attitude for the last few days. He had been agitated and snippy at them both.

“God damn Dean! We are here to get this Khiksaz not for you to get your dick wet in some strange pussy!”

“Don’t you fucking worry about where my dick is going!” Dean yells back. “I don’t need a cunt to get off. My hand works just fine. I just need a drink or twelve.”

“Asshole!” Y/N says, stepping up to the older Winchester and getting in his face.

“You’re insufferable! I’ll see you two when I see you.”

He steps toward the door, throws a middle finger sign over his shoulder and sings, “Don’t wait up.”

Y/N growls. She literally and audibly growls.

“What the hell is his problem?!” she asks, rhetorically.

“He’s Dean,” Sam tries to reason. “You know how he is.”

“Yea, he’s a giant asshole.”

Once the two of them get the spell and weapons, along with the container to hold the Khiksaz in, they decide to go find something to eat.

While waiting on Sam to use the restroom, Y/N pulls her phone from her pocket to see a text from Romeo.

‘How you doin’?”

‘Friends fan huh? So maybe I should call you Joey. By the way, that is the lamest pickup line ever.’

‘I thought it was pretty good. In the 90s. It worked a few times.’

‘Yes I tried it.’

‘An no, I’m not hitting on you’

‘I don't know whether to be pleased or offended.’

‘Why?’

‘Why what?’

‘Never mind. So what are you doing?’

‘Getting ready to head out and get a bite to eat.’

‘Alone?’

‘Nope. My brother is coming with.’

‘Oh. You have a brother? So do I.’

‘Cool. What are you doing? I thought we were keeping this anonymous?’

‘You're right. No deep seated questions about one another. Sorry.’

‘Feeling like a jerk. A co-worker of mine and I got into it and I said some things I didn’t mean and now I regret it.’

‘So go apologize.’

‘Yea. I probably need to. ‘

‘Go apologize Romeo. Or I’ll send my brother to kick your ass.’

‘You make your brother do all your dirty work?’

‘I don’t make him do anything. But anyway, he’s out of the bathroom now so I’ll catch you on the flip side.’

‘And go apologize.’

As they walked across the highway to the diner, Sam brought up the texting.

“You have a boyfriend or something?”

“No,” Y/N answers sheepishly. “Just a friend….who might be a guy.”

She waits until after the waitress takes their order before delving into the whole story of how some random guy began texting her because he was given the wrong number by a girl.

“Ouch! That’s harsh.,” Sam says. “But what do you know about this guy? Is there a reason the girl gave him a fake number?”

Y/N shrugs as she takes a sip of water. “I dunno. Like, he seems nice. And we get along. But just through text. I don’t even know his real name. I called him Romeo in jest and it kind of just stuck.”

“You don’t even know his name?! Does he know yours?”

“No,” Y/N laughs at the ridiculousness of it. “He refers to me as Regina or RG.”

Sam looks at her confused so she explains.

“Regina George from Mean Girls. I was kind of a bitch to him, like Regina is to everyone in the movie. I didn’t take offense to it. I thought it was quite hilarious.”

“Let me see your phone,” Sam says, holding his hand out for it.

Y/N watches Sam scroll through her contacts until he gets to ‘Romeo”. He opens the information tab and studies it. His lips pull into a quarter smile as he closes the phone and hands it back.

“What?”

“What, nothing? What was the smile for?”

“What smile? I’m just happy you made a friend outside Dean and I. I mean, you gotta be careful because of our line of work. But I like that you have someone else to talk to.”

“Oh.”

The waitress brings their food and the subject is dropped. Their attention and concentration goes back to the job at hand and they discuss how to lure the Khiksaz out and distract it while the incantation is said.

In the early morning hours, Y/N is awakened by Dean stumbling into the room, blitzed out of his mind. He staggers to the mini-fridge and pulls out a bottle of water, opening it and downing it.

Between the smell of booze and the aroma of some of the most fragrant perfume, Y/N can’t help but gag. Dean notices the involuntary movement and shakes his head.

He cautiously walks to the bed and sits down beside Y/N.

“Are you here to gloat?” she whispers. “I really don’t want to hear about your sexcapades with some poor hometown girl.”

“Y/N, we’re friends right?” Dean says instead and it shocks her.

“Yes, Dean. We’re friends.”

“I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to call you an uptight cunt.”

“Um, Dean? You didn’t.”

“Yes, I did. On the drive over to the bar. I called you an uptight cunt and a self-righteous prude and I’m sorry.”

“All is forgiven,” Y/N says, burrowing her nose into the pillow. “But please go shower and wash that stink off you before I puke!”

Dean chuckles. “Yes ma’am.”

Unfortunately the next day does not go to plan at all. Both Winchesters and Y/N are thrown around while fighting and trying to capture the Khiksaz. Sam ends up with a concussion but Y/N breaks a couple of ribs.

With horrible dictation, Dean gets the spell read and the monster is once again bottled up and will make the trek back to Kansas to be stored away in the dungeon of the Bunker.

Y/N feels every curve and bump in the road of the 647 mile trip. Broken ribs are uncomfortable and painful when you're lying still but Dean insists on driving like a bat out of Hell.

He is on a tangent about how the information they had to the Khiksaz wasn’t complete and they didn’t know it had powers and how it’s his fault for leaving the research up to the two of them.

Sam tries in vain to reason with his hard-headed brother.

“We don’t always know everything about the monsters we go up against. This is just another instance!”

“Yea. Well-”

“Well, nothing! This hunt was no different than when we went up against that Wendigo or the rugaru that killed Travis! What?! Is it because Y/N got hurt? Is that why you're so pissed off?”

“We all got banged up; it's not just her,” Dean defended. “You have a concussion for Christ's sake!”

“And your brooding and griping isn't helping. Let's just call it a win and move on. Please!” Y/N pleaded from the backseat. “And Dean? Slow the fuck down! You're killing me back here.”

Knowing that his erratic speeding and Baby's lack of sufficient suspension is probably agonizing with busted ribs, he took his foot off the gas.

“Sorry sweetheart,” he apologizes. “I just want to get back to Bunker to rest and recuperate. I'll go slower.”

The rest of the ride was quiet and uneventful, other than when Sam tried to fall asleep and Dean blasted Metallica to keep his brother awake.

Once parked in the garage, Dean hurried to help Y/N sit up and get out of the car and hovered around her as she made her way to her room.

“You need anything, just holler okay?”

“Thanks Dean.”

As soon as he was out of the room and the door was closed, Y/N pulled her phone out.

‘I've had a shitty day at work. Tell me a joke.

There was no response for the longest time; so long Y/N began wondering if Romeo had actually blocked her.

‘Did you hear about the Italian chef that died?’

‘No. What happened?’

‘He pasta-way!’

‘OMG! They was corny as fuck!’

‘Forrest Gump’s email is 1forrest1.’

‘That one is no better. Lol. But they made me smile. Thank you Romeo.’

‘You're welcome Regina. Wanna tell me about your day?’

‘Nah, that's okay. It was just another one dealing with ungrateful, unappreciative customers.’

‘How was yours?’

‘Honestly, about like yours. Customer called with a rodent nuisance and I took care of it. Customer never acknowledged it.’

‘People suck!’

‘Yes, they do.’

The phone was silent for a few minutes before it buzzed again with an incoming text.

‘I ordered a chicken and an egg online. I'll let you know which comes first.’

‘Ya know, I'm starting to understand why that girl gave you the wrong number. You. Are. A. Dork!’

‘You asked for it missy! I am quite offended. I'm the farthest thing from a dork. I'm suave and charming for your information!’

‘And a dork. But you made me smile with your silly dad jokes. So thank you.’

‘Glad I could make you feel better. Our conversations make me happy.’

‘Same goes for me. But I'm getting pretty tired so I'm gonna try to get some shut eye. Good night Romeo. :*’

Y/N's eyes widened as she realized what she had done. She'd sent him a kiss face! A stranger! Someone she didn't really know.

What if he took that the wrong way? They had agreed to be anonymous friends. FRIENDS, nothing more. So why did she send him that?

What did it mean?! Was she developing feelings for this mysterious man?

She thought back to just a few nights ago, the erotically passionate dream she'd had with what she imagined this stranger to look like.

She reminisced of her dream Romeo kissing her breathless, worshiping her body as if it were a temple; of how they had fervidly made love into the early morning hours. He had brought her pleasure numerous times!

Oh fuck! She was falling for him.

‘Sweet dreams darlin’ :*’

Y/N laid awake for hours, contemplating on how to handle the knowledge that she was falling for the stranger.

How was it possible to develop feelings for someone you've never met, someone you'd never laid eyes on. Hell, she didn't even know the sound of his voice.

Around dawn, she decided she would no longer exchange messages with him and as soon as her body was healed, she was going to go find some willing guy to fuck Romeo's memory away.

Of course, she was awakened by her phone alerting her that a text was waiting.

‘Good morning beautiful’

‘You're probably still asleep’

‘I just can't get you out of my head’

‘Maybe we should break the anonymous rule and meet?’

Y/N read each of the lines over and over, each time making her heart drop. She didn’t know what to do.

She began to think that maybe she should’ve just ignored and erased his first message; when she realized it was a complete stranger who had accidentally texted the wrong number. She shouldn't have engaged with him. Now she was in this predicament. Of course, this is how her life is, fucked up and confusing as hell!

Y/N silences her phone and rolls out of bed carefully. The motion takes her breath away as her broken ribs shift with the motion. She makes her way to the door and down the hallway toward the bathroom, only to be almost bowled over when Sam, dripping wet and shirtless, comes barreling out of the bathroom.

“Oof.”

“Oh god Y/N. I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, profusely. “I didn’t expect you to be out of bed. Dean said he was going to bring you breakfast.”

“That’s sweet of him,” Y/N responded with a smile. “But that doesn’t negate my bladder issues.”

Sam laughed and stepped to the side. “Yea, I guess not. So, ummm…I guess I’ll come check on you later?”

“Okay,” she says as she closes the door to the communal bathroom and shuffles to the row of toilets. As she went to sit, she realized that the mundane task was hindered; she couldn’t bend without excruciating pain radiating from her thorax.

Even though her bladder was yelling at her to be emptied, Y/N stood and studied the ancient throne. With a small shrug, she grabbed the roll of tissue and tore off a few squares of paper before pulling her leg out of one side of her sleep pants and straddling the seat.

After cleaning up-because peeing like a man isn’t as easy for a woman as you’d think- Y/N heads back to her room, where as Sam said, Dean was waiting with a tray of eggs, bacon and coffee.

“Oooh, nectar of the Gods,” Y/N says as she reaches for the hot beverage. “Thanks Dean!”

“You’re welcome. How’re you feeling?”

“I’ve been better. I can tell you that,” she answers. “I’m going to try to wrap them later.”

“I can help you do that,” Dean says as he watches her sit on the bed before sitting the tray of food on the table. “You probably can’t get it tight enough.”

“M'kay.”

A few hours later

“Dean, I swear to Chuck if you try to cop a feel, I’ll kick your ass!”

“Oh be quiet, Y/N/N. It’s not like I haven’t seen them before,” Dean teases.

And he was right. On a couple occasions the eldest Winchester had been witness to Y/N’s top half of her body exposed; whether it’d be walking into the bathroom as she was exiting the shower or when she got wasted at that bar the three hunters visited and she flashed the whole crowd as she finished singing “Natural Woman” by Aretha Franklin; well butchered it would be a better word as she couldn’t hit a single good note in her inebriated state.

But she was being ogled by a fellow patron and was feeling frisky so after placing the mic back on the stand, she flipped her shirt up and flashed the whole bar. Her bra covered the main parts but it had been a ragged one and didn’t hide much.

So, yea Dean and Sam and half the community of Bumfuck, NM had seen her tits.

“I know,” she giggles and then groans as he wraps the gauze around her torso tightly. “Motherfuck! That hurts.”

“Cry baby,” Dean jokes.

“Let me kick you in your balls and see how you feel,” Y/N threatens.

“Hey now. If I can’t grope you, you aint groping me!”

“You’re such a dork!” Y/N says and they both laugh.

“Okay, you’re all bandaged up now,” Dean says as he hands her her shirt. “Go on and get redressed.”

As soon as Dean leaves, Y/N feels her phone buzzing in her pocket.

‘Regina? Are you there?’

‘Did I scare you off?’

‘Could you please answer me?’

‘Please?’

Y/N pockets the device and heads back to her room. How is she going to answer him? Is she?

She sits on her bed and stares at the phone as it begins vibrating again.

‘I’m sorry. Whatever I’ve done, I’m sorry.’

Deciding to throw caution to the wind, she answers.

‘I’m here. I’m fine. No you didn’t scare me off. You actually didn’t do anything. I did. We agreed to be friends and I went and let my feelings take control and didn’t even realize it until I sent you the emoji after my message.’

‘I know you aren’t interested in me. I know I’m just the consolation prize for the busty brunette or blonde, maybe even a redhead, that you were really hoping to talk to and text. I won’t hold it against you if you want to stop texting. No need to meet in person to tell me.’

Y/N reads over her message a couple times before hitting send and laying her phone down. It immediately starts ringing.

Romeo calling…..

Fuck!

‘I’m not answering you.’

The phone stops ringing and then a message comes through.

‘You have it all wrong, darlin’. You are not a consolation prize…not even close! I wanted to tell you, to say the words to you. But you won’t answer so I’ll just type them. I’ve fallen for you too.’

‘Don’t just say that to appease me. I’m a big girl. I can take rejection’

‘Baby, rejection is the last thing on my mind. Will you please answer the phone?’

Y/N reads Romeo’s last message a few times before she opens the chat box and responds.

‘No. But I will agree to meet you. Work is going to be pretty busy for the next few weeks and I won’t have much free time. So, how about two months from now we meet at a mutually agreed upon place and see where this goes?’

‘Deal.’

Y/N knew that in a couple months her ribs would be healed enough to not raise any questions or alert Romeo to the fact that she fights monsters for a living and not existing in a dead-end customer service job as she had alleged to.

The next few days, Sam and Dean went on a couple little salt-and-burns, leaving Y/N at the Bunker to continue healing.

Y/N and her mysterious Casanova texted continuously, getting to know one another better and just regaling one another with childhood memories and stories.

It was nice; it was befitting for two strangers to become acquainted. Y/N still refused to actually speak to the man she had feelings for. The secrecy was thrilling to her and she preferred the voice he had in her now-nightly dreams.

To pop that bubble by finding out he had a high pitched, nasally voice would be most crushing.

Of course, she hadn't told Romeo her real past. He knew her parents had passed, but she claimed a car accident took them from her.

She felt terrible for lying to him but how do you tell someone that your parents were killed by a beast that isn't supposed to exist?

What Y/N doesn't know though is Romeo had lied to her about his past also.

When Sam and Dean returned from their latest hunt, neither one of them acknowledged Y/N or said a word.

Both Winchester stomped to their respective rooms and she heard one door slam right after the other did.

“What's gotten into them?” she wondered aloud before going back to reading the book she had found. It was an erotic novel.

Greg cups her cheeks in his hands and he leans into her, closing the distance until their lips meet. His were soft and plump against her thin, chapped ones, but the lack of moisture on her lips was the last thing on her mind. He licked the dry vessels until she obliged opening them, inviting him in to taste her.

Greg’s, Romeo’s moans filled her ears as he explored her mouth, his tongue wrestling with hers.

Layla Regina threw her arms over his shoulder and planted her hands against the back of his head, pulling her lover closer and deeper into herself.

They stumble and almost fall but right themselves before hitting the bed, her on her back and his weight pushing her into the mattress. As his hands begin wandering her body, Regina silently begs for his hand on her most intimate area. As his palm slides down the skin of her abdomen, she wonders if her prayers were heard.

After becoming so enthralled with the book that she was even substituting her and Romeo’s nicknames into the plotline she missed the sound of Dean’s boots thudding down the corridor.

“What has you all dreamy-eyed and drooling?”

Y/N jumps in her seat and slams the novel shut, internally lamenting the fact that she didn't mark her place for later indulgence.

She looks up to see Dean standing at the mouth of the hallway, a couple of beer bottles in his hand.

“Are you reading porn?” he asks with a laugh and a smirk.

“It's a romance novel, dumbass!”

“Eh, same thing,” Dean shrugs as he steps toward her and offers her one of the beers. “Romance guy woos the damsel right into his bed.”

“So, you know oh so much about this subject, I take it you've read a lot of romance novels?” Y/N snarks.

“You know as well as I do, life doesn't happen that way,” Dean says instead of answering her. “It's a lot more messier and a lot less loving.”

“Are you telling me you don't woo all those unwitting hookups you have? Not even just a little bit?”

“Oh no. I woo the hell out of them. Tell them exactly what they want to hear-” he takes a drink then continues. “Then I get what I'm after and leave before daylight. Easy in, easy out.”

“You are a real piece of work Dean,” Y/N says with a laugh. “Those poor women probably think they've finally found the man of their dreams and the poof! you're gone.”

“Oh like the schmucks you hook don't know you're a one and done?” Dean says, rolling his eyes. “I've heard them before, telling you all their hopes and dreams. I've heard them during, thinking you are ‘the best they ever had’- their words, by the way- and then you're usually in the back of Baby before Sam's even gone for his run.”

“Oh my god,” Y/N laughs, trying to hide the embarrassment of the fact Dean has heard some of her excursions. But that's what you get when you stay in cheap motel rooms with thin walls. “That was one time! And he was a clingy fucker. Always had to be touching me; my face, my hands, my hips. Hell he even tried to suck my toes. Eww!” she shivers at the memory. “I couldn’t get away fast enough.”

They both laugh and then it goes quiet as they drink.

“So, um…” Dean begins. “Girls, ahem women, don't like that? The touching?”

“No. I mean yea we love an attentive man but sometimes it just takes away from the whole experience. Touch me all you want, run your hands all over me. Play with my tits, my clit…hell a little ass play ain't out of the cards but once he's inside me, I expect to get fucked! Not just filled and rubbed. Use that dick and make me feel it. Ya know? It's inside me for a reason.”

Dean shifts and adjusts his body in his chair and clears his throat. “Okay. Okay. I get that but let's change the subject.”

“Oh is Deanie-poo getting turned on?” Y/N jests. “You got a big ole boner under this table?”

“Shut up Y/N,” Dean mutters before getting up and bolting back toward his room, his half-empty beer bottle still on the table.

Y/N shakes her head and laughs before opening her book to try to find the place she left off at.

Why is it that time crawls when you are looking forward to something?

Y/N's ribs are slowly healing, thanks to the Winchesters generous and considerable care. They both made sure she was taking it easy and mending.

Sam always made her stretch and exercise what she could so her muscles wouldn't lock up and get sore while Dean kept her fed and hydrated and in good spirits with his complete goofy foolishness.

Y/N also noticed that as time went on and closer to her “date” with Romeo, Dean began to get happy and cheerful and just completely giddy.

Not like him at all. She'd also noticed he went out a lot more than usual. Once the day was done, Dean would disappear with only the sounds of his beloved Impala leaving the compound behind.

Does he have a girlfriend? Has he met someone and is unofficially officially dating? Who is she? When will she and Sam get to meet her? Will they?

Y/N didn't put much more thought into Dean's disappearance because truth be told, she had her own secret. She was in deep with Romeo.

They had texted regularly after their proclamation and had even done a little sexting.

Nothing too graphic, just a few descriptive words here and there and talking about using and touching. But it was enough to make Y/N wet and yearn for the day she finally sets eyes on her Romeo.

‘What are you wearing, gorgeous?’

Y/N smiled as she read the words on the screen.

‘Wouldn't you like to know.’ she teased.

‘I wouldn't have asked if I didn't.’

‘I'm sitting on my bed in a lace bustier with the matching thong. I'm so lonely Romeo.’

‘Is that an invitation? Because I can be there in no time at all.’

‘Haha. I’m only joking with you. I’m sitting here in an old pair of ratty sweats and a tee-shirt that had way too many stains to be presentable. My hair is up in a bun on top of my head but most of it has already fallen out and is just blowing in my face. I do not want you to see me like that at all.’

‘So when we meet in a few days, I still won’t get to see the real you? You’re going to be all dolled up and not the picture of perfection that you just described.’

‘Romeo, believe me….NO ONE wants to see this.’

‘I do. I am going to be honest with you. I am tired of going out and hooking up with people who don’t show their true selves. Who lie about who they are, what they do….give out random wrong numbers. I’m ready to be with a real person.’

‘Wow. That is honest. And truthfully, I feel the same.’

‘Maybe getting the wrong number was an omen. Someone up there believes we are both ready for something substantial. Shit, duty calls. I’ll text you soon :*’

As soon as Y/N read Romeo’s last message, Sam was knocking on her door.

“Come in,” she calls and the tall, long-haired man peeps around the open door.

“Just got off the phone with Jody. She needs help. I called Dean and he’s coming to pick me up and head to Sioux Falls. Wanted to let you know.”

“Okay. What’s Jody got?”

“Sounds like a cursed object wreaking havoc. A couple of bodies have come up….” Sam begins to explain and Y/N pushes herself off the bed and begins throwing items in a bag. “Wait, what’re you doing?”

“I’m coming with, I’m tired of sitting here by myself. Don’t worry,” she says as Sam gives her a pointed look. “I will stay away from the line of fire so to speak. I can hang with Claire and Alex or something.”

“Okay,” Sam answers, skeptically. “I don’t know if the girls are even home. You know, Claire has been hunting and Alex….well, she has her own friends now. You might be stuck at Jody’s by yourself so how’d that be different than staying here?”

“Sammy,” she says, patronizingly. “Jody’s has windows and sunshine and warmth and just please let me go?”

“Yea I guess I can see your point,” Sam answers and Y/N pumps her fist in the air before finishing packing. “By the way, Samuel, were you calling me old? When you said the girls might not even be there? Insinuating that they wouldn’t want to be saddled with the old, hurt woman?”

“Shut up, Y/N” Sam says with a smile. “You know that’s not what I meant!”

Dean didn’t seem surprised at all when Y/N threw her bag into the back seat of the Impala and climbed in. He just nodded and as soon as everyone was loaded, took off toward South Dakota.

“Y/N!” Sheriff Mills exclaims as we all exit Baby. “I didn't expect you to come. But am I glad you did.”

She hugs me and whispers in my ear, “I sure could use another female to talk to.”

“I'm here,” I whisper back and then pull away from her embrace. “I'm gonna crash on your couch while these two help you with your case.”

“Good. Good.”

She turns to the Winchester and greets them with their own hugs. After the warm welcome, the three of them head toward the station to discuss the case.

Y/N pulls the erotic novel she's reading and heads to the park across the street and sits at a table.

Opening to the page she marked, she immerses herself back into the story. As she continued reading about the marriage of Greg and Layla, the fictional characters in the story, she began fantasizing about another wedding; one that featured herself and Romeo.

She is brought back to the present when her phone buzzes in her pocket and she pulls it out to see a message from the man she can't seem to quit thinking about. She smiles as she reads the words, remembering how she felt as they vowed their lives to one another.

‘Another day, another rodent to take down. Please tell me your day is better’

‘Not really. This seminar is taking forever.’

Before Romeo can respond, she hears Dean call her name and she turns to see him slide his phone into the front pocket of his jeans as he heads to the Impala.

“We're heading to Jody's,” he announces. “You coming?”

Y/N hurries to mark the place she thinks she left off at and shuts the book before jogging across the empty road to get to the Impala.

“Did you figure out what’s going on this time?”

“We think it’s Lamia,” Sam answers. “Bobby went up against one, years ago but he put it through a wood chipper so this is not the same one but it’s the same M.O. They look female and seduce men and then choke them and eat their hearts.”

“Ew. Well, where’re we going to find a woodchipper?”

“We’re not,” Dean says. “I’m going to pretend to be the victim and then stab it with a blessed silver knife and burn it.”

“That’s risky,” Y/N states, worry about her friend filling her with dread.

“Well…” Dean says with a shrug and the conversation ends.

They pull into Jody’s driveway to see the Sheriff having a very animated conversation with her surrogate daughter, Claire.

They watch through the windshield as Jody hugs Claire and then the young blonde heads toward an old jalopy of a car and takes off.

“That girl is going to be the death of me,” Jody exclaims and her three guests join her. “Come on in guys. I’m making lasagna.”

That night, after helping Jody with the dishes, Y/n and the Sheriff join the Winchesters on the back deck of Jody’s modest ranch-style home.

The conversation flows but no one brings up the case at hand.

Y/N notices Dean is distracted and keeps looking down at his lap and wonders if he is beginning to regret his role as the Lamia’s victim.

‘Just to let you know. Something’s come up and I gotta leave town for a few days so you might not hear from me for a while. Just know I will be back for our date. I’m looking forward to it.’

Y/N reads the message and smiles. She’s been looking forward to it also.

‘Be safe and I’ll talk to you soon :*’

After the guys go up to bed, Jody and Y/N finish their glass of wine and stargaze.

“So what’s new with you?”

Y/N turns her head, looks at the older woman and smiles.

“I have a date.”

“Oooo, tell me more. Who is he? Does he know about….?” Jody begins badgering her with questions.

“I don’t know his name. I call him Romeo; it’s a joke between us. He, uh…..a few weeks ago, someone apparently gave him a fake number and he texted it but it wasn’t exactly fake. It was mine. We’ve been texting back and forth since and agreed to meet.”

“Oh,” Jody says, looking apprehensive.

“What is it?”

“How do you know this ain’t some demon or monster just trying to get to you and the boys Y/N?

“I’ve thought about that, Jod. I’m wearing my silver rings and I’ll have a flask of holy water to spike his drink if need be,” Y/N explains. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it covered.”

“Sounds like,” Jody chuckles and then lightly punches Y/N in the shoulder. “You gotta tell me all about it, though. Even the juicy parts, especially the juicy parts. Damn, I ain’t got laid in forever. I need to find a man.”

They both laugh and then settle back down and stargaze some more before heading inside and going to bed.

Dean Winchester almost becomes the Lamia’s fifth victim. If it hadn’t been for his fast thinking brother, Dean would’ve succumbed to the creature’s power and be dead.

Although he was alive, it was only barely. The Lamia had sucked so much blood from his body that he was unconscious for days.

Sam and Y/N had maneuvered him into the backseat of the Impala and raced back to the Bunker, hoping to find something to revive the oldest Winchester.

While they waited and researched, Y/N realized that she hadn’t heard from Romeo in almost a week. Their date was coming up and he had gone radio silent.

Sure he had told her that he had to leave town and wouldn’t be able to text her but couldn't he at least take a second to check in?

As soon as she could, Y/N sent him a message.

‘Haven't heard from you in a few days. Are you okay?’

And then, for the rest of the day, she kept an eye on her phone for a response.

The device stayed silent.

When Dean finally came around two days later, it was much to the relief of both Y/N and Sam.

They sat at his bedside and regaled him with the story of how the Lamia was not who they thought it was but that Sam caught on pretty quickly and used the current from an old stove hookup to burn the creature before she could take Dean’s life.

Dean, as stubborn as he was, refused to stay in bed. He was adamant that he needed to get up and that he wasn’t wasting away in his room while there were other monsters still roaming the world.

Sam and Y/N eventually gave up and left him to his own devices, going to their respective rooms to rest themselves. It was tiring trying to save a life then having that same someone argue that they hadn’t needed it.

Y/N was awakened by her phone buzzing with an incoming text. She opens the message thread and sees that Romeo has responded.

‘Sorry darlin’. I’ve been extremely busy. But I’m back in town and chomping at the bit for our date. Wanna move it up a few day?’

Y/N felt her face flush. She had been excited and eager and wishing that time would move faster as well.

‘A few days would mean tomorrow. You want to meet tomorrow?’

‘Yes. Tomorrow.’

Y/N woke up the next morning, nervous but excited. She was going to meet the man she had been messaging and getting to know through texts for the last three months.

She joined the guys in the kitchen for breakfast and then headed back to her room to determine what she was going to wear.

What do you wear when meeting someone new? She knew him, she thought, but she had yet to see him face to face or even hear his voice.

What if he was not at all what she’d been picturing all this time? What if they meet and one (or both) of them weren’t completely different from what the other thought?

She chose her nicest pair of jeans; nicest meaning they weren't covered in monster blood and guts and other bodily fluids of the creatures she has murdered.

Next, she chose a nice flowy camisole that wasn’t so low cut it showed much cleavage but low enough to show off her chest. Over that she wore a fitted leather jacket with the fancy schmancy silver buttons.

She slid the silver and turquoise necklace on with the matching silver ring, that way if Romeo went in for a hug instead of a handshake, she could still test if he is a werewolf or skinwalker and she had a vial of holy water in her purse to confirm he wasn’t a demon.

As she was finishing her makeup she heard Dean walking past her room, a whistle on his lips.

“Why is he in such a good mood?” she wondered out loud then went to look at her reflection once more.

By the time she got to the garage, the Impala was gone. Y/N was glad because she did not want to explain to Dean why she was borrowing one of the many cars there.

She chose an older model black Ford Mustang because it was one of the few inconspicuous cars they owned. Heads wouldn't turn at the sight of it rolling down the street, unlike the Bel-Aires and the Fairlanes would.

She didn't want to bring attention to herself for a set of wheels that should be in a museum somewhere.

As she drove toward town she hummed a tune that had been stuck in her head for days. She'd finally realized it was ‘Hooked on A Feeling’.

Y/N had no idea where she'd heard the song or even who sang it but it seemed appropriate for the situation. She was hooked on a feeling that she'd found her soulmate through a mistaken wrong number.

Once she got parked and walked toward the door of the restaurant she was to meet her Romeo, something caught her eye.

Down past the building was a sleek black car that she'd know anywhere. A 1967 Chevy Impala that if you looked closely had been rebuilt at least twice but was in pristine condition.

She turned her head to look through the window of the restaurant and her heart dropped. Dean was inside!

What was he doing here? Did Sam tell him about her rendezvous with Romeo and he was here to stop it? But then she realized that she hadn't told Sam about the meet-up.

Turning on her heel, she walked with purpose back to her car and slipped inside.

‘Something has come up and I can't make it. Sorry.’

Y/N raced back to the Bunker, parked the car and ran to her room. She flopped on the bed and let the tears flow.

How dare he be there? Finally, when life was going her way, she was going to meet the man of her dreams, Dean fucking Winchester had to go and ruin it!

Her phone buzzed a couple of times in her pocket but she didn't check it until she was all cried out.

‘Hope everything is okay. Is there anything I can do?’

‘Are you ghosting me?! Really?’

She didn’t answer. Y/N wasn’t sure how to answer. She was no better than the woman who gave Romeo the wrong number to begin with.

What was she supposed to do? Tell him that her “brothers” were actually just two men she lived with in an underground shelter that was warded to keep out supernatural beings that were out for their head? That her job consisted of continually being on some demonic radar?

Yea, he’d think she was nuts!

So instead, Y/N turned her phone off and laid in bed, wallowing in her own self-pity. She would never find a man to understand her lifestyle and she wasn’t going to give it up.

Fighting monsters and demons was her life! She was dedicated to making sure no one ever had to witness or live with the fact that their loved ones were murdered by things that shouldn’t even exist!

A few moments later, she heard the bunker door slam shut and could make out the boys’ voices but couldn't understand what they were saying. It got heated quickly though as she heard Dean yell, “You don’t fucking understand!”

Y/N got off her bed, wiped the tears from her face and left the bedroom, heading toward Sam and Dean.

“I just don’t understand it, man,” Dean says as she reaches the doorway to the library. Y/N stays just out of their sight; she can see them but the boys have yet to notice her presence.

“We get along so well. She’s funny but smart. She puts me in my place.”

“Maybe you should just man up and tell her your real name,” Sam suggests.

“No, no way. That opens up this whole world-” Dean says as he waves a hand around, motioning to the room and all the books on the supernatural they have. “She’s not like us. She wouldn’t understand. I just don’t know what happened?”

“I’m telling you Dean,” Sam says sternly but compassionately. “You may just be surprised.”

“No. I’m not telling Regina about this life.”

Y/N gasps and puts her hand over her mouth as it all comes clear. Romeo is Dean. Dean is Romeo. Holy shit! Wait, what? Like, what the actual fuck?! Dean is who she’s been chatting with via text for months now?

She thinks back to the first message and tries to remember if it came in as Dean since she has his contact information saved. But no, it was a number that came up, not a contact. She quietly runs back to her room and grabs her phone.

As soon as it turns on, she goes into her contacts and scrolls down to Romeo’s. She opens it and sees it is indeed a different number than she has saved for Dean….and his other phone….and his other, other phone.

So what is going on?

She walks back toward the library and this time she makes herself known.

“Oh hey Y/N.” Sam says with a smirk on his face.

“Hey Sweetheart,” Dean says, his tone melancholy before taking a drink of his beer.

“So, which came first? The chicken or the egg?”

Dean swallows the drink in his mouth and then slowly turns his head toward her. “What did you say?”

“Which came first? The chicken or the egg?”

“Um, how do you know that?”

Y/N walks closer to Dean and holds out her hand. “Hello Romeo. I’m Regina.”

Dean froze. The only thing that moved was his eyes, from her outstretched hand to Y/N’s face.

Time stood still as Y/N waited for Dean to catch up to what she had said. Suddenly his eyes widened and his lips opened and closed like a fish trying to breathe.

“What?!” he finally found his voice and spoke.

“I’m Regina and I’m assuming you’re Romeo from what I’ve heard.”

“You are the amazingly hot chick I’ve been texting all this time?”

Y/N nods her head and Sam laughs from his spot across the table from his brother. “It’s about time! I was getting tired of watching you guys pine for one another, and not realizing it.”

“Shut up Sam,” Y/N and Dean both state.

Dean pushes his chair back and stands up, pulling a dinosaur of a phone from his pocket. It’s a frigging flip phone for Chuck’s sake!

“What the hell is that?” Y/N asks as she laughs and watches Dean flip the phone open and punch in numbers on the number pad. “How old is that phone?”

“It was Dad’s,” Sam explains as they both watch Dean work on getting into the phone and open up the text thread. “I didn’t even know it was still usable but apparently my brother uses it to hook up.”

Y/N turns her attention back to Dean and watches as he looks at the screen, apparently re-reading all the messages.

“Well, fuck!” Dean says with a chuckle. He then turns to her and smiles. “Romeo at your service. And he is a dumbass. I didn’t recognize your number, but I do now.”

Sam stands and closes his laptop. “I’m going to go to my room and give you two some privacy.”

Neither Dean nor Y/N pays attention as the taller Winchester leaves the room, their eyes glued to one another’s, studying one another. No words were spoken for a few minutes.

“You’re Regina?”

“And you’re Romeo,” Y/N states with a nod. “I just have one question though. How the hell do you know who Regina George is? That's a chick flick if there ever was one!”

Dean shrugs and blushes. “Rachel McAdams is hot. What can I say?”

They both laugh but then Dean surges forward and wraps her up in his arms.

“But not as hot as my Regina. She can't hold a candle to you, baby.”

Y/N feels her heart squeeze around such a heartfelt compliment and smiles. “How idiotic are we?”

“Well sweetheart, this idiot has fallen for you.”

Y/N’s phone slips out of her hand and her arms wrap around Dean’s neck. “It’s a good thing I’ve fallen for you too then.”

They stand there, wrapped up in each other just taking it all in.

“Can I kiss you now?” Dean asked and Y/N nodded.

He slowly leans in, their eyes glued to one another's until at the very last second he glances down to her lips.

As soon as their lips touched, it was like everything became clear. The world had been dark and gray and now it was bursting with vivid color.

Dean licked against the seam of her lips, begging for entry and Y/N immediately granted him access.

When the need for air became necessary, they pulled apart but not before Dean placed his forehead on hers and smiled.

“Who knew love was right under my nose?”

“Well, here it is,” Y/N says as she tightens her hold on the older Winchester. “Who knew we belonged together? Now take me to bed!”

@spnbaby-67 @sea040561 @delightfullykrispypeach @larajadeschmidt13 @atc74 @vicariouslythruspn @squirrelnotsam @sandlee44 @blacktithe7 @hoboal87 @mogaruke @supraveng @akshi8278 @lyarr24 @kazsrm67 @chriszgirl92 @deanwithscissors @raisinggray @fanfic-n-tabulous @hobby27 @stoneyggirl2 @purpleeclipseeggsland @kmc1989 @leigh70

#dean winchester #y/n #sam winchester #Anonymously Yours #angst #fluff #smut-ish #Supernatural

44 notes · View notes

yoon-kooks · 2 years

Text

how many | jjk | 5

Pairing: Jungkook x TattooArtist!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Smut, BadBoy!AU

Summary: To Jeon Jungkook, you’re just the cutie who sits across from him in art class. He doesn’t have a clue that you’re also the hidden face of his favorite tattoo artist on social media. When the bad boy notices you’ve taken a surprising interest in his ink, he dares you to explore every inch of his body until all of his tattoos are accounted for. Tempted by his irresistible smile and delicate touch, you might even let him in on your little secret.

Word Count: 4.7k

Parts: 0 ◆ 1 ◆ 2 ◆ 3 ◆ 4 ◆ 5 ◆ 6

A/N: no smut in this one;;;;;;

◆ the one he drew for you ◆

Thank god for midterm week. For an art major like yourself, the usual midterm exams are replaced with art projects that you don’t really need to worry about. This actually allows you to squeeze in more tattoo appointments than usual throughout the week.

While you’re busy in the studio, your super hot smartypants boyfriend, Jeon Jungkook, is busy studying for all of his comp sci exams that you know he’ll ace. The timing is a little too convenient, but you’re just happy you don’t have to make up any excuses for why you’re too busy to hang out with him this week.

It’s not that you don’t want to spend time with your new boyfriend—in fact, for the past 120 hours, you’ve been yearning for his smile, his touch. You just need to focus and power through all of your appointments now so that you can make time for him this weekend. Because this is the weekend where Jungkook learns that you and his favorite tattoo artist are the same person.

You’ve even been dropping subtle hints throughout the week to see if he can put two and two together.

Y/N🍑 [MON 11:13PM] “so i may or may not be planning a surprise😈”

Jungkook🦆 [11:14PM] “It’s not gonna be a surprise if you give me a heads up, silly”

Y/N🍑 [11:14PM] “i could give you a million hints and youd still be surprised”

Jungkook🦆 [11:14PM] “👁👄👁”

Jungkook🦆 [11:15PM] “What are you up to?”

Y/N🍑 [11:16PM] “nothing!👼”

During class on Tuesday, he bribes you with coffee in exchange for more information about this “surprise.” He knows you can’t say no to caffeine in the morning.

Snatching the hot cup of coffee out of his hand, you offer him a single hint. “Try searching through the lizard tag on Instagram.”

“You’re such a dork for lizards, you know that?” He pulls his phone out and scrolls through the many charming reptiles on social media. He swipes past all the chameleons and leopard geckos until his thumb pauses at the sight of a happy little bearded dragon. “Okay, I’ll admit that one’s really fucking adorable.”

You nod and point out a baby albino alligator. “This one’s cute too, right?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook chuckles. “Wait, is this part of your evil plan to get me to like lizards? Are you trying to start a lizard family with me?”

“No, no, I promise I’m not surprising you with a new lizard friend,” you assure him. As much as you adore lizards, you shudder at the thought of feeding them live insects.

“Then why are we looking at all these little guys?” Based on his bright smile, he’s clearly not against your lizard agenda.

“Remember when I mentioned the lizard tattoo?” you ask.

“The one you supposedly had an appointment for on the day we went to the duck pond?” Jungkook tilts his head. Then he furrows his brow. “I thought you were just fucking with me. Did you actually get it?”

You shake your head with the smuggest smile. “No, but it’s probably the biggest hint you’re going to get.”

The albino gator you pointed out earlier was the exact photo you used as a reference for that tattoo design—the one you tattooed onto a man’s calf shortly after your first kiss with Jeon Jungkook. You posted the final product on @snowsleeve’s IG just a few days ago, so there’s a good chance the boy has already seen it.

Unfortunately, Jungkook doesn’t quite make the connection.

“Then… Are you planning on getting it?” He taps the back of your hand holding the coffee cup. Even the smallest amount of physical contact between you and him is enough to give you butterflies. “Because a tiny lizard would look cute on you.”

If you weren’t in the middle of class, you’d hop out of your seat and into his lap. Instead, you lean in closer toward his side of the table and settle for something flirty.

“I’m sure you’d look cute on me, too, Jeon.”

On Wednesday, Jungkook takes a break from studying to work on the next art project assigned by your professor. The two of you claim an empty studio in the art building and get to work.

For the assignment, your professor keeps it simple with few directions. All you need to do is pick an artist with a unique style and replicate that style in a drawing of “whatever your heart desires.” To put in the least amount of effort into this project, you go with the artist you know best—snowsleeve.

When you turn to Jungkook, he’s doing what appears to be intense research.

“Should I go with Murakami or Naoko Takeuchi?” he asks. You could easily see him replicating the work of Murakami, known for his bright and bold pops of color. You haven’t seen Jungkook use much color in his art so far, but you know he’d at least have fun with it.

“You can’t go wrong with Murakami,” you shrug. “I don’t know who Naoko Takeuchi is, though.”

Jungkook holds out his phone with Sailor Moon’s squad gracing the screen. “Oh, she’s one of the lesser known manga artists out there. Guess that’s why you’ve never heard of her.”

“Fucking smartass.” Your glare lasts about three seconds before you wrap your arms around his neck and give him a kiss. You’ve been deprived of that hot sensation against his lips for far too long, and the taste is divine. “But now that you mention it, I’m actually curious to see what you can create in the iconic Sailor Moon style.”

“Okay, that settles it. I know exactly what I’m going to draw.” The boy begins sketching an outline on his canvas with the most enthusiasm you’ve seen from him when it comes to schoolwork. He may not always show it, but Jungkook’s passion for art runs deep. And his desire to create isn’t all that different from your own. You just watch him in awe until you remember you have your own piece to work on.

The second the tip of your pencil hits your canvas, Jungkook looks over, curious about what you might be drawing.

“I’m going with body art that our good friend snowsleeve would design,” you say before he can even ask. You outline a masculine torso, strategically twisted and posed in a way to hide body parts that would otherwise need to be censored. You’re going to cover every inch of that torso in ink that would look so hot on a certain male friend of yours.

“Isn’t your style already pretty similar to hers?” He continues drawing, occasionally glancing back at panels from the Sailor Moon manga. “That wolf you drew on my hand the other day was definitely giving me snowsleeve vibes.”

“This project shouldn’t be too hard then,” you hum. At the very least, Jungkook isn’t oblivious to the similarities between the art you’ve shown him and snowsleeve’s tattoos. “The faster I finish this, the more time I can spend on preparing that surprise for you.”

“Oh? The surprise is something you need to prepare?” The tip of Jungkook’s pencil makes a hard stop against his canvas. You can see the wheels turning in his head. “Are you sure you aren’t setting up a huge lizard terrarium in my apartment?”

You burst out laughing. “I’m sure.”

“The lizard thing is throwing me off,” the boy groans, tossing his head back. The naughty side of you sees this vulnerable state as an invitation to climb on top of him and relieve some of his frustration. But you know Jungkook needs to finish this project today so that he can focus on the rest of his exams for the week. As much as it pains you, you have to control yourself. Thankfully, art is the perfect distraction.

When you’re satisfied with your snowsleeve-inspired piece, you lean back as Jungkook leans over you to check it out.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think snowsleeve drew this herself.” His eyes wander across the torso, from the playful fox rolling in grass to the dancing forest fairy to a familiar wolf wagging its tail like a good boy. With its long snout, the wolf nudges a carrot toward its bunny friend as a peace offering. Among the rest of the art that fills your page, it’s the wolf and bunny image that really stands out.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you say, turning your attention to Jungkook’s Sailor Moon-inspired work in progress. The beautiful heroine has your cozy vibe, your cute fashion sense, your lizards, and your personal superpower—art. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re drawing me.”

“Oh, it’s definitely you, Y/N.” His face is all smiles and crinkles as he reaches over to pinch your cheek.

“No wonder why you were so passionate about it,” you tease. You look at the heroine again. He’s right. It’s definitely you. She radiates warmth and good vibes with her goofy grin and the fun little lizard drawings brought to life by her powers. It seems the boy will never let the lizard thing go, but you love that this is how he sees you.

Jungkook nods. “I’ve realized art is a lot more enjoyable when I’m creating it with someone else in mind.”

You couldn’t agree more. The pure happiness that reflects in the eyes of your clients after their appointment is what makes it all worth it for you as a tattoo artist. Because you’ve created something personal that they can always look back on and feel some type of way about.

“That’s a good mindset for a future tattoo artist.” Your finger runs along the outline of every tattoo on his hand. He watches patiently and flips his palm up as soon as you’ve traced them all. He’s clearly asking for more of your touch. You quickly draw an imaginary smiley face on his palm before slipping his pen back into his grip. The two of you can save the handholding for this weekend.

Jungkook pouts, giving you a chance to reconsider the physical contact before continuing on with the project. Shortly after, he pokes his head up from the canvas with a sudden request. “By the way, can you give me another hint about that surprise?”

You tap the torso covered in snowsleeve’s art. “This is a pretty big clue.”

“I like my theory of you getting a tattoo,” he says with a thoughtful gaze. “But it couldn’t be that simple, could it?”

Thursday isn’t as exciting as Wednesday because you don’t have the luxury of seeing your boyfriend in person. Instead, you’re stuck in your studio from sunrise to sundown while Jungkook crams for his final and most important midterm.

After your last appointment of the night, a mischievous idea comes to mind so you decide to stick around a bit longer. First your sweater comes off, followed by your strappy bralette. You lay the client chair horizontally and hop onto it.

With one hand just barely covering both your nipples and the other holding your phone up, you snap a series of not-so-innocent photos of your bare skin against the black leather. The best pic is one where your expression is more sultry than angelic, and there’s also enough shit in the background to serve as a clue to your whereabouts.

Along with the faux nude, you send Jungkook a few messages. Hopefully, you won’t be too big of a distraction from his studies.

Y/N🍑 [8:56PM] “this is the last hint im giving you, jeon👼”

Jungkook🦆 [8:56PM] “Your boyfriend is very lucky”

Jungkook🦆 [8:56PM] “omw”

Jungkook🦆 [8:58PM] “Wait”

Jungkook🦆 [8:59PM] “Is that a tattoo place?”

Jungkook🦆 [8:59PM] “You’re actually getting one huh”

Jungkook🦆 [9:00PM] “Show me?🥺”

Y/N🍑 [9:01PM] “dont you have an exam to study for?”

Jungkook🦆 [9:02PM] “Y/N please I can’t focus on studying after seeing you like that”

Y/N🍑 [9:05PM] “good luck on your exam!👼💖💖💖”

Thankfully, your naughty photo only costs Jungkook two points on Friday’s exam, and he still manages to score the highest among his peers. To celebrate the end of a busy midterm week, you send him an official invitation to the unofficial Bring Your Boyfriend to Work Day at your studio on Saturday—the same day as his appointment with snowsleeve.

“Is Bring Your Boyfriend To Work Day a real thing?” Jungkook shoots you a skeptical look as the two of you stroll down the streets of the art district. He’s been cautious all morning. Probably due to the big surprise you won’t shut up about.

“We’re making it a real thing,” you say. “Aren’t you curious about the work I do outside of school?”

“I thought you said people just commission you for your art?”

“...Yeah.” Your voice has that but-there’s-more-to-the-story tone.

“Y/N, you’re killing me.” The boy places two hands on your shoulders and gives you a little shake in mild frustration. Eventually, though, his arms fall into a warm embrace around your waist.

On instinct, you spin around to face him. He still has dark circles from all those late nights of studying, but that doesn’t make him any less cute. With a big fat smile, you hook your arm around his and say, “The surprise will be worth it. I promise.”

“I know it will.” Jungkook lets out a dramatic sigh as you drag him along and into your studio.

It’s a cloudy Saturday morning. The studio is quite dark, but you make the executive decision to keep the cream curtains closed and the lights off for dramatic effect. But despite all the tattoo equipment staring him in the face as soon as he walks in, your boyfriend doesn’t look half as surprised as you’d anticipated. Either he’s known all along, or he’s just pretending to know.

With your arm still around his, you give him a rambling tour of the small space. “Here’s my art wall, this is fancy equipment that no one cares about, that’s the futon for when I need a nap, the back wall has some cute pictures… oh, and I have an espresso station set up in that corner. I’m learning how to make latte art.”

“Latte art makes a little too much sense for an artist who thrives on caffeine.” Jungkook grins. There’s no doubt in anyone’s mind that this is your second home. Your boyfriend takes the lead and sits you down in a familiar leather chair. He shamelessly stares at you through the camera lens formed by his thumbs and index fingers. “And this is the infamous chair you took that naughty photo in?”

“Maybe.” You glance up at him with the same inviting eyes from that photo. You rarely sit in the client’s seat, and the shift in power is painfully obvious. In this studio, you’re usually the one in control, the one leaving your mark on someone else’s skin. But now, Jungkook stands over you with nowhere to hide. You’ve never felt so vulnerable in your own studio. And if he wanted to, he could really mess you up.

He presses his weight against the armrests and leans himself over your body. His lips find yours and smother them with an endless wave of fervor and affection. For a long while, you forget the entire point of the outing. Nothing else matters aside from this intimacy between you and the boy you adore. You feel like you’re in a dream, the kind you never want to wake up from.

Jungkook eventually pulls back to let you breathe but holds your gaze with a subtle smirk. “I think it’s almost time for my appointment, Miss Snowsleeve.”

You study his face quietly for just a moment. There’s not a shadow of doubt to be found. His confidence is so fucking attractive.

“How long have you known?” you ask.

“In my mind, it wasn’t confirmed until today, but I’ve been considering the possibility since that night at the pool.” The boy watches as you get up to finally turn the lights on. On your way back around, you gesture for him to follow you to the back. “Did you know you and snowsleeve have the same exact texting style? Exclusively lowercase.”

“That was the dead giveaway for you?” You encourage him to take a look at the collection of photos hanging on the back wall.

“It couldn’t have possibly been the glaring similarities in your art,” Jungkook says with sarcasm. He examines the polaroids of your favorite tattoos on some of your favorite people—fellow artists like Amber and Zico, celebrities like Park Jimin and Min Yoongi, and regulars who’ve supported you since the beginning. Even Seokjin has a place on your wall with a serpentine ankle tattoo that he rarely shows off outside of your apartment. Your boyfriend points to the pic of you and Amber and adds, “Couldn’t have been your extensive knowledge of local tattoo artists, either.”

“Definitely not,” you play along.

“And the more I thought about it, I realized it wasn’t a coincidence that the snowsleeve stalked my IG and liked one of my posts on that first day of art class.”

“Hey, first of all, I wasn’t IG stalking you.” You were totally IG stalking him, and both of you know it. “And second, I guess your attention to detail isn’t that bad after all.”

“It’s kind of hard not to notice the quirky little things about you.” Jungkook’s eyes pan from you, to the wall of polaroids, and to the art you’ve poured your heart and soul into. “Is there a reason why you choose to keep this all a secret?”

You nod. It was a conscious decision to keep your art detached from your name and face. Sure, it’d become less and less of a secret as your list of clients grew, but you just wanted to prove something to yourself.

“I’ve relied on my art for most of my life. It’s always been my ice breaker, my security blanket, my escape, and it’s become the only thing I’m known for.”

You think about how in every class and every friend group, you were labeled “the quiet one who was good at art.” Everyone would make small talk with you about art galleries, awards you’ve won for your art, and Pablo freaking Picasso. Your 9th grade math teacher even tasked you with decorating her classroom in geometric art. No one ever talked to you about your favorite reptiles or your love of pineapple pizza. Because what else did anyone know about you aside from art?

“I only know you as the number one lizard enthusiast in the world,” Jungkook jokes. His down-to-earth smile is both contagious and comforting. “I get where you’re coming from, though.”

“It’s not all that different from you and your two Instagram accounts. One is for here,” you say, poking the charming dimple on his cheek. “And the other is for here.” You interlace your fingers with his tattooed ones and hold his drawing hand up. You aren’t the only one who wishes to separate themself from their art—perhaps for opposite reasons.

You want to be seen as more than just your art, just as Jungkook wants to be seen as more than his pretty face.

“Yeah,” he says softly as he threads his free hand through his hair. “By the way, I’m sorry I spoiled the big reveal.”

You shake your head. “In all honesty, I preferred you to figure it out on your own.” In an instant, your grin goes from angelic to devilish. “And besides, I have one more surprise for you.”

“Why are you smiling like that? Should I be scared?” The boy spins around and frantically checks every corner of the studio. He searches high for hidden cameras, low for booby traps, and all around for possible lizard friends. You can’t help but laugh. You’re dating a complete goofball.

“Relax, it’s behind the espresso machine.” You pull him over toward the nutty aroma of roasted coffee beans. With a straight face, you add, “Try to be quiet, or else it’ll lash out at you.”

Jungkook does a good job of staying silent, although his wide-eyed expression speaks volumes. If you had to guess, he’s probably thinking something along the lines of, “I fucking knew it. It’s a fucking snake. This is what I get for dating that adorable reptile-loving dork.”

“I’m just fucking with you, Jeon.” Despite your evil cackle, the boy lets out a sigh of relief. “It’s not something nearly as exciting as a bearded dragon.”

“What is it then?” He tries to peek over your shoulder, but the object in question is already tucked away in your hands behind your back.

You gesture for his hand, and never once has he hesitated to give it to you. After placing the small metal object in his palm, you fold his fingers around it. “Take a look.”

Jungkook unfolds his fingers and finds a shiny key.

“You’re giving me full studio access?” He definitely wasn’t expecting this one.

“You can come in anytime to practice or borrow equipment or—”

“Or make myself a vanilla latte?”

“Exactly.” You plop yourself back into the leather chair and catch the boy by his wrist. He stumbles forward with the momentum and nearly falls on top of you. “You can even do the honors of giving snowsleeve her second tattoo.”

You flex your fingers, drawing attention to the outer edge of your hand. If you want to start small, a hand tattoo sounds appropriate. And besides, you find all of Jungkook’s tiny hand tattoos so dang charming, and that may or may not be what’s inspired you. When clients ask you about it, you can tell them the story.

“I know you’re in high demand, but is there any chance I can get an appointment with you today?” you ask innocently, ignoring the fact that you’re supposed to be having a consultation about Jungkook’s next tattoo. But that can wait a little longer.

“Someone’s eager,” he chuckles at your aggressive puppy eyes. If you could be an emoji, you’d be an angry one with puppy dog eyes and hearts. “But I suppose I can squeeze you in right now since you’re so fucking cute.”

You use this opportunity to give Jungkook a step-by-step tutorial on a proper tattoo setup. You show him your signature plastic wrapping technique, give him a rundown of your favorite machines, and share everything else with him that’s become second nature to you.

“So are we actually doing this?” he asks after a few practice doodles on fake skin with your favorite pen for lining. His lines are smooth, his hand is steady, and the depth looks about right.

“I’m in if you are.” You sit curled up in the leather chair, doing your best to mask the nerves building up inside your chest. The last thing you want is for your own uneasiness to rub off on a boy who has yet to tattoo an actual human being. “We can do something small and simple, just so you can get the feel of digging into real skin.”

“Bet.” Jungkook gives you a confident nod. “Any special requests?”

You point to the side of your hand, just below your pinky. “Something cute that you can freehand? Like a bunny fairy?”

“The biggest surprise of the day is that you don’t want a lizard.” He rolls in on your stool, takes your hand, and draws out exactly what you ask for. And it’s super wholesome. He leans back to get a glimpse of your reaction. “Good?”

“The best.” You can’t take your eyes off the floppy ears, the delicate wings, and the cute little heart nose. The love you feel for the boy and his art is starting to eat away at your nerves. You better keep yourself in check. Otherwise, you might do something too bold or reckless. Because that’s how safe you feel when you’re with Jungkook.

After making the switch from marker to machine, a few butterflies come fluttering back, but you’d like to believe you’ve still got a good poker face. In one hand, he wields the buzzing machine that seems a whole lot more intimidating when you aren’t the one gripping it. He slides his other hand beneath yours, against the plastic-wrapped armrest. Maybe he won’t feel the jitters vibrating through your body.

His gloved hand feels more like a fuzzy blanket keeping you warm on a gloomy rainy day. A boyfriend could say a lot of things to put his partner at ease in this situation. He might say, “It’s okay,” or “Let me know if the pain gets to be too much,” or even, “You don’t have to force yourself. I’d love you with or without this tattoo.”

Jungkook isn’t that boyfriend, though. He doesn’t need to speak into existence what you already know. He has his own way of doing things.

“Do you remember that first day in art class? When I drew that other bunny for you?” He holds your gaze for a moment. The buzzing fades into the background, and you feel the muscles in your hand loosening up. “I held your hand just like this.”

Of course you remember. No boy has ever made you feel so comforted by a single touch. That day, you were so happy. And for the first time in a while, you felt excited for the days to come. It marked the beginning of something precious with no end in sight.

You nod, prompting him to continue on with his storytime. He gives you one last squeeze before retracting his hand so that his canvas is resting on a flat surface.

“I still think about that day a lot, you know.” His voice is soft, yet everything comes out so clear above the humming. How can a boy like him be so sweet? It still blows your mind that you had this bad boy image of him when he first entered the classroom that day.

“Me too.” Your cheeks are starting to hurt from how much you’re smiling. “Little did I know, that bad boy with the tattoos would turn out to be the biggest dork and sweetheart ever.”

“FYI, you’re the only person who’s allowed to call me a sweetheart.” The face he makes at you is a mix of a pout and him trying not to smile. Whatever it is, it serves as the perfect distraction for the needle hovering above your hand.

The first needle contact is more of a graze against your skin. He glances up for your reaction. You mouth, “A little deeper,” and he makes the adjustment several times. You don’t mind that he’s slowly easing both of you into it. He could spend a week chipping away at this simple tattoo, and you’d still love him.

When he finds the sweet spot in your skin, you stay quiet to let him focus. You want to praise him for how crisp and clean his lines are, and how pretty the bunny is turning out, but you bite your tongue and save it for the end.

“Anything else I should add in?” Once he's gone over every line, he sets the machine down and lets you admire the art he’s left on you. It’s tiny, adorable, and so so special to you. You don’t need anything else.

“It’s perfect.” You hop out of the seat and stretch, admiring your beautiful new ink in the studio lights. You’re glowing. From the stool, Jungkook lets out a healthy sigh, both exhausted and relieved to know his first attempt went as well as it did. You lean over, lift his chin, and steal a kiss. “Thank you, Jungkook,” you whisper into his mouth.

He kisses you again and licks his lips.

“So, are we still having my consultation?” His eyes wander across your body, from the tattoo he gave you to wherever that other tattoo might be hiding. Something tells you he wouldn’t be against rescheduling the consultation. “If not, you can come over and play with the cat.”

#bts smut #bts scenarios #jungkook smut #bts imagines #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #bts fluff #bts bad boy au #jungkook tattoo #jungkook #bts

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nhstadler · 8 months

Text

M A G I C

I don’t know why, but these keep coming. I’m in a writing slump but this just works and I wanted to share it with you guys in case some of you might enjoy it. I’ve been writing a sort of post-Hogwarts episodic piece about Seth and James and the gang that includes scenes from the past and their present and I think I will continue this when the OG story is finished (there are only two more chapters and they are all planned out, so it’s happening :) ).

The whole thing is called A CATALOGUE OF US and this would be the very first installment (it's too short to call it a chapter, I guess).

Any feedback is greatly appreciated. Or questions, or hopes, dreams, fears… anything, really. I’d love to hear from you.

The end of summer is always a tragedy.

Because it feels like a small death. Every time. There is a palpable chill that creeps back into the warm, endless nights - slowly, gradually - and then, in the blink of an eye, it’s over.

But when it starts, it’s magic.

I lean my forehead against the window, watching the world pass by as the train speeds through the landscape, lush greens bleeding into purple and blue as we get closer to the coast. There is an older lady across from me, knitting a neon green pair of socks. She sometimes looks up and gives me a smile and I smile back.

Tiredness is creeping back in. I’ve had three-and-a-half coffees already, but I’ve been awake for fifteen hours. Fifteen hours I spent mostly on aeroplanes and trains, trying to get back home. And maybe it’s the caffeine overdose, but it feels strange, somehow. Because it’s been almost a year and everything should look different, but it doesn’t. It all still looks the same; the soft hills and the harsh cliffs and the wild heather that crawls along the edges, barely swaying in the wind.

I sometimes wish I wouldn’t remember it all so well.

…

...

Rain is drumming on the window, blurring the view of the platform. There’s a sea of umbrellas that are nothing more than colourful smudges behind the glass and I let myself sink back into the seat, my hair chafing against the velvet backrest.

The whistle blows once - a warning for those who still haven’t boarded the train - and I feel a strange sort of wistfulness at hearing the familiar sound. Like I’m mourning something that hasn’t happened yet. But this was always going to be difficult. Even without him.

“Oi!” There’s a sharp knock on the window and Katie yells out in shock, her elbow knocking into my side as she spills half of her magazines on the compartment floor.

“Open the window, Woodley!” James’s voice is muffled through the glass. He’s trying to prise open the metal ledge from the outside and I stumble over Sam’s legs as I pull down the top part as far as it will go.

The smell of rain floods the compartment and the air feels heavy. He’s completely drenched, smiling his most adorable dimpled smile, and I wonder if I will ever get used to this; to James Potter looking at me like this. We had all summer. We had midnight talks and sun-drenched mornings and slow, salty kisses. And yet, when he smiles at me, my knees feel too soft and my heartbeat too fast.

“What are you doing?”

“He’s breaking my back!” Freddie shouts from somewhere below the window and I lean out a little to see him standing next to the train. His hair is plastered to his head and his hands are wrapped around James who is sitting on his shoulders.

“Did you think I’d let you go without saying goodbye?” James is still grinning as he dips his head, bracing his arms on the window frame. Strands of wet hair are sticking to his forehead, looking almost black, but the gold in his eyes gleams and my stomach swoops.

“But, we already said goodbye.”

He laughs - a small, secret, dirty laugh that makes my blush crawl to the tip of my nose. “Yeah, but your parents were watching.”

He’s so much trouble.

And so charming.

The whistle blows again, longer, more urgently, and I want to climb out through the window and into his arms. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“I’m going to hurt myself,” Freddie mutters, loud enough for us to hear, but James ignores him and leans in more, across the gap.

“I’m going to miss you, Woodley.” His voice is low and rough, like it was that night at his grandparents’ house when he snuck into my room. His hand slides to the back of my neck and I can feel the press of each finger against my skin. “A lot.”

He kisses me between the train and the platform. He kisses me like the whistle isn’t blowing, like it isn’t pouring, like no one is watching. Like we have forever.

“I’ll see you soon, OK?” He whispers the words against my lips and I nod because my throat feels tight and sore.

Water is dripping from my nose.

I think I’m crying.

The train is pulling away and James lets go as Freddie stumbles backwards. We’re picking up speed too fast, too suddenly, and there’s so much I didn’t say.

Like ‘I will miss you too’.

Like ‘please don’t fall in love with someone else’.

“Seth!” Katie gasps as I recklessly lean out the window like she thinks I might jump. I can feel her hand fisting in the hem of my jumper, pulling me back. Hard rain is pelting my face as I watch James follow the train to the edge of the platform. I watch him until he is nothing but a small, blurry dot in the distance and I think about the way he looked at me that night in the Burrow; when it was also raining and we were lying next to each other in that tiny bed, whispering underneath the blanket so no one would hear us.

…

...

The train rattles and I wake with a start. My mouth feels fuzzy and tastes like old coffee and I’m so disoriented that it takes me a moment to realise that we aren’t moving anymore. We have pulled into a station and the conductor is standing on the platform, having a smoke.

Across from me, the old lady is gone and her neon green socks are lying in my lap. I look at them for a moment and my throat closes off. I’m tearing up at a pair of slightly lumpy socks and I don’t know why.

It’s a hassle to collect all of the bits and pieces of my luggage. I’ve accumulated three random plastic bags since I left Boston, filled equal parts with food and rubbish, and I cram the socks into one of them. My backpack has a weird shape from all the airport impulse purchases and my suitcase is too big, but I fight my way through the narrow exit, consequences be damned. And then, I see her.

Katie’s hair looks brighter in the pale evening glow - more red than brown - and my heart feels heavy and light at the same time. There are sequins on her headband and they sparkle, even though the sky is cloudy. She’s pure light.

I drop everything at once - the plastic bags and the backpack and the suitcase that is definitely dented now. We’re both screaming, our voices hollering across the empty platform as we fall into each other’s arms, swaying back and forth like a pair of drunk idiots.

“Oh my god!” Katie shouts into my ear and her hands grab my arms, pushing me away and pulling me into her all at once. Her nose is pierced, which I knew, but I’ve never seen it in person. I wasn’t there when she got it. I didn’t hold her hand and grimace when the needle went through. “You look like hell. Still gorgeous but also like hell.”

She’s grinning. I am too.

“Trust me,” I push my hair back behind my ears in an attempt to tame the greasy frizz halo that I’ve involuntarily cultivated over the past hours, “hell has nothing on overseas air travel.”

“Why didn’t you apply for a portkey?”

“I did,” I say, bending down to pick up my backpack again, feeling the weight of it. “Unfortunately, I’m not famous or rich enough.”

“Excuse me?” Katie has grabbed all of my sad plastic bags like they are serious pieces of luggage, her eyebrows raised as she looks at me. “You’re a fucking Woodley.”

“That’s what I said!” I sling my arm around her shoulder and she wraps hers around my back, pulling me into her despite the fact that I probably smell like lemongrass armpit sweat, and I can feel it sink in. That feeling you get around certain people, no matter how long you are apart.

Like coming home.

#hntbaw #hpfanfiction #nextgen #fanfiction #jamessiriuspotter #hownottobeawoodley #aesthetics #aesthetic #moodboard #moodboards

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secretswiftymarvelfan · 2 years

Text

Burnin’ Up - Firefighter!Chris AU (Part 8: Boiling Point)

Summary: As you and Chris spend more time together, things begin to boil over

Word Count: 8k

Warnings: Fluff! Angst! Child abandonment! Language! Cop vs Firefighter Rivalry! Talk of Child Neglect! Talk of Character Death! Language! Idiots who won’t admit their feelings! Let me know if I missed anything

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Meet the Characters!

Series Masterlist / Masterlist

Part 8: Boiling Point

You were walking down the street heading towards your favourite coffee shop to meet Ben. It was a bright sunny day and despite the usual early start, you had a spring in your step. You just felt happy, you weren’t sure why so just put it down to the nice weather and the lack of depressing cases to work on.

“Well hello stranger, you seem pretty chipper this morning,” Ben says with a lopsided grin as you meet him outside the coffee shop.

You just shrug “guess I got a goodnight’s sleep last night”

“well, I did not so let's get some coffee,” Ben says linking his arm with yours and leading you inside the coffee shop.

“Late night last night?” you ask as you queue up.

“yeah, I only got home a couple of hours ago,” Ben says stifling a yawn.

Your jaw drops as you look back at him “you were out drinking until 5 am?!” you ask astonished.

“God no, I spent the night somewhere,” Ben says shaking his head “can’t you see the post-sex glow” he adds smirking as he gestured to his face.

“hm now that you mention it” you hum “so tell me about them,” you ask nudging him with your elbow.

“well it was a pretty wild night” Ben starts making you raise a brow at him “so I first met this girl in the club down the road from mine, she was part of a bachelorette party and we made out in a dark corner of the club, she was a bit touchy-feely but I wasn’t really complaining” he shrugs.

“so she ditched the party to spend the night with you?” you ask making Ben gasp playfully.

“rude!” he says hand to his chest.

You roll your eyes at him “you know what I mean, I’m surprised the party let her go that’s all” you say.

“I know, they didn’t, they pulled her away pretty soon after” Ben explains shaking his head.

“wait so who did you go home with?” you ask confused.

“well I decided to head to the gay bar and met this super cute yoga instructor” Ben smirks shrugging his shoulders.

“oh god was his name like ocean or something?” you laugh shaking your head.

“no his name was Matt, and he’s super fit and super great in bed” Ben smirks wriggling his eyebrows.

You laugh nodding your head “that is always a bonus, so are you gonna see him again” you ask him.

“yes I am, we talked this morning, actually exchanged numbers, nobody left a note or anything,” he says giving you a pointed look, you rolling your eyes at him “and we’re seeing each other this weekend”

“hey the note was a good idea, the wind just had other ideas,” you say stepping up to the counter “I’ll have just a tea please,” you tell the barista before looking over at Ben.

“double americano with cream,” Ben says placing his order “you’re only going for a tea? You’re usually 70% coffee” he comments as you get out your card to pay.

You shrug your shoulders “woke up pretty refreshed this morning, no point having caffeine if I don’t actually need it” you reason, quickly paying for the drinks and moving off to the side to wait for them.

“yeah you have been pretty chipper the past couple of weeks, ever since that storm a couple of weeks back” Ben comments leaning against the counter.

“Yeah I guess, the weather’s been pretty good since then so I’ve been in a good mood,” you say shrugging your shoulders.

“so this good mood has nothing to do with you spending the night at Evans’ house,” Ben asks arching a brow as he collects the drinks, passing you yours.

You shake your head taking a large sip before answering “no, I told you nothing happened” you say as the two of you walk out of the coffee shop.

“and I told you, that I just don’t believe that,” Ben says giving you a pointed look.

You sigh shaking your head at him “nothing happened, we just watched a Disney movie together and both ended up falling asleep” you tell him.

“and did you wake up on the opposite side of the bed to each other,” Ben asks knowingly.

“no… but that doesn’t mean anything,” you say shaking your head.

“I think it means more than you’re letting on, I think you like him” Ben smirks nudging you in the side.

“no we’re just friends” you state shaking your head.

“Are you sure? You don’t sound so convinced” Ben says arching a brow at you.

You sigh shaking your head “i- I don’t know”

“look I know you had a rocky start and you’ve seen the ugly side of him but I’ve never seen you happier, you’re like this whole other person ever since you guys became friends again,” Ben says stopping to turn and face you.

“I dunno benny, even if I did like him, there’s no way he could like me back,” you say shaking your head “he’s seen the worst of me too, it was my fault we got into all this mess, nobody would want to be with me after seeing that” you point out.

“if that was true you guys wouldn’t even be friends now” Ben states.

“I guess, but I dunno” you sigh shaking your head as you continue walking towards the precinct.

“look just next time you hang out with him try and see if you can see any evidence of him liking you back,” Ben says jogging to catch up with you.

“you realise that is easier said than done” you point overlooking over your shoulder at him.

“just try okay? For me?” Ben says stopping you once more with a hand on your arm.

You let out a long sigh before nodding “yes okay, but that doesn’t mean anything will happen” you agree reluctantly.

“as long as there’s a chance I’m good” Ben grins before linking his arm with yours once more and walking off.

When you arrived at the precinct everyone greeted you with a wide smile on their faces, thanking you as you passed.

“why is everyone thanking you?” Ben whispers as you get into the elevator.

“I have no clue” you whisper back equally confused as he was.

As the elevator door opens onto your floor you instantly spot pink boxes all around the bullpen. There were loads, at least one on every desk. You knew exactly what those pink boxes were, your suspicion was confirmed when you saw Hitchcock grabbing a doughnut out of one.

“What is with all the doughnuts? Did someone do a bust on a shop or something?” you say as you toss your jacket over the back of your chair.

“what are you on about?” Diaz called back “you’re the one who organised it all”

“what no I didn’t” you state shaking your head.

“Y/N, look,” Ben says nodding down to the pink box on your desk, a white envelope on top.

You pick up the envelope and rip it open, inside you find a small pink post-it note. You instantly recognise the writing and roll your eyes as you read the note.

Since I know you secretly love doughnuts, I thought I’d treat your squad on your behalf.

0-1 to the firefighters ;)

You shake your head chuckling “oh it's on Evans” you mutter.

“what is it?” Ben asks looking over your shoulder at the note.

“Chris has just started a prank war that he won’t win,” you say as you instantly start thinking of pranks you could pull on him.

“The choice of paper says a lot,” Ben says as he moves round to his desk, sitting down and grabbing a doughnut.

“what do you mean, it's just a pink post-it note,” you say confused.

“just like the pink post-it note that you wrote your number on and then went missing, starting all this off?” Ben supplied with a shit-eating grin on his face.

You roll your eyes at him “you’re thinking too much into this, it’s a very common office supply” you say shaking your head.

“I dunno,” Ben says shrugging his shoulders “to me it looks like he’s pulling your pigtails again” he smirks.

“no, he’s not, it's just a friendly rivalry,” you say shaking your head as he sat down.

“ah, ah, ah what did you say? You promised you’d keep an eye out for evidence that he likes you, this is some pretty good evidence” Ben points out.

“fine but we both know you can’t convict a criminal on one piece of evidence alone” you rebut crossing your arms over your chest.

“true, bet you can’t wait to get him in some handcuff though” Ben smirks winking over at you.

“ew benny you’re disgusting” you groan shaking your head at him.

“Oh shut up and eat a doughnut, you know you want to” Ben laughs nodding down to your box.

“fine but only because I don’t want them to go to waste” you say opening the box.

As you glance down at the box you try to contain the smile on your face when you realise it had all your favourite types in there. You knew ben would say Chris curated that box specifically for you, but you weren’t going to give him the chance. You didn’t need to give him more ammunition.

A couple of days later it was one of your days off, one you decided to use productively by cleaning your apartment and sorting through your closet in the hope to try and have it somewhat organised.

you had also decided to make some brownies, which you were just getting out of the oven when you heard your phone ringing. Quickly putting the tray down on the side you grabbed your phone, confused for a moment when you saw it was Chris calling you. as far as you were aware he was at work, and surely he wouldn’t be calling you if that was the case.

“hey is everything okay? I thought you were at work today?” you ask once you picked up.

“uh yeah I’m fine, I’m just at the station at the moment, I need a favour,” Chris asks his voice surprisingly quiet.

“What kind of favour?” you ask confused.

“can you just swing by the station? I need your help with something” Chris asks you.

You narrow your eyes suspiciously “this isn’t a trap is it to prank me again is it?” you ask sceptically.

Chris chuckles gently “no it's not, I know the rules of a prank war, I cannot prank you until you prank me back, which if you’re not gonna I guess that means I win,” Chris says.

“oh I’m definitely pranking you back Evans, I’m just taking my time, lulling you into a false sense of security” you smirk making him laugh once more, except it wasn’t his usual loud boisterous laugh it was really quiet.

“you know by telling me that it kind negates the point” Chris points out, his voice quiet.

“true, look Chris is everything alright? You’re really quiet” you ask him.

“yeah, I just need your advice on something, it's kinda an emergency,” Chris tells you.

“like my advice or police advice?” you question.

“police advice, look I know it’s your day off today but I really need the help,” Chris asks a pleading tone to his voice.

“Chris if it's something serious you should just call dispatch,” you tell him.

“I know but I need this advice off the record” Chris explains.

“Why have you broken the law or something?” You ask your brows furrowing.

“no, look I’ll explain it once you get here, please?” Chris pleads once more.

“Okay fine I’ll be there as quick as I can” you relent with a sigh.

“thank you, and I’ll buy you a doughnut to make up for it” Chris smirks making you groan in annoyance.

“you’re an ass Evans” you grumble hanging up the phone.

You sigh shoving your phone into your back pocket before turning off the oven and grabbing your trainers. As you slipped them on you began to wonder what on earth Chris could need your advice on, it was definitely a legal issue and one potentially very serious. You just hoped no one was in serious trouble, particularly Chris.

When you arrived at the station you had barely stepped in the door when Dodger came running over to greet you. The pup bounced excitedly until you crouched down to give him some fussing.

“Hey bubba, where’s your dad?” you ask scratching Dodger behind the ear.

Dodger instantly runs off towards the red metal stairs, pausing at the bottom of them to look back at you before running up them. You let out a small huff of a laugh at his Disney-like behaviour before following after him.

As you get to the top of the stairs you spot all the crew sitting together talking in hushed tones. You could see Chris but he had his back to you, as you walked over Jamie and a couple of others greeted you with a smile.

“Hey thanks for coming in,” Jamie says walking over to you.

“it's okay, what’s happened?” you ask following her back over to the guys.

As you reach the group you turn to look at Chris, your eyes widening in surprise when you see the small little baby in his arm. You couldn’t work out whether the baby was just really small or if Chris’ large biceps were making it look small.

“hey,” Chris says smiling up at you from his spot on the couch.

“um hey… why have you got a baby?” you ask pointing down to the child in question.

“This little guy is what we need your help with,” Chris says smiling down at the baby.

“right okay…” you say scratching your head “so what happened?”

“We have this baby drop box, it’s the first in the state, mothers who feel they can’t look after their child can drop it off here in a safe space without fear of prosecution” Jamie explains as you move to sit down.

“yeah, the save haven law,” you say nodding your head.

“exactly but we don’t think this baby is younger than a week,” Paul tells you crossing his arms over his chest.

You sigh looking back over at the baby, even though he looked really small he didn’t look like a baby that had been born in the last week. You watched for a moment as Chris gently rocked the baby in his arms, soothing it back to sleep. A small smile crept onto your face as you watched him, he was a natural at it, you’d seen him with his niece and nephew and were blown away by how much of a natural father he seemed but this was a whole new level. He looked up from the little boy, a smile on his face when his eyes met yours, you returned his smile before clearing your throat reminding yourself why you were here.

“right and the safe haven law require the baby to be left at a maximum of a week old, which means if the mother is found she’ll be prosecuted for child neglect” you sigh nodding your head slightly.

“exactly, so this kid is clearly too old for that law, but otherwise is perfectly healthy so we don’t want the mother to be prosecuted just because she couldn’t handle it” Chris explains, his voice low so as not to disturb the baby.

You nod your head in understanding “I understand, the law was designed to protect those who had unwanted pregnancies, due to rape or other reasons, but it doesn’t really protect those who go into it with the best intentions and then can’t handle it” you explain shaking your head slightly.

“Yeah, we were just saying how the limit should be raised to a month at least,” Steve says, you and the rest of the crew humming in agreement.

“right well, was the baby left with any documentation at all?” you ask them glancing around at the group.

“no it was just on its own, nothing with it” Chris explains.

“Okay, and there’s no CCTV footage of the mother leaving the station?” you question.

“no the box is specifically placed in an area where the mother can have anonymity” Paul explains.

You let out a long sigh nodding your head “okay, so right now there is no way to track the mother down to actually charge and prosecute her” you say rubbing your hands together “so when you take this baby to the hospital, what they’ll do is call the police they’ll ask for any CCTV footage you have and maybe ask for witnesses” you explain.

“but isn’t that unfair on the mother? If they do find her” Chris says his brows frowning together.

“Unfortunately yes, but there’s a high chance they’ll never find her, there’s very little evidence to go on and unless her DNA is in the police database they won’t be able to get details that way” you explain with a sigh.

“that’s good, I just didn’t want her to be prosecuted because of some minor detail like the date, especially if she didn’t know about that rule” Chris sighs looking back down at the baby, his fingers gently running over its chubby cheeks.

“exactly, and if they do find her she can use that in her defence, or the baby might not even be as old as we think, he could have been born late making him seem older than he is, either way, I think the mother is most likely safe from prosecution” you sigh nodding your head.

“good, while I wish this little guy wasn’t going into the care system I’m glad her life isn’t getting ruined” Chris sighs sadly.

“yeah and hopefully he’ll find a great home soon, cases like these usually take priority,” you say reassuring him.

“I guess” he sighs before looking back up at the crew “Jamie can you go call this in”

“on it, let's give the little guy some space too,” she says glancing around at everyone.

The rest of the crew nod in agreement all dispersing leaving just you and Chris behind with the baby. You stand up from your seat moving to sit next to Chris on the couch, watching over his shoulder as the baby stirred in his arms letting out a big yawn before snuggling down further.

“you’re a natural at this,” you say quietly nodding down to the baby.

Chris lets out a small huff shaking his head slightly “it's nothing, just had practice with my niece and nephews” he says.

“it's really not, you’re gonna be a great father one day,” you tell him gently.

You feel him stiffen beside you, his head quickly turning to look at you. you see a strange look in his eyes as he scans your face, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before he quickly looks away.

“I dunno” he mumbles under his breath.

“do you not wanna have kids?” you ask him.

He lets out a long sigh as he looks back down at the sleeping baby, his face softening for a moment as he looked down at him, almost as if he was picturing what it would be like.

“I dunno” he repeats shaking his head “a long time ago, yeah I did, I wanted it all but now-“ he starts before cutting himself off.

“what changed if you don’t mind me asking,” you say gently.

“I got older, things didn’t work out the way I wanted, feels like it’s something that just isn’t meant to happen” Chris sighs shaking his head.

“I understand, it might still happen though, you just need to meet the right person,” you say as you look down at the little boy.

When Chris doesn’t answer you look back up at him to find him already looking at you, that strange look in his eyes back and stronger than before. You felt your heart beating in your chest as your gazes met and remained on each other for what felt like an eternity. It felt like a silent conversation was happening but you didn’t understand a word or were just too scared to admit you did.

“do you wanna hold him?” Chris asks his voice barely above a whisper.

“uh yeah sure,” you say clearing your throat.

You shifted slightly on the couch gently taking the little boy into your arms as Chris passed him over. A warm smile appeared on your lips as you looked down at the little boy, he wiggled for a moment in your arms before settling down once more.

“looks like I'm not the only natural” Chris comments with a lop-sided grin.

“let's not get ahead of ourselves,” you say looking over at him with a playful smirk.

Chris laughs gently as he reaches over, his long large fingers gently tickling the boy's stomach making him squirm in your arms, a gummy smile on his face.

“so what about you? do you want kids?” Chris asks.

“I dunno, maybe… it’s a scary prospect really, with me not having my own mother around while growing up, and thinking of balancing work too” you sigh shaking your head.

“I’m sure you’ll have plenty of support around you to lean on,” Chris says gently “I know when Ethan was born the entire family helped out, it was an embarrassment of riches for Carly”

“I don’t really have any family left,” you say your voice quiet.

“but you have lots of friends, myself and my family included,” Chris says his hand moving to rest on your lower back “you have a lot of people who love and support you”

Your heart hammers in your chest at the word love. Your heart desperately wanted Chris to have meant it romantically, your head telling you it could only be friendly. You couldn’t trust your own voice at that moment so you kept your mouth shut and just nodded your head.

“Hey um,” Paul says interrupting the moment, “dispatch says to take the baby to the hospital in the aid car because they don’t have a team spare at the moment”

“right yeah of course,” Chris says clearing his throat, removing his hand from your back and rubbing his hands over his trousers.

“sure um here you go, do you guys want me to accompany you?” you ask passing the baby back to Chris and standing up.

“oh no we’re fine, dispatch says they’ll have someone waiting at the hospital for us,” Paul says shaking his head.

“yeah and it's your day off, you should be at home relaxing,” Chris tells you “I’m sorry for calling you in”

“no, no it's okay, I was happy to help, and look I know it's all a bit up in the air but it’ll work out, the baby will find a new home and the mother can go about her life without worry” you reassure him.

“thank you, I’ll um text you later or something” Chris nods giving you a small smile.

“yeah sure, talk to you later, bye Paulie,” you say giving him a quick wave before heading out.

For the rest of the day you tried to focus on the jobs you needed to do but it was impossible, your mind was solely on Chris. Replaying and analysing every moment, not only from today but from the last few weeks, from the moment you became friends again. The more you thought the more you couldn’t deny you had some really strong feelings towards him, a fact that was only solidified when he texted you a picture that night. It was of you and Chris at the fire station sitting on the couch as you held the baby, Chris's arm around you. You were smiling warmly down at the baby while his eyes were firmly on you. it was the perfect scene and one that made your heart soar, wishing it was real.

Chris: Paulie sent me this and I thought you might like to have it too

Y/N: thank you, it’s a really sweet picture

Chris: yeah, and I know I didn’t say it earlier but I think it proves you’ll be a great mom too x

You felt yourself well up at his words, a watery chuckle escaping your lips because you were definitely head over heels for Chris, praying he felt the same.

It was late into the evening and the fire station was quiet. The rest of the crew had already gone up to the sleep quarters to get some rest and hopefully not be disturbed by a call coming in. Chris however was sat on the couch in the common room, wishing he had a bottle of beer to hand to calm his mind.

He’d just sent you the photo that Paul took of you and him with the baby. When Chris first saw the photo he was annoyed that it had been taken in the first place, knowing Paul would just end up teasing him with it. But the more he looked at the photo the more he liked it, it made the dream of having a wife and kids seem more realistic which was equally terrifying and exhilarating.

“Hey I thought you might still be up” Chris heard someone say behind him.

Looking over his shoulder he was surprised to see his dad standing leaning against the door frame.

“dad what- what are you doing here?” Chris asks confused.

“I heard about the call in about the Baby wanted to check you were okay,” His dad says walking in and moving to sit in the chair adjacent to Chris.

“I’m fine dad,” Chris tells him rubbing his hands together “have-have you heard anything about it?”

“yes the little boy is perfectly healthy, the cops tried to track the mother down using DNA but it was a dead end, child services have officially taken over the case and found him an emergency foster home already” His dad sighs.

“so they’ve dropped the case against the mother?” Chris asks.

“yes, she, whoever she is, is safe from prosecution” His dad nods reassuring him.

“good, I just hope she’s safe from everything else, I just kept wondering what led her to this situation, was it an abusive partner? Was she raped?” Chris sighs running his hands over his face and beard.

“We don’t know and we will never know… all we do know is she made the right call leaving the boy here where he’s safe and she can carry on her life, hopefully for the better,” His dad says leaning forward to put a hand on Chris’ shoulder.

“Thanks dad” Chris sighs giving his dad a small and grateful smile.

His dad gave him a kind, warm smile back before squeezing his shoulder. Chris was glad both his parents were who they were despite everything. He knew he could rely on both of them for support when he needed it, he had already been planning on visiting his mom once his shift was over. His father had paid a visit knowing Chris would want to know what happened to the baby after they dropped it off at the hospital.

However, it was all tinged with sadness when he thought about you, knowing you would never have support like this from your father. Chris’ family had rallied around him when they found out he responded to the fatal RTC, you had no one, at least not until Chris turned up.

“dad, can I ask you something?” Chris asked quietly.

“sure son, anything,” His dad says nodding his head.

“ma said you told her about the fire that killed the commissioner's wife… what happened there? what went so wrong?” Chris asks.

His dad sighs sadly “it was just one of those jobs, one that no matter how hard you try you can’t save everyone” he starts shaking his head “our station was already responding to another fire when we got redirected to it, we tried to get there as quick as possible but we hit roadblock after roadblock” he sighs.

Chris remained silent as he listened to his dad recount the story, he had no idea he was part of the crew that responded that night.

“by the time we got there the entire house was in flames, we got in as quick as possible but she was already gone, we tried re-sus but it didn’t work” his dad sighs dropping his head sadly.

“was the commissioner home?” Chris asks him.

His dad shakes his head “no he was out on night patrol that night, he arrived on the scene just as we called time on his wife”

“shit” Chris mumbled under his breath.

“yeah something changed in him at that moment, he wasn’t my friend anymore, he became cold, everything had to be perfect and his way” His dad sighs making Chris’ eyebrow rise in surprise.

As far as he knew his dad had always hated the commissioner, he never heard him say a good thing about him. So to hear they were once friends was something Chris never thought would happen.

“you were friends? I thought you hated him?” Chris asks astonished.

“yeah we were, we often responded to the same jobs, just like you and Y/N, we built up a good rapport, but after that fire he became unrecognisable, he blamed it on us, and still does” His dad sighs shrugging his shoulders.

“and was it?” Chris asks cautiously.

His dad shook his head “no we did everything we could, there was a formal inquiry and everything, everything that went wrong was down to a matter of chance, the traffic, the longer response time, the hair straightener that short-circuited and the hairspray bottle that acted as an accelerant, but he just couldn’t accept that”

“and what about you two? The friendship you had, it just ended like that?” Chris asks.

“no, it took a little while to completely breakdown,” his dad says shaking his head “Me and your ma tried to help out, but then he snapped, I snapped back and that was it, you ma wasn’t very happy with me but you know he said some pretty hurtful things and like you, I got defensive and said some things I never should have said,” his dad says giving Chris a small pointed look.

“really?” Chris says surprised.

“Yeah, where do you think you got it from? Me and you are more alike than you probably realise” his dad says with a small smile.

Chris froze slightly when he heard that, his entire life all he’s heard is how similar to his father he is, and to begin with he loved that. His dad was the best role model he could ask for. But then his parents' marriage broke down, he saw how his dad broke his mom’s heart, and he didn’t want to be like his father anymore. Chris didn’t want to break his wife’s heart, he didn’t want to tear his family apart. He swore to himself that he wouldn’t be like his father, but he still heard it, people comparing him to his dad, and with every failed relationship it felt more and more impossible.

“no I know,” Chris says clearing his throat.

His dad gives him another warm smile “but yeah part of me feels bad for saying what I did, but another part of me isn’t because of the person he became, he became a monster, constantly berating other officers and people around him, he isn’t well respected in the force, he’s feared. He’s good at his job, I’ll give him that, but the damage he left in his wake…” his dad says unable to finish his sentence, shaking his head.

“I hate him” Chris mutters shaking his head “Y/N hasn’t told me much, but what I do know is heart-breaking, she grew up with only him, he put poisonous thoughts in her head, acted like a stranger rather than a father, she grew up in a toxic home, unloved,” Chris says beginning to rant before letting out a shaky sigh, dropping his head into his hands.

“I know, it’s one of your mother’s regrets that she didn’t do something to help, but from the outside, everything looked fine” his dad sighs shrugging his shoulders “but despite everything, I think she’d grown into a pretty incredible woman, surrounded by the love of friends”

“even though she slapped and potentially took away my ability to have kids?” Chris asks with a small smirk.

“yeah, but you deserved it” his dad smirks as he stands up from his chair “it's late you should get some rest in case a call comes in,” he says putting a hand on Chris’ shoulder “and I know you’re worried about her, but I think with you around she’s in a pretty good place”

“I’m just a friend,” Chris says looking up at his dad.

“I think we both know you’re more than that” his dad winks “now go to bed”

Chris chuckles nodding his head “yes sir” standing up from the couch to hug his dad “thank dad”

His dad pats his back, waiting for Chris to pull out of the hug when he was ready “it's nothing, see you soon” he smiles before heading out.

Chris bounded up the stairs of your apartment block in a hurry. He was kicking himself for being late, despite the fact, that there was nothing he could have done to prevent it.

“Hey sorry I’m late” Chris called out as he opened the door to your apartment, kicking off his boots.

“it's alright, I was running behind anyway” you called back from the kitchen.

“really? I thought you had today off” Chris frowns as he walks into the kitchen, helping himself to a beer.

“I did but I had some errands to run and lost track of time,” you say walking over and grabbing the beer from his hands and taking a sip, smirking up at him “so what made you late?” you ask him passing his back his beer bottle.

“just a crazy job, took us longer than expected to get back to the station to clock off” Chris answers moving to lean against the counter next to you watching as you stirred the pot on the hob.

“What kind of crazy?” you ask raising a brow at him.

“a bunch of teens went into this old abandoned house that is supposed to be haunted” Chris explains with a small chuckle.

“and was it?” you question holding back a laugh.

“no, well guess it depends on if you believe that sort of stuff, but one of the kids snuck off and hid in the walls trying to scare the other kids” Chris continues to explain as he sips at his beer.

“wait, wait, wait let me guess!” you exclaim holding your hand out to silence him, making him smile back over at you.

“the kid got stuck in the walls and ultimately scared off his friends” you guess, with a hopeful look on your face, biting your lower lip slightly.

Chris took a moment just to watch you, your hands clasped together the excited look on your face as you waited to see if you were right or not. Seeing you happy was one of his favourite sights, your bright eyes and brilliant smile. He wanted to always see it, and take away anything that made it disappear.

“yep, and it wasn’t easy to find where he was either because the house just carried his voice all over” Chris laughs gesturing around his face.

“that is pretty crazy but I’ve dealt with crazier” you smirk giving him a sidewards look as you returned to the meal you were cooking.

“oh yeah?” Chris says crossing his arms over his chest and arching a brow “what kind of crazy?”

“how about a loose zebra?” you say tilting your head slightly.

Chris furrows his brows in confusion “a what?” he asks surprised.

“you heard me, we got a call saying there was a zebra loose in someone’s backyard, turned out it had gotten loose from a private collection and when we looked into it further this collection had no permits it was all illegal, links to the illicit trade and everything, to date it’s one of my biggest busts,” you say proudly.

“no way” Chris huffs in surprise “what happened to all the animals?”

“they got rehomed to different sanctuaries and zoos across America, one Tiger even ended up moving to this sanctuary in the UK,” you tell him as you turn off the hob and begin serving up.

“poor tiger, moving from beautiful Massachusetts to rainy old England” Chris chuckles shaking his head.

“I doubt he cares too much, the sanctuary sends me photos and he’s looking good, much better than before” you smile to yourself as you plate up the food.

Chris smiles over at you “do you usually keep in touch with people from old cases?” Chris asks as he helps you carry the plates over to the table.

“If I can, it's nice to see how people are and make sure they’re okay, especially those whose cases while they got solved still lost a lot” you sigh as you sit down.

“Are there many of those?” Chris asks brow arched in concern.

“no, thankfully not, but there’s definitely more than I’d like” you sigh looking down at your plate, pushing your food around.

Chris sighs gently, watching the cloud darken across your features. He reaches over to take your hand in his, thumb gently brushing over your skin. He watches as your eyes widen slightly, darting to your joined hands before finding his. He panics for a moment that you didn’t want him touching you, that you didn’t feel the same as him, but just as he goes to pull his hand away your eyes soften and a small smile appears on your lips.

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up over it, you’re the best cop I know and they know you would have done everything you could,” he tells you softly.

“Thanks Chris,” you say your voice barely above a whisper.

“it's nothing, now c’mon let's eat because this looks and smells delicious” Chris smiles nodding down to his plate full of food.

“well I don’t know about that, your mom said how much you like Italian food but I doubt my meatballs compare to hers,” you say shaking your head.

A smile appears on Chris’ face as he can’t help but think you made this specifically for him, after hearing how much he liked this sort of food. He wasn’t sure if he could think of anyone who’d done that before, his girlfriends in the past would cook what they wanted, usually something that left him still hungry.

“well it is a pretty tough competition but so far it's looking good” Chris comments as he loads up his fork.

He sees you watching him closely as he takes his first bite, anxious to see what he thought and if he was honest this was probably the best plate of meatballs he’d ever had. He felt almost guilty to admit it because he was a sucker for his mom’s cooking but yours were also incredible.

“This is amazing,” Chris says shaking his head as he takes another large bit.

“you’re just being kind,” you say with a bashful look on your face.

“nope, honestly if you held a gun to my head and asked me to pick a favourite, these or my ma’s, I’d be dead because I couldn’t possibly choose,” he tells you shovelling more food onto his fork and into his mouth “seriously where did you learn to cook like this?”

You shrug your shoulders “my grandma taught me a bit when I was younger but I guess I kinda learnt on my way, I’ve been cooking a long time” you say as you start eating.

Chris furrows his brows at this, swallowing his mouthful before speaking “what do you mean?” he asks.

“well my grandparents couldn’t always look after me, so I’d be home alone a lot my father would leave things I could easily put in the oven or microwave like pizza bagels but they got boring after a while so I started cooking for myself and him” you explain keeping your eyes set on your plate in front of you.

Chris had to stop himself from snapping his fork in half in anger when he heard this, keeping his voice level as he asked “how old were you when you started cooking?”

You shrugged your shoulders slightly “I dunno, 7 maybe?” you answer.

Chris dropped his fork against the plate making you jump slightly, he muttered an apology as he ran his hand over his beard, grabbing his beer bottle and almost downing the entire bottle in one go. Ever since the conversation he had with his dad about your father, he’d done a bit more digging himself, asking people what they thought of the commissioner, and none of it was good. He’d secretly hoped that there was at least a few years before you had to fend for yourself, emotionally and physically, and hearing that wasn’t the case pissed him off to no end, especially when you talked so casually about it as if this was the norm.

“wow,” Chris says clearing his throat as he picked his fork back up “that’s um young” he comments going straight back to eating.

“I guess, but I enjoy cooking so I’m glad I learnt it,” you say a small smile on your face, your eyes lifting to meet his.

Chris felt his anger begin to dissipate as he looked back at you, because he could tell you were genuinely happy about it, and telling the truth. A small smile pulls at his lips as he looks at you, nodding his head.

“always a silver lining” he swallows, his voice cracking slightly.

Silence falls between the two of you as you continue to eat, Chris desperately trying to think of something to say, a change of topic but his mind was drawing a blank. Only able to think about the idea of you home alone cooking at such a young age.

“garlic bread?” you offer finally breaking the silence, holding the plate out to him.

“yeah sure thanks,” he says grabbing a couple of pieces.

“So how are things at the station?” you then ask him.

“good, we haven’t had too many call-outs this week which is nice but does mean killing time though which is proving difficult because our TV remote has vanished into thin air,” Chris says shaking his head, he glances back over at you to see you poorly trying to conceal a smile “wait…. Did you…. no you couldn’t have…. Did you?” he stutters.

You let out a laugh, reaching over to the side and grabbing your handbag and pulling out the station’s TV remote “I was wondering when you were gonna notice” you chuckle.

“we noticed!” Chris exclaimed, “I just didn’t think it was you!”

“that’s the best kind of prank, the small untraceable ones, I was gonna sneak it back next week, leave it somewhere super obvious so it made you lot think you were going mad” you smirk victoriously.

“you’re evil” Chris mutters shaking his head in disbelief.

“evil genius” you correct making him throw his head back laughing.

“we’ve been going crazy, we had no clue what to do with ourselves!” Chris laughs shaking his head.

“try reading a book!” you laugh.

Chris smiles shaking his head as he held out his hand for the remote “thank you, but you do realise this means I can retaliate now” he points out as you pass him the remote.

“do your worst Evans” you smirk.

“oh, you’re gonna regret saying that” Chris laughs shaking his head.

Once the both of you finished eating Chris cleared up all the plates, despite your protests and washed up everything. Telling you to leave him to it since you cooked dinner and to go pick what movie to watch tonight.

Once he placed the last plate on the drying rack he grabbed a towel to dry his hands before opening the fridge to grab another bottle of beer for himself and you. As he walked out of the kitchen he found you sat with your legs crossed on the couch, blanket over your legs book in hand.

“I hope you aren’t expecting me to read the book the movie is based on” Chris comments as he passes you your beer.

“hm?” you hum looking up at him “oh this? It's nothing,” you say closing the book and dropping it onto the coffee table.

As you do so Chris gets a better look at it, realising it was a textbook for the lieutenants' exam. He furrowed his brows at this since you’d only been a sergeant for a couple of months now.

“lieutenants exam already?” Chris asks picking up the book, giving it a once over “I didn’t realise you could take it so soon”

“you can’t,” you say shaking your head “I still have to be a sergeant for at least a year before applying but I thought I better get a head start,” you say shrugging your shoulders.

“isn’t that a bunch of extra work and stress you don’t need,” Chris says shaking his head.

“I guess but let's be honest I should probably already be a lieutenant by now, doing this just means I can get there sooner,” you say fiddling with the blanket on your lap.

Chris’ jaw clenched unbearable tight hearing that, what you just said wasn’t you being ambitious, it was words that had been put in your mouth. And Chris had a pretty good idea who.

“Who told you that?” Chris states keeping his voice as level as possible, hands clenched into fists.

“no one,” you say quickly shaking your head, looking up at him your eyes widening.

“bullshit!” Chris snapped making you flinch “it was your father wasn’t it?” he demands his anger towards your father getting the better of him.

“yeah but so what! He’s just trying to get me to be the best I can possibly be!” you argue.

“no, he’s not! This isn’t him encouraging you! it's him pressuring you and I can’t understand why you don’t see how crap of a father he is!” Chris exclaims hand running across his forehead as he began to pace in front of the TV.

“because he isn’t!” you defend looking up at Chris from your spot on the couch in disbelief.

“yes, he is! All I’ve heard from you and everyone else is how cruel and horrible he is! How he’s feared in the police force! He should have been done for child neglect and abuse!” Chris shouts turning back to face you.

“he’s not abusive! He’s an asshole but he’s never hit me or anyone else!” you argue standing up from your seat on the couch.

“no, but he’s coercive, ridiculing, verbally abusive! How the hell don’t you see that! He treats you like a stranger! Not a daughter!” Chris exclaims gesturing over to the photo of you and your father “he doesn’t love you!”

“fuck off Evans! You know nothing about my family!” you growl, rage burning in your eyes.

“no but I know what a real loving family is like and it’s not that!” Chris retorts.

“get out!” you state pointing to the door.

“Y/N c’mon you have to see this” Chris scoffs shaking his head in disbelief.

“I said get out!” you scream “go before I arrest you for trespassing”

Chris scoffs shaking his head, storming past you grabbing his shoes and jacket as he went. He open the door with so much force it could have broken from the hinges, leaving it open as he stormed out of your apartment and down the stairs. He heard you slam the door shut behind him, the sound echoing through the halls and down the stairwell. It made Chris pause for a moment, considering a moment to stop, go back and talk it out properly, but the moment passed and his anger returned. Leaving him storming down the street, seething for the rest of the night.

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taizi · 1 year

Text

give me something that’ll haunt me when you’re not around

chapter five: don’t usually swoon but i’m over the moon

rise of the tmnt pairing: leoichi (leonardo / usagi yuichi) word count: 2k title borrowed from fallin’ for ya by grace phipps post-movie

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Friday morning, Yuichi is waiting on the corner of the street, directly across from the exact spot Leonardo portalled to last time. He’s twisting the front of his shirt, anxious and excited and mostly just dying for Leonardo to show up already.

Granted, he got here forty minutes early, so he’s had plenty of time to walk around in circles and collect strange looks from vendors setting up for the day. He’s also had four cans of milk tea from the vending machine nearby so he’s comfortable blaming the jitters on caffeine.

Yuichi just—really wants to see him. He wants today to go well.

He’s just sunk into a reluctant seat on the edge of the bench when he catches a glimpse of blue in the corner of his eye. He shoots right back up to his feet at the same time a portal blooms open across the road and three people step through.

One of them is Leonardo, in a purple jacket this time. He’s also wearing a sling now—probably his siblings’ desperate last-ditch attempt to keep his left arm as immobile as possible, given that Leonardo seems to act as if it’s not broken in eight places and the cast is just someone’s tacky idea of a fashion accessory. He’s fiddling with the long tails of his blue mask, brushing them over his shoulder and then drawing them back over it again, like he can’t decide how they should lay.

April and Raphael are with him. They’re both hanging back a little bit, indulgent expressions on their faces.

Leonardo bounces eagerly in place, scanning the crowd, and Yuichi gives himself just a second to absorb the sight of him. For a second he feels the way he used to before he ever knew Leonardo’s name—when he was just an annoyingly handsome stranger with rowdy siblings and an unfairly nice smile, and Yuichi would hold his breath every time he walked into work half-dreading, half-hoping he would be there. Back then, he did a lot of looking without speaking.

Now, their eyes meet, and Leonardo’s face lights all the way up, and Yuichi feels a surge of something fierce and toothed and achingly tender at the same time.

“Usagi!” he yells, like it’s been weeks since the last time they met in person, instead of like two days.

Leonardo can still smile like that. After everything. After an invasion and a coma and a concussion and his whole world being thrown into chaos, he’s still here, making a noisy nuisance of himself on an otherwise peaceful street in Yuichi’s rural neighborhood.

Yuichi is so fond of him he doesn’t know what to do with it all. He’s so lucky he didn’t miss this guy before he had a chance to really know him.

“You’re late,” Yuichi calls back. He doesn’t know what his voice sounds like or what his face is doing. “That’s what I get for waiting on a turtle.”

The Hamato clan is a tactile, demonstrative bunch, which Yuichi knows firsthand from having seen it pretty much every time they’ve ever been in Run of the Mill for longer than two minutes—sharing seats and grabbing each other in headlocks and draping arms over shoulders, casually affectionate—and Yuichi wouldn’t say he’s the same way generally speaking.

He lets his cousins dangle off of him, and he’s had the same three best friends since they were all children, so they’ve sort of been grandfathered in. But everyone else is a different story. Yuichi knows he isn’t very approachable, and it’s never really bothered him before.

So people don’t usually run to meet him, but that’s exactly what Leonardo is doing. Yuichi’s arms fall open automatically and they collide hard enough that it knocks the breath out of his lungs. Leonardo’s arm squeezes him hard and even lifts him a few inches off the ground.

Oh, okay. Strong. That’s—yeah.

Yuichi pulls back when Leonardo does. They’re eye-to-eye and there’s a moment where they just stand there and grin stupidly at each other.

Then some stranger shuffles past them and Leonardo seems to remember at the same time Yuichi does that they’re in broad daylight on a busy street just standing there in each other’s arms, and they spring apart.

“Oh my god,” Raphael says from behind them.

“See? See? It's exactly like I said,” April replies with wicked glee.

Leonardo’s sort of agitated, back to fidgeting with his mask tails, and he shoots a scowl over his shoulder at his siblings.

Raphael ignores him, smiling over the top of his head at Yuichi. “Hi, Usagi,” he says politely. “Thanks for having us over to your place.”

“Neither of you were invited,” Leonardo says loudly.

Yuichi offers the giant turtle a hesitant smile. He wants so badly for Leonardo’s family to like him, and Raphael’s good opinion feels like a really important thing to have just in general, all on its own.

“Oh, it’s no trouble. I, um—I thought it sounded like Donatello and Michelangelo were going to come, too. Did they change their minds?”

“These four together are a walking chaos generator and we figured we’d spare you that whole situation,” April says. “Especially since you seem to have something special planned for—”

Leonardo leaps toward her and they immediately start scuffling. Raphael sidesteps them easily and goes on talking as if nothing interesting is happening behind him.

“They wanted to come along, but like April said, there’s already two of us crashing your plans, which isn’t really fair. So I asked Donnie to stay and keep an eye on Mikey, and Mikey thinks he’s keeping an eye on Donnie. They’ll stay put.”

That’s genius. Thinking of his own little cousins, Yuichi says, “And that works?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s the perfect system until one of them figures it out.” Lowering his tone conspiratorially, he adds, “I used to use it on the twins all the time to trick them into convincing each other to go to bed.”

Leonardo’s head whips around. “What?”

“Nothing, Leon,” the bigger turtle deflects quickly.

Yuichi really likes Raphael.

“Come on,” Yuichi says, hooking a hand around Leonardo’s elbow and hauling him forward. “If we let you start complaining about the injustices of your childhood, we’ll be here all day. You didn’t eat breakfast, right? Let’s get okonomiyaki.”

Raphael snorts and April laughs brightly. Yuichi thinks he feels Leonardo staring at the side of his face, but when he glances at him to check, the turtle is looking somewhere else. His pulse is racing beneath Yuichi’s hand. The skin of his cheeks has darkened a little, like he’s flushed from the sun or all the wrestling around with his sister.

He’ll feel better once he’s had something to eat. Yuichi drags him toward food with single-minded focus.

Originally, Yuichi had sort of daydreamed about giving Leonardo a ride on his bike, but that went up in smoke when his eldest siblings invited themselves along.

Still, this isn’t bad. It’s a nice day for a walk. And this way they can eat savory pancake off a paper plate with their fingers, and Yuichi can point out his favorite parts of the place that raised him without having to compete over the roar of the wind and the engine. He even forgets to be nervous around Leonardo’s brother and sister, who seem happy to trail behind them and let them talk.

The farm comes into view around a bend in the road and almost immediately four little voices bellow, “HE’S HERE!”

“Oh spirits,” Yuichi whispers.

Botan, Momiji, Jomei and Sonoko tear across the yard at full speed. Were they waiting to ambush Yuichi and his guests this entire time?

Spinning to face the Hamatos, Yuichi blurts, “Actually this was a bad idea. We should go, right now, literally anywhere else.”

“Nope,” Raphael says. His voice is warm and rich, like it’s about to dissolve into laughter. “We’re already here, might as well stay.”

“Yeah, and you promised my little brother some dinosaurs,” April adds wryly.

“Aww, hey, are these your cousins?” Leonardo says, shoving the leftover okonomiyaki into his brother’s hands. He looks nowhere near as intimidated by the oncoming stampede of small children as he should be. “They’re so much cuter than you could have ever prepared me for, what the heck! Bunnies!”

The stern bark of “Kids!” freezes them in their tracks before they can tackle Leonardo to the ground, which is how they usually greet Yuichi’s friends.

Auntie climbs down the wheezing porch steps, her prosthetic leg whirring quietly with each step. She waves the little kids away patiently and plants her hands on her hips when she’s directly in front of the guests.

“So you must be Leonardo. I’ve heard so much about you it feels as though I know you already. My nephew talks about you constantly,” she says with absolutely no mercy. Yuichi gives up and hides his face in his ears. “It’s about time that boy brings you to meet me. Call me Auntie.”

Leonardo is grinning, two children dangling off his good arm, another wrapped around his leg, and the last one trying to clamber up the back of his shell. He stands there like he doesn’t even notice their weight.

He’s not the type to admit when he’s hurting, though, so Yuichi begins extracting bunnies from his person before they can do any actual harm to his still-healing body.

“Auntie! Thank you for the snacks! Everything you sent me was the best thing I’ve ever tasted, obviously, but I loved the blueberry buckle more than life itself.” He ducks his head to avoid a flailing limb as a squirmy six-year-old is forcibly removed from his carapace, but otherwise doesn’t miss a beat as he goes on, “My little brother made me promise to ask for the recipe, but if it’s a family secret, he’ll totally understand.”

The or else is neatly implied.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Auntie says, patting his hand. “And I just made some fresh cakes yesterday, you’ll have to take one home with you. I’d better pack some extra for the rest of your siblings, too. Look at the three of you—way too skinny!”

Leonardo and his siblings all stare at each other in confusion, then he and April glance at Raphael, who looks down at himself at the same time, as if they’re all trying to figure out how ‘skinny’ could be applied to him in any sense of the word.

“Okay well anyway,” Yuichi says loudly, grabbing Leonardo’s shoulders from behind and propelling him toward the barn, before his family can make this any worse. “They’re here to see the nestlings, so that’s what we’re gonna do. Just us, without any of you.”

Horrifyingly, Auntie makes knowing eye contact with April and Raphael before she agreeably begins herding her children back up toward the house. The kids all loudly protest losing their turtle-shaped jungle gym but Yuichi is finally able to make his escape with Leonardo in tow.

Spot pokes his head out of a bed of loose straw when they step into the barn, and he trots over to Yuichi eagerly.

“There you are, buddy. Good nap?” Yuichi feels himself relax immediately as Spot presses into his hands for scratches, the tokage’s tiny presence smoothing down the prickly, scratchy edges of the ball of nerves lodged in Yuichi’s chest. “Leonardo, this is Spot.”

Leonardo kneels next to Yuichi eagerly and within seconds it earns him an armful of curious, wriggly lizard. He laughs out loud, his old laugh, the full-bodied, bright thing it used to be.

April makes a muffled noise behind him that Yuichi turns to investigate. She has her phone out and is clearly recording the whole thing, hand pressed over her mouth, eyes all dewy.

“His brothers are gonna love this,” she whispers. “Expect a delivery of baked goods from Angelo sometime in the next two to three business days.”

“Hey, losers,” Yuma calls from one of the stalls, leaning over the gate. “You know how hard it is to herd a bunch of baby lizards into one spot and then keep them there for any extended period of time? Are we doing this or what?”

“Ohmigosh,” Raphael says upon approach, all high-pitched and delighted, “they’re so little!”

They’re just over two weeks old and very little. There’s eleven of them and they’re all about the length of Yuichi’s arm from nose to tail. None of their colors have settled yet, their scales still pale grays and greens. The nestlings swarm these strange newcomers without an ounce of fear, making curious vocalizations and inspecting their persons for food.

Perhaps predictably, Leonardo’s attention is snagged by the most brazen of the bunch, the tiniest hatchling of them all. He’s sitting on the stall floor and she’s determined to climb the hills and valleys of his folded legs. She squawks when he attempts to assist her so he backs off with an amused snort, completely charmed by the pint-sized creature’s larger-than-life-sized attitude.

“She was the last to hatch and she’s a lot smaller than her siblings,” Yuma says, arms folded on the top of the gate. “It’s still too early to tell if she’ll make it.”

“Nah, look at her. She’s a little lion.” Leonardo is smiling at her where she’s triumphantly perched on top of his knee. When she crawls right into his open hands, his smile breaks into a crooked grin. Lifting her so they’re nose-to-nose, Leonardo tells her sternly, “You show them, niña. Think big, shiny thoughts. Be their champion.”

She chirps at him and he chirps right back.

Okay, what?

That was the most adorable thing that’s ever happened in the entire collective history of the Hidden City. Yuichi didn’t even know turtles could make that sound. What the hell is going on here?

Raphael whirls around to look urgently at April, as if to make sure she got that on video. She flaps a hand at him, grinning like a loon while she continues to record.

Yuichi thinks his heart is actually going to give out. It’s kind of messed up that no one warned him about this. He turns around and walks fully out of the barn, the heel of his hand pressed to his chest. Calm down. What’s wrong with him?

Clouds that have been flirting with the horizon all day have finally crept closer. The sky is overcast, gray with coming rain, so the various robots around the farm are beginning to come in from the fields and gardens. The kids are romping across the yard, fully distracted from their quest to embarrass Yuichi no matter what by what looks like a big toad that’s leading them on a merry chase toward the creek.

He doesn’t hear footsteps behind him before Raphael is suddenly standing with him in the big open doorway. For a big guy, he sure can move without making a sound, even though there’s plenty of crunchy feed and hay underfoot that should have given him away.

“You good?” the red-masked turtle asks thoughtfully. There’s an edge to his voice that sounds like laughter but there’s no mockery in it.

“Oh, uh, mmhm,” Yuichi says stupidly. “Just—needed some fresh air.”

Raphael hums and thankfully doesn’t point out that they’ve had nothing but fresh air all morning. He just leans his considerable bulk against the massive door frame and turns his gaze out toward the rest of the farm.

“This is really nice,” he says, apropos of nothing. “Your home is beautiful. Coming here is exactly what my brother needed. I wanted to thank you for that. And, uh—for putting up with the rest of us. I know it’s a lot of extra stuff you’re dealing with, but you’ve been good about it. Really, thanks.”

This sounds like approval. Or gratitude at the very least. Yuichi tugs on one of his ears. His heart is doing something weird and acrobatic in his chest. He thinks, tentatively, that today was a success.

“I’m happy he’s here,” Yuichi replies. It feels clumsy and falls comically short of how happy Yuichi is that Leonardo is here. But Raphael seems to understand him. His red-brown eyes are very gentle when he looks down at Yuichi, and it gives him the courage to add, “I really don’t mind. The—the ‘extra stuff’. It must have been scary to see Leonardo go through all that. I wouldn’t want to let him out of my sight, either.”

It’s nerve-wracking, sure, but Yuichi isn’t going to hold it against any of them. He gets it.

The sentiment takes Raphael by surprise somehow. He blinks and straightens up from his casual lean, mouth twisting down on one side. Maybe he’s about to say something else, but then their conversation is torn soundly in half by a resounding crash.

It’s a combination of splintering wood and screeching metal, coming from directly behind them. Yuma and April both shout in what sounds like alarm, and baby tokage scatter in every direction. Heart racing, Yuichi spins on his heel and dives back into the barn at a run. Raphael is two steps ahead of him.

A farmbotto lays in twitching, sparking pieces on the barn floor. Leonardo’s swords are in his hands and his chest is heaving and his eyes are somewhere far away.

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #leoichi #leosagi #usagi yuichi #hamato leonardo #hamato raphael #april o'neil #my writing #tmnt fic #bushido boyfriends #these bright blue city lights

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real-jane · 2 years

Text

poet laureate

part 2 - [prof bucky barnes x fem!reader]

summary: bucky embraces the chaos of a new job, and his girl finishes the project.

warnings: rampant fluff.

a/n: this is posted. i have been trying to finish it for literally ages and finally just forced myself to stop fiddling with it. I hope you enjoy!

series masterlist

Bucky awoke to two furry paws palpating his chest, Alpine’s sharp talons prickling like they did when she was being affectionate. There was something else waiting for him on his phone screen, which he didn’t see until he had squeezed every last drop of coffee out of the grounds in his french press, plopped a heaping spoonful of wet food into Alpine’s dish, and knocked his shin into the open dishwasher door. Bruised and under-caffeinated, Bucky sat at the kitchen table and blinked wearily at his phone. His eyes widened.

PL: Are you dead?

“Shit-shit–Alpine, this is your fault!”

Bucky was late to meet her at his office. They had finally set down solid plans: Saturday at nine o’clock sharp. In his cat’s defense, she had tried to rouse him from a particularly lurid dream, so that he could meet ‘PL’ to start cleaning out the tiny storage room in the guise of an office he had occupied for four years. But he had slept poorly since the night he saw her at Howler’s, and he was an enemy of early mornings.

He hit ‘dial’ before he could think twice and touched the speaker phone, so he could throw on a shirt at the same time.

“You had about two minutes before I called Search and Rescue,” she said, amusement coloring her tone.

Bucky huffed, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. “I overslept–”

“Let’s try again tomorrow?”

“I’ll be fifteen minutes, doll–”

“Bucky, it’s already eleven-fifteen. I gotta go.”

“Wha–you said you were free.”

“I was free. At nine,” she said gently. “I can give you a few hours tomorrow morning.”

Bucky sighed. He was in the wrong–he knew that. Over two hours late, of course she had something else to do! Oh–

“Your thesis.” He scrubbed a hand over his face.

“Among other things. Are you okay?”

Bucky ignored the question, to which he did not have a sufficient answer. “Do–uh–you need me to look it over?”

“...I’m meeting up with Wilson for final edits.”

He sat down slowly on the bed, with his buttons askew and one side of his hair attempting to stand straight up. “Oh. Good. He’ll set you up for success, no doubt. Glad you took my advice.”

“I usually do,” she chuckled.

“Don’t let him trap you in a lecture about cult fantasy authors from the 1960s, or his career playing college football. Trust me.”

“...you’re serious?”

“Deadly. Sam ‘the Falcon’ Wilson will hold you hostage talking about the differences between wizards and sorcerers.”

“Noted. Hey, have you called Mike, yet?”

“No. I don’t–ah. No.”

“I won’t push. When you get here, I didn’t touch any of your files. I wasn’t sure if that was a breach of confidentiality.”

Bucky groaned. “...you are not standing inside my office right now.”

“The cleaner let me in. Bill likes me. I tutored his granddaughter last semester. I hope you don’t mind wine boxes, that was what Mike had to offer. They’re sturdy at least–”

“Doll… I’m so sorry.”

Her laugh bloomed in his left breast, cushioning his heart from slamming against his ribs in self-flagellation. “Hey. I’ll put it on your tab.”

“I’ll be there at nine tomorrow, I swear.”

“Let’s make it eleven, you bring the cold brew.”

“Eleven it is.”

“Oh–if you’re not busy tonight. I’m having a thing. Well, Mike’s throwing me a thing–I won’t let him call it a party. To celebrate me being done with my Master’s. It’ll be low-key.”

“You know I’m not busy,” he said.

“Then I guess I want you to come. Eight thirty?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Mmkay. I gotta go. I don’t know how one man owns so many copies of Our Town, but they’re safely packed away.”

Bucky carded a hand through his hair. “Thank you.”

“Pssh. I’ll see you tonight.”

“If I’m up to it.”

“Call me cautiously optimistic.”

She hung up without any ceremony, leaving Bucky to stare at his phone on the dresser in defeat. Not only had she waited for him, she had asked someone to let her in–and then took it upon herself to start packing up his books, as if she had any inkling about how he wanted them organized. Who was he kidding–she probably had a better idea than he did. Nevertheless, the shame curled around his ankles like weights.

It had been three days since he asked to kiss her.

Of all the sensations from their fleeting night together, he couldn’t remember what her lips felt like, and it seemed like something he might never know again. She had wanted to kiss him back, but she didn’t trust that it wasn’t the whiskey talking. I still want to kiss you seemed like a contrived message to send via text, and calling her just to say ‘about that–kissing still sounds great, if you could just pencil me in’ was just about the most mortifying idea he could think of. So he kept that admission on the tip of his tongue. In-person delivery was the only acceptable option. People don’t write about kissing, much, he thought. The yearning for it, yes, but not the act itself. Maybe with good reason.

Imagine typing out such a thing with his thumbs on the world’s tiniest keypad: I want to memorize what your lips feel like with mine. No tongues need even be involved. Just touching. And if we could do it three or four hundred times, that might be enough to start.

His phone buzzed.

PL: Stop overthinking.

Oh, sure. It was that simple. Just stop–easy.

Trouble was, his organs all seemed to be functioning on the same train tracks, for better or for worse, and his brain was that pesky third rail. Deadly for sanity, electrified… all because his heartlines couldn’t stop thrumming her name. Her telling him not to overthink was like lightning telling thunder not to crash. I’m not me without you.

He let out a slow breath. Bucky hadn’t been in that much danger–of losing himself, going under–since he was a skinny twerp in too-big fatigues, far from home. And where had that gotten him?

PL: If you don’t text back, I'll call you again.

Bucky snorted. ‘You’re not the boss of me,’ he replied, imagining her wrinkled nose when she read it.

PL: I'm not keeping score, you know. PL: There won't be a test.

‘what if I am?’

PL: How am I doing prof?

‘at annoying me? top marks’

PL: There he is.

‘i am really sorry about this morning,’ he sent.

PL: One of these days you’ll stop punishing yourself for being human. ❤️

The audacity of that little heart…

He didn’t go to the office, no. He laid back on his bed and let that sweet emoji run circles between his ears.

“What do you think?” she asked as Professor Wilson flipped over the last page of her gargantuan thesis. Wilson sat back in his chair and shook his head.

“I still think it could be about ten pages shorter.”

“You sound like Barnes,” she snorted. “You’re lucky. He probably read a hundred bad poems before we got here.”

“Must be stressful finishing without his insight,” Sam said. His sincerity hit her square in the chest.

“Nah, it’s my fault,” she murmured. It was stressful, but less so for her than for the man in question.

“What is?”

“Putting revision off to the last minute.”

“Girl, your advisor did not quit because you were procrastinating. I’m sure his reasons were his own.”

She smiled. “No, I know. Still feel like it’s my fault a little bit. Can’t help it. Anyway. Here are my acknowledgements, and the Table of Contents. I’ll revise it if you think it really needs it, but I think this order makes the most sense.” Y/n produced a small stack of papers from her binder and slid them across the table.

Sam took them, but he gave her a soft smile. “It’s okay to be annoyed with him. Heaven knows I am, between you, me, and the wall.”

“Hmm. You talk to him at all?” She tried not to sound eager–she could talk to him, she had his phone number, but being stood up to help him that morning had rankled enough that she packed all of his books spine-down so he wouldn’t be able to see what was what when he reopened the boxes again. It wasn’t felonious retaliation, but it would make him sigh and roll his eyes… and send her a grumpy text.

“Have you?” Sam muttered.

Her face fell out of the unwitting smile which pulled at her cheeks as she pondered annoying her former mentor. She bit her lip guiltily and shook her head.

“Hmm.”

“Wilson–” Y/n stopped. She hazarded a glance at the professor who had so graciously agreed to help her with one of the most important projects of her life at the last minute, and found him studying her with narrowed eyes. “Thank you. Really. I, uh. Sorta thought I was on my own with this thing.”

“Believe it or not, I thrive under pressure. Unlike my pal Barnes.” Sam sat back with her list of acknowledgments but it was clear he wasn’t reading it as much as he was analyzing her.

“It wasn’t that, for him. I don’t think. Pressure.” She shrugged. “He just doesn’t ever think about what he wants, and when he finally did… teaching wasn’t it.”

“Maybe so.”

“He’ll figure something out. A mind like his can’t be idle for long.”

“Right. Sure we’re talking about the same guy?” Sam asked. They shared a little laugh at the expense of Professor Barnes, though neither of them thought the least bit ill of him.

“You work with somebody long enough and you see a side of them that they don’t even know, themselves,” Y/n said. “He’s got a purple heart, but he doesn’t talk about it. His classes are full within minutes of enrollment opening. And he never makes somebody feel like shit just because he doesn’t like their work, like–do you know how many of these he hates? But they’re my work so he doesn’t talk about them like my feelings don’t matter. He critiques the form, or the word choice. But not me, not the heart of it. You can’t know how much that makes a person grow when somebody believes in their work like that. I’m not–I don’t blame him for quitting, I just wish I could bottle that time we had.”

Her cheeks warmed when Sam remained silent, but he cast his focus onto the papers in his hands, and didn’t press her to go on. Which was for the best because she probably could’ve gone on all day about how special Bucky Barnes was to her. How beautiful he made her feel without ever telling her that she was, because his hands once hovered around her face like a makeshift halo. And Sam was the one who’d monologue? She wondered what Bucky would say if he knew how intensely she ached every minute they were apart.

And what she would do if he showed up at Howler’s again, on second invitation. She needed him close, to surround herself in whatever the expansive knowingness was which bloomed whenever he was in proximity. To smell cedar and sandalwood and know it was because he stood nearby. In arm’s reach. Maybe reaching back, if she was lucky.

Yes, she was sad he had resigned because working with him had changed her life, but… she didn’t want Bucky because he was a good professor. His intuition and wit fit with hers like two halves of a wishbone. Bucky quitting was not their breaking point. It was the wish which would allow him to be more to her than a dream, than her muse.

She had written more intensely about love since meeting him than she could have fathomed possible, and watched that image shift from childish butterflies to a steady flame. She wasn’t sure if she loved him, but she could. If he let her.

Consequences be damned.

She watched Professor Wilson shuffle her papers together in the right order to finalize the body of work she had amassed over two years as a fellow of the program, and she was hit with a stunning realization:

If I have to give this up to have him… I’ll do it. Two years of work? No price at all. It was an investment in someone who gave words new meaning. Words like ‘sorry’ and ‘thank you.’

It made her palms itch to rip her phone out of her pocket and call him right at that moment–I want you, I don’t care what happens!--but she wanted to give him a choice. She wanted to see him make it. Hopefully tonight.

“I don’t even like poetry, but this is incredible,” Sam said finally. “You should be really proud of yourself. I’m sure Barnes is.”

“I know he is,” she murmured. “Hey, I’m having a celebration thing at Howler’s in Bed-Stuy tonight if you and your lady-friend wanna come!”

Sam chuckled. “We could be convinced. Who’s going?”

“I dunno, really. Whoever I ask. It’s my cousin’s idea, he owns the place. I don’t know a ton of people.”

“You say the word and I’ll have my senior lit TA’s all over that bar. Nobody likes to drink like overworked undergrads with Senioritis.”

“Sure,” she smiled. “I’m game.”

“What time?”

“Eight-thirty? Barnes might be there, actually. So.”

“If my man shows up to a bar, that would be a miracle,” Sam scoffed. “That’s a homebody if I ever seen one.”

“He might surprise you!”

“When pig’s fly. Do you wanna do anything else to this before we seal it? Or are we calling your thesis done-zo?”

“Done-zo? Why did I ask you to help, again?”

“For that, you’re over!” Sam slid the finished manuscript into the padded envelope, which he had pre-addressed to the company who binds all theses for the university. “There! You make fun of me, you get no more edits.”

“...did we put my name on it?” Y/n asked in mock seriousness. Sam glared at her.

“Get out of here, you! I will see you at eight thirty sharp with a beautiful woman on my arm! And no sooner.”

“Okay, okay!” She stood up, but Sam stopped her with a hand extended. She wrapped her fingers around his and squeezed. “Thanks,” Y/n breathed.

“Welcome.” Sam waved her out the door, and she practically skipped down the hall… past the office which used to belong to Professor Barnes. Her fingertips brushed the plaque bearing his name as she silently thanked him for helping her get there.

Someday soon, she’d be able to hand him a bound copy of the legacy they made, together.

Mike had been almost relieved to get Bucky’s call, enquiring after the barback position. Bucky had stopped by to pick up his shirt early that afternoon, and so Mike could give him some official-looking papers to sign, and take a photograph of Bucky’s ID with his cell phone. Standing outside the bar on the small patio (smoking an anxious cigarette) was the perfect opportunity to question why he had sought out this job, why he ever thought it was a good idea.

But he had to be okay with life not being quite so cut-and-dry for a while. He was bad at spontaneity. Going with the flow was not his forte. Practice would certainly help… in theory.

And she was inside. He had already spied her through the window on approach and developed an instant arrhythmia at the thought of seeing her again.

Is this what addiction feels like? he wondered, as he took another hit of the lesser drug. He could probably stop smoking in a weekend.

“If it isn’t Mr. Free Agent!” Sam Wilson came out of the bar through the side door.

“What are you doing here?” Bucky asked as his friend joyfully shook his hand.

“Didn’t you hear? My mentee finished her thesis today. Submitted and everything.”

Bucky looked down at the ash he flicked from his cigarette. Sam’s mentee. “Right,” Bucky breathed.

“I gotta ask you a frank question. I think I already know the answer but I’m curious what you’re going to say.”

“Shoot.”

Sam made certain there was no one within hearing distance and then leaned close. “Did you sleep with her?”

“Jesus,” Bucky breathed, closing his eyes. He brought the cigarette to his lips, and he inhaled until his chest burned. At first, he didn’t look at Sam, but the other man held out a fresh beer. Bucky took it but Sam didn’t let go.

“You’re a stupid fucker, I’ll give you that,” Sam growled.

“Careful–”

“You have no idea the shit being thrown around the water cooler about why you quit, professor.” Sam pushed Bucky back further into the shadows as a flock of co-eds filed out of the bar. “You showing up here is only gonna fuel the fire. Do you know how many of your former students are in there sipping Old Fashioneds? Are you prepared for the firestorm of questions about to come your way?”

“...Are you finished?”

Sam scoffed. “Yeah, I’m done.”

Bucky undid the zipper on his coat and held open the placate. “You’re looking at Howler’s new barback. And yes–I am aware how stupid I am, thank you. Which is why I quit.” Bucky ground the remnant of his cigarette beneath his boot. “And thank you so much for your concern.”

“Man, I–shit.” Sam rubbed his face. “I’m sorry.”

Bucky shook his head as if to say forget it. He and Sam shared a look of regret, which cooled Bucky’s mortification. But Sam leaned against the brick wall, sipping his beer. Waiting. Bucky mirrored his posture, and handed Sam back the unopened can, however tempting it was to chug the drink before throwing himself into the lion’s den.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Bucky said, with a heavy shrug. “I didn’t have a drop of alcohol in me. I just–for once, I listened when the idiot–” he tapped his temple– “had a wild impulse.”

“Ah.” Sam drank deeply.

“Yeah. And it was the best night of my fucking life.”

“...so you quit.”

“What was I supposed to do?”

“You love her?”

“What does that even mean?” Bucky asked.

“You’re the poetry guy.” Sam finished his beer and crushed his can against the brick. “For what it’s worth, her thesis is brilliant.”

“I know.”

“Wait until you see the bound version. I sent it off to the printer this afternoon. It’s a beast. Even the acknowledgements are beautiful.”

“Good. God–you should’ve seen her symposium, Sam.” Buck scratched his chin. “Two hundred people… dead silent while she read. Never been so proud in my goddamn life.”

Sam whistled, low and slow. “Sure sounds like love.”

“She packed my office today, before she saw you,” Bucky sighed. “She suggested this job, and she invited me here. She doesn’t know that I got hired though, so.”

“You were gonna surprise her.”

“I dunno, man. I’m trying to just… do things that feel good. Somehow, she has aligned with that. And I’m scared out of my mind, but she’s clever, so I figure if it’s her idea…” Bucky trailed off. “If anyone asks, just tell ‘em I had a quarter life crisis, and all i've ever dreamed of is sweeping up broken glass in a whiskey bar.”

Sam chuckled. “You’re gonna be late, mister barback.” Bucky saluted and turned down the alley to make his way to the front entrance. “Buck–”

“Hmm?”

“If this is you stupid… I hope you’re happy. You’ve been a miserable bastard.”

Bucky smiled. “We’ll see.”

He tucked his chin when the bell on the door tinkled; it was just as busy as it had been the first time he came, and he felt several sets of eyes settle on him, but he just pushed through the crowd until Mike caught sight of him, motioning for him to go through the kitchen door. Bucky stepped to the side to allow someone past him, but–

“You’re two-for-two, Barnes.” If she hadn’t grabbed his elbow, her words would’ve been enough to freeze him in place.

Bucky couldn’t help the smirk which pulled at the corner of his mouth, and he looked up at her–the woman of the hour. “Yeah.” She was beautiful, but that word failed to portray just how radiant she really was, especially with a look of happy surprise.

“You came.” She slid her hand down his forearm, but she didn’t link their fingers like he wanted her to. “Dare I hope you did it for me?”

He straightened and gently shook his sleeve from her grasp. He presented his new shirt. “I do have bills to pay,” he murmured. “I’m late, though.”

“Oh my god. You’re just full of surprises.”

“Call it a new leaf,” he said softly.

“Talk later?”

Bucky chuckled. “Tomorrow, remember?” Of their own volition, his fingers brushed her chin, and he ducked behind her. The moment he was on the other side of the kitchen door, Bucky sighed heavily… happily. Her expression had betrayed some kind of pride. If he had just shown up for her little gathering, he was sure she would be pleased, but this brought another reaction, one he hadn’t anticipated.

“You good, brother?” Mike stuck his head back into the kitchen.

“Yeah, sorry. Where can I throw this?” Bucky shucked off his coat.

“Hooks behind the door. Hey, uh–it’s a bit of a mad house right now, so can you help me 86 empties from the tables? Don’t take orders, just send ‘em to the bar. Take a rag with you. Any tips left on the table go into the jar behind the bar, anything handed directly to you is yours. Questions?”

Bucky blinked. “Where do empties go?”

“Glasses in the sink, bottles and cans in that recycle bin. If you think you can handle washing glasses and pressing ‘start’ on the dishwasher, you can attempt to tackle dishes.”

“I can handle that.”

“Oh, uh… you’re gonna get hit on. Comes with the territory. Don’t care if you flirt back, but don’t be a creep, and don’t fuck anyone on-property.”

“I’m not much of a flirt, but noted.”

“So I hear,” Mike chuckled, but he shrugged when Bucky’s eyes widened. “My cousin likes you. And that’s rare, so. I figure you’re a decent dude.”

“Rare how?” Bucky pressed, even as he fished a clean rag from a bin labeled FRESH in red marker.

“I don’t know, man. You should ask her. I got a line forming–you good to stay until bar close?”

“Sure.”

“Great. I hope you don’t live too far. Hard to catch a cab at two am.”

Mike disappeared again into the belly of the busy bar, and Bucky winced. Fuck. By the time they cleaned up and he got himself home, he’d only catch a few hours of shut eye before he had to be up again if he was going to make it to the coffee shop before his rescheduled packing date. What the hell, right? Either way he would’ve stayed up late–the insomnia had been stretching the limits of exhaustion for months, now, and at least she was out there. He had something to prove. He was rare. Rare sort of guys had to earn the designation, and if that was going to be the gig which kept the lights on, he had to make the most of it.

Bucky slung the rag over his shoulder and tugged at his shirt sleeve. He couldn’t remember the last time he actually showed his scars in public. Heck, he rarely walked around without them covered at home, but the bar was way too hot to wear the flannel he had brought over the top, and… well, it was dark, and probably nobody would notice.

“Hey, newbie–” Mike called through the doorway– “can you grab the broom and dustpan? Broken glass near the door.”

“On it!” Bucky looked around the cramped kitchen until he located the scraggly broom with mangled bristles, and hastened out through the crowd to find the spill.

The night progressed with much the same level of chaos; it turned out that a fair number of the patrons were in fact his former students, most of whom had been wrangled there by Sam. None of them knew the guest of honor very well, but his–the woman Bucky very much wanted to be His Girl, that is–mentee mingled through the room with ease. He envied the way she could open herself up to new people, as if they didn’t have one hand behind their back with a hungry knife. Bucky didn’t have any idea what that felt like. To him, new acquaintances were unwelcome unless they had no ulterior motives. Mike seemed alright, but Bucky couldn’t imagine himself becoming close to a guy who owned a whiskey bar–

“Think I could get a refill?” Bucky shrugged off a handsy woman and pointed at the bartender.

“Gotta ask him.”

“Ugh. But you’re right here!” she huffed.

“Candace–it’s not his job. Walk to the bar like a big girl.” Sam appeared at Bucky’s side and gave the woman a knowing look. She rolled her eyes and pushed off the hightop which she had been using to stay aloft.

“Whatever Wilson.” She flipped Sam off, but then a mischievous smile pulled at the corners of her eyes. Sam sighed dramatically and held out his hand for her empty glass.

“The things I’m willing to do for a pretty face,” he mock-whispered to Bucky.

“You never do things for me,” Bucky snorted. Sam narrowed his eyes.

“My suddenly heavier class load disagrees, bud.” Sam nudged him with his elbow. “Your naïveté is cute though, I’ll give you that. Want the same thing, ma’am?”

“Thanks, Sammy.” Candace stroked a finger down the buttons of Sam’s shirt, and the professor winked at her. Bucky put Candace on the list of things to bring up to Sam, along with just how much he had taken onto his plate with Bucky gone, but… that was for later. He followed Sam towards the bar, snagging bottles along the way, only to catch a startled look from Mike. He nodded over Bucky’s shoulder, and held out both hands to receive the empties. Bucky handed them over and whirled around, only to see a huge guy looming over one of his former students. Natalie? Natasha–someone else beat him there, and Bucky’s heart dropped into his feet.

He couldn’t hear what she was saying, but he knew that sudden hand-on-hip posture meant Y/n had inserted herself. The man straightened and Bucky launched forward at the same time. He had a lot of people to push through to get to her, all the while watching the man’s face twist in anger.

“--I’ll give you five seconds to get the fuck out of here,” Bucky’s girl growled, just as he reached her side. The moment he realized that the attention of the bar was turning on him, the disruptor turned on his heel and left.

Natasha reached out for Y/n. She was mortified by the attention, even if she was relieved to be rid of the man. Y/n made eye contact with Bucky. Her face lit up. Water? she mouthed. He held up a thumb. Bucky jogged back to the bar, through the crowd which was happy to part for the hustling barback. Without needing to be asked, Mike handed him one water… and an Old Fashioned.

“Thought I wasn’t serving,” Bucky snorted.

“Wouldn’t deny my cousin her drink, would ya?”

No. No, he wouldn’t.

Bucky returned to the table where Natasha and Y/n sat, now surrounded by a passel of concerned women. He silently delivered the water to Natasha, and slid the cocktail in front of Y/n… much to the delight of several women–blessedly none of whom were his former students.

“What a gentleman!” a woman with bright pink lipstick cooed. “I bet you gotta girl who swoons over you.”

“I don’t know about that,” he chuckled, deliberately avoiding eye contact with his girl at all costs.

“Awe, he’s shy!” Another woman said, in a tone which made Bucky bristle.

“You got somebody, honey?” The first woman wrapped her fingers around his left elbow. Bucky flinched, but she didn’t seem to notice. For reasons he couldn’t conjure, Bucky couldn’t force himself to move. He was frozen, like a deer in headlights, under the scrutiny of women old enough to be his mother.

“Leave the poor guy alone,” Y/n said lightly.

“It’s okay,” Bucky coughed. “I do have a girl, ma’am.” Then, he looked up. Y/n could mask her surprised expression. “I don’t know if she swoons, but she sure knows how to bust some balls. I like that about her.”

“Oh, she’s a broad!” one of the women exclaimed, as if that were the highest compliment on this side of the Hudson.

“Is she pretty?”

Bucky scoffed. “Prettiest girl you ever saw.”

The women giggled, including Natasha, who seemed quite relieved to no longer be the center of attention.

“How long you been together?” This time, it was Sam who spoke, and all the blood fled from Bucky’s cheeks. His friend clapped him on the shoulder, effectively trapping him into giving an answer.

“It’s new. I’m trying my best not to fuck it up. Almost did.” He scratched his chin and looked over his shoulder in the hope that Mike would throw him a Hail-Mary–but the bartender just shook his head with a big grin.

“Bring her flowers! My Stan knows that a good apology comes with flowers. It’s a garnish.”

“Huh,” Bucky said. “I don’t know if she’s a flower kinda girl.”

“Pssh. All women are. If you don’t know what she likes, then bring her something small. It’s the effort.”

“Good to know. I gotta get back to work, but uh–thank you, ladies.” He backed out of the small circle, and out of Sam’s teasing grip, but not before he caught Y/n taking a sip from her cocktail. She smiled softly, as if she had greatly enjoyed watching him get grilled by all those gathered. As he turned away, he saw her pull her cell phone from her pocket. A moment later, his back pocket buzzed.

PL: so you got a girl, huh

‘I'm so sorry, it just came out’

PL: you’re cute when you’re flustered. PL: sunflowers are my favorite.

Bucky looked over his shoulder once he was safely concealed in the doorway of the kitchen. Over the heads of rowdy bar patrons, the girl who liked sunflowers smiled at him. Then, she turned back to Natasha, who she had defended from a big creep, and Bucky was overcome with a feeling of pride in her.

It was strange… to feel young and embarrassed, and like the only worries in his life were answering invasive questions from nosy women.

Y/n waited him out until bar close; she nursed a few old fashioneds, while her new acquaintances got progressively drunker, and she dutifully helped pair people up for shared taxis back to campus. Sam departed without much pomp, but with the woman named Candace. For Bucky’s part, he got the hang of running empties back to the kitchen, and putting glasses through the dishwasher, and he thought that he might actually have fun with this job… even if it wasn’t intellectually stimulating. It still forced him to quiet his mind. He couldn’t worry about things outside of his control when he had spills to clean and bathrooms to restock with paper towels.

When the front door locked under Mike’s thumb, Bucky sat at the bar beside a woman who looked exhausted… but happy. She traced over the mottled scar, which peeked out from under his left sleeve, as if revering his skin. With a familiarity which wasn’t forced. Bucky put his shoe up on the footrest of her stool, and their knees pressed against one other. Mike drew no attention to the special privileges granted to his cousin, or to the obvious affection between the two of them. He merely handed Bucky his share of the tips, and then shooed them both out the door.

Once they were outside in the cool evening, Bucky put his hands in his coat pockets. Y/n curled her fingers around his elbow.

“Help me catch a cab?” she whispered, leaning closer to him when a chilly breeze swept down the street.

“I’ll take you home,” he said quickly. “I drove. Didn’t know how late I'd be here.”

She dipped her head so her laugh at his eagerness wouldn’t appear at his expense, but Bucky nudged his shoulder against hers. She peered at him through exhausted eyelids, but she nodded. “I know better than to argue.”

“I’m not sending you home with a serial killer,” Bucky said. He meant it sincerely, but it only made her laugh harder–a sweet, sleepy giggle.

“I already said yes.” She thumbed over her shoulder as if to ask where he had parked. Bucky nodded in the direction of his car (he had lucked out catching a spot just a few blocks away, so he wasn’t far.

They walked slowly. She hummed a bit. Bucky pressed his hand over hers at his elbow. Eventually, she hooked her fingertips with his.

“Mike said something I’ve been wonderin’ about,” he said, as they waited out a turning cab on the corner.

“Shoot.”

“He said it’s rare. For you to talk about anybody to him.”

“Oh boy, he’s giving away all my secrets,” she breathed. “Yeah. It’s true. You gotta be pretty great for me to tell Mike.”

“You told him about me.”

She shrugged. “Everything.”

Bucky switched their postures for the remainder of the walk so his arm was around her shoulders. She sidled her own arm under his jacket, to warm the small of his back. Every once in a while, he brushed his nose against her temple.

The car ride was shorter than Bucky hoped–just fifteen minutes on fairly deserted streets. For once, he wished traffic was bumper-to-bumper, so he had an excuse to sit beside her while the street lights bathed her in a golden glow every thirty feet. But she held his hand over the console, and that was consolation enough.

She directed him to her apartment building, and Bucky pulled up beside the curb. He sat back against his chair. She just watched him. He raised a brow.

“What?”

Y/n shook her head. “Sort of wanna kiss you, but I’ve been drinking. You know how I feel about that.”

Bucky held her hand up to his mouth to cover a grin. “How’d it go with Sam today?”

“Wasn’t much to do. Just choose the final poems and put them in an order which made sense for my thesis.”

“He said it’s a beast.”

She laughed. “Yep. I refused to cut anything.”

“Surprise, surprise.” Bucky studied her face. “I uh. ‘M glad you were there tonight.”

“You were nervous.”

He shrugged. “What the hell do I know about being a barback? Nah. I just… forgot how good it feels to be in a room full of people, doubting myself, only to catch you smilin’ at me.”

She groaned. “If you don’t want me to kiss you, you better cut that out.”

“I mean it, doll. You make me brave. Don’t know why.”

Y/n brushed his jaw with her free hand. “Do you wanna know how many people talked about you tonight?”

He rolled his eyes. “Fuckin’ rumors–”

“No, not like that! Just… how cool it was to see you relaxed.”

“I guess I was.”

“And who this mysterious girl is.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Fuck, I really didn’t handle that well.”

“You were fine. And if people assume, then so what? I’m almost outta there–”

Bucky turned in his chair so he could better look at her. “I was serious about the Dean finding out, doll. Or the board. I–shit. Should’ve dropped you off around the corner–”

“Ooookay. Listen–we’re consenting adults. Yeah? And unless you kiss me in public, it’s all just rumor. I can take a little talk. Besides… it’s not like you’ve asked me to be your girl. You just… hold my hand academically.” She squeezed his hand, which at least warranted a small smile from him.

“Once you’ve graduated,” he whispered.

“Then you’ll ask me?”

Bucky sighed. “Then I’ll stop looking over my shoulder for Stark, and worrying about kissing you–”

She cupped his jaw with both hands and silenced him with thumbs over his lips, so that she could press her own close without giving in to the joy of a real kiss. He felt her huff of frustration not to kiss him for real, and the rub of her thumbs over his bottom lip.

“A kiss is not a commitment,” she said lightly. “What if we just make that how we say goodbye and hello, and that’s all it has to be?”

Bucky folded forward, engulfing her in a tight hug. She turned her nose into his neck, and sighed. He fought the words he wanted to say–because he needed her to hear them, but more than that, he needed to actually say the thing he meant to for once in his life.

“Trouble is: that isn’t enough,” he mumbled into her temple. “Not when it’s you.”

“Bucky…” she breathed.

“I’m tired of doing the right thing. You told me to do something for myself–so here I am.” He rubbed his hands up and down her back, memorizing the texture of her sweater. “I want to kiss you. And when invasive old ladies ask me if I’ve got a gal, I want to point across the table at you. I’m scared shitless. I’m–shit. It doesn’t matter.”

“God, Barnes…” She paused enough to push back, so she could brace her hands on his chest and look him in the eye. “You are so hard on yourself.”

“Yeah,” he huffed. “I’m acutely aware.”

“So, you’re fighting yourself because of Dean Stark? The guy who wears gold goggles for sunglasses?” she giggled. “No–hush. Maybe you’re worth taking the risk for. Huh?”

Bucky straightened, determination thrumming through his body. “Tomorrow.”

“What about it?” She couldn’t stifle a delighted grin.

“I’m gonna kiss you. And it’s going to mean something.”

“Don’t have to convince me, Buck.” She peeked at the time on her phone and winced. “We should be asleep. We have somewhere to be in the morning.”

“Eleven,” he confirmed.

“Okay. I’ll see you then.” She patted his cheek, and slid out of the car before he could break his own promise to wait on that meaningful kiss. Bucky pressed the button to roll down the passenger window. He leaned over the seat.

“Hey!” he called. Y/n turned back to him with raised brows.

“What?”

“You’re gonna get kissed tomorrow.”

“Consider me warned,” she laughed. “Oh!” Y/n fished something out of her bag and jogged back over to the car. She held out her hand to him, with a folded up paper. “This is the only one I didn’t put in. It was ‘too indulgent’, according to Wilson. So.”

She winked, and unlocked her building door. The last thing he saw before it shut again was her fingers waving him off.

He unfolded the note–a poem, of course.

switching hour there was never a lonelier hour than three never a bleaker time never so uneasy a body and yet there never was a falser stretch where intrusive thoughts feel like gospel than three to sunrise.

Indulgent, maybe. Certainly nothing like her other pieces, which focused so much on her inner life, but… it was still special. He could remember the origin clearly–a conversation about a series of hers, based around who she was in the morning vs. the night. He had said to her–early mornings are bleak–something so simple, and watched her eyes sparkle with an idea.

He glanced at the clock on his dashboard. 3:18 am. Hmm. For once… she was wrong. This 3 am had been a turning point.

Bucky drove home in a daze. Alpine mewled at him indignantly when he nudged her off his pillow. He fell asleep, and he didn’t dream. What could his mind make up which was better than reality?

Morning came quickly. Bucky was delirious in his determination, but he managed to stumble into the shower and acceptable clothes, and feed the other woman in his life in her little dish before dashing out to meet her.

He swung open the office door, and there she was. Y/n sat in his leather desk chair, looking out the window across the quad, but she swiveled towards him when she heard the latch slide in the lock.

Bucky had spent years of his life chasing one good rush, and he had never found anything close. Until her. Looking at her then was like watching every failed happiness in his life fall away. He was sleep-deprived, and the cold brew cups sweated in his hands, and he had barely run a comb through his hair, but Bucky still felt like everything was perfect in that moment… especially with a small bouquet of sunflowers tucked under his elbow. He nudged the door shut with the sole of his sneaker. He set the coffee on the desk. Neither of them spoke.

He knelt beside the chair, and handed her the sunflowers. The tissue crinkled as she accepted them. She placed her hand on her forehead in a mock swoon.

One kiss brought her hand to his lips, and then those blessed fingers slid into his hair so she could fully lean forward. She kissed him on the mouth, soft like a whisper. Bucky raised up on his knees to cash in a third, and she hummed–she moaned. He knew very little in the grand scheme of things, but it was certain that he wanted her. He didn’t know if he deserved her, but that seemed to be irrelevant because their lips fit. And her fingers wound into his hair, scrubbed at his scalp, tugged him back to her the moment he seemed in danger of stopping.

As such, neither of them heard the knock, or the door opening, until heavy knuckles rapped on the doorframe. Y/n pulled away from Bucky with a start, fingers clasped over her lips, while Bucky cleared his throat.

He looked up into the face of Dean Stark.

Part 3

tag list: @peterhollandkait @honeywithemoney @nahthanks @emmabarnes @dracris33 @dracosluvbot @searchf0rtheskyline @cjand10

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #professor bucky #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x female reader #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes

169 notes · View notes

the-vibes-are-off · 1 year

Text

The Stormlight Archive Volume 1: The Way of Kings’ Review: Chapters 12-15

link to contents page - https://at.tumblr.com/the-vibes-are-off/hey-hey/96xd9ohihrzs

aaaaaaaaaand the energy continues to be low, naturally I would continue to be lacking recovery at the height of essay writing season. This part comes fresh from the fingertips of my post nap self since I did a grocery shop this morning (i forgot to buy tea :’)))) and just passed tf out after lunch. I would make another cuppa to attempt to feel the benefits of a little caffeine boost but, even though my kettle is in my room, bed too snuggly and warm to leave.

Deffo intrigued by part 2, the prelude and prologue are making more sense in relation to the plot now and im liking the characterisation and relationship dynamics that are being built :))

Spoiler Free Zone:

The absolutely heart wrenching feeling seeing Shallan NOT in this part that I experienced yesterday was not ok. BUT the introduction of the Elhokar, Adolin, Dalinar, Renarin and Sadeas interactions is kinda worth it bc they’re hella entertaining.

Kaladin maintaining the better energy in this part is great too, he’s on some kinda wild grindset like I could personally never but pop off ig king.

Syl and her progression too? Living for it. I can’t wait to find out more about her as the book continues.

***SPOILER ZONE AHEAD, YOU’VE BEEN WARNED***

Spoiler Zone:

Interesting change in chapter quotes, I was very much enjoying the before death quotes but I dont know I think I vibe with these too. I’m assuming they’re from a letter to someone and whoever is writing it is so sassy I love it: “I hope this missive find you well” to “now that you are essentially immortal, I would guess that wellness on your part is something of a given” is so iconic.

In the ways of tabs, I simply loved Dalinar’s little moment just riding his horse with the wind hitting his face like mf needs a break from having these visions like the destress must’ve been immense.

And then his little smile when Elhokar won their little like race thingy, so cute, we love positive masculine relationships omg

Which naturally just had to be interrupted by memories of his vision and stress out the poor guy. I will say though I love a character that has questionable means of acquiring knowledge that is untrusted by their peers (hello Jonathan Sims of The Magnus Archives) so I’m super on the edge of my seat over this visions business

On my earlier topic of character interactions tho, Wit is READING the whole family to filth my goodness. Like yeah it was chill whatever when he was just teasing Renarin over girls but the shade on Sadeas? As he fucking should. Sadeas is a bitch and should be treated as such.

Then the fight, ugh. While I love the lore of like chasmfiends, and gemhearts and how they’re harvested and their uses and all that jazz; and OBVIOUSLY you can’t beat a cheeky little beat down of some insect like creature; Elhokar’s little main character ‘I’m hard as fuck’ call to destiny “I defy you” moment made my blood boil and instantly lose any likeability towards him. It was a major ick. You’d thinking having inherited the title of king that long ago that he would have matured more.

Alas, all I had tabbed in Kaladin’s bit was between him and Syl (what can I say I love her). Her whole self-awareness into gaining intelligence and sentience is so cool and I’m so intrigued to see how it progresses. Its kinda sad that shes stuck inbetween the threat of forgetting into being ignorant of everything that has happened and all she knows and, although that would be easier, not wanting to lose the freedom of what she knows.

And on that same page, Kaladin says something I think everyone needs to hear: “I don’t know what I am either. A bridgeman? A surgeon? A soldier? A slave? Those are all just labels. Inside, I’m me.”

Tab Count:

Cute <3 - 1

Fights - 1

Sad ;-; - 0

Death - 0

Cool - 1

Wtf wow - 0

Wtf Why - 2

Slay Quotes - 3

Love this! - 2

Hate this >:( - 1

Lore - 0

Tab Total:

Cute <3 - 7

Fights - 5

Sad ;-; - 2

Death - 2

Cool - 5

Wtf wow - 2

Wtf Why - 3

Slay Quotes - 8

Love this! - 8

Hate this >:( - 3

Lore - 2

58 notes · View notes

harry-on-broadway · 2 years

Text

Tying You To Me: Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Word Count: 6.0K || Series Masterlist || Rating: M (contains sexual content)

A/N: I meant to have this posted earlier in the week but work and life have been hectic, so we’ll have to settle for a chaotic Saturday night update. I know I have a lot to make up for after Chapter Eight, so hopefully this one is less painful. As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts, so don’t hesitate to reach out. Thank you so much for reading!

***

December 2019

Time.

That’s what Quinn had asked Harry for that night in the Hamptons. Time to figure out what would make her heart and her head stop racing in the painful way they had been in recent weeks.

Their conversation that night had seemingly raised more questions instead of providing the answers they were hoping for, but she’d walked away from that week knowing one thing for certain: Harry loved her. A deep, profound kind of love she hadn’t been aware she’d been looking for. Quinn and Harry hadn’t broken up. They were still together and completely enamored with one another but what was once a future full of unlimited promise was now a dark cloud of uncertainty.

Even with that hanging over them, Quinn was still ready to support him, which is how she found herself taking a last minute flight to Los Angeles for Harry’s concert celebrating the debut of his new album. It was a show week – Scarlett Johansson was the host – but Quinn had managed to get permission to fly out Friday morning, as long as she was back by dress on Saturday. Getting the time off was surprisingly easy now that people knew she was with Harry.

She hadn’t shared the details of her flight with Harry. She knew he would be overly accommodating, especially after the last fiasco at the Forum, and she didn’t want to distract him from his big night. So when she landed, she called an Uber, tossed her overnight bag on the seat next to her, and texted Jeffrey that she was on the way.

“Quinn!”

Quinn stepped onto the curb and saw Jeffrey waving at her as he jogged up the path.

“Perfect timing,” he said, pulling her into a hug when she met him halfway.

“How’s he doing?” she asked

“You know how he gets,” Jeffrey said. “He says he’s all loose and cool, but he’s really just a ball of anxious energy.” He paused. “It does seem like it’s a little worse tonight…probably because it’s the first time playing it and everything.” He looked at Quinn. “Wait, does he know you’re coming?”

“Yes,” Quinn said. “He didn’t know the flight details though so don’t yell at him for not meeting me at the airport.”

Jeffrey laughed. “That’s a throwback.”

“Not one I’d care to relive if I’m being honest.”

“Want to stop and grab a cup of coffee?” Jeffrey asked. “There’s a shop nearby and I could definitely use a break.”

“Yes, I desperately need caffeine.”

They darted across the street through the suspiciously light traffic and Quinn grabbed a seat on the patio while Jeffrey ordered inside, emerging 10 minutes later with two iced coffees, condensation dripping down his wrist.

“This is much more pleasant than our last encounter, that’s for sure,” he said, as Quinn added cream and sugar to her cup.

“Definitely.” She took a sip from the plastic cup.

“Is everything OK with the two of you?” Jeff asked, making no effort to hide his blatant attempt at fishing.

“What has he told you?” Quinn asked, getting a sense of the situation.

“Not much, just that you all are working through some stuff.” Jeffrey eyed Quinn. “He's been a little more subdued lately.”

Quinn folded the paper straw wrapper. Subdued was the perfect way to describe Harry’s behavior over the past couple of weeks. He’d become more measured, choosing his words carefully during their phone conversations, almost as if he felt like any sudden move would spook her and cause her to run.

“I love him, Jeffrey,” she said, speaking more candidly than she ever had with him. “But it’s like what do we do beyond that? How do we make this work five, ten, fifteen years down the road when things are different? Or if they’re the same? How do we build a life together when we have to schedule everything down to the minute?”

Jeffrey looked at her intently and for a minute she felt as though she’d misspoke.

“Can I level with you, Quinn?”

She nodded.

“I think we’re really alike – we’re fixers, problem solvers, planners. Some of it’s probably because of our jobs and, well, the rest is probably just our personalities.”

Quinn smiled.

“But sometimes, you have to be OK with no plan,” Jeffrey said. “You’ve just got to trust in the universe and hope for the best. I know that sounds cheesy but it’s the truth. Some of the best things in my life right now aren’t a result of planning, but from trust. You know what I’m saying?”

Quinn nodded slowly. “I do.”

“It’s not my business what you all do but I hope you’re able to figure things out,” Jeffrey added. “You’re good for him. He’s a better version of himself when he’s around you.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Well I do.” Jeffrey took a sip of coffee. “Has he told you about what happened? After the break up? About Japan?”

“He’s hinted at things but I’ve never outright asked,” Quinn replied, remembering the night they got back together when Harry cried in her bed. “It seems like it was a tough time for him and I don’t want to push him if he’s not comfortable. I figured he’d share when he was ready.”

Jeffrey smiled. “See, this is why you’re good for him. You understand how he operates. But yeah, it was a tumultuous time. Lots of tears, lots of analyzing texts he’d never send, but I think he learned a lot during that time. So whatever he’s telling you, he means it. He’s had a taste of what it feels like to lose what matters most to him and he’s not going to go through that again.”

Quinn felt her eyes get watery listening to Jeffrey’s words. She knew they should have meant more coming from Harry but hearing it from someone else really validated what she was experiencing. It wasn’t just lust or a honeymoon phase. She and Harry had something real and significant that was worth fighting and sacrificing for. And she knew deep down that it was worth it to see things to the end.

“Smog’s killer in LA,” Jeffrey said, as Quinn wiped her eyes. “Terrible for vision.”

Quinn laughed. “Yeah, the smog.”

Jeffrey looked at his watch. “I should probably be getting back. You’re welcome to come with me or just chill until the show. I’m assuming you’re staying with H, tonight?” Quinn nodded. “If you want to get ready at his place I can give you a key.”

“That would be great,” Quinn said, catching sight of her reflection in the coffee shop window and cringing at how greasy she looked.

After Jeffrey sent her on her way with keys and directions, Quinn got to work rinsing off, trying to tame her hair into something semi-presentable, and hanging her outfit for the evening in the bathroom, hoping the steam would help smooth some of the wrinkles. Jeffrey had told Quinn that there would be a small gathering ahead of the show – similar to the last LA concert she went to – but suggested she arrive prior to that start time if she wanted to get some time alone with Harry.

When she was ready, she called herself another Uber and made it to the Forum, flashing the guest pass Jeffrey had given her earlier. Things felt different from the last time she’d walked these halls. As she passed by members of Harry’s team they greeted her with friendly waves and words, recognizing her from parties and dinners over the summer. It wasn’t like she was best friends with everyone, but being recognized made her feel like she was a part of everything, which meant the world to her.

Finding Harry’s dressing room proved to be a bit of a challenge, but she finally located it after a couple of wrong turns, knocking on the door and bracing herself for whatever reaction would greet her.

“Hiya stranger,” she said when Harry whipped the door open.

His eyes widened, a genuine smile breaking out on his face. “What are you doing here?”

“Well I was here to see Jeffrey and just figured I’d squeeze a concert in too.”

“Very funny.”

“I try.”

Harry bent down to hug Quinn but paused. “Did you tell me your flight was coming in? Was I supposed to pick you up?” he asked as the color left his cheeks.

“No, no,” Quinn said, stepping into the room and wrapping her arms around his neck. “We had talked about me coming out here but with the album and the show and…everything else…I didn’t want you to have to focus on another thing.”

“That’s sweet,” Harry said. “But you do know it would have been no problem handling that for you, right? I always have time for you. You’re never a bother.”

Quinn smiled, recalling her conversation with Jeffrey earlier. “I know, H, and I appreciate that.”

Harry pulled her further into the room and led her over to a couch filled with velvet pillows. She could see his dinner was spread on the coffee table in front of him – salad with hard-boiled eggs, some bread, some soup – and she could hear the faint sounds of soothing instrumental music.

“Am I bothering you?” she asked, suddenly aware that her surprise might be throwing off his routine.

“What did I just say?” Harry asked, with a laugh tinged with loving exasperation. “You’re never a bother, Quinn.”

As Harry began to eat, Quinn filled him in on the past few hours, omitting her conversation with Jeff. When she’d stepped into the room, she could feel it buzzing with Harry’s nervous energy, but as she sat with him, she could feel a wave of calm surge through the room. After Harry was finished eating, he leaned back against the couch, opening his arms for Quinn. She readily accepted his invitation and snuggled into him as he tightened his arms around her. They sat in silence and Harry was so still Quinn began to wonder if he had fallen asleep, until he jumped when there was a knock at the door.

“Ready for me?” Harry Lambert asked, poking his head in the door.

Harry let out a long exhale. “Shit, didn’t realize it was time already,” he murmured to himself as Quinn moved to stand. “Where are you going?” he asked, grabbing her hand.

“You’re busy and I don’t want to disturb you,” Quinn said, as Harry laced his fingers with hers. She looked down at him and ran her free hand through his curls. “Break a leg and I’ll see you after the show.” She leaned down and kissed him gently. “I love you, Harry.”

“I love you too,” he whispered against her lips. He pulled back, looking like he wanted to say more.

“Harry, we’ll talk later, I promise,” Quinn said, stroking his hair one last time.

“Yeah, that’s probably for the best,” Harry replied, as he tugged at his bottom lip.

“Focus on the show,” Quinn said, offering a word of encouragement. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

Harry locked eyes with her and nodded, understanding the unspoken meaning of her words. “I’ll see you later, Agent Q.”

Quinn offered him one final wave, blowing a kiss as she backed up towards the door. Harry caught the kiss and tucked it into his pocket. Quinn shook her head. He was such a goofball, but her was her goofball.

“I think there are some people gathered in the green room down the hall,” Lambert said to Quinn as he moved over to Harry. “I’ll catch you there in a little bit.”

As Quinn meandered through the hallway, looking for the green room, she felt more confident than she had the last time she had been in the building and when she stepped inside the green room, she was greeted by many familiar faces.

“Red or white?” Tommy asked as he sidled up next to her, with two bottles of wine.

“White please,” Quinn said, offering him an awkward side hug.”Good to see you again.”

“You too, Q,” he said as he filled a plastic cup with a generous pour. “Have you seen our little rockstar yet?”

“I actually just left him to get ready,” Quinn said, over the rim of her cup.

“I’m so excited about tonight,” Tommy said. “It’s going to be great.”

“I’m excited to hear the album,” Quinn said.

“You haven't listened to it?” Tommy asked, surprised. “I thought for sure he would have played it for you.”

“Well like I’ve heard the singles but I told Harry I wanted to wait until release day to listen. You know, keep the anticipation building. But then when I was flying out I was just like, maybe I should wait and hear it live tonight.”

Tommy smiled. “Well, I think you’re going to like what you hear.”

“I hope so. It would be kind of awkward to go home with him and have to pretend it didn’t suck.”

Tommy laughed and tapped his cup against Quinn’s. “Cheers.”

After a moment, he excused himself to greet someone else across the room, leaving Quinn to start a lap of her own. She said hello to some people from Harry’s label and had a fun reunion with Glenne who scooped her into a hug with a delighted squeal. Jeffrey arrived a few minutes later and scooted into the circle, offering Quinn a wave.

“Did you see him yet?” Jeffrey asked, when he managed to find space next to Quinn.

“Yes.”

“And did you talk to him? What did he say?”

“Jeff, babe, leave them alone,” Glenne scolded. She turned to Quinn. “I swear he’s more invested in your relationship than he is ours.”

“What?” Jeffrey asked. “They belong together and I’m a sucker for a happy ending.”

Before long it was time for the show to start and members of Harry’s team and band left the room to start the pre-show ritual with him, while Quinn and the rest of the group headed into an area of the arena that had been sectioned off for them.

It was a surreal experience knowing that everyone in that room was there for Harry. Quinn knew he was a global icon but she often forgot that on the day-to-day when she was fussing at him for stealing all of the chocolate chunks in the ice cream and hogging the covers. She pulled out her phone and started to take a video as the crowd began to chant for Harry. She wanted him to see the impact he had on everyone.

She stopped recording as the lights went down and she shifted around, searching for a better view of the stage and as she finally found a space to watch, Harry emerged, striking the soon to be iconic pose from his new album cover. Notes of music began to play slowly overtaking the crowd noise and though Quinn was in a crowd of thousands, she felt like she was alone as she watched Harry strum his guitar and sing.

The first song was one she hadn’t heard before, but it made her think of summer, specifically the melancholy she’d felt when she and Harry first broke up. As she listened, she was awestruck by Harry’s ability to make objectively sad lyrics work with a lighthearted melody. She recognized the songs that followed the opener – “Lights Up” would always be her favorite and she’d never forget the first time she’d heard it, walking down the nearly empty city streets early one morning – but as Harry moved from track to track she felt tears welling in her eyes as she listened to the lyrics and all the heartbreak and love they contained.

She couldn’t pretend to know what Harry was writing about – she wasn’t so bold as to presume that the entire album was about her – but the beauty of his songwriting was that the music and lyrics made it easy for anyone to find whatever personal meaning they needed to get from the song at a particular moment. And that was why she ended up standing in the middle of the Forum as she thought about all the pain she had caused Harry over the years and the hope she had for their future together.

Harry ended the night on an energetic note, rocking out to “Kiwi” as only he could, and as their group made their way backstage to greet him, Quinn could only think about being in Harry’s arms. As he came offstage to the cheers of those who loved him most, Harry searched the room for Quinn and when he found her, he made his way directly towards her, wrapping his arms around her without saying a word. Quinn felt moisture against her head. It could have been sweat or tears, she didn’t know which, but she and Harry stayed like that as everyone milled about around them.

“I love you,” he said after a moment. “I love you, Quinn. I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Quinn whispered against his chest. “And I’m so proud of you. So unbelievably proud.”

Harry and Quinn eventually broke apart, but as Harry made his way around the room, he kept Quinn close by, holding her hand or pulling her into his side as he greeted all of his guests. The crowd thinned as everyone left for the afterparty venue and after Harry changed out of his sweaty performance clothes and into another equally stylish outfit, he and Quinn set off to meet them.

Everyone wanted a piece of him at the party and Quinn reluctantly relinquished him from her grasp and headed over to grab some appetizers and another drink. As she ate, she said hello to those she’d missed at the show and reconnected with everyone she’d already seen. It wasn’t lost on her how easy it felt to be in Harry’s world now – everyone knew who she was and not only talked about Harry, but also asked about her work and their plans for the future. Two weeks ago, Quinn wouldn’t have known how to answer that question but thanks to the perfect combination of some contemplation, Jeffrey’s sage advice, and Harry just being Harry, Quinn knew what to say.

She was in deep conversation about her former university with the wife of a Columbia executive, who was also an alum, when she felt someone cup her elbow.

“Dina, would you mind if I borrowed this lovely lady for a minute?” Harry drawled, steering Quinn towards the balcony when Dina granted permission.

“Part of me thought you weren’t going to come tonight,” Harry said when they were alone outside, seated on a bench gazing out at the ocean. “I knew you were flying in but I just kept thinking ‘What if she doesn’t get on the plane?’”

“Harry…” Quinn reached for his hand. “I’d never do that to you.”

“I know, but the way we left things after the beach…” he trailed off. “I wasn’t sure.” He squeezed her hand. “But you made it.”

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Quinn said, returning the squeeze. “It was horrible of me to do that to you. Leave things so undefined and leave you unsure of what we were doing.”

“You’re not horrible, Quinn. You needed space to think and you asked for it. You told me what you needed to be comfortable and I was happy to give that to you.”

“I don’t want that anymore.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “You don’t want me to give you space.”

“No,” Quinn said adamantly. “I want you with me all of the time. I want you texting me at all hours of the day. I want you to steal my sheets and kiss me with coffee breath. I want those spotty FaceTime calls where we have a terrible connection and I can’t see your face but I can hear your voice and that’s all I need because you know exactly what to say to make me feel better. I want you, Harry.”

Harry blinked, stunned, and Quinn took it as her sign to continue.

“You know how I am. I try to look for problems to fix them before they become an issue, and I only do that because I care. And I care about you more than anything in the world.”

“But what about all of your questions?” Harry asked cautiously. “Did you get an answer?”

Quinn shook her head. “No, but that doesn’t matter. We’re a team, we’re in love, and as a very wise person advised me, we’ve just got to trust that it’s all going to work out.”

Harry chuckled as he wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “Let me guess…Marcus?”

“No, Jeffrey.”

Harry laughed a little harder. “We can't let him know you took his advice. We’ll never hear the end of it.”

Quinn smiled as she held out her hand. “Pinky promise.”

“Pinky promise,” Harry echoed softly as he wrapped his little finger around Quinn’s.

“I’m here, and I’m not running, Harry,” Quinn said as she looked into his eyes. “It’s you and me to the end.”

Harry traced his fingers over Quinn’s. “Are you proposing to me, Agent Q?”

“I’m doing no such thing.”

“Good, because I had a different plan as to how that was supposed to go down.”

“Harry!”

“You’ll see one day. Patience is a virtue, my love.” He leaned in to kiss her, taking his time, parting her lips with his tongue as he explored her mouth, tentative as if it was their first time.

Quinn didn’t want Harry to leave and when she felt him draw away, she brought her hand to the back of his neck and pulled him close. Harry sensed her urgency, leaning back into the kiss, their lips moving together, instinctively finding the best angle so there was no space between them. Quinn only broke away when realized she’d grown lightheaded.

Harry leaned his forehead against Quinn’s as their chests heaved in sync.

“Do you have any plans for tonight?” he asked when he could speak again.

“Well, I’d thought I’d go home and fuck my boyfriend and have a snack but what did you have in mind?”

Harry laughed. “That plan works for me. Want to get out of here?”

“Hmm,” Quinn cocked her head. “Actually, I might do another lap, say hello to some people, get some more of those mozzarella sticks.” She slid over, preparing to stand up, but Harry was too quick, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into his lap.

“No way. I like the sound of your first plan.”

“The snacks?” Quinn asked, teasing him.

“No, the fucking.” Harry nipped at her ear. “If we leave now I promise I will feed you as many mozzarella sticks as you want. Naked in bed.”

Quinn pursed her lips, pretending to consider Harry’s proposition. “I guess I can make that work,” she said, leaning in to seal the deal with a kiss. She stood from Harry’s lap and pulled him with her, leading him back through the party to the exit.

“Hey you two,” Jeffrey called as he spotted them waiting for the driver to arrive. “What are you all up to?”

“We were actually just headed home,” Harry said quickly.

“Home?” Jeffrey’s eyes darted between the two of them. “Oh,” he said knowingly. “I take it you all had a productive conversation.”

Quinn nodded. “What gave it away?”

“Oh, I don’t know…the fact that you all practically ran out of the room.”

“Yeah, exactly, Jeffrey,” Harry said as the car pulled up. “And you’re holding us up. Talk to you later?”

Quinn shook her head as Jeffrey laughed. “Sure, H. We’ll talk later.” He turned to Quinn. “Are you really sure about this? He’s kind of a pain in the ass.”

“Yeah,” Quinn said, as Harry opened the door for her. “He’s annoying but I love him.”

Jeffrey laughed heartily as Harry gave him a told-you-so smirk and slid into the car after Quinn.

Despite visiting the city on a number of occasions, Quinn was woefully unfamiliar with Los Angeles geography, and while she knew Harry’s house wasn’t too far from the venue, the drive back took an agonizingly long time, which was made even more unbearable thanks to Harry’s insistence on teasing her.

As they navigated the streets, filled with traffic even at the late hour, he grazed his hand up and down Quinn’s leg, fingers dancing close to the spot between her thighs where she most desperately wanted to feel him. When she tilted her head to give him warning glare, he arranged his face into a look of innocence.

At last, the driver pulled up the path, stopping in front of the house. Harry wasted no time exiting the vehicle, briskly thanking them and shepherding Quinn through the door. He locked the deadbolt and before he could fully turn around, Quinn was on him, kissing him with a ferocity she couldn’t earlier in the evening. Harry leaned in, his own passion matching Quinn’s as he raked his hands up her body under her shirt. He’d touched her many times before but this felt like the first time, his fingers exploring each area he knew well. He didn’t know it was possible for someone to feel so soft, so warm.

Quinn started fumbling with the buttons on Harry’s shirt. He’d made her job easy, leaving half of them unbuttoned but with the way she was feeling, drunk on wine and desire, she felt like she couldn’t get his clothes off fast enough. Harry saw what she was doing and quickly stripped his shirt off before pulling Quinn’s off as well. She leaned in, wrapping her arms around him and hiking her right leg up around Harry’s hip, seeking out more skin-to-skin contact.

Harry pulled back and gazed down at Quinn, who looked up at him, chest heaving. “Should we take this upstairs?”

Quinn nodded, and Harry scooped her up, carrying her bridal style up the stairs before dropping her onto his bed. He laid down next to her and intertwined his fingers in her hair, pulling her close to him.

“I love you, Harry,” she whispered against his lips. “I love you so much. Will you let me show you?”

Harry nodded spellbound, but as Quinn stood up his brow furrowed. “Where are you going?”

“You gave me a show tonight, now it’s my turn to return the favor,” she said as she shed her pants and undergarments. Harry eased up onto his elbows and Quinn felt a surge of pride at the way his eyes widened and his throat bobbed as she stood in front of him.

“Oh my God,” he whispered.

Quinn stepped between his legs and ran her fingers through his hair, tilting his head back. “I think it’s time to get your pants off.” She bent down, undoing his belt and sliding the linen pants down his hips and legs, tossing them behind her. Harry leaned back, taking all of Quinn in, eyes darting up and down her body as if he didn’t know where to look and didn’t want to miss a thing.

“Calm down,” Quinn said as she straddled his hips. “I’m not going anywhere, I’m right here.” She cupped his face in her hands and as she kissed him deeply she felt his length start to harden against her already wet core.

“Do you like this?” she whispered.

“I like everything you do,” Harry said in a rush. He ran his hands up her body, landing on her breasts. He kneaded at them, rolling her nipples between his thumb and forefinger, causing Quinn to sigh and arch her back at the pleasure that filled her. He loved how sensitive she was and how the slightest touch could make her weak.

Regaining her composure, Quinn pushed him down and positioned herself over Harry’s growing cock. She rolled her hips, once, twice, three times, sliding her wet heat over his length. Based on how he continued to plump up, Quinn knew he was enjoying it. But he wasn’t the only one. She was so turned on, she was confident she could make herself cum from that action alone.

“Are you ready?” Quinn asked, pausing to grip him firmly in her hand and running her thumb over his red, leaking tip.

Harry silently nodded as Quinn lowered herself onto his cock, biting her lip in a poor attempt to contain the moan that escaped her lips as she took every inch of him. She always forgot how delicious it felt when he stretched her for the first time after they’d been apart and she loved the way it made her feel full and complete in no other way.

Harry’s eyes snapped shut and he hissed as Quinn moved up and down, adjusting to his size. They weren’t even five minutes in and he was ready to burst. “You feel so good love,” he managed to murmur. “So good.” He brought his hands to Quinn’s hips as she finally settled on top of him.

“Who said you could touch?” she asked, raising a brow.

Harry looked up at her speechless. “What?”

“Tonight’s all about you,” Quinn said. “Just sit back and watch.”

Quinn bounced a few more times before starting to grind, using Harry’s chest for leverage, a position that not only created the perfect angle for Harry’s cock to hit that spot deep inside of her, but also pushed her breasts towards Harry’s face. Based on the dazed look on his face, she’d wager he was enjoying it too. She lowered herself closer to Harry’s chest as she continued grinding against him, and the slight change in position ensured that her clit moved against Harry with each pass and the combined sensation of him inside her and against her was bringing her embarrassingly close to orgasm.

She sighed, trying to hold on, digging her nails into his pecs as she sped up the pace. She looked down at Harry. His curls were splayed on the duvet behind him, mouth lips slightly parted as he looked up at her. “I’m close, Harry,” she said, breathless. “I could come right now.”

“So why don’t you?” Harry asked. “You said tonight’s all about me and I’d really like that.”

Quinn shut her eyes, desperately chasing the high she craved. She could feel that familiar tightening behind her belly button and she bit down on her lip as she focused on falling off the edge. Suddenly, she felt Harry’s hand on her hip and his thumb on her clit as he made quick circles over the tender bud.

“Wh–”

“My night, my rules, right?” Harry said.

“I don’t think that’s exactly what I mea– oh!” Quinn gasped as she felt the rush of her orgasm crash through her body. She stilled as she came down from the high and collected herself, trying to catch her breath, when all of a sudden she was on her back.

“Harry!” she yelped.

“You got yours, now it's time to get mine,” he murmured as he started to rapidly snap his hips in search of his own finish.

Still sensitive from her first orgasm, Quinn knew a second was painfully close, and even though the sensation of Harry inside of her was almost uncomfortable at this point, she couldn’t pull away. She needed to take as much from him as she could and she closed her eyes, relishing the moment.

From his new position on top, Harry had access to all of his favorite parts of Quinn, and he made sure to show how much he loved her, whispering affirmations as he kissed along her face, her neck, her collarbone, and her breasts. His chants of “I love you, I love you,” almost took on a ritualistic nature as he propelled himself to release, collapsing on Quinn after he came.

They lay in silence for a few moments, calming down, when he propped his head up to look at Quinn. “Ready for round two?”

***

“Come home with me.” Harry said a few hours later after they’d showered and eaten and were cuddling in bed.

“I think that invite is a little late,” Quinn said with a smirk. “I’m already here.”

“No,” Harry said gently. “Home. London.”

“Now?”

“No, not now,” he continued as he adjusted himself to get a better look at her. “In the new year. After the holidays. I think we can work something out. Maybe a week when you’re off before I leave for tour?” He started tracing shapes across Quinn’s exposed shoulder while he waited for a response.

“I’d love that, Harry,” Quinn said. “I can look at my calendar and book a ticket.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Have you ever been to London?”

“Technically yes. I had a layover in Heathrow when I studied abroad in Paris, but I never actually left the airport.”

“You’re going to love it,” Harry said without hesitation. “It’s like a quieter New York. We’ll get you some fish and chips and take you around the town.”

“I’d like to meet one of the Queen’s corgis if we’re making plans.”

Harry laughed. “I will try my best to get that on the itinerary.” He paused. “You could also meet my mom if you want. She doesn’t have a corgi but she has a few cats.”

Quinn could feel Harry’s heart pounding in his chest as he tried his best to appear casual. She knew that she and Harry were serious. They’d reaffirmed their commitment to each other numerous times over the past few months, but meeting families was definitely a new step. And it was one that Quinn was ready to take.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Quinn replied, curling in closer to Harry.

Quinn’s flight left early the next morning and Harry was reluctant to let her go. He followed her around the house as she packed the few belongings she brought with her and scarfed down a quick breakfast.

“You could just stay here,” Harry said as he clung to her while she brushed her teeth and hair.

“You know I can’t do that, H,” Quinn replied after spitting out her toothpaste. “I had to fight to get yesterday off. Lorne would kill me if I missed the show tonight.”

“I think I could convince him otherwise.”

“They like you, but not that much,” Quinn said, patting Harry’s cheek as she tossed her toothbrush in her bag.

Harry drove Quinn to the airport and she kept her mouth shut when it became clear that he purposely took the long way to LAX, doing everything he could to postpone her departure. Finally, he pulled up into the drop-off lane outside of the airport. Quinn was emotional thinking about leaving him for a few weeks, but she could tell it was hitting Harry even harder.

“Maybe I could fit into your suitcase,” he suggested, trying to play off his emotions with humor.

“Do you have a new yoga routine I don’t know about?” Quinn asked.

Harry laughed softly. “No. I just don’t want to see you go.”

“I don’t want to go either, Harry,” Quinn said, squeezing his hand. “But we’re going to talk everyday. You know you can always text me. And I’ll see you in a few weeks. I’m going to look at my schedule and plane tickets on the flight.”

Harry sniffed. “It doesn’t make it any easier.”

“It doesn’t, but we know we can do it,” Quinn said with a certainty she hadn’t felt when she’d last said goodbye to him. “We’ve got this.” She kissed him. “And you need to start making my itinerary.”

Harry leaned across the console to give Quinn a long but chaste kiss. “Text me when you land?”

Quinn nodded and opened the door, grabbing her bag. “I love you,” she said one final time before heading into the airport.

“I love you too,” Harry called after her.

Boarding and takeoff were shockingly smooth, and when Quinn checked her email there was plenty for her to sort through. Messages from work as well as her family, looking to confirm holiday plans. But one subject line in her personal account caught her attention: Agent Q’s London Itinerary. She smiled to herself and started counting down the days until she would see Harry again.

***

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witherburn-news-transcripts · 9 months

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Episode 2: Monsters Are Here

Hello Witherburn!

Boy, school hits hard after that long summer break. I know I’m still not used to waking up at the butt-crack of dawn, but hey, it has to be done. I can tell no one else is used to this schedule either considering the amount of coffee I see in the morning. If the school isn’t careful they’re gonna have a whole generation of this town addicted to caffeine, but enough about groggy mornings, there is a lot of exciting talk this week. From gators to graffiti and I’m here to discuss it all. I’m The Reporter and this is Witherburn After School News.

Our first story tonight is filled with intrigue as some neighborhood children found a two foot alligator at the local pool earlier this week. Luckily no one jumped in before the proper authorities managed to detain it. I’m sure most of you know that the aligator has been removed and sent to the Reptile Center, which rescues animals and uses them to help educate children about local wildlife, but what most people don’t know is that the same local children that found the gator also made a petition to free it? They claim that Patricia, that’s what they named the alligator, deserves to be placed back in the wild with her family. They even made a hashtag. #freePatricia which is.. Dear lord it’s actually trending on twitter? And TikTok. Oh my god, middle schoolers are terrifying… The group calls themselves The Merry Band of Misfits and claims that we as a society need to stop bothering demonizing animals like Patricia. You know, just because she’s able to tear us to shreds. They claim it wasn’t her fault that she was in the local pool, and if anything, it’s the townhall’s fault because they built this pool in gator territory. Listeners, this whole town is in gator territory. Some of you might be wondering why these kids reported the alligator if they didn’t want to detain it, well they answered on their twitter posting, “We reported Patricia because she was in a public pool. She could hurt herself or others. When we reported her we expected her to be released to the local swamp. Clearly that didn’t happen. The Merry Band have told the mayor and the Reptile Center that they have two weeks to free Patricia or else they will take matters into their own hands. The Center nor the mayor have made any attempts to set Patricia free and it seems like Witherburn, along with half the internet, is going to find out what happens when this merry band takes charge. At least younger people are being politically active… I think?

Local sweetheart, Amelia Farrow-Garcia has announced that she is giving a free ballet lesson to any children in Witherburn that wanna come. Known mostly for her academic accomplishments, Amelia has also been recognized for her skills as a ballerina at, not just the local level, but the state level as well. Amelia claims that her goal is to make this style of dance more accessible to the children of Witherburn and to encourage children to try new things, especially in the arts. This is what she had to say:

“I know that dancing has opened many doors for me. It allows me to express myself and I’m forever grateful for it, but I also know ballet is a competitive world that doesn’t always open its doors to everyone. I wanna give these kids the opportunity to experience ballet and be a small part in making this dance available to everyone.”

Isn’t that sweet listeners? If your child is interested, then all you have to do is show up at Madame Grant’s Ballet Academy at four o’clock Saturday, August 21st. Amelia encourages everyone to wear suitable workout clothing and tennis shoes and suggests you bring a water bottle.

I just.. I wanna give my thanks to Amelia for this genuinely sweet gesture. Who knows? Maybe we’ll have a town full of ballerinas soon.

Speaking of announcements, town hall’s activity committee has just announced that Witherburn will be hosting a harvest festival this year. We actually used to host an annual harvest festival around forty years ago but we stopped because parents made the claims that the harvest festival invited bad spirits but that was also in the middle of the satanic panic so take those rumors with a grain of salt. It’s already caused a bit of ruckus with some of the older generations though, who still believe that the harvest festival is, for lack of a better word, cursed. Though most of the town is excited to bring back an old tradition. It will have a cake walk, pumpkin carving, as well as a corn maze along with many other fun fall activities. Perfect for a fall day out with the family. A date has not been chosen yet, but a sign up has been made for vendors. Sign up soon so you can reserve your spot.

Witherburn’s wannabe streamer, Chris Breckinridge, who is demanding to be called by his handle, Dyce, and I just need listeners to know that Dyce is spelled with a Y. Just thought that would paint a picture. Anyways, he is calling for Witherburn to make an e-sports team. Now, I’m actually all for this e-sports team. I’m not gonna sit here and bash the world of e-sports and honestly, I find it all quite interesting. What I do have a problem with is that Christopher- Dyce is planning on using this team just to grow his audience. A little birdie told me that he was in the hallway with his friends bragging about how when they win the state championship, that his sub count will grow for sure. He also made the claims that it doesn’t matter who joins the team because he is the “pog champion” and will carry them. Now I don’t know exactly what that means but it sure doesn’t sound good. Dyce needs at least ten individuals to create an official e-sports team at school and so far he only has two people signed up. So, I’m not liking his chances. But I could be proven wrong. Good luck to… Dyce.

I will never not hate having to call him that…

Now onto our main story, mysterious graffiti has been popping up all over town. Some spots this perpetrator keeps hitting are the local library, Mr. Farrow’s Bait Shop, and the Bog Monster Bar. Even when these places paint over or wash off this graffiti, the same message will be back only a day or two later. Though message might be a strong word for this because this graffiti seems to be a strange combination of letters. The local library keeps getting hit with O L J K W V L Q W K H Q L J K W. The Bait Shop keeps being vandalized with V W D O N B R X and the writing on the bar is W D N H B R X and that’s just so weird, right? Because, it’s not small graffiti. It’s massive and usually covers the entire walls of these buildings. So to have this obvious graffiti and not even make a statement out of it… It just seems strange. Though, these aren’t the only places that have been affected by this. They are just the only places with repeated offenses. Other places that have been vandalized are the diner, town hall, and the marina. The town hall has video evidence of the crime and in the video one person in a black hood and jeans can be seen. They’re holding a flashlight and a spray can. Sadly no one can be identified in the security footage. Maisie Sampson, owner of the Bog Monster Bar, also claims to have seen a hooded figure by the back of her business around 3 am when she was heading home for the night. She tried to go after them and presumably tell them to knock it off but they ran into the woods and Ms. Sampson couldn’t keep up.

Mayor Micheal Burnham has suggested a neighborhood watch in order to catch the assailant.

“Now see, this is how it starts. First it’s a little bit of graffiti, and all of a sudden they are robbin’ cars and stores and soon enough the whole town has gone haywire. I will not allow for Witherburn to go down this dark road. Not while I’m mayor.”

Now, one could argue that some bored teens aren’t gonna cause Witherburn to turn into a town of crime, but hey, I’m just an anonymous radio host, so who cares what I think?

Some people have said that this is a job for the police department, not the townspeople. Mr. Farrow has told some of his regular customers, and I quote: “I have a business to run. I have bait to catch. I am up at four o’clock and I don’t go home ‘til the sun goes down. I don’t have time to be roaming around trying to catch some hooligans.” But Sheriff Sinanger disagrees and has said they are busy solving the real crimes. They have to do the important work in this town. That work isn’t chasing down a bunch of rambunctious teens writing gibberish. Clearly, the entire town wants to fix this problem, yet they can’t decide how.

Listeners, I..

Listeners I just got reports that graffiti was found at the school. This message was found on that large windowless wall by the football field and it… Oh dear, it’s in large red letters that apparently, suspiciously, look like blood and it says “Monsters are here.” That’s.. that’s interesting. The vandalism has been reported to the police and they should be on their way over to check it out. Apparently there is a worry that it’s a threat to the school, but most likely it’s nothing. Either way the school board has called an emergency meeting on whether or not to cancel school on Monday.

Wow. Talk about a last minute development. Anyways if you see anything suspicious or if you happen to know any information, please go to the town website and report it. You can also sign up for the neighborhood watch if you so desire. Anything helps the town figure out this little mystery.

Our final segment is, you guessed it, Monster of the Week, brought to you by Mr. Pickler. Mr. Pickler sent this very long message over Facebook and tagged the local hunting club. “I saw a giant black-“ Yeah I was gonna try and do Mr. Pickler’s voice let’s just not talk about that pitiful attempt again. Okay?

Anyways Mr. Pickler said “I saw a giant black cat in those woods yesterday. It had eyes that looked into your soul. It was as big as my four-wheeler. You gotta go out there and catch that thing.”

Today is more of a niche monster, but it’s a personal favorite of mine because my grandfather used to tell me stories about it. It’s not a monster that you can easily find online and its story is mostly passed down orally like how my grandfather shared it with me. With all that being said, the monster Mr. Pickler is talking about seems to be the black panther. The story that I know of this beast is that it’s a large black panther that stalks in the night and will steal your dogs and chickens. Sometimes it will stalk people and my grandfather even claimed that one tried to attack him. They are apparently spotted in the woods often and many people after seeing them claim to have a feeling of being watched. Cryptozoologists and zoologists both claim the black panther isn’t actually a panther which, wow, those people actually agree on something. Though zoologists claim the best explanation for the black panther sightings is that black jaguars are being spotted as they move away from their native territory in Mexico and cryptozoologists claim that it’s actually a new undiscovered species that needs to be caught and brought in for research. Bad news for my grandfather and Mr. Pickler, but it seems like there’s no hard evidence that any such animal exists. Though I think it’s worth talking about this interesting bit of southern legend, which almost feels like a last bit of oral tradition that has survived in this new age of technology and information. It’s kind of amazing that everyone who has heard of this creature knows a different story about it because someone named crypticguy420 hasn’t made some stupid creature Wikipedia page about it. In fact my friend was telling me about how their mom had always said the black panther was more of a spirit sent to punish farmers, which is just such a wildly different story from what I know, but I can also see how they’re the same legend. I think the fact the stories are so different is what gives this monster life. You know?

I’m rambling aren’t I?

No one cares to hear me babble about oral traditions so I’ll wrap this up.

Witherburn, it’s been a crazy week, but that’s all the news I have for- wait. Wait, wait, that is so so stupid. Um.. small update about the e-sports team. Apparently there’s a full roster now. According to Chris, my “stupid radio show only convinced people to join so they can leech off my sweet sweet twitch clout. Suck it.” I will admit I didn’t expect people to join just because there is a small chance of Chris getting internet famous, but I also feel like this is yet another prime example of me not understanding and underestimating my own generation. I mean, I still think it’s stupid but also this proves I’m an outlier in my opinion.

With that, frankly bizarre, twist out of the way, I will give my goodbyes. This is all the news I have for today. I hope you enjoyed today’s after school news and that you will join us next time. This is The Reporter, signing off.

Witherburn After School News is written and directed by Jordan Oliver, edited by Francis Hughes. The title song is by Future Me. The Reporter is played by Jordan Oliver, Amelia Farrow-Garcia is played by Miranda T. Grauzas. Mayor Burnham is played by Damon Lynch.

#witherburn after school news #witherburn #wbasn #podcast #podcast transcript #episode two #mystery #fictional podcast #free Patricia

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realmackross · 8 months

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PARTIES: @fox--tales, @realmackross TIMING: Morning of July 13th SUMMARY: Llama goes for a cup of coffee, but runs into Miyeon in the process. The last thing she wanted. WARNINGS: None!

It was early. Way too early. The wait for her usual morning iced latte was taking forever. Miyeon was pretty sure she was going to get her second tail by the time it came out. If they didn’t hurry up, she was going to get a caffeine headache. Or maybe she just had a headache anyway, whatever. She just wanted her coffee and she was so close to whining about it.

She sighed and resigned herself to her tragic fate when she caught sight of someone from the corner of her eye. Hot damn, it was Mackenzie Ross herself. Miyeon had seen her at that party the other day but she kinda thought she was just passing through town or something. There was no way she was living here. Like sure she went off the grid or whatever but here, in Wicked’s Rest? In the middle of nowhere? No way. Maybe she had family here. Or maybe there was something else. Something more scandalous. It didn’t matter what it was, Miyeon was itching to find out the deets.

Suddenly she wasn’t pressed about how long it was going to take her to get her coffee. “Hey,” she said with a little wave to the girl as she walked over to wait for her order, too. “It’s good to see you again.” She offered a small smile. “You look like you’re doing better than at the party. I don’t know what happened but you’re okay, right?” There was genuine sympathy there, it wasn’t all bullshit. Miyeon didn’t want anyone to be upset, not at something that’s supposed to be a good time. “I mean you did get to miss seeing me embarrass myself with my dare. Fingers crossed there’s no video.”

—

Llama had been covered in a hoodie and sunglasses. Her goto for going out in public these days. Why she had chosen to come this early for something she couldn’t taste almost didn’t make sense. But the last time she went for a late night coffee run, things hadn’t gone so well. And there was a teeny-tiny part of her deep down that had wanted some normalcy in her life. In fact, the more it crossed her mind, the more she had started to long for it. And right now being out in public didn’t seem too bad. People had been minding their own business. She hadn’t been noticed…

Shit. She had been noticed, but it was by a familiar face and someone who had seemed nice enough. But if what she had seen on the internet was true, and Miyeon really did work in radio, then Llama was going to have to stay very tight-lipped on a lot of things, “It’s good to see you.” As long as you’re not here to pry. “Thanks, and yeah, I’m fine. Something came up, and I had to rush home. I hated to leave the party so soon.” She really had wanted to stay, but Nora had made that nearly impossible with her comments, “Oh? What was your dare?” She was curious. “Don’t you hate when that happens. People posting videos of you without your permission.” She had genuinely meant it, but had also hoped Miyeon would pick up what she was putting down in terms of just leaving her alone, when it came to private matters.

“Llama…Ross…Okay, who names their kid Llama?”

Llama rolled her eyes and sighed as she started to move forward to get her drink, “Well, it was nice talking to you. That’s me, and I hope to see you around town sometime.” She knew the conversation had just started, but poor Llama was trying to avoid being questioned by Wicked’s Rest’s own inquisition.

Snagging her drink from the barista, Llama quietly said ‘thank you’, before leaving the small shop. However, on her way out, she heard Miyeon’s name being called by the same barista. Shit. She was gonna have to pick up the pace a little bit.

—

“There’s always next time,” Miyeon said with a small shrug and a smile. “I’m just glad you’re doing alright.” As much as she wanted to dig into Mack for a story, something she could craft into the next big podcast to hit the net, it wasn’t going to be at the expense of her as a person. Miyeon wasn’t that desperate. And if she was invited to the party with the rest of the people there, she had to guess that Mack was a decent enough person.

She hoped regaling her own tale of embarrassment would lighten the mood a little. “Well, you know that wolf girl on tiktok? The one who jumps around and makes fun of those kids in elementary school who thought they were an animal or whatever?” Miyeon always had to laugh at them. They so wanted to be her but they just couldn’t. And they would never even know. She got in big trouble with her mom the one time she told kids she could turn into a fox. Which is why she was super careful that it never got back to her the one time she full-on transformed right in front of Jimmy Macintyre, the little shit. He nearly pissed his pants, too. “Anyway, some people didn’t know or acted like they didn’t know so I got dared to do the wolf girl jumps. It was a stellar performance, totally Oscar-worthy if I do say so myself. I mean it was no mime lessons reenactment, of course.”

Alright, that comment was pointed. Miyeon considered dropping it — she wanted to start off on the right foot, after all— but she simply couldn’t. Not when her integrity was in question.“Hey, if you’re accusing me of something, you can just come out and say it. It’s not like you’re on the record,” she said, her tone firm but not aggressive. She didn’t want to wage a war here, all she wanted to do was get the facts straight for all parties involved. “And, for that very record, I didn’t record any video.” Only some really terrible audio that she could barely hear over the other side conversations happening around her that night. “Even if I did, I have journalistic integrity. I get that that’s not really a thing in LA but you’re not there anymore.” She knew Mack had no good reason to believe her, not really, but she was sincere in her words and Miyeon was usually pretty confident that she was able to effectively communicate her thoughts and intentions.

Miyeon’s face scrunched up in confusion when she heard the barista shout out “Llama Ross.” An interesting choice for a pseudonym. She was going to have to ask about that. And it was her lucky day, her order was ready for her to swipe off the counter with a quick thanks and smile which meant she could stay right on Mack’s — or should she say Llama’s — heels. “Hey, where are you hurrying off to?” It couldn’t be a set or anything, not here. This town was weird but not the Hollywood kind of weird. Maybe the SyFy Channel kind of weird but even that was pushing it.

—

Llama had felt bad not really giving Miyeon the time of day, but she had been hounded like this one too many times. Cue many of the hideous paparazzi photos that were now floating around on the internet. Instead, she opted for the good old classic nod and haul ass plan, but with Miyeon hot on her heels, she really couldn’t escape. And instead of further being rude, she stopped walking, and turned to see exactly what the woman had wanted, “Look, you seem like a really nice person and all, but no offense, you work on the more journalistic/podcast side of things, and for me,” especially now when I stand a chance to be outed for everything that I am and have done, “it makes me nervous. Not to say that you’re like that, but I’ve been burned, one too many times, by people who I thought I could trust, but really just wanted the ‘scoop’.”

Maybe getting to the point was best. But she didn’t want to hurt Miyeon’s feelings. Llama was sure her podcast and morning show were great. It was just a matter of not getting too close only to be burned at the worst time of her life.

She looked at the ground sheepishly ashamed for trying to outrun the woman she had briefly met at the party. She didn’t know if she had taken video or what, but it was still only fair to give Miyeon a legit chance to prove herself. Llama would have wanted the same thing. Please don’t regret this. Please don’t regret this. “Can we start over? It’s not fair that I jumped to conclusions about you when I don’t even know you, and I’m sure those Wolf Girl Jumps were totes cute.” Sticking out her free hand that didn’t contain coffee, Llama looked to Miyeon with a soft smile.

—

Miyeon was pretty sure she was watching a window of opportunity close in front of her. Not that she knew what the opportunity was. She wasn’t sure if it was an opportunity for that interview or for maybe just something simpler – like friendship. Miyeon didn’t even know what she wanted anymore. Sure, when she first saw Mack Ross at the party, she could only see the stars in her eyes, thinking about the potential interview, the scoop, the deep dive, the exclusive. But she couldn’t bring herself to be that kind of slimy gross journalist who would tear someone apart just for a story.

Not to mention, that seemed like a terrible way to get a tail. Sure, okay, she didn’t really know how to earn one of those. Yet. But she figured it had to be good deeds and not like shitty manipulation tactics that would get her closer. Either way, it seemed like they were running in the same circles of people in town. It wouldn’t hurt to see if maybe she could find a friend there.

To say she was almost bowled over by what happened next would be an understatement. “I would love to start over,” Miyeon said with a smile and reaching out to shake Mack’s hand. She nearly jumped at how cold it was and had to make sure she kept the surprise off her face. It was probably just poor circulation or something like that. Did she have an iced drink or hot? Whatever, didn’t matter. “I hope so. Because I’m pretty sure for the most part they were just totally embarrassing.” The shop was busy, but mostly with people coming and going. The seats were pretty empty. “There’s a booth by the back there if you want to hang out?” She wasn’t sure if the other girl was going to take her up on it. “Totally cool if not. But you can interview me instead of the other way around. A nice little turn of the tables, yeah?”

—

The handshake confirmed things. Miyeon was willing to start over and that sent a wave of relief over Llama. She could just eat her later, if things didn’t exactly go according to plan. Okay, that was more of a twisted joke inside of her own head, and one she kept cued up at times, but she knew it wouldn’t make any kind of sense and would only be funny to her. She had to entertain herself and the shitty situation she was in somehow, “Good.”

Pulling her hand back, she glanced over to the booth that her new friend was referring to. It wasn’t like she had anywhere to be. And now that Miyeon wasn’t so much of a threat, Llama didn’t see why she couldn’t spend a little more time getting to know her, “How does one do a Wolf Girl Jump exactly?” She had totally been messing with Miyeon knowing there wasn’t a chance in Hell that the person standing in front of her was going to hop around like a dog and howl in the middle of the coffee shop, but she had to ask. After a brief pause though, Llama’s expression eased up, and she began to laugh, “I’m kidding, but yeah, let’s go find a seat. I’m sure I can figure out some more questions to ask you.”

Llama made her way back to the empty booth and slid in the seat with her back to the door. Normally, she had preferred to see who was coming and going, but at least they would get more privacy if people didn’t see a famous actress sitting in the back when they walked in. Taking a drink of her coffee, she sat it down on the table and crossed her arms, getting comfortable.

—

Miyeon shot the girl a look. There was no way she expected her to do full on wolf girl jumps in the middle of the coffee shop. Like sure, she’d consider it if she got something good out of it. But it would have to be really really good if she was going to completely humiliate herself in public. So she was relieved to see that it was all in gest. “You had me there for a second,” she said with a smile. “I hope you know I’m serious enough about a second chance that I was briefly considering it.” Still, she was glad to have an opportunity to actually chat.

She followed towards the empty booth and took a seat across from Mack. “Alright, hit me.” She went to take a sip of her coffee and paused. “I mean like, not literally. But, you know, with questions and stuff.” It was weird, being the one to get questioned and not the other way around. She wasn’t entirely used to that. She hadn’t been in this position often, especially not lately, and she was really not going to sit and introspect on why that was. There probably was one and she just wanted to enjoy her coffee and not think about her own flaws or failures or anything like that. Too much of a downer for morning coffee.

“Oh wait, can I ask one thing first?” she said, leaning forward eagerly. She got close, looked around to make sure the coast was clear and lowered her voice to a whisper, just in case. “Why are you going by Llama? Is it like a code name or something? Low profile? Sorry, I’m just curious since, you know.” Miyeon pointed at the name on Mack’s drink.

—

Llama had kind of wanted to see Wolf Girl Jumps, but she would save that for later in the evening when she’d probably be scrolling Tiktok endlessly, unable to sleep and trying to avoid thinking about life, errr…death. Still the fact that Miyeon was considering it did mean something to the young zombie. Instead, she was going to relish the opportunity to turn the tables and interview the interviewer, “This, like, never happens, so I’m pretty excited that someone else is in the hot seat for once.” She took another sip of her coffee, before sitting it back down.

Llama had spent years in the spotlight constantly being questioned about this and that. Some things she gladly talked about and others that she really just wanted to be left alone about. But since she had fled her apartment down south after the Brody incident, the idea of being questioned had made her incredibly nervous. Sure, she had been taught not to breach contracts with spoilers knowing there were consequences like fines or possibly being fired, but if she breached this contract by accident, she would likely be sent to prison or worse. It was a thought that had constantly lingered in the back of her mind.

Seeing Miyeon lean forward made Llama’s brow furrowed in confusion. What was this question going to be? If it was anything super personal, she’d get up and leave. Simple as that. But hearing it was just about her name and why she was going by Llama seemed to give her some relief, “I’m not gonna lie, I thought you were about to ask me something super personal, but yeah. Code name. I’ve always loved llamas, so I thought, why not?” In reality, she still couldn’t put her finger on it, and though she hardcore ground it into everyone’s mind who questioned her, the fact of the matter was that Llama couldn’t really understand why it felt so off. It just seemed to help that Miyeon had come up with an answer right there on the spot.

—

Miyeon smiled when she saw Mack’s shoulders drop just a little as she sunk into her seat when she mentioned she was excited to do the questioning for once. As much as Miyeon liked being the one to do the investigating, she knew there was value in sharing enough of herself to make others comfortable. Not to mention, she didn’t have a whole lot to hide. Well, other than the fact that she could turn into a fox and would live for centuries and her parents were ancient and sometimes she ate ghosts. Aside from that, totally normal.

Some part of the kitsune was hoping for some sort of crazy answer, something wild and exciting, but she would have to concede for now. “Why not, indeed,” she said with a smile. “Llamas are pretty cool, fair enough. That’s not a bad code name.” A thought struck her. “Wait, don’t they spit? Or, no, that’s camels. I think. Maybe? I don’t know. And hold on, are they the same as alpacas? I mean llamas, not camels. Like are all alpacas like squares or something and llamas are rectangles? Or are they completely different? Do they–” Miyeon caught herself midsentence. Oh yeah. Mack, or rather, Llama was supposed to be interviewing her. She wasn’t supposed to be asking twenty questions about llamas. “Sorry, I get carried away sometimes. You can always stop me.” She laughed before taking another sip of her coffee. “Or at least you can try to.”

—

Llama leaned back against the seat and settled back in. What she didn’t expect though, was a flurry of questions regarding llamas, camels, and alpacas. But instead of shying away from it, she welcomed it! “Considering Llamas are sort of my thing, you’ve come to the right person. So llamas, alpacas, and camels spit and do so out of feeling agitated or threatened. And while they do spit at humans sometimes, wouldn't you spit too, if you felt threatened and didn’t have arms to punch or push with? I mean we’re coming into their area and their comfort zone right? And they are all from the same family, but llamas are much larger than alpacas. And something good to remember…llamas may not look as cute with their longer snouts and taller ears, but they’re the puppies. Alpacas have squished snouts and shorter ears, look way cuter, but they’re like cats.” Llama caught herself. “I don’t think you’re the only one getting carried away.”

After taking another sip of coffee, she laughed, “I could talk about llamas all day, but I won’t.” It was hard coming up with questions on the spot, but she started with something easy, “Back to me interviewing you. So first question, what’s your favorite animal?” She took another sip, before sitting her cup back down. It was Miyeon’s turn to talk and explain herself. Llama was just along for the ride this time, which was nice.

—

Out of sheer instinct, Miyeon went to reach for a pen to take notes on the notepad that she didn’t have in front of her. There was no paper, there was no pen, of course there wasn’t. Whoops. She tried to act like she was brushing crumbs off from the table instead. “Sorry, whenever I get good answers to something, like really good info, I just want to jot it all down. Even though I’m not currently doing a story on llamas or anything,” she said, a small chuckle following. “I mean I could if I wanted to, I guess, considering I have Wicked’s Rest’s foremost llama expert sitting right here with me.”

It was impossible to keep the smile off her face. If she could see it, she might even call it sly, which would have only made her grin wider at the irony of it all. “Oh, foxes, definitely.” Miyeon nodded and took another drink of her latte. “The ears, the little snoot, the whiskers, that bushy tail!” Of course, she would love to have way more than just the one but that was so not the point at the moment. “You can’t beat them. They’re the best, hands down.” Sure, she was incredibly biased but what else was she supposed to say, guinea pigs? Ew, no. They were cute and all but like she was definitely cuter and she wouldn’t stand for anyone saying otherwise.

—

Llama watched as Miyeon went through the motions. It would have almost made her nervous, if it hadn’t been for the fact that Llama was the one doing the interviewing and the fact that the person sitting across from her didn’t actually have a pen or paper to write on. It was actually a relief, but Llama understood that old habits die hard. She still found herself preparing herself most days, when depression didn’t have a death grip on her, for life as a celebrity. Look presentable. Stay in shape. Eat healthy. Of course, some of that had been slipping lately. She had donned her hoodie more than anything, and it really didn’t matter what she ate now, considering she couldn’t gain weight, “I get it. I still live like I’m in Hollywood sometimes, when I’m really not.” She sighed and her eyes dropped for a minute.

She didn’t want to bring the mood down, so instead, she focused on Miyeon’s answer, “Okay, but foxes are a legit and pretty good answer. They’re not llamas, but I’ll take it. Plus, you’re right. They are pretty cute. I wonder if Fox Girl Jumps are a thing…” She had pondered about the Wolf Girl Jumps before shrugging it off, “Okay, next question. What brought you to Wicked’s Rest or have you always lived here?” It wasn’t like she was going after anything in particular. If they were going to possibly be friends, Llama had just wanted to get to know Miyeon better.

—

“Yeah you’re pretty far from Hollywood,” Miyeon said with a wink. “I hope you’re ready for fall and winter. If you don’t have a snow shovel and some salt, get it now. You’ll thank me later.” She couldn’t imagine living anywhere without four distinct seasons so she was sure this was going to be a big shock to Mack’s system once it got cold. “But, on the bright side, that means you get to buy a whole new seasonally appropriate wardrobe. And if you’re anything like me, that’s more than a perfect excuse for a shopping spree.”

Miyeon had to take another glug of her latte to keep herself from saying anything stupid. It was too easy to make quips and jokes about being a fox girl, especially when people had no clue. But given the vibe of the party the other night, she wasn’t sure if she should even toe the line of revealing that secret any more than she already had. “Born and raised here, unfortunately,” she answered with a shrug, her arms out to her sides. “I know the ins and outs and then some for better or for worse.”

—

Fall and winter. Llama’s experiences with other seasons had certainly been odd. Though she had been around snow and the cold before, it was usually for brief periods of time. Shooting a movie here or vacationing there. But that was something that hadn’t even crossed her mind since moving to Maine. She had been excited at the idea though. The changing of the leaves. Sweater weather. Hot chocolate (with lots of cinnamon). And possibly even building a snowman and having snowball fights. It all sounded fun - a word that Llama didn’t take lightly anymore, “Yeah, I don’t have either of those. Where do you get that stuff? And are you saying what I think you’re saying, because Shopping Spree is my middle name.”

The thought of the cold made Llama instinctively shiver just a little bit. Could she even get cold? Would snow cause frostbite on her already dead skin? Just more questions she’d have to wait and find out the answers too. But she knew one thing, her coffee was sitting in front of her, and she was going to enjoy that, “Wow! So you could essentially be my own personal tour guide with the dos and don’ts of Wicked’s Rest.” Now Llama knew who to go to if she had a question, “Next question. What made you want to become a DJ?”

—

“Bet.” Miyeon was already making plans, lists, outfits, and accessories, she was ready. “In a month or so we should be getting fall looks. Get your PSL ready and we’ll hit the shops.” There were few people who could keep up with her once she was on a shopping high and, fair enough, that was partially because few people could keep up with her normally. That and she didn’t have a whole lot of limitations on her wallet and as much as she could insist that it didn’t matter and she could help, things could get weird. She had a feeling that wouldn’t be an issue with Mack. At least she hoped not. Unless financial ruin was the reason she was in town. Well, that would be a scandal. So really this was going to be good for her either way.

“That I could,” she said with a nod. “I’m sure you already learned the one about avoiding the woods at night. Like the news and whatnot does a pretty good job of advising that one.” Did they say the real reasons why people should avoid the woods at night? No, of course not, but it was better than nothing. “Ah yeah, that one,” she paused to take another sip of her latte before continuing. “So I studied journalism and communications and I don’t know if you could tell this about me but I like to talk a lot. Crazy, I know. I hide it so well.” Hey if she couldn’t joke about herself, then who could? “Anyway, I did a project where I tried out hosting a few spots on Leticia’s station. You know, at Vinyl Countdown, she’s the owner. Amazing, I love her. Anyway, she sort of showed me the ropes and I learned I’m pretty good at it and so here I am.”

—

Llama’s closet was full. So full that she probably needed to rid herself of some clothes, but it was hard. She had memories tied with every piece and parting with any of it would prove to be nearly impossible. It’s okay. She’d just rent out a storage unit if need be. But the last thing she wanted to become was a hoarder - where her next starring role would be the Hoarders crew visiting after reports from her friends came in that she had a problem, only for everyone to find her trapped under a pile of clothes, just to later eat everyone when she was finally dug free after being starved from human brains for so long, “Count me in. PSL will be locked and loaded with extra spice.” Yep. Storage unit it was.

“I’ve heard that one and about everyone’s suspicions with mimes.” Of course, she was also a walking example, considering her name had been stolen, but to her, she was just Llama. “This town sure does have a lot of weird shit going on.” Maybe moving here hadn’t been the greatest idea…But then how would she have ever met people like Alex, and now Miyeon, who was explaining, in detail, how she started working as a DJ. It was nice, though, hearing about someone else with so much passion for what they did. Llama had loved her job as an actress. And not being able to do it was something that had been hurting her, so in this moment, she chose to live vicariously through Miyeon. “Okay, final question…If you’re going to be my friend, you’re not gonna try and use me as a story for your radio show right?” She took another sip of her drink, which she was pretty sure was cold by now, but it’s not like she knew that for sure.

—

“Alright, that settles it. It’s going in the planner.” Miyeon lived and died by her planners. She would never remember when anything was happening or what she was supposed to be doing otherwise. Even if no single other person on earth could interpret her organizational methods, it worked for her and that was enough.

“You can say that again,” she said, pulling a face as she set her cup down on the table. Strange was putting it nicely but there was no point in diving into that deep end. Not today, at least. She didn’t know what Mack knew and honestly, there was a lot that Miyeon didn’t know herself about the supernatural aspects of the town. Her parents had made sure of that. All she knew was where not to go and what not to do. And that only made those more appealing, to be honest.

The last question Mack asked was one that Miyeon should have seen coming a mile away. It was her job to anticipate responses and plan follow-ups to a certain extent. So she was disappointed that it surprised her at all. Ugh, it would be so convenient to just go for the story, get what she wanted and to use it to get ahead, but as sky-high as her ambitions were, Miyeon could never step on anyone else to get there. Sometimes she almost hated it about herself – she could only imagine how far she could go by now if she was willing to look out just for her own goals, but that wasn’t who she was. Tragically. So she held back the sigh she wanted to let out and instead held up her hand, fist closed and pinky raised. “Pinky promise,” she said, looking Mack dead in the eye. “Friends only guest on my show when or if they want to. And I don’t snitch on my friends.” And she meant it. As much as she desperately wanted an in, a story, a break, anything, she only wanted it if she earned it, if it was done with integrity. If Mack had a story to tell, she hoped that she got to hear it. And if she wanted to share it, she hoped she could earn enough trust to tell it. But those were some big ifs that she knew might never come to fruition. And she was okay with that so long as she got something out of it all in the end. Friendship was enough.

—

“I’ll have my people call your people to set it up.” Would Taylor still set this up for her? She was her assistant after all. But did Miyeon have people? Llama was so used to having to set up appointments and even schedule time with friends that she wasn’t sure, “Do you have people Taylor needs to call? You know what, I’ll just put it in my phone, right here, right now.” Pulling out her phone, she opened it up to the calendar and put it down for October. That’s when it got cold enough right? Miyeon would have to be the judge of that, since Llama always stayed cold.

Once she was finished, she shoved her phone back into her hoodie pocket only to see Miyeon holding up her pinky and making a promise. Promises…what had she heard about them? That you weren’t supposed to make them in this town? And though Miyeon was a reporter of sorts, she had been truthful the whole time they had been hanging out. If she was willing to make that promise, then Llama was going to take it.

Raising her own pinky up, she wrapped it around her new friend’s and shook on it, “I truly appreciate that, Miyeon. I’ll be honest. When I saw you earlier, I was hesitant to give you any kind of chance. People in the media looking for a photo or the scoop make me nervous, but I’m not in Hollywood anymore, so I’m glad I’m actually looking past that and giving you a chance. You seem like a pretty good person. Plus, I don’t snitch either. What’s the saying? Snitches get stitches?” Or your brain ripped out of your head? Letting go of Miyeon’s pinky, she lowered her hand and grabbed her cup, “And hey, I mean it about shopping. You’re gonna wish we never planned this.” With a wink, she got up from the table and tossed her cup in the trash, before walking out with a smile on her face.

#para: lattes & pinky promises #para: miyeon #{that's not my name; plot}#wickedswriting #fox--tales

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