#oh maybe I have to keep a look out for a pasta maker at the thrift store now

[artificialqueens]

Love, Love, Go Ahead and Have Another Plate of it, It Doesn’t Run Out (Jankie) - Mar

A/N: For the potluck challenge! This takes place in a "jankie parenting Gigi" au that I never posted but love dearly. It focuses on blended/found families, so it felt like the perfect universe for this challenge. Food is my main love language and it shows here. Other ships show up in the background too.

Summary: Jan and Jackie host the first family gathering at their new place, and hope for the best as they sit their whole family down at the same table. 

Jan clapped her hands on her apron and white clouds of flour puffed up. Neat little rows of fresh gnocchi lay in their trays, waiting to be cooked.

“All set here. How’s that going?”

On the other end of the counter, Jackie struggled with the pasta maker she had gifted her girlfriend for Valentine’s, which she now deeply regretted. Jackie had mentioned that the little ones probably wouldn’t like the texture of gnocchi, and they’d be wise to keep spaghetti on hold as a backup for dinner. Jan had agreed, but the idea of store bought dry spaghetti was horrifying to her. This was the first family gathering at their new house, and she wouldn’t be caught dead serving store bought pasta in front of her mother.

Date an Italian woman, they said. It will be fun, they said.

So Jackie had learned the intricacies of a pasta machine, and to be fair, it was quite fun. The cranking part was the problem. She felt her arm was gonna fall out and the dough was not collaborating at all.

“It’s… going.”

Gently, Jan replaced Jackie’s hands on the machine’s handle.

“Let me see…” Of course, with Jan’s dance toned muscles, the machine started working at top speed. “There,” she smiled at Jackie, who was a little too distracted by her girlfriend’s arms.

“Yeah, nice machine you got there.”

“Jackie!” Jan fake-gasped. “On a Sunday? The day of the Lord?”

“Our day didn’t start out very holy…” Jackie said, hugging Jan’s waist and kissing her nape. Jan’s arm stuttered on the handle.

Gigi had slept over at Crystal’s, but instead of enjoying their child-less morning in bed, Jan had insisted on getting up at the crack of dawn to clean the house and prepare the food. As a healthy middle, Jackie had refused to let Jan leave the bed before she had coaxed at least two orgasms from her, and then they could clean. Compromise.

“Now, don’t start distracting me, we still have a lot to do,” Jan protested, but she contradicted herself by how her body melted into Jackie’s chest.

“Hmm, the food is done, the house is clean, I fluffed up every last pillow.” Jackie marked each sentence with a soft kiss on Jan’s neck. “We can’t start cooking until everyone gets here, and they won’t for another hour.”

She tugged on Jan’s waist, testing.

“...Fine,” Jan relented, walking towards the bedroom, pulling Jackie behind her by the hands. “Ten minutes, tops.” Jackie squeezed her hips. “Maybe twenty.”

“Going, I’m going!” Jan rushed to get the door, fixing her clothes and her hair. She checked her reflection on the mirror by the entrance, put on her best hostess smile and welcomed her first guests. “Hi!”

“Hi, baby!” Her mom kissed her cheek and hugged her with the arm not holding a giant tub of sauce. She frowned at Jan and pressed a hand to Jan’s cheeks. “You feeling okay, Jannie? You look flushed, do you have a fever?” she asked as she instinctively touched Jan’s forehead. Jan had been happily surprised when she caught herself doing the same thing when Gigi felt unwell.

“Oh, no, not a fever, I was just… in the kitchen. It’s really hot in there,” Jan smiled and let her mother in, hoping she would let it go. Behind her mom, however, her sister stood smirking.

“I bet it was hot,” Lemon said.

“Shut up,” Jan hissed and slapped her arm. “Where’s dad?”

“Jaida texted him to come pick them up because Nicky was freaking out about the dessert they’re bringing. She says it’s too delicate to expose it to our ‘filthy, american buses,” Lemon said, making air quotes around the words. When she tried to walk in, Jan stopped her with a hand on her chest. “What?”

“No dinner without contribution,” Jan said, pointing at Lemon’s empty hands.

“Priyanka’s bringing the drinks, she just texted me. You’re gonna leave me on the porch until she gets here?”

But Jan was too busy smiling to argue with her.

“Bringing things to the potluck together, are we? Is that the stage you two are in?”

“Oh my God,” Lemon rolled her eyes and walked past her sister, checking her shoulder.

Jan just laughed and delighted in the inevitable interrogation that Priyanka would be subjected to by their parents, once they realized the place she had in their youngest daughter’s life. Thank God they had so many guests. Lemon had chosen a good day for their “meet the parents.”

Jackie’s voice carried into the foyer, and Jan recognized her more formal tone when she spoke to her mom. She would never admit it, but Jackie was still somewhat scared of Teresa, and who could blame her? The woman was as protective as she was loving, and she had not been too happy to learn that her little Jan was becoming the stepmom to a five year old child, on top of dating a thirty four year old woman. Jan knew those concerns had been left behind as soon as her parents met Jackie, but Jackie still had some apprehension.

With time, Jan thought. Especially if things went according to plan, and she crowned their relationship with a big, beautiful wedding in the next year or two. Nothing like a party to court her parents’ good opinions.

Jackie’s dad would be joining them later, and that was the root of Jan’s anxiety. He liked her, she knew that, but liking her family was a different thing. The man only knew Jaida so far, who had never met a soul that didn’t like her, but Lemon, Teresa and Marco, Jaida’s dad, could get a little challenging. Especially all at once. Her brilliant, brilliant girlfriend, however, had suggested they invite Crystal, Sasha and Shea to act as buffers, and Jan decided to drag Brita out of the studio and bring her niece Heidi, and suddenly their small gathering became an event. Still family, though, all family.

Before she could close the door, Jan saw her dad’s car park in front, with Jaida and Nicky in the back, fussing over what looked like a pine tree in cake form. Jaida got out first to help Nicky sort the car door and make sure it didn’t decapitate the monstrosity they had brought, and they both held the base and carried it to the door with careful steps.

“Everyone, out of the way!” Jaida said, with a voice only heard in emergency rooms.

“Move, move, move!”

“Is that… a tower of muffins?”

Nicky gasped, genuinely offended.

“It’s a croquembouche, heathen.”

Her outburst nearly cost Nicky her balance, so she focused on the tethering tower and walked past Jan to the kitchen, where they could safely deposit it out of reach from the little ones and their grabby hands.

Marco walked to Jan with arms open, and Jan grinned and buried herself in the hug.

“Hi, dad,” she said, muffled against his chest.

“Hey, Jannie, long time no see.”

“Barely a month!”

“And it felt like a year.” He clapped his hands. “Where’s my grandchild? She must be taller than me by now.”

Jan’s heart flipped, like it did anytime her parents referred to Gigi as their grandkid.

“Crystal’s moms will bring her over and they’re staying for dinner, too. Do you know Crystal?”

“Hard not to, she’s all baby Geeg talks about.”

It was true. They had been friends since diapers, since Shea and Sasha had been so helpful and present during Gigi’s adoption, having just gone through it themselves. The kids had been inseparable for years, but the fascination for each other still had not worn off. Just as well, since it granted both sets of parents a much needed break whenever their kid spent the day at the other’s house.

Jan hoped they would arrive soon, since children running around always greased the conversation wheels, although everything seemed good for the moment. Her mom was admiring the croquembouche and praising Nicky for her good taste, and Jan had the pleasure of seeing calm and collected Nicolette get flustered under the attention. Lemon had glued herself to her dad’s side, as usual, diligently playing the role of baby of the family (which she refused to give over to Gigi. She was there first.)

When she got out of the kitchen, Jaida gave Jan a bone-crushing hug as if they hadn’t seen each other four days ago, but Jan understood. It had been the hardest part of moving out, leaving Jaida behind. She still had Lemon, and Nicky (and Priyanka, who seemed to be spending less and less time at her own place lately.) But still, after years of living together just the two of them, the separation anxiety was too real, and a huge factor into Jan and Jackie choosing a house near their old place, her sisters’ apartment, and even Jan’s place of work.

Jaida helped Jackie set the table, both rambling about the murder mystery series they loved, which Jan hadn’t been able to sit through for more than ten minutes. It sparked a little tradition, where Jackie and Jaida got together on Thursday nights at either of their houses and Jan took Gigi out for dinner and ice cream (or just ice cream, that very memorable night where they both came home hopped up on sugar and immediately crashed on the bed.)

A soft rapping at the door, barely heard over the ruckus, made Jackie rush to get it.

“Dad!”

Jasper held his daughter’s hands with such love that Jan looked away, feeling as if she was intruding on something special. He wasn’t a hugger, and his grandchild took after him, but he always held their hands in his big, coarse ones and said everything that needed to be said in that gesture.

“I brought you some things,” said Jasper, as he walked in and waved at everyone. In the kitchen, he opened his coat and started taking out a comical amount of glass jars full of pickles, ferments, sauces and jams from the inside pockets, some trinkets from his jeans and even a small wooden statue from a pouch that hung around his neck, piling them all on the counter.

“That’s for Gigi,” he said, pointing at the small wooden dragon. “So Flame the Dragon can have a friend.”

“Oh, dad, it’s precious,” said Jackie, stroking the scales of the tiny sculpture, carefully whittled to mimic the ones on the stuffed dragon that was Gigi’s best friend. “They’re gonna love it.”

Jasper waved his hand dismissively and went to talk with Nicky. They’d built up an unexpected friendship based on the language barrier and a shared love for travel. Turns out they had lived in many of the same cities, and Jasper recounting his stay in Marruecos was still the most Jan had heard him speak.

“So far, so good,” said Jackie, hooking her chin on Jan’s shoulder as they both observed their guests through the window on the kitchen wall. “Should we start cooking?”

“Hhm, let’s wait ‘till the kids or Priyanka get here, at least. She’s bringing all the drinks. On behalf of her and Lemon,” Jan smirked.

“Is she, now?”

They both bet how long it would take Lemon’s parents to notice she had a girlfriend. Jan gave it ten minutes, Jackie said five. Then, getting back into hostess mode, they made a spread of crackers and the food Jasper had brought, to keep everyone busy as they waited for the rest of the guests.

High pitched laughter came from the porch and Jan went to get the door, but something bumped against it before she could.

“Honey, you okay?” Jan asked once she opened the door and Crystal fell inside with it. The girl jumped up like it was nothing and flashed her million watt smile, giving Jan’s legs a quick hug.

“Hi, Jan! Look who we brought!” said Crystal as she pointed at Brita, who was walking up the door next to Shea and Sasha, carrying two huge bouquets of flowers in yellow and pink. Shea, for their part, carried a wicker basket that, paired with their polkadot outfit, made them look like something from a children’s book. Behind them, Gigi and Heidi walked to the door sideways, unwilling to break up their complicated game of pattycakes. “Heidi and Gigi have been pattycaking for ten whole minutes now,” Crystal grinned.

“And they’ve been singing the whole ten minutes, too,” Brita explained with a long suffering sigh. “Thanks for making me come, I needed a break.” She hugged Jan, careful not to crush the bouquets. “Although I didn’t have much time to make food, so you get flowers instead.”

“I’ll make plans to kidnap you more often, then. And these are gorgeous, they’re going on the big table.”

“Oh, the highest of honors! Let’s see the house, then, I want the full tour.”

Jackie welcomed them and offered a tour to anyone who wanted to check out the place, while Jan made sure Gigi and Heidi got inside without crashing into anything because of their deep concentration. Crystal had gone around dispensing hugs and kisses and was back to her friends, cheering them on as they kept up their game.

“Alright, I think we can start up the pots,” said Jan to no one in particular, though Jaida immediately followed her into the kitchen and started helping.

“How we feeling?” Jaida asked as she poured coarse salt in the three pots required to feed the small army in the house.

“Good!” Jan said too quickly, too enthusiastically. “Good, good, everyone’s here and getting along, and the food will be done in no time, so it’s all right on track. It’s going well.” She poked some of the gnocchi she had covered with damp towels to check they were still fine, then turned to Jaida. “It is going well, right?”

“Girl, yes. Mom complimented all of Jackie’s design choices around the house, and dad’s been talking to Jasper about music for the past ten minutes. Did you know they both played the sitar?”

“I hope Pri gets here soon, I want to get some wine in mom before we all sit down at the table.”

“You need some wine yourself,” said Jaida, taking the dish towel away from Jan’s hands, which were fraying its edges. “Get out of here, go eat something and talk to your friends.”

“I have to make the pasta, you can’t do it by yourself–”

“I’ve seen what you do, it’s not that hard,” Jaida teased. Jan finally cracked a smile.

“Fine, but if they stick to the pot–”

“You’re writing me out of your Will, I know.”

“Thank you.” Jan left a noisy kiss on her sister’s cheek and left to get some food. She was suddenly starving.

After just a few minutes, the doorbell rang. Before either host could get up, Lemon sprinted across the house and opened the door.

“What took you so long?”

“It’s hard to get cabs on Sundays!” Priyanka replied as she walked in, peering around the giant box she carried. “And I couldn’t walk here because I had to bring this whole box, all by my poor little lonesome.”

“You offered to do that,” said Lemon, setting the box down on the table.

“I’m more chivalrous than I am smart.”

“And the bar is already so low.”

“I missed you too,” Priyanka smiled as she took off her coat, greeting everyone.

“Did you buy the entire liquor store?” Jackie said, hugging Priyanka.

“I didn’t know about preferences, so I had to get different options. Plus juice for the kids,” Priyanka said, patting Lemon’s head. Lemon swatted her hand away and went to the mirror to fix her hair. “Hi, Jasper! Did you bring jams today?”

“A whole jar of raspberry, just for you.”

“Oh, you’re an angel. And you must be Teresa and Marco,” Priyanka shook their hands. “Your girls talk about you all the time.”

Teresa and Marco, still a bit disoriented by this fast talking stranger who apparently had some sort of bond with their youngest, could only shake her hand.

“This is Priyanka, my colleague,” Jackie came to their rescue.

“And Gigi’s Godmother.”

“That– well…”

“Gigi decided themself, sorry, I don’t make the rules. Where is she, by the way?”

They all noticed how quiet it was, and Sasha made a beeline for Gigi’s room. The door was cracked open, and she could see Heidi laying down on the floor with her eyes closed, surrounded by plastic jewelry and flowers. Sasha tiptoed away.

“I think they are… recreating Millais’ Ophelia?”

“Oh, they’ve been weirdly into funerals, lately.”

“That may be my fault,” said Jackie. “I told them that elephants bury their loved ones and they haven’t stopped talking about it.”

“Yeesh, kids are morbid.”

“Our girls did have a witch phase,” said Marco. “They nearly burned down the garden shed trying to summon the devil.”

“All those Sundays of church, wasted,” Teresa shook her head.

“Oh, ma, they were not wasted!” Jan said, hugging her mom on the couch. “We invoked Satan to ask him to stop the war, actually. See? We had good intentions.”

“Speak for yourself, I wanted to trade my soul for a bike,” Lemon said.

Her parents’ attention was called to Lemon once more, and they watched her carefully as she walked back and forth from the kitchen, poured out the drinks, and came back to Priyanka’s side every time. Marco and Teresa looked at each other, in conspiratorial silence, and wordlessly agreed to let it slide. For now.

“I’m almost done here!” called Jaida, and Jan rushed to her side to plate the food.

Jackie got the kids from the bedroom, all of whom tackled Priyanka to the ground as soon as they saw her, and were then herded into their seats. Brita placed napkins on their collars and laps as Jasper handed them cups of juice. Too old for sippy cups but too young for glasses, the kids got sparkly plastic cups with fun straws integrated and finished their juice in four seconds, then asked for more.

“Not until you eat half your plate, you know how it is,” Jackie said as she opened the wicker basket, full of floury bread loaves of all shapes and sizes which Shea and Sasha made from scratch. Jackie grabbed the biggest one and cut slices to place next to the jars of appetizers, which were practically empty. Jasper said nothing, but he wore the sweetest smile under his beard for the rest of the day.

“Careful, careful!” said Jaida as she approached the table, a steaming plate on each arm, filled to the brim and topped with sauce. She set them down and rushed back to the kitchen, Lemon and Priyanka hot on her trail. Somehow, the dining room table fit all fifteen of them, though with some crowding. They had to put the bottles on the floor to make room, but they managed to fit all their plates.

Loud chatter filled the room, drowning out the sounds of cutlery. Jackie asked Brita about the plans for the studio, and she talked about the upcoming renovations laughing at the months of stress ahead, but smiling so widely that Jackie could not pity her. Lemon and Jaida talked over each other as they updated their dad on everything new in their lives —save one big exception, of course. Priyanka’s attention was divided over watching fondly as Lemon reverted into a child fighting for her dad’s attention, and talking with Crystal and Heidi about the gnomes that possibly, definitely lived in Gigi’s new garden. They enlisted Priyanka to go exploring with them after dinner, in case they needed an adult to fight off the gnomes for them. Shea and Teresa broke dinner etiquette and brought up religion, comparing their churches and inviting the other to see a service, one day. Sasha and Nicky talked fashion in fluent French, a relief to Nicky after so much English. Amidst the chaos, Gigi sat next to Jasper and they held a conversation in whispers, both happy in their bubble.

Jan watched it all, the nerves of the day finally settling when she saw all the pieces of her growing family falling together so well. Without breaking her conversation, Jackie held her hand over the table and gave her a squeeze. Jan squeezed back, warmth spreading in her chest, and she finally started to eat.

________________________________________________________________________

fun fact: "Jasper" means "bringer of gifts" :)

#submission #rpdr fanfiction #fic challenge #potluck #jankie #mar #brita filter #crystal methyd #gigi goode #heidi n closet #jan sport #jackie cox #jaida essence hall #lemon #nicky doll #priyanka #shea coulee #fluff #concrit welcome

[ninzied]

that which we call a rose

based on the prompt: a hello/goodbye kiss that is given without thinking - where neither person thinks twice about it.

happy valentine’s day, kastle fam!

On the second Thursday of every month, Karen can’t help the extra spring in her step. There’s no point in trying to hide it—she does have an office adjacent to Matt’s, after all—but until she knows what it even is, she’ll let her friends draw their own conclusions.

This month is no exception.

“So…hot date tonight?” asks Foggy, precisely ten minutes after Matt’s said goodbye. Though Foggy’s doing his best to sound nonchalant, he’s clearly been waiting all day to spring the question on her. “You haven’t stopped smiling since you walked in this morning. And that was before we even had coffee. What gives?”

“Not a date,” says Karen lightly. “But a something.”

“Wait.” Foggy looks up from his briefcase, dropping every pretense now. “Yeah? That’s great! I’m so happy for you, Karen.”

She looks a little bemusedly at him. “Thanks, Foggy, but it’s not a big deal. Just takeout and whatever’s on TV tonight, probably.”

“Hey,” says Foggy. “Not gonna lie, but that sounds pretty appealing right now.”

Karen lets out a laugh. “Why? What’s stopping you and Marci?”

“You know how she gets about this kind of thing.” Foggy glances at his watch, and groans. “Shoot. I still have to pick up flowers. I can’t afford to be late—literally. This place had like a five-month wait list for tonight, and I think there’s a surcharge if we hold up one of their tables.” He throws her a rueful smile. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” says Karen, in a tone that she hopes will come across as commiserating rather than slightly confused. Was there some memo about today that she missed?

“And you have a good ‘not a date but a something,’” says Foggy, practically beaming at her. “You can”—he gives a comical wag of his eyebrow—”not tell me all about it tomorrow, sound good?”

“Sure,” says Karen, smiling distractedly. She waits until Foggy has gone, the door closed securely behind him. And then she picks up her tiny desk calendar, which she’d forgotten to flip over to February, and looks down at today’s date.

Oh. God.

…

The signs are everywhere, on her walk home from the subway.

For the life of her, Karen doesn’t know how she could’ve missed them before. Paper hearts plastered on storefront windows. Floral shops spilling out onto the sidewalks. Restaurants boasting their two-for-one specials. And the couples. All the couples, wherever she turns.

By the time she’s at her apartment, Karen is nearing levels of genuine panic.

She hangs up her work clothes as if on autopilot. She pulls on a worn pair of leggings and a soft, oversized sweater before pausing to reconsider, and then she changes out of that too. This isn’t just any second Thursday of the month anymore.

She checks her phone, in case Frank has canceled.

She does have a text from him, but all it says is that he’s running about a half hour late—his latest demolition site is all the way up in the Bronx, and traffic is a bitch right now—but how does she feel about Vietnamese for dinner?

There’s no doubt in her mind that the day has not occurred to him either.

Perfect. I’ll be ready with the wine, she sends back, and immediately wonders what has come over her. Beer would’ve been the more appropriate choice for this very much not-a-date, and besides that, they never drink wine together. Whiskey, sometimes, but they’d finished off her last bottle of Maker’s the last time he was here.

Wine is different. Wine means something. Right?

What was she thinking?

And what on earth is she supposed to wear?

…

Karen answers the door an hour later, back in her sweater and leggings. She breathes a small sigh of relief to find Frank there in his typical attire—jeans, with a faded black henley, and a crooked half-grin as he steps over the threshold into her apartment.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” he says back, like it’s just another day. Like this is just another dinner for them to catch up. He holds up a bag and says, “Hungry?”

“Starving.” She reaches for the food so he can get out of his coat, but he waves her gently off.

“’S’okay, I got it.” He looks at her, his gaze going warm. “Think you said there’d be wine?”

And just like that, the rest of her anxiety melts away. There’s still a light flutter of nerves in her stomach, but that’s something else.

Something that she’s always going to feel whenever she’s around him, whether it’s Valentine’s Day or not.

…

Despite how casually Frank is dressed, there’s always a sense of formality to the way he moves around in her place. Like he’s not quite sure whether he’s intruding or not.

He carefully folds his jacket over the back of her couch before taking the food to her kitchen, unpacking each dish as she pulls out the wine.

She tells him about work—minus Foggy’s theories on how she planned to spend her evening—and Frank doesn’t say much, but she knows that he’s listening, attentive to her as ever.

Somewhere between the first and second glass of wine is when he starts to loosen a little, leaning his elbows onto the counter, swiping the last bite of spring roll from her plate.

He tells her small stories about how work has been going for him, and each time she laughs he ducks his head down, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

They end up eating half the food before realizing they’re still standing in her kitchen.

Frank takes their wine to the couch, and she turns the TV on at low volume, flipping aimlessly through the channels.

They settle on a cooking show, which would’ve surprised her one year ago, before these Thursday night dinners. Before he teased her for the one frying pan that she owned and resigned himself to eating takeout from then on. Before they learned to laugh about things like what Matt said at work that day, or the fact that Frank hasn’t had to kill anyone with a sledgehammer. Not recently, anyway.

“All right,” he says, pointing at the pasta on her TV screen. “Next month, we’re doing this at my place for a change, and I’m making you that.”

She doesn’t know why she does it.

Maybe it’s his casual reference to next times. Maybe it’s how closely they’ve wound up sitting together, with her thigh snug against his, the arm he’s draped warmly over the back of the couch right behind her.

Maybe it’s the way this not-so-random Thursday in February feels as though it could become something like every day, for them.

“Deal.” She puts a hand on his knee without even thinking about it, smiling as she tells him, “All right, I’m going to go to the bathroom real quick.”

“Okay,” says Frank, turning to smile back at her.

It happens so fast, so instinctively that before she knows what she’s doing, she’s leaning in, and pressing her mouth briefly to his as she stands from the couch.

Like this is an everyday kind of thing for them too, kissing each other before one of them’s about to leave the room.

Karen makes it down the hall without any memory of how her legs have carried her there. Oh God. Oh God.

Her cheeks are flaming when she shuts the bathroom door behind her.

…

After splashing water on her face, and dabbing it dry with shaky hands, she looks in the mirror and wills every last part of her being to get a freaking grip. This is Frank, and she can be honest with him. Even if it means being honest with herself.

She knows what this is. She knows what she wants it to be. And she’s done letting either of them think that anything less is going to be enough for her.

Karen takes a deep breath and steps out of the bathroom.

…

She hadn’t been gone long, but apparently it was long enough.

The TV’s shut off, their wine glasses cleared from the coffee table. He’s not on the couch.

He’s not—anywhere in her living room.

But as she moves closer, she sees his coat still folded there, and then she hears the sound of movement in the kitchen. She doesn’t know whether she’s more relieved or apprehensive at the prospect of facing him right now, but she supposes she’s grateful she even has the option to decide between the two.

Frank’s clearing the counter, so she can’t get a good read on his face. He’s quiet, though, brows creased together even more somberly than usual, and the fact that he won’t meet her eye should tell her everything he’s not saying out loud.

Their leftovers are stacked neatly next to the takeout bag. He slides the bag out of her way as she picks up the food containers, storing them in her fridge. There’s a six-pack of beer on one of the lower shelves, the bottles clinking together as she closes the door.

“Frank,” she says, careful not to look over at him, “I think we should talk about what we’re doing here.”

He swallows audibly. And then he says, “Yeah. I know.”

She glances at him, wishing she weren’t as surprised as she feels. She’d expected more resistance from him, if not outright denial. It’s unfair of her, she knows; Frank’s abysmal track record notwithstanding, he’s still here, despite the fact that she’d just snuck a kiss out of him without his permission. That has to mean something.

Right?

God love him, though, but he can’t seem to keep his hands still. He grips the edge of the counter, and then reaches into the takeout bag, a rustle of paper and plastic that echoes overloudly in the silence between them.

Karen presses her lips together, biting back a refrain about how now is probably not the time for dessert.

Instead, Frank pulls out a small bouquet of white roses.

She stares as he sets them down on the counter. When he looks up at her, it’s with an intensity that nearly knocks her off her feet, and she grips the counter edge too in order to steady herself.

His gaze is unwavering on hers. “I’ve been thinking about this day for a while.”

She blinks at him, a part of her still wondering if it’s wrong of her to hope. “You have?”

“More than anything.” He shifts closer, and now she can see the last of the fear in him too, how he’s finally reached past it for something—for more. The edge of her own fear starts to soften, giving way to that fluttering lightness only Frank can make her feel.

Karen steps forward, marveling at the shared heat between them without their bodies actually touching. “And what, exactly, have you been thinking?”

Frank brings his hand up to the back of her neck, and she closes her eyes as he pulls her in.

He kisses her, and it’s everything Karen has wanted, everything she could only pretend that she hadn’t been waiting for all this time. He kisses her, and she knows how long he’s been wanting, and how hard he’s been waiting for this too.

He draws in a hoarse breath when they part. “I wanted to get this right,” he murmurs.

“Well,” says Karen, trying—failing—not to smile, “you want to know what I think?”

He tightens his arms around her. “What?”

“I think this is a good place to start,” she says, and leans in to kiss him again.

#kastle #kastle ff #kastlenetwork

[steves-on-a-plane]

First Date

Words: 1493  Pairing: Bucky  x Reader Warning: none  Summary: Reader and Bucky have been set up by their mutual friend Sam Wilson. Things start off awkward at first, but after Reader shares a bit about herself and her life, Bucky warms up enough to share some details about his own life. 

“James?” You asked the man sitting at the table with uncertainty. Well Sam had been right about one thing, he certainly was handsome. He had steely blue eyes and a strong jawline. He was wearing a motorcycle jacket and a pair of riding gloves. He looked up from the book he’d been reading. “I’m Sam’s friend…”

“[Y/N].” He finished for you in a gravelly voice. “Please sit down.” He invited you to join him at the table’s only other empty seat. So you shrugged off your jacket and sat down. It was a nice enough night, just over fifty degrees out, but you’d wished you’d worn something warmer.

“I should have worn a sweater.” You mumbled mostly to yourself.

“You could keep the jacket on.” He suggested in a way he thought was helpful.

“I would but it doesn’t quite fit. It’s been too small for a while now.” You confessed. “But it’s my lucky jacket.” He leaned sideways in his seat to steal a peak at the jacket in question.

“You have a lucky denim jacket?” He straightened in his chair again.

“I’ve had this jacket since I was in high school. I took my SATs in this jacket, wore it to my first job interview. What can I say,” You shrugged. “Just because something’s old doesn’t mean it’s outworn its usefulness.” This made him laugh for some reason. “Reading anything good?” You attempted to read his book’s title upside down.

“Oh, not really.” He shrugged.

“I’ve never read Lord of the Rings. Is it your first time through?” You asked him.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “You, ah, you read?”

“Are you asking if I know how to read?” You question.

“What? No I was just…”

“Relax.” You smiled at him. “I was just teasing. Tolkien’s not my thing, though. I don’t need to read three pages about the Baggins’ legacy handkerchief collection. Now the Star Wars novels…” You let your sentence trail off as you nodded with approval.

“They have Star Wars books too?” He seemed almost exhausted by the idea.

“Hundreds of them.” You confirmed.

“Have you ever eaten here before?” He questioned, bringing his attention to the menu.

“No, I assumed you had.” You said, also picking up your menu.

“Sam recommended it.” He mumbled.

“Oh, I’m sure it’s great then.” Sam was a bit of a foodie so there was a high probability any place he recommended was good. As you skimmed the menu, scanning your options you noticed the prices were a bit over your own budget.

“This place seems…expensive.” You commented, unable to phrase it more delicately.

“Oh? You don’t find Forty-five dollars a reasonable price for pasta and chicken?” He scoffed.

“I know a place not too far away, do you maybe want to get out of here?” You suggested. James looked down at the menu in his hand, seeming to weigh the options.

“If Sam asks, we both had the steak, and it was delicious.” He smiled getting to his feet. You put your lucky jacket back on and followed James out of the restaurant. “So how do you know Sam?” He wanted to know once the two of you were walking in step together.

“Ah, work…sort of.” You told him vaguely. “You?”

“Same.” He replied quickly.

“Are you a veteran?” You questioned.

“You could say that.” He sighed. “You?”

“No, my Dad was. Vietnam.” You explained. “I met Sam while I was helping out the VA.”  

“You said was. Is your father…” He couldn’t stop himself from asking.

“Yeah. It’s been years now, so my mother and I have adjusted to life without him, but there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t feel like there was more we could have done for him.” You shook your head. “I’m so sorry, this is a terrible conversation for a first date.”

“No, no it’s fine.” He insisted. “Much better than asking me about a childhood pet or I don’t know, my favorite color. It’s refreshing to have someone share their life so openly.”

“Oh? It can go both ways, ya know.” You elbowed him playfully.

“What do you want to know?” He asked stuffing his hands in his pockets. You continued walking, taking a minute to think of something interesting to ask him.

“What is something you’d never bring up on a first or second date, but your romantic partner should know?” You asked. He stopped walking, which surprised you. You stopped too, turning to look back at him.

“I’m a hundred and three years old.” He said before continuing down the street.

“Okay, well if you’re not going to take it seriously, don’t open the door to…” You rolled your eyes before chasing after him.

“I’m being serious.” He insisted, not looking at you.

“How can you be a hundred and three years old? The only person who looks as good as you and is that old is Captain America. The internet says he’s up on the moon or whatever but either way you’re not Captain America. So how could you possibly be that old?”

“Never mind. Forget I said anything.” He mumbled. You wanted to prod some more but you’d reached your destination. “C’mon.” You tugged him by the elbow towards a small hole in the wall restaurant.

The restaurant wasn’t much. It was certainly small with only about ten tables. The décor was simple and slightly outdated. Along one wall was a mural of Italian wine makers stomping grapes. There were yards of faux grape vines winding and twisting like trim across the top of the dining room. Some sections of vine even had plastic grapes dangling from them. The tabletops were well worn, their red and white gingham patterned had faded slightly over the years. It wasn’t much, but it was warm and the food was good.

“Best pizza in the whole city, I swear.” You promised as you dragged him inside.

“This place doesn’t even look open.” He commented with uncertainty. There was no one in the dining room when you arrived, but at the sound of the bell over the door, A short woman in an apron stepped out from the kitchen. A teenage boy in all black stumbled out beside her.

“I’m so sorry, but we are closed for tonight. You come back tomorrow.” The woman started to say in her thick Italian accent.

“Ma, it’s me.” You rolled your eyes. Your mother squinted at you, before putting her glasses on. She beamed with a smile once she recognized you.

“[Y/N]? But you are supposed to be out on a date, not here.” She argued.

“Well, I brought my date here. Ma, Marco, this is…” You began to introduce him.

“Bucky, Ma’am. My friends call me Bucky.” He introduced you.

“Are you taking good care of my [Y/N], Bucky?” Your mother asked.

“Ma, leave him alone. He hasn’t even been able to eat yet.” You told.

“Not eaten?” You mother seemed scandalized. “You left an hour ago to go to that fancy restaurant! Sit, sit, both of you. Marco, go get table setting for your cousin!” She ordered the young boy.

“è bello, no?” You mother whispered to you. You wanted to chastise her, but Bucky replied back in Italian.

“Non bella come tua figlia.” He smirked.

“I will cook something special for you, Bucky.” You mother decided.

“Just pizza will be fine, Ma!” You called after her. “So, you speak Italian?”  You quested as the two of you sat at the nearest table.

“You don’t?” He continued to smile.

“Not since my dad…” You confessed looking around.

“I’m guessing this was his place?” He nodded towards the large neon sign behind the bar proclaiming the restaurant as Antonio’s.

“It was my grandfather’s. Then my dad took it over and he was a terrible cook.” You laughed. “He hired my mom to be his chef, that’s how they met. They were a perfect team for over thirty years. Since then, we’ve been doing everything to keep it afloat. It’ll kill both of us to lose it.”

“I really am a hundred and three.” He said again, not knowing what else to say. “I tell people that I wear these gloves because I have poor circulation, but the truth is…” He tugged off his right glove first, then his second. You noticed, even in the dim lighting of the restaurant his left hand seemed to be made of metal. “It’s vibranium.” He told you flexing his fingers so you could see them.

“Bucky.” You repeated. “A hundred and three. Are you the guy they were looking for all those years back? The one they thought did the Socovian Accords bombing?”

“How can you be sure I didn’t do it?” He asked.

“I just have this feeling about you.” You shrugged. “Like you’d never hurt a fly. So, tell me, Bucky. How do I get to be a hundred and three and still look as good as you?”

#Bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes x Reader #Bucky Barnes Reader Insert #Bucky Barnes Fan Fiction #Bucky Barnes Fan Fic #Bucky Barnes FF #TFATWS

[etherrealoblivion]

Chapter Fifteen: Fuck It

Table of Contents

Fic summary: Owning a bookstore in downtown D.C. came with its fair share of downsides. You never thought that being the target of a serial killer would be one of them. Luckily, a nice FBI agent by the name of Spencer Reid is assigned to watch over you. What's the worst that could happen?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Words: 2,770

RATING: MATURE

MASTERLIST

~

The awkwardness toned down after a while. There wasn’t much more you could be embarrassed about now that you’d been sleeping in the same bed together for days. What was strange was the fact that it was Christmas Eve and neither of you really knew what to do.

“Should we celebrate?” he asked finally after a few episodes of the strange true crime show on VHS — it was called Felon’s Brains and Spencer hated it, but there wasn’t any cable this far out and there were fifteen seasons of it on tape.

“I’m not sure.” Christmas hasn't always been a happy holiday for you. That coupled with the fact that you were hiding from a killer, what was there to celebrate?

Looking over at Spencer sitting next to you on the couch, his face contorted as he thought hard. There’s something to celebrate.

“When was the last time you ate?” While he was skinny in the first place, his shirts seemed to be falling a little looser lately.

It was a good question judging by the way he had trouble remembering.

“I’m not sure. A few days ago.”

You would be surprised, but there hadn’t really been many opportunities for either of you to eat. You’d grabbed an apple just before you left the hotel but that was pretty much the only food you’d had in a while.

“We should have a feast,” you said excitedly, your stomach grumbling at the thought. Spencer also looked relieved, probably more at the idea of keeping busy.

“Okay! I’m not all that sure what’s in the pantry.”

The yield was minuscule, but you could make the best of it. Surprisingly, there was an old pasta maker with a stiff crank, but it would work well enough. There was flour, eggs, olive oil, all the ingredients to make pasta from scratch.

However, when presented with this idea, Spencer blistered.

“I’ve said this before, I’m, uh, not exactly a chef.”

You smiled gently at him, gathering the ingredients.

“Me either. But pasta from scratch is like the one meal I can make. And there’s some canned vegetables in the pantry. You can prepare those.”

He seemed daunted by the idea, but moved to the cabinet and took out several cans.

So you did your best making the pasta (perhaps adding a bit too much flour) and soon the meal was ready.

“Oh my god!”

“What?” you said nervously, watching him swallow the first bite of pasta.

“This is amazing!” he dug in, savoring it. “How did you learn to make this?”

Pleased, you took a bite yourself. It did taste really good. But so did Spencer’s vegetables.

“I learned from my old . . . roommate.”

You tried to play off the slip. Hopefully, he’d go along with it.

“Cool! Well, it’s delicious. Thank you.”

His eyes crinkled when he smiled, sending a spark through you and you grinned back at him.

“You know, this isn’t a bad Christmas Eve.”

He nodded, glancing from the meal to the window to you. Startled at the sudden eye-contact, you looked away, no doubt a blush spreading to your cheeks.

Spencer cleared his throat; he did that a lot.

“Ahem, did you know that Christmas is just the evolution of a popular holiday in the Roman Empire that celebrated the winter solstice as a symbol of the resurgence of the sun, the casting away of winter and—“

“While it does drive me crazy when you ramble, in a very good way, maybe we could talk about something a bit more personal?”

He wasn’t sure whether to be embarrassed or relieved.

“Sure. Like what?”

“Hmm. What was your favorite Christmas?”

A bright smile lit up his face.

“The Christmas after my tenth birthday. My dad dressed up like Santa and we went and saw reindeer in Baskin’s park. I got to ride one. My mom was so scared the whole time. She kept thinking I was going to fall off, even though my dad was right next to me the whole time. That was really the last family time we had. He left the next year.”

His smile turned to a frown.

To change the subject, you took the plates to the sink, then sat on the couch, patting the place next to you. Spencer stood and ambled over, plopping down next to you, attempting to smile. Your positions were similar to how they’d been in the bookstore, all those nights ago. Strange how close you’d grown after such little time.

“What about you? What was your favorite Christmas?” he asked.

You took one look at him, wearing a thick burgundy sweater that looked far too scratchy to be comfortable, woolen mismatched socks, and regular jeans, his head tipped back on the couch and staring at you so sweetly, awaiting your response.

“This one.”

You had whispered it so quietly you would have been sure he didn’t hear it . . . if not for the sharp intake of breath next to you.

Quickly moving past that, you said, “I’m not sure. I’ve never really had super special Christmases. I mean presents and stuff is great, but none really stand out. Well, stand out in a positive light.”

He chewed on that for a minute.

“Then what’s been your worst Christmas?”

You shot him a look, “I’m not sure you wanna hear about that.”

“I do! Here,” he scooched closer, picking up your legs and swinging them into his lap, surprising you with the closeness of the gesture, “I’ll go first. My worst Christmas was the year after my dad left. I didn’t get any presents because he wasn’t there and my mom was admitted.”

“Admitted?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

“She, um, she has Schizophrenia. She lives in a mental facility.”

It was such a personal confession, you weren’t sure what to say. He told you something extremely private! That’s good! Right? No. If anything it just blurred the lines of your relationship further. Was he telling you to indulge you, make you feel more comfortable with him knowing so many personal things about you, or did he actually want to share that part of himself with you? Either way, you needed to acknowledge it.

“I’m here, Spencer.”

He looked at you in surprise.

“Most people say they’re sorry when I tell them that.”

Shit. 

“Oh, I didn’t mean—“

“No, no,” his eyes were full of curiosity and wonderment. “I’m actually grateful. It’s weird when people apologize because there’s really no right response. I can say, ‘it’s okay’, which is a lie; ‘thank you’, even though I’m not really thankful; or I can ignore it which is just mean. An apology creates an unconscious obligation.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, digesting the words.

“I promise never to apologize to you,” you said, smiling.

He smiled back, chuckling softly. “I promise, too.”

“My worst Christmas was last year.” He adjusted his position so he could look at you better. “I had just started my Linguistics PhD so my schedule was constantly full. At the time I was living with my ex-boyfriend, Matthew. He, um, had problems with me being gone so frequently; he always wanted to know where I was and what I was doing. So when I surprised him by coming home early on Christmas Eve, I thought he’d be pleased. Turns out there was a reason he was so obsessed with my schedule. He didn’t want me coming home to someone else in our bed.

“I remember when I walked in and saw them together how sad I was. But even more so, I was relieved. Looking back on it, I was just looking for an excuse to get out of that relationship.” You looked off in thought. “Huh. I’d never really thought about that.”

His hands were slowly patting your legs, sliding up and down your clothed shin. It seemed like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. 

“I’m here for you.”

He had said it as a comfort, as a substitute for ‘I’m sorry’, but you couldn’t help taking it as though he was saying he was there for you and he always would be, unlike your ex. Spencer seemed to realize this, his hands freezing on your leg. 

But he kept stroking after a moment, and said, “I never liked the name Matthew. So pretentious.”

You laughed lightly, reaching out for his hand, clasping it in yours and running your thumb along the back. 

“Spencer. How is this going to end?”

When the FBI had first talked to you, Morgan had assured you that the stalker wasn’t trying to kill you. But then why were they being so protective of you? 

He waited a moment before answering, holding your hand tightly.

“The model of a stalker killer deciding to rehearse his fantasy multiple times with possible intent to have you complete the final scenario concludes itself with one of two possibilities. The more likely being the stalker will kill himself.”

“What’s the other possibility?”

Embers from the fire snapped and crackled in the heavy silence.

“He’ll kill the object of his desire.” 

Although you had kind of put together the fact that there was more to the danger you were in, it still came as a shock to have it confirmed.

“Have you had cases like this before?”

He paused, biting his lip.

“Yes.”

“And how do they end?”

“The ones we win, the victim goes through therapy, the stalker goes to prison, and eventually we move on. It never goes away, but it gets better.”

You nodded seriously.

“What about the ones you lose?”

As the logs in the fire snapped again, a lightbulb burned out, making a loud popping noise above your head and shrouding the room in darkness.

Spencer stood on the couch, adjusting the bulb.

“Sorry, I guess there’s not the best electricity out here.”

“Well, there’s a generator out front. It’s probably just the lightbulb.”

“No, these lightbulbs were changed recently. Are you sure you saw a generator?”

You nodded.

“Then it must be the circuitry.”

He unscrewed the bulb and sat back down, setting it on the end table. The only light in the room came from the fire. It cast a golden glow over his sharp features, drawing your attention to the cut of his jaw and the plumpness of his lips. The firelight in his eyes as he stared sparked something inside you; a sort of sudden urgency.

You sat up, moving closer to him on the couch. His hazel eyes glowed in the soft light of the room. 

Slowly, you brought your hand to his face, gently caressing his cheek. His lips parted and his eyes grew dark, glancing down at your lips.

The threat of death was just around the corner, closer than you’d thought. You loved Spencer and you needed him to know before . . .

“Y/N. . . .”

It was barely a whisper but you felt it in every part of your body.

Letting the feeling wash over you, you picked up his hand, placing it on your cheek and melting into the touch.

Spencer stroked your cheek, thumb brushing against your lips. You parted them, staring at him as you mouthed his thumb. 

He suddenly pulled back, balling his hands into fists and trying to catch his breath.

“Listen, there’s this thing called ‘transference’ it’s when—“

“Spencer, I like you.” Well, that was one way to shut him up. 

At his shocked expression, you quickly burst into a ramble. “Not because you’re protecting me, I've thought hard about this. I can protect myself, I'm not helpless. That being said, everything about you makes me want to be with you. The fact you love reading, knowing all sorts of random facts, you love memorizing lists, the way you raise your eyebrows when you’re shocked like you’re doing now. I want you, not the idea of you. I want you.” You said the last part with such conviction you thought you’d explode.

Meanwhile, Spencer was speechless.

Testing the waters, you leaned in as slowly as you could, giving him the opportunity to stop you if he wanted. 

When your mouths were millimeters apart, neither of you moving, just breathing heavily, you said, “You don’t want this?”

“Drink,” and the second he said it, your lips met harshly with tongue and teeth clacking together. It was desperate, urgent the way you pulled him on top of you, laying back on the couch. His hands were everywhere at once, running through your hair, snaking around your waist, brushing against your neck. 

Breaking the kiss to pull his sweater over his head, you marveled at his bare chest. It was different than you’d pictured. Not muscular per se, but not nearly as scrawny. It was perfect. He was perfect.

He hesitated at your gaze, so you pulled him back down, ravishing his mouth and scraping your nails down him back, leaving a trail of white marks.

But, ever the hero, he pulled back, shaking his head softly.

“Wait, wait . . .”

The absence of his mouth was unbearable, but you would respect his boundaries. Although you knew now that if anything, it was his job interfering with his feelings for you. It wasn’t that he didn’t want you. He just couldn’t have you.

The thought was too much, you looked away from him, still hovering above you. When, after a moment, he still hadn’t moved, you looked at him, surprised to see an extremely pained expression on his face.

You tilted your head, eyebrows furrowing. For him, that seemed to be the last straw for he sighed and leaned back down muttering, “Fuck it,” and kissing you harder than ever before.

It was the first time he’d cursed in front of you. Moaning against his mouth, you could feel his fingers brush against the skin of your sides. You gasped at the contact and he started to pull back, but you pulled him closer, nipping his lips and letting your legs fall open, closing any gap between you.

He grunted softly and inadvertently thrust against you in just the right spot, causing you to thread your fingers through his hair and pull. 

The yank made him gasp and his hips jerked unconsciously against yours.

“D-do that again,” he whispered between kisses. 

Delighted, you did, hard, your other hand desperately trying to unbuckle his belt. He occupied himself with kissing up and down your neck, occasionally biting and subsequently soothing with licks.

You finally got his belt undone, throwing it to the floor as he pulled your shirt over your head. He pulled back for a moment, admiring you. Your bra wasn’t all that special, just a plain tan one, but Spencer looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Tired of the space between you, you pulled him back, kissing him deeply and moving his hand to your breast. The moment he was given permission, his hand slipped underneath, kneading gently.

As you popped the button on his jeans and shoved them down his legs, he found the clasp of your bra and snapped it, probably breaking something in the process. Now your chest was bare, Spencer’s hands moving all over your body, soaking up every inch possible. You gently reached down and felt his hard length, both of you moaning at the contact. He thrust into your hand, desperate for more.

But you had to stop him, you pulled him back, hands moving to gently grasp his cheeks, holding his face inches from yours.

He seemed alarmed by the shift, stopping all movement and staring into your eyes.

In that moment, with him on top of you, looking at you with such care, such caution, like you were the only thing that mattered in the world and he’d do anything you asked in an instant, you realized you needed to tell him. If you kept it in any longer you’d burst.

He knew what you were going to say the moment before you said it.

“I love you.”

The two of you held eye contact for a moment, the only sound in the room your breath. Then, his expression softened and he opened his mouth to speak.

But before he could say anything, there was a loud THWACK and he fell forward onto you, unconscious. Behind him, standing above you, was a dark figure holding a blunt object.

Terror rushed through you, chilling the marrow in your bones. But before you could so much as scream, the figure lifted the object and brought it down on your head, hard.

Everything went dark.

~

notes: I am so sorry.

~

Taglist: @aperrywilliams @mjloveskids666 @dolanfivsosxox @criesinreid @fanficsrmylife @racerparker @sammypotato67 @lukeskisses @reidcrimes @you-had-me-at-hello-dear @l0ve-0f-my-life @thatsonezesty13​ @yourmisosoup @queenofthebees003 @pinkdiamond1016 @eu-solidao @perverted-guardian-angel @boiled-onionrings @rainsong01 @lesbian-emilyprentiss @andiebeaword @itsmoony @cielo1984 @baby-i-am-fireproof @mendesminimuffin @fukyouthink @addie5264 @gretaamyk @sercyan @expressiodeppresio @matthewreid

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #fanfic #fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #fandom #smut #slow burn #angst #fluff #criminal minds #i am so sorry

[moosoobi]

Confessions

In the night: Chapter 2

T.Jeff- Hamilton: the musical 

Y/N can’t hold all her secrets. She’s tired of hiding. The people deserve the truth. Here’s her confession: the one she should’ve told us long ago

I started to write this chapter the day after I finished chapter 1, yet before the first chapter was even published (time management queen). As I’m typing this message, I’m currently distracting myself from finals LMAO. Anyway, I wanted to finish this chapter as soon as possible to give some explanation of the events in the previous chapter, so I hope I do exactly that. I’m still manifesting that I articulate through this story smoothly, please give me feedback <3 

MC (aka Y/N’s) POV 

Modern au 

Word Count: 5.4k

A few unrealistic realities, but I’m working with what I got

This chapter will most likely answer many questions about chapter 1 

THIS CHAPTER OCCURS AT THE SAME TIME AS CHAPTER 1! all events in this chapter line up with the events of chapter 1

Disclaimers: 

TW: violence, abuse, mentions of blood, themes of injury, itty bitty angst?

photo not mine <3

If you have any questions/concerns about this story, DONT BE SHY TO ASK ME! This is my first time writing a whole series, so I apologize if the plot gets confusing. 

-Now Playing: Broken Clocks by SZA-

Where to start… 

My attention was taken from Professor Washington’s lecture the moment I felt a pair of eyes attempting to pierce a hole in the back of my head. As I look back, I realize that it’s no one other than Thomas Jefferson, the spoiled francophile, or so people like the whisper, but gossip’s not my thing.

Upon being called out by Professor Washington, I couldn’t hold in my giggle as Thomas’s head ducks down in embarrassment. I suppose he sure knows how to lighten the demeanor in the lecture hall; It was a nice excuse to take my eyes off of Washington’s low-quality power-point presentation, but I appreciate that the man is trying. 

This class feels like it’ll last forever, and I contemplate if I could just perish in my seat at this very instant, yet Thomas’s presence seems to make it worthwhile. I don’t know him that much, or maybe at all for that matter, but since he’s been seen with a Schuyler, the locals around here can’t seem to keep their mouths shut about him. 

From what I’ve heard, he’s another silver-spoon raised boy representing Virginia up here in New York. A few scholarships here and there, as well as a trip to France for a semester. I don’t see what all the fuss is about; He seems like a pretty cool person, probably has an exciting life, and isn’t throwing away his shot. It’s odd, even with parents to piggyback off of, Thomas is very similar to a certain orphan I know. 

“Class is dismissed” Is all I heard from Professor Washington’s mouth before that obnoxious but relieving bell sounds off. 

Desperate to get out of this class, I hurry to put my stationery items into my burgundy-magenta backpack. You’d think after those turbulent years of high school that college would motivate me for fancier bags, but I can’t say no to my favorite color. It’s simple, won’t bring attention to my presence, unlike every other decision I’ve made in my life. 

After I finally finished packing up, I can’t wait to take a breath of the fresh, polluted air of New York City. I quickly spotted my roommate's car within the crowd of vehicles next to the sidewalk. He’s on time, as always, to pick me up from class, and I’m grateful that he sacrifices his time for me, but it’s not like he had a choice. I toss my bag into the trunk, surely crinkling a few important papers. Upon reaching the door of his expensive car, my roommate greets me with joy to see me. 

“How was class, Cherie?” 

Lafayette, my roommate, shoots a smile at me, his white teeth are almost blinding, but he always says I’m exaggerating. 

“Boring as always, but I’m still here, sadly” I say as I hop into the front seat of Lafayette’s car. He pouts in my direction 

“Ahh, c’mon, don’t be like that.” Once he acknowledges the buckling of my seatbelt, he begins to power up the car. “C’est la vie, Y/N” I roll my eyes, my hatred for him grows just a little more every time he says that. 

“Can we get McDonald’s?” I attempt to change the subject, earning a small chuckle from him. He prepares to drive off “You know I can't say no to you and your American junk food” 

And so we begin to drive off  

Lafayette and I indeed have a bit of history together. After I got mistakenly involved with Alexander and his clique, Lafayette was the next best (or worse) person to walk into my life. He’s sweet, charming, probably all the things Americans are not; the gentleman hails from France. Yet he’s so much more than that. 

Ever since I caught his eye at that obnoxious high school party, he and I hit the ground running. Disclosing the events which took place in his-

our bedroom won’t solve the problem, but the stubble on his jaw and the way he holds the steering wheel with one hand nearing my thigh reminds me of the unresolved sexual tension between the both of us. 

I’ve only been living in his apartment for a few months, an idea he proposed when I mentioned my dreadful rent. A nice view, nice coffee maker, and nice bedsheets were more than enough to convince me, but I know there’s more to that “nice” list that I shouldn’t disclose. 

Though I know his intentions were good, I’m sure he invited me into his abode to protect me from Alex. 

Since I began to band with Alex and his gang, Alexander’s been strict about getting me home on time. It wasn’t only because I was a helpless high school student, but also to prevent me from ratting him and his group out to the authorities. 

Upon joining Alex's posse, a strict curfew has been placed on me, only to ensure I stay safe at night, or perhaps to make sure I don’t betray them. 

Moving in with Lafayette made following this time limitation easier for me, especially since he volunteers to drive me home or takes a stand for me. If the unfortunate event of my arrival past my ‘bedtime’ timer occurs, Alexander ensures I pay the price.

Speaking of arrivals, Lafayette passes me a box of hot, salty fries and a smile spreads across my face. His eyes visibly soften as my entire demeanor changes.  

“Have I ever told you that you’re the best person ever?” I spilled my thoughts while stuffing my mouth with fries. He lightly chuckles, watching me. 

“Maybe a couple of times..” He prepares to drive off again “...too many times, actually.” he shot a wink at me. 

Blood didn’t have any time to rush to my cheeks before I could slap the side of his shoulder, causing him to whine in discomfort. I sigh before returning my focus to the steaming fries in front of me. The tension grows, and so does the silence between us. Eager to break the tension, I propose an idea. 

“Let’s go home?” we turn to each other at the same time 

“Oui.” 

---

I enter Professor Washington’s lecture hall and my attention is driven to the two curly-headed Virginians. I watch in secondhand embarrassment as Thomas Jefferson and his friend playfully argue in front of the entire class, seemingly a heated debate of the greatness of Mac and Cheese. One argues on behalf of the gooey pasta, while the other simultaneously retorts with a mix of “you’re so stupid” and “God help me”. 

Feeling a rush of confidence and suaveness, my brain urges my body to intervene in their conversation. Maybe it was to make new friends, or perhaps to stop the class from staring at their dumb dispute, but I swiftly walk over to them. The next few words to come out of my mouth fell into place oh-so-perfectly. 

“Hey, can I sit here?” 

Upon sitting in between the two Virginians, they introduce themselves. The calmer, self-collected man among the two introduced himself as James Madison, while the bolder, upbeat man introduced himself as no other than Thomas Jefferson. Both of them seemed happy that I interrupted and decided to reach out to them, maybe one was a tad more excited than the other. 

And ever since then, Professor Washington can’t seem to split up our trio. From childish jokes and a few inappropriate inferences, Thomas and James make great company. The idiotic smile that spreads across Thomas’s face whenever he’s capable of making James and I break our silence during class would become more annoying than Lafayette saying “C’est la vie” whenever I make a poor life decision. 

Nevertheless, Thomas and James dangerously remind me of Alexander and his goons. The abundant amount of self-praise and cocky remarks said by both Thomas and Alexander is almost astronomical. In the case of Thomas and Alexander’s meeting, I’m sure they’d be the best of friends. But likewise, I could also envision the two attempting to tear each other's heads off, the chaotic clashing of two powerful minds. 

They always know what to say and when to say it. I’ve never met anyone as clever as Thomas and James, and they’re even worse when they’re together.  

“‘ ‘s Adams here today? Washington told me to turn in my papers t’ him.” Thomas whispers as he eases into his chair, Washington’s booming voice seems to become background noise to us 

“Is he ever?” I reply, attempting not to giggle at my own response “I haven’t seen him since Washington initially introduced him to the class.” 

“Maybe he’s jus’ sick or somethin’. Kinda reminds me of you, James'' His head of curls turns to stare down James, in which James replies by rolling his eyes 

“He can stay home, he does the same amount of work there anyways.” James cleverly retorted. 

And that seemed to be our last straw before bursting out in laughter. Thomas’s body flung forward as he laughed his head off, James ducking his head to hide his glee behind his laptop, and I quickly slap a hand over my mouth to prevent anyone around us from drawing suspicion. But apparently, Washington wasn’t having our disguises. 

“Can the three of you even tell me what I just said?” Washington turns around from the board to scan the crowd, his eagle eyes find us quickly 

The silence was all we could emit, and soon enough, He turned back to his lesson. I sigh with relief; the last thing I need is to get kicked out of a class I don’t even pay for. 

…

...

“Washington sure got a shiny ass head. D’you think he uses shampoo and conditioner?” Whispered Thomas as he leans over to me 

And just like that,  we’re faced with the same struggle all over again.

—-

Lafayette adjusted the hot pan, erupting a few sizzles. The wall clock ticked, the hour arm froze pointing to the “11” written in roman numerals. Lafayette and I decided to agree on a home-cooked meal, and although it’s too late for an average dinner, yet too early to be defined as a midnight snack, I’m sure Lafayette’s cooking will satisfy me for the night. 

“Y/NN, would you prefer salt on your omelet? Or did you decide to be healthy tonight?” He said holding a salt shaker in the air to steal my focus from the swirling red liquid in my glass. 

My head lifts to meet his eyes. I tilt my head, the wine causing me to ponder for a little longer than I should’ve. He continues to stare at me, holding in a laugh, before I force myself to nod. 

“Yeah.. a little won’t hurt” I hear him chuckle at my drunken dialect, but I know the French man isn’t about to lecture me about English “Your wish is my command.” 

I watch as he conducts the kitchen perfectly. He knows where everything is, exactly what to add into the sizzling pan, maybe even the exact second to take the meal off the flame. 

“I thought you weren’t a fan of monarchy?” the sarcasm was evident in my tone “but I appreciate the submission” I shot him a playful wink, to which he responds with a pompous smirk

A few sips of wine later, I recognize notification that has been staring back at me for hours. 

1 Message from Thomas

A text from Thomas? And I’m barely seeing this now? I silently scold myself for giving into the wine before opening the message.

“Thomas: Hey this is Thomas from class, wanna come study with us at the library sometime?”

My eyes become glued to my phone. It was certainly necessary for me to reread Thomas’s text, I was unsure if the alcohol was beginning to make me see odd things, but I assured myself I was correct.

I could feel the blush spread across my face. Maybe it’s just the wine taking control, or maybe it’s the butterflies in my stomach forming every time I reread his message. A harmless invite, perhaps evoked from Thomas due to James stroking his ego, but I know James’ wouldn’t promote such a bold, straight-forward message. Though Thomas is known for his meticulous confidence and certainty, a message this simple could be notably deceiving. 

But a little socializing won’t damage my self-respect. “Be bold, Y/N” is what I used to tell myself at the beginning of the semester, and what do I have to lose? I begin to type my reply.

“Y/N: yeah I’m down :) just send a time and place and I’ll be on my way”

Sent.

 My introspection was soon interrupted by the screeching plate being slid in my direction by Lafayette, the steam circulating the meal 

“Y/N, Mangeons.” My head comes up from my phone, my eyes meet his eyes momentarily. 

“Thanks, Laf.” I reply before taking a fork from him and digging into the steaming meal ahead of me. Lafayette’s cooking never disappoints. Ever. 

My body couldn’t help but pick up my phone every few minutes to respond to Thomas’s messages, Though they were just the details of the hangout-offer he previously proposed, I felt enclosed in my little bubble while texting him. Those few moments of interaction with him somehow made my day better. I’m sure even Lafayette could see my radiating energy, but I’m not sure how he took it.

We’re technically not a couple; a few hookups and moving in together don't make us an official couple, right? 

“Merci, Laffy.” I watched as he visibly cringed at my poor attempt at french. “Let’s just stick to our mother tongues, angel.” He retorted. I laughed it off, yet inside his reply left a scratch on my pride. 

--- 

Another class of absolute foolery and childish inferences, and I can’t help but laugh as Thomas, James, and I exit the lecture hall. The New-York cold hits us harshly, but being about a month into this semester, students already know what to expect. 

It was indeed embarrassing, running to Lafayette’s car to remind him of your library study session. 

“Alright, I’ll pick you up before your curfew, okay?” He asked with one hand on the wheel. His faux-leather jacket contorting around his toned arms made it difficult not to remember the moments they shared around midnight. The imagery of their candle-lit room appearing in her head as he sat at the wheel stopped her from replying for a moment. 

“Y-Yeah sounds great. You’re the best, you know that?” She thanked him for sacrificing his time to make sure she arrives home on time. 

“You remind me all the time.” He sneaks in a small wink between his sentences “I’ll see you tonight, Cherie” 

Y/N smiled before turning around to prance over to her friends. Y/N heard the faint sounds of Lafayette driving off, sighing in relief

After briefly explaining my situation to the boys, we quickly head over to the library. 

A woman in a coral-pink blazer and pants set is waiting impatiently at a table she rented out just for us. “What in the world took you guys so long?” She pressured for an answer 

“C’mon Angie, that wasn’t even ten minutes.” Thomas rolled his eyes before removing his backpack and opening a chair for Y/N. Real smooth, Thomas, I can’t lie. He looked over to me, seeing stars in my eyes as I realize I’m standing next to the oldest Schuyler.

 “You’re-” She interrupted me with a smile, sticking out her hand to shake mine

“Angelica Schuyler. And you?” I swear her name sounds familiar. I’m sure I’ve heard it around but I just can't place it. I do see her on my social media feed from time to time, and I must admit, she looks even more heavenly in person. 

“Y/N L/N.” My hand meets hers in a firm handshake. 

“Nice to meet you.” 

—-

At first, I thought nothing of it. 

Though Lafayette’s text at 7:30 (on the dot) did push me out of my zone, I did appreciate his promise to me. 

Thomas on the other hand seemed disturbed by my sudden leave, but it’s not like he’d understand. Alexander would literally kill me if I were home late.

But Thomas and I would continue to hang out. His evening texts would slowly become a weekly routine. Whether it was a scary movie or an ice cream date for just the two of us, he always found a way to spend time with me. 

“Don’t tell me that mint chocolate chip is actually your favorite flavor, darlin’.” He adjusted his position on the park bench and raised an eyebrow, his gaze focused on the green ice cream atop my ice cream cone “You might make me regret takin’ you out tonight” he chuckled and I couldn’t help but smile 

“You know you love me” I jokingly retorted, scooping part of my ice cream with my tongue, and relaxing against the bench.

It’s very rare to get to relax like this. Not only am I a fully-fledged college student, but also one of Alexander’s goons. The weekends are merely just ‘weekdays: the sequel’, but add forbidden literature and alcohol to that equation.

I look back up to Thomas, seeing his disgusted face. “Wait.. are you actually against mint chocolate chip ice cream?” I cocked an eyebrow towards him

He shrugged before chuckling “I recall telling you of my unfortunate arguments while visiting England..” 

“..so what does mint chocolate chip ice cream have to do with your political upheavals in a foreign country?” 

He smirked in an ‘all knowing’ manner. “Well, Darlin, if you did your research—“

“—You’ve got to be kidding me—“I start to wonder why I even asked 

“—you’d learn that the monstrosity in your ice cream cone, mint chocolate chip, originated in England.” He completed his statement with triumph “Ever since my disagreements in England, I swore to despise such a concoction until the day I die.” 

I looked at him like he was crazy. “I can’t believe you did your research on English creations. You’re so dramatic sometimes” I respond 

“Hey, I wouldn’t be a Jefferson if I wasn’t.” He stared back to his cone, the mesmerizing ice cream almost reflecting himself back at him. 

We shared silence for a moment. Words were unnecessary when we were together. 

“I suppose..” Jefferson started “...I might be able to tolerate mint chocolate chip ice cream, but only for you, though.” He turned towards my direction 

My eyes soon met his. “Well, I’m honored to be your exemption, Jefferson.” I smile with triumph, recognizing my effect on him. 

He swiftly takes my hand, his skin feels burning compared to mine. Our eyes remain connected as he dips his head down to kiss the back of my hand. I attempt to hide the fact that my heart stopped beating for a moment, but the breath hitching in my throat wouldn’t help me at all. 

“Let’s drop the formalities, Darlin, you can call me Thomas now.” My hand remained between his. I try my best to keep my hand still, wanting to marinate in this moment forever. 

A new feeling courses through my body. Something unfamiliar. Perhaps it’s the charm of a Southern Gentleman. Maybe the feeling of being treated right for the first time, something I’ve never experienced from anyone.

What have I ever done to deserve this chivalrous kindness? 

‘What a gentleman’ I repeat to myself in my mind. What makes him so different from the others? 

From a simple kiss, I suddenly crave more.

More than the unresolved sexual tension between Lafayette and I. 

More than I was ever granted the opportunity to. 

Maybe ‘more’ is what I deserve. 

My mind bleeds with the thought of Lafayette, but Thomas seems like he has so much more to offer. What if I do deserve to be happy? I may not have earned it, but who gets to declare my right to happiness? I was once happy with Lafayette, but the times have changed

He’s just not him. He’s just not Thomas.

---

But no matter how much I enjoyed spending time with Jefferson himself, I was always the first one to leave. I had to. 

I remember the way his smile would fall at the sound of Lafayette’s car horn. 

The way his jaw tenses whenever my phone vibrates across the table 

Whenever Lafayette came to pick me up, I also can’t help but feel a part of my soul crack within me. 

“I’ll see you this weekend?” He kisses the back of my hand once more in an attempt to savor this moment, continuing to maintain eye contact.

“I’ll try, Thomas. Not sure if I’m busy.” I sigh with fatigue. “But I’ll let you know.” 

“Alright. Get home safe, darlin’” I hear him stand from the park bench as I wander to Lafayette’s car, his eyes following my figure. 

I hop into Lafayette’s car before taking one last glance in Thomas’s direction, watching as his figure begins to walk in the opposite direction that our car was heading. 

“Ahh, Y/N. Don’t tell me you’re cheating on me” his sarcastic tone wouldn’t pierce deep enough. 

I speak without thinking. “I do recall you claiming that you and I were never a couple, remember Laf?” My change in demeanor was certain to shut him up. And he did. 

He’s just not him. He’s just not Thomas. 

I remained turned away from Lafayette as we drove through the city. The memories built between Lafayette and I constantly falls like a house of cards, but I prefer to avoid the subject.

Lafayette felt otherwise, yet respected my choice. 

He was the first to speak.

“Alexander needs me for a transport this weekend.” He stated, “I’m not sure when I’ll get back, so it’s very important that you get back from whatever plans you have before your curfew.” He takes a glance over to me and briefly meets my eyes 

“Don’t test the waters, Y/N.”

Ah yes, the monthly literature transportation of Alexander’s gang. 

The Notorious Sons of Liberty. 

A popular group roaming the streets of New York. But instead ironically of selling drugs or performing homicide, they produce and sell illegal, banned literature and disperse them to the highest bidders. 

How else do you think I pay for college? 

Although gang violence isn’t really their thing, that doesn’t mean they’re not in possession of such weaponry and devices. I’ve never seen anyone take literature as seriously as they do.

They’re also known for their bold publicity stunts, which are indeed fun to watch from a nearby coffee shop. Watching Alexander, Lafayette, and some other friends, John and Herc, run from the authorities on a Sunday afternoon, accidentally laughing at the sight of John tripping over his own feet, Lafayette mouthing ‘help us out’ in my direction. Very entertaining. 

On the contrary, their security on me has become tighter and tighter. I know they worry for the gang’s reputation over my safety, but it feels nice to imagine having a battalion of book-worm gang members watching over you. 

“I know, I know. You guys can stop treating me like a kid” I attempt to contain a giggle to portray my seriousness. 

He takes a glance at me before returning his attention to the road. “You cannot say that until you have another way home other than me.” He sighed rather loudly 

“Be careful, or I might do just that, Lafayette.” 

---

I sipped on wine and ate cheese at Thomas’s place without a care in the world on a Saturday night. Of course, I had to accept Thomas’s offer, I never knew how to say no to him. 

Jefferson has sure been taking his sweet time to put a title on us. Now, I’m no philosopher when it comes to dating, but Ice cream at the park, fancy dinners, and wine and cheese sure sound romantic. 

My night was going well. All until the 7:30 alarm on my phone rang, and before I knew it, everything began to go downhill

[events of chapter 1]

And next thing I knew, the cold New York air slapped my face, following the harsh slam of the apartment door. 

As my adrenaline began to settle down, panic rushed through my body. 

Fuck. At this rate, I won’t be home until after my curfew. Although my immediate instinct was to sprint my way home, those thoughts were quickly followed by the idea of passing out within five minutes. My apartment isn’t too far, but being fueled by wine and cheese doesn’t sound like the best idea. 

“Don’t test the waters, Y/N” echoed throughout my head. 

I begin to walk down the street before whipping out my phone to contact an Uber. 

The small talk produced between my driver and I worked a bit to calm myself down, but that would all change the moment I walked through my apartment door. 

Once I turn back around from locking the door, I’m met with exactly what I didn’t want to see at this very moment. 

Lafayette stood staring at me, his lips pursed with anxiousness, recognizing my significantly late arrival. 

Hercules, another good friend I’ve met through the sons of liberty, stood beside Lafayette. His mouth hung open in shock as he also recognized my mistake. 

John, the group’s smallest yet mightiest, leaned against the wall, perhaps planning my fate right in front of me 

And none other than Alexander Hamilton himself, sipping scotch on my couch, similarly to how I was not too long ago at Thomas’s place. The glare on his face quickly reminded me that I was in big trouble. 

“Y/N, I thought I told you—“ Lafayette began but was quickly interrupted 

“You’re late.” He swirled his drink before standing up. The clock ticked, and the hour hand notably passed the 8:30 symbol. I was not getting out of this one. 

Although I feared for the following moments, I attempted to contain my emotions within myself. I kept my straight face for the time being. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me. 

“I’m well aware.” That came out of my mouth  a little too harsh for my liking 

“May I remind you that being out past your curfew could severely damage our image.” 

I saw John look over to Alex from the corner of my eye. The air became thinner if that were even possible, and I refused to meet his eyes.

“And I do recall reminding you of your consequences.” He walked towards me and I felt my heart froze. “Having you out so late could raise some suspicions among our competitors, L/N.” 

I couldn’t find the right words and resort to nodding instead 

“I always fucking told you—“ he harshly slammed his drink onto the table beside him “—not to test the waters—” 

“—I-I know—“

“So why the fuck are you stumbling in here past your curfew?”

 At this very moment, I wondered if I had pulled the last straw. 

I couldn’t speak. God forbid I spat out the wrong words. Contained within my thoughts, I didn’t acknowledge Alexander closing the distance between us. 

“Ow!--” I watched as Alex shoved me to the wall, the moment playing in slow motion in my head. 

Lafayette’s throat grew dry “Hey, Alex, Calm dow-” 

He was interrupted by the sound of Alexander harshly slapping me across the face. My hands quickly went to soothe what felt like fire burning my cheek. 

“We do so much for you, Y/N.” Alex growled 

The sharp pain in my side grew, almost echoing throughout my body. I could feel my body giving up on itself. I mean, this wouldn’t be the first time Alex has acted like this. 

Occasionally, Alex would stop by Lafayette and I’s apartment just to ensure I was home before my curfew, and he wasn’t the most forgiving. 

--He owns an apartment key and has every single one of his gang member’s location tracked on his phone. Sometimes I wondered what was so special about us to have to keep all of us in check 24/7--

One time Hercules and I went shopping a little too late after sunset, part of me felt like a reckless teenager, probably because I was. I still remember Alexander’s face when I entered my own apartment, he looks identical every time. 

In an attempt to shelter me, my body curled into itself against the wall. I shrunk to the floor, feeling his shadow intensely stand above me. 

“Arghh!—“ the sound spilled out of me when I felt Alexander’s shin connect with my rib cage. 

My lungs felt punctured under the pressure.

My arms felt like they could give out any second.

Part of me had wished I’d stay at Thomas’s place tonight, even if it meant telling him the truth. 

What a predicament I’ve gotten myself into. 

I looked up, wondering if my torment was over until I was met with a —Crack— Alexander’s knee encountered my face. 

It was only a moment before I could hear the shuffling of the others’ shoes. I prayed they were coming to help me out.

Alexander lifted his glass of alcohol, previously forgotten, and hauled it towards me

Crash! 

The piercing shards of glass combining with the stinging alcohol were the last thing I needed on a Saturday night. I didn’t notice the tears falling from my eyes until now, and the way my heart felt like it was just on a rollercoaster. 

I kept my head low, watching blood drip down my face and onto the floor below me. And apparently, I wasn’t the only one to notice. 

“Alex! What the fuck?!” I heard Laurens yell

“Are you trying to kill her?!?” I recognized Lafayette’s scream

Before Alex was able to make another blow, Lauren and Lafayette were quick to hold him back, attempting to calm him down. 

Hercules swiftly knelt beside me, the guilt was obvious in his gaze. I hated the pity in each of their glances towards me. He attempted to wipe away the blood from my forehead with a paper towel. 

Alexander fought back against the two, trying his best to prove his point. There’s the Hamilton we all know, unwilling to stand down no matter the cost.

Hercules turned back to me, his words were ready to leave his mouth from the moment we reconnected eyes. 

“Y/N..” He pulled me up and shoved me out of my apartment door. “..Run.” I almost stumbled into a nearby pole, but I began running, if running in my condition was possible, back to Thomas’s place. 

—-

[events of chapter 1]

The next thing I knew, I woke up in Thomas’s bed beside him. I took a moment to soak in the feeling of his satin sheets. Part of me can’t recall the events before I passed out in front of Thomas’s apartment, or maybe my mind refuses to remember them. 

The sun hasn’t risen yet. 

I turn to my side and reach for my phone, wincing from the pressure applied to my rib cage. 

The bright light of my phone hitting my eyes felt like I was transported to another dimension. 

54 notifications: 

12 calls from Lafayette 🥐

24 texts from Lafayette 🥐

1 text from Alexander 💡

3 calls from Mariah 💋

14 texts from Mariah 💋

“oh fuck..” I sigh, wondering how things will play out. 

Out of curiosity, I open the message from Alexander. Perhaps it’s an apology? Maybe a reminder? 

Alexander 💡: I know where you are, Y/N. Don’t drag your friend into this. Because I can.

Where I am? I ask myself

My heart dropped, remembering that Alexander tracks my location 24/7. He knows where I am at this very second. 

By escaping to Thomas’s apartment, I’ve just dragged him into this mess I’ve made. If my worlds collide, it would all be because I ran to this exact apartment. 

Panic once again rushed through my body. 

I need to get out of here. I need to leave. 

I slip out from under the sheets and grab my belongings. Unprepared for what’s to come, I steal one of Thomas’s jackets from his cluttered desk chair. I’ll give it back eventually, I thought to myself. 

After I put on my shoes I take one last glance toward Thomas. 

He seems so peaceful when he’s asleep, tangled in his blanket, not to mention his name-brand Mac and cheese pajama pants. 

I’m sorry if I drag you into this, Thomas, you just wouldn’t understand.

Taglist <3: @kenmacrumbs @strayblades  @laic2299 @ohsoverykeri

#alexander hamilton #hamilton #hamilton fanfic #hamiltonau #thomas jefferson #thomas jefferson fanfic #james madison #Hercules Mulligan #John Laurens #marquis de Lafayette #lafayette x reader #flirty!lafayette #gang member!alexanderhamilton #gangAU #modern au #HAMILTRASH #in the night #gangmember!lafayette #gangmember!herculesmulligan #gangmember!johnlaurens #the way this chapter took me two months golly #daveed diggs #thomas jefferson x reader #hercules mulligan #hamiltrash #lafayette #incorrect hamilton quotes

[xrosebloomx]

[ CHRIS WOOD, THIRTY-THREE, CISMALE ]. who just got accepted? oh, it’s just the new student [ CALEB WESTON  ]. [ HE/HIM ] is/are originally from [ PHOENIX, ARIZONA] and they’re apparently a/an [ MAGICIAN ]. did you hear their focus is [PHYSICAL MAGIC ] ? that’s probably how they got in. they remind me of [ LIGHTENING STORMS, TATTOOED ARM, HEADS OR TAILS COIN, SHARP TONGUE  ]

( banner made by Lea ) 

BASICS

NAME: Caleb Weston AGE: 33 BIRTHDATE: October 24, 1988 SIGN: Scorpio SPECIES: Magician GENDER: Cismale ORIENTATION: Bisexual PROFESSION: Student of physical magic LOCATION: Acadia GUARDIAN: Ryanne Ward

PHYSICAL

HAIR: dark brown, can appear black EYES: blue-grey color HEIGHT: 6’0″ MARKINGS: slight burn on his shoulder from when he first played with fire. He has a tattooed arm x

FAMILY

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: single    SIBLINGS: Younger sister (12 years old, estranged) PARENTS: Elisa and Theo (alive)

SKILLS

PHYSICAL PROWESS: He looks more lean than muscle but he actually has great endurance. His stamina is high, he can go through physical exercise with no problem. Knows how to fight, even if he just has magic. You can find him working out at the gym. ABILITIES: Physical magic, which means he can mess around with anything he likes. Don’t like the lights flickering? Scary? Tipping things over, breaking objects, he can make things move without so much effort. SPOKEN LANGUAGES: English, Italian. HOBBIES: He has a habit of using a coin when he’s causing chaos. He plays with it in his hand as he focuses on what he’s messing with. It’s a hobby for him to be pranking others without their knowledge. He also likes to make experiments, so test out chemicals, anything of that sort.

TRAITS

POSITIVE: intelligent, adaptive, reliable, good endurance NEGATIVE: chaotic, impulsive, stubborn, unapologetic

PREFERENCES

COLORS: black, red, midnight blue, white SMELLS: fresh cut flowers, pizza that is just made, popcorn – loves movies, bonfire, the smell of wood burning reminds him of home. DRINKS: All kinds of alcohol, he aint picky FOOD: pasta, carnival food, hot dogs, fried foods really, ice cream.

OTHER

FUN FACTS: lightening, anything that causes chaos or rather anything people fear. Although it’s just a prank, he finds it mildly disturbing yet intriguing to see others scared. Or even allow fear to overcome them. He’s a scorpio, enough said. He doesn’t care to make enemies, he’s in school to learn, not sing KUMBAYA with everyone. Has a mutual respect with other magicians, however finds it pretty awesome that dragons are in existence.

CHARACTERS:

MOVIE CHARACTER: Rocket – guardians of the galaxy MAGIC: Kai Parker – I mean really , yes FEARS: to never truly be accepted, but he’ll never admit it TRIGGERS : none

BIO  

Born into the world, one could say that the clouds were dark, the winds were strong and the weather called for a thunder storm warning. That was his welcome, coincidence or bad luck on the day, he arrived. His parents had a small home in phoenix, Arizona. He was the oldest of two siblings but the not proper example to be to his younger sister. He was out of the box, never ordinary, which made him different from the rest. His very chaotic nature was somewhat of a reflection of the day he came into the world. Yet, the name chosen for him was quite the opposite. Perhaps, maybe that is what his family hoped he would be. Kind, gentle, faithful, and brave. They learned during his childhood years, that was not the case. His powers manifested at ten years old, it began with small things tipping over, levitating objects. As he grew older, in high school it developed into objects flying across the room. All he had to do was think it, and focus, and it would freak out his parents. Now, they were Magicians, they harnessed their powers. Used it for the greater good. And yet, could not control Caleb. If anger was ever evident on his features, or if he ever felt such an emotion, the lights would flicker, bulbs would break. In his mind it was nothing but entertainment. 

None of the kids at school wanted to play, well because he was seen as someone not like them. Even having a younger sister, he felt no connection to. He was independent and due to the disconnect of himself and the other children, he learned to develop his magic on his own. In order to keep himself from losing his own control,  Caleb picked up a magic trick, carrying a coin everywhere he goes, it’s how he operates, how he keeps his focus. He was curious in nature, and he frankly didn’t like to be told what he could and couldn’t do. His parents were more afraid that he could pose a danger, not just to himself, but to his family as well. So they had him sent off to Acadia, where he would learn to harness his magic. Learn that he can use it not just for his pranks, or his little games, but to actually protect others, and do good.

When he arrived in Acadia a few years ago, he caused quite a commotion and continues to be a trouble maker. Perhaps once he’s assigned a guardian, he may actually grow up and breakout of the mindset that he can do it all on his own. Until then, you get the not so serious magician.

PERSONALITY He can be a lil shit when he wants to be, and frankly doesn’t care if he pisses people off. its for mere reactions and to see people lets something as simple as words affect them. He also is known to prank others, magically flicker lights, move objects, have papers fly. And on top of that be like “oh my who would dare do such a thing?” and he’ll play it off. he can be sarcastic, but mostly he’s just having fun. Doesn’t care if he makes friends or enemies, he’ll be whoever he wants to be in the presence of others.

CONNECTIONS

     - Enemies      - Friends      - Chaotic duo      - Someone who is too happy for him - opposites attract?      -  study buddy , believe it or not he studies magic

#acadiahqintro #sldkajflsjdfas #caleb intro #intro

[acklest]

I. The Virus

LIBRARY.

DEAN: So it's not a demon thing, like a... a Croatoan thing? SAM: Dude, I've looked for all the signs that would prove this was a demon thing or an angel thing or any other kind of monster thing, and they're not there. I mean... I think it's just a virus. DEAN: Awesome. So a virus is out there killin' people and we just, what... SIT AROUND? SAM: *wryly* You know, there HAVE been non-monster viruses now and then. Swine flu, Ebola... DEAN: *sullenly* I don't like it. SAM: *mock sympathetic* I know it frustrates you when you can't punch or kill something. DEAN: Oh, bite me. SAM: *standing up to stretch* I'm hitting the hay, man. I'm beat. DEAN: *turns the laptop around and reads what's on the screen* SAM: Don't stay up all night reading about this shit, you'll make yourself crazy. *walks away* DEAN: *to himself* Still pretty sure Ebola was a demon thing. SAM: *from the hallway* We never proved that!

THE NEXT MORNING.

DEAN: *in the same place where Sam left him, staring at something on the screen with glassy eyes* SAM: Seriously? *walks around to see what Dean is looking at* Oh. You're watching a movie, I thought you were binging on — *watches the movie for a few seconds* Is this —? You're watching Outbreak. Okay. *confiscates the laptop* Dean: HEY!

II. The Virus is Stateside

NEWS VIDEO: Health officials advise a distance from others of at least six feet. SAM: *scoffs* Yeah, that'll help. DEAN: *sitting approximately four inches away* What, like it can go a little over five feet, but six feet is right out? That's stupid.

*****

DEAN: *bent down, examining the bunker's open door while wearing a 50s-era black respirator over his face* SAM: *already exasperated* What are you doing? DEAN: *muffled grumpiness* SAM: The door seal is fine, the way you're checking it is probably making it worse. DEAN: *muffled denial, offended gestures* SAM: I SAW you pulling on the seal when I walked up. You're overreacting anyway. DEAN: *muffled thoughtful tone and rising inflection* SAM: Don't turn this into a project just because you think the mask is cool. DEAN: *standing, amused tone* SAM: No, you look like an idiot, you're probably letting who-knows-what into the bunker — DEAN: *turns back to the open door* SAM: And since that mask is like a hundred years old, you're probably breathing in asbestos. DEAN: *hastily removes it from his face, and holds it far away with two fingers* Ugh. Surprised you could even hear me in this damn thing. SAM: I couldn't. *walks away* DEAN: *confused, then annoyed, tosses the mask at the floor*

****

SAM: *watching a video on his computer of panicked shoppers in a Wal-mart* DEAN: *watching over his shoulder* Yep. "Dumb panicky dangerous animals", right on time. SAM: You know, with all the news reports, I'm kinda surprised YOU'RE not out there trying to buy up everything. DEAN: *drawing back* What the hell for? SAM: *gestures at the screen* Because we'll need some supplies? DEAN: *laughs incredulously* Okay, listen, at any give time, there is enough shelf-stable food in this place to hold us for four months. SAM: *dryly* I bet, all the beer and bacon we'll ever need. DEAN: No, SMARTASS, I'm talking beer, bacon, soup, coffee, dried meats, pasta, rice, dehydrated milk — SAM: *hands up defensively* Okay, I'm sorry I even — DEAN: — big jugs of water, hand sanitizer, first aid stuff, your stupid fruity shampoo — SAM: Okay, I get — DEAN: I brought a bread-maker. A BREAD-MAKER, SAM. Do you know why? SAM: ...to make bread? DEAN: *slaps his hand down on the table, then points at the screen* 'Cause whenever any kind of shit hits the fan, THIS happens. That woman just bit the other woman on the FACE over toilet paper. ON THE FACE! These yahoos freak out and it can get people killed. SAM: Not to mention bitten. DEAN: *glares* It's called a contingency plan! SAM: Okay, I get it, you planned for something like this. That's awesome. DEAN: *walks away muttering* "Because we'll need supplies"... we live in a BUNKER.

****

DONNA: *over speakerphone* You kids okay? Dean wasn't answering and I got a little worried. Did I call the wrong phone? I didn't want to abuse throwing up the bat signal, but with all that's going on... SAM: No, I'm sure you... called the right one. Dean's been, uh — you know, since they said that there were some people diagnosed in New York, he's been... [internal: batshit crazy] ...preoccupied. DONNA: I tell you, I'm jealous of the grocery store he put in that place. Almost lost an eye this morning just trying to buy a can of cinnamon rolls! They're not even shelf-stable. SAM: *brow furrowed* Uh, yeah, he — he made a good call with that. DONNA: Hey, can you put him on the phone? I just wanna say hi. DEAN: *walking purposefully down the hall, wearing goggles, a red bandanna over the lower half of his face, with a rope over one arm, duct tape in one hand, and a what appears to be a makeshift flame thrower* SAM: Oh god. *to Donna* Hold on for just a — DEAN?! What are you doing? DEAN: *distantly* CONTINGENCIES! SAM: *to Donna* Dean is either about to set something in the ventilation system on fire or... or maybe rob a train. I'll call you back.

*****

DEAN: *wearily* I thought there might be something wrong with the ventilation. SAM: Yeah, I get that. But you’re not getting the flame thrower back. You can keep your stupid rope, though. DEAN: *looking down at the rope* Was that Donna on the phone? SAM: Yeah, she was worried about you because she called and you didn't answer. DEAN: Was gonna call her back but — *looks up* Wait, is she alright? SAM: *smiling* Besides almost losing an eye when she tried to buy a can of cinnamon rolls, she's doing fine. DEAN: *furrowed brow* A can of cinnamon rolls? SAM: I know, they're not even shelf-stable. DEAN: Right?!

III. The Virus is in Kansas

SAM: Dean, you're not even high risk. You don’t have respiratory issues or underlying health stuff. Even if you DID catch it, you wouldn't die. DEAN: *relaxes slightly* SAM: I mean, not from the virus at any rate. DEAN: *glares*

****

GARTH: *over speakerphone* How are y’all holding up? No fever, no sniffles? SAM: No, we've been staying inside, washing our hands, the whole bit. GARTH: How's Dean taking it, with his uh — SAM: *looks around and listens to make sure Dean isn't nearby* They just identified a couple of cases in the state and he is LOSING it. GARTH: *laughs* Yeah, I figured he wasn't going outside for awhile. SAM: That's the thing. He DESPERATELY wants out of here. He NEEDS to get out of here. I know the look. GARTH: But outside is — SAM: Right. GARTH: So you're dealing with a recluse who has cabin fever. SAM: *huffs* Welcome to my world. GARTH: Full hazmat gear, spraying you with hand sanitizer? SAM: *hastily takes the call off speakerphone* Please don't tell him that they come in sprays. GARTH: *laughs* He won't hear it from me. Well, at least you guys don't have to go shopping, huh? Not with that big supply cache of yours. SAM: You know about that? GARTH: He sent me some pictures when he started a few months back. It's crazy organized. We're thinking of doing something like that ourselves. SAM: Yeah it's... it's something else. GARTH: You should TRY to get him out of the house. Maybe if he sees a little bit of the outside, he'll realize it's not like 28 Days out there. SAM: *mentally adds that movie to the “NO” list* If I can manage to talk him into it. GARTH: Well, I'll let you go. Tell Dean I said hey and you two try not to kill each other for once. SAM: *smiling* Nice. GARTH: *pause* Oh god, why did I say "for once", I don't know where that — I just mean, don't go crazy or — oh god, I'm just gonna hang up.

*****

KITCHEN.

SAM: I don't think you need to wear the mask inside. DEAN: *through mask* You coughed this morning. SAM: I choked on some toast, Dean! It was ONE COUGH. DEAN: All I'm sayin' is, you weren't coughin' before, then you go out and now — SAM: I only went out because you wouldn't shut up about the masks! DEAN: I didn't mean GO OUT, in all that — *vaguely gestures at the outside world* I meant it would be good to have some if we HAD to go out. SAM: *hopeful* So now that we have them, you might go out? DEAN: Why the hell would I do that? SAM: You just said — DEAN: HAVE to go out, Sam! HAVE to. SAM: Dean, I promise you, it's really not that bad. Take the stupid thing off, at least in here. DEAN: *firmly* No. SAM: *closes book loudly* Okay. *reaches across to pull the mask off one of Dean's ears* DEAN: Hey! Don't touch the face! SAM: *sees that there's a second mask underneath the first one* Seriously? DEAN: CONTINGENCIES!

*****

JODY (over text): You boys sheltering in place? SAM: all locked down SAM: what about you guys? JODY: We're all socially distant here JODY: And a couple of us are emotionally distant just to be on the safe side JODY: But the wifi went out yesterday and I thought there'd be blood on the floor SAM: well at least we still have internet SAM: for now at least JODY: And like a million books JODY: And the grocery store Dean put in can't hurt either SAM: he told you about that? JODY: Told me? He sent me a three minute video tour SAM: *eyeroll* JODY: He's so proud it's cute JODY: Not like "I killed Hitler" proud but it was up there

*****

SAM: *knocks on Dean's door* It's like, noon, dude. *starts to push the door open* Even for you that's — *looks at the made-up bed* Damn it. SAM: *loudly addressed to the entire bunker* Dean?! *to himself* Oh god, don't tell me he went back up to the ventilation. DEAN: *distantly* In here. SAM: *walking towards the sound to the "war room" of the bunker, which is dark* Dean? DEAN: Quit yelling, I'm right here. SAM: *hits the lights* DEAN: *blinking and wincing at the map table, eight books around him* Dude... SAM: Why are you sitting here in the dark? DEAN: *defensively* The table lights up. SAM: That doesn't mean it's — whatever. What are you doing in here? DEAN: Well... *starts to rub his face but looks at his hand and drops it back to the table* I was thinking, this thing runs on some kind of network right? SAM: The bunker? Yeah. DEAN: So this place is protected from bombs, nuclear fallout, tornadoes... and "other environmental concerns", whatever the hell that means. SAM: *smiles* Not very comprehensive. DEAN: Right. Environmental, is that germs? Could that mean germs? SAM: That would probably be under something like "biological concerns." I don't think "germ warfare" was big on the priority list at the time, or at least there wasn't much they could do about it. DEAN: *sleepily* I guess not. SAM: *picking up one of the books* These are like... old programming books. DEAN: Yeah... I thought maybe I could figure out how to make adjustments to the ventilation so that maybe it was... I don't know, more strict? Granular? I don't know, man. SAM: Is there a way to do that? DEAN: *dry laugh* Oh sure. SAM: One where we don't suffocate and die? DEAN: Not so much. SAM: That's what I thought. *picks up another book* FORTRAN? COBOL? Dean, no one under 80 years old knows either of these. DEAN: That's not true, there's YouTube tutorials. SAM: *stares at him* DEAN: I'm not sayin' they were helpful. I'm just... sayin'. SAM: *flips through another* Dean, this one's written in Cyrillic. DEAN: Hadn't gotten to that one yet. It'd probably make about as much sense as the others. At least COBOL has like... words. SAM: So your plan was to sit here for hours and hours, in the dark, in your stupid pajamas — DEAN: *glances down at pajamas, hurt* SAM: — to try and tweak something that was obviously built as a closed system to prevent exactly what you were planning to do, that may even run partially on MAGIC — DEAN: What the hell else am I supposed —? SAM: —  With no programming know-how of any kind, you were just gonna sit here all night until you learned a programming language from the 1950s? DEAN: *mumbling* Does sound kinda like bullshit when you lay it all out. SAM: It IS bullshit! DEAN: Whatever. Man, I'm just saying... if this place starts to malfunction, I won't have any idea what to do. None. And then the MoL are SoL, dude. SAM: *rolling his eyes* Okay, get up. We have to get you out of here, just for a few minutes. DEAN: What? Go out there?? SAM: Yes. Wear your mask, wear seven masks, but we have to get you out of here before you make us both crazy. DEAN: No. SAM: Look, when you go out there, you'll see that it's not that bad. Just a few minutes, dude. Down the road! You won't even have to get out of the car. DEAN: No? SAM: No. *puts his hand out to help Dean up* But you should sleep first, you look like you're about to fall over. DEAN: *slaps Sam’s hand away and gets up by himself* Fine. SAM: *smirks* "The MoL are SoL"? How long have you had that one on tap?  DEAN: *grins* A couple of weeks now.

****

DEAN: *in his dead guy robe, trying not to fall asleep over his cup of coffee* SAM: Still can't sleep, huh? DEAN: *without opening his eyes* Don't wanna throw off my sleep schedule. SAM: Dude, you HAVE no sleep schedule. DEAN: Can you give me like... a half-hour before you start nagging me? SAM: I'm not nagging you! I just... So I just got off the phone with Jesse... DEAN: *opening his eyes* New Mexico Jesse? Are those two alright? SAM: They're just fine, they're out in the back of beyond. They were already doing the social distance thing. DEAN: *closing eyes again* Good. SAM: But Jesse asked me if you had worked out the cooling issue with your... supply... grocery thing, and... I've never seen it. DEAN: I wasn't gonna show you until it was done. SAM: But you sent the pictures or whatever to like, every number in your contacts. DEAN: Well they don't have to live off of it, but you do, so you can see it when it's done. SAM: Well... technically... Garth sent me a picture, so I have... kind of seen it already. DEAN: *opening eyes again, cursing under his breath* SAM: So show me what all the fuss is about. DEAN: *sighs* Alright, fine. *pushes his chair back from the table* But there's one last thing I need to do, so don't judge it yet. DEAN: *walks farther down the hall to a room marked "Cold Storage", looks hesitantly at Sam, then squares his shoulders to open the door and hit the lights* Go on. SAM: *walking inside* Cold storage? Isn't this where — Whoa. *looks at neatly organizes metal shelves, upon shelves, upon shelves, a colorful display of beers, and three freezers along the back wall* Dude. DEAN: *a little proud, rests against one of the freezers with his arms crossed* I mean, it's a bunker, so it's stupid that we just had bread and ground beef and milk in the fridge, you know? The room was just sitting here, might as well use it. SAM: *smiles a little at the bread-maker on one shelf with some bread next to it and snags a piece, chews for a moment, then spits it out* Oh my god, that's the driest thing I've ever tasted. DEAN: *offended* I'm a beginner! SAM: Right. Sorry. *looks around* What's not done? DEAN: *gestures at a back corner with an empty table* I'm gonna try to set up some lights in here and try to grow some vegetables, maybe one of those big fans. You just grow them in big pots and I wanted there to be like, a tomato or a carrot before you saw it. *grins wanly* Can't stock up on four months worth of salad for your dumb ass, so... SAM: *laughs* Yeah, guess not. Dude, how long did this even take? DEAN: Started a few months back, just working on it a little bit at a time. Wasn't gonna use the freezers because, you know, corpses were in there, but buying those suckers new is expensive. These still seemed to work fine, so I just cleaned them. *frowns slightly*  Like a few times. SAM: It looks awesome. DEAN: Cooling system thing took awhile. I mean, fine for corpses, but not for long-term freezing. *yawns* Then there was too MUCH cooling so that was a mess. Had to rewire some of the outlets for voltage after I did that. *yawns again* There was already a generator set aside for this room, but a couple of weeks back, I set up a back-up generator that runs independently so if we... SAM: *turns away from the shelves* So if we what? DEAN: *chin resting on chest, snoring softly* SAM: Great. Why can’t this ever happen near like, a couch or a bed? 

IV: The Virus is in Lebanon. Maybe.

SAM: So, we got you outside, and into the car. This is progress. Baby steps. DEAN: *wearing multiple masks in driver's seat* Let's just do this so you'll shut up about it and I can get back into the bunker. SAM: Still don't think you need all the guns though. DEAN: Pffpt. SAM: See, we'll just go up the street, into town. Just a few miles. DEAN: Stow it, Mr. Touchy Feely. Let me do this. SAM: *mocks gently* Okay, at your own speed. DEAN: *glares and eases the car out onto the road* SAM: See? No bodies lying in the streets, no boarded-up storefronts, it's just something that's going on and some people are dying, and that sucks, but most people are just — *gestures at some people walking down the road* Dealing with it, see? DEAN: Oh, you mean those assholes THAT ARE IN A GROUP? Roll down your window. SAM: Are you serious, you just — DEAN: ROLL IT DOWN! SAM: *rolls eyes, rolls down window* DEAN: *to the people walking* HEY, NO GROUPS! SAM: *tries to roll up the window* I'm not sure three people counts as — DEAN: Did that dude just SNEEZE? He's not wearing a mask! SAM: Dean, don't... DEAN: *yelling to the guy from Sam's window* HEY! DID YOU JUST SNEEZE? GUY: For the last time, I have allergies! DEAN: Yeah right, YOU'RE GONNA GET US ALL KILLED! SAM: *quickly rolls the window up again* DEAN: No, don't roll it up, I still — *looks out his own window* Are these two assholes MAKING OUT? SAM: Dean... no, okay, I was wrong, this was a bad idea. You were right, let's go back to the bunker. DEAN: What? No, no one's out here like monitoring these people??? If I'd known that I would've been out here weeks ago. *rolls down his own window to yell at the lovebirds* HEY! THAT'S NOT SIX FEET! SAM: *sinks down as far as he can into the passenger seat* Oh god.

Brochester Hijinks Masterlist

#spnfic #spn gen fic #domestic!winchesters #brochester hijinks #writing is hard

[andyet-here-we-are]

I Would Get Into Millions of Accidents Just to See You, Chapter 2 (aka Nurse Geralt AU)

(ao3: x

Chapter 1 Tumblr Link: x )

Geralt is not someone who is an active social media user. He has never been.

Hell, he wouldn’t even use WhatsApp if he didn’t have to.

He thinks that apps like this make people so accessible, and leaves little privacy, and ironically, despite it’s called “social media” it makes people less social. He has lost count of how many times he has seen a group of friends sitting somewhere and scrolling through some apps on their phone or something instead of talking to each other.

Of course, it depends on one’s use, but from what he can tell, whenever you’re online, people tend to think that you have all the time in the world.

So no, thank you very much. He likes his privacy.

Whenever he says that “Social media is for people who don’t have nothing better and important to do,” Ciri just gives him The Look ™ and says: “Okay, boomer.”

He has no idea what the hell it’s supposed to mean, but he is sure it’s not something good.

Once Ciri had downloaded some dating app on his phone without his permission while he was sleeping his ass off after a very tiring night shift. That little match-maker of a girl.

And not only that, but also she had said: “I texted some of the users for you! The ones I thought you might like. One of them seemed nice, I like her energy. So, anyway, long story short, you have a date this weekend. You can thank me later.”

“Excuse me, you did what?!”

Needless to say, Ciri wasn’t allowed to use the internet for three days after that.

“I just want you to be happy,”  on the third day, Ciri had said out of the blue while they were reading I, Robot together —they were both into sci-fi, and reading was a great escape from thinking about all the things going on in life.

“You deserve love. Everyone does. Your whole life is nothing but me and your job, and… You deserve happiness, dad. You deserve love.”

“Come here,” Geralt had said, opening his arms wide for her to embrace him, which Ciri had applied.

“I am happy, pumpkin.”

“You could be happier… If there was someone you loved and dated—”

“Ciri, look. Love is… A beautiful thing.” he started ‘Even though it can be hurtful,’ was left unsaid.

“But love doesn’t necessarily mean the affection between a couple. It doesn’t just mean romantic love. Love can be in many forms, shapes, and different ways. Love of self, of animals, of nature, friends, family… We experience love every day when you think about it. You can find it in everything.  Even in a slice of homemade pie that Mrs. April brought us today.”

“I love pie! But dad, I doubt that if a slice of pie can tell you that you look lovely today. A cutie-pie on the other hand—”

“Ciri, have you been even listening to me?”

“…and a pie can’t run their fingers through your hair-”

Geralt sighs, “Why am I even trying?”

“Deep down you know I’m right. Dad… How about you just… give her a chance? For me? Just see how it goes?”

"Is it gonna make you happy if I do that?”

“So happy!”

“And you’re not gonna do something like that ever again.”

“Promise!”

“Not downloading stupid apps on my phone, and not trying to set me up.”

“You got it, Cap!”

Geralt had met with that woman, and they just didn’t click.

True to her word, Ciri never has done something like that again.

***

Geralt is not someone who likes social media.

But there he is, looking at the musician’s posts instead of sleeping—even though he has to get up early as always tomorrow—scrolling through the app, and feeling like a high school girl with a stupid crush.

He reads every little caption the musician had written.

Surprisingly- well, maybe not so surprisingly- his songs aren’t the only thing he posts about.

He posts about random things; sometimes it’s a pretty flower he came across this morning, sometimes it’s a kitten, a book he is currently reading, food recipes, his drawings, things like that.

His account seems like just his personality.

Filled with all the beautiful colors in the word. Filled with joy, and every little thing he shares feels so sincere. Personal.

[I tried that recipe @Brianricci has sent me and it still feels like there are fireworks in my stomach, so here’s a little drawing for you my life-saver pasta-mate.]

That one makes Geralt smile. Reminds him of that day.

***

“I have something for you, Mr. Should Have Been A Model But Became A Nurse For Some Reason. Not that I’m complaining, for the record. The only thing I have complaints about is your hospital’s awful food. So awful that it should be illegal. A sin, even. You’re sinning whenever you guys force people to eat that food. I can only imagine your staff’s weekly confessing: ‘Forgive me father for I’ve sinned.’

‘What’s wrong, immortal one? What did you do?’

‘Oh, father, even bathing myself in holy water can’t cleanse me from my sins! I made my patient eat that awful food, I had to, father! I had to! I had no choice! But I have faith that I can change that one day!’

‘Faith becomes you. Stay with it. Keep fighting the good fight with all thy might.’

God help him this man is so ridiculous.

“Why are you suddenly Anthony Hopkins from The Rite?”

“Eh, just felt like it,” Jaskier shrugs “Your jello is pretty good though, so, good deed point. And your nurses aren’t half bad either, so I heard.”

Jaskier winks at him.

The audacity of that man.

“Anyway! As I was saying, I have something for you—”

“I have something for you, too, Mr. Pankratz,” Geralt says. He has a good guess about what Jaskier has for him.

A drawing of a flower.

He had heard the staff talking about how the pretty patient in room 242 has been giving flower drawings to pretty much everyone while he was walking around.

“Why thank you, you shouldn’t have! You brought some wine for me or something? For the celebration for my third week here? You’re so kind, my good sir.”

“It’s your medicines.”

“…ever the heartbreaker. I take back everything I said. You’re the devil in disguise.”

After Geralt gives him his medicines, Jaskier pulls a scratch book under his pillow and carefully tears a page from it. He gives it to Geralt.

“I thought I was the devil in disguise?” The nurse says as he takes the drawing from him “Are you sure that you should give demons a flower draw—”

Geralt can’t finish his sentence.

Because what he is looking at certainly is not a flower drawing.

It’s a man who holds a syringe in his hand with a kind smile on his face, and the syringe is filled with cute little hearts.

It’s him.

There’s a giant cactus standing behind him for some reason Geralt finds it hard to understand why.

He has seen the other drawings, and they are nothing like this one. This one looks like Jaskier has tried his hardest to make it perfect. Put everything in it. It’s perfect and detailed as if he had drawn it while looking at Geralt. It also seems familiar for some reason.

“—in conclusion, devils are fallen angels, so…” Geralt hears Jaskier talking.

Yet he is too busy to say something as he keeps looking at the drawing in his hands.

“Ooops, did I go too far with the hearts?”

“Hm.”

“Geralt? Say something, please? Oh God, I broke my nurse. They’re sooo gonna sue me. And I don’t think I can afford a good lawyer, I’ll rot in jails, I’m too young to rot in jails, I can’t be someone’s bitch, I’m not even—”

“May I ask why is there a cactus standing behind me?”

“A comment! Phew! Finally! Well, that would be because you’re just like a cactus.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow.

“Better than being a weed, Dandelion.”

Jaskier holds his hand to his chest and gasps, feigning offense.

“Words hurt, Geralt. Words hurt.

I meant it as, like, let’s face it, you’re kinda prickly on the outside sometimes, but soft on the inside? A cactus in the desert.”

Geralt sighs.

“And now you imply that my hospital is a desert. How nice. What’s next?”

“You don’t like it?”

“It’s okay.”

It’s obviously more than okay, but teasing with the young man is fun, and everyone needs some fun in their lives once in a while.

“If you don’t appreciate my drawing just give it back,” Jaskier makes grabby hands as he pouts like a little kid that just dropped his ice cream,  “I’m pretty sure it’ll look good on my fridge anyway. No trouble for me.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

“I’m not giving this back. Too late, you should’ve thought that before you gave it to me. Can’t take it back now.”

“If you don’t say something nice about my spectacular drawing you can be sure that I’m gonna take it back from your hands even if that means putting up a fight.”

“How bold of you to think that you’re in a condition to put up a fight.”

“You’d be surprised. And if I can’t, your other nurse friends and your fellow patients can do it for me. I haven’t been handing out flower drawings for nothing all day.”

“And you say I am the devil in disguise.”

“I never said I was an angel, have I? Seriously though, you have ten seconds to pay a compliment to my drawing. Ten—”

“ ‘Okay’ was a compliment.”

“I beg to differ, since when ‘okay’ is a compliment? Say that to the Italian chef in Mamma Mia when he asks how is the pasta and see if he takes ‘okay’ as a compliment and doesn’t pour half-full pasta plate over your head, and ruin your favorite bee shirt. Also, nine.”

“That was oddly specific. Did that happen to you?”

“Eight, I have no idea what you’re talking about, I was just being hypothetical. Seven, six—”

“I bet he wouldn’t threaten me with taking my meal back if I did at least.”

“Sev— wait a second I was counting backwards, weren’t I? Where were we? Five!”

“Man, you’re really no good at math.”

“Wanna know what I’m good at? Many things, and fighting happens to be one of them. Four, ” Jaskier attempts to get up from the bed, somehow forgetting about his broken leg for a split second and swears: “Ah, cock!”

Geralt barely holds back a laugh at that one.

“Careful.”

“I can still verbally fight you.”

“You’ve been already doing that for the last five minutes.”

“…three.”

“You never give up, do you?” Geralt rolls his eyes with a smile, “It’s a good drawing. I really like it.”

Another lie.

He doesn’t just like it, he loves it.

But even saying that he likes it is enough to make Jaskier beam at him.

“You gave everyone a flower drawing,” he points out  “but I get a cactus and a drawing of myself, why is that? It must have taken some time to draw this.”

“A special drawing for a special nurse.” Not making eye contact, Jaskier says so softly that Geralt nearly misses it. “Yeah, it sure took some time to draw it, and my schedule was so full because of all the crazy hospital parties you guys keep throwing that I could hardly find the time, but eh, I managed somehow.”

“Sucks that they never invite me to that parties,” the nurse jokes back. “Seriously though, thank you. I appreciate it.”            

“I’d like to draw something for Ciri, too. But I’m saving it for later when I can meet her. You didn’t tell her that I’m here, right?”

“She doesn’t know.”

“Good! Keep it that way.”

***

Smiling at the memory, Geralt rises from his bed to take the drawing from his bedside drawer. No, of course he doesn’t look at it every day, what are you talking about?

If he hadn’t promised Jaskier that he wouldn’t let Ciri know until these two can meet in person, this drawing would be on his wall already.

Maybe next to Ciri’s painting of a white wolf.

He had considered doing so but then decided that it would be wise if he didn’t. No doubt Ciri would figure out it was Jaskier’s drawing as soon as she would see it. It was signed by him, after all. Not that Ciri couldn’t figure it out without the signature.

“What the hell, Geralt” The nurse snorts to himself and runs a hand over his face as he imagines his room filled with the drawings of his daughter, and Jaskier’s. “What are you gonna dream about next? Ciri being a flower girl at your wedding?”

Fuck.

He is totally dreaming about it now.

God, it’s crazy how much he misses him, even though he doesn’t really know him.

Ciri already is crazy about Jaskier, and Geralt looks forward to them to meet, to see how Ciri is going to react when she sees him. He feels like the two would talk non-stop, and he would just listen to them talking about God knows what.

He would have no problem with that; in fact.

“I’ll give him a call tomorrow,” he thinks.

He wants to see Jaskier again.

(Thanks for reading! Sorry for the lack of Jaskier in this chapter, but it was like:

-So, it’s time for you to meet Ciri! 

-Hah, well, I love her, but I don’t think so. Not yet. 

-But Ciri- 

-You can have me as a Flashback Guest in this chapter, nothing more. 

-But my plan wasn’t like this. 

-Too bad, I’m my own character.

Let me know what you think please. Have a good day everyone ~ 💛)

#the witcher #jaskier #geraskier #nurse geralt au #my writing #I Would Get Into Millions Of Accidents Just To See You #geralt of rivia

[onf-headcanons]

ONF in Cafe AU

(Establishment)

A/N : 200 followers special!! This different universe from Baker Yuto

Settings : A total brand new universe where they just gather by pure coincidence. Or an alternate universe where ONF later when their contract ended, they gathered to open a cafe once Yuto return to Korea from graduating his bakery course back in Japan. Hyojin, Seungjun and Jaeyoung helped by researching how to register+open business in Korea.

Roles

Yuto : The bread maker

Seungjun : Barista

Hyojin & Jaeyoung : Chief waiter and in charge of cashier

Minkyun : Assisting waiter and more of a helper in the kitchen preparing ingredients

Changyoon : In charge of other menus such as sandwiches/bagel sandwich and dessert

Reader : could be part timer or the regular guest (bonus a fan of ONF as well)

Bonus : Minseok might occasionally drop by to visit or Minseok as another member in the kitchen (i mean have you seen his IG???!!!!!)

Headcanons

As Yuto is more of a bread lover, the cafe would be a bakery+cafe style eatery.

The menu is made and proposed by all 6 of them. Also before they start running business, the kitchen gang has already tried making food to do taste test. (Including WM family)

The menu is written in Korean, English and Japanese.

Yuto would keep trying on making the best bread so he would experiment with different options such as more milk or less flour

Hyojin would always give ideas to improvise. And members trust Hyojin's thoughts because he is such a foodie XD

Seungjun would research and practice on his barista skills.

Changyoon would do graphic design of the menu

Minkyun and Jaeyoung would go out to find spot to rent and open cafe

Once the cafe is opened, this is how they run it.

Because of ONF's nature, I personally think they will test the timing of business by doing a few around of simulations.

This would be suggested by Changyoon and agreed by the leaders

So before they opened, they really tried it out at the empty cafe and simulated with full house for 3~5 days straight. Then they are content with the current timing as below.

I also think Seungjun Jaeyoung and Yuto would keep suggesting adjustments on the timing.

Especially Seungjun and Yuto. Seungjun in the bystander view because he is the barista and Yuto sharing the perspective on what timing those outside kitchen should alert those in the kitchen. They would run timer using their phone.

Bakery closes on 6pm, tidying done by 7:15pm, head out for dinner or simple dinner by whipping up some left over ingredients.

Grocery shopping on 8:45pm or 9pm, headback for cafe for preparations if necessary

Next day 6am at cafe to do early preparations, bakery side and morning take away opens on 7:30am,

10:00am opens for eat in + buffet, they do not do dinner so closes at 6pm and repeat for every day.

They closes on big event public holidays, end of the year+new year.

(They will get quick lunch by ingredients whipped up from the kitchen. Hyojin will switch with Jaeyoung, Seungjun will switch with the part timer, Yuto will get quick bites while waiting for dough to rise, Changyoon and Minkyun will switch)

(BTW this is just reference from my weak experience working on restaurant)

There are 5 walkie talkies. Hyojin, Seungjun and Jaeyoung have 1 each, 1 at the cashier and another is at the kitchen with speakers. This is for them to communicate and alert each other about the crowd and also any food items that are running out.

BTW should we are using the Minseok as one of the member in kitchen, he did not join immediately. But he do drop by to support his hyungs and being the 2nd food taster.

His hyungs and Yuto are a bit reluctant to recruit him but, to their surprise, Minsk volunteered himself.

And oh boy his hyungs all in awe at how good this baby boy's cooking is!!!

Funny moment when Seungjun caught Hyojin eyes are gleaming with bliss after Hyojin tasted Minseok's food. And then only the other hyungs swarming over wanting to taste Minseok's cooking lol

(Hyojin already numb due to so many times food tasting lol but cos he loves to eat he still finishes all the samples. But Minseok's cooking was a breather for him at that exact moment)

Also Changyoon has an idea that putting surveys on each table and let guests to fill in. When they submit to cashier, they might get coupons (?) or maybe discounts about 83%

Or maybe some collectibles and when they got all six stickers, they get 83% discount? (its flexible)

The cafe gains popularity because of the quality and due to good looks of chief waiters and barista.

Also, I think in their menu, (should this is the contract ended ONF universe), they might integrate the member recommendations, it is flexible either food or drink. Or maybe both

Hyojin definitely going to recommend 2 smoothies.

Changyoon would recommend pasta and dessert

Minkyun will go for a sandwich

Jaeyoung might recommend Yuto's sourdough bruschetta

Seungjun will recommend one type of latte

And Yuto will recommend 1 or 2 breads found at bakery/buffet corner. But for menu he would give out tips like which bread type goes better with which cheese or jam

（BTW I think its cute should they use their mascot deer, shark, maltese, gorilla, cat and bread as avatar/icon that appear at recommendations!）

And on their birthday, (this could be Seungjun's idea) there will be a 83% discount sticker placed on the recommended food/drink by the member.

And since we talked about menu...

Again its a bread themed cafe, so the main would be bread, brunch and all day breakfast.

Bread type (buffet) : mini croissants, mini buns, scones, baguette, bagel, white loaf, sourdough

Bread type (bakery) : croissant, buns, garlic bread, scones, baguette, bagel, red bean bun, packed bread loafs

Let me explain about buffet first.

Buffet is for brunch+lunch, which starts on 10:30am to 2pm. Its a 90 minutes course. In that course you can pick 1 of each option of bread, salad, toppings, sides (sausages, hams, cheese and baked beans) and also random desserts.

They offer butter (salted and unsalted), 3 to 4 types of jams (strawberry, mixed fruit and marmalade), variety of paste to go with bread (mashed avocado and Parmesan garlic pesto). also Nutella

For buffet, beverage there already stocked variety of juices, warm coffee and tea (that are already prepared earlier) and fresh water

Cheese they will go for cheddar, Havarti, Feta, Mozarella and brown cheese.

Should you don't go for buffet, they have eat in cafe menu. Which are separately made set meals that comes with beverage. Like sandwiches, bagel sandwiches, spaghetti/pastas, or bruschetta with topping of your choice (6 the most)

Seungjun would prepare freshly brewed coffee, latte, tea, frappe and even smoothie.

Desserts are all simple desserts, like mini tarts and mini cupcake. For specially ordered ones would non baked stuffs that Changyoon and Minkyun made early in the morning and stored in fridge (because dont wanna clash with Yuto baking should any bread nearly sold out. Also can have more flexible timing should Yuto need help they can back up)

Initially, Changyoon will always make extra desserts by x2.5 amount, especially mini tarts or mini cupcakes at the buffet area. He is a worry wart.

BTW the bell Changyoon presented Yuto during OnDaeJeon? Its later used at the cafe lol. As the alert tool for waiters that food is done come and take it

I think on early years, at most 2 years, they are not going to do delivery or food app order service just yet.

But they will run an Instagram or twitter account for the cafe and using it just like how they are doing with they current twitter account. Promoting food and giving out random recommendations also a glimpse of their daily lifes running the cafe and bakery

I think Changyoon would upload a pic of seasonal fruit and a teaser for new seasonal dessert? And then lol it will sometimes plot twist ends up being seasonal beverage that made by Seungjun lol

Should Minseok is not a member running the cafe, the boys consult with him occasionally about adding new seasonal,time limited items.

Also Hyojin and Yuto being the photographer taking picture of the food. Oops I forgot, the pictures of food items in menu are both taken by them too!

Minkyun will bring along one of his fave part timer to do emergency grocery shopping should he needed a hand.

Hyojin and Jaeyoung will try to help customer to decide by suggesting recommendation

Also Hyojin, who would sometimes keep an eye on how customer do combination on their food and get inspiration from it then later try to propose to the team.

As chief waiters, both Hyojin and Jaeyoung would always during at the cashier, asking customers should they have any suggestions or proposal (even if they submitted the survey). Values communications and feedback between staff and customers.

Also Seungjun will help out keeping an eye in case they miss out someone trying to call a waiter. Later after a year of profits, they upgraded to bell calling service type, press a button and they come serve you in a minute.

Initially, Hyojin and Jaeyoung would make use of walkie talkie to recite orders that they get so that Seungjun, Yuto, Changyoon and Minkyun can get them

After maybe a couple months of profit, they upgraded it to tablets. while the walkie talkie is used as mentioned above, to alert regarding to run out/sold out food items.

Also, once reached closing hours, I think they will also have a brief meeting. Especially for waiters team. I think Hyojin would guide and critique on performance.

In overall it is very warm to work with ONF but you have to keep up because they are also strict.

I can see should they know part timers birthday, they would wish them. Maybe Changyoon/Minseok will shove special dessert or pasta for them.

It will be funny that some fans went there hoping to see Yuto, Changyoon and Minkyun but they are busy, do not want to disappoint, Hyojin and Seungjun might try to call them out using walkie talkie. (only apply to the contract end universe)

Oh I had a thought, maybe not the public knows that Minseok joined? I think maybe its also Minseok's terms and conditions because he does not want the spotlight he just wanna help running the business

Also should WM family drop by to visit, the first word as they enter the door, both sides will go “Aigooooo~~~~!!!” (Refer to RTK where Oh My Girl drops by to check out ONF for TWML practise)

Should that happen, its a big day for the fans

BUT!!! I can think ONF cafe later be the hangout spot for WM family? like member’s birthday? lets go to ONF cafe! Because Yuto baked a cake specially for us!! and off they go~ 

I mean its a great deal, considering Yuto’s love for bread and he did not sell customised cakes. So its personalised stuff he made for those he cared about.

That is why mostly the gathering will happen after 6pm or

Maybe WM managers drop by to pick up the special cake

Also, Yuto let part timers to have leftover breads or desserts at bakery and buffet area for free. His hyungs agreed because you should not waste food. Plus freshly made bread are their selling point so they won't recycle them.

A/N : gonna stop here and should there is more, I might do a part 2~!

#onf #cafe au #onf headcanons #onf imagines #onf headcanon #onf scenarios

[reinhartiisms]

@sprousec

Cole: had just washed his hands and was beginning to knead the pasta dough that he'd just made. Well he'd made it earlier in the day and it had been resting while he and Lili went out shopping. "What kind of sauce do you feel like? I can make spaghetti, carbonara, alfredo? Any requests?" He asked Lili, getting out the pasta maker from the cupboard and beginning to turn the dough through it. The living room almost looked like a bomb had gone off in it with all the baby items they'd bought during their shopping trip and with that it really made it feel real that they were going to be having a child in just a few months. The onesies and clothing was tiny and they could add it to the tiny bunny that he and Lili had brought at christmas time. "Do you want something to drink?" He asked Lili.

Lili was busy putting away the bags her and Cole had collected over a long day of shopping when she heard Cole's question. "I'm not really in the mood for a specific noodle or sauce," she smiled at him. "Surprise me." She was too focused on trying to notate down what all they had and what all they still needed to get. It was funny how with all these bags, it looked like they had everything they needed but Lili knew they hadn't even scratched at the surface. Babies needed a lot. "Wine," she answered him wryly but let out a wistful sigh. Wine. God, she missed wine and she wasn't even a big drinker. "Water is fine." Closing her Notes app on her phone, Lili straightened up and made her way into the kitchen to join them. "Is there anything I can do to help?" She asked, swinging her legs over the counter and sitting up on the top.

Cole: "Ooh fun, I could go really out there then" He probably wouldn't though. Lili was a bit of a pickier eater and he wanted to make something that she would actually want to eat, especially since she was pregnant and he knew she needed to keep her calories up, although not by too much. Once the pasta was finished and into nice long lengths of spaghetti, Cole put it into the bubbling water so it could cook. He pulled the ingredients out of the fridge for pesto sauce and began making that. It wouldn't take too long and hopefully Lili would like it. It had parmesan in it and you couldn't really go wrong with cheese. He looked up when Lili answered his next question and Cole gave her a smile, pushing a glass of water towards her. "You can probably have non alcoholic wines, we should try some one day if you want"

Lili wrinkled her nose and gave Cole a pout. "Oh please, there's no point of wine if it's non-alcoholic. That's like sugar free candy or dairy free ice cream. It's a crime." She picked up the glass and sipped from it, watching as he cooked. With the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and his dark hair all frizzy from the heat of the kitchen, he was painting an attractive picture. It was pretty unfair. Lili squeezed her legs together at the thought and took a more vigorous swig of water. Damn baby hormones. If she wasn't crying while reading sad poems, she was getting all hot and bothered about her very unavailable ex. "So seriously, nothing I can do to help?" Lili asked, needing a distraction. "No stirrer needed? Cheese grater? Pepper shaker?"

Cole: "I mean, it'll still taste the same, it's just not got the same effects. But I get what you mean" Cole told her. She was right. It was sort of pointless, especially since most people liked the buzz they got form alcohol. Once the pasta was cooked, Cole put it to drain in the sink and then got out two bowls, the sauce was ready and he was just going to add the two of them together. "Nope, i'm all done" he answered, putting a bowl in front of the two seats at the island and then offering Lili a hand so she could get down and they could sit next to one another and eat dinner together. "What do you think?" He asked, starting on his own bowl of pasta.

Lili "Ah, once again, I am useless," Lili joked and took Cole's hand as he helped her off the counter. The dinner smelled delicious, as always. Before she could sit down, she poured herself some water and then grabbed some bread that Cole still had saved from a previous grocery store venture. It may not have been freshly baked, hot out of the oven in Italy but it'd pair nicely with the pasta. She dipped her bread in the sauce and took a bite, nodding her head. "Delicious, as always. I really need to up my cooking game." Lili had gotten a lot better over the years but she didn't get too experimental in the kitchen and tended to stick with safe dishes. "Thanks for cooking for me," she gave him a smile. "Otherwise I would've eaten something really shitty from Postmates and felt awful afterwards."

Cole: "Oh stop it, you are not. I just didn't have anything for you to do is all" Lili most definitely wasn't useless. Cole just often didn't need too much help. Pasta was easy to make and it didn't take long to cook so there really hadn't been much for anyone to do. "Welcome. It's pretty easy and most food isn't hard, you just have to be ready to fail the first few times you make a dish until you get it right" Pasta was really the only thing that Cole was super good at cooking, everything else was a bit of a gamble on whether or not it would turn out right. "Well I'm glad you stayed for dinner then. Although postmates isn't too bad, I don't think. Depending on what you get"

Lili "I don't typically get healthy food." Lili was doing a lot better eating wise when it came to being pregnant, but it was hard to avoid fries and milkshakes when they were so readily available to you. Her biggest craving lately had been chicken wings washed down with some orange soda and that wasn't exactly what the doctor recommended. She twirled some pasta around her fork and after taking a big bite of it, swallowed with her water. "Maybe you can teach me some," she asked Cole, taking another bite. "You won't always be here to cook for Brooklyn and I'd like to give her some of Dad's favorites when it's my night to have her."

Cole: Cole just continued eating his pasta as Lili spoke. At least she was aware she wasn't eating the best food and it probably wasn't enough to really do anything. "Yeah? I could definitely do that. It's really easy so i'm sure you'd have no trouble making them" Cole had learnt most of his pasta making skills from his dad who made the best pasta Cole had ever had. His Dad had learnt in Italy when he'd lived there before Cole was born so it was no wonder his Dad's skills were that good. "Yeah we're definitely screwed if she doesn't like pasta" Cole joked, drinking from his cup of water. "Not that we have to worry about that for a while at least"

Lili "Sounds good," Lili smiled at Cole. As helpful as Cole was being throughout her entire pregnancy, Lili knew that eventually she'd have to stop depending on him. They were going to be parents together, but she was going to be a single mother nevertheless. She couldn't lean on Cole to provide everything for her or for Brooklyn. "As long as she's not vegan, that's all that matters. Mads keeps telling her that meat is evil and if our baby comes out wanting only organic mush, I'm gonna make Mads change every dirty diaper." Lili smirked at Cole as she said this and took another bite. "But I'm guessing the only thing she'll want is milk for a while so you're right, we've got time." Lili just hoped breastfeeding wasn't the nightmare it seemed to be for other women.

Cole: "It does. Although I don't think babies can be vegan anyways right? If you're breastfeeding then they're still getting milk from something. Unless they have soy formula or whatever" So long as Brooklyn was happy and healthy then that was all Cole could really have wanted and he was just going to support whatever Lili wanted to do as best he could. This was a whole other ball game that they'd really have to learn about, pregnancy was one thing but everything that came after Brooklyn was born was something else entirely. They could just take it all as it came. After his bowl was finished and Cole had drained the last of the water from his cup, he stood up, stacking the dishwasher with whatever he could fit inside it. "So, do you want me to walk you home? Or..you could stay? You can borrow some clothes and we can sort though the bags we got earlier?" He offered.

Lili "Sshh." Lili placed her hand over Cole's mouth, dramatically widening her eyes. "No more v word around this child. Too much damage has been done already." She gave Cole a little wink and as she saw him standing to collect the dishes, handed hers over. She felt comfortably full. Draining the last of her water, Lili stood up and watched as Cole bent down to put away the dishes. Domestic. So domestic. Daddy Cole vibes already..it really wasn't fair. She let out a little sigh and pointed towards the bathroom as he began to ask her a question. "I think I'm just gonna freshen myself up." She wanted to brush her teeth so she didn't have pasta breath and her cheeks could use some cold water to wake her up to reality. Her and Cole were /friends/. Just f r i e n d s. She shut the bathroom door behind her, splashed her face with some water, and squeezed some toothpaste on her finger as she scrubbed her teeth. Stupid Cole being so sweet and charming and sexy and domestic.

Cole: "Alright" Cole chuckled and filled the dishwasher with Lili's dishes before turning it on and beginning to give the hand wash only dishes a quick scrub to put onto the drying rack. "Okay" He nodded at Lili's next words and watched her leave. He still wasn't sure if she was planning on going anywhere or whether she wanted to stay over. Something that seemed to be happening more and more lately. Cole didn't mind. It was a lot nicer than being alone in bed all the time and Lili seemed to sleep well at his place so he was happy that she seemed to be getting some rest which was always a good thing. Walking into his own room and shutting the door, Cole changed out of his jeans and into some sweats, swapping his jumper for a plain singlet. The heater was blasting in the apartment so Cole didn't feel like he needed much else. He left some clothes out that Lili could change into if she wanted and then moved into the lounge room. Most of the baby things were sorted by where they'd been bought but Cole was going to make piles of what they had, clothes, blankets, gadgets etc just so they'd be able to sort them easily later.

Lili didn't immediately leave the restroom. She snooped a little. Opening up Cole's bathroom cabinet, she snorted at the pack of condoms, unscrewed some tops of colognes and smelled them, and nodded approvingly at the skincare products Chrissy had sent him. He was keeping up with his skin care regime, good boy. It wasn't until Lili figured Cole would think that she fell into the toilet that she finally washed her hands one last time for good measure, and opened the door. She could see into Cole's bedroom and saw that he had laid out some clothes for her. Sweet. Incredibly annoying that he was being so attentive and sweet and emotionally unavailable to her but..sweet. She shed her clothes and slipped on his shirt, seeing that it fell mid thigh and deciding to skip the sweats. It was too hot in his apartment anyways. She ran a hand through her hair and tousled it before coming back out to see Cole looking through the bags. "Whatcha doing?" She asked him, leaning against the doorframe of his living room.

Cole: "Cole hadn't even realised Lili had left the bathroom so when she spoke from just to the side of him, Cole just about jumped out of his skin, placing a hand on his heart "You gave me a heart attack" He told her with a smile, "And I'm sorting making piles in the bags of what we have. I figured if we had a different bag for a different category then when we got shopping later, it'll be easier to sort through that way as well. We're definitely going to need some more clothes probably but I think we did pretty good today" At least they had a few of the basic necessities. He looked up to Lili as he spoke his last few words, taking note of her outfit. She looked...hot in his t-shirt. She always had. Lili being in his clothes had always been a turn on and it had been endless when they had been dating. It was different now, especially that she was pregnant but she still looked just as good in his shirts, bump and all.

Lili bit her lip, laughing. "Sorry, scaredy pants," she teased. She hadn't known Cole was that deep in concentration. She straightened up and went to go sit down next to him, seeing the careful piles and arrangements he had already made. It wasn't something she was very interested in but she still perused through them, remembering what they had bought. "I feel like clothes are tricky because who knows how big she'll be and how much she'll grow," Lili told him as she carefully folded a onesie she had picked up and then placed back in the bag. "And some stuff we can order. I saw a few cribs I liked and bookmarked, I'll show you later. But I think we got a lot of essentials." They had almost everything that was needed on the 'baby's first checklist' PDF Lili had found and printed. She glanced back up to see Cole staring at her and she smiled. "What are you looking at?"

Cole: “Yeah we don’t know how big she’ll be but I don’t think she’ll be huge. Maybe long” Cole was pretty tall and Lili wasn’t super short so it was probably easy to assume that Brooklyn could possibly fall somewhere in the middle. His cheeks flushed when he realised Lili was looking at him and Cole had been too intent on looking at her to realise. He could’ve said ‘nothing and waved off an excuse but it felt like Lili had already caught him. “Just you” he told her honestly and moved closer to press a kiss to her lips. When he pulled away, his cheeks were redder still. “Sorry, just ignore I ever did that” Cole didn’t really think Lili would mind but it was a dangerous game to play with both their feelings.

Lili closed her eyes as Cole moved in to kiss her. It was both expected and unexpected; she recognized his soft looks, but he didn't normally go past more than sweet words when it came to them lately. Cole was much more restrained than Lili was. When he pulled back, she licked her lips and shook her head. "You can't apologize for kissing me," she told him with furrowed brows and then moved into kiss him again. "You either want to kiss me or you don't. Make up your mind, Cole." Lili's tone was teasing but they both knew the serious undertone of her statement. It also didn't help that Cole smelled really good and was really warm and that Lili's fingers were now moving through his longer strands of hair as she got closer to his face than she had in a while. "But if you're not going to kiss me, I'm going home because I am so damn horny and you're not helping by being..you."

Cole: “Yes I can. I just did” Cole smirked and shut his eyes as Lili moved to kiss him again. It was a struggle constantly for Cole to not kiss Lili, especially as he always wanted to, much much more than what he ended up acting on. “I always want to kiss you” He told her. One of his hands was moving down her back, the soft of his shirt coupled with the warmth of her skin was making it hard to stop. “Don’t worry, I intend on finishing what I started” He replied, moving in to kiss her once again.

Lili "You're talking too much," Lili said before Cole shut her up with his mouth. As much as Lili loved what Cole had to say, she wanted less talking, more kissing. His hands pressed against her and the feeling of him going to take off the shirt she was wearing made Lili moan and she just kissed him that much harder. /Finally/. It had been so long since they had last done this and the relief Lili felt at just being touched by him made her want to cry. Nobody made her feel as good or as loved or as wanted by Cole and consequences of hooking up be damned - she had an itch to scratch and Cole was finally going to make it go away.

Cole: Lili’s shirt or rather Cole’s shirt that Lili had been wearing had come off rather quickly and once his mission of taking it off had been accomplished, Cole moved to pulls his own singlet off, tossing it amongst the bags they were sorrounded by. His mouth still attached to Lili’s, Cole got up and tried to move both himself and Lili into the bedroom. Dylan wasn’t home yet, at least Cole didn’t think he was but he still didn’t feel like being interrupted in the living room either way. The door had slammed noisily behind them and it was a bit of a stumble but they made it to Cole’s bed. Afterwards, happy and sated, Cole moved his arm around Lili, his eyes beginning to droop shut “I love you” he told her sleepily.

Lili laid stretched out on Cole's bed after they were finished, staring up at the ceiling. She couldn't move due to Cole's arm being on top of her and she didn't want to. She probably should pee - she definitely should brush her hair - but there was something about this moment that she just wanted to stay in and soak in. She had been sleeping alone for some time now and just being this close to Cole was everything. When he spoke, her eyes pricked with tears. It was hard to hear, but she knew he meant it. "I love you too," she whispered back softly and sighed, rolling over so that she was resting her head against his chest. She wasn't tired - far from it - but in bed with Cole, in their own little world, is where she wanted to be.

#f2f: co parents with benefits.

[thevengeanceuniverse]

Touch in the Dark Ch 2.2(Tony)

Tony helped Sarah make dinner that night, deciding on a simple but filling cacio e pepe with a nice wine accompaniment. He used his mamma’s pasta maker to start from scratch and let memories of her teaching him how to use it wash over him. Sarah was wonderful and took good care of him and Peter but it still ached to think about his mamma. She would have loved the warmth of the Rogers household, loved sharing recipes and gossip with Sarah in the kitchen, the two of them giggling like schoolgirls. She was the one who would pull him to dance with her in the kitchen, twirling around to the sounds of the radio. He missed the lightness of her spirit that was so visibly absent by the time of her death. He hoped Howard rotted in hell for the abuse that he had put his mamma through.

Pushing away the dark turn in his thoughts, Tony relaxed into the lull of working with his hands, letting it sooth him. Inevitably, his thoughts turned to his recent meeting with the Russian mob lord. He was worried about how to bring up the meeting with James to Steve, about the deal they had struck. His lover was so protective that he might outright reject the idea, but Tony knew that he couldn’t live with always needing to be protected. He knew what he was signing up for when he decided to keep living with Steve, work with him and love him. But Tony was still terrified. Howard may not have been his biological father but nurture was half of the equation. What if he ended up like the abusive bastard, crossing a line he couldn’t come back from?

He thought back to the things James had described. Killing Howard had been quick, one shot to the head and he was dead. Killing someone with a knife…drawing it across their neck and feeling the blood pour hot and wet over his hand…Tony felt his stomach lurch. God, what had he gotten himself into?

“Tony?” The sound of his brother’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Turning around, he moved to take 9-year old Peter into his arms.

“Hello, dear one. Did you finish reading your book?” Tony murmured into his hair in Italian.

Peter peeked up, eyes shining with excitement. “Yea! Oh, it was so fun, there was this pirate and his best mate and they sailed all around the ocean saving people from an evil king who wanted to rule over everyone! And there was this girl and everyone thought she was a spoiled princess but she was really an assassin and she ended up being the one to end the king and save everyone!”

“That does sound fun, cucciolo.” Tony leaned down and tickled his little brother’s sides. “Maybe one day you’ll run off and sail the seas, huh? And leave your poor brother all alone here?”

Peter screeched and wiggled to get away. “No! I pro-pro-promise I won’t leeeeave! Stoooooop!” He dissolved into giggles.

Tony kept going mercilessly, loving the look of joy in his brother’s face. He had filled out more and had lost that pinched look of worry that had been there when they were living with Howard. Being in the Rogers' household with lots of love and food from Sarah had been good for him. For both of them.

“What in the world is going on here?” Speak of the devil, there stood Sarah with her arms propped on her hips, and an incredulous look on her face. She faked a stern look towards Peter. “I thought I sent you to get the dishes to set the table, young man. And here I catch you playing?”

“N-no! It’s not m-my faaaaault!” Peter gasped helplessly. “Tony’s torturing me Auntie b-b-because he thinks I’ll run off and be a pirate!” At his name, Tony eased up, causing Peter to sag in relief.

Sarah chuckled, eyes shining at the two boys. “Well, come on then, stop lollygagging. Grab the plates, little Captain.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Peter saluted her before scurrying off and Tony exchanged a fond glance with Sarah over the boy’s dramatics.

The rest of dinner was reasonably calmer, Sarah and Steve asking Peter about any new friends in school and his lessons while Tony watched, feeling reflective and content. He did steal a glance here and there at Steve, but when the man raised a brow in question he merely shook his head and smiled.

After dinner, Tony and Steve made their way to the study on the first floor. They spent the time after dinner together, a private moment to just talk or dance to one of the records housed in the study or even just to cuddle. Whatever it was, Steve had made sure that any business he had didn’t cut into his personal time with Tony.

Tony settled on the couch, making himself comfortable as he thought of how to bring up his conversation with James.

Steve settled next to him, leaving a foot of distance between them so he could brace himself against the arm of the couch. His blue eyes were warm but assessing when they regarded Tony.

“You’ve been really quiet tonight.” Steve reached out to cup Tony’s cheek, brushing his thumb over the apple of his cheek in a light caress. Tony held the hand to his face, turning his face to press a drop a light kiss to the palm before pulling the hand down to hold on his lap.

“Do you remember when I first came here? You told me you were holding onto Howard, that you were saving him for me so that I could choose how to end his life?” Steve nodded but stayed quiet.

Tony took a deep breath. “I went to see James today.” But Steve simply nodded again. Of course he knew.

“I decided to take him up on his offer. I want to learn how to fight with a knife. I want to be able to stand beside you as an asset.” Steve didn’t bother to address that point just yet, he just sighed as he tugged Tony sideways into his lap, wrapping his arms around him.

“Are you sure?” His voice was soft. “You’ve already had a lot of violence in your life. Dealing it out is going to take a toll on you. It will make your nightmares worse, make you more paranoid about an attack, bring up a lot of dark memories even as it carves new ones into you.”

Tony leaned his head against Steve’s shoulder. He had thought about all this before going to see James but it still didn’t make the decision any easier. There was a part of him that wanted no part in hurting anyone. That remembered how even Howard’s arguably quick and merciful death had haunted Tony and wanted to let Steve continue to protect him.

But there was another part, one that he had tried to keep buried but it burned with a dark core in the pit of his stomach. It was the part of him that was angry at being hurt for so many years, the part of him that made him pick himself up after every drunken night and treat the bruises from his father’s fists. It was bitter that the people around him had just turned a blind eye to his suffering, never stepping in no matter how loud or vicious Howard had gotten. He had stopped waiting for someone to save him years ago, surviving only so that he could look after Peter and distract Howard from trying to take his anger out on the younger boy. That part of him was vengeful against the world and it wanted to carve out its own brand of justice.

“I don’t want to be a victim anymore, Steve.” Tony’s throat ached with anger and remembered pain. “I would rather die than be helpless again. I know that this will probably make things worse and cause more nightmares. But I need this. I need to be able to stop looking over my shoulder because I know that I have no way to defend myself. I need to have the power to take my safety in my own hands to protect myself and our family.” Tony reached up to bracket Steve’s face in his hands, letting him see the determination in his eyes. “And if that means learning to chop off the hands of anyone who wants to hurt Peter or Sarah or you, I’m going to do it.”

Steve groaned at the sharp edge in Tony’s voice before dragging him close for a desperate kiss. “You have no idea how beautiful you are when you’re vicious,” Steve whispered against his lips before leaning in to nip and suck at the lushness. The darkness in his veins growing heated, Tony clutched onto Steve just as fervently. Toppling himself back towards the cushions, he pulled at Steve’s lapels to pull him hard and heavy on top his body. Steve sank into the vee of Tony’s spread thighs, pressing against him with delicious friction. Things were quickly going out of control. They had never done anything other than kissing outside of their bedroom. Even in their home, the thought of being walked in on by Steve’s mother was too humiliating to bear.

But Tony couldn’t help it. He never expected Steve to respond like this. He had been worried that Steve would want to keep protecting him, unable to see him put himself at risk. And maybe a part of him always will, Tony didn’t delude himself, he felt the same need to protect Steve especially after nearly losing him. But this, this fevered need that seemed to delight in Tony’s desire for violence had been unprecedented. If he had known Steve would react in this hungry way that made him want to have Tony immediately, he probably would have spoken sooner. Talked about fighting and making life threats every damn day.

Steve rose a bit to pull at Tony’s shirt roughly, uncaring of buttons flying every which direction. He used his new access to his advantage, knowing how sensitive Tony was. Tony moaned at the feeling of Steve tongue on his nipples, fingers twisting and plucking the neglected one like a guitarist. He hissed at the sting when Steve bit lightly at them, then quickly soothing the hurt with his tongue. Tony started to feel fuzzy, like a wildfire was running in his blood and settling in his stomach to wind tight with anticipation and need. Steve’s mouth moved further downward, pausing just above Tony’s waistline to tease while his hands stroked his inner thighs. The strokes were firm but didn’t move closer to the spot where Tony desperately wanted to be touched and Tony whined with impatience.

“Steve, Steve,” he managed to gasp out, pulling at the short blond hairs at the nape of his neck to get his attention. “Please, I can’t wait.”

“I know, love, I know, just let me,” Steve murmured, reaching out for a small discreet drawer on the side table. He pulled out a small bottle of oil with one hand as he used the other to unbutton both their fronts.

“Come here,” he pulled at Tony’s arm, encouraging him to straddle Steve’s thighs and perch on his lap. Steve drizzled some of the oil in his hand before encircling both their members together. Tony’s breath hitched at the warm slickness, undulated his hips and fucking himself into Steve’s large hand. He was so beautiful, looking delightfully debauched with his blond hair mussed from Tony’s eager hands and lips red with Tony’s kisses. But it was the heat of Steve’s gaze on him that pushed Tony further to the edge. Overwhelmed with the feeling of being pressed tightly against each other, Steve’s firm strokes on them both, Tony threw back his head, back arching as his mind blanked out with pleasure. Spilling out into Steve’s hand, he was vaguely aware of Steve coming soon after, leaning forward to press his forehead against Tony’s chest as he choked out a muffled groan with his own release.  

Tony opened his eyes at the feeling of gentle lips on his, gazing down at a smiling and satisfied Steve. He smiled back, feeling the same satisfaction in his lax limbs. He knew their clothes were probably ruined, stained with oil and other fluids and his shirt hanging half off his body but he couldn’t find it in him to care. They’d have to sneak upstairs at some point and take a shower or at least wipe down with clean cloths but that could wait a minute. Right now, he just tugged his lover back close and they traded easy, lazy kisses, wrapped up in each other’s arms.

Read more on AO3 if you want: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23556382

#winterironshield #stony #stuckony #tony x steve #tony stark #Steve Rogers #bucky x tony #touchinthedark #mob #fanfic #fanfiction #winteriron #writing #vengeanceworks

[inyourwildestdreamslove]

Fearless Chapter 2

You deal in fear…

So who else to help Klaus master his powers? Who is quite determined to set you up with his brother…

“I didn’t ask for this.”

“No one ever does darling…”

Chapter one

Diego x Reader

Chapter 2: We’ll Carry On

It has been all of a month when you look over at Klaus from your spot on the couch and say, “Why don’t you just move in? You pretty much live here anyway…”

He glances up from fighting the ball of string and over to you.

“Really?!” he asks perking up instantly.

“Sure… I have a spare room and we can implement some of those boundaries for the ghosts that we researched last week. It’ll be easier to do here since my place is way smaller than the academy.”

“Thank you!” he yells as he launches himself at you and you jump back out of surprise before you hug him back. You feel him almost snuggle against you as you just awkwardly pat him on the back.

“What’s with the sting by the way?” you ask after he had pulled himself away from you.

“I don’t...really know what to do with my hands… and my mind won’t shut off… I can’t focus for shit and all I want is a hit of something!”

“Hold on a second,” you say as you get off the couch and head downstairs to your studio that you lived above.

Klaus and Ben share a look with one another out of curiosity as they hear your footsteps coming back up the stairs. You have a package in your hand as you lightly toss it over to him.

“What’s this? Model Magic?”

“It’s modeling clay. It’s super soft and malleable. Why you don’t you see if playing with it helps? Maybe you could make something?”

“Like what?”

“Whatever you want…”

He paused for a moment to think about it before he seemed to give up.

“What do you make with it?”

“Monsters.”

“Monsters? But they are scary! I don’t want to make anything scary!”

You just laugh, “Then make a cute monster! It doesn’t have to be scary!”

Klaus stops to contemplate this concept before he rips into the package and pulls it out.

“It’s so soft!” he say in wonder as he looks at it with a bright eyed happiness you see on the faces of children.

“It’s just like Play Doh…” you say in slight confusion.

“What’s Play Doh?” he asks in distracted confusion; the clay in his hands capturing most of his attention.

“You’ve never played with Play Doh?!” you ask in bewilderment.

“No? We were only allowed to play ‘during a designated time between half past 12 and 1 on Saturdays,’” he says in a mockingly deep voice, obviously his rendition of his late father.

“Well…” you say softly, “Your childhood is obviously worse than I could even imagine.”

He just shrugs in reply and loses himself in his little creation.

It’s almost an hour later that he proudly presents you with his finished creation. And adorable little monster with tentacles sprouting from different places.

“Cute! When it dries do you want to paint it?!” you ask in excitement.

Klaus nods in excitement and carefully puts his creation down.

“So is this what you do all day? Play with clay?”

“I make monsters for the movies,” you say with a shrug.

He blinks at you for a moment, “What do you mean?”

“I’m a special effects makeup artist,” you say with a laugh. “I’m the one who turns people into monsters for the movies.”

“That’s so cool!” he exclaims as he jumps onto the couch beside of you.

“Yeah it’s one of the ways I keep on top of my powers. Bringing scary things to life outside of my head helps me deconstruct it and master it in my own way.”

“Maybe… it could help me too?”

“Maybe… you never know…”

That Sunday at the family dinner Klaus presented his monster to his siblings proudly, and although they were all very confused by his little monster, they were all very happy that he was a month clean. Even Five took a break from scowling about things to ask him about his new friend, which effectively peaked the interest of the rest of his siblings.

Which is how three days later you find yourself gazing up at a very large man.

“I’m Luther…”

“Really?”

“Yes… Really.”

“Look pal… You touch a hair on his head….”

“What? No! I really am his brother.”

“Oh… okay...the last guy that showed up pretending to be his brother tried to strangle him in my back room.”

“What? Why?”

You shrug in reply, “Klaus owed him money.”

You hear the man in front of you scoff and roll his eyes, “Figures.”

“Ok… well… fun talk. Klaus is upstairs if you want to go talk to him.”

“I actually came to meet you.”

“I see…”

“You seem normal…” he says with narrowed suspicious eyes.

“Klaus!” you yell as you turn your back on the large man before you and walk up the stairs to your apartment.

“There is a large man here! You should annoy him until he leaves!”

“It’s Luther isn’t it?” he asks as he appears at the top of the stairs in a bath towel with a pink shower cap on.

“How many large men do you know?”

“Enough…”

“What about me?” yells Luther from the bottom of the stairs.

“What about you?” you both ask as you turn towards him.

“Well…. Aren’t you going to invite me up”

You and Klaus exchange a look, “Nope…” you both mutter in unison as you walk into your apartment.

“That was mean…” you say as you plop down on the couch feeling slightly guilty.

“He’ll live…” Klaus mutters as he retreats back into the room.

It’s two days later that a teen boy just appears in your kitchen.

You turn from the coffee maker and see inquisitive eyes and school boy shorts and just hand him the coffee in your hand.

“Thanks… You’re not what Luther said you were.”

“Luther called me normal,” you say primly as you turn and pour another cup of coffee.

A smirk slides across his face, “So you are one of us.”

“Regardless of whether I was or not… I would hardly call myself normal on a good day.”

“I see…”

You just shrug nonchalantly as pour creamer into the coffee in front of you.

“Why the monsters?”

“The act of breaking your fears down and reconstructing them allows you to gain power over them. This happens in a safe and fun environment.”

He smirks and looks down into the coffee in front of him, “You do know how to help him.”

“I know what worked for me may not work for him, but we will figure it out.”

“Do you love my brother.”

“Of course I do… Ben may be on another dimensional plane but I adore him…”

“HEY!”

“You too, Klaus!”

“Thank you!”

“You’re welcome!”

“So what kind of coffee is this?”

“I get it from this coffee shop down the street, they roast their own beans. Best coffee in the city, I’ll give you the address.”

“Thank you.”

Klaus chooses that moment to walk out of his bedroom and plop down at the table.

“I approve,” Says Five as he flashes out of sight.

“Did you hear that Klaus? The Coffee Goblin approves of me!” you say happily as you take another sip of your drink.

“Coffee Goblin? Why didn’t I think of that?” he asks has he attempts to steal your own coffee, you just swat his hand away with a glare. 

The hesitant knock at your door rouses you from your work. You glance over and can see a figure through the glass. You wash the clay from your hands and walk over to the door and open it to find a young woman around your age wearing a button up shirt, brown pants and tennis shoes.

“Vanya,” you say with a smile as you usher her in.

“How do you know who I am?” she asks hesitantly.

“Klaus has told me about all of his siblings! He says you play violin, tell me the next time you play and we will have to go! I love the orchestra.”

“Really?”

“Of course!”

“Oh.. okay that would be great.”

“(Y/N)! Does this skirt make me look fat?”

You look up at Klaus as he comes in the room.

“Vanya!” he exclaims holding up his cigarette, “When did you get here?”

He happily walks over to her and pulls her into a slight hug.

“Klaus we’ve talked about smoking in the house…”

“But it’s cold outside!” he whines as he plops down next to you on the couch and rests his head on your shoulder.

“He’s always been like this hasn’t he?” you ask as you glance over at Vanya.

“Yeah...pretty much…”

“Vanya! You wound me!” he exclaims dramatically.

“Cigarette out!”

“Okay! Okay! Geeze… We need to get you laid…”

“And you wonder why Ben is my favorite.”

“Drop dead…”

“Don’t talk to my child like that!”

“He’s a grown man!”

“You’re right… You’re my child…”

He throws his right hand up dramatically as he walks out to the balcony.

“How?” Vanya breaths out after a moment.

“I deal with the melodramatic for a living… You want some tea?”

“Umm… sure.”

“Great I’ll put the kettle on!”

It was a week before another Hargreeves shows up at your house. It was around ten at night and the three of you had rented a movie to watch. Sudden there is a knock on your window? All three of you turn towards the window and blink in confusion.

“OH! It’s fine it’s just Diego!”

“Does Diego have an aversion to doors?” you ask as you glance over the couch to the window.

Klaus just shrugs as he gets up to open the window and in climbs Diego.

“Diego! What are you doing here!” exclaims Klaus.

“I wanted to meet the girl that pissed Luther off,” he says with a smirk as he turns to you.

You turn towards Klaus after giving Diego the once over, “I’m not calling him Daddy no matter how many times he asks.”

Diego looks confused, “Daddy?”

While Klaus just bursts out laughing.

“Careful princess…” Diego says after a moment, sharing your wicked gleam and a smirk, “I may have to spank you.”

“Ooo...I better be a good girl then…” you say before you throw your head back with laugh.

You notice the look on Klaus’ face and you raise a brow at him. He just sends you a smirk and and wink. You roll your eyes and turn towards your new guest.

“Have you eaten? There is leftover pasta in the fridge.”

“Damn you’re going to feed me too? You can call me whatever you want then,” he says with a wink.

You laugh as you hop off of the sofa to heat up the pasta. You walk back in a few minutes later and hand him the plate. He quietly thanks you and begins to eat.

“You should just marry her Klaus!” Diego says around a mouth full of pasta.

“I agree! Let’s get married!” Klaus exclaims as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you towards him happily.

“Of course darling… we’ll do that tomorrow.”

“Yay!” he exclaims as he snuggles into you more.

You give him an affectionate smile and roll your eyes as you stroke his hair.

“Diego, if you aren’t too busy saving the general population, you should stay and watch a movie with us.”

He thinks for a moment before nodding, “Sure it would be good to relax for a night.”

The four of you end up settling in…

“Ben wants to know if we can watch that new horror movie that just came out?”

“Yeah, that’s fine with me… I’ll put it on.”

...and enjoying the night.

And that is how you met most of Klaus’ siblings.

For those of you wondering... I did not forget Allison. I just figured she would be back in LA with her daughter at this time. Don’t worry they will meet in the future! I hope you enjoyed this! Please let me know what you think!

#diego hargreeves x reader #diego hargreeves imagine #the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy imagine #the umbrella academy fanfiction #klaus hargreeves #diego hargreeves #klaus x reader #friendship

[marshunter06]

Love Lockdown

V- Hello, It’s Nice to Meet You

The first thing she sees when she wakes up is a good morning text from Trent, he was up awfully early sending a text just before seven. It is now around eight, a little later than she would normally wake as she’s an early riser. She replies back with a good morning then starts her morning routine. She was just about done, ready to go get some coffee when she sees that he’s sent her another message along with a picture.

T: Toast and scrambled eggs are one of the few things I can make. That and I can use a coffee maker. Hope your breakfast is going to be better than mine (:

C: Looks great! I’m about to get a cup of coffee myself, I’m not usually big on breakfast, so toast and eggs actually sound perfect. I’ll send you a pic and we can compare.

Duncan was still asleep when she got downstairs, he did manage to clean up the wine and glasses before passing out. He stirs awake when he catches a whiff of the coffee. She always did make sure there was enough food for the both of them even though she couldn’t stand to look at him sometimes. Old habits die hard, eight years makes it difficult to just cut ties especially while they’re stuck together.

“What are you making for breakfast?”

“I’m thinking toast and eggs, there’s still bacon if you want that too.”

“Toast and eggs sound great.”

Once she plates both the toast and eggs, she brings them over to the dining table. She pulls out her phone and makes sure to get her coffee cup in view as she snaps a picture. Duncan keeps his mouth shut, he still finds it odd that she’s into food photography now, but she shrugged it off already. Besides, given how poorly last night went, she wouldn’t tell him anyways. They spend the rest of the breakfast in mostly silence.

“Let me do the dishes.”

“You did them last night.”

“Your hand is still burnt, and you made breakfast this morning.”

“Okay. I should probably change out the band aid anyways.”

“And I’ll make lunch today.”

“You’re making lunch?”

“Yeah, well I figured sandwiches and the rest of the soup would work?”

“Okay, I’m going to do some work until then. I’ll be down around noon.”

She heads upstairs to change out of her pajamas and send Trent her breakfast picture. She did feel a little nervous knowing that she would get to see what he looked like today, but it seemed silly, they were just partners for a project. With that thought in mind, she still wanted to make a good impression, so she settled on dark jeans and a red top. She didn’t normally bother with makeup, but a little didn’t hurt. Nothing too crazy, no red lipstick or winged eyeliner.

T: Thought I would let you know I got to venture to the outside world today and guess what? There’s no more pasta of any kind, so you got lucky.

C: Can’t say I’m surprised, the shelves were pretty scarce. As promised, here’s a pic of my breakfast. See, it’s almost the same as your’s.

T: I don’t know Court, your toast looks less burnt than mine…

Court… he called her Court. Only few people in life had the privilege of calling her that. She doesn’t mind adding him to the list. Is it odd to click with someone so quickly?

C: I’m sure it tasted fine, I’m going to go catch up on some intern work. Talk to you after lunch? Maybe around oneish?

T: Sounds good, I’ll wait for your call. You’re busier than I am.

C: Oh I don’t know about that, you had to pencil me in your schedule.

T: Lol, ok, I’ll call you at 1:30 then. Look forward to seeing you (:

That gives her about three hours before lunch would be ready and some time after before they work on their project. Plenty of time to make sure everything is in order. Time passes quickly, before she knows it, it is noon. She heads downstairs to see if Duncan needed any help.

“Hey Princess, soup’s already to go and the sandwiches are on the plate. I was just about to go get you.”

“Thanks. I’ll bring the plates over to the table.”

“I’ll get the water.”

Again they go back to this weird stage of being okay with each other. It’s extremely delicate and hard to navigate. One wrong move and it could break. There was a mutual agreement to keep meals civil, eating is important after all.

“Thanks for lunch, I’ll do the dishes.”

“What about your hand.”

“It’s fine now, but if you still won’t let me, then let me make dinner. I promise it’s not that bad.”

“Okay, you can make dinner. What were you thinking?”

“Probably just spaghetti, we still have a box of noodles left. I should be done by five, so I’ll have time to prepare the meatballs.”

She leaves him with the mess heading upstairs to make sure all of her notes are pulled up on her laptop. Right on time at one thirty, she gets a call front Trent.

“Hey Courtney! Nice to finally see you!”

“Hi Trent, nice to see you too.”

“So, what do you think about our case?”

“Well, I think she killed him, but since we’re defending her, we need to convince the rest of the class that she didn’t.”

“Really? I thought she was innocent. She doesn’t have a motive. She was already going to get half of his assets and the guy didn’t have any offshore accounts.”

“She did have a motive, besides with him dead, she would get everything.”

“So you think she did it for the money?”

“No, that was just a bonus, she did it for revenge.”

“I’m not following.”

“Think about it. Her husband cheats on her making her the laughing stock of the neighborhood. Stephanie Clarence prides herself on having the perfect image. They were the perfect couple, so how could she let Fred ruin everything. Especially since his mistress is considered to be beneath them.”

“Then why not make it seem like the mistress did it? If she really wanted revenge, wouldn’t she make sure Valerie suffers too.”

“Because, it would be cowardly of him to off himself, she’s all about image remember? Plus Valerie is already going to suffer knowing she wouldn’t get anything from Fred. She doesn’t really hate the mistress, she was technically innocent, Fred never let it be known that he was married.”

“Hm… I guess I can see that, it makes sense. That’s not going to be easy for the prosecution to prove though.”

“It’s not going to be easy to prove it’s suicide too. Why did you think it was?”

“The way I see it, Fred Clarence was depressed, and even though he was a success businessman, he made it through pure luck. Still, he wasn’t happy. He has the perfect image, but that never meant anything to him, he wanted something real. He found that with Valerie, but when she found out he was married, she wanted to end it. Then his wife finds out and files for divorce. His business starts to go down, that combined with all the bad luck he’s been having left him thinking there was no way out. His parents passed already and he didn’t have kids, there was nothing to live for. He had to know that the divorce case was going to fail, but it was his attempt at keeping something in his life that made it worth living.”

“When you put it that way, it does seem like he killed himself. You think we could message the professor and ask if we could speak to our client?”

“Worth a shot, we have all the statements, but he would leave things out to make the case more neutral when the prosecuting team sees it. I’ll email him now.”

#quaratine fic #trentney #LL #WIP #this went over my roughly 1000 word count per chapter

[thewritewolf]

Rekindle Chapter 31: Supernatural Creatures

Our heroes settle into their new routine, eyes firmly fixed on the future.

Thank you to everyone that has read Rekindle! It has been a long two months as this story careened wildly out of my control, but I am very proud of it. I hope you’ll join me on Monday as I finish off the Love Square months with a Ladynoir story, and stay with me to finish off Close to You. 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 2425 26 27 28 29 30

And, as always: Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

One year later...

“How is the latest article going?” Marinette directed her question across the cafe table to her long standing best friend.

It wasn’t very often that the four of them got to meet together, but it had gotten better once Alya and Nino had moved back to Paris. The patrols were nice but that was rarely more than two of them at a time. These weekly coffee double dates weren’t always easy to attend, especially with how busy their schedules were these days. But after so much time lost, they found a way to make it work.

“Pretty good, M. Just need some editing before I turn it in. Care to lend a hand?” She passed a USB towards Marinette with a smirk. Marinette slipped it in her purse, knowing that it was sure to have more than just the standard news articles on it if she was getting it this way.

At Marinette’s side, Adrien grinned. “I take it you’re high in demand these days?”

“Lots of places are looking to hire the freelancer that did the expose on the mayor.” Alya’s grin became predatory. “After all, anyone that can uproot the rich and powerful of Paris is someone you want on your side.”

“I hear Alya isn’t the only one that’s doing good, dude.” Nino said between sips of his coffee. “A little dude told me you two have something to tell us.”

Adrien and Marinette exchanged a look. They knew letting all their kwamis mingle would end up biting them in the butt. The only question was, which of their kwamis did the tattling? Was it Tikki, the gossip, or Plagg, the mischief-maker?

“Well, if the cat’s already out of the bag…” Adrien shrugged and nodded at her.

Reaching into her purse, Marinette slipped on her engagement ring and held it out for their friends to see. They leaned forward and marveled at the relatively plain but beautiful ring. Not that Adrien hadn’t wanted to give her something much more ornate, of course, but he knew her well enough to know what she truly wanted.

Crossing her arms, Alya snorted. “It’s about time you two dorks got married. I’ve only been shipping this since we were fourteen, girl!”

“Nice, dudes!” Nino grinned and leaned forward onto the table. “So when’s the wedding and, more importantly, the honeymoon?” He waggled his arms suggestively at Adrien, prompting his wife to smack his arm.

“Leave my innocent babies alone.” She looked at them out of the corner of her eye. “But seriously, when is the wedding?”

“We’re not sure yet, honestly.” Adrien shrugged. “It’s been a lot of work just getting sales rolling and wiggling our way into the big shows. Although we’ve had it easier than most, though, since my beautiful fiancee has been preparing for this since before we’d even met.” He planted a kiss on the top of her head.

“Don’t sell yourself short, hot stuff,” Marinette said as she looked up at him. “You’ve been a godsend, and not just because you know the ins and outs of these things. You’ve kept me going even after I felt burnt out.” She leaned forward for a kiss, but Alya cleared her throat. “Oh fine. Anyway, we can’t really plan a wedding yet, not when we’re in the process of building a property for the Dupain-Cheng fashion house and hiring staff. And obviously we can’t just leave the moment we finish all that…”

“Yeah, yeah, busy busy, I get it, M.” Alya waved her hand impatiently. “You just better not elope on us or else me and Sabine are going to have to hunt you down. I didn’t endure all your mutual pining for over ten years just to get robbed at the last minute.”

Marinette giggled. “You don’t have to worry about that. Adrien has his heart set on a nice wedding, especially since I won’t let him splurge on a fancy ring.”

“Well, how else can I tell all of Paris that I love her?”

They all laughed, but as they took a few moments of companionable silence, Alya frowned. “Wait, the Dupain-Cheng fashion house? How is that going to work if you’re getting married?” She turned to Marinette. “Are you going to be keeping your last name?”

Before she could reply, Adrien nodded. “Yep! And I’ll be taking hers. Too much baggage with the Agreste name, you know?” He took a sip of his coffee. “All the more reason to get married sooner than later.” Silence reigned again, this one more introspective as everyone briefly remembered Hawkmoth’s long reign of terror and how it still touched their lives today.

Nino’s eyes widened and he scrambled to pick up his things. “Shoot, that reminds me. I’ve got training with old man Fu today.”

“Has he finally taught you any secret Guardian techniques yet? Anything you might be willing to pass off to a friend?” Adrien blinked innocently at him, laying on the charm thick.

“This isn’t one of your cheesy animes, dude. It’s mostly just recipes and taking care of old books.” Marinette heard him whisper in Adrien’s ear as he passed, “But if I find anything like that, you’re first on my list.”

“Thanks, man.” Adrien fist bumped his old friend and Nino left them alone.

Alya sighed. “I guess I’d better get back to research then. Paris certainly hasn’t gotten any less weird since I’ve gotten back.” They all stood and made their way out of the cafe.

Adrien dropped his voice to a whisper as they walked down the street. “Have you found any pattern to it, yet?”

“Centerfold, everything I’ve found I just passed to Marinette.” She shrugged. “With all that magic out there, stuff that’s been gone for centuries is coming back. It hasn’t been anything big yet, but… well, maybe all those legends weren’t just legends, you know? Just keep your eyes peeled and I’ll do my best to keep everyone updated.”

They said their goodbyes as Alya got on the bus, leaving just Adrien and Marinette alone. They walked in silence for a while. The crowds thinned around them as they found their way to less populated areas, eventually finding an abandoned alley. There, Adrien bowed deeply to her as he transformed into Chat Noir. He rose with a cocky grin on his face and stepped close to her as he pressed her against the wall. With one finger, he lifted her chin so she was looking up at him.

“What’s a sweet girl like you doing in a place like this?” She snorted and rolled her eyes at his ridiculousness, but there was a smirk on her face nonetheless. “What do you say I take you home with me, princess?” He kissed at her neck and it took all her will to continue pretending it was having no effect on her.

“Hm… I don’t know… Will there be delicious home cooked food there?”

He chuckled against her. “Give it an hour and there will be. The tastiest Italian pastas you’ve ever had.”

“Sold!” She surprised him by jumping onto him, causing him to scramble to catch her. “Take me away, you alley cat!”

He laughed. “As my lady commands!”

Chat Noir carried her in his arms and she basked in the cool evening air. Even after all this time, it was something that she had never grown tired of.

----------------------------

Once they were inside, Adrien dropped his transformation and gently set Marinette on the couch with a kiss. He cupped her face with a smile as he pulled back.

“Stay there while I make dinner.”

“Fine, but only because I’m curious about what Alya has found out.” Marinette pulled her laptop out from underneath the living room table, along with the USB from her purse.

Familiar complaints prompted him to shove some of the cheese that he was working with towards his hungry kwami. It was rare that a week went by without finding another shard, but they were handling it well. Four active heroes helped, especially since the need for secrecy among them was over. With Alya’s investigative skills and Marinette’s rapidly improving aura sensing skills, it was almost child’s play to track down the shards before things got out of hand. Add in Nino helping Master Fu with research between recording albums, and they were working like a well oiled machine.

Thoughts of strategy and duty fell by the wayside as he turned his attention back to the moment. The kitchen was larger than what Adrien had gotten used to working with. Sure, the one in his old house and the manor had probably been even bigger, but it was only at Marinette’s old apartment that he had truly hit his stride, cooking every day for his lovely lady. Sometimes it was a chore, but there was nothing more rewarding than seeing how Marinette’s eyes light up as he set a full plate down in front of her. He’d make dinner every day for the rest of their lives if it meant he got to see that look on her face.

Their living space was bigger than what they’d moved out of, but with how well the business was doing it was something they could reasonably afford. And that was with money going towards the fashion house - which Marinette still refused to let him use his savings on. He’d just have to make due with being the best model and spokesman for her fledgling brand that he possibly could be. Seeing her dreams come true was the least he could do for her, after everything she had done for him.

The house was nice, spacious enough for their purposes. But who knows? If things kept going the way they were going, maybe they’d need to upgrade again before too long.

Adrien stood in the kitchen and watched the back of her head as she poured over Alya’s hard earned research. A smile came to his face as he remembered all that they had gone through to get here - all the time spent apart, all the pain and sorrow, the twists and turns. It had all been worth it in the end, just to get to this moment. He felt like a fire had been rekindled inside both of them, driving them forward towards a bright future.

Here and now, they were happy.

#Miraculous Ladybug #MarichatMay2019 #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Adrien Agreste #Marichat #Adrienette #Alya Cesaire #Nino Lahiffe #DJ Wifi #ml fanfiction #my writing #Rekindle

[actualyuuri]

If you don't plan on finishing your latest Viktuuri story, will you share what your plans for it were? I know a summary/outline type of thing isn't the same as writing out your story, and I understand if you don't want to do that. I'm asking because I'd feel a bit of closure but that's selfish and I know that. I think about that fic a lot.

I’m afraid it was too long ago for me to recall what my exact plans were.

BUT! I do remember the password to the doc, and just checked, and I had part of chapter four written but unpublished. Might as well share it! A warning, it might have some typos/rough patches as I don’t believe I ever went through it and refined it like I normally do.

(if you are reading this and haven’t read chapters 1-3 of “if i’m never your hero”, what is below will make zero sense, so maybe check this out first)

INT. HISTORY MAKER TRIBUNE BUILDING — MORNING

Yuuri has been waiting for Thursday.

He’s reclining at his desk, earbuds in his ears and an article that he’s barely paying attention to playing in a monotone, perfectly articulate voice. His mind is distracted. Because it’s Thursday. It’s finally Thursday. It’s Thursday, which means that he and Victor are going out for lunch today, which means that he really should not have stopped another mugging last night because laughing makes his bruised ribs hurt, which means that—

A finger taps his shoulder.

Yuuri jumps, one arm reaching up to tug on the right wire of the earphones and his foot pressing against the ground, swiveling his chair around. His ears instantly adjust to the environment he hadn’t paid attention to, lips instantly parting to see if he can taste anything in the air.

“Guess who.”

He doesn’t have to, really.

Firstly, there’s only two people with Russian accents at the Tribune, and Yuuri highly doubts that Yurio would use such a flirtatious tone with him.

Secondly—embarrassingly enough—Yuuri can recognize his heartbeat by now. He hadn’t tried to memorize the sound of it, no, it had just happened.

Thirdly, he uses the same cologne every day. It’s musky, strong but reserved in the scent. Familiar, at this point. Yuuri inhales, licks his lips and tries to calm his own heartbeat, because, admittedly, Victor had scared him.

“I have no idea,” he jokes, and he’s smiling already, which is a little ridiculous, perhaps a little overenthusiastic, but it’s Thursday, it’s Thursday, and Thursday means that they’re going on a date today, a lunch date, probably short due to the limitations of a lunch break but a date all the same.

It’s Thursday.

With one hand, Yuuri twirls the earbud, the black wire going round and round until it’s spinning so fast that it’s no longer visible. In front of him, he hears the sound of skin rustling against fabric. Victor’s hands must be in his pockets. “Take a guess.”

“Is it…” Yuuri starts, and he’s laughing, for some reason, and he tries to bite it back but it’s hard with Victor, somehow. “Leo?”

“Mmm. Not quite.”

(Victor is smiling, too. And his heart racing.)

“Guang Hong?” Yuuri tries. The article is still playing in his left ear so he removes that earbud, too, attention now fully put on the man standing in front of him. He licks his lips, and a second later, he hears Victor do the same.

The sliding of a chair on wood. The swoosh of air as Victor sits down.

“You can do better than that,” Victor urges.

“Emil? Mickey?”

He chuckles and runs a hand through his hair—the sound of the strands parting beneath his fingers, the gentle exhalation that sends a shiver up Yuuri’s spine. “Are we still on for lunch?” he asks. “Our second of many dates?”

If Yuuri was repressing his smile before, he’s now grinning. He can’t be bothered to care. “Many?”

“Yes, don’t you think?”

At that, Yuuri retreats by ducking his head, folding his arms across his chest. He tries desperately to think of a witty retort, a kind thing to say, anything, anything, but Victor Nikiforov—not for the first time—has left him speechless. “Yeah… I’d… Um, yeah.”

With his palm, Victor taps out a beat on Yuuri’s desk. “We’ll leave at eleven?”

“That’s a bit early,” Yuuri points out quietly, taking extra caution to make sure his tone doesn’t sound like that of a rejection, because he is most definitely not trying to reject Victor Nikiforov. “Do you think Celestino is okay with that?”

“What can I say?” Victor drawls, and pauses, as though letting the words settle. He leans forward, the chair creaking, the scent of his cologne growing more prominent, the warmth of his skin searing as his fingers brush against Yuuri’s, a ghost of a touch. “I just so happen to be hungry today. So I’d like an early lunch. It’s completely unrelated to my desire to spend as much time with you as possible as soon as possible.”

“Right, unrelated,” Yuuri teases back, but it comes out breathless, so, embarrassed, he leans forward to poke him. His finger lands in Victor’s chest—bullseye, probably—and then he spins his own chair back around to face the computer, reaching for his earphones. “See you at eleven.”

No footsteps.

Yuuri keeps the black buds in his fingers, not putting them back in just yet.

A pause.

“How about ten?”

“Victor,” Yuuri groans with fake exasperation, and he can’t help but be overwhelmed with excitement, the man standing behind him so absolutely captivating and interesting and endearing, above anything else. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re very determined?”

“Oh, all the time. It’s one of my better traits. That, and the handsomeness. See you at eleven, Yuuri Katsuki.” The chair is pushed back in and there are finally quieting footsteps as Victor walks away. There’s an extra spring in his step. Yuuri smiles at the thought of that and makes sure he’s facing his computer before covering his face with a hand, trying his very best not to freak out where Victor would most definitely be able to see him.

There’s a snort from his left, and Yuuri jumps again, unsure how he hadn’t been able to notice the young boy standing near him. “That was physically painful to witness,” Yurio tells him.

EXT. CAFE — 10:30 AM

It’s sort of automatic, Yuuri taking Victor’s arm.

Neither of them say anything about it. Nor do they say much about anything as they walk to the nearest restaurant, shoulders brushing against each other’s far, far more than they need to. Yuuri doesn’t bother to use his white cane, simply pays attention on his own and trusts Victor.

When they sit down, Victor laughs.

“What?” Yuuri asks, hand self-consciously reaching up to brush through his hair, in case there’s something in it, then touching his shirt.

“Oh, sorry. There’s a painting of a dog on the wall. It looks like my dog,” Victor explains, and Yuuri hears a camera click. “Standard poodle.”

“I used to have a toy poodle,” Yuuri provides, and turns to his right. He can sense the wall a few feet away, can even tell where the air parts and the picture frame begins. But the contents of the image are lost to him. “Is the dog playing poker?”

Victor laughs. “No, he’s… He’s on a beach. Running on a beach. The water is turquoise. It almost… It almost looks like it could be mistaken for the horizon. Like it’s meant to be either the sky or the sea, sort of an optical illusion. There’s a gradient, but it’s so subtle that it’s hard to tell.” Then, Victor shrugs, turning back towards him. “You had a toy poodle?”

“Vicchan,” Yuuri adds, mind briefly contemplating the irony of the name. “What’s your dog’s name?”

“Makkachin. Would you want to meet him?”

Without even thinking about it, Yuuri nods.

“He’d like you,” Victor decides after a moment, thumbing through the menu. “In, fact, he’s—oh.” He looks up. “Want me to read off the menu to you? It’s not very long. Sandwiches, burgers, pasta.”

Yuuri shrugs. “I’ll just have whatever you’re having. I’m not picky.”

“You’re sure? What if we don’t have the same taste?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Read it to me, then.”

Victor sets his menu flat on the table, begins to read off different items. A few items in, Yuuri feels fingers brush against his and he takes in a sharp breath, surprised to hear Victor’s heartbeat is hardly quicker than normal. He shuts his eyes as Victor’s thumb brushes against his knuckles, a quick sweep of them, then settles on the back of Yuuri’s palm, creating a small, circular pattern.

He realizes he hadn’t been paying attention to half of the menu.

“And what are you having?” Yuuri asks, and if he’s breathless, he’d put the blame on the contact between them, on the fire that erupts over every inch of him with each of Victor’s movements.

“I’ll just have whatever you’re having,” he responds.

Yuuri bites his lip, suppressing a smile. “I don’t know what I’m having.”

Victor shrugs—Yuuri hears the muscles, the faint creaking of the chair, the delicate flick of the air. “I guess we’ll just wing it, then.” His thumb ceases its movements on Yuuri’s palm and drifts higher, to his wrist, where it remains still. “So tell me what you think of my article.”

“Your article…?” Yuuri starts, both knowing that Victor is speaking about his vigilante-based piece and hoping that he isn’t.

When Victor had first told him about the article, he’d mentioned that the vigilante had saved his life after a jewelry store robbery. Yuuri had tried to think back, tried to remember, and, yes, he’d pushed someone out of the way of a vehicle, had brought them to the ground and been gone again in an instant, chasing the perpetrators. Then, though, he hadn’t known it was Victor, hadn’t been able to recognize the heartbeat that is now growing more and more familiar each day.

But he’d saved Victor’s life.

And then, during the factory fires, he’d spoken to him.

Victor shifts in his chair, leaning forward, and his thumb presses more firmly into Yuuri’s wrist with excitement. “You know the article. Tell me what you think.” With that, he rests his free hand on his thigh, begins drumming his index finger on the fabric. He’s restless, Yuuri realizes. He’s restless seemingly all the time. “I’ve been trying to search for more sightings the past few days, but no such luck.”

The past few days, Yuuri had kept his head lower than usual. But if he hopes to continue what he’d been doing, he can’t do that forever. It’d be best to get Victor off of this track in the first place, but given the sudden step-up of his heart rate and catch to his breath, that won’t be an easy task. “I think it’s, um…”

He trails off, torn between praise and forced criticism.

“I spoke to Celestino about it,” Victor adds, thoughtful. “He said he’ll publish it.”

“That’s… Great,” Yuuri decides, and keeps his head turned towards the table. He feels Victor’s fingers leave his arm. “I hope it sells.”

Victor hums. “You don’t sound like you mean that.”

Yuuri glances up, apologetic. “I do mean it! I do, really, it’s just… I don’t want you getting hurt. But we’ve talked about that already.” He swallows. “Really, I do think it’s great. Just… Yeah.”

There are footsteps, and then suddenly there’s an individual standing to their left, hands being smoothed down a cotton apron. “Have you two decided?”

Before Yuuri can even open his mouth to speak, Victor has answered.

“I’m having whatever he’s having.”

Yuuri flounders, a reddish blush powdering his cheeks as his mouth opens and closes in an attempt to say something. “Uh… A cheeseburger.”

“Two cheeseburgers?” The waitress confirms.

Victor nods, then she walks away.

A companionable silence settles between them and Yuuri leans back in his chair. He feels a foot press against his ankle and he grins automatically, pushing back. Victor’s foot moves away and Yuuri has to shift forward in his chair to chase it. He can’t seem to find it, though, and it takes him a moment to realize that Victor put it behind the leg of his chair. “Cheater,” he accuses.

Victor laughs and kicks him lightly again, and this time Yuuri is relentless, catching him before he can retreat. His chair creaks loudly when he accidentally shifts it a few inches, and Victor takes a sip of his water, presumably glancing around the restaurant to see if anyone has noticed them.

“All’s fair in love and war,” Victor replies without missing a beat.

“And which is this?”

Yuuri only realizes what he’d just said after the words had left his mouth. If he could reach out and grab them from the air, he would, but instead he just clears his throat, pushing his glasses up with his left hand. With his right, he absently reaches for the white stick that’s leaning against the table.

“Love already, Yuuri Katsuki?” he teases, then whistles. “Well…”

“You said it, not me,” Yuuri points out, and kicks Victor’s shin once again.

Victor shrugs one shoulder. “And here I was, hoping to catch you off guard once again. I guess you’re learning my tricks.”

“You’re a one trick pony,” Yuuri replies.

“Ah, now that’s not true.” Yuuri feels fingers drift against his own once again, and warmth floods through him, his heart beating just a little bit faster. He hears Victor swallow. “I’ve got many talents.”

There’s a blatant suggestion behind the words, and Yuuri’s breath catches. Instead of replying, he leans forward and takes a sip of his drink, using the hand that isn’t currently underneath Victor’s. He moves his fingers against Victor’s own, turning his palm upwards. The other man gets the hint and laces their hands, offering a slight squeeze.

Yuuri isn’t sure where his own audacity had come from, as Victor is normally the one to initiate things, but he smiles a little to himself—can’t help it, really.

It doesn’t take long for their conversation to steer itself back on track. They discuss coworkers, assignments from Celestino, everything that isn’t Victor’s article, which Yuuri is thankful for. He worries, though, that Victor may have noticed his reluctance to discuss it. The last thing he wants is for Victor to think that he thinks it’s bad, and that he’s not a good journalist by extension, but he also wishes he’d turn his attentions elsewhere.

All he can do is hope.

EXT. WEST 43RD STREET — NIGHT

Yuuri’s shoulder hurts like hell.

He sits on the edge of the roof of Ice Castle, gripping it with his right hand and trying to determine whether or not he should head inside and call it a night. Hopefully, he could prevent Yuuko from seeing the injury—if she’s even still inside. He’d underestimated a lithe mugger, who had had an unexpectedly sharp right hook.

He rolls it, groans out loud and arches his back, eyes squeezing shut and ears still acutely listening to the city around him. With his other hand, he tugs off his mask, needing to breathe fully, and brushes his hair back. He gels it back when he goes out at night—otherwise it could fall in front of his eyes and obstruct his fighting.

After he determines he’ll head back inside, sirens go off in the distance.

At least six blocks away.

He breathes.

Shuts his eyes.

Narcotics. In progress.

West 50th Street and 9th Avenue.

Yuuri squeezes his shoulder again, testing.

It’s just drugs—the police can probably handle it.

And then he hears a gunshot, just a faint echo of a thing.

Staggering slightly, he gets to his feet, stretches his back. He approaches the edge of the roof, makes the easy jump to the next building, and his walk slowly develops into a jog which slowly develops into a run, and then it’s a full sprint, the wind blowing against his still-exposed face and hair.

After another jump, he slides the mask back over his head, listens as the situation develops. The gunshots—there were two total—ceased, but he has made it this far, so he may as well continue.

When he has finally made it, he crouches on a rooftop above the scene, panting. His stamina is reliable, but it has been pushed to the limit. He collapses against an air conditioning unit, listens carefully to the activity below. It would appear a few individuals have been apprehended—he hears the police officers speaking into their walkie talkies and getting back into their cars.

So there was no reason for him to come, after all.

(And then something grabs his shoulder.)

Time slows.

Everything slows.

Like traversing through thick mud—no, quicksand, sinking and sinking.

First, he gets to his feet and swivels on his heels, grabbing the attacker’s wrist hard. He bends it but then another hand comes flying out of nowhere, fist meeting his cheek and knocking him off balance.

His heart leaps as the ground below comes into view, being knocked onto his stomach with his upper torso hanging over the edge of the roof. He scrambles off of the edge and turns again so that he can see his assailant.

Black.

Wearing all black.

Yuuri’s vision spins.

The attacker, taking advantage of the fact that they’re above him, lurches forward with their right leg. It lands on Yuuri’s bad shoulder and he groans in pain, trying desperately to make it onto his feet so that he can better defend himself.

He manages to get onto his feet, gripping his left shoulder to try and press away the pain and punching with his left hand. However, it doesn’t hit—the attacker dodges by stepping backwards, their movements quick.

When he licks his lips, he tastes blood.

“Who are you?” he manages to choke out, because his heart is racing and stalling for time may be the best option.

Instead of responding, the attacker predictably moves forward. Yuuri rolls to the right, back once again pressed against the air conditioning unit. He gets on top of it with one quick movement, now having the advantage of height.

Their hand moves to their waist.

Gleaming silver.

A knife.

He takes a step back on the air conditioning unit, glances around. If he’s fast, and if he’s smart, he can make it past them and make the short jump to the next rooftop. His advantage is his senses—it’s easy to predict movements. Their muscles tense in their right leg as they take a step forward with their left, grounding them.

With Yuuri above them, it appears they’re unsure of what to do.

Waiting, he realizes.

They’re waiting for him to get down.

And if they’re not moving first, despite the fact that they have a knife, there must be a reason for that.

And they hadn’t pulled the knife out right away, either—they’d started with their fists.

Yuuri listens deeper, feels for details that he must’ve missed.

And then he senses it.

Trembling.

Trembling from more than just adrenaline.

“You’re scared,” Yuuri realizes out loud, and hates how breathy his voice sounds, how pathetic. “You don’t have to…”

They leap.

He leaps off the AC unit and to the right, rolls with his back and breaks out into a full sprint towards the other rooftop. It’s only a few meters, but the attacker has the advantage of distance and lack of exhaustion, and they’re on his heels, and—

It grazes his skin.

The scent of copper mingling with oxygen, the taste of it in the air…

But then a yell.

Yuuri pushes himself up with his palms digging into the gravel on the rooftop and turns his head. The attacker falls to the ground and the knife clinks as it lands a few meters away. Shifting towards it, Yuuri ignores the roaring pain in his back that is begging to be noticed.

A third heartbeat.

There’s a third heartbeat on the rooftop.

But before he can contemplate that he wraps his fingers around the hilt of the knife and stumbles to his feet, holding it forward towards the attacker who remains laying on the ground. Breaths heaving, he listens for the third heartbeat, which is rapid, frantic, horrified, on the other edge of the rooftop and slowly backing up farther and farther.

Friend, not foe.

The attacker gets up quickly, and then there’s a standstill.

A triangle.

Yuuri, the attacker, and the third.

Yuuri knows what’s going to happen an instant before it does.

Instead of running at him, the attacker runs at the horrified presence on the roof, and Yuuri chases, knife in his hand. They’re planning on using a hostage. He manages to grab him just in time, but the attacker swings with his left fist, catching him in his bad shoulder once again. Without a choice, Yuuri lurches forward with the knife and catches him deep in the arm. The attacker slumps, yelling in pain, and beneath them, Yuuri hears hasty footsteps.

The police were alerted by the noise.

Leaving the bleeding assailant on the ground, who is live and very much conscious, Yuuri stumbles backwards. His back is bleeding, his shoulder is potentially displaced. He swallows, tries to maintain his balance. The police are coming up the stairs, the police are coming up the stairs and—

“You’re hurt,” a voice says.

Except…

No, no no no…

(The heartbeat remains rapid, but as Yuuri focuses in on it he realizes it was obvious all along, that it belonged to Victor. That Victor had seen the knife and knocked the attacker to the ground, that he must have snuck up when Yuuri was distracted with the fight.)

(That he must have come here to find Yuuri.)

(It was obvious, but Yuuri was distracted, and now…)

Quickly gaining his sense of direction and realizing that the police will be here any second, Yuuri turns towards the closest building. He limps to the edge, considers whether or not he’d be able to make the jump in his current state. The knife wound hadn’t been deep, but his senses allow him to feel every agonizing centimeter of it, every last lit nerve.

Afferent neurons, Yuuri can hear Phichit saying in his head. Damn them.

“I’m fine,” he bites out, careful to keep his voice low.

“The knife hit you,” Victor says, and steps forward. When they’d last met like this, there had been hesitancy, fear. Although it’s still present, it’s lessened by the adrenaline and the fact that there’s a man bleeding on the ground beside them. “You’re bleeding.”

Yuuri doesn’t turn to face him. “I’ll be fine,” he corrects, and takes a step back, readying himself to take the jump.

“The police can help you,” he promises. “I know the police chief. I can talk to him.”

He doesn’t move.

A hand touches his shoulder and he reacts on instinct, turning and grabbing the wrist hard. Victor makes a noise of protest and Yuuri realizes what he’d done instantly, letting go. There’s an apology half-formed on his lips but Victor has already backed up, eyes wide and horrified.

Despite his fear, he scans Yuuri, taking in every detail of his appearance. Yuuri’s mask is only from the nose upwards, so he steps backwards into the darkness. Victor is smart, after all. He doesn’t waste a second, mainly focusing on the limited part of Yuuri’s skin that is exposed. A journalist by nature, Yuuri realizes.

“Or at least come with me,” Victor begs. “I can help you. They don’t know I’m here. I came because I…”

He falters, but they both know why he came here.

Yuuri thinks about the man lying on the ground, still smells the growing presence of blood in the air. He feels sick to his stomach. “That was stupid.”

“I didn’t realize that someone would—”

“You got in the way.” He says, and turns again so that Victor can’t continue looking at his chin. “Don’t look for me again.”

And with that, he jumps.

The landing is rough—his knees hit the concrete and he feels his body protest. But he continues, hearing the excited chatter of the police as they storm the rooftop. He hears Victor’s heartbeat, increasingly distant, and hears his voice as he tries to explain himself to the police chief.

#anonymous #maddie answers #i have a vague memory of justine and i talking the whole plot through so maybe she remembers something #this is a p big chunk of chapter four though huh!! i didn't even realize i had that #i hope this gives you some sort of closure anon and i'm sorry i can't do more

[justanotherwriter280]

Spaghetti

my best friend bugged me to write this for months, and i finally got around to it lol

Pairing: Sonny Carisi x reader

Word Count: 1162

Warnings: mention of pregnancy, none other than that

Oh good Lord, not again.

That was all you could think to yourself as you woke up for – gosh, what was it? – the third night in a row? Maybe the fourth? Fingers roaming over your extended, impregnated belly, you could think of only one thing that would put you to sleep.

Spaghetti.

You desperately wanted some spaghetti. It didn’t even matter what kind. You would take it out of a can, leftovers from last year – anything would do as long as it had noodles and tomato sauce. Here you were, lying next to a real Italian, the only person who could make you real deal spaghetti at three in the freaking morning, the one person in the world you’d feel awful about waking up.

Sonny Carisi – next to being your husband, the love of your life, the father of your children – was the best spaghetti-maker on the planet. But you would’ve felt terrible about waking him up. He hadn’t been sleeping as well since you got pregnant – a kind of sympathy pain, you supposed – and tonight was one of the only nights he had managed to get to sleep and stay that way. There was only one option: you’d have to make it yourself.

You managed to roll out of the bed and disentangle yourself without waking him, so you nudged your toes into your slippers and made your way out of the bedroom, carefully shutting the door behind you. Did you even have the ingredients for spaghetti? You wondered to yourself. Oh well, you guessed you were about to find out. It took you much longer than you would’ve anticipated to reach the kitchen; you kept forgetting that the extra weight slowed you down. You thought about what kind of sight you must have been, reaching up into the cabinets to look for noodles. You thought maybe you had found some when…oh God, no. Not this. Anything but this. You retracted your previous thought that anything would do.

You had found Ramen noodles and a can of Ragu that someone else left here a couple of months ago. It seemed that your and Sonny’s weekly grocery store trips had been neglected over the past weeks, and this was what you were down to. Now that you thought about it, you did seem to remember him saying something about taking you to the farmer’s market on Saturday. But you had thought it would just be an outing, not a result of the post-apocalyptic state of your cupboards. You sighed, resigned to not being disappointed until you tasted what was bound to be a disgusting amalgamation as you cut open the package of Ramen, setting it in the water and turning the burner up.

*

The water had been boiling for a few minutes now, so you retrieved a fork from a nearby drawer to test one of the noodles. They seemed to be done. You drained them as best you could, using the lid as a makeshift colander while you poured the water out, a noodle or two escaping. You opened the can of Ragu, wearily and anticipating how awful this would be, and poured a portion of the sauce into your pot. You twirled the fork in the noodles, doing your best to remain impartial, and lifted it to your mouth.

Oh, God. Please Lord no.

It was almost worse than you could’ve imagined, but that didn’t stop you. You lifted another bite to your mouth, and tears began to descend down your cheeks in a torrent of disappointment. All you had wanted was some freaking spaghetti, and this? This was a woeful excuse for raccoon food.

“Baby? What are you doing?” You turned your head, sniffling and unable to stop crying as you heard Sonny’s voice. “What happened?! Are you okay? Is the baby okay? Doll, please say something.” All you could do was cry harder. He took the pot of “pasta” from your hands and kneeled in front you, clasping your hands in his.

“Everything’s fine,” you said in your wet, broken voice. “We’re both okay.” You rubbed your stomach absentmindedly while you attempted to stop crying.

“Then, sweetheart, what’s going on? It’s three-thirty in the morning. And uh,” he paused, finally peering into your cooking pot, “what is this?” You withdrew your hands from his to wipe your face, but his question only made things worse, and you truly couldn’t stop crying.

“I just wanted some spaghetti,” you sniffled, “but all I could find was this stupid Ramen and that nasty can of pasta sauce, so I tried to make some spaghetti, but I couldn’t and now this is all just really stupid and I don’t know what I’m gonna do and I’m really craving some not ghetto, decent spaghetti,” you sputtered through tears and sniffs. He rose from the floor and sat in the chair across from you, pulling you into his lap and rubbing your back in an effort to soothe you.

“Shh, it’s not stupid,” he said, his voice low and gentle. “But we cannot tell my ma this happened in an apartment I live in. She’ll confiscate my Italian card.” You giggled despite yourself. “See, it’s okay. You’re okay. Why didn’t you just wake me up?” Your crying had dissipated to sniffling by the time he asked.

“You’ve been having trouble staying asleep, Dom. Didn’t wanna make matters worse,” you mumbled. He tsked at you.

“Don’t ever worry about waking me up, doll. I can handle it. What I can’t handle is waking up to find my pregnant wife not in our bed, crying uncontrollably in the kitchen over some terrible pasta she attempted to make.” You chuckled again and wiped your eyes.

“‘M sorry.” He shook his head and kissed your forehead.

“Nothing to be sorry for. Would it make you feel better if I made you some real spaghetti first thing in the morning?” You blushed a little, but nodded into his chest where he was still holding you.

“Yes, please.” Now it was his turn to chuckle.

“All righ’. Now, what do you say we head back to bed and get some sleep, hm?” You nodded again and stood up.

“That sounds great, Sonny.” He stood up, too, and stayed with you the whole way to the bedroom, even turning off the kitchen light in addition to slowing his pace so you could keep up with him. He pulled the comforter and sheet over you before sliding under them himself on his side of the bed, his lamp going off soon after. You heard him laughing quietly, though, and made a face into the dark. “What’s so funny, babe?”

“What would you do without me?” He wondered aloud. You kicked him lightly and cackled at his feigned injury.

“I guess I’d run around squalling about bad pasta.” You both laughed, but you tucked yourself into him and fell back asleep much more quickly than you had been able to in days.

#sonny carisi #dominick sonny carisi #sonny x reader #carisi x reader #law and order svu #svu #reader insert #pregnancy #tw preganncy