#Before I was having morning shifts and afternoon shifts sort of mixed up but yeah... It was so hard to go to work in the afternoon

[theirloveisgross]

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[ansel-rae562]

The new Doorman

[Doppleganger!Milkman x Reader]

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{Author's note: So I accidentally made a promise to a bunch of people in tiktok so here I deliver you a smut, please note this is my first writing one since I'm more into Angst and I also made this gender neutral as I can so yeah.. Enjoy!}

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First day of Job being a doorman! finally you found a job, looking for one is a bit hard. And this is quite a high pay so why not but this one involves dealing with doppleganger's which is kinda dangerous but the D.D.D assured you that you'll be safe as long as you stay in your office.

After you watched the introductory film explaining about how the job works, you opened the metal window and saw the D.D.D personel

"Welcome and congratulations on your new Job! Remember you have to watch out carefully for the doppleganger's. There are times that the neighbors are not on the list, check their ID's closely and their appearance's as well, or else you and the others may end up dead.. That's all you may continue"

The personnel left and you decided to check the today's list

"Okayy.... So here will be the expected people..."

Izaack Gauss

Mia Stone

Albertsky Peachman

Elenois Sverchtz

Francis Mosses

Anastasia Mikaelys

"Wow... Uhuh that's quite alot....but nothing I can handle"

A few minutes later a person came "Good morning, I see you're a new doorman" The woman said as she handed in her ID "Good morning and Yes I am ma'am" You greeted then looked at her ID 'Gloria Schmicht'.... "Uh ma'am? May I ask why are you not in today's list?" You asked "Oh It's cause my mother had an emergency and I had to be there" After checking all the files and seeing almost no anomalies you called the apartment just in case and found out that the wife is actually home "Sorry nope, bye" you said immediately pressing the danger button and calling the D.D.D.

Hours passed by dealing with a few doppleganger's which some of them being visually creepy and threatening you till a man came, he was wearing a white button up shirt and a white hat that has 'Milkman' written on them. He looks tired, bags under his eyes showing then he spoke "Good afternoon, here's my ID and entry request" you stared momentarily before deciding to check all information, he also has an attractive voice which made you blush a little.

Learning that his name is Francis and he's the local milkman around town you couldn't help but have a little crush I mean he's attractive, his voice is also attractive, tired guys may or may not also be your type and he does have a pretty decent Job so he does perfectly fit your dream guy. Not long after it's finally night time and also the end of your shift, you packed your items that you brought with you then the one who'll exchange with you arrived "Hey..." She greeted "Hold on a sec, have to make sure you're the real one" you said checking all the workers files "Wow darling... Taking your job very seriously huh?.. impressive" she said with a subtle smile, she has green eyes and bags are shown under her eyes, she looks like she has been doing this for years.

"Well yeah... Don't want to lose a high paying job ya know" you replied and confirming that she's the real one "hmm, Understandable" you opened the metal door and she bid you goodbye "Careful darling, some doppleganger's are hostile and might attack you, here take this it's a 200v taser.... don't worry i have plenty" you thanked her and left to fo home. Walking home is kinda creepy especially at night, you wouldn't know when a creature of some sort is gonna pounce on you right now that's when you heard a rustle on a nearby bush then something jumped out.

It was cat... Quite a big one but it was injured on its side, you went closer and tried to reassure the cat "Hey... Hey there kitty, don't worry I'm a friend.." as you said those words the cat looked at you with a mix of hatred and confusion "I can help... I promise, I won't hurt you like whoever did that to you" The cat slightly calmed down and let you pick them up, you arrived home and put your bag down as well as settling the cat on your table and immediately finding the first aid.

You tended to the cat's wounds and surprisingly it just let you do your work, you winced to yourself finding that the wound is a bit deep "Gosh who would hurt a cat... They're sweet" finishing it up you wrapped the cat up with gauze "there you're all fixed up kitty... Hm.. i guess I could also feed you since you're at my house" you then went to your fridge to look for something to feed the cat and for yourself.

"You settling alright kitty?.." you asked, after feeding the cat you set up a box with a few soft rugs in them for the cat to sleep on and the cat looked at you with content eyes, chuckling lightly to yourself "you know it's amazing how your eyes can actually communicate, it's cute" you turned around to turn off the lights of you room "Night kitty..." You said finally falling asleep. The next morning you woke up and saw that the cat was nowhere to be seen and the window has few paw prints "Dang it I was planning on adopting him" you said sadly then started getting ready for the day.

Arriving at your workplace the girl from last night greeted you "Good morning darling!, did you have a good rest last night?" She asked "good morning, Yeah I did thanks for asking" you replied then she opened the metal door and went out "uh... You're not gonna check if I'm the real one?..." the girl turned around and said "Would you be asking that if you were a fake one?... And besides you're new it'll take a few days before they decide to copy you" she turned around again and left. Starting your shift like what you did Yesterday, letting a few people out giving them an entry request for when they come back, dealing with a few doppleganger's, letting people in once confirming that they're the real one till finally the guy from yesterday came; Francis "Hi mr. Milkman" you greeted, he looks a bit surprised when he saw you "Oh uh... Hello... " he said smiling slightly, you blushed then he handed you his ID only but you looked closely you saw he has a small mole on his left cheek which the real Francis didn't have. You kinda have memorized what he look and a few of his information from the files.... Kinda creepy of you but you couldn't help it, he was now your crush "Oh... I'm sorry, my good sir but I actually have this guy memorized and you're not him..." You said and before you could close the metal window you humped as he banged on the somehow sturdy window "What?!... How could!-... I see you like little mr. Milkman.. " the faker said his eyes were really angry and creepy "Yeah nope bye." you said then pressed the danger button and called for the D.D.D. Minutes later the metal window opened "There was no one in sight but I suppose the doppleganger already left before we arrive, you may now continue your work"

The day ended and you switched shifts with Loira, the name of the girl that you work with she bid you goodbye and you went home. Weeks later the things just go by on a repeat with some of them you going on a late night grocery, what's really interesting is that the doppleganger who always pretends to be Francis, he'd show up you find a small detail that the real Francis doesn't have, he'd get angry telling you things like "I'll get you next time" "I'll fool you one day" "Why are you so observative of the guy" then once you call for the D.D.D service he'd disappear before they could arrive like what's the deal with him?... Earlier he said something that actually sent shivers to your spine "Wait till I devour your fleshy body, Human" that was an actual pretty creepy threat, didn't realize that your already at your doorstep from a long day, you set down the groceries on the kitchen counter and went to take a quick shower and change.

After that you arranged all the groceries, it's pretty quiet around your house since you live alone, your parents on another country and your house is pretty far away from other residents so you'll be aable to hear anything out of the ordinary. Going up the stairs to sleep you decided to stretch around a little while you do so, you felt a weird sensation going up your leg, you looked down and a black substance of sorts but before you could scream another one covered your mouth as other one's quickly wrapped around your legs and arms separately, along your torso as well completely immobilizing you.

You looked around saw... Francis?... but his eyes are dark with white glowing dots on the middle "Hello... Doorman, I did say I will get you... Didn't I?" He spoke. You were confused, scared how did he know where you live? "Hey... Hey there... Little human, no need to get scared after all I'm a friend.... Aren't I?" That's when realization hit you. The cat that you helped was a doppleganger "you know human, you hurt me when you set your eyes on someone else... I thought you liked me?... Didn't you say so yourself?" He said which earned a muffled confused rambling from you "No... You must pay for making me believe you... " Before you could make another confused noise the tentacle like substance was removed around your mouth "What now-" you were cut off by something shoving into your mouth deeply making you gag, it was one of his tentacle.

[NSFW part]

He relentlessly attacked your mouth making you gag, you tried to squirm away but it was futile he has you wrapped around his other tentacle's. By then your eyes then started forming tears, you looked at the doppleganger of Francis which amused him "Look at you... Such an expression... I want more.. " he said. He set you down on your bed having your arms up above your head as he crawled between your legs "I did say I would devour your fleshy body... Don't worry it's not in a way I would eat you to the bone" he then slowly tore your garment earning a gaged up moan from you. He looked at you directly seeing that lewd expression from you also looking at him, he then slowly dipped his down between your legs which made you moan once again. You couldn't help but moan while he completely eats you out while also making you suck on one of his tentacle's, you were completely helpless making you take all of the pleasure like obedient slave.

That's when you felt something go in futher inside you, it felt like a very long tongue reaching up to the parts that you never could reach and hitting you perfectly on your spot making your body jolt and moan loudly than before "hmm?... is this your spot...?" He said while his tongue was still deep into you, he fastened up the pace than before almost a bit too fast than normal making your body more hotter and eager for a release. Not long after you came he adjusted himself, he humed in satisfaction "this will do..." He said then he removed the tentacle from your mouth as you looked at him with tired eyes "aww.... Already tired? Unlucky for you I'm not done yet" he adjusted his position, you didn't even notice that he entered you once again but this with his cock which made you yelp in surprise. He mercilessly pounded at a fast not giving you a preparation while his other tentacle's explore your exposed especially around your chest, waist and neck and his hands holding your thighs firmly to keep your shaking legs in place.

Release after release, you couldn't keep up anymore till you passed out from complete exhaustion and pleasure. He finally unsheathed his cock from you and loads mixed both of his and yours spilled out, staining the bed beneath the both of you. He then looked at your passed out form, your heaving chest, your belly slightly bulging and your beautiful sleeping face... "Such a perfect human.... I just wanna keep you" he fixed your sleeping form in a much comfortable position and pulled a blanket over before making his way to the telephone and dialed a number "Hello... Loira hey! I called a bit early so I could inform you that I'm sick..... Yeah please do.... Thank you I will bye!" He turned back to you and layed beside you "Rest now, my human...."

[sophrosynesworld]

Community Service (Pt 3)

This is sticky sweet fluff and I'm kicking my feet over it rn.

"Are you ready?" Bakugo grumbles as I approach the campus edge, his trademark scowl in place. Despite his rough demeanor, he's become slightly more approachable since we started this community service project together.

"Yeah," I reply, adjusting my bag and falling into step beside him. The morning sun filters through the trees, casting shifting shadows on the sidewalk as we head to the bus stop. Our destination today is a surprise for him: the local children's library.

We board the bus, and Bakugo sinks into his seat, arms crossed and gaze fixed out the window. I sit next to him, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness about our task today. The library project is much different then our previous weeks.

As we get off the bus and approach the library, Bakugo's brows knit together. "What are we doing here?" he asks, suspicion lacing his voice.

"You'll see," I say with a smile, pushing open the library door. The smell of books and the sound of children's laughter greet us. A librarian waves us over, and I can see Bakugo's confusion deepen.

"Good morning! Thank you for helping us today," the librarian greats us warmly. "Our afternoon reader had to unexpectedly cancel." Her eyes flicker between us before settling on Katsuki. "Would you be willing to read for them today?"

Bakugo's eyes widen slightly. "Read to the kids?" he echoes, looking at me as if I've just plotted his murder.

"Yes," I reply quickly, cutting him off. "He would love to do that."

We follow the librarian to a back room where boxes of new books await shelving. She shows us the proper categorization for each section and then leaves us alone with the mounds.

Bakugo grabs a box and starts sorting through it with a scowl. "Did you have that planned all along?"

I chuckle, picking up a stack of books. "Surprisingly, no. I just signed us up for book duty. Who knows, you might actually enjoy it."

"Yeah, right," he mutters, placing books on the shelves with more force than necessary. "I’m not exactly the storybook type."

"Maybe not, but the kids will love it," I praise him, trying to offer some encouragement. "You’ve got a way of commanding attention. " my arms move as I talk. "They’ll be hanging on your every word."

He snorts but hesitates, a look of uncertainty in his eyes. "You really think so?"

"I do," I answer truthfully. "You're something special, Katsuki."

We work in companionable silence for a few minutes, the sound of books sliding into place filling the room. I glance over at Bakugo, noticing the way he’s starting to relax.

"Hey, thanks for not bailing on this," I say, giving him a smile. "I know it’s not our usual thing."

He shrugs, not meeting my eyes. "Dog's don't need washed every week."

We finish sorting the books and make our way to the reading corner. The children are already gathered, their eyes wide with anticipation.

I lean against the back shelf of the library, watching Bakugo with a mix of curiosity and skepticism. He takes a deep breath, then sits down in the oversized reading chair, book in hand. His steely eyes scan the room, and he looks almost annoyed to be there.

"Alright, settle down," he barks, his rough voice causing a few kids to jump. "I'm only doing this once, so you better listen."

The kids exchange nervous glances but lean in closer, their wide eyes fixed on Bakugo. I can’t help but roll my eyes a bit, wondering how this is going to go.

"This story is about the greatest hero of all time, All Might," he begins, his tone still harsh. He flips through the book slowly, taking a moment to let the children see the pictures before turning to the next page.

As Bakugo reads, something surprising happens. His voice gradually softens, offering different voices for each character. With every page, he gains confidence, slowly becoming more engaging. The kids, who were initially tense, start to relax and become engrossed in the story.

A little girl with pigtails raises her hand shyly. "Mr. Bakugo, what did All Might do next?"

Bakugo's lips twitch into a smile. "With a single punch, All Might sent the villain crashing into the ground. 'You won't harm anyone today,'" Katsuki mimics All Might with a pretty spot-on impression.

Another boy chimes in, eyes wide with excitement. "Did he save everyone?"

Bakugo nods, his tone growing even softer. He's not looking at the book anymore. "Yeah, he did. All Might always put others first, no matter the cost."

Bakugo returns to the story, his voice more animated as he reads the final pages. The children's eyes are glued to him, hanging on his every word.

"And that's how All Might became the symbol of peace," Bakugo concludes with a dramatic finish, closing the book with a gentle thud. He pauses for a moment, looking at the eager faces before him.

"Being a hero isn't just about strength," he states. "It's about heart, courage, and the will to do what's right."

Katsuki's gaze wanders from the children to me. He looks at me for a moment, and I can’t help but smile, feeling a warmth spread through me at seeing this different side of him.

The room is silent for a heartbeat before the children erupt in applause, their faces lit up with admiration and excitement. Some of them are on their feet, clapping enthusiastically, while others cheer and shout praises.

Bakugo stands up, slightly uncomfortable under the attention, his usual scowl returning to a more neutral expression. However, I can see a faint hint of pride in his eyes and the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

One little boy tugs at Bakugo's sleeve. "Dynamite, can you read us another story sometime?"

Bakugo looks taken aback for a moment, then glances at me. I give him an encouraging nod. "We'll see," he grumbles, ruffling the boy's hair in an uncharacteristically gentle gesture.

As the children disperse, returning to their play areas or parents, Bakugo and I start to gather our things. The librarian approaches, a broad smile on her face. "Thank you so much for helping out today. You were wonderful."

Bakugo shrugs, looking a bit embarrassed. "It was no big deal," he mutters, but I can tell he’s pleased by the praise.

As we leave the library, the morning sun has shifted, casting longer shadows on the sidewalk. We walk in silence for a while before I turn to him.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" I tease, nudging him lightly.

He snorts, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Yeah, yeah. Don't get used to it."

"The kids really liked you."

He glances at me, a small smile playing at the edges of his lips. "Maybe," he admits. "But can we do something else next week?"

I grin. "Sure. But you have to admit, you were pretty great in there."

Bakugo rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue, as we continue our walk back.

[kidelune]

TW: Mature themes, death, violence, blood, all that jazz. Read at your own discretion.

one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine (1/2)

I'm writing this down now while it's still fresh on my mind, so in the case I'm ever found and arrested for it, I'll have this log as some sort of proof. Or even a confession.

[October 29, 2023, Somewhere between Yongsan and Incheon]

On the 29th of October of this year, four days ago, I was supposed to land safely on Japanese soil by 6 in the evening. My dad had agreed to pick me up from the airport and together we planned to grab a meal and some beer on the way back to Kyoto, where we live. It cuts me deeply now to remember how happy I'd been that day. After such a fun weekend spent with my boyfriend and friends, and of course, getting back to pops, which always excited me to all ends. I spent all morning holding my precious partner before he went to work, then gave him my afternoon, too. We had some lunch together right before my flight, though eating had been a challenge as parting for us was nothing short of bittersweet. We already knew we'd be apart for four days; he had work. And yet it had never occurred to me then that on top of that, I'd disappear entirely.

In hindsight, my joy had been a red herring of sorts.

Something strange happened around eleven, same day. The other gangs have been more aggressive lately, especially the Greens who've recently suffered a few greater losses than they've had to deal with in a while. The general goal had shifted from yielding for peace to blood for blood. They wanted Gun-pyo's head and would not stop until the hit is finally made on the right man. So around eleven that morning, I heard the burner phone I'd stolen a while back ringing for the first time since I found it. At first I had no clue what the sound was, until I realized during the second time it went off from somewhere in my closet. I found it but waited for the call to go dead prematurely, then waited until the very last ring to pick up. Up to my ear, while standing within the darkness asleep among my jackets I heard someone on the other end murmur, "I know it was you."

And for a horrifying moment the voice sounded like it came from the other side of my closet door. It didn't, but remembering now how I felt back then, how I held my breath and flushed with ire, I'm sure, despite everything, that I would've killed him on the way out.

Instead I quietly shrugged it off, drowned and then smashed the phone, blackmail material be damned. Because according to my logic and possibly greed, yeah it was me, so fucking what? Everything has already gone to shit and I was not about to be in Korea at all after the three following hours anyway.

At least I thought I shouldn't have been, but life wouldn't be life if it didn't have other plans in store for me, of fucking course. Halfway to the airport I'd asked my hyung to drop me off somewhere quiet so I could get a taxi instead, right after I noticed we were being followed. He has a kid so I didn't want him to get in trouble along with me if it came to it, although he'd stubbornly refused to abandon me at first. I hope to tell him soon that although my insistence got me kidnapped almost immediately after, I don't regret it. I could've died like he said, but I lived, after all.

As I expected though, my kidnappers were an odd mix of Greens, Reds and Blues, all guys we did business with. And I'm under the impression, still, that they'd followed me from home or somewhere too close to home for my comfort. I tried to fight them off and run, but I had nothing to protect myself. Next thing I knew I was somewhere in an abandoned building, disoriented as all hell. I didn't know in the beginning where exactly I was, though it couldn't have been too far from where they'd first apprehended me as I likely was not out of it for long. Alas, in that short amount of time they'd moved my unconscious body on location, stripped me of my clothes and belongings entirely, and was bound by the wrists and ankles on my knees.

I braced myself for a beatdown as soon as I was conscious again and rightfully so, as a beatdown I received after every question and threat of theirs I refused to answer (Tell us where your boss is. Do you know what will happen to you if you keep secrets? If you just talked, we wouldn't have to kill you). So their priority hardly was to keep me alive and that's the thing, I didn't mind it. I never could mind a split lip, some deep and tender bruises and black eyes, not even a stab. Even if they broke my bones and spit in my swollen eye and open wounds, I wouldn't snitch, though not for loyalty—not even fucking close. I have people to protect and if I had to die to guarantee their safety, I would.

Realizing this, the bastards started to burn my shit. Threw my suitcase and handbag into one of the braziers in the area. I lost my phone in that fire, alongside a lot of precious memories, messages and some of my skin. Which they burnt with a rod that's been cooking in the flames, dragging the thing down my back with a slowness so infinitesimal the space momentarily became hell itself. I saw red, I saw white, and then I couldn't see at all but just squirm there with the smell of my burning skin. While I tried to hold in my tears I imagined: this is what it must feel like to an angel having its wings ripped off.

That was the first night I disappeared.

[October 30, 2023, Somewhere between Kyoto, Japan and Seoul, South Korea]

The following section will be literal word of mouth, though as verbatim as I can help it. I trust my pops wouldn't lie to me.

He said and I scribe: he knew something was up within the first hour after I was supposed to land in Japan. I've warned him in the past before that while apart, if I ever went for more than 24 hours without replying to his messages or calls, assume I'm missing or dead. So he was more than prepared for situations like this though he also thought about waiting a while—maybe my phone had ran out of battery and I somehow forgot to charge it, while simultaneously forgetting he was picking me up. He went home, he said, and waited precisely another two hours before finally booking himself a flight to Korea for the morning. Nothing could get in the way of him finding me at that point, dead or alive, he said.

Much to my dismay, that's how he met Byungwoo for the first time. Instead of how I'd planned to introduce them in Japan, they were forced to meet prematurely at the expense of my safety. In front of my apartment proper, both of them desperate for some kind of sign of life from me. Maybe one of them might've even hoped it was all a bad dream and that they'd wake up in the next minute to me back in their realities. I would've hoped the same, yet that was our reality: his immediate suspicion upon seeing my boyfriend—who at the time to him was just another stranger, possibly some unsavoury figure from another gang waiting by the door for me to show up or come out. But pops' ability to read people is really impressive. Always has been. He could tell right away after getting closer that Byungwoo meant no harm, that they were both vulnerable flies approaching the same trap.

He told Byungwoo straight up about my position: his guess on point, being that I'd been taken somewhere and my phone had been shattered to limit contact. I don't really want to repeat what he'd said about Byungwoo's reaction to this, though. It truly breaks my heart to disastrous degrees to think about his face, the horror overtaking the beauty he'll always possess. The instantaneous panic, then a worry so raw and harrowing that it'd probably kept him up at night, waiting for who would not return so soon, nor as whole as he'd left. Who might've never returned. All I ever wanted was to do better for him. To not leave him behind to sleep and eat alone again, or have him worry to the point of tears and anger he hardly knew. All I wanted and will want, breathing or six feet under, is for him to be happy. Yet I've failed him again, to the point where my father had to warn him about getting near my apartment, lest he wanted to get hurt.

But in scenarios like this, I'd noticed, he becomes as determined as he is afraid, my partner. Last time I returned home hurt, he swore that he'd kill the people that wanted to hurt me. The hatred in his eyes at the time shocked me more than anything ever has before. It was real. Have you ever loved someone so much that you'd risk in a heartbeat something so incredibly horrendous for their sake? That'd make the two of us, at least. They ended up tracking my phone together. Two months or so ago Byungwoo and I decided to install a tracker app on our phones so he could track me in the case of an emergency. This was life or death, pops'd said, after they finally came across a distinct crosshair on the map that would serve as the first clue to my location.

Desperate but hopeful, my father rushed to Incheon with his eyes wide open, diving headfirst and alone into a full blown brawl between too many gangs to count. Kim Junseo, a legend of his own time, returned and purposely falling within the same trap his son did.

In the name of love. In the name of blood.

[infernal-fire]

suburban dream

summary: how do you wake up from a nightmare? is it a nightmare if you’ve been asleep the whole time?

major warnings: noncon/dubcon smut, stalking, mention of pregnancy, some cum play (check the prompts for indications of other warnings)

a/n: this is for @iraot​’s 1.1k writing challenge. BIG congrats on 1.1k (i cannot explain how glad i am that others get to read your amazing work) and another BIG thank you for hosting this challenge.

Here are the results of my wheel spins:

Kink wheel: daddy kink, somnophilia, breeding kink Character wheel: Jake Jensen Situation wheel: Neighbours AU

You let out a breath of relief as you dropped the last brown box into the corner of the room. How you managed to own this much stuff, you’d never know. Glanced around the living room, it was difficult to decide where to begin. After much contemplation, you huffed and picked up the pizza catalogue, deciding to call it a day. 

It was unbearable to leave the house in the mess that it was. On the other hand, your right hip wailed in agony every time you bent down. Lacking the much-needed support of friends or family, you had no option but to suck it up and unpack… but that can wait till tomorrow. 

Fishing out just the necessities for the night, you climbed up the stairs and headed into the master bedroom. Massive house for one person, you noted. You did insist that an apartment would suffice but Tony was a stickler for rules.

All Stark employees have to be residents of a Stark-Jensen neighbourhood. 

Before getting the job, you weren’t even aware that “Stark-Jensen” neighbourhoods were a thing; it was a term coined by the tech company itself, referring to neighbourhoods that are protected by Stark-Jensen technology. The crime rate in these neighbourhoods are always startlingly low, the odd criminal or two being from inside the community itself. All things considered, how could you say no to free housing? 

Sure, the security measures assured that you never had to worry, but it also made you wonder why they were there in the first place. This place was as secure as the Stark Tower; why? You tried not to ask too many questions, afraid of getting on Tony’s bad side. Besides, it isn’t characteristic of him to give you a straight answer anyway. 

Life is good, your most harrowing concern at the moment being that your new place had no curtains. It had been a long time since things were calm and you were just recognizing that your days had been free of storms for some time now. Counting your blessings for the second time that night, you stepped into the shower and reminded yourself of all the things to be grateful for. 

To say you were in a good mood was an understatement. You finished your night routine right as the pizza was delivered and excitedly skipped down. No one told you how fun living alone was but they didn’t need to - you quickly found that independence is a glorious necessity in everyone’s life.

Jake stood bewildered at your person throwing the door open. He gripped the pizza box tight to ensure he didn’t drop it and continued to look at you like you had grown a third head. He never was very good with his words, but your beauty truly inhibited his ability to think.

“Hi?” you asked.

“Hey, I-I’m your neighbour, Jake. Saw that you were moving in and I came to ask if you need any help.” 

“Oh,” you contemplated, looking past him. “Where’s the pizza person?”

“I paid for it. Housewarming gift?” he  said like a question and handed it over. 

You received the warm box and waited for him to say something as he fiddled with his hands. His smile looks so familiar but you couldn’t place your finger on it. 

“So…Do you need help?” He looked up right at the end. You grinned at how shy he was.

“I would really appreciate the help tomorrow,” you replied casually. 

“Oh, so… I’ll come by tomorrow morning?” He looked hopeful, as if you were the one handing him the olive branch. You took a once-over of his build, sure that he would come handy when your hip gives up again and nodded in response. 

He nodded back slowly and turned around to leave, but seeing him at your doorstep felt eerily similar to a puppy left out in the rain. 

“I don’t think I can finish this pizza alone,” you called out. He turned around, a glint of happiness apparent in the shine of his eyes. 

“Do you have time to help me with this right now?” It was your turn to look hopeful and you really hoped this cutie took the bait.

He did. 

You couldn’t ignore the nagging at the back of your head that you had seen him somewhere. You also couldn’t dismiss the fact that dinner together was just a little awkward. The conversation started off with small talk, and it didn’t take a genius to tell that neither of you enjoyed it. Luckily, it shifted to talks about the neighbourhood and your old job. After that, the words flowed easily, the two of you bonding like you had known each other forever. Although it was smooth sailing, you couldn’t help but wonder how he knows so much about the neighbourhood security measures. When he mentioned that he had lived there for about 6 years, you chalked it up to a simple accumulation of knowledge he must’ve acquired from being around for so long. 

“So everyone who lives around here works for Stark-Jensen, right?” you questioned, trailing your finger on the rim of your second wine glass for the night.

“Yeah, for the most part. Though it’s hard to tell who works for who.”

You chuckled in agreement.

“What is it with that? I mean, I work for Stark, and my colleagues, too… but exclusively for Stark. Jensen does exist right?”

“Yeah,” he snickered, “He does. Stark makes the tech and Jensen does the coding.”

“So they’re a two-man team, but Tony’s the face of the company? Seems sort of unfair,” you muttered, quirking your brow a little. 

Jake smiled at your comment, glanced at his hands and looked back up at you. 

“Maybe he wants it to be that way.” He nudged his glasses up and took a little sip of his wine while peering at you. 

You cocked your head to the side and considered the information. Your head was hazy and you needed to stop drinking; alcohol and cute guys are not a good mix. 

“Wait.” You squinted at him. 

“Does that mean you’re a Stark-Jensen employee?” 

He let out a chortle and took your glass from you. 

“Hey, hey I want that back!” you whined, not even caring that you’re embarrassing yourself. 

“I think that’s enough for today.” He gently helped you up, waiting for you to move. 

“I can usually handle my liquor,” you promised, clinging onto his broad form for support. 

He started moving you up to your lone mattress in the corner of your room, softly laying you down. 

“Jake,” you caught his arm. “You didn’t answer the question. Do you work for Stark-Jensen?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

You pouted at his answer, still gripping his wrist like you owned him. He tenderly pried your fingers off him and placed them on your belly. 

“See you tomorrow,” he mumbled as he left your room. You drifted asleep easily, blissfully unaware of how you’d never be able to live down the humiliation of your drunken stupor. 

The next day, you hoped Jake wouldn’t show up. It would save you from the burning heat that crept up your neck every time you recalled the night before.

Unfortunately, Jake had found it way too amusing an opportunity to tease you, showing up at your doorstep at 10 AM on the dot. 

The day went on without a hitch, the conversation picking up easily from where you left off. Jake found it endearing when you groaned at the mention of your state, only after three glasses of wine. The question of his employment never crossed your mind again, both of you having way too much fun unpacking. You felt ten times better knowing that your neighbour was a loveable, single, hunky nerd; it made the stress of settling in that much better. 

Of course, like all good things, the weekend came to an end. Monday morning, you eagerly prepped yourself for a new week at the office. Being Tony’s right hand took five rounds of interviews as well as background checks into every living relative you had. After the turbulent hiring process, you found that the job was not any easier. Luckily, the move had you feeling more thankful about being in sync with all the Stark tech; with FRIDAY managing your house and personal appointments, it was easier to keep track of Tony’s day. 

You stepped out of the house and shielded your eyes from the beautiful day. Just then, your lovely new friend stepped onto his porch wearing casual attire.

“Have fun at work!” he called after you.

“Thanks! Are you going to work?”

“Yes, I am.” You took in his outfit one more time, chuckling as you wondered what job would pay enough to live here while dressed in sweats.

“Well, in case I don’t see ya’... Good afternoon, good evening and good night!” you exclaim loudly. 

Jake giggled like a schoolboy and waved goodbye before ducking into his car. 

Tony’s 10 AM meeting has been pushed to 11 AM, Miss L/N. 

“No, no, that won’t do! He has another meeting at 12 PM, the timing will clash. FRIDAY, who was he supposed to meet at 10 AM?”

Speaking to the AI felt more like talking to yourself, but with time, you assured yourself that it would look as cool as Stark when handling your things.

He’s meeting Mr Jensen, the co-founder of Stark-Jensen. I believe you have not met him yet. 

“Yeah, I haven’t. Could you call him for me, FRIDAY?”

Sorry Miss L/N, Mr Jensen’s phone is switched off. He has already notified Tony of the change in plans. 

“What an asshole,” you grumbled. 

On the contrary, I think you would like Mr Jensen, Miss L/N.

“You can just call me Y/N, FRIDAY. Oh, and, send out a notification to all of today’s meeting hosts and tell them to push it by one hour. If they complain, send them my number to take up any problems they have.” 

It’ll be done by the time you reach your office. 

“Thank you,” you smiled and pulled into your parking spot, right beside Tony’s. 

It was hard to imagine what would’ve happened today if Tony didn’t give you access to FRIDAY. Calling each meeting host and personally asking them to push their meetings seemed like a tedious and mind-bending task. And frankly, you didn’t ever look forward to talking to Karen’s. But now, you would never have to know; FRIDAY was an absolute godsend. 

You stepped onto the other side of security clearance just as the clock struck 9 AM. Strutting up to your office, you made a mental checklist of everything you need to do during the day. Usually, Tony didn’t require you to sit in for his meetings. He has a different set of assistants for note-taking purposes. 

Too consumed by your thoughts, you didn’t notice the large picture of Jake and Tony sitting side by side on the wall beside the elevators. You also didn’t notice Jake’s smirk as he passed by you with ease. He would’ve stopped to say hi, but he knew that you didn’t realize who he was yet. Now he just had to figure out a way to get you to show up to his and Tony’s meeting and give you the heart attack of a lifetime. 

Beep, beep.

The Stark-watch buzzed on your wrist, letting you know that Tony was calling for you. You had barely even stepped into the elevator and he was already whining like a baby. 

You shook your head and stepped into the doorframe of his lab.

“Come here!” his voice called from the far end of a lab. Your suspicions of him being under the work table were confirmed when he wheeled out on his back and handed you a wrench. 

“Do me a favour. Tighten this for me?” 

He handed you the arm of an Iron Man suit, what you assumed was his latest mark. He already lived at the lab as it was, you wondered how he ever had time for Pepper. 

“Come on, put your arm into it L/N! You know what, you’re distracted, give it here.”

“Did you call me here to tighten your screws?” You shifted your weight onto one leg and crossed your arms. It was sassy of you, but Tony’s assistant needs to have some backbone, famously said by Rhodey.

“Well, you know me, screws always loose.” He knocked on his head and chuckled at his own joke. You sighed and turned to walk out. 

“I need you to sit in for my 11 o’clock. And cancel everything else today.”

You gasped and turned again, marching to where he was lying down. 

“Tony Stark, you have no regard for anyone’s time! I already pushed everything back by one hour because of your buddy Jensen and now you’re asking me to cancel everything?”

“I know, and I agree. I wish I could go to the mind-numbing meetings with corporate clowns, but I want to show you and Jensen something cool.”

He stopped fiddling with his toy just long enough to glance at you. 

You sighed and called for FRIDAY, groaning for the umpteenth time since that morning. Why were you acting like this was the first time he’s done this? It was probably your lack of energy from moving. You couldn’t wait to get home and maybe call Jake over for dinner. Now that you considered this possibility, time seemed to pass slower, but at least there was something worthwhile to look forward to. 

When 10:55 rolled around, you were sitting in Tony’s lab, patiently waiting as Tony set up his latest invention for demonstration. 

“Where’s your buddy?” you asked, checking your watch for the time again. 

“On his way,” he replied without turning away from his work. 

He paused and took a step back to admire his work before facing you. 

“You haven’t met Jake, have you?”

“Jake?”

Right on cue, Jake walked through the doors of the labs and you whipped around to find your grinning friend.

“Howdy neighbour,” Jake sneered. 

“Oh, right. You live beside each other,” Tony muttered as he gathered some more things from his desk. 

You shamelessly inhaled the pinewood and vanilla-infused scent of Jake as he sat down beside you. To have him so close to you was a dangerous thing, your cunt unknowingly clenching every time he moved his biceps. 

“Stop making heart-eyes at him.”

You threw whatever was in your hand at Tony’s head, and it happened to be a pen. It narrowly missed as he ducked and doubled over in laughter at your embarrassment. The bastard took sick pleasure in it so he often made it a point to humiliate you, but it usually wasn’t in front of the co-CEO of the world’s largest tech company. 

The rest of your time in that lab went on without any heart attacks - as far as anyone knew, the slick between your thighs doesn’t account for a ‘heart attack’, per se. You shouldn’t even be thinking about Jake like that. He was technically your boss too. 

Tony dismissed you at lunch and told you to take the rest of the day off, much to your delight. You slid into your car and dropped your head onto the steering wheel.

You had barely moved into the neighbourhood and you’re already finding ways to be fired.

~Time skip~

You sighed and laid back in the over-the-top maternity chair Jake got you for feeding. Your baby gurgled as curled his little fingers into his palm before knocking on your breast once. With a light chuckle, you cooed as the little bundle began falling asleep. 

This was the only place in the house that had a sliver of sunlight gracing the inside of the house. 

You could have outdoor privileges if you didn’t pull that little stunt. 

Could you really blame yourself for trying to leave? How were you to know that it’s impossible to leave a Stark-Jensen neighbourhood?

Because it says “Stark-Jensen” in the name, you dumbass. 

Fair enough.

You lost count of how many times you sigh on the daily, instead opting to count the number of times you’re able to hold off a mental breakdown. Today, you got the rare privilege of privacy, with Jake being gone to another one of Stark’s presentation.

You reminisced about the last time you sat in Tony’s lab and watched him explain his latest creation. Little did you know that the first time you sat with Jake in there would also be the last time you ever sat in there. 

You gently placed the Jim in the cradle. Again, one of the many over-the-top investments made by Jake to ensure the baby got state-of-the-art care. The way Jensen had made you sit beside him as he put the contraption together almost had you lurching. But you didn’t want to wake the baby. The horridness of the memories cannot outweigh your will to keep Jimmy from crying.

“Look at it!”, Jake excitedly spun the box to show you. It must’ve cost an unreasonable amount of money - not that he couldn’t spare to spend the coin, but the purchase confirmed your worst suspicions; he was serious about this all. 

Your eyes, puffy from the days of crying, were barely open. Yet you still nodded, figuring that if you put up with his enthusiasm now, he’ll let you go to sleep without raping you like he did every night. 

Anyway, you were wrong. 

When did everything go so wrong?; How?

You picked up your phone. Your eyes flickered between the only two contacts saved on it. Jake made sure you couldn’t do anything except call him or Tony.

You missed your ex-boss (who was always more of a friend to you). But, it was obvious that calling him wasn’t worth it and would rarely yield any fruitful conversation. Tony always spoke as if he were walking on glass around you and your words were always monitored and censored by Jake. It didn’t take long to figure that one out. 

“I don’t know what happened, Tony, she’s just unhinged,” Jake explained over the phone. In the background, you struggled against the bonds that held you to his bedframe. You sobbed harder into your gag and tried to scream ‘help’. All that came out was a shriek. 

“You hear her? She’s completely unfit to come into work… What happened? I don’t know man… She’s breaking down under all the stress. A few days of rest might do the trick. No, no, you don’t have to come down. I’ll take care of it.” 

He ended the call and you went limp, pausing your hysteria. He smiled at you as if he hadn’t kidnapped you. As if he hadn’t just made Tony believe that you were off your rockers. As if he hadn’t just fucked you five times over the span of 48 hours. 

He had planned every step of your entrapment to the letter and it was all going according to his plan.

You put your phone facedown on the dining table and walked back upstairs to your room. His room. Your room, too. 

Never, you internally screamed.

Well, it’s too late to debate it. 

You stood at the foot of your bed and traced the footboard. He took you countless amount of times on this bed and every instance held some clue that he was working up to what was happening now. You could see that now - but what was the point now?

You giggled as Jake pushed you onto his bed. Who knew this golden retriever could be so rough?

“Shhshshshhh” you slurred and Jake laughed in response. 

“Tony’s not here, baby,” he replied, climbing on top of you. 

“We’re not gonna get fired?” 

“He can’t fire me, sweetheart.”

“Oh… yeah.” You frowned, remembering that your risqué relationship was only risky for you. 

In your drunken haze, you didn’t realize Jake was rubbing his bulbous tip against your folds, gathering slick. 

“Condom?” 

“Don’t have,” Jake lied. 

“Oh,” you hesitated. 

“It’ll feel so good, baby.” He nuzzled his nose into the crook of your neck and sunk in before you had the chance to protest. 

“Jakeeee,” you whined. Writhing under his grasp, you shook your head side-to-side as he vigorously fucked into you. 

He abruptly stopped and pulled out. “What have I said about saying my name?”

“I’m sorry, daddy,” you sheepishly say. 

“That’s right, slut. You’re gonna make me a daddy, right?” He pushed back in. 

“Yeah, you are. Gonna make me a daddy, so call me daddy.”

The implication of his words flew right over your head in your drunken haze and blank mind. Any ounce of sense that you had left was being fucked out by his thick length. 

“Gonna blow my load. Fill you tight cunt, not gonna last long.”

His words were broken with loud moans. He couldn’t think straight with your warm, wet pussy inviting him in over and over. 

As you shook from an overwhelming orgasm, your pussy involuntarily clenched, causing Jake to lose any last bit of restraint he was holding onto. He pushed in as far as he could go as you flailed around. He pinned your arms down and pressed his mouth into yours, delivering a hot and heavy kiss that had you panting. 

He pulled out, but the string of cum that followed made you blanch. You never were one for cum play. Still, you didn’t protest when Jake pushed everything back in with two fingers. 

“Gotta’ make sure you’re full baby.”

You shake your head now, but again, what’s the point? It’s all done and dusted. Though, you should give yourself some credit. Even if you had realized earlier, it wouldn’t have made a difference. He would’ve realized that you knew before you could’ve even thought about escaping.

As you drifted asleep, you adjusted the volume of the baby monitor one last time and slumped into the fluffy pillows. 

How do you wake up from dreams? Was it by pinching yourself? You couldn’t wake up from the nightmare that was your reality when you pinched yourself. You doubted that would work right now. You couldn’t recall how to open your eyes. Instead, you whimpered in your sleep, reliving the moment Jake finally revealed his ulterior motive

“You did what?” Jake was seething, but the only indication of it was his clenching jaw and red face. His tone was the perfect embodiment of the calm before a storm. 

“I know you aren’t happy… but Jake, you- you’re always talking about babies and a family. It was so overwhelming and I… I-I…” You were shivering now, unable to withstand the heat of his glare. You had never been on the receiving end of his anger. Hell, you had never even seen him angry. 

“I didn’t have an abortion, Jake, for god’s sake stop looking at me like a killed a baby! Plan B is not a crime. I’m only even bringing this up because I started on birth control anyway. Plan B every time we have sex is just not practical or feasible.”

At this point, you could’ve been speaking to a wall. Jake still hadn’t said anything and you were beginning to wonder if he had even been listening. 

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice,” he whispered, at last. 

“What?”

“I watch you do everything, I can’t believe I didn’t know about the Plan B.”

“What… What are you saying?”

“I said,” Jake stood up, “I’ve basically been watching you 24/7. And I don’t know how I didn’t notice this.” 

“What do you mean watching me?” Tears in your waterline were threatening to blur your vision but you blinked furiously in an attempt to keep looking Jake in the eyes.

 “You think FRIDAY works for you?” 

Jake leisurely cracked each knuckle and took a step towards you. You took one back. 

“Oh, now, don’t be like that.”

You woke from your nightmare that was the boiling pot and jumped straight into the fire. Jake was already moving in and out of your channel, moaning about how he missed you too much. 

You tried to adjust yourself but he caught your arms and pulled out just long enough to flip you onto your stomach. 

When he pushed back in, the hopelessness of your life manifested as tears; it happens every once in a while. 

Today, you had a new record: you were able to hold off a total of 7 breakdowns.

But, of course, that was right before he pinched you awake every time.

Masterlist

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

mr. worst cup

CollegeBarista!Jaemin x Reader

summary: Jaemin messes up your order and in turn messes up any chance at any sort of relationship with you (or so he thinks)

word count: 4.3k

A/N: I really hope you guys like it! 

Taglist! @eggbutnotyolk​

Mornings, Jaemin hated them. Yes, that was beyond cliche, but it was the truth. Especially right now. At approximately 7 am, Jaemin also hated being awake, Jeno, being cold, people, Jeno again, and work. 

Jaemin and Jeno both worked at a cafe near campus where Jeno worked the morning shift, had time for a quick workout, then went to school, all because he enjoyed mornings. On the other hand, Jaemin hated mornings, so he slept in, went to class in the afternoon for a few hours, and then came to work in the evenings. It was a schedule that just worked for the both of them, no downsides- usually.

But Jaemin was not in the comfort of his bed, dreaming, drooling, and snoozing away like he could have been this morning. No, he was working Jeno’s shift because Jaemin was the best friend on the planet and he would do anything for Jeno anytime Jeno wanted- no. Jeno had woken up with a high fever and a sore throat, and it was easier to wake Jaemin, his roommate, to ask for him to cover his shift than to text another coworker. Anything for the health of the general public, gag, Jaemin hated how nice Jeno was sometimes.

So after opening at a bright and early 6:45, helping only one customer in the 45 minutes that he had been open, Jaemin was starting to feel that anger from being up so early. He should have some coffee to give himself energy and help with the anger, but his brain just couldn’t seem to send the signals to his limbs to make him move. His eyes were locked on all the empty tables and chairs of the cafe, tables and chairs that were always filled during his normal evening shift. The emptiness paired with the godforsaken jazz song playing over and over and over again were driving him insane. After a five-minute war between his mind and body, he got to work making a drink for himself. His specialty iced americano with his precious eight shots of espresso. His priceless, liquid gold. He was so concentrated while making his drink that he didn’t even hear the door open to reveal his second customer of the day. 

“Oh my god, Jeno! Eight shots?” He heard a voice exclaim. “Oh, you’re not Jeno, I’m so sorry.”

“Just a minute please, I’ll be right with you,” Jaemin replied. 

He couldn’t keep you waiting forever, so he set his prepared drink aside and made his way to the customer at the counter. Oh, this cute customer. He quickly turned to the register, asking you for your order with a polite smile.

“Just a medium iced caramel latte with almond milk, double the caramel drizzle, and an extra shot please.” You recited your order.

He nodded, took the money, and began working on your order, but unfortunately, his mind was not on your order. He just wanted a sip of his coffee, for the energy to kick in. His body was craving it, the taste, the energy that would make him feel normal, like a human. He could have gotten a quick sip in if the bell over the door hadn’t distracted him. Another customer, same routine: smile, I’ll be right with you, finish one drink, new drink to make. He distractedly reached for the cup on the counter, calling out your name before turning to the new customer. 

You approached the counter hesitantly, this did not look like your drink. The bell over the door sounded again and again as you hesitantly reached for the drink that was supposedly yours. You could just ask him to remake your drink, but the line was getting longer with the morning rush beginning and you had to get to class soon. That and you would feel awful asking him to waste supplies to make a simple drink again. 

Okay, you reassured yourself, hopefully, this wouldn’t be too bad. Maybe this barista just makes it differently, much differently, than Jeno does. You grabbed the drink and a straw, calling out a “thank you” as you walked out of the cafe. Stopping beside a trash bin you unwrapped the straw and took a sip of the pitch-black drink. Your face scrunched up in disgust, you could barely fight back the urge to spit out the coffee, no matter how hard your body was screaming at you to get it out.. You could not bring yourself to even look at the poison in hand so you tossed it into the bin, what a sad waste of money and his work. 

The next morning you walked in a little later, as your first class of the day had gotten canceled. You joined the line, looking at the menu because you could not and would not order your usual today. Normally you wouldn’t have to look at the menu, Jeno knew how to make your drink perfectly, but Jeno was not there. The take on your drink yesterday had scarred you, perhaps a hot tea today. 

“Hello, the caramel latte again today?” The same barista from yesterday asked. Where the hell was this guy getting “again” from?

You smiled almost apologetically with a hint of apprehension, “No thank you, just a mint green tea with honey please.”

He nodded, tapping away on the tablet, taking your money, and getting straight to work. The bell over the door became the background noise as the rush of professionals and early risers came in for their morning caffeine fix. Jaemin looked at the clock quickly, just 10 minutes before another coworker would show up to help him, this rush was too crazy. He quickly stirred the honey into the cup, called your name, and got to the counter to continue taking orders. It was too bad he didn’t get to make more conversation or look at you longer. Not in a weird way, he felt like he had barely had a chance to even get a glance at you today.

You had barely made it on time to class, sliding into your seat just a minute before your professor walked in and began a quick review of your last class. You sat back with a sigh, taking a sip of your warm drink. 

Well, this was odd, your tea didn’t taste like tea at all. Maybe it was just the first sip? No, the next sip tasted like nothing but honey. Confused, you took the lid off the cup to take a look, only to be met with the sight of steaming water mixed with honey-no tea in sight. 

After class, you sent a quick text to your usual barista and friend, Jeno, to let him know that you had notes for him. Time to carry on with your day, sadly caffeine-free.

Jaemin had had no idea that he had messed your drinks up so badly. When he had given you his americano the rush had just come in so when he went to look for his drink later he had figured that his coworker had just accidentally tossed it. The second day, he could blame the rush again. He had haphazardly tossed a tea bag in the general vicinity of the cup before passing it in your direction. So it came as a surprise to him that for the rest of the week that he covered Jeno’s shift, the cute customer that came in right before the rush, that would be you, had stopped coming in. It was a shame, but he could continue on with his life with little to no regret. Maybe he would see you again or maybe another customer would catch his eye. There was no use in dwelling on something he had no control over or wasting time letting his mind run wild with anxious thoughts of why you hadn’t come back.

That was until he came home one day a week later to find Jeno on a loud call. Jeno smiled and quickly mouthed to Jaemin that he was on the phone with a friend. “Jeno, I’m telling you. That was the worst coffee I have ever tasted. Never in my life have I had a drink that could be used to run a car. I just don’t understand how you could mess up a caramel latte that bad.” He heard. 

Caramel latte? The voice sounded familiar but he was hopeful that maybe, just maybe it wasn’t you. 

“And the next day, god Jeno, I ordered a tea because I was so nervous to order a coffee and all I got was hot water, then I stopped going until you went back.” It was you, This was the worst-case scenario and it was you, the cute customer that he had developed a tiny, little crush on. He tried to remember how he had made your orders, and he swore he made them the way he asked. But how was he supposed to remember anything correctly when he was up before 10 every day and coming in contact with a hundred people?

“Yeah, I can do Friday morning, see you then.” Had Jaemin missed the rest of the conversation? It seemed so.

“So Mr. Makes the Worst Cup of Coffee, how was your day?” Jeno smirked.

Jaemin scoffed, “We don’t even know if it was me.”

Jeno burst out laughing immediately going to explain that those were the days that he was sick while Jaemin yelled over him stating that perhaps, perhaps, it was another barista you were talking about. But they both knew that no one else that worked in the cafe drank anything nearly as strong as Jaemin’s iced americano. Jaemin sighed having clearly lost the argument, “How do you know them anyway?”

“We’re the same major,” Jeno answered with a simple shrug. Maybe it wasn’t too late for a change in major.

This customer was so close to home and he had somehow ruined one of the things he prided himself on. He was so proud of his barista abilities, it was a passion of his. Customers constantly came back for his drinks specifically, left him tips (for his drinks or looks- he didn’t care), asked when Jaemin would be back on his days off, and he had gotten employee of the month a few times. 

After that night, you had not left Jaemin’s mind. It was like all he could think about was you. When he saw Jeno, every day, he wondered if Jeno had seen you. When he woke up every morning he remembered that you were up early, bright-eyed and ready to take on the day. At work, he constantly wondered if maybe you would come in and order something. Walking across campus he wondered if he maybe had a class in the same buildings as you. At this point, it was no longer a little crush on the cute customer that came in twice a couple weeks ago, it was a crush on a friend of a friend, someone that he could actually potentially meet one day. 

Maybe he could run into you on campus, leaving the library after studying so hard that he could offer to buy you a cup of coffee. There could be a party soon that the two of you would magically bump into each other at where he could blow you away with his bartending skills. It was such a weird thing for Jaemin to experience, imagining what might be with someone he didn’t know beyond being a customer. He had been in relationships before but never had there been a person that consumed his every thought. 

Granted the day after the call, Jaemin did feel a little- or really a lot of anger towards you saying he made the worst cup of coffee that he did actually let his anger fuel his day. He was flipping violently through textbooks, punching away at the keys on his computer, nearly ripping through sheets of paper with the pressure of his pencil. He didn’t like this feeling, he had to remind himself to calm down and take deep breaths. No one had ever made him feel this angry, if it was even anger that he was feeling or maybe just sadness poorly masked as anger. That made much more sense, it really did pay off to have taken that psychology class his first semester.

You had become so involved in every part of Jaemin’s day that he just wondered if in this very moment he was imagining you walking out of Starbucks while he sat at a red light on a sunny Friday morning. Had his mind become so powerful that he could now make things and people appear out of thin air? He hadn’t tried that since he was a kid, but maybe he had just become more powerful. It couldn’t be you though right? He knew there was no way he had super powers, but there was also no way it actually was you, it would be the biggest coincidence. He rolled down the passenger side window, leaning closer to the sidewalk where you were walking towards the parking lot and gasped when he realized that his imagination was in fact, not playing tricks on him, it really was you. 

“Are you cheating on us?!” He screeched. Uh oh, he wasn’t supposed to say that out loud. The stupid mermaid was just staring at him mockingly, he couldn’t stop himself from saying it. It was the worst word vomit he had ever experienced. 

You stopped and squinted trying to look at who had just yelled at you, lucky for you Jaemin was still in shock from actually yelling that he was frozen still with a hand clasped over his mouth. Yup, that would be the person that yelled. You looked him dead in the eye and took a long sip of the drink in hand. “Tastes better than yours.” You cheekily called back. 

Jaemin’s jaw dropped, he was so ready to defend his barista title, his locally-owned cafe, but the car behind him seemed to think the opposite thanks to its incessant honking because the light had been green for more than 10 seconds. Once again, you had plagued his thoughts, not necessarily in a good way though. You had betrayed him-no, you hadn’t but he was dramatic.

He could at least spend some time away from you, it’s not like he saw you out in public very often, ever saw you on campus, or came in during his shift. He was lost in his thoughts as he walked through the door to his apartment. He heard Jeno laugh, then a new voice. Very odd, but he put on a smile and reminded himself to be polite. 

“Hi- oh you,” Jaemin said. 

“Nice to finally meet you properly, please don’t yell at me again.” You smiled playfully. 

Jeno’s eyes widened comically in shock, immediately interrogating Jaemin. Why would Jaemin think it’s okay to yell at someone he doesn't know? Much less one of Jeno’s friends. Jaemin really did try to defend himself, but every time he tried to make a point it just didn’t make sense. He sounded so stupid. “I am so sorry about him.” Jeno apologized, elbowing Jaemin’s rib. 

“I’m sorry too, it was inappropriate and rude of me to yell at you.” Jaemin recited. This was not the first time he had had to apologize for yelling at someone in public. 

You waved the both of them off, “I was messing around, it’s nice to match a name to a face.”

Jaemin made his way to his room like a scolded child while you and Jeno returned to the screens in front of you, already typing away before the bedroom door even shut. Jaemin made a promise to himself that he would stay in his room until you left. There was no way that he would go out there and risk even more embarrassment in front of you, not just the customer he had a small crush on but the innocent pedestrian he yelled at that very morning. His mind was swirling with regret and thoughts of how badly he had messed up any chance he had with you. He could not go out there and ruin any remaining chance of friendship or even acquaintanceship, or even risk you going to Starbucks every day and never going back to the cafe. Half an hour later he pulled a pillow over his face to muffle his groans, these thoughts were making him crazy, one groan from his throat and a rumble from his stomach. There was no way he could wait until you left now, he had to get food. 

Jeno looked up as the door opened, “Right on time, does chicken sound good for dinner?” 

Jaemin nodded, ready to turn back and relax on his bed but instead he lingered in his doorway. He ignored the nerves in his stomach and decided that the best decision as a host in his home would be to not leave you alone while Jeno called in the order. Even if he did think you were a little bit of a treacherous snake- from a business standpoint of course.

He cleared his throat, effectively grabbing your attention, “So uh, what are you guys working on?”

“Jeno and I are partners for a project in a communications class so we have to analyze a bunch of sources and then explain why the audience could interpret each source in different ways.” You answered simply with a shrug, as if you had just told him how to make toast. 

“Well that’s cool…”

It was now or never. He could talk to you now and clear the air in hopes of perhaps forming a friendship or he could stay quiet and try his best to enjoy the awkward environment. He let out a breathy, nervous laugh, drawing your attention back, “So I think I heard you say I make the, what was it? Oh, the shittiest cup of coffee you’ve ever had.”

Your eyes widened, “No, no, no! I didn’t say that exactly, I did say though, it was the worst coffee I ever had.” 

“How badly could I have messed up your order? So badly that you had to go to Starbucks apparently.” 

“I had ordered an almond milk caramel latte and received a coffee with not only no milk at all, so it wasn’t even a latte, but also no form of sweetness. On top of that, I had one sip at the beginning of the day that kept me awake and energized until midnight. And! You gave me tea with no tea. Surprisingly though, you are not the worst barista in the cafe.” You responded with a playful roll of your eyes.

Jaemin choked on his spit, “What do you mean? I remember the first day you came in while I was making my coffee… you got my coffee.” He dropped to his knees, “Forgive me, please.”

You threw your head back with a laugh, “Get up, I’ve already forgiven you. Jeno talks about you a lot, so I was actually looking forward to meeting you anyway, even if we did start off on not so great terms.”

“They said about 20 or 30 minutes, you good?” Jeno asked as he reentered the room.

You smiled with a nod, “We’re becoming the best of friends.”

Jaemin blushed, ready to get your attention off of him, “So, you said I don’t carry the title for worst barista.”

“Wait really? Who is it then, best to worst go!” Jeno exclaimed. 

“First, is your owner, Johnny, right? Man, he makes a delicious caramel latte, the best I have ever had. Next, I guess would be Ren-”

“Renjun?!” Jeno and Jaemin interrupted. 

“Well yeah, he’s super nice and added caramel syrup to the milk I think? Not sure, it was really good, and he added the cutest little drawing on my cup. You guys aren’t last or anything though, Haechan is.” You told them with a shudder.

You all burst out laughing as you recounted the time that Haechan had yelled at you while taking a phone order and ended up sliding a half filled, kids size cup of water across the counter with your name. Another time he was so busy flirting with another customer throughout the whole process of taking and making your order that he had given them your drink too and just given you a pastry instead. Jeno told you guys about a time that Haechan had poured coffee beans on the floor, not once or even twice, but three times in one four hour shift. Jaemin added his own story where Haechan had convinced a handful of customers that they were out of coffee until Johnny came in from the back with a bag of coffee beans. 

You all wiped the tears from the corners of your eyes as you tried to catch your breaths from laughing so hard. Jeno sat up when he heard a knock on the door. It was probably the delivery man. 

Jaemin looked over at you, a happy smile still on his face. “You know, I would really like it if I could actually make it up to you.”

“Free coffee?” You asked excitedly. 

He laughed awkwardly, “Uh no, I uh, um- I think you’re really... cool?”

“This is fucking painful. Jaemin thinks you’re cute and this is his lame attempt at asking you out on a date.” Jeno jumped in, setting the bag of food on the dining table. 

You flushed, immediately feeling hot, “I would actually really like that.”

The dinner was clouded with awkwardness, little glances here and there paired with a little conversation. Now that you both knew you at least kind of liked each other, and were interested in one another there was no way he could ruin his chance by saying something embarrassing. All the conversations were basic, surface-level, first day of class icebreaker, boring. What’s your major? What do you want to do with your major? What year are you? How long have you and your best friend since birth lived together?

“Maybe it was better when you hated each other, I can practically feel the tension.” Jeno sighed, reaching his hands forward to “grab” the tension. Maybe Jeno would eat his words when the sparks began flying after the first date, maybe. Yeah, probably.

-

BONUS

“I’ve had a really good time with you.” Jaemin smiled down at the ground. The blush on his cheeks was hot while your hand in his was warm. 

“I’ve had a great time with you too, you really made up for all your little mishaps.” You replied.

Jaemin laughed, “Which reminds me, I have to finally show you that I am in fact the best barista, ever. Would you mind if we stopped by the cafe?”

You shook your head, holding his hand tighter on the walk to the cafe. He held the door open for you and guided you towards an empty seat close to the counter so you could both still talk to one another. 

“Welcome! Oh, Jaemin was this your date? I’ve seen you here before right? I’m Johnny, the owner.” Johnny greeted with a smile. 

“Nice to meet you too, I love your cafe. Jaemin is making me a replacement drink since he ruined the first couple of drinks. He doesn’t have to, but he practically insisted.”

“And you didn’t call and complain? You must have really liked him.” Johnny laughed.

You couldn’t fight the heat creeping up your neck, so you quickly looked away from the owner standing in front of you to avoid more embarrassment. 

“Ah, I’ve never made you this nervous! Here is your iced caramel latte with almond milk.” Jaemin teased as he set the drink in front of you. He looked at you expectantly, awaiting your verdict.

You took a sip, pleasantly surprised with the familiar taste of your favorite drink. “It’s so good! Thank you.”

“Better than Johnny and Renjun?” Jaemin asked.

“Maybe stop the questions while you’re ahead buddy, there’s no way it could be better than mine. Hope to see you soon.” Johnny smirked as you both left. 

Jaemin pouted the whole way back to your apartment, you had to reassure him that it was so good that soon he would get sick of seeing your face around the cafe.

He stopped in front of your door, “I don’t think I could ever get sick of your face, so I would really like to take you out again.”

“I would really love that, goodnight Jaemin.” You smiled, pulling him in for a hug before making your way inside.

Jaemin smiled, stepped back from your door and slowly began to make his way home. Walking slowly as his thoughts were filled with date ideas, your face, and just how amazing you truly were. He was so in his head that he didn’t even realize you had come back out to see him again until he felt you tug on his wrist so he could face you. 

“Can I kiss you?” You asked breathlessly.

He smiled widely, nodding energetically as he placed a hand on your waist to pull you closer, inviting you to do as you please. Your hands came up to the nape of his neck, nervously playing with his hair before you finally pressed your lips to his own. A short but passionate kiss, it was like your lips were made for one another.

“I’ll see you soon, text me when you get home.” You told him bashfully, holding onto his hand until it eventually fell from the distance between you two. He agreed, locking eyes with you until you were out of his sight and there was no possibility of you ever leaving his mind. Sparks indeed.

[cherryblossomtease]

Chapter 13

18 + only

warnings and summary - Masterlist

Dressed in the ridiculously high-cut low sided white one piece suit you find in the drawer and an oversized cream colored cashmere cardigan, you shove the sleeves up, slip into a pair of woven slides and leave the room feeling refreshed after a shower and venture down the long, somewhat dim hall, the doors to the other cabins that line the pass all shut.

You’re not below water but you feel the weight of the ship like being held safe in the arms of a protecter, shielding you from the wild seas outside.

You’d been in such a daze when you first arrived you really don’t remember the details, but now you see just how incredible his floating hide-out really is.

At the end of the hall is that common area, though there’s nothing common about it. The walls and floor are a beautiful teak, stained and sealed to a high gloss. The low, warm lighting and strip of windows that curve around the space give the room a luxe but cozy den-like feel, even with the massive tv. Look’s like the nightly Netflix binging can continue— when you’re not otherwise occupied of course.

You hear a sound from behind you and find Oeznik arraigning bottles in the wine fridge. With a smile you greet him. “Have you seen Helmut or Bucky?”

“Yes miss.I believe they are both on the upper deck. Take the stairs all the way up.” Your ears quickly adjust to his accent and you glance over at the backlit steps behind the tv wall. “Got it.”

He smiles nodding. “Enjoy.”

You just grin and quietly leave him to his work feeling the warm and fuzzies for the dear old man.

As you go to the steps, you catch a glimpse of the ocean slowly passing though you’re sure you moving a speed that will ensure your timely arrival. Turning back to the butler you frown. “Out of curiosity, Who’s the captain of this ship? I mean, there must be a crew?”

“Oh, the Baron has hired only the best.” He assures you “And only the most capable of-- keeping quiet” He answers knowing your meaning.

You nod and feel your shoulders lower as the tension between them eases now that you know there doesn’t seem to be any threat of betrayal, at least not for now.

Going up the steps you pass the empty second floor and take a quick peek. You’ll never complain about a luxury yacht, who would, but this is bordering on obscene—it’s fucking wonderful.

A pool lined by deck chairs at the far end, over looks the back end of the ship. The glass edge give views of the ocean below. At the front end, the dining area with it’s long table waits for many drunken night and dead center is a lounge area that you can already imagine dancing in. You shake your head knowing the night is far from over and continue up the next flight.

The wind whips at your skin now that you’re high above the water. You look out at all that blue and it hits you just how isolated you are which makes you feel very safe and very excited. There are no rules out here. None but his.

“No, slice it like this, that way when you bite it, you can eat the entire piece.”

Your ears perk at the sound of Zemo’s voice and his choice of words.

He’s talking to Bucky, you can tell by his tone. Patient, amused, adoring…

“I know how to cut an orange” Bucky snaps. You can practically hear him roll his eyes.

Helmut’s laugh is low, harder to hear but you know that soft rumble.

Coming up over the last step, you walk onto the deck taking the same path Helmut had early this afternoon and find them at the wet bar just under the shade of the overhang. They haven’t been around one another very long, just a couple of hours and most of that time Bucky was alone while you and Zemo reacquainted yourselves but they seem to have found their rhythm quickly.

You like watching them together, almost as much as you like the way they look at you.

Bucky’s holding his knife ready to cut again when he notices that you're here and looks up getting that goofy smile on his face like he does when you dress up to go out. This gets Zemo’s attention and the Baron looks over his shoulder finding you and instantly understands.

“She lives.” He teases and puts down the bottle opener he was set to use, but not the bottle of wine. He leaves Bucky to come to you and whatever flattered smile you might have had shifts when you notice how he looks.

Maybe he had this on earlier but you were so overcome by just seeing him that you hadn’t really noticed, now you do. Now you take the time to realize that you’ve never seen Zemo looking so causal. But even in a white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up twice (to be in good taste of course) and the buttons no more than a suggestion at this point with that necklace he always wears catching the light as he struts towards you, not to mention that single lock of hair in his eyes, he is still the man in the fur collared coat you knew before he was taken away— just the holiday version.

You let your gaze wander down to admire the cut of his cream colored chinos and those modern take on Italian leather boat shoes that are probably, no defiantly from Italy. He makes getting away look obscenely good.

The kiss you share is light; a press, a hold, his hand on your face, his thumb on your chin, his smile against your mouth. “Did you sleep well?” He asks.

“I did” You answer, eyes still closed.

“You look stunning” He says sort of taking you in without moving away.

“So do you.” You say feeling yourself flush.

“Would you like a drink? James and I are making sangria.” He announces stepping away and it takes you a second to collect yourself as you watch him saunter back.

Has he always been so intoxicating? Yes girl, isn’t that how you ended up on a fucking yacht… you hold in your self deprecating laugh and join them.

Back over at the bar, you watch as he checks in on Bucky who has been very diligently cutting fruit in a way that you’ve never seen him try to do anything in the year you’ve lived together. But the thing that really holds your attention is how Zemo lays his hand against small of Bucky’s back and stands very close, watching just over his shoulder for a second then smiles approval, his hand lingering even as he steps away.

Bucky tries not to, but he can’t resist and lifts his head watching Zemo leave to walk back under the overhang.

You’ve seen that look before, or rather you’ve felt it. That hunger for the Baron, that draw to him. When Zemo walks away you want to follow. You find yourself nearly hypnotized by his regal movements that can so quickly become a force of aggression that can bring you to your knees, only for it to feel like the sun itself on your face when he finally looks at you.

Poor man, you think sympathetically smiling at Bucky. He’s in for a world of trouble.

“Hey," You tap Bucky’s forearm, “How are you?” You ask quietly while you have a few seconds alone and notice that he’s stripped out of his leather jacket and all that black.

He must have changed while you were— occupied. He’s got on a dark blue t-shirt and clearly very expensive shorts with what must be a five inch inseam because they stop just below mid thigh and yet again you're thanking Zemo for his good taste. Bucky looks good enough to take a bite out of. And…is he barefoot? You lean your head around the bar but he gives you a funny look so you sit back up trying to play innocent. Whatever, you’re just happy to see him out of the utility gear, stomping around in boots— god love him— the man deserves to relax.

Bucky frowns a little. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

He looks confused.

“Don’t play dumb, you weren’t so confident before we hitched our ride out here” You say wondering just how big a change of heart he’s had since this morning.

Bucky glances over his shoulder to find Zemo looking through the wine glass collection along the shelving and smiles. “Yeah well, I guess I’m not so worried now.” He says, his eyes sparkling with something a little mischievous in them.

“Ha! Yeah well, I tried to tell you that once we got here everything would be just fine.” You say kindly.

“Come on, you can’t blame me for being worried.”

“No, of course not.” And you truly mean it. “Honestly James, I’m just happy you’re here. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

He seems touched but instead cocks his brow. “Sounds like you two were getting along just fine.”

You scoff seeing that Zemo is on his way back over. “Not fair, we needed that.” You whisper.

“I know,” Bucky teases with a wink just as Zemo sets the glasses on the counter.

“Looks good.” He says gripping Bucky’s shoulder rubbing hard and the way Bucky beams with pride you’re just happy you don’t have a mouthful of wine, the spit take would have been epic.

In minutes the drinks are mixed and the three glasses are raised in the air. “What do we drink to?” You ask.

Zemo looks between you both, settling on you first and reaches for your hand turned palm up on the counter and takes it, stroking your wrist. You sigh deep in your chest feeling yourself go as liquid as the ocean around you. “To love.” He says with confidence, smiling at you before letting go. Turning to Bucky, his hand now finding the other mans closed on the counter, he grips it tight. “And to possibility.” The look exchanged between them nearly shatters your heart it is so pure and so real.

“And the freedom to live it.” You add softly feeling that truth in your soul and both men look over at you raising their glasses.

The wine warms your belly, the taste so incredible you shut your eyes thankful for a good drink after such a batshit crazy day. Swallowing you look up at them and wonder now that the wine is flowing how long it will be before the inevitable happens.

After a few more glasses of the dangerously delicious sangria, you find yourself happily descending the levels of the yacht listening to Zemo rattle on about the specs and metrics of the luxury vessel until the three of you find yourselves enjoying a pleasant buzz on the pool deck.

You’re sauntering around, swaying to the music in your own head, smiling at them, teasing them. Bucky is amused but as usual slightly annoyed.“This is nuts you know that right” He says dragging his eyes from you to look back through towards the lounge and dining area.

There’s a sort of lazy energy down here with the indulgence on full display. Theres even a sauna just before the lounge.

Bucky looks at Zemo waiting for a reply.

He simply shrugs looking proud. “If we’re going to be here for a while I wanted to be comfortable.” He smiles and takes a drink. “Polinksy's just lucky this is all I took from him."

You stop messing around and look up at him feeling a wave of shock run through you “Polinsky? From the casino!”

“That’s the one.” Zemo says casually as he joins you at the edge of the pool. He stands, hand in his pocket looking content and a little smug.

“Holy shit… I can’t believe you took his yacht.” You say impressed looking away. “I can't believe he was rich enough to own one! But, first the casino and now this, won’t he come for you?”

“It turns out our friend had deep dealings in very dark markets but no. We have nothing to fear from him love.” He says and kisses your forehead. You sink down a little, always undone by his voice. “I can assure you there is no threat there and we have quite the safe house to show for it. And before you ask, no he did not deal in human trafficking.”

You smile, he knows you well too because you would have gone overboard before enjoying luxury paid for at the expense of another woman's suffering.

Bucky is watching, confused but resolved to not know everything about your past with each other. “Yeah well. Whoever this Polinksy is had great taste. I’ll say that for him”

“His wife actually.” Zemo says standing tall again, his hand warm on your back as he talks around you. “That idiot wanted to cover everything in gold” He rolls his eyes shaking his head. “She owned a gallery, it was a cover of course, but she did have an exceptional eye.”

Bucky nods and takes another drink.

“Oh look.” Zemo says suddenly pulling away from you. He leans over the edge of the pool a bit.”

“What?” Bucky frowns staring down into the water.

There is a playfulness in Zemo’s eyes that you spot easily enough because it is so rare, but Bucky is clueless and misses it, trying too hard to see what it is Zemo does. “There, look there. Don’t you see?” Zemo says pointing at the water. You press your lips together to keep from laughing. Is Bucky really falling for this? Knowing better, you take a large step back

“Hey, let me have a sip of your drink Bucky,” You offer grinning at Zemo.

Bucky hands it back to you without even looking.

For a solider really is oblivious sometimes.

With a wink for you, Zemo steps close and gives Bucky a single shove and you turn your head anticipating the splash as he goes over and into the water.

Your laughter rings out the moment you see his head pop up, his string of curses a mile long. Zemo’s half assed apologies are cute as he hands you his own drink and sheds his shirt and pants down to the black swim shorts so tight and high on his thighs that your voice suddenly catches in your throat at the sight. 'Damn' you smile watching as he dives in after Bucky. He comes up and they meet face to face in the water with a moment of lovely tension between them floating very close before they both beg you to join in, but you refuse and instead settle on the deck with your legs dangling over the edge and insist on staying put with your sangria and both of theirs as back up, promising them that you’re quite content to just watch —and what a show they put on.

What is it about swimming that turns men into boys?

No sooner are they in do they start to regress to childish antics, playing at fighting for no real reason other to antagonize one another.

When they get too rough you shout that they need to take a lap to cool off which only seems to ignite a fire in them both and they rush off in a mad dash attempting to out swim the other.

For your part you’ve never made a better suggestion as you get to sit and watch the way the sunlight sparkles across their wet, muscled backs and shoulders as they reach over and through the gentle waves they create, looking like a pair of Olympians with you as their goddess happy to simply sit and judge the form of their stroke— you laugh to yourself at your luck taking a long swallow of wine.

You manage to look away for a second and take in a very different view admiring how calm the ocean is this evening, but not for long as the sound of them coming back draws your attention. They race with youthful enthusiasm, showing off for you, and one another.

Hands grab the edge of the deck and soon a heated debate breaks out on either side of your legs as they fight over who won and you stifle a laugh knowing it was Bucky. “Don’t worry, you can beat him later” You tell Zemo, the double entendre not lost on him as you bend to kiss his dripping hair. He laughs a little at your awful humor and you’re certain you’ve never seen him so happy.

This world he’s brought you into is so removed from the real one, so perfect and serine that you know he’s done it to forget about the real one. He could have had you and Bucky meet him in a some dark hideout, some deep cave still gorgeous of course but he chose this because it feels most like something of his own creation and he does so love to be in control. Perhaps that’s what happens when one loses it so horribly…

“It’s nice to let him think he can win sometimes.” Zemo says and you shake the thoughts suddenly aware of his arm around your legs.

Bucky is smiling at the Baron’s words as he takes the glass from your hands and gulps down the rest.

“Hey!” You give his metal arm a smack.

“Thought you liked sharing” He teases licking his lips.

You roll your eyes but feel the need to glance at Zemo who is watching Bucky.

He’s being very patient but you can see how badly he wants him. You saw it the moment you landed. Having Bucky here is more than he thought he should hope for, but wanting him like this is agony. Bucky— with his arms up on pool side and water droplets sparkling as they trickle down the curve of his muscles, his dark hair slicked back, blue eyes fixed on Zemo and that small crooked smile taunting— is like the ripe, low hanging fruit of summer, ready to be plucked and tasted.

Still, knowing better than to push, Zemo lets go of you and calmly swims away, letting the water distract him. You look down at Bucky who turns, his eyes following the Baron.“Go on,” You urge gently. “Go to him.”

Bucky continues to observe in silence for a little longer. You’re surprised that he doesn’t seem confused or angry at your insistence. Instead he’s content to watch Helmut swim. It makes you smile, you’ve never seen Bucky this way, but then again you think back to the times you’ve caught him looking at you while you’re watching tv or out dancing and he thinks you aren’t paying attention. It’s very much like that, but softer.

Seeming determined, Bucky gives your leg a quick rub before pushing off the wall to join him.

They swim around one another for a moment meeting in the middle of the pool that must be no more than six feet deep as they stay afloat easily, but its hard for you to make out what they say at first. The mood is light though, the wine has Zemo feeling loose and Bucky is laughing, he even splashes Zemo once, but then you see a change come over them as the playfulness subsides.

As his smile eases, Bucky reaches and runs his thumb over Helmut’s brow to keep the water from his eyes. This subtle move causes the Baron to stop. He swims backwards just a bit and stands, his chest and shoulders out of the water now and Bucky follows him letting Zemo smooth his hand down along side Bucky’s face. Those hands that were aggressive in what must feel like a past life become soft and linger just a bit longer. Bucky doesn’t pull away from Zemo’s touch and you are so relieved to see it finally happening.

You’ve imagined this moment often. You’ve hoped for it, needed it, wanted it. You love them both in different ways, but to love them together— what could possibly be better than that? For a split second you imagine leather and safe words and quickly take another sip of wine looking away knowing that it can always get better.

Slicking his hair back from his face, Bucky smiles at the Baron with his sweet lips still wet from the water that trickles down his face as he stares at the older man and you can see that he’s thinking of the best way to say something, he’s so unsure but so ready for this. Helmut will guide him, you think with a smile.

“James,” Zemo says his name with such understanding and you hear him this time. “I’m going to stop playing games with you now.”

“What do you mean?” Bucky asks. He sinks into the water pushing back towards the deeper end but doesn’t go far.

Zemo just smiles sympathetically. He knows. Their flirtation, the bond made over sharing you, it’s all come down to this. This moment is the one that will change everything between them and Bucky is still fighting it, but not for much longer. “I think you’re still holding back for reasons that you don’t have to say right now,” He starts and comes towards him, until he is close again “Perhaps later when it’s dark you can tell me. But you don’t have to pretend. I know what it is you want because I want it too.” He says with a surprising amount of vulnerability and the perfect amount of warmth.

Bucky pushes a little closer, fighting against the water to stay near Zemo. You think he is in shock to hear the Baron say things like this. You also think you should leave but you can’t bring yourself to move. You’re also fairly certain they don’t remember you’re still here and if you distract them now it will ruin this moment.

“What do you think I want Zemo?” Bucky asks.

Zemo runs his hand over his face ridding it of water and takes Bucky by the shoulder, tilting his head as he looks into his eyes. “This.”

Both dominance and affection come into play as he grabs Bucky gently by the back of his head pulling the soldier into the softest kiss.

You try not to look, but the way they move— it’s like seeing two beautiful halves become whole. The strongest most masculine lines become soft and elegant; Helmut holding Bucky’s face so carefully, Bucky finally giving in. The tension melts into fluid movements until you think 'how could it have taken so long for something so natural to happen’. And then that slight shift takes hold. The caress becomes a clutch, the stroke becomes a grab. You see a flash of tongue as they flick and roll, fighting as the men had in the water.

But this isn’t a race to see who’s the fastest. You know who will win the battle.Bucky is breathing hard, and for the first time since you’ve known him you see a different side to him. It’s not easy to spot with the water moving their bodies, but as he holds onto Zemo, their foreheads touching now as their lips part for a moment, he seems smaller somehow, like he is holding onto Helmut because he is so eager to please him and ready to make the Baron happy and again you are shown your own feelings reflected back at you from the face of your friend.

Zemo kisses him lightly again but when he pulls away he tugs at Bucky’s lip just a little and the gasp that Bucky makes is so light you can’t hear it, but you feel it deep in your belly.

Fuck. You sigh through your nose and bite at your own bottom lip knowing exactly how it feels.

Keeping Bucky close, Zemo turns his head and opens his eyes on you.

It’s like being tossed into the high beams of a car on a dark road.

Zemo gives you a look that makes you put your glass down, slide out of your sweater and lower your head to him as you fall effortlessly into the roll you have missed so much. He motions for you come in the pool and this time you do not object.

You plunge in feet first and swim over with your head held above water, your eyes fixed on the men who wait. You reach them and feel his hand grab your arm, the look in his eyes speaking volumes. He doesn’t say a word, he doesn’t have to. He just plants a warm, wet kiss on your lips.

You grab onto him pulling yourself close, saddling onto his thigh as you hope to feel a fraction of what he just shared with Bucky. It’s different of course, but still there, after all this is something truly special —magical even.

When Helmut breaks the kiss Bucky takes his place and you feel that spark ignite between the two of you until he smiles against your lips well aware of what he’s just started.

You know the Baron is watching and as you turn your head just a little, you see him reach and touch Bucky’s face but his eyes have gone just a bit dark, the wheels of thought turning quickly in his mind. “Lets get out.” He says and takes a deep breath.

“I think it’s time James learns the rules.”

[oddsnendsfanfics]

Unraveling the Mystery

Genre: Fan Fiction

Pairing: Henry Cavill/OFC

Warnings: N/A

Rating: PG

Length: Short Story

Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.

A/N: I have been sitting on this idea, for a while. It's taken forever to get it just right, what can I say? I can't get away from these folks.

Henry Cavill Master List

Sitting in the backseat of the car, Ivan huffed. Arms across his chest, Kal laying quietly beside him, his head on the boy's lap. He was not amused by his parent's Saturday excursion. In the front seat, Nell checked her phone, looking at emails and appointments for the upcoming week. Henry had his eyes on the road, navigating through the small city with expert care and attention.

Saturdays spent as a family were supposed to be fun. Ivan wasn't exactly having fun. Grumpy all morning, he hadn't turned his scowl upside down once. Whatever. His parents didn't seem to notice or care that he was in a pissy mood. Why should they?

When they'd left home, Henry had mentioned going to the next town over, but didn't really say why. Nell had been too worried looking for paperwork. Ivan wasn't stupid, he'd heard them in the office last night. They thought he had gone to bed, which he had, but they didn't know their son had gone back down stairs for a drink. Walking by the door, he'd stopped, originally to say “good night”, again but decided to hold out.

Ivan laid his head back on the seat, Kal nestling in for the remainder of the ride. How could his parents do this to him? The bits of conversation had replayed in his mind all night.

"But if we adopt, then we know it's a girl." Sighing, Nell rubbed her eyes. "I am outnumbered."

"Yes, but what if we can't find the right girl?"

Ivan furrowed his brow, listening through the cracked door. His parents were clearly discussing something that would be a huge part of their family, yet chose to leave him out? 

Standing quietly for a few seconds, trying to peep around the office door, he saw Kal sprawled out on the floor. Sleeping soundly. At least his position wasn't going to be given away. 

"And we will need to take him. I don't want to bring him home a sister, to find out he's pissed off." Henry continued. 

Gee, thanks dad. Ivan rolled his eyes, tears stinging. 

Inside of the office his mother's chair scraped the floor. Time to move along. Quietly rushing to get upstairs, before he was caught. 

They were adopting and didn't even bother to ask how he felt? What if he didn't want a sibling? What if he was content being an only child? Nobody had bothered to ask him and it hurt.

“Almost there,” Henry announced. Ivan huffed, Nell hummed, and Kal sighed. “Not the response that I was expecting, but okay.”

“I'm excited, I'm busy is all.” Nell glanced at her husband with a warm smile. “Someone has to keep you in costume and Ivan on track.”

“Whatever.” Ivan muttered, rolling his eyes. So now they pretend to care.

“When we're finished, do you want to go for a walk and grab something to eat?”

Leaning around in her seat to see Ivan; Nell smiled. “What do you think wild boy? Should we grab something to eat after? I hear they have a great sushi place just around the corner.”

“Whatever.”

“Is that all you can say today?” Nell raised her brow.

Ivan shrugged.

“Well, then. I guess you don't have an opinion, then we will go wherever we see fit.”

“Why ask me where I want to eat, you didn't care to ask me if I even wanted to come.”

“We thought that you'd enjoy an afternoon out.” Henry answered, checking that he was clear to make the right hand turn. Pulling into an empty space, he killed the engine. “We're here.”

“I'm excited.”

“I'm not.” Grumbled Ivan in reply to his mother's enthusiasm.

Leaning over, Henry was the one turned to face his sullen son. “Okay, before we go in. Care to tell me what's going on?”

In the back seat, Ivan tried his best not to allow his tears to fall. If they began then they may never stop. Dramatic? A little. He couldn't hold it in any longer, his parents had truly hurt his feelings and trust. Why had they not trusted him to tell him the truth? If he hadn't heard them talking, would they have simply brought another child home and told him to deal with it?

Sniffling, he wiped his hand across his cheeks. How silly did he look?

“Ivan?” Henry prompted, gently reaching out to his son.

Shrinking away, Ivan continued to sniffle. Shaking his head, Ivan opened his mouth to answer, but only a sob came.

“Are you okay? Ivan, you can talk to us.” Encouraging her son, despite her heart clenching, Nell tried to smile.

He had been out of sorts all morning. Taking it as he was annoyed to be woken so early, Nell had ignored his bad mood. She'd figured it would change, when they arrived to meet the puppy. On the seat beside him, Kal laid with his head still on Ivan. Nudging him gently with his nose.

“You didn't even ask me, how-how I felt.” Ivan whispered.

“Felt? About what? Are you not feeling well?” Concern etched Henry's face.

Ivan shook his head. “About adopting. Why? Why would you do that and not talk to me? A sister is a pretty big thing and you didn't even ask, if I wanted one.”

In a second, Henry could nearly feel his heart breaking for his son. Clearing his throat, he rubbed the back of his neck. Nell sprang into mom mode. Taking over, giving Ivan a soft smile and passing back a tissue from her bag,

“Oh, wild boy.” Cooing, Nell shook her head. “No, I think you have it wrong.”

“Do I? Oh really?”

“Yeah, we're um...we wanted to keep it a secret, in case Kal didn't get along with her. But then we were so excited, we had to bring you. Ivan, we're here to see about adopting another dog.”

“A dog?” Ivan sat up his interest fully engaged. Henry laughed and nodded. His mood changing faster than a speeding bullet. “A dog? We're getting another dog?”

“Maybe.” It was only fair that Henry laid down the rules now. “If she and Kal get along, then we will take her home. For a week. If they manage well, then she is ours. If they don't, then we have to bring her back. We didn't want to tell you, because we wanted to surprise you.”

“You better like her.” Ivan gently booped Kal's nose. Kal snuffled and yawned.

“I wish you had told us, how you felt. Oh god, I'm sorry.”

Last night, while in the office, Nell had heard a creak outside the door. Assuming it was another feature of the older home, she had ignored it, continuing her conversation with Henry. Shit. Now she felt terrible. How Ivan must have felt, beyond her comprehension. No wonder the poor boy had been in a rotten mood. Assuming his parent were making life decisions and not bothering to inform him.

“It's okay mum.” Ivan shrugged, “I shouldn't have assumed.”

“Wild boy, we would never adopt another child, without talking to you. Honestly.” Nell informed her son, her caring smile growing.

“Unless something changes, drastically, we will never have that conversation. So I think you are safe.”

“But I thought you wanted more kids?” Eyeing his father cautiously, Ivan wiped his nose on the tissue and snuffled once more. His tears dried on his cheeks.

Henry shrugged, glancing at Nell and smiling. “Once upon a time, I would have loved to have a dozen kids. But, I think that time has gone. You're older now and I know that you enjoy being an only child. Besides, your mum and I don't have that energy anymore. Chasing small children, it's too much work.”

“Well, now that we have this cleared up. Shall we go meet the potential, puppy?”

“Yes, please.” Ivan sprung up, grabbing Kal's leash to get the big dog out of the car. Opening the car door, he shuffled out to join his parents, promptly handing Kal to Henry.

A shift in his mood, Ivan could barely contain his excitement, asking his parents all kinds of questions. The short distance from the car to the shelter didn't give them much time to answer, but Nell did her best to fill in any information that Ivan was requesting. They had found the puppy on the website, not really looking for another dog.

Her name was Tilly, she was almost a year old, an energetic doxie pinscher mix. Her mother rescued a few weeks before Tilly and her two brothers were born. Ivan didn't even have to see her, to know she would be the best dog – best small dog – ever. Clearly Kal was the best dog ever. Henry allowed Kal a few minutes outside, while Nell and Ivan went inside to inform the staff that they had arrived.

“Mum,” Ivan whispered standing beside her, in the lobby, waiting for the assistant to join them, “I'm sorry.”

“It's okay, wild boy. You have nothing to be sorry for, but the next time come talk to me. I don't like it when you are upset.” Nell wrapped her arm around him, kissing the top of his head.

“Mrs. Cavill?” A tall woman asked walking into the room. Nell nodded and smiled. “Hi, I'm Aly. I'll be hanging out with you today.” She glanced at Ivan and smiled. Carefully looking passed Nell, she shifted. “You mentioned bringing your dog?”

“Yes, he's outside with my husband. It was a bit of a drive up. Can you go let your dad know that he needs to come in?” Nell ruffled Ivan's hair.

Nodding, Ivan did his best to control his excitement, reminding himself to walk towards the door. Calmly, he took a breath. Spotting Henry and Kal on the small patch of grass, he waved opening the door to call his dad. Excitement, contain. Breathe. Ivan straightened his posture before walking back across the office to his mother.

“He's coming.”

“Do you want to follow me in, when he comes in then I can have them sent back?”

“Sure, sounds good.” Following Aly behind a set of doors, Nell and Ivan walked hand in hand. It was not at all what Ivan imagined. There were no rows of barking dogs, instead it was a calm and quiet group of rooms. Each one with large windows and a door. Inside the floors had patches of fake grass, tile flooring, and a few toys.

“The last time that you were here, I know that you and your husband had met Tilly and Anduin.” Holding open a door to one of the rooms, Aly addressed Nell. Ivan raised his brow. So his parents had been here before? “Did you want to bring them both out?”

Slightly blushing, Nell gave the assistant a sheepish smile. “I'm not going to lie, I really adored Tilly. I agreed to bring Anduin out, to humour my husband.”

Ivan giggled. Of course his dad would have wanted to meet Anduin.

“Ah, I understand. Okay, well I am going to get Tilly. You can make yourselves comfortable.”

Ivan sat in one of the plastic office chairs, swinging his legs lightly, his feet not that far from the floor. Nell stood in the corner by the floor to ceiling window, watching for Henry and Kal. Humming contently, Ivan tried to picture what this new dog would look like. She would certainly be smaller than Kal, not even the size of Kal's leg. He giggled at the idea of the little dog bossing the old bear around.

Would Tilly like them?

“What's Anduin like?”

“Huh?” Nell turned her head to look at Ivan, she had been lost in her thoughts of upcoming projects and school sport schedules.

“Anduin, you said that you only saw him because Dad wanted to.”

“Oh, he's a nice dog. But he's big and bouncy, he's still young and they said he had a bit of an aggression problem to work through. I'm sure he'll make someone a great dog, but he's not what we need. Not right now.”

Ivan nodded in understanding. As much as they loved Kal, one big dog was enough. He sat looking around the room, when he and his mom spotted Aly at the same time. Taking a step back from her post, Nell held out an arm to Ivan, indicating she wanted him to join her.

Entering the room, Aly had a small dog in her arms. Licking her face furiously, the dog wagged her tail, excitedly enjoying the interaction.

“Here is Tilly,” bending to sit the puppy on the floor, Aly smiled at Ivan. “Why don't you take a seat and get to know her?”

“Mum, momma, mum.” Ivan tugged on Nell's sleeve. “This is the best surprise.”

“I'm glad you're excited.” Nell kissed the top of his head. “Do you want to play with her? Get to know her a little, before Kal comes in?”

On the other side of the windows, Nell caught sight of Henry and Kal approaching. Kal looked around cautiously, following Henry into the small corridor. Nodding to his wife and giving a slight wave, Henry smiled. He would wait right where he was, until asked to bring Kal in. Kal sat at Henry's side, watching through the window, a slight whine when he saw little Henry playing with the ultra small dog.

Sitting down on the floor, allowing the small brown dog to climb on him, Ivan giggled. Her whole body shook with her tail wag, as she bounced on and off of the boy's lap. Aly smiled, watching the two interact.

“They certainly get on well.”

“Ivan loves dogs.”

When Henry and Nell had come to see the dogs, it had been Henry on the floor giggling like a child, while the puppy had climbed all over him. Nell had joined in, sitting and tossing the ball for both Tilly and Anduin. But Ivan was by far the one in his true element.

“Let's see how Kal does, shall we?”

“Of course.” Nell waved for Henry to bring Kal in.

Opening the door, Henry gave a gentle tug on Kal's leash. The big, black and white dog was hesitant to enter the room with the smaller creature. She was full of the zoomies and her bark was fierce.

“Kal.” Henry called to his companion. “Come on. It's fine.”

Reluctant, Kal shuffled into the room, snuffling and snorting. Making sure to keep Henry, Nell, Ivan, and the strange woman between him and the small fur missile. The small brown dog darted around Nell, between Henry's legs and right up to Kal. Pulling back on his leash, Kal was wide eyed. No! No way! She was growing closer.

Without warning Tilly stopped a few inches from Kal, reaching out she sniffed his foot and took off. Too concerned with her return, Kal was having a hard time relaxing. His fear was soon soothed, when Nell reached down to offer him a biscuit. Oh so now they were buying him off with food? Eh, fair enough.

“Why don't you pick her up, then she's not as bouncy.” Aly smiled at Ivan.

Scooping the puppy into his arms, Ivan smiled when she began to instantly lick his face. “Tilly.” He giggled, holding her out to his dad.

“Come here, sweetheart.” Henry accepted the puppy. She was tiny compared to Kal, even as a baby. Henry smiled holding the wiggly body, trying to control her enough to let Kal get a proper look. “Look Kal, see the baby.”

Kal huffed, sinking down to the floor. His head resting on his paws. How dare they.

“Have a look, bear.” Henry encouraged the older dog. Bending down with the puppy, he laughed when she licked his chin, giving playful bites. “She's okay. Easy fella.” He steadied Kal, who had lifted his head a little. Sniffing towards the puppy, he sat up. His head tilted slightly. Henry eased Tilly closer.

Reaching out, she yipped in Kal's face, but didn't shy when his big nose poked her in the belly. Licking at Kal, she wagged her tail fiercely.

“I know that you love being the only dog, but would a friend be terrible? She's a friend. Not a chew toy.” Nell eyed Kal.

Huffing, Kal sniffed the puppy once more, before scooting back as Henry let her go on the floor. Instantly zooming around the room, Tilly bumped into Kal. Reacting less dramatically, Kal groaned and flopped down onto the floor. His eyes following the puppy, his desire to chase the small creature almost void. He was too old for this shit.

“I think we should take her home, what do you think?” Henry glanced at Ivan.

“Yes, please.” Ivan nodded eagerly. “What about you, Kal? Do you want a sister?”

Kal huffed. He didn't care one way or another.

“I think we will definitely be taking her.” Nell smiled. Stooping to scoop up the puppy, she scratched Tilly's ears and smiled wide.

“Your mum has a new mate,” Henry nudged Ivan in he side, gesturing to Nell snuggling the puppy.

“Maybe this means she won't bother me so much to do things.” Ivan snickered.

“Don't bet on it,” Nell smirked, she'd heard their chat. When would they learn, she heard everything.

Settling the final paperwork, gathering instructions, and all the legal work that went with adopting dog had taken mere minutes. The shelter were efficient, set up, and knew their business. Henry admired that. Nell had been the one to find them, assuring him that they were reputable, reliable, and a decent place to work with. She wanted nothing but the best, when it came to their newest addition.

Thanking Aly, posing for a few photos – as was custom for the shelter, when an animal found a new place, and making sure they had all of their paperwork, instructions in case Tilly needed to come back. Ha! They were on the their way, the five of them.

Kal led the way to the car, he had snacks waiting and needed to finish that nap he'd been taking. Henry opened the door, allowing Kal to get situated, before Ivan and Tilly joined him. Giving the big dog word of encouragement, telling him how fantastic he'd been with the entire thing.

“Mum, momma, mum.” Ivan bounded towards the car, at his mother's side “I'm sorry for being upset this morning.”

“You have nothing to apologise for, wild boy.” Carrying Tilly; Nell wrapped her other arm around Ivan. “But do me a favour, the next time you want to eves drop, come to us before assuming things.”

Tag List Chat

[fukurodaze]

five stars: part 1 | one look

suna rintarou, the second year middle blocker, seems to have an unapproachable crush on you, the third year cheer captain and the definition of a perfect façade. but it’s thanks to one mistaken encounter that the embarrassed meets the embarrassing.

wc: 2.2k warnings: swearing

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the monthly calendar is the only thing hung on the furthest wall in the locker room. it’s a large rectangle, with random pictures of trees and various images from the nagano prefecture - the last location of the spring high tournament. now, the calendar is half as thick, with a large number seven plastered on the left hand corner. 

for the volleyball team, this means one thing: the summer interhigh is around the corner.

suna rintarou, now in his second year of high school, knows this very well. 

a slamming sound fills the room with every ball that is spiked and blocked. the second years are staying back to play another two-on-two match. it’s osamu and suna against atsumu and ginjima. 

there is a delighted grunt from osamu as the ball falls on the other side of the court through ginjima’s arms. the makeshift scoreboard tells a miniscule point difference of one after three sets, and seeing as none of them seemed to feel any sort of prideful victory, the four almost agreed to call it a day.

almost.

“alright! take it from the top!” a familiar voice rings from the other side of the gymnasium. suna hasn’t heard your voice in a while, even though it’s been weeks since the cheer team had started practicing in the same gym as the volleyball team. he tries not to mind.

“let’s do another.” suddenly, suna fixes his posture, pupils moving frantically between the group of cheerleaders across the court and his teammates.

ginjima snickers. atsumu exchanges a glance. osamu smirks, “okay.”

the court is quiet with suspicious looks. there is a hidden laughter underneath all their faces. “what,” suna deadpans, only to meet three mysterious shrugs. 

the next set unfolds the same way the past three did; plenty of practice for every skill set in the game, reminiscent of beach volleyball, and a tiny point gap at the end. 

only this time, suna looks like he’s about to cartwheel and fall into the splits all the while shouting “got it!” or “osamu!” ten times his usual vocal frequency. strangely, there are grunts and groans that make ginjima chuckle, contorted backs during spikes that have atsumu cursing, and sweaty hands through even sweatier hair that eventually lead to the end of the practice session.

suna doesn’t realise why his blood suddenly pumps faster than it usually does when he plays. he also doesn’t realise how his eyes waver constantly between the court and the opposite end of the gym. atsumu thinks it’s almost better that he doesn’t - suna had played well, after all.

“’m kind of cravin’ some yakiniku bowls,” osamu chimes in as the four begin to head out.

“ah, we should get some,” atsumu adds. 

“yeah, i’m fuckin’ starving.” ginjima calls out, turning to suna as they walk.

suna steals a glance at the cheerleaders, finding you already rested on the bench, talking to your teammates. he’s still seated against the wall of the gym, taking another gulp from his water bottle. 

ginjima quirks up his eyebrows and motions towards the door. suna shakes his head. 

“oi, suna! ya comin’?” atsumu asks, and is met with a shrug.

suna watches as the three walk out of the gym in moderately noisy chatter. it’s not long before the group of girls bid farewell to each other as well, walking out the gym in smaller groups of close friends.

not you, though.

suna doesn’t yet dare to speak up in the large space that now only occupies the two of you. it’s been months since you last talked to him anyways - and that was back in his first year - so there was no point.

instead, suna puts down his water bottle and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, rubber soles of volleyball shoes squeaking against the wooden gym floor.

he picks up a ball somewhere on the floor, in a corner a little closer to you, and runs back to his side of the court. he stands still, and bounces the ball a few times, watching its yellow-blue-white lining seemingly mix as it spins and bounces, before holding it tight in his hands.

he throws it up in the air, feeling the ball fly. he waits a few milliseconds before he finds himself launching into the air, hand hitting the ball the way he always does it. a jump floater.

the inflatable mass is shot over the court, hard and fast. it goes far, and as suna’s feet meet the ground, he knows it’s gone too far. 

“shit.” his head snaps your direction. you’re buried in your notebook.

suna sighs, retrieving another ball from a near corner. he doesn’t usually do serve practice, and he doesn’t really use spike serves in the first place. 

some practice is never bad - he knows that - but why does the gym feel so stuffy?

he figures he might as well try a few more jump floaters, watching his wrist so that it keeps still while he jumps. 

suna hopes it’ll at least be some good company for you.

“suna.”

the boy almost jumps internally at the stern voice, hands gripping onto the locker’s edge in surprise. he cringes a bit, slightly dreading the interaction. not that he disliked the person, of course, but suna had felt a bit too tired to put up with anyone, really.

the captain, kita, stands in front of his own locker as suna nods a greeting.

“were you practicing your serves alone?”

suna cringes again. i get it, i don’t usually care about serving, is what he wants to say.

“yeah. i know i don’t really do it often.” suna peels off his sweaty shirt, tossing it into his backpack. he needs to wash it later.

there is ruffling and a zip in the background, then kita tells him, “it seemed like you did well.”

suna’s mind wanders to the question of how and why kita is still at school after not seeing him all afternoon, but it’s not like suna really cares who sees him at practice.

“i wouldn’t know, though, y/n-san told me.”

correction: it’s not like suna really cares who sees him. unless it’s you. because now he really cares. 

suna tries not to button his shirt up the wrong way. “what did she say?”

“she said it looked like you were working hard.”

“ah.” silence fills the room and suna’s gotten his tie in a rookie mistake. oh god. are you and kita classmates? he wonders. do you have a boyfriend? is kita your boyfriend?

soon, kita closes his locker, backpack and duffle bag slung on his shoulders, full summer uniform back on. he almost walks out without a word.

but kita stops at the entrance of the locker room, “i heard y/n-san had a boyfriend?”

suna has to stop his eyebrows from raising too high, so he attempts to shrug it off. he kind of feels bad for kita, seeing as it seems like he’s getting turned down at any chance of conversation.

then he hears kita chuckle. (kita chuckles?)

“just kidding. you don’t have to panic.”

kita genuinely amazes him sometimes. both ironically and frustratingly.

“anyways, keep it up. nationals is just around the corner. don’t be late tomorrow.” suna hears kita’s voice fade out as he exits. suna saves his disbelieving scoff for later.

when suna finally ties his tie without making a fool of himself, he takes all of his belongings in his backpack and heads home with a bit of a fire in his step.

of course he’s not going to be late tomorrow.

suna rintarou was definitely not late to school. in fact, he was the second one there.

apparently, the first person had passed herself out on the bottom most seat on the bleachers, with notebooks and papers laid out all over the occupied area.

suna takes a closer look, just in case the person was no longer alive. just in case.

it feels like a violation of privacy when he finds that it’s you sprawled over the bleachers, now in your uniform blouse and skirt, lip tint and eyeliner already neatly applied. 

yet, your eyes are wide open with your pupils slightly crossed, and suna hates how he has to hope that he doesn’t accidentally laugh.

he’s not sure how to wake you up, since it’s currently six in the morning, and his practice starts at six-thirty, and class starts at eight. it takes a few seconds of standing in silence in front of your passed out body.

two things come into his head: you are pretty. this is pretty weird.

he figures that he might look like he’s looking over a dead body, from the position he and you are in. 

it does seem like you’re breathing, so suna opts for a slight poke of the finger to your shoulder. his long arm and fingers extend in your direction, his body staying back in order to avoid any false misunderstandings when you eventually wake up.

poke. snore.

poke. snore.

poke.

“mmkay, taayk eet fruhm da tap.” your hand moves to extend your pointer finger, the same way suna’s hand looks like now as he pokes you.

suna sighs through a clenched jaw. he clears his throat softly, “senpai?”

you let out a groan. he tries again, louder this time, “y/n-senpai?”

suna’s taken aback when your hand catches his wrist, pulling it as you sit back up, eyes blinking rapidly. 

“i saw that you had fallen asleep, so.” suna regrets his actions when he sees you yawn. maybe he should’ve let you sleep. you shift in your seat, fixing your ruffled skirt. it looks uncomfortable, and you’re thoroughly embarrassed. (you think you feel a tiny trail of drool down your mouth. you wipe it away. yuck.)

“wait, suna rintarou, right?” you blink, “i, uh, i tutored you last year, physics...?”

suna nods, “yeah.”

you let go of his wrist, mumbling, “volleyball players are so tall.”

suna catches that statement of yours. he doesn’t ask, though, even if it makes him grin inside.

“oh god. how long was i asleep for?” you reach for your phone on the other side of the bench, gasping at the time, “it’s ten past six...”

you look up to the boy, then your papers, then the boy, “uh, suna-san, i’m so sorry for this, but could you help me gather everything? i was revising our cheering programs for the basketball and volleyball games, so there’s just a lot of past papers and everything.”

suna hums in response, quietly complying and collecting your papers. there are numbers on each of them, and suna makes sure to put them in order as you continue to sort out your papers on your side of the seat, muttering short curses that suna hadn’t believed would come out of your mouth so easily if he had seen you a year ago. 

“do you have practice for cheer too in the mornings?” suna flinches at the short silence between his question and your answer, but you look at him with what he thinks is the sweetest, most tired smile he’s ever seen.

“no, not really. our schedules are basically the same as the basketball and volleyball teams, but without the morning practices,” you continue, “recently, school’s been starting up this new badminton team and having them outside instead, so we just have to compromise.” your tone turns slightly sour, unfiltered by your lack of sleep.

“doesn’t the cheer team have a supervisor?” suna questions, genuinely concerned at how you seem to be the only one making plans for the cheer team.

you shake your head, “it’s just me and yuki-chan. we have two captains, in case we ever have overlapping games, but it’s really it. we just make appointments with the principal from time to time, to make sure she doesn’t forget about us.”

“ah. that... sucks.”

you shrug, catching his gaze on you. he looks away. “tell me about it.”

suna hands you the rest of the papers and you murmur a quick thank you before you’re hugging the folder of papers to your chest, backpack still somewhere on the floor. you’re about to exit the gym when you feel a lightness on your shoulders that is far too nice for your responsibilities, and that’s when you make a u-turn, “shit, my backpack.”

“i got it.” suna has his backpack on his shoulders and one strap of your bag in the crease of his elbow. in his arms, your bag looks light. your head tilts in amusement.

“thanks. i’ll-”

“i can carry it for you, if you want.”

you near him, eyes laced with burden. you tell him not to worry, trying to lecture him about his morning practice and how people might already start coming to practice, but suna tells you that it’s only quarter past six in the morning and that he can walk you to class because it’s nicer to sleep on desks instead of the bleachers. 

so you smile, because how could you not?

"would kita be mad if you’re late?”

suna grimaces at your mention of kita - without honorifics. are you two that close? suna wishes you could call him without any honorifics, too, maybe even his first name-

“suna-san?”

his eyes pierce into yours and he cocks his head forwards, brisk walking out of the gym. there’s a ghost of a smile on his face, and it reminds you of the last time you had really talked with him, less than a week after he had gotten a well-deserved 89 on the final physics exam - it was almost a 50 point improvement. 

suna shakes his head, chuckling, “we won’t be late.”

his voice is only a little bit deeper now than it was then. his summer uniform fits him well.

you realise that he is handsome before he is your underclassman. 

taglist: @maitenight @natszoo @ssuna @erens-piss-cleaner @osamus-onigiri @volleybloop @etherealiwa​ @agaashesmilktea @bicchaan @anngelllla @tycrackculture

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[rosaliepostsstuff]

Little steps (George Weasley x reader) | pt 4 - Attention

Pairing: George Weasley x reader, OC x reader

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3

Summary: Y/N and George try to figure out what the Yule Ball changed in their relationship; life gets back to normal and goes on, Y/N is a confused teenager™ and has a hard time sorting her shit out

Word count: 6897

warnings: cursing, mentions of sexual themes, mentions of alcohol, canon character death

a/n: It’s a wild ride and honestly I don’t know what else to say about it. I hope I left as little mistakes as possible, it’s long. The next part will be the last, my dears. Also, I’m not sure if drinking lemon balm tea is a thing outside of where I’m from so I’m sorry if you got confused 😅 - I drink it and I like it.

Walking up the curved steps you felt his tingling gaze, you held your breath in, until you were out of sight, and you seemed to shake more with each step you took. The door handle to your room felt colder than ever. You stepped into the room where Hermione was getting ready for a shower, picking up her cosmetics, you felt dazed as if you just stepped out of a fairy tale and you didn’t know how to function in the normal world anymore. So you closed the door behind you, your friend stopping in her tracks, trying to read you. You took a deep breath, leaning your back against the door and looked into her eyes – and that anchored you. Tonight really did happen, in the real world. Your face broke into a huge smile and you didn’t have to say anything, you just squealed and charged at her – both of you jumping grinning like fools, squeezing each other tight. 

“I need to calm down, take a shower and just lay down” you started rambling after you let go of her “otherwise I’ll never fall asleep. Oh, I hope I can fall asleep normally, we both know I’m as good as dead if I don’t get enough sleep- “ you went on as you started picking up your own toiletries, kicking off your shoes in the meantime, while Hermione waited for you, chuckling at how dramatic you were. She was glad to be distracted from her own whirlwind of thoughts after that evening.

The following morning you woke up, debating whether getting up at all, was a good idea. But your rumbling stomach won. You washed up and stood in front of the mirror in your room, wondering what to wear. Why would choosing an outfit be too difficult? It was a normal morning after all.  – a skirt with a button-up? no, that’s trying hard… - I mean, you never cared about how you looked- or wait, scratch that. You never questioned your judgement or had much trouble with it – maybe just some sweats? ugh, but then people would start assuming you’re in a bad mood, or hungover… - looking good just came naturally to you and you weren’t a try-hard, as you kept telling yourself.  So you put on a pair of fitting jeans with a sweater and put your hair up in a high ponytail. It’s just a normal morning.

You knew Hermione left before you and you didn’t see Harry or Ron in the common room, so you stepped through the heavy wooden door leading to the great hall, alone. If your wardrobe this morning didn’t confuse you enough, now you faced another dilemma. How did you usually choose a place to sit? Why was existing and decision making so difficult that morning? Surely, you didn’t get enough sleep. That was it.

Still deep in your thoughts, your feet were awkwardly following along the Gryffindor table. I mean, normally, when you weren’t already with your friends, you would just take any empty spot. Today should be the same. Your seat at the breakfast table shouldn’t be a statement, yeah?

“Hey, Y/N,” said Hermione, shifting a bit closer to Harry, so you could sit by her other side. You didn’t realize you had walked up to them. “Hi,” you said, slowly taking your spot and unsuspiciously scanning the perimeter. “-everyone..” you added when you met George’s eyes as he was bringing a coffee mug up to his lips, smiling to you. You broke the eye contact to pick some food and get on with your breakfast and just missed how he hit his teeth with the mug, spilling a bit of the liquid and earning a snort from Fred.

——————⁛⁙⁘◊⁘⁙⁛—————— January, 1995

“-have you ever noticed that?” said George staring dreamily at your confident smirk after you probably made some cheeky comment, sitting with your friends by the fire on the other side of the common room. “No, can’t say I have,” answered Fred in a bored tone with his cheek resting on his palm and elbows on the table, until he got a punch to the side. “Ugh, what do you want me to do?” he said wincing a bit and rubbing the sore spot as his twin glared at him, feeling betrayed. “-you’re absolutely smitten with her since the ball and it’s getting boring. Get over yourself!” “Could you be any louder?!” George whisper-yelled “ -wait no, don’t answer that” he quickly followed, holding his hands up as he knew the look in his brother’s eye well. “Look, all I’m saying is – that’s still Y/N we’re talking about. And this- “ Fred gestured widely at George’s position “-isn’t helping you.”

——————⁛⁙⁘◊⁘⁙⁛——————

Much too soon for most of the students, the new term came along. You fell into a routine, very similar to the one from the previous term, only with a few slight changes. You had calmed down a bit when it came to George, who would now, along with Fred, hang out with you from time to time. He also got back to his confident self around you. His new approach was hard to get used to at first, cause it meant frequent compliments, winks, attempts to show off, distracting you when you tried to study in the common room and those damned, so hard to resist smiles you always had to return.

January was coming to an end and you were eating lunch with Hermione, boys not with you, brainstorming about the clue Harry got after opening his egg. As you stopped reaching new conclusions, the conversation topic shifted and you recalled how you got involved in one of the twins’ pranks. “-then I just told him how I was going to tutor George and Fred that afternoon and threw in a couple of insults, saying how insufferably dull they are etc, to appeal to him and avoid further questioning,” you explained how you covered for them with Snape. You were one of few if not the only, non-Slytherin student he respected didn’t despise. It was probably thanks to a mix of your character and having two older brothers that you knew where to pick your fights and weren’t afraid to swallow your pride if it ultimately meant benefits. It came very useful with Snape.

“-all that was left was for George and Fred to put some finishing touches and voila.” You said munching proudly. “George and Fred?..” asked Ginny, confused, leaning out from behind Hermione, reminding you she was there the whole time. “Yeah, I mean, it was their plan, so-“ “No, no- George and Fred?” she continued and looked at Hermione who was just as confused as you. “I mean- it’s always Fred and George.” she said looking between you two “it sounds weird the other way around” she got back to her food, “no one says that..” but she didn’t push further as Hermione was biting onto her bottom lip trying to keep a straight face and you put your fork down, suddenly not hungry anymore and -so- weirdly warm.

——————⁛⁙⁘◊⁘⁙⁛——————

February, 1995

You’ve been distracted from worrying about your schoolwork and figuring out how to help Harry with his second task, by the arrival of Valentine’s Day. After putting a bit more effort into your appearance you headed to the Great Hall for breakfast feeling excited, although just a tiny bit conflicted. You were on your way to your friends, walking between the tables of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, where your eyes found Matt who shot you a sly wink that made you bite your lip before he turned back to his friends. You never got to really celebrate Valentine’s before, but now you were sure he had something prepared for you. Your mind was taken off of it as you chattered with your friends over breakfast and then headed to your morning classes. As your Transfiguration class was about to start, you opened your bag to reach for your books, but you were surprised. On top of your books was a note, tied to a colourful box you knew well. You looked around the class and took your spot, taking out your things to avoid McGonagall’s attention. Trying to keep a poker face you opened the note:

You look beautiful, as always. Got your favourite Fizzing Whizbees because you ate like a ton at the ball, Secret Admirer

You read and in your attempts to stay quiet you made a tiny squeal mixed with a giggle, which caused confused Ron to turn around and you tried to mask it with a cough. You repeated the words a few times in your head. George thought you were beautiful.

——————⁛⁙⁘◊⁘⁙⁛——————

About a week later, it was a fine afternoon for Fred and George. They sweet-talked their way out of detention with Professor Sprout after borrowing an ingredient from one of the greenhouses and were currently on a quest for dinner, walking through one of the quiet corridors surrounding the courtyard near Transfiguration.

George thought the day was going brilliantly and his mood was great until he saw something in the corner of his eye and subconsciously turned his head slightly in that direction. Some couple snogging against a wall, not an extraordinary sight in an otherwise empty corridor. He was about to shrug it off, but then it hit him like a train – his feet got nailed to the ground, blood was draining his body and his smile quickly fell. You were the girl. Fred noticed him stop and followed his gaze. “Who’s the git?” He said with a disgusted expression. George didn’t know, but he recognised him as the Hufflepuff you danced with at the ball, whose hands were now roaming all over your body. “Come on, now.” Fred didn’t know what to say to his brother but he knew watching wouldn’t do him much good, so he grabbed his shoulder and headed to the Great Hall once more. Approaching Ron, Harry and Hermione, Fred tried to think of a way to loosen their tongues about the Hufflepuff git without showing that he or George cared. “-that’s why we’ll ask Y/N what she thinks, you know she’s better at it..” said Hermione and Fred’s opportunity came “Just saw her with her boyfriend, she looked busy..” he said lazily flipping his legs over the bench and George followed. “Boyfriend?” Harry questioned as all three of them looked over confused “Nearly sucked his face off-“ he said earning a kick in the shin under the table from George. “Who is he anyway?” “Hufflepuff, tall, dark hair..?” asked Hermione and Fred nodded still determined not to show too much emotion. “Aah, Matt?” said Ron with his mouth full and a bit of his food fell out, earning Fred’s disgusted look. “Matthew Aston. He’s in our year. But they’re not dating. He’s not her boyfriend.” said Hermione shortly, looking down at her plate. “So keeping it casual then, huh..?” Fred raised his eyebrows slightly and slowly nodded. “It started around the start of the semester, weird you haven’t noticed.” said Harry shrugging slightly “Yeah, he hangs out with us sometimes, he’s alright.” added Ron. When you arrived at the table you decided not to ask about everybody being weirdly quiet but made a mental note to bring it up later.

That evening, after they told you, you took a long bath in an attempt to sort out your thoughts. It was all true. Matt didn’t like seeing you with George at the ball (or at all, frankly), so not long after, he made a move you couldn’t resist. And being with him was comfortable. He knew you well, was attractive and so very into you, eager to please. And it was all good, but not enough for you to commit. You kept thinking that maybe one day you will, but you refused to call him your boyfriend. If that wasn’t confusing enough, then there was George. He felt right, and he felt real in a way you couldn’t describe. That only made you all the more careful with him. You’ve never felt that way towards anyone so you preferred to sit back and wait where it takes you. But you couldn’t help but feel guilty. While you felt a bit stiffer around George in the next few days, he slowly came around. He still didn’t like the idea of anybody else being close to you in that way, even if not officially in a relationship, but from his interactions with you, he concluded all was not yet lost. And for now, he found an outlet for his negative emotions in subtle glares whenever he saw Matt around the school.  

——————⁛⁙⁘◊⁘⁙⁛——————

As the second task of the Tournament was getting closer, it occupied your mind. Lunchtimes, afternoons and evenings spent in the library to no avail, you were getting more desperate in finding a solution for surviving an hour underwater. You had less and less time, and now you found yourself watching the last sunset through the library window, before the day of the task. You had secretly given up on finding anything in those books, Ron did not hide it anymore and Hermione felt insulted as the library had never failed her before. “Oh this is no use,” Hermione said, snapping shut Weird Wizarding Dilemmas. “Who on earth wants to make their nose hair grow into ringlets?” “I wouldn’t mind,” said Fred Weasley’s voice. “Be a talking point, wouldn’t it?” The four of you looked up. Fred and George had just emerged from behind some bookshelves. “What’re you two doing here?” Ron asked. “Looking for you,” said George, which perked up your curiosity “McGonagall wants you, Ron. And you, Hermione.” “Why?” said Hermione, looking surprised. “Hang on, why those two?” You narrowed your eyes. You got why she could’ve excluded Harry, but if she took Hermione and Ron, you’d expect her to ask for you too. “Dunno… she was looking a bit grim, though,” said Fred. “We’re supposed to take you down to her office,” said George. Ron and Hermione stared at Harry, and you shared a concerned look with him. “We’ll meet you back in the common room,” Hermione told you two as she got up to go with Ron — both of them looked very anxious. “Bring as many of these books as you can, okay?” “Right,” said harry uneasily and you just nodded. You and Harry stayed in the library a bit longer, until Madam Pince kicked you out, then made your way to the Gryffindor tower with a stack of tomes each. You waited and waited, but Ron and Hermione never came back, and so around midnight, you excused yourself to go to bed, advising Harry to do the same. The next morning you missed Harry at breakfast and headed out with the crowd to watch the second task, hoping he was already getting ready. It felt weird not having Hermione or Ron beside you on the way to the lake. By the boats, you were looking for any familiar faces to group with, when you heard two well-known voices behind you, taking bets. You walked in their direction waving, hoping they’d notice your small figure amongst the crowd. “Hello, sunshine!” George beamed at you, slamming the suitcase shut. “A beautiful morning, innit?” added Fred, as you scooted closer to them and away from the moving crowd. “The sky is literally grey,” you said looking up but he just waved his hand and rolled his eyes, mouthing ‘details’. “Shall we get a boat?” you looked at the water and back at them “or are you staying here?” “Yeah we’re coming,” said George before Fred could speak up. After George helped you out of the boat the three of you headed towards the seats higher up, where you spotted Lee. You walked up the stairs to see a few black-and-yellow scarves in the seats towards the back. “Hi, Y/N/N,” said Matt with a single wave, making Eric’s head shot up with a grin “Heey, Y/N!” Out of the corner of your eye, you saw that George’s head was still turned towards you when Fred took his seat next to Lee. “Hi,” you said with a smile and a little wave, then turned to Fred and Lee and took a seat with George. After the had jumped into the water and out of sight, you decided to make yourself comfortable – you took out a blanket and some snacks you prepared in the morning. The boys had noticed as you picked up the blanket to unfold it and laughed a little “Getting cosy, huh?” Fred said with an amused grin. “We’re gonna be here for an hour and it’s not like there’s anything to watch, really” you pointed at the water surface “might as well.” You brought your legs up and sat cross-legged and given how close you were sat, your knee rested on one of George’s legs. “does that bother you?” “No, it’s alright,” George thought it was cute, really, how you were getting comfy and covered your legs, but above all, he didn’t mind that bit of physical contact. “What- you’re not gonna share?” he acted appalled and looked at your blanket, then back at you. You rolled your eyes, suppressing a smile, then unfolded the blanket fully, covered his legs, earning a grin, and even threw it over Fred and Lee’s too. You picked up a bag of snacks and the four of you spent the remaining time chatting, playing some exploding snap, and you even managed to pull them into exchanging some gossip.

——————⁛⁙⁘◊⁘⁙⁛—————— March, 1995

After the second task, the three of your friends were in the spotlight, which sort of affected your life, too. But the real problem was the pile of work you ignored while helping Harry prepare. That’s how you found yourself, early Saturday afternoon, at one of the smaller tables in the common room with your notes and various books in front of you as the sun rays were shyly poking through the window, asking for attention before spring officially started.

You had been sitting there for some time now and felt like you should probably take a break as the information was becoming harder to understand and took longer to assimilate. But you also couldn’t bring yourself to pause, with still so much to go over and you tried not to panic each time you glanced at the ‘to-do’ pile.

You were leaning on the table and nervously fixed your ponytail, when a mug with steaming, familiar liquid was placed in front of you. You looked up to see George as he leaned back against the table.

“Lemon balm. You drink it often in the evenings.. helps with anxiety, right?” he said with a small smile as you stared at him in shock. “Yeah- yeah I do..” You looked down at the tea again. “Is that for me?” you asked, just to make sure, but George just shook his head in disbelief and laughed softly, which you took as a yes. “thank you, then” you took a sip. “Can I join you?” “Yeah, sure, of course”

He mentally high-fived himself. He saw you earlier, slouching over the books with a worried expression and realized he wouldn’t be able to just enjoy the rest of his Saturday if he didn’t do anything about it. Tearing you away from your work was out of the question – you were no Hermione but you had a sense of responsibility, so if you had to study, you would study. 

His best bet was to make it easier for you. You were often found doing homework in study groups and you found working around others to be motivating, even if you were doing completely separate things. He had a bit of trouble deciding if revealing he knows your favourite herbal tea was cute or creepy but he took his chances. When you thought about it that evening in the shower you didn’t believe he was actually studying, but he pretended to, and it worked.

It made your heart flutter, thinking of how caring George was. He seemed to genuinely care, and you couldn’t help but want more of it. You loved the idea of him caring about you. Over the last few months you were almost positive he had -some- feelings for you, and you did too. But after that act, you realized, you started falling. Seriously.

——————⁛⁙⁘◊⁘⁙⁛——————

A week later, you stepped out of the great hall after lunch, headed to the dungeons with Matt, wrapped up in a conversation. “Ugh, he just doesn’t know when to shut up..” he said with hands in his pockets and you chuckled lightly “but I guess quidditch boys just can’t help themselves” he paused, his gaze straight ahead “like the Weasleys.” Oh-ho, if he said that name then he’s definitely in a bad mood. Your expression fell a bit. “They’re just obnoxious, I really don’t know why you keep hanging out with them.” “They’re not always that obnoxious, I know them well. They’re alright” He scoffed. “Alright… but they’re not like us.” You furrowed your eyebrows. Matt has been subtly hinting dislike towards the twins, or George in particular, and suggested you didn’t spend so much time with them before, but it was unlike him to act like an elitist shit. You stopped. “I like them.” “Yeah, that’s the problem, isn’t it? I think you got a bit confused. One of them might be thinking you like him a little too much.” He fake-smiled. You didn’t know what to say, and he looked you straight in the eye now “Cut it out Y/N, I mean it this time. I don’t want you hanging with them anymore.” “Well you don’t have a say in that, do you?!” You knew you hit a weak point. “You know what?! This whole thing was getting boring anyway.” You kept your voice even, as you were fuming inside. “We should end it before you think I like you a little too much. You can go fuck yourself, friend.” You turned around and with shoulders straight and you walked away in quick, long steps. He didn’t go after you.

It wasn’t until you reached the grand staircase that you slowed down a bit and allowed yourself to calm down. With each step, you were more glad you did what you did. When you stepped through the portrait you immediately realized Merlin still had your back. Fred and George, right there at the table. With your mind set, you walked up.

“Hi boys. You busy?” You sat down and they turned their attention to you. “Not really, what is it?” “I just wanted to hang out, I’m in need of a good time.” You said smiling at them both and they shared a look. “Flatterer,” said Fred, flicking his hair. “D’you wanna go outside?” asked George It was quite warm, so you nodded. “I’ll just run up to my room and grab a few things.”

When you came back George was waiting, lounging on the couch and Fred nowhere in sight. When he noticed you he jumped up and beamed at you “After me.”

You walked in comfortable silence for a bit, which you broke only after you left the castle. “Fred not coming with us?” you asked in a non-suspicious tone “Not this time, had something to take care of. Why, disappointed?” he teased you and you bumped his side earning a small laugh. “So, why were you in such a desperate need of a good time?” he tried to start a conversation. You were silent for a bit, thinking things over. “Matt and I had a fight.” you opted for honesty “Oh,” he tried not to sound hopeful. “I ended things with him. “ George raised his eyebrows “Did he do something? I thought you liked him.” “He didn’t do anything. He was okay, but that was it, really. And then he liked me too much.. and that was his problem.” you said looking down at the ground. 

George tried not to be selfish, he was happy you came to him at that moment. He wanted to be there for you and not think too far ahead about how that would benefit him. But something about you saying Matt liked you too much was worrying.

“Not to whine, but I came to you hoping I wouldn’t have to think about it anymore” you looked up at him and brought him out of his thoughts. “Ugh- of course, erm..” he scratched the back of his head “There’s something I wanted to show you.”

You walked along the shore of the lake for a bit and took a turn to walk between some trees and found a steep pathway leading up a bit and back towards the lake. In the end, you found an opening between the thick trees and bushes, its edge a few meters above the edge of the lake. You took in your surroundings and found the spot cosy, you could also see the castle in the distance, though you could’ve sworn you had never seen this place from there.

“Like it?” George asked from behind you, standing with his hands in his pockets and shoulders slouched a bit. You turned around and met his warm eyes, your amazement etched into your expression. “Love it,” you said and immediately cringed a bit. But it warmed his heart to hear that, he hadn’t brought anyone there before.

“Yeah, I like it here.” He said walking up to the edge to look over it. “I don’t think many people know about this place, which makes it even better.” he turned back to you making the butterflies in your stomach go crazy. He took a seat on the ground near the edge and patted the spot next to him, which you took.

“Soo.. what do you wanna do?” He asked leaning back on his arms. Your mind went to a few possible options, none of them appropriate. “or we could just talk” he tried to take some pressure off of you. At that moment you remembered something and started looking through your bag. You took a deck of cards out and held them up

“You ever played ‘treachery’?” you smirked and wiggled your eyebrows a bit and he shook his head after a bit of thought. “We face away from each other,” you said as you shifted in your spot and he reluctantly followed. “Lean back.” “Like that?” he said pushing his back onto yours and in result folding you in half, earning half-groan half-laugh from you, before he sat normally. Feeling the warmth of his back on yours and the vibration of his voice made the experience surprisingly intimate. You were so close, but you didn’t see each other’s faces, which made both of you feel a little less self-conscious. You explained the rules of the game to him. He caught up pretty quickly and you played a few rounds before getting bored with it. Then you talked, about everything, and nothing really. 

You sat on the edge with one of your legs dangling over, a wide smile plastered on your face. The early spring sun was slowly setting and your stomach started to remind you it was almost dinner time. Just a few more minutes, you thought to yourself.

On your way back, the steep path proved more difficult and you gladly accepted when George offered you his hand to take. However, when you reached the bottom, neither one of you let go. He slowly intertwined your fingers and the two of you continued to walk in silence along the lake. You had done things that would seem much more intimate before, but nothing felt quite like it. It was exciting and calming at the same time, it felt completely new but so natural and right.

As you approached the castle, the clocktower courtyard in sight and you could see other students walking about, you both, mutually, loosened the grip until you let go.

——————⁛⁙⁘◊⁘⁙⁛——————

April, 1995

Ever since George took you to your spot by the lake, you spent more time with him. He always took a moment to ask about your day and little things when he saw you around the school, and you felt more comfortable to just walk up to him to chat.

April Fools’ or twins’ birthday came on Saturday. You didn’t see them at breakfast and they sat far away during lunch. You still haven’t got the chance to wish him a happy birthday – a simple act you were quite looking forward to, to show that you cared and see his reaction. Mother Nature was being very generous with the weather, the early afternoon was quite warm and sunny and you took that opportunity to set up a blanket for yourself under one of the trees near the training grounds and read a bit.

You don’t turn seventeen every day and Fred and George took it very seriously. That’s why they had just stashed with Lee all the necessary party supplies in the boathouse to celebrate that night and were now headed back to the castle. George saw you lounging on the blanket, he noticed you from afar as if it became his seventh sense. He gazed at you for just a moment, his hands in the pockets of his shorts and felt a jab at his side.

“The fuck was that for?!” he grimaced at his snickering twin. “If you ask me, she looks as if she’s about to run away. You’d better catch her before she realizes you’re coming.” Fred said with fake seriousness, earning an eye-roll. However, George’s mind was too preoccupied for a witty comeback. “I’ll see you.. later.” “Just don’t embarrass me even more!” Fred shouted after him. When he walked up you closed the book on your finger and seeing his bright smile, you couldn’t not smile back.

“Hello,” you said enthusiastically. “Hi” he did a little wave, standing on the edge of your blanket. “Happy birthday” “Thank you,” you put a bookmark in your book and put it away, then sat up. You were silent for a bit and George shifted on his feet. “You’re just gonna stand there?” George’s mind went blank and you saw his shocked face as he opened and closed his mouth a few times “I mean that you can sit down if you want.” “Ooh,” he replied with a slight relief and quickly made himself comfortable on the soft blanket, the two of you now sat cross-legged, facing each other.

“So how is it being a responsible adult?” you asked making him snort “That’s likely.” You giggled, biting on your bottom lip, something George has grown to love. “What’re you reading?” he asked nudging your thigh with his foot lightly. “You really wanna know?” you asked, with a slight doubt, but you were excited to tell him a little bit about your interests. “I really wanna know.” He said, lying down on the blanket and looking up at the tree above. You started with telling him about the book you were currently reading, then you talked about what the two of you generally enjoy reading and then it just continued like it always did with him. 

You quickly found yourself on the blanket next to him, looking up at the leaves swaying with the gentle wind and eventually his hand found yours, tracing patterns on your palm and playing with your fingers absentmindedly.

——————⁛⁙⁘◊⁘⁙⁛—————— May, 1995

You and the three of your friends crept out of your dormitories at daybreak near the end of May. It was really important for you to send an owl to Sirius. You were still debating the events of the previous night, what happened with Victor Krum and Mr Crouch when Hermione shushed you all. You heard footsteps going up to the owlery and two arguing voices.

The Owlery door banged open. Fred and George came over the threshold, then froze at the sight of you, Harry, Ron, and Hermione. “What’re you doing here?” Ron and Fred said at the same time. “Sending a letter,” said Harry and George in unison. “What, at this time?” said Hermione and Fred. At this point, you were looking all over everyone with narrowed eyes. Fred grinned. “Fine — we won’t ask you what you’re doing if you don’t ask us,” he said. He was holding a sealed envelope in his hands. Harry glanced at it, but Fred, whether accidentally or on purpose, shifted his hand so that the name on it was covered. “Well, don’t let us hold you up,” Fred said, making a mock bow and pointing at the door. Ron didn’t move. “Who’re you blackmailing?” he said. The grin vanished from Fred’s face. Harry saw George half glance at Fred, before smiling at Ron. “Don’t be stupid, I was only joking,” he said easily. You furrowed your eyebrows and kept listening. “Didn’t sound like that,” said Ron. Fred and George looked at each other. Then Fred said abruptly, “I’ve told you before, Ron, keep your nose out if you like it the shape it is. Can’t see why you would, but —” “It’s my business if you’re blackmailing someone,” said Ron. “George’s right, you could end up in serious trouble for that.” You agreed with it and was concerned about what they got themselves into. “Told you, I was joking,” said George. You felt disappointed. He walked over to Fred, pulled the letter out of his hands, and began attaching it to the leg of the nearest barn owl. “You’re starting to sound a bit like our dear older brother, you are, Ron. Carry on like this and you’ll be made a prefect.” “No, I won’t!” said Ron hotly. George carried the barn owl over to the window and it took off. George turned around and grinned at Ron “Well, stop telling people what to do then. See you later.”

You took one last look at him and it was like looking at a stranger, you’ve never seen his eyes this cold, then he and Fred left the Owlery. Harry, Ron, you and Hermione stared at one another.

“You don’t think they know something about all this, do you?” Hermione whispered. “About Crouch and everything?” “No,” said Harry. “If it was something that serious, they’d tell someone. They’d tell Dumbledore.” Ron, however, was looking uncomfortable. “What’s the matter?” Hermione asked him. “Well…” said Ron slowly, “I dunno if they would. They’re… they’re obsessed with making money lately, I noticed it when I was hanging around with them — when — you know —” “We weren’t talking.” Harry finished the sentence for him. “Yeah, but blackmail…” “It’s this joke shop idea they’ve got,” said Ron. “I thought they were only saying it to annoy Mum, but they really mean it, they want to start one. They’ve only got a year left at Hogwarts, they keep going on about how it’s time to think about their future, and Dad can’t help them, and they need gold to get started.” You and Hermione were looking uncomfortable now. “Yes, but… they wouldn’t do anything against the law to get gold.” “Wouldn’t they?” said Ron, looking sceptical. “I dunno… they don’t exactly mind breaking rules, do they?” You felt slightly sick. “Yeah but not that kind of rules.” “This is the law,” said Hermione, looking scared. “This isn’t some silly school rule… They’ll get a lot more than detention for blackmail! Ron… maybe you’d better tell Percy…” “And what would that change?” you said. “Are you mad?” said Ron. “Tell Percy? He’d probably do a Crouch and turn them in.” He stared at the window through which Fred and George’s owl had departed, then said, “Come on, let’s get some breakfast.”

——————��⁙⁘◊⁘⁙⁛—————— June, 1995

After the encounter in the owlery, you barely saw George or talked to him. It was the day of the third task. When you saw that the empty spot left for you was next to George you panicked a bit and felt stiff at first.

When Harry came out of the labyrinth with the Cup, the orchestra started playing and people cheered. But you felt something was wrong and felt a chill down your back – you noticed Harry’s face first and leaned forward to see what was on the ground next to him.

You felt faint and all the noise around you was muted. You stepped back without looking and stumbled a bit but George grabbed you. “He-he's dead…” you whispered still looking at Cedric’s body.

“What?..” George’s expression fell immediately as he brought you a bit closer and looked over the crowd to see for himself. “Ced’s dead..” said facing George. He took you in his arms and you hid your face in his chest, your hands clinging to his shirt tightly. He couldn’t get a word out, just held you tight and placed his chin on top of your head. The moment was interrupted as all the Weasleys started ushering out of the stands, Y/N and Hermione with them. 

The next few days weren’t easy but you came to terms with the reality – Voldemort was back, he killed Cedric Diggory and you were certain the future of you and your friends would be challenging.

——————⁛⁙⁘◊⁘⁙⁛——————

With a few days left before you’d all leave for the summer, you and Hermione decided to enjoy the warm, sunny afternoon and lounged on the grass in one of the courtyards. The exams were done with and you forgot about all the danger for just a day.

You were soaking in the sun, your eyes closed, when suddenly you felt a shadow cast over your face. You opened your eyes to see George crouching beside you.

“Fancy taking a walk?” “Oooh but Hermione and I were having our gal pal time. Weren’t we, Miney?” You said with an exaggerated pout. She chuckled at you. “I think we went over every boy in the school,” she started getting up, “I’ll see you later.” “Bye, bye, girlfriend!” you waved to her and George helped you get off the ground.

“Was there something, in particular, you wanted to talk about?” you asked after you started walking. George bit his lip and looked straight ahead, “There is, but let’s go to the lake.” “Ok,” you said with a small voice, wondering where this was going.

“Were you avoiding me?” He asked once you got to the lake and kept walking along the shore. Were you? – you thought. “Something changed. You didn’t talk to me, you wouldn’t smile like you did before.” He said with genuine hurt in his voice. “I missed that.” he paused for a bit, “was it about the blackmail thing?”

You didn’t know what to say.

“because I didn’t tell you anything?” “Look, I know it was kinda stupid of me. You don’t owe me anything and you don’t have to tell me anything. And I didn’t avoid you.. on purpose.” you stopped and faced the lake, “I guess I just- I kinda hoped you would want to tell me, you know..?”

A few seconds passed and you turned back to see him looking at you. He looked at his shoes and took a deep breath, then held out his hand with a serious expression. You took the few steps towards him and took the hand you missed so much. You started slowly walking again. “Remember when we went to the World Cup?” he started. “Of course.” “And how Fred and I placed that bet?” You hopped up and walked along one of the larger rocks “…Ireland wins but the Bulgarians get the snitch – I remember. Brilliant by the way, I still can’t believe you got it.” you hopped down. George smirked for a second. “Brilliant indeed. You may or may not remember that we asked for our money right after the match ended. Old Ludo wasn’t happy with it, but eventually, he paid up.” you nodded “The catch is, he gave us leprechaun gold.” “Noo... What a dick!” you said in genuine disbelief. “I know,” he replied grimly. “Bagman seemed fishy, I think I heard my dad rant about him once, but that… “ “Yup. We tried getting him to pay up multiple times – nice at first, but he wouldn’t. And now he apparently up and vanished, so it’s over - a lost cause.” You were speechless for a second. “George, I’m so sorry. You gave him all your savings..” you moved even closer to him. “It’s alright.” He let go of your hand to wrap an arm around your shoulder, “we’ll just have to work even harder. But we’ll get there. Still got a year left in here.” “That’s right… You know I forget you’re older sometimes. But I’ll still be here for 2 more years after you graduate.” You looked up at the castle across the lake, in the distance. “It’s gonna be weird.” “How? Boring?” he asked, expecting a snarky response. “Yeah” you gave him an honest one instead. “Don’t worry, love, we’ve still got a year.” he squeezed you closer, making you chuckle. “Will you write to me this summer?” He asked. “Only if you write first.” “Have you got any parchment on you?”

With your moods significantly better, you headed to the Great Hall for dinner, the future suddenly not so scary anymore.

Part 5

[teaandatale]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO @geekynerddemon who so lovingly wished for me to finish Layer on Layer. And though I haven’t been able to do so, I thought I would whet your appetite with a preview of Part 1 of my 2 Part Epilogue.

Please note this is a rough draft & subject to thorough revisions when I get the writing muse under control again.

Layer on Layer: Epilogue- PART ONE

“You see one painting, I see another, […] it’ll never strike anybody the same way and the great majority of people it’ll never strike in any deep way at all but—a really great painting is fluid enough to work its way into the mind and heart through all kinds of different angles, in ways that are unique and very particular. Yours, yours. I was painted for you.” ― Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch

Despite the scorching heat radiating from the sudden summer outside, Steve had turned the AC off while the sun blazed in through the windows of the loft’s living room where he’d been painting. He had his music turned up and he was humming as he worked.

Peggy had given him the custom made easel, sturdy, adjustable, gorgeous, no doubt pricey, as a gift. He’d been painting so much that Peggy had deemed it necessary he have an easel at her place, a designated space to work since he spent so much time there anyway. She had claimed is a selfish gift after he voiced concern about her being too generous, assuring him she looked forward to watching him paint from the comfort of her couch. And she often did, taking breaks from her work by watching him mix colors and paint broad strokes.

The first thing he had painted at his new easel was for her, another detailed flower arrangement, just for her.

After unveiling the final product of Ana’s anniversary painting, which reportedly made Ana cry, happy tears Jarvis assured, she had given Steve a tremendous hug and after their double date dinner, they discussed art for a long time, their significant others at their sides sipping tea opting to discuss the dessert spread instead. He’d been so happy and warm to sit there among her friends, her make-shift family, accepting and open to him. How he could possibly love Peggy more he didn’t fully understand other than that he was learning he did it with every passing day.

Not long after that, Peggy started suggesting dates at more art museums and galleries. She watched him paint and encouraged him to do it more broadly. To show his work. To do more commissions. He wasn’t sure about all that, but he did start to paint more and more. He’d started even transferring images out of his therapy journal into oils. He’d done several, even brought one in to show his art therapy group. They encouraged him to make a series, to show his stories on canvas.

Steve swirls his paintbrush into his yellows, ochres melding with browns.

He’s deep in concentration getting her warm brown eyes just right, the right shade, the touch of a knowing glimmer in them. He remembers the first time they locked eyes, across her bedroom, just down the hall from where he stood right then.

He’s so deep in concentration, he doesn’t think twice at the sound of the front door opening and then when he hears footsteps approaching.

“Hey Peg, aren’t you late?” he asks distractedly without looking up.

“She sure is,” a voice that’s not Peggy’s startles him. He nearly drops his palette, tipping it over and paint gets on his bare chest.

He looks up and sees Angie.

“Sorry!” she cries out, and he notices she’s not looking at his face when he sets the palette down, trying to wipe at the pint on his skin. “Wow. This is a look. Go English!”

Steve blushes, grabbing his rag and using it as a make-shift cover for at least part of his bare torso.

“I thought you two were meeting at your hotel for drinks,” Steve said, reaching over to the couch for his shirt. Angie is still staring when he slips it on.

“We were but she was running late. And so when she didn’t show I thought I’d see if we got our wires crossed and see if she was here. Sorry for scaring you. I still had my key, and I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t realize you’d be here.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m sure Peggy just got caught up or stuck in traffic. You know how her work is.”

Angie nodded. “Yeah, she’s always going at a hundred miles a minute.” She stepped further into the room until she was right in front of the canvas. “You’re painting Peggy! You’ve been painting a perfect portrait of her half-naked looking like a Greek God. Unreal.”

Steve blushed further. “It’s hot in here but I prefer the breeze and the sunlight filtering in while painting so I turned the air conditioning off.”

“Oh don’t apologize, Steve. This has been the best surprise to walk into. I can’t imagine how Peg handles coming home to this every day.”

“We’re not living together.”

The yet goes without saying.

She giggled. “Yeah and when’s the last time you were at your place?”

“This morning,” he said defensively.

She just smirked and continue to devolve into giggles.

“You’re an amazing artist. That looks just like Peggy, down to that spark in her eye. I might need to hire you to paint me.”

He laughed. “Free of charge Angie. Friends and family plan.”

She grinned. “You’re as sweet as a button, you know that?”

“Can I get you something? Water?” he asked, already headed into the kitchen.

“Water’s good.”

They say down in the living room together chatting.

“How was your flight? Did you have press today?”

“Yup. Did a few of the morning shows. I have a late-night show appearance tomorrow afternoon that I’m pretty excited about. I can’t believe they’re having me on it!”

“We’ll have to record it. Peggy and I have been watching every episode by the way. But we’re a few behind because I have to wait and watch them with her. But you’re our favorite!”

“Aw, shucks. I cannot believe you got Peggy watching network TV.”

He laughed. “No I got her to use Netflix. You got her into network TV. She says you’re the most believable, though she always figures out the plot twists before I do. Are you giving her spoilers?”

“No way! And give away the impact of my performances before she sees them? That’s definitely all English. How’s she been? Super busy?”

“A little, but less so recently. She had a busy few weeks before her conference with the EU but she’s been keeping a regular schedule lately, coming home for dinner most nights.”

“Guess I just got unlucky with my timing,” Angie replied. “But I’m glad Peggy’s been taking some time for herself.”

Steve nodded. He’d seen Peggy in all sorts of ranges of stress in the last ten months. He’d been so glad that she’d been taking more personal time off, delegating, taking care of her well-being, seeking out his support when she needed it. Of course she was a busy woman. That was a given. But she always tried to make time. She always took the effort to stay present when they spent quality time together.

She’d gone out of her way to support his painting. They’d spent so many evenings out, sipping wine and swinging by the latest “hot” opening only for Peggy to proclaim that his work was much better, more moving, worthy of his own showing.

He still wasn’t all too sure about the whole artist career, but he loved how supportive she had been. How much she cared. How much she believe in him. It was nice to know if nothing else, he had a fan in Peggy.

“I’ve been trying to make sure she’s been taking care of herself better.”

“Good. I already know how good you are to her. She’s always happy to talk about you. I wouldn’t have believed it before actually meeting you.”

He shrugs off the compliment, after all he didn’t want the praise for just being there for someone he loved. Besides she deserved it and more.

“Maybe she’s got held up in a meeting. I’m sure she remembers our reservation,” Steve said after another fifteen minutes without hearing from her. “I’ll try to call her again.”

He didn’t catch her, but he did leave her a message reminding her of their reservation and that he and Angie would meet her there. Steve changed quickly in Peggy’s room and then the two of them hailed a cab. Angie filled him in on some L.A. gossip and some stories of her cast mates. He liked how bright and bubbly Angie was. He liked hearing stories of how she and Peggy became friends. How Peggy had always believed in Angie becoming an actress, and how the two always had each other’s backs. He liked knowing there were people apart from himself that cared so much for her.

They were early for their reservation, opting for the bar while they continued to swap stories. He checked his phone once they were seated but there were no messages. Angie convinced him to split an appetizer as she was starving and he hadn’t eaten since lunch.

“Must be some hell of a meeting English is stuck in for her to respond to my texts for like five hours.”

Steve hummed, checking his phone.

“Wait. What did you say? You haven’t heard from her in that long?”

[suituuup]

Potential angsty prompt? Beca gets a phone call about her mom dying. Chloe offers to go to the funeral with her even though Beca is reluctant. When they get there, Chloe realizes how shitty of a parent Beca’s mom really was.

through thick and thin

rated: T

word count: 2,600

ao3 link

*

“Bec?” Chloe calls out as she steps inside their apartment, dropping her keys in the bowl by the entrance. She shuts the door and shrugs off her coat, venturing further inside on a search for her girlfriend. 

Unsurprisingly, Beca is hauled up in her office, headphones on her ears as she messes with her mixing program. 

“Babe?” 

Beca’s chair pivots, and she lowers her headphones, smiling softly. “Hey.” 

Stepping closer, Chloe leans down to press a kiss to Beca’s lips, smiling against them when Beca reaches up to cup her jaw, keeping her there for a beat longer. “Any special request for dinner?” 

“Nope. I’ll be there in a sec to help you.” 

“I’ve got it, you can keep working.” 

After peering in the fridge for options, Chloe decides to heat up the lasagna leftovers, washing the salad and making a vinaigrette while it’s in the oven. Soft footsteps make her look up, and she smiles as Beca kisses her cheek on her way to the fridge. 

“So um, I need to fly back to Seattle tomorrow,” Beca blurts in the middle of dinner. 

She’s been quieter than usual, pushing her food around in her plate instead of eating it. Chloe was about to ask her what was wrong when Beca spoke up. 

“How come?” 

Beca clears her throat, shifting in her chair. “My aunt called earlier today, um, it’s my mom. She died this morning.” 

Chloe’s eyes widen in shock. “What?” She sets her fork down, pushing her plate away. “Oh my god, baby…” She’s about to go around the island to hug Beca, but Beca is already on her feet, carrying her plate to the sink. 

“So um, yeah. I should be back on Sunday.” 

“Bec…” Chloe murmurs, crossing the kitchen and wounding an arm around her fiancée’s waist. She props her chin on Beca’s shoulder. “I’ll call my boss and ask for a couple days off.” 

“That’s really not necessary, Chlo. I’ll be fine on my own.” 

Beca doesn’t talk much about her mother; Chloe knows their relationship was strained, without ever finding out the reason behind it. But still, she just died, and Beca will surely need someone to lean on. 

“Baby, I don’t think--”

But Beca pulls away before she can finish her sentence. “My head is killing me, I think I’m gonna go lie down.”

Chloe watches her go, her heart feeling heavy and torn as to what to do. She cleans up the kitchen to give Beca some time to herself, then heads down the hall with a steaming mug of Beca’s favorite herbal tea. Beca’s curled up on her side with her back to the door when she steps inside their bedroom, and Chloe rounds the bed, setting the mug on the bedside table. 

She sits down on the edge of the mattress, bracing a hand over Beca’s upper arm. 

“M’sorry I snapped,” Beca mumbles, glancing up at her. 

“It’s okay. Do you want me to pack your bag? What time is your flight leaving?”

“Eleven, I think.” Beca shifts to sit up, Chloe’s hand falling to her lap. “My aunt asked me to speak.”

“You don’t have to if it’s too hard,” Chloe murmurs, tilting her head to the side. 

“That’s the thing; it’s not hard. It’s…” Beca sighs. “I don’t feel anything. And I should, right? She was my mom. I should be sad or something. She just…” Beca’s jaw clenches, her eyes shutting for a moment. Chloe slides her hand into hers in wordless encouragement. “We never got along. She had an alcohol problem when I was a kid, and I never really had the whole love and affection kids are supposed to get from their mom. But she was still my mom.” Beca inhales sharply. “But then... I told her about you. About us. The summer after Worlds, after we got together. I think she was shocked that I was with a woman, but the things she said, Chlo…” she shakes her head, puffing out a breath. “She told me to leave. That was the last thing she said to me. Our relationship was strained ever since I went to live with my dad and Sheila, but it crumbled that day.” Beca��s eyes find Chloe, a mixture of hurt and uncertainty swirling in them. “I don’t have anything nice to say about her, because I don’t think she was a good person. Even in the rare times she was sober, she was just-- she brought people down.” She swallows, squeezing Chloe’s hand. “Does that make me heartless?”

Chloe shakes her head, lifting their joined hands to press a lingering kiss to Beca’s knuckles. “No. Absolutely not. And you don’t have to speak if you don’t want to. In fact, you don’t even have to go if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t, but there’s a shit ton of stuff that needs to be dealt with and I can’t let my aunt handle everything.”

“I can help with that,” Chloe says. “You don’t have to go by yourself.” 

Beca sighs. “You’re gonna regret coming… her side of the family isn’t fun.” She skims her thumb over Chloe’s knuckles. “But I guess it would suck less if you were by my side.”

Beca has always had trouble showing her vulnerable side, so Chloe knows that’s the closest she’ll get to I need you. 

“Okay. I’ll call the airline.” She leans in to peck Beca’s lips. “Right after I draw you a bath.”

Beca groans. “I don’t deserve you.” She chases Chloe’s lips in another short kiss. “You’re joining me, right?” 

“You bet.”

They land in Seattle just after one the next day. Beca’s aunt picks them up from the airport and drives them to Beca’s childhood house. Chloe’s never been there, and she can’t quite suppress her amazement when she first steps inside Beca’s old bedroom. 

“The Spice Girls, huh?” She asks with a shit-eating grin, tilting her chin towards the poster hanging above Beca’s bed. 

“Shut up,” Beca mutters, rolling her eyes. “I’m surprised she kept my room as is.” She walks to her dresser, picking up a picture of herself as a toddler, with her mom and dad. Seemingly catching herself, Beca sets it back down, clearing her throat. “I need to sort through everything. What’s trash and what can be given away.”

“You’re not keeping anything?”

Beca shakes her head. “No. I already took what mattered to me the day she told me to leave.”

They spend the rest of the afternoon packing Beca’s childhood things into boxes and make a trip to the dump for the things that need to be thrown away. 

Around six, they head to Beca’s aunt’s for dinner. 

“I’m sorry if this is awkward,” Beca mumbles as she reaches up to ring the doorbell. “Hopefully it won’t drag on.” 

“Beca, Chloe,” Annie greets with a small smile as she opens the door. “Come on in.”

They’re led to the dining room, where Beca’s uncle Jerry is already sat. “Hey there, Beca.”

“Hey uncle Jerry,” Beca says with a nod, then points to Chloe. “This is my girlfriend Chloe.”

She doesn’t miss the way her aunt and uncle glance at each other, and her skin crawls in discomfort. 

“Have a seat, girls, I’ll bring out the dish.” 

Chloe sits down next to Beca, casting her uncle a polite smile when she catches him looking at her. Beca and her aunt exchange small talk about Beca’s career over the first fifteen minutes, before Annie’s focus shifts to Chloe.

“And what do you do, Chloe?”

“I’m a vet, ma’am.”

“Oh, how fun!” The older woman gushes. “Well you’re such a good friend for being there for Beca through such a challenging time.” 

Beca clears her throat. “Chloe’s my girlfriend, aunt Annie. We’re living together as a couple. Surely mom told you that.” 

Annie purses her lips, setting her wine glass down. “She simply said you were going through a… phase.” 

Beca scoffs, her eyes rolling through the ceiling before she stabs a piece of carrot a bit too hard. “Of course she did.”

“Beca honey, your mom just wanted you to be happy. She loved you.”

“Telling me she doesn’t want to see me anymore isn’t my definition of loving your own child.” 

“She was hoping it would make realize this…” she motions between Beca and Chloe with her fork, as though unable to say it aloud. “Is not something that would last. That you’d come to your senses and go back to dating men.” 

“Fuck this,” Beca mutters, throwing her napkin on the table. “You’re really no better than her.”

The way Annie’s eyes darken shakes Chloe to the core. “Beca, that is not an appropriate way to talk about your dead mother!” 

Beca ignores it, pushing to her feet. “We’ll see you at the funeral tomorrow.”

Chloe follows her girlfriend towards the exit, catching her arm as Beca walks towards the driver’s side. “Gimme the keys, I’ll drive.”

Thankfully Beca doesn’t put up a fight and nods, handing Chloe the keys and wordlessly slipping in the passenger seat. Chloe backs out of the driveway and takes a right, driving for a couple minutes before pulling up on the side of the road when it seems like Beca is on the verge of a panic attack.

She unbuckles herself and twists in her seat, resting a hand over Beca’s back as Beca leans forward, struggling to breathe. 

“It’s okay, let it out, baby.”

A sob wretches itself from Beca’s throat and Chloe’s heart cracks as Beca breaks down, fat tears rolling down her face. 

“Breathe,” Chloe reminds her, rubbing soothing circles over her jacket. “Inhale, exhale.” 

It takes Beca a few minutes to calm down. She sniffles, wiping her cheeks with the hem of her sleeves. “God, I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, babe,” Chloe murmurs, reaching out to tuck Beca’s hair behind her ear. “They’re the ones in the wrong here.” 

Beca nods, puffing out a breath. “Can we leave right after the service tomorrow?” She croaks out. “You think— we could drive down to your parents’? We haven’t seen them in a while.”

“Of course.” Chloe smiles. “They’ll love that.” 

Beca has been a part of the family ever since Chloe introduced her just over three years ago, and Chloe’s pretty sure they love Beca more than her. 

(she secretly loves how obsessed they are with her girlfriend.) 

The funeral unfolds as it should the next morning, and a service is held in Beca’s childhood home shortly after. Chloe helps however she can, putting aside her irritation towards Beca’s aunt so things can run as smoothly as possible, because Beca doesn’t need any more drama. 

“Babe?” Chloe calls out as she makes it to the top of the stairs. Everyone’s left save for Annie and Jerry, and Beca disappeared a while ago. She finds Beca leaning against her empty bedroom door frame and wraps an arm around her waist from behind, propping her chin on her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Beca whispers, inhaling sharply. “Just… memories.” She turns around, looping her arms around Chloe’s neck and pecking her lips. She looks like she’s been crying, but Chloe doesn’t bring it up. “Thank you for coming with me.”

“Of course.” She rubs her nose against Beca’s sweetly. “You ready to go? If we leave now we should be on time for dinner. Mama Beale is making her famous salmon risotto.”

Beca hums. “Sounds amazing.” 

She hits the lights and shuts the door behind her, linking her fingers with Chloe’s as they head out of the house. 

The first half of the ride is spent in silence, Beca’s playlist drifting through the speakers on low volume while Beca stares out the window, absentmindedly stroking Chloe’s knuckles back and forth with the pad of her thumb as they hold hands over the console. 

“Sometimes I’m terrified of having kids,” she blurts out, cutting through Chloe’s thoughts. “I didn’t have any role model growing up and part of me is scared that being a shitty parent is like-- a genetic thing.” 

Chloe’s head shakes, and she glances away from the road for a second to cast her a soft smile. “It’s not, babe.” 

“The rational part of me knows that, but I can’t completely shut down those thoughts that I’m bound to screw up. But then I think of you and-- how I’m the best version of myself when you’re around and I know our kids -- whenever we decide to have them, seriously there’s no rush -- will have the same effect.” 

These moments -- the ones where Beca cracks herself open -- are still rare despite the trust she holds in her heart for Chloe, and they never fail to bring tears to her eyes. Especially when it deals with an important subject that they’ve never brought up before, one that is very dear to Chloe, as she’s always wanted to be a mother. 

“You’re serious about wanting kids?” She asks, unable to completely tame the emotion leaking in her voice. 

“Yeah. Someday. You know, when you and I married and in a good place with our careers.” 

Chloe’s heart trips at the imagery, and a wide smile breaks across her features. “Okay,” she croaks out, squeezing Beca’s hand. “Sounds like a great plan.” 

They make it to the house a little over an hour later, and Chloe’s mom wraps Beca up in a warm embrace as soon as they make it across the threshold. 

“What a lovely surprise,” Alice gushes as she waves them in after hugging her daughter next. 

“Thank you for having us last notice,” Beca says, smiling genuinely for the first time in the last couple days. “What’s up Mike?” She asks when they step inside the kitchen, where Chloe’s dad is setting the table. 

“Hey!” Mike exclaims, a beaming grin stretching across his features. “You guys have a seat. Beer?” 

“Please,” Beca sighs, shrugging off her coat and scarf and draping them over her chair before easing down on it. She smiles and leans against Chloe’s lips when she kisses her temple, quietly thanking Chloe’s dad as he sets a chilled bottle of local beer down in front of her. “Smells great, Alice.” 

“Fresh salmon caught by Mike yesterday,” Chloe’s mom informs them as she sets the dish down in the centre of the table. 

“Going back tomorrow, if you wanna join,” Mike states, his tone teasing as Beca is not really one for the outdoors. 

“You know what? Count me in,” Beca says, surprising everyone at the table. “I think I could use some fresh air.” She glances at Chloe. “I’ll need spare clothes, did not plan a fishing trip when I packed.” 

Chloe chuckles. “Sure thing, babe. Can I convince you to go for a hike as well?” 

“Let’s not push it, Beale,” Beca mutters, smirking. “But I won’t say no to a walk to the beach tomorrow morning before breakfast.” 

It’s a Beale tradition to go on a morning beach walk after both Thanksgiving and Christmas, holidays which Beca spent in Oregon the last two years. 

After a delicious dinner and helping out with the dishes, they head up to Chloe’s bedroom just after ten. 

“And you made fun of me for liking the Spice Girls,” Beca quips as she slides under the covers, eyeing the Pussycat Dolls poster hanging on Chloe’s opposite wall. 

Chloe giggles. “I had a huge crush on Nicole Scherzinger.” 

“Can’t blame you.” Beca sobers up, curling up close to Chloe and cupping her cheek tenderly. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” She kisses Beca softly, holding her waist under the covers. “Turn around, I’m the big spoon tonight.” 

Beca chuckles and does as she’s told without objection, lacing their fingers. “Night, Chlo.” 

“Goodnight, baby.” 

[agent-cupcake]

Garreg Mach Café 

Episode One: Dead Eye (Dimitri x Reader)

Yes this is a coffee shop AU and yes I intend to do a few of these because I am basic and this is fun to work on while violently procrastinating and yes I’m a little sorry. Just a little.

//

From the moment you keyed your employee code into the machine and clocked in until your shoes met the cracked pavement covering the parking lot out back, the hours you spent selling coffee and faking smiles were slotted into a strange fugue state in your mind. Existence in only the most technical sense.

Morning shifts were the worst for that sense of customer service depersonalization. After the initial rush, which you usually got through with the crutch of obscene amounts of caffeine and focus, weekdays always fell away into an exhausting kind of lull. You might as well have been living in a private world where only you, the radio with a station you weren’t allowed to change, and a minifridge of overpriced mineral waters that needed restocking existed. Which was pretty fine, all things considered. The downtime was nice.

Until you were disturbed by the swooshing sound of the opening door, a rush of cold outside air, and the distinctively familiar jingle of bells. At this point, you were pretty sure that perky tinkling sound activated some sort of twisted fight or flight mechanism deep in your gut. Despite that, you stood up straight from organizing the display and put on your best service smile, sidling up to the register. Just in time to have the air knocked right out of your lungs.

Well, not literally. You were pretty sure that cliché was a line used in books to convey the inherent frailty of the female condition. There was no such romanticism to your reaction. It would have been more accurate to say that your caffeine-hyped brain shorted out when you got a good look at the customer who had just come in because you were simple and weak and that amount of handsome on your abysmal amount of sleep made you forgot how to breathe for a moment or twenty.  

The most obvious and immediately striking aspect of the man was the eyepatch. Not some basic pastel goth kind of white bandage attached with ribbons, but a properly utilitarian black piece that cut harsh lines of black across his pretty blond hair. Had you ever seen somebody in real life wearing one? Your spastic thoughts lingered on that for a second before deciding it didn’t really matter. It was barely even a factor in your undoubtedly impolite staring. You dealt with exhausted people from every demographic while selling, making, and serving coffee. Snappy, loopy, mean, giggly, you knew sleep deprivation in nearly every form and function. Never did you realize in full that it also came in its premium form: devastatingly handsome.

He was gorgeous. Like, drop-dead level gorgeous. So, yeah, maybe it wasn’t too corny for you to say that this tall blond with a sharp jaw, nice cheekbones, and broad shoulders covered in a dark blazer/blue sweater combo of expensive if understated business casual took your breath away. You were, after all, occasionally subject to the frailty of the female condition.

Be professional! Your sane mind —or at least the part that wasn’t dominated by the giddy mix of shy nerves and creepy admiration— urged.

Right. Professional.

“Good morning!” you greeted him with belated cheerfulness, managing to pull your jaw up from the floor before he stopped in front of the counter. “Are you ready to order, or do you need a moment?” He didn’t respond at first, which almost made your smile falter. His eye, ringed in the telltale shadow of a sleepless night, was blue. Really, ultra blue. You forced yourself to keep up the act, to stick to the script. “If this is your first time here, I could walk you through the menu.”

The man cleared his throat, shaking his head a little as he glanced —awkwardly, like he wasn’t actually looking but he needed a reason to avert his gaze— up to the menu. He’d gathered about half of his longish hair into a tail in the back, but the shorter strands framing his face fluttered with the movement. Did you have a thing for guys with long hair? You couldn’t remember, but you were pretty sure you did now. “No… Thank you,” he replied somewhat apologetically. His voice was low, holding this kind of rough, husky tone. In other words, it was nearly enough to send you right back out of your customer service mode and into a swooning catastrophe. “Could you make a dead eye?”

The request was made, accepted, and then it registered. And, really, you liked to think you were a good person. You really, really did.

“A dead… eye…” you repeated slowly, internally screaming at yourself to not stare at the glaring black eyepatch covering his right eye or crack a smile at the horrible joke. Good Lord. You didn’t like to think that you were a bad person, or a mean person. You were a professional, you’d dealt with a lot while keeping a straight face. So you cleared your throat. “A black coffee with a triple espresso shot, right. Is that to go?”

“Yes,” he agreed with a sharp nod, ready with cash and very obviously not realizing the dark humor of what he’d ordered or the reason you were trying very, very hard not to make this all very, horribly awkward. No, he looked exhausted. And attractive. You were a very bad person. So you told him the total and broke the twenty and quickly turned to make the drink because a good cup of coffee was just about the only way you could apologize for your wicked, terrible thoughts.  

Since there were no other customers queuing up, he was fine to wait at the counter, watching you make the drink. You pretended like you couldn’t feel his intense gaze, bobbing your head to the piped-in indie music playing in the background. The song was awful, truly, you really didn’t think there was anything you wanted to hear less than some young nobody with a guitar butchering the English language in an ode to their unrequited love. At the very least, not at ten-thirty in the morning on a Tuesday. At least you didn’t mess up, so there was something to be said for your so-called professionalism.

“Here you go,” you said as you handed him the to-go cup with as wide of a smile as you could muster all the while working very, very hard not to think that it was a dead eye for a dead eye. You were going to hell.

Ignorant to your thoughts, he met your gaze intently —his iris wasn’t any sort of bright, intimidating electric blue, but something softer like cornflower or powder or the dreamy gentle pale afternoon sky—  and accepted the cup with a black gloved hand. “You have my most sincere thanks.”

You heard yourself laugh a little in response, but it was a bright and overly jittery sound, not only because you were trying desperately to be polite but because you couldn’t help but feel a bubble of strangely excitable disbelief that he would be so serious about something that was so mundane. Not to mention the fact that he was so handsome or that his voice was as candid as his words implied and gruff in a way you really liked. At the very least, it drove out all intrusively poor taste jokes.

“Oh, it was nothing,” you said, the words coming from your lips without so much as a thought that it was definitely not apart of the preapproved corporate script. “Wait ‘till you see what I can do with the mixed drinks.”

He considered you for what felt like ages before finally nodding. “I will look forward to it.” Despite the lack of irony, there wasn’t even a hint of a smile playing on his lips to match your own. Just more of that discomforting, intense sincerity that you couldn’t tell if you liked or not. And that was basically the end of that because you had no idea what to say other than to wish him a good day. He left, your handsome strange customer, the bells jingling merrily behind him.

After the door closed to the temperamental winter air, you melted, bracing your arms on the counter as you felt jittery nerves work through you. It took a moment to collect yourself, but when you did, you realized that he’d left a great tip, too. Fantastic tip, actually. Which, ultimately, was what got you. There was something uniquely sexy about rich guys who were kind to the underpaid and overworked wait staff. 

That comforting customer service fugue state didn’t return after that. You were too caught up wondering about his name, or why he was so tired that he’d need such a potent drink, or if you were to take his words to mean that he was coming back. You probably shouldn’t have hoped for that as much as you did, but you could blame it on the inherent frailty of the female condition.

[whumpzone]

Tomas and Rowe - Part 10

thank you all for your patience. these updates will probably because fortnightly rather than weekly since im swamped with uni work now, but i still love my boys dearly and i love YOU all for reading!

Masterpost

taglist: @sola-whumping @just-another-whumper @misspelledwitch @looptheloup @briars7 @black-polarf @zipadeedooda-drabbles @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @rosesareviolentlyread @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jazz-0307 @kestrelsparverius @whumpsy-daisies @whumpersworld @memoriesneverforget @sky-or-something-idfk @ghostcomit @cupcakes-and-pain @frankieswhump @ihaventwritteninsolong @mybrokenlittletoy @kiretto-laorentze @morelikepainsley (please ask to be added or removed!

CW: pet whumpee, hospitals, dehumanisation, burning

-

It would have been a great mercy for Rowe to drift slowly awake, pulled towards lucidity by his aching legs. Instead, in an instant he was wide awake and screaming as unfamiliar hands touched and gripped and pulled. Rowe weakly pushed them away before he realised what was going on. How could I- I was trained to never resist. How can this happen? What is wrong with me?

‘’See how far non-compliance gets you,’’ came a voice. Rowe squinted against the light to see two people in elbow-length gloves, with masks and cold eyes looking back at him. One of them- the taller of the two- reached to either side of him to click open what looked like handcuffs. ‘’In. If you don’t make a fuss I won’t clip your legs. You wouldn’t want that with the state they’re in, would you?’’

Rowe shook his head desperately. He could barely listen through the terrible pain, but he was programmed to understand commands, and had learned to understand threats. The tall one gave a little grunt and spread Rowe’s arms wide, locking them in place on either side of the thin mattress he was laying on. Rowe vaguely considered that Master Tomas had given him an especially nice mattress at home.

His bed at home. His room. The nice carpet soaked with his blood while he lay there, helpless, Kasia swinging the hammer down again and again, and Rowe able to feel his hatred with every impact. Master had found him, Rowe remembered. He had taken him here. Was he being put down?

He felt something trickling down his temples. Tears. When did I start crying?

He shook his head, trying to push all these questions out of his head. Pets don’t cry. I don’t cry- I shouldn’t cry. I’m just a thing that feels pain and serves. I can lie here and take this. Master left me here; this is what he wants.

‘’Right…’’ The tall one said. Rowe blinked quickly and saw her inspecting his wounds. ‘‘When did you get these?’’

‘’Th-this afternoon, I-‘’

Rowe’s voice died away when he saw the look she was giving the short doctor, who bent to grab something from the compartment strapped to the end of the bedframe.

‘’Oh dear. I don’t remember you having permission to speak. Muzzle, if you please, Dr Clerval.’’

The shorter doctor- Clerval- handed it to her and Rowe went limp reflexively. This muzzle looked sharp, and cruel, and as the taller doctor fastened it to Rowe’s face he felt it cut into the skin around his ears and the corners of his mouth. The bit was cold, keeping his tongue pinned down.  

‘’Now,’’ she said, ‘’you’re going to be a good Pet, aren’t you? We’re doing you a kindness, after all.’’

Rowe nodded, lowering his eyes. The tall doctor smiled, and Rowe saw her push some sort of sharp instrument into him, and then he started screaming.

-

The woman who had summoned Tomas introduced herself as Gwen. Her Mary Janes echoed through the corridor as they spoke.

‘’Can I see him?’’

‘’Your Pet? I’m sorry, sir, he won’t be out for a while.’’

‘’Then… what did you want me for?’’

‘’We actually had a few issues with your paperwork and just need a few signatures off you, if you don’t mind. Right in here, please.’’

They entered a warm office and Gwen gestured for Tomas to sit in a plush, deep buttoned chair.  

‘’Okay. I have here your Pet’s file, but it seems you’re not the official owner.’’

‘’Huh?’’

‘’When you received your Pet, did you sign any paperwork?’’

‘’No… I didn’t.’’

‘’Well, your P-‘’

‘’His name is Rowe. Sorry- for interrupting, but he has a name. If that’s easier.’’

Gwen gave him the gentle smile of a vet explaining to a child why their sweet pet had to be put down. ‘’Of course, Mr Grz- may I call you Tomas? Great. Currently Rowe is listed as unclaimed, under the legal ownership of a Pet rehoming organisation. Is this where you got him from?’’

‘’Yeah. I have a friend who works there.’’

‘’I see. Well your friend has forgotten to give you the appropriate paperwork. What this means is that Rowe is not officially your property yet- you can’t take people to court if they damage or steal him.’’

‘’Right. Shit. How do I get this paperwork?’’

‘’I have it here, since you need to be the legal owner to submit him for medical treatment. This will establish that you are Rowe’s acting owner, but you need to get your friend to sign too, okay?’’

Gwen handed Tomas a single sheet of paper and a pen. So simple, Tomas thought. One bit of A4 for the right to Rowe’s life.

‘’Thank you,’’ he said as he signed, printing his name below it in his delicate script. 

‘’Great,’’ beamed Gwen. ‘’And now we can discuss your payment.’’

‘’Payment? Isn’t this… isn’t this on the NHS?’’

‘’No,’’ she said patiently, ‘’just as animals aren’t covered, neither are Pets.’’

Tomas’s goodwill towards Gwen was dissipating quickly. He would pay, of course. But for Rowe- his Rowe- to be considered closer to an animal than a human made him stiffen. Gwen seemed to notice this and pressed on.

‘’Oh, but don’t worry, it’s not going to be expensive. Pet treatment is far simpler than treating a human.’’

Gwen didn’t elaborate, and Tomas didn’t enquire, if only to preserve his own sanity. The floor, he noticed, was the same shade of cream as Rowe’s room. He looked away quickly. He could still smell the blood- could still hear the way Rowe had screamed and moaned when he lifted him up. Tomas didn’t even know how conscious he had been then. Did he think Tomas was hurting him more on purpose? Would he think Tomas was angry? Probably. Tomas would have to be very, very patient when Rowe was discharged and started begging for forgiveness for wasting his Master’s time.

-

The muzzle only hurt when Rowe shifted, now. It had sunk into his flesh and stayed there, and Rowe could ignore the pain up until a movement made it flare. In a way, he was happy that he couldn’t speak- he always made things worse by speaking, and although he did his best to make Master Tomas happy, he sometimes wished he would be granted a muzzle and the safety of silence.

He had stopped screaming, mostly. The bit had sliced his tongue so badly he wondered if he would even be able to speak once it was taken off. As Dr Clerval and the other doctor, whose name was Easton, dug into his calves, he just moaned and spasmed involuntarily. His chest, still brightly lined with Kasia’s cuts, strained and lifted with every new jolt of pain.

The pain was awful- acute pain- different to the wide, messy whacks of the hammer. Rowe could feel every stab of the instrument, a million precise cuts, sinking into his skin and then leaving just as quickly. He hoped he wouldn’t throw up. He tried to focus on the fact that he wasn’t being put down, at least.

He had never been to hospital before. When his old master had whipped him, or poured boiling water on him, or beaten him unconscious, he had always had the night to recover and then it was back to work. If he couldn’t do that, he was given the morning off and forced to sleep outside for the next week as penance. He was always so grateful when old master allowed him that.

Anaesthetic wasn’t wasted on Pets, Rowe knew that. Master Tomas knew that too, undoubtedly. Don’t worry sir, no need to punish your Pet yourself. After all, you’ve already wasted enough time on it. We’ll make sure it suffers so it knows not to bother you again.

More stabbings in his legs. It felt like he was being stitched up. That made sense, at least. Rowe’s old master was kind, far kinder than Rowe deserved, and would always tell him why he was being hurt. He felt the same amount of comfort here. He was being hurt for a reason. Kasia’s beating had been made all the more unbearable because he hadn’t cited any insolence, any misstep. He had barely said anything at all.

On either side of him were dark green curtains, but beyond them he could hear screams, and wails. He wondered how many injured Pets were in here with him, just out of sight. He had never met another Pet before.

Another jolt of pain brought him back to the present. Dr Easton was looming over him with a- a- Rowe’s head went dizzy with fear. Dr Easton had a thick metal rod in one gloved hand, and the end was white-hot and smouldering. She held it near Rowe’s face and he pulled away as far as he could against his restraints, the whites of his eyes glinting in the sterile light. He could tell that underneath her mask was a wicked smile.

‘’We’ve got one or two pesky wounds that might get infected. But we’ll see to that. Do you know what cauterisation is?’’

Rowe nodded, and this seemed to be the right answer, because the rod was taken away from his face. Before he could relax, though, Easton pressed the burning end into Rowe’s calf.

His eyes rolled into his head as he bucked and thrashed, his screams mixed with desperate, anguished sobs. His thoughts were running wild with helpless pleas- not this not this not this, I’ll do anything to make the pain stop, please Master I’m so sorry, please I’ll do anything, just not this, not this.

It didn’t calm down when the rod lifted from his leg, after the longest few seconds of Rowe’s life. No sooner had he even registered the change was the pain was transferred to another wound, further up the same leg. He felt like a wild animal, screaming in a way he had never screamed before, guttural and horribly altered due to the muzzle. Rowe didn’t even recognise the sounds. The pain was worse, so much worse than the boiling water or the whip, he couldn’t even form coherent thoughts anymore, he couldn’t see, everything he knew in that moment was pure, awful pain.

Eventually, the cauterisation was done. Rowe felt exhausted, and more than anything, he felt scared. He missed Master Tomas so, so badly. As he drifted in and out of consciousness, he dreamed of being back in Master’s living room. His legs worked, and he wasn’t damaged goods. He was pretty. He was a good Pet and Master ruffled his hair. Good boy.

Master never said that to him. He told him he was good, but no more. He had ruffled Rowe’s hair, and hugged him once when he was drunk, but he never ordered Rowe to kneel at his feet and let himself be pet. For all that he was terrified of his old master, Rowe cherished the days where he was good and allowed to lay his head on old master’s thigh and feel his rough hands card through his hair.

Rowe knew it was still early- he hadn’t been Master Tomas’s property for even a fortnight yet- but he couldn’t help wondering sometimes what he was doing wrong. He fucked up so much, but Master never got mad, and told him he was good, but never went further than that.

But right now, in the space between awake and asleep, Rowe indulged in his most gentle fantasy. He felt Master stroke his hair, a million miles away from the blood-stained mattress and his calves wrinkled with stitches like seaweed on the ocean floor.  

[ri-ahhh]

if you ever get in the mood to write anything take it back part two would be lovely😉 only if you’re okay with it of course

Y’all the sheer amount of requests I’ve gotten for this..🤯 Idk what exactly you want because it felt pretty complete to me but you win lol here it is.

take it back: pt. 2

***

He’s always an early riser. You love that about him. Productive and motivated almost to a fault, Grayson Dolan can always be counted on to answer his phone at the ripe time of 7:45 AM.

So when your 8:13 AM call goes to voicemail, your stomach drops.

Granted, it did ring all the way through; he could be sleeping, or working out, or...busy.

But he always manages to answer for you. Even if he’s huffing for breath in-between sets, or barely cognizant of where he is or what time it is after an afternoon nap, you can usually count on his deep voice to be on the other line of that phone.

You feel incredibly vulnerable and somehow more exposed than ever as you lie naked under your covers, just as you were when he left a few hours ago. A gaping part of you left in the open with his potential rejection. Just as you had probably done to him in the early hours of the morning.

Your heart joins your stomach, and you can’t stop yourself from typing out a text to cover yourself.

Did you make it home ok?

You toss your phone with a frustrated sigh to the side of the bed and draw your covers up to your nose. The empty space is vast and cold and makes your throat tighten.

Your phone buzzes, and you snatch it up. A snap from your best friend.

Instagram notifications.

A ‘good morning, have a good day’ text from your mom.

Another Snapchat. A work email. More texts from people who don’t have a little strong arm emoji next to their name.

You’re about to try and pull some sort of reverse psychology bullshit on yourself and go take a shower and pretend like you’re not going to expect a reply from him by the time you get out. But then, just as you’ve tossed your blankets and sheets aside, your phone buzzes fatefully.

[Gray💪🏼] Yeah, thanks

Ironically enough, it’s the worst reply you could have hoped for even though it’s the most logical one.

You bite your lip, chewing it worriedly as you continue your trip to the bathroom. Despite the fact that he responded completely appropriately, you don’t think you’re imagining the dryness in his two words. As stupid and ridiculous as it seems, you know Grayson well enough to detect that.

Good.

Are you busy today?

That’s safe enough. Your surge of bravery has dissipated since he clearly chose to ignore your call in favor of texting. You don’t want to scare him with anything as heavy and loaded as “can we talk?”

You lean against the counter and watch the bubbles pop up on the screen.

[Gray💪🏼] Nah not really. I’m tired tho

Fuck. The rejection before the offer hurts. Your eyes prickle stubbornly.

But then you look in the mirror, and your focus is drawn to a couple of distinct purple marks on your collarbone. You finger them delicately, and rather than the annoyance you might have felt with anyone else, your heart warms.

He’s broken yet another rule. And now, so are you — excited and pleased by the evidence of himself he’s left on your skin.

And you remember the thought that prompted this whole thing to begin with. You’re scared, but it’s worth it. He’s worth it.

Your fingers fly. Can I come over? Please?

He takes long enough to reply that your phone screen goes black, and another minute passes before you realize how idiotic you must look standing naked in your bathroom staring at a blank screen. This is the shit about relationships that you don’t like: the fear, the games, the unknowns. It’s almost too much already.

You distract yourself by turning on the shower and adjusting the temperature right where you want it. And when you turn back around, blood pounds in your ears when you see the lit screen through the reflection of the mirror.

[Gray💪🏼] Okay

***

If you’ve ever taken a quicker shower, you don’t remember when. You rinsed the night off for good, barely detangling any knots from your hair before instinctively reaching for one of his sweatshirts to pair with your jean shorts without even realizing it. It hits you as you throw on some eyebrow gel and mascara where your top came from, and you debate taking it off in case he’s upset with you.

You wouldn’t blame him if he were. The mixed signals you had thrown at him last night were inconsiderate to say the least. Blowing him off only to run right back into his arms, but with more clarity to be fair to yourself just a little bit.

You toss your lip gloss on the counter before you can do what you do best and overthink every aspect of this man, and head straight out the door.

When he lets you into his house half an hour later, he looks hesitant and drawn, but not unkind. Flushed fresh from a workout. Muscles glistening familiarly. Hair flopping into his face. It’s all incredibly distracting, but you push those thoughts aside as you smile at him sheepishly and pass through the open door.

“What’s up?” he asks once he’s led you into the kitchen.

You sit on a barstool and chew a piece of skin around your thumbnail as he watches you out of the corner of his eye while he chugs from his hydroflask. His Adam’s apple bobs with each swallow, and you look away for a moment to gather your nerve.

“I wanted to...talk,” you manage to spit out. You take your thumb out of your mouth in favor of playing with a leaf that had fallen from the flower vase in front of you. You can’t meet his eyes right now.

There’s a silence long enough that it makes you finally look up at him. He’s staring at you, brow cocked slightly, arms crossed across his broad chest.

“Okay. About what?”

You stare back. His handsome face gives you the confidence and courage to keep going.

“I’m bad at this,” you admit. The leaf crumples in your fingertips. “Talking. Relationships. All of it.”

“I know. So am I.”

You smile, small but grateful. He returns it.

“I told you to take it back. That kiss you gave me, before you left.”

Grayson’s cheeks, having returned to a normal hue in the AC, then pink again. He glances off to the side and clears his throat, a hand running through his messy hair. “Uh, yeah. I remember.”

Your heart disintegrates as much as the leaf in your grasp at the visible proof that you had, indeed, hurt him on some level. But you’re here to make it right. For both of you. In whatever ass-backwards way you can think of to make that happen, because you definitely haven’t thought the words out at all.

“Well... I want — I take it back,” you admit quietly.

The fear and frustration are all worth it when you see the utter look of surprise cross his features. His eyes are grey this morning, one of their many colors and your personal favorite, and they widen almost comically. His pretty pink lips part slightly, his fist clenching on the counter for a brief moment.

But then he has a few seconds to process your confession, and your heart skips a beat when you see the corner of his mouth turn up enough to expose a dimple. “You take back your ‘take it back?’”

You bite your lip through your own smile as his grows wider, and you nod. “Yeah. I do.”

“Why?”

You hadn’t expected that. But shockingly, it’s the easiest part of this whole ordeal.

You reach your hand out and wrap your slim fingers around his thick, calloused ones, gripping them tightly. “Because. You’re you. And I’m happiest when you’re around, no matter what activity we may or may not be doing.”

He laughs, and you tug on his hand to indicate you want him to join you without a slab of marble separating the two of you.

“And because you’re the only person I could ever imagine breaking all of my rules for. And if you can forgive me for being such a hardheaded idiot, I’d really like to prove that to you.”

Now directly in front of you, Grayson towers above you. He grins and lets go of your hand to wrap your arms around his waist, then cups your cheeks in both hands. You close your eyes and you sigh at the feel of those giant palms holding you so tenderly, and the urge to run doesn’t affect you even the tiniest bit.

He leans down, until you feel him stop just centimeters from meeting your lips with his. Your lashes flutter open confusedly, only to see those eyes looking at you with an affectionate expression you’ve never let yourself consider too deeply until now.

“If you really want to take back your take it back,” he whispers, his breath fanning against your sensitive lips and making you shiver, “then come and get it.”

Your whole body heats at his words, and you giggle before throwing yourself completely into his arms and crushing your lips together. He chuckles too against your mouth, and shifts his hands under your ass so you can wrap your legs around his waist, your kiss heated and sincere but also playful.

“Can I take all of you back?” you ask him once you’ve pulled away for a moment, playing with the hair at the base of his neck.

You’re so caught up in his face that you’re unaware that he’s moving the two of you down the hall until his bedroom door shuts quickly behind him with his swift kick.

“All of me, baby. All of me.”

[silverarmedassassin]

Home For the Holidays (1)

Bucky x Reader | Words: 8,608 | Warnings: None 

A/N: Happy holidays and happy December 16! This is my holiday submission for @wonderlandmind4 Fall/Winter challenge. My prompt was: B is very enthusiastic to introduce A to all their traditions, but tries to be sensitive when A seems like they’re struggling to fit in/enjoy themselves. 

I’ve been working on this guy for so long, so I decided to split this up into two parts. Part two will be posted this weekend! I’m so happy to finally be sharing this bad boy with you all! If you feel so inclined, I would love to hear what you think. Happy reading!🎄

From the time he was a young boy, Bucky has had an aversion towards the elderly. Which is ironic considering since, technically speaking, he is the elderly now. It’s not that he doesn’t like old people; it’s just that they make him uncomfortable. Which is why, on a balmy Sunday in October, when he walks into the Brooklyn Manor nursing home, he feels his skin crawl.

This trip has been a long time coming. Two years on the run, a voluntary deep freeze, a universal war, and the obliteration of half the earth’s population and its subsequent return, to be exact. But no amount of time would ever prepare Bucky for the visit he was about to make. But it was “essential to his healing,” as Sam so often liked to say. This, along with therapy and the establishment of a place of his own outside of the Tower, was meant to help him move past what had happened to him, help him see that he was a victim and that people still loved him despite what he was forced to do for all of those years.

"Good morning," a cheery redhead says from her spot behind the front desk. "Can I he-" She cuts herself off when she looks up from the computer screen and sees who is looming over her.

"Er, hi," Bucky says, suddenly convinced this is a terrible idea. He should expect nothing less, considering his line of work, both current and past. "I was told Rebecca Proctor lives here..."

It took a second for the woman to register what Bucky had said, but then she jumps into action and begins to type into her computer. "Of course! Are you a relative?"

"Brother."

Her eyes go wide for a second before it clicks. "Oh my goodness, of course." The woman grabs a sticky note from the pad next to her keyboard and scribbles down a series of numbers before handing it to him. "Her room number is 117. This is the code to get into the residence portion of the building. If you need help finding the room, there should be a nurse's station in every hall."

Bucky offers a tight smile and nod of appreciation as he takes the slip of paper from the woman. As he makes his way deeper into the facility, he can feel his nerves waxing and waning with each step. He shouldn't be nervous. It was just Becca, just his little sister, one of the last living ties to his life before all of this. But it had been so long, who knew if she would even recognize him?

When Bucky recruited Sam to help him find out where, or even if, his sister was living, he figured it would be a fruitless quest. He was surprised, however, when Sam came to him a week later with the address of the building he was currently attempting to navigate, shyly dipping his head every time he would pass an older woman in a wheelchair or a group of men concentrating on a board game. Sam had managed to hunt her down with a little help from his Avenger title. The nurse couldn't give him much information since he wasn't a relative or listed on her medical files, but what she could share broke Bucky's heart.

At 102 years old, technically a little less since she was a Snap victim, Becca's memory was less than stellar. Her children had made the tough decision to place her in a home after her mind had started to slip, and she was no longer able to care for herself. It makes Bucky feel guilty because he wasn't around to help.

But today, hopefully, that would change.

After a little wandering and a helpful point from a nurse, Bucky finds himself standing in front of the oversized, thick oak door with a golden plaque in the center proudly displaying "117." He waits a moment, listens for any sign that someone is in the room, but all he hears are the general noises of a nursing home just after lunchtime. He raises his hand to knock but stops short of making contact. Should he knock? What if she’s sleeping? He wouldn't want to wake her. He decides to slowly press the door open instead.

He enters the room slowly, unsure of what he will be greeted with when he reaches the end of the short hall blocking his view from his sister's bed. What he sees, however, thoroughly surprises him. Instead of finding a small, frail body lying in a too-sterile hospital-grade bed, he finds his sister sitting in one of the two armchairs in front of her window, quietly looking out into the garden just outside. After a moment of shifting back and forth on his feet, Bucky clears his throat in an attempt to catch Becca's attention.

The woman slowly turns her head to eye the intruder, and, to Bucky's amazement, a slight look of recognition flashes across her face. Despite her age and sunken appearance, her bright blue eyes still shine as brilliant as they did when she was a little girl. He focuses on those eyes as he slowly crosses the room to her.

"Hey, Becca. Do you," Bucky grimaces as the falter in his voice caused by the tears that are starting to form in his own blue eyes. "Do you know who I am?"

To save his sister from having to crane her frail neck to look up at him, he settles himself into the chair across from hers. The smooth velvet is cool on his overheated skin, and he could sink into the feeling of comfort it gives him. Another piece of home, he thinks as a picture of his family's home flashes across his mind, the two chairs nestled in a similar position to how Becca has them now.

Rebecca studies her brother for a moment before a thin but bright smile spreads across her aged features, and Bucky lets out the breath he didn't realize he was holding. "You're from the pictures. Just over there."

Bucky watches as a boney finger points to the dresser, the top neatly cluttered with picture frames and trinkets, a sign that his sister had lived a full and happy life after he'd gone. He gets up and makes his way to the piece of furniture to better look at the mixture of black and white and colored photos scattered together. It's strange, he thinks, seeing his sister's life play out across the years in the span of just a few short seconds. When he lands on a black and white photo in an aged frame, he freezes. Smiling back at him are his parents, Bucky himself sitting in front of them on their home's front steps, and Becca nestled snugly in their mother's arms. From when they first brought her home, Bucky thinks to himself as he reaches out and caresses the delicate glass. He moves on to another older photo, this one depicting the two Barnes children dressed in their Sunday best with a scrawny Steve Rogers thrown into the mix. Bucky shakes his head at the sight of his best friend, remembering all the trouble he used to get the two of them in.

The last photo he sees, though, causes a lump to rise and settle in his throat. Frozen in time in the cracked and fading film is the last time he ever saw his family. Bucky, Rebecca, and their parents stand on the dock just in front of the boat he was to ship off on. Becca and his mother have a tight grip on him, and his father only offers a tight smile to the camera. Looking at the image of his younger self, not too different from what he looks like now, is a heart-wrenching moment. The man in that photo has yet to see death first-hand, feel the visceral need to kill or be killed. That man was still innocent, naive to the world, and convinced he was invincible.

Bucky remembers that day and how, despite the nerves, excited he was to see someplace other than dinghy Brooklyn. Yeah, that war wasn't one he signed up to fight, but he'd made a promise to himself he would do what he needed to keep his ma and sister safe.

As he reaches for the frame, a soft knock on the door startles him from his thoughts. "Mrs. Proctor!" a sweet voice sing-songs as the door is pushed open once again. "I hope you didn't fill up at lunch. I brought-Oh!"

Standing in the doorway, both hands full of reusable bags filled to the brim with goodies of all sorts, is a young woman. Her smile, one of the prettiest Bucky's ever seen, he thinks, falters just a little when she sees his towering form taking up so much space in Becca's room. However, she recovers quickly and nudges the door shut behind her as she makes her way deeper into the room.

"I didn't know you were expecting company this afternoon," the woman says and deposits the bags onto the bed. "Who is this?"

Bucky studies the woman in an attempt to figure out who she is to his sister. She couldn't be a daughter or granddaughter, right? She looked nothing like them. Plus, she was calling her Mrs. Proctor. Bucky also felt confident in his ruling that she was not a nurse or staff member at the facility, considering she wasn't wearing scrubs or donning a facility badge.

The only indication that she even belongs in this facility is the sticker she wears proudly just above her heart, with "Y/N" scrawled in bright red letters.

"The pictures," Becca finally says with a smile, pointing towards Bucky. "He's from the pictures."

Their visitor looks between Bucky and Rebecca with a soft look somewhere between pity and a faint sense of joy. "Bucky," the frail old woman says, and Bucky instantly feels the lump that had settled into his throat not ten minutes earlier begin to grow again.

Y/N must sense the energy shift in the room because she quickly pulls out a few homemade goodies wrapped in cellophane and places them on the rolling table next to Becca's bed. "Well, I'll let you be with your visitor, Mrs. Proctor," she says as she shoulders her bags again. "I'll see you Tuesday evening, okay?"

Becca simply nods as she watches the younger woman make her exit, then shifts her attention to Bucky as he steps back towards her and crouches down.

"Bec, you remember me?"

She says nothing at first but brings her hand up to rest on Bucky's freshly shaved cheeks, a fresh set of tears gathering in their twin blue eyes. "You came back."

Bucky sits with his sister for two hours after they reacquaint themselves. The nurse that spoke with Sam was right; it was difficult to be around her, as she often slipped up with her memory. She couldn't remember the names of her grandchildren, nor her great-grandchildren, but when she saw their smiling faces looking back at her in the pictures, she knew they belonged to her. Her fragile mind, however, seemed to favor older faces and memories. She could recall events from when she was a teenager and even got some details right from when Bucky shipped off. The remembrance came with a repeat of the same stories two or three times, but Bucky didn’t mind. He was never around to bear witness to some of these stories, and it was just good to hear his sister’s voice again.

It's around 3 o'clock when Rebecca begins to grow tired, and so Bucky takes that as his cue to take his leave. He helps his sister into her bed for a pre-dinner nap, then quietly makes his exit when he is sure she is fast asleep. For a visit he was hesitant to make, he can't think of a better way to have spent his Sunday afternoon.

As Bucky makes his way back through the winding halls of the facility, a jaunty tune he recalls from his teenage days plays through his head, and he feels like he could face the world if needed, which is why he finds himself doing the unimaginable as he reaches the redhead at the front desk.

“Excuse me,” he says with a renewed sense of confidence that had been absent earlier in the day. “I don’t know if you can give me this information, but there was this woman...Y/N I think her name is. I don’t think she was a nurse, but maybe someone else that works here? Would you be able to tell me if she was still around?”

The woman smiles gently back at him but shakes her head. “We’re such a large facility, I’d need to see a face to know exactly who you’re talking about.”

There’s a momentary lapse in his confidence, realizing just how weird the question could come off. He’s suddenly very glad she had no idea who he was talking about and hopes she doesn’t mention it to anyone else.

“Uh, thanks anyway,” he mutters as he gives a small nod. “Have a good rest of your day.”

Oh well, he thinks to himself, at least I could make it out my door this morning.

The Snap impacted each and every person differently. While most think the Vanished had it the worst, people tend to forget about those left behind. Many lost their jobs due to closures and shortages, others were evicted due to insufficient funds for rent. The uncertainty of it all, the not knowing what happened to family and friends, not knowing when you’d find your next job, if you’d have money to buy groceries this week, took a harder toll on some than others.

You had been a relatively fortunate one. Since moving to the city, you hadn’t quite made a large group of friends yet, which meant there were fewer people for you to lose. Your family had somehow lucked out as well. Due to an abundance of workers suddenly gone without a trace, you’d been able to snag a corporate position that you managed to hold onto even after the Snap was reversed.

However, the one downside was the aftermath of families coming back to their homes only to find that someone new was living in their space. That, unfortunately, happened to you. Two days after everyone reappeared, you had a knock on your front door. When you opened it, you found a lovely couple who had just been married before the Snap and had just started renting the apartment you were living in. And, even though you’d called this building your home for the past five years, you did what any half-decent individual would do and moved out. Goodbye state-of-the-art gym and central location, hello paper-thin walls, and a forty-five-minute one-way commute.

At least you were able to take a few days off of work to get your belongings out of the old apartment and into the new one. Most of the larger furniture had been the couple’s, which meant you only had to carry a few pieces into your second story Brooklyn brownstone apartment. The problem, however, was that there was no elevator in this renovated building, which meant you had to find a way to carry your low-quality Ikea TV stand up the too-narrow stairs without busting a wall or your furniture. The only thing you were close to bursting was a nerve because it was turning out to be more of a two-person task, and you were the only one participating in this moving process.

“Fuck you,” you groan as one of the stand’s legs gets caught on the stairs again. Despite the chilly breeze that was blowing in from the building’s front door you had propped open, you were perspiring more than would be deemed ladylike. With the rate you were going, you would need to need to take another full day off just to get your stupid furniture into your apartment.

“Do you need some help?” a voice calls from above you. You peek over your shoulder to find a rather tall, rather bulky man standing at the second-floor landing. It hadn’t even occurred to you that people might actually need to use the stairs to, you know, go about their daily lives. What doesn’t go over your head, however, is the fact that the man standing at the top of the stairs was not a complete stranger like you originally thought, but someone you knew almost too well for not actually knowing him at all.

“That would actually be wonderful,” you huff out a laugh, attempting to be nonchalant about the fact that Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier - soldier turned assassin turned Avenger - was standing just feet away from you for the second time in twenty-four hours, this time in your new apartment building. Maybe this place wasn’t as safe as you had thought?

He makes his way halfway down the stairs, and you attempt to shimmy out of the way so that he can grab the corners you had been holding up. “If you could just get this thing back down the stairs, I could-” Your meager offering of help is cut short when Bucky manages to slot his arms into place and life the entire piece like it was nothing. A metal arm will do that to someone, you suppose.

You awkwardly direct him to your apartment, shoving open the door to 2B and waving your arm to give him a vague idea of where you want the stand. “Thank you. You’re a lifesaver. I thought for sure I was going to have to take the thing apart to get it up here.”

“It’s no problem, really,” Bucky says as he stuffs his hands into his jacket’s pockets, the stiff leather shifting and rubbing as he does so. When he looks at you for the first time, his bright blue eyes light up even more with recognition. “Hey, you were visiting my sister’s place the other day.”

“I was,” you laugh as you extend your hand. “I’m Y/N.”

There’s a brief moment of hesitation before a warm, leathered hand slips into yours. “Bucky,” he says as if you wouldn’t already know who he is. "Do you, uh, need help bringing anything else up?"

You watch him as he slowly glances around your small apartment, void of much except for a few boxes and the stand he just carried up and your mattress you've yet to shimmy into the bedroom. “Oh! No,” you laugh, realizing how pathetic your new home looks at the moment. “I have movers bringing the rest of my things from storage tomorrow. But thank you, I really appreciate it.”

“It’s really no problem. If you, uh, ever need anything, I rent the unit above you. Not sure how often I’ll be home, but for whatever it’s worth,” he shrugs as you follow him back out your front door.

“I’ll keep it in mind. I guess I’ll be seeing you around?”

Despite his nod of agreement, you don’t see Bucky for another two weeks. You try not to let the unexplained but forewarned absence weigh on your thoughts. With the exception of listening for the creaks of his floorboards that never come and the brief visits with his sister, you find yourself doing everything you can to not fixate on the Grecian god of a man you have somehow come to call a neighbor.

It’s not until you receive a call from Rebecca’s daughter that you finally admit he was home.

“Oh, I’m...I’m so sorry…” you choke out when Mary informs you her mother had passed away in the early hours of the night. Despite having no real relation to the Proctor family, you’d known them for a handful of years due to your time spent at the nursing home. In that time, they’d come to be like family to you, so their loss affected you just as strongly as the passing of your own family member would. “Have you told her brother?”

“No. We have no way to contact him. I know he’d spent some time with Ma at the nursing home, so I left a message for them to pass the news and my number on if he came in or called. But I haven’t heard anything.”

“I actually have a way to reach him. I’ll tell him to give you a call, okay?”

When you get home the following day, you’re greeted by the sound of Bucky’s shower turning on. Five minutes later, it shuts off. You give him another ten before you make your way up to his apartment. The idea of telling this man, a practical stranger who you knew nothing about other than what you’ve read in books and seen on tv, that his sister passed away leaves you feeling nauseous. This isn't exactly what you pictured when you said you’d see him around.

He’s quick to answer his door. You’re taken off guard when his door is pulled open to reveal his broad chest covered in a blue Henley that is clinging to his still-damp skin. It takes you a moment to gather your thoughts and remember exactly why you were here.

“Is everything okay, Y/N?” he asks as you drag your eyes up to meet his own.

You clear your throat and shake your head in an attempt to gather your thoughts. “Uh, yeah. No? I’m sorry to bug you, but I, uh...You haven’t heard from Mrs. Pro-er, I mean Rebecca’s daughter, have you?” When he says no, you sigh. You knew that was the answer you were going to get, but a part of you still hoped you weren’t going to have to be the one to deliver this information. “Mary called me yesterday. She, uh...She wanted you to know...uh...Rebecca passed away...early yesterday morning…”

You can visibly see Bucky shift through several emotions - shock, grief, anger, to finally an almost expressionless mask. You unintentionally stiffen at the sound of metal shifting and grating together, which seems to break Bucky’s haze. You can tell he’s struggling to find words in that moment, so you continue on, hoping a coherent sentence will come out.

“I know I’m probably not the person you want to hear this news from, but I couldn’t really give her a way to contact you and...Here!” You shove your hand out towards him, the small piece of paper you wrote Mary’s number down on resting in your palm. “I told her I’d give you her number. So you could call her or whatever.”

Bucky just looks at the slip for a moment before you clear your throat. “Listen, I’m really sorry. I wi-”

“Thanks, Y/N,” he cuts you off and grabs for the paper. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to go call her.”

Before you can respond, Bucky is turning his back. “Yeah, okay,” you whisper to the dark oak of his door before making your way back down to your own apartment.

“The service was beautiful, Mary,” you say as you hug Rebecca’s daughter. “She would have loved it.”

“It’s all thanks to Bucky. He paid for everything.” Mary says as she sets her gaze over your shoulder. “Or, I guess Uncle Bucky is more appropriate to say…”

You turn and follow her gaze to where the man in question is, his great-great nieces and nephew using him as their personal jungle gym. You can tell, even from across the room, that his face is absolutely glowing, eyes crinkled in the outer-corners with delight as Bridget, the youngest of the bunch, wraps her tiny arms around his neck and demands a horsey ride.

“I’m glad they’re taking it so well,” Mary says as she watches her grandchildren. “It’s almost like he’s been a part of their life this entire time instead of just appearing out of nowhere.” There’s no hostility in her voice when she says this. Rather, she sounds remorseful. “I went my entire life hearing stories about my uncle. My dead uncle. Yet, after all these years, he shows up looking exactly like he does in the pictures I’ve been looking at since I was a little girl.”

You felt for Mary and the rest of the family. You couldn’t begin to comprehend how difficult and confusing it must be to find out that the man you’d come to know as just a ghost story was alive and real and more than willing to be a part of even the most difficult moments in life. It’s a testament, you think, to how good of a man Bucky really is. Despite the horrors of his past and the apprehension he’s likely still faced with every day, he’s still willing to put himself out into a world that has been less than kind to him.

As if your thoughts summon him, Bucky looks up and over to where you are standing. When he catches your eye, his smile grows. You’re sure there has never been anything as beautiful as Bucky Barnes flashing a megawatt smile at you. “At least you’re in good hands.”

You decide not to stick around for the luncheon after the service so, after snagging a few refreshments and a quick chat with a few of the family members you recognize, you begin to inch your way closer to the exit. You hadn’t seen Bucky since you’d spoken with Mary, and you were in the middle of trying to figure out why that left you with a hollow feeling in the pit of your stomach when you’re abruptly stopped on your way to the doors.

“You can’t leave before I get the chance to apologize for the other day,” Bucky says, a small smile gracing his face. He cleans up well, you decide as you get a better look at his lightly stubbled face. He has his hair tied back in a neat, low bun, which allowed his eyes to stand out more than they usually did, and a black-on-black suit is stretched just right over his broad chest. If you didn’t know better, you would think he was a model on loan to add some cheer to the rather dreary day.

Bucky quirks his head and shifts his body weight when it takes you a bit too long to answer, and it’s only then that you realize you’re ogling him. His sister just died, Y/N, you chastise yourself, this is not the time to be checking him out.

“I, uh,” you clear your throat, hoping he can’t feel the heat that is rapidly clawing up your neck radiating from you. “I don’t want to intrude on family time,” you say rather lamely. It was true, but for whatever reason, Bucky left you feeling almost guilty.

He lets out a humorless laugh and crosses his arms. “If anyone is intruding, I think it’s me,” he says as he looks over your shoulder back into the banquet room the rest of the family is in.

You turn to follow his line of sight and can’t help but smile when you see one of his great-nieces twirling around, showing off her dress. “Nah, don’t say that. The little ones seem to love you,” you laugh, hoping to lighten the mood just a little.

Bucky chuckles and then sighs. “Yea, but I just...don’t feel like I belong.”

Hearing Bucky, this man who had his entire life ripped from him multiple times, who, after spending just a few short hours in total with, you ardently believed deserved every good thing in the world and then some, say that he feels he doesn’t belong among those who are supposed to love him most broke your heart. You know that it’s likely untrue that Rebecca’s family was anything but unwelcoming, but that Bucky even felt that way caused a pit to open in your stomach.

“Oh, Bucky…” you say softly, trying to avoid sounding full of pity. “I’m so sorry this all has happened to you.” He averts his gaze and shrugs. “You know what? I could probably stay for a little while longer…”

At that, Bucky looks back at you, eyes as bright as when his own sister recognized him on that very first day. You knew then that, no matter what, you’d do anything to keep that look on his face.

“I promise it won’t be for nothing. They have a ton of food, and I guess there are some famous deviled eggs that, not to sound awful but...are to die for.”

You stifle a laugh and shake your head as Bucky leads you back into the banquet room, excitedly rambling on about the various food items his relatives have to offer. After piling your plates full and grabbing a coffee, you follow Bucky to a small table conveniently tucked away in the corner. Over the next hour, you watch Bucky’s perfectly constructed walls begin to crumble just a little. You quickly uncover which topics make him uncomfortable, particularly those revolving around his current line of work and those he can talk about endlessly. You learn the ins and outs of what it was like being friends with Captain America before he was the size of a brick house. You also discover that Bucky is someone you could listen to talk for hours on end.

“I don’t think it ever came up,” Bucky says as he takes a seat back at the table, two fresh cups of coffee in hand, “how did you know my sister?”

You hum your thanks and take a sip before answering. “Well, a few years ago, or I guess a few years before the Snap, I started volunteering at the nursing home. You’d be surprised how many families just shove their parents or grandparents in those homes and forget about them. They get lonely and just want someone to talk to that isn’t a nurse or whatever. It got worse during those five years. Rebecca never really needed me to sit with her; her family visited all the time. However, she was still one of my favorite residents.

“She talked about you all the time, you know. Even when she couldn’t remember her own children’s names, she always had a story to tell about you. She was immensely proud of you.” Bucky grunts, and you playfully roll your eyes at him. “She was a good storyteller. Sometimes it was hard to tell if she was trying to pull my leg or not. She...she was something else, but she’s going to be dearly missed.”

A somber sort of silence falls between the two of you then. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s the kind charged with a unique sense of melancholy. It’s so strange, you think, to share a common heartbreak with someone you still barely know. Loss and grief have a curious way of bringing those once unknown together.

“Uncle Bucky,” a high-pitched squeal cuts through the moment and brings with it the excited, flushed face of an excited great-niece. “Uncle Bucky, I made you something!”

Bridget worms her way up onto Bucky’s lap, a piece of paper with her hand traced to look like a turkey in its center. “To Unkle Bucky, Luv Bridget” was written sloppily across the top.

You watch as Bucky’s expression goes from one of strain to that of absolute joy. “Thank you so much,” he smiles as he takes the paper and examines it as if it were a piece on display at the Louvre. “I know exactly where I’m going to hang this as soon as I find a frame.”

The little girl, who bears a striking resemblance to her long-lost great-uncle, beams as she wraps her arms around his neck and squeezes. You catch Bucky’s eye, causing him to break into an even wider smile. You hope he can see how truly and unconditionally he is loved.

You watch as she scrambles off back to where her brother and cousin are sitting, coloring away. You nod at the sweet drawing. “Planning on spending Thanksgiving with them?”

Bucky smooths his hand over the paper in front of him and thinks for a moment. “They invited me. I guess they, we, have family in Indiana that they usually visit for the holiday. I just...I don’t think so. I don’t want to be that far from where I’m needed most, and I think meeting a whole new set of family would be a bit much, ya know?”

You hum in response, fully understanding the dilemma. It’s unfortunate, though. “Well, I’m sure I could never compete with a real home-cooked meal, but I’m staying home because I don’t...really agree with the holiday and will be heating up a nice frozen turkey TV dinner if you would like to join. I might just throw in a pumpkin pie, too.”

Bucky looks up then, a soft, small smile turning up the corners of his lips. “Thanks, Y/N, really. But I’m not sure. Might not even be home,” he shrugs.

“Well,” you say as you look at the time on your phone, “the offer stands just in case you change your mind. But, hey, I think it’s time for me to leave for real now. I have some work to catch up on before I go back to the office tomorrow.”

You can tell he’s disappointed, but Bucky offers to walk you out anyway. He wants to stay and help his family clean up, or he would offer to walk you home. You make your rounds to say goodbye to the family you were familiar with and, when you reach the kiddie table to say goodbye, Bucky’s great-nephew Jackson refuses to let you go.

“Will I ever see you again even though we can’t come to visit Grammy no more?” he wails as he buries his little face into your stomach.

“Jackson, please,” his mother says as she comes to diffuse the situation. The little boy lets out one last sob into your dress before letting his mother pull him into her arms. “Y/N will still be around,” she smiles mischievously, directing her gaze over your shoulder to where Bucky waits at the front doors. “I’m almost sure of it.”

You can feel the heat of embarrassment as it claws up your neck, and you quickly give another round of hugs and goodbyes to the children before heading back to Bucky. “Is everything alright,” he asks as he hands you your coat.

“Fine. Jackson is just…” you slip on your coat and refuse to meet Bucky’s probing eyes, “dramatic sometimes.”

The weeks following Rebecca’s funeral saw Bucky locked away in his apartment. Calls from Sam and Wanda went unanswered, and the curtains were scarcely opened. He’d even ignored your attempts of delivering some semblance of comfort. The pasta dish you dropped off was left mostly untouched in his fridge, and he’d only managed to eat half a slice of a pumpkin pie you’d left for him on Thanksgiving. He knew that hiding away was doing nothing for his mental health, would do nothing to help him move past the loss and pain, but it was all he knew. How he reacted was all he could control, and Bucky liked to be in control.

His control, like most things in his life, came to an end far too quickly when Sam decided he’d finally had enough. Bucky knew that he couldn’t hide from his friends forever, but he would have liked to come out on his terms.

“Man, I know you’re in there,” Sam shouts as he knocks on the door of Bucky’s apartment. He’d been there for five minutes now, and, at this point, Bucky was testing to see how long he could keep the man waiting. “Seriously, Buck, open the door, or I’ll use Redwing to knock it down. And I won’t pay for repairs or reimburse your security deposit.”

Bucky sighs before hauling himself off of the couch. “What?” he deadpans as he opens the door. It takes everything in him not to slap the toothy grin off of Sam’s amused face.

“I was beginning to think I was going to have to call the Smithsonian - tell them to get your exhibit ready because, as far as any of us knew, you were dead,” Sam says as he pushes past Bucky into the apartment.

“What do you want?” Bucky asks again as Sam looks around the scarcely decorated apartment. From the discontent on his face, Bucky could tell Sam was less than thrilled with the state of his apartment. It was dark, the only furniture being a couch, a small coffee table, and an old TV he’d stolen from the Tower. Not exactly what one would consider a "space of their own."

“Listen,” Sam says as he moves to push open the curtains, “you’ve spent enough time locked up in here. You need to get out, see the sun, get some air. Plus, Wanda misses you, and that spider kid has been coming around asking for you.” Bucky grimaces at that. Peter Parker had asked his fair share of questions about his arm, and Bucky didn’t feel like entertaining the teenager anymore.

“Don’t give me that look,” Sam continues as he flops down on the couch. “Go get dressed. You can hang out with the crew for a few hours today. I promise if you have the worst time of your life, I’ll let you sit in your own filth and wallow for the foreseeable future, okay?”

After a moment of contemplation, Bucky agrees. Despite his dwindling interest in seeing anyone outside of his own reflection, he knew that seeing his friends - his chosen family of mix-matched misfits - would make him feel at least a little better. So, he allows Sam to tidy up the apartment, put away the dishes Bucky has been neglecting, and open the rest of the windows while he goes to get dressed. Bucky will never admit, however, just how much lighter he felt when he emerged from his room to the man he reluctantly called his best friend, smiling back at him.

December creeps up in a flurry of deadlines and personal obligations. The two-week break your company gave you every holiday season was a welcomed reprieve to the daily hustle and bustle of life, but it also meant long hours at the office in the weeks leading up to the holiday. Plus, the holidays were always a sour topic around the nursing home, as many of the residents were left to their own devices instead of being a part of family celebrations. That meant, in addition to staying until six or seven o’clock at work, you were spending hours afterward crafting decorations, cards, and personalized goodies for each of the residents you visited each week. This all, understandably, left you with little to no free time.

So, when the first of the month came rolling in, and you were yet to have played a single Christmas song or even thought about pulling your tiny table-top tree from storage, you felt deflated. You’d never been so thankful for online shopping and overnight shipping because, by Saturday afternoon, you had a brand new artificial Christmas tree waiting for you on your building’s front steps. In your excitement of getting into the holiday spirit, however, you completely overlooked just how you were going to get this tree up your narrow stairwell. It was like moving day all over again, except for this time you were sure a knight in shining vibranium armor was not going to show up to save the day.

To your dismay, you hadn’t seen Bucky since his sister’s funeral a month ago. It’s not like you hadn’t tried to make contact. You had prepared him a small meal the day after and had even left him half of the pumpkin pie you picked up from the market down the block. The only way you could tell he was even inside his apartment was the fact that, when you went back up to check, the items were gone. That or one of your other neighbors had taken them for themselves. Either way, you were missing Bucky. Even though you’d only had one proper conversation the entire time you’ve known him, you enjoyed just knowing Bucky was around. The thought of him suffering to any extent made your heart twist into unmanageable knots.

You sigh as you prop the building’s front door open, bringing your attention back to the task at hand. You were strong and independent, and you were more than capable of getting this hefty box up to your apartment. With that mindset in tow, you’re pleasantly surprised to turn around and find Bucky and another man making their way towards the building.

“He’s alive,” you exclaim, unable to hide the smile that blooms across your face. You’d feel embarrassed at the overexcitement that laced through your greeting, but you were genuinely happy to see that he had been out of his apartment and with a suspected friend.

“Uh, hey, Y/N,” Bucky says as he looks down to his boot-clad feet. Despite his quiet demeanor and tendency to be closed off, you’d never seen Bucky so...shy.

So you turn your attention to the second man standing in front of you. “I’m Y/N,” you smile as you bound down the stairs to the men, hand out and waiting for Bucky’s friend to shake, “Bucky’s neighbor!” You hope that whatever icy tension that had settled over Bucky would thaw if you directed the spotlight away from him.

“Sam,” the man says as a toothy grin breaks across his face. “Bucky didn’t mention he had neighbors.”

“It’s an apartment building, bird brain, of course I have neighbors,” Bucky mumbles as he buries his hands in his jacket pockets. He looks at you then or rather looks past you at the tall box leaning against the brick building. “What’re you up to?”

“Well, I just got a new Christmas tree delivered,” you say as you bite your lip and try to hide your desperation for help. “I was just getting ready to take it up.”

Bucky looks from you to the tree before settling his gaze on you. “Do you need some help,” he asks coyly.

You don’t even attempt to mask your smile as you guiltily nod your head. As Bucky turns to look at his friend, Sam puts his hands up. “Nah, man, I was getting ready to leave. Plus, heavy lifting is more your thing,” he says before looking at you. “Plus, Bucky is still learning how to play nice with others. And it’s my day off.”

You chuckle and playfully roll your eyes. “You better go relax, then. I’m sure a day off is rare for a superhero.”

As Sam starts backing up towards the way they came, he nods. “I like her, Buck. She really gets it. It was nice meeting you, Y/N!”

“Bye, Sam,” you wave as you watch him make his way down the sidewalk. “He seems really nice,” you say as Bucky hauls the tree box over his shoulder.

“He’s a pain in my ass,” he grumbles as he nods towards the front door.

All you can do is laugh and lead the way to your apartment.

“Thank you so much, Bucky,” you say as he finishes up pulling the faux tree from its too-small confines.

“It’s not a problem,” he shrugs and takes a step back to look at the tree. It’s in pretty rough shape, but once you’re done with it, no one will ever be able to tell it’s lived most of its life in a cardboard box. “You know, I haven’t had a Christmas tree since 1942.”

You stop shuffling around in the bin of ornaments and turn to look at him. “You’re joking,” you say, absolutely appalled. When Bucky shakes his head, you make a decision. “Stay and decorate with me, then.”

This obviously takes Bucky off guard, and before he can even attempt to come up with a reason to say no, you’re busting out your best pout, absolutely determined to share some holiday cheer with him this afternoon.

“Fine,” he sighs, but you can see the hint of a smile twitching on his lips.

You put Bucky to work immediately, pointing at boxes and bins full of ornaments, tinsel, and other holiday goodies. To your delight, he has quite the eye for placing ornaments, a skill he attributes to having a best friend who forced him into art classes and design lectures as teenagers. You’re almost certain he’s enjoying himself, a suspicion that is all but proven when he starts cheerfully humming along to the Christmas station you have playing on your phone.

“I’m really happy to see you out and about today,” you say as you hand him a sparkling orb to hang on one of the taller branches.

Bucky falters in his movements just a little before delivering the ornament onto its new home for the season. “I’m sorry I disappeared for a little bit…”

“Oh, Bucky,” you say as you place a hand on his metal forearm. You'd been surprised when he took his jacket off to reveal his metal arm with little more than the sleeve of his t-shirt covering it. You try not to think of the implications behind the small but seemingly intimate action. “Never apologize for how you grieve. We all process and deal with things differently.”

A moment passes in silence, though it’s not awkward. It’s simply a moment where both of you seem to process what was said. Surprisingly, it’s Bucky who breaks the silence. “That pasta thing you left me, that was really good,” he chuckles.

“Remind me, and I’ll write the recipe down for you. It’s one of my favorite comfort foods.”

Time passes easily with Bucky. Despite what Sam said early, Bucky is an excellent companion to decorate with. He cracks jokes every now and then and comments on your collection of antique ornaments. You even manage to get him to try some of that crockpot wine you had attempted to make earlier in the day. By dinner time, your tree is fully dressed and situated in its corner, and you’re tipsy on holiday cheer and alcohol. As you make your way towards the couch with a fresh glass in your hand, Bucky begins to hum along to Bing Crosby’s “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” as the beginning notes start to float through your apartment.

“God, I remember when this song came out,” he says quietly as you take your seat. “They played it nonstop at camp. Dunno what they were trying to do, raise our spirits, maybe? It just made me think about how Ma and Becca were going to be all alone that Christmas.” He pauses then, likely lost in the memory. You’re about to say something to pull him back from wherever he drifted off to when he adds, “I couldn’t help thinkin’ that this was a song I’d ask a girl to dance to, too.”

“I didn’t know you could dance,” you laugh as you set your wine glass down.

“Oh sweetheart, I had girls lining up outta the hall to dance with me back in the day. I wasn’t always so…” he turns to look at you and gesticulates with both arms to make his point, whatever that may be.

You squint your eyes in a challenging glare and stand. “You have to show me these moves, Bucky Barnes.” He opens his mouth to protest, but you quickly cut him off. “I’ll sing along if you don’t. I know you can hear the concerts I put on for my shampoo bottles in the shower. Save you and the neighbors the show, come on.”

Bucky gives you a mock grimace before giving in. You’re not sure if it’s the wine that’s causing time to feel so slow or if it’s the fact you want to savor the image of Bucky standing over you, flesh hand outstretched for you to take. You don’t question it, though, and simply step into his warm, welcoming embrace. It’s all too easy to melt into Bucky’s arms and allow him to guide you around your tiny living room.

A few moments pass with little more than Crosby’s melodic crooning drifting around the two of you. You hope that, despite how close you are, Bucky can’t hear how rapidly your heart is beating. When you finally muster the courage to look at him, you find that he was already looking at you. He squeezes your hand a little and gives you possibly one of the most tender smiles you’ve ever seen.

“Nice to know I still have it,” he exclaims as he winks, and you smile and shake your head before resting it on his shoulder.

When the song ends, Bucky ends his effortless glide across the antiqued hardwood floors, and you pull back from his chest enough so that you can look into his eyes. If your gaze lingers a little too long on his plump, pink lips, you’ll never admit. Despite the impossibly low lighting of the room, you can see the way Bucky’s crystal blue eyes sparkle and dance when they catch the lights from your tree.

“Thank you for helping me today,” you say, barely above a whisper.

“‘Course,” Bucky replies and, as the seconds pass, you’re pretty sure that he begins to lean towards you, eyes flicking between yours and your lips.

Just as you’re about to close the small distance, a disorienting ringing begins from somewhere. Bucky pulls away, irritation quickly taking over his expression. “Goddammit,” he practically growls as he pulls his phone from his pocket. “What, Sam?”

You watch as a range of emotions flash across Bucky’s face before a seriousness shadows his features. He barks out a gruff, “See you in a few,” before quickly ending the call. “We’re, uh, needed. Immediately.”

“O-oh,” you mummer, disappointed that he has to leave so quickly. You watch from where Bucky had stopped the two of you as he gathers his jacket and scrambles to put his boots on. He’s almost to your door when your brain finally catches up to what is going on, and, in that moment, you’re appreciative for how small your apartment is because you’re able to get to him before he is fully out of the apartment.

“Wait, Bucky,” you call as you grab for his arm. When he turns to look at you, you almost back out of what you’re about to say, but you persevere, knowing that the world will continue to turn if he rejects you. “Come to Christmas with me. My parents only live two hours away. We’re pretty low-key, no big party or anything. Please?”

Bucky considers you for a moment before he visibly softens and nods. “You know what, sure. That...that sounds great.”

You smile so wide when you hear him accept the invitation, something you thought for sure would be for not. Before you can even consider your actions, you’re leaning up to place a chaste kiss on his rough and prickly cheek. “Stay safe out there,” you say gently. Bucky simply nods, a blush begins to work it’s way up his neck.

You stand in your doorway until you hear the front door of your building click shut behind him. You’ll never confess to it, but when your own apartment door is securely shut behind you, you do an excited, happy dance.