#but i was on netflix and they had a pride collection and I was sat there thinking that the netflix back home probably doesnt have this

[tea-with--honey]

Happy pride to the folks who live in countries where being queer is a crime and, in some instances, legally punishable by death. I see you, I'm with you, I'll celebrate with you. Hoping ur celebrating online or in your head or in an awesome private place with your queer companions. Maybe youre not! Maybe youre out there fighting for our rights and if you are then hell yeah! But this goes out to the ones who cant because of the risk. We're still queer and we can still celebrate pride in our own little ways. Love yall :)

[armins-used-qtip]

Armin finds your tapes

(This isn’t my best story but I didn’t want it to go to waste so I’m posting it :)

Armin had been staying with Eren for the past month due to renovations on his apartment. It wasn’t surprising he went to Eren since they’d been friends for as long as they could remember. You personally got along well with Armin and considered him to be your friend, rather than just your boyfriend’s friend. It also helped you were both film students.

Now that he was temporarily living in Erens house you saw a lot more of him. Often you two would hang out. Even when Eren wasn’t there, discussing your passions for filmmaking.

On this night you were in Erens room waiting for him to get back from his part time job. It was about 6:00pm and he got off at 10:00pm

Armin was in the living room, flicking through the large collection of dvds and tapes you had collected over the years. Unlike Eren, Armin also appreciated the older forms of entertainment and preferred DVDs over Netflix or Disney+.

Armins shuffling fingers stopped at a tape he didn’t recognise

“What’s this ‘Eren and me’ oh is this Y/N’s new project?” excitement filled him up as he pulled the tape out. He felt a feint sense of pride. That’s just the type of person he was, he cared so much about others goals and aspirations.

“She was probably going to show me this at some point, might aswell watch it now” he giggled to himself as he walked into his room with the tape in hand.

He sat down, turned his laptop on and slid the DVD in. He patiently waited as the video loaded. When it finally loaded he looked closely, turning the brightness up to really see the screen.

‘Ngh~ E-Eren fuck…’ the image of you getting fucked senseless came on Armins screen. His cheeks were blazing as he scrambled to shut the laptop. Suddenly he was so aware of his breathing- no it was more like panting.

Even after a few minutes had passed he couldn’t shake the lewd image from his mind. He wasn’t entirely sure how to react. It wasn’t like he hadn’t heard you two going at it through the thin walls before, but actually seeing it was so different. Especially since it was in such an intimate way. It wasn’t just cheaply recorded on a cellphone, no. It was filmed with a camcorder and put on a DVD. It was something to be cherished, and yet he had just invaded any privacy the tape held.

Armin had never regarded you in any other way than a friend. But he still couldn’t help the way his pants tightened and his face heated at the sight of you in such a vulnerable position.

As if something possessed him he opened the laptop again. The video had paused and it was a still image. Your mouth agape and eyes half rolled back. Eren had a fistful of your hair as he yanked your drooping head up, forcing you to look at the camera. Armins finger hovered over the space bar. He knew this would be pernicious to your friendship, the smart thing to do would be put the tape back and pretend he’d never seen it.

But sometimes ‘the smart thing’ doesn’t win. He pressed down and allowed the video to play.

Armin wasn’t particularly well versed, sexually speaking. He had only a few sexual experiences. Each time he had sex or engaged in anything of the sort he felt underwhelmed and disinterested.

This was not like those other times, his entire body felt like it was on fire. He forced his mouth shut as he intently watched. You were getting pounded at an ungodly pace. Tears were forming in your eyes. Suddenly Eren pulled out of you, the whine you emitted at the loss of contact made Armins pants grow even tighter. Eren walked out of the frame only to return with a lit candle. Is he trying to up the ambience??

An audible gasp left Armins mouth when Eren poured the hot wax onto your back. Your yelps of pain only seemed to up Erens ambition as he placed the candle down and began spreading the hot wax with his hands. The unholy sounds leaving your mouth left Armin gobsmacked. Surely you couldn’t be enjoying that? It looked so… painful.

He felt deeply ashamed at the way his dick practically jumped at the sight of you in pain. With lack of better judgment he unbuckled his belt and started pulling his pants down his thighs.

He shuddered at the contact between his sweaty palm and his dick. Then he positioned the laptop on his thighs so he could watch as he touched himself.

As Eren wiped the now solidifying wax of your back, your knees began to buckle from the intense and prolonged ecstasy you had been denied so many times. “Please… Eren” you panted in a desperate tone “I just want to cum” you pleaded to your boyfriend.

Erens face contorted into one of reassurance, a misleading smile plastered on his face. “Cmon sweetie, you can hold out for a bit longer” Eren said as he lifted your limp head to face the camera. “You have to put on a show for the camera, right? Fucking slut” he whispered in your ear, still holding that smile. You weakly nodded your head, making Eren smile even wider.

Armin blushed furiously as you looked straight into the camera. It was almost as if you were staring into his soul, like you knew what he was doing. This sent a wave of guilt through him, causing him to still his tugging hand.

Eren went back behind you and began pounding again at that ungodly pace. The lewd sounds of skin slapping and squelching drove Armin crazy and he started moving his hand up and down.

Armins hips were bucking, he desperately needed something more than his hand. He took his thumb and ran it over his throbbing tip. Pathetic whines left his mouth. It truly was a filthy sight to see. THE Armin Arlet jerking off to his best friend’s sex tape.

He kept his hand at the same rhythm of Eren pounding into you. His own Broken whimpers covered the sound of the tape.

The pressure was building too fast, he had to throw his head back to stop himself from cumming immediately. The deep pleasure in his gut started spreading through his whole body. At this point he was spasming like a mad man, biting on his free hand to stop himself from moaning. Although it was pretty ineffective as his whimpers filled the room. Armin wondered what you must think, hearing all the obscene noises he is making from the other room.

The thought of you catching him sent him over the edge. The scene was similar to a balloon exploding. His wild hips bucking as he shot ropes of hot cum from his cock. incomprehensible sentences were being spat from his mouth as he emptied himself all over his bed and chest.

After about a minute of cumming and shaking, he gradually calmed down. Minus his irregular and heavy breathing he was finished. His laptop was still open but the video had finished. He wasn’t sure when the tape had ended. Grabbing the box of tissues next to his bed, he wiped his lower abdomen. ‘I should put this back’ he thought as he looked at the DVD that was poking out of his laptop.

The end xx

I take requests or anything (as long as they’re AOT men 🙏🙏)

[jeongvision]

make a wish

synopsis. jaehyun loves you very much; so much that he came over to your place at midnight to wish you a happy birthday. meanwhile, you also love jaehyun very much; so much that you think that he deserves a very special present from you even on your birthday.

pairing. boyfriend! jeong jaehyun ✗ fem! reader

genre. smut, fluff if you squint a little, established relationship au

word count. 2.9k

warnings. cursing, sexual themes (marking, fingering, choking, grinding, dirty talking, degradation, cum play, power play), some religious analogies

author’s note. make a wish english ver. is making me feel some type of way and jaehyun looking expensive in the mv is not helping me so i had to let it out somehow, so enjoy this thirsty work of art lmao

Today is your birthday, and all Jaehyun planned was to come over to your apartment at midnight with cake and sing you a happy birthday. After that, he’s all yours for the day. You’re free to do whatever you want, whenever you want with him for 24 hours. He was thinking maybe all you wanted to do is just stay in and cuddle while binge watching some netflix shows. Maybe order takeout if you’re feeling a little lazy to cook, and perhaps a few makeout sessions together here and there if you were feeling it. He could tell from your voice how exhausted you were from your work schedule based on the past couple phone calls.

What he did not expect however, is for you to be straddling his hips as you mark his neck up with purples and blues right after you blew out the candles.

And neither did you.

But that’s what makes it all fun, right?

You arrived at your apartment earlier close to 11 at night. work was tiring today. You work as a full-time cashier at a huge department store down the street. It was decent pay, enough to pay for your expenses and live life a little. You didn’t mind how demanding it could be sometimes, how customers can go from being exceptionally patient with your work to customers being absurdly rude to you for just breathing.

However, some of your coworkers called out for a week due to ‘personal reasons’, whatever that may be. Because of that, your manager has been scheduling everyone to work more to make up for all the missing shifts, including you.

You honestly didn’t mind it.

The only time you do is when it doesn’t allow you enough time to regenerate your social battery that you’ve been draining every night for the past two weeks. And every night before your shift ends, without fail, you always think to yourself how much you can’t wait to go home, take a nice, warm bath, and drift off to sleep, only for you to repeat the cycle again the next day. Oh, and maybe call up your boyfriend, if he was still awake, and talk about each other’s day for a bit.

But today is a little different— you finally get a day off to yourself.

You did your nightly after-work ritual: dinner, shower, bath, doze off a little, rinse, dry up, all that good stuff. But once you got dressed and finished blow-drying your hair, your doorbell rang exactly at midnight. You weren’t expecting any visitors this late, so it was reasonable that you were suspicious.

Who the hell? You were on high alert when you walked over to your front door, a wooden baseball in hand. When you went to take a look through the peephole, there was nothing but confusion all over your face. Why is Jaehyun here? As you pondered on, you noticed he held a beige box in both of his hands. As you peered closer you caught glimpse of the familiar label on its right side: it was from none other than your favorite bakery shop.

And that’s when it hit you.

It’s midnight.

You boyfriend is standing right outside your door, holding a box from your favorite bakery shop.

It’s your freaking birthday today.

You didn’t expect Jaehyun to be at your doorstep with a box of cake in his hands. In fact, you didn’t expect to see him at all on your birthday. You remembered him mentioning he had to work on your birthday. He felt bad that he couldn’t spend time with you. There’s always another day, love, you said to him.

And here you two are in the present: the candles have already been lit, birthday song have been sang, and the tiny smoke from the candles wafts through the air after you blew them out. Jaehyun told you that he called off work to spend the day with you and you were free to do whatever you wanted to do with him. You initially thought that spending the whole day inside lazing around would be the most perfect idea ever after all those strenuous hours at work.

But you had another idea in mind, an idea that stayed in the back of your mind after he sent you a scandalous text last week, stating all the things he wanted to do with you behind closed doors, away from public’s view. Of course he had to conveniently send it during your work shift and your nosy coworker just happened to peer over your shoulder reading the contents. It was all pure jest, my love, he said to you.

A joke it may be, but there’s no harm in making them come true, right?

Your arms are circled around his neck, legs stationed on either side of his legs with your ass planted firmly on his lap. You’re both sat on your living room couch, bodies pressed against each other with the cake long forgotten on your coffee table behind you. His hands are tucked underneath your shirt, caressing your soft skin.

As you continue to nip all over his neck, marking him up, he maneuvers his hands down to your rear, giving them a light squeeze. You sigh at his touch.

“Baby girl,” he grunts, “just what do you think you’re doing?”

You nip at a particular spot on his neck and he groans out loud. God, just the sound of him is enough for you to wet your panties. After licking down on his skin, you pull away from his neck and look down at your creation— there are blue and purple galaxies all over his throat, his lips are red and had a little swell to them from your sloppy makeout session earlier, and the eyes he looks at you with are filled with nothing but carnal lust for you.

You can’t help but feel pride burst in your chest because you did that. You made him, Jung Jaehyun, your boyfriend, look like that.

You gave him a lopsided grin, and he thinks to himself how he can’t wait to wreck you apart inside and out. “What does it look like I’m doing?” you cooed. You can feel his clothed erection poke at your thigh, pulsating underneath, so you grind on it teasingly, watching as his eyes roll back with his mouth open. “I’m just doing what my boyfriend wished for me to do through our text messages the other day. I wanted to show how appreciative I am that he came over and wished me a happy birthday.”

You face moves closer to his, your lips a breath away from his own. You lower your voice down to a whisper, “Is that wrong for me to do?”

He releases a throaty groan. You can feel him bucking up to gain some friction on his dick but you lifted your hips up a little from his lap. “Fuck,” he grunts.

You giggle softly at his reaction. You were never the one to take charge in bed. Jaehyun was always the one to initiate something and follow through with it. You didn’t mind it. In fact, you loved it. but the power you felt over him now was But you feel drunk on the feeling; you savored it, you felt intoxicated, and you wanted more.

Fuck it, screw those text messages. Let’s change it up a little, shall we? How about you take charge for the night?

But little did you know, that is exactly the opposite of what he was going to give you. It may be your birthday, but there’s no way in hell that you’re going to top tonight. You already mentioned those text messages he forgot about, and there’s no way he’s going to make you turn your words back on it.

Before you could even register anything, his right hand that was planted on your ass moves to your front where he cupped your clothed sex. You gasp, eyes blown out, hands now gripping onto his shoulders.

“O-oh!” you mewl.

And so, the reins have been handed over to him. As it should, he thinks. He smirks a little. His fingers rubs against your core at an agonizingly slow pace just to tease you a bit. He could feel the heat radiating off your body and wanted nothing more than to bask in it.

Just as he was about to move his hand away, you grab his wrist to hold it in place.

“Mm.. more..” you quiver.

He clicks his tongue. “Dirty little whore.”

After feeling how your thin shorts were starting to get drenched, he pulls his hand away from your grasp and shoves them inside your panties. Immediately, he can feel you dripping, his fingers and palm collecting all of your essence. His fingers deftly circle your clit before gliding them back and forth on your soaked folds.

Your mind is in a spiral.

“Holy fuck!” And holy, his fingers are, especially when he inserts two fingers inside your pussy. “O-oh my god, Jaehyun-n!”

He sadistically thrusts in and out of your entrance, his thumb stimulating your nub, your moans getting more fervent. “Acting all spoiled just because I’m letting you do whatever you want with me for your birthday. Just who do you think you are? Should I remind you who’s the one in charge here?” he growls.

You whimper at his words, shamelessly grinding yourself onto his hand as his other wraps snugly around the back of your neck.

He grins, face dangerously close to you now. “Now look at you, all fucked out from only my fingers. This pussy just can’t wait for me to fuck you nice and deep, huh? Is that what you want?”

You didn’t answer him, your mind too preoccupied from the bliss his fingers are giving to you. The sweat forming on your skin created a glistening sheen on your exposed collarbone, and all he wants to do is to just ravage it.

And he just might.

His hand wrapped around your neck tightens a little, sending more pleasure through your body and core.

“Answer me, slut.”

You cry out a little, “Y-yes.”

“Yes, what?”

You fail to swallow back your moans. “I-I want you to.. fuck me nice and- oh!”

His fingers hit that delicious spot inside you, your body jerking in response.

“Fuck you nice and what?”

Your sighs come out shakily, “Nice a-and.. deep, with your c-cock- oh my god!”

“God can’t save you now, fucking slut.”

He feels you tightening around his fingers, sending him to fasten his pace. Your grip on his shoulder intensifies, enough to painfully indent his skin. After a few more thrusts from his fingers, a coil inside you snaps, stars blurring your vision as a shockwave overtakes you. You did nothing to suppress your screams as your juices flowed out your core. His fingers continue to thrust in and out of you throughout your orgasm but finally stops as he sees you start to calm down.

Your breathing is erratic, trying to catch up after that earth-shattering orgasm you just experienced. After he feels you relax in his embrace, he lets go of your neck and rests it on your waist. He pulls his fingers out of your pussy and you shuddered at the loss of contact. Your cum slowly drips out of you onto your panties and shorts, some of it gliding onto your thighs where he can visibly see it.

God, does he want to have a taste. You’re definitely going to need some new shorts and undies now. With your half-opened eyes in a complete daze and your breathing evened out, he brings his fingers to your lips, staring dauntingly at your orbs.

“Suck.”

And you obliged. He pushes his fingers past your mouth and you suck on his fingers, tasting yourself. Your tongue swirls around his digits, all while maintaining eye contact with him.

He gravely groans at the sight. “So naughty..” He pulls his fingers away and takes hold of your chin, ravenously capturing your lips with his own, tasting a little bit of you in the process. Your tongue glides past his as he dominates your mouth whole. Your arms wrap around his neck once more, pulling him closer to your soul. His lips are always soft, and yet he kisses you as if he wants to devour you up until your knees buckled.

He breaks away from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting the two of you, and he maneuvers his way down to your throat.

Now it was his turn to paint your neck pretty.

“So fucking naughty for me,” he moans. As he assaults your neck, you rack your nails through his hair, gently pulling on its ends. You could feel him sigh onto your neck as a result of it. He honestly loves it when you pull onto his hair, almost a little too much.

After he was satisfied with his artwork, he looks back up to you and delicately pecks your lips. The corner of his mouth lifts, his dimples now on full display. “Happy birthday, baby.”

You tiredly giggle at the complete change in his demeanor. You were so in love with this man, and you would do anything to make him happy.

“Thank you, my love.”

He grins at you. And he was so in love with you, he would do anything to keep you happy.

He kisses you once again, this time with much more passion and purpose. He held onto your waist as you held onto his neck, enjoying each other’s presence. Afterr staying in each other’s embrace for some time, foreheads touching, a thought popped in Jaehyun’s head.

“You know, you never told me what you wished for.”

Oh, but what is there to wish for when your present is right in front of you?

You shrug your shoulders, “It’s nothing really.”

He tsks out loud, “Baby, we both know that’s a lie.” He moves away from you and leans forward to the side of your face. And all of the sudden, you feel him nibbling your earlobe, kitten licks in between.

You bite down on your lip, struggling to keep your composure together. Surely, you were still recovering from your last orgasm— the attention he was giving to you got you feeling aroused for him again.

He snickers gravely.

Oh how fucking sinful the sound of that is.

“Come on, baby girl. Just tell me. Maybe I can make your wish come true.”

The moan you just released was lecherous to him.

“Answer me, then you shall receive.”

The devil works hard, but Jaehyun works harder.

You quiver at his command. No matter how many times you were intimate with each other, you could never get used to all the dirty talk. Jaehyun was always clear-cut about his wants and needs, but you never were. Mot until you’re pushed on the spot like now.

You swallow down your embarrassment and meekly respond. “I-I.... suck you..”

He stops his teasing and backs up to look at you. “Hm? What was that?” His smirk returns. “I didn’t quite catch that. Speak up, baby. Use your words.”

You refuse to answer, but he pays no mind. You’ll eventually cave in, you always do.

“Baby, I’m waiting.”

You close your eyes and let out a sigh. “I didn’t wish for anything.”

“And why is that?”

You eyes opened up but you look away from his gaze, humiliation all over. Hou stammer over your words, “B-Because.. you’re my birthday wish.”

He lazily grins, bringing his left hand to cup your cheek. That’s when you decided to look up into his eyes. “And what do you wish to do with me?”

You gulp. “I want to.. suck you.”

“Suck where exactly?”

Fucking hell. He’s enjoying this way more than you are. Just who is getting their birthday present here? You groan out in a frustrated manner. To hell with this.

“Your cock. I want your cock in my mouth. O want your fucking dick in my mouth and I want you to use my mouth and fuck it like your own personal toy.” After realizing that you just said, you gasp and covered your mouth with both of your hands. You’re now embarrassed out of your mind, completely wanting the ground to just swallow you up.

You just said that to him, but Jaehyun found it quite adorable that you were capable of saying such things.

And so, he removes your hand from your face, grips on your wrist, and kisses you, a loud smooch throughout the room. After that, he places one of your hands onto his prominent bulge, painstakingly waiting for you attention this entire time. “Baby, you don’t have to say it twice.”

And you couldn’t have been quicker. You step off of him, assuming position with your knees on the floor. He hastily stands up from your couch and works on unzipping his jeans with your help. After pulling his dick out, your mouth waters. Veins aligned along its sides, red at the tip with precum leaking out.

He chuckles at you. “Aren’t you an eager little whore?”

Your eyes shoot up to his, eyes sinfully taking you in. “Just can’t wait to have my cock in your mouth, huh? Greedy little whore. zi bet all you want is my cum in your mouth.” He clicks his tongue.

With one hand on his member and the other holding onto the back of your head, you look down at his shaft. You feel him guiding your head towards him. With your mouth wide open, tongue splayed out for him, you could hear the grin in his voice.

“Happy birthday, baby girl. Now make a wish and blow.”

[missblissy]

Human Alastor x reader playing Bowling? (Idk i just like that type of date hhaha) Maybe just them or maybe with friends

((>W>.............................. js I hate bowling. But I love you nonny, so for you..... I made this. ENJOY!! Sorry for the wait *cries*))

How goes bowling these days? Is that even still a thing? And why would anyone want to go bowling other than to drink? But no one drinks have the time... people just go for the pin and balls. Maybe it had to do with long and round phallic objects and balls rolling around. Regardless, your friends had dragged you to go bowling for whatever reason. And you decided to drag Alastor along because if you had to suffer, so did your boyfriend. It was also a bonus that he got along with your friends as well... some of them at least.

It was Charlie's idea mostly. She was someone who always wanted to go out and try new things. It was something she lived by apparently because this week's new activity was bowling at one of those dark neon allies with an arcade built-in. Charlie managed to talk her girlfriend, Vaggie, into coming too. Angel came because he also assumed there would be drinks but found out there wasn't a damn bar inside. You honestly had no idea how or why Husk was even there because he was completely and entirely miserable. If you had to guess it had something to do with you forcing Alastor to come.

Anyways, you and your little group of friends had found themselves staring down an alley with those silly little shoes on. Angel wouldn't wear his though, he wouldn't let their piss shade of yellow clash with his outfit.

You were sitting in plastic chairs next to Angel as you watched Charlie and Alastor go up next. You had two lanes so they went together. Angel sat next to you, he grabbed an arm behind you on the back of your chair and leaned in, "Five bucks says Allie gets the gutter," He whispered loud enough for Alastor to hear. You giggled as you saw your boyfriend's brow twitch and ignore the comment.

There was a second there that you were tempted to say something back to Angel but you were interrupted by the loud clash and computer saying "Strike!" You looked up and saw that Charlie was still holding her bowling ball. But walking away with a smirk on his face, Alastor's smug pride gleamed off him. The shock on everyone's face only made him boast to himself even more. When did Alastor find the time to get good at bowling.

As he sat down next to you, he threw Angel's arm away from you and replaced it with his own, though he was sure to wrap his fingers around your shoulder and bring you closer to him. He never liked Angel, and he was always so overly protective when it came to you anyways, so it wasn't welcomed that the boy was so close to you. Even if he was a guy. Competition is competition, it doesn't matter who they are, Alastor didn't like sharing you. Period.

"How... Did you do that?" You asked him.

Alastor shrugged and watched as Charlie threw her bowling ball right into the gutter, "I'm perfect at everything I do, dear." That was supposed to be satire.

Angel rolled his eyes and with a huff, he crossed his arms, "You can't fuck." He deadpanned.

Instincts kicked in and you ducked seconds before Alastor nearly climbed over you and punched Angel in the face. He missed and got him in the shoulder instead.

"Leave Alastor and his fuckless life alone," Husk said as he got up from his seat, "Some people are just better than the rest of us sexual deviants," He took his turn bowling soon after saying that. Vaggie went next as well. She choose to keep her mouth shut on all this.

But even Charlie had something to say, "Come on guys," She awkwardly waved her hands, trying to calm everyone down, "If you're going to fight take it outside this time. I don't want to get kicked out of another place of business..."

"He won't fight me, he'd know I'd deck him in the head and give 'em a one-two combo real quick like last time." Angel reminded everyone, and you all collectively remembered Angel clocked Alastor in the face at a bar after a heated argument. Alastor went out like a light and broke his nose on the way down. You looked at him and saw the little kink in his nose from that night.

You sighed and reached down into your pocket and pulled out your wallet. You grabbed a random twenty and handed it to Angel, "I'll give you this and two cigs if you go outside for ten minutes."

Angel gave you a snotty look, somewhat offended that you'd even offer such a thing. But he knitted his brows, snatched your twenty-dollar bill, and stole two cigarettes from the pack you left laying next to you on your seat, "I'm gonna find a bar on this fucking street- I'll be back later, losers."

You could still feel the rage simmer off Alastor even after Angel left. Though you didn't have time to say anything to him. It was your turn to go up. And now that Angel was gone, you didn't want to go up there and make a fool of yourself alone... Half your plan was to have Angel bowl next to you so that no one would notice how bad you were.

"Um-" You said as everyone waited for you to go, "I'd...uh... Um. I don't know hooow-" You were cut off as Alastor quickly got up and pulled you up with him.

He dragged you to the lane and got a bowling ball for you, "Hold this," He said. You noticed his anger from before had all but melted away. Alastor gave you a charming smile and stood beside you, "Copy me. Like when we dance."

You blinked at him a few times then did was he said. He held his hand up, pretending he had a ball. You copied him and did the same. He brought his hands to his chest, stepped forward, swung his arm back then forward again. You smiled at him and did the same, but you actually threw a ball. It rumbled down the lane and crashed into a couple pins. At least you didn't get the gutter.

"See? That easy," Alastor smiled at you. He place a hand on your arm and pressed a kiss on your cheek. He grabbed your hand in his and asked, "Do you want to see if they have any vending machines in the arcade? We can get some snacks?" Which was code for do you want to sneak away for a second?

"Sure," You quickly agreed while locking your fingers with his. The two of you scurried off with him. The second you were out of eyesight and safe behind a wall, Alastor gave you a more proper kiss.

He pulled away and asked, "Why did we come again?"

You shrugged, "Charlie asked." You simply said.

Alastor let out a huff then started walking with you towards the vending machines, "You can't really say no to someone like her..."

As you pulled out a few loose coins from your pocket and slipped them into the machine you laughed, "No, you can't." You both dearly loved your friendship with Charlie... But she could be a bit bossy sometimes.

The two of you collected an arm full of snacks and started walking back together, "Well, I say when we get home, we have a proper date."

You laughed and even lost a few snacks. You picked them up quickly and said, "You mean you cook us dinner and we watch a movie? That's not a proper date either, ya know."

Alastor smirked at you then nudged his arm into yours with a grin, "It is too because it'll be just us. Alone."

You rolled your eyes but still chuckled to yourself, "Alright, alright," You said, "What do you want to watch?"

He shrugged, "Don't care. I just want to make fried rice tonight."

You let out a huff of a laugh and passed out a snack to each of your friends while Alastor gave them a drink of some kind, "Fine. But I'm picking a TV show then because I just started watching something on Netflix."

"Aw, are you guys leaving?" Charlie asked with way too much sadness on her face.

"No, no-" You waved a hand slightly, "Alastor just doesn't think this is a proper date, so he has to make one up at home."

"What do you mean this isn't a proper date?" Vaggie threw a hand in the air, "All of us brought our partners! I mean- Angel left... So Husk is more like a third wheel at this point. This definitely counts as a group date or whatever."

"Call me old-fashioned, but you don't bring your friends on a date and there is no such thing as a group date," Alastor said as he cracked open a can of cola.

"What about a double date?" Husk asked from his seat while he tore open a bag of chips.

"This isn't a double date and even then those aren't real dates either. You're supposed to be somewhere nice, havea nice meal, share a few drinks. Share some stories and laughs with the one person you're interested in courting, then call it a night, done!" Alastor smiled to himself while everyone else collectively sighed. He was old-fashioned. (But you liked that about him.)

"This isn't 1955, Al. You can go on a date anywhere. Like here. What about going to the zoo? Could that be a date?" Vaggie asked.

Alastor thought about it, tapped a finger to his chin then gleefully said, "Nope! That's an outing!" Several people groaned but no one went on to feed into his banter.

You did hear Husk grumble under his breath "You need to go out to go on a date," But Alastor must have not heard it or choose to not say anything.

The rest of your night there wasn't that bad either. Angel did end up coming back, but not without his arms full of booze bottles of all kinds. They didn't serve drinks here but at least Angel was wise enough to buy some solo cups too. No one was really paying attention to the bowling anymore either. (You lost, not that you cared or anything.... You did.) Instead, you and your friends had gathered around in the arcade, drinking, laughing, playing games, and picking on each other harmlessly. You enjoyed every second of it, much to your surprise. Alastor did as well, though... He still insisted on his proper date once you got home.

[americxn]

Promise (Tate x Reader)

word count: 1.2k warnings: noneee, just fluff (thank you @cleanup-aisle5 for the idea, you’re asleep right now but i said i would post something from my drafts tonight so here it is <3)

“Okay, there’s a step infront of you - yeah, that’s it.” You giggled as Tate guided you through the house, his hands tightly covering your eyes.  “Almost there.” He murmured in your ear and you grinned, reaching your hands out to make sure that you didn’t walk into anything. “What? Don’t you trust me?” Tate asked, his voice dripping with mock annoyance. “Not really no,” you giggled, allowing Tate to manoeuvre you to the side slightly. “I could let you walk into a wall right now, be nice.” He whispered, his breath hot on your ear.  “Are you excited?” He enquired as his hands fell onto your shoulders, halting your blind shuffling. “Yes, I am.” You squealed softly, your hands finding Tate’s and trying to pry them off your face.  “Hold on - geez. Impatient.” Tate huffed, a smile obvious in his tone.  “Alright, keep your eyes shut.” He ordered, his hands lifting off your face as he stepped away from you, the air at your back turning suddenly cold at the loss of his presence.  You squeezed your eyes shut tight as slight shuffling sounded in front of you. “Okay. Open!” Tate said gleefully. You eyes fell open, a broad grin already spread across your face as you beheld your boyfriend and the room before you. 

Your hands moved of their own accord to cover your mouth in awe as you surveyed Tate’s handiwork. You were stood in the small spare room on the top floor of the house, but it was nearly unrecognisable. The room was usually used for storage, a few cardboard boxes and old or broken pieces of furniture usually presiding here, but as you spun around in wonder you marvelled at how the room had been changed beyond recognition. The middle of the wooden floor was piled high with soft blankets, fluffy quilts and an impressive array of pillows and cushions. The walls were strung with an uncountable amount of fairy lights, all of them twinkling and softly flashing their golden light in sync. On the other side of the nest of blankets and pillows was a low table, stocked full of all your favourite snacks, two tall flutes of sparkling champagne completing the spread. You laughed, your hands moving to clasp beneath your chin, knowing full well that Tate absolutely hated champagne. On the wall directly behind the table, Tate had projected the Netflix homescreen onto the black space. You ginned, noticing the list of all your favourite movies that Tate had compiled on the screen, waiting for you to watch them.  And in the middle, Tate stood smiling widely, his eyes gleaming with pride.  “Oh my god.” You gushed, unable to find the words to express to Tate how lovely this was.  Instead, you opted to hurriedly pick your way through the piles of fluffy blankets, throwing yourself onto your boyfriend with enough force that he barely caught you, collapsing to the side and sending the both of you sprawling onto the mercifully soft floor.  Rolling quickly so that Tate was beneath you, you leaned down, raining little kisses all over his face.  “Oh my god, Tate!” You repeated, sitting back to look at him. “This is so perfect, I can’t believe you did this for me.” You gushed, shifting off him and pulling him up by the hand so that you were sat cross-legged on the floor, your knees touching.  “I’m glad you like it.” Tate replied, leaning in to land a proper kiss on your lips before you pulled away in excitement. “How long did this take you?”  “I’ve been collecting everything for a few weeks,” he began, his beam as bright as yours, “it was hard setting it all up with everyone around. But it didn’t take too long.”  When you fell silent, taking in the room around you once more, Tate ventured softly, “do you like it?”  Your head snapped to his, nodding profusely. “Yes, of course I like it. I love it!” You proclaimed, throwing your arms around his neck once more and squeezing tightly. Tate giggled, pushing you away slightly so that he could look at you. “I don’t know if you know this,” he began, his tone becoming slightly more serious. “But, today marks one year since you died.” He explained, watching as your face lit up with surprise and understanding, then amusement.  “We’re celebrating my death?” You exclaimed incredulously, laughter lacing your tone. “No! No,” Tate said hurriedly, his hands taking yours in earnest as he giggled slightly. “No, I mean more so that it’s been a year since we’ve spent every day together, y’know? I thought that it’s actually kinda special.” You nodded, your heart warming at his sincerity as he looked down at your joined hands, a little blush creeping onto his cheeks.  Leaning in, your pressed a lingering kiss to his lips. “I love it. I love you.” You expressed, resting your forehead on his, Tate sighing in contentment. “I love you, too.” He murmured, pulling away from you slightly and reaching into his back pocket, causing you to sit up straight and peer curiously at his hand that produced a small velvet black box.  Your eyes shot to his, eyebrows raising in confusion and slight concern. “Relax.” Tate smiled, opening the lid of the box and holding it between you so that you could see inside. Inside was a ring, it’s silver band shining bright in the gleam of the fairy lights, a small tear-drop shaped diamond resting atop it. “It’s a promise ring.” You took the box from Tate, examining the jewellery closely, your mouth falling open at its simplistic beauty.  “A promise ring?” You breathed mindlessly, your eyes filling with tears. “Yeah,” Tate plucked the ring out of the box, taking your left hand in his and sliding it onto your middle finger. “Just so that you know, and I hate being corny so give me a second,” he grinned as you titled your hand in awe, beaming at the way the light refracted off the stone, “that I am fully committed to you. I have been since you first set foot in this house.” You met his gaze, allowing your love to shine clear in your eyes. “I know one year may not seem that long to some, but I figured that since we’ve lasted in this house together for so long with minimal arguments, I doubt anything is going to happen that would tear us apart.” You nodded, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth and chewing it to stop it from wobbling as a few tears fell. “Thank you.” You whispered, pulling him into a gentle embrace. “It’s beautiful. Fuck, I love you so much.” Tate giggled, pushing you back by waist so that he could have access to your lips. His mouth was warm and soft on yours and you smiled into him, allowing Tate to manoeuvre you so that your back was pressed against the blankets, him coming to straddle you lightly, all the while keeping his lips connected to yours.  You opened for him, allowing his tongue to make a lazy sweep of your mouth, your own tongue timidly roving against his.  You forced yourself to pull away as Tate attempted to deepen the kiss, your own stomach fluttering in excitement. With a happy sigh, you took his face in your hands. “Later. I wanna watch a movie first.” You whispered sweetly up at him. Tate smiled softly as you reached with a thumb for his bottom lip, rubbing the pad of your thumb over its softness. “Of course, baby. Which one first?” 

[babbushka]

Beyond Reasonable Doubt (ch.1)

                                –      A Lawyer AU      –

You and Kylo Ren have hated one another for as long as you can remember. He, a criminal prosecutor, and you, a defense attorney should be natural-born enemies, and you are. But when Kylo comes to you seeking representation after being charged for a murder he didn’t commit, you both learn a thing or two about life, the law, and love…

[5k, no warnings for this first chapter!] 

Available on AO3

                                          ----------------------------

In a world of ever-changing circumstances, where people do things that cause ripples and shocks through the very fabric of society that shake them to their core, where the sun shines and rain falls and snow blows cold through the streets of Manhattan, where there is life and death and a mess of bullshit in between, there was but one thing that you could ever comfortably rely on in life.

Only one thing remained constant in the grand scheme of it all: your alarm.

With a grunt and sigh, your arm extends out from underneath the covers to smack at the loud blaring jingle that sounds from your phone, hand desperately trying to hit the dismiss button without looking so that you don’t have to face the day just yet. It’s too early, you reason, to pull your whole self out from under the covers.

Eventually you give that thought up though, because dammit now you’re awake and it’s Monday morning and you have an office that’s waiting for you uptown. So, ever grudgingly, you throw the plush comforter off of your body and stretch to greet the day, saying good morning to the city that never sleeps.

You don’t usually dread waking up, but well, the last time you’d been in the office was Friday afternoon, after you lost your case.

After you lost your case, to him.

Glancing at the clock on your phone, you chew your lip for a moment or two, before finally turning off the do not disturb function, immediately going into the bathroom to shower and ready yourself for the day while damn near a hundred backlogged notifications make your phone buzz nearly onto the floor.

There’s a small mirror in the shower, a little compact to make sure there’s nothing left on your face after you scrub your skin clean, and you catch your own reflection in it. You’ve looked better, that was for damn sure – but by that same token, you’ve also looked worse. Mondays were shit, but today was gearing up to be an even worse one than normal.

No, you think as you shake your head adamantly, you have no desire to let him soak up any more of your good mood than he had already. So what if you had forgone your entire weekend, canceling plans and ignoring friends to nurse the sting to your pride that was losing? So what if instead of checking your email or your phone, you sat yourself on the couch and wasted two entire days doing nothing but watching shitty shows on Netflix?

What you did on your downtime was nobodies’ business, and since you live alone in your beautiful one-bedroom in SoHo, no one was there to spill your secrets. If anyone asked – not that anyone would, if they knew what was good for them – you would tell them that you absolutely did not spend the weekend wanting to throw darts onto a photo of his face. That wouldn’t be very professional, now would it?

Shutting off the water, you wrap yourself up in a big plush towel, and pad across the floor to your closet. Briefly, ever so briefly, you glance at your phone on your way, holding your breath, wondering, hoping that there might be something from him.

If there is, it’s buried under a pile of emails and text-threads from your firm, so he’ll have to wait.

Manhattan in January was chilly, so you bundle yourself up in your chicest coat overtop your most well-fitting skirt suit and a pair of heeled boots. Even if you felt like shit, you could look like million fuckin’ bucks, and no one would be the wiser.

And what a wonder the power of confidence was! Through the streets and down to the subway, you smiled at everyone, and they all smiled back. You offered your seat on the train to an elderly man who clearly needed it more than you, and he complimented your gloves. Everyone from the NYPD officer drinking his coffee to the mom scolding her three children brightened as you wished them a good morning, and somehow, along the way to work, your Monday blues disappears into something a little brighter.

                                         ----------------------------

Your good mood only continues to grow as you exit the elevator of the huge high-rise that you call your home away from home, your office on the twenty-third floor right in the heart of the Upper West Side. Sandwiched between the Hudson and Central Park, you have to admit that getting your ass out of bed was worth it, even if just for this view.

“Morning (Y/N).” The front desk security guard greets you, and you say hello back to him with a performative show of your badge.

HKS Law, so named after the founders and current partners Amilyn Holdo, Ben Kenobi, and Luke Skywalker, is a shining pinnacle of what defense attorneys and opposing counsel at trials should be. Not only had the firm made history time and time again with incredible wins and even more incredible ultimate losses, but it prided itself on being representation for the people no one else could represent.

Most of all, it had you.

If your alarm was a constant, than this was a universal truth: you are a damn good defense attorney. As you walk through the crisp and clean polished floors, you hold your head high, knowing that this loss against him still put you at the lowest loss rate of anyone in the history of HKS, lower than even the founders themselves.

That little reminder has you grinning to yourself. You’d been working with HKS for nearly six years now, and very quickly you saw your office climbing higher and higher up the skyscraper, saw it getting bigger and bigger. And now, you were nearly positive, that your meeting at eleven o’clock would be to discuss partnership with the firm as a reward for your continued hard work.

“Hey (Y/N)!” One of the associates, Rose Tico smiles at you from where she’s chatting with her sister Paige by their desks.  

“Someone looks like they had a nice weekend.” Paige remarks, and you only wink at them, playing the game.

A game, which becomes instantly easier as your assistant, a bright-eyed intern fresh out of law school appears seemingly out of nowhere.

“(Y/N), good morning!” She is already offering you a cup of something nice and hot, her arm cradling a stack of manilla folders that have all sorts of sticky-note flags on them, that she shifts onto her hip ever so slightly to brush a few loose braids out of her face, speaking at what feels like a million miles a second, “I have your coffee ready and there’s a fresh breakfast buffet in the break room if you’d like, I can get you something – ”

“Good morning Neisha.” You accept the coffee gratefully, but interrupting her only to give her a chance to catch her breath. You check your watch, it’s only half-past seven, she’ll wear herself out if she exerts that much energy first thing. “A bagel with the usual would be perfect, thank you.”

“No problem – oh, Rick wanted you to look over those case files before your eleven-o’clock.” She breathes a sigh of relief, and gives you a smile.

Groaning, you accept the manilla folders too, balancing the coffee cup on top of them as Iman follows you into your own private office. Your assistant stands in front of your desk at the ready, looking sharp and put together, as ever.

One thing that you loved about Neisha – aside from the dozens of things that you admired and appreciated about her – was that you have never ever seen her in something other than a pantsuit. She did not wear dresses or skirts, she was almost never in heels, and she did not carry a purse. Instead, Neisha could almost always be found in a very smart trouser and blazer set, often complete with vests, and fun-colored socks in her loafers to coordinate with her ever-expanding collection of ties.

“Rick can go fuck himself.” You mutter under your breath, and she laughs.

“Should I tell him you said that?” With a playful glimmer in her eye, she crosses her arms over her broad chest.

“Yes.” You wink, before checking your watch once again and reminding her about that, “Bagel?”

“Bagel – right, on it.” Neisha snaps her fingers and leaves, closing the office door behind her.

 You like your office, even if you’ve outgrown it. Much like the rest of the firm, it has stayed up to date with the contemporary interior design of the day. However where the open floor of the firm is mostly whites and silvers and glass, your office feels warmer with shades of coffee browns and creamy neutrals. 

Remembering how you had been so excited for the promotion to your own office, you can’t help but chuckle to yourself now – it really was a small office. It consisted of a long dark brown desk situated in front of a wall-unit bookshelf/display area, and a seating arrangement of matching brown chairs situated around a free-edge wooden coffee-table. A soft rug covers the marble flooring, and cream gauzy curtains cover the windows, but that was about it.

You had been to the offices of the higher ups, you knew just what you could achieve if you made partner – even if you made junior partner.

And if all went well during this meeting at eleven, you knew you’d be moving into one of those offices soon.

For the first time all weekend, you sit down in the big leather chair behind your desk and finally check your phone. The case files remain on your desk, and you know you’ll get to them eventually, but until you’ve had some breakfast and that coffee can work its magic, no one could blame you for scrolling through the shit that you had put off since Friday.

It’s mostly work friends taking your side, which you appreciate. They knew losing a case was hard for you – you didn’t do it very often. And even though you never lost to anyone besides him, it still never got easier.

The case had been a simple one, or at least, you had thought so. Murders are so often simple, either the person did it, or they didn’t. If they did, there’s evidence, and if they didn’t, well, there’s evidence too. And when two parties come forward with their own evidence, compelling, strong fucking evidence – evidence of alibis and proof that your client couldn’t have been there, couldn’t have done it – it’s up to the jury to decide who to believe.

In this case, this jury decided to believe him, and there was nothing you could do about it. It was losses like this, losses like the knowledge than an innocent man was going to prison, that make you seriously question the legal system as a whole, frankly.

It’s then that you see it, and your hand freezes.

You have a missed message from him.

He’s saved in your contacts as the dick from VTH, and even though that could refer to any number of people, you know that it’s him. You have five missed messages from him, as a matter of fact, which sends both a rush of adrenaline through you, as well as a spike of anxiety.

The two of you…you’d never been friends, not really. In fact, the closest thing to a relationship that you might have is that of a rivalry, if not flat out enemies. You hated him, and he hated you, and he had hated you ever since the first day he set eyes on you, from the very first moment you walked into the courtroom as a last-minute addition to the defense counsel, and won the case in fifteen minutes.

Which was a shame, because you often find yourself thinking that if he weren’t such a…well, a dick, there could have been something there. Instead of a friendship, or even a civil acquaintanceship, you have over the years developed something of a hate-fucking-enemies-with-benefits arrangement. He was probably pissed that you ignored him all weekend, but that was okay – let him be pissed, you were pissed too.

You don’t open his messages, not yet. You’d need coffee in you and food in your stomach before you’re able to handle whatever mood he has to be in, now that you’ve got the energy to deal with him.

You’re so deep in thought that you nearly miss when Neisha returns with a plate for you, a big spread arranged on your desk for you to enjoy. You’re about to thank her and let her get on with whatever work she has to do, but she holds out a newsletter with a devious smile and curiosity gets the better of you.

“Have you seen?” She asks, and you raise a brow, a smile of your own creeping across your face.

The newsletter was something that circulated through the different firms in the area, keeping everyone up to date – or at least as up to date as legally possible – on the goings on in the sphere of influence that you all found yourselves in. Everything from congratulatory memos to case results, and even high profile celebrity gossip was fair game, but one of the more scandalous parts of the newsletter, was the publication of trouble that various lawyers found themselves in.

The Monday morning newsletter had quite a bit of this from over the weekend, and right there on page sixteen, is none other than his face looking as irritated as he possibly can, as he’s being given a hard time for a DUI on Friday night.

“Oh fuck.” Your eyes widen, wanting nothing more than to call him and yell at him for being a fucking idiot, “What the hell does he think he’s doing?”

“Whatever he wants, evidently.” Neisha shrugs, no doubt thinking the news would cheer you up in some sort of vengeful way that you appreciate. She reaches for a pumpernickel crisp from the spread on your desk and muses, “I bet the cops are thrilled, they hate that sonofabitch.”

“Yeah them and me both.” You mutter, already rubbing away a headache that’s starting to form across the expanse of your forehead. “He’s not going to be pleased about that photo, he looks rumpled.”

Sighing, you look down at the photo. He’s very clearly intoxicated, you’ve seen that look in his eyes more than once, the blurry out of focused glassy look that he gives you over smiles at dinner sometimes. You blink away the image of him in a nice suit on the other end of a table, reminding yourself that you’re angry with him.

“Doesn’t he have a driver? I wonder why he got behind the wheel himself.” Neisha continues, and bless her you think, for continually giving you a means to not be left alone with your thoughts.

“If there’s one thing I know about that man, it’s that when he sets him mind to something, no one is going to stop him from doing it.” You reply, not able to ignore a bit of gut-wrenching regret.

Maybe if you hadn’t been so mad at him, you could’ve gone with him to wherever he was coming back from, and maybe you could’ve --

“Should I have this framed?” Neisha asks, and you blink again.

You check your watch, it’s only a quarter ‘til eight. Have you really only been at work for fifteen minutes? That stack of folders sits on the edge of your desk, taunting you. You’re gearing up for an extra long day.

“No, that’s okay.” You shake your head, opening the bottom drawer of your desk and dropping the newsletter into it. “I will keep a hold onto it though. Just for fun.”

With a laugh, Neisha leaves and once again closes your office door.

“God dammit.” You grumble, pulling your phone out yet again.

The unread messages from him sit buried beneath thirty other messages that don’t warrant responses, and you hover your thumb over his name.

After all these years, something about getting a text from him made your heart jump. It felt stupid, you weren’t some teenager with a crush in high school, you were an adult, and this was just another adult, who you happened to have developed some sort of attachment to. Not a friendship, or a relationship even, but some kind of attachment.

Right now, you wanted to bitch at him for getting himself into trouble, for driving while he was so very clearly drunk, a whole argument prepared about how he could have seriously hurt or even killed someone, how even though he’s a rich asshole he can’t afford to be so reckless.

But first, in order to bitch at him, you have to read what he’s sent you over the weekend, and that’s where you keep tripping up. You don’t know why, but when you do finally open up his texts, you find that you’re holding your breath until you read them.

You try to ignore the way the thread starts out, try to ignore how if anyone were to squint, they might think something was going on between you two.

 Incoming: [1/8 6:03am] just picking up croissants from that place u like. jam?

[1/8 6:10am] Yeah, raspberry if they have

Incoming: [1/8 6:11am] on it, go back 2 bed.

 That had been just over a week ago, and you remember the day well, how you exchanged smiles over bites of fresh and flaky pastry, how you had dipped the croissants into hot chocolate in his bed, not giving a fuck about the crumbs that weren’t your problem because they weren’t your sheets.

How that was the last time you had seen him, before the conclusion of the case.

Now, now that you’d lost, the tone of the thread has very clearly shifted to something much colder. One thing you’re surprised to see though, is that they’re all from around Friday night, which was unusual.

 Incoming: [1/15 7:43pm] going out 2 celebrate tonight, join me

Incoming: [1/15 8:57pm] u can’t ignore me forever u know

Incoming: [1/16 12:02am] i’m glad u didn’t come, ud fucking hate it here. theyre playing music 2 loud

Incoming: [1/16 12:15am] r u seriously still mad?

Incoming: [1/16 1:09am] Fuck you.

 Rolling your eyes, you rub away more of that headache that starts to form. It was weird that he didn’t text you at all for the whole day of Saturday, or Sunday for that matter. If you didn’t spend the weekend together, he was very content to simply blow your phone up with links to random bullshit or long text conversations in broken grammar because his thumbs were too big for the buttons.

So for there to be radio silence after one o’clock in the morning was strange.

“For fucks sake.” You find yourself texting him back without even thinking about it, your fingers moving over the keyboard easily and quickly, sending off a slightly antagonizing reply after two days of nothing;

 [1/18 7:55am] Looks like you had quite the night on Friday.

 There, you think. That should get a response out of him. No doubt he would be quick to complain about how he had been pulled over and the whole nine yards. You wait for it to come through, the text. Or more accurately, the string of impassioned paragraphs that he tends to send you.

But a minute go by, and there’s nothing.

Five minutes, and nothing still.

You know you have to work, you have shit to do, you have that big meeting in a couple hours that you have to mentally prepare for, there’s no time to be worrying about him not texting you back. Still, you don’t like the silence. Sure that makes you a hypocrite, but he deserved your cold shoulder for beating you in court. At least, that’s how you justify it for yourself.

Getting up from your desk, you hover in the doorframe, where your assistant’s desk sits just outside to act as a buffer for anyone wanting to bother you.

“Hey Neisha?” You ask quietly, getting her attention, “I haven’t missed any calls, have I?”

A crease of confusion dips between her brows as she frowns, and immediately she checks the call logs on the conference phone that sits on her desk next to the big computer that takes up most of her space.

“No not that I can think of, are you expecting someone – ?”

Just as she’s asking, the phone rings. You lean over and see the number is one you don’t recognize, and you frown too.

“Better get that.” Neisha says awkwardly, so you just nod and retreat back into your own office from where you came.

It’s been seven minutes now, and there’s still nothing from him.

“Fine, fuck you too.” You mutter at the phone, locking it and putting it in the shallow drawer of your desk so you can focus on the folders in front of you finally.

 The stack is pretty normal, all the weekend material finally coming in now that it’s the start of a new week. There’s new case files to look through to decide if you’re doing to accept the client, supplementary material from old case files that you’ve asked for to review, notes and evidence belonging to associates’ cases that you said you’d give your opinion on – all mixed into one big pile.

You liked it though, liked staying busy. It was a good distraction from a loss, the ability to win, the ability to prove to yourself and to the world that you’re good at what you do. There are all sorts of awards and pieces of paper displayed on the walls of your office that show that you’re good, but still, there’s nothing like a strong win after a frustrating loss.

But you’re not even halfway through reading the first folder, when Neisha knocks on your door and opens it slowly, a look of preemptive apology on her face.

“I’m afraid you’re going to need to cancel your eleven o’clock.” She says, and you can tell by the tone of her voice that there’s no use in trying to argue with her.

You let the folder fall down onto the desk, and brace yourself for whatever bombshell she’s about to drop on you, what could possibly be so important for you to have to reschedule one of the biggest meetings of your career. They would understand, you’re sure.

You hope, anyway.

“Who is it?” Your tone is already filled with dread, but a resigned kind of dread, knowing that whatever it must be, it has to be big, and you’re the only one in this entire fucking firm who can handle big things like this – it was the reason they wanted you for partner in the first place.

But Neisha hesitates with this response, scratches the back of her neck in a way that makes you instantly curious.

“I…I was instructed not to say, just that you’ve been requested to meet with them regarding representation.” She tells you, and now your headache pounds even harder.

Clients didn’t withhold their identity from you; some used an alias of course, but you can’t say that so far in your career you’ve had a completely anonymous client. Whoever this person was, had to either be royalty, or something very very close.

And though that meant there was going to be a nightmare of a trial – because these high profile people almost never got to simple settle, not when the prosecutor wants to make a show of prosecuting them – you can’t help but think that would be a pretty good notch in your beltloop, as it were.

“Alright, where are they?” You’re already up and away from your desk, shuffling the case files into a locked cabinet.

“Rikers.” She says straight away, and you let out a groan.

“Of course they are.”

You had almost hoped that whoever this mystery client was, they had posted bail and could meet at a nice neutral location. You didn’t have anything against Rikers personally, but rather the entire prison industrial complex as a whole, and as far as New York prisons went, there were few more infamous for being unnecessarily brutal than Rikers Island.

“I can call them back and tell them you’re busy…but they sounded adamant about wanting you in particular.” Neisha nudges gently, and really there’s no need to butter you up, you’ve already made up your mind.

“I’m guessing they didn’t tell you why?” You ask, even though you know the answer.

“Correct.” She replies with a sheepish shrug.

You look at her, at your watch, at your phone screen which shows no new notifications from the last time that you checked it, and you square your shoulders.  

“Alright, reschedule the eleven o’clock, and let’s get out of here before Holdo freaks the fuck out on me for that.” You say, grabbing your coffee and a few more of the pastries to take in the car with you for the drive.

                                           ----------------------------

Most times, you have no problem taking the subway wherever you need to get, but visiting Rikers wasn’t as easy as hopping off the train and walking a couple blocks. For times like these, you and Neisha take one of the company cars, a sleek and shiny black thing with dark tinted windows. Cars really aren’t practical in the city, which is why you don’t have one of your own, but it was nice to be driven around from time to time in the peace and quiet of a car like this.

Normally, visitors are not allowed on Mondays or Tuesdays, but you’re not a normal person, and you’re not here for a normal visit, so once you pass through the security gate, the K-9 unit and the metal detector security tests with ease, you find it a pretty quiet lobby.

“Good afternoon Ms. (L/N), here on official duty?” One of the correctional officers that sits up by the front visitation desk beams at you.

“No, I just missed you Jake.” You reply, fishing out your identification for him even though he really doesn’t need it. Jake has worked there only a year or so, and every time you see him you can’t help but think he’s young, too young for this job, you think, too young to become desensitized to the humanity of incarcerated individuals. But that’s not a conversation that you’re here to have today, so instead you keep up the chitchat with, “How’s Lottie and the kids?”

“They’re good, who are you here for?” Jake asks as a matter of protocol, and you give Neisha a look, before looking back at him.

“That’s just the thing, I don’t know. I wasn’t informed for confidentiality reasons.” You try to explain, before leaning forward and mock-whispering to him, “Please tell me someone has me on the list and I didn’t drive all this way for nothing.”

Jake laughs, a sound that feels out of place in a place like this, and pulls something up on his computer. You can’t really see it, the list, and that’s okay. Whoever this mysterious person is, you’ll find out within just a few minutes.

“You know the drill, they’re waiting for you in the back.” Jake waves you off, and you’re glad to go.

“Wait out here.” You tell Neisha, who clearly looks uncomfortable even being in the lobby, and with good reason. She doesn’t argue you on that, instead takes a seat on a bench near Jake’s table, and the two of them get to chatting while your boots click on the floors as you walk away.

There’s a couple different visitation areas in the jail, and the deeper into the building you go, the more that you’re glad that visitation isn’t allowed on Mondays. You don’t want the chance of running into someone that you had failed. Granted there had only been a handful of those instances, but the thought of any one of them being here is not outside the realm of possibility.

Through the sea of empty tables and chairs that are reserved for long term inmates who happen to have visitation privileges for good behavior, you find yourself moving deeper and deeper, until you’re at the door of another room, a closed off one more typical to that seen in movies and television shows.

Opening the door, you hang in the hallway to confirm that there’s no one else there, as there shouldn’t be. There’s eight stations, four on each side of the small room, with a phone and a pane of bulletproof glass. Right away, you have a feeling this is going to be a murder trial, if they’re not even letting you meet with the client out in the open, if they’re monitoring the phone conversation that you’re about to have.

You see a shuffle of movement out of the corner of your eye, and assume that that’s who you’re here to meet, so with your chin held high, you step into the room, and make your way to the visitation booth where a man in a bright orange jumpsuit is waiting on the other side of the glass.

Stopping as quickly as you’ve started, you stand frozen in the middle of the room, blinking away and desperately shoving aside a wave of feelings that have crashed over you at the familiar face behind the glass.

The dark hair, the deep eyes, that proud nose, those full lips, you take it all in with some strange sense of disbelief – surely this must be a dream? It has to be, even as you sit on the little stool and yank the phone off the wall, shoving it against your ear, not even knowing where to start as you try to wrap your mind around the fact that the man, this mystery client…

“Hey sweetheart.” He says, and you could smack him upside the head if only there weren’t this glass between you and Kylo Ren.

                                         ----------------------------

Tagging some pals, please let me know if you’d like to be added to or taken off the taglist! @safarigirlsp​ @steeevienicks​ @mochabucky​ @sacklerscumrag​ @artsymaddie​ @bitchydecisions​ @direnightshade​ @reyloaddict55​ @kylorenswhxre​ @sunflowersinthesnow​ @mousemakingjam @the-unmanaged-mischief​ @drake-bells-waxed-penis @littleevilme13 @rennaissance-mama @materialisthicc​ 

[ahockeywrites]

One Chance is All Some Get - 1

Part Two - Masterlist

Word Count: 10.3k Warnings: swearing, talk of blood, talk of needles, discussion of mental health

The monthly blood drive that happened in the winter at NYU Langone on Long Island was one of the few times the Islanders voluntarily went to the hospital. This time, Mathew had a fling going on with one of the nurses who would be helping so dragged Anthony along for moral support. It wasn’t that Anthony didn’t want to go, he just hated needles. Anything he could do to stay away from needles, he did. He hated blood tests, vaccinations and was certain that donating blood would only bring him closer to his fear. Mathew knew of his fear but hoped that he could get over it temporarily to be his wingman.

Sarah adjusted her short white coat, being on the accelerated MD program at NYU Long Island meant that she had less time to learn the same skills most student doctors learnt in 4 years. However, it did mean that she was able to take part in the blood drive, even if it was just taking the observations of the patients that came in. It was something she took pride in as she was doing one of the most basic tasks, she was always willing to do the tasks that no one else wanted to do because she knew it was the only way she could work her way up the ranks to becoming a qualified doctor.

Her short brown hair was tied back into a small bun and she had her stethoscope around her neck, allowing her to check the most basic functions of the human body. She read her list of things to do one more time before leaving the staff room:

Introduce yourself to them

Make sure they have signed the consent forms

Take their height and weight and check that their blood volume is enough to donate a pint of blood

Take a small amount of blood from their finger and ensure that there is enough iron in their blood to be able to donate

Ask them about their travel history and if they have undertaken any risky behaviour that may mean they are unable to donate

Invite them to take a seat in the chair and give them a drink of water

Answer any questions they may have

Only seven simple tasks to remember, she reminded herself. Sarah walked out of the staff room and made her way to the attending doctor who was in charge of the drive. They had each been given a tablet with the names of the patients they would be seeing and when they checked in to their appointment. A few names jumped out, namely Mathew Barzal and Anthony Beauvillier. 

Now, Sarah wasn’t a massive New York hockey fan, especially coming from New Jersey, but anyone who spent more than one day on Long Island had heard of them. They were the up and coming players for the New York Islanders and had a large social media following. Their looks were just an addition to their spectacular hockey skills.

Anthony kept tapping his foot. It was his way of showing nerves, his plan for the day before Mat had dragged him here was to enjoy his day off, maybe try cooking something fancy and watch Netflix all day. But no, he was sitting in a stuffy hospital waiting room, waiting for some doctor or nurse to hook him up to some machine that was going to steal his blood, then he was going to be told that he couldn’t do any heavy lifting on that arm for the rest of the day. It was the same procedure as every blood test that he had for the Islanders and he was going to hate every moment of it. The soft voice of the receptionist called him and Mat over to collect the papers they needed then they had to wait for one of the student doctors to call them through. They both nodded and went to fill in the paperwork. She had also given them some water that they were told to drink slowly, which apparently was going to help when donating blood. Anything Anthony could do to make the donation go quicker, he would do.

It was an unfamiliar room to Sarah, but familiar equipment and she thanked the heavens that she had been trained on similar machines. She swiped her identification badge on the reader attached to the keyboard and signed in to the computer. Quickly, she read through the patient information for Andrew Parkinson, he was her first appointment of the day and noted that he previously had iron deficiency anaemia but had been treated for this using iron tablets and knew that this could be a potential boundary for him donating blood today. She collected her stethoscope from the desk and left the small room to enter the waiting room. 

“Mr Parkinson for the blood donation?” Sarah asked, trying to be confident. Sarah looked over the room and noticed a man, with blond hair walking over to her and when he was close enough she offered him her hand to shake which he accepted. “Hi there, I’m student doctor Sarah Milkins and I’m going to be taking you through the first stages of your donation today if that’s okay with you sir.”

“Of course it is,” Andrew said, “lead the way.”

As soon as Anthony heard the soft voice, he looked up wanting to see who it could belong to. He saw a young woman, she couldn’t be older than 25, pushing up her black-rimmed glasses which matched the stethoscope on her shoulders. Even the pens that were in the pocket of her white coat matched. But what made her stand out was her scrubs, he had never seen someone wear a pair of dark blue, unfitted scrubs so well. He smiled at her, but she had already turned her back to him and was leading another man to her consultation room.

“Mat, what was the name of the nurse you were seeing?” Anthony asked his friend, hoping that it wasn’t her because he would do anything but break the bro code.

“Urm,” Mat had to rack his brain to try and remember her name, “I can’t remember but she was definitely a blonde, and she was tall.” Tito let out a sigh that he didn’t even realise he was holding. “Why?” Mat asked, “got your eye on one here?”

“If I do, just be glad it's not your girl,” Anthony replied, with a roll of his eyes.

Sarah was glad to hear that Mr Parkinson had been keeping up to date with his family doctor with regards to his anaemia and was even happier when she completed the finger prick test to show that his blood contained enough iron for him to donate. It was even better when he mentioned that he hadn’t travelled out of the state in the past 6 months. “Mr Parkinson, I am happy to report that your blood volume and iron levels are high enough to donate today,” she said with a smile. “Do you have any questions for me?” she asked, he replied with a shake of his head so Sarah continued, “so, if you could just finish your water whilst you’re waiting in the chair, I’ll send one of the nurses over to you.” She pointed towards chair number 6 and walked him there. “Thank you again for donating.”

Three minutes. Three minutes to fill in all of the information that the system needed. Sarah was thankful that she had been making notes on the computer as she spoke to Mr Parkinson as it made filling in the additional things a lot easier. She took a quick look at her next patient and saw that they would be accompanied by a social media team. This confused her until she saw the names, it was the New York Islanders who she noticed on the list before. A little sigh escaped her lips before she covered her tablet with the case and walked out of her consultation room.

Anthony noticed as soon as she walked back out from the consultation rooms. He noticed how she looked a little awkward standing there, but it allowed him to take in her beauty even if he knew this was likely to be the only time he ever saw her. New York was a big city, 8 million people and she was just one of them.

“Mr Barzal, Mr Beauvillier and camera crew?” Sarah asked meekly, not wanting to accidentally say the wrong thing.

Placing his hands on his thighs to help him stand, Mat said, “I guess that’s us.” Anthony nodded not believing that he was going to be in the same room as her, let alone caught on video with her.

“I’m student doctor Sarah Milkins and I’m gonna be conducting your observations today,” Sarah began as she started leading the gaggle of people down the corridor. She opened the door to her little room and offered Mat and Anthony the seats on the opposite side of her chair. “I’m not too sure what the camera crew want to do, but I’m just gonna ask you guys a few questions, take your height and weight then do a little blood draw which is just a pinprick on your finger. If you guys don’t have any immediate questions, shall we get started?”

“We’re just gonna be filming the guys, so just try and keep this as normal as possible,” one of the guys with a camera said.

“I’ll try my best. So, I’ve got both of your files up so as long as you don’t mind answering the questions in front of each other, I’ll ask you both at the same time,” Sarah questioned the boys.

“I haven’t got an issue with it,” Anthony said, looking up into Sarah’s green eyes. Her eyes then flicked to Mat who agreed with his friend.

“First question, any new tattoos and piercings in the last three months?” Both boys shook their head and Sarah quickly typed the information into the computer but something kept drawing her back to Anthony’s eyes. “Second of all, any trips out of the United States, not including Canada, in the last three months?” Another nod from both of them confirmed that she was able to move onto the height and weight measurements. 

“Now, it’s not that I trust the official NHL data, but if you don’t mind I’d like to take your height and weight, this is to make sure that your blood volume is high enough to donate,” she had to keep this professional, it wasn’t like she had them sat in their boxers in front of her, they were there to do something she did every other month. The boys nodded and the camera crew started giggling when they noticed the height difference between Sarah, Anthony and especially Mat. 

Sarah knew she was short, standing at 5 foot exactly, but she didn’t take into account how much shorter she was than the two hockey players as she walked through the hospital corridors. “If you don’t mind, Miss Milkins, could we film this?” one of the camera crew suggested, and Sarah knew that this would be quite funny.

“Yes, just don’t make fun of how short I am,” she said with a laugh. She was used to the jokes about her height and even made some herself when she could think of them. Everyone in the room agreed and made sure they were camera ready. As Sarah motioned for one of the boys to make their way to the height and weight measure, Anthony gave Mat a look to silently tell him to go first. He was incredibly flustered, he didn’t even know why. This was a professional setting and all he had to do was ignore the pretty girl who was looking after him at this moment. Oh, and the needles that he would have to encounter slightly later on.

Sarah took the notepad out of her pocket and found a pen on the desk too. “So, Mat,” Sarah whispered, but she then remembered that she was being filmed so would have to speak up a bit more. “Mat,” this time she was able to get the attention of everyone in the room. “Height is 6’0, and weight 189lbs. Perfect blood volume for donating today! Anthony, would you like to replace Mat on the machine?” Sarah asked politely, whilst writing down these numbers.

Anthony nodded and went to stand on the machine. He noticed Sarah’s eyes as he stood in front of here, slightly awkwardly. They glistened emerald green under the annoyingly bright medical lights and he just wanted to stare into them, but he knew that it would be strange, especially as they had barely known each other for 10 minutes and would probably never see each other again.

“Anthony, just shuffle to your left to make sure we can get the most accurate reading if you can,” Sarah spoke softly, she didn’t want to make this too awkward for him as she could sense that he had some nerves around donating blood. She sent a smile his way, just to ease him.

“Urm, yeah, sure,” Anthony grunted as he moved less than an inch but this allowed Sarah to get the correct readings.

“That’s, 5’11 and 182lbs,” Sarah said and quickly wrote that down. “So, boys, both of you have got enough blood to donate about a pint today! Have you got any questions for me?”

Mat and Anthony shook their heads and looked towards the camera crew who did the same action. Sarah thanked everyone in the room for their time and encouraged the boys to finish drinking a pint of water. She also pointed them towards some of the nurses who would be taking their blood today.

“Miss Milkins, would we be able to get a photo of you and the boys for social media? If you don’t want to, that’s fine but it’ll be nice to get one,” one of the camera crew suggested. Sarah was slightly shocked but agreed nonetheless. She slotted herself between Mat and Anthony and let the crew do their thing with some portable lights and a professional camera. This was not what she expected to be doing when she woke up that morning.

“And we’re done,” the man said, “just jot down your Instagram and Twitter handles for us so we can tag you and send you the photos.” He handed her a small pad of paper and she scribbled it down and handed it back.

“Right, if you head over to Jane, my colleague over there. She’s the one waving,” Sarah laughed. “She’ll get you set up for your donation! Thanks for coming today and donating and I hope to see you soon!” Anthony and Mat waved to Sarah as she went back to the small examination room to put the information into the computer. 

Sarah let out a sigh, she didn’t even realise she was holding one in. Mathew Barzal and Anthony Beauvillier were not your average blood donors and the fact that she had been the person to take their observations was incredible. She had never tended to anyone of their star nature and was thankful for the existence of patient confidentiality. 

Even if her photo was going to be posted online, she wished that it wasn’t the Islanders that had come in to donate. It would have been a better story to tell to her parents if Jack Hughes and Nico Hischer came in because then she would have been star-struck and probably would have collected autographs for her sister, who swore that Hischer’s hair was the best thing known to man.

Rebecca, the receptionist, one of Sarah’s friends from high school and her housemate, was star struck when Sarah said that she did their observations. “I am going to need a drink after this,” Sarah exclaimed, “I hope my face doesn’t get plastered all over the internet.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?” Rebecca asked, “You know I think you should get out more.”

“Getting out more is not the same as a hockey team that I don’t even like posting photos about me,” Sarah sighed. “If it was the Devils, I might not be as concerned, but I guess that’s what we get for living in New York.”

“We're still on for the Mets game and drinks after on Saturday?” Rebecca asked, hoping she didn’t shoot down the idea. Sarah knew she needed to take a night off from studying and she did enjoy baseball, it was the drinks after she knew she wasn’t a massive fan of the idea of.

“We won’t stay out too late?” Sarah needed her sleep and was not prepared to give up too much of that for the nightlife of New York.

“Of course, we can’t have little miss perfect staying out past her bedtime now, can we,” Rebecca joked. Sarah responded with a swift roll of her eyes and told her to get lost. She sent Rebecca a quick wave as she headed back to the waiting room to collect the next donor.

Mat had seen that look in Anthony’s eyes before but didn’t want to prod too far because he was about to be hooked up to donate blood. “Marie, you have to come and see these veins,” the nurse exclaimed. Her accent was definitely southern, Texas perhaps, Anthony thought. He wondered why the nurses were getting so excited over their veins, to him these were just the vessels that allowed his blood to get back to the heart and reoxygenate so he could perform at his best on the ice. Yes, they were pretty prominent, but he had seen people on his own hockey team with more visible veins than his.

“My lord,” the second nurse exclaimed, “I’d certainly have wanted test subjects like these two when I was learning.” Anthony shot Mat a worrying look, slightly concerned about what the nurses could be plotting against them. They wouldn't be held hostage for all the student nurses to learn their skills on, would they? He was thinking too much, surely? “Aw sweetie, no need to worry,” the second nurse told him. “Just a quick pinprick.” Yeah, like he hadn’t heard that before.

Anthony looked over to see Mat in conversation with the southern nurse as his blood started to collect on the machine. He needed to relax, that’s what they always told him when he was preparing for a blood test. Sighing, he closed his eyes and balled his hand into a fist. Thinking of rural Quebec and how he couldn’t wait to get back over the summer when the season was finished. The greenery, the sun beating down on his bare chest, a beautiful girl on his arm, anything to take his mind off of the needle that was being placed into his arm. 

He was nervous, to say the least, but was glad that the camera crew were currently occupied filming Mat talking to one of the nurses. The nurse was able to get the donation needle the first time and Anthony was able to start his muscle tension exercises. Deep breaths, he told himself, it will be no longer than ten minutes, last time you were done in 6. He was pulled out of his thoughts by the laugh of a girl, was it the nurse that did their observations? He hoped not as he really did not want a cute girl to see him like this. Without opening his eyes too far, he peeked across to see her walking someone to the consultation room. 

As he let out a deep breath, Anthony heard the beeping of the machine. Success! He had finished his blood donation and this time without tears. It was the little wins, he told himself. The southern nurse made her way across to detach Anthony from the death trap and he waltzed over to join Mat who was drinking a mug of coffee to rehydrate himself. He picked up a Gatorade from the selection along with a small bag of chips and sat in the comfy chair. The camera crew wanted him to do a small piece to camera about how easy it was to donate, he sniggered at that one, and where people in Long Island could come and donate. 

It was easier than he thought and was happy to only have to record it twice, it took Mat at least 5 attempts to even get the first bit right. Anthony was happy, he had donated blood to a good cause and now all he wanted to do was leave and get some Chinese food in his stomach. Mat and Anthony made their way back through the donation area, signing a few cards that the team had brought for them. He felt on top of the world, and had no idea why. As he walked outside the hospital, the cold New York air hit him straight in the face.

“So, which one was she, eh?” Mat asked, to which Anthony replied with a roll of his eyes. Like he was openly going to tell his best friend but more importantly the big mouth of the team which of the healthcare staff he had a tiny crush on.

“None of your business and I’m probably never going to see her again so it doesn’t matter,” he replied, trying to convince himself more than his teammate.

Sarah sighed, one more patient to triage then she could have her Wednesday evening to herself, a bottle of wine and whatever takeout she ordered. She looked at Rebecca and the two of them shared a look that only they could decipher. It meant they would be having sushi for dinner and Rebecca started to place the rolls that she knew the two of them would want in her UberEats basket from their favourite place. All Sarah had to do was get her head down and finish her day of work quickly. Luckily, the next patient was a regular donator and knew the whole procedure. She was able to get them processed quickly and headed to the staff room to collect the small number of belongings she had brought with her. 

Her locker was the furthest away from the entrance, but she didn’t mind. She looked forward to graduating to a bigger and more accessible locker in the future, but hopefully in the emergency department. Backpack, wallet, phone, coat, scarf, beanie. One more once over of the locker to ensure that it was fully empty, which it was, and Sarah was ready to go home. She was incredibly thankful that she did not have any classes or have to be up early for her psychiatry rotation so she could have the entire bottle of wine she desired that evening.

As she passed the reception desk, Sarah saw that Rebecca was waiting for her with a hot chocolate for her to keep her hands warm on the drive back to their apartment in Bay Ridge. The two shared a car as it kept the cost of maintaining it low, they both worked at the same hospital so driving was shared between the two of them. Sarah would take the morning drive and Rebecca would drive them home in the evening. It was a dynamic that worked, and they couldn’t thank the heavens more for each other.

The drive to their apartment wasn’t too long, and after watching the world go by for 45 minutes or so, Rebecca pulled into the parking lot of their apartment complex. They both exited the car at the same time and Sarah was faster to reach the elevator so called it down for them. Music softly played in the car and Rebecca informed Sarah that she had ordered dinner and it should be at their door in about 20 minutes which gave both of them time to change into something comfier and get started on a bottle of wine. 

Time passed quickly once the food arrived and the girls enjoyed being in each other’s company for the first time in what seemed like ages. Sarah was always busy with assignments or in the hospital and Rebecca was working full time as a receptionist whilst taking night classes to try and get into law school. They were focussed women which is why they were the friends that everyone would marry each other if they hadn’t found other people by the age of 40. Platonic soulmates, that’s what everyone called them and it was the best way to define them.

Thursday was filled with assignments for the two roommates. Rebecca had a 2000 word introduction to property law and a 3000-word essay on an interesting criminal case that she had found. It wasn’t like Sarah had the day easy, she was tasked with reading and taking notes from the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fifth Edition, Section II, on depressive disorders. The book wasn’t light reading in the slightest, but this interested Sarah. She worked through the chapter and was able to do some outside reading into how they are treated, through a combined approach of medication and what is sometimes referred to as ‘talk therapy’. 

The two had consumed more coffee in one day than was considered healthy, but they did this to ensure that they had a free weekend and could ensure that they were able to enjoy their time off. It was uncommon for them to have an entirely free weekend but it was worth it so they could see Rebecca’s family. They were coming across from Trenton to spend the Saturday with the girls and both of them couldn’t wait to spend time with them. Both of their families were close, but when Rebecca’s family had moved from Newark to Trenton when they were in college, it became more difficult for them to meet up regularly. This was why it was special for the two girls.

By 7 in the evening, they had both decided they had done enough work for the day and made their way to the kitchen to try and decide what they should make for dinner. After a quick rummage through the cupboards, they settled on a simple carbonara. It wasn’t overly simple but didn’t stretch either of their culinary abilities. “Want to watch anything in particular on tv tonight?” Rebecca shouted from the living room. Sarah popped her head out from behind the door frame to say that she didn’t care as long as it wasn’t reality tv to which they both laughed. “How about your hockey boys?” Rebecca questioned.

Sarah raised one of her eyebrows in confusion, unsure of what Rebecca was talking about until she checked the TV set to see the Islanders warming up before their game that evening. “Eugh,” she sighed. At this point, Rebecca was the only person who knew that she had helped them with their blood donation, but Sarah kept reminding her that it was only observations and not actually taking the blood for their donation. The difference was subtle to the majority of people, but Sarah always tried her best to explain different medical terms to people, sometimes it was easier than others. 

They agreed to watch the game together so Sarah quickly finished plating up their food and Rebecca walked through to collect some glasses of water. Due to the fact their apartment was pretty small, they didn’t have a proper dining table to sit at and eat food, usually, it was a quick affair at the kitchen island but the girls chose to change the scenery up for once by eating on the couch. The game was only a few minutes into the first period and it didn’t look like they had missed much which they were thankful for. 

It was a well-fought game for the Islanders, even Sarah had to admit a 2-1 OT win over the Bruins was impressive even if they weren’t Jersey. She did sneak a look at Anthony during the intermission interviews and it hit her that she had met, not just one, but two hockey players. Sarah knew that she didn’t have a chance with a professional hockey player because that would involve actually seeing them again and in a city as large as New York, the stars would have to align for them to even notice each other in passing.

The Islanders social media team had waited until after their Thursday night win to post about Mathew and Anthony visiting the hospital to donate blood. They even found out that Anthony’s blood had made its way to the neonatal unit at the hospital and it had helped to save the life of a baby girl. As soon as he had discovered this, Anthony made a mental note to try and get in contact with the family and invite the girl, when she was well, to a game on his behalf. He felt proud, he was able to overcome his fear and help save the life of someone. Before, he thought it was silly to voluntarily go and get poked with a needle, but when he heard that it had saved someone’s life, it felt different. He knew he would donate blood again. 

The photo taken at the blood drive was present on the screens around the arena and was also posted online. The team made sure not to tag Sarah in the Instagram and Twitter posts to try and avoid the chance of harassment but included her handles on the attached articles because they knew that fewer people would read the article. It was smart, but Anthony didn’t read the article, he just went on Instagram and saw that she hadn’t been tagged so he assumed that she would be the one that got away.

Anthony checked his calendar, realising that he had an appearance to make at the New York Mets game and questioned why his past self had agreed to it. He wasn’t the biggest fan of baseball but as he thought over it, he was relatively happy to have said yes. A night off, with some of his teammates, a few beers and nachos. What could possibly go wrong?

Everything, everything seemed to be going wrong for Sarah. First of all, her alarm didn’t go off on time so she had to rush to get ready for lunch with Rebecca’s parents. Second of all, the red shirt that she had planned on pairing with black skinny jeans had just disappeared so she had to settle on one that was black and covered in small flowers. It showed off a bit more of her shoulder than she was hoping but it was nothing that her puffer jacket wouldn’t keep warm. Third of all, their apartment was out of coffee, so instead of making a vanilla latte and putting it into her travel mug, Sarah had to fork out five dollars for one made at Starbucks. Finally, after all of this, she had to run to catch the train into the city but missed the one she had planned on taking, closed its doors the moment her foot touched the platform. 

She audibly sighed when she sat down at the table alongside Rebecca’s parents. James and Rachel were lovely people and Sarah couldn’t have picked a better set of parent’s to be friends with. They understood the demands of a college degree such as an M.D. as they had both attended college followed by graduate school. Nonetheless, they were glad to see that their daughter and her best friend were enjoying themselves living in the Big Apple. It wasn’t too much of a culture shock for the girls, as they had grown up on the other side of the Hudson river and often went across to New York for the shopping experience but living in a city that big was. The difference from living in college dorms to an apartment was something the girls knew they wanted to share.

Lunch passed quickly, and the four of them made their way across to Citi Field in preparation for the afternoon game. As they were waiting for some food to snack on during the game, an announcement caught Sarah off guard. “And today we welcome as special guests, your very own, New York Islanders!”

She had to make sure she had heard the announcer properly and she did when she saw the faces of two people she had helped at the hospital just days prior on the big screen. Aside from Mathew and Anthony, there wasn’t any face that rang a bell, even when they introduced each of them. It must have been because she would rather settle down with a book rather than watching grown men balancing on a knife’s edge on ice and body slam into everything. 

Even being a fan of the Devils, she enjoyed the atmosphere of the game as opposed to the actual game on the ice. Occasionally going to a game was a simple way to meet up with old friends and catch up with how they had been doing. The social side was what interested her rather than the actual sporting side. Sarah did have to admit that following some of the Devils players on social media was amusing, especially P.K Subban, he seemed to think he was a social media star alongside being a defenceman. But this was the team she had grown up watching, not the Islanders.

The four made their way to their seats and were happy that they hadn’t missed any of the game. It was an interesting first experience for Sarah, as she had never been to a baseball game. Her parents never really took her along to sporting events but she grew up learning ballet and she attributed her patience and perseverance to that. She wished that she had more time and money to continue the hobby, but a college degree brought her classes constantly and more debt than she wished to make sense of.

Although she had never been to a game before, she was able to pick the game up quickly, especially with a few pointers from James and Rachel. Yes, there were a few things that she struggled to understand but to a first-time viewer, she knew that she wasn’t going to be able to understand everything immediately. It turned out to be a rather exciting game and the four were enjoying the atmosphere, eating the snacks they had bought and watching sports. 

She wondered if her life would have been different had she spent more time watching professional sports rather than studying and dancing. But then she realised that she wouldn’t have become the person she was and she loved herself for who she was, and anyone who tried to get her to change wasn’t worthy of her friendship. Sarah prided herself on only being friends with people who respected her, especially after an incident in high school. It was never spoken about, but the people who cared about her knew about it and always looked after Sarah when she dealt with friendship issues. She kept her friendship group small and her walls high, but sometimes that was necessary.

Sarah looked around, trying to find the correct route to the bathrooms. Every arena was different and that never made needing to go any easier. She asked Rachel if she knew the route, thankfully she was able to pass across some basic directions to help Sarah. Head up and just follow what Rachel told you, it’s not that far, she told herself. There wasn’t a line so she was able to head straight in and out quickly. 

It took her a few moments to regain her bearings and start walking again because it seemed like as soon as she started she was stopped by a firm chest. “God, I’m so sorry,” she started apologising to the mysterious stranger she had just crashed into.

“Hey, no worries,” the stranger replied as Sarah stepped back to notice who it actually was that she had walked into. “Aren’t you that nurse from the blood drive?” Anthony asked, thanking the heavens that he might have actually found the girl.

“I was at the blood drive, but I’m not a nurse,” she laughed. He wasn’t the first person to think she was a nurse and wouldn’t be the last. “I’m one of the student doctors, I’m in my final year and help out at the blood drive once a week.”

“Well, urm,” Anthony stuttered, “thanks. Maybe I’ll see you again?” 

“Yeah, if you come along on the same date in two months I’ll be there,” Sarah smiled.

“Thanks, and sorry for crashing into you,” Anthony apologised.

“No worries,” Sarah replied, “maybe see you then?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, watching her turn around and walk back to where she was sitting.

You’re an idiot, Anthony thought to himself. Surely, there was something better he could have said other than maybe I’ll come to the blood bank again. It might have been a good cause, but it would involve him overcoming his fear once again, but maybe for her, he could? 

Sarah returned and the Mets had just started the fourth innings. She informed Rebecca, who she was sat next to about who she had walked into. Rebecca’s mouth hung open and her mother had to ensure that she was okay before asking why the hell her daughter was catching flies. Immediately, Rebecca launched into the entire story of two of New York’s elite sportsmen who had come to their hospital and how Sarah was the one to do their observations. If that wasn’t enough to shock James and Rachel, Sarah bumping into Anthony outside the toilets would have been.

“How crazy,” James exclaimed. His wife agreed and told the girls that fate must have been on their side that day. Sarah thought about it as the game continued, on the train home and in bed that night. Was it really fate? Or just two people who lived in the same city accidentally meeting in the same place twice? Meeting might have been exaggerating slightly, they had been in professional circumstances the first time and bumping into someone accidentally at a sports event certainly wasn’t ideal either. She tried to push the constant confusing thoughts out of her head as she tried to sleep.

Anthony was thinking the same things as he made his way to bed that night. Why couldn’t he have struck up a proper conversation with her? Why did he assume she was a nurse when she clearly told them she was a student doctor? He was a self-aware idiot who needed help talking to girls. But it wasn’t like he could just go back to the hospital, with the description of the girl and ask them to tell him who she was. He had to hope that fate would bring them together once again.

He thought about asking Mat for help, but then remembered all the failed dates he was always going on. It had to be one of the older guys on the team, the ones who were married. Anders, as the captain, was always a safe bet. He was caring and commanding in the way only the captain of an NHL team could be. Anders was also amazing when it came to giving advice. 

“Tito,” Anders spoke at practice the following day, “I just don’t know how you expect me to give you advice when you know basically nothing about this girl.” Anthony’s face frowned, but he understood where he was coming from. It wasn’t like the two of them had been on a few dates and he wanted to take the next step. “General advice though, don’t fuck up when talking to a girl.” Anthony had to let out a laugh, it wasn’t like he wanted to destroy any of his chances with any girl, it was that sometimes his awkward side came out. He knew it was normal to get slightly flustered when talking to someone attractive, but all he wanted was to meet her again so he would be able to have another chance.

Sarah checked the order on her phone one more time. Being the student doctor meant that she was often tasked with going on a coffee run. She didn’t mind though, she was just looking forward to the days when she could be the one offering treatment, even if the psychiatry ward wasn’t where she saw herself in the future. Unfortunately, she had to head to a Starbucks that was slightly further away from the hospital due to the usual one being out of almond milk which is what Dr Jones had in his coffee. Sarah warned the staff about this but they informed her that it was okay and rounds could wait until she got back. They also said that they would let her help with some procedures on the patients when she returned which made her become more excited to return to the hospital.

The scarf the young girl was wearing engulfed her body, but it kept her warm, and that was all that she cared about. Fashion was second to being warm and comfortable, especially in the New York winter. It was only a five-minute walk to the coffee shop which Sarah was thankful for as she wanted to spend as much time in a building with heating as possible which was completely understandable. She watched the small amount of snow as it fell on her short walk and some of it stayed on her coat until she entered the shop. It wasn’t a busy day, but she had arrived earlier than the estimated time suggested so she found an unoccupied seat easily and busied herself on her phone. The peace and quiet was something Sarah rarely had time to enjoy working in a hospital so she savoured the short amount of time she was in it for.

Her enjoyment was cut short by a group of rowdy people who walked in to collect a to-go order like she was. They were directed to sit down near where Sarah was sitting and she hoped that her order was almost ready so she could try and get away from the people causing all of the noise. “Fancy seeing you here,” Sarah heard a voice from behind where she was sitting and slightly turned her head to see a slightly dishevelled Anthony Beauvillier. She greeted him awkwardly, not really sure how to address someone you had only met twice and one of those times she was being filmed and the other was a complete accident. 

“Are you waiting for coffee?” he asked, mentally face palming as he asked. Of course, she’s here for coffee, it’s a coffee shop, what else would she be here for? Anders said don’t fuck up and what was the first thing he did? Fuck up.

“Yeah,” Sarah replied, trying to hide a laugh at how nervous he seemed. “As the med student, I’ve been tasked with grabbing some coffees before we start rounds.”

“Isn’t there a coffee place closer to the hospital?” Anthony asked, genuinely curious. He was almost certain that when he brought Mat for an operation the other month he stopped by the one that was right outside. 

“There is, but they were out of almond milk. So here I am,” she said, laughing slightly. Anthony nodded in understanding hoping that he would be able to ask for her number rather than stutter over his words once again.

“I know this seems really random,” he started, not really sure how to phrase it without seeming weird, “but fate had brought us together three times and I’d rather not risk it again. Could I maybe get your number?” Anthony reached up to scratch the back of his neck, he couldn’t have fucked up another time, could he? 

“Yeah sure, pass me your phone,” Sarah responded with a smile. She was glad that he had asked her rather than her asking because she would never have been able to. She was always the quiet one in her group of friends, but she didn’t need to be loud to be noticed. Her academic achievements showed off more than she could ever say. Anthony quickly pulled his phone out of

his pocket, unlocked it and found the contacts section. Sarah found the add new contact section and typed in her name and number. “There you go,” she exclaimed just as the barista called her name. “Text me?” she asked Anthony who responded with a swift nod of his head.

He was still in shock, how on earth was he actually able to ask her for her number and why on earth did she actually give it to him? Anthony made his way back to the group of hockey players and Anders quickly pulled him aside. He asked Anthony if she was the girl and a few questions about her so he could attempt to figure out the situation. It wasn’t like he was going to share anything that he found out, he just wanted the best for his young winger and if that involved a girl, he was going to be happy for him.

The entire conversation with Anthony had thrown Sarah off but she knew that she couldn’t let it bother her professionally so went back to the ward as if nothing had ever happened, and was able to help with a few patient diagnoses and even suggested medications to her superiors who were impressed with the knowledge that she had in the subject. They even asked if she was considering a residency in the field because they would love to have her on board. It wasn’t like she could say no, instead she told them that she was keeping her options open and wanted to experience as many fields as possible before choosing her field. Even though she knew that there was only one place that she saw herself, in the emergency department.

She eventually found time in the day, 4 in the afternoon, to rest her legs for the first time in what seemed like days. Sarah loved the time she spent in the hospital and was beginning to learn how to survive on little sleep and lots of coffee. She also enjoyed the variety of patients she was seeing and the fact that they were actual human beings not just case studies on a piece of paper. Helping people was always something that she enjoyed doing.

Rebecca was adding the final touches to the roasted vegetables as Sarah made her presence known in their apartment. Sarah placed her backpack down on the couch and quickly followed the scent of salmon to the kitchen. “Becca,” she groaned, “you take too good care of me.” Rebecca shook her head as she continued to plate up the dinner. The conversation that the two had over their food, and a glass of red wine which according to Sarah was acceptable because it promoted blood thinning. 

Sarah mentioned it when they were clearing up, which wasn’t the smartest idea she had ever had because Rebecca almost dropped the dishes into the sink. “You saw him again?” Rebecca exclaimed, wanting to make sure she had heard her best friend right because there was no way that she had seen a group of the Islanders in a Starbucks and had given her number to Anthony Beauvillier.

“Yeah,” Sarah replied, “I mean, I gave him my number so it’s probably gonna be hidden in a pile of other, prettier girls numbers, but hey. I tried, and that’s all I can do.” Rebecca sent a soft smile in her housemate’s direction, she knew that there had to be a reason for fate to bring them to the same place three times. It couldn’t just be a coincidence anymore, could it?

Anthony sunk into the soft material of his and Mat’s main couch, wishing the world would just engulf him. He groaned into one of the cushions as he tried to release all of the awkwardness that his body held. Mat tried to get him to talk, especially when he noticed that he was talking to a girl at the coffee shop but Anthony was stubborn and refused to say anything. Mat was the one who had a better track record out of the two, but Anthony didn’t need to hear his best friend bragging about all the different ways he had seduced different women into his bed in different states across the country. He needed advice on keeping the same woman around him.

Yes, he had previous girlfriends but none stayed around longer than two months or however long it took for them to get intimate a few times and he hated that. Anthony wanted to form a connection with someone, he wanted to come home from a long road trip to someone waiting in bed for him, he wanted someone who was available to go on dates with him regularly. He wanted love. And it was proving harder than he wanted it to be to find.

Matt Martin had decided that this losing streak needed to end, so he took them to an all-expenses-paid training camp on Cape Cod during the few days they had between games. As an experienced player, he knew that taking some time away from watching tape and having failed set plays occur during training was the best thing they could do. So he found a place that fit their needs and was able to cater to their weird athlete diet. They kept in shape by taking part in a variety of watersports and using the spacious gym facilities that were on offer. It also allowed Anthony to pull Anders aside once more to try and get advice on what to do. 

At this point, Anders was close to telling him that he needed to do something but refrained from saying it in those words as he knew that this was a difficult thing for a teammate to bring to him. “Just text her,” Anders told him, collecting a towel to wipe away the sweat forming on his brow as the two completed some interval training on the treadmill.

“I would,” Anthony replied sarcastically, “but what do I say?” Anders noticed the genuine concern in his voice, did this girl he had met all of three times really have such a hold over him? All he could do was give the most sensible advice he could think of and told him that he would try and ask some people under the radar for more information but stressed that he needed to actually get in contact with her. 

Anthony told his captain that he would try his best but his anxious feeling never seemed to go away, especially when he opened up her contact to send her a message. He kept thinking of everything that could go wrong, and never the positives that he could get out of it. Yes, he might not get a girlfriend out of it, but even gaining a new friend would be much better than not even trying. But he pushed these thoughts to the side, well, as best as he could, before moving to work on some hand-eye coordination tasks alongside some of his potential linemates.

The three day trip to Massachusetts came to an end much quicker than all of the Islanders wanted, but Barry Trotz was pleased to see that they were rejuvenated from their time away and was able to try the same drills they had done previously and this time they were a lot more successful. This translated to a successful win streak against the Rangers and Flyers and they all decided that it was the right time to celebrate.

Vodka shots, tequila shots, sambuca shots. If it was liquor, it could be found in the private room that the Islanders had booked for their celebration. Anthony had meant to invite Sarah, he did send her a simple text telling her that this was his number, but he couldn’t justify throwing her into the life of a WAG when they were barely even friends, so he simply told her that he was going on a night out in celebration which she completely understood, he had worked hard for his job as an athlete and deserved to celebrate.

Sarah didn’t want to scare Anthony by mentioning that she was doing her rotation in the emergency department in case she was at the closest hospital to him and someone needed immediate attention. She thought it was a long shot, but at around 1 am she heard a voice that she recognised. Dr Stevens was the doctor she was shadowing and he had just been introducing the two of them to the patient who was a lovely elderly couple where one of them had a fall and they were recommended to visit the ED to make sure that they were all okay. 

She was instructed to begin some basic observations and took a few samples of blood to send down to the labs; it was a procedure that she had done many times on her colleagues and models but one she was unfamiliar with on elderly people as their veins weren’t always as visible. The couple were lovely and continued to encourage her even as she struggled but it was the motivation she needed as she was able to collect the appropriate number of vials needed to test for a variety of conditions.

James, one of the nurses, had begun to start looking after the crowd of boys by first, taking some general observations of each of them to make sure that they were not suffering from over intoxication. He thanked the lord, even though he was an atheist, that they were just drunk. He was able to collect some water for the two who weren’t injured then was able to take a quick look at Mat’s hand. James quickly called over Sarah for help when it came to attaching an IV and Dr Stevens had made sure that if he wasn’t looking after her that the most experienced nurse would be assisting her, tonight that being James.

Sarah was shocked to see Mat with a bloody rag covering his wrist, covering what looked like a relatively deep graze. James informed her of the situation and that she needed to attach him to an IV and would be observing him putting in a set of absorbable stitches to quickly solve the small issue of his graze. She agreed but Anthony and Matt, who for some reason thought that they needed a father figure at the hospital, kept trying to distract her. It wasn’t like she minded chatty patients, in fact, they were some of her favourites because it meant that she was able to find out more information about conditions they had, but drunk people weren’t her forte. However, she was beginning to notice that a night shift in the emergency department consisted of more drunk people than she thought.

One of the other nurses, Shelly, was able to lead Anthony and Matt to an empty bay where they were given a few more bottles of water and some snacks to help them sober up. Occasionally, someone would stick their head in to make sure that New York’s Long Island’s finest were doing okay. 

It was relatively easy to hook Mat to the IV and he was pretty comfortable when James began to stitch up his graze. He had experienced it multiple times and more often than not there was no pain relief so the small amount he had been given was a lifesaver. He did continue to chat to Sarah as if he was competing for Canada but she understood why. Hospitals were not a nice place to be at the best of times and if this made him more comfortable, then he should do that. It wasn’t up to her to tell him what made him comfortable, that was completely out of bounds.

A few minutes passed, and Sarah had begun to start Mat’s discharge paperwork and that included sending a small report to the doctors at their training facilities. She imagined if she were one of them, she wouldn’t be too impressed to hear that one of her star forwards had slightly injured himself, but that was for Mat to explain. She was simply documenting what she saw and the procedures that were undertaken. 

2:53 in the morning. Anthony had sobered up enough to call the three of them an Uber to their respective places and he also thanked Sarah profusely for looking after them too. She was humble, simply letting him know that it was her job, even if she wasn’t getting paid for it. He also promised that as a thank you, he would take her out on a date. Sarah was almost sure that when he woke up, hopefully fully sober, he would have completely forgotten about that so she simply brushed it off with an “of course Anthony.” What else was she meant to say? It wasn’t like she could whip out her phone and just say, tell me the date and time and I’ll be there. This placement was preparing her for a job in a hospital. She couldn’t do that to any other patient, or their family members, so why was Anthony different?

“Professional hockey player, absolutely filled out, oh, and you have a crush on him,” Rebecca told Sarah like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Sarah felt her cheeks heat up as Rebecca went further down the list, it wasn’t like anything that she said was wrong, it just wasn’t what she had hoped to hear at 8 am over a coffee with her best friend. She sighed as she went to pick up the steaming mug of coffee, not sure how to respond.

“Yes, yes and maybe?” Sarah replied, not really sure how to admit to the small amount of feelings she had begun to feel about the winger. The pair had been sporadically messaging each other, mainly a well done for a three-point night or how was the er today? Nothing more than that, but Sarah wanted more but knew that he might not feel the same way and accepted the small amount of communication with him.

Anthony, on the other hand, was sweating and not just from the painful workout that they had just been subjected to. He knew he needed to ask Sarah out on a date, sooner rather than later, because he was certain that she would be able to find someone with whom she could hold more intelligent conversations. She was a medical student, after all, he told himself. As he sat on the small couch in his bedroom, he checked Google Maps searching for a small coffee shop where he could ask her on a weekend, casual date. He picked one that looked nice enough, and just went for it.

Anthony: Hey, this might seem out of the blue but I was wondering if you wanted to go for coffee sometime this weekend? I’m not playing until Monday and I’d really like to see you

And now he had to play a waiting game, but he didn’t have to wait as long. Once he had returned from collecting a parcel, a care package from his mother containing things that he missed from Quebec, he checked his phone to see a reply. He smiled to himself, even if it was a rejection, he wasn’t being ignored which in his books was a massive win.

Sarah: Hiya! That sounds like a great idea, I’ve got a small research thing to do, but I can do that whenever. Text me when and where and I’ll be there :)

The first thing Anthony did was text Anders and let him know. His captain was pleased for him and was happy to hear that he had taken the initiative even if he was worried. But now, Anthony had three more days to worry about something else.

Rebecca shouted through the hallway to try and get Sarah’s attention. Sarah had left her phone in the lounge as she went to change into something more comfortable and it wasn’t like she expected Anthony to reply so quickly either. “It says,” Rebecca started before Sarah swooped in to take the phone out of her hand and held it to her chest. There was no way in hell that Sarah was going to let Rebecca find out that she was going on her first date in 4 years, let alone with Anthony Beauvillier of the New York Islanders.

As she raised one of her eyebrows, Rebecca looked over quizzically at her best friend. “Tell me who that text was from and I’ll drop it completely,” she bargained knowing that even though she was studying law there was no way in hell she would be able to get any more information out of Sarah.

The two shared a look and Sarah knew that Rebecca wouldn’t push, or at least she hoped. “Anthony,” she said, wishing that she either assumed who he was or didn’t care enough to ask. Rebecca’s jaw dropped in shock, did Sarah Milkins really just say that she was going to go for coffee with Anthony. Anthony Beauvillier. Number 18 for the New York Islanders. It wasn’t like it could be a different Anthony as he was the only one who both of them knew and that Sarah would have told Rebecca if she had even been talking to anyone else.

Rebecca tried to get hold of the phone but Sarah quickly ran back into her room and locked the door before she could be asked any more questions. “I’m saying yes, we’re going to Maman at 3 o’clock on Sunday, I’ll be back before nine,” Sarah shouted through the door. Eventually, Sarah let Rebecca into her room and let out a little scream of excitement. They spent the rest of their afternoon discussing date attire and just tried to stay as calm as possible.

[hxneyandespressx]

all at once (you are the one i have been waiting for) 

summary: the lights are out. roads are flooded. jj and elle are stuck at jj’s apartment due to a thunderstorm. what secrets will be revealed when these two friends are alone in the dark?

pairing: jennifer jareau x elle greenaway (jelle)

word count: 2.8k

a/n: memories are in italics 

☆。*。☆。

A pair of women ran across the fresh wet lawn from a car parked in the distance, a few feet away from the apartment building. Giggles could be heard clearly from across the road. They skipped up the small steps and reached the entrance. Under the porch roof, the blonde shook her head like a wet dog, while the brunette attempted to dry her hair with her cold hands. The friends entered the building, working their way up to the blonde’s apartment, all while causing a commotion within the hallways. JJ haphazardly took out her keys from her baby blue raincoat and unlocked her apartment door. She took off her jacket and hung it on the antique coat hanger, with her muddy hiking boots by the door.

“Sorry… uh- make yourself at home,” JJ said. “I’ll grab some towels from the linen closet.”

“Yeah sure,” Elle responded while observing the apartment. Inside, was a home fit for a young career woman. Clean minimalist furniture. Books and academic papers were sprawled across the cheap Scandinavian coffee table. A few coffee mugs were scattered around the living room. A blue blanket sprawled across the cushions of the sofa. The same blanket that Elle bought for JJ on one special Christmas.

The brunette shook her head, thinking that it was typical of JJ to keep her place slightly messy. She was brought out of her thoughts when a soft cotton towel was presented to her. 

“Thanks, JJ,” Elle said as she tried to dry her hair. The blonde nodded happily as she tried her best to drain water from her hair with another towel in her hand. 

“Want something to drink?” JJ asked as she walked into her small kitchen. 

“Just some water,” Elle called out. The brunette flopped onto the couch, feeling tired from the day. A minute went by and JJ came back with two glasses filled with water. Elle thanked the blonde when she was given the glass. 

“Want to take a shower?” JJ asked innocently. Elle slightly choked on the water. 

“Wh- what?” 

“A shower. Because you must feel cold from the rain we ran through earlier.” JJ softly laughed at Elle’s outburst. The brunette grumbled.

“Yeah. I’ll take one. Only because I know you’ll make me if I refuse,” Elle said as she got up and made her way to the bathroom. Once the showerhead noises were heard, JJ went to her room to pick out some clothes to share. Once she changed, the blonde knocked on the bathroom door, with a sweatshirt and shorts in hand. Sounds of the shower went by, and Elle opened the door, in a towel and all dewy from the hot steam. A peach blush appeared on JJ’s cheeks, barely noticed by the brunette. In their long years of friendship, JJ hadn’t felt like this about her best friend until eight months ago. 

“Thanks.” Elle took the clothes from JJ’s hand and shut the door. The clang from the now-closed door took the blonde out of her thoughts. Taking a deep breath, JJ walked away from the bathroom door. As she passed by a window, onto her way to the living room, her eyes took a peek to see how the weather had been. It had gotten worse. Dark clouds rolled in quickly and the rain got heavier, with the low rumblings of thunder playing songs in the sky. An idea struck JJ’s mind. I should get some candles from the cabinet, in case of a power outage. Arriving at her destination, JJ raided the closet and found her soy candles. As she placed them aside for later, Elle came in from her shower.

“Hey. What are those for?” Elle asked.

“Since the weather is getting worse, I decided to be more prepared. Better to be safe than sorry.” JJ said as she also pulled out a few blankets. 

“Since we don’t have anywhere else to go, wanna just Netflix and chill?” Elle proposed. JJ raised an eyebrow at the brunette’s wording.

“Just Netflix and chill? Ha- you could have worded that differently,” JJ said. Elle shrugged and grabbed the remote. The blonde sat next to her friend, making the both of them comfortable with the heavy blanket she brought. For the rest of the afternoon, both Elle and JJ watched one Studio Ghibli movie after another.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

As the evening went by, the weather got worse. The rain beat down harder on the asphalt. Trees swayed along with the hard wind. Rolling thunderous sounds moved closer to the area with each passing minute. This was one of the worst thunderstorms this town had ever experienced. 

The power went out during the second hour of watching Netflix. In the dark, both Elle and JJ worked their way around the blonde’s apartment, taking out every electrical plug to prevent any accidents. After that job was done, JJ went into the kitchen while Elle started to fold the large blanket they were once under. After the brunette finished, she sat by the window on the leather loveseat, watching the storm rage across the sky. She turned on her phone to the radio, weather reports about the storm softly playing.  

“When do you think this is gonna let up?” JJ asked, coming up behind Elle with two mugs filled with water. Elle took a mug and whispered a soft thank you. 

“Well, from what the news is telling us, it’s going to be a long night of heavy rain and strong wind,” JJ said as she stared out of the window. Elle sat next to her friend and placed her chin on JJ’s left shoulder. Silence occupied the living room. The pitter-patter of the rain against the windows created music that filled the air. The orange light from the candles set a soft ambiance. Quiet. Peaceful.

“Seems like I won’t make it home tonight,” Elle joked.

“You don’t even have your car here! Besides, the roads are flooded and there are trees blocking said roads,” JJ said, pouting at the brunette’s silly little joke. 

“Sorry.” Elle softly smiled. The sounds of laughter rang away, being replaced by silence again. A few minutes went by and JJ got struck with an idea. 

“I have something fun for us to do!” JJ said.

“And what’s that?” Elle asked.

“We should make a blanket fort,” JJ said, smiling from her plan. “It’ll be fun! Taking away some of the sadness from the thunderstorm.” 

Elle nodded in agreement and the two women started working on the pillow fort. The brunette started by getting the kitchen chairs to build the framework while the blonde looked for more blankets. JJ grabbed her largest white cotton bedsheet as the initial cover. 

“Elle, help me with putting this sheet on.” JJ said. Her brunette friend nodded her head and the two women tried their best to gently drape the sheet over the four dining chairs. 

“Oh shit. I forgot to get the clothespins.” JJ left the sheet and speed-walked to her small linen closet to gather as many pins she needed. With a handful of some wooden clothespins in her hands, JJ came back to the living room and shared some of the pins with Elle to get the bedsheet draped properly. After the first sheet, the blonde picked a colorful paisley-printed sheet to decorate over the white bedsheet. Both the women worked their way to pin the sheets carefully together and onto the chairs. 

“Didn’t know you liked floral patterns.” Elle teased JJ, who typically prided herself to be more of a “tomboy”. 

“Shut up.” JJ playfully punched Elle’s right shoulder. The brunette chuckled from the light punch. 

After the main structure was built, JJ filled the inside with a plethora of pillows and blankets. With a thick plaid blanket as the foundation, the blonde piled on two more to provide a soft space to sit. Elle grabbed the fuzzy blue blanket off from the couch, so she and JJ could cuddle together with it. Scents of honey and milky french vanilla wafted throughout the living room, reminiscent of untamed yet peaceful meadows of the French countryside. The lit candles glowed against the roof, the paisley patterns being well seen enough to be traced. 

Both the women smiled at their creation and entered the little fort. Elle sighed contently as she flopped onto the mountain of pillows. Meanwhile, JJ sat with her chin on her knee. Feeling unsatisfied, the blonde went out of the fort and went to search for something to drink. The coldness from the kitchen tiles clashed against the warmth from JJ’s feet. Opening a cabinet that was leveled to the floor, JJ crouched and looked at the different wines she had in her collection. 

  “Whatcha getting?” Elle asked loudly.

“Some wine, because why not,” JJ said as she was deciding on which bottle to choose. 

“Oh.”

JJ came back to the fort, where Elle sat at the entrance, with a twist-off red Bordeaux wine bottle and two wine glasses in her hands. The blonde handed one of the wine glasses to the brunette and twisted off the closure of the glass bottle, filling both eh glasses halfway with the aged wine.

Both laid on their backs, drank wine, and talked the evening away. From arguing about who would win the next Super Bowl to debating their interpretation of Plato's Republic, the two friends started to reminisce about the journey that took them to where they are now.

“Hey… Remember our college graduation trip down the California coast?” Elle asked. JJ thought for a few seconds. A smile appeared on her warm ivory face. 

“Yeah… I do.” A soft smile appeared on the blonde’s face as she started to remember the fond memory. 

The blue fire crackled as Elle added a few pieces of salty driftwood to make the bonfire warmer. The brunette went back to sit on the large colorful towel next to her best friend. 

“Can’t believe we graduated college,” JJ said as she stared at the night sky. Elle nodded in agreement. “Now we can start our lives. Who knows what will bring.” The blonde rested her head onto the brunette’s shoulder, taking in the scenery of the multiple constellations shining in the night sky.

“Hey, Elle… do you think we’re still gonna be friends? After we go our separate ways?”

“I know we will,” Elle responded.

“You better stay in touch.” JJ playfully punched Elle’s ribs. Elle laughed from the weak punch.

“Don’t worry,” Elle looked at JJ. “I don’t plan on going off the grid anytime soon.” The blonde huffed in annoyance. Elle chuckled lightheartedly. After a while, the crashing of the ocean waves filled the air as the two recent college graduates stargazed for the rest of the night.

“Oh! How about the time you helped me get through a breakup with that New Orleans guy?”

“I remember that,” Elle sighed. “Thank God you’re not in that relationship anymore.”

The blonde cried into the shoulder of her best friend as she hugged the brunette. Elle rubbed circles on JJ’s back to calm her down. The three-year relationship that made JJ so happy now made her so heartbroken. 

Elle tried to comfort her friend during the breakup for the past six weeks. She wanted JJ to know that she was more deserving of someone who would treat her better. No more wasting time and tears over someone who did not care about her in the first place. 

“JJ, you’re better off without him. Better yet, you deserve better.” Elle said. The blonde sniffled and wiped her tears away. Elle smiled as her friend sat up straight. JJ slowly realized there were other people in the world, and she was more deserving of someone who would treat her better. 

“You know what?” JJ said as she looked at Elle. “You are right. I can’t sit and mope around, waiting for something to happen. I need to take charge and show who is boss.”

“You mean girlboss?” Elle asked, with a smirk on her face. JJ laughed.

“Yeah… girlboss.”

“Thanks to you, Elle. I am happy to be single for a year and a half.” JJ said while holding up her wine glass, pretending to take a toast. Elle laughed at her little gesture. 

Feeling slightly chilly, JJ pulled her blanket closer to her body, her fingers feeling the softness of the fabric.

“Remember the Christmas that we spent together?: JJ asked. 

“Yeah.” Elle felt amused as the soft blue blanket in her hand was reminiscent of the time they spent the holidays together. 

“And you gave me this blanket. The best present anyone could have given me.” JJ stated. Elle lifted one of her eyebrows.

“Really?” Elle asked, with a hint of joy in her voice. JJ nodded. 

After a while, having a conversation tired their voices. Instead, they sat in silence comfortably. JJ turned her head to face Elle, who had her eyes closed. The blonde took this time to take in the beautiful sight in front of her. 

The soft golden glow from the candles highlighted Elle’s olive-toned skin. Her chocolate brown locks perfectly framed her face. The fringe of her bangs fell into her equally beautiful deep amber eyes. She looked good in the grey sweatshirt that she borrowed that evening. JJ’s heart beat faster the more she stared at the beautiful brunette next to her. As far as she knew, Jennifer Jareau was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with Elle Greenaway. 

The brunette opened her eyes, as she felt like someone was watching her. 

“Hey,” JJ said.

“Hey,” Elle replied. 

“Had a nice nap?”

“Ha- very funny, Jareau.” Elle playfully slapped the blonde’s shoulder. A few seconds of silence went by before JJ posed a question. 

“Wanna play 21 questions?” JJ asked.

“We already know each other, silly.” 

“It’s just for fun. What else can we do when the power is out?” 

“True. You ask the first question,” Elle said. And so, JJ asked the first question. A simple one. What would your dream house look like? Elle chuckled, knowing that her friend already knew the answer, and responded. This went back and forth between the two women. Until they hit the last number. 21.

JJ took a deep breath and exhaled in nervousness, as it was her turn for the final question. 

“What do you wish for in life?” 

Elle paused. The silent wait fueled JJ’s anxiety. 

“I just want a girl who loves me. The authentic me,” Elle said. The brunette turned her head to face the blonde, who was nervously biting her lips. “And to live with her in an apartment in a city, with a few plants and maybe a cat.” 

JJ looked at Elle with loving eyes. To her, she never met the most genuine person in her life. All their late-night adventures, silly arguments, and untold secrets. Led up to this moment. The one that could change the course of their tight friendship. 

“I have something to tell you.” JJ said. 

“Oooh… Are you about to profess your undying love for me?” Elle joked.

“Yes, I am.”

“.....What?”

“I love you, Elle Greenaway.” Elle looked like a deer in headlights. Her soft pink lips slightly parted as she gasped under her breath. After being in love with her best friend for so long, Elle’s feelings finally got reciprocated. 

“I love you too, Jennifer Jareau.” J

oy and relief showed on JJ’s face. For once in her life, she felt sure about what she was doing. And this was something she wanted to last for a lifetime. 

Elle lightly brushed some hair out of JJ’s eyes. 

“I could stay here forever.” Elle said, softly caressing JJ’s cheek. Slowly, Elle brought her face close to JJ, their noses touching. Her lips softly grazed against JJ’s own in anticipation to what to happen next. 

Feelings bit impatient, JJ closed the gap between herself and Elle, gently kissing and savoring their moment in time. After a few seconds, the two women parted, slightly out of breath. Closing her eyes, Elle placed her head on JJ’s left shoulder, a small smile appearing on the taller woman’s face. JJ wrapped her arms around Elle’s body, feeling the warmth engulf her. Both slowly drifted into sound sleep, filled with dreams of what was to come next for their relationship. 

taglist: @queer-rambling / @voidreid / @homosexualyearning / @ssajelle / @jemilyology / @pumpkin-stars / @iconicc / @drinkingcroissants / @abbyprentiss / @elizabethxolsen / @lgbtbau / @hotchrocket / @morcias / @sunnymulti

[grapesodatozier]

Anything You Want

a fic for @heterophobicrichietozier !! thank you so much for requesting this fic!!

rating: explicit

words: 7.5k

tags/warnings: sugar daddy au, domtop!richie, subbottom!eddie, daddy kink, age gap, marking (hickeys), degradation and praise, porn with feelings, mentions of sonia’s abuse

notsfw below the cut!!

Eddie Kaspbrak was running short on both money and patience. He was only just over a month into his second year of nursing school, and he was already struggling to pay his rent. And sure, rent in New York City was never easy to pay, but he’d been saving, he’d had a plan. The problem was that pretty much all of his money had unexpectedly gone toward his tuition when his mother had refused to pay for a second year at school.

At eighteen, Eddie had left his small hometown in Maine and moved to New York City to start college. He had just barely convinced his mother to let him go, and to help with his tuition as long as he covered his own rent. He was required to call her four nights a week, and he had to go back on the “medicines” he’d disavowed around age fifteen (all of which he routinely flushed down the toilet), but the physical distance had been amazing—at first. Soon, though, it wasn’t enough, and his mom started demanding he call her every night, accusing him of being reckless and taking advantage of her. When he’d told her he wasn’t coming home for the summer, she’d exploded into hysterics, crying and telling him he had to come home. It was when she began rambling on about how Eddie was probably running around with dirty New York City girls and catching all sorts of horrific sexual diseases, demanding that he come home so that she could keep an eye on him and find him a nice girl when she decided he was ready for one, that Eddie had snapped. Though it had been the result of years of pent up frustration and rage, he had stayed calm as he told her that he wasn’t missing her calls because of girls, but because of guys—because he spent his weekends getting fucked by men. “Sorry Ma,” he’d said, his voice cool as steel and even as could be, “but I can’t really pick up the phone when I’ve got some guy’s cock inside of me.” It wasn’t exactly the coming out his friends Bill, Ben, and Mike had been gently running by him, but he was angry, and it had felt good; he figured she’d have had the same reaction no matter how he said it, so what the hell, right?

Still, it stung when she’d told him she wasn’t paying for his college anymore. He hadn’t really believed her at first, as she was still hounding him about his sins and how he needed to come home, but sure enough, when emails about tuition began rolling around, they all went to his school email and explained that his name was the only one on his account, that his mother had bestowed the loans onto him and given up the account. Eddie nearly vomited when he’d received that email. As soon as the room stopped spinning, he blocked his mother’s number.

He already had a job for the summer tied down, but it was just an internship level position filing in a medical office, and it was only four days a week; there was no way it would cover tuition and rent and food, among other expenses. So he was forced to take on a second job as a waiter at a new restaurant a few blocks away from his apartment, then a third job working at a mechanic shop on Fridays and Saturdays. On top of all of that work, he had to completely redo his FAFSA and reapply for loans given his new financial circumstances. His school and the government did give him a bit more, but not enough to drop any of his jobs. 

By the time classes rolled around, he had paid his tuition for the semester, but he’d had to dip into money he’d been saving for rent. Now, in early October, he was still working Fridays and Saturdays at the garage and was waiting tables Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. He had a night shift shadowing a nurse on Tuesdays, which left Thursdays and Sundays as his only free nights, nights which he largely spent doing homework. All of this work, and he had still been eating Cup Noodles for the past two weeks.

It was a Friday night, and everything had been going wrong. In the middle of his shift at the garage, he’d gotten a notification from his school’s site informing him that he’d gotten a C on his most recent test, one he’d lost sleep over studying. Then work at the garage had run over and he barely had time to eat dinner before making it to the restaurant in time. He was tired and upset and feeling badly about himself, not to mention missing a party all of his friends were going to, so all it took was one baby boomer yelling at him over a mixed up order for him to excuse himself to the back room and start bawling. Thankfully, his manager seemed to be understanding and let him cool off. “I’ll take that table until they leave,” she told him, to his immense relief and gratitude. By the time she came back to check on him he had calmed down considerably and was staring into the mirror in the break room trying fruitlessly to pat down the puffiness around his eyes, trying to will away the redness that lingered. “Hey,” his manager said, “you wanna take table four?” Eddie sighed and nodded, trying out a smile. “Atta boy.”

He took a deep, steadying breath before heading out for his new table. His eyes fell on a table of three: a woman with dark red curls that fell to her shoulders, a man with truly impeccable posture, and the hottest man Eddie had ever seen in his life. And he was unabashedly looking Eddie up and down from behind a pair of thick rimmed glasses as he approached. “Hi!” Eddie greeted them, his big, bright customer service smile finding its way onto his face like it was possessing him. “I’m Eddie, and I’ll be your server tonight. Can I get you guys started with some drinks?”

“You got me started already,” the hot guy said. Then, meeting Eddie’s eyes, his brow furrowed. “Have you been crying?”

Luckily, Eddie didn’t have to respond to that, as the guy’s much more refined friend chimed in, “I’ll have a gin and tonic, please,” just as the redheaded woman was letting out an exasperated, “Richie, oh my god.” 

“One gin and tonic,” Eddie smiled, his cheeks burning. “Anything else?”

“Could I have a martini, please?” the woman smiled kindly up at him.

“Martini, got it.” As he jotted it down, he prepared himself to face the hot guy—Richie, apparently. When he did, he was struck by the depth of his blue eyes. He was surprised by how warm they were, and they glittered as he smiled up at Eddie. “And for you?” 

“What do you like?” 

“Oh, I’m not old enough to drink,” Eddie flushed, letting out a small laugh. With a joking smile, he added, “The Shirley Temples are great, though.”

Richie laughed, his eyes never leaving Eddie. “A Shirley Temple it is.” 

Eddie’s gaze didn’t waver either, and he put on his best innocent, big-brown-eyes look as he asked, “Virgin or dirty?” He had to fight back a smirk when he saw Richie’s eyes darken.

“Dirty.” The way he said it sent a thrill down Eddie’s spine. “Pretty please, with three cherries on top.”

“You got it,” Eddie said with a wink. Though the day was still weighing on him, he was beginning to feel better already. He might have even swayed his hips a little more than necessary as he walked away. He told himself it was because he could tell this Richie guy was into him, so he was aiming for a nice tip, but really Eddie loved the attention itself. With his schedule, he no longer had time for the hookups he spent his freshman year indulging in. So he couldn’t be blamed for preening under the attention of a hot older guy. Honestly, it was the pick me up he’d been needing for months.

The night went on, all three of them being incredibly kind to him, with Richie throwing in not at all subtle flirtations any chance he got. Eddie didn’t miss the three knotted cherry stems on Richie’s napkin when he brought their food and offered to refill their drinks.

He was almost sad to see Richie go, but he was grateful for the small smile he had on his face as he went to collect his tip and clear the table. At first he went to simply slip the cash into his pocket, but then he realized there was a note on the napkin beneath it: a name, Richie Tozier, with a phone number under it. It was then that Eddie realized he was holding five hundred dollars in his hand. He quickly stuffed it in his pocket, an embarrassed flush running from his ears down his chest as he hurried to clear the dirty dishes and bring them back to the kitchen.

The cash burned a hole in his pocket all night, all the way home. What the fuck? he thought to himself. Because seriously, who leaves a five hundred dollar tip on a meal that was barely over a hundred? Eddie locked his apartment door and placed the money on his dresser, staring at it. Five one hundred dollar bills. Who carried that around? What if they were counterfeit? Eddie pulled out the napkin and studied that as well, deciding to Google the name Richie Tozier. His jaw dropped when he did. There his face was, with his big glasses, cocky smile, and fluffy, dark curls. Apparently the guy was on SNL and had two Netflix comedy specials. He was also twenty-eight, nearly ten years older than Eddie. His net worth? Five million dollars.

Eddie sat down on his bed, his mind spinning. The place Eddie worked was nice enough, but it wasn’t exactly frequented by millionaires. Still in his work clothes, he dialed the number, figuring there was no way it would go through.

He picked up on the third ring.

“Hello?”

It was his voice. “What the fuck?” Eddie blurted out.

He heard a bright laugh on the other end. “Is this Eddie?”

“Yeah, it is, and seriously, what the hell? Five hundred dollars?”

“You looked upset,” Richie said. He sounded like he was trying to be nonchalant about it, but his voice had softened noticeably. 

“So you gave a stranger five hundred dollars?” Eddie was honestly more confused than upset. Sure, maybe his pride was a little bruised, but to be honest he was touched. And kind of turned on. 

“Just redistributing my wealth,” Richie joked. “I’ve got more than I know what to do with, so I figured giving it to a pretty boy who was having a bad day was a pretty good way to spend it.” Eddie flushed at that—pretty boy. The way Richie said it, so casually, yet with a joking tone that made it almost teasing, had Eddie’s pants getting tight. When Eddie stayed silent, Richie continued, “There’s more for you where that came from, if you’re interested.”

“What?” Eddie said, blood rushing in his ears. Was this guy serious? Was this actually happening?

“I’d be happy to help you out if you need it. A college kid like you should be partying on a Saturday night, or taking a fucking nap, not crying at a minimum wage job.”

“Like a sugar daddy?”

Richie laughed. Eddie loved the sound of it. “Yeah, like a sugar daddy, baby.” The pet name made Eddie shudder, made him feel like he was glowing. But still, he didn’t want this guy getting ideas. 

“I’m not gonna have sex with you.” Even as he said it, his cock was hard, and the memory of the way Richie had been flirting with him made his skin hot. But he wanted to make explicitly clear that he wasn’t into selling himself.

“That’s not why I’m offering. Seriously, I just wanna help you out. And sure, maybe you’re ridiculously cute, and maybe I want to get to know you, but mostly I wanna help you out. Pay for your rent, give you time to study and party and be a college student.”

And how could Eddie turn that down? As much as he was struggling with it, with his pride and the stranger danger anxiety that his mother had ingrained in him, he seriously doubted that a hot millionaire would come around again offering to pay his rent. 

So Eddie agreed, and soon he was sending Richie his Venmo information. Two minutes later his phone screen glowed with a notification: Richie Tozier sent you $2,000. 

It had been hard to get used to at first, but cutting his work schedule down to just Monday and Wednesday nights at the restaurant and just Friday afternoons at the garage felt amazing. He finally felt rested, could finally give his schoolwork the attention it needed.

“You know, you really don’t need to work at all if you don’t want to,” Richie told him one night when they were having dinner together.

“I know,” Eddie said to his food, “but I like the independence of it. And working with cars calms me down, it makes sense to me.” He didn’t mention the real reason he kept both jobs: the big Just In Case that loomed over him. This seemed like a fairy tale situation, like an extended, intricate prank, and he was terrified that something would go wrong. He wanted to be prepared if Richie suddenly pulled out for some reason.

However, as the months passed it became pretty clear that even without sex Richie wasn’t going anywhere. And that started complicating things.

It was late in December, which meant finals and holidays, which meant lots of stress. It was the first Christmas Eddie wouldn’t be spending at home, and that made him feel sad in a way he didn’t understand; he was incredibly happy to be free of his mother, but there was something so final about it. He supposed it was still a loss, even if it was a welcome one. On top of that, his days were plagued by the anxiety that she might get a new number, might start calling him again, might show up at his door and whisk him back to Maine. So it was just negativity on top of worrying on top of sadness. Under all this stress, he found himself spending more and more time at Richie’s apartment, more and more time talking to Richie, wanting to get close to him.

So far, things had been pretty professional. They got meals together once or twice a week, often in Richie’s apartment due to fans of his popping up everywhere wanting pictures. Mostly they hung out because Eddie liked it; Richie was always reminding Eddie that he didn’t owe Richie anything, but Eddie genuinely liked his company. 

Also, he was still ridiculously hot, and he fawned over Eddie like he was the one getting paid. 

Seriously, Richie was so amazing to him, it wasn’t just the money. When someone at work pissed him off, Richie put on one of Eddie’s favorite shows and offered to hire some people to beat up whatever asshole customer had yelled at him. When Eddie complained that the construction outside his apartment was affecting his studying, Richie let him study in his apartment, and even brought him hot chocolate and rubbed his shoulders.

Now it was a Thursday, and Eddie had finished his last final. He had just gotten home from saying goodbye to Bill, Mike, and Ben for winter break when Richie called. Like always, the loneliness that was threatening to creep over him began to ebb as soon as he heard Richie’s voice. “Hey! How’d your test go? We still on for dinner to celebrate?”

Eddie appreciated the offer, but a fancy dinner wasn’t what he wanted just then. “Can we do dinner at your place tonight?” he asked, his voice worn and small.

“Of course, anything you want.”

Richie’s driver picked Eddie up, so he didn’t actually see Richie until he was knocking at his door and falling into his arms. Richie, with his roughly nine or ten inch height advantage over Eddie, easily scooped him up and brought him to the couch. “So would it be tone deaf of me to ask how the exam went?” Richie grinned, settling down with Eddie resting against him. Eddie tucked his feet under his legs as he leaned into Richie’s embrace, finding the relief he’d been needing all day once Richie’s arms were around him.

“The exam went okay,” he sighed. “But Bill, Ben, and Mike all went home today, and I won’t see them for like a month.” 

Richie shifted so he was leaning against the arm of the couch, facing Eddie. Eddie naturally moved closer, like a magnet was pulling him toward Richie, and he ended up practically in Richie’s lap. He let out a small, happy sigh as Richie stroked his hair. “I could send you on a trip somewhere, take your mind off of it.”

But it wasn’t just the location that was the problem. Sure, he wanted something to do, but mostly he wanted someone to do things with. A specific someone, if he was being honest with himself. 

Eddie looked down and ran his hand lightly over the stitching on the pocket of Richie’s button up. It was covered in a Pac-Man pattern, but Eddie knew it was more formal than his normal look. The idea that Richie had dressed up somewhat for dinner with him made him smile. And it should have calmed him down as he prepared to ask Richie his next question, but his heart was still racing as he took a deep breath and looked up into Richie’s eyes. “Will you come with me?”

Richie’s eyes widened just barely before a smile broke across his face. “You thought I’d miss out on buying you souvenirs?” 

Eddie beamed. Richie looked so beautiful when he smiled, and his hand was a comforting weight on Eddie’s hip. The thought of travelling with Richie, of sharing a hotel room with him—sharing a bed with him—made Eddie glow. “Did you have any destination in mind?” he asked.

“Anywhere you want.” 

Richie’s voice was soft and low, Eddie felt like he could melt into it. He ran his hand up Richie’s chest, cupped his cheek, and watched Richie’s eyes dart over Eddie’s face, clearly trying to get a read on the situation. Eddie had been thinking about crossing this line for a while. He’d been holding back for months, and as the months moved by, his hang ups had begun to feel less and less important. Sure, the money made things different. But, did it have to? Did it really? Richie was here. Richie was holding him without expectation. As Eddie watched Richie lick his lips, as he felt Richie’s hands on him, he couldn’t remember a single reason he’d come up with to not dive headfirst into what they both so clearly wanted, what they had both wanted since the moment their eyes met for the first time. 

So he leaned in, the tension that had been building for months coming to a head and taking his breath away. But just as their lips were about to come together, Richie murmured a soft, reserved, “Eddie.” Eddie’s heart caught at his tone, and he pulled back a bit, trying to figure out what was going wrong. “You know you don’t have to do that.”

“I want to do it,” Eddie huffed. He was pouting now, and moving to straddle Richie’s hips. “I want you, so bad. I’ve wanted you ever since I met you.” He took Richie’s hand in his and kissed his knuckles. “No one’s ever treated me as well as you do. The way you take care of me, the way you look at me... I’ve never wanted someone this bad before.”

Richie studied Eddie’s face, his eyes softening, darkening. He unfurled his fist and held Eddie’s jaw in his hand, ran his thumb over Eddie’s lower lip. “Fuck, you deserve the world, angel.” Eddie flushed at that. His heart was racing at the light, teasing way Richie pressed down on his lip. Just as he was about to wrap his lips around Richie’s thumb, Richie slid his hand into Eddie’s hair, holding it noticeably tighter than he normally would. “Tell me what you want, baby.” His voice was low and rough in a way that made Eddie wish he would just bend him over and fuck him senseless already.

But Eddie didn’t mind being coy, didn’t mind pulling the tension as tight as it would go, seeing how much he could tease before Richie snapped and took him the way Eddie wanted him to. “I want you to kiss me.” His nose was bumping against Richie’s now, and he could feel Richie’s shallow breath on his lips. Richie’s eyes were dark and didn’t move from Eddie’s face. Eddie took Richie’s hand and guided it from his waist to his hip, just barely on his ass. Biting his lip, he whispered, “I want you to fuck me, so bad.” He put on a pout and continued, “I fuck all these college guys, but none of them are you. They aren’t as tall as you, their hands aren’t as big as yours.” Eddie watched Richie’s jaw clench. “They can’t fuck me the way I know you could.”

“Fuck, baby,” Richie nearly growled. Eddie gasped when Richie grabbed his ass, hard, and tugged his head back. “Did you think about me while they fucked you?” he whispered in Eddie’s ear, his warm breath sending a shiver through Eddie.

“Every time,” Eddie said, gripping Richie’s shirt in his hands. “Wanted it to be you so bad.” 

Richie nuzzled against Eddie’s neck, still not kissing him, still making him wait while he groped his ass. “I know, baby. You needed more, huh? You need your daddy to take care of you.” 

Eddie let out a surprised little noise of pleasure. No one had ever said that to him before. He wasn’t expecting it, and he certainly wasn’t expecting how much he would like it. It made him so hard he got dizzy, completely pliant in Richie’s arms. “Yes,” he breathed, already pathetically desperate. “Yes, daddy, need you so bad, please, please.” 

Richie cursed under his breath and grabbed Eddie by the jaw, pulling him in for a bruising kiss. Eddie couldn’t help but let out a little whimpering moan when he finally, finally felt Richie’s lips against his. They were just as soft as they looked, and so full. As Eddie sank his fingers into Richie’s thick, dark curls, Richie sat up a bit and pulled Eddie closer against him, grabbing him by the hips and pressing their clothed cocks together. Eddie gasped and buried his face in Richie’s shoulder at the feeling. He mouthed at Richie’s neck, moaning at the way Richie smacked his ass. “This is mine, got it?” he said, his voice smooth and low. “None of those little college pricks are allowed to fucking touch you. Understand?”

Eddie moaned at Richie’s sudden possessiveness. All he wanted was to be Richie’s, for Richie to claim him and show him who he belonged to. “Yes, daddy. ‘M all yours, just wanna be yours.”

“Good boy.” He tugged at Eddie’s hair again, pulling his head back so that his neck was exposed. Eddie yelped as Richie licked a stripe up his throat and sunk his teeth into Eddie’s throat, sure to leave a dark bruise. Eddie squirmed in Richie’s lap as he sucked on his neck, hard and intentional. With a final kiss to the bruise, Richie said with a satisfied grin, “Now everyone’s gonna know you’re mine.” He chuckled and nipped at Eddie’s neck again when Eddie moaned. “Yeah, you like that baby? You like when daddy takes what’s his? You want everyone to know what a good little slut you are for your daddy?”

“Yes,” Eddie sighed, already starting to feel like he was floating. After finals and classes and work and months of controlling himself around Richie, this was exactly what he needed. It felt so amazing to just let go and let Richie take control, knowing Richie would take care of him. He couldn’t believe how good this was and none of their clothes had even come off yet. He fumbled with the buttons on Richie’s shirt, but Richie just chuckled and grabbed him by the wrists.

“That’s cute, baby. Daddy decides whose clothes come off and when, yeah?” Eddie whimpered and nodded. Richie slid his hands back under Eddie’s ass and stood then, lifting Eddie up. Eddie instinctively held tight to him, wrapping his legs around Richie’s waist and his arms around his neck. Richie kissed Eddie’s hair as he walked them to the bedroom. “Just let me take care of you, sweetheart.” Eddie’s heart soared as Richie sat him down on the edge of the huge bed, the duvet soft and cool under him. His legs dangled off the side. Richie’s eyes softened as he stroked Eddie’s hair. “You doing okay?” he checked.

“So good,” Eddie nodded enthusiastically, his hands fisted in Richie’s shirt.

Richie leaned down and kissed Eddie’s forehead, and by the time he straightened up again that look that made Eddie shiver was back on his face. Still cradling Eddie’s face, he asked, “Can I get a little rough with you, baby?” 

Eddie’s eyes widened. “Please,” he moaned.

A dark, mischievous grin pulled at Richie’s full, dark pink lips. “That’s a good boy,” he said with a kiss to Eddie’s jaw. “Arms up.” Eddie quickly did as he was told, eager for Richie to strip his shirt off for him. “Fuck, baby,” Richie groaned as he tossed Eddie’s shirt aside. He ran his hands up Eddie’s sides and teased his thumbs over Eddie’s hardened nipples, making him gasp and grab at the sheets. Richie’s hands looked even bigger wrapped around Eddie’s ribs. It made him press his legs together, his cock throbbing desperately in his jeans. “Aw, you don’t need to be shy, kitten,” Richie cooed, forcing one of his legs between Eddie’s and pressing his thigh against Eddie’s crotch. Eddie moaned at the contact and desperately started grinding against Richie’s leg. “Fuck, you look so pretty grinding on me like that. Think you could come like this?” Richie pressed his thigh harder against Eddie’s cock. “Think I could make you come in your pants?” Eddie cried out as Richie pinched his nipples. 

“God, yes,” Eddie moaned, rolling his hips. And he could, he could feel the pleasure building and building. But just as his moans were getting breathier, just as he was really desperately rutting against Richie’s leg, Richie pulled away and tugged Eddie up by his belt loops so quickly Eddie got dizzy and fell into Richie’s solid chest. “Wh-what,” he pouted, looking up at Richie, who was smirking at him.

“Aw, baby, we’re just getting started.” Still dazed and whimpering and achingly hard, Eddie held onto Richie as he undid Eddie’s jeans. Richie then dropped to his knees to pull them off. He helped Eddie step out of his jeans, running his hands reverently over Eddie’s legs as he did so. “Oh, sweetheart, you’ve been keeping these thighs from me for months?” Richie kissed them, making Eddie quiver and flush. “Fucking tease,” he murmured into Eddie’s skin before biting down hard on the inside of Eddie’s thigh. Eddie cried out and grabbed at the bed for support. “Look at these fuckin’ things, you basically wore panties for me.” Eddie gasped as Richie playfully tugged at Eddie’s light pink, silky briefs with his teeth. He’d mostly worn them to feel confident during his exam, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of Richie when putting them on, or if he said he hadn’t bought them with money Richie gave him. Eddie leaned back as Richie spread his legs, lifting one up to get a better angle to suck marks into Eddie’s skin. The sight of Richie’s head between Eddie’s thighs, combined with the knowledge that his thighs would be covered in bruises by the end of the night, had a wet spot forming on the front of Eddie’s briefs. Richie nuzzled his face into the soft material, just barely grazing Eddie’s cock. He looked up at Eddie, his blue eyes nearly totally eclipsed. “Did you buy these with daddy’s money, baby?” Eddie nodded, blushing. Richie smirked at him. “Is this how you spend your allowance? On slutty little panties?” Eddie moaned at that and grabbed at Richie’s hair, rolling his hips forward and meeting only air. Richie chuckled. The condescension of it went straight to Eddie’s cock, which visibly twitched in his tight little briefs. “Aw, you like being called a slut, don’t you? You like it when I call you out on being a spoiled little cocktease?” Eddie yelped when Richie bit down on the inside of his other thigh.

“Daddy, please,” he whimpered. “Need you.”

For a moment Richie just hummed and kept sucking marks into his skin. But then, finally, he dragged Eddie’s briefs down and off his legs, leaving him fully exposed. Before Eddie could process what was happening, Richie was standing and spinning Eddie around and bending him over the bed, his face pressed into the mattress as his feet once again dangled over the floor. He let out a broken little moan as he felt Richie pull his cheeks apart and run his tongue over Eddie’s hole. After Richie had set a rhythm, lulling Eddie into a pleasured haze, he suddenly felt Richie’s hand come down on his ass. He moaned at the feeling, the slight pain that left an amazing stinging sensation in its wake. “God, you make the prettiest fucking noises,” Richie groaned, once again lapping his tongue over Eddie’s hole. He circled the ring of muscle a few times before pulling back. Eddie was just about to push his hips back when he felt Richie spank him again, harder this time, then felt him spit on his hole. Eddie let out a long moan; it was degrading and possessive in the best way. Eddie tried to rut against the bed, to relieve some of the desperate need that had his cock throbbing, but he couldn’t really do it with the way his feet were hanging off the bed. He heard Richie laugh behind him as he spanked him again. “Aw, you like that, baby? You like when daddy spits on you?” 

Eddie let out a muffled, pathetic little, “Yes.”

“I know, it feels good, doesn’t it? Bet you wish you could get off right now.” Eddie’s desperate writhing was confirmation of that. “Don’t worry, kitten, daddy’s gonna fucking take you apart.” Eddie gasped as he felt Richie slide his tongue inside of him, setting a rhythm of fucking and swirling and teasing that had Eddie squirming. He rocked his hips back, letting his mind go fuzzy from the pleasure until suddenly Richie was pulling out and lifting Eddie up again. As disappointed as Eddie was to have Richie’s tongue no longer in his ass, he was more than happy to let Richie toss him around and lay him on his back, his head falling against the luxuriantly soft pillows. He felt so small in Richie’s bed, felt so vulnerable under his gaze—he loved it. Richie ran his hand all the way from Eddie’s throat down to his hip, taking his time before squeezing Eddie’s hip hard. “God, you look so fucking good like this, baby.” He made quick work of the buttons on his shirt, shrugging it off and tossing it aside.

Eddie let out an involuntary little moaned, “Fuck,” at the sight of Richie’s bare chest. He sat up and ran his hand over Richie’s soft, pale skin, admiring his freckles and the slight muscle definition. His shoulders looked somehow even broader now as Eddie traced his fingers over them. Richie only humored him for a moment before pressing Eddie back down and kissing him, deep and just the right amount of forceful. 

Richie’s hands roamed all over Eddie’s body. “God, you’re such a pretty little boy, baby. Can’t wait to see what you look like when you’re getting fucked.” Richie bit down on Eddie’s lip, sending a thrill of pleasure through his body. “I don’t want you fucking leaving this bed for the next week, gonna bring you everything you need. Gonna fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk, and then I’m gonna do it again, and again.” Eddie moaned as he felt Richie’s finger circling his slick hole. “Gonna keep you nice and full of my cock whenever I can, gonna take such good care of you. You won’t need to worry about anything, gonna be my pretty little pillow princess. You just lie there and be a good little cocksleeve and daddy will take care of everything else.” Eddie preened at the thought of Richie fawning over him, of Richie doing everything for him so that all he had to do was lie back and take Richie’s cock. It had him squirming under Richie as he grabbed at Eddie wherever he could reach, surely leaving handprints all over Eddie’s body as he glided his tongue over Eddie’s. “Can’t wait to get my cock inside you, baby.” Richie sat back on his heels then and eyed Eddie’s hole, rubbing at it teasingly.

“Please,” Eddie moaned, trying to rock his hips onto Richie’s finger.

“Shh, baby, soon,” Richie soothed, leaning over to kiss Eddie again before reaching into his bedside table. He pulled out a bottle of lube and covered his fingers in it. Eddie moaned at the sight; he didn’t think a day had gone by where he hadn’t thought of Richie’s fingers since the first time they met. They were so long, and he could only imagine how amazing they would feel inside of him, fucking him, stretching him open. Richie chuckled when Eddie instinctively opened his legs. “I know, sweetheart, I know.” He tossed the lube aside and ran his clean hand over Eddie’s thigh, holding him still before slowly sliding a slick finger inside of him. 

Eddie gasped and threw his head back; one of Richie’s fingers felt like two of his own and reached deeper than he ever could have by himself. “Fuck,” he cried, “your fingers are so big, oh my god.” 

“Yeah?” Richie grinned, cocky and dark. As he slowly began sliding his finger in and out of Eddie, he slid his other hand up his chest until he was cradling his jaw and running the pad of his thumb teasingly over Eddie’s lips. “One finger and you’re already a mess, huh? You like the way I fill you up, baby?” Eddie moaned as Richie slid his thumb into Eddie’s mouth, effectively silencing any response Eddie could’ve made. He let out a contented hum and eagerly sucked on Richie’s finger, holding onto Richie’s forearm with both of his hands as he bobbed his head. “Fuck, that’s it, baby. Such a good little slut for daddy.” Eddie moaned again, rocking his hips as Richie began to finger him faster. Eddie cried out as Richie thrust deep inside of him, making him see stars. “Yeah, you like how deep I can get inside you, baby?” Eddie nodded. “I fucking love it too, angel. You’re so tight, so small and sweet.” He slid his thumb out of Eddie’s mouth and pressed his palm to Eddie’s throat. Eddie’s eyes widened for a moment, and he tilted his head back, giving Richie better access. Richie pressed down slightly under Eddie’s jaw on either side of his throat, moaning at the blissed out smile that graced Eddie’s face. Richie only pressed down a bit, only for a few moments at a time, just enough to get Eddie’s cock leaking all over himself. He let out breathy little moans as Richie finger fucked him, the wet sounds filling the room.

“Daddy,” Eddie moaned. He met Richie’s eyes as he begged. “Please, please, fuck me, daddy, want your cock so bad.”

“Oh, sweetheart, that’s cute” Richie grinned, his voice low and condescending in a way that made Eddie’s cock throb. “I need to open you up a little more before you’re ready for my cock.” As he said it, he pressed another slick finger inside of Eddie, stretching him out. Eddie felt so full already from just two of Richie’s fingers; his cock ached at the thought of how big Richie’s cock would feel inside of him. 

Eddie was pulled out of his thoughts as Richie spit on his chest, sliding his free hand over Eddie’s nipples, getting them nice and wet as he played with them. “Daddy,” Eddie began, but he cut himself off with a scream as Richie curled his fingers inside of him, making electric pleasure shoot through him. He moaned and squirmed and grabbed at Richie’s hair, at the sheets, anything to ground himself as Richie leaned down and sucked on his nipples, still relentlessly fucking Eddie’s hole with his fingers. “Please,” Eddie gasped, “daddy, please.” 

“You sure you’re ready, baby?” Richie teased. 

“Fuck me, please,” he whined, clearly getting impatient. “I can take it!”

“Oh yeah?” Richie asked, pulling his fingers out. He had a look on his face that had Eddie’s blood pounding in excited anticipation. “Okay, baby. If you think you can take it.” He stood up off the bed then, and Eddie sat up a bit to watch. With rapt attention, his eyes followed Richie’s every movement as he dragged his jeans off his legs, then stripped off his boxers.

“God, daddy,” Eddie whimpered, drooling over the sight of Richie’s cock. It was thick and heavy and hard, and so fucking long, Eddie couldn’t believe he’d been keeping himself from a dick like that for months. It was even longer than any of his dildos or vibrators. He needed to feel it down his throat, he needed it.

Seeming to sense this, just as Eddie began to move toward him Richie lightly shoved him back down. “Stay where you are, baby.” Eddie whined but reluctantly complied. The way Richie tauntingly stroked his cock just out of Eddie’s reach had him debating whether it was worth it to be bratty if it meant getting his throat fucked. But his cock was throbbing between his legs, his hole pitifully empty, and watching Richie roll a condom on and lube up his cock made it hard to think about anything other than getting fucked. “Maybe if I’m feeling generous I’ll come on your face,” Richie mused, almost casually as he climbed back onto the bed and spread Eddie’s legs, settling naturally between them. Eddie moaned at his words and melted back into the bed. The sight of Richie above him, the way he touched him, had Eddie completely pliant. He felt warm and buzzy, almost liquid as Richie ran his hand reverently over Eddie’s thigh. As he teased the head of his cock over Eddie’s hole, he took Eddie’s hand in his and entwined their fingers. While Eddie nearly moaned just at that sight alone, at the way Richie’s hand engulfed Eddie’s own, it was also incredibly endearing, and it made something stir in his chest. Guys didn’t normally hold his hand when fucking him, and if they tried it was just weird, as he pretty much only did hookups. But with Richie… it felt different. The way Richie looked at him was different. Like he didn’t want to miss a single thing Eddie did. 

Richie’s voice was low and rich and brought Eddie back as he asked, “Ready?” Eddie bit his lip and nodded. As Richie pressed himself inside of Eddie, careful and slow, Eddie squeezed Richie’s hand. His mouth dropped open in a silent cry as he felt every inch of Richie’s cock filling him up. Once he bottomed out, Richie let out a low groan and rested his forehead against Eddie’s, pressing kisses all over Eddie’s face. 

“Holy… holy shit,” Eddie panted, letting his body adjust. He’d never felt this full before, had never had anything so deep inside of him. “Oh my god.”

Richie chuckled in his ear as he kissed Eddie’s neck. “What’s the matter, kitten?” he teased. 

Eddie couldn’t even be bothered to take the banter bait; everything felt too good, his mind was numb. “You’re so big,” he said dumbly, saying exactly what was on his mind. “No one’s ever been this deep inside me before, holy shit.” 

“I can tell,” Richie hummed. “So fucking tight for me, baby, it’s fucking amazing.” Eddie let out a small whimper as Richie sucked on his neck. “Does it feel good?”

“Yes,” Eddie sighed. “I just, I need just a minute.”

Richie nuzzled his nose against Eddie’s and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “As long as you need.”

As Richie kissed him, sucking gently on his lower lip, Eddie slid his free hand into Richie’s hair, admiring the way his curls felt between his fingers. Then, experimentally, he lifted his legs a bit, pulling them toward himself. They both moaned at the movement, and Eddie felt Richie squeeze his hand. “Oh my god,” Eddie moaned. He grabbed Richie’s face and kissed him desperately, pleading into his lips, “Fuck, I’m ready, please, please fuck me.” 

Richie grabbed him by the hair and held him down, lifting himself up with his other arm. “Yeah?” he said, voice breathy as he pulled his hips back. He looked amazing, dark curls wild as they hung around his face, his blue eyes dark and hungry behind his glasses, his lips slick and red from kissing Eddie. He squeezed Eddie’s hip hard and asked, “You wanna get fucked, sweetheart?”

“Please,” Eddie whined. He hooked his hands under his knees and pulled them up to his chest, spreading them nice and wide for Richie. He watched Richie’s eyes go dark and begged, “Please, need you to fuck me, daddy.”

Richie snapped his hips forward with a sharp, “Fuck,” making Eddie cry out. He pulled his hips back again, until just the tip of his cock was buried inside of Eddie. “Say that again.”

Eddie met Richie’s gaze with glassy eyes and whimpered, “Please, fuck me, daddy.”

Richie cursed again and thrust into Eddie, this time setting a more steady pace. “God, you feel so fucking good on my cock, baby.” Eddie moaned and rocked his hips, his hands falling to grip the sheets beneath him as Richie began fucking him faster, harder. “You look so good like this, so pretty when you’re moaning for my cock.” Eddie flushed; Richie’s words had precome pearling at the head of dick, dripping onto his stomach.

Richie’s thrusts were getting hard enough to rock Eddie’s body back and forth, moving him so easily as Richie fucked him. Eddie loved it, loved how effortlessly Richie could toss him around. He loved hearing Richie moan as he fucked him, loved knowing that Richie felt just as good as he did. He loved the idea of Richie using his body to get himself off. The thought had him letting out little high pitched moans with every thrust. The pleasure left his mind in a haze, and all he could concentrate on was how good Richie’s cock felt inside of him, all he could say was a desperate string of, “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” broken up by wordless moans. 

“Fuck, you take it so well, baby,” Richie praised, running his hand over Eddie’s chest. “So fucking good for me. You like getting fucked like this? You like being all spread out for daddy? Just lying back and taking it while daddy makes you feel good?”

“Yes!” Eddie cried. “Yes, yes, yes, daddy, oh my god, ‘s so good, fuck.” 

“God, you’re so beautiful,” Richie marveled, leaning down to kiss Eddie. The new angle shifted Richie’s hips, and suddenly Eddie was seeing stars, every nerve in his body coming alive and fizzling like a sparkler. He cried out and clutched at Richie, nearly screaming from how amazing it felt.

“Fuck,” he moaned, his voice high and desperate. “Right there, yes, oh my fucking god, don’t stop, please, please, don’t stop.”

“Aw, sweetheart, does that feel good?” Eddie nodded frantically, his moans becoming shouts as Richie’s cock brushed against his prostate over and over, the pleasure so deep and all encompassing. He couldn’t think about anything else, all he knew was that amazing feeling, all he knew was he needed more. He wanted more and more and more, he could feel it building, was vaguely aware of the fact that he was digging his nails into Richie’s back hard enough to leave scratch marks. 

“Daddy,” he slurred, “gonna c-come.”

“Fuck, baby,” Richie groaned. He spit generously into his hand and reached between them to stroke Eddie’s cock. Eddie’s back arched, pressing himself against Richie. The new contact had pleasure rushing through him, and with a few strokes of Richie’s hand on him and a nearly growled, “Come for daddy,” Eddie was coming undone. Pleasure exploded through him, wracked his body as he came all over himself, all over Richie’s hand, Richie fucking into him the whole time. Beyond the noise of his own moans and screams, he could hear Richie cursing under his breath, telling Eddie how good he was doing. 

Eddie panted as he came down, blinking his eyes open slowly. Still buzzing, he watched as Richie carefully pulled out of him and rolled the condom off before leaning further over Eddie. He spit into his hand again and began stroking his own cock, a sight that made Eddie’s spent cock twitch in interest. 

“Open your mouth, baby,” Richie moaned. Eddie happily complied, sticking his tongue out and closing his eyes. Moments later, Richie’s moans were filling the room, as was the slick sound of Richie stroking himself, and Eddie moaned, small and content as he felt Richie’s warm come painting his chest and cheeks and lips. 

He blinked open his eyes once he heard Richie let out a heavy sigh. He looked amazing, sweaty curls clinging to his face, blue eyes hooded as he took in the sight of Eddie beneath him, covered in come. Eddie made sure to meet Richie’s gaze before he swallowed the come on his tongue, then licked more off of his lips. “Fuck, you’re a fucking angel,” Richie grinned. He swiped his fingers over Eddie’s chest, spreading his come over Eddie’s nipple before bringing it to his lips. Eddie hummed happily as he sucked on Richie’s fingers. He still felt like he was floating. Richie leaned down and kissed him, deep and lingering, before saying, “Let’s get you cleaned up, baby, okay?” When Eddie nodded, Richie climbed off the bed and headed for the bathroom. Eddie watched through the open door as Richie waited for the water to warm, then wet a washcloth under it before walking back over to the bed. Eddie preened as Richie cleaned him, pressing soft kisses all over his face as he gently ran the warm washcloth over Eddie’s cheeks and chest and stomach. “That was fucking amazing,” Richie said. Eddie hummed in agreement. He felt like he was glowing when he felt Richie smile against his skin. “You’re so beautiful, Eds. So fucking good for me.” As soon as Eddie was clean and the washcloth was tossed in the hamper, Eddie wrapped his arms around Richie and pulled him down against him, nuzzling into his neck. 

“You’re amazing,” he murmured softly into Richie’s skin. They lay like that for a few minutes, just holding each other and pressing soft kisses against each other’s skin, until Eddie let out a small, “Richie?”

Richie sat up and met his eyes, sensing the shift in his tone. “Yeah?”

“What… what is this? Like what are we, I guess?” he asked, tracing patterns over Richie’s skin with his fingertips.

Richie smiled softly down at him and stroked his cheek. “Same thing it’s always been. Whatever you want.”

Eddie huffed. “What do you want?”

Richie bit his lip, his eyes flickering between Eddie’s. “I want you. All the time. I wanna take you on vacations and buy you gifts and flowers and dinner and watch movies with you. I wanna date you, Eds,” he said with a weak huff of a laugh. “I wanna give you the fucking world.”

Eddie grinned up at him and pulled him down for a kiss. “I wanna date you, too.”

After a few moments of chaste kisses, Richie murmured into his lips, “I also wanna fuck you in every position on every single surface I can think of.” Eddie rolled his eyes and smacked his shoulder, but he was giggling, and he couldn’t say he hadn’t been thinking the same thing.

taglist: @clouded-eyes-and-salty-tears @eddieeatsass @deadlighturis @constantreaderfool @reddieloserz  @thelazyeye @montconde @itfandomprompts @tinyarmedtrex @nancythebisexualslutwheeler @cutedubutokki @losers-gotta-stick-together

[eddswrold-fandicc]

Eddworld boys × Reader

Part 1

It's been a bad day for you. Your parents are fighting, your best friend cancelled plans, and your teachers found your tumblr account.

There was a whole conference at school regarding your internet usage, and your parents were there. They were giving you the evil eye the entire time; the one that says: your ass is grass and I'm gonna mow it.

Once you got home from that boring conference, you stormed to your room. Why does it even matter if the teachers know what you're doing online? It's none of their fucking buisness. You were 19 anyways, you're not a minor anymore.

Your parents already yelled at you on the ride home, threatening to take away your phone and ground you. What's that going to do? Make you cry? Ha, no.

You took your shoes off and slipped into some more comfortable clothes: a grey sweater, shorts, and fuzzy socks.

You loved getting fuzzy socks. They were so comfortable and kept your feet warm. Plus you didn't like walking around your house with bare feet.

A familiar ding went off on your phone. Picking it up and unlocking it, you were already smiling. You knew that it was your best friend. She tagged you in a post on Instagram.

Ah, yes. A meme.

You set your phone down and got comfortable in bed, switching on the TV and going into Netflix.

Flicking through the endless titles, you finally settled on Pride and Prejudice.

You heard your phone ding again, but this time it was an unfamiliar sound. Curiosity rippled through your mind as your hand subconsciously went for your phone.

An unknown person inboxed you on tumblr. Probably another porn bot, to be honest.

Opening the chat, you see that it wasn't a porn bot. It was an empty message, with nothing bit a link. You looked at the username.

One of your mutuals.

You pondered for a moment, trying to make up your mind if you were going to open the link or not. Your good common sense is telling you no, it could possibly be a virus. But the other half of you is wanting to open it. You could trust your mutuals, maybe they're just sending you a funny picture.

Without fully thinking it through, you clicked on the link. Your phone started shaking, and the screen started to flash.

You dropped your phone and scooted back for safety, but it was too late. An electrical currency ran out of your phone and zapped you.

And then everything went dark.

_________________

"Shh, guys, she's sleeping!" That voice.

So familiar. But who was it?

"You think she'll want some whiskey?" Another familiar voice.

"No, you stupid drunk." The familiar accent.

"Oh, good. Matt's back with the cold rag- Matt. Where's the rag?"

"Uh."

"Shh, guys she's waking up!"

Your head spun as you tried to open your eyes. After trying a few times, they finally stayed open. You lifted your hands to rub the tiredness from them, but something stopped you.

Looking down, you saw a grey cat.

"Oh, no, baby. Not now," a pair of hands picked up the cat, and placed her on the ground next to you.

You sat up and looked around. Four mes crowded you, with looks of curiosity and concern filling their faces.

Wait, is that Tom?

You whipped your head around. Tord? Matt? And Edd?

This can't be real. You looked down at your body and almost screamed. You were... a cartoon?!

"Well, hello." Tord's Norwegian accent broke through.

A hand was in front of you; the same hand from before, "Hi, I'm Edd."

You hesitated before taking Edd's hand. He helped you up.

You looked around, "How... How did I get here?"

"You flew out of our TV." Tom chimed in.

"Yeah," Tord sounded suspicious, "Anyways, what's your name, stranger?"

"Y/N."

"Welcome to our home, Y/N! I'm Edd, as I mentioned. That's Tord, Matt, and that's Tom." Edd introduced you to everybody, but you already knew who they were.

You gulped, not knowing what to say next.

"Well," Tom broke through, "Do.you drink, Y/N?"

You saw Tord shake his head in disappointment in the corner of your eye.

"N-No, sorry." You were only 19, after all.

"Oh! Oh! Do you want to see my novelty toy collection?" Matt bounced in excitement.

"Uhh-"

"Let's not spam her with questions, guys. Would you like to sit, Y/N?" Edd pointed to the sofa.

Sitting down wouldn't be too bad either. Your body was tired. You nodded at Edd and he escorted you to the sofa, where you took a seat.

It was much more comfortable in person than it looked on Youtube.

A glass of water was placed in front of you by Tord.

"Thanks, Tord."

"No problem," he started walking away, "If anybody needs me, I'll be in my room."

You felt the sofa sink beside you. The scent of cola filled your nostrils.

"So, Y/N..." Edd cracked open a cold can of cola and took a drink, "Do you know what happened?"

You had to think for a moment, "Um, I remember clicking a link on my phone, and then I got zapped by something. And then I ended up here."

Wait. How are you going to get home? You have homework to do, and your parents are making dinner.

"Hmm. That sounds a bit weird. You flew out of the television, and that's all that happened on our end."

You nodded your head in response, "How will I get back home?"

"I-I don't know," Edd sounded nervous.

Maybe Tord can help.

"Maybe she needs a magic mirror!" Matt stood in the doorway of the bathroom.

"That's a bad idea. Remember last time?" Edd turned to look at him.

You already knew what happened: a sword flew out of the mirror.

"C-Can I talk to Tord?" You hoped that it didn't seem suspicious to be asking for the Norwegian out of the blue.

Did they know about his lab yet?

"Sure! Let's go to his room."

You stood and Edd guided you to Tord's room.

He knocked, "Hey, Tord! Y/N wants to talk to you!"

"Just a second." Came the muffled response.

Seconds later, you heard chaos in his room. It sounded like the wall was closing. Or more specifically, his lab.

You heard the click of his door unlocking before he opened it.

"What can I do for you, Y/N?"

[emachinescat]

Sleep Stays as Far

A Tales of Arcadia: Trollhunters Fan-Fiction

By @emachinescat ​

@febuwhump day 6 - insomnia

Summary: Until Jim became a troll, he never realized how much he took sleeping for granted.  And once human again, he finds himself struggling to do the very thing he missed so much.  No rest for the weary, and all that.  Takes place after my story “Lest Back the Awful Door Should Swing,” though not a direct sequel.

Characters | Pairings: Jim, Claire, Toby, Blinky, Nomura | Jim/Claire

Words: 2,370

TW: None

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging! :)

So my thoughts are:

But sleep stays as far…

For sleeping, like death,

Must be worn without pride,

With a nod from nature,

With a lack of strain,

And a loss of stature.

- From “How to Sleep” by Philip Larkin

It’s strange, isn’t it, how human beings have a tendency to dismiss, or even grow to resent, things that, if taken away, they would miss very dearly?  

Jim Lake grew up hearing that old idiom that parents love to impart upon their children crying for that which they don’t have, “The grass is always greener on the other side.”  But never did it have more meaning to him than when he was turned into a troll and could no longer do a great number of things he had enjoyed as a human.

Eating normal human food was one, but his tastes changed with his body, and he soon adapted to his strange, newfound tastes.  He really missed being able to go out in the sunlight.  Walking through doorways without gouging grooves into the wood above with his horns was another.

Sleeping, though, was what he found himself missing the most.

It was funny, he thought wryly as he sat huddled in a corner of the cave he and his fellow travellers were currently occupying - just a month ago, sleep would have been at the very bottom of his to do list.  After all, he was a teenager, and what teenager has time for sleep?  Especially with his double life, Jim was used to working with very little sleep.  And even when he did have a rare night off, he still usually stayed up until the wee hours of the morning playing video games or watching Netflix.

But now, it seemed, sleep wasn’t something he needed.  At first he’d been thrilled.  He was finally able to stay up all night and not feel like he was trudging through quicksand the day after.  As Claire was the only one in their party who was human and had to sleep, there were plenty of others to keep him company during the long nights.  He trained with Blinky and Nomura, who, as a halfling, only slept about two hours a night, explored the world outside of whatever cave they happened to be staying in, and even played on his phone sometimes when things got quiet just before dawn.  

Eventually, though, he found himself distancing from his trollish friends and sitting, lost in thought, most nights.  Sometimes he would watch Claire sleep - not in a creepy way, just remembering what it was like to be able to curl up under a blanket and let the world fade away for a bit.

He’d had his battles with sleep before, and for a while, first after he’d returned from the Darklands, broken in so many ways, and then later, after healing wounds had been torn open by his arrest and forced journey into The Deep.  For weeks after these occurrences, he had been terrified to let sleep claim him, as nightmares haunted his mind, throwing him back into the Darklands, into a cage, into a pit.  

Time had passed, and he, with the help of his friends, had slowly begun to heal, and eventually, sleep became more of an escape from the stress and fatigue of trying to save the world from Eternal Darkness.  He missed the way that he had been able to let go and just rest his mind and thoughts, even if the odd nightmare did show up and spoil his peace from time to time.  Now, there was no release from the thoughts and fears and conflicting emotions swirling around inside of his head.

Once, he had tried to lie down, close his eyes, and just try to drift off.  It hadn’t worked, and he’d spent the entire night tossing and turning endlessly, and by the time he sensed dawn slithering its burning tendrils through the opening of the cave, he was ready to slam his head through a wall.

He’d also tried talking to his friends about it.  

Claire was sympathetic, but it was clear that she didn’t understand his dilemma.  To her, an over-achiever who seemed to never have enough time to get everything she needed done, not having to sleep sounded like a dream come true.

Blinky frowned and began to wax philosophical about sleep being an abstract construct, and how it has often been believed to be a gateway between realities, and then got distracted by quoting the famous soliloquy from Hamlet (“to sleep, perchance, to dream”).

He had hoped that he’d have better luck with Nomura, especially since talking to her had largely been what had gotten him through the trauma of the Darklands (and since she was a changeling and still needed a bit of sleep herself).  She listened to his complaints, a slight frown on her face, green eyes studying him seriously.  After he’d finished speaking, she’d contemplated his words, and Jim was sure she was about to say something wise or even fractionally helpful.  Instead, she just growled, “I don’t get it.”

Tonight was worse than most.  It had been a rough day, physically taxing, and his mind kept whirling in so many directions he felt as if he were being pulled apart.  He missed his mom.  He missed his bed and his old life and being able to feel the sun on his skin, and he was tired of seeing the unfamiliar, trollish face blink back at him every time he saw his reflection.  He missed hanging out with Toby and Arrrggghh, missed eating fast food and cooking and even going to school.  

And he was forced to trudge, wide-awake, through it all, with no rest from his thoughts, and it made him angry, and pulled at the aching hole that had been festering in his chest since the moment he’d become a troll.

***

Another sleepless night.

This one was the worst yet, though, because somehow - Jim’s mind was even now trying to come to terms with what all had happened - he was human again, after being mortally wounded, frozen in time (which didn’t count as sleep because he had just stopped while encased in the crystal), turned into a full troll, had his mind taken over, and turned to stone.  No one could explain exactly how it happened, not Blinky, not Douxie, the latter of whom, to be fair, had been in no shape to really offer his coherent thoughts on the matter after his fall from the clouds.

But did it matter?  In the end, here he was, Jim Lake, Jr. once more.  Fully human, with a few new scars to add to his collection.  He could go outside in the sunlight and fit through doors.  He was still reeling from the loss of his amulet - Blinky said he was in a state of shock and that it would hit him soon - but he had gotten to hug his mom with his own arms again.  

And now, here he was, back in his own bed, exactly as he had yearned to be so much over the past few months. Jim's whole house was asleep, Toby and Claire were back home, probably asleep right now, too, and Douxie should be passed out from the muscle relaxers Jim’s mom had prescribed him.

Everyone was sleeping.  Jim had been dreaming of sleeping for weeks.  Now that he had the ability to sleep once more, even though his eyes burned in exhaustion, he found that sleep evaded him just as it had done when he was a troll.  

It wasn’t that he had a lot on his mind.  He did, but that wasn’t why he couldn’t sleep.  He knew what sleeplessness from a cluttered mind felt like, and this wasn’t it.  It was like his body had physically forgotten how to fall asleep.  Perhaps it had.  If so, he was in trouble, because human-Jim needed sleep to survive.

He couldn't get comfortable, no matter how many times he changed position.  His body ached with the pains of battle, and the bed was too soft after months spent sleeping on rock.  Every little noise - a car passing outside, a distant police siren, the creak of wind through trees - grated on his nerves like someone was dragging fingernails across a chalkboard.  Time slunk by, eluding him as much as sleep - at times he was sure it had stopped.  Every time he glanced at the clock, it was as if no time at all had passed since he last checked.

By five in the morning, he admitted defeat and heaved his weary body out of bed, all but dragging himself into the shower and standing under the hot water long enough for the bathroom to fill with steam before he started to wash.  He felt physically ill from exhaustion, and his head pounded in time with his heart.  He’d hoped the shower would wake him up, or put him to sleep - he just wanted out of this limbo.  

It did neither, and he left home without eating breakfast, too nauseated to consider eating anything even though human food was one of the things he’d missed out on as a troll.  He got on his Vespa and drove off, not knowing where he was going, barely even caring.

***

He ended up at the overlook, the place where he’d first danced with Claire, and where she’d taken him for a picnic while stuck in the past.  He remembered how it had felt to know he was going to die as soon as he returned to his own time, and how hard it had been to keep that from Claire, whose bright brown eyes had gleamed a future he’d been sure he’d never see.

He flopped down on the dewy grass and savored the feel of the first rays of sun on his face as dawn broke through the night.  He knew his clothes would be damp and grass-stained when he got up.  

He watched the sun rise over Arcadia, and for the first time since his return home, since he’d become human again, he felt a sliver of peace.

Still, he did not sleep.

***

This is how Claire found him at half past nine.  Jim had left a note for his mom, telling her he’d gone out for a ride to clear his head, but he’d forgotten to text Claire to let her know.  His phone was still at home on the bathroom sink, where he’d forgotten it.

Claire had known exactly where he was, though, and he saw the concern in her eyes from the moment she stepped out of her Shadow portal.  “Jim, your mom was worried about you,” she said matter-of-factly.  She moved over to his side and sat down.

“I told her I went out.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t say where or why, and you left your phone.  Here.”  He took the device she offered him and slowly, painfully propped himself up on his elbows.  She studied his face with her lips pressed together in worry.  “You look awful.”

Jim chuckled.  “Yeah, I don’t feel so hot, either.”

“Did you get any sleep last night?”

Jim laughed again, this time hollowly.  “Not a wink.”  He scrubbed the back of his hand across his eyes.  They felt gritty and prickled like he’d just finished chopping a particularly potent onion.  “I don’t get it,” he went on in frustration.  “I went without sleep for weeks, and I thought I’d never get a proper night’s rest again.  But then - whatever it was - happened, and I’m me again, and I still can’t fall asleep.”  A horrible thought occurred to him.  “What if being a troll broke something inside of me?  What if I never sleep again?”  He could hear his voice rising in speed and pitch.  “How long can a human go without sleep?”

Claire took one of his hands in one of hers.  With her other hand, she cupped the side of his face.  He leaned into the touch.  “Don’t worry, Jim,” she reassured him.  “You’ve just been through a lot.  Your entire physiology’s reworked itself so many times that the rest of you is probably still trying to catch up.  Plus, you’ve got a lot on your mind.”

“Yeah,” he agreed glumly.  He yawned.  

“You know,” Claire said suddenly, tone brightening.  “Maybe you haven’t been able to sleep because you don’t feel safe yet.  After all, you’ve been through so much lately.  As a troll, maybe you forgot that humans need to feel safe before they can fall asleep.”

Jim quirked an eyebrow at her.  “You seemed to have no trouble falling asleep throughout our travels,” he commented.  “In caves and gorges and once in an abandoned shipping container.  You couldn’t have felt safe in any of those places, away from home and lying on the hard ground.”

Claire shook her head as if marveling at how dense he was.  “There was never a night that I didn’t feel safe, Jim.”

Jim blinked.  He was so tired.  “Oh yeah,” he realized.  “There were tons of trolls guarding you.”

“No, dummy,” Claire sighed, smoothing a stray lock of hair off of his forehead.  “I felt safe because I was with you.”

“Oh,” said Jim blankly.  Then realization dawned.  “I feel safe with you, too.”

“Hold that thought.”  She smiled warmly at him, gave him a quick peck on the cheek, and rose to her feet.  “I brought something I think you’ll like.  Just a sec.”  She hurried back to her bike, and he heard her tug something out of the front basket.  She returned with a purple and pink checked picnic blanket and together they spread it on the grass and laughed as the wind almost blew it away, off the overlook.  They plopped down on it, side by side, in a desperate attempt to keep it from escaping.

***

Two hours later, Toby came looking for his friends and found them on the grassy knoll overlooking Arcadia.  They were lying on a blanket underneath a blue, cloud-specked sky with the noon sun keeping watch over them.  They were curled up close to one another, wrapped in each other’s arms, fast asleep.  

Toby smiled and let them rest.

[discopiratetanis]

The words you want to hear [geraskier week 2020 | Soulmates]

TITLE: The words you want to hear | Read on AO3

AUTHOR: ficsfordummies | TanisVs

PROMPT DAY #: 1. Soulmates

SUMMARY: “They will say those words to you, my dear. Your soulmark is what you most want someone to say to you. It represents how much your soulmate loves you and cares about you. That's why only you can see your soulmark until they say it, if anyone could see them, they could trick you into thinking it's your soulmate when it's not. They are words that must be born from the heart, do you understand?”

WORD COUNT: 4795

BOOKS/NETFLIX/2002 SHOW/VIDEO GAME: Mostly Netflix.

TRIGGERS/WARNINGS: N/A (Well, there are a lot of headcanons)

RATING: M for future chapters.

ADDITIONAL NOTES: Written for @geraskierweek​ No beta. So here we are! This is my little contribution to the lovely and beautiful Geraskier Week 2020 initiative. It will be my only work for it, a three-chapter fic with the first prompt (soulmates) topic as its core, I hope you like it ❤️❤️❤️

I don't care about your songs if you're dead

Jaskier had read those words over and over throughout his childhood. The phrase was written with rough thick strokes, as if someone had carved the letters into his tender and delicate skin of his left forearm when he was a baby. And the ink. The words were made of dense, deep black ink, but in the light of the fire, candles or the sun itself, it sparkled with gold and grey if Jaskier turned or moved his wrist, like the scales of an iridescent fish. 

“Those are all markers of your soulmate, Julian, it represents them,” His mother had told him when Jaskier had described the appearance of his soulmark when he was five.

“How will I know who my soulmate is, mother?” Jaskier had asked then.

His mother had smiled at him, softly.

“They will say those words to you, my dear. Your soulmark is what you most want someone to say to you. It represents how much your soulmate loves you and cares about you. That's why only you can see your soulmark until they say it, if anyone could see them, they could trick you into thinking it's your soulmate when it's not. They are words that must be born from the heart, do you understand?”

Jaskier had wrinkled his little nose at that time.

“Yes, mother,”

“And remember,” she had said too. “Soulmates are persons meant to be together, yes, but you can’t or should force a soulbond. If someone will be meant to be with you, you have to build a strong relationship,”

“I… understand,”

“You’ll meet a lot of people in the future, my dear, don’t worry about that now,”

“Yes, mother,”

And Jaskier had not worried much about the subject until he turned fourteen and his father began to pressure him to study more seriously. He was the son, the only son, of a viscount, and they might not be of the highest nobility, but the family had status and his parents expected Jaskier to be even more literate than many of the sons and daughters of the high nobility. For that reason, Jaskier went to Oxenfurt, and though he was too young to attend higher education classes, Jaskier took the opportunity to start to take the first step to find his soulmate. 

He knew that if his soulmark spoke about songs, then he must study something that would lead him to write poetry and music. So he chose the faculty of Trouvereship and Poetry, to his father's disgust and his mother's resignation. He studied there for three years, arduously, tirelessly, determined to be the best. And yes, he was the best of his class, and of his promotion in all faculties. His teachers told him that he would write peerless poetry, that his music would be remembered forever. He believed them. Jaskier graduated with honors, and hit the road with seventeen, still too young, too innocent and kind.

Then he came face to face with reality.

Outdoors of Oxenfurt nobody liked his music o his poetry, and far away from his family and their commodities, Jaskier suffered hardship. He went hungry, cold and sometimes he had to make dubious deals to avoid dying. Many times he thought about returning to the nobleman's life, but then he would roll up his left shirt sleeve, would look at the words, those crude but precious black words that sparkled with amber and gold under the light, would take a deep breath and would keep going.

For whoever that had to be his soulmate.

Then he met Geralt of Rivia, the infamous Butcher of Blaviken whose stories he had heard since he was a child, and decided that the witcher was the best inspiration he would probably find in his life. So he followed Geralt everywhere, without realizing he had taken the second step to find his soulmate. 

* * *

It had been half a year since they last saw each other. Jaskier had become more confident, but only because his new growing fame made him more secure and have more coins in his pouch. He had to thank Geralt, of course. People loved stories about witchers who, although they might seem like men of terrible behavior without morals and without principles, in the end had a heart, saved people and cared for the weak. Geralt had once told him that all that was stupid, but Jaskier had ignored him.

The truth didn’t lead to greatness.

“So, what if I invite you to ale in the next village tavern? You are going there, right? You could tell me about your latest adventures,”

“Hm,”

“Ah, yes, that one was very interesting and funny,”

Geralt was walking, guiding Roach by the bridle, with his heavy cloak waving softly behind him. Jaskier had one much more fancy and lighter that it didn’t hide his rapier and back-daggers at all, with his elven lute hanging from his shoulder. His pace was prideful, lordly.

“So, I heard of your affair with the striga in Temeria,” Jaskier said, much more serious, less cheerful, and looked at Geralt with curious. 

He had grown a few inches in the time that they hadn't seen each other, but Geralt was still much taller than him. Geralt said anything, not even a grunt, and the road remained silent, a silence only broken by the happy chirping of the spring birds. Jaskier saw the grim gesture Geralt made at the mention of the striga, and didn’t press. He walked beside him until they reached the town ahead.

Then, when the first villager noticed Geralt was a witcher, Jaskier went to the tavern alone.

It was the witcher’s life. He knew that.

“A selkiemore, uh?” Jaskier mumbled while writing in his journal.

The tavern was full of a crowd of townsfolk listening to the man who had contracted Geralt that morning. Jaskier had his belly full of warm food and a decent ale, so he felt with enough energy to try to write, or at least think, about his next great song. Toss a coin to your witcher it was good, very good, and people loved that song, but he didn’t want to become stagnant. He needed more successful songs. 

Songs. 

He slightly touched his left forearm, over the doublet sleeve. Then he remembered why he was there, in Cintra, and remembered the letter the chamberlain of Queen Calanthe had sent to him a month ago. It was a great honor to be the main bard in the court of such an important queen during her daughter's betrothal. But he knew that it was risky. Because in his obsessive spiral of finding his soulmate sooner rather than later, Jaskier had meddled in other people's marriages, even though they were not married to their true soulmates. And some of those people were nobles. And he knew that, at least, his beloved Countess of Stael was going to be in the ceremony. 

With her husband.

So he was fucked up.

A little.

Jaskier was thinking about that while he was writing the description of the monster according to the words of the fat farmer who had witnessed the fight between Geralt and the selkiemore. He smiled when the man said that Geralt was dead, because he didn't believe for a moment that the witcher was going to die in such an absurd way. So he laughed when Geralt entered the tavern, covered in blood, guts, and shit as if nothing had happened. It wasn’t the first time. He made the crowd sing Toss a coin to your witcher, knowing Geralt would groan, tired and disgusted. He collected a few coins. Geralt took a tankard of ale from a table and drank, spitting it half a second later. Jaskier snorted and leaned on the counter of the tavern.

Then he took a deep breath, and when Geralt approached him, he said:

“I need a favor,”

Geralt looked at him, silent, serious, and saw the apprehensive face Jaskier was making without realizing it. So the witcher tilted his head a little while viscous droplets of blood dripped to the floor.

“Tell me,” 

* * *

“Wow, what a night, right?”

Jaskier trotted behind Geralt, who was striding along the hallways as if the Destiny itself were to appear in the palace to grab him by the neck and force him to claim his Child of Surprise before he or she was even born.

“This is your fault,” Geralt snarled, ablaze with anger.

“What? My fault?” Jaskier protested, irritated and incredulous. “Excuse me, but I’m not the one who chose the Law of Surprise as payment here, you know,”

Geralt stopped dead suddenly, break-breathing, still furious, with a remarkable frown carved in his forehead. Jaskier sighed, facing him, his lute hanging from his shoulder like always, and didn’t flinch when Geralt glared at him with amber fire.

“If you hadn’t brought me here, I wouldn’t–” Geralt whispered, still wrathful.

Jaskier pressed his lips in a thin line, feeling a hot and unpleasant sensation in the pit of his stomach.

“Don’t you dare to blame me for what had you done, Geralt, you heard me?” Jaskier mumbled back, not with the same anger but with determination. Geralt huffed, looking away from him. “You could have asked for money, for lands, for anything other than that, but you preferred the Law of Surprise,”

“I know,” Geralt growled again.

Jaskier let out a deep breath, an exhausted and long sigh. They were in the middle of an empty and lonely corridor, with the rumor of the music at the party fluttering even there. Geralt sat on a nearby stone bench. Jaskier sat beside him, thinking.

“You knew it?” he asked after a minute in silence, with Geralt staring intensely at the floor.

The witcher shrugged a little before straightening and leaning on the wall with a grunt.

“Of course not,” he mumbled, calmer. “How could I have known it?”

He sounded resigned. Jaskier threw him a sympathetic glance and felt guilty anyway. He had been a little selfish because, of course, he could have defended himself against aggrieved husbands and wives, but… He wanted to go with Geralt to the party. Maybe it was really his fault. 

Maybe.

“Well, think about it,” he said. “If I hadn’t brought you with me, Calanthe would have killed that man, you saved a life tonight,"

"You would have done the same, I saw you fighting before,"

Jaskier parted lips, feeling his cheeks burning.

"Oh, yes, but I'm good at duels or like… two against one, even three against one, but an entire squad of soldiers? Thank you, but no," he saw Geralt smiling from the corner of his eye. Jaskier swallowed. "So as I was saying, you saved a life tonight, and saved Pavetta from soulrotting."

Soulrotting. He could recall when his mother had told him about that concept. He was eight at that time, and one of his mother's maids had lost her husband, her soulmate, in battle. Jaskier remembered that day. The scream of agony had heard everywhere in the Lettenhove fortress. 

"How do you know they are soulmates and not two simple lovers?" Geralt asked, slowly, looking at Jaskier.

Jaskier shrugged.

"I don't know for sure, but…" he hesitated, feeling his soulmark heavier than before. He touched his left sleeve and dragged his fingers a little over it. "If my mother would be about to kill my soulmate I would scream like that too,"

"That was magic,"

"You know what I mean," Then Jaskier looked at Geralt and met those golden eyes. Something inside him tingled. Geralt looked away a second later, with a grimace. Jaskier swallowed slightly, still caressing his sleeve. "You wouldn't do it?"

"Do what?"

"Defend your soulmate against everyone and everything?" 

There was a silence, a big and dense silence that Jaskier didn't understand and couldn't explain. He felt it heavy and… bitter. Geralt sighed, grunted. Again he sounded tired and resigned.

"I suppose, I don't know," Geralt murmured.

Jaskier blinked, confused.

"What do you mean you don't know?" he asked.

Another silence, thicker than before. Jaskier frowned, knowing that he shouldn't push him, but…

"Geralt?"

… but surprisingly, Geralt answered without snarling at him, his voice full of exhaustion.

"Witchers don't have soulmates, Jaskier, "

The third silence wasn't heavier than the previous two. It was strangely soft, although uncomfortable and somehow… painful, agonizing. Jaskier didn't know and knew at the same time why he felt as if someone had punched him in the guts, ripping all the air from his lungs. 

"Oh," he mumbled, and wet his lips, suddenly sad. "How do you… How do you know? You don't…?"

He knew it was a dumb question. But Geralt, again, answered with much more patient than Jaskier would expect.

"I don't have a soulmark, no. Witchers don't have words on his arms," Then Geralt got up, without looking at him. "Come on, let's get out of here,"

He started to walk, not so fast than before, towards the end of the corridor. Jaskier watched him for a second, still feeling… sad, and got up too to follow him. He sighed, clenching his left hand in a fist. 

* * *

Jaskier turned the rapier in his hand, elegant, keeping his balance. He stabbed the air and backed away, then he cut an imaginary opponent, spinning on his heels, chaining block, feint and attack movements again and again. When he stopped he was out of breath, sweating. Then he lowered his rapier and sheathed it with a loud sigh. 

Geralt, sitting against a tree near the edge of the clearing, discovered he was holding his breath until then. He thought, he noticed, he always noticed, how gorgeous, how stunning, was Jaskier when he trained, when he used his sword, when he was such concentrated and full of harsh and intense energy. It didn't have anything to do with the strength Jaskier detached when he sang or when he tricked someone with his silver-tongue. Geralt couldn't say what oh those attitudes he liked more.

"Geralt?" Jaskier's soft voice made him blink. He saw the bard smiling, cheeky. "See something you like?"

Geralt blinked again, watching him. Jaskier had his hair slightly wet, his forehead pearly with sweat, his cheeks rosy. He was on his too much tight trousers and on his shirt, only on his laced, cute and luxurious shirt that was mid-open, and Geralt could catch a glimpse of part of his pecs and, of course, his chest hair. He felt how his throat went dry in seconds, and looked away with a loud grunt.

Jaskier laughed and sat beside him, at his right against the tree. He had rolled up his sleeves so his left forearm brushed with Geralt's right arm. Geralt stared at the clearing, knowing that in that blank skin was a soulmark, the words that Jaskier wanted the most to hear from someone. 

Someone.

A claw gripped and tightened his heart and, somehow, his right forearm burned with an old and long lost memory.

* * *

Jaskier mumbled a curse, crossing out the last word he had written. Tiny drops of ink fell to the sheet, mottling the parchment of his not-yet-finished new song with a myriad of little black stars. He thought in silence with the feather under his chin. He lasted three seconds. Then he sighed and left the journal on the table, tired, upset. 

The tavern was empty except for the owner, Geralt and himself. It was early anyway, and neither of them expected to see anybody until noon.

The silence was weird. 

"What's wrong?" 

Jaskier looked up. Across the table, Geralt was watching him, with that frown that Jaskier knew meant the witcher was a little worried.

"Nothing," he mumbled, grabbing Geralt's tankard and taking a sip. When he saw Geralt arching an eyebrow, he groaned. "Nothing, really, don't worry," 

He took another sip, and that allowed the witcher to snatch the journal Jaskier had left on the table. He opened it on the last page. He made a grimace, confused at first, curious at second. Jaskier let out a new tired sigh and take a third sip of ale.

"I know," he said, sarcastically. "It's horrible, a complete disaster,"

"It's not," Geralt replied, absent.

"Geralt, I don't doubt that with age comes knowledge but I know you don't have any idea of music or poetry, so don't try to cheer me up with empty flattering,"

Geralt turned a page, ignoring him. The journal was full of lyrics, old and new, and sheet music, both finished and incomplete. Or at least that was what it looked like, Geralt wasn't sure. Jaskier was right, he didn't have any idea about music. But what he liked wasn't the music notes or the attempts and tests for rhymes. 

No. 

It was his handwriting.

It was fluid, thin, delicate. Like the course of a quiet but sometimes playful river. Its stroke was slightly bowed to the right because Jaskier was right-handed. There were words crossed out everywhere. Geralt thought it was pretty.

And that it was... familiar.

Familiar.

Suddenly he felt his inner right forearm itching, a not quite unpleasant sensation. Geralt rubbed that specific zone of his arm, above the sleeve of his shirt, and frowned, uncomfortable. Jaskier, locked in the ale tankard, didn't notice that. Geralt left the journal on the table with no words, and took a deep breath.

He knew where he had seen that type of handwriting before.

He knew very well.

* * *

"You can't come,"

"Don't be ridiculous, Geralt,"

"Oh, I am the one who is being ridiculous?"

Geralt secured the straps of his swords and checked out that he was wearing them tightly to his back. Beside him, Roach huffed a little uneasily, sniffing the air of tension between the witcher and the bard. Geralt searched in one of the mare's saddlebags and extracted a couple of bottles filled with a green and silver liquid. He put them in his pouch and turned around.

Jaskier was facing him, arms crossed, with a clearly indignant and annoyed frown. He had his rapier, his silver rapier, hanging on the left side of his hip, his daggers, his also silver daggers, on the right side. His lute was safe in their room, upstairs, inside the inn. Geralt thought Jaskier should be inside the inn too, safe, without wanting to go with him to do his job. Geralt huffed as Roach had done before, patted the mare on the neck and walked away past Jaskier, towards the location where the monster that he had to kill was supposed to be.

Jaskier followed him.

"You can't face an entire pack of drowners alone,"

"Ah, you know how to do my job better than me, it's that so, bard?" Geralt hissed. "Should I tell you how to write music now?"

He didn't want to sound mean. He didn't want to be mean. He knew Jaskier was worried, he could smell his fear. But...

"No, but I can help you, you know I can help you. At least with that type of monster. I have silver, and I am fast, faster than most of the men, you always say that,"

He always said that. It was true. Jaskier was a great warrior, and Geralt would trust him with his life, with his eyes closed. But not with that, not with monsters. Not with something that could rip off his flesh in a blink and eat him while he was still alive. 

He didn't want that. 

He couldn't live with that.

They were in the middle of the street, rain splashing furiously as if the gods were angry. There was water running everywhere, pouring from everywhere. The perfect scenery for a bunch of creatures that lived in the sewers.

"Come on, Geralt," Jaskier grabbed him by the arm, trying to stop him. Geralt didn't flinch and pushed the bard off, grunting. Jaskier groaned too, frustrated, and trotted until he surpassed the witcher and got in his way.

"Please, let me help you with this," Jaskier said. No, implored, begged, pleaded. Geralt caught the heavy and thick scent of fear, but it wasn't just fear. No. It was panic, pure and electric terror. Jaskier feared for him, but it wasn't the first time Geralt had to hunt monsters, leaving the bard behind. Geralt avoided Jaskier and he kept walking, faster. 

The rain raged and one lightning ignited the sky like a fierce and bright snake. Then, just then, Geralt felt again a hand grabbing his arm, and this time the witcher stopped.

The thunder rumbled violently and it was as if a dragon was roaring.

The clutch on his arm was strong. Geralt didn't look back, didn't look at Jaskier. He breathed in, deep, and sensed the fear more intense than before. Another lightning. Another thunder. Geralt tried to let go, but Jaskier tightened his hold. Geralt felt a growl being born in his chest. He could get rid of the grip easily, he was stronger, but he was also tired of those arguments. Jaskier should understand why he couldn't go with him. 

"Jaskier," he said, low, slowly. A warning.

"Geralt," Jaskier replied, arrogant, stubborn.

Geralt inhaled deeply for a third time, and noticed that fear was no longer the only smell there, under all the rain. But he couldn't recognize the new scent, not yet. It was bitter but also sweet. Geralt growled.

"You can't come, it's not negotiable,"

"Why?" More obstinacy. "It would not be the first time,"

 "Drowners aren't like bandits, or like a single monster I can make be focused on me," Geralt tightened his teeth, closed his eyes for a second, and then opened it still without facing Jaskier. "You could die," 

There was a two seconds silence, only broken by the violent storm. 

"So are you," Jaskier replied, and his voice was softer than before, weaker.

"It's my job, not yours"

And I don't want you to die, he should say, I want you to be safe here, where I could return to you later, he should say. He thought about the drowners, he thought about their claws and fangs, their viscous, horrendous skin and faces. He knew it wasn't the monster's fault, really, but… 

"Well, If we are talking about jobs–"

"Jaskier," Geralt growled, again, getting angry, angrier. He still didn't look back, at him.

"No, come on! If we are talking about jobs I have one, you know?"

"Jaskier, " The growl grew up.

"Remember? That one in which I sing and people throw me money?" Geralt stepped forward, only two steps. "You remember it, right?"

"You're wasting my time,"

"Because I have been neglecting my job only for you! Because you insist on not telling me anything of value for my songs, and–"

"Jaskier, "

"And! I thought, well, I understand, he is not good explaining shit, he doesn't want to talk, so if I watch how he fights and hunts monsters I suppose I can manage with that, but no! Also no! How do you want me to do my job, witcher?"

And then, the third lightning sparked in the sky, enormous, violent. And something in Jaskier voice made Geralt to burst. He faced the bard, finally, his amber eyes flaming with hurt fury.  

"Jaskier, I don't care about your songs if you're dead! Do you understand that or not?!"

The third thunder erupted immediately after and devoured the other sounds. It lasted at least four long seconds. Four long seconds in which they looked at each other under the dark rain with no words. Then, slowly, Jaskier loosened his grip. And Geralt noticed his expression. Jaskier looked down, frowning a little, his hands trembling, his lips pressed in a thin line. Geralt saw him swallowing, hard. A strong and powerful scent cracked around him.

But the bard said nothing.

So Geralt took that as an advantage and turned around to walk away. He didn't say anything either. He felt strangely tired, tensed. He didn't look back, he had a job to do.

 * * *

It took him four days to clean the sewers from drowners. Geralt emerged to the surface covered in green-black blood, murky water, and shit, so he seemed like one of the monsters he had killed down there, in the guts of the city. It wasn't the first time, and it wasn't the first time he had to come back to the inn covered in dirt like that.

When Geralt arrived into the room he shared with Jaskier, he found him leaning on the windowsill, reading something. At the sound of someone appearing, the bard looked up and turned around. He arched his eyebrows in surprise.

"Geralt!"

And in relief.

Jaskier moved toward the witcher with two steps and hugged him tight, exhaling a heavy breath and resting his forehead on his chest. Geralt went stiff, not because Jaskier was hugging him but–

"Jaskier, you are going to get dirt," Geralt sighed.

Jaskier squeezed him a little before releasing him and looked at Geralt with his bright and pretty blue eyes.

"I was worried," he mumbled. 

He had mud in his forehead, in his right cheek, and in the front of his fancy doublet. But he didn't seem angry. Geralt breathed in and caught the pale scent of flowers, ink, and wood that followed Jaskier everywhere, alongside something soft and sweet under all his own dirt. He grunted, weakly.

"Sorry, it took me longer than I would think, "

"Right, uh…"Jaskier hesitated, looking away, and headed to the door. "I will ask the innkeeper to prepare a bath for you,"

Geralt watched him go, knowing that their fight was not resolved. He sighed again, feeling exhausted, hungry. Then he glanced at the piece of parchment that was on the windowsill, forgotten, and he felt curiosity. It had been folded and unfolded many times, and it had a red wax seal that, when he examined it closely, he recognized it. 

It was the blazon of the Lettenhove. It was a letter. 

Geralt backed off and decided not to pry more. It was Jaskier's. And whether or not he wanted to tell him, it was none of his business.

He rubbed his right forearm unconsciously. That thought made him feel… more tired.

Gerald needed two rounds of hot water to get rid of all the shit he was covered with. With the third bath, he let himself get enough relaxed to lingering in the water doing nothing more than leaning against the edge and wall tub with his eyes closed. It was already night, so Jaskier had lit a few candles around the room. The bard hadn't talked much in that time except for two or three nervous jokes about the dirt water Geralt had been spraying everywhere when he was leaving his two previous baths.

Geralt knew Jaskier was ruminating something.

He didn't want to push him. 

But he also wanted… 

He opened his eyes, slowly, and saw that Jaskier was with his back turned to him. He counted five seconds, determined to talk about the discussion they had had four days ago, determined to be the one making the effort to fix things this time. He parted his lips, just about to say his name, to call him.

Then Jaskier turned around and faced Geralt, serious, but at the same time nervous. Geralt smelled something uncomfortable, something anxious and painful.

Something sad.

He shut his mouth.

Jaskier took a deep breath. He hadn't changed his clothing yet or cleaned his face. 

"Geralt, I…," he said, hesitating, licking his lips, avoiding his gaze. He exhaled, long, as if he didn't know how to say what he wanted to say. Then he bit his lower lip. Geralt stared at him, feeling on edge, vulnerable for the first time in a long time. "I want to ask you for something," Jaskier looked at Geralt, and Geralt nodded. 

Then Jaskier sighed one more long breath, biting his lips again, looking away, again, and crossed his arms, almost hugging himself as if he needed someone holding him, as If he needed a shield. 

"I…"

The bard frowned a little more, and Geralt saw that frown trembling. Jaskier clicked his tongue and, this time, locked eyes with the witcher. Geralt felt the intensity, determination, and… grief.

Grief.

He knew what Jaskier wanted to ask. He should have known in the first moment he had seen the letter with the Lettenhove emblem. He had no doubt.

"You want to hire me," Geralt said, low, soft, calm. "You want to make a contract,"

Jaskier parted his lips.

"Yes," he said.

And Geralt saw, saw, how just then Jaskier looked and walked away, out of the room, squeezing, clasping, his left forearm with tight and shaky fingers. 

[wiener-soldiers]

the imperfect bubble - steve rogers

summary: y/n looks at bucky barnes like he’s the sun and the stars; bucky looks at y/n y/l/n like nothing more than his best friend. steve looks at peggy carter like she’s a divine angel; peggy looks at steve rogers like he’s nothing more than the remnants of a college romance. y/n looks at steve rogers like he’s a mirror; steve looks at y/n y/l/n like she’s the only person left that he can confide in.

words: 10.2k (you read that right)

warning: angst, unrequited love, the slowest slow burn you can possibly fathom, okay maybe not a slow burn but more like an oh shit that happened, minimal editing

a/n: im?? back?? i really enjoyed writing this one tho

masterlist | add yourself to the taglist! | faq

Leave your grievances at the door.

It was no longer an unspoken rule; when Steve and Bucky stepped into Y/N’s shared apartment with her college—and by association, their—friend’s Natasha and Wanda for movie night, they found the saying printed on the doormat inside their apartment.

It was a tradition that Steve, Bucky, and Y/N started their freshmen year of college. Steve and Bucky were best friends since childhood and have been through thick and thin together. So it was no surprise that despite the two attending different colleges, they still made it a habit to spend every waking moment together.

The two left their beloved Brooklyn to attend schools in Manhattan—Steve at Columbia pursuing his history degree and Bucky at NYU pursuing his engineering one. It was Steve’s turn to make the trip downtown and hang out with Bucky, but to his surprise, upon arriving at his dorm, he met eyes with a slightly wine-drunk girl hanging upside down Bucky’s bed while he tried to throw popcorn in his mouth.

It was quite the first impression, but Steve learned her name was Y/N, she went to NYU for journalism, and that she’d be sticking around a lot.

That night, instead of going out, Steve joined them in Bucky’s dorm, watching shitty Netflix reality shows, getting drunk on cheap wine, and their weekly tradition lived on ever since.

The doormat saying was one Y/N jokingly said to Bucky in their sophomore year of college. Y/N had moved into a new apartment in the East Village with Natasha and Wanda, two girls she bonded with over mutual hate for a certain TA. Despite Steve and Bucky’s place being decently big after deciding to move into a place together, the girl’s place was decidedly better decorated and more suited for movie nights.

Bucky had come in complaining about how a girl in his class flirted with him just to steal his notes and eventually best him during their midterms. Granted, it was a thrilling tale, but Y/N has jokingly told him to, “Leave you grievances at the door, Buck. This is movie night; we are going to chill and get drunk.”

The unspoken movie night rule stuck ever since.

So, when Steve and Bucky (now juniors) kicked their shoes off upon entering the girl’s apartment, the let out an audible laugh, alerting them that the muscle of the group was here.

“You like it?” Y/N calls out from the kitchen, followed by several ‘pops.’ The smell of buttery popcorn wafted through the air as the two followed the scent into the living room. Natasha was already occupying her seat on the couch. Wanda sat on the floor, in between her legs so to let Natasha braid her hair, as she scrolled through her Netflix queue for movies to watch.

“Looks great, doll,” Bucky smiled at her, giving her a kiss on the cheek. Steve notices a red blush crawl up her neck and smirks, sending the girl a wink. Y/N’s blush extends even further.

“Where’d you get it?” Bucky asks, sauntering into the living room and hopping over the back of the couch to land beside Nat.

Wanda giggles, “I custom ordered it on Etsy. I thought it would be funny.”

“You’re not wrong,” Natasha replies before the three of them fall into easy conversation about their weeks.

Steve stays behind the kitchen, observing Y/N as she observes Bucky. He smiles amusedly at her before saying, “I take it he still doesn’t know.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, “He didn’t know last week. He didn’t know last year. He didn’t know since we were seventeen. You think I’m gonna tell him now?”

Steve shrugs, routinely helping Y/N gather the snacks and drinks for their movie night, “I think you’d be cute together, s’all.”

“Yeah? Tell that to the man himself,” Y/N says sarcastically.

“You could always tell him,” he counters, “Guys find it hot when girls make the first move.”

“Whatever you say, pal.”

---

As it turns out, Steve was right. And as much as Y/N hates to admit it, Steve was right about most things.

A few months after some mutual pining, Peggy Carter, the hot British international student that’s studying political science at Columbia grew more balls than Bucky and Steve ever could and asked the latter out on a date.

Y/N liked Peggy. She had gorgeous brown hair that was somehow always perfectly curled, warm eyes, but always wore seductively red lipstick. She looked like a drug, and if she wasn’t dating Steve, Y/N was convinced that she would ask the woman out herself.

Steve had stumbled into the girl’s apartment after their first date. Peggy had taken him dancing in a place in the East Village that played swing music and turned a blind eye when college students with sketchy looking fake IDs ordered cocktails. It’s not like they could do much harm anyway, most college kids who went there hopeless romantics who want nothing more than to dance with their dates with a little liquid courage.

As opposed to hopping on the subway slightly tipsy and potentially falling asleep before he reached in Midtown, Steve stumbled into his friend’s apartment, tipsy and high on the drug that took form in Peggy Carter.

“Hiya,” Steve said with a dopey, crooked smile. Y/N, Wanda, and Nat looked between themselves and Steve with widened eyes.

There were red lipstick stains all over his face.

Natasha smirks at him, “Looks like you had a good time with the missus.”

Steve points at Y/N, his eyes slightly lidded from drowsiness, “I told you it was hot when girls make the first move.”

Y/N lets out a snort. “It’s hot when Peggy Carter does anything, Stevie.”

His enormous grin widens. “Well, you got that fucking right.”

The three girls collective gag at the picture of Steve defiling the girl as Steve rolls his eyes at them, plopping down on the grey IKEA couch the girls were occupying. The couch was a moving in present from him and Bucky and despite how cheap it looked, they refused to allow the girls to get rid of it. If they were being honest, the girls didn’t have the heart to do so anyway.

“Do you mind if I crash here tonight?” Steve mumbles into Y/N’s lap.

“I’m staying at my brother’s tonight anyway,” Wanda says as she reaches over and runs a hand amusedly through Steve’s hair, “You can take my bed if you want, Steve.”

“No, s’okay. I’m comfy here,” he says, voice muffled by Y/N’s thighs.

“You’re a big fucking baby, you know that?” Y/N jokingly says, slapping Steve’s back. He screeches an ‘ow’ but doesn’t move an inch.

Nat smiles at them. Before she met Y/N and Steve, she would’ve been convinced they were dating. But, her heart is just as full knowing the incredibly wholesome and healthy friendship the two share. She reaches down to stroke Steve’s head before saying, “Y/N, I’m gonna go ahead and use the bathroom first—you seem occupied. Goodnight Steve.”

“Nighty night, Nat,” he murmurs. With Wanda, then Natasha stroking his head, sleep comes a lot faster than he intends.

“Steve?” Y/N asks him. It was her turn to slowly stroke his head.

“Mmhmm?”

“Did you let Bucky know you were staying over?” she asks, Mom-mode activating.

She feels her thighs rumble with Steve’s laughter. “He’ll live,” he tells her.

“He’s your best friend, hon. You gotta keep him updating on this kinda stuff.”

“But you’re my best friend too,” he sighs sleepily and Y/N’s heart swells with pride.

The corner of her mouth quirks into a smile, “Really?”

“Yeah, ‘course you duffus. ‘Sides, he probably thinks ‘m getting laid or somethin’.”

“You’re gross.”

“Eh, you love me.”

She did indeed. She let him fall asleep like that with a slight smile on his face, thinking about how well his date went. Y/N slowly slide out from underneath Steve, placing a blanket on top of him. She placed a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol on the coffee table for him when he woke, along with a sticky note saying:

Gonna be up early tomorrow, lover boy. Take whatever leftovers you want from the fridge. Also, invite Peggy to movie night :)

---

Per Y/N’s request, Steve did ask Peggy to come to movie night with him. To which, she excitedly agreed.

And against Steve’s assumptions, Y/N seemed more excited to have her over than he was.

Steve and Peggy entered the apartment hand in hand, with Steve carrying a takeout bag and Peggy nursing a bottle of white wine. Bucky trailed in behind them, carrying a pack of beers.

“They have a cute place,” Peggy comments, slipping her shoes off and following Steve into the living room.

“Don’t tell it to their face, though. One compliment and they’ll fall in love with you and you’ll never be allowed out of their sight again,” Bucky jokes from behind them, wandering into the kitchen to set the beer down.

Despite their five-person gathering being a six-person one that night, Peggy fit right in. Over cheesy horror movies, glasses of wine and swigs of beer, and copious amounts of takeout, the bombshell of a Brit felt very at home with Steve’s friends. To her surprise, none of them were jealous of her—Steve was incredibly attractive and the perfect guy, so she was sure it was impossible for him to have female friends without them throwing themselves at him.

She was wrong.

She really got a full understanding of their friendship—especially Steve’s friendship with Y/N—when she wandered down the hall to find more blankets. She heard two voices quietly discussing in someone’s room. She would’ve walked away because she didn’t want to eavesdrop until she heard her name.

“Peggy seems to be really enjoying herself.” She recognizes the voice to be Y/N’s.

“God, I hope so. Thanks again for inviting her.” Steve’s voice this time.

“You were the one who invited her, jackass,” she hears Y/N say sarcastically.

She hears Steve groan, “Don’t even start with that. What I meant was…thanks for giving her a chance.”

Softer this time, she hears Y/N say, “Steve, you’re my best friend. I didn’t like your other girlfriends because they seemed like shitty people. Peggy is…Peggy is good for you. Like, really good.”

“Okay now…” he laughs.

“No, I’m serious. If you didn’t ask her out, I was really fucking close to taking her for myself,” she finished before she hears a yelp followed by a soft thud and mattress springs squeaking. She can’t help herself and takes a peek inside the room to find Steve tickling Y/N on the bed. Peggy smiles to herself at the closeness of the friendship.

She’s about to walk away when she suddenly feels the feeling in the room shift.

“Steve, I think I’m gonna ask out Bucky.”

She hears an excited gasp, “Fucking finally! I’ve been saying you guys would be great together for years!”

She hears Y/N shush him, “He’s in the other room Steve, shut up!”

Peggy hears Steve laugh, “Sorry, sorry. Why now, though?”

“Dunno. I guess I just like seeing you happy with Peggy. And I don’t know, it makes me think that I deserve that happiness too,” Y/N says softly and Peggy’s heart melts.

“I’m proud of you, Y/N,” she hears Steve say. Despite not knowing Y/N that long, she’s proud of her too.

“Thanks, Steve.”

---

Y/N doesn’t get a chance to ask Bucky out.

As Y/N, Nat, and Wanda were preparing brownies for movie night when they got a text on their group chat:

Bucky: Can’t make it to movie night

Nat: got a hot date or smth?

Bucky: ;)

“Y/N…” Natasha calls out.

“Mhmm?” the girl calls out. “Gimme a second, I gotta take the brownies before they burn.”

Natasha sighs and walks into the kitchen to find Y/N gingerly setting the pan of brownies onto the counter. Wordlessly, Nat shows Y/N her phone with the group chat open.

The smile immediately falls from Y/N’s face.

“Y/N…” the red-head starts before getting vehemently cut off.

“I should be happy for him, right? My best friend just scored a date—”

“Y/N—”

“I was happy when Steve started going out with Peggy, why can’t I be happy Bucky found someone too—”

“Y/N!” Natasha says, more firmly this time.

“Why did you show me this, Nat?” she hisses, whipping her head and staring accusingly at her.

Natasha narrows her eyes at her, “You fucking know why. This was on the group chat, but I wanted to be there if you needed me when you saw it.”

Y/N’s eyes soften, “Nat, I’m sorry—”

Natasha cuts her off and immediately envelops her in a hug. “Don’t be,” she whispers, patting her head comfortingly, “You’re too good for Bucky, anyways.”

Y/N scoffs into her shoulder, “That’s my best friend, asshole. And Steve always said we’d be good together.”

“Steve has no fucking clue what he’s talking about.”

Y/N laughs a little harder, forcing the tears she was trying to keep in slowly stream down her face. Natasha immediately notices, and wipes them away with her thumbs, “Don’t cry, sweetheart. And don’t think about Bucky. ‘Sides, it’s movie night and—”

“—I need to leave my grievances at the door, yeah I know,” she finishes with a sad smile on her face. Y/N shakes her head, “That saying is kicking me in the ass, isn’t it?”

Ten minutes later, Wanda emerges from the bathroom, screeching in frustration from Bucky’s texts in the group chat. Y/N tries her best to tell Wanda that she’s over it, but Wanda is strangely good at reading people (it doesn’t help that she’s also a psychology major). The girls usually love Wanda’s weird sixth sense, but Y/N couldn’t help but find it quite inconvenient at this very moment.

Half an hour after that, Steve arrives at the girls’ apartment, this time without Peggy. The first thing he does is wrap Y/N in a bear hug, despite her protests at everyone making a big deal out of it. Steve doesn’t care, only hugs her tighter.

The four of them huddle around the TV, watching whatever movie was next on their queue and catching up on life. They tried really hard to ignore the awkward tension and the lack of the Bucky-ness the group had. It was movie night, after all. The perfect bubble that was their movie night felt a little different than it normally had.

---

Bucky misses movie nights for the next few weeks.

With the end of junior year approaching, the group of friends rarely had time to socialize outside their study groups except for their weekly tradition. With Bucky gone doing whatever Bucky was doing, Y/N didn’t see him for weeks on end. The only interaction they had was the occasional meme being sent to the group chat or like on Instagram.

She missed him. But deep down inside of her, she wasn’t that all surprised.

What did surprise her was Bucky’s sudden appearance at their last movie night before the end of junior year.

They were halfway through their first movie—Wanda was teaching Peggy how to braid a flower crown, Steve had agreed to let Natasha paint his nails a red and blue ombre while he played a game of Connect Four with Y/N, all while a random movie played on the screen—when they heard the front door unlock.

“Sorry I’m late!” called a voice. It was distinctly Bucky’s, but the female giggle that followed was not.

Bucky and an unnamed blonde materialize in the living room and everyone looks at the pair in shock. Y/N could feel a few of her friend’s stares be redirected to her, but she can’t seem to overt her eyes from the blonde.

Her hair seemed like it was literally golden as it flows down her light-green sundress. She was wrapped around Bucky’s arm—the arm with his tattoo sleeve on it, the arm that she loved tracing the patterns of the tattoo with during movie night.

Peggy breaks the ice first, “Hi, Bucky.”

“Oh, you have an accent!” the blonde squeals and Y/N can feel her eyes roll. Wanda scoffs beside her.

“Bucky, can I talk to you for a sec?” Y/N asks, more like demands, as she stands up abruptly and walks briskly past Bucky towards the hall, away from the view of the living room.

Once they were out of earshot from their friends, she hisses, “What are you doing here?”

Bucky laughs almost mockingly, “What do you mean, ‘what am I doing here?, It’s movie night, isn’t it?”

Y/N sighs tiredly, “Bucky, we haven’t seen you for weeks. Then, you show up with some blonde girl that we’ve never met?”

“I’ve been busy. What, am I not allowed to be busy anymore? The world doesn’t revolve around movie night,” Bucky snarls at her.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, that’s not what I meant and you fucking know it,” she growls back. “You’ve been radio silent for weeks—you pretty much ghosted all of us. Hell, if it wasn’t for Steve living with you, we would’ve thought you were fucking dead! But we gave you space because we aren’t helicopter-friends. But then, you show up after ignoring us for weeks with some chick I’ve never seen before at my fucking house on fucking movie night?! Can you see why I’m a little pissed off right now?”

“The British chick is here! Why the hell can she be here but not Dolores?” Bucky bites back, his voice rising.

“Because Peggy was invited to my house and Dolores fucking wasn’t!” Y/N says aggressively, her voice nearing a shout.

“This isn’t your tradition, Y/N. You want to control everything about this friend group and trust me, sweetheart, we’re all getting sick of it.”

“Oh, you can’t fucking do that.”

“Do what?”

“Talk like you’re still a fucking part of this friend group.”

“What, you’re gonna kick me out of your clique because I’ve been busy? Because I have a life?”

“No, because you’ve been a shitty fucking friend!” Y/N shouts, chest heaving, and face red.

Bucky’s eyes widen in shock. Sure, they’ve had points in their friendship where they haven’t communicated in a few days, but never this long. And Y/N had most certainly never been this angry with him before.

That seemed to knock some sense back into him. “Y/N—”

“Get the fuck out, Bucky.”

“Wha—”

“I said get out,” she says, eerily quiet.

So, he did. Bucky stormed out of the hallway and grabbed Dolores before marching out of the apartment. When Y/N sat back down with the rest of their friends, she could feel their stares burning into her face, but all she did was reach for the remote and continue playing the movie.

---

After Y/N’s argument with Bucky, he stops showing up game nights. They even make a new group chat without Bucky in it (because apparently, kicking him out of the apartment was fine but kicking him out of the group chat was too mean). Despite not really knowing what exactly was said, everyone understood what happened that night. To be frank, they were all waiting for someone to snap. A confrontation with him was long overdue.

The friend group is different without Bucky’s presence. Not better, not worse, just different.

It was clear that there would be awkward tension among the friends immediately after the argument. Wanda and Nat immediately sided with Y/N and clearly wanted nothing to do with Bucky. Steve was a trickier subject. Wanda, Nat, and Y/N all understood that they couldn’t force Steve not to be friends with him, so they all accepted him as their neutral party.

After a few months, their different was starting to feel normal.

But Y/N still missed Bucky. Despite her years of pining, Bucky was still her best friend. He was still the guy who walked her to her morning lectures after his run and got her wine drunk after a guy rejected her. Y/N missed that version of Bucky—she just wasn’t sure if he existed anymore.

Based on periodic updates that Steve gives her, Bucky is still with Dolores. “He’s happy,” Steve tells her. “Different, but happy.”

After a few months of living without Bucky in her life, she starts to blame herself. Had she been overreacting? Most probably. Did she really need to kick him out of her apartment? No.

“Was what you did justified though? Definitely,” Steve would always remind her. Some days she believes him, some days she doesn’t.

Still, her life begins to reach some semblance of normal. Movie nights are still once a week, but they’ve changed from a place where they have pseudo-therapy sessions lead by Wanda while a cheesy movie plays in the background.

It was about halfway into their senior year when Steve drops something on them during one of their movie night conversations.

“I might move to London,” Steve says out of the blue.

“What?” Y/N turns to him in shock.

Steve stares blankly at his lap, fidgeting with the nearly empty glass of red wine. “Peggy wants to move back to London after we graduate,” he says softly. “She wants me to go with her.”

It was Wanda’s turn to ask, “Well, why doesn’t she stay here with you?”

“Her family’s in London.”

“And your family is here, Steve,” Y/N replies softly, “We’re here.”

Steve sighs and runs a hand over his face before releasing a frustrated cry, “I don’t know what to do, guys.”

Natasha looks at him sympathetically before grasping his hand tightly, “Have you talked to Bucky about this?”

“Not yet…he’s got a lot on his plate right now,” Steve starts, warily looking at the girls sitting around him.

“What do you mean?” Natasha presses.

“Bucky proposed to Dolores a few days ago…” Steve sighs.

“Well…” Y/N starts, trying to find the right words, “Congrats to them.”

“Yeah,” Steve replies lamely before downing the remainder of his red wine. “I love Peggy, I really do,” Steve starts, “but I don’t know if London is right for me.”

Y/N raises an eyebrow at him, “What do you mean?”

Steve sighs again, “I don’t know how to explain it but…lately it feels like our relationship isn’t real anymore⁠—like she’s using me as a prop. It feels like she’s dragging me along because she feels like she has to. I really do love her but going to London with her just doesn’t feel right.”

“And what does feel right, Steve?” Wanda asks him gently.

Steve answer in a heartbeat, “New York. With you guys.”

Y/N offers him her kindest eyes. She murmurs softly, “Steve, I think you have your answer then.”

---

Steve stayed in New York.

He was a little heartbroken by Peggy’s reaction though; she simply acknowledged him and went straight back to packing, not even bothering to fight for their relationship. Maybe there wasn’t a whole lot to fight for after all.

Bucky also married Dolores.

After their graduation, Bucky and Dolores eloped. They didn’t want the pressure of an actual wedding, so they got on a flight to Vegas and got hitched in their graduation gowns. The reassured everyone (especially their parents) that they would have a real wedding for everyone else afterwards.

Y/N, Wanda, and Natasha finally got their own places. Wanda was moving in with her brother, Pietro, into an apartment in Morningside Heights. They were both starting their master’s at Columbia (Wanda in psychology and Pietro in exercise physiology), so they wanted to live closer together. Natasha was finally moving in with her boyfriend, Bruce. They were a very private couple, so they weren’t at all surprised when they told them that they were moving into their own place in Park Slope, close to Bruce’s research job and Nat’s marketing firm.

Y/N was really close to downsizing to a studio when Steve rolled his eyes and told her, “Don’t be an idiot, I’ll move in with you. That place is too nice to give up. Besides, Bucky and Dolores are looking for a place to move into.”

So, what was once Y/N, Wanda, and Nat’s apartment was now Y/N and Steve’s.

Not much changed about the apartment: Y/N kept her old room and Steve moved into Wanda’s. Natasha’s room had the most natural light, so they turned it into an office. Steve, Y/N learned, was the ideal roommate—his stuff was never messy, he helped run errands, and he was a delight to be around.

If it was possible for the two best friends to get any closer, they did.

Y/N fell into an easy routine with Steve, almost like it was second nature. After both taking the summer off, Steve started his law degree at Columbia and Y/N started her job as a Staff Writer at the New York Times. 

They woke up at around seven and Steve got started on breakfast while Y/N used the bathroom first. As soon as she got out, breakfast would be waiting for her, so she got started on making coffee for her and Steve. Steve didn’t usually take long in the bathroom, so they ate breakfast together, enjoying each other’s company before their day started. After they both got dressed, they both walked to the subway and rode the L train before they had to split ways: Steve Uptown to Columbia and Y/N to the New York Times building. Steve usually got out of classes first, so he usually ran some errands for the place or studied in a café in the Village somewhere so to let Y/N get home before he did. She loved making dinner, so Steve usually came home to her blasting music and cooking.

The funniest part about their arrangement is that it was barely an arrangement: they didn’t really agree on splitting up their day this way. It just sort of…happened. It was natural but it felt right to the both of them and that’s all they could ever ask for.

The arbitrary lines of being roommates slowly began disappearing as well. 

Four months into living together, Y/N and Steve started sharing a bed.

It wasn’t romantic, but more like a necessity. Steve had walked by Y/N’s room when he heard slight whimpering. He immediately swung open the door and found her lying on her bed, clutching her stomach in pain with tears streaming down her face.

Steve immediately lost his composure, “Y/N? Are you okay?!”

“It fucking hurts Steve,” she mumbles, “Why does bleeding out of your vagina fucking hurt so much?”

Steve’s eyes immediately soften and he lets out a low hum, “Y/N, I thought you were dying.”

“I am dying. This heat pad isn’t doing shit!”

Steve laughs and makes his way to the bed, lifting the covers and sliding beside her. Y/N immediately shifts so that Steve can be more comfortable. He wraps his arms around her, making sure to put his palm flat on her stomach. In the mess of tangled limbs, they fall asleep like that and take the most relaxing nap of their lives.

Steve shares a bed Y/N that night. And the night after that. And the night after that.

Soon, Steve barely slept in his old room anymore. It got to a point where it didn’t even make sense for him to have his own room: Y/N’s room was bigger, closer to the bathroom, had a comfier bed, and Y/N was in it.

The two spend a weekend clearing out Steve’s new room and moving all his stuff into Y/N’s. They turn they put the grey IKEA pullout couch inside along with an array of painting supplies and camera equipment, effectively turning it into a home studio. They like the apartment better this way.

A few months later, the two get a dog together. The mini Australian Shepard has a gorgeous coat, different coloured eyes, and a scar that stretches across his face, a reminder as to why they rescued him in the first place. The renamed him Mando (because his face reminded them of the Mandalorian helmet) and he was like their child. He was full of energy, so Steve loved brining him along for runs in the park. But he was also quiet, reserved, and sensitive so Y/N adored cuddling with him on the couch.

It was their own little family. Steve, Y/N, and Mando.

Movie nights were still a weekly occurrence, but it wasn’t always at their place anymore. Almost six months after Steve moved in with Y/N, they hosted movie night at their place again.

It wasn’t as if Wanda and Natasha hadn’t seen Y/N and Steve since then, but it was the first time they really felt the changes in their old place.

“You redecorated,” Nat commented with a smile. She noticed there were more pictures up: some of their entire friend group, some of just Y/N and Steve. There was also a hanging shelf above the TV (something that Y/N had always talked about installing but never did) that housed some pottery and other knick-knacks Y/N and Steve have collected over the years.

Wanda notices the dog crate and bed in the corner of the living room, along with a basket of toys for the dog. She asks, “Where’s Mando?”

“Steve took him when he went to get the takeout. He likes to cuddle if that’s what you’re asking, Wanda,” Y/N answers amusedly.

“Whathcu do with our old rooms?” Nat hums as she takes a seat on their new couch. She wondered where the grey IKEA one went; it was unlikely that Y/N had the heart to throw it away.

Y/N sits down beside her holding three wine glasses and a bottle of red wine. She pops the cork and pours them all a drink before saying, “We turned your old room into an office and Wanda’s into an art studio slash guest bedroom. That’s where the grey pullout went.” Y/N finished her sentence absentmindedly, almost like she didn’t realize the implication she made.

Wanda and Nat smirk at each other.

Nat takes a sip of her wine before nonchalantly saying, “You know, I always knew you and Steve would end up together.”

Y/N chokes on her wine, “I’m sorry…what?”

Wanda chuckles at her, “You live together, you share a bed, you got a dog.”

Y/N hums nervously, “We’re not dating.”

“Seems like you’re already married if you ask me,” Wanda counters with a smirk.

Before Y/N could get any more embarrassed, the front door opened and Mando came bolting inside, followed by Steve who laughed as the dog jumped on the couch and licked its occupants.

“Oh, Mando you’re so cute,” Wanda gushed before she immediately became occupied and played with Mando.

Natasha looked on with a knowing smirk as Y/N watched Steve approach, both wearing matching smiles, and Steve presses a kiss on her forehead.

“I got Lo Mein if that’s okay. I tried to make it to the pizza place, but I guess Mando likes the smell of Chinese,” Steve says quietly to her before setting the takeout on the coffee table beside the glasses of wine.

She smiles at him, “That’s okay, thanks for grabbing it anyways.”

“I figured you wanted time with the girls to catch up,” Steve shrugs before hopping over the back of the couch to sit next to you.

As the movie started and everyone started eating their serving of food and wine, Y/N assumed the natural position of leaning against Steve’s chest with his arm thrown around the back of the couch. The smell of his cologne is so synonymous with safety to Y/N, so she naturally leans closer to him.

Halfway through the first movie, Y/N catches Nat staring at her and Steve with a smirk. Nat sends a wink her way which sends Y/N’s face in a red flush.

She averts her eyes and looks back at the movie. We are not dating, Y/N thinks to herself, this is just natural.

---

It was about a year after Y/N and Steve started living together when they both got invitations to Bucky and Dolores' wedding.

Their group chat was blowing up with questions like ‘should we even go to the wedding?’ and ‘won’t it be awkward for everyone involved?’

Steve already knew that he was going. Despite everything, Bucky was still like his brother. They still saw each other almost weekly and although he wasn’t Dolores’ biggest fan just through negative association, he was happy that Bucky was immensely happy.

Y/N, on the other hand, needed more convincing.

“Jesus, I wish he never invited me to his goddamn wedding,” Y/N complained, her head buried in Steve’s shoulder as they sat on the couch, “Is this his version of a punishment? The anxiety of choosing whether or not I should come to his wedding?”

Steve rubbed her shoulder comfortingly, “Y/N, he did use to be your best friend.”

“Before I told him to get out of my life and that I never wanted to see him again,” she states bluntly. “God, I was so fucking stupid.”

“Hey,” Steve says firmly, “The both of you were acting pretty stupid, we’ve established that. But you’ve grown up. Bucky did invite you, which means he wants you to come.”

Y/N stays silent as Steve continues, “I know you miss him, Y/N. And clearly, he misses you too. Maybe this is your first step at mending your friendship.”

“If there’s anything left of it,” Y/N says pathetically.

“You won’t know if you don’t go to the wedding.”

So, she ends up going to the wedding.

The actual ceremony went by in a blur. Dolores was wearing a beautiful gown with gorgeous floral lace and Bucky in a wonderfully fitted velvet suit. Y/N thought the first time she would see Bucky in years would be filled with melancholy, but Y/N just felt better that Steve (from beside the groom) was sending her reassuring smiles the entire ceremony.

The couple was technically already married, so they didn’t have a licensed officiant. Instead, they had an array of friends, including Steve, the best man, say different parts of the pre-made script. It was fun, lighthearted, and had Bucky written all over it—something that Y/N missed about him the most.

At the reception, she took advantage of the open bar. She spent her time socializing with Natasha, Wanda, and Sam, a mutual friend who became an Air Force officer straight out of college. The night was still young, so Steve spent most of his time with the wedding party, occasionally sending Y/N texts like:

Steve: Miss you!

Steve: How many drinks have you had so far?

Steve: You made sure to lock Mando’s crate, right?

Steve: Did I tell you that you looked rlly pretty tonight?

Steve: I can’t wait until everyone gets drunk so I can hang out w you :)

“Texting at my wedding? I thought you loved parties, Y/N,” a recognizable voice says amusedly.

Y/N’s head snaps up and she’s met with a face that she hasn’t seen in years.

“Bucky—”

Bucky cuts her off, “Before you say anything, I’m sorry. You were right, I was being a really shitty friend and I didn’t have the right to ignore you, yell at you, or just bring random people into your home like I owned the place. I just…really missed you. You’re my best friend and my life hasn’t really been the same without you.”

Y/N is rendered speechless. Her mind blanks as she stares into Bucky’s watery eyes, begging for forgiveness. She says nothing and instead wraps her arms around Bucky, pulling him close. The man immediately wraps his arms around her like they’ve never left.

After the wedding, Bucky starts to show up to movie night again.

It takes a whole lot of coaxing to let Natasha and Wanda allow Bucky back into their lives, but eventually, they come around. It wasn’t like college though, but it was nice, nonetheless. One night, Bucky revealed that movie nights are when he feels the most like himself again. The rest of them smile wordlessly at him, but confusion does seep into the back of their minds.

A year since the wedding, the group finally fully accepts Bucky back into their lives as if he never left. He catches up with Natasha during impromptu lunches, takes Wanda to dinner if she’s ever in Midtown, watches the Yankees play with Steve to take his mind off of law school, and drops lunch off to Y/N at the New York Times building if he’s in the area.

Bucky truly misses his friends, but somewhere deep in his heart, he misses Y/N a little bit more.

The rest of them also notice how little Bucky talks about Dolores when they’re together.

They found it strange at first; normally, husbands loved talking about their wives. But Bucky never brought her to their outings, to movie night (despite everyone insisting that they’d be happy to have her over), and rarely brought her up in conversation unless asked.

Y/N found it especially strange. In a mature attempt to move on from her college crush on Bucky, she tried to make amends with Dolores. Turns out, the blonde was an adorable girl from Brooklyn that absolutely adores Bucky. She’s sensitive but hilarious and Y/N loves spending time with her.

She also noticed how much Dolores talked about Bucky. It was clear how much she adored him, so it was almost unfathomable to her how Bucky didn’t talk about the wonderful woman nearly as much as she talked about him.

“Don’t you find it a little weird?” Y/N asked him as he was brushing his teeth. Steve was concentrated on her face despite toothpaste foaming around his mouth. Y/N sat on the bathroom counter, feet swinging as she absentmindedly played with an elastic.

Steve spit in the sink before speaking, “I mean, you know Buck. He’s a pretty private guy.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t shut up about crazy stories he’s had with you and Bucky loves you. I just find it a little funky that he doesn’t act the same with Dolores,” Y/N explained.

Steve sighs and gargles the rest of the toothpaste out of his mouth. “I guess I never thought about it that way… They have only been married for a little over two years though. Maybe they’re still figuring out the ropes of their marriage?”

Y/N shrugs with a sigh, hopping off the counter and stripping off her shirt and pants. Steve tries his hardest not to stare but he can’t help but stare at the curve of her body as she reaches to slip on one of his hoodies she likes to wear for bed.

Steve isn’t really sure where his relationship with Y/N stands, to be honest. It’s funny to him—they act like an actual married couple, minus the romance. Acting domesticated with her just feels so natural to Steve, but he’s scared putting a label on anything will change the dynamic, so he stays silent and cherishes the domestic moments he has with her.

“You’re right, I’m probably overthinking it,” Y/N mumbles before slipping past him, “I’m headed off to bed. Don’t take too long.”

Y/N doesn’t notice Steve’s hard blush as he scrambles to put on some pyjamas to join her in bed.

---

“I’m nervous.”

“Jesus, Steve. You’ll be fine! You’re the top of your class at fucking Columbia, so there’s no way you failed the bar,” Y/N cheers on excitedly from behind him. She rubs his shoulders as he stares at his inbox, too afraid to click on the email titled ‘New York State Bar Exam Results.’

Steve’s foot taps incessantly, “I’m still too scared to look.”

Y/N reaches over his shoulder and kisses his cheek. “Fine,” she says, “I’ll look for you.” She clicks on the email and scrolls down, searching for Steve’s exam number.

After a few seconds, Y/N hesitantly asks, “Steve?”

“Mhmm?” he replies, his head in his hands.

“What’s your exam number again?”

“S-24601,” he replies quickly.

Y/N squeals and hugs him from the back, pressing kisses all over his neck. “You fucking passed, Steve!” she squeals.

“I did?!”

“Of course you did, dummy!”

Steve laughs in excitement and disbelief, grabbing Y/N by the waist and spinning her off the ground. Mando barks excitedly, jumping up happily against Steve’s thighs.

“You did it!” Y/N smiles down at him, her cheeks hurting from all her laughing.

The two celebrate by hosting movie night at their place with extra food, desserts, and ridiculous amounts of alcohol. Wanda brings Vis, the high school chemistry teacher she’s been seeing, Nat brings Bruce, and Bucky finally comes around and brings Dolores along for the celebration. Even Sam, who happened to be off duty, was able to come to the celebration.

Despite it technically being movie night, most of the night was spent trading funny stories about Steve, emptying bottles and bottles of wine and beer, and finally letting loose for the first time in a long time.

Around ten in the evening, the board games came out and the group of twenty-somethings started playing games with a drinking twist. Y/N had been attached to Steve by the hip all night (largely because he always seemed to have his arms around her), but she couldn’t complain. The several glasses of wine she had did make it easier for her to ignore Wanda and Natasha’s smirks.

It also made it easier for her to be ignorant of how awkward Dolores felt at the gathering. Y/N sincerely like the girl, but she was unaware of her discomfort until around one in the morning. Most people had left, and it was just Steve, Y/N, and Bucky cleaning up.

“Y/N, I’m gonna take a quick shower,” Steve calls out to Y/N as she washes the dishes with Bucky picking up trash in the living room. “Goodnight Bucky!” Steve calls out before disappearing.

“Goodnight, Steve,” Bucky shouts back before walking into the kitchen. He leans against the counter and watches Y/N as she does the dishes. Y/N notices his presence, then notices the lack of someone else’s presence.

“Hey Buck, where’d Dolores run off to?” Y/N hums, drying the last of the dishes.

Bucky shrugs, “Took an Uber and went home early.”

Y/N turns around to face him, “Shit, Buck. You didn’t have to stay—”

“Nah, I wanted to. She’s probably fine,” he answers nonchalantly.

“Probably?”

Bucky doesn’t respond.

Y/N takes a deep breath and fiddles with the dishtowel in her hands before saying, “Bucky, why is this the first time in three years of marriage that Dolores has come to a friend get together?”

Bucky’s jaw unhinges a little, “What do you mean?”

Y/N sighs and sets the dish towel down. She takes a deep breath before saying, “We’ve asked you to invite her to come over for years, but you always make excuses for her. You don’t nearly talk about her as much as she does about you, and I know that for a fact because I’ve hung out with Dolores on multiple occasions. Bucky…is everything alright between you and Dolores?”

Bucky stares intently at her for a few seconds before his resolve crumbles. His eyes lose its intensity and are replaced with tiredness as he drags his hand across his face. “Dot and I…” Bucky starts, “are going through a bit of a…rough patch.”

“Bucky—”

“I made a mistake marrying her,” he says bluntly.

“What?” Y/N says in shock. Every time she’s spent time with Dolores, she had been nothing but lovely. She’s perfect for Bucky—she doesn’t understand where he’s coming from.

“I love Dolores but I…”

“But…?”

Bucky doesn’t say anything. Instead, he crosses the kitchen floor in two long strides and grabs Y/N by the face, kissing her fiercely.

Y/N freezes and her eyes widen in shock. What the fuck was happening? was the only thing her brain could possibly register at the point.

Bucky pulls away but the grip on her face doesn’t fade, “But I’m in love with you, Y/N. And I know for a fact that you love me too.”

He leans in for another kiss, but Y/N pushes him away. “Bucky stop!” she says, harsher than she intends, but she doesn’t regret it.

Bucky stares at her, dumbfounded, but she continues, “That was a long, long time ago. And Jesus, Bucky you’re married!”

He shakes his head, “I don’t need to be forever—”

“—And you’re drunk!” she explains in exasperation.

“But I know some part of you still loves me. And God, I love you too. All those years without you and it finally got through to my thick skull,” Bucky argues.

“But what about Dolores?” she whispers.

“Fuck Dolores,” he says. Bucky reaches for her again, but Y/N steps away.

“Bucky, I can’t,” Y/N cries. “Maybe there’s some part of me that loves you, that may always love you. But there’s a bigger part of me that loves what I have right now. Bucky, I’ve never felt so safe before. So happy, so cared for, so loved. I know it’s selfish, but I can’t give away the happiness and security that I deserve to explore what my life would be like with you because I love—”

Y/N stops abruptly, her voice catching in her throat.

“Because you love who, Y/N?” Bucky asks. She notices how his eyes have become glassy and how his shoulders had slumped slightly.

Because I love Steve, Y/N thinks. But she doesn’t find the courage to say it. Bucky can see it in her eyes, though.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Bucky doesn’t have to say his name who she’s talking about.

Y/N is silent, her heart thumping so loud her she’s afraid Bucky can hear it.

Her silence is enough for him, “Ah.”

Bucky waits a few more seconds before saying, “When did you know?”

Y/N gulps and lets out a shaky breath. When did she know? She racks her brain but can’t think of a specific time. Part of her thinks that she always knew. She was so natural around Steve. So safe and carefree. Steve was there when that perfect bubble of her friendship with Bucky popped, and he even stayed with her after. He was the one that helped her mend her heart and, in the process, built himself a spot inside without even realizing it. Her imperfect bubble, her lens of the world, may have been broken, but Steve was inside, and Y/N knew that it’s all the really mattered.

I love Steve, she confessed to herself. She felt like she was Cher in Clueless, with the fountain of her emotions erupting inside her. Bucky could clearly see it on her face as he smiled sadly.

“Did I ever have a chance?” he whispers.

“Yeah... A long time ago,” Y/N answers softly, not trusting her voice.

“Will I ever get the chance again?”

Y/N shakes her head softly, “Don’t wait for me, Bucky.”

Bucky smiles sadly at her, a tear escaping his eye. She reaches for him, but Bucky shakes his head, “See you around, Y/N.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

Y/N feels like she’s on autopilot. Adrenaline is still coursing through her system; coupled with alcohol and a whole lot of courage, her feet bring her to the bathroom before even realizing. She doesn’t realize that she’s turning the doorknob or stripping completely. She barely registers her stepping into the steamy shower before and she definitely doesn’t fully register her tapping Steve on the shoulder, reaching up, and kissing him fiercely.

He pulls away first, “Y/N?”

She kisses him in response. This time, he responds but pulls away a few seconds later, “Why are you doing this? Are you drunk?”

“Yeah, it’s not why I’m doing this though,” she says, voice raspy.

“Why then?”

“Because I love you.”

“Oh,” was Steve’s response before kissing her again. The two sloppily make out like teenagers discovering sex for the first time before Steve pulls away again.

“I also love you, you know,” he says lazily against her lips. He feels her smile.

“That’s good,” she replies before kissing him once more.

The night lasts a lot longer than both of them intend. But it wasn’t like they were complaining.

---

Life had a strange way of playing out sometimes.

It seemed as if Y/N and Steve blinked and the rest of their lives fell straight into their laps.

When they meet new people, they always ask them how long they've been together or when they started dating.

“A lifetime ago,” Steve would always say, his eyes lighting up and his face flushing slightly.

After the night that Steve learned he passed the bar, Y/N and Steve’s relationship didn’t change all that much, mostly because they acted like they were married in the first place. They already help hands in public, gave each other kisses on the cheek when their friends were around, and they acted more domesticated than a lot of actual married couples only months after they officially started dating.

In fact, most of their friends didn’t even realize they had started dating until almost six months later, Y/N made an off-hand comment about how Steve was secretly really kinky in bed.

The really didn’t have an engagement either.

After two years of dating, five years of living together, and nine years of knowing each other, Steve just decided to get straight to the point.

“You wanna get married, Y/N?” Steve asked her. He had just come back from his job as a corporate lawyer. He honestly hated it but needed the experience and the money to pay off his student loans. His grand plan after he was no longer drowning in debt was to become an Assistant District Attorney.

Y/N stopped cutting the vegetables and turned toward Steve who was leaning against the fridge, suit jacket slung across one shoulder and top button his dress shirt undone. She raises a brow at him, “Pardon me?”

“You wanna get married?” he repeats nonchalantly.

“Now? I’m making dinner.”

“Whenever you want, doll.”

She sets the knife down and slowly walks towards him. “This isn’t you proposing, is it?” she cackles.

Steve shakes his head and laughs, meeting her halfway. “No, I thought of this while I was riding the subway back home. I don’t even have a ring, honey,” he explains. “If I’m honest, it feels like we’ve been married for the past five years, so I kinda forgot that we aren’t.”

Y/N purses her lips in concentration before saying, “That’s fair.”

Steve stares at her for a few more seconds, “So…?”

“Do you want to get married?” she asks him this time, stepping forward and grasping his hands.

“I mean…yeah,” Steve says with a grin, “Telling people you’re my wife is a lot cooler than telling people you’re my girlfriend. Besides, if I ever commit a crime, you have the right not to testify against me because of marital privilege—”

He’s cut off with howling laughter and Y/N burying her face into his chest as he wraps his arms around her. Steve’s tired, really tired, but coming home to her was what he reminded himself he was working for.

“Should we do the whole proposal thing, too?” Y/N asks him after her laughter dies down.

“I don’t mind proposing if it’s something you want to do,” he tells her, pressing his lips to her head.

“Meh. I don’t really care,” she says cheekily before pressing her lips to his.

After their wedding—just like Y/N and Steve predicted—their lives didn’t change all too much. The only noticeable changes were that they were being addressed as Y/L/N-Rogers in the mail, but their lives were pretty much the same.

Their friends found it fascinating: when they had gotten married, they felt that their relationship dynamic had changed a little. But then again, they supposed Steve and Y/N had been acting like they’ve been married since the ripe age of twenty. It’s almost like they skipped a few steps in their relationship and went from friends to acting like they’ve been married for forty years.

The biggest change in their relationship came three years after their wedding when their twins, Avery and Jameson Y/L/N-Rogers were born into the world.

Steve and Y/N were natural parents and they loved their kids. When the twins were three, they took them on their first road trip to the Adirondacks. They spent the weekend at a lakefront cabin, swimming, canoeing, and hiking. When asked years later, the twins would always explain that this was their first memory. At four, the twins started school, and to say Y/N and Steve were worried would be a huge lie. They knew Avery and Jameson would protect each other no matter what. At age seven, a boy on the playground called Avery an ‘ugly liar’, and Jameson threw sand in his face. Steve gave Jameson a scolding about how it was bad to throw sand at people and instead saying that if he was going to throw something, throw a punch instead.

Y/N had to step in and tell him not to do that unless it was a last resort.

At twelve, Jameson had his first real crush on a girl named Mindy. But, Avery knew that Mindy was mean and the daughter of an entitled Karen, so when Jameson asked Mindy if she wanted to dance with her at the school dance, Avery made sure to scare her straight.

“My daddy is a lawyer and sends criminals to prison and my mommy works for the New York Times. So, if you hurt James, everyone will know how mean you actually are are,” Avery threatened, which made Mindy back out of dancing with Jameson. Despite being mad when he was twelve, he was thankful years later when he saw firsthand what kind of teenager Mindy would become.

Now at sixteen, though the two twins were still thick as thieves, they matured into respectable, and frankly perfect kids.

That year, the Fourth of July (aka Steve’s birthday) fell the same night as movie night and the twins took it upon themselves to plan their dad’s party.

“Avery? James? You doin’ alright?” Y/N called from the upper floor of their brownstone in Park Slope, Brooklyn. When it was obvious that Avery and Jameson were at the age that they couldn’t share a bedroom anymore, Steve convinced Y/N to move back to Brooklyn. It wasn’t the difficult, per se, especially when Steve found a place close to where Natasha and her now-husband Bruce lived.

“Doin’ just fine, Mom!” Avery calls back. She was busy frosting the good-old Stars and Stripes cake while James finished the last-minute decorations.

Just then, Y/N heard a thud before some soft moaning. She gasped, already halfway down the stairs. “Are you okay? Do you need help? Screw your surprise, I’m com—”

“No!” James shouted, quickly sitting up, “I just fell off a stool, Mom. No big deal, you don’t need to come downstairs.”

“Are you su—”

“Yep! This is supposed to be a surprise!” James calls back.

“A surprise for your dad, not for me Jameson.”

Avery cackles from the kitchen and James rolls his eyes at her. “We’re fine, I promise,” he reassures her.

“Okay, just be done before everyone gets here. Bucky’s stalling your dad for as long as possible but I know he’ll want to come home soon.”

When Y/N is finally allowed downstairs, she’s impressed with their work. Red, white, and blue streamers are hung all across the ceiling as well as helium balloons that say ‘Happy Birthday America!’ except America is crossed out with Sharpie and ‘Steve Rogers’ is written in her kids’ handwriting instead. In the living room, several games are put out on the coffee table and a playlist full of patriotic movies is ready to be played on the TV. All her friends (minus Bucky and Steve) are in the living room, having a laugh at all the funny touches on the decorations. Their dining table was filled with food their friends brought for the potluck, and for some reason, James had blasted (and looped) a remix of the Star-Spangled Banner and Happy Birthday.

“Do you like it, Mom?” Y/N hears before turning around and facing her kids. Avery’s hand was grasped in James’ and her heart melts. How did I get so lucky? she asks herself.

She gives them a huge smile before enveloping both of them into a hug. “It’s amazing. Better than anything I could’ve done, that’s for sure.”

“Do you think, Dad’ll like it?” James mumbles into her shoulder.

“HOLY FUCKING SHIT!” a voice suddenly shouts. The three pull apart to find Steve standing at the entrance of the living room with a huge grin on his face. Bucky stands behind him, chuckling at his reaction.

Y/N’s smile widens at the sight of her husband. “There’s your answer, James.”

The party is everything Steve could have really asked for. The food was great, his company was even better, and the thoughtfulness of his kids was enough to bring tears to his eyes.

When the night gets darker, the party of people head to the roof of the building so they can watch the fireworks. As they wait, Avery has everyone engrossed in a story of how James followed her on a date with a boy she really liked, Peter Parker. Steve stood at the edge of the crowd, smiling at how happy his kids and his wife looked. He feels a presence beside him and doesn’t need to look to know who it is.

“You did pretty great, Steve,” Bucky tells him softly.

“With Avery and James?” he asks.

“With life, buddy.”

Steve hums contently as the two of them watch Avery cause a bubble of laughter to erupt from the group. James punches her playfully on the arm, but the smile is still evident on his face.

“How’s Steph?” Steve asks him.

“She’s good. She’s with her mom for the weekend,” Bucky answers quietly.

“And how are you and Dolores?”

Bucky is silent for a few seconds. He clears his throat before saying, “Talking. We’re trying to work it out for Steph’s sake. She doesn’t deserve to have a broken family.”

Steve puts a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, Buck. You’re a good father,” he tells his best friend.

Bucky remains silent. After a few minutes of silence, Bucky’s conscious drowns him in guild and he speaks up, “I kissed Y/N when we were younger. It was the night you learned you passed the bar. I told her I thought I made a mistake marrying Dolores, and shit…I don’t even know what I was thinking because I knew she probably loved you. I’m so sorry, Steve. I never told you because you’re my best friend and—”

“Bucky,” Steve cuts him off with a small, sympathetic smile, “It’s okay. I know.”

Bucky’s brows shoot up. “You know?” he asks.

Steve nods, “Y/N told me. Y/N tells me everything.”

Bucky exhales, “Ah.”

“I’m not mad,” Steve tells him.

“You’re not?”

“I am married to her and still best friends with you, aren’t I?”

Bucky chuckles and looks down. He doesn’t deserve Steve, Bucky thinks. But he’s damn grateful a guy like him is in his life. “I’m still sorry,” he says.

“It’s okay, Bucky. I mean it,” Steve says, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

The two stand in comfortable silence when the fireworks finally start to go off. The roof glows with red light and Steve can’t help but admire how beautiful Y/N looks with the glow of light on her skin. Avery has her head on Y/N’s shoulder while Jameson has an arm wrapped around her torso. Steve notices Bucky admiring his family too.

“You know,” Steve starts, “she loved you when we were younger. I actually thought the two of you would be great together and wanted her to ask you out. She was about to.”

Bucky looks at him. “Really,” he asks suspiciously.

“Mhmm,” Steve hums, still looking at the fireworks. “And did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Love her?”

Bucky is silent. He stares at Steve’s side profile; he’s still staring up at the fireworks without a care in the world.

Bucky sighs and answers honestly, “All throughout college, even when I was with Dolores. But guessing by your reaction, I think you already knew that.”

Steve finally glances in his direction, “I’m your best friend. Of course, I knew.”

“Did I ever have a chance with her?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, finally looking at Bucky, “once you did.”

Bucky sighs, “How’d you do it? How’d you find someone you love so naturally?”

Steve shakes his head, his eyes trained on his wife and his kids. They looked so happy, living in their own little bubble. Steve smiles softly before saying, “I stuck around.”

Bucky nods wordlessly before turning his attention back to the fireworks above. Steve continues to stare at his family when Y/N turns around and catches his gaze. Despite the night sky, her eyes are bright and filled with joy and love.

Steve smiles widely at her.

And in their own imperfect, but beautiful bubble, Y/N smiles back.

---

steve rogers taglist: @milea​

[autumnsart22]

Oikawa x reader ch. 3

Ok, finally get some Oikawa lmao. Let me know if you guys are liking this or if it’s too slow or something

Anxiety curled in my stomach as the end of the day approached. I skipped the rest of my classes with Kiyoko, and instead we went into town to get daifuku and bubble tea to make me feel better. By the time we got back to school, volleyball practice was in ten minutes and I could already hear the shouts of the boys inside the gym. 

Kiyoko gave my hand a squeeze as we approached the doors, and I tried for a smile. She was right; none of them would blame me in any way. I was more afraid that Tanaka or Nishinoya would go hunt down my mom and kill her. 

The entire team was already dressed and in the gym as Kiyoko and I entered, most of them stretching or starting to toss balls. Couch Ukai and Takeda sat on one of the benches along the side of the gym, and Kiyoko and I headed in their direction. 

“Ayoooo! Kiyoko and Y/n-chan!” Tanaka pumped his fists, and I laughed and waved, my sadness easing for a moment before returning full force as I remembered that my days in this gym were limited. 

“Alright team!” Couch Ukai stood up and called for the team’s attention. They gathered quickly, most carrying volleyballs as they circled up. “Today we will be focusing on defense. In our last practice game our offense was clearly doing better than our defense, and while this is partially an asset, it’s important to be strong on multiple fronts. To start out, we’ll do a warm up of three flying laps and a few passes, but then I want to get into receives. Got it?” 

The team let out a responding, “Yes coach!” and moved to begin their laps. 

“Coach…” I turned to Ukai as the boys began to circle the gym, careful to keep my voice down. “I have something I have to tell you.” 

I quickly filled him in, holding back renewed tears as I relayed the information. Coach Ukai looked shocked and appalled when I finished, running a hand along his hair, which was pulled back in a headband. 

“I am very sorry to hear that, Y/n. Is there any way I can speak to your parents?” 

“I appreciate that, senpai, but I don’t think it will do anything. They’re fixed when it comes to certain things.”

I let out a long sigh and turned my gaze to my team, who were just finishing their flying laps. Yamaguchi was speaking animatedly to Tsukki, who nodded along with his usual bored expression. Daichi and Asahi were clearly trying to demonstrate something to Kageyama, who looked extremely pissed off. Tanaka, Hinata, and Noya were all in a circle, practically buzzing with energy as they played a vicious game of slap jack. Suga stood next to them, clearly trying to calm them down. 

I pressed my lips together, and I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder. 

“I’m very sorry to see you go, Y/n-san. You were an excellent manager and a great addition to our team.” 

I nodded and thanked coach Ukai, knowing that he wasn’t just saying that to make me feel better. It was nice to know he really meant it. 

The rest of the practice flew by, and I cheered on the boys as best I could like I usually did. I saw Suga and Daichi give me a few concerned looks, clearly noticing something off. I waved them off though, not wanting to ruin their practice. I would tell everyone later. 

Darkness fell quickly, and it was too soon before coach Ukai was calling everyone back together. The familiar smell of sweat and sneakers filled my nostrils as the whole team gathered up once again. Being 5’3, I really didn’t even come close to the height of most of the boys on the team. I felt like I was surrounded by giants every time I stood next to any of them besides Hinata or Noya. 

“Good job today boys,” Ukai said, grinning. “You’re really improving. By the time spring nationals come around, I think you’ll be an excellent team with an actual fighting chance of winning.” 

He paused, gaze shifting to me. I let out a long breath and straightened my shoulders, trying to ease the knot in my chest before I spoke. 

“I-I have some news everyone,” I murmured, and then cleared my throat, raising my voice. “My mom has decided to transfer me to Aoba Johsai high school, so I won’t be able to be your manager anymore.” 

For a moment there was complete silence, which was rare for the team. Everyone looked completely shocked. But then the room exploded in noise. 

“Wait what?!” 

“No way!” 

“You can’t!”

“That’s so unfair!” 

Tanaka, Hinata, and Noya’s faces were twisted in outrage as they yelled over each other. Daichi and Suga gaped at me in silent shock, and even Tsukki’s eyebrows were raised. 

Yamaguchi stepped forward, eyes wide on my face. “But-but you can’t leave! You’re our manager!” His cheeks had tiny spots of red and his eyes looked a bit glassy. 

I felt my lower lip begin to tremble and I hugged the freckled boy tightly. I didn’t want to leave. 

“Y/n,” Daichi’s face was serious. “Is there no way you can get out of this?” 

I shook my head sadly, shoulders slumping. “My mom is serious about this, and I know she won’t change her mind.” 

“That’s so unfair!” Hinata cried, his orange hair bouncing as he punched the air. Kageyama nodded, his eyebrows lowered in anger. 

“Isn’t Aoba Johsai a powerhouse school?” Suga asked, looking at me. 

I shrugged. I had heard of Seijoh of course, but I didn’t pay much attention to them beyond basic information. 

“Oikawa goes there,” Kageyama muttered, eyes flashing. I had heard of the team captain a bit, mostly through insults from Kageyama. Apparently he was an arrogant, prideful, cocky, and cunning setter who manipulated his team. Not exactly someone I would want to get to know.

“It’s going to be boring without you here, Y/n-chan.” Asahi hugged me, practically lifting me off my feet and distracting me from worrying about Oikawa. I buried my face in his chest, feeling the tears coming. 

“You’ll visit right? You promise?” Nishinoya wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, squeezing me so hard I wheezed. 

“Of course I’ll visit. As often as I can.” 

The rest of the team joined the hug, until I was smashed against twelve sweaty boys and could barely breathe. Tears spilled over my cheeks, but my face was hidden by a collection of different volleyball jerseys, so I didn’t worry about it. None of them would care if I cried anyway. 

I was going to miss my team so much. 

          ✨✨✨✨✨

Monday came too quickly. I spent Friday and the weekend with Kiyoko and some of the team, enjoying my last time being a Karasuno student. I tried talking to my parents at one point, but neither of them paid me any sort of attention besides annoyed glares at interrupting their work calls. 

By the time Sunday night came around, I was a bundle of nerves and sadness. Being a new student was always hard, but especially since it was already midway through the year and I didn’t know anyone. 

I, being the overly anxious person that I was, laid out my outfit the night before and tried to distract myself by watching a few episodes of a new show on netflix. It didn’t really work, but I eventually fell asleep. 

The next day was a rush of clothes, brushing hair and teeth, and running to my car after skipping breakfast because I was too nervous to eat. As I pulled out of my driveway, I had to remind myself not to turn right, which would have taken me to Karasuno. Instead, I set a new location on Google Maps and followed the directions to my new high school. 

Finding parking and making my way to the main office was way more stressful than I expected, and the day had only just begun. Luckily, the woman at the front desk walked me through how to get to each of my classes and how the schedule for the year worked, so I didn’t have to figure that out on my own. I still got lost on my way to my first class, but luckily I made it on time and was able to talk to the teacher beforehand. He found me a desk and quickly explained a bit of catch up work I would have to do, but it wasn’t too bad, luckily. The rest of the class was boring, as was the rest of the day. I ate alone in my car, avoiding all social interaction with the Aoba Johsai students. I missed my friends. 

Oikawa POV: 

I sat in class, bored out of my mind. As my math teacher droned on, I played volleyball techniques over and over in my head, trying to picture the best way to carry out the perfect set for Iwaizumi during practice today. My long fingers tapped against my notebook, which was open but completely blank in front of me. I wasn’t the best notetaker, unless it included volleyball in some way.

I glanced over to the side, stretching, and my eyes caught on a flash of unfamiliar hair. New student? 

She sat one row over, her hair pulled up in a messy bun as she bent over her desk, furiously taking notes off the whiteboard. She wore a simple tank top and cardigan with jeans, and a pair of glasses slid down her nose. Nothing really remarkable there. Pretty, but not out of the ordinary. 

I ran a finger through my brown hair, tugging on the silky strands as I turned back towards the front of the class. I was curious about why the girl had joined so late in the year, but the bell was about to ring, and I didn’t care enough to stay and ask her. 

Chapter 2

Chapter 4

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

What Do We Have?

Based on the word: Onsra: n., the bittersweet feeling that occurs in those who know their love won't last.

What happens when what you have with someone isn't quite what you wanted it to be?

***No one has my permission to repost this fic, including translation***

Reader Insert, No specific gender, race, or sexuality!

Is lovers to friends a trope? Because, I think I want it to be a trope.

Enjoy my masterlist

____________________________________________

Calum’s not sure when he first noticed it. It might’ve been somewhere between all the nights sitting out in his backyard as you both sip from sweating glasses and all the afternoons at your place where you’d show him some recipe you wanted to try and he agreed to be sous chef. Some of those dishes turned out better than others. But somewhere in between all that, Calum knows. Call it a self-fulfilling prophecy or call it intuition. After making his mistakes, having his wild youth, Calum was ready to set his life on cruise control and take the bumps and lumps but enjoy the ride. 

It was different for you. He saw that. You took every opportunity by the horns and if it blew up in your face, there was hell to pay for it. Every blue was more vibrant. Every spark shined ten times brighter. Calum would be a liar if he said he didn’t like that. If that didn’t tickle his fancy to see the passion in you. But it made him ponder. It made him wonder would you leave at the first hitch. Would you cut ties when he had to go? That’s the inevitable truth. He would have to leave eventually, with touring and promotion. 

“You’re thinking too much.”

Calum looks to his left, where you are curled up with Duke on your lap. The afternoon sun is just cresting its peak. It’s warm out, a breeze blowing through the privacy shrubbery every so often that helps the both of you forget that sweat is pooling down your backs and on your foreheads. “It’s not a crime to think.”

“But it might be a crime to think too much.”

“And what do you suggest that I do instead hm?” You had come over, just to hang out. Your latest binge together on Netflix had been fully consumed. The two of you sat on Calum’s couch scrolling endlessly through the suggestions but there wasn’t anything that caught either of your eyes. That’s when you suggested just taking a dip in the pool, or at least just stepping outside for some fresh air. 

Now, you grow restless. Wanting to do something, go somewhere, see something, taste something new. It doesn’t really matter the specifics. “The new arcade place just opened up near the mall. We can go there.”

Calum nods. There’s no shock that he feels at your suggestion. He sees the twinkle even behind the way you bite down on your lower lip. There it is, the insatiable urge to take on something. “The least I can do is kick your ass in skee ball since you took today off.”

Fixing Calum with a glare, you stand, Duke safely tucked in your arms. “You’re on, Hood.” 

He watches you, feet silent over the concrete as you saunter back into the house. His fingertips don’t ache like they used too. He should’ve run after you, tickled your sides, or pinched your ass and made you laugh. But instead, he sits, watches you go and wonders if he’s actually going to beat you or not. He wonders if his skills can handle his own trash talk. It wouldn’t hurt his pride if his skills were lackluster. 

In the car, he lets you control the radio. You fiddle for a moment before your phone connects and softly through his speaker he hears an old school funky bassline. You watch the cut of Calum’s jaw and the way he reclines into the driver seat. The sight makes your chest warm but you wonder if Calum really wants to go to the arcade. You worry he’s only going because you want to go, because you can’t sit still. Would he ever grow tired of you? Would he ever try to tie you down, make you into something that you weren’t? 

It would wear him thin eventually, you figured. He had a much slower pace that he liked to consume life at. You chalk it up to the fact that he’s life can be so jammed packed for months if not a year at a time with touring that when he can get a moment to relax, he savors it like children and ice cream before dinner. You didn’t truly think he would try to make you into something you’re not. Though the thought and worry never fully escapes you. It seems like no one would ever fully escape their fears, just enough to let the delusion settle in. Everyone would escape just enough to let their hair down and not look over their shoulder at every moment, just every once and awhile. 

In bright red and pink neon lights, Arcadeocity blinks in front of them. Calum pulls into a parking spot. It’s not terribly business given it’s the middle of the week and the summer hasn’t officially hit just yet. “Ready to get your ass kicked?” he teases, one hand guiding the seatbelt as it slides back against the inner frame. 

“The question is are you ready to pay for drinks after I kick your ass?”

“I was born ready.”

Inside, it’s dim and there are some kids running about. But it’s quiet. Calum heads to the counter, gathering the quarters. You look over, seeing the racing games, the ones where you sit and the ones with the bikes. A machine goes off, lots of buzzing and high zings. You look over to see one of the machines lighting up, the conditioned response for any winner. Two small boys are cheering, arms raising above their heads as the machine spits out the tickets in return. 

There are tables off to the sides, for parents to sit, sip at their drinks and pray their children can keep occupied enough to not worry them for a small blimp of time. Though their gazes never leave their children for too long. One mother raises her hand, calling out the child’s name. “You’re going too far.”

“Oh, it’s not going to hurt them,” the father counters. “You remember the code right?” he calls outs. 

You spot the small child, dressed in blue overalls and high top sneakers. “I remember Dad.” They’re no older than eight or so, you figure. 

He waves them on. “Go head. Just make sure to check in after every game, alright?” 

The child nods, a grin on their face. “Thanks, Dad!” 

“Should we work our way up to the main event?” Calum asks, rejoining you now. His pockets jiggle a little. 

You turn your attention to him, thinking for the slightest moment that Calum would be that kind of dad, if he ever wanted to be. That would let his kid go and be free. But the second they needed him he’d swoop in. That’s what he did. Calum kind of swooped in it seemed to be his MO especially since that’s how the two of you met. You’d be lying if you said otherwise. You hadn’t even seen him in the aisle, preoccupied with trying to avoid the kids that had just cut the corner. You stumbled, managing to avoid them and right when you thought you’d wind up smacking into the shelves holding up rice and pasta, strong arms wound around your arm to keep your balance. 

“Racing game first?”

He nods. The dimness cut by the lights and glitz of the games, his eyes look like blackholes. Or maybe more like tunnels with a light at the end of them with the shiny reflection right in the middle of his pupil. 

Calum wins the first race and nearly beats you for third in the second race. As you both slip off the motorcycles, you collect the tickets from your machines. “I’m better with four wheels,” you laugh.

With a thumb over his shoulder, he grins. “I’ve got a pocket full of change. Prove it, sweets.”

You do. Pulling ahead of Calum in both races. You come in third while he comes in fifth in the first. You manage a dirty fourth place, leaving Calum in seventh. It shouldn’t have been fourth but somehow you landed on a shortcut that saved you from eighth up to fifth. It was a fight for fourth but you managed it as you downshifted into fifth gear in the game and took the straightaway with ease.  

“What the actual hell?” Calum laughs, after seeing you actually using the clutch and stick shift. “I didn’t think any of that actually mattered?”

“Dad taught me how to drive stick shift and now it’s just a habit now, I guess.” 

It’s with a click of his tongue that Calum nods but admits his defeat. The both of you are observing, wondering where to go next. He asks you, if there’s anything that interests you. You could spend hours here, playing every game in sight. But you let him choose. You let him set the pace. Maybe it’s in the hopes that you can keep hold onto Calum for just a little bit longer. “You wanted to come here. I’m sure you’re dying to play something,” he concedes. 

“Let’s shoot some hoops,” you suggest. 

“You don’t--you sure?” It’s a silent nod and a gentle grasp of his wrist before you lead him to the basketball hoops. You two don’t even need to make it a competition. Just for fun. Just something to laugh while you do, attempting to throw him off his rhythm by flattering but never being successful. In the end, you don’t read the red numbers at the screen, just take the tickets it does give you. 

“Skee ball?” he asks, folding his tickets. It seems to go on forever, the end hitting the floor and somehow crawling over it too just a little. 

“Sure. If you’re ready to cry of course.”

Calum’s ears are full of the sounds of the game, taunting them, praising them, lighting up and shouting at every ball that sinks into a hole. But right below that is your laughter, your shriek, “You’re supposed to let me win!”

He has no rebuttal, just a feeling. Something like amusement and a tiny bit of guilt. Like maybe he should be more mindful, like maybe he should be toying more carefully. But at the same time, his chest flutters, when you shove at his shoulder and let out an indignant squawk that turns up into a laugh. He won by 100 points. “Round two?”

“Of fucking course,” you huff. Calum drops the quarters into your upturn palm and you guys feed them into their slots simultaneously. He wins again. 75 points as the lead, which stings less, but still. “It’s just an off day,” you say. There’s a smirk on your face and you can accept the defeat but not without a little bit of stink about it. 

Over the course of an hour, you two play more games, stopping for a quick snack break. At the end, you go up to the counter first, Calum excusing himself for a moment to the restroom. There’s a small stuffed dog hanging on the second most top shelf. His ticket cost is high but after some successful rounds on the racetrack, you manage to squeak just enough to get him.  When Calum returns, you’re standing with your arms behind your back. “You hiding something.” It’s more of a question but it comes out factual. 

“Me? No, never.”

He laughs. At the counter, Calum looks over the possibilities. Part of him knows he should go the extravagant route. He’s done it before, with the stuffed animals and big ticket items. But he spies some alien trinkets instead and grabs two for you. He still has a stack left, so he grabs the small bean bag toy in the shape of a soccer ball. “You’ve still got quite the haul left,” the attendant states. 

“Save ‘em for the next kid.”

“If you’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. They’ll need them more than me.” Before Calum can reach you, you hold the stuff toy in front of your chest. “Very cute.”

“For you.” 

His brow twitches, pulling down like he can’t quite believe it. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.” You urge him to take it and swallow down the urge to tell him he can give it to Duke. You want him to know it’s for him. No matter what. You did it for him. 

“Thank you.” Almost sheepishly he exchanges the stuffed toy for alien trinkets. One’s a keychain and you smile. “Perfect for the collection?”

“Of course.” It is perfect. It’s thoughtful. And part of you wants to kick yourself for not getting the inflatable soccer ball, or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Because clearly those are more Calum, those are more thoughtful than just a stuffed animal. Calum makes a show though, buckling the dog into the backseat, after shifting the towel that Duke usually rests on and maybe, it’s not such a bad gift after all. 

It’s in the car as Calum ponders aloud choices for dinner that you asked to be taken back to your place. You do have an early morning and Calum doesn’t think too much of it. It’s not until that gets back home and settles the stuffed dog onto his bed that he remembers the recipe the both of you were going to try. He had gone to the grocery store and everything. It feels wrong to try it without you. He can’t let it go to waste though. 

I’m going to drop you off a plate. That’s the text from him not even ten minutes after he drops you off. You remember all at once the dinner plans. How could you have forgotten that? Truth be told, you had fun. Arcadeocity scratched that itch to get out. But you didn’t want to intrude too much on Calum’s free time. Which, when the hell did that start being a concern? Calum was pretty direct and honest if he needed time to himself. 

Maybe it was just a time thing. You were starting to understand Calum more and even though he would be vocal about needing space, you knew how much he valued it. And you valued your own space too. Truth be told, you were starting to want more of it. Or maybe it was more time to do whatever by yourself. Or maybe the reason really didn’t matter because now, sitting on your own couch, you feel a little less like you’ve been stuffed into a box. 

Calum arrives at your door with a reusable bag full. “I just made the whole recipe and split it in half. You can take it into work tomorrow.”

“Thanks.” 

It’s a quick brush, his lips pressing into the flesh of your forehead. “Of course.” 

___________________

Of course that feeling comes back. When Calum calls and hears the rattle of music in the background, he knows you’re out. It’s the second weekend in a row you’ve walked out on the town. The second weekend in the row you’ve made those plans without really consulting Calum, just going. Not that you thought you’d be out again. But when your coworker mentioned wanting to go out, you didn’t want the opportunity to pass you by. Letting Calum didn’t quite cross your mind either. 

Part of Calum feels like he should be fighting more against that, fighting to maybe get more time. But he doesn’t. “Have fun. Let me know if you need a ride,” he says, unsure if he needs to shout to be heard over the receiver. 

“Okay, will do!” The call ends and he drops into his sofa. Part of him is relieved, strangely. He doesn’t have to worry about having to do something. He doesn’t have to muster up the energy. He had it. If you weren’t out and about, he wouldn’t have minded doing something but he’d rather sit at home. 

Was he wrong for that? Was it wrong to thank the high heavens you had already preoccupied yourself without him?  Was it wrong to know something wasn’t going to make it all the way to the end but just wanting to take the ride while it was still offered? He enjoys his time with you. He enjoys the laughs and the crazy adventures. But god, did he like doing nothing too. There was nothing wrong with that. Right?

His phone shakes again, later in the night with a text from you. Made it home safely. Am buzzed and I should never wear clothes with buttons ever again when drinking. 

He calls in response. “What happened with said buttons?”

“Fly was open,” you sigh in return, sinking into your own mattress. “Embarrassing.” His giggles cut through the slight fog of alcohol. “Don’t laugh.”

“Sorry, that’s a laughable offense, sweets.”

“Humph!” 

“Need me to come over?”

“Nah, not that drunk. Have-have you got no faith in me?”

“No, I have all the faith in you. Drink some water, okay?” You hum in your agreement, mumbling a good night to him. 

______________

“How long’s the tour?”

“Just shy of seven months. There are breaks, of course.”

You nod. “Of course.” They needed them for their own sanity and health. “I’ll watch Duke. You know I don’t mind.” He hasn’t asked. And Calum doesn’t really need to ask. You’ve always taken the chance to watch over the old man when Calum’s gone. You think you should’ve noticed Calum’s stubble before now. It’s not quite stubble really any more, on the cusp of being the start to a true beard. He usually doesn’t let it get this long. 

How long has it been? You’ve texted and called. But somehow in the catalog of your mind you can’t place the last time you saw him in person for longer than a few minutes. It doesn’t feel wrong, in the sense that you’re worried that things are falling apart. But it is strange. It’s almost like air between you--something that you know is there but can’t quite put a finger on it. It’s somehow distance but not distant. The strange new normal the two of you have created. And you want to be sad. It’s a strange guilt to see now more than ever what’s been expanding between the two of you, but not being upset that it’s happening. 

“I scheduled his appointments already,” Calum says, sliding a couple sheets of paper over to you. “Well, the major ones. I know your summer schedule’s a little different so I tried to keep that in mind too. Thanks again.”

“You don’t have to thank me.” 

Calum’s sure this will be the start of the end. And you are too. But that doesn’t stop you from messaging him just shy of three weeks from the start of the tour. Rehearsals are getting longer and more tiresome. His answers to text and calls are coming later in the night.  I’m dropping off a plate for you.  You send it on your lunch break, hoping that by the time you get off, Calum’s replied. 

And he has: Only if it’s not too much of a bother. Thankyou. 

It’s not long after returning home that you’re back in your car, Calum’s food resting on the floor to keep it from tipping over. At the gate, you worry it’ll take you too long to reach Calum to get inside, but thankfully, Luke and Michael are just ahead of you and let you in. The three of you wander back into the studio space. Michael explains at length the mechanics of a game to Luke. You’re not sure if he’s convincing the taller man, but Luke takes in each detail with a thoughtful face. 

“Please tell me you’re teaching any of this,” Luke teases, glancing at you.

“Dude, I’m just dropping off food. I’ve got nothing.” 

He laughs but agrees ultimately to give a test to Michael’s latest video game obsession. As the door to the space opens, you can’t help but let the soft smile crest your face at Calum’s stretched out figure on the floor. You’re not sure if he’s sleeping, but you know from experience if he gets too relaxed in any position anywhere he can and will fall asleep. “It would be such a shame,” you start, voice bouncing off the walls. Calum cracks a smile even though his eyes are still closed. “If this bowl of pad see ew just happened to take a bad stumble. 

“You wouldn’t dare,” he calls out from the floor. He’s slow to look up at you. But when he does, it’s a long gander. You’re still in your work clothes, though the shoes tell him you definitely did go home first. 

“Home cooked,” you offer, lifting the glass container and setting it on the table where Luke, Ashton, and Michael have gathered. 

“Really, thanks. It means a lot.” 

“Of course.”

Calum thinks about that phrase for long after you’re gone and long after he’s consumed the sweet and yet savory noodles. Like, of course--like you wouldn’t be doing anything else but helping him out majorly. Of course, you’d go from a crazy day at work to fixing him dinner. Like of course he shouldn’t have to worry constantly. Like of course this is normal. And it is normal, in some ways. But it’s not normal in others. It’s not normal, he thinks, to go weeks without seeing you and not feeling a super deep ache. There was the missing he felt when he wanted to see his mum, or his sister. But they had always kind of been away from him, ever since he moved out. Calum did miss you, but it never fully consumed him. Never made him mope, or be too down. Or maybe it was normal? Maybe it showed how much the two of you were secure with each other. 

____________________

Did you want to spend a few days together? Rehearsals are pretty much done. I know you’re still working though. 

Calum can’t seem to hit send. 

That last sentence is his out. It’s a way for you to say no without having to feel like an asshole. He knows that. He knows you’ll know that the second you read the text. But he can’t bring himself to delete it. 

With a swift kick of boldness, Calum taps the up arrow. The text lifts and then settles and Delivered sits right underneath the blue text in gray. It’s only an extra ten minutes from your place to work. I don’t mind. 

Most mornings, of the four that you spend with Calum right before the shuttle bus comes to get him, he whines as your alarm goes off. “You can spare five more minutes,” he mumbles into his pillow, one arm raised, not fully like the limbs much too heavy for his body to carry. And at this time in the morning, half past 6, it probably is too heavy to carry. 

“Only five,” you laugh before sliding back into bed, but not under the covers. 

Calum always curls back up into your side, arm thrown across your torso. “Can’t believe you’d leave this nice, warm bed.” 

He almost never mentions leaving him. He doesn't mention leaving you. It’s always the nice, warm bed you’d be leaving, that he’d be leaving. This nestle of comfort and known territory being the only thing tying the two of you together. 

You have to stop yourself from saying it’s just a bed. That any old bed can be nice and warm. Because it always could be any old bed that can be nice and warm. But do you want any old bed or do you want Calum’s? Do you want somebody else? Do you want to fly across skies? Or do you want Calum? 

“It is a nice, warm bed,” you say instead. It’s an agreement that whatever it is between you is nice. Though, you’re not convinced it’ll last. 

The first week of Calum on tour turns into a second. That second one turns into a third. And by the third week rolls around, the most your phone buzzes or chimes with anything related to Calum is a quick picture attached with a few lines about what’s going on in his world. You’re not even sure besides keeping him updated on Duke when you’ve talked about your life if you told Calum about the impromptu trip to Vegas. Or if you told him about your promotion at work. 

Somehow all of that just seems so mundane and so not the thing he’d care to hear about until he calls. It’s an early morning for you. “I see your end of the globe hasn’t gone up in flames yet.”

You shake your head with a tuft of laughter. “No, it’s still thriving. Just adjusting to this new job.”

“You quit your old one? Do you need anything to tide you over?”

“No, no, just a new position.” You almost start to say that you had to have told him. But if he’s asking, if he’s concerned, then you must have forgotten.

“Tell me about it.” 

“My job is not exciting,” you call out, grabbing your clothes from inside the closet. 

“Doesn’t matter. Bore me with the details.” You do. Enough so that, when you’re finally dressed and sitting down to eat breakfast, you can see him with his eyes drooping. “Bored him literally to sleep,” you laugh. 

“I am not asleep,” he responds with a sleepy mumble. 

“Sure you’re not.”

A month into the tour, Calum works it to have you flown out. Calum’s greet you in the car from the airport, the two of you laughing, falling into each other’s side, but ultimately always shifting back into place, resting into the back of the seat instead of each other. Calum’s not phased, not when you run ahead up to the historic hotel. He’s not phased when you run ahead of him at the museums are long the streets during your visit. But he knows it’s killing you. When the bands backstage, and you stare out of the windows, he knows it’s killing you not to get out there. Not to see the country, the cities, the people. 

“Tomorrow we can go adventuring,” he tells you, leaning up against the wall as you’ve curled yourself up into the window sill. 

“You’ve got another show tomorrow.”

He just winks at you, leaning forward to kiss the top of your head. And then he’s gone, back to the sofa, laughing as someone shows him something on their phone. The guys fall instantly back into their chaos. You watch, knowing you could fall into it too. You know their antics and their sense of humor. But yet, you sit in the window sill. You watch the birds fly pass. You watch people wander. You hear the slight cry of fans waiting for them and you know this isn’t really meant for you. 

This isn’t something that would saitatee you in the long run. 

You find out later after the show and he’s had a chance for a quick shower, that in the wee hours of the morning, just eeking pass one, Calum and you wander through nightlife. Arm in arm, you meander down streets, up city blocks, stopping at storefronts just to oogle over their displays. The skies are a little clearer. You can stop, leaning up against some random fence to watch the stars for a little it.

“It’s weird to think that I’m watching some stars last breathe. Like we’re so close, but so far away from the heavens. And they really just go on forever,” you whisper. 

Calum hums, sliding his hands into the pocket of the hoodie draped over your body. His fingers wrap around yours in the pocket. “But it’s almost like they are giving us their last wish, maybe. Giving us one last guiding light.”

 It’s almost four am when you find yourselves back at the front doors of the hotel. You’re laughing at Calum’s slurred speech due to drowsiness. He’s going to regret this in the morning maybe and you can only hope that there’s a pot of coffee big enough to help. His slumber is heavy next to you. Your brain is wired. You can feel it buzzing in your fingertips. How do you tell Calum that you don’t want to lose him but maybe the romanticism between the two of you isn’t there anymore? Was it ever really there to begin with?

With three days left on this trip, you don’t say anything at first. How do you even verbalize that? What are the right words? You don’t sleep that night either. When Calum reaches out for you, his arm feels like hot steel. Like it’s burning you for feeling any different. On the second night, you slip further into the seats in the back of the bus--there’s no stopping at a hotel this time--, your blanket pulled up to your chin, nothing plays on the TV in front of you. You know you can’t avoid him. Not at a time like this. But you’re still not sure if you can mention is just yet, if you have the nerves to do it. 

The door slides open and Calum is there, leaning against the faux frame and his body moves with ease at the jostle of the bus. “Mind if I pop a seat next to you?”

“Of course not.” It’s an automatic reply. And really you don’t mind. But you can tell by the way he nods, biting his lips and settles next to you but not into you that he’s aware of something too. But you’re aware now you can’t duck out of this conversation. There’s no turning back now. 

“You say ‘of course’ a lot, you know?”

“Something tells me that now isn’t the right time to say ‘of course, I know’ so I’ll refrain from using it.” 

His laughter is a quick exhalation, facing the blank screen too. “Are you--” he starts and then stops. He fiddles with his thumb nail for a second and then turns, bringing one leg up under the other and his hoodie cladded arm rests on the back of the sofa. “If it’s not--I’m not sure if our relationship is what it was before.”

You exhale. Your shoulders straighten under the blanket and you shift, sitting to face Calum more. There’s no sadness. Not even the clench of his jaw which he does when he’s trying to hold something back, when he doesn’t want to say what’s fully on his mind. “I-I don’t think so either.”

He gives a thoughtful nod, resting a hand on your leg, over the fuzzy black fabric. “And it’s not that I don’t have love for you. Nothing has happened, like nothing you did or said, or anything bad but.”

“It’s just different between us.”  Different doesn’t feel quite whole, so you unfurl finally from the mass and out of habit, pick at the fuzz on the end of his sleeves. “Well, more like, I’ve realized maybe what we wanted wasn’t what we needed? If that makes sense?”

“It makes sense.” Calum watches your fingers, pinching and rolling at the small balls of cotton. “I-I won’t mind if you stay or go. I’d like you to stay. There’s the museum you always wanted to go to in our next city, but if it’s too weird or anything, I totally understand.”

You shake your head, gaze lifting to his. He’s still chewing over his lip but he looks mostly calm. The nerves are obvious but this conversation is going better than you could’ve anticipated. “I don’t feel pressured to leave at all. I just, do you need space? If you need me to go, I’ll take the next flight out. You’ve got a job to do and I don’t want you to be in a weird headspace with me around. And I would hate--,”

He cuts you off with a squeeze of your hand. “You’re rambling. And no, I don’t want you to leave. I haven’t properly seen you in a few weeks. I still really enjoy your company. But it’s just, not like before, you know. Besides, you still owe drinks from when I kicked your ass in skee ball.”

His grin is small at first but it grows when you flap, releasing your hand from his hold and fold your arms across your chest. “The way I remember it, you would owe drinks if I beat you. Not that I owed drinks for losing.” 

When Calum giggles, you have to laugh. In all the previous breakups, you know laughing immediately after shouldn’t be happening. But everything’s different with Calum. All along the two of you were shifting, settling into the version of the bond you needed with each other, not necessarily the prescribed one from society, or the one that you wanted. 

“Would you be, like, upset if I took a separate bunk?” you asks. 

“Of course not,” Calum returns with a grin. 

Honestly, you feel relieved waking up the next day, for the most part. It should be awkward, but there’s something between you and Calum. There’s something you both get about each other that even in the face of change this bond doesn’t feel broken. It feels mended, finally and completely free too. No guilts, no second thoughts and what you should be doing or what you think Calum expects of you. 

It definitely carries a small sting. There’s no lying, a small bit of your routine and your normal is now gone and that worries you for when you go back home. Like, is it still acceptable that you steal his Santa Cruz hoodie? And when Calum catches your gaze from the otherside of the dressing room, he wonders if he can still kiss your forehead, still hold your hand? Or is that crossing the line? He airs on the side of caution for now, just smiles at you and you smile in return. 

Just before leaving, you fold his hoodie up, placing it on his bunk next to the not fully folded blanket that reveals his iPad. 

When Calum goes to his bunk he sees the hoodie. His heart drops, he won’t lie. When he picks it up, it feels heavy. Not physically, but he kinda wanted you to keep it. Something crinkles. He unfurls it. Nothing falls out but he can hear something. So he continues until he finds the hoodie pocket. 

I know, I know. I wanted to give you this back. Just for the moment. We’re still good like we said before. But I know it’s your favorite right behind the Empathy one. Kick ass on stage. Rock out. 

Calum smiles, neatly folding the note and slips into his bag that he takes into the venues. When the months slip by, show after show mildly interrupted with Duke updates and occasionally things about yourself, Calum finally finds himself able to sit on his own couch. Kick his feet up on his own coffee table. He’s able to decompress. He decompresses enough to fall asleep. A knock at the door jolts him awake. Wiping at the corner of his eyes and his mouth, he jumps from his couch. 

“You were totally asleep,” you grin when the door swings open. 

“Was not,” he retorts. Duke bars from below, jumping at Calum’s leg. “Oh, bubba. How are you?” 

“Good, just missed his pops.” 

Collecting Duke into his arms, Calum stands. “How are you? How’s life?”

“I’m good. Life’s good.” You lift the bag on your arm. “I brought you a plate. Or maybe like four.”

“You--you didn’t have to,” Calum returns. “But of course you did anyway.”

“Of course I did,” you laugh. “Mind if I come in? You can just love on Duke. I’ll reheat the spaghetti.”

He nods, allowing you inside. It’s much more than a plate as you unload the dish and a few other sides. It’s enough for him to eat dinner for a week almost. You always fixed more than he could ever eat. “How’s the move going?” The last time the two of you talked you mentioned needing a new place. Something a little bit bigger to accommodate your needs and the potential of housing your own dog or cat. You’re not entirely sure right now.  

“It’s going slow. But it’s going. Trying to sort out what to toss.”

“I can help, if you want.” Calum watches as you set the plate down in front of him. “Be the voice of reason when you know you really should toss the thing, but can’t do it without a nudge.”

“Or be the nagging voice that tells me to keep it. You know how this goes.”

Calum nods, setting Duke in the seat. “I know.”

“What are you doing? Sit. Eat.”

Two scoops of spaghetti or heaped onto a second plate. You manage to keep Duke away from Calum’s food. The plate hits the table with a muted thud. “If it’s not too much too soon, eat with me? ”

“Of course.” 

“There it is again,” he laughs. 

“What? I’ll leave. Don’t think I won’t.”

“Whoa, slow down. Eat. Then you can huff and puff and blow my house down.”

With a click of your tongue, fork posed in hand, you watch Calum return to his seat. Duke in his lap, just like you knew would happen. “That sounds like a good idea.”

[writeroutoftime]

la la land - chapter one

pairing: steve rogers x reader 

summary: as a struggling actress in the big city, you aren’t sure how you are going to get your big break. similarly, starving artist, steve rogers, doesn’t know how to move on after a deal gone wrong. what happens when the two of you meet and learn more about yourselves, love, and the power of dreams than you ever thought possible? 

warnings: none 

word: 2058

a/n: oh my goodness, I am so excited to final be posting this story!! yes, I know you’re probably think - another series rita, really? but yes, another series!! so, this was actually for @marvelcapsicle​‘s writing challenge, and not only is it overdue, but beth has actually decided to step away from tumblr. however, I still wanted to write this story, and I hope you are excited to read it. the story will follow the general plot of la la land, but I will take some liberties here and there. anyway, please enjoy the first chapter and have a fabulous day! 

There are some lines of dialogue taken from the La La Land script and some song lyrics that inspire dialogue. I do not own anything from La La Land or Marvel, this is purely for creative enjoyment.

oOoOo

New York City. The big apple. The city that never sleeps. A city full of dreamers and a mesh of everything imaginable. Thousands flock to New York every year in hopes of achieving the impossible, pinning down that dream that makes their life worthwhile. It doesn’t matter if they are destined to be starving artists, each day brings a new sun and new opportunities, and no one can tell those dreamers otherwise.

The subway car rattled and whistled as you held onto the standing rail for support, your other hand gripped a rumpled sheet of paper. Eyes closed, you mouthed the words that had been memorized for days, playing the scene over and over in your mind. To any observe you looked ludicrous, but the only thought you could care about was getting that one line right.

“Damn it.” you mumbled when you looked down at your script to see that you had flipped two sentences.

Completely engrossed in your own world, you didn’t notice that the subway train had stopped, nor the tall man that stood before you impatiently tapping his foot and glaring daggers at you. With a scoff, you stepped by so that he was able to squeeze through the doors right before they closed with a ‘whoosh,’ though you didn’t miss the subtle finger he gave you. Some people were just assholes.

However, the man was pushed out of your mind a moment later when you realized, as the train began to move again, that you had missed your stop. Panic consumed you and one glance at your phone told you that you were already pushing making it to your audition on time. Jittery for the next few minutes, you ran out of the subway car as soon as the doors opened at the next stop and bolted up the stairs onto the busy, New York sidewalks.

Dodging against the flow of pedestrian, left and right, you saw that you only had minutes to make it to the theater on time. With your mind focused on the destination, you didn’t see the woman with a tray of iced coffees headed your way until they were spilled down the front of your white shirt. There wasn’t anything that could be done, and you ran away shouting an apology over your shoulder, speeding up when you saw the theater in sight.

Slightly sweaty, out of breath, and with a stained shirt, you shrugged the cardigan you had shoved into your purse on and handed your headshot and resume to the assistant collecting them in the lobby. He gave you an unimpressed looked at your tardiness, but still lead you back to the waiting room where other actresses sat for their turn to impress the higher-ups.

When you walked in the room there was a table full of producers and directors absorbed in their phones, fingers flurrying across their screens, not even given you a second glance. Once you cleared your throat, one of them looked up and nudged the others around her to signal that there was another ‘wannabe’ actress in the room. With a deep breath, you started the scene you had been practicing for days.

“And I swear to God, she was wrecked. It was pure lunacy. Oh God, I know…” you began the scene you knew by heart, phone up to your ear in faux conversation. “No, no, Turner’s fine. So, you- are you waiting ‘til Denver to tell her?” you recited, your smile tightening up as you let your character’s emotions begin to take over, though the fear that ran through you was 100 percent yours. “No, you’re right. I understand.” you said, tears shining in your eyes. “No, I’m happy for you, I just-“

“One second.” you were suddenly interrupted by one of the casting directors as he motioned for another figure to join the room.

As you stood vulnerable before these strangers, they had the audacity to treat you like a movie they could simply press pause on when it was time to place their dinner order. Holding your fake, and soon to be very real tears, you watched as the exchange took place before someone noticed you were still there.

“Uh, thank you.” the one director interrupted. “We’ve heard enough.” she told you and gestured for the door.

“Um, o-okay.” you mumbled with an incredulous look and tried to exit with what little pride you could muster. Out in the waiting room, you saw a handful of other women that looked exactly like you, and you sighed as you shrugged off your jacket, not caring if everyone saw your coffee stained top. No matter how much you practiced or how confident you felt, there was always another actress ready to one-up you, or an assistant ready to interrupt your audition.

Another subway ride later and you made it back to your apartment, kicking off your shoes before you flopped dramatically onto your bed. It had been such a long day between waitressing and another failed audition, that in that moment the only thing that sounded appealing was a hot shower. However, once you stepped out of the shower, it wasn’t long before your roommates barged into the bathroom door, disrupting your pity party.

“Where’s the sauna?” Nat asked with a laugh as she opened the door to the steamed-up bathroom.

“I was trying to give you a dramatic entrance.” you told her over your shoulder on the way back to your room.

On the way there, you ran into Wanda who gave you a hopeful smile. “How’d the audition go, y/n?” The grimace you gave her was all she and Natasha needed to know as they shared a look. “Well you are coming to the party tonight, right?” Wanda asked as you closed your bedroom door.

“I’m not going.” you called out, wincing slightly at their shrieks of protest.

The two rushed to your door and pounded furiously until you emerged, now donned in sweats and a sleep shirt, ready to spend the night with your latest Netflix binge. That was, until Natasha and Wanda cornered you in your own room, grilling you about the party.

“Come on it’s going to be so much fun. A party thrown by Tony Stark and we’re invited!  Besides, when else are we going to see New York’s finest all in one room?” Wanda teased as Natasha looked through your wardrobe.

“I don’t want to go.” you repeated. “It’s just gonna be full of social climbers and I don’t feel like ass kissing all night.”

“But you have the perfect dress.” Nat teased as she pulled out a dress that had sat in the back of your closet for months, never having the right time to where it. “You’ve got the invitation.” she told you.

“You’ve got the right address.” Wanda chimed in, and the two pulled you up from the bed, the dress pressed up against your frame.

“Come on, y/n. Someone in the crowd could be the one you need to know. What do you have to lose?” Nat pressed. “Directors and producers galore, looking for you to star in their next show.” she said as she framed the scene dramatically.

“I think I’ll stay behind.” you told them with a shrug and pushed your roommates out so they could get ready.  

Only a few minutes later you heard Nat and Wanda call out a goodbye quickly followed by the door closing behind them. As the silence of your apartment surrounded you, the thoughts began to swirl in your head. Yes, the audition today didn’t go as planned, but when had that stopped you in the past. Maybe the perfect part was waiting for you at that party. With a new sense of determination, you threw the dress and some heels on and rushed to catch up with your friends.

Nat and Wanda heard the clack of heels behind them and stopped to watch you approach. “Get it, girl!” Nat cheered as they gave you a moment to show off your dress before the three of you linked arms and pranced towards Tony Stark’s apartment complex.

Travelling through the city surrounded you with bright lights, neon signs, and an atmosphere that made anything feel possible. The party was in full swing when the three of you stepped out of the elevator, and you weren’t sure where to look first between the decadent decorations and glamorous people. Wanda quickly dragged you to the bar to grab a drink, but it wasn’t long until you found yourself separated.

While you tried to keep an optimistic attitude, the longer you were around these people, the faster the walls of silver and gold that had been built up in your mind began to deteriorate.  Instead of New York’s finest in the room, you saw sleazy, cheating elites, and when you wouldn’t give them what they wanted, they were quick to move on to their next, potential victim.

Finding the bathroom, you stepped away from the noise and chaos and reveled in the cooler, silent air for a few minutes. Clenching the porcelain sink, you stared in the mirror and wondered what you were doing there? Did you really expect to just be offered at a part by going to a party? You scoffed at the notion, knowing that out in the party, there were so many that shined brighter than you, and you were just another crowd chaser.

When would this end, and could you truly find what you were looking for in New York City? As a young girl, the city seemed so magical and full of hope. It was like a flame and you were the foolish moth who had packed up from the only home you’d ever known and tried to create a whole new life. But, just maybe, this wasn’t the city for you, maybe the flame had burned you too many times. There just had to be a place where you’d find you who were going to be.

It wasn’t long until you tried to find Wanda and Natasha to let them know you were going to leave. While they offered to leave with you, you knew they were enjoying themselves and didn’t want to ruin that. Instead, you grabbed your phone to call an Uber, but groaned when you saw no available drivers were near you for at least another twenty minutes. Deciding the subway would be quicker, and cheaper, you began to walk towards the closest station.

On your way there, you noticed a class or gathering of some sort going on under some tents in the park off to your side, but it was the art that lined the entrance to the class that caught your attention. The sign advertised one of those classes where people paid to paint along with the instructor to feel like an artist for the night. However, the examples displayed held so much more depth and detail than your typical skyline of New York. Whoever had painted these was wasting their time with these classes and deserved to be in a museum. Each one looked like it had taken ages and it was in a style you weren’t really familiar with, but one that sparked something warm and inviting within you.

Glancing up, you watched a tall, blonde man, hunched over his easel as he was sucked into the moment and threw colors across the canvas. While you couldn’t see the picture, you guessed it was just as wonderful as the others, and the way his eyes were slanted in concentration made you smile. Even when a man, who you assumed to be his boss for the evening, approached the artist and began to scold him, you couldn’t look away. When you looked at his art, you felt something, and you needed to let him know.  

The two of you locked eyes from across the way, and you felt your body bring you closer to him. As soon as he was in earshot, you were ready to sing his praise. “I just saw your art, and I-“ you began before he bumped into your shoulder as he walked away.

There was a moment of confusion in your mind as you stood there and stared where the man had just so rudely brushed by you, until you scoffed and continued towards the subway.