#everythings falling apart but at least i have a neat mug

[idreamofneonsheep]

More spidersona art because why not

[outerspacebisexual]

Memories of Days Gone By - Spencer Reid

Summary: Spencer has never understood having a cluttered desk at work. Then you start at the BAU, and he's forced to share a desk with the least desk-tidy person in the whole FBI. Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader Word count: 3.1k Warnings: none, except talk of reader getting shot a/n: woah, outerspacebisexual actually writing instead of just reblogging post about writing? crazy Masterlist

Spencer always thought that having personal mementos in the workplace was weird.

Maybe it came from his mother, whose desk was always so cluttered she could barely place anything down without something else falling off. He could—as with everything else—vividly remember sitting in her office chair, spinning in around and around in circles, watching his framed toothy six-year-old-self flying past him again and again and again.

She never swapped out that photo, even when he got older and his round, chubby face became angular with his teen years. Not when he graduated high school, or college, or college again. In fact, he knew for certain that photo still sat on his mother’s bedside table. So you’re always here with me, she’d said on one of her good days. And even though most of the time she had no idea who the tiny child with thick frames was, she still traced a finger down the side of the glass before bed.

When Spencer first joined the BAU, he’d made a point to ensure his desk was cleared every hour. Empty coffee cups, old files, shredding, sticky notes; after one hour, it all went. That way he could ensure that everything got done.

And that same habit continued for years, until you showed up.

Hi, you’d said on your first day, sticking out your hand and smiling wide. Looks like we’re desk buddies.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. The desk had belonged to Emily before you got there, and the idea of looking up and seeing you was just another reminder that he’d lost her.

He was nice to you, of course. You hadn’t done anything wrong. You’d simply taken a job opening from the ballistics unit to the BAU. It wasn’t your fault that his dead friend’s desk was now yours.

At first, he noticed how you had a habit of leaving empty coffee cups on your desk, choosing to get another one rather than reuse the one already on your desk. It wasn’t a problem. There were plenty of mugs in the kitchen. But when your chair hit your desk, they chimed together, and the noise set him on edge.

He left it alone for the first month.

But then came the files.

Files piled up on your desk---not in neat piles marked ‘Complete’ and ‘Incomplete’ like his—just spread out across the surface in every direction and orientation. And as the week went on, more and more were added until there was no discernible way to tell which had been done and which hadn’t. This led to you having to leaf through folder after folder until you found the one you were looking every day.

Spencer had been tempted to say something one week when he’d watched you out of the corner of his eye search for a file for fifteen minutes. You’d found it right as he opened his mouth, spinning in your chair and heading straight for Garcia’s office. Spencer had sat and stared at the mountain of manila folders then entire time you were gone, thinking to himself, How could you put up with this?

How could you deal with having to fight with your desk at every second of the day just to find something? The idea of it made him want to throw up. Not that his apartment was any better, he knew that. But there was a difference between work and home. Home was allowed to be messy and cluttered, full of the rest of your life outside of work. Work was work. It depended on being able to obtain information quickly and efficiently—not after ten minutes of rooting around.

Hey, Reid? you’d asked one afternoon. Have you seen that Milwaukee case file?

Which one?

The consult one? With the three missing girls?

He tried his best not to roll his eyes. I think you put it down on the edge of your desk.

You spun and rifled through the stack, grinning when you held it up. You’re a genius, you know that?

Pursing his lips, he said, Believe it or not, I do.

Spencer might’ve been bad at reading social clues, but he wasn’t an idiot. He knew that you were just trying to be nice and start a conversation, but he reached over and lifted the phone to his ear, pretending not to notice the way your face fell. You quietly turned back to your computer and opened the file.

A week later, you tried again. Reid, do you want coffee?

No, he answered quickly, despite blinking back the sting of a 3:00am emergency case. ‘Urgent’ was all the text from Hotch had said, and now he was sitting behind his desk once again, for the fifty-second hour this week. Hotch was never wrong. There had never been a case that Hotch had chosen where the team hadn’t been needed, not in all the years Spencer had worked for the BAU. But he couldn’t deny that there were times that he wished he wasn’t at work.

You sure? I know we got more sugar, if that’s what you’re worried about.

I’m fine, he snapped, harsher than he’d intended. Thankfully, you left it alone.

+

Then, you were all in Atlanta, consulting on a case of three male bodies and another man missing. By the morning, his head had cleared, and he noticed the space you’d put between the two of you when you both arrived at the ME’s office.

Doctor Glenn, thanks for meeting with us, you started.

Doctor Glenn had smile brightly at you, standing from behind his desk to shake your hand. Spencer waved. Of course. And please, Scott is fine.

You sent him a soft smile. Where are we with the latest autopsy?

Well, from what I can tell, the murder weapon was some sort of short-bladed knife. What kind, I can’t say for certain. The advanced decomposition on all three makes it tricky.

Something like a kitchen knife? Or pocketknife?

Scott nodded. It’s possible. Like I said, I can’t be sure at this stage.

Can I see the photos? Spencer asked.

Absolutely, Scott replied. I was going to give you the file anyway. He opened the closest folder to him, but frowned. Oh, this isn’t right. Sorry, it’s here somewhere.

Noting his reddening cheeks the longer he searched, you said, Your desk looks a lot like mine.

If Scott noticed you attempt to put him at ease, he didn’t make it known. Brows pinched tightly together, he queried, The BAU doesn’t have strict guidelines on that kind of thing?

You shrugged. Maybe, it does. Though, I’m sure I’d have been written up by now if it did. You leaned forward in your chair to glance at the photo frames on the side. Spencer could see them clearly from where he sat. Two dozen frames littered the side of his desk, all displaying four boys---from baby photos to teenagers. Are they your boys?

Scott, visibly grateful to have a distraction while he continued rustling through drawers, didn’t look up. Yes, the four of them. James, Patrick, John, and Liam.

Spencer watched in silence the conversation the two of you had.

How old?

James is almost 21, Patrick, 19, and John and Liam are both 16.

Twins?

Indeed.

Must have been a handful when they were younger, I’m sure.

He smiled gently. You don’t know the half of it. John’s decided to head to college in California and Liam’s heading to New York.

It must be nice to have them close, at least for the time being, you replied.

It is. I don’t quite know what I’ll do once they’re gone, if I’m honest. And I worry. Like every parent does, I suppose.

Well, if they’re half as kind as all these photos make them out to be, then I’m sure they’ll be just fine.

That’s kind of you to say. I’m not blind, either. I know it’s a lot.

You laughed. It’s not, I promise. It’s nice to have something to remind you of the good. Especially with jobs like yours and mine. Reminds you of what you’re working for. Who you’re working for. There’s so much darkness out there, if we don’t remind ourselves, we can get lost in it.

Scott produced a file from the bottom drawer, and Spencer just stared at you, even as you took the file and flipped through it.

+

A month later, Spencer found himself hunched over his desk, computer brightness on low as he tried his best to block out the noise emanating from every corner of the bull pen. With the migraine he was sporting, he was sure he could hear all the way to reception, which did nothing to help his pounding head. He clicked random buttons on his computer as his eyes watched each minute tick by.

Four hours. That was all he had left. Then he could leave and collapse down onto his couch and sleep for two days until it was gone. With each passing minute, his brain fog got worse, until he was reading the same sentence for the fifth time in a row without comprehending what it was saying. Who even sends an email at 1:04pm on a Friday?

Aaron Hotchner, according to the contact name at the top. He needed to reply. Hotch would be expecting an answer.

Spencer hadn’t even realised you’d been speaking until you waved a hand in the air over the partition between your desks.

What? he asked, when you just stared blankly at him.

I asked if you were OK?

He sat up straighter, doing his best to ignore the pain that stabbed through him. I’m fine.

You cocked an eyebrow. Are you sure? You don’t look great.

I said I’m fine.

You were silent for a long moment, and you refused to break eye contact with him. That was until you leaned over and reefed open a drawer.

What are you doing?

You continued to dig through it. I have some pain meds in here. Nothing fancy, but you look like you could use some ibuprofen.

I don’t need it.

And I don’t need to sit here and watch you suffer for the rest of the day, Reid. Seriously. It’s painfully obvious.

Spencer didn’t have it in him to reply. Any other day, and he might’ve snapped at you. But today, he would take your kindness. As he came around to your side, he peeked inside your drawer, noting it was the same as the top of your desk. Cluttered and messy.

He stared at the mountain of files, eyes roaming over your desk. Your nameplate. Your empty coffee cups. Your photos. He paused as he took them in—for the first time since you’d been here.

Many different photos were tacked onto the partition. Most were of a cat and a dog and a few people who he assumed were family and friends from outside of work.

Only one was framed—a photo of the team. He could remember the day. You’d only been at the BAU for a month and upon returning from a hard case, Garcia had surprised you with a cake and balloons in the conference room. You’d cried, he remembered. Which he’d thought was weird, but hadn’t taken much note of at the time. Anderson had snapped a photo at Garcia’s insistence.

Suddenly, a sleeve of ibuprofen was thrust into his chest. Here.

Thank you, he mumbled.

You don’t need to thank me, Reid. Just take it, and maybe seen Hotch about leaving early. That can be your thanks. You gave him a tight-lipped smile, which he returned before heading to the breakroom.

+

Six months after you started at the BAU, you got shot.

Not life-threatening, but a bullet to the shoulder meant you were laid up on leave for two weeks.

The bullpen had never been so quiet, Spencer thought. Though maybe it was his guilt that made him think that. It had racked him every day of the two weeks since they’d gotten back from Wichita. The bullet had been meant for him, and if he’d actually been paying attention to his surroundings, then he wouldn’t have missed the UnSub lining up the shot, and you wouldn’t have pushed him out of the way, taking the hit for him.

Your screams still echoed in his mind. The first, his name: Spencer! Get down! And the second, your yelp of pain. Spencer had fired off two shots in quick succession, taking out the UnSub with barely more than a thought before he was turning to you lying flat on your back and gripping your shoulder.

He’d accompanied you to the hospital, where they said long-term damage was unlikely, but you would have a long road to recovery until you had full use of your arm again.

Hotch had immediately put you on leave, threatening that he’d make you take even longer if he saw you in the office at all before the two weeks was up. You had kept your word to him that you’d take the full two weeks.

Spencer hadn’t been sure what to do about your desk for the first few days. Hotch had instructed him to take over your files, which was easier said than done.

Heaving your last folder into his ‘Complete’ tray, he breathed a sigh of relief. Glancing at the clock, he realised he’d been zoned out writing reports for four hours. The rest of the team had all gone—aside from Hotch, but when wasn’t he in his office.

Starting over the partition, Spencer eyed the mess that still cluttered your desk. He hadn’t wanted to touch anything except the files, which he’d gingerly sorted into what was done and what wasn’t, careful not to disturb anything else on the desk.

Now, staring at all you’d left behind when they’d suddenly been forced to jet off, he wondered if tidying it was the least he could do. Maybe you would thank him for it. Or maybe you’d tear his head off for touching your stuff.

He decided to take that risk.

Collecting the loose papers and random Post-its, he placed them neatly into piles to the right of your computer. Most where mindless reminders for yourself—Get the dry cleaning! and Pay the water bill by tonight!

Spencer wasn’t always grateful for his eidetic memory, but not having to remember small day-to-day tasks was a huge bonus for him. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to cope without it.

He straightened the tacked photographs and wiped down the team photo. He made sure your computer was properly plugged in. He ensured your tablet was fully charged for your return. He was almost satisfied, when he noticed one green Post-it note had fallen behind your monitor screen. Weaving his hands between the cords, he pulled it out.

Thanks for the ibuprofen. I really appreciate it.

Below his barely legible script, sat a small face he’d doodled. Truthfully, he hadn’t thought anything of it since he stuck it to your monitor.

But you still had it, even two months later.

He stuck it back where he’d put it the first time.

+

You’re back, Spencer said as he entered the bullpen the next morning.

I am, you replied, grinning wide. Do I have you to thank for this?

Placing his bag down on his seat, he said, I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Oh, come on. There’s only one other office neat freak in this whole place, and I know for a fact it wasn’t Hotch. When he said nothing, you rolled your eyes. Fine. Guess I’ll have to pass my thanks on to the boss man.

Spencer smiled as he unloaded his bag.

Cat got your tongue or something, Reid? He kept his lips sealed perfectly shut. Ok, then. Keep your secrets. I don’t need to know them. I don’t want to know them anyway.

I’m getting a coffee, he said suddenly, cutting off your teasing drawl. Do you want one?

You blinked. What?

I said, I’m getting a coffee. Would you also like one?

Uh, yeah. That would be great, you managed after a moment. Thanks.

He nodded, and he pretended he didn’t feel your eyes watching him the whole time as he made his way to the break room.

+

“Reid?” Morgan called, and Spencer looked up from the file he was currently nose-deep in. “Are you coming?”

“What’s happening?” he asked, furrowing his brows.

Morgan groaned. “Don’t tell me you forgot about dinner at Rossi’s tonight.”

“Oh, that’s tonight?”

“Yes, pretty boy. How could you forget?”

“I didn’t forget,” he mumbled, gathering his belongings as Morgan made his way over to him.

“From the looks of it, you absolutely did.”

“I didn’t. I just…have a lot on my mind.”

Morgan stopped at the side of Spencer’s desk, his signature smirk adorning his face. Spencer didn’t even look at him as he hastily jammed files into his bag.

“This is new,” Morgan commented, and he glanced over to see him staring at a framed photo he’d picked up.

When he flipped it around, Spencer could see it. The photo of him in his apartment, sitting on the couch, grinning ear to ear, and you sat right beside him, holding your left hand up to display the shiny ring adorning your finger. You’re looking directly at the camera. Spencer is only looking at you.

Spencer took the photo from him. “I liked it, so I got it printed.”

He didn’t have to tell him that he got every photo printed now. He’d never been a fan of technology, and the idea that all his best memories were being held ransom on a device that could be destroyed any minute made his head spin. So, he got every photo printed. Most were safely tucked away in albums on his bookshelf at his apartment.

But this one was special.

Morgan’s voice was gentle as he said, “It’s nice.”

Spencer smiled and brushed a finger over the glass. “Reminds me of the good,” he said.

Then he placed it back down on his desk, the frame right at home amongst all the others.

[breakfastteatime]

Today's request is for @makeyourpeacenow! The prompt was 'That's an Unpopular Opinion...'

Cere turns a documentary on. The Ten Most Beautiful Worlds in the Empire. Cal rolls his eyes at the title and grudgingly watches it. BD sits with him, careful not to knock over his mug of caf. Greez glances up every so often while he’s making dinner. They’ve already missed most of the episode as the narrator is currently finishing up describing the beauty and wonder of Coruscant, which apparently came in at number two.

“Coruscant?” Greez scoffs. “It’s a city. One big, giant city. What’s beautiful about that? I mean, aside from all the neon, that’s pretty neat. And I guess the sunsets aren’t bad. I do like that they have a weather control system in place. And so maybe the architecture is unique…” He gives his stew a stir with his good spoon. “And you can find a lot of fun the deeper you go into the undercity…”

“So, what you’re saying is it is one of the top ten most beautiful worlds?” Cal says, reaching for his caf.

“Fine, fine, that’s exactly what I’m saying! Not sure I’d rate it as high as number two though. That smells like propaganda to me.”

“Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder, Greez,” Cal says.

“Hey, less philosophy outta you, kid!”

Cere hushes them. “Let’s find out what’s number one.”

BD beeps his agreement, zooming in to see better. Cal leans back, hands pressed to his mug. “My credits are on Alderaan. All those mountains. Amazing.”

“Kid, you don’t have any credits,” Greez calls from the galley.

“I do. They’re just hidden in my apartment on Bracca.” Cal puts on his most innocent smile. “Wanna go back and get ‘em?”

“No, thank you,” Greez says.

BD says he’d love to go to Bracca and scan everything he could set his photoreceptors on.

“We’d be there forever,” Cal says wistfully.

“Absolutely not!” Greez snaps.

“Don’t worry,” Cal says. He sips his caf. “We’re never going back.”

The documentary finally reveals the most beautiful place in the Empire.

“Naboo?” Greez scoffs. “Naboo’s not even that beautiful though.”

Cal stares at Greez. “That’s an unpopular opinion. Everyone says Naboo’s basically the most beautiful planet in the entire galaxy.”

“Then ‘everyone’ is wrong,” Greez fires back.

“No, you’re wrong. It is the most beautiful world,” Cere says. “I visited a lot of worlds when I was a Seeker, and I never found anywhere like Naboo. The lakes are stunning, like something out of a fairy tale. And the air is so fresh.” She sighs. “I’d love to go back.”

BD says he visited briefly with Master Cordova to undertake research in the world’s Royal Library. BD got lost following a library mouse, only to be discovered by an unimpressed guard who had carried him back to Master Cordova.

“I never got to go,” Cal says. “Saw lots of holos about it though. I wanted to see the Queen’s Palace.”

“Sure, that all sounds great, but tell me this: how beautiful can a planet really be if it’s the birthplace of the Emperor?” Greez shoots back. Cal, Cere and BD all stare at him. “Ah, see? You can’t answer that!”

“Because that’s not… it’s…” Cal stares at Cere, looking for help.

“It’s like saying nothing good come from Bracca because it’s full of scrap,” Cere says. BD whoops in agreement. “There’s nothing inherently wrong about Naboo simply because the Emperor came from there. The two facts are not linked at all.”

Greez keeps stirring his stew. “All I’m saying is Naboo puts up a good appearance for a world that inflicted Emperor Palpatine on us all. The people that voted that bastard in as a senator all those years ago have a lot to answer for.”

“How’s it putting up an appearance if its forests, rivers and lakes that are beautiful?” Cal asks, waving a hand at the screen.

“Oh, like they can’t fake things like that,” Greez says. “Coruscant’s more beautiful than some river! At least they’re honest about how constructed it all is.” He tests his stew and immediately reaches for the salt. “And has everyone noticed how much that place is thriving while others fall to pieces? That’s blatant favouritism.”

“I feel like that’s also a separate problem,” Cal says. “Naboo is beautiful. I wish I could see if for myself.”

“Don’t buy into the propaganda, kid,” Greez says. “I’m tellin’ ya, Naboo’s overrated because someone didn’t want to lose their life by upsetting the Emperor if they suggested somewhere else.”

Cal looks to Cere who shakes her head.

“Alright Greez,” Cal says. “What is the best world in the Empire?”

Greez draws breath.

“And you can’t say Lateron!”

Cere and BD chuckle.

“That’s not what I was gonna say!” Greez protests.

Cere coughs.

“I wasn’t! I was gonna say, er, uh… Dac! Dac is beautiful. Cities on Dac are on top of the sea! That’s incredible.”

“Naboo has underwater cities,” Cere says, earning a giggle from BD.

“So? Who cares! Dac’s cities are huge and sprawling and floating on the ocean. Dac wins!”

Cal gives this a moment of consideration. “Nah. Naboo’s more varied. Naboo’s the best.”

“I agree,” Cere says.

BD just wants to go everywhere.

“We’ll try,” Cal says, sipping his caf.

Greez glares at Cere. “I thought Jedi were supposed to be peacekeepers. You can’t just agree with Cal like that! I am not at peace over here!”

“Dac is certainly unique and impressive,” Cere adds. She smiles at Greez. “Better?”

Cal snorts caf out his nose. BD squawks in disbelief that Humans are capable of such a thing. “Ow,” Cal moans. “That’s really hot!”

Smug, Greez nods. “Better.”

[monsterfuneral]

sparks in the rain | bill and ted | ch. 2

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Coming Soon

Relationship: Poly!Bill and Ted x Fem!Reader

Summary: A malfunction with the booth lands Bill and Ted into the most peculiar situation they’ve been in, stuck in the year 2021 standing in front of a woman they never thought they’d meet. 

Words: 1.5

Warnings/Tags: nothing

Author’s Note: After like actually outlining this a little more, I think this story will end up being one of my favorites I’ve written.

REQUESTS OPEN | MASTERLIST

(please read my “I do NOT write” section before sending in anything <3)

---

This was the most unusual day for both Bill and Ted. Sure they had experienced mishaps with the booth, and sure they had also met people that they vaguely knew about. But they had never met someone that knew about them. Especially when it came to an on screen babe like Armageddon Lady, who had totally been Bill’s biggest crush for a majority of his teenage years. Not that he’d admit that to anyone other than Ted though. And here she was in the weirdest of coincidences, standing right in front of them. 

“What?” Ted asked dumbly as he heard the girl in front of them blurt their names. His brain struggled to keep up with the situation. 

“Dude she totally knows who we are somehow!” Bill said with an almost starstruck look on his face, his eyes sparkling in amazement. 

You stayed silent though, staring at them like a deer in the headlights. Your mouth agape as you, like Ted, tried to process what you was going on. While running into celebrities in the middle of your apartment complex was one thing that would never happen, seeing two movie characters that you liked standing just seven feet away from you was next to impossible… No it was impossible. 

You had to be dreaming still. A very vivid dream where you were going to the crafts store to pick up a new set of markers, before suddenly running into Bill and Ted of all people... In a dream. There was literally no other logical explanation. 

“Woah, you look like you’re going to hurl, Miss. Armageddon Lady, dude- babe.” Bill stumbled on his words like a nervous child talking to his first crush. Which honestly wasn’t far from the truth. 

“I- This isn’t real.” You concluded, finally removing your hand from inside of your purse and straightening your back. You were almost tempted to just turn around and walk back into your apartment, but you didn’t. Instead you thought over the jumbled words Bill had said to you, something sticking out more than anything else. “Why do you keep calling me that?” You asked, your brows drawing together as you looked at the blonde for answers who looked at you with widened eyes. 

Ted suddenly remembered something Rufus had told them not too long ago, alternative universes and whatnot, where things are different from their world but can also connect somehow. He talked about how sometimes the booth can malfunction and send them rocking into another circuit without them even noticing. That’s probably how they ended up here! 

“Bill... I don’t think we’re in our world anymore.” Ted chimed before Bill could even attempt to come up with a sufficient answer that would satisfy you. 

“What?” Bill asked, looking up at Ted. 

“Yeah! Remember the thing Rufus told us a few months back?” 

“Don’t over-tighten the guitar strings because they could break?” Bill answered, bringing up an entirely different conversation they had with Rufus. 

Ted shook his head looking behind his shoulder and to the still sparking booth “No dude! The whole alternate dimension thingy.” 

“OH YEAH!” 

You watched the both of them converse, your own brain still trying to catch up with the bizarre situation, still not entirely convinced this wasn’t a dream. You tried pinching your arm a few times, at least testing it out to see if that trick even worked, but you were still standing in the same place right in front of them. It was all so much to process at once and so early in the day, even though it may have been 11am, it was still too much. 

“So you really didn’t put in the wrong number then.” 

“I told you so Bill!” 

They paused, smiling at each other before both shouting “Excellent!” in unison before air guitaring. The action was all too familiar but unfortunately missed the overlapping guitar that would play when they did it. Both boys stared at each other for a second afterwards, beaming smiles still ontheir faces. Their stare lasted a beat longer than you were used to seeing on screen. 

A shiver wracked through your body, the jacket you had not shielding you from the cold that the rain brought like you had hoped it would. You clutched your arms, pulling them a little tighter to your chest. It only continued to solidify the fact that this was probably real and not a dream at all, like you had thought. I mean, sure you had considered the possibility of fictional universes being real, who hasn’t? But it was just a theory you played into half-heartedly but never considered it to actually be true. 

A hand waved in front of your face, jolting from your deep train of thought where everything you previously thought was impossible could be and it was just too much. Reality as you knew it was both expanding and collapsing all at the same time. 

“You good, other dimension babe?” Bill asked, a small smile on his face as you stared at him with wide eyes.

Ted tilted his head as he watched you curiously. Sure you looked like Armageddon Lady and her actress, but you were neither, you just looked like them. He had an easier time accepting this as a reality than you did though, already having his experience with the impossible. But you looked like you were about to explode from the overload of information. He felt sympathetic. He thought back to a conversation he had with Rufus a year after their first time traveling in the booth, remembering how Rufus told him how he had seen others cope with the discovery of time travel, how some people just could not handle the information and it literally drove them to insanity. Ted would feel like such a dick if that happened to you, even if he didn’t know you. 

“I-” You started, abruptly stopping as you tried to piece your words together “I think so?” You clutched the strap to your purse a little harder, blunt nails digging into the leather slightly “This is all just… A lot to process.” 

“That’s okay!” Ted reassured softly with a wide grin, his hair falling in front of his eyes slightly as he nodded and looked down at Bill who was also nodding along. 

Your fingers were starting to feel numb and you shifted on your feet for the first time since you were stopped in your tracks. Your knees felt stiff from not moving for so long and you were shaking a lot more than you thought, the cold starting to deep into your bones and making your teeth chatter. You were sure they weren’t feeling any better as they were both wearing short sleeved shirts, and Bill was wearing a crop top. 

“I know you guys don’t know me but it’s freezing out here and it’s supposed to get colder.” You said looking back at your apartment door, trying to draw your coat closer around you “Would you like to come inside? I can make some coffee-” You watched Bill pull a face at the mention of the bitter beverage “Or some hot chocolate, up to you.” 

“Sounds great.” Ted answered, glancing behind him once more at the booth before back at you, “Lead the way!” 

The warmth of your apartment was more welcoming than the quickly dropping temperature outside. The rain clouds had left the sky dark and your living room was close to being pitch black. You carefully maneuvered past the couch and over the bean bags that were carelessly strewn across the floor in front of the TV stand. You felt for the pull-chain underneath the lamp shade, the black tassels tickling against your forearm. Finally your fingers grasped around the thin chain, gently yanking it and letting the light finally fill most of the room. The large leg lamp glowed on the small table tucked in the corner of your living room. A lovely gag gift you had been rewarded on christmas a year or two before at a friend’s party. While A Christmas Story was very much an overplayed movie on the holiday’s and certainly not your favorite, you still enjoyed the gift. Finding it pretty cool that someone had gone through the effort of getting something like this as the winner’s gift.

“Woah...” One of the boy’s muttered from behind your couch. You turned around and gave them a small smile, walking over to the other side of the living room to turn on the other lamp so the room was fully lit up and you weren’t going to trip over your own feet by accident. 

“Pretty neat huh?” You asked, always finding people’s reactions to the infamous lamp rather funny.

They both looked at you simultaneously, their eyes sparkling in wonder.

“You’re so cool…” Ted whispered. 

You let out a quiet laugh, trying to push down the heat that had suddenly started to rise up your neck, to your cheeks, and finally finishing at your ears. Never in your life did you think you could be receiving praise from Ted Theodore Logan himself. This really felt like it was too good to be true. 

“Thanks.” You replied, turning your back to them so they didn’t catch on to your flustered state. “So, how about that hot chocolate?” You asked, walking over to the white cabinet that held your collection of mugs.

[maplecornia]

Chapter 3

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 3.06K

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: romance | slice of life | fluff | angst | bts x female!reader | ot7

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You watched them from the sidelines ever since you were a young teenage girl. Now you’re grown up, they’ve returned after 2 long years and everything has changed. What happens when you pull back the mask and find the darkness within? What happens when you see that they’re broken?

𝔞/𝔫: everytime I upload a chapter my tags increase LMAO i hope you guys are enjoying the story so far ^^ BTW when they're speaking and their words are bolded that means they're speaking in English just a heads up ;)

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: cliffhangers | angst | fluff | slight mentions of self hatred | depression | mental health illness | self harm | occurs in the year 2024 | set in a timeline where BTS went to the military together | slight language

tags: @kookaine | @fangirl125reader | @kookiebbyxx | @taradevonne

What is he doing here?

And whose clothes do those belong to?

You mouth his name, and in his eyes, you can see the surprise turn to shame.

The sick feeling in your stomach grows bigger.

You pray that you're wrong. That for the first time in your life, your intuition isn't correct. That what you think happened was merely a misunderstanding. That he didn't do what you think he did.

You want to reassure yourself that you didn't give up your heart in vain.

That he still loves you.

But everything points to the signs.

The fact that he only wears boxers, his smooth muscled skin shining in the soft moonlight.

The pile of mixed clothes on the floor.

The look in his eyes and the ruffled mess of his hair.

Everything tells you what you already know.

"What's going on?" you ask, your voice shaking. He doesn't meet your eyes.

The sick feeling grows deeper in your chest.

"What's going on?" you repeat, your voice stronger and more severe.

Even if your heart can't stand strong, at least you can.

He opens his mouth to reply, but instead, you hear a woman's voice from the bedroom.

Your bedroom.

"Babe, who is that?" you can't seem to look away from the door that it materialized from, as he looks between it and you, unsure of what to do. As though he were the one trapped. As though he were the one who was in pain. As though he were the victim here.

Instead of the murderer.

As she comes into view in the doorway, rubbing her eyes and running her hands through her hair, you can't move. You're frozen, and the world completely disappears, a roar of static noise rising in your ears.

No.

No.

NO.

This can't be happening. Not to you. You were so careful. You were so sure. So sure that he felt the same. So sure that he was yours and yours alone. So sure that nothing would be able to break what you shared. That you had finally found the one.

However, as she looks at you, her green eyes spark with realization. Then as they quickly turn to shame, she avoids your gaze as well.

You know.

This is happening.

It's real.

And there's no turning back from it.

You can't feel yourself as you start to cry.

In the shower, the hot water clings to your skin, mixing with the tears. You lean against the tiled wall, squeezing your eyes shut, you cling to yourself. Nails digging into your flesh, you bite your lip, shaking violently.

Mixed images of his face flash through your mind unwillingly.

Hiding alone, the steam surrounding you in a thick veil of deception, you give in to the pain.

You allow the tears to come.

You allow his face to stare into yours once more. You paint the same hazelnut gaze of his eyes. You try to recall the safety you once felt when he held you in his arms. You pull pieces of the same warmth that rose in your cold body flushing your face when he smiled at you, out of the depths of your mind. You look for the tenderness reflecting in his eyes when he whispered that he loved you. You sigh as you remember the way his curly hair had felt on your skin as you ran your hands through it. You picture his perfectly sculpted face, high cheekbones, and long eyelashes. The strong jaw and full lips. The curve of his throat and the touch of his body.

The mirage holds you in its embrace, makes you forget everything, all the pain, all the hurt, the betrayal that tore your soul apart for his pleasure.

However, when it leans in to kiss you, your eyes fly open to reality, and you find yourself hugging your body, the shower still running.

Shaking your head, you proceed to clean yourself, hoping that perhaps the water could wash away the pain.

Some things weren't enough. Some things are not good to dwell over. Some things are better left locked away.

In the end, it wasn't real.

None of it was real.

Done with the shower, you turn the water off, strands of hair falling in your face, and droplets of water dripping off of your body.

Was any part you enough to keep him?

Was this body?

Was it enough to have him wait for you?

Looking down at yourself, you press your fingers against your stomach, pulling at the flesh and skin as though it would change anything.

Were you enough?

Shaking the thought out of your mind, you reach for your towel as you open the shower curtain and step out into the steamy bathroom. Flipping on the fan switch, you dry yourself off, avoiding the reflection in the mirror. You lotion your body down, before pulling on your bra and underwear. Ignoring the drips from your hair, you tug on a loose T-shirt and shorts, and shake out your head, water falling everywhere as though you were a wet dog.

Sighing, you turn to the mirror, where fog from the shower is fading, water droplets trailing down like rain and making pathways. You follow them with your eyes for a moment before, in a sudden urge, you swipe your hand across the screen, destroying their peaceful journey. What's left of your reflection.

Staring into your eyes, you can see just how tired you look. Just how worn down you are. Touching just below your eye, the dark circles under your eyes from restless nights of tears and loss of sleep stand out like a stain on your skin.

What has he done to you?

This isn't you, this isn't who you are.

What has he turned you into?

Sighing, you turn away from the mirror and pull on your robe.

Drying your hair off with your towel, you pull open the door and walk outside, your wet feet slapping on the crisp wood floor as you make your way into the living room.

You look around for any sign of Jae or Miji, but they are nowhere to be seen. Glancing over at the kitchen island, you spot a small piece of paper. Taking it into your fingers, you read the neat block letters of Jaejin's handwriting. His Korean alphabet is so structured, so neat and so straight as though it were the writing of a computer. It reads:

“Hey, I’m sorry we left, but Mijeong prepared a surprise birthday dinner for me tonight, we’ll be back later so help yourself to make dinner or whatever. Remember this is your home now too, I love you!!”

You smile at the thoughtful letter and pocket it in your robe.

You had prepared a gift for Jae today yourself, but you'd reckon you'd just give it to him later.

Turning to the room you take a deep breath before beginning to explore.

The living room is very spacious, which you prefer. The TV is elevated on the left wall from the kitchen, the couch positioned against the right wall across from the screen. In the middle of the room, there is a cute small glass coffee table with forgotten magazines and books laying on top of it. Underneath the TV there are many different bookshelves with movies, books, and magazines shelved on them. All around the apartment, there are potted plants, cute decorations, and some photographs.

Stepping onto the carpet, you dig your feet into it as though it were the warm sand on the beach.

"I would have been fine sleeping on this floor, you know. This is like heaven." You murmur to yourself, closing your eyes in content. You wait there for a moment before the soft plinks of rain begin outside, knocking you out of your stupor.

Opening your eyes, you turn to the balcony's clear screen door and press your hand against it. Gazing outside, you smile at the sight of rain against the lights of the city. Opening the door a crack, you close your eyes, taking a deep breath.

After a moment, you step back inside and shut the screen door, turning to the kitchen. You pull out a pot and fill it with water before setting it on the ceramic stove and heating it. As you wait for it to boil, you pull out your phone and turn the notifications off from vibration. As soon as you do, you click on your Instagram and into the group chat you share with your friends.

Looking through, you can't help but feel a bit conflicted.

Biting your lip, your finger hovers over the message box before you quickly pull away and place your phone on the counter. Letting out a shaky breath, you swallow the lump rising dangerously in your throat before looking away.

You're sensitive today.

You knew it was going to be like this.

When you moved in the middle of high school back home, it was the same. Their lives carried on without you. They still had fun, they still had other things to do, they still had a life outside of you. Outside of you being there.

Things were different.

They were still your friends, they'll always be your friends, but they weren't the same.

Will they ever be the same?

When you hear the crackling of the boiling water, your head snaps up and you pocket the phone once more. You pull the pot off the stove and grab a mug out of one of the many cabinets in Jae's kitchen. As you set it beside the cooling water on the counter, you search his pantry for a cocoa mix. Normally you would have tea, but right after the sight of the rain, you're in the mood for something to warm you from the inside out.

Something to remind you of home.

On cold, rainy days after you and your friends would practice at the dance studio, or finish having a meal together or anything simple like that; you would hurry home and with your group, you would make them cocoa. You would start a fire and would sit with each other spending the time together, happy and complete.

The nostalgia and sadness growing too much, you are relieved when you find the hot cocoa packets. You let out a little shout of happiness and accomplishment before walking out of the pantry and dumping the contents into the cup. Setting the packet aside, you take the pot of water and carefully pour it into the cup as well. While the powder and water slowly swirl together, you rummage for a spoon before mixing it. Once you're satisfied, you sip it carefully and...

...almost burn your tongue off.

Coughing violently, you set it down and focus on putting away everything you brought out, giving it time to cool off. Once everything is done and put away, you pick up your mug, holding it to your face as you softly blow on it. Even now the smell and the warmth of it is getting rid of the chill you feel whenever you're alone.

Settling yourself amongst the blankets and pillows on the couch, you take the TV remote off of the coffee table and turn on the TV. Netflix pops up and you search for a K- drama you were watching before you left. When you find it, you press play, leaving off captions so that you can practice your Korean a bit more.

As the intro starts, you hum along to it, setting up a sort of bed so you can watch comfortably. Once it's done, you lay down, your head sinking into a pillow comfortably, and a soft gray blanket pulled over your body. You're in a position so that you can still lounge but won't spill your cocoa.

As the show begins, you mouth the words along with them. When you can't catch what they say, you're quick to rewind it and try it again until you understand. You laugh with the show, cry with it, finding yourself on an emotional roller coaster.

You've always been like this, too emotional, too easily attached, too naive. Always careful to keep yourself at a reasonable distance from anyone who could hurt you. From anyone who you couldn't handle if they left you. It takes a while for you to open yourself up to someone, and when you do, you're wholly and completely theirs.

It's a lose-lose situation.

A lose-lose way of life.

Before you know it, the cocoa is gone and the episode is almost over. Setting the mug on the coffee table, you settle back into the pillow. As you watch, your eyes grow heavy, and you drift further and further away. The last thing you see before you close them is their touching kiss before they flutter shut and you fall into a restless sleep.

Hours pass as you lie there on the couch, sleeping. The show continues to play until the question "are you still watching?" shows up on the screen as it often does when you've been watching for a while without much activity.

Once the show is off, the apartment goes silent and it seems almost empty. In the far background, there are the sounds of cars honking, the screech of tires on the pavement, even the sound of music from the billboards and clubs.

This is like home, these sounds are familiar. These are the reasons why you sleep so soundly, hugging the pillow as though it were your lifeline.

You do not wake when Mijeong and Jaejin enter the apartment. They are laughing, but as soon as they see you on the couch, fast asleep, they fall quiet, each one of them smiling softly.

They hold unimaginable compassion for you and deep love.

Mijeong immediately sets down her stuff, sliding out of her shoes and walking towards you. Tenderly, she brushes back your hair as though she were your mother taking care of you.

“She’s sound asleep.” She whispers, just as Jaejin joins her side.

“That’s not like her. She’s such a light sleeper, she would have woken up when we came home.” He replies worry reflected in his eyes. Mijeong’s smile, at his statement, fades away and she nods.

“She must be in so much pain that she wants to drown out the world around her,” Mijeong says sadly before standing up and clearing her throat.

“Let's take her to her room.” When Jaejin doesn't move, she gives him an expectant look and he jolts to attention. She hits him softly on his arm and he lets out a slight joking yelp.

"I was going to do it, I just wasn't ready yet." He whines, and she chuckles before leading the way to your room as Jaejin picks you up with strong, sure arms. Cradled in his arms as though you were a baby, he looks down at you with a tender look. He hates that he can't help you.

No one can.

He smiles how sound asleep you are now, cradled in his arms, your head resting against the crook of his neck. Mijeong, watching the encounter, smiles as well. He notices her look and his attention changes immediately from you to her in a second.

“What is it?” he asks, and she shakes her head, opening the door to your newly acclaimed bedroom.

“Nothing.” She says but a sly smile is playing at her lips, as though she’s concealing a secret. Which she is. A secret that, at that moment, she thought he would make a great father. A secret that at that moment, she wanted things with him that were far off in the future, but very real to her now.

As they walk into your room, Mijeong pulls back the covers, and Jaejin sets you down softly on the bed. Once you are out of his arms, and Mijeong pulls the covers up over your body, you settle instinctively into the soft mattress, and immediately curl up into a ball, holding tightly to one of the many pillows on your bed. They smile as they watch over you, and Jaejin presses a soft kiss on your forehead. Mijeong does the same, brushing back strands of hair on your forehead. Turning around, they share a tender look before walking out of the room and cracking the door shut behind them.

“Are you sure that she’ll be okay?” Mijeong asks as soon as the door is shut. Jaejin looks at her a bit surprised.

“Of course. Why, are you having second thoughts?” he asks before heading into the living room, Mijeong not far behind.

"No. I'm not, I just....I wish we could tell her before we do anything. She's going to wake up and we'll be gone." Mijeong explains, following him and settling on the counter. Jaejin pauses from setting the living room in order and turns to her. He takes her hand in his own and kisses her softly on the forehead before pressing his forehead to hers tenderly.

"I love you, and I wish we could have told her before we leave tomorrow, but she will be okay. She'll have the apartment, and my job at Big Hit to take over. Everything will be okay." He reassures her. Mijeong hesitates before nodding her head in agreement. Jaejin smiles, before pulling away and turning off the TV. "Besides, I'll leave her a note just like we did tonight before we take off in the morning. This is just too much of an amazing opportunity for you and for me to waste."

"I know." Mijeong answers, rocking on the counter as she swings her legs back and forth. "Not every model gets a chance to appear at Fashion Week, but Jae....she'll be all alone."

Done with ordering the room, he chuckles as he begins to make his way back to her.

"She is a grown-up you know. It’s only a few months, she can take care of herself." He says, pulling her off the counter and spinning around in the air before setting her down as she giggles and leans on him, a little dizzy.

"Don't worry," he reassures her once more before heading into their room, his voice fading as he closes the door behind him.

"Yen will be okay. She always is."

𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢: thanks to everyone who read! so why do you think miss Yen moved to Korea?

+

I'm going to be updating my mutuals list (because I never had it to begin with ;-;) on my navigation so if you want to be added, pls ask me ^^ thankssss

chapter 4 here

check the Infinite Stars masterlist for more chapters

check my BTS masterlist for other BTS content

check out my masterlist for other kpop fanfics

[marvelsassbutts]

With You

Summary: Sam takes matters into his own hands to help Bucky have some fun outside of the apartment. When he finds a themed dance night, he and Bucky take to the floor and find a new level of their relationship.

aka : i really wanted to write sam and bucky dancing because i can't get it out of my head

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier; Marvel (MCU)

Rating: T

Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes

Words: 4,662

Link: With You

I can’t stop writing them because they’re the best pairing to write because you can literally do anything with them forever and ever and there’s always something new they’re throwing at me and their dynamic is just so set to them ??? name someone else doing it like sambucky , you can’t !

Preview under the cut!

They end up getting a place in Manhattan much to Bucky’s insistence. Sam told him he wouldn't mind living in Brooklyn, would love it actually, but Bucky pushed all that aside saying something about having a “city of their own.” Whatever that means. Sam tries not to dwell on it too long for fear that he’ll create an expectation that Bucky doesn’t necessarily share. Still, it feels good. A “city of their own” sounds limitless. Sounds like a promise.

Their apartment is nice: two bedrooms, one bath, a decent kitchen, and a balcony hanging off of the living room. For two dudes without a steady income it could be worse. Thankfully between Sam’s and Bucky’s contacts they make the whole arrangement work. Sam’s more than happy in his cozy 2-1 and nests easily into the space.

And Bucky ends up not being a half bad roommate.

He’s as neat as he is considerate. Whenever he makes himself a mug of coffee in the morning, he’s sure Sam’s tea is hot and steaming right beside it, all without evidence that he had used any milk, sugar, or honey. Everything back in its proper place and any spilled ingredients swept right up. He doesn’t turn the TV up too loud on the nights he can’t sleep and he never leaves the balcony door open for any pests to get through. In fact, the only time Sam can even think about hearing Bucky is during his showers or when he’s cooking. Those are the moments where he takes advantage of the bluetooth speaker Sarah got as a housewarming gift and lets his music fill the space he’s in until there’s barely room for anything else.

Most of it is music Sam wasn’t alive to know about (but appreciates the sound nonetheless) but every now and then Bucky will play a song from more recent years and Sam will indulge in it by singing along quietly to himself or, when he can, filling Bucky in on the history of the song. And Bucky, the perfect roommate and friend he is, always listens, a smile as soft as moonlight dancing across his lips.

More often than not, Sam has to force himself to stay focused.

Sam does notice though that where every now and then he’ll go out, meet up with a few friends or take some time to himself outside of the apartment, Bucky stays home. Sure, he’ll go to the grocery store when they’re low on food or sometimes to the cafe at the end of their block but more often than not Bucky can be found right here at home: lounging on the couch, cleaning up his room, trying a new recipe in the kitchen. Sam thinks he could use a change of pace.

“Hey, man, can I ask you something?” Sam sits at the raised counter that looks into the kitchen and his eyes follow Bucky as he reads from a cookbook – eyebrows pinched together and mouth barely forming words – then moves to their spice cabinet.

Bucky pulls out three different jars of spices. “You can ask me anything.”

“Do you not like leaving the apartment?”

Bucky blows a heavy breath out while he slowly shrugs. He’s still looking down at the spices when he answers with, “No, I'm fine leaving the apartment. Why?” He adds the spices to the pot on the stove.

“I've never really seen you go out. Nowhere far at least.”

Bucky goes back to the cookbook and pushes up the sleeves on his arms exposing the ribbons of muscle and the slowly flexing plates of vibranium. Sam diverts his eyes and wraps a tight hand around his knee to keep himself from jumping across the counter. Bucky’s always doing aggravating stuff like that. Being effortlessly handsome and shit.

“Uhmm,” he starts and squints at the words. “I sometimes go to the park,” he hesitantly says, like a man who has been to the park exactly once. “Maybe...a bookstore?”

“Oooh, someone get a leash on this guy.”

Bucky flashes Sam a quick look of exasperation. “You asked if I left the apartment, not my top five most thrilling moments.”

“And number one would be?”

“Cooking for you.” He looks up with a smile that’s half genuine, half teasing. Sam could melt into a puddle of goo on the floor. Is pretty sure he nearly does. “Your palate has proven to be a very fierce opponent.”

Sam hums back his acknowledgement. Bucky’s cooking is a miracle. Who knew a man who came from the dark boiling ages would one day learn how to make a more than half decent bouillabaisse?

“What would you like to do for fun? What's a thrill for the great James Buchanan Barnes?”

Bucky shrugs again and then holds his arms out to his sides. He drops them after a second but only to have a finger drag against the page of the book.

“I don't know, Sam. I've kinda had enough thrills to last a lifetime.”

“Duuuude,” Sam groans and lets his head fall back. “Give me something to work with.” Sam lowers his head and sees Bucky’s eyebrows knit together. Sam can’t tell if he’s confused by his statement or something in the cookbook. “You don’t hang out with anyone?”

Bucky looks up, eyes crystalline and wide, “I hang out with you.” Sam’s heart swells.

Fuck this guy.

“But you’re right,” Bucky continues. “That’s not really all that fun.”

Yo, fuck this guy.

[peggyrose19]

Everything is Falling Apart - Part 3

I’m trying to not make this as angsty and give it a maybe happy ending? but as mentioned I have no control over these characters, I let them do what they want. Also straight up don’t realize how painful my writing is until people tell me, so. There’s that. Moving on. This whole thing ended up a lot longer than I ever intended it to be, but I’m not mad about it. Writing angst is fun. All of your wails and cursings of my name have been quite amusing to me. Am I a horrible person for that? It’s possible. Whatever. Hopefully this will be the last part, at least I’m intending it to be. If it’s not I’m mildly afraid @im-oknutzy-trash will kill me. She says I need to go back to writing fluff instead. I guess she doesn’t enjoy having her heart destroyed. *shrug* love you Hannah! 

Also, can you tell I’m not from New York? I’ve been a handful of times, so I did my best. No, I did absolutely no research since most of this was written in bed when I was supposed to be sleeping or during class when I was supposed to be paying attention. 

Characters belong to the amazing amazing @lumosinlove, AU is Clandestine by my fav @heyitssmiller, and shout out to @awanderingdeal for the cactus name! Thank you for that. Hope you all enjoy and don’t cry too hard. As always, leave a comment and I’ll love you forever. 

“Logan?”

The voice shook him from his thoughts.  

“Yes,” he blurted out. Finn frowned. “I mean no. Yeah, no. Wait, fuck- argh.” He stopped, taking a deep breath. “I mean, I won’t run away from you, not this time. You’re right, that was… that was not good of me to do.” He ran a hand through his hair, searching for what to say. “Merde, I didn’t think it’d be this hard.”

“Lo.” Finn reached across the table and laid a hand over Logan’s. “It’s okay, really.”

He sighed. “No, it’s not. I hurt you. Badly. And I’m really sorry for that. You- you didn’t deserve that.” 

“It’s alright. I hurt you too, I know I did.”

“Finn, no you didn’t.” Logan shook his head. “You were nothing but good to me, and I just left. I left you in that apartment with all of Leo’s things still there and all those memories of us, of him. I left. And you might have forgiven me, but I haven’t forgiven myself for that.” 

Finn bit his lip, unsure how to respond. 

“It was really hard,” he admitted finally. 

“What did you do with all his stuff?”

“It’s in a storage locker. I couldn’t bear to go through it all.”

“D’you-” Logan stopped himself. 

“What?”

“Do you think we could go through it together? I just… I don’t have anything of Leo’s anymore. And I don’t want to forget him. Please?”

Finn took a shaky breath. “Yeah. Yeah, we can do that.” 

“Okay. Thank you.”

“You really mean it? That you’ll stay this time? Because I really want that.”

“Yeah. I mean it.” 

It was a few days before Logan saw Finn again. He spent his time wandering New York City, exploring the place Finn had grown up. It was fascinating to imagine him as a little boy with his bright hair, scurrying about the city with his older brother, causing mischief and giving his parents brain aneurysms. 

When Finn called him, it was Wednesday afternoon and he was in his hotel room, staring aimlessly at the television.

“Hey.” 

Logan swallowed. “Hey.” 

“So, uh, I’ve got some time tomorrow, if you wanna, you know… “

“For the storage locker?”

“Yeah, that. Um, I can meet you there or we can head over together. Best way to get there is by train.”

“I-” Logan thought for a moment of all the things he hadn’t gotten to say yet. “I’ll go with you, if that’s alright with you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s fine. Okay. Good. I’ll uh, I’ll send you the details tonight.”

“Okay. I’ll uh, I’ll see you then, I guess.” 

“See you.” 

After Finn had ended the call, Logan sat for a long time. It had been like this every time they talked, a strange feeling of the past, present, and future all colliding together into one. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. 

When Logan reached the train station the next day, Finn was there waiting for him, glasses perched on his nose. He stopped for a moment as images flashed through his mind. Finn peering over his shoulder at the mission outline, glasses slipping down his nose. Logan reaching up and pushing them back on. Finn taking his contacts out at the end of each long day, blinking away the dryness in his eyes. Late nights with the three of them sprawled on the couch, all tangled limbs and soft kisses as they relaxed into each other, knowing they were home. 

Logan blinked back to reality. That was the past, he told himself firmly. It would do no good to dwell over something that couldn’t happen again. Shaking his head at himself, Logan crossed to Finn, coming to a halt at his side.

“Hi.” 

Finn jumped a bit. “Hey. You snuck up on me.”

“What kind of spy are you, if you’re that easy to scare?”

“Excuse you, I am an excellent spy. I’ll have you know I won Brad three years in a row.” 

Logan laughed. “How could I forget. You still have it?”

Finn looked affronted. “Of course I do! What kind of question is that?”

“Oh, sorry. Of course you do, why did I think otherwise?”

Fin was saved from having to respond by the loud horn of a train as it approached the station. It came to a stop with a hiss and the doors opened. 

“This is us,” Finn said, and they boarded, finding seats together near the back. It was quieter there, with fewer people.

They didn’t talk the whole way there. Logan sat in silence, searching for something to say, but he came up with nothing. What does one say to the boy they used to love? 

When they reached their stop, nerves suddenly bloomed in Logan’s chest. He hadn’t really thought too hard about what they were doing, more focused on Finn sitting beside him. But as they walked the few short blocks to the storage facility, his stomach began to churn. The building loomed before them, making Logan’s heart race.

“I-” He froze. Finn glanced back at him.

“Hey, Lo,” he said gently, walking back and grabbing his hand. “The moment you want to leave, we will. It’ll be okay. I’m right here with you.” 

Logan took a deep breath. Finn always seemed to know what to say. He looked up at Finn’s worried eyes and gave him a small nod. Still holding hands, the two entered the building. 

“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” Finn said quietly as they stood before the opened door of the storage unit. Logan clung to his hand. 

As one, they stepped inside. 

Finn grabbed the first box and tugged it open, Logan still at his side. 

“This should have his clothing,” he said, reading the label on the inside flap. He was right; inside were piles of Leo’s old shirts and sweatpants, a few pairs of jeans, some hoodies. Logan pulled out a sweatshirt, soft and faded, one from Leo’s high school, his favorite. He pressed it to his face.

“It doesn’t smell like him anymore,” he murmured. Finn didn’t say anything. He moved onto another box. Logan pulled Leo’s sweatshirt over his head. It went down to his knees. 

“Look at this,” Finn said, looking into the box he’d just opened. Inside were stacks of pictures. 

“You didn’t keep these?” Logan asked, pulling one out. It was the three of them in the park by their apartment, bundled against the cold and leaning into each other, taken by a kind passer-by. The picture had sat on the mantel. Logan had looked at it every day and thought about how lucky he was. 

“No. They just made me sad.” Finn pulled out an envelope, full of unframed photographs. He laughed a little as he began sorting through them. “Remember this?”

In his hand was a series of mugshots of the two of them, nearly unrecognizable in their disguises, both fighting a grin.

Logan snorted. “Do I ever. I kissed you for the first time that night.”

Finn smirked. “I nearly lost my mind when you did that.” 

“So did I.” 

They fell silent again as Finn kept looking at the pictures and Logan moved further into the room. He wasn’t really looking for much, just skimming the labels on the boxes and things left out. But one gave him pause. It was smaller, labelled “Leo Trinkets” in Finn’s neat handwriting. Curious, Logan opened it. 

Inside were, in fact, trinkets. As Logan began sorting through them, he started to recognize them. A small rock he’d found on an op, the same color as Leo’s eyes. Cooking stickers he’d found on a bike ride, the ones Leo said were too precious to ever use. The rainbow mug he’d bought for pride month, Leo’s name in cursive on the side. 

He dug deeper and deeper into the box, a new memory surfacing with each item. Every small trinket or bobble he’d ever gotten for Leo, placed lovingly in this small box. Logan didn’t notice he was crying until his tears fell onto the novel he was holding, the first-edition copy of Leo’s favorite book he’d found for his birthday. 

“You okay?” Finn asked quietly, setting a hand on his shoulder.

Logan sobbed, “I can’t believe he kept all this. I can’t believe you kept it.”

“Of course I kept it,” Finn sniffed. “We kept everything you ever gave us.” 

“Really?”

“Yes. Everything you gave me is in a box in my apartment. Some of it is still out. Like that funny little cactus you got me. I named it Sir Prick-a-Lot.“

Logan gave him a little smile. “Of course you named it something stupid.”

“Ah! Rude.”  When Logan didn’t answer, Finn’s smile faded. He was still staring down at the book in his hands.“Do you wanna bring that stuff back with you?” he asked. Logan just nodded.

Carefully, they packed everything back up, adding a few other things to the box; a few pictures, some of his old clothes. A little while later, they shut the lights off, leaving everything else for another day. 

On the train ride home, Logan held his box close to his chest. Finn sat beside him, their shoulders and knees pressed together. They didn’t say anything.

Logan thought of all the things he’d wanted to say. But maybe not all of them needed to be said. He looked over at Finn, then down at the box in his arms. He didn’t want to forget, to move on. He missed them. And he knew he couldn’t get Leo back. But maybe he could get Finn back, even just as a friend. He was tired of being alone. 

“Finn?”

“Yeah.”

“I still love you, too.”

[pretchatta]

the laws of spectre dynamics

I know it’s been a little while, but the university au continues! future updates will be more frequent, and you can always subscribe on AO3 to get notifications for each new chapter.

prev. chapters | chapter three

rating: teen; kanan jarrus/hera syndulla; 3.5k words

---

The pale morning light streamed through a gap in the curtains. Lying on her front, cheek pressed into the pillow, Hera’s eyes fluttered open. She wasn’t sure what time it was, but she could tell that it was still early.

She stretched, luxuriating in the feeling of soft sheets against bare skin. Lazy Saturday mornings always felt good. She rolled onto her side and was reminded of the other reason this particular morning felt so good; the man lying behind her. The very attractive, very naked man.

Kanan was on his side, his chest now pressed against her back. He sleepily draped an arm over her waist as she settled against him and dragged his fingertips lightly over her stomach.

“Good morning,” came his deep voice from behind her, roughened by sleep. She felt him nuzzle the back of her head and press a kiss to the base of one lek. 

She twisted to lie on her back so that she could look at him. His long hair was loose and sleep-tousled, and his face looked a little different without his glasses – more elongated, even though his features were the same. Her eyes travelled over the smooth, light brown skin, crooked nose and the small beard that covered his chin. His teal eyes looked steadily back at her from under his thick, angular eyebrows. 

“Morning,” she said, feeling her mouth curve into a warm smile. She tilted her head up so their lips could meet in a chaste kiss. “Did you sleep okay?”

His eyes sparkled and he smirked at her. “Better than okay,” he replied. “You?”

Her eyes dropped to his mouth as she thought back to just how she’d fallen asleep. “Oh, I had a great night.”

He leaned in to brush his lips over her jaw. His arm was still hooked over her waist, and his hand was warm where his fingers splayed over her ribs.

“Unfortunately I can’t stay long,” he murmured. “Do you mind if I use your shower?”

“Help yourself, there are spare towels in the hamper.”

He gave her another quick kiss and then extricated himself from the tangle of limbs and bedsheets. Hera sleepily watched him cross the room to the door, appreciating the view in the morning light. Kanan turned at the doorway and caught the direction of her eyes. He smirked before disappearing into the hall, and a few moments later she heard the shower come on.

She let her eyes drift shut, and must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew all was quiet. She felt a little more awake now, so sat up and surveyed her room. Clothes were strewn over the floor, though it took her a moment to realise they were all hers. She listened again, and heard nothing; had he dressed and left while she was sleeping? She knew he had to leave, but he seemed like the kind of person to at least say goodbye first...

Her eyes fell on the scrap of paper on her bedside table that hadn’t been there last night. It looked like a torn-off section of what might have once been an envelope. A few mathematical formulae were scrawled in one corner, but they had been crossed out by the same pen that had added a note in elegant handwriting.

“Hera,

I’ve gone to the shop down the road for breakfast, your key was still in the door from last night. I’ll be back in 10.

-K”

She felt a pang of guilt about her empty fridge. She’d needed to go grocery shopping for a few days now, but had kept putting it off, living off instant ready-meals. There was nothing she could do about it now. At least there was milk for coffee.

Though she didn’t know how long it had been since he’d left, she decided she should have time for a quick shower. She hurriedly grabbed her clothes off the floor of the bedroom and made the bed in case he came back before she was out. Even though he had played an equal part in creating that state, she still felt a need to tidy things up a bit. 

As Hera made her way to the bathroom, she was reminded that there were also clothes in the hallway. She found Kanan’s sweater vest in the pile with her coat, and couldn’t help but smile as she neatly folded it and set it on the end of the bed.

In the shower, her body went through the familiar routine as her mind reflected on the previous night. She’d been looking forward to the date from the moment they’d arranged it in the library, and it had gone better than she could ever have dreamed. Their conversation in the foyer of the Vasar-Corellia building hadn’t been the first time she’d seen Kanan; her office on the second floor overlooked the courtyard below, and she’d often seen him crossing it. He’d caught her eye immediately.

She’d been able to discern that he wasn’t a student, and he clearly worked in the Chemistry building, but not much more besides. Very few members of academic staff looked like that, so she couldn’t help but pay attention whenever she noticed him. 

Sometimes, when she assumed he was running late, he’d run his hand over his hair and a few strands would fall out around his face. Or his glasses would slide down his nose and he’d push them back up with the knuckle of his index finger as he walked. Sometimes, he wasn’t late, and would stroll across the courtyard holding a to-go coffee cup, his other hand tucked into his pocket. At those times he usually had a distant look on his face, like he was deep in thought.

Sometimes he’d be waylaid by students – that was how she’d known for sure he was part of the teaching staff. She’d marvelled at how easily they’d approached him, but he’d always seemed ready and willing to answer whatever questions they had. She assumed he was a good teacher.

And then she’d finally got the chance to talk to him – properly, not when she had to go set up a lab or talk to someone about a careers fair. Apart from the weird moment as they’d left campus when he’d seemed like he was trying to impress her, he’d been a perfect gentleman and excellent company. Talking to him had been so easy, and with how much they’d had in common she felt like they could have kept going well into the night.

As it was, she was not disappointed with how they had spent the night. It certainly wasn’t how she’d planned to end the evening, but that kiss… It had been electric, like no-one she’d ever kissed before. And the things he could do with his mouth…

She forced herself to focus on washing herself before she could get distracted. Yes, last night had been incredible. He hadn’t even technically gone yet and she was already hoping for a second date.

She finished up in the bathroom and was just pulling on clean clothes when she heard the sound of the front door opening. She finished wrapping a soft scarf around her head – grey, matching the top she wore above orange harem pants, her usual weekend clothes – and went out to the hall. Kanan was just closing the door behind himself.

He was back to being the Chemistry professor again; the clothes from last night (minus the sweater), glasses, hair pulled back neatly behind his head. He held a carrier bag in one hand, and the other came up to run over his hair as he caught sight of her in front of him.

“Hey, you’re awake!” He started towards her, but didn’t give her an opportunity to respond as he launched into an explanation of his absence. “You’d fallen asleep when I came out of the shower, but I was thinking I still had some time before I have to go, and I thought you might like breakfast – we did say we’d have coffee today, so why not coffee and breakfast? – and since you didn’t seem to have much in, I thought I’d just go out and pick up a few things – I hope you don’t mind I took your key, I didn’t want to wake you up but I do need to keep an eye on the time for Ezra –” 

He was talking quickly, the words almost tripping over themselves as he tried to get them out. “Do you like omelette? I can make something else if you’d rather – or, if you want me to leave, I can just go now–”

She cut him off with a kiss. It was very effective.

“Omelette sounds lovely,” she told him. 

He seemed to relax, from either the kiss or her words, or possibly a combination of the two. “I’ll make a start.”

“As long as it’s not going to make you late.”

“Nah, this won’t take long.” He followed her into the kitchen and set the bag down on the counter, pulling out his ingredients.

“I suppose if you’re making me breakfast I could make you that coffee?” she offered.

He flashed her a smile that made her heart leap. “I wouldn’t say no.”

There was barely room in Hera’s kitchen for two people, and they had to carefully co-ordinate who was at the sink or fridge or counter at any one time. Despite this, as the two of them bustled around the small space Hera couldn’t help but notice how right it felt. She’d always considered herself to be someone who was happy in her own company and didn’t need anyone else to make her complete, but there was something very comforting about how easily she fell into the sheer domesticity of making breakfast with Kanan. The only thing missing was Chopper bothering her for his breakfast.

Soon, the air was filled with the rich smell of coffee and the sound of bacon sizzling in the pan. Kanan made quick work of the omelette, expertly dividing it in half before serving onto two mismatched plates. Hera poured the coffee and took the mugs to the table, where she was reminded that her dining situation was very much set up for one. 

She shifted the stack of mail that had accumulated on her second dining chair to an armchair so that Kanan could sit down. She considered herself a fairly neat person, but to outsiders she knew her system seemed chaotic. She had a place for everything, and everything was in its place – it was just that the places weren’t necessarily where one might logically assume them to be. 

If Kanan’s going to be here more often I’m going to need a new place to put my mail.

The thought crossed her mind unbidden, and she chastised herself. There was no guarantee that they’d do this again. Yes, he had suggested meeting up again last night, and she was pretty sure he’d enjoyed their date as much as she had, but it still didn’t mean anything for certain. She shouldn’t make any assumptions about where things were going, or she’d be setting herself up for disappointment. She shook her head as if to clear it and went to get them some cutlery.

Kanan turned out to be a great cook. The omelettes were perfectly done, and tasted delicious. Their easy banter resumed as they ate, and continued after they were done and simply sat sipping their coffees.

During a natural lull in the conversation, she caught Kanan gazing at her with an unmistakable softness. He seemed to realise it, and snapped back to himself.

“I should wash up.” He took her plate and stood up.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you cooked!” she protested, following him back into the kitchen. “I’ll do it.”

He set the plates in the sink and turned to the frying pan, but she grabbed his hand before he could take it.

“Stop it.” She had to step close to him in order to hold both hands, and in the tiny space she ended up pushing him against the counter. “I told you, I’ll wash up.”

“I’m just trying to be a good houseguest.”

She grinned up at him. “You’ve already been great.” She pushed up onto her toes to close the small gap between them. His mouth was still warm from the coffee, and he smelled faintly of her soap mixed with something she was realising was uniquely Kanan. She liked it. Her grip on his wrists relaxed as he twisted his arms away to encircle her waist. The kiss was soft and slow, with none of the urgency of their kisses the previous night. She felt a flutter of sparks somewhere near her stomach.

The moment was interrupted by a buzzing noise. A phone, yet again, although this time it was Kanan’s. He broke away and fumbled in his pocket.

“Sorry, I –” He looked at the screen and swore. “It’s Ezra, I should take this.”

Hera waited patiently while he answered the phone. She heard the panicked voice of a teenage boy on the other end, but couldn’t make out the words.

“It’s okay, calm down. I haven’t left yet, and don’t worry about it, I’ve got one you can use. Is there anything else you need? Good. I might be a little later than I said, but only a few minutes. Just try to stay calm, you’ve got nothing to worry about – remember, it’s only a practise test. I’ll see you soon.”

He put the phone down. 

“His calculator’s broken, and last-minute nerves are making everything worse,” he explained with a shrug. “I should really get going though, I didn’t realise the time.”

“Of course!” She stepped back, giving him room to move out of the kitchen. “Go, I don’t want you to be late.”

“Thanks, though. For – letting me stay.” He blushed. She found his awkwardness very endearing.

“Thanks for breakfast,” she replied with a grin.

He started making for the door, with her following. “Hey, maybe we could still get that coffee sometime?”

“Sure! Or we could do this again – dinner, I mean.” It was her turn to blush. She wasn’t exactly opposed to a repeat of their other activities, but she didn’t want him thinking that was all she was after.

He gave her a warm smile. “I’ll call you.”

He leaned down to give her a goodbye kiss in the doorway. She could tell he’d only meant it to be a quick one, but neither of them seemed inclined to stop. The kiss deepened and her arms slid around him. The sparks were back, this time with a touch of heat. She allowed herself to enjoy it for a few moments, and then firmly pushed at his chest.

“Go. Ezra’s waiting.”

He still lingered, his bright eyes gazing down at her. “Maybe I’ll see you on Monday?”

“I’d like that,” she replied softly.

Kanan pressed a final kiss to her forehead before turning to stride away down the path. She watched him go, her smile lingering on her lips. 

The sound of the door closing seemed to echo in the hallway. Now that Hera was alone, her home was a lot quieter.

No Chopper, she thought to herself. He was with Zeb, one of the few friends she’d made since moving to Lothal six months ago. She’d asked him to check in on Chop while she was out and feed him his dinner, but he’d texted her while Kanan was walking her home to say that Chopper was being clingy (translation: destructive) without her around and so he’d taken the cat home with him. 

It was sweet, especially considering that Zeb and Chopper didn’t really get along, but her friend knew how much she cared about her cat. She should probably go pick him up before Zeb did something stupid, like shave all of his fur off. She’d never known if he was serious about that threat and didn’t want to find out.

Hera did the responsible thing and finished cleaning up in the kitchen before making the short walk to Zeb’s place. She rapped on the door in her usual rhythm and didn’t have to wait long for it to be opened. Before she could even greet the lasat on the other side, a yowling streak of orange and white launched itself into her arms.

“Oof,” she grunted as she caught him. “Hello, Chop, it’s good to see you too.”

Chopper was not a small cat. It wasn’t only that he was permanently overweight from constantly managing to get into his sealed food containers, though that did play a part in it – he was also generally very large. Fortunately, Hera was well used to his way of greeting her.

Zeb sniggered from the doorway. “Morning, Hera.”

“Hey, Zeb,” she said, settling the familiar weight in her arms and straightening up. “Thanks for looking after him.”

Zeb’s expressive green eyes looked doubtful. “Not sure he’s so grateful.”

“Was he okay?”

“He was his usual self,” he replied, shrugging his huge shoulders. “He’s been waiting for you by the door since I gave him breakfast.”

“Well, he just wants to – wait, do you have guests?” She’d caught sight of rumpled blankets in the living room behind him.

“Wha’?” He turned to see what she was looking at. “Oh, yeah. Just a friend staying over. He didn’t mind Chop being around.”

“Did they get along?”

“Well, no, but come on, it’s Chopper…”

Yeah, expecting Chop to get along with a stranger was perhaps a little too optimistic. 

“Good point. It does explain why he’s so keen to get home.” The cat was squirming in her arms, trying to get comfortable and grumbling quietly.

“So how’d the date go?” Zeb asked.

Hera couldn’t help her smile. “It was good. Really good. We had a lot in common.”

“Yeah?” There was a knowing look on his face. “Think he’s gonna make it to the third date?”

Right. Because the few times she’d tried dating before, it had never gone beyond two dates. Zeb had said she might like them more if she let them stay the night, and she’d brushed his comment off by saying she wouldn’t do that before the third date. 

“I mean, I would definitely like to go on a third date. And a second, obviously. But, uh, he doesn’t need to make it that far for, um…” She trailed off, but Zeb’s eyes widened and he smirked in an all-too-knowing way.

“Wow. Must’ve been a really good date,” he teased.

She shrugged, realising she was happy enough not to feel self-conscious. Chopper mewed indignantly at the movement. “Yeah. It was.”

“And how was the…?”

“Zeb!”

“What? Just asking. I know it’s been a while.” He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed.

She looked away, flushing. “I’m only here to get Chopper. Maybe next time we go out for drinks, I’ll tell you about it.” 

Zeb chuckled. “Alright, so let’s talk about how I did you a favour by getting the furball out of your lekku for the night, because there’s actually something you could do for me in return. My nunaball team’s playing an away game next weekend, and the kids could use all the support they can get. It’s in Bahryn – d’you think you could make it?”

She mentally flicked through her calendar. Part of her wanted to keep the next few weekends free in case Kanan wanted another date, but she immediately rejected that idea out of impracticality. “Sure, I don’t have any plans for next weekend yet.”

“You could even bring Kanan if he’s interested. Get that second date.”

Was she really so easy to read? Or did Zeb just know her too well...

“Isn’t Bahryn the team that are your sworn enemies?” she asked, changing the subject.

“...Yeah, that might be why we need the support.”

“Alright. I’ll be there.”

He gave her a grateful smile. “Thanks, Hera.”

She shifted Chopper in her arms, which were starting to ache. “We’d better get back. But I’ll see you next weekend!”

“See you then!” He waved from the doorway as she turned to leave, feeling glad that it was only a short walk back.

When she let herself back in through her front door, releasing Chopper into the hall, Hera had to restrain herself from immediately checking her phone. Of course Kanan wouldn’t have sent her a message yet, he probably wasn’t even done with Ezra’s exam. Maybe she could text him – wish Ezra luck with the exam, or just straight up ask if he wanted to get lunch on Monday.

Wait… Did she even have his number? Had she given him hers? She felt her heart fall through her stomach as she realised that no, despite all their promises, they had never actually exchanged contact information.

Okay, so no texting. That was fine. She could just run into him in Jhothal on Monday. She saw him from her office window so often, it would be easy to arrange. Right?

[theragingthespian]

forgive me if i wander off (forgive me more if i just stay)

or the thobm i said i’d do

i.

“Miss Clayton?”

Dani hums. 

“Miss Clayton.” This time there’s a finger, firm and quick, prodding at her side. When she glances down, Flora’s looking irritated. Or at least, as irritated as Flora gets.

(Sometimes there’s irritation one second and-

Then the next it’s gone, replaced by an all too calm look. A look that seems beyond her years and it’s-

(Perfectly splendid.)

unnatural.)

“Yes?”

Flora’s shoulders drop, less pressing and urgent now that she’s got her attention. No, now she takes her time, draws it out. Dani looks around as Flora works it out. It’s bright and sunny out. The constant days of rain and general dreariness making way for clear skies and picnics. “What’s love like?”

“Um.” Dani returns her gaze as it was before, freezes at the sight, and twists so she’s facing Flora fully. 

She hears a breath of quiet laughter, quick and contained, and she has to force herself not to look.

Don’t look. It’s as easy as that. Just. Don’t-

Crinkled green eyes meet hers and-

Flora huffs. 

Dani smiles, hopes it’s as warm as she intends it because Flora is too young, too good to not know she’s so loved. “Well, you know what it feels like, silly. Owen loves you and Ms. Grose. I love you and- and your parents. I know they love you so-”

“I know that.” Flora bites her lips, quirks her mouth to the side. She’s so full of movement. Dani had missed it. The questions and perspectives of the world and light that children embody. “I mean love.”

Heat rushes up the back of her neck, has her biting her lip. She glances back to Jamie who’s guided a vine up and over the arbor but still somehow has the time to smile quickly at her, eyebrows raising. “Oh I-” Her voice breaks and she sucks in a quick breath. “Why do you ask?”

(There’s a part of her that’s worried Flora will question and question and see. That she’ll have to confront this and-

Oh. There’s a part of her that welcomes it. Aches to know how it would feel to begin to acknowledge it.)

“I just.” More quirking and now her fingers grab at her shirt and tug. “Does it ever seem like it’s- it’s not good? But it is to you?”

Dani thinks. Tries to think of every way this could be interpreted in Flora’s mind but quick enough that Flora doesn’t get bored and wander off before she’s finished because this- the way Flora asks, concerned and scared- this is important.

(She instantly thinks of Jamie and hears Poppins.

But it’s tempered by thinking of the way Hannah’s face falls when she talks about Rebecca. Talks about Peter.)

“I think when it’s good, everyone can see it. Even if they don’t want to say so, you can see it. You can-you can feel it. It-.” Dani looks up at the sun, at the way the plants are reaching out and up for it. Looks at Jamie and suddenly feels the urge to reach herself. 

(Thinks it’s undeniable.)

“It-”

ii.

Jamie’s leg is warm against hers. 

There’s a blanket over them, the fire crackling a few paces away from them, but still. Still, she can feel Jamie’s warmth. Jamie shifts and Dani finds more of the blanket pooling into her lap.

(It’s a game they’ve been playing since they’ve started the fire. Silently passing each other more than needed blanket.

She’s not sure if she wants to win, to lose, to find herself in a draw and looking into-)

Jamie huffs- a sound she makes constantly- drawing her out of her thoughts, as soon as she realizes the blanket is back to her. It’s nice. The only sounds between them the fire popping and the hushed laughs, whispers, breaths between them. The kids had gone to bed, tired after chasing her around the lawn. They had stopped when they neared the lake, Flora growing quiet and-

Haunted.

“Fancy shedding some of your mysterious history?” Jamie’s words are quiet, like most of her movements, but it carries in the cool night air. It takes her a moment to process and then she snorts, earning a laugh from Jamie in response.

“Mysterious?”

Jamie shrugs. “You don’t come to Bly for no reason.” Dani snorts again. Wrinkles her nose this time because she wished she hadn’t the first and now- well now, Jamie is looking at her with a fondness that can’t possibly be from that. Besides it’s a far nicer way to ask than she thinks Jamie is ought to do. Thinks she could ask why she continuously finds her teetering the edge of a breakdown. Thinks she could ask why Jamie can put her at ease.

“Then what’s your reason?”

Their shoulders brush as Jamie leans in close, close enough that Dani thinks she should lean away but- but it’s nice and warm and it’d be terrible to ruin it. She looks into hazel eyes- in this light, but she swears they were green earlier, bright amongst the foliage- and leans forward herself. 

If Jamie is surprised, she doesn’t show it besides the barest flicker of her eyes looking between them. 

“I asked first.”

“Okay.” She breathes in deep, drops her hands heavily on her knees. She had left to get away. To get away from-glasseslightsguilt- to avoid. To-

God, sometimes she wishes she could just exist without there being so much-

Just so much. 

(She had so desperately wanted to avoid reflections, avoid mirrors, avoid anything remotely shiny that at a point-

Well, at a point, she stopped getting anything. Stopped doing.

Moved and left an apartment- a room, it was a room- bare. 

And now, now she’s surrounded by Flora and Miles.

Surrounded by a too big house with too nice people and even sitting here, Jamie solid beside her, feels an awful lot like-

Growth.)

“I had a fiancé.”

Jamie’s jaw shifts as she slowly raises her cigarette, inhaling deep and slow. “Yeah. Course.” Her shoulders are tense, but then they loosen and fall. “Feel like there’s a bit more there.”

“There is.” But her chest is tight and the moment has changed, stiffer, rigid, and-

It feels like so much more.

“Hey, hey.” Jamie knocks her mug against hers, just hard enough to stir her but not enough to be in danger of losing her grasp, “You’re alright. We can just-” Jamie flaps her hand. “Relax. You ever done that?”

Dani laughs, but it’s wheezy and thin. It doesn’t settle Jamie if her look says anything. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired.” Jamie’s face softens, and oh Dani didn’t know she- in all her lounging, quipping glory- could even look that soft. “Sometimes,” she grins, knows how ridiculous it will sounds, “sometimes it sounds like the house is whispering all night.”

(It breathes and shakes.

There’s footsteps all night, and anytime she goes to check, Flora and Miles are there.

Nightmares. Worries. Storms. Anything and everything, so she can’t check. 

She just sleeps. Wakes. And listens.)

Jamie’s eyes squint. Not quite worried but curious. Alert. “What’s it say?”

It’s hard to articulate. To hear the house coaxing quietly, gently, silently every night, images that don’t make sense, and memories- because that’s- that’s what they are, right?

It says too much and doesn’t say anything at all.

What does say something are the volumes she sees in Jamie’s eyes, in Jamie’s lip that twitches just so, in the hand that slightly drifts over her arm and falls.

Dani allows herself to close her eyes, just for a moment. She tries to stop herself from grinning now, but feels it coming all the same and puts on her best- still not terribly good, in fact bad. Completely an awfully bad- accent, “It likes your flowers, it does.”

When she opens her eyes, Jamie looks mildly offended, a grin playing at the corners of her lips, but mostly-

Mostly, it’s tender and warm and when Jamie slides even closer, patting at her shoulder, Dani doesn’t think twice to rest her head against Jamie. 

(They end the night with the blanket pooled at the end of the bench, pressing tightly together instead.)

(The next night she goes to bed, there’s flowers on her nightstand.)

iii.

“It needs more.”

Dani laughs beside her as her eyes- one as blue as the sky and the other as deep and earthy as the ground below- meets Jamie’s. “More?”

“Yes,” Jamie affirms. It’s part of her plan. Push for more, see if Dani will agree, and pull the plants out of her car as if it’s all a happy accident.

As if it’s not the plan.

(As if Dani will tell her no.)

Instead, Dani will hum and tilt her head back and forth, acting as if it’s not an actuality when Jamie knows from even that question it’s a solid, absolute yes. 

“You see,” she rolls up the cuffs of her sleeves, thumb hooking under the material before she just shoves it up and over her elbows after getting irritated. “This air is pretty stuffy.”

“The air,” Dani echoes, “that’s a new one.”

“Air is pretty old, actually love.” Dani snorts. It’s sharp and has Jamie releasing her own breath. 

(Dani had been quiet on the drive over.

Which is both typical and not.

Sometimes it’s unclear who she’s dealing with. Dani or some jumbled version of the two of them. Of the-

Dani calls it the beast.

Jamie calls it the coward.)

“You see,” she muses as Dani walks over to her, the boards creaking beneath their feet. Dani clicks her tongue and unravels her cuffs before starting anew, the tips of her fingers lightly touching the underside of her arm with every roll. “We’ll need more in here, so that it doesn’t overwhelm those two poor, exploited plants.”

“You’ve brought in at least five.”

“Three and two-thirds.”

“Three and- Jamie.” A sharp tug and another flip has her sleeves neat and tidy. Dani keeps her hands there all the same, thumb brushing against the side of her wrist with a gentleness that’s all Dani. “I know you have more.”

“Define more.”

She’s fixed with a stare then, and it’s supposed to be chastising, she’s sure of it. But being on the end of Dani’s gaze, wholehearted and singularly focused on her- well, it’s charming and lovely and she’d like it to continue. “You know I don’t mind more plants.”

“Yeah but then you’d miss out on my powers of persuasion.” 

Dani’s grin goes crooked and toothy as she pulls her close, murmurs of her ridiculousness against her lips. 

(Truth be told, it gives them both something to focus on.

There are plants that are Dani’s, plants that are hers, and plants that they share.

It gives her a system of knowing, always, always, always, where Dani is in the day. That if she’s missed watering the plant they share but has watered her own, she’s either teasing or has just strayed from the tracks just a bit during the day. Maybe has forgotten to turn off the bath water or the hose outside or is watching the rain fall. 

(All with this look that she swears isn’t Dani.) 

When she waters them all, Jamie greets her with a thorough kiss.

When she forgets them all though, she tears through the house, desperate to see those eyes and soft hair and infinitely softer eyes. 

So Jamie will fill their home with plants, with life, and hopes Dani helps her keep it that way.)

iv.

It’s not exactly how she imagined it. 

(To be fair, she imagined it in a variety of ways. 

During every Christmas, surrounded by her siblings, where it was warm and light and-

Well, then it wasn’t, quite suddenly. 

She still imagined it though. Even more so, afterwards. Imagined a family, whole and together. Soft and brilliant and hard, a blanket of snow over a town and a train slowly working its way through the hills. 

Clean.

Without coal and ash and death.

Life, vibrant and eager and waiting, just below it.

A white Christmas.)

The train is quiet and the people are quiet and Dani keeps looking back to her with a curious- quiet- gaze.

“Some looker behind me?”

Dani rolls her eyes, the lights catching the brilliant blue and highlighting the depth of neverending brown. “Yeah.” Her accent- drawling, thick, kind- sounds out of place even in America. Or at least the Northeast where the crowd chatters in quick and tight phrases. “She’s about mmm,” Dani holds a hand just at her head, “this high. Real good looks.” She leans in close then and Jamie always- willingly, desperately- eagerly leaning forward until they share the same space. “Bad attitude sometimes,” Dani whispers, delighting in the way Jamie lunges forward to- to do something if only to make that smile bigger and that giggle continue forever. 

They hadn’t made it that year, when she had planned and planned, and then Dani felt as if she’d go through her hands like-

(She doesn’t dare suggest any lakes or beaches or anything remotely close to water.)

But then Dani had shoved her out of bed, brochures in hand, bags at the ready and thoroughly destroyed any argument as to why they shouldn’t.

Feeling downright throttled, Jamie didn’t pity the children Dani had in her classes in the past. When putting her mind to something, Dani trekked onwards, regardless of what was in her path. All the while, a jaunty hustle that made Jamie want to laugh and sweep her up all the same.)

Dani throws an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close, closer still when Jamie sighs with relief. “I just,” Dani searches around the train as if she’s searching for what to say, or better yet, how to say it, “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m alright.” Dani’s chin drops on her shoulder and those eyes are wide and warm when Jamie chances a look to her side. “It’s-” She flaps a hand as they wander throughout the steadily accelerating train. They take up the majority of the narrow aisle, Dani still plastered against her side and doing some odd sort of shuffle to keep her close by. A man makes a grumpy sort of sound- the audacity- as they waddle past, and it takes all of Jamie not to strike up a certain conversation with him.

(It takes all of Jamie meaning it takes her all of a second to recognize Dani’s firm hand at the small of her back and the gentle push of her hand and-

It doesn’t take any of her, not at all really, to listen to Dani in an instant, swiftly and fervently.)

“It’s a train.”

“It is.” Dani draws it out a bit longer than needed, her confusion clear. 

“Thought it’d be more to be honest.”

(It doesn’t fit as neatly into her heart. Doesn’t fill some immeasurable space and shape.

It’s just a train in December, and it’s cold and Dani- Dani keeps looking at her reflection more and more and more.)

Her heart falls even more as they reach the narrow tight space they’ll call a home for the night and feels it crash around her. “This was stupid.”

Dani spins them around fast, her hand already being on her shoulder before she finishes her sentence, and, even now, with Dani looking worryingly at her, hands framing her face, she wonders if Dani already knew how she felt. How she was feeling. And just hung back until she was ready to talk. Dani, ready and willing, for Jamie to fall into her.

(Push and pull.

It’s taken work- from both of them. Of knowing when to breathe, wait, listen. Of knowing when to step into the other’s space and gather them in a hug that’s as warm and loving as the sun against the petals of a flower. 

It’s taken her to hold her tongue, stifle the quick words and quicker temper at the unfairness, at the damn house, at Dani- Dani who was so quick and gentle and good-hearted to welcome this into herself. 

It’s Dani’s bravery over and over again. It’s her tap, tapping against Jamie’s hand when she sees, hears, feels it. One tap for a flash of something, two taps for it’s still there, Jamie, she’s still here. 

It’s taken them.)

“It’s not stupid.” It’s a whisper, a promise against her head, fingers roaming idly through her hair. When she grumbles, low and deep in her chest, Dani’s breath fans out against the side of her neck. “Tell me what you wanted.”

Jamie groans. “A white Christmas.”

“Well,” Dani directs her in a neat little half-spin until she’s facing the gentle hills passing by them, snow glittering as the sun begins its descent. “What’s that then?”

“Snow.”

“And it’s-”

“Almost Christmas.”

“Debbie Downer.”

“Who’s she now?” 

That earns her a light, playful elbow against her side. “I hear,” and now Dani’s back against her, whispering against her ear in a way that’s downright unfair, “they have hot chocolate too.”

“So you can rob them of every marshmallow?”

“Only yours,” Dani says sweetly. She urges Jamie to sit, eyes fixing her in place- she’s always so struck by those eyes, long before they were different colors. All it took was once and then it took hold, growing into a shape that she couldn’t name but felt a hell of a lot like love, like forever- “I have something.”

“Hopefully our tickets.”

Dani’s face falls. “Um.” She looks down, pats at her pockets. It’s adorable and endearing, and oh even if they get kicked off, Jamie’s already glad she’s here.

(With Dani.

Always with Dani.)

“I’m sure I’ll find them.” Dani crinkles her nose and her hands ache to pull her close. “More importantly,” she rummages around in their suitcases for a moment, shaking her head as her forehead wrinkles in concentration. “Got it!”

“Our tickets?”

“I said I’ll find them.” Dani passes a mass of- Jamie cranes her head as she twists it back and forth- maps? Definitely. It’s maps of Vermont, their destination carefully drawn out in red ink and circled one, two, three times with such effort that it bled through the side. “Sorry,” Dani muses, “I used what I had.”

“You got me a present?”

“Of course.” Dani sounds somewhat offended. Somewhat offended for an individual who in no uncertain terms agreed to no gifts because they had scrounged their money for this trip- a trip Jamie had wanted. 

(Dani had scoffed and called her stubborn.

Said whatever Jamie wanted, she wanted. That she’d follow her, be it land, sea, air-

They both agreed to avoid the sea for now.)

“You’re devious.” Dani grins at that, a little wicked in the corners, before nudging at her knee. Jamie carefully peels away the hurried pieces of tape, knowing she’ll keep this map and run her thumb over Dani’s circle after circle. Over the clear times and schedules edged into the sidings. The lines and numbers and streets fall away into a deep green, soft and thick, scarf. 

“Dani-” Her hands get lost in the softness of it, the endless green that makes her miss the vines that she’s slowly, successfully, getting to climb up their walls.

“You stared at it.” Dani’s biting at her lip, hands wringing. “At that shop. And they were nice. I know- I know we said no gifts, but it’s small! It’s small, and you’re- you’re my favorite.”

“Come here.” Jamie tugs them together, until they’re awkwardly smushed together- Dani laughing in between her quick, anxious breaths- and winds the scarf around them both. “You’re stubborn, you know that?”

“I’ve heard it once or twice.”

“You’ve heard it from me thrice over.” Jamie winds the ends of the scarf around her palms, pulls and hums happily when it has Dani hunching even closer to her, limbs and all, “You’re my favorite too.”

v.

The lawn is large and green and extremely, very, perfectly quiet. 

It’s lush and well-kept, and she so desperately wants to know if there’s a lake. Would Henry want to normalize it for them again? Just a lake. Just water that’s not so deep, not as deep as the ocean. 

Just a lake.

(Not a place of curses or people or skeletons of long-broken promises that linger far longer than the individuals who carried them, who had broken them, who had come across them.

Not a place in which Dani knows she’ll return some day, take her place among haunted secrets and confessions and-

Sleep. Wake. Walk.)

“Still here?”

Jamie looks expectantly at her, arm stretched across Owen’s too tall shoulders. Owen grins, thankfully rid of just the mustache and sporting a full beard. On anyone else, it’d hide that deep, earnest smile, but Owen’s? Owen’s shines through, brightens the already too bright image of a beautiful home and beautiful lawn and-

The world shifts, her feet briefly losing contact with the ground, tilted, then steadily placed- floats, she’s floating- down again. 

“Poppins?”

(She’s not back at the house. She’s not back at the house.

She’s not. She’s notshe’snononono-)

The world returns in a fury of greens and blues and birds singing. It returns with Jamie- still looking, still beautiful- pulling her arm from Owen and taking a half-step towards her. Her eyes squint, worried and searching. 

(It’s not fair.

Not fair for Jamie to look at her like that. Not fair for Jamie to watch and watch and watch. To sweep her up in her arms when she sees water, sees her reflection.

(Sometimes. 

Sometimes, she wonders if it’d be kinder to put an end to this. To stop the worry and fear and the way Jamie will run into the bathroom if she doesn’t immediately respond the instant Jamie steps through the door.

Sometimes, sleep calls to her.)

It’s not fair to find such a love and still wonder what it will mean in the end.)

“Where else would I be?” And because she’s feeling anxious and her chest is tight, she can’t help but continue. “I’m here. We’re here. Well, they’re,” she waves her hand to the house, “they’re over there and-”

“Okay,” Owen claps his hands, “Good. A successful round of roll call.” He points behind him, towards the house that isn’t that house- Dani looks it over twice and nods to herself, not that house- arms still raised as he looks between them. “Shall we?”

Dani bounds forward, intent on getting those looks off their faces, intent on moving out of place before Jamie, stubborn and resolute and strong Jamie, will stop her in her tracks and see-she always sees- having them both home before Dani can blink. 

(Are you sure you want to go, Jamie had asked, the sheets kicked down at the edge of the bed, Jamie favoring her warmth far more.

Dani had taken a moment to squeeze Jamie tighter in her arms, twisting them both around as Jamie grumbled, and thought about every place she had followed Jamie to so far. 

Thinks she’s not about to stop now and-

Yes, of course, she answers to a far different question than Jamie asks.)

She loops her arm with Owens and throws a look over her shoulder. “Coming?”

“Always love.”

It’s a quiet walk through the courtyard, into the foyer, rounding about from room to room until- Until there they are. Quiet and tucked in close, Flora and Miles sit patiently on the couch. It’s almost a picture-perfect image, Henry standing behind the couch, smiling faintly down at them. Perfect if not for their fidgeting hands, Miles’ leg kicking out every few seconds and the impatience that slowly seeps into Flora’s face, inch by inch. 

(Or is it millimeter here?)

Dani drops to her knee as soon as she sees Flora shift, expecting a hug, expecting Flora and Miles to run across the room and greet her.

They merely stand. 

She can’t quite process, so she gets up- slowly, or- or is it quickly? She takes a step forward, sees the polite smiles plastered on their faces. She’d be proud of their manners if she hadn’t wanted all prosperity thrown to the wind.

It’s only been a year.

It’s only been a year, and it feels so much shorter than that and yet so much longer.

(Every moment with Jamie lasts a second, a lifetime, all wrapped neatly together until she questions the validity of even measuring time. Finds herself measuring through every soft smile, every shy glance- they’re rare and a joyful victory on her behalf- every soft touch instead.)

It’s only been a year and the beast takes a step forward as Flora and Miles take one back.

Jamie’s hand finds her shoulder, squeezes briefly, and then tiptaps down the length of her arm until she can slip her fingers in the spaces between hers. Gives another squeeze.

“Hi you two,” Jamie calls. She murmurs her own hello but winces when it seems altogether too much of a croak, too loud.

“Hi.” Flora looks suspiciously at her. It’d be adorable, again, given any other context of a young girl giving her such odd, slipping into negative, glances. Miles, on the other hand, looks about the room as if he couldn’t be more bored.

And then, just like the world and the ground and her breath, it returns.

It’s a shout as it clicks. “Miss Clayton!” Flora jumps forward and stretches out her arms. She turns her head, but doesn’t lower her arms, looking to Henry- it speaks volumes to their relationship, a quiet question of this okay? He nods and then Dani’s arms are full of Flora and the beginning of what is sure to be endless chatter. “-That’s what Miles says at least. You should just meet my teacher.”

“Yeah? She nice?”

“No.” Dani chuckles as Flora bumps their heads together, brown eyes startlingly serious. Dani laughs again, finds the breath catches in her lungs, and it’s only that- that slight hitch that makes it sound like a sob. 

“I missed you.” It comes out in a rush, working it’s way out after threatening to grow and grow in her chest until there was no room left. Growing in the absence of their joyful laughter and energy, and the beast had ate away at it. Coaxed it. 

“Dani,” Flora says in a way that makes her feel so, so small, “We’re always with you.” 

(For a second, she swears she sees, feels a figure right behind Flora.)

“Come,” Flora commands. Her shoulders curl inwards, eyes darting to the floor when Henry clears his throat, “Right. Right. Do you want to see the house?”

“Well, I, for one, would love to see the kitchen.” Owen grins as Flora wriggles out of her arms and runs to him. “Oh, I don’t know if I know you.”

As Owen and Flora continue to bicker, Jamie gives her a long, fond look that’s so full of relief Dani feels tears gather in her eyes, before following them through. Henry places a hand on her arm, gives her a nod so deep she’s sure his chin touches his chest and passes through. 

She looks towards the last one left in the room. Miles seems to purposefully hang back, eyes meeting hers and then looking back down, head jerking just so away from the doorway where everyone’s left. 

“Miles?” She imagines he thinks he’s getting too old for long hugs, so she settles for ruffling his hair when he allows her to come closer. 

He still doesn’t seem to appreciate it much more than she thought he would a hug.

(But he leans his head into her hand all the same.) 

“I’m sorry,” Miles whispers, looking far too grown for his age but still- weary and drawn- “for what happened.” 

(She has a million questions. Do he and Flora remember everything? Do they talk about it? What does Henry say? Is everything okay?

Does it still feel like the house is surrounding them? At night, when it’s quiet and dark and the shadows are spread around in such a way that she can’t tell what’s the light and what isn’t

She only has one thing to say though.)

“Me too.”

vi.

Her dreams are full of warm hands and laughter. 

She wakes slowly, too immersed in the dream to wake up rapidly. Not that she enjoys waking up quickly anyway. She enjoys waking to the smell of tea, it’s pleasant smell a lie to what actually makes its way into her cup at Dani’s hands, and the gentle grazes of Dani’s hands at her hips. She thoroughly intends to continue that, maybe catch Dani before she leaves the bed and presses backwards.

Instead, she finds that side of the bed cold, without a trace of the enveloping warmth that Dani so easily puts off. 

“Dani?”

She freezes, waiting for the response, begging for a response, a noise, anything.

All that meets her is the beginning of bustle below in the streets as the sun lazily crawls upwards.

Jamie scrambles out of bed, throwing off the covers to the side, panic clawing at her chest, her throat and-

Her leg catches and she hits the floor.

“Dani.” Her eyes burn and her teeth tear at her lips. “Please.”

(They forgot us, Dani had said the night before. Pale in the dark, the light only catching the side of her face. Don’t, she had raised her hand as Jamie had tried to argue they remembered in an instant, they had forgotten us.)

“Dani,” she yells again. And again. Again. As many times until her voice is hoarse as she rips through the apartment. 

Her knees buckle when she gets to the bathroom. The door is closed, a light flickering underneath against the floor. Jamie jerks the knob and yanks the door open with a force that has the frame creaking. 

The bathroom is empty.

(Dani had dipped her head afterwards, withdrawn, wiped of all emotion. Blank. She stared at Jamie, and, in the light, both eyes looked brown.

(In the years to come, she’ll hate how hopeful Dani sounds in her next words.)

Will you forget me too?)

Jamie looks at the sink, the towels, the tub-

It’s full. And now, now taking a deep breath because Dani isn’t staring at the kitchen sink or the bathroom sink or hunched over the bathtub, she sees wet footprints.

She follows.

She follows them down their hallway, out the door, down the stairs.

(Briefly, her mind wonders, how her feet are still wet.

As if they’ve never left the water.)

Their bell jingles happily, dully, as she steps away from the entrance and obediently keeps to the path. She follows them, doggedly going from print to print, shouldering and elbowing those in the way.  

Her shoulder aches with every hit, but she continues, head down and shoulders squared. The prints take a sharp left and, after bumping into an elderly woman- even Jamie feels the need to apologize here- Jamie does the same. She’s so intently focused on picking up the drying footprints that she overlooks the figure in her path.

Until she doesn’t.

Dani stands in the middle of an alley, hair dark and pulled down with moisture as are her clothes, as she shakes. “Dani.” She’s breathless and choking and the sight of Dani is both a relief and isn’t. A relief that she’s here, she’s still here, thank God she’s-

And yet Dani doesn’t move. Just continues to shiver and stare at her feet. No, Jamie corrects herself, at a small puddle. “Dani,” Jamie calls softly. She eases her shoulders, hoping to tell this as a joke to Dani later, her football career as a- a receiver or whatever position it should be after Dani corrects her. “Dani.” This time she steps into Dani’s view and reaches out with a cautious hand. 

The haze over Dani’s eyes lifts as does her gaze. “Jamie.” She sounds a bit confused, a bit cheerful to see her. “What’s-oh.” Dani presses her lips into a thin line, grabs her outstretched hand and pulls her close. “I didn’t-” 

Her wet hair brushes against Jamie’s face, her hands. The droplets from Dani’s movement are jarring. A drop here. There. Her lips against Jamie’s head, whispering apologies as tears fall from her eyes. It feels so incredibly real that it must be. 

(Right? It must be. 

It must be.)

vii.

Jamie doesn’t leave her side after the-

The incident is what Dani calls it in her head. 

(Jamie calls it The Morning Walk. She’ll grin and laugh and gently prod at her until she’s laughing with her.

But, in between, Dani sees the way her hands shake and her eyes follow Dani as she moves.

Can you- Dani’s hesitant to ask Jamie, so instead she rolls it over and over in her mind- haunt someone while you’re still alive?)

She twists the ring around her finger, once with her right hand, then with the thumb of her left hand, spinning it idly and clumsily against her finger. 

“The regret’s settling in, isn’t it?”

Dani smiles, feels it pulling even further at the corners of her mouth. “Never,” she says resolutely and presses a quick kiss against the cool metal. She turns to Jamie, who’s sitting in some variation between cross-legged and legs sticking out, and quirks her mouth to the side. “Are you?”

“You know better than that.” 

It’s said over a gardening magazine that she had ordered Jamie a month ago. When one had first arrived, Jamie had been confused. Eyes guarded and seeming almost half offended. What are they going to tell me that I don’t already know? Now, though, now she burns through them the instant they make their way to their stoop. Anytime Dani goes out on a day it’s supposed to come, Jamie hounds her at the entrance. When she asks about it before kissing her as a greeting, Dani draws the line.

They reached a compromise where she gets soundly and thoroughly kissed at the door if she raises the magazine clear in the air.

(Sometimes, she grabs a random newspaper and throws it in the air upon her arrival.

She finds that it works even better than intended as the kissing doesn’t stop when Jamie’s not distracted by a magazine that was once a good idea.)

“I’m just saying-”

“I’m happily married. Unioned. And I’d like to think my wife,” even in her frustration, Jamie tilts her head and says the word with such love, “is quite satisfied.”

“She is.” It’s an easy agreement to be honest. The only part somewhat off-putting is the way in which Jamie’s smirking at her. It’s far too arrogant and boastful and Dani decides tomorrow that she’ll pick up the home improvement magazine that Jamie loudly criticizes anytime they’re in a store. 

Although, she must admit that, sprawled out lazily in the sun, eyes a fierce green, it looks good on Jamie.

She admires the view for a long moment, wishing for anything that she could paint and finally figure out the exact color of Jamie’s eyes. Her fingers twitch at the thought, her nose-

Wait. “Jamie.” Those eyes meet hers again, warmth pooling in her stomach- but she needs to focus. “What’s that smell?”

Jamie’s chest rises as she takes a deep breath. She makes a quick popping noise with her mouth. “That, my love, would be our dinner burning.”

“Jamie.”

Jamie scrambles up, tossing her magazine into Dani’s lap. “It’s fine. It’s fine.” Dani treads along after her, neatly placing the magazine on top of the stack of books by the lamp. “Oh. Hmm. Well,” Dani glances up and meets Jamie’s sheepish glance and the remnants of their dinner.

“You used the timer I got specifically for you, right?”

“I can’t tell if that’s a genuine question or you rubbing it in just a bit deeper.” Dani bites her lip to keep from grinning and holds up the trash can. Jamie mutters a quick thanks and all but chucks the blackened- she thinks it was once chicken but it’s anyone’s guess at this point- chicken in. “Between you and me, I think I got the ingredients wrong again. I don’t understand why a teaspoon can’t be a teaspoon.”

Dani deepens her voice and raises her arms, “Let it be known that by Jamie The Burner’s decree, all measurements shall be the same.”

“That make you feel better?”

Jamie’s halfway to pouting, although tucked away, in her eyes, in the slightest twitch of her lips, there’s amusement and affection. Dani steps towards her, following when Jamie reaches behind her and pushes herself up and onto the counter. “A little.”

“Yeah?” Dani finds herself urged forward by quick hands and Jamie’s legs bracketing her on either side. “What’s gonna make it better?” 

She kisses Jamie. Quick and deep, her hand pressing against Jamie’s back to pull her as close as she can without getting too close to the edge. Jamie sighs against her, hands twisting in her hair. When she pulls away, Jamie huffs, swiping a thumb at her lip and a surprised look on her face. It gives way to heated when she grabs the collar of Jamie’s flannel, worn and soft beneath her hands, and drops her voice to a whisper as Jamie’s hands tighten against her shoulders. “Pizza.”

Dani doesn’t look for Jamie’s reaction. She turns as quickly as she can, feeling Jamie’s hand snatch at her shirt without any purchase as she runs through their home. Jamie’s footsteps are a dull thud as she gives chase, shoes long since worn down.

(That night, when they’re tangled together, Jamie tracing idle patterns against her skin, the image stays with her. 

Jamie following right behind her.)

viii.

It had been so long.

Long enough that she had tricked herself into thinking they were fine and this was fine and it would all be fine. 

Looking back, it should have been clear.

Dani had been cooking. Her latest project- a mess of paints and canvases that always resulted in Dani staring at her with an intensity that was hard to name before shaking her head and buying more paint (always a green of some sort) without explanation- forgotten at their table. It was inconspicuous coming from anyone else, the tea being set down in front of her as Dani pressed a kiss against her cheek, her temple, her head. 

It had been perfect.

Now, hours after, she realizes it had been anything but. 

(Dani is bitter coffee and too sweet tea. 

Well, one day. The next, she’s too sweet coffee and bitter tea. 

Dani can cook whatever recipe she throws in front of her but tea? Coffee? Jamie loves her endlessly for an endless list of reasons but right at the tip top of that list is her inability to make a normal beverage.

The tea that afternoon had been perfect but perfect is Dani somehow burning water over and over again.)

Hours after, it feels like a goodbye wrapped up in cream and sugar.

(Her mouth feels bitter for days.)

Because their bed is empty and the house is empty and the box tucked away where Dani stores cash for gifts- she thinks she’s clever, she’s not, she’s not but oh, Jamie loves her- is empty.

Standing alone in their home, surrounded by their things and their love, Jamie knows, deep in her chest, in her bones, where Dani has gone.

She throws her scarf around her shoulders, once, twice and finds the weight of it keeps her centered. The softness brushing against her chin, reminding her to not lose focus, to keep on her task, to find Dani. 

She gathers her own stash- this one not for presents and love and laughter. This one stored with the knowledge of this day and the lengths it would take for Jamie to reach where Dani had gone.

(They had traveled further and further from it.

But oh, it’s reach just grew and grew and grew until it took shape with them, in their life.)

Every minute feels too long. 

(Her mind supplies her with the question every second, is Dani taking her last breath?)

When an hour passes, she sobs in the taxi. The man driving starts blasting Whitney Houston and says it always makes him feel better. 

In a taxi, far from home and her wife, Jamie thinks it’s not exactly appropriate to ask this taxi driver what better is without Dani. 

(She still does because she’s still crying and Dani’s still gone and she’s so, so tired.

He goes pale and turns the music up louder.)

Ride after ride after ride and finally-

Finally, she’s staring at Bly Manor and feels a strange sense of belonging and returning and as if she never left. Whispers gather at the edges of her senses, shadows creep along the corners of the house, of the yard. 

They coalesce. They point. They pull.

She’s running before she even realizes it. 

Past the stone walls, past the gardens.

(She sees them as she passes.

Her propping her feet up on the table as Hannah frowns. Her paying no mind to it in favor of watching the way Dani’s hair brightens in the sun. The hands on her hip and stern voice making her and Hannah laugh.

She sees the way Dani took root in their lives in an instant, spreading and spreading until she’s not sure what’s left without her.)

She runs past the church.

(Hannah. Hannah. She’s so sorry but-

She will not light a candle.

Not for Dani. Not when they have more time.)

The grass, seeped in morning dew and moisture, glints in the light and coats her pants. Creeps up her ankles as she stops, breath caught in her throat.

(Is she breathing?)

A body floats gently in the lake. Arms splayed out and face turned toward the sun. 

(She doesn’t want relief.

Doesn’t want the sick, shameful, hollow relief that will eat away at the grief. 

Doesn’t want relief at Dani giving into the beast and knowing that there’s no worry if Dani isn’t moving in the tub because, instead-

Instead, Dani is gone.) 

Jamie is in the water before she really, truly thinks. In the water, first sloshing at her ankles, and then pulling at her waist and elbows and neck.

She’s in the water before she thinks-

Thinks that it’s peculiar that the body that had been so still is now moving, lifting, sitting up.

“Jamie?”

She can’t breathe. She can’t see, vision swimming- she’ll laugh at herself later- in and out of focus. Hands grab at her shoulders, colder even than the cool water, cup her face. 

“I can’t- I can’t-” The hands pull their faces together, noses brushing until finally- finally-

She sees.

Dani is crying and is attempting to brush away tears as her hand leaves more water in its place. “I’m sorry.” Her hands squeeze. “I’m sorry. I was just waiting. I- I didn’t know what would happen, so I just.” She looks down at the water, finally settling from Jamie’s dash to the middle, “waited.”

(She had once vowed that she would rather go, be given mercy, than to be waiting day in and day out.

Now, she wants anything but.)

“Waiting,” she says thickly, in between tears and sadness and anger, “waiting is good.”

So they wait.

They wait for Henry to pick up. For him to respond when Jamie says, bites, snarls into the phone that they need to fix this. 

They wait for cars and trucks and people to slowly filter in, meandering about the lake as they talk amongst themselves, waiting for instructions.

They wait as skeletons are pulled from the lake. Some so small that it makes Jamie’s stomach twist even tighter, her nails digging into Dani’s arms.

They wait until Dani goes stiff, eyes refusing to blink, as a chest is pulled from the waters.

“That’s it.” It’s a whisper. “That’s it.” 

Jamie goes to open it but is stopped by deathly cold hands.

Dani’s. Dani’s that grab her and jerk her back. “Don’t,” she warns. 

“Okay. Okay.” Jamie holds up her hands, allowing Dani to come forward in her place. “What is it?”

“A gift,” Dani breathes, hands tracing along the sides of the chest, the tops, the latches. It opens stubbornly, Dani leaning and bracing her weight against it to push upwards. 

Inside remains what Jamie thinks were once fabric. 

Jamie places a hand at Dani’s back, lingers there in the hope that some of her warmth will sink into Dani, who’s so usually warm and vibrant but is now cold. “Think they still want it?”

“No.” 

They stay that way. Long, longer, until Dani shifts and Jamie has to ask, “What do you need?”

Dani stares at it for a long beat, then another. “It,” she pulls a hand to her chest, curls it in close, “it feels like home.”

“Okay.” Jamie claps her hands. “I’ve got a plan.”

And then Dani waits. 

Waits for her to lug bag after bag of dirt and mulch and tools to the place she had planted a moonflower so long ago. 

“So,” she says as she presses the shovel into the dirt, finding it pleasantly soft, “You remember what I told you last time we were here?”

“People are exhausting?”

Jamie pauses, leaning against the shovel. Dani’s hair is still wet.

(It will take her years and years to not see the image of her, staring at the sun, daily.

Today, though, she will do what she can.)

“What else?”

“Plants,” Dani says slowly, eyes closing as she tries to remember. Her face quirked in such a way that Jamie has to fight to stay in place, “stay after us.”

“Yep.” Another shovel full of dirt. “We leave more life behind us to take our place.”

Dani is quiet for a long time after that. Watching as the hole gets bigger, deeper. Watching as Jamie begins dragging the chest to it before taking the weight of it and pulling beside her. 

It falls in with all the silence of an empty house, empty street, empty lake. 

“It’s you. It’s me. And eventually,” Jamie says, rearing back on her feet, knees sinking into the fresh mud-

“It’ll be all of us.”

ix.

“Miss Clayton?”

Dani blinks and Flora- Flora because although she goes by a different name now, she had confessed one night- amongst popcorn and movies and laughter- that it reminds her of when she was little and small and cared for and Flora. 

(Dani steers the conversation away then. Always. Without fail.

Part of her mind- an overwhelming, largely the majority, worries, asks, screams about what else she may remember from then. From shadows that move and lakes and faces without- without-

A small part that she considers quite traitorous scratches in the inside of her chest, wishing they remembered. Remembered that she isn’t an old family friend of her father’s, that it wasn’t an insignificant event in their lives when she watched them, guarded them, protected them.

Wished they remembered Dani, her, them.)

“I’m sorry.” Dani doesn’t dare call her Flora. Doesn’t dare risk it on today of all days even if she hopes the pure warmth and love that’s gathered could fend off anything. A hand squeezes hers. 

(Sometimes she still loses focus.

The room tilts and shivers and Dani- she swears she hears the sound of water dully breaking against the shore.)

“Could you repeat that?”

“Well,” Flora looks at her and then to the side, smiles that smile she had as a child, wide and inquisitive and-

Oh. Hopeful.

“How do you know it’s love.” Flora clicks her tongue, dissatisfied with her question. “I guess. The-the everlasting kind?”

James laughs, deep and full, beside her. “Planning to ditch me by the end of the night?” 

“No.” Flora rolls her eyes but leans into his side all the same, looking up at him with a brilliant light in her eyes that burrows deep into Dani’s chest- shoves aside that small, small part of her and takes root in its place. “I just- they-”

“We’ve been through it.”

Dani glances to her side at the voice, squeezes the hand in hers. Jamie’s shoulders fall with relief as if just the thought of- of all of it had eaten away at her so thoroughly in only a moment. Flora slides around in her seat- ever moving- as her elbows knock those beside of her, earning a few aggravated glances that are half-hearted at best and full-blown adoration at least. “Yes,” she says with so much determination that it makes Dani’s hands shake at the ways in which that determination used to be directed fully at her, of bedtimes and snacks and stories. 

(She remembers when she was so, so small.

Eager and wispy and bright. 

She still is, of course, but Dani- Dani forgets those moments so easily. Forgets everythingnothingthebeast.

Forgets.

But then they’re there. Her family. Flora and Miles. Owen. Jamie.

And she leans, reaches, aches for them.)

“Don’t you remember?” Dani asks, chest filling with pride and anticipation and oh, love. “One day,” she starts, feeling Jamie press against her side more. She smells of mulch even though Dani had urged her to take shower after shower, joining her if only to make sure she was thorough. “One day,” she repeats through the haze of slow mornings and burnt dinners and forgotten shows in favor of gentle hands and whispered jokes, “one day, you come across them-”

“And they never leave,” Jamie interjects, pinkie hooking over hers and giving it a shake.

It’s foolish, a habit of Jamie’s when Dani feels off balance and the beast steps closer. A light step, a quick shift forward. But- but the beast isn’t here. Isn’t curling around her ribs, slipping through her bones and spreading. It’s gone and Jamie fills the spaces in between. She curls her finger around Jamie’s. “You’ll just know, and you’ll cherish it as long as you have it. In the meantime, that love-,” she pauses, looks to Jamie and finds eyes that are warm, green and brown flickered as if the universe knew of what Jamie would become. Of what her hands would accomplish and give life to. 

“It blooms.”

[anotheronechicagobog]

Functional Dysfunction - Chapter 2 - Rheese

written by @anotheronechicagobog

Warnings: talk about abortion, unplanned pregnancy, forceful admittance to hospital, swearing

Sarah was so thankful that she had a day off. She didn’t think that she could handle an interrogation. Not from Maggie or Natalie individually, much less so together. Her abortion was scheduled to take place in three days, she’d arranged to have that day off too, but for now, all Sarah wanted was to keep her mind off of everything, so she tied her curly hair into a bun, started blasting ABBA and cleaning her apartment. She’d gotten into the zone and hadn’t comprehended the time until she’d hit her shin on her coffee table for the umpteenth time while dancing around using her duster both as a cleaning tool and a mic. She plopped down onto her couch and looked at her work. She wasn’t a neat freak, but her place was usually pretty clean. Yes she’ll leave far too many books out on the coffee table, she doesn’t vacuum every week, and she refuses to buy dishes that can’t go in the dishwasher, but there’s no mold or layers of dust or strange smells, and she can always find what she needs when she needs it. But now, everything was put away, there wasn’t a stray coffee mug or spoon out on the counter, her apartment smelled like lemon Mr. Clean, and she was starving. 

She untied her hair as she made her way down the street, letting the wind blow through it, cooling her from head to toe. She cut through the park, just enjoying the fall colours and not being drowned in stress for once. She let her mind wander, from a new Harry Potter fan theory she’d read on Tumblr to what she was going to get when she got to the Mills family diner. Her musing was cut short when she smacked right into someone. Her flustered apology was halted in her throat when the person gently held her arms to stabilize her. They were familiar, she’d felt them yesterday when she stood up too fast. She looked up as he released her. “Dr. Rhodes, sorry about that. I was a little lost in my head.”

“No worries, truthfully, I was spaced out too. And seriously, you can call me Connor, at least outside of work.” And for the first time, ever probably, Sarah took a good look at him. 

Though he smiled, it didn’t reach his eyes. They were a piercing blue, but they looked so... Tired. There was a discernible aching sorrow vividly holding his soul hostage. His hair was mussed and it looked like he’d been trying to yank parts of it from his scalp. His shoulders, while strong and broad, were incredibly tense. Sarah actually started to feel pain in hers just looking at him. His skin clung closer to his body than it probably should have, and his pallor making her uneasy. He moved his hands back to his sides, and in all honesty that was probably the most concerning part of him. People often made the mistake of thinking surgeons had soft hands, but that wasn’t true. They didn’t get callouses from their jobs, but their hands were by no means soft. They had to thoroughly wash their hands, forearms, and elbows, before and after every surgery or medical procedure they performed. Plus they had to use hand sanitizer before and after they worked on or even met with a patient. It took a toll on their skin, and you could often tell how much a surgeon had been working based on the condition of their skin. And Rh-Connor’s... It was dark pink, going into his sleeves so she couldn’t see how far up the problem extended to, the skin was cracking, and it felt like scales as opposed to skin.

“Alright, Connor, what are you up to?”

“I’m just walking, I guess.”

“It’s a nice day for it. How’s Robin doing? I haven’t seen her in a while.” A dark look crossed his face and Sarah immediately kicked herself, this was obviously a very stressful, very private, matter that she had just callously asked about. Yes, she had a lot going on, but she should have realized that there was a reason. A secret. “I’m so sorry I didn’t-”

“Robin’s been admitted to psych.” Connor hadn’t told anyone, and had gone to great lengths to keep it as much of a secret as possible. She worked there, her father worked there, he worked there, none of them needed Robin’s situation to be broadcast all over the hospital. But honestly, it felt great to tell someone, to tell Sarah, someone who wasn’t directly involved. Dealing with Dr. Charles throughout, the man who’d forcibly admitted his daughter to psych in the first place, and Ms. Goodwin who supported Dr. Charles, as well as all the staff treating Robin, was exhausting. 

“What?” 

“Robin was admitted to psych... By Dr. Charles.”

“Oh my god, are you serious? Is that even legal?!”

“It’s... Yeah, it’s a whole thing... Situation. Wow, uh, TMI, I guess. Sorry to spring all of that on you. What are you up to?”

“Uh, well, still pregnant, still getting an abortion. I was just going to get lunch. At the Mills family diner? Uh, I’ve spent the whole day cleaning and avoiding Maggie, and Dr. Manning, and J- the father. You could come, if you want, to the diner I mean, not avoiding the father of- okay this has gotten...” Connor just chuckled, his eyes starting to look slightly less miserable. “I probably won’t be good company, but if you don’t mind...?”

“Not at all, come on, and I’m sure that you’ll be great company.”

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

Lunch was surprisingly pleasant. It was awkward at first, but they found a rhythm. Honestly, they just ended up spending the entire time talking about Parks and Rec and Supernatural. It was so nice to talk about anything other than work and the plights in their lives. Connor looked slightly less strung out than when Sarah had first run into him. He seemed a little lighter and his smile really seemed more like a relief to himself. When he first gave Sarah that face-splitting, teeth=showing, jubilant smile he seemed to have shocked himself, confusion plastered all over his face, before a gentle smile flittered in and his body visibly released tension. Since then, he hadn’t stopped smiling, beaming brightly at her. Sarah briefly wondered if he’d smiled at all recently, with how turbulent his life has been. The silence between them was soft and warm. Comforting. They took the time to regard each other without any pressure or professional constraints, and it was nice. Connor sat across from her munching away on his corned beef sandwich, occasionally slurping away at his chocolate milkshake. The vigour with which he’d been eating made her wonder if he was actually taking care of himself. She took another bite of her Gabby’s mac ‘n cheese and savoured... Everything. The taste, her company, the atmosphere, this moment in time was the least hectic or nerve-wracking she’d had since she noticed her cycle was off. So she was just enjoying it while it lasted.

“You okay, Sarah?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

“You just seem sluggish. And we’ve been here for a while and you’ve barely made a dent in your food, plus you’re drinking peppermint tea.”

“My morning sickness hasn’t been great, if I’m honest. This is normally my favourite thing on the menu, and I don’t normally like pancakes because they’re so starchy but lately they’re all I’ve been wanting to eat! It’s so annoying. This at least has chicken and loads of vegetables. And hey, pregnancy is tiring! I’m always so sore and achy. Plus caffeine withdrawal is ripping me a new one.”

“You know, if you’re having an abortion, you don’t necessarily have to abide by all the pregnancy can’ts. They won’t really matter, anyway. So, why are you following all the guidelines?”

“I don’t know. It just feels like... They’re still here. They still matter. I’m still their mom, I still have to take care of them.” She shrugged a little and stared at the rim of her white mug, fiddling with the handle. Unable to handle the weight of Connor’s gaze and her own words.

“Maybe you should have ordered the chicken noodle soup. Their recipe is really good, plus it’ll be light on your stomach.” Her eyes snapped to his. There was nothing but sincerity looking back at her. There was a little concern, and the question she’d been avoiding suddenly became tangible and took a seat beside her, whispering ‘are you sure you want an abortion?’ delicately in her ear. But he didn’t ask her. He didn’t make any comments or judgments. He was just there, across from her, offering her kindness and food. She moved the plate away from in front of her and smiled sheepishly at him as he flagged down Peter. “Hey guys, is everything alright? Reese, you’ve hardly touched your food.”

“She’s not feeling super great, do you think we could get a bowl of chicken noodle and a container for the pasta?”

“Yeah, no problem Rhodes, everything will be right out.”

“Connor, you don’t have to do this, but I do really appreciate it.”

“Good, because I appreciate you too and everything that you’re doing for me. Don’t look so confused, you’ve been a great sounding board and distraction. And I honestly really needed that. Plus, I figured that since I’ve got dirt on you so you can’t tell anyone about the Robyn thing.” There was absolutely no malice in his words and Sarah couldn’t help but laugh. It really was a relief to have someone to talk to about her baby, and he was right, if he did suddenly just spill the beans she could do the same in retaliation. She doubted he ever would though, he was an incredibly private person and valued privacy more than Ron Swanson. “Doris would have a field day with us, wouldn’t she?”

“Oh hell, Sarah, don’t even joke about that. If she knew...” She laughed again at his overdramatic shudder. But she knew he was right. No one could know. Especially not Doris.

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

It was late in the day when they finally left the diner, the air cooling down from crisp to chilly, the winds much harsher and stronger than usual. Sarah’s apartment was only a ten-minute walk away but Connor insisted on taking her home. She’d managed to talk him out of walking her to her door, but not of driving her there. “What kind of guy would I be if I let a pregnant woman walk home alone when the weather just got worse?” Something in his tone, and the way he spoke so freely about her pregnancy, made her think that he knew something she wasn’t willing to consider just yet, but she was trying not to think about it. Instead, she focused on the interior of Connor’s luxury car. “Is this silver? On the door handles?”

“No... It’s platinum.”

“Really?!”

“Yes. What, do you want to hear about all the extravagant features in this car?”

“Oh absolutely.”

“Seriously?”

“Mostly cause I know it annoys you, but yeah.”

“Well, another time then, because we are here.”

“After a two-minute car ride. I could have walked myself.”

“I grew up here, you didn’t, when the wind gets that bad it’s best to avoid the outdoors.”

“Alright, well thanks for the ride and for looking out for my safety.”

“No problem, I’ll see you at work tomorrow, right?”

“Depends. I’ll spend most of the day avoiding Maggie and Manning which will involve lots of hiding.”

“Well, maybe we could hide together? I doubt that Robyn’s admittance to the hospital will stay secret for long. Plus, today was nice. We should hang out again.”

“We should, it really was refreshing. And, uh, if you do need a place to hide tomorrow, my spot is on the second floor of the atrium in the small hallway behind the janitor’s closet on the right side. There’s a couch there and because nothing else is down there no one really uses it, and it can be pretty quiet. As long as you don’t tell anyone else, you’re free to use it.”

“Thanks, Sarah. Something tells me I’ll be needing that information.” The weight that had evaporated over the course of the afternoon seemed to return, his movements slowed, his limbs appeared heavier, his smile dropped, and his eyes went dark, reflecting pain and exhaustion. Sarah honestly just wanted to give him a hug. But she couldn’t. They didn’t know each other that well, and spending the afternoon with him was already a little strange, despite how nice it was. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Connor. You should go home, get some sleep. You seem... Tired.”

“I am. And, I think I’ll do just that. Thank you, Sarah, really. This afternoon was really what I needed. And I do want to do it again sometime.”

“Then we will. Bye Connor.”

[sharraus]

WIP list tag

tagged by my new-ish(?) friend @writingonesdreams. Thank you! Your WIPs sound damn neat tbh.

Rules: Share a list of all the stories you’re currently working on, regardless of whether or not you have introduced them to writeblr.

well, the rules fail to define “work” so I´m going to put everything I vaguely think and/or add to notes about every once in a blue moon on this list. Mostly because otherwise it would have 3 WIPs at best. Top to bottom by how often or how much I actually work on them.

Hogwarts Elite - Harry Potter fanfiction taking place in Harry´s fifth year. A what if story where prophecies are a bitch, someone is thoroughly done with magical Britain´s nonsense and Albus Dumbledore, Cornelius Fudge nor Lord Voldemort are having a good time. Neither is anyone else, but hey, at least they´re alive. So far.

Question of Trust - A sorcerer, a herbalist, a witchhunter and a noble´s daughter try to save a small village from a terrible curse while failing to hide terrible secrets from each other.

Swindler Zero - A young Terran accidentally escapes the Corps´ best guarded prison, joins a feared group of space pirates, punches an elder being and kills what is probably a god. He really just wanted to get off the bloody Earth before it decalred war on something. Again.

Estranged family - Guardiands of the Galaxy vol. 2 sort of fix-it.The Quadrant got hit by rubble from exploding Ego and sent everyone flying in space. Stakar Ogord showed up fast enough to save them, but trauma and family issues don´t go away just because they are inconvenient.

Not worth the war - Started off as Thor 1 rewrite where the fight on Jotunheim didn´t happen. Now it´s a political novel where Frigga is done, Odin´s empire is falling apart and none of their children are okay. And above it all looms the ever-present threat of the Mad Titan´s ugly mug.

One step back - another Harry Potter fanfiction. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville and Luna have been sent back in time during the battle at the ministry. Their memory of their proper time is quickly fading and even the wisdom of the founders and various Merlin´s can stop it. They must get back, but there is a slight problem. In the late 10th century british isles no one has even thought of manipulating time, let alone travelling through it.

Keepers of the Ancient Woods - Four young people get a conveniently easy job - taking care of a patch of land in the middle of nowhere. Except nothing is ever that easy and soon they are trapped on a far larger property where the magical creatures don´t care that the four humans are technically in charge. There is no escape until the contract´s been fullfilled. It´s just too bad they didn´t bother to read it.

Woes of the 4.B class - inspired by the unfortunate group of losers people that´s my class and the shit that goes down on our school. There´s just bad teachers, no organizational skills and a whole lot of swearing. The road to graduation is, after all, paved with tears, bad jokes, bucketloads of chocolate and spite and maybe luck.

I´m going to tag a bunch of people, because why not and also it´s a literal tag game... @writeouswriter @hysteriwah @writtendevastation @emberv @zmlorenz @marewriteblr @goldenzingy46butwriteblr @pens-swords-stuff Feel free to just not, or to join if not tagged.

[ridiculously-over-obsessed]

I can haz domestic staubrey?

Yes you can boo 😘

Who reaches out to new neighbors

Aubrey, it’s the southern upbringing. She’s always hosting dinner parties for neighbours, always looking to make each new resident feel like they’re at home. Stacie loves this about Aubrey, loves the soft domestic look that she has when she’s in their kitchen cooking enough food to feed a small army.

Who remembers to buy healthy food

Aubrey. She’s a bit of a health nut, never able to really shake her old Bella habits. Given her obsessive nature Stacie keeps a close eye on it because she knows it can get (and has gotten) out of control, but she supports Aubrey wanting them to have a healthy and balanced lifestyle, plus as she likes to say a lot: “You did fall in love with my gorgeous form before I’d even opened my mouth, I’ve got to keep it nice for you.” Stacie thinks it’s really cute when Aubrey cuts the vegetables into fun shapes for their kids to get them to eat them.

Who remembers to buy junk food

Stacie. She buys it because she knows when Aubrey gets crazy obsessive over what they eat that she’ll forget to eat the things that make her happy (because as healthy as kale is, it doesn’t exactly spark joy) and Stacie wants Aubrey to remember to be kind to herself, even if it’s just a frozen pizza on days she doesn’t feel like cooking. It’s also her that gets their kids hopped up on sugar which she thinks is amusing until the day that Aubrey tells her that she’s going to get a coffee with Chloe and maybe go get a manicure whilst Stacie deals with the kids who need feeding, a bath, and a nap, as well as long list of household chores that Stacie has to do whilst dealing with the sugar high 2-7 year olds. After that? Not so funny...

Who fixes the oven when it breaks

Aubrey. Her dad taught her how to do all sorts of household and car stuff when she was growing up, never wanting her to have to rely on anyone else. Aubrey, with her toolbelt around her waist, her hair pulled back, a look of intense concentration on her face is the hottest thing Stacie has ever seen, to the point where she has seriously considered deliberately breaking things around their house just to see Aubrey “all butch”.

Who waters the plants/feeds their pet(s)

Aubrey. She has a strict regime and timetable for watering and caring for the plants around the place, and even their pets are on a tightly kept food/treats/walks schedule. Stacie thinks it’s really cute, and a great, healthy outlet for Aubrey’s need to be in control.

Who wakes up earlier

Stacie. You’d think it would be Aubrey given her early starts to go for a run and make breakfast and go to work, but Stacie trains herself over the course of their relationship to wake up earlier than her girlfriend because she enjoys seeing the peace in her face when she’s asleep, enjoys seeing the sleep disheveled look that Aubrey sports as she splays out in their bed. It’s the Aubrey that only she gets to see and if it means that she has to wake up at 4am to see it. Aubrey is a heavy sleeper (at least Stacie thinks so) which means that some mornings Stacie traces the outline of Aubrey’s features, just wanting to commit every last part of her to memory. Aubrey is however a fairly light sleeper and is always woken up when Stacie does this but doesn’t let it show. She loves the caring way in which Stacie traces her face and  won’t ever do anything to make her stop doing that.

Who makes the bed

Both. Yes Aubrey is something of a neat freak, but Stacie likes coming home to a nicely made bed too, so when they get up they make the bed together before they go make coffee. Aubrey never says it out loud but there is nothing she loves more than these little domestic moments with Stacie, these moments that make her feel normal and loved in a way that she never thought she’d have. Stacie knows this without Aubrey having to say it though, and she makes sure that she gives Aubrey as many of these ‘normal’ domestic moments as she can to remind Aubrey that she loves her.

Who makes the coffee

Stacie. Again, she loves giving Aubrey these little domestic moments, these moments where the woman she loves passes her a mug of coffee and kisses her cheek sleepily. Stacie loves these little domestic moments too, and loves them even more when Aubrey gets up earlier than Stacie (which happens so rarely) and brings her a coffee in bed, because it’s these moments that Aubrey wears her heart on her sleeve for a morning and tells Stacie how much she loves her.

Who burns breakfast

Neither of them. Both Stacie and Aubrey are great cooks so no-one burns anything until they have kids. The first few months of fitting kids into their dynamic and learning a new routine means that on occasion the toast is a little singed but never indelibly burnt. Neither Stacie or Aubrey mind that though, it feels like a ‘normal’ family dynamic, one that neither of them had really had before.

How do they let each other know they’re leaving the house

More often than not, they leave at the same time, sharing a kiss before they walk out of the door together. Once Bella comes along, and then their other kids, Stacie and Aubrey take turns to take maternity leave when they’re small. Aubrey will always kiss each of her children on the forehead and then Stacie, lingering a little before pulling back: “I love you mommy, have a good day.” which makes Stacie melt. Stacie gives every kid a big hug  before draping her arms around Aubrey’s neck and whispering something in her ear that makes her a little red, then kisses her innocently and leaves. Aubrey pretends she hates it, but she wouldn’t have it any other way.

How do they greet each other when one of them gets home

Pre-kids, it’s always with a kiss as the other passes them a glass of wine. Post-kids, they’re usually mobbed by 1-4 children all screaming “Mama!” as their wife smiles at them and kisses them softly once she’s maneuvered her way around their children. Aubrey loves being swept into the arms of her loving family when she gets home after a long day, and once the kids have all been peeled of their mother, Stacie pulls Aubrey into her arms, sometimes dipping her if she’s feeling extra goofy, and kisses her deeply. Stacie loves nothing more than seeing her family after the long days in her lab and once her kids have scampered off to do something, she walks over to Aubrey who’s usually making dinner at the stove and winds her arms around her waist, kissing her neck as she sighs happily. It’s a little thing, but it’s everything to both of them.

Who brings home little gifts like flowers/chocolates more often

Stacie. She knows that sometimes Aubrey is insecure about their relationship and needs reminding that Stacie loves her to death. So she’ll sweep into their apartment, their house, Aubrey’s office, anywhere she needs to with a bouquet of lilies (Aubrey’s favourite) and a kiss, and more often than not with a little speech about how much she loves Aubrey and how grateful she is that she’s in her life.

Who picks the movie for movie night

They take it in turns, Aubrey usually opting for a musical, Stacie opting for some kind of crime drama. It doesn’t matter what they watch though, because Aubrey is content to just sit curled up in Stacie’s arms and spends more time thinking about how lucky she is then actually watching the movie.

Their favorite kind of movie to watch

The thing they both agree in is true crime documentaries, it’s a guilty pleasure they both indulge in (although sometimes Aubrey can’t help but yell at the lawyers/law enforcement when they’re being dumb).

Who first suggests a pillow fort

Stacie. It’s something she used to do with her brother and sisters growing up and she wants to do it with their kids. Aubrey can’t argue with all of them pleading with her to make a pillow fort, especially when they all look at her with big sad eyes in the way that makes her heart melt.

Who builds the pillow fort

Aubrey. “If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it properly.” It’s the best damn fort in the whole world, more akin to a pillow mansion, and the kids love it. Stacie loves it too, and especially loves Aubrey’s take charge attitude. Stacie is very grateful that the pillow fort is so distracting for their kids as she pulls Aubrey into the bedroom.

Who tries to distract the other during the movie

Stacie. She can’t help herself, here Aubrey Posen is in her arms, looking so beautiful and she’s supposed to sit there and ignore that? It starts off innocently enough, just simple kisses and gentle caresses of Aubrey’s arms, but hands and lips quickly wander, and Aubrey will always giggle and protest a little bit, but she will never ever turn Stacie down.

Who falls asleep first

Both of them fall asleep at the same time usually, but in the early years of their relationship it’s Stacie that falls asleep first because Aubrey stays awake, wanting to make sure that Stacie is still there, still with her as she falls asleep, because she can’t quiet believe that Stacie has picked her and she’s scared if she falls asleep first she’ll wake up to find it’s all a dream.

Who is big spoon/little spoon

Stacie is the big spoon. Aubrey is the more authoritive of the two yes, but in bed next to her girlfriend Aubrey doesn’t have to be the one in charge, the one with all the responsibility. She’s just Aubrey, not Captain Posen, not Aubrey Posen esq., just Aubrey, and being in Stacie’s arms, held tight to her body, feeling Stacie’s warm breath on the back of her neck is the place where Aubrey feels the safest and happiest that she has ever been.

RJ why must they be so damn soft??? Thanks for this! 🥰💖

Send me a ship and I’ll give you my angsty or domestic headcanons!

[avengersassemble-fics]

New Perspective

Modern AU! Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Life seems to be falling apart around you as your husband of three years suddenly reveals an affair, and seeks a divorce. Your perfect life is flipped upside down with his revelation and you have to learn how to be you again. An unforeseen friendship starts to bloom between you and your neighbors new lover, but will these late night rooftop rambles be enough to keep you from going completely batshit crazy in the turmoil of your life?

part 01/?? “no sunshine”

word count 4.2k

an: hehehehe...... this is vastly different than anything i’ve ever written. lemme know what you think ok :) also this is the song mentioned in the story. its beautiful. please listen to it. this song got me through some wicked times. but it sets the tone for where someones mind is at in this.

The only thing people dreaded more in the morning then running late, missing their bus, or possibly anything that could go wrong that early in the day is the sound of the alarm that rings through your phone. It’s scientifically proven that 53% of people feel absolute dread when the incesstuous beeping that comes out of the tiny device startles them awake. But there are people who wake up before it even starts, already anticipating that god awful sound to start their day. You were one of those people as of late.

Before the sun had risen over the building around you and peeked into your bedroom, you were awake. You honestly couldn’t say if you had fallen asleep or not. Your eyes felt exceptionally dry but that could have been from the crying rather than the lack of sleep. But still, you watched your screen illuminate the room and ring loudly to let you know it was 7 am. You had to drag your hand to cancel it, and laid on your side for a few moments after.

You weren’t ready to “conquer the day”. You wanted it to disappear and you along with it. Unfortunately, life wasn’t as graceful to you as you hoped. Or else none of this would even be happening. You wouldn’t be lying here in the dark having to accept the fact your husband of three years was having strangers come and move all his stuff out. You wouldn’t have to be living with the fact that he wants a divorce and instead wants to be with the woman he cheated on you with. No, life was a piece of shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.

You pushed yourself up and rubbed at your face to try and get any kind of feeling back into it, or maybe just back into you. You threw the cover off your body to get out of bed, and fixed it right back to where it was perfectly neat. You hovered for a moment, your eyes going over the unslept side of the bed that he used to sleep in. It was perfectly intact, his dent almost completely faded away by now. It broke your heart to look at so you got dressed as fast as you could and went to the living room.

His boxes littered every square inch of the apartment, it was like climbing mountains for you to reach the small kitchen to get some kind of caffeine in you. But when you finally popped that K-Cup into the machine and it made you a steaming hot cup of coffee, you let it warm every inch of your body. By the time you finished the cup of coffee there was a knock on your door, and you knew it was the movers. You placed the empty mug down into the sink and then trampled over a few more lines of boxes before you could throw the door open.

There stood about three men, and one handed you something to sign, and you did. Almost immediately after handing them back the clipboard they came in and got to work. You watch in silence as they take load after load of the boxes around the room, and out the door to the van outside. Each trip makes your heart break a little more, because the room gets more and more empty as they go. He had a lot more possessions than you thought. It was making the apartment look sad and empty. Not like the home it once was.

They went room by room until they made it to the bedroom. All there was in the boxes was his clothes, every last one of them. With each mountain of boxes that left, you saw the last and final one, with your wedding album sticking out the very top one. At least he was taking that with him. Maybe . . . Maybe he would look at it and just remember what you two had.

You watched them load that stack onto a dolly and felt prompted to follow them out. Though they took the elevator and you went for the stairs, you nearly met face to face near the entrance to the building. You trailed after the men and noticed the rain that was pouring outside, and then one of them suddenly stopped in front of you.

“He told us to make sure you held onto this,” the man said, and before you knew it he was shoving the wedding album in your arms. You grabbed it quickly since the man was pushing the dolly out into the rain. Your feet only brought you as far as the threshold, and you leaned against the doorway and watched them quickly back up those last few boxes. You felt your hand shaking before you, and tightened your grip on the album in your arms, watching as they loaded themselves in and drove away with the last remnants of your marriage.

You listened to the patter on the rain on the street as it sunk in for you that that was it. He didn’t want to work on it, he just wanted out. And now he was out. Gone. And you were alone. You peeled yourself off the doorway and took a step back into the building, and closed the door shut. Closed yourself in from the world. With the wedding album in your hand, you walked back up the stairs and to your apartment, letting the door close behind you.

Oh god it was so empty. The walls looked stripped without the photos that once decorated them; you could see the shadows that were once there. The couch that was in the living room looked lonely without the armchair he took with him, but it was so . . . just so barren.

You looked at the time on the microwave. 10:05. God, not even a lot of time passed by. What were you going to do all day? You couldn’t stay here. That was definitely not the answer. You walked back to your room and snatched your phone from the bedside table and dialed the only number you knew by heart (besides his), and it rang a few times. But once you heard the voice on the other end you relaxed your shoulders.

“I was wondering when you were going to call,” Natasha’s voice rang in your ear. You smiled a bit, though you were actively fighting tears back. “Did they leave already?”

“Yeah.” You nodded. “Yeah they’re gone. Everythings gone.”

“Did he-”

“No,” you cut her off, already knowing her question. “No, he didn't come.”

“Bastard,” she mumbled, and you rubbed your hand on your pants, “Well, Wanda and I were meeting for brunch. Want to meet us?”

“God yes,” you pleaded, already up and grabbing a jacket to wear. “Cafeteria?”

“Always,” Natasha answered and said her goodbyes and you were out the door. As you were locking your apartment you spun around and hit a body.

“Geez, I’m sorry-” you trailed off as you were met with the stare from your neighbor, Sharon.

“No worries,” she moved around you with an awful amount of bags, and seemed to struggle with her keys.

“Do you need help . . .?” You asked and she sighed but nodded her head. You quickly hopped over and grabbed her keys from her fingers, and jimmied her door open, and she was in quicker than you could pull the keys out. As she set her groceries down, she let out an exasperated sigh.

“Thanks,” she said and walked back over to her door.

“Yeah no-” before you could finish her door shut in your face and you blinked a couple times, -problem.”

Sharon and you didn’t necessarily get along, but who really did with their neighbors? She was a lot better than the old tenants who left their garbage out in the hallway. So you couldn’t really complain, right? You didn’t ponder too much about it as you were headed down the stairs and into the rain.

Cafeteria was one of the more bustling restaurants to meet for brunch in Chelsea. Lucky for your girl group, you had another friend who managed it. Getting a taxi in the rain was probably the hardest part of your journey, ignoring your life crisis of course, and luckily you were into the building fast enough that you weren’t completely soaked. You looked over the brunch crowd before spotting your friends and made your way over. Wanda was the first to see you as she sipped away on her mimosa, but let out a hum when you got closer to signal to Natasha, who stood to hug you.

You all exchanged heys as you settled into your chair and pushed your damp jacket off your arms. Natasha leaned forward to rest her elbows on the table, and watched you pensively.

“I’m surprised you aren’t weeping buckets of tears in your apartment right now,” Natasha said before leaning back in her chair and sipping on her drink. “Good for you though.”

“I’m so glad I can count on you for support, Nat,” you said, opting for water right now. You felt dehydrated with all the crying you’ve been doing recently . . . Last night . . . In the cab.

“He’s a sack of shit,” Nat said, earning a nod from Wanda. “I know you love him but holy fuck.”

“Nat,” you warned, but it only prompted her to set her drink down and move forward again, pointing at you and Wanda.

“No, don’t “Nat” me, okay. He is a sack of shit, and I can’t believe he’s doing this all because-”

“Nat,” you warned, a little more forceful this time. “Please. I know.”

She grumbled, sitting back in her chair like a pouting child. Wanada raised her brows, having been sipping on her drink during Natasha’s little tyraid.

“While I agree that he’s a sack of shit, I’m glad you came,” she said, placing a hand over yours. “It wouldn’t have been the same.”

“Thanks,” you managed with a forced smile.

“I should’ve known it was you three when they said I had friends needing a table,” Clint’s voice rang from behind. “Never come just to see me.”

Clint was the one running this joint for the last few years, and he was exceptionally good at it. He liked to brag about the fact that the service stayed “spectacular” even with the boost in numbers they were doing every week. Clint was the embodiment of a true business man, maybe that’s why him and Natasha got along so well. Even dressed for the part, he side hugged each woman at the table and saved you for last, engulfing you in his arms like he could protect you from everything in the world.

“Hey,” he murmured while placing a kiss on your head. You swatted him away and Clint chuckled, whacking you with the towel he had placed over his shoulder.

“This is technically coming to see you,” Natasha said, reaching for her menu. “But we might as well eat too while we’re at it.”

“Yeah whatever you freeloaders,” he joked, earning chuckles from everyone but you, the least you could offer was a smile. “Are we wanting our usuals?”

Each woman said yes and handed him their menu, and Clint was gone in a flash. Wanda and Natasha started talking about something you weren’t paying too much attention to, and your mind began to drift to the day your life started to fall to pieces.

Your marriage wasn’t horrible, in fact to you it had been perfect. You two never really fought, and it was as if the honeymoon phase never ended. He brought you flowers all the time, and when you were working he’d manage to sneak into your office and wrap his arms around you from behind. He always took great detail in the little things, and that’s why you were so fucking in love with him. And the sex? That was otherworldly too. He was otherworldly.

He got home a little late that night. Late enough to where you were already cooking dinner, and he came in fairly quietly. You remembered calling out to him but was only met with silence and the echo of his feet to the living room. The lack of response is what made you look over your shoulder at him and see him staring at a picture that was hung on the wall. A picture of the both of you. He held his tie in his fists and looked like he had seen a ghost.

That’s how he told you he had had an affair. In the middle of your home with you mid stir of the pot of food, he blurted it out so casually you could have missed it. Or well maybe not, not something that grand, that devastating.

“Here we go,” Clint’s voice brought you back to reality as he set food down in front of everyone.

Wanda sat up in her chair exceptionally giddy at the food before her, and Natasha had just finished her second mimosa. Clint told everyone to enjoy and was off again to do who knows what. The smell before you was deliciously pungent, and you realized you haven’t had a proper meal in days. Thank god for these people in your life.

“You zoned out there,” Natasha noted in between bitefuls. “You’re not thinking of him again, are you?”

“No, I’m thinking about how scary you look trying to fit all that in your mouth at once,” you joked. Natasha glared at you which only made you smile a bit. “I can’t help it Nat. I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“That’s what we’re here for,” Wanda chimed in, motioning around her plate with her fork. “To remind you he’s a sack of shit.”

“Exactly,” Natasha pointed to her friend before looking back at you. “And to get you to come out and forget about all of it.”

She wagged her eyebrow at you and you shook your head. “I don’t think I’m in a partying mood right now.”

“Well when you’re ready, we’ll gladly take you out for a night on the town,” Wanda smiled. “Like the old days.”

Like the old days.

Wanda’s words stuck with you for the rest of the day. You weren’t sure if that’s what made you finally crack with the realization that not only were you about to be divorced, but a whole chapter of your life was pretty much thrown out the goddamn window. Eight years of your life to be exact. Your college years all had traces of him in your memories, then the year you got engaged, and then the three years of marriage. He was all you knew for nearly a decade now. Oh this was officially all fucked.

Another thing that was fucked? Your neighbor. Apparently.

Here you were trying to drown yourself in vodka and sleep, and your neighbor was getting fucked. Literally. Even with the amount of alcohol you consumed and the fact it made your head whirl wasn’t enough to block out the incessant banging next door. You were suddenly very aware of the fact her bedroom lined perfectly up with yours. Uncomfortably aware. You blinked at your ceiling wondering if this is how she felt when your husband and you--

No. You quickly deleted that thought from your mind. No more talk of him.

With that you pushed your blanket off and stumbled out of bed. Wow, you had more than you thought tonight, but the fact only made you giggle humorously. You haven’t been this tipsy since. . . Hm. You couldn’t even remember when. How funny!

You carefully threw on your thin robe, spinning in a circle as you tried to push your arm through the other hole. Once covered you exited your bedroom and walked down the hall to the closed door that led to the roof. You could definitely make it up those stairs. So you padded over to the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of vodka you were working on earlier and went towards the door, stumbling over your feet only just a little.

This was one of the reasons you fell in love with this place. The access to the rooftop made your heart fill with something and your husband (should you call him that anymore?) could not talk you out of it. He said, and you quote this very accurately, “Anything for you.”

Haha! What a sack of shit. Just like Nat said.

You pushed the heavy metal door open and were met with the cool evening breeze. The chill sobered you up a bit for you to see the scene before you. As the heavy door shut behind you, you looked over the candles that were still burning and the food left out near your neighbor, Sharon’s, skylight entry. Hm, so that’s what all her groceries were for. Eh, whatever. You practically stumbled over to one of the patio sets and crawled on to an egg like daybed and settled in against the cushions. With your back against the cover you pulled out your phone from the pocket of your robe (thank you sober Y/N) and scrolled through your music.

You hummed and pushed play on one song and tossed the phone beside you, letting the piano melody and horns float through the air. You closed your eyes when the voice started to sing low to you. Just to you.

There’s no sunshine

This impossible year

Only black days, and sky grey

And clouds full of fear, and storms full of sorrow

That won’t disappear

Just typhoons and monsoons this impossible year

There’s no good times, this impossible year

Just a beachfront of bad blood

And a coast that’s unclear

All the guests at the party, they’re so insincere

They just intrude and extrude

This impossible year

There’s no you and me

This impossible year

Only heartache and heartbreak

And gin made of tears

The bitter pill I swallow

The scars souvenir

That tattoo, your last bruise

This impossible year

There’s never air to breathe, there’s never in-betweens

These nightmares always hang on past the dream

There’s no sunshine..

There’s no you and me..

There’s no good times..

This impossible year

You took another hard hit of the bottle and shook your head at the end of the song. The tears that had fallen you were quick to wipe away when the song changed to something more upbeat, but you couldn’t pay attention to the lyrics. Not anymore. There was a sound behind you, it sounded like glass had broken and you blinked to re-evaluate where you were. It didn’t come from the street below, so you carefully crawled to peer around the dome covering your spot, and your eyes landed on a casually dressed man. Definitely not familiar. It looked like he had picked up something from whatever your neighbor had left out, and then he looked up and noticed you.

You met his eyes only for a second before you retreated back under the dome and nestled the bottle of vodka in your lap. You tried to focus on the music playing through your tiny speakers and ignore the approaching footsteps. But- oh god his form came into view. He walked past your place but glanced you over, and then looked over the edge to the street.

“You aren’t planning on jumping, are you?” He asked.

You scoffed, “Nope.”

He turned around and leaned back against the siding of the roof, motioning to the bottle in your hand. “Whatcha got there?”

“None of your business, that’s what,” you practically slurred and took another sip of the alcohol. You didn’t even grimace at the taste before motioning to him with the half full bottle. “Who’re you?”

He watched you in amusement, a smile gracing his face as he took a step off the wall. “I’m Steve. Who’re you?”

“Are you Sharon’s boyfriend?” You asked instead. He was noticeably defensive, throwing his hands up.

“No no no. Nothing like that.” He motioned for a spot near the edge. “Can I join you?”

“Okay, Steve.” You shrugged. Steve took a seat on the edge of the cushions, relaxing his arms on his legs. He watched as you stared blankly at the next building, and took another swig from the bottle.

“Are you the neighbor Sharon was telling me about?” He asked nonchalantly. You couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped your lips.

“Oh that’s rich,” you mumbled and shrugged your shoulders. “Guess that’s me.”

“Did you move in recently?” He asked next and you blinked a couple times.

“Wha?”

“When she brought me up, I saw some empty moving boxes outside your door for grabs,” Steve explained and your gaze went back out to the sky. “Figured you must be new here. I just moved from-”

“I’m not new,” you blurted out, and Steve raised a brow at you. “No, no. I’ve been here two years? Maybe? I dunno.”

Steve slowly nodded and you took another sip from the bottle he could assume held vodka in it. “Well then whoever left those out-”

“My husband moved out today,” you mumbled. Steve’s mouth fell closed and watched as you smiled a bit to yourself and swished your bottle around. “Er, well he hasn’t lived here in a month. His stuff moved out today.”

Steve nodded a bit before motioning to the bottle in your hands. “Is that what this is all about?”

“Well,” you laughed a bit to yourself. “Maybe 90% him. 10% you guys keeping me up.”

Steve laughed this time. It was low and hearty, but it shook your position on the cushions. You blinked a bit as your vision struggled to level out. That’s when you saw him move closer and you straightened up a bit when his large hands grabbed the bottle and cap from your hands.

“Alright crazy let’s put the bottle down for a second,” he said, screwing the cap back on. You whimpered a bit reaching back for your bottle and he turned his back to you to close the cap full and put the bottle somewhere out of your reach.

“Hey that’s mine,” you said and Steve turned back to you, grabbing your hands and putting them to your side.

“Yeah I know angel,” he said and you chuckled.

“Angel,” you laughed again. “What the fuck is that?”

“Well you never shared your name,” Steve said as he forced you to sit back against the cushions once more. “So what should I call you?”

You pondered his question. “Mmm . . . (Y/N).”

You offered your hand for him and Steve glanced between you and your hand. You wiggled your fingers a bit at him and he laughed again before taking your hand in his and shaking it, though you felt like your whole arm shook with it.

“You’re drunk (Y/N),” he said while shaking your hand. Once he finally released your hand you sighed, pulling your legs up to your chest.

“I know,” you said and then shrugged your shoulders at him. “I wanted to be.”

Steve nodded. “Y’know a buddy of mine is going through a divorce-”

“Did he want it?” You asked him shortly.

“Well yeah-” Steve started and your face fell.

“I didn’t.”

It was a short and simple statement. The silence that filled the air was awkward and heavy, but Steve rubbed his hands together and nodded his head like he was actually curious to hear you speak.

“Were there problems?”

“I didn’t think so.” You scooted up to the edge and rested your hand on the cushion to steady yourself. “We never fought. He acted like he was completely devoted to me! He was perfect. We were perfect.”

Steve shrugged his shoulders, “Was he being fulfilled-”

“Sex was not a problem,” you cut him off, and ignored the glance of his eyes over you. “We had sex everyday-”

“Everyday?” Steve exclaimed and you nodded your head furiously at him.

“Oh yeah. More than once a day,” you confirmed.

“Fucking hell,” he mumbled, one of his hands on his knee and his close hand rested over yours. “What a fucking loser, then.”

“Sack of shit,” you corrected. “We call him a sack of shit.”

Steve threw his arms up in defense. “My bad. What a fucking sack of shit then.”

You both laughed a bit and when silence enveloped you again you took Steve’s appearance in. This stranger was fairly attractive, you couldn’t argue that. He was tall and built like a perfect man. Even his beard looked perfect. You were suddenly reminded of the sounds you heard from your neighbor’s room and his attractiveness went right out the window, as you shot up from your place and swayed a bit. Too fast, too furious. Steve was up and steadied you with his hands on your waist.

“Careful there, angel,” he warned as you regained your composure.

“(Y/N),” you reminded him. Steve smiled and removed his hands from your waist.

“I know,” he said with the same smile on his face. You studied him for a moment before you shook your head and patted his chest.

“Goodbye, Steve,” you said. You stepped around him and made your way back to the door to your apartment. Your hand went to tug on it when Steve spoke again, from the same spot.

“I’ll see you around, angel,” he said. You pulled your door open and looked at him, standing by the patio daybed with a wicked smile on his face. You squinted a bit and finally descended down your private stairs, letting the rooftop door close on Steve and your night.

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Day 6: “What book is that?”//”Is that smut?”

masterlist

non-descript, non-canon-compliant AU

Leo Valdez sighs as he stares at the gloomy weather taking over his Saturday. It seems that while winter is well and truly underway the sun would not be making an appearance, or at least it hadn’t for the last week. He looks back at the rough sketches he’s drawn for his practical assignment due after winter break and decides he’s worked hard enough for the day. Writing down measurements and ruling a few lines counted, right? He didn’t care. Heaving himself out of his chair he pulls up the socks that had slowly started slipping down and shoves his feet into his giant Yoda slippers that are truly a wonder and a disgrace in equal parts. His friends take turns wearing them and pretending to be everything from big foot to Yoda-crushers. He has a polaroid hall of fame behind his door.

As he trudges across the wooden floor of his apartment his mind wanders to the upcoming days and the time that stretches before him. His roommates are gone to their homes for the break but Leo, ever the orphan, was still stuck in their shared apartment, the weather and his lack of plans keeping him steadfast. He hops onto the kitchen counter and slides across it, landing on the other side in a smooth glide to the fridge. With a self-satisfied smirk he prepares a hot chocolate, laced with coffee because he doesn’t need a sleep schedule when he’s on holiday! He dances at the thought, slurping up a marshmallow and burning himself on the steaming mug.

A knock at the door interrupts his little moment. He glances at the time on the microwave and frowns as he sees 13:30 flashing on the little screen. Who would be here at this time? Everyone he knows is well on their way to family homes or tropical vacations. Stupid Piper and her stupid rich father. He should call her and check in. The knock sounds again and he hurries to open the door.

“Jackson?”

Percy looks up from his phone, a small smile tugging at full lips, “Hi Valdez, can i come in?”

Leo instantly moves aside, as his mind runs a mile a minute. It’s not unusual for Percy to pop around, considering they went to the same university and hung with the same people. It just seemed odd that he’d be here now. When he was supposed to be in New York.

“Is uh, is everything okay?”

That signature smirk takes over that lovely face and it makes his heart beat just a little faster. Well that’s a new reaction. “Everything is fine. I just wanted to come back before the semester reopened, so I could catch up on sleep and video games without Estelle trying to press every button.” His nose scrunches in what’s supposed to be irritation but the soft look in his eyes offsets the whole charade.

“Oh, well make yourself at home.” He gestures to the lounge, which looks relatively neat for once.

“Thanks,” Percy looks around, setting his keys on the kitchen counter and flopping onto the double couch. “Want to play a video game with me?”

“Sure, mind if i go shower first though? I kind of got distracted with school stuff and haven’t actually gotten any self-care stuff in.”

A laugh that reminds him of forest brooks, catches around the apartment. “Go shower, you hazard. I’ll wait for you.” 

Sticking his tongue out at the jab he hops off to the bathroom, all the while thinking how nice it is to have a friend here. Even if that friend came back from two months of holiday with sun-kissed skin the colour of maple bark, and green eyes that twinkle as bright as the evening star. It’s never really been fair how gorgeous Percy Jackson was, with his whole skater boy-badass-saving the world-looking-out-for-the-little-people thing going on, but now he seems to be from another galaxy. One where they make humans out of gemstones. It is almost a shame he’s still dating Annabeth because Leo would happily set his heart on fire for a chance to be Percy’s flame. But no matter. He is allowed to appreciate without disrespecting.

His shower is quick and steaming as he tries to fight off the strange chill in the air. Soon he’s in a fresh pair of sweats and is running his fingers through damp, unruly curls to try to organise them into something that won’t resemble a bird’s nest when it dries. He doesn’t have much luck but at this point his interest is far below his luck. With a shrug in the mirror to make sure his top is on the right way- inside out, back-to-front shirts are a common occurrence- he pads across the cool wooden floors and into the lounge. There he finds Percy, sitting on the floor, back against the couch, with his nose buried in a kindle and the most adorable wire-framed glasses pushed up his nose.

Without saying anything he comes up behind him and settles himself on the couch. He knows his friend notices his presence because he shifts slightly so Leo can get comfortable and then settles back down. He sees two video games lying on the table and the controllers connected and waiting to be used.  And then he glances down at the book Percy is reading, curiosity pressing on his lungs.

“What book is that?” He leans in closer, his curls brushing the balck-haired boy’s cheeks. ”Is- Is that smut?”

Instantly his friend blushes, skin turning a deep red. “N-no.” He stammers.

“It totally is.” Leo smirks, delighted by the recent discovery. “You trying to learn some tricks for Annabeth?”

“Oh my gods Valdez!” He blushes harder and it is possibly the cutest thing he has ever seen.

“Well there’s no need to be embarrassed. I think it’s very cool that you’re putting in the effort to try and impress your lady. I know Annabeth would love this, she’ll see it like studying.”

Percy drops his head into his hands and groans in embarrassment. It sets Leo off cackling with glee.

“Annabeth and I aren't together anymore.” His friend mumbles.

‘Wait what?”

“Yea she went halfway across the world and we felt it was better to break up, If we find each other again then so be it.”

“Holy shit are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?” The scandalous book is all but forgotten.

“No, I’m good.” When he sees Leo’s raised eyebrow he rolls his eyes. “I swear. I was a bit all over the place in the beginning but the holiday with my family and talking it over with my therapist really helped. Besides we didn’t lose all contact. She’s still my friend.”

“Okay,” He is still a little skeptical but he drops it. “Let me know if you ever want to talk.”

“Will do love.” And he goes back to reading.

But Leo sits there frozen in shock as he processes the words Percy had just said. Love, love, love. Oh gods. This little crush was turning into a big problem in his life. 

“Want to play a video game now?” He asks a little too loudly.

The black-haired boy gives him a weird look but locks his Kindle and grabs the controllers from the table. “What am i beating you at Valdez?”

He scoffs, as he scrolls through the options, and then grins when he lands on the perfect one. “I’m going to absolutely crush you at Mario Kart.”

“Oof, wrong choice love. I’ve been playing this game since before i could talk.”

“Big words for a man who chooses Luigi over Princess Peach.”

“Hey don’t judge my avatar. Luigi is a beast.”

“He looks like the creepy brother who’s plumbing business is a front for the mob.”

“Good then at least you know not to mess with him.”

“Oh you are going down Jackson!”

The screen flashes with 3, 2, 1. And they’re off. Yelling obscenities at each other and slamming their little cars off the roads. Percy lands up in the ocean, and growls so loudly Leo is sure he has a stray animal in his apartment. But then a blue shell is hitting him and he’s the one making animalistic sounds, as he shoves Percy’s shoulder and zooms past Luigi’s car.

“I’m getting the family inheritance sucker!” He whoops as he crosses the finish line.

“Listen Mario. If i’m tied to the mob you’re tied to the mob so buckle up buddy, we got shit to do.” Green eyes flash, dark eyebrows knitting in faux seriousness and then they’re both keeling over with laughter.

Percy flings his head back and it hits the couch seat with a soft thud, but he’s too busy laughing to notice. Leo’s head falls forward until his curls are brushing his friend’s forehead and they are breathless with amusement.

“You’re a clown Jackson.” He whispers, still only centimeters away from beautiful brown skin. His lips a mere inch from brushing against the crease between those eyebrows

“At least i’m not Princess Peach.”

“Maybe you should be, and then you could actually win.”

“Oh you did not just say that!” He gasps, and Leo feels the intake against his knees, which are pressed to his back.

“Round two?”

“You’re on, mobster.”

And with a determined gleam in those green eyes they race into another round. And Leo thinks, maybe this is what paradise feels like. And Percy laughs as he releases a blue shell. And Leo knows this is what happiness looks like.

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

Tags:

@spoopylucy​​

@leydiangelo​​

@nishlicious-01​​​

[the-record]

Love at First Sight (2)

Category: FLUFF ABSOLUTE FLUFF

Warnings: None (In this part.)

Spencer Reid x Fem! reader

A/N: Hey! This is a totally fluff slow burn. There will be multiple parts bc I suck that way. Enjoy!

Gif not mine

“Hey genius!” That had become your nickname for him, he didn’t seem to care that you called him that but never gave you one. “Pen invited us out for drinks, you coming?” He nodded and smiled a little.

“Sure.” You got all excited and pulled him towards the elevator, desperate to get to the bar. “But I’m not drinking.” You look at him disappointed and pouting.

“Spencer please?” He shook his head no.

“Someone has to make sure that you Garcia, and JJ don’t get too drunk. Or if you do, Derek can’t take all of you home. So, no drinks for me.” You threw your head back. 

“Fine, but next time we can take a cab and I am getting you drunk!” He smiled and the two of you walked out together. Nothing more than friends.

***

“There are my two favorite angels! Y/N come with me to get us all drinks, we have been waiting for you.” Garcia says pulling you towards the bar, eager to get you away from the team. “So, Reid drove you here? Oooooh.” 

“Are you sure you haven’t had anything to drink? You seem tipsy to me.” She shakes her head.

“Not even a sip.” She orders drinks for everyone, getting you an insanely alcoholic drink.

“I’m gonna get you back for this Pen, don’t forget it.” You push her shoulder and help her take over drinks, handing JJ hers.

“Oh thank you love, I need it desperately. I have not had more than a small glass of wine in months.” JJ says kissing you on the cheek. Se cared for you like a mom, making sure you were always ok and not hurt with the occasional teasing.

“Of course JJ. Please don’t let Garcia get more then 3 drinks in me, I am not in the mood for a hangover.” She smiles and nods but you knew that you would end up with more than 3 very strong drinks in you system by the end of the night. 

***

“Y/N what drink number is that?” You smile at Spencer who was counting the glasses on your table knowing that at least a third of them were yours. “Ok, it’s time to get you girls home.” He went to get Derek is you started your next drink which was quickly pulled out of your hands. 

“Hey baby girl. Come on let’s get you home. JJ, Hotch will take you home, good night pretty girl.” Derek says to you kissing your head, as Spencer tried to hold you up.

“Come one, my car is right outside.” You nod but can hold yourself up somehow making it to the car. “I am taking you to my apartment so you don’t do anything you regret in the morning.” He says buckling your seatbelt as you nod yourself to sleep. When you wake up again it’s because you could feel someone carrying you. You opened your eyes to see Spencer.

“Spencer...” He shushes you and tells you to go back to sleep and you do as he says.

***

When you wake up you feel like absolute shit. You know where you are, Spencer’s apartment, but his side of the bed is neat so you assume he slept on the couch.

“Good morning.” You roll your eyes at him as you make coffee for the two of you.

“I told JJ no more than 3 drinks. 3 drinks. You’re in charge next time because obviously it’s not a good idea to trust a drunk JJ.” You see your phone on the counter and there are a couple of texts. 

Garcia: Well well well, someone got into Spencer's arms last night!

Derek: Hey loser, make sure to drink some water and eat food. Soak up the alcohol in your system love you.

JJ: I’m not sorry about last night, someone got taken home by Spencer, thank me later.

You knew exactly what they were talking about with Spencer but it wasn’t like that. You were just friends. And besides, you were coworkers.

You bring him his coffee and sugar as you sip yours. 

“Thanks.” He says as you hand him the mug. He is sitting in an arm chair reading a book as he drinks it. You sit next to him on the arm of the chair.

“What book is that?” He looks up at you showing the cover. “Well well well, Sherlock Holmes. Very good series.” He smiles and you return. 

“Thought I should re-read them considering how much you like them.” You can feel your cheeks go red.

“Uh, what d-do you have to eat here?” He points to his cabinet.

“There is some pancake mix in there. Pans and mixing bowls in the cabinet by the stove.” You head to the kitchen and whisk the mix before turning on a burner and pouring some on a greased pan. You flip it to reveal a perfect golden side. 

You finish up the batter and put half on a plate for him and half on a plate for you. He is now sitting at his desk and you bring his plate over to him. He perfectly golden pancakes are cover with syrup and there are utensils next to him. Yours are the same.

“Didn’t know you could cook.” You laugh a little.

“I wouldn’t necessarily say I could cook. Pancakes were the go to breakfast food when we had time. Weekends, snow days, summer, sleepovers. Any time we could make them, we did. Got pretty good at knowing when to flip them so they were cooked but not burnt.” He smiles at this. He was totally gonna hold this above your head.

“Next time I want some pancakes, you have to make them for me considering I had to take you home very drunk last night.” You chuckle at this.

“Deal.” You hear your phone buzz on the counter and walk over to grab it. JJ is calling you. “Hey J what’s up?” You sigh and Spencer can already tell what’s coming. “Yeah yeah I will let him know. See you it 40.” You hang up.

“Case?” You nod.

“They said they can fill us in on the jet we just need to get ready to go.” He nods and you do your best to throw yourself together putting on yesterdays clothes since you had decided to start keeping pajamas at Spencer incase something like this, you getting sickly drunk, happens. Which did pretty often. 

***

“Morning.” You say as you walk in, Spencer behind you. 

“Late night?” Morgan laughs at the redness of your eyes and coffee in hand. Your second cup of the day.

“I will beat your ass Morgan. And yeah, since JJ, didn’t stop me at 3 drinks.” She shrugs with a smirk on her face. Hotch comes into view.

“I will discuss you two later,” looking at you and Spencer, “Now, Y/L/N and Spencer, grab your go bags let’s go.” You take a deep breath preparing for the teasing.

***

Hotch had finished briefing you guys and telling us what you would do when you  landed. You felt sick, like you could throw up so you sat next to Spencer on the couch and tried to sleep but the motion just made it worse. Your head laid on his shoulder, a usual spot for you to sleep. He put his arm around you bringing you in close which shocked you. 

“Hey love birds.” Morgan says as he sits in front of you two. You look at him.

“Morgan I swear to god I will kill you, go away.” He laughs.

“Alright alright, chill out. What’d you two do last night after he took you home?

“He took me over to his place, I slept is his bed he slept on the couch like normal. He woke up before me, I made us coffee and pancakes because I was hungry. Penelope called me to tell me there was a case, we got ready and left. Happy? Now please, I feel like shit so let me sleep. Leave me alone.” Derek’s smile disappears slightly.

“Fine. Get some rest, we need you at your best when we land.” You smile a little and lay on Spencer’s shoulder, falling asleep quickly.  

***

It had been days since you had arrived. A serial killer was targeting families with 1 child and happily married parents. You were assigned to work on the geological profile with Spencer. It wasn’t your strong suit but the two of you put your heads together. You felt a phone buzz as you wrote something down. “Hey what’s up?”  

“They found another victim.” You look at Spencer disappointed.

“Ok, send me the location. Oh and have Garcia find out some stuff about the victim, see if there are any connections now.” You hang up the phone.

“That was JJ. They found another victim. He is sending me the location now.” He nods. “Spencer, can you pass me a pen?” You hand was behind you as you stared at the map and when he handing it to you, you started to mark some points down. When you connected them they made a star with one missing point. It was a single family house. “Spencer, call me Hotch, now. I know who the next victim is.  

“Hey love.” You called Garcia to get some information.

“How can I assist you my angel?” She responds.

“Hey I need some information on an address. 20973 Rockstone Lane. I need a phone number and to know who lives there.” You sigh. “They’re the next victims.” She immediately gets to work. You don’t hang up your phone and grab your gun and badge.  

“Spencer, let’s go. We can meet them up there we are closer. Garcia is getting me a number, hopefully we can warn them.” He grabs your arm.

“Are you sure?” He looks concerned. This case was important to you. The killer had been shooting the parents and torturing the child. It was messing you up and everyone could see it.

“Spencer, grab your gun let’s go.” He nods and heads to the car.  

“Hey beautiful I got a number. Sending it now.” She hung up and you dialed the number she sent you.

“Hello?” It was a woman, there was a T.V. on in the background.  

“Hello. Ma’am I’m Agent Y/L/N with the FBI. I need you to listen very carefully. Get your husband and child and hide. My team is on my way and we will be there soon.”

“What? Why?” You heard screams and looked at Spencer nervously.  

“Ma’am? Hello?” The phone hang up. “Spencer, step on it.” He turned on the sirens and went faster, something he had never done. You arrived and saw a van out front. “I’m going in Spence, we can’t wait any longer.”  

“Y/N, wait! They will be here in like 2 seconds, you aren’t going in alone.” You heard guns shots and your mind took over. You jumped out of the car hearing your name being called. The door was closed but unlocked and in front of you were the parents, the child not in sight. Next to them was a man holding them at gun point. You knew him, you had interviewed him just days before.  

“Jacob, you don’t have to do this.” You remembered everything about him. His parents had hurt him as a child and he wanted others to feel his pain. It all clicked as you saw him. “Jacob, one way or another you are getting out of here. You decide whether it’s dead or alive.” He pointed his gun at you.  

“You don’t understand. These people don’t deserve their child. They aren’t good people.” You slowly set your gun down.  

“Jacob, lower your gun.” He held his finger on the trigger about to pull it. “Jacob. Let them go. Think about what you are doing to their child? Leaving them without their caretakers, torturing them. Jacob you know what that’s like to not have people that care for you. Don’t do this.” He started to lower his gun but raised it again, pulling the trigger and hitting your arm as Derek tackled him.

You felt someone behind you. “Don’t worry about me. Go help the parents and find the kid.” Derek had put Jacob in cuffs and Spencer was helping the parents. Hotch came up to you. “I’m fine. Really. I can wait we have to go find the kid.” He shook his head.  

“The medics are outside. Let’s go.” He grabbed your other arm so you had to walk with him to get checked out. Lucky for you the bullet had just grazed you arm, it still took some skin but nothing serious. As they finished bandaging you up Spencer came to sit next to you.  

“I’m fine genius. Just grazed my skin.” He still looked concerned.

“Good job. I heard you talking there and uh, just wanted to say you were brave. I shouldn’t have tried to stop you and I’m sorry I was just-” You interrupt him.

“It’s fine. You were probably right but I don’t know. Something just, took over me. I didn’t even realize I was running off. Don’t worry.” He smiles and I squeeze his hand.

On the jet you sat in a chair towards the back where no one else was. You felt someone looking at you only to see Hotch. “Aaron please.” He sits in front of me. “You would have done the same thing. I heard the gun go off and we couldn’t risk waiting. He could have already killed them and gotten ready to do something to the kid. I couldn’t let that happen. I mean, what if he had already killed the kid when we had heard the gunshot? Aaron-” He stops your rambling.

“Good job today. You shouldn’t have gone in without back up, but you saved lives today. I’m more thinking about you and Spencer almost missing the flight. If you two are in a relationship I need to know.” I look at my hands.

“No, we are not in a relationship. We were late because I was hungover and had to get ready in 5 minutes so we could make it in time. I’m sorry it won’t happen again.” He nods and walks away. All you could think about was Spencer. He definitely didn’t like me like that. We are just friends. Right?

[kumiwrites]

Beneath the Christmas Tree

Bakugou Katsuki’s lived with Kirishima since they graduated high school. Their life together has always been peaceful, and Bakugou’s never imagined living without that damn redhead. So when Kirishima has to move for work, and you end up moving in, Bakugou doesn’t know how to feel.

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x GN!Reader Prompt: Naughty or Nice Genre: Fluff, some angst, roommates-to-lovers (and they were roommates) Warnings: None Word Count: 3182 A/N: This is my fic for the BNHA Hangout Server’s Christmas collab! Check out the other fics here! I chose to do a nice Bakugou, I love this stupid angry boy and his character development just makes my heart go brrrrt. My brain’s been a bit scattered as of late but I hope I get to write more this year and post the Todoroki fic I’ve been working on for the last year.

Bakugou Katsuki is not normally a sentimental guy.

Even with Kirishima moving out, he feels fine. He knows it’s for work, and he doesn’t mind shouldering the cost of the apartment for a month or two while he looks for a new place for when their lease is up at the end of the year.

Katsuki’s known, for a while now, that he wouldn’t be able to keep living with Kirishima their whole adult lives, but it’s still bittersweet saying goodbye to his best friend.

One morning, a week before Kirishima’s scheduled move-out date, the redhead sits Katsuki down at the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee and a fully cooked breakfast. There’s clearly something that Kirishima wants to talk about, and Katsuki has no idea what’s coming.

“So, Bakugou,” he begins, sipping slowly at his coffee. “I have a good friend, [Name]-chan.”

“Yeah, we’ve met at your birthday once,” Katsuki says warily, taking a bite of egg from the plate as he watches Kirishima. “Why?”

Kirishima grins sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “We caught up the other day, and they’re kind of in a pinch. Their roommate kicked them out so his girlfriend could move in, and they need to find a place before they have to get out.”

Katsuki almost immediately groans, already seeing where Kirishima’s going with his train of thought. Even the inviting aroma of his mug of coffee isn’t enough to put Katsuki into a better mood for a conversation like this. He debates whether or not he wants to shut the idea down immediately or entertain Kirishima’s suggestion; Katsuki decides on the latter because mornings where he wakes up to a fully cooked breakfast are few and far between. “And you want me to let her move into your room.”

“I mean, it doesn’t have to be permanent! But [Name]-chan is desperate, and I think they’d be a good friend for you, otherwise I wouldn’t ask,” he explains, hiding behind his mug.

“They’d be a good friend for me?” Katsuki asks, an eyebrow shooting up.

Kirishima laughs, nodding. “[Name]-chan really laid back, but they also like to keep things neat, so I think you’d get along well. They wouldn’t get in your way much, and they’d keep to themself! Plus, you’ve already met and you guys got along pretty well, no?”

Katsuki lets out a loud sigh, his fork clattering on the table as he rubs his temples. Kirishima’s always been one to dream big without thinking through the fine details, but this time, it feels like he’s taken the time to really talk this out with you before bringing it to Katsuki. The pitch is too well-thought out for it to have been a spur of the moment thing. “And they’re desperate to find a place to stay?”

Kirishima nods enthusiastically, taking a seat next to him. “They can come over later to hang out and plead their case, but I wanted to ask you first in case you’re really against it,” he explains, grinning. Sometimes, Katsuki wants to smother Kirishima alive. “And since I’m on my way out, I figured they could take over my half of the lease and when it’s time to renew at the end of the year, you could part ways!”

“And they’re desperate?” Katsuki asks again with a loud sigh.

“Absolutely desperate. Do you know how hard it is to find a trustworthy roommate these days?” Kirishima exclaims, arms thrown in the air. “As someone who’s had to search far and wide for a new one, let me tell you, it’s difficult!”

For some reason, Katsuki finds himself seriously considering the offer. It would be nice to not have to pay the full rent on his own for the next few months while he looks for a new place, and quite honestly, Katsuki got along with you quite well the one time he had met you.

“Will you at least let them come and talk to you themselves?” Kirishima asks, seeing the doubt flash through his friend’s eyes. When Katsuki nods, Kirishima practically howls, pumping his fists in the air before flipping through his contacts and dialing your number. “We’re good to go! Come over this afternoon for lunch!”

Katsuki knows he’ll regret saying yes.

“I swear, I’ll be out of your hair at the end of the year if you absolutely hate me, Bakugou-kun,” you reassure, hands clasped tightly as you sit on their sofa next to Kirishima. “I really wasn’t expecting to be kicked out so suddenly, but I was never really on the lease and was subletting one of the rooms…”

Katsuki grumbles, scratching the back of his head. You really do seem desperate, and at the very least, the two of you got along for now; there were worse roommates that Katsuki could’ve been stuck with. “We’ll need some ground rules.”

You nearly shoot out of your seat. “Absolutely. Anything.”

“The most important one: don’t make a fucking mess.”

Kirishima grins, slinging an arm around you and nudging his roommate with a foot. “See? Everything’s going to go great!”

Hopefully, Kirishima didn’t just jinx everything.

“I’ll put up my schedule on the fridge every week so we can rotate chores,” Bakugou explains, pointing to the magnetic whiteboard divided by days. “We usually take turns grocery shopping for common stuff, but if there’s anything specific we need we can write it down.” He motions to the notepad on the kitchen counter, and you nod. He’s come to realize, over the last week of bustle as he helped Kirishima move into his new place across town and moved you into the empty room, that you don’t like asking for help unless absolutely necessary. And, that you enjoyed order. From the way your boxes were meticulously labelled to how you were able to unpack and organize everything into your room within that day, Katsuki knew that at the very least, your organization skills would go well with how tidy he likes to keep the apartment.

“And cooking?” you ask, peering at the sleek, stainless steel stove and marble countertops. One of the first things you openly admired after Katsuki had agreed to letting you move in was the stove; it had something to do with being tired of shitty broken-down stoves that only had two working burners.

“You’re on your own there. If I’m feeling nice, I might make some for you,” he says gruffly, running a hand through his hair.

You laugh, nodding. “Sounds reasonable. Same goes for you, then.”

He glances at you, before looking towards your room, eyebrows furrowed. “Don’t be a slob,” he says finally—he’d probably been unsure of how to put it in nicer terms, but he knew that he didn’t have to say much on this front.

“I won’t,” you reassure, waving a hand at him as you return to your new room.

Katsuki begins warming up to you around the third week of living together.

He’s always been slow to start when it comes to things like coexisting with others, but mornings with you have grown to become one of the parts of the living arrangement that he enjoys most. He’s come to appreciate the sounds of you brewing coffee while he showers and your soft humming while you tidy up around the apartment before getting ready for the day.

It’s a peaceful coexistence.

There are some mornings where Katsuki is just getting home from the night shift, worn out and barely functioning, that he’ll pass by a bakery or a coffee shop just as it’s opening and will pick something up for you for breakfast. It only happens when he’s in the mood to play nice, and when he’s sure he’ll be back before you begin going about your morning. The few times that it has happened, you were surprised, but appreciative of the gesture.

Katsuki’s learned a lot about you in the past few weeks—how you take your coffees, which pastries are your favourites, the way you play music and sing along while you shower, how you curl up on the sofa watching shows at night before bed and always fall asleep—and he finds that he’s grown quite fond of your routines. It’s a steady, predictable rhythm that runs in the background while his unpredictable, hectic schedule throws him in and out of sync with you.

The first time he remembers ever thinking that he was glad you moved in was when he had been so overwhelmed at work on Halloween weekend, he had forgotten about groceries entirely. Without ever saying anything, you made him meals for that entire weekend until he was able to find the time to get everything back on track; waking up to breakfast on the counter with a small note letting him know that lunch was in the fridge, coming home to dinner being cooked for him, with all the chores done and apartment spotless—Katsuki’s never really been cared for like this since high school, and it makes something inside his chest rumble.

He could get used to this.

You get sick mid-November, almost two months after moving in, and Katsuki coincidentally also takes a few days off of work. The dates coincide by chance, of course.

Chance or not, though, he cooks every meal for you, making sure it’s light enough that it doesn’t upset your stomach, and keeps everything tidy while you wither away in bed or wrap yourself in your comforter and walk around like the dead. Every now and then, you’ll sit on the balcony for a bit, tucked into your comforter with your legs curled against your chest, and somehow Katsuki always ends up within earshot, as if watching to make sure all was well.

“Do you want to sit with me?” you ask him through the glass one day, and he nearly jumps out of his skin. How had you known he was standing by the door?

With a huff, he slides open the glass door, closing it gently behind him and leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. “You’re gonna get sicker if you stay out here any longer.”

“S’okay,” you reply softly, burying your face into the blanket. “I like the fresh air.”

“Whatever you say,” Katsuki replies gruffly. He’s realized over the years that he has to put a lot of effort into sounding neutral. His natural disposition has always been—and continues to be—an explosive one, even when he’s not angry, and it takes a lot of conscious effort on his part to tone that down and come off as anything other than a Pro Hero with Anger Issues™. His previous manager suggested getting a girlfriend or finding a therapist (or both), and that led to a vulgar fight, ending with the position of Ground Zero’s manager opening up again, along with a sweeping declaration that he’d never let someone tame him like that.

“Sorry I couldn’t be of more help around the apartment,” you say suddenly between sneezes.

“Don’t apologize for getting sick,” he scolded, knocking you gently in the head with the back of his hand.

You let out a soft laugh. “Can we make some tea?”

Katsuki nods without hesitation, already running through the medley of choices in his head as he opens the door for you.

“You’re telling me you’ve never had a Christmas tree in here?” you gaped, pointing at the perfect empty space in the living room, next to the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. It’s three weeks before Christmas, and you’ve been thinking of whether or not to decorate the place like you usually would. “You literally have the ideal space to set one up!”

Katsuki groans, setting his chopsticks down as he takes a sip of water. He had gotten home early and decided to cook dinner for the both of you while you were on your way back from work. If he had known he’d be harangued for his lack of holiday cheer, he wouldn’t have bothered. “Kiri and I’ve never had the freaking time, between holiday shifts and nearly passing out when we get back,” he bites back.

Pouting, you look around the apartment, taking in just how spacious everything is and how lovely it’d look once fully decorated for the holidays. “That’s a shame,” you murmur, cheek pressed into your palm as you rest your arm on the table. “Did you celebrate when you were growing up?”

A small hum of agreement left Katsuki’s throat as he swallowed his last bite of food. “Stupid old hag loves the holidays. Made my dad and I fetch a huge ass tree each year and set it up, and then we’d have to haul that damn thing to the dump afterwards. Being able to just relax during the holidays was a good change.”

You nod in understanding. “Yeah, I like the holidays, but I don’t like being stressed out about it. My favourite part was always this spicy hot chocolate my mom would take me to buy, with little marshmallows roasted on top.”

“Spicy hot chocolate? Sounds fucked.”

Laughing, you dip your finger into your water and flick it towards him. He yells, wiping the water off and throwing the tissue box at you, which you smack out of the way, a big grin plastered on your face. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, you asshole.”

Katsuki finds himself waiting up, in spite of all his senses telling him to sleep. Lounging on the couch, he drapes an arm over his forehead and scrolls through his phone absentmindedly, skimming through the news articles that litter his feed. He has an early-morning shift, but the knowledge that you’re out on a date with a shitty guy keeps him wide awake.

He’d never admit that to anyone, though.

When he hears the familiar jingle of keys outside the front door and your hushed swearing as you fumble through them to find the right one, he debates whether he should just make a break for his room. Would you think it’s weird that he’s still awake, clearly waiting for you?

“You’re not going to let me in?” a deep voice whispers, and Katsuki’s shoulders tense. “I won’t get to see you during the holidays, so shouldn’t we… spend more time together?”

“I—thanks for walking me to my door,” Katsuki hears you say. “I’ll text you.”

“Babe, c’mon—”

“I have work in the morning,” you say more firmly, and your date clicks his tongue. “I’ll text you.”

The door opens, and Katsuki stills as he waits for you to notice him. He sees you in the reflection of the balcony window, and watches as you press your back against the locked door and sink to your knees, clearly exhausted.

“You’re still awake,” you mumble, face buried into your forearms as you let out a deep breath. “What’re you doing up?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

You hum in acknowledgement.

“Shitty date?”

“Some people are just overly eager about skipping to the sex,” you grumble, shaking your head. “Shindou’s nice and all, but I can’t stand the way he looks at me.”

Katsuki’s eyebrows shoot up. “Shindou Yo?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, cheek squished against your forearm as you watch your roommate cross the room and hold out a hand to you. “You know him, I guess?”

He waits patiently for you to take his hand as he nods. “We faced off during a licensing exam. Wasn’t the best experience.” When you clasp your hand in his, he tugs gently and grabs onto your shoulders when you stand, steadying you.

“Thanks,” you murmur, sighing softly as you pat down your clothes. “Do you want a drink or something?” you ask hopefully, glancing up at Katsuki. You don’t want to go to bed in such a sour mood.

Katsuki lets out a laugh, his hand patting the top of your head as he makes his way to the kitchen with you in tow.

Katsuki is not normally a sentimental person.

But, coming home from one of the worst Christmas Eve shifts he’s ever had and seeing the glimmering lights on the Christmas tree, with a gift perched perfectly centered beneath it, has Bakugou speechless for the first time in his life. He turns, and in hand you have a cup of the spicy hot chocolate held out for him.

“You did all of this for me?” he asks incredulously.

You give him a sheepish smile and nod. “You said you’ve never had a Christmas tree in the apartment, so I wanted to make this year a bit more special.”

Katsuki plucks the mug from you and places it on the coffee table before taking your hands in his, pulling you to him. An arm wraps around your waist, the other pressing against the back of your head as he buries his face into your neck. He’s never been good with words, and gestures like this rendered him speechless more often than not. And not many people ever really go to lengths like this for him.

It takes you a moment to return his hug, but only because you really weren’t expecting such an affectionate reaction from him. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “I’m glad you like it, Bakugou.”

He hums, and it reverberates through his chest and through your whole body. “You’re an absolute idiot, you know. You didn’t have to do all this.”

You laugh wholeheartedly, burying your face into his neck. “C’mon, try the hot chocolate.”

Katsuki makes a face when he pulls away, almost scowling as he reaches for the mug and gives it a long sniff. “It actually smells pretty good.”

“I’m telling you, it’s delicious.”

He watches as you take a long sip, and a devilish look flashes across his face as he sets his mug back down. Katsuki plucks your mug from you, setting it down next to his as he ignores your complaints while he tucks his fingers below your chin. He tilts your head back, eyes searching yours before he kisses you.

You’re a little shocked, but his lips are so soft against yours and his hands are so warm that you melt into him, your eyes fluttering shut as his tongue finds yours.

He pulls away slowly, that mischievous glint in his eye making you laugh as you press your hands flat across his chest. “That was unexpected,” you say breathlessly, shaking your head.

Katsuki’s tongue darts across his lips before he smirks at you. “You’re right, it does taste good.”

It takes you a moment, but when your brain catches up to what he’s saying, you laugh so loudly that Katsuki starts laughing along with you. He presses his forehead to yours, his vermillion eyes glinting in the Christmas lights.

“Bakugou, kiss me again.”

“That’s Katsuki to you,” he murmurs, voice sultry as his nose brushes yours.

You lace your fingers through his, squeezing as he inches closer. “Kiss me again, Katsuki.”

The laugh rumbles in his chest as he kisses you again under the glimmer of the Christmas tree.