#five pouring bourbon into his coffee: and what about it?

[magnolia-among-the-stars]

Dear August (Bradley Bradshaw pt. 2)

Summary: You and Bradley have been best friends since college and when he was stationed in North Island, you were thrilled that he would be back in your life. When things start to sour with Bradley’s girlfriend and she breaks things off, Bradley comes to you for drunken comfort. What happens when an accidental hookup brings along an unexpected positive pregnancy test threatens the state of your friendship?

part one / part two / part three / part four / part five

Tropes: friends to lovers, unexpected pregnancy, unrequited feelings

Word Count: 1600+

It was not fine as it turned out. As the bar began to get more and more crowded, Bradley disappeared from the pool table. You saw flickers of his torso across the hectic space, a flash or two of her bright eyes and braided hair as the two danced around each other. As you sat with Jake and Rueben, trying to keep your eyes on the intense match between Bob and Mickey at the dart board.

“You’re staring,” Jake says, his twang punching through the ringing buzz in your ear. You slide your elbows from the oak table and sigh, drowning the rest of your corona. “You gotta stop staring.”

“I didn’t want to come tonight,” you respond back, eyes steady on the couple collecting at a round table a few groups away. Bradley’s hand gestures are rapid, and Jenny is still. It makes you swallow.

“I would say I tried to stop it,” the man huffs out and adjusts his collar of his crisp white button up. Jake’s hair is grown out, a bit shaggy but it looks so soft as he searches your face. His arm, tucked on the back of the chair behind you, readjusts. His palm is warm as he gently touches your back, rubbing it in soothing circles. “You know how Rooster gets about you.”

And that was the crazy thing. Bradley had always been the one with the girlfriend. Always a female dotting around and following the suave, tanned pilot no matter how many Hawaiian shirts he draped along his body. Still, it didn’t matter when it came to his jealous of your attention, the aggressive fight for your time. Here was Jake, a handsome and admirable man. He was a man who easily could be persuaded into adorable dates and early morning coffee in bed, but you never would do that. All because of Bradley.

“Maybe we should date,” I mumble, finally turning to look into his forest green eyes. I find comfort there, a trust. But there is something else too and after a moment, I know he sees it too. Pure and genuine friendship. The comment makes a chuckle ripple out of his chest.

“We’ve tried that Dukes and we both know where your heart stands.” You nod, swallowing down the truth with a dry tongue. Your throat gets a bit itchy, skin scratchy as discomfort swarms your chest. It’s then that you notice the conversation between Bradley and Jenny has gone stale from the looks of it, the two-standing next to each other in silence as Bradley drowns his beer.

“What’s the acceptable rate of approval for getting shit faced tonight?” you ask Jake, turning to pay attention as Bob hits a bullseye.

“Mmmm,” Jake grins wickedly, closing an eye to evaluate the situation at play. “7/8 approval.”

“Magnificent,” you say, sliding off the chair to congratulate Bob on his win with your arms wide. You cheer for him for a second before heading to the bar to grab yourself a whiskey and Bob a root beer. Jimmy is only a second into pouring your double when a heavy weight plop down beside you at the bar top. You know the weight of the man before you see him, his mustache hairs curled in the wrong direction and fingernails scrapping along the varnish of the counter absentmindedly.

“You alright?” you ask him without looking, holding up two fingers to Jimmy. He nods and begins to pour another glass of bourbon.

“She broke things off,” Bradley’s voice shakes as he takes a shallow breath. When you finally get a good look at him, you can see how broken he looks. You step into his space, tugging him to you as he tries and falls to stop the tears.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, and you mean it, genuinely. Bradley thought Jenny was the one, just weeks ago dragging you with him to go looking for engagement rings. “Here,” you slide the drink over in front of him when he loosens his grip slightly.

“Thought you didn’t want get drunk tonight,” Bradley grumbles, his fingertips playing with the hem of your sleeve.

“My best friend needs me.”

Hours pass as the liquor flows through your veins and clouds your judgement as you continue to take shots and down glasses of whiskey together. Into the late hours of the night, you find your senses loosen and your filters shutting down as your arms twirl around Bradley’s thick waist tightly. Your cheek rests along the bulging of his strong bicep, on his tanned chest as he hums to the jukebox and spins you around between the chairs and the pool table.

Javy and Jake look on with knowing eyes at the two of you and being the drunk that you are, you stick your tongue out at the men in a meager attempt to silence their thoughts…they were too loud. You could feel Bradley’s hot breath wash over the bare skin of your shoulders, your knit sweater long forgotten on the back of some chair.

“We’re way too drunk,” Bradley’s voice is slightly higher pitched, his large hands squeezing the flesh of your hips while he tucks his head into the apex of your neck.

“Mmmmhmmm,” you agree, eyes sliding shut as you take in his aura and soaking up how close he is. “Feels needed,” you murmur as your head spins, enjoying the feeling. When you open your eyes, his brown eyes are there and he’s staring back at you. His gaze is warm and endearing as a stretch of a lazy smile creeps onto his face. You could the freckles on his cheeks, getting distracted by the beauty of his scars and the flush pink of his full lips. “You’re beautiful Bradley,” you breath and he swallows a shaky breath.

“It’s time to go,” he chuckles as the world feels like it’s spinning now, just the two of you existing on North Island, “You’re talking nonsense.”

“I am not. You are the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.” He’s staring at you now, eyes narrowed as he searches your face for the butt of the joke, the punchline about to drop. But he comes up short, because there’s nothing more than truth and sincerity in the lines of your smile and the crinkle of your nose.

“We should go home,” Bradley’s breathless as his hand scampers down your side until he is scooping up yours. You stumble on your feet due to the ease of his long legs moving quickly through the bar. You barely register saying goodbye to the boys or paying out at Penny’s register. The cool, nighttime air washes over you however and soothes your cheeks as you turn left out of the door and down the street to Bradley’s beach house.

The walk feels both swift and everlasting, even though its only minutes until you’re climbing the stairs of his porch. It’s only then that he lets go of your sweaty hand to dig out his keys from his pocket. His brows raise as he continues to dig through his jeans and pats himself down. “Shit,” he grunts as he turns slightly around, doing a 180 before he looks at you.

“What?”

“I can’t find my keys,” his voice is a little far away as you lean up against the railing, your cheek smushed against the wooden banister.

“Oh no,” you pout, before eyeing the open window overlooking the kitchen sink a few yards away. Fits of laughter roll through the both of you when you find yourself scooped up on his shoulder as you try to nudge the window further open. “Bradley, stable, stable,” you mutter, tugging his curls slightly to steady yourself.

He’s giggling; a giraffe on their hind legs as he raises you up more until you can clutch onto the frame and pull yourself into the house. You slid into the sink, a wet spot growing on your ass cheek as your feet hit the linoleum tiles. “We did it,” you scream happily, cheering and raising your fists.

“Open the door Daisy,” your nickname rings out from below the window, and you jump toward the front door, forgetting Bradley momentarily. You fumble to unlock the door, tugging it open to see the big goof barrel through the door and tackle you to the ground. A squeal escapes you when your back lands on the floor, as gently as the man can muster and bursting out in laughter as you roll around.

You’re a heap of giggles on the floor, the two of you basking in the afterglow of booze and glowing moments until you glance over to see the twinkle in his eye. Slowly, your laughter dies down as you take in his existence and breath him in. You reach up to brush a curl out of his eyes, not knowing how close your faces were to each other until he’s leaning in. And you’re meeting him halfway, grazing your mouth along his in a methodical test. You pull back, frightened by the action but not having enough time to consider the consequences because he’s sliding you across the floor and onto his thighs.

His fingers are running through your hair and knotting in the curls while his hips are pressing up into you for friction. There’s no time to think or question yourself when he feels too good, when it feels like a dream. It’s all a messy blur of crumbled clothes being dragged off each other and bruised lips peppering each other’s bodies. You fall asleep that night in a naked haze of sweat and panting breathes, the glowing of the moon radiant against your skin.

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[koifishart]

I want to be Your Koi Fish

Warning: +18 content, criminal underworld, intercourse, strong language - and so on

Fanfiction based on: "Baki" by Itagaki Keisuke

>8<

True, he drank a little. True, he might look slightly wasted ... but he could see her angry face very clearly. It didn't cross his throat in their company that he was just ashamed to tell her, just as he stubbornly escaped from showing Kizaki's school report. He figured she wouldn't be pleased. As soon as she broke into his deputy's office, he finished his bourbon in a glass of ice and sat more comfortably on the couch, listening to the conversation. At the same time he wondered how to reward her concealment.

- Hanabi-sama is totally different than our Boss! - Ueda laughed. - Pushes on everyone and everything.

- The exams are coming up, it's normal for her. She always reacted that way. - Haga replied with a shrug. - She gets mad, throws "fuck", "crap", "bitch" or the like, right and left ... Such a type.

- How do you know each other? - Tanaka demanded.

- We went to the same school. She is a year younger, but the teachers forced her to teach me anyway. - He explained, running a hand through his jet-black hair. - Otherwise, I would not have passed lower high school! Thanks to this, I found out that she is terribly tidy and knowledgeable, especially in science. Honestly, until then I thought she was a nerd, won every math Olympiad she appeared at... but it turned out that the truth was different.

- What?- they heard a resonant voice.

He looked up above their heads. Was it so fast? She was talking about five hours! He looked sluggishly at the clock on the wall. No way! It's been 4.5. He watched her. He noticed black leather shorts tightening around her massive buttock, and a loose T-shirt with a knot near the zipper. She settled in surprisingly quickly, which shouldn't be weird. They allowed her to browse one of the most secret areas of the building. Only the contents of his fundoshi were more secret, which she already knew. She walked over to the bar counter, and it crossed his mind that he had never seen her drink alcohol. However, she needed to know something about it, because she quickly took out two specific bottles that he didn't know existed in his house.

- I mentioned the times when you helped me with my studies. - Haga replied.

- Well ... let's see if you remember anything. - she murmured, setting the glass on the table. - Pour 1.5 scoops of 40% vodka and 3/4 scoops of 40% coffee liqueur into a glass with ice.

- Ok.

- Focus, two-part question. How many percent is the resulting drink? After how many of these glasses will I drink dead, assuming I'm a statistical Asian with statistical tolerance to alcohol? - she asked, gently stirring the resulting liquid.

He wondered involuntarily. He must have drunk too much to know the answer. It took the friend a moment too, but finally he spoke with surprising enthusiasm.

- For 100ml it is 40%, so this glass is also 40%. And you would have to drink ten ...?

- Bingo! Bonus question for which you can drink. What is it?

- Black Russian... and thank you, I don't mix alcohol.

- Your loss ... - she laughed, hopping on the counter and sitting on it. - ... But I admit, quite the right approach.

She took a sip. No reaction, as if she mixed water with cola. Apparently even she hadn't digest it soberly.

- Hanabi-sama, this is your learning method? - Kizaki asked.

- Yes. I don't see the point in learning something that won't come in handy in life. I prefer to translate theories in a practical way. - she replied, taking the glass in both hands. - I'll do my best, just give us as much free time as possible, Kizaki-san.

- I have a bad feeling about this. - Hanayama muttered, sipping his bourbon.

In one gulp, she emptied the glass, put it on the table top, then jumped off it briskly and before he realized it, she sat on his lap. Perhaps for the first time he felt the warm perfume rising from her neck.

- More faith, Kaoru. - She smiled and kissed the scarred cheek. - When I'm done with you, you'll belch with the multiplication table, puke arithmetic, and shit trigonometry.

It sounded scary, and she kept her expression soft. He wondered for a long time what attracted him. He didn't have to anymore.

He woke up as if he hadn't slept at all, strangely enough, in his own bed. Expected that he fell asleep as sat on the leather couch in the living room. He rubbed face with his hand as sat on the mattress. Found his glasses and put them on the nose. Had just noticed her. She was sitting at his desk, in his chair, facing him, braiding her legs tucked in high-heeled shoes, translucent stockings fastened with buckles to strips of shiny material disappearing under a tight skirt, into which she pressed a bright shirt buttoned up to the neck. Looking at him, she slightly slipped the frames of her nerds - glasses. He knew with certainty that she had no vision defect.

- Did you sleep well? - she asked sweetly.

- So so... - he muttered.

- No more drinking for a while. It's time to catch up on a few topics. - she ordered, rising from chair, and he could have sworn he saw a piece of juicy red lingerie under her skirt. - Meanwhile, I invite you to breakfast.

She outdid herself. There was a mountain of plump pancakes on the table with a variety of toppings, from fruit to peanut butter, bean paste to maple syrup. He sat down next to her speechless, then began to eat. It's hard to talk about biting into a dish. It was so light and fluffy that it melted in your mouth instantly. He admitted it with difficulty, but even his mother couldn't do THIS. He sipped the green tea standing near his plate.

- No need, really... - he muttered, not looking at her. - That's what I got Kizaki for.

- Kizaki-san won't stand by you forever. We live in a world like this and not another, Kaoru. Death is the only certainty, the question remains how fast. - she announced firmly. - If he runs out, you WILL HAVE to fend for yourself.

- There will always be a way.

- Specially for you, I organized a three-week off from school. - she added, and he felt a note of impatience in her voice.

- It won't be wasted... - he said, placing his hand on her side and pressing lightly.

- You're making me use an argument I didn't want to make. - she grunted, turning to face him. - If you do not have enough courage to accept the offered help, my leg never set more here.

She surprised him. He looked at her wide-eyed, trying to figure out if it was true or a dirty trick. She kept a poker face. He decided to play a trick.

- Won't you miss me?

- Very. - she whispered at once. - More than you think.

He thought. She hit the nail on the head. This time he lacked the courage. He preferred to get things done on his own, and in this case, he would have liked to leave everything as it was. But she was right. Death was the surest thing in life, and the environment in which they rotated made it look closer to them than to others.

- Let it be ... I agree. - he sighed heavily.

Hanabi's methods seemed to work, though he wasn't sure how she did it. She immediately rejected the typical method for schools, as she puts it, "patting knowledge memory". For her, understanding was much more important, and whether he recited a formula from a textbook or said otherwise did not matter completely. What mattered was the sense of speech and the ability to apply. It turned out that he was quite teachable, and the alluring teacher did not spare him praise, especially at the end of the day. This was the part he liked best. She sat on the edge of the desk, wearing a different outfit every day, and after a few attempts he learned that there was something interesting underneath as well. It excited him. His brain had never been working at such dizzying speeds, not even on that night, when he decided from midnight to sit on a mountain of homework for the next day, and Kizaki cheered and supported him with all his might. Adrenaline was buzzing through his veins. Enough to gave the correct answer, or solve a number of tasks in mathematics, and took off one item of clothing. She did it with such solemnity that when he saw her in only underwear, this time in a delightfully blue one, composed of lace and several stripes, and a silver chain falling from neck to hips, he was almost sure he will not stand, and cums in his pants. She was left in spider-thin panties and fancy trinkets when she turned his chair over, beckoning him with her index finger, taking off her nerds-glasses. He tore off his shirt and pants with one stroke and put his glasses on the desk. Pulled her close and threw on the bed, covering her with his body. She surrendered to his kisses, he could feel goose bumps growing under his fingers, she did not resist the eagerly groping hands, but when he pulled the last piece of clothing off her, finally wanting to fulfill his desires, she stopped him by placing a shapely bare foot on his torso. He stopped in one second.

- Additional question, subject: biology. - she announced, assuming a professional face. - Is there a risk of conception ONLY during ejaculation?

- No. - he replied soberly.

- Then please respect my reluctance to get pregnant at this point. - she muttered like a kitten, puffing her lips and holding out a small bundle in his direction.

He respected not to wait any longer and out of the respect he had for her. Just overwhelmed by emotions, he didn't think. Somewhere deep down he said that if they had fallen in, he wouldn't have taken offense at all. He loved the inside of her body. It was warm, soft, pleasant, as if prepared especially for him. Not for a man at all. FOR HIM. He felt every unevenness, every twitch as he waited for this wonderfully entwining string of pleasure. The first time she showed up in his hotel room to kill him, he knew her pleasure might be his pleasure. The better it got, the more, consciously or not, she tightened her grip on the tense nature. Each time he discovered new spheres of ecstasy. This time they didn't last long. She wrapped her legs around his waist. He felt an astonishingly strong crush combined with a spasmodic, very melodic groan and incredibly exciting expression on her lovely face, which made him come swiftly and very intensely. He snuggled into her, trying to catch breath. She wrapped her arms gently around him, wet with exertion. He could think ahead and open the window.

- Tutoring with Haga looked similar? - he muttered in her ear.

- Of course not! - she laughed, throwing a pillow at him. - I had other methods for him ... my bear.

>>><<<

As they say, the right way is enough, and the way is for everyone. What pained her in education was that everything was based on brainless repetition and test-forging. She wanted to know something and saw that this approach works. Kaoru seemed to be edified as well, getting up in the morning clearly more joyful, not in the gallows mood as on the first day. Then it might have been a hangover, if not Hanayama didn't have a hangover. They were doing exceptionally well that day. Kaoru dug out a different one from the crowd of purple shirts, navy blue with bright patterns resembling embroidered flowers. He surprised her with more than that when the deputy boss entered the room.

- Sorry to bother you. I promised to give you the maximum amount of free time, but there are things I won't skip. - Kizaki announced. - You must show up at the club tonight, boss. Yajima stands up again.

- He's so confident this time he demands a show fight? - Hanayama muttered.

- Apparently, he has a business, he wants to push it through very strongly. I do not exclude duel. - the adviser explained. - As far as I know, he convened a slightly larger group.

Something told her that surname, was not exactly sure what. She must have heard this man was holding some of the biggest banks by the balls. Maybe that's why the Yakuza's income was the way it was. Someone was turning the tap on. It wasn't... it wasn't why she knew it. She thought. Pacification of the problem element could have a twofold effect. She wasn't going to interfere, especially if he didn't approve, but she liked having a plan up her sleeve. But it was hard to plan with such rudimentary information. On the one hand, he could get scared and withdraw, on the other hand, he could blackmail him with a worsening of the situation. And this "larger group" ...

- They will try to maneuver. - Hanayama assessed soberly, then looked at her seriously. - Hanabi, come with us.

- I fully support it. - added the deputy. - Experience Hanabi-sama might be useful to us.

- Are you sure? - she was surprised.

- Absolutely! - Kizaki ruled. - I think we'll even find something suitable ...

- Don't worry, Kizaki-san. - she answered quickly, holding him back with her hand.

She used a bit of spare time to find a suitable outfit for the occasion, still wondering why the name seemed so familiar to her. In the depths of her emergency bag, she found two more items that could be useful. As a precaution, she preferred to take them, even if they were only for a moment. In the evening, she slung a small backpack over her shoulder. The practicality of the garment above all else - it was elegant, surprisingly roomy, while keeping both hands free. She left Kaoru's room while Kaoru was ready, sitting on the leather couch in his usual white suit and purple shirt. Kizaki was standing next to him. He turned towards her, straightening the dark tie on the maroon shirt. She could see the muscles around his jaw twitch to keep it from falling. She chose a black, tight, mid-thigh dress, shoulderless, but with a low turtleneck, and long boots with rather high heels. She let her hair loose to fall elegantly on her back. There was a slight ruby smile on her fair face.

- Kizaki-san, please don't forget that I'm a professional. - Muttered coming up to them.

On the way to the club, she learned that she had to carefully observe everyone and select liars. It wasn't going to be easy, she guessed, but she was still bothered by the subject of the name Hanayama had mentioned in his right hand. Eventually, she searched for anything about him on the Blacknet* and froze at the sight of the photo she found. She knew this face. She had seen her several times in her life.

- Hanabi-sama?

- Is that him? - she asked, showing them the photo, and when they nodded, she switched off the page and put the phone away. - I made a few orders for him...

- Yajima knows you?! - Kizaki scared, then dumbfounded. - Wait ... what?

- Er ... sort of. True, I always got assignments from him in person, but he never saw my face. - she muttered, pulling a white fox mask with decorative red brushes on the sides from her backpack. - He knows my capabilities, or at least part of them. So maybe it would be good if he found out that Shiro Kitsune** is working with Hanayama?

- Who ...? - said the deputy in dismay.

- You think he's gonna get scared? - Kaoru asked.

- Well... as far as I know, I have quite a good reputation in the area and Yajima has a lot of contacts. If he let the rumor that I am with you, a few things could correct themselves. - she replied with a shrug. - Of course not said it would be ... but I think it's worth a try.

She looked at Kizaki. He nodded, though he didn't really know what for. She took a tiny box from her backpack in which she hid her lenses. She put them on carefully, and her eyes turned from light green to vivid yellow, cat. Putting on the mask, she caught the boss's surprised look. The car stopped in front of the club.

- Don't look at me like that! You didn't expect me to work as a ... ME? - she laughed a pearly, then lowered her fox snout over her nose. - I wouldn't have had a life in school.

- I don't remember you having yellow eyes at the hotel back then.

- In the hotel...? - Kizaki interjected confusedly. - About what...

- Because I didn't. - she replied completely honestly. - Feel honored.

She hid all her fears deep in her pocket. She had a plan frame, but if nothing came out, she had to improvise. As usual. She felt a pleasant thrill of excitement. They arrived perfectly on time, but the condition of the people in the box meant that they must have been a little late after all. They were only waiting for them. She was going to stand behind his back like everyone else except Kizaki sitting to his right, but he had a different plan. He took advantage of the fact that he had her hands near him, took one of them and pulled it towards him so that she sat sideways in his lap. How lucky it was that the mask partially covered the cheeks. Nobody saw the luscious blush on the face. Especially since a moment later she felt warm, heavy hands on her thighs. She thought they would introduce her as a mercenary, if only for a trick, and he had confessed to her openly. Amazing, he could be sweet and mysterious at the same time. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his people kept their stone faces. Even Tanaka didn't blink, and from him she could expect the most idiotic face of this century. Well, what came out of the set was the improvisation. She caught Yajima's gaze in front of her.

- Shiro Kitsune-san... I didn't expect that we will meet again.- the man muttered.

- Each other. - she replied dryly.

- Since when do some of the best paid murderers of recent years join the yakuza? - he sneered ironically. - How much will they pay you to kill? I will give more.

- I get the impression that my career was not the subject of the meeting, is it? - she said firmly, without glare at him. - Besides, you don't have that kind of money.

Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at Kizaki. He didn't express it in facial expressions, but she could almost hear her heart racing. He did not know. The case was closed, to her great secret approval. She listened carefully to everyone, trying to find out who was lying. It was not easy, they played their roles very well. She listened, pondered, compared ... It came to a point that she herself began to wonder if she was cheating someone, even though she did not say a word. Or maybe ... earlier? She had to figure it out. She twisted to go out for a moment and think things over in turn. How many were there? Five? Of course more, but in fact, apart from Kaoru, there were only five of them in charge. Anyone could lie, and anyone could tell the truth. She almost forgot what the topic of conversation was. As the entire triad hasn't spun the best lately, voices have arisen to restore prostitution and the sale of pornography to their territories. She remembered her father starting with that. Japan remained very conservative, treating erotic films as an additional pillar of art, and the demand was for extremely sharp and confusingly similar to the real, bed scenes. This is exactly what America delivered, so her father, sniffing around for business and willing people on the black market, did not hesitate to start contacts. As soon as he had made money, he put this part of the smuggling aside, claiming that he did not want to get his hands dirty, he had enough of it. In fact, she was also drying his head about whether he would like someone to take her to a film like this - after all, since her father trades ... In fact, she never asked what Kaoru thought about prostitution, but she hadn't noticed anything happening in his area. He might as well have dumped the case deep underground so that the police wouldn't scent him. She looked into the bathroom mirror, taking off her fox mask. She pulled out a red face marker hidden in her bra. There were a few details that Kitsune needed to minimize the risk of recognizing her in the future. She drew triangular elements by the eyes and two thicker lines on the zygomatic bones to look a bit like the animal. Was she cheating on someone? Was there such a possibility at all? She was honest with everyone, especially with her father and Kaoru. Or maybe... to herself, not? Why did it seem so real to her? She pushed the fox's face down on her nose, adjusted her clothes, tucked the marker pen deeply and left the bathroom. She still wondered who was lying. She had not managed to poke her nose out of

[igpitn]

ONE SENTENCE CHALLENGE: right one sentence and/or twenty words about your otp as described in like news like if they were Florida Man

lol i love you let me attempt this

Area Man Drunkenly Declares He’s Going to Marry His Sister and “There’s NOTHING you can do about it!”

[smurphyse]

Tim Gutterson and the terrible, awful, no good day (but hey, it ends in sex!)

Smurph's Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 2 of Death From Above

Warnings: PTSD nightmares, Tim has anxiety and I try to show it in a Tim way, canon-typical violence

Summary: Tim has a bad day. So, after it gets increasingly worse, he goes to his local watering hole and meets a woman to take home for the night.

Tim Gutterson usually had bad nights. Nights when he woke up yelling or sweating or leaping off the bed to get away from monsters made of memory. Some nights all three happened, and he’d wake up and drink a fifth of bourbon just to make it to sunrise in one piece. 

For once, Tim hadn’t had a bad night, so he’d gone for a longer run than usual, relishing the cool morning air of Kentucky in October. He pushed himself, slowly kicking up his pace and going through the breathing techniques he’d learned in the Army. 

After ten miles (he usually only did six), he’d come home, slowly making his way up the front steps of his house. He’d been gone less than an hour, but someone had found time to drop a box on his porch. 

Tim sighed as he bent down to pick it up. It was a box of his stuff from Abby’s house. He already knew what he’d find inside. It was what was always in breakup boxes- a few sets of shirts and boxers from when he slept over, a toothbrush and travel mouthwash, and a few of his books. Taped to the top was a cream colored envelope with his name scrawled across it in Abby’s flourish-y script. 

He set the box on his hip as he unlocked the front door, stepping through and tossing it onto the couch. He wasn’t going to bother reading the note right now. Instead, he made his way to the kitchen, tipping a bit of bourbon into a coffee mug before pouring himself some dark roast. Turning on his heel, he walked to the bathroom, flipping on the shower and setting the mug on the side of the vanity, kicking off his shoes and peeling off his sweaty clothes. 

He pulled the mug into the shower with him, nursing it gingerly in both hands and letting the water release some of the newly pent-up tension in his back. It was still steaming hot when he took his first sips, and he tried to focus his thoughts to the notes of vanilla from the bourbon. It never tasted as good with coffee as it did by itself, but the early morning reminder that he’d fucked up another personal relationship wasn’t something he had expected to find when he came home, nor was he prepared to think about it. 

He’d liked Abby, a lot. She was blonde and beautiful, working with the Child Protective Services as a counselor. She’d been wonderful to talk to, kind and gentle, but she wanted him to talk about real things. She pushed him to talk about Afghanistan and his time in the service. He just couldn’t do it, and he really didn’t want to. She had been mostly understanding, backing off the moment he started getting defensive, which always left a sour feeling of guilt in his stomach. The last thing he ever wanted to do was scare her.

Abby’s last straw after five months of dating was a particularly bad nightmare Tim had while sleeping at her house. He’d woken in a cold sweat, chest heaving and eyes wide, clutching onto her wrist for dear life as she tried to bring him back to the present. It had clearly shaken her up, and he’d known it the second he came back to himself. So, finding a box of his things on his porch was something he’d expected last week. 

The night of the nightmare he had grabbed her wrist too tight, and by the way she’d been nursing it as he apologized profusely, it was clear it was going to bruise. He’d scared her, marked her, and the next morning Tim had avoided every mirror he passed, fearing that the face he would see would be from the last generation of Gutterson men. 

He’d rather talk to her and apologize again, as he had that night, but if she brought his stuff to him when she knew he’d be on a run, then she definitely didn’t want to see or speak to him. He understood and didn’t blame her, but seeing that damn envelope still stung in a way he didn’t like. 

He’d write her a letter later, after work when he’d had the time to process whatever she wrote in hers. For now, he needed to get ready for the day. He gulped down the rest of his mug and set it on the side of the tub, then turned the heat up and finished his shower. 

—————————————————

“Well, kids,” Art called out to the row of Marshals in the office, leaning against the door frame, “we’re getting a new girl.” They’d spent most of the day finishing up on paperwork, since it was the end of the month, and any distraction was welcomed in the middle of the day. 

Tim, Raylan, and Rachel turned to look at their chief, then one by one at each other. Tim and Raylan looked at one another again, making faces at each other that could only be read as ‘ fair game. ’ 

He hadn’t told anybody but Rachel about Abby, and told her about her breaking up with him that morning. She just nodded and told him to come over for dinner, and he said he’d see. They both knew he probably wouldn’t come by.

Raylan looked back to Art, “Is this because you think Tim and I need more feminine oversight?” 

“No, she wanted a transfer off of the west coast, and with her qualifications I couldn’t say no, not that I wanted to. She starts Monday.” 

Art glowered at Raylan for a moment before saying, “And the answer is no, you can’t sleep with her. She’s too young for you anyway.” 

“So, Tim can sleep with her?” Raylan tipped his hat to Tim, who rolled his eyes in return. 

“From what I hear she’s too much of a badass to want to be anywhere near either of you, but my answer is this: nobody sleeps with their coworkers. Please, we’ve got trouble-a-plenty without interoffice romantic bullshit from you two.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, ‘she’s a badass?’” Tim asked, a little offended.

“What? You thought you got to be the office badass forever? Someone had to come take your crown. But don’t worry, I’ll let you keep your dunce hat.”

“Much obliged, Chief.” He nodded at Art, who had had enough and went back into his office. Tim then turned to look at Raylan and Rachel, “What do you guys think?”

“I think you look good in the dunce hat,” Rachel smiled, standing from her desk and moving between Raylan and Tim’s. “I think some new blood could do us good. Art told me a bit about her earlier. Her name is Helen O’Malley, and she’s got quite the resume.”

“Jesus, that’s an Irish name if I ever heard one,” Tim groaned. He thought Gutterson was bad enough to have in a place like Lexington, but an Irishman in the backwoods? No, thank you, he would stick with German names in these parts. 

“Do tell, Mistress of Information,” Raylan ducked his head in mock subjugation to the junior Marshal. 

“She did some work for the FBI and Homeland, both files are classified and blacked out. I couldn’t get access to any of her file, not her birthdate, or even a picture. But for the last year she’s been working out of the Washington State district. She’s got over fifty arrests there.” 

“Damn,” Tim said, pursing his lips and thinking for a moment. Fifty arrests in one year was a lot, “think she used to be a spook?” 

Rachel shrugged, “Maybe. It would explain it, but it seems like she does good work, otherwise they wouldn’t keep all of her information classified.” 

“Why would a decorated Feeb wanna work for the Marshal’s Service?” Raylan mused, leaning back in his chair and biting his cheek. “Maybe she fucked up somewhere.” “Or wanted a change of pace from being a constant badass.”

“It is exhausting to be on your game 24/7,” Tim said straight-faced, standing up from his desk and heading for the coffee pot, leaning close to Rachel as he passed, “but I get by just fine.”

Rachel looked back at Raylan, who rolled his eyes at her. She went back to her desk, and they all busied themselves, trying not to think of what a new person would do to the office dynamic.

——————————

Being one of the district snipers meant that Tim was often called away from his desk to assist in various hostage situations, stake-outs, take-downs, etc. He didn’t mind, he liked the solitude it gave him. 

It was a calming experience for him. The three part act of setting up his rifle, settling into a position and waiting, then packing up and going home was something he practiced regularly, and he was the best for a reason. He didn’t usually have to talk to whatever officer or Fed was in charge, not that he ever had much to say when he was stuck with one of them talking his ear off about their own masculine prowess at one job or another. The guys who followed him around when he broke out his rifle were usually pencil pushers, promoted to SSA positions which rarely brought them into the field, and felt the need to attempt to out-alpha Tim and watch his every move. 

He didn’t normally mind. Well, okay, he did mind, but he didn’t usually let it get to him. But when he showed up to a situation in Lower Lexington that day, he was already agitated. Agitated with Abby, at the thought of a new person fucking up the office atmosphere, at Raylan for once again slipping out early and dumping part of his caseload onto Tim. It was all just shaping up to be a shitty, annoying day, when SSA Delano waltzed up to him as he was pulling his rifle from the trunk. 

He was a short, chubby, middle-aged man, balding in the middle and graying at the temples. He always smelled like he bathed in gin, and had the tendency to grin at Tim all the time, though it presented more like a sneer. He just rubbed Tim the wrong way, and Tim did the same to Delano, though Tim did it on purpose.

“Gutterson!” He yelled even though he was right behind Tim, clapping him heavily on the back. He was a good half a foot shorter than Tim, but somehow still managed to talk down to everyone he spoke to. “I was wondering when you were going to show up and find a place to perch.”

Tim only nodded, focusing instead on checking his go-bag for everything he needed. Granola bar, water bottle, large beanie bag, small beanie bag, extra set of clothes, pocket knife, extra ammo, second scope, and a handful of other things he’d found over the years that tended to come in handy.

“You always remind me of a bird, perching up on those rooftops, except unlike Tweedy you don’t ever seem to squawk as much. Your tweeter broken?” He clapped Tim again on the back, harder this time, and Tim kept himself from moving with the impact. 

“Good to see you too, Delano,” he said, still not having looked at the FBI agent. Delano squeezed his shoulder and gave a growl that was just a bit too aggressive to be playful. 

“Well, I’ll let you figure out where you wanna set up. We were talking to this dumbass on suspicion of kidnapping when he shut himself inside. He’s got a hostage with him, the victim he kidnapped. Had her hidden under the floorboards while we were there.”

Tim finally looked up at Delano. He stretched his hand out for the debrief file the agent had in the hand he hadn’t been using to smack Tim with. Delano slapped in down harder than necessary, which Tim didn’t react to, though he could feel his blood pressure rising just from being in the vicinity of the idiot SSA. 

He needed to stay calm, he had a job to do, and losing his temper with a man he was forced to work with often wasn’t going to get him anywhere good. Civility over momentary satisfaction, he told himself, keep it together, Gutterson.

It was a fairly straight-forward situation. Tim watched from his perch on a rooftop across the street, watching the target rant and rave, dragging around the poor sobbing girl he’d had stuck under the floorboards. She had dirt on her face, her cheeks ruddy from fear. Her hands were tied together with a zip tie in front of her, the muzzle of the gun wedged under her chin as he pulled her around the room.

Tim tried to focus on the man; whether his finger was on the trigger, if the safety was off, if there was reasonable thought that he could shoot the poor girl. She couldn’t have been more than seventeen.

“ Echo One, I have a clear shot at the target. ” Tim muttered into the mic in his collar.

“ Eagle One, take the shot if his hand even twitches near that trigger, ” Delano’s stupid voice cracked back into his ear. The Army part of him, the part that was a Sergeant, hated listening to a desk jockey like Delano, but his orders from Art were always clear. 

Do what you’re told, or at least do what you think is right. No international incidents.

He always listened to Art. He’d yet to have a situation where he thought he needed to ignore Art’s orders.

Tim watched the man through his scope. He couldn’t make out what he was saying, but he watched the man’s face and his trigger finger, feeling himself ease into that place of zoned-in comfort. This was the only thing to see, what was through his scope, nothing else needed to matter. 

“ Eagle One, take the shot. I’m tired of this shit,” Delano growled into his ear after a half hour of watching the two through the scope.

Fucking Delano. The man’s hand hadn’t moved. In fact, he hadn’t moved in at least 45 seconds, instead talking to the girl, stroking her dirt streaked hair with the hand wrapped around her shoulder. 

If Tim took the shot, he’d be killing an “innocent” man. The man deserved prison, but he hadn’t done enough for Tim to feel good about blowing a hole through his skull. If he didn’t do as he was told, Delano would have his skin.

“ Negatory, Echo One, for the record: the target’s hand has not moved and his finger is not on the trigger.”

“Dammit, Gutterson, pull the trigger.” 

Tim ignored him, continuing to watch the man through his scope. 

“Gutterson, take the shot, that’s an order.” 

Tim kept watching the man. The girl was saying something back to him. He looked at her for a moment, and Tim was ready to blow him away when the man threw the gun to the ground, releasing the girl. 

She ran out the front door, bound hands up, her clothes and hair covered in dirt, face streaked with tears. Tim kept watch on the man as agents stormed the house, pulling his arms behind his back roughly and slamming him to the floor. Only then did he put down his rifle. 

Methodically, Tim took apart his rifle and put it back in the case, trying to slow the steady pulse of anxiety that was growing in his chest. He knew when he stepped back onto the street Delano would start screaming, and Tim would have to stand there and take it without getting mad. 

Sure enough, the yelling began as soon as Tim opened the front door to the apartment building he’d used at his perch.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Gutterson? What?” Delano stepped up to Tim, coming chest to chest with the Ranger. Though, with Delano’s small stature it was more like Delano’s chest to Tim’s stomach. “They don’t teach you at Glynco to listen to a superior officer?”

His face mottled and red, Delano stuck out a finger and poked Tim in the chest as he spoke, “I thought all you pussies were good for was sitting on your ass and playing bounty hunter, but no! You’re also good for sitting, deaf, dumb, and fucking blind instead of doing as you’re told!” 

Tim just stared down at the man, making a point to clench his jaw and curl his shoulders toward Delano, in a silent effort to urge the man to back away from him. He was not in the mood. 

Another sharp poke. Heat began to rise in Tim’s face. Not out of embarrassment, but out of trying to control the rage that was beginning to boil in the pit of his stomach.

“What’s the matter? You forget how to be a good little soldier since you’ve been in Kentucky?” Delano was pushing it, a stupid sneer etched across his fat ugly face as he spit and screamed in Tim’s face. “The Army didn’t teach you how to blow skulls off of Hajis for no reaso-”

Delano didn’t get a chance to finish. Tim had clocked him in the nose, hard. The shorter man crumpled, and the rage that had burst forth retreated just as quickly as it had come. Fuck, he thought. Now he was really in for it. 

Tim bent down and wrapped his hand around Delano’s bicep, pulling him up straight as the agent cradled his nose, which had spurted blood down his shirt and across his face. Tim could feel it on his knuckles, already cooling in the evening air.

“Now you’th fucking done it, Guth’erthon!” Delano spit as soon as he was upright, jerking away from Tim’s grasp on his arm. “Wait til your thuperior geths wind of this!” 

He turned and stomped away from Tim, who was painfully aware of the thirty sets of eyes on him and his bloody knuckles. He took a deep breath, and headed back to his car, tossing the rifle case and go-bag in the trunk. He leaned against the tailgate door, taking a deep breath, savoring the cooling metal against his forehead. Monday was going to be a shitstorm of epic proportions.

—————————-

Tim stopped back at the office before heading home, but Art was already gone. Tim groaned, he’d have to wait until Monday to explain all this shit to him, sitting in a pool of uncomfortable anxiety for two days, followed by an uncomfortable week. 

He could still stop by Rachel’s, talk to her about what happened. She’d make him feel better, but then she’d make him feel worse by asking him how he was doing, and if he’d be okay at home by himself. She meant well, but all it did was gnaw at that mass of guilt that laid permanently in his gut. 

Instead, he headed to a bar close to his house. This way, if he drank himself into a stupor it would be easier to walk home. 

He was there more often than he’d like to admit. The small place, called Joe’s, was tucked between a record shop and a bookstore. Tim would often find himself stopping into the twenty-four hour bookstore after having a drink or two at Joe’s. The shy girl that was always behind the desk watched him nervously, and he always tried to make her laugh, but it never seemed to work. She’d peek at him from behind a book as he browsed, stumbling through the aisles and squinting in an attempt to drunkenly read a synopsis.

She seemed to disapprove of him and his drunken browsing, and all it did was make him try to win her approval more. 

“Cindy,” he smiled at her as he walked in, sober as the day he was born. His right hand throbbed from the forming bruises as he closed the door behind him. 

She stared at him, not saying anything, but seeming a little surprised he was here before midnight. Her blonde hair was piled in a bun at the base of her skull, her sharp cat-eye glasses giving her the stern, pinched look of a middle aged librarian instead of a woman in her twenties.

Tim tipped a hat he wasn’t wearing toward her, waltzing down an aisle where he knew he’d find something he liked. He found one about space goblins and intergalactic war, setting it down on the counter in front of Cindy.

She looked over at the clock on the wall, 8:23, then she gave Tim a withering glare, “Starting early tonight, huh?” 

“It’s been that kind of day, Cindy.” 

She nodded, ringing him up. “Well, pace yourself, at least. That’s a good one.” 

“Better than the one I bought last week about sentient cats? That was a bit too erotic for my taste.” He tried, hoping she’d smile.

“Yes,” she replied flatly, her frown set in stone. 

Tim nodded slowly, sliding the book off the counter with one hand. “Nice talk, Cindy.” 

She didn’t say anything as he walked out the door, just followed him with her eyes. Tim wasn’t sure how he felt about Cindy, but he was pretty sure she didn’t like him. One of these days he’d at least get her to laugh.

He turned out of the bookstore and into Joe’s, taking in the familiar smells of the bar. There were a few regulars he recognized, milling about the booths and the pool table. The lights were dim here, but there was a spot in the middle of the bar that had the best light to read under. Usually Tim would bring a book, read and drink until he finished it, then head to the bookstore to buy another one. It was a bad habit, he knew, and probably not healthy for him. He went through five books a week sometimes. 

He took his spot, cracking open the fresh spine and taking a deep breath of the pages. Ben, the bartender, poured him a double bourbon and left him alone, used to Tim’s ass warming that particular stool. Tim placed a twenty on the bar, a silent signal to keep them coming.

He was halfway through his third double and a quarter way through the book when someone sat down on the far side of the stool to his left. Normally he wouldn’t have looked up, but the smell of the woman’s perfume caught his attention.

It wasn’t overly strong, just a wisp of it hit him as she set her clutch down on the bar. It was a dark perfume, overtones of coffee and vanilla, with just a hint of something floral.

She had dark, unruly, curly hair and circular wire-rimmed glasses set on her pixie-ish nose. Under her soft, grey sweater he could see a scar crawling out from under her collar bone. Her ears were stretched. Not much, only about a half inch from what Tim could tell. It looked good on her.

“Old Forrester, if you have it,” she smiled at him softly. Ben nodded and pulled the bottle from behind the bar. 

Tim, of course, three drinks in, couldn’t help himself. “Isn’t that an old man’s bourbon?” He was hunched over his book, staring at her as she ordered her drink from Ben. 

She grinned into her bourbon as she took a sip, then turned to face him, “Why do people always say that to me?” 

It took him a moment to answer, struck silent by her face. Under her large glasses, a scar carved itself from the inner corner under her left eye, around her cheek and over her ear, disappearing in her wild curls, with another down the center of her chest, disappearing under the thin fabric of her sweater. The one on her chest looked surgical, the other looked jagged, like a serrated knife. 

He blinked slowly before responding, “Probably because you look like a college student.” 

“And what, pray tell, makes me look like a college student?” She asked, keeping steady eye contact with him. She was probably waiting for him to ask about the scars. He figured it was similar to the way people asked him about being a Ranger. Everyone wanted the gory details until they heard them and realized the person standing before them had survived things they couldn’t dream of. 

“Probably the gauged ears that went out of fashion half a decade ago, which was around the same time people stopped wearing Chucks.” He pointed down to her Converse-clad feet. She lifted one in response, admiring her scuffed and worn sneakers. 

“Guess I’m a child of the 90’s, always doomed to make poor fashion choices.” She took another sip of her bourbon and twisted her stool toward him. “What are you reading? Can’t be very good if you’re talking to me instead.”

“Maybe it’s just easier to see a real life fantasy girl than to read about one.” Tim winced, it wasn’t his best line. “Sorry, I’ve had a few,” he apologized, picking up the book and showing her the cover. 

She smiled at him anyways, amused. She read the title, “I’ve read that one. I liked it. The second one in the series sucked. Third one was worth how bad the second one was, though.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind when I get to it.” He dog-eared the page and closed the book. 

“You come here to talk books with unsuspecting women?” She asked, leaning against the bar and finishing her bourbon, “Or do you just like the atmosphere?”

Ben came by and poured her another one, which she thanked him for, handing him a ten. A red had started to spread across her cheeks, standing out against her olive skin and dark eyes. It was a challenge, and he was ready to play after the day he’d had.

“Well, usually I just come here to read by myself, but if a woman is kind enough to grace my bed because of it, I do my best to make sure she’s glad she did so.” He smiled, sliding into the seat next to her. She didn’t turn away, just crossed her legs and took another drink. 

“So you live close?” She asked, “Close enough that a book and a few drinks make all the difference.” 

“Right around the corner,” he said quietly, “It’s got a kitchen sink and everything.” 

“Wow, color me impressed.” 

“I’m nothing if not impressive.”

“Good to know,” she said, knocking back the rest of her bourbon and standing from the seat, brushing against Tim as she did. 

For a moment he thought he’d scared her off, but she just motioned toward the door and extended her arm, “Impress me, then, bookworm.” 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Notes: If you want to be on this taglist, send me an ask! Or see my masterlist for any series you'd like to be tagged in! :)

[i-like-writing-stuff]

sorry [five hargreeves x reader]

request: wanted to say I love ur 5 fics and how you portray their relationship as old partners :”) 💖If it’s not trouble to do (Dont feel obligated plz) I had this idea of 5 and reader having a fight and them being too prideful or bitter to apologize. Reader ignores him for some time and Five gets grumpier than usual bc of that. To the point where, one of his siblings tell him to just stop being children, apologize and give them flowers. But he finds it hard bc he is not good with that kinda of stuff ☺️

a/n: thank youuu <3, i try my best to keep the tua characters in... well, character lol- as much as possible! i hope this fic turned the way you wanted it, anyway- enjoy!!~

summary: five gets grumpy when his girlfriend gives him the silent treatment for being a jerk... shocker.

“Could you stop for one damn second and relax?!” You yelled at your boyfriend, already stressed out by the way he had been almost carving a hole through the floor of the living room with all his pacing.

“Relax?!” Five yelled, turning to glare at you, “Do you even realize how stupid you sound?! How could I relax- I lost my last lead on that fucking eye!”

“Come again?” You raised a brow, crossing your arms as you watched him curiously. Did he just call you stupid indirectly?

Your nerves were tugging at the last threads of patience you had left within you- they had been doing that for a few days. You knew that life wouldn’t be quiet when you decided to give a relationship with your partner a shot, but you never expected things to get so messy.

Not only you followed his grumpy butt all the way to 2019 to stop an apocalypse- which you couldn’t care less about, now you had been stuck in your younger bodies because he miscalculated something before traveling in time. On top of all that, he had been a jerk to his siblings- which you grew quite fond of and viceversa, he also started being an asshole to you, all because he couldn’t find a way to stop the apocalypse.

“Five Hargreeves, did you just call me stupid?” You asked, seeing that he was frozen in place, going back over his words in his mind.

“Not exactly.” He knitted his brows in confusion, before realizing the irritated look on your face, “I don’t have time for this, Y/N.”

“You think I had any time these past two years putting up with your shit?” You retorted, making him raise his brows in surprise by your sudden burst, “Screw you, asshole.”

“Now that was rude!” He yelled after you, once you started walking out of the room, completely ignoring him, “Y/N!”

You had been with the Commission for over four decades, you completely trusted its choices, since you never were given a reason not to. Well, that was until the Handler recruited Five Hargreeves. He was about four-five years older than you, but nonetheless still had the impeccable skills of an assassin- just what the organization wanted and needed.

You, being one of the Handler’s most trusted agents, she assigned him under your wing in the beginning until he’d get adjusted. So, he became your partner, it didn’t take long until he became your partner in the real sense of the word.

Five was in love with you- stupidly in love with you. He loved your wit and your kindness, he loved that he could have intellectual conversations with you for hours on end, he loved the fact that he’d feel whole again with just one look at your face, your smile, your eyes.

But he was a prideful man, he knew that. If he was wrong- which he rarely was, he had no intention of apologizing. You knew how important stopping the apocalypse was to him, but... it pained you to see him almost lose his shit completely when he loses the last remaining lead.

For the next couple of hours, you completely avoided him at all costs until he’d get that stick out of his ass and apologize. 

And he’d better have a grand way of doing it.

You knew that it was not like him- he’d never apologize, and the fact that you were avoiding him was not making it any easier on him, but you were beyond pissed. Even if he may not have meant it, all you tried to do was help him relax for a moment, take a breather before that pretty head of his would explode. And in return? 

In return, Five fucking Hargreeves continues being an asshole- what a surprise.

“Jesus, where did all the caffeine in this house go?!” Five groaned, searching the cupboards in the kitchen, feeling grumpier than usual.

“I told you- dad didn’t like it.” Allison reminded him, as she and Luther sat at the table, watching him in confusion, “What’s got into you?”

“What are you talking about?” He asked, not done yet with his search- he wanted at least something that felt like coffee, “Come on- we don’t even have... coffee flavored fucking chocolate or some shit like that..?” He mumbled, shutting the cupboard with a loud smack.

“She means... you’re... grumpier... than usual...” Luther hesitantly explained, afraid that his little-older psychotic brother might have finally snapped.

“Mind your business, will ya?” Five asked with a fake smile, stomping out of the kitchen.

“I love Y/N, I swear I do... and oddly enough, Five too.” Allison spoke up, “But honestly, what was she thinking becoming his girlfriend?”

“I am just happy for her they’re not married.” Luther shrugged, resting his hand on his palm, as Diego walked into the kitchen;

“Is it just me or is Five a lesser ray of sunshine than usual?”

The following day, you treated Five with the same coldness as the prior day, which really drove him insane. Not only he spent the night in his bed alone, since you decided to bunk for the night in one of the empty rooms, but now you were still giving him the silent treatment.

Luckily, during breakfast, the Hargreeves siblings finally managed to understand what was going on.

“Hey, Diego, do you think we can pay Eudora a visit at the station after breakfast?” You asked the man, “I promised her the other day some files to help with an investigation she has on the side.”

“Sure thing.” Diego smiled, looking forward to seeing the detective again, even if he bickered with her from time to time.

“What files?” Five asked curiously.

“Vanya, can you please pass me the salt?” You ignored him, smiling at his sister.

Vanya raised a brow, unsure what to do, as the other siblings were piecing the puzzle together. Five raised a brow, as you avoided eye contact with him, waiting for the salt shaker which was, ironically, closer to him than Vanya.

“Here.” He said, reaching for it before his sister, handing it to you.

You looked at him with a smile, then at the salt shaker that was waiting on you to pick it from your boyfriend’s hand. Instead, you scoffed, getting up from your seat with your plate in your hands, suddenly losing your appetite.

“I am gonna go change.” You declared, placing your dish in the sink, “Diego, I’ll wait for you in the car.”

“Unbelievable....” Five muttered, throwing the salt shaker somewhere on the table, before abruptly getting up from his seat to pour himself a cup of freshly made coffee- Klaus made sure to stock up since Allison and Luther told him what had happened the other day.

“Why is Y/N giving you the cold shoulder?” Diego asked his brother, raising a brow.

“Leave me alone.” Five muttered, leaving the room even grumpier, with his hot cup of coffee in his hand to at least soothe him down a bit.

“Five!” Allison yelled after him, but he was already out of there, “Urgh, he’s such a child!”

After you and Diego had left the Hargreeves mansion, Five found it hard to focus on trying to get another lead on the prosthetic eye- he could not stop thinking about the fact that it almost had been twenty four hours since the woman he loved had chosen to deliberately ignore him, all because his stupid mouth could not help snapping at her.

What a moron he was, he knew that.

“Y/N told me what happened.” Allison told her brother, entering his room softly, watching as he laid on his bed on his back, “And woah- aren’t you an asshole?”

“What do you want, Allison?” He asked, rolling his eyes, staring up at his ceiling.

“Here’s a crazy idea... why don’t you apologize?” She suggested, crossing her arms.

“Have you... met me?” Five frowned, lifting his head to watch his sister in confusion.

“Look, you and Y/N both need to stop being children!” She said, “I know you may have teen bodies, but aren’t you both like over fifty? Honestly, Five...”

“Knowing I will regret this, what do you suggest, Allison?” Five asked with a sigh, watching as his sister smirked in response.

You and Diego didn’t really take long to finish your business at the police station. In about thirty minutes, you both were back on your way home, unaware of the big surprise that was waiting for you.

You entered the house, stretching your arms, already telling yourself you needed a drink, even if it was only noon. You figured a glass of some expensive bourbon would calm you down, so you made your way in the living room, as Diego went to his room in his own business.

Although, you couldn’t help but widen your eyes in surprise, as you stopped in your tracks once your look fell on Five, who was sitting at the bar with a Margarita in one hand, and a big bouquet of flowers rested in his lap.

“Five?” You frowned, stepping towards him confused.

Never in his life, would Five ever think he’d be so happy to hear his name on your lips. He softly smiled, realizing that Allison’s plan was working, as you finally spoke to him, even if it was one word.

“Y/N.” Five gulped, setting down his glass to jump off the stool, “These are for you...” He hesitantly said, stretching his hands towards you, as he held the big, colorful bouquet of all sorts of flowers towards you.

“I... Uh... what?” You frowned, taken aback by the gesture.

Five wasn’t necessarily the romantic type, so this was the first bouquet of flowers you ever received from him. You knew he loved you with all his heart and he was in love with you, that’s why you didn’t care about the romantic gestures he never did- but, right now, watching his cheeks turn into a slight shade of pink as he was biting on his bottom lip anxiously- your heart melted.

Allison had given him all sorts of advice on how to apologize to you with the help of Vanya, since they were both well aware of the fact that their brother was not capable of saying such words by himself. But right now, as you stood before him, Five had forgotten all that they taught him.

“I... I suck at this kind of stuff, I gotta be honest.” Five sighed, stepping closer to you, still with the bouquet in his hands, as you were still hesitant, “I... I shouldn’t have snapped at you, Y/N, I know. You didn’t deserve to be told that, even if I didn’t mean it at all. I swear, I was only mad and I never meant to take it out on you.”

“Oh my God.” You covered your mouth in shock, “Are you... actually... trying to apologize to me?”

“Sort of... yeah...” Five sighed, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, “Look, what I am trying to say... What I am trying to say is that I appreciate your love, and having your support with me, and I know you care about my well-being.”

“Keep going...” You smirked, stepping closer to him, “Come on... they are three simple words.”

“Right...” Five sighed, running a hand through his hair, “Look, Y/N? I... I am...”

You didn’t even let him finish, as you softly took the bouquet out of his hand not to squish it, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him into a tight hug. You knew how hard it must have been so far for a know-it-all like Five to say that, so you didn’t want to push him further. To you it was enough that he at least felt sorry for bursting like that.

“I love you.” Five sighed, wrapping his arms around your waist, “And I truly mean what I said earlier.”

“I love you too.” You smiled, not yet pulling away from the loving embrace, “And I know... I know...”

Five pulled away to smile down at you, “Thank you for being so understanding... and supportive.”

“I’d say it is my pleasure, but I’d be lying.” You teased him, bopping his nose with the free hand that was not wrapped around his neck still and holding the flowers.

“Hilarious.” Five sarcastically said, slowly leaning in, “I think I liked it better when you weren’t talking.”

“Really?” You scoffed, but before you could continue the playful banter, Five had already captured your lips into a soft kiss, finding a better way to shut you up.

[notdonesimpin]

Sorcery ~r.s.~

ceo!ryomen sukuna x gn!reader

warnings: sukuna in a suit??, fluff

synopsis: [request by @draconic-dumbass​ ] “two unlikely people bound together by what some call fate, but to them, it must be sorcery” OR the reader doesn’t take care of themselves and sukuna has to do it for them.

a/n:  For fic purposes, Sukuna has his own two armed body. I wanted a CEO!AU where curses don’t exist, okay? Sukuna’s just a man who looks great in a suit. The curse aspect isn’t really needed in the way it’s portrayed in the show so i don’t wanna think about it😣 don’t hate me.

The door opens as you peek your head in the hallway to see Sukuna roughly loosen his tie with a huff and unbutton the top of his shirt as he takes off his shoes. 

“Long day?” you ask.

“My assistant cried today if that tells you anything. They overbooked me, and didn’t realize it until this morning.”

Your eyes narrow, “What did you say to the poor thing? She didn’t cry for nothing.”

Sukuna throws his hands up defensively as he walks over to you with a teasing smile, “I didn’t say anything! Though, I wanted to say a lot. I think she got the message when I sent her home.” The last part came out in a mutter, but you heard it well.

You hit him in the chest, “This is why you can’t keep an assistant! You’re too aggressive. I liked that one, too.”

“Well, I had an amazing assistant for years, but they quit when their husband told them to focus on art. My days ran so smoothly, and I had a beautiful sight all hours of the day,” he says, wrapping his arms around you as he continues, “Was I too aggressive with you?”

“You could barely say a sentence around me when we first met, Ryo. Don’t get cocky.”

Before he could say anything else, there was a knock on the door and you moved to answer it.

“It’s just Nao. They’re being my other model for today! I can’t model and draw myself, so I needed an amazing stand-in. How about you rest for a bit and I’ll do Nao’s solo poses and get you when I need you?” you suggested as you opened the door.

“It’s been a while. Good to see you, Y/N. Sukuna,” Nao says, giving Sukuna a wave and you a small hug.

“Nao, don’t fuck up while I’m not there,” Sukuna jokes, turning around to walk towards the bedroom.

“I’ve been doing this longer than you. I think I got it.”

“Don’t take those clothes off! The more wrinkles, the better!” you call after him.

~

You softly shake Sukuna. “Ryo, I need you to model for me now.”

He groans, opening his eyes to see you beaming at him. “It’s not fair, your face makes it hard to say no.”

“Then get up, so I can finish for today!” you urge.

He follows you to the living area with sleepiness still extremely apparent on his face. 

“No wonder you chose him to be your muse for the King of Curses. He’s like The Walking Dead right now,” Nao laughs, earning a glare from Sukuna as you drag him to the spot you want him.

“You still haven’t told me anything about your art show,” Sukuna reminds you. 

“Hands in pockets please…” you gesture to your own pockets when you make the statement and Sukuna lazily complies as you continue talking and telling him what to do. “My theme is Sorcery. Take a step but don't step… There! I wanted to do three bigger panels for my main showcase. They have the King of Curses- AKA you- and the ruler of blessings- aka Nao but Nao is just modeling so I can shade the pose right and put myself in it. Then the middle panel will be them together. Look at the ground. Now, only bring your eyes up the look at me… Perfect! Stay still. Basically it shows two unlikely people bound together by what some call fate, but to them, it must be sorcery.”

~

You yawn, waking up the sound of Sukuna roaming around the penthouse. You check your phone to see the time. 4:36 A.M.

You suddenly find yourself wide awake and decide to get up and work on your rough sketches. 

You go out of your shared room, rubbing your eyes as you adjust to the light and walk to the kitchen.

“Where the hell is my…” Sukuna’s muttering comes to a stop when he sees you sitting at the island, drinking a glass of water as you wait for the coffee pot to get ready.

“Good morning,” you softly say with a yawn.

“Why are you up? Did I wake you?” Sukuna asks, buttoning the cuffs of the shirt and walking over to you.

“I need to work on the rough sketches anyways since my canvases come in today. I’m so behind,” you groan, “What are you looking for?”

“My passport. I swear I grabbed it from home before I came here.”

He watches you tie his tie for him as he tries to recall where it might be.

“It’s definitely at home on the kitchen counter. I saw it before I left. I meant to grab it for you. Sorry, Ryo.”

He tosses his head back in frustration, “Why is this penthouse so inconveniently located. I have to go in the opposite direction of the office and the airport to go home and get it.”

“You’re the one that said my apartment was too small to be my studio.”

“I know.”

“And that I should separate home from work.”

“I know.” He squeezes your cheeks to stop you from talking. “I don’t regret buying this penthouse for your work. You get an ocean view and you have an entire space to do your work. I’d buy you the entire building if you needed it.”

He lets go of your face and you say, “Okay, Mr. CEO. All you had to say was that you love me.”

He chuckles and pours two cups of coffee, handing you one of them. “This business trip is pretty short, so I should be back around afternoon or tomorrow night at the latest.” He checks his watch, “I should go, so I don’t be late with my detour.” 

He grabs his blazer off of the back of the chair, sliding it on as he walks towards the door with you right behind him. He slips his shoes on and turns to you, giving you a soft kiss.

“Be safe. I love you.” you say.

“I love you. Don’t overwork yourself while I’m gone.”

As soon as the door closed, you muttered: Sorry, Ryo. That’s exactly what I’m about to do.

~ 

A few hours later, you get a call from Sukuna and immediately answer.

“How’s the new assistant, Ryo?” you immediately ask.

He paused, glancing at the assistant beside him. “So this was your doing. I can’t say that I’m surprised. This one seems a lot more competent.”

“Don’t run him off. He knows how to run businesses well since he grew up with his father.”

“I got it. Mx. CEO,” he taunts, “How long have you been working?”

You glance at the time on your phone. 10:32A.M.

“Technically five hours but only been diligent for the past four hours. I finished my sketch for the King of Curses panel about an hour ago. So, I’ve just started drawing it on the canvas.”

“So, what I’m hearing is that it’s time to take a break and eat something,” He suggests, but you both know that it was a command. 

“I’m not going to pass out on you again, okay? I can take care of myself.”

“As you’ve proven on multiple occasions, you can’t. I’ve got to go. I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you.”

“I love you. Make good decisions!” You hang up and get back to work.

You didn’t know how much time had passed or how long you’d been actively moving around and working until your regular Wednesday at 11:30 alarm went off. 

Wait… Wednesday??? You’d only been up for a couple hours. How has an entire day passed without you even realizing it?

At the same time, you received a text from Sukuna: I have to stop by the office before heading to you, so I’ll take you wherever you’d like around one. 

“Shit!” you exclaim, typing back a quick response before rushing around the penthouse to clean and change your clothes.

Sukuna couldn’t know that you haven’t slept in the past 31 hours. 

By the time you cleaned up and got dressed, Sukuna was already at the penthouse, leaning against the kitchen counter and holding a glass of bourbon in his hands.

“Let me see your hands,” he requests.

You stick out your hands, trying to calm them down because both of you knew that you get really bad tremors when you haven’t slept in a while.

“I didn’t think you’d be back so early,” you softly spoke.

“Darling, I texted you. I guess it makes sense that you don’t remember since you responded with a jumble of letters,” he sighs, sticking his hands in his pockets as he shakes his head, “What am I going to do with you?”

“I just got really focused. I’m so close to finishing the King of Curses panel. I started the Ruler of Blessings panel as well… I gotta keep the ball rolling while it’s hot,” you explained.

“That isn’t healthy. How have you been painting? With the way your hands are shaking, you shouldn’t even be able to hold a paintbrush straight.”

“I was focused! And before you say it, I’m not tired, so I’ll just get back to work.”

He looks at you in amusement as you walk away. “Still as stubborn as ever.”

“I’ll stop after I finish the curse panel, okay?”

Before you could even get out of the kitchen, Sukuna had picked you up by your waist and started walking away.

“Ryomen Sukuna! Put me down!” you exclaim, “I told you, my feet stay on the ground!”

He laughs and continues walking, “I told you that if I want to pick you up, I will. If you think you’re heavy, then you’re wrong. You’re like a feather compared to what I lift at the gym, okay?”

You fall silent, letting him carry you all the way to the bathroom. He sits you on the counter and starts running the water for a bath. As you wait for the bath to fill up, he stands in between your legs, bringing his hands up to your face and lightly grazing underneath your eyes.

“They’re puffy…” he looks at you with a hint of sadness, “I understand that the art show is very important to you, but this is the third time in the past few months that I’ve had to physically stop you from overworking yourself. If you don’t take care of yourself, your art will suffer, too.”

“I know. There’s just a lot of big names coming this time. I really want it to be good.”

“It will be because you’re an outstanding artist,” he reassures.

You give him a small thank you as he turns to stop the water and you shed your clothes, getting in and closing your eyes and enjoying the warmth.

“You see how nice hot water feels?” You could hear the teasing in his voice.

“Yeah, yeah. Self-care or whatever.” 

Sukuna begins to wash your body for you, humming a soft tune and lulling you to sleep.  He finishes washing you up and takes you to bed, putting one of his shirts on you and crawling in beside you, letting you wrap yourself around him to steal his warmth.

He softly smiles to himself and gives you a soft kiss on the top of your head as he whispers, “Sweet dreams.”

[moon-witchs-world]

Give me love

Author: moon-witchs-world

Pairing: Damon Salvatore x FemaleVampire! Reader

Words: 905

Warnings: mentions of murder

Summary: Damon Salvatore comforts Y/N after she killed a human.  

Author’s note: For @fives-cup-of-coffee​ ‘s 1K writing challenge: comfort

‘What are you doing here?’ Y/N asked with a mix of confusion and irritation. Damon Salvatore stood on the front porch, holding a bottle of bourbon, a crooked smile on his face. ‘I’m delighted to see you too, Y/N,’ he answered sarcastically. ‘No, seriously, Damon. Why are you here?’ she pressed on.

Damon looked her in the eyes and sighed. ‘Caroline told me you were upset and didn’t want to see anyone,’ he said, rolling his eyes. ‘And why did you decide to ignore my wish?’ she asked him, really annoyed now. Damon Salvatore had a way of showing up when she didn’t want to see him. Right now, all she wanted was to be by herself. To drown her sorrow in booze. Alone.

‘This is what you always do, Y/N. You push people away when you feel terrible. It’s like your weird way of saying you actually do need someone. So, please step aside so I can come in and you can talk to me,’ he answered. ‘I don’t feel like talking,’ Y/N answered. She was being stubborn, but maybe Damon would take the hint that way and leave her alone. ‘Step aside. If you don’t want to talk, we can get drunk,’ he said. She stepped aside, knowing Damon he wouldn’t give up and besides, there were worse things then getting drunk right now.

Damon walked in and made his way to the kitchen. Without a word he opened the cabinet and took out two glasses. He poured a royal amount of the bourbon in both glasses and handed me one. He then walked to the couch, where he sat down, feeling perfectly at home. She sat down next to him and put the glass to her lips, the booze burning on her lips.

She had always liked Damon. He oozed confidence and was always honest with her. He had a way of getting into trouble, a dangerous side that excited her. Even though she was a vampire, he made her feel alive. There had always been a big difference between the two of them. Damon didn’t mind feeding off people, while Y/N never wanted to. She had been drinking from blood bags for years now, knowing she had a hard time resisting her blood lust when she drank straight from the vein. And now she had lost control. Somehow she convinced herself she would be okay. Just a sip. Not enough to cause any real damage. Just a taste. But she hadn’t been able to stop. She drank ever last drop of the young girl’s  blood until her heart stopped. She had called Caroline to help her get rid off the body and went home after telling her best friend she didn’t want to see anybody. And then Damon showed up. Uninvited but still coming over to see her.

‘So, tell me. How do you feel?’ he asked after a few minutes had passed in silence. ‘I obviously feel horrible. I killed an innocent person, Damon,’ she snapped back. He reached out to her and put his arm around her shoulders. She looked up at him, staring into his blue eyes. She could tell he was holding back on saying something, probably a sarcastic comment. After a short silence, he spoke again.

‘We all do bad things, sweetheart. It’s in our nature,’ was his answer. ‘That’s where you’re wrong, Damon. Lying is a bad thing. Being rude is a bad thing. Killing an innocent human being is not a bad thing. It’s murder and it’s the worst thing you can do.’ In the silence that followed Y/N drank her bourbon and held the empty glass out to Damon, who refilled her glass. ‘Why do you even want to talk about this? You don’t care for human life and I do. You do all these bad things and you don’t care about it. Maybe that works for you, but it doesn’t for me, okay?’

Damon put his glass away and grabbed her hands. He intertwined his fingers with hers and his blue eyes pierced hers. ‘Do you honestly think I don’t feel bad about the things I do?’ he asked her, his voice no more than a whisper. ‘Yes. You seem completely indifferent about the bad things you do,’ Y/N answered honestly. It was one of the things she liked most about Damon, they could always talk honestly. ‘That’s just the easiest way to handle it. Pretending not to care. But it’s not real. Of course I care. And right now I care about you. Because you’re obviously not fine.’

His words surprised her. She had underestimated him. His act of pretending not to care about doing bad things had been so convincing. ‘And the Oscar goes to…’ Y/N said with a smile. He grinned at her and pulled her closer. His face was so close now she could count every single one of his long eye lashes. ‘You’ll be fine, sweetheart,’ he whispered. His gaze averted to her lips. They moved towards each other until their lips touched. The kiss was soft, his lips pressing lightly on hers. When he pulled back, with a fearful look in his eyes, she smiled back at him.

‘Tell me to stay and I will be here for as long as you’ll have me,’ he said with his eyes glued to hers. ‘Please stay, Damon,’ was her answer.

[tettatonin]

ㅤㅤ︻┻┳═一ㅤMR. & MRS. KISAKIㅤﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ❝ IF I HAD IT IN MY POWER, I'D ARRANGE FOR ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤEVERY GIRL TO HAVE YOUR CHARM. ❞

THE COUPLE : TETTA and HAN

THE SOUNDTRACK : FEVER by ENHYPEN ; EVERYBODY LOVES SOMEBODY by DEAN MARTIN ; LOVER by TAYLOR SWIFT

THE DYNAMIC : RIVALS TO LOVERS — ❝ listen, i didn't even try like you that way, it just happened. ❞ ; ❝ oh, now that's rich. ❞

𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒 ㅤㅤ↪ black coffee. chanel n°5 and polo green. red bottoms. dark chocolate. white button ups with lipstick stains. silver wedding bands. a small collection of vinyl records that softly plays throughout the living room on rainy days. bourbon and red wine. a lighter that's always there to light my cigarettes. a matching necklace and watch with our initials and anniversary date engraved onto the back. a bookshelf filled with our favorite novels and volumes we've kept from our high school days.

𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀 ㅤㅤ↪ a husband that everyone's scared of and a wife that just fans the flames a little too much. catching up on game of thrones. dissing people on 90 day fiancé. talking about my day and watching him cook dinner, taste testing whatever it is as he goes along. he mixes chocolate into my morning coffee after he makes me mad. being literal partners in crime. sleeping in for too long on days off. slow dancing on rainy days. tying and retying his tie if it looks askew. him keeping his hand on my waist or lower back so i can match his walking pace if we're in a hurry. people around us never being able to tell the difference between petty and real arguments. he makes me feel like i'm better than everyone and because of that, we talk shit a lot.

𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐒 ㅤㅤ↪ ENCOUNTERS [ how we met ] — met through work and at the time, it'd be the only time we'd see each other and it wasn't often either. simple, passive aggressive exchanges of 'good work' and light banter during meetings would slowly evolve into full on arguing if we ever had a disagreement but in the rare times we found common ground, we brought out the best in each other. i thought he was impractical while he thought i was incompetent. from then on, it was a slow, five year long slope into getting used to each other's company since both our positions in tenjiku had us working together most of the time. ㅤㅤ↪ CONFESSIONS [ when he told me ] — kisaki's not a fan of things just spilling out. he's calm, calculated, and was so sure that his secret would die with him if hanma hadn't haphazardly poured him that final glass of bourbon that pushed his sobriety out of the way. i almost didn't believe him at first but even as he was drunk out of his mind, he still had his charm. it was funny to see him act so loose, wanting to see more of it was what made me say yes that night (and the morning after when he remembered everything and properly asked me out). ㅤㅤ↪ OCCASSIONS [ a day in our lives ] — work days start off with him leaving the penthouse first with a little kiss goodbye for me while i'm having breakfast before leaving and meeting somewhere in the middle of the day to brief each other on current events. tetta works the early mornings while i work the late nights. but when we have days off, they're genuinely are his favorites. its quiet, no one from work will call him, and he gets to sleep in before spending the day doing whatever he wants at his own pace, all while being with me. he's a sucker for domesticity, so things like movie nights and home dinner dates with food he cooks himself while we act like a normal suburban husband and wife relaxes him more than it should.

[janiedean]

crack prompt inspired by all the tvd talk on your blog: damon, jaime, tony stark all walk into a bar alone and end up drunk oversharing ~~

(if you wanna include ships in it anything with delena/dalaric/bamon; brienne; pepper/bruce/strange/rhodey is okay lmfao so pretty much anything goes, i just want them being each other's therapist because the timeline collapsed for some time and their universes interacted somehow lmfao)

*spins the wheel* AAAND hello anon we can absolutely try that u__u

ten years on tumblr anniversary prompt post | buy me a coffee | commissions open

Well, now I really did bite off more than I could chew, Tony thinks as he shakes his head and hopes that he and Bruce didn't fuck up the entire fabric of reality.

Well.

He's not in New York and he wasn't in the span of five seconds since they got the machine turned on, but - but well. Bruce isn't here, so hopefully he'll figure out where the fuck he ended up. Maybe we should have been sober when trying to work out that whole different timelines and multiverses thing.

Now, damage control. He should probably try to not go anywhere, but in case he actually just... teleported somewhere, maybe he should just ask where he is. He glances at his back. He's in front of a bar named Mystic Grill, which... okay, shitty name, but he could be anywhere in fuck-all-middle-of-nowhere Idaho for all he knows. He takes out his cellphone, and there is zero reception.

Bad news.

He sees a blonde kid with a police badge coming up the road, so he clears his throat and stops him.

"Uh, officer?"

"Hello," the kid says, "I don't remember seeing you around here."

Yeah, because I'm not from this world, most likely. "Eh," Tony lies, "I was driving my car but it broke down outside town and the way I got in, there wasn't a sign. Would you mind telling me where exactly I ended up?"

"Mystic Falls," the guy says, "I didn't know the damned State of Virginia now took us off the maps, too." That was sarcastic, Tony can hear it, but.

He's sure that there is no such place where he comes from.

"Right," Tony says, "I'll, uh, be out to find a mechanic then."

The kid gives him instructions to reach one, Tony thanks him and lets him go. Well, he can't certainly go anywhere now, but at least it seems like they fucked up just his -

"What the fuck," he hears from his left side -

Just in time to see a blonde guy wearing a white armor and a white cloak fall through a portal just the same as his own, that disappears a moment later. The blonde guy has green eyes, Tony notices, is lacking a right hand because he has a rather heavy golden prothesis on it that looks tacky also for his own tastes and looks completely out of his depth as he moves to his feet.

"Uh," Tony says, "I imagine you aren't from... here."

"Certainly not," the guy says, sounding... near hysterical, as he takes the surroundings. "What - what are those things anyway?" Cars. Oh fuck, he's looking at cars. "How are you dressed? What - what are these houses?"

"Er," Tony says, "humor me a moment. What's your name and where do you come from?"

The guy rolls his eyes. "Jaime Lannister, and I come from Westeros, thank you very much, now where the hell am I?"

... Great, Tony thinks, now it's not even someplace where the USA exist. "Er," Tony says, "in another world. Listen, it's my fault, I, uh, sort of caused it, and my colleague will most likely fix it, but it's really better we don't go anywhere so he can locate us more easily. Tell you what, can I buy you a drink while we wait?"

"Another world?" The guy blurts, and then - then he stares at Tony, then at his surroundings, then rolls his eyes again.

"You know what," he says, "I've had a shit long day. What can this be on top of fucking undead Catelyn Stark? Buy me the fucking drink."

I'm not doing drunk science anymore, Tony vows to himself as they walk inside the place, and he really hopes he can spin some story as to why the guy with him is wearing bonafide armor -

"And who the fuck are the two of you now?"

So: Tony had not taken into account that there would be just one person in the bar and that this person would be of course not human because no one human could pin the two of them to the wall in a split second and hold them there with such strength, and that's how he finds out that pretty guy with blue eyes, dark hair, pale skin and homicidal face is a damned vampire.

Except that the moment Tony explains it - Jaime or whoever he is is just keeping his mouth shut, wisely - the guy stares at them, and then more, and then -

"With everything I've seen in the last years," he says, "honestly, that's not even the most fucking stupid. So, you just want to lounge around until your friend shows up to fix whatever the fuck you did?"

"Er, yes?"

"Whatever. I'm Damon. I can cover your drinks and compel the bartender to forget your face. I sorely fucking need some myself."

He lets them go, but then - "Get that armor off," he tells Jaime, "this isn't New York City."

"I can't just leave my armor around!"

"Just leave it in the bathroom and take it back later," Damon shrugs, and then nods towards what's most likely the bathroom.

Jaime shrugs and goes, muttering something about maybe having drank too much milk of the poppy, and Tony doesn't want to know whatever the hell that is.

--

"Listen," Jaime says later, wearing an attire that's still obviously Middle-Ages-like but at least doesn't stand out too much, sipping at the bourbon Damon shoved at them, "I'm choosing to think I'm making this all up, but if I'm not, how long will it be before I can go back where I come from? Because you dragged me away from a rather fucking delicate situation."

"No idea," Tony shrugs, "but he's good at his job. And he was less drunk than me. We might get you back at the point you left."

"And what would that delicate situation be?" Damon asks. "Entertain me."

"And why should I tell you?"

"First, I bought you that alcohol and you're definitely enjoying it. Second, this is my town and I could tear your throat open if I wanted to." Fuck. He just showed fangs at the both of them. What the fuck. "Also, my murderous former girlfriend who is the cause of all my problems just finally fucked off this planet for good after possessing my current girlfriend who looks like her but really is the whole contrary and my best friend just came back to life after being dead for a whole lot of time and it's a complicated situation and I need a distraction or ten."

"That... sounds like something," Tony mutters, sipping at his alcohol. It's good, at least.

"Believe me, it is. So, what's the poison from Middle Ages here?"

"Ah, fuck that," Jaime says, takes a drink, and starts talking.

--

Half an hour later, Tony thinks that he and Damon are equally staring at the guy with the same disbelieving face.

"... Was that the undead woman that got you like this?" Jaime asks, blinking. "Considering that he seems like he's some kind of living dead, that's a tad hypocritical."

"No," Damon says, "that's the least of my problems. How haven't you frenched this Brienne person already?"

"I frenched?"

"Dude, he's from the Middle Ages," Tony takes pity on him. "He means put your tongue in her mouth."

"I - what - she's not - I'm not -"

"Listen," Damon cuts him, "I've been there. I mean, thinking I couldn't live without an arse who didn't give a fuck about me, which you admitted. But you do realize you spent at least five minutes of your charming tale describing us exactly how this Brienne of yours is ripped and has pretty eyes and was about to die for you?"

"Yeah, uh," Tony says, "let it come from someone who had the right people in front of him for ages and didn't let himself go for it, you really don't wanna drag it any longer."

"That's - she's a knight, that's not -"

"Oh, sure, all knights are shit where you come from, you said that, but suddenly someone would rather hang than kill you and you're here jittering because you got sucked here while she's dealing with a zombie that wanted you dead but I have to think you don't wanna french her?" Damon rolls his eyes again, pours himself another drink and honestly, Tony has cut down on the alcohol lately but he's gonna just make a damned exception. "Please."

"He's right," Tony says, "and also, let it come from someone whose dad was loaded on money and fairly shitty and still way better than yours, whatever he said about you is wrong."

"How do you know -" Jaime starts, half-blanching.

"Told you," Tony shrugs, "loaded on money, shitty father, at least I missed out on the shit sister. Honestly, man, just fucking drop her like hot coal and follow your gut. And let it come from someone who's fucked around a lot to get distracted, if you wanted to bone her in that bath then you're into her."

"I -" Jaime goes red in the face, finishes the drink, "it's not like it ever happened with anyone else before, it was a mistake, most likely -"

Damon gives him a look that looks halfway worried.

Tony thinks he just matched it, except even more worried.

"My vampire friend," he says, "are you thinking what I am thinking?"

"I'm afraid so," Damon says, and then looks back at Jaime. "Newsflash," he goes on, "if you get hard looking at a naked woman most likely you find her attractive. Also, you can find more than one person attractive in your life. And let it come from someone who's been there in the sense that I thought I could only love fucking Katherine, you really don't want to keep on doing it."

"I didn't say I wasn't done with Cersei," Jaime replies, somewhat weakly.

"Good," the two of them reply at the same time, and Tony has to snort.

"Look at that," he says, "for once I'm the one with the healthiest relationship history sitting at a table. Who'd have thought?"

"Fuck this," Damon says, "I'm getting more bourbon."

"Please," Jaime says, and - well. Seems like when Bruce comes to collect him, Tony won't be sober.

--

"Wait," Jaime says, "wait, wait, wait, she possessed your girlfriend?"

"Yeah, well, as if," Damon shrugs, "honestly, sometimes I think I should have just run away to New York after deserting."

"You deserted what?" Tony asks.

"The fucking confederacy," Damon shrugs. "Well, what are you staring about? I'm a vampire, I've been around ages, I'm from fucking middleofnowhere Virginia, you think I got drafted with the unionists? But I disagreed and I hated it and I never wanted to go, so I fucking deserted. I hope you aren't here judging me, or -"

"Please, I used to build weapons for the army and stopped when I realized it wasn't what I wanted to be, and honestly, that just means you have a conscience, so -"

"Wait, you did what," Jaime says.

"Deserted. An army. Back in the day. Risked my neck for it, and I came back and met Katherine and honestly I should have just gone North, but -"

"Hm," Jaime says, drinking, and then - "you don't regret it?"

"No," Damon says at once, "best decision I ever took. Why, you want to do that, too?"

"Sure he wants to," Tony says when Jaime doesn't immediately reply. "Let me guess, not just your army. You want to desert the whole shebang, don't you?"

"I don't know what a fucking shebang is, but yes. So what?"

"Well, if you want my been there done that advice, do that," Damon shrugs. "From what it sounds like, your entire world is collapsing because of zombies anyway, what do you have to lose? Your sister? You're better fucking off without."

Jaime stares down at the glass, then knocks it down. "Can I have another?"

"Sure," Damon says, and generously tips it.

--

"So what," Tony says, "now that your best friend you had a thing with while your girlfriend was with your brother is back to life you're having trouble adjusting?"

"She also hadn't been possessed by my murderous ex until then," Damon shrugs.

Jaime just looks at them, then drinks some more. "Who am I to judge on that anyway," he says, "but that sounds like a lot of work."

"You wouldn't believe," Damon shrugs, knocking down some more of his bourbon. "Never mind that Stefan won't get over brooding instead of fessing up to the girl he is in love with now, but it's not like I hadn't expected it."

"Tell him to," Jaime says at once. "I let my father fuck things up for my brother once and I hate that I ever did, just - don't."

"This is getting fucking eerie," Damon says.

Tony, who is currently feeling very thankful he doesn't have siblings, takes another sip. Then -

"Man, if it's complicated just date the both of them. If they both like you and aren't the kind of super monogamous people that can't handle a threesome once in a while, they won't have a problem."

"... And what do you know?"

He shrug. "Well," he says, "my steady girlfriend was in front of my eyes for years. Took us a while to get over ourselves. The guy I was doing drunk science with, well. Was an instant hit and I didn't let myself drag it in the centuries and guess what, we have a nice lovely arrangement where I'm with both of them, they commiserate about how much of an idiot I can be and sometimes we all occasionally have sex. It's grand. You should try it."

And I really hope Bruce shows up soon.

"Huh," Damon says, "maybe it has merit. For me. Not for you."

Jaime sputters. "I said nothing!"

"You shouldn't even think about threesomes. I can see it in your face you're not the type. And certainly not including your sister."

"Fuck you," Jaime replies without meaning it, "I was not considering that." Huh. Now he sounds offended Damon implied it. Maybe he really will fess up to the other one when he's back.

"Then it means this enlightening talk has enlightened you," Tony grins. "Mind telling us more about that hand?"

"And why?"

Tony shrugs. It's not like he doesn't have time to waste. "What if I could help you with that thing?" He says, nodding towards Jaime's stump, and then - well. Time to test if he can summon the armor here, too.

--

"God," Damon says a while later, "I'll have to compel that poor bartender so hard, but fuck this is something."

Sure it is, Tony grins. "Hey, I managed to fuck with quantum reality, I'm not the first idiot that passes by."

"Seven Hells," Jaime says, "I have no idea what it is you're putting on me but if it works half as well as that thing you have, I'm going to show back up in King's Landing just to show my sister who has the useless hand now. If she didn't get herself killed."

"Well, now that is one reason I could approve of," Tony laughs, "and don't fucking move."

Sure, building a prothesis from the rests of whatever nonfunctioning electronics the bartender had lying around is... somewhat a challenge, but as stated, he has time to waste and it's not like he's wanted anywhere soon.

"By the way," Damon says as he watches him tinker around with the toolkit he found him in the backroom, "do you need advice in the whole I fucked up and want my brother to forgive me department?"

"What if I do?" Jaime replies through his teeth. "Because now that would distract me from how much this entire thing is fucking hurting."

The more they talk while he tinkers, the more Tony decides he's absolutely glad he was an only child and that his father only fucked one son up.

--

"You're doing this while not even being fucking sober?" Damon knocks back more bourbon. "You sure you don't wanna stay here and turn into an immortal? You'd be useful."

"Thanks but I like my life as it is," Tony snorts. "But if you need tech tinkered with, you can ask while I'm here."

Jaime is just staring at the steel-colored hand coming to life while Tony puts piece after piece together, his throat working up and down.

He drinks some more. "Fuck, if only I had such a thing when I realized what the fuck Aerys had turned into."

"Wait, who's Aerys now?" Damon asks.

--

He hadn't told them that part in detail.

When he's done and Tony is at the fourth finger, he kind of wants to hurl, but mostly -

"Do we really have to stay here," Damon says, "or you think we could sneak him to a VA? I can compel them to just hear that he's talking about Vietnam or something."

"He's not old enough for Vietnam, but you know what, I think we could risk that."

"What in the Seven Hells is a VA?"

"Someone I really could have used in the nineteenth century," Damon sighs, and then just as Tony moves to the last finger -

"Tony, what the hell is this?"

--

Turns out, where Bruce comes from it took him two days to figure this out. He also immediately spots three different improvements Tony could do to that hand, and when he hears the entire shebang he raises his hands and says that he can send Jaime right back when he left at any point and he and Tony, too, but he supposes that if they want to compel the VA before they leave it's not like he's in a hurry, and wait, vampires?

Damon ends up asking him if the threesome thing is really working out as well as Tony says.

While he does, Tony manages the finishing touches on the sort-of-steel-and-iron-hand he cobbled up together, and thank fuck Bruce showed up because he had been the one studying how Barnes's arm worked, back in the day, and gave Tony the pointer he needed to make sure the entire thing was... well, connected to the nervous system without needing to rip Jaime's wrist open.

"Right," he says, "try to move the fingers."

Jaime holds them in a fist.

It works.

"Seven fucking hells -"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm a genius. Just keep it out of too many lines of fire, but if you're from the middle ages it should withstand most stuff. You're welcome. And go french that knight of yours instead of waiting, really."

"I think in between him and you, you've made a case. Uh, thank you, I -"

"Nonsense, I was the reason you're here, I might as well have helped out. Hey," he says, "so, what about a last round before we drag him to the VA and Bruce here settles everything?"

"I'm so down for it," Damon says.

"Do I even have a choice," Bruce groans, but then he does sit down at the same table and lets Tony fill his glass.

"Oh, don't look like that," Tony says, "after all I didn't destroy the universe and made some friends, it could have gone worse."

"Wouldn't know about that, but I could have done worse, too," Damon says, and orders more bourbon.

"I sure as the fucking Seven Hells will never manage to explain this to anyone," Jaime says, "but I guess I'm not too disappointed, either."

"Tony," Bruce groans, "did you manage to somehow end up with two people with - never mind. Of course you did. We're never doing drunk science again, hear me?"

"Maybe so," Tony agrees, though... well.

Maybe he will want to check on them, once in a while.

But he can think about how to convince Bruce to make sure they can later.

For now, he'll enjoy his last round.

[yourfinalbow]

Ack anon I'm sorry. Tumblr ate your ask and I'm 🔪 But I saved your ask to put on the Google Doc so don't fret! I have it!

“Hi Ghastie Ghast, I wanted to share a prompt with you lol. I decided to go more holiday theme’d because it’s never too early to get into the holiday spirit.

“Your favorite winter drink was back on the menu, so I decided to surprise you with it.”

Please enjoy this prompt lmao”

The nickname made me -_- but hi Little Gray Circle Dude With Sunglasses! Thank you for sending me this! I had fun writing it. I'm assuming you wanted a Destiel fic, so that's what I wrote! (Also bonus points for Saileen as a background ship?) I sort of strayed a little from the prompt and the tone gets heavier as it goes on… 👀 I also accidentally wrote more than intended, so you can read it on Ao3 if that's easier. (And maybe give it a kudos because you’re the best?)

Title: Black Coffee Derangement Syndrome

Ship(s): Dean Winchester/Castiel, Sam Winchester/Eileen Leahy.

(Basic) Tags: Fluff, Slight Angst, Domesticity in the Men of Letters Bunker, Established Dean/Cas, Established Sam/Eileen, Using black coffee as a metaphor for hypermasculinity, With a whip cream style topping of internalized homophobia. *Finger guns.*

Warnings: Coffee gatekeeping and small sections of fluff that are as sweet as Cas’s Starbucks order. Also I’ve been to Starbucks once. Maybe twice? (Also a single mention of a drug that's commonly found as white powder, the non-descriptive comparison of Sam’s stupid health stuff with emesis, and use of the name that the figurehead for Germany in WW2 bore, just to be safe.)

Rating: T? Maybe? For language?

Word Count: 9k+

Quick thanks to my awesome beta @walksinstarllight! They are a poet and a writing sorcerer (wizard without a hat), and the only reason this fic even makes sense so please go shower them in kudos. (You can find their work here.)

Another thanks to @internetintroverts, who described a peppermint mocha to me in like 300 words because I drink black coffee and know nothing of anything ever. You can find their work here! (There's an Easter egg of one of their fics in this one hehe.)

The first thing Dean did when Cas got back from the Empty was give him coffee.

Okay no.

The first thing he did was fall into Cas’s arms and grip that stupid trenchcoat until his knuckles turned white. Shaking and laughing with hot tears streaming out of his eyes, he told him he was an asshole for leaving him like that. And to never, ever do it again. With blurry eyes and all other thoughts hazy, he told Cas he could have it, he could have what he wanted. Whatever he wanted. He told Cas he loved him too.

But then the next thing was coffee.

Caffeine is a hunter’s number one best friend, and since Cas was human again, Dean knew Sam was going to come at him with his stupid green health drinks and herbal tea. As Cas’s knight in shining armour, (a title used by Dean and Dean only), it was his duty to protect him from the disgustingly liquified rabbit food.

Now he expected Cas to like black coffee, you know, like a normal person.

But no, oh no. Apparently, he was dating a heathen.

Dean had to actually rub his eyes the first time he watched Cas fix his own coffee. He stood in the doorway of the kitchen, mouth agape.

Cas was leaning on the counter, humming some song that Dean could neither recognize, nor would he approve of, thank-you-very-much.

(Ok it was Champagne Problems by Taylor Swift and it's entirely possible he's listened to it once or twice but he still doesn't approve of it, thank-you-very-much.)

He held his yellow and black striped, bee-themed ceramic mug Eileen had bought him in one hand, and the entire five-pound bag of cane sugar in the other. And there he stood, happy as can be, pouring it directly into his mug.

Dean rubbed his eyes again.

And not even like, a normal amount either.

He just kept pouring, and pouring, and Oh my god he’s still pouring. Dean thought. It would honestly be more believable if it wasn’t sugar at all, and instead was in fact Cas’s secret stash of cocaine.

Dean might actually have to put sugar on the grocery list after he was finished.

His thoughts traveled back to Ishim doing the same thing with his coffee, in the tiny little diner Cas had set up as a meeting place. Dean had barged in that day, not thinking of his brother mocking him, or the possibility of danger inside. His vision was as tunneled as his thoughts  focused only on Cas, not caring about anything else.

By that time the following day, Dean thought they were both going to die. The bloody and uneven sigil on the wall, Cas no more than ten feet away. Not quite within a comforting reach. The room was spinning from the blow to his head, and he could barely make out the words being spat from Ishim’s mouth.

“You blast me away, you’ll blast away every angel in the room. I’ll survive. Castiel, on the other hand, he’s hurt. He might live, or he might just end up a bloody smear on the wall.”

He almost lost Cas that day.

The blood rushed to his ears as his instincts sought out the mark on the wall. Ishim had told him to roll the dice, but in his head he couldn’t look past the chance of rolling a one. Watching the acrylic cube bounce until it decided Cas’s fate. There was no dilemma, there wasn’t even a decision to be made. He would always choose Cas over himself. Silent acts of care he could never vocalize.

An inability to speak formed from fear and cowardice. Like a lion in his stomach scratching at the words until they fell back down his throat.

And it was that inability to speak that led Cas to think he was nothing more than a tool for the Winchester’s to use.

He almost let Cas believe he meant nothing to him.

Dean cleared his throat. “Mornin’ Sunshine.”

Cas set down the bag of sugar and picked up the pot, the glass making a small clink as it hit the top of the coffee maker. “Goodmorning Dean. Would you like any coffee?” He greeted cheerfully, turning around like he hadn't just put enough sugar to make a pound cake in his coffee.

“Uh.” Dean was still caught off-guard by Willie Wonka over there. “Sure Cas.” He took the coffee pot from his hand and muttered a thank you.

“So,” Cas started while Dean reached into the cabinet for his own mug. “What ingredient do you suggest I put in my coffee this morning?”

“Uh...I don't know man. I drink my coffee black.”

“Yes I know you’re boring Dean, but you can still help me not be.”

“Black coffee isn't boring it's-”

“Dean, if you say ‘manly,’ I will sit you down and make you eat only spinach and kale for a week.” Sam said, walking into the kitchen, hair still spiked up from sleep. He used one hand to sign the words, his other one occupied by Eileen, who was sleepily shuffling closely behind.

Dean looked aghast. “I would starve.” He attempted to sign his indignant response, hands moving sloppily while holding both his mug and the coffee pot.

“I think that's the point.” Eileen said, laughing. She looked at Cas. “Is Dean gatekeeping your coffee aspirations again?”

“Yes.” He answered, ignoring Sam’s laugh and Dean’s huff of exaggerated outrage.

“Have you tried cinnamon?” Sam suggested. “You like Dean’s apple pie, and that has cinnamon in it.”

“I’m not so sure about that, Sam. Dean told me not to ever take cooking advice from you.“

“And I stand by that.” Dean interjected suddenly.

“I can cook!”

“Ehhh…” Eileen’s comment bought her a look of betrayal. “Though Sam may be right on this one, you might like it.” She shrugged.

“See.”

Cas pondered the thought for a moment. “Perhaps I will then.”

“Do we have nutmeg?” Eileen said, breaking away from Sam’s grip to check one of the cabinets. He walked to the other side of the kitchen, intending to look through the spice rack, knowing exactly what his girlfriend was getting at.

“You better not mess up my damn kitchen.” He said quickly. “Or you're organising them all next time.”

Sam rolled his eyes, knowing full well Dean would never let him organise the kitchen. Eileen looked through them, carefully turning the bottles around until the labels faced her. She pulled out the cinnamon and clove while she was looking for the nutmeg.

“Found it.” Sam called from the other side of the kitchen, walking over and putting a hand on Eileen’s shoulder.

“Thank you.” She said with a smile, grabbing the plastic spice jars.

She individually tossed each one to Cas. “Use these, it will taste like a pumpkin spice latte.”

“And don't forget the milk.” Sam added.

Cas scrambled to catch the spices, successfully grabbing two of them out of the air, the third one intercepted by Dean.

“What’s a pumpkin spice latte?” He looked at Eileen before snatching the bottle of cinnamon from Dean.

“It's a famous drink you can get at Starbucks.” Sam answered.

Cas tilted his head to the side and squinted at him. “What's a Starbucks?”

“You know, the coffee shop Alex and Patience drag Jody to all the time.” Dean said.

“I’m pretty sure Donna drags her there too.” Sam added. “Something about girl’s date night out.”

“The one Claire says is for ‘basic bitches’?” He lifted his hands, forming air quotes as he spoke.

“Yeah.” Dean answered, quietly laughing. “That's the one. She’s probably right, too.”

Cas carefully put the different spices in his coffee, eyeing the mug warily. His light brown coffee now had specs of...stuff in it.

(And unbeknownst to him, there was also a small pile of sugar at the bottom, the coffee so saturated it wouldn't dissolve any more.)

Eileen laughed at the look on his face. “It's good, I promise.”

Sam turned to look at her. “How would you know? Most of the time you get hot chocolate and spike it with bourbon.”

“You’re the one who gets a Pink Drink.”

Dean choked on his coffee. “What?”

“It's strawberry and coconut milk, and it's delicious.”

“Sure it is Sam.” Eileen jabbed.

“So what I'm getting here is that not only have you two been to Starbucks often enough to have a regular order, but Sam gets something called a ‘Pink Drink’?”

“No…” Sam started, trying to find a way to defend them. “Sometimes we…”

“...Make our own drinks.” Eileen snapped her fingers as she finished for him, attempting to save them from the endless stream of good-natured insults Dean would throw at them otherwise.

“Well you two are a real Martha Stewart, aren't you?”

“Yeah, except she's a convicted criminal.” Sam attempted to snark back.

“So are you!”

Before either of them could respond, Cas shoved his mug into Dean's face. “You have to try this, Dean. It tastes like pumpkin pie.”

Dean carefully grabbed the hot mug from Cas and took a sip. He was right, it did taste kinda like pumpkin pie. He took another sip, letting the pleasant flavor sit on his tongue. The different spices mixed perfectly together.

“I mean it's… okay.” He lied.

Dean contemplated his pumpkin themed food options. “Though I would rather just have pumpkin pie.”

Cas took his mug back. “Fine. More for me.” He said with a smirk, mimicking the look Dean gives him every time Cas says he doesn't want anymore bacon, before taking another sip of the makeshift pumpkin spice coffee.

Dean smiled at him, setting his own mug down and moving Cas’s out of the way to pull him into a kiss. He could smell the nutmeg almost as much as he could taste the cinnamon on his lips.

“Mmm we should bake pumpkin pie tonight.” He said, pulling away just enough so he could talk.

“I would like that.” Cas answered. “All four of us could make pie. According to the 'mom blogs', as you call them, it would be a good family bonding exercise.”

“That’s right. And if they want any pie, they gotta help make it. That means more for us if they refuse.” He grinned.

“A win-win situation, really.” Cas smiled before tugging Dean close so their lips met again.

“I love you.” Dean muttered.

“I love you too.” Cas said softly.

Behind their backs Sam and Eileen were fake-gagging at their sickly sweet interaction, but secretly just glad the two of them had finally gotten over their stubborn (and oblivious) selves.

Sam was honestly overjoyed to see his brother finally happy. He would even go as far as saying finally willing to be himself, too. (Not that he would ever say this outloud. Sam can practically see Dean’s eyes roll farther back into his head than should be possible at the words.) All four of them had gone through more shit in the last few months than any normal person would in their entire life. They were all just lucky to be alive, and with that, learning how to savour the little moments of overly sweet normalcy.

(And the pumpkin spice-life Dean had secretly been longing for since they were little kids.)

So of course they were going to help bake pie.

---

“I want to try Starbucks.” Cas said the next morning, both of them still in bed.

Dean groaned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Can I ask why, or is this one of those, 'I'll tell you later’ disasters like with the slime ingredients?”

“I want to try all the human things that I didn't get to try last time.” He said offhandedly.

Dean pictured Cas’s hurt face when he had told him he couldn’t stay, smile broken as Dean’s own heart shattered from the look the newly-human angel was giving him.

He wanted to tell him it was going to be okay, that Cas himself wasn’t the reason, but the lion in his stomach clawed the words down faster than even the thought of ruining Sam’s chances at survival could.

With a pang of guilt from the memory, Dean pulled himself closer to Cas and rested his head on the other man’s chest. He wrapped his arms around him, trying to preserve as much warmth and comfort as he could until they had to inevitably get out of bed. “Only if you let me sleep like this for thirty more minutes.”

Cas smiled. “Oh, are we making deals now?”

“I’d sell my soul for you.” Dean said cheekily, which earned a glare from Cas. “Believe me, I know.”

After a beat he went on. “Fine, you have a deal.” Before Dean could celebrate by tugging the covers over their bodies, Cas added another clause to their agreement. “But... in true Crowley fashion, you have to seal the deal with a kiss.”

Dean lazily threw his arms into the air. “Victory.”

He turned over, pulling himself upwards until he was just inches from Cas. Cradling the angel-turned-Winchester’s head in his hands, Dean placed his lips on Cas’s, melting into the touch as he felt the other man’s arms wrap around his torso.

When he broke away from the kiss, Dean found himself face to face with the most beautiful smile he had ever laid eyes on, one born from adoration and love. Cas’s eyebrows were slightly scrunched up, but for once it wasn’t a sign of confusion when met with some obscure eighties rock reference. It was a tiny expression of care, and it was one that was truly Cas. Not Jimmy’s, not even one Cas had picked up from him or Sam. It was completely and wholly Cas, and a completely and wholly human thing to do.

He realized Cas had been doing that long before the Empty stole his grace.

Dean smiled back at him, relaxed. Like taking in a deep breath after being under murky water for forty years. He brushed a loose strand of soft, brown hair into its place, before falling back into his spot and closing his eyes. “Crowley would be proud.” He whispered with a soft laugh, smile deepening as Cas joined him.

When their quiet laughter died out, there was a pause, air stagnant and in its own sleepy haze

“Oh and Dean?”

“Hm?” Dean turned his head to look at him, eyes not failing to glow with their unusually bright, green pigment. He took a deep breath, the lids of his eyes already started to slowly fall back down again.

“The slime wasn't a disaster. You enjoyed it.”

“I did.” He muttered sleepily, a loose smile forming on his lips as he drifted off to sleep. Cas laid there, running his fingers through the other man’s hair, contentment and admiration showing itself in every feature on his face.

This was more than he could have ever wanted.

---

“Dean. Dean wake up.” Cas was excitedly whisper-shouting in his ear like a kid on Christmas morning. It was exactly thirty minutes later, (he had counted), and Cas was ready to get moving.

“No.” He answered back, mimicking Cas’s tone.

“But you’re like a cat.” He teased. “You're on me and I can't get up.”

Dean sighed. “I can't believe I let you talk me into this.”

“It didn't take much convincing.”

Dean rolled over to give Cas a playful glare, but was met with the saddest puppy dog eyes he had ever seen, completely throwing him off his guard.

“I'm going to kill Sam for teaching you that.”

Cas just continued to give him that look.

“Fine.” Dean relented, sitting up with a yawn and thinking about how he will now never be able to win another argument.

“Get dressed.” Cas said excitedly. “We're going to Starbucks.”

“Hooray.” He gave a sarcastic laugh, but a smile creeped on his lips.

They walked out of their room together, heading towards the bunker’s library. Dean slid in one of the chairs, turning Sam’s still-open laptop around and waking it up.

Cas, meanwhile, turned to a random page of the lore book resting on the table and started reading in an attempt to pass the time.

The sound of Dean typing filled the air. “So, I just looked it up, and do we have to go to Starbucks?”

“Yes.” Cas said simply, not looking up from the book.

Dean groaned. “Cas there isn't one in the county, let alone Lebanon. That's probably why Sam and Eileen make their own.”

“Where's the closest one?” Cas asked, his blinding, blue eyes glaring at the back of Sam’s computer like he was trying to will the coffee shop to be near.

“I thought it was across state lines and in Nebraska at first, but it looks like there's a small one in a town called Washington. It's about 80 miles from here.”

“Let's go!” Cas excitedly straightened his trenchcoat and headed towards the door.

“Or, we could leave Starbucks to the fourteen year old girls.”

Cas turned back around and rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m sure their entire demographic is fourteen year old girls, staff included.”

Alright, smartass. Dean thought, struggling to hide a smile.

Cas walked out the door, expecting Dean to follow.

“It takes an hour to get there, our coffee’s going to be cold by the time we get home, and it's freezing outside.” Dean muttered under his breath, but he grabbed his keys off the table and stood up, willing to follow Cas to the ends of the earth if it meant he would stay with him.

Not that he was going to enjoy this trip. In fact, he was currently doing the opposite of enjoying, and they hadn’t even gotten into the car yet. Starbucks. Starbucks. Really, Cas? Of all the places he wanted to go, it had to be Starbucks. He couldn’t want to explore humanity through Target or something?

Even Claire wouldn’t be caught dead in that place, with all the frou-frou toppings, elaborate drink mixes, and colourful, drizzled syrup. The people who go to Starbucks are the kind of people who like coffee that doesn’t taste like coffee. Teenage girls who might as well just be drinking whip cream, and that was without considering the seasonal drinks they fawn over.

Seasonal drinks that shouldn’t legally be allowed to be referred to as coffee.

Dean couldn’t believe he ever agreed to this, but still, he begrudgingly followed.

---

Using the GPS on Cas’s phone, (Dean said his insane directional skills helped out too), they found the Starbucks relatively easily once they were in the little town.

They parked the Impala, and Dean looked at the modern building. The green lettering contrasted with the tan plaster walls, spelling “Starbucks.”

He heard Cas get out, his feet making a crunching noise as they hit the gravel, and watched from across the top of the car as he started towards the coffee shop. Dean looked at the building warily, reluctance painted on his face.

Cas was telling him some random fact about a bird he saw, but Dean could only think about his reputation that was about to shatter like a vase dropping on tile floor.

Reputation with who? He didn't know.

Well, he had a vague idea, but chose not to let his thoughts wander that far.

It was okay. This was fine. He could swallow his pride and-

“Ooh. The peppermint mocha looks good.” Cas was reading the limited edition drinks on the drive-thru menu as they traveled across the parking lot.

Dean was going to barf.

They walked into the building, immediately hit with the overwhelming smell of excessive amounts of flavoured syrup indoused coffee. Dean glanced around the well-lit building, taking note of the many different people there.

(He wasn’t about to have any black-eyed minions reporting his Starbucks order to a very judgmental Queen of Hell.)

Cas pushed Dean’s protesting body into the line, looking pleased with the many different options written on the menu overhead.

He enjoyed the small touch of Cas’s hands on his back, moving him forwards to the line, but was grateful Cas was careful not to let them linger there too long.

He was still wary about doing… this, in public.

He knew Cas was patiently waiting for him to be ready, so he didn't know how to tell him that he might never be.

The teenager working the cash register interrupted his train of thought. “What will it be for ya?”

“I would like a peppermint mocha please.”

“Alrighty. And you?”

“I'll take just a black coffee.”

The barista looked unimpressed. “And your names?”

Dean grinned. “John and John.”

“No relation.” Cas added.

The barista just sighed. “How do you want me to differentiate the two of ‘em then?”

“Oh you can put ‘John Bonham’ on mine.” Dean replied.

“Comin’ right up.” Their tone didn't change, still just full of apathy that could only be perfected by the work of a burnt-out teenager.

Dean and Cas walked down to the end of the counter and towards the pickup section. “Now tell me, Castiel.” He stressed his partner’s name. “Who’s John Bonham?”

Cas sighed, but the corner of his mouth upturned in a grin. “John Henry Bohnham, affectionately referred to as ‘Bonzo’, born in 1948 and was most well known for being the drummer of the rock band ‘Led Zeppelin’.”

“Mmm very close, but unfortunately you forgot the word ‘best’ in front of ‘rock band.’” Dean smirked before leaning in for a chaste kiss.

“You should have said I was ‘John Bon Jovi.’” Cas said, smiling.

“Why? Because you’re only good at this sometimes?” Dean closed the gap between them.

As soon as their lips met, Dean pulled away instinctively, realization hitting him like a hunter with a bat as his eyes widened in terror. “I-I'm sorry, I didn’t...” His words faltered as he looked around at the people sitting in the coffee shop, all of which were paying no mind to them.

He felt sick, guilt gnawing at him from a pit in his stomach.

“Hey, it's okay Dean. You know I'm perfectly fine with public displays of affection, and no one else even saw us. There's no need to apologize.”

“Yeah-h.” He said shakily. Before he could figure out who he was apologizing to, a voice from behind the counter called.

“I have an order for a mister ‘John’ and ‘John Bonham’.”

“That's us.” Dean spat the words out quickly, turning around to take them from the barista’s hand. He rushed out of the door, the small tinkling sound of the welcome bell and the blood rushing to his ears drowning out the sound of Cas’s call from behind.

He sat in the front seat of Baby, knowing he was being childish. Dean took a shaky breath and tried not to think about it.

About what the hell he was thinking, kissing Cas out in public like that. The judgemental eyes- black or not- that were watching. He thought about what his father would say, mind instantly going back to a moment in his childhood he has tried to forget since it happened, wondering where he went wrong.

About the time John had caught him and Lee, ignoring the weak excuses Dean was stuttering out. Skipping town faster than they had done in years.

About how the left side of his face had been a yellow-ish purple for weeks following, and the sore spot on his arm from where he caught the pavement as he flew towards it.

About how he had told Sam he just fell on a hunt. “Don't worry kid, you should have seen the vamp when I was done with him.” He swung his fist around in slow motion, pretending to punch an invisible enemy as his little brother giggled in childish bliss.

About how John never looked at him the same. The disgust in his eyes, harsh words on his lips.

About how he vowed to never disappoint his father like that again, and their joint hatred for that part of him. Sometimes it felt like the only thing they could agree on.

About how somewhere, somehow, he had decided Cas was different. That he somehow didn’t count, and that losing him hurt so much, was such an egregious pain, he wanted as much of Cas as he was allowed to have. And how that was something insurmountable stronger than the twisted, sick feeling John had placed in his gut.

He remembered something Cas had told him once: “Hatred isn’t a natural trait, Dean, it’s a learned one. A baby isn’t born with the ability to hate, it’s passed on from one broken soul to another. Love, love however. That’s something different altogether.”

Cas’s hand on his shoulder pulled Dean out of his thoughts. “Hey.” He said softly.

“Hey Cas.”

“I love you.” He got in the passenger's seat, taking his coffee from Dean’s still frozen hand.

“I love you too.” He whispered absentmindedly, staring straight ahead and seeing nothing but thoughts from the past. His mind fighting an internal battle, logic telling him that what he had with Cas wasn’t wrong, and even though everything from fate to God had tried to wedge itself between them, it was still the most right thing he had. And he knew that, but his dad’s drunken, booming voice echoed throughout his head, telling him that he was dirty. Telling him the Winchester men had no place for someone like him.

“You better stop that now, boy. Bad things happen to you when you’re weak.”

At the time he had taken that as a warning, rather than a threat. But now Dean wasn’t so sure.

It’s not even that his Dad was particularly religious. He wasn’t told that it was a sin, or that he was going to Hell. Though it’s not like that particular statement would have been wrong. He thought with a bitter laugh.

While the thoughts in his head were screaming mercilessly, the drive home was in a simple silence. The only noise being Cas’s occasional sip, and the sound of soft fabric rubbing against skin as Cas moved his hand in small, comforting motions against Dean's back.

When they got to the bunker, Cas, who was genuinely impressed that Dean managed to drive them home without crashing into a tree, pulled Dean out of the car and gently shook him out of his self-imposed stupor.

“Your coffee's cold.” Cas said with a laugh.

Dean blinked a couple times, clearing the fog from his mind, before laughing along with him. “And who’s fault is that? You were the one who insisted on traveling across the state to get it.”

“Do you want some of mine?” Cas asked. “There's a little bit left, and I held it next to the heater. It should still be lukewarm.”

“No thanks, Cas. I can go make some in the kitchen.”

“But what if I want you to try it?” Dean glared at him. “Don't make me do Sam’s ‘puppy dog eyes’ again.”

“Okay, okay. You win.” He put his hands up, mimicking a surrender. “I'll try some of your stupid, Christmas cookie, candy-cane flavoured coffee thing or whatever.” They started walking towards the entrance to the bunker.

“Peppermint mocha?”

“That's the one.”

Cas laughed at him.

“Oh just, give it here.” Dean said. He took a long sip from the disposable cup. He could taste a vague hint of whipped cream mixed in with the coffee, its light fluffy texture sticking to the last swallow of smooth liquid in the bottom of the cup. The chocolate and espresso rested on his tongue, and the peppermint was strong and refreshing. He took another sip.

“Does that face mean you like it?”

Dean looked at him guiltily. “No.” He opened the bunker’s door and started walking down the metal stairs.

“Yes you do.”

“No, I don't.”

“You took a second sip.”

Dean reached the bottom of the stairs first, and walked over to the War Room table to set both coffee cups and his keys down.

“So? I was trying to make sure I properly understood the flavour. Since when is that a crime?”

“You wanted to properly understand a flavour you didn't like?” Cas walked up to Dean and pulled the nearest chair out to sit down.

“What are you two arguing about this time?” Eileen asked from the library.

Cas clenched both of his hands into fists, putting the right one on top of the other. He made small, circular, stirring motions with his right hand. “Coffee.” He signed swiftly, movements fluid.

“Ah. That makes sense.” She spoke the words.

“What makes sense?” Sam asked, walking in from one of the hallways, making sure Eileen could see his lips before speaking.

“They're arguing over coffee again.”

Sam glanced at both of them, before his eyes reached the two cups on the War Room table.

“Wait a second… Dean?” He looked at his brother, before turning to face his best friend. “Cas?”

“Yes, Sam?” Cas answered.

“Did you two go to Starbucks?”

“I don't want to talk about it.” Dean grumbled.

“Yes, we did!” Cas sounded way too excited to be referring to coffee. “I got a peppermint mocha, and Dean tried some and liked it.”

“I did not.”

“I don't care what coffee you like, Dean. What I do care about is that you went all the way to Starbucks, and didn't bother to ask if we wanted to come.”

“Not cool Dean.” Eileen walked in, shaking her head and hiding a smile.

“I might have thought about buying you two drinks, but there was no way I was ordering yours with a straight face.” He looked at Sam. “And it's an hour away, they wouldn't have been hot or cold or whatever they're supposed to be by the time we got here.”

“Well then we'll just have to go back, all four of us.” Eileen put simply.

“It's an hour away.”

“We know.” Sam added.

“Let me say that again, in case you weren’t listening. It's an hour away. For coffee. That isn't even that good.”

“I beg to differ, Dean.” Cas said.

“Yeah I'm definitely with Cas on this one.” Eileen agreed while Sam nodded along.

“No. There's no way I'm getting back in Baby to drive all the way to Starbucks again.”

“Fine. We’ll go get our own.”

“With what car?” Dean said, very sure of himself.

Sam snatched Baby’s keys off the war room table, which in hindsight was probably something Dean should have expected.

“Let's hope Sam doesn't have too many shots of espresso.” Eileen said, faking concern. “I would hate for your baby to pay the price.”

“Fine. I'll drive you.” Dean grumbled while Eileen double fist-pumped her win.

Cas looked very pleased with the thought of getting to try more coffee.

---

They left shortly after, the drive over painful for everyone except Dean, who listened to the same four songs on repeat the entire hour.

(It’s their own fault, really.)

---

“Can we please listen to something other than Bob Seger on the trip home?” Sam complained as he slammed shut the door to Baby’s backseat.

“You’re just mad you didn’t get shotgun.” Dean said, closing his own door. “Besides, driver picks the music, everyone else shuts their cakehole.” Sam mouthed the words along with Dean, having heard the speech a million times before.

Eileen and Cas got out, neither one of them had any desire to input on their squabble, and were instead engaged in their own, quieter discussion.

Both brothers continued to argue until they walked into the Starbucks.

“Ah. There's the scent of overpriced coffee I missed.” Eileen joked as she took her first breath inside the building, using her hand to waft the smell towards her.

“What are you getting?” Cas asked Sam.

“I want my usual, and Eileen, what are you having?”

“Hot chocolate with espresso shots please. This place doesn't sell liquor.” She shook her head sadly and Sam laughed. “Good thing I brought my own.” She winked at them, opening her jacket just enough so they could see the inside pocket and showing off her flask.

“Oh, now that would be a Starbucks I would go to.” Dean said.

“You two wait in line.” Sam pointed to Cas and Dean. “We’ll save a table.”

Dean looked like he wanted to protest, but they walked away before he had the chance. Cas leaned over towards him. “Don't worry. I'll order Sam’s.” He very conspicuously winked.

Dean smiled at his attempts of regular human interaction, before over-the-top winking himself.

“Can you order for us? I need to talk to Sam about something.”

“Sure thing…” Cas had to think before finishing his sentence. “...buckaroo.”

Dean outwardly cringed. “Keep trying, you'll get there eventually.” He patted Cas on the back, which was slightly moving in a chuckle.

It was good to see Cas filled with so much simple joy. Face creased from laughter rather than stress, he seemed so much lighter. Happier. It was only a small sliver of what he deserved, but it was something. Maybe he could live with driving an hour to get what he assumed was half-decent coffee.

“What would you like?” Cas asked him, eyes still filled with a sparkle that only comes from gaining something you thought you lost.

“Uh.” He thought about it for a moment, almost considering branching out into the unexplored terrain that was the dark green menu with small, white text, before shuddering at the thought.

“I think I'll take that expensive black coffee I didn't get earlier.”

Dean was not going to turn into one of those people, if he had any say about it.

Cas walked into the line, leaving Dean to scan the room, furiously waving Sam over when his eyes found their booth.

“Sam.” He sounded like he was trying to whisper, but his volume raised far higher than that. The patron closest to Dean gave him a look before turning back to their work.

“Sam, come here, it's urgent.” His brother turned to look at him, rolling his eyes before getting out of the booth.

“What do you want?” He said once he reached Dean.

“Sam. Help. What do I do?”

“About what?”

“About what kind of coffee Cas is having.”

“Oh god, Dean let it go. He's not going to only ever drink black coffee. Contrary to popular belief, former angels do actually have souls.”

Dean ignored the implications that he didn't have a soul, too distracted by Cas. “But look.” He motioned his head towards where Cas was standing, next in line to order. “He’s eyeing the weird fruity drinks.”

“Dean. It's Cas. The man’s favorite food is PB&J. What did you expect him to have, taste?”

“Alright that's rich coming from mister Pinkity Drinkity or whatever the fuck.”

“You walked into a Starbucks and ordered black coffee, I don't think I'm the wrong one here.”

“Wait, wait. Shut up. Quiet.” He hit Sam on the shoulder in a childish attempt at getting him to stop talking so he could listen.

“Ow. That hurt.” Sam muttered, before turning to watch Cas, which Dean was already doing.

“I would like to try a…” Cas methodically scanned the menu again. “A ‘Passion Tango Iced Tea,’ please.” The barista took no mind to the excessive air quotes.

“It's not even coffee.” Dean said to Sam, clearly distraught. He turned to look back at Cas.

“And your name sir?”

“Lizzo.”

Dean threw his arms up into the air. “I can't believe this is the man I love.” His voice cracked like he was holding in tears of anguish from listening to Cas order.

Sam just rolled his eyes at the theatrics. Right, and he’s the dramatic one.

“Aw. You're in love.” Sam held his hands up, forming a heart and mocking his brother.

“Oh shut up. What are you, seven?”

“Is Cas your gay thing?”

“You shut your mo-”

“What are we gossiping about?” Eileen whispered, cutting Dean off and causing them both to jump.

“We're not gossiping.” Sam said indignantly.

“Sam started it.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

“This is where I call you two ‘asshats’, right?”

“It's ‘assbutt.’” Cas said, walking up to them and catching the tail end of their conversation. “And that's my line.”

Cas handed them each their drinks, before excitedly trying his own. He put the plastic cup up to his mouth, almost missing the straw. When he swallowed the cranberry-colored liquid, his face relaxed in pleasure.

“I know this one isn't coffee, but it's really good.”

“We didn't get coffee either.” Eileen said. “So don't worry, Dean's the odd man out here.”

Dean glared at her before trying his own coffee, and well, it was coffee. The point of buying expensive caffeine still went straight over his head.

The four of them went over to their thankfully-still-available booth and sat down. Dean and Cas sat on one side, both instinctively choosing the side that faced the door, with Sam and Eileen sliding into the seats directly across from them. They sat there, talking about nothing in particular, and certainly nothing of importance, before falling into the natural art of storytelling.

Aside from killing monsters, that’s what hunters did best. Sitting around and sharing stories. As tiring and dangerous as their lives were, some hunts were worth sharing exaggerated and hyperbolic versions of, especially over drinks.

Sam’s favourite story to tell changed every time, and one would almost be inclined to believe that most of it wasn't real, but the wildest parts also caused the most merriment. (Dean pretended he hadn’t witnessed the whole thing, sparing Sam by not telling the other two how it actually went down.)

Eileen shared of her time in Ireland. “Foreign country, foreign monsters.” She said with a wink, telling of creatures neither Sam nor Dean had even read about.

Dean’s favourite story to tell, aside from the fact that he killed Hitler, was the time he got to solve a mystery with everyone’s favorite talking dog. And yeah, all three of the people that sat at the table had heard both many times before, but that didn't matter, it was still enrapturing to hear them again.

Cas had millenniums to choose from, but always found the most interesting hunts to be the ones with the Winchesters. He also had many hilarious stories about his adventures with Crowley, but he was less fond of those.

“I remember once, Dean went on a hunt with Dad.” Sam started. “Nasty vampire, it got a hit or two on Dean. I think you guys went with another hunter. Young. About your age, actually. Uh…”

He snapped his fingers, trying to recall the name. “Lee. That's it.” Dean looked up from the coffee right as Sam said it. “Do you remember him?”

Something flashed in Dean’s eyes, but his brother didn't seem to notice.

Cas, who was used to admiring every minute detail of Dean's expression and posture, didn't miss the ever so slight, yet sharp, inhale. Or the way he swallowed before speaking, trying to clear the small lump from his throat.

Dean noticed too, internally rolling his eyes at his own reaction.

“Yeah it's been a while, but I remember him.” Dean was blatantly ignoring Cas’s burning stare from beside him, and the fact that he had stabbed Lee through the chest just last year.

Cas made sure no one was watching before gently placing a hand on Dean’s thigh. Knowing it would comfort him from both intuition and experience. Dean stiffened under the touch, but after realizing no one could see where Cas’s hand was, he visibly relaxed.

“What happened to him?” Eileen asked innocently.

“Oh uh, a hunt I think. Most of us go that way, I assume he was no different.” Technically Dean dealt the final blow, but it was the entrancing call of the monster, greed, and the life Lee and Dean had both secretly wanted, that caused his former-friend’s downfall in the end.

“Yeah.” Sam said solemnly, suddenly lost in his own thoughts, most of which were riddled with grief.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, letting the weight of their many losses wash over them like a tidal wave.

One made of espresso and milk rather than the rough waters of the sea.

---

The ride back was more manageable, Dean allowing them one song choice each, complete with a warning to pick wisely.

(They all very cheekily chose the songs they knew would bother Dean the most.)

---

Full on coffee, cookies Dean bought for them at Starbucks, and brimming with contentment, (as well as the fact that they spent half the day in the car), Cas suggested to Dean that they “hit the hay” as they stepped back into the bunker.

They laid there in silence, breathing in scents of comfort, coffee, and each other, until Cas eventually drifted off to sleep.

Dean, however, continued to lay there. Thinking.

He remembered the first solo case John sent him on.

Something curled inside his gut.

They had been two nuns, their fate a product of hate crime. Put to death for simply being themselves.

Dean didn't blame them for coming back as ghosts.

He remembered the words - ones he would soon learn were slurs - that John would spit out like acid.

Or offhandedly toss like they didn't bear enough weight to shatter the window of a person's self-image.

It had taken him almost forty years to realize that very same window inside of him was in sharp, jagged pieces. Cutting anyone and everyone who came near.

It had taken Cas dying to start picking them up again.

He turned to look at the man next to him, relaxed and blissfully sleeping. His chest moved up and down rhythmically, and Dean slowed his breath to match until he fell into a surprisingly peaceful slumber.

---

When Dean woke up, the other side of his bed was cold.

He didn't panic, knowing full well that Cas probably ran to the bathroom, or was pouring another mountain of sugar in his coffee.

Losing Cas again to the Empty had ripped him apart, but months of spending every night with his partner left him with less nightmares and waking in cold sweats then he had since before Hell.

Dean also learned that his own presence was enough to fight off the demons of solid, black goo that plagued Cas’s head at night.

He was finally starting to understand why life seemed to lose all meaning when Cas was gone, and from there he could slowly start to rebuild both of them.

Dean heard soft padding noises as socked feet walked down the hall, and there was a knock on the bedroom door. "S'your room too, Cas. You don't have to knock." He laughed, words slightly slurred from just waking up

Cas walked in, wielding two mugs of coffee and a proud look shining in his eyes. “I made us coffee.” He said triumphantly, handing one of the mugs to Dean.

“I put chocolate and peppermint in your coffee.”

Dean fake-gasped. “You monster. Ruining the integrity of my drink like that.”

“I'm a human, you ass.” Cas responded, a smile tugging at his lips. “Besides, I know you liked mine yesterday.”

“I did not.” He said, discontentedly crossing his arms. “I only drink coffee that's as black as my soul. Darker than the night sky. Hotter than the bunker’s computer when it overheats. As manly as-”

“Oh, just drink your damn coffee.”

“Fine.” He groused. “But I'm not enjoying it.”

Cas raised an eyebrow at him, before setting his mug on the bedside table and sitting down behind Dean. The bed creaked underneath him as he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist. “Is this why you and Sam never use umbrellas?” He joked.

Dean laughed.

Cas rested his head on the crook of Dean’s neck and whispered. “You know you don't have to pretend.”

“Pretend what?” Dean asked softly.

“You know.”

“That I don’t like flavoured coffee?” He said with a snort.

“Sort of.” Cas hugged him tighter. “No one’s going to think any less of you Dean. You’re allowed to like the things you like.”

“I know.” He resigned.

“John isn't here anymore.”

“I know.”

“I love you.”

“I know.” The words barely came out as a whisper, hot tears betraying Dean’s eyes as they silently leaked out and ran down his cheeks.

He tried to wipe the tears away, hearing his Dad’s voice in his head and knowing he was being stupid.

Dean couldn't help but think of himself as a small, living-room window, from an old, dilapidated house. Stained yellow with age. Cracking from wear.

He let the drumming of his Dad’s words in his head be drowned out by Cas’s voice.

He couldn't unwrap the fuzz from around him, so he didn't know what Cas was saying, ears seemingly filled with cotton. It was just the knowledge alone that he was there. That he was holding him and whispering comforting words into his ear. That even as a human he could heal Dean at his lowest points, and still see him as the brightest, strongest, soul.

You don't really know what a picture is going to be until it's done.

Maybe that window is a beautiful stained-glass portrait.

“Uh.” Dean cleared his throat. “What-what do you have?” He indicated Cas’s coffee by angling his head towards where it sat on the nightstand.

“I made iced coffee.”

Dean just looked at him, astounded, eyes widening. “You mean it’s not hot?”

“Yes, that's where the ‘iced’ in ‘iced coffee’ comes from.” He said very seriously.

They both sat in silence for the next hour, peacefully drinking their coffee and enjoying the presence of one another.

---

When they got out of bed and ventured into the rest of the bunker, they found Sam and Eileen in the library.

They were sitting in adjacent chairs, with Eileen laying her head on Sam’s shoulder and reaching for her water bottle on the table. They were reading a book together, but Eileen shook Sam indicating she had seen them walk in.

“Goodmorning.” She greeted cheerfully.

“Mornin’.” Dean pulled up a chair across from them, and watched as Cas did the same.

“What are you two reading?” Cas asked.

“The Men of Letters’s Bestiary.” Sam said.

Dean snorted. “Ah. Doing a little light reading are we?”

“We're thinking about filling in some of the pages.” Eileen added.

“Yeah, for all of the stuff they have here, it's surprisingly empty.” Sam continued flipping through some of the pages, most of which were blank.

“Heh. I should put you in that thing, Cas.”

Cas let out a laugh. “Right. Because I’m a good example of an angel.” The sarcasm was masking something else in his voice.

“If it makes you feel any better, you’ve always been my favourite angel.” Dean only realised how sappy he sounded after it came out of his mouth.

“Yeah, I’ve heard the rest of them are dicks.” Eileen added.

Cas smiled at that, seemingly back to normal.

“Right, well you three can do that, I'm off to the Dean Cave.”

“Or…” Sam started.

“We could go back to Starbucks.” Cas finished, nodding his head enthusiastically.

“Yeah... that's not where I was going with that, but I like where your head’s at, Cas. We should definitely go back.”

“Eileen?” He asked.

“Hell yeah.”

“Dean?”

Dean pressed his mouth into a thin line and glared at him. “Yes, sure, fine. But we're not making this a daily thing.”

“That's fair.” Cas agreed. “It's probably not very healthy.”

He went to grab his wallet and keys before Sam could start his speech on the nutritional value of green things, and Eileen snatched her water bottle off the library table as they all got up to leave.

---

Dean gave up on letting them choose the music after snickering and requesting “Friday” by Rebecca Black for the third time in a row.

(It wasn't even Friday?)

---

Dean stepped out and closed Baby’s door in the parking lot of Starbucks an hour later, kicking the loose pieces of gravel on the asphalt for the third time in two days.

“We might as well just live here.” He said, tone dripping with sarcasm.

“I wouldn't make that offer if I were you, Cas looks like he’d be totally on board.” Sam laughed.

Cas went and stood beside Dean as they started walking towards the building, smiling.

“What?” Dean asked, question genuine and free of all malice.

“Nothing.” Cas answered, smile not faltering.

His eyes revealed nothing but pure devotion for the man he was staring at. A silent promise, one without pressure, that he would be standing there, and Dean could take the leap anytime he wanted.

Dean was slowly inching towards the end of the diving board.

---

“I think I'll just drink my water.”

“Oh that's exciting.” Sam joked. “If I got you a lemon to go with it, would you be able to handle that?”

“Don't talk to me about my drink, when yours is a vivid green puke colour.”

“Hey, at least it actually has a colour. And a flavour at that.”

Dean couldn’t believe those words were coming from the same man who drinks exactly a hundred and one ounces of water a day. (Which, according to Sam, is the recommended amount for males, as stated by the Institute of Medicine.)

(Dean didn’t care.)

“Fine then.” She turned to look at Dean. “Get me the strongest thing on the menu.”

Dean laughed before turning to Cas. “Let's just go get in line before we suffer at the hands of the Leahy like Sam.”

Sam and Eileen went to look for a place where they could all sit again, playfully bickering the entire way.

While he was standing in line with Cas, Dean looked over at his brother, and found him and Eileen sitting at a small table in the corner.

Cas was still helping him learn ASL, so he caught parts of their conversation.

“If Jack is in every drop of rain, do you think he's in your water?” Sam signed, trying to contain his laughter.

Eileen pushed her water away with a look of disgust. “You’re lucky I love you.” She answered back.

“I know I am.”

He watched her silently laugh before turning back to look at Cas.

They really did have it good, didn't they?

“What are you ordering, Dean?”

Dean stood there silently, contemplating. He internally weighed his pros and cons, mind leaving the menu entirely. While there was still a lot of shit he had to work through, (shit he had been actively not working out his entire life), there wasn’t much of a decision to be made.

He would always choose Cas.

“You know what?” He reached out and grasped Cas’s hand firmly. “I was thinking about being less boring. What ingredients do you suggest I try?”

Cas smiled warmly, reaching the crinkled corners of his eyes. “They have a cinnamon flavoured one. That’ll be almost like apple pie.”

“Will it really?” Dean’s tone was dismissive, but there was a smile on his face.

“Yes, Sam told me.“

“Not that I trust Sam’s judgment, but okay, I think I’ll take one of those.”

“I'm going to have a real pumpkin spice latte this time.” Cas seemed very pleased with the aspect of buying something they could make it home, but Dean wasn't going to fault him for it.

The patron in front of them finished ordering, clearing the way for Cas and Dean. The barista from the first time they went caught sight of them and made a face. “Wait a minute. I think I know you two.”

“Yes, we came here yesterday.” Cas helped. “Well, we actually visited twice, but you weren't working the second time.”

“Right... John and John, how could I forget?”

“This time we're ordering for four though.”

“I would like a…” Dean squinted at the menu, looking for the cinnamon flavoured coffee. “‘Cinnamon Dolce Latte.’ And my devilishly handsome friend here will take the pumpkin spice version.”

“And what are the other two drinks and names?”

Dean whispered something in Cas’s ear. “I'll drink the coffee, but I won't budge on this one.”

“That's okay Dean, you’ll get there eventually.” He whispered back.

The barista looked unimpressed with them. Again.

Dean cleared his throat. “Ahem, sorry. The tall one with the stupidly long hair,” he pointed towards Sam, “is getting…” he trailed off before looking to Cas for help.

“I don't know, man. It was something sickly looking. Cold? Green? Possibly tea?”

“And Iced Green Tea Latte?” The barista suggested.

“That's the one. His name is Jimmy.”

“And the lovely lady sitting next to him would like the strongest drink you have. Her name is Robert.”

“Her name is Robert…?” He slowly pointed towards Eileen, sounding unsure of himself.

Or them.

“Yup.” Cas said.

Eileen gave a little wave from across the room.

He gritted his teeth in a very clearly fake smile. “Coming right up.”

They paid for their coffee and picked it up, taking the travel cups across the room and towards Sam and Eileen.

Cas took a sip from his pumpkin spice latte, gleefully smiling. “As much as I like trying different drinks, I think I might start just getting this one. It's my favourite.”

Sam leaned over to Dean, neither one taking their eyes off of Cas. “Should we tell him the drink is seasonal?” He glanced at Sam, before staring back at his partner, whose face was beaming like a literal ray of sunshine.

Dean’s face softened. “Nah. Let’s not ruin his moment.” He took a sip of his cinnamon coffee and damn, it was delicious.

Nothing at all like apple pie, but still delicious.

Cas walked over to him, making eye contact in a silent question. Dean nodded with a small smile, and Cas took his hand.

“I love you.” Cas whispered.

“I love you too.” He whispered back.

They didn’t whisper to hide, and it wasn't because he was ashamed. It was because that exchange was just for them.

Dean leaned in and softly kissed Cas.

Now that was to tell everyone in the shop that his devilishly handsome friend was spoken for.

Slowly, the sun would come out and shine through the stained-glass window, shadow portraying the picture of an angel.

And alright, fine, Dean could admit that he enjoyed the peppermint mocha.

He thought about it for a moment, before giving a light chuckle, realising something.

“What?” Cas asked, turning to look at him with a soft smile resting on his face.

“Nothing.” Dean whispered, squeezing Cas’s hand in his. He took a sip from his coffee, relishing in the warm and cozy flavour enrapturing his tongue.

He was only thinking that maybe, just maybe,

Cas had changed him too.

---

Bonus Epilogue:

Dean held the glass door open for the other three, and they all walked out onto the asphalt, laughing, and making their way towards Baby.

The street lamp overhead flickered, and all four of them froze.

“Did anyone happen to get the salted caramel macchiato?” Dean whispered.

---

-This fic on Ao3 (Kudos and comments would be greatly appreciated.)

-Writing Tag

-Ao3

-Request fics/drabbles/ficlets. (Please)

[shotsbyshae]

In the Dark

Warnings: Language

Words: 2.9k

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Fem!Reader

Summary: You only thought Ransom was an asshole, wait until you meet his family. Sequel to My Oh My & Trouble

Song: In the Dark by Camila Cabello

Thank you @hysteria87​ and @sagechanoafterdark​ for supporting me with this annoyingly lovable asshole.

*Spoiler free: no movie connections whatsoever.

I can see you’re scared of your emotions, I can see you’re hoping, you’re not hopeless.

“No.”

Your answer is quick, and Ransom flicks his eyes up at you over the top of his laptop screen, watching as you shake your head adamantly.

“Hell no.”

“Why not?” he questions, obviously annoyed by your quick response.

For the last two weeks your free time has been filled with his smug, arrogant ass. You’ve been fielding question after question on Steve’s life and maybe it’s selfish, but you just want a weekend to yourself.

You keep your attention on the towels your folding. They’re still warm – fresh from the dryer. “I – I have a date.”

“Since when?” he’s not convinced.

Glancing over you narrow your eyes at him before spotting your phone on the coffee table between the two of you. His gaze follows yours as you reach for the device, and he moves quickly, grabbing it before you do.

“What?” Ransom exclaims. “You going to swipe right on some random guy. Risk wasting your weekend on some asshole you don’t even know.” A sly smile crosses his face. “At least you know me.”

You glare at him for a moment, you’ve learned to never take anything at face value with Ransom, “What’s going on? Why even ask me? Don’t you have a little black book?”

There’s a sigh, his lips forming a thin line before he places your phone back on the table, “Granddad is the only one who knows what I’m doing, and I want to keep it that way. My parents are – difficult – to say the least.” He leans back in the chair and you can see a hint of anxiety there. “Granddad wants to meet you – the muse behind my idea. That’s what he calls you.”

You raise a curious eyebrow at him, “But if no one else knows what you’re doing, then who would your parents think I am?” He gives a half-smile and you shake your head again. “No.”

“It’s cliché, but –”

“Fuck no,” you reiterate. The thought of meeting Harlan Thrombey is one thing but having to pose as Ransom’s girlfriend is an entirely different story.

“Okay then,” he responds defeatedly before closing his laptop. “How about three?”

“Three what?”

“Three thousand.” A small snort of laughter escapes you, and Ransom smirks. “Did you just – snort?”

“My God,” you remark, standing up. “You don’t like being told no, do you?”

He tilts his head, the unimpressed look on his face is one you’ve seen before. Steve used to give you the same look when you’d question his authority or irk him in anyway. It’s a bit of a weakness for you and you hate yourself for it.

“Look it’s just one day,” Ransom says, absent-mindedly rubbing his earlobe between his thumb and forefinger – his tell. He’s really not wanting to go alone for some reason, which makes you curious. His voice is barely audible when he says the word, which is obviously foreign to him. “Please.”

You gather the towels with a sigh. “Make it five thousand.” A mischievous smile crosses your face. “And I’ll be your Julia Roberts – to an extent.”

There’s a boyish grin on his face as he nods in agreement, “Deal.”

***

The house is enormous, and you can’t help but feel in awe of it as you step out of the car. Adjusting the black skirt which you’d paired with tights and a wine-colored sweater, you can’t help but feel a little anxious about what you’ve gotten yourself into.

Approach it like a mission.

That’s the thought you keep you pushing through your mind. Hopefully like all weekends, this one will fly by and be over before you know it.

Ransom makes his way around the front of his car, offering his arm, “Shall we?” You glance from his arm to his face and roll your eyes dramatically before walking towards the house, leaving him standing by the car alone. “Well, this should be fun.” He mutters to himself as he strides quickly to catch up with you.

He opens the front door, and you step inside, the heels of your boots clicking audibly in the foyer. The house is warm – cozy – exactly as you expected it to be from the outside with it’s gothic décor. You begin to shrug off your coat, your back to the staircase in the corner when you hear the squeak of the wood from someone descending them.

“Your parents just called,” an older man’s voice states. “They’re running late.”

“With any luck I’ll miss them,” Ransom says dryly, taking your coat. You turn around with a smile as Ransom introduces the two of you.

“Well, a muse indeed,” Harlan says with a warm smile.

“It’s an honor to meet you Mr. Thrombey,” you say as he accepts the hand you offer him, kissing the top of your knuckles in a gentleman like fashion. “I’m a big fan or your work.”

Ransom cocks his head at you like a confused puppy, “Really?”

“Please,” he remarks. “Call me Harlan. Which is your favorite?”

“It’s a toss-up between The Needle Game and Drop in the Bucket,” you reply.

“You never told me that,” Ransom comments in confusion at your statement.

“And you never asked,” the response comes out a bit harsher than you intended.

He looks taken back with your statement, “Well – you want a drink? I need a drink.” Without waiting for your answer, he heads off into the library.

There’s a mischievous glint in the older man’s eyes as you glance back at him, “What?”

“It’s starting to make sense now,” Harlan comments, unable to contain his grin. “With a muse like you, I can understand why he’s spending all his time in New York.”

You fold your arms over your chest, “I don’t know what he told you, but we’re not –”

“I can tell,” the older man smirks.

***

“Five thousand huh?” Harlan questions as the two of you stand upstairs in his library, overlooking the banister to the rest of the library downstairs. “You took the money up front, right?”

“Of course, but I would have done it for the three,” you remark before turning the high ball glass of bourbon in your hand up. “Why did he want me to come?”

“Distraction I suppose. I mean – I love my daughter,” Harlan says with a sigh. “But she and Richard can be –” He trails off unsure of how to say it.

“Difficult,” you use the word Ransom used and the older man smiles.

“Exactly,” Harlan looks over the rail to see his grandson pouring himself another drink at the serving cart below.

‘You always have to be so difficult.’ Steve’s words echo through your mind and you say quietly, “So am I.”

“No my dear, you challenge him,” Harlan corrects you. “There’s a difference.”

The sound of the front door opening makes Ransom twist the top off the bottle and proceed to double up on the drink he just poured.

“Dad,” a woman’s voice calls out from the foyer.

“Showtime,” Harlan says as he lets you take another sip from your glass before he takes it from you. “Go, save him.”

You give a smile and a nod before you walk off.

“See, I told you,” Richard states to his wife as they walk into the library, seeing Ransom standing alone. “If it’s not a girl, what have you been up to in New York? Partying.”

“Hi Dad – Mom,” the man remarks before turning his glass up.

“What’s the excuse this time?” his father questions.

“Richard,” Linda begins to stop him.

“Did she have work? Does she even have a real job?” he says dismissively. “Or is she one of those – influencers?”

“I work for S.H.I.E.L.D.,” you state boldly from the bottom of the spiral staircase behind the pair. Listening to the man in front of you bullying his son irritates you something fierce. “You might have heard of them.”

The look of surprise on Linda and Richard’s faces is priceless as they turn to see you stride casually across to where Ransom stands. You try not to smirk as you take his glass from him, sipping it slowly as you step into his side. Your other hand slips around his waist instinctively as he carefully rests his hand on your lower back before he introduces you to his parents.

“Dad said you weren’t staying for dinner,” Linda comments after the introductions and Ransom glances up at his grandfather, who is still standing at the railing above.

“No,” he comments, unaware Harlan had given him the out. “We aren’t.”

“I have a work thing,” you almost sneer in Richard’s direction – tension between you obvious.

“Did you ever work with Iron Man?” the older man questions, obviously uncertain you’re telling the truth and you nod your head. “You know, I met Tony Stark once.” There’s a hint a maliciousness in his voice. “Not to speak ill of the dead, but he was prick.”

Without missing a beat, you smile sweetly, “Well, Tony always said it takes one to know one.”

Ransom nearly chokes on the bourbon he’s just took a sip of as Harlan erupts into laughter from upstairs.

Later you watch through the window as Ransom sits on the patio, Richard is standing in front of him, obviously reprimanding him for something. You wait until his father storms back into the house before you slip out the door, feeling Linda’s eyes following you.

“There is not enough alcohol in this house,” you say quietly as you move towards him. “Is she still watching me?”

Ransom’s eyes drift over to the window then back to you, “Like a hawk.”

You move to sit in his lap, causing him to shift uncomfortably as you lean against him, “She’s asked me so many questions.” You say quietly as you stare into the backyard watching the two dogs playing. “I’m surprised she didn’t ask for a blood sample.”  

“If Granddad’s nurse was here, she would have.”

“When you said difficult,” you lean back to look down at him, brushing your fingers through his hair. “I had no idea.”

“Rethinking your price?” Ransom remarks dryly.

“No,” you say, the corners of mouth hinting at a smile. “I really don’t like bullies.” Leaning back into him, you press your forehead against the base of his neck as you say quietly. “I would have done it for free.”

He laughs a little as his hand moves to rest on your knee, the heat radiating through your tights and onto your skin, causes your breath to catch slightly as he says, “I would have paid seven.”

There’s a moment of silence before you move to stand up. The comfortableness of the situation becoming a little too much for you, “We should probably get going.” He nods in agreement, following your lead.

“I’m telling you,” Richards voice echoes from the library. “There’s something going on here. A S.H.I.E.L.D. agent – really? I’m not buying it. That asshole is up to something.”

The audacity of the man baffles you, and Ransom tries to catch up as you storm into the library and over to where his father stands. You grab the collar of your sweater jerking it down, exposing your shoulder and the bright pink scar there.

“Six months ago, I was shot in Paris by an arms dealer,” you say angrily. “Because that’s my job.” Harlan stands up from his chair, watching the scene unfold. You turn to Ransom grabbing his sleeve and tugging it.

“I don’t –” he looks down at you, but can see the rage in your eyes and he sighs before he pulls his arm from the sleeve, allowing you to move the sweater over his shoulder as you push the sleeve of his undershirt up, exposing the fresh scar there.

“Ransom what is that?” Linda questions her son, concern on her face.

“That’s from a bullet,” you answer for him. “You know what kind of person takes a bullet for someone else?” You ask rhetorically. “Someone with a good heart and how he got that, living in such a toxic environment, is beyond me.” Harlan can’t hide the smile on his face as Ransom eases his arm back into his sweater sleeve. “So – in my book – you’re the asshole.” Richard stands there, shell shocked as you glance past them to Harlan. “Sorry Harlan, it was great meeting you.”

“Pleasure was mine dear,” he nods as you turn to storm out of the library.

Ransom gives a cocky smile as he waves before he turns to follow after you, watching you grab your coat before you open the door and head outside. He has to jog to catch up with you, his hand reaching for the passenger door before you can.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he comments quietly, watching your nostrils flare slightly as you try to steady your breathing.

“Someone needed to,” you reply as he opens the door.

Once he climbs into the driver seat, he sits there for a moment before saying, “Thank you.”

“Oh, I’ll also be taking the master tonight,” you remark with a smirk.

He laughs as he starts the car, “Of course you will.”

***

Once inside Ransom’s house you head straight for the kitchen, looking through the refrigerator first before nosily pulling open the drawer for the freezer.

“Well, well, well,” you comment to yourself, grabbing the pint of ice cream.

“If you’re hungry, we could order in,” Ransom says walking in behind. “Or go out.”

“This will work,” you say, producing the container. “I didn’t take you for a cookies and cream kind of guy.”

“You never asked,” he grins, watching you search for a spoon. “Left drawer.” You open the one he’s talking about and pull out two spoons. “Thank you again – for today.”

“You’re welcome,” you remove the top from the pint and hand Ransom a spoon.

“You really stepped up,” he remarks. “Played your part quiet well.”

Scooping up some ice cream casually, you say, “You realize undercover work is part of my job.” He watches you curiously as you slip the spoon from your mouth.

“What’s the most fun?” he looks intrigued. “Role that you’ve had to play?”

Thinking for a moment as he slips a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth you finally answer, “Housewife. For over a week.”

“Really? With who?”

“That’s classified,” you say with a smirk causing him to laugh. Looking down at the pint of ice cream a thought strikes you. “Got any vodka?” He moves to a cabinet producing the bottle you asked for and watches as you go to the refrigerator. “Glasses too, please.” Ransom grabs those as well and leans against the counter as you begin measuring out the liquor and scooping ice cream into each glass, followed by milk.

Ransom walks past you to open another drawer, pulling out two straws as you finish stirring up the drinks. He takes the glass you offer him, placing a straw in it and yours before taking a sip. His eyebrows shoot up as he tries the milkshake. “This is – good.”

“Of course it is,” you respond.

Three shakes later and you’re giggling at Ransom telling you the story of last Thanksgiving with his family. “It was nothing compared to today though.” He looks over at you, the fireplace in front illuminating both your faces. “You were great – thank you.”

“That’s the third time you’ve said that,” you remark jokingly. “Is ‘thank you’ a new phrase for you?”

Watching him look at the fire almost reminiscently as you place your glass on the small table between you. His voice is barely audible when he responds, “What you did for me – that was new.”

“I can see that,” you reply quietly, knowing that growing up with his family couldn’t have been easy. “I should call it a night.”

“Straight up the stairs, end of the hall,” Ransom says nodding towards the staircase. You stand up slowly, feeling slightly lightheaded from the vodka as you head for the stairs. “Hey.” He calls and you stop, turning to look at him. “That mission – the classified one.” Glancing up at you with that sincerity that you’ve caught a glimpse of before, he continues. “It was Rogers, wasn’t it?”

You give him a small grin, “Night Ransom.”

He waits until you’re upstairs and the bedroom door closes before he pulls his phone from his pocket, opening the application with several saved recordings. The first one is listed:

Agent S. Wilson, Phone Interview

He slides the bar forward a few minutes with his finger before he presses play and Sam’s voice comes through the phone speaker.

‘She and Steve, that relationship was – complicated. They loved each other though, in their own way.’

‘How would you describe her?’ Ransom’s voice comes across the device.

‘She’s one of a kind. I’ve seen her defy direct orders to save a friend. She’s loyal – bossy – but she’ll do anything for those she cares about,’ Sam’s words sound thoughtful. ‘I’m proud to call her a friend.’

Ransom had gotten a glimpse today of what Wilson had been talking about. You were relentless in your defense of him, something no one has ever done. He was glad he had invited you along. He had originally wanted to show his parents he could date someone smart – driven – but you had proven so much more than that in the short time you’d spent with them. He had seen that fire in your eyes, which led to the nagging question in the back of his mind – why?

Was that confidence – passion – in your eyes when you spoke of him meant for him, or for the man he reminds you of?

[johnnydoe69]

Beware the Evil Eye

In the peaceful twilight on the island of Euboea, a bright yellow Hummer sped down the road leading to a grand villa, Eurotrash music blasting over the speakers. 

Kosmas watched this from the front windows and sighed. The clouds of dust kicked up by the Hummer were dirtying the grapes that grew on both sides of the road. 

When the Hummer loomed from only a few miles away, Kosmas rang the service bell. At once, four other servants crowded into the foyer. 

A nervous electricity rippled between them as everyone got into position.

“You better not fuck this up,” Giorgos hissed from behind. 

Kosmas flipped Girogos a warm and comforting smile, “Oh, don’t be pessimistic. It’s always been harder to keep that boy in his clothes, rather than out. I’ll have that nazar in the palm of my hand within the hour.”

Behind his confident grin and laidback tone, however, Kosmas had his doubts. In all his years working for his grandmother, Kosmas had never seen Paul take off his nazar. It was a protective amulet meant to ward off the evil eye- spiteful magic aimed to target sources of envy and disgust- and it directly prohibited Kosmas from using his magic on him. 

If Kosmas couldn’t convince Paul to take it off from around his neck, or at least sneak it off without him noticing, there was little chance he could take it by force. The man was built like a dump truck and would break him in half if he was seen as a possible threat. With little other choice, but to go forward, Kosmas took a deep breath and opened the foyer doors. The five of them quickly trotted out the front door and down the marble staircase leading into the driveway. 

    By the time they reached the last few steps, Paul’s truck had come to a complete stop, a few feet away from the steps.

    For a few seconds no one moved. Even from inside the massive vehicle, Kosmas could see the dark blue energy radiating from underneath Paul’s tank top. 

Kosmas immediately began to sweat and had to dab himself with a handkerchief before Giorgos nudged him from behind. Paul was glaring at them from the Hummer.

    Remembering himself, Kosmas quickly ran to the driver’s side door and opened it. Paul came out with a thud, his massive feet stomping into the dirt. 

Walking back around the car he came before the servants,     a scowl prominently on his face, but before Paul could yell at them Kosmas interjected.

    “Paul, it’s so good to see you,” Kosmas exclaimed, a smile plastered on his face.

    “It’s good to see you too,” Paul said, lazily, striding past him.

    Paul turned his attention to Girgos and threw his car keys at the massive man’s chest.    

“Put this in the garage after the others get my bags. Kosmas, follow,” he ordered, walking past them and ascending the stairs.

Kosmas looked to the others for one last bit of assurance, but they had already moved on to taking care of Paul’s possessions, their backs turned to him.  

    Seeing that Paul had already made his way up several steps, Kosmas sprinted after him.     “How was New York?” Kosmas asked, panting.

    “Miserable. I was trapped on the Upper East side for six months with nothing to do but work from home and exercise in my private gym,” Paul said, glumbly. 

    “Have you tried reaching out to Dimitri and Lysandros?” Kosmas asked, trying not to trip as he shared Paul’s massive strides up the steps. “I remember you telling me about how you always had the best workouts together.”

    Paul grunted approvingly, “We did, but everyone’s too afraid to go anywhere. Lysandros promised he’d swing by Greece after his visit to the Caribbean, but that’s in two weeks. Now, look at these biceps, do you think my body can wait another two weeks?”

    Paul paused on the staircase and flexed inches from Kosmas’s face. Thick blue veins popped out from underneath his pale skin and stretched over his cannonball bicep. 

“This arm used to be at least three inches larger. I was practically wasting away back there,” Paul said.

In the past, Kosmas would have been weak at the sight of Paul’s raw muscle in his face, but he couldn’t let himself get distracted.

“What about the private gym you said you had at home?” Kosmas asked, trying not to let his annoyance show.

“Pft, I barely had any weights. I only had a treadmill and bowflex to keep me together.” Paul said, as they resumed their climb.

“Well, I’m sure you won’t have any problem maintaining a pump here. Your grandmother had the whole basement refurbished into a private gym for your arrival,” Kosmas said, sweating profusely through his white linen shirt. 

They reached the top of the stairs shortly after, Kosmas having to lean over and take a quick breath, while Paul beamed down at him without a drop of sweat on his body. 

“Some things never change, right, Kosmas?” Paul asked, slapping Kosmas hard on the back.

“Yes, of course,” Kosmas wheezed, balling his hands into tight fists. 

Paul left him there as he journeyed inside, while Kosmas once he collected himself and un-balled his fists followed behind. 

“So where is Evita anyway?”  Paul asked when Kosmas entered the foyer, taking off his baseball cap to scan the balcony above them. 

    “She had some business to attend to in Athens, but she told me to offer you the warmest greeting in her absence. She should be home by morning,” Kosmas said, still panting a little.

    Paul nodded and without another word strode into the lounge. Kosmas rushed ahead of him and quickly started getting together a bottle of bourbon and shot glasses.

    “What’s this, Kosmas? If this is from Evita’s private stash she’ll have Giorgos beat you like last time,” Paul said, taking a shot when it was offered to him, and plopping himself down on the couch.

    “Don’t worry, Paul. I haven’t forgotten about last time.” Kosmas said, with a polite smile. It was only until recently that he recovered feeling in his toes and it still hurt to curl them.

“I bought this bourbon in advance for your return home.”

    The liquor in this case had been drugged, weakening both the protective power of the nazar and increasing Paul’s sex drive. Kosmas made sure not to drink any of it himself, he couldn’t allow himself to get twisted up by Paul’s influence. It was always hard to say no to the man as it was.

He poured Paul another glass and placed it in his pitcher’s mitt sized palm. 

Paul looked around, curiously, “shouldn’t there be more servants milling around? I’d hate to think that I would have to fetch my own meals.”

“Oh, it won’t come to that, the few servants who are left are more than capable of picking up the slack after your grandmother fired most of the staff,” Kosmas said, cheerily, dying a little inside as he sat down besides Paul.

    “Wow, covid really hitting everyone hard,” Paul said, stretching out his thick arms and legs, before resting against the back of the couch.

    “Most of my friends in New York had to lay off their serving staff too. Too much risk of infection and with the stock market the way it is, it doesn’t hurt to remove extra liabilities.” 

    Paul kicked up his legs on the coffee table, forcing Kosmas to work around him as he poured him another glass.

    “Did she fire your father, too?” Paul asked, glancing down at Kosmas’s bowed head.

    “Yes, she did,” Kosmas said, gritting his teeth, handing Paul the finished shot glass.

    “Wow, harsh,” Paul said, snatching the drink out of Kosmas’s hand and gulping it down.

    “And knowing Evita, I bet she’s not giving that old fuck his severance pay,” Paul said with a chuckle.

    The dark blue aura around Paul’s neck was fading and Kosmas could feel his own powers surging as Paul’s slowly declined. He was so close to taking Paul’s body he could taste the sweat dripping off him. Kosmas slowly inched over to Paul, leaning his arm behind the big man’s neck. He was going to enjoy this.

Just before he could grab it, Paul turned to him and with a serious look in his eyes asked, “And that good for nothing fisherman hasn’t been coming around, has he?” 

Kosmas shrank away from Paul. The idea of touching him, even to steal his body suddenly repulsed him. To keep his sanity, Kosmas had banished all thought of what had happened to Andros from his mind, and Paul had once promised him that the man would never come up again.

“No,” Kosmas said, weakly. “He died in prison. Covid.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Paul said, sliding his large vascular hand on Kosmas’s thigh. Kosmas felt his dick harden and he saw that even through his jeans Paul was full mast as well. 

“I know you think I’m cruel for what happened and I’m sorry you feel that way. But I did it because I love you Kosmas. I couldn’t stand anyone coming between us,” Paul said, kissing Kosmas lightly on the cheek.

“Don’t give me that. You have fucked every gay man from here to Istanbul. You just couldn’t handle me paying attention to someone that wasn’t you,” Kosmas said, bitterly. He poured himself a glass and choked it down. Fuck the plan, whatever was going to happen wasn’t going to happen with him sober. 

Paul frowned, and grabbed Kosmas by his chin, pulling him in close. His grip was strong and Kosmas was terrified the man might accidentally break his jaw. His hot breath was blowing in Kosmas’s face and he could smell the faint tinge of spearmint gum on his breath. 

“I can handle competition. What I couldn’t accept was that you would choose someone so beneath me as a rival for your affection. You easily could have picked any of my friends, any of the wealthy bachelors on the island and you picked filth scraped off the bottom of a boat?”

Kosmas glanced over at the nazar, its energy had nearly faded from around Paul’s neck. He reached for it as Paul shot him a carnivorous smile. 

“But it’s okay now, because we both know I’m the only man for you,” Paul whispered, grabbing Kosmas’s hand and placing it on the back of his neck. He leaned in and began kissing his neck, sending sharp electric pulses all up and down Kosmas’s body.

Kosmas, feeling his chance slipping away, but unwilling or unable to act, gave himself over to the pleasure of the enchanted booze and Paul’s embrace. 

Paul moved his hand off Kosmas’s chin and foisted the smaller man onto his lap. He ripped at Kosmas’s work shirt, buttons tearing off and bouncing to the floor. 

His dick shot through the fabric of his jeans, massaging Kosmas’s ass as he moaned. It had been years, since he was fucked by another man and as much as he hated him, he couldn’t stop himself.

“Wait. I don’t want the other servants to see,” Paul said, pulling away. 

“Then, let’s take it upstairs to your room,” Kosmas said, pulling playfully at the small strands of hair on Paul’s head.

Paul shoved Kosmas off him, nearly knocking him off the coffee table, before snatching him by the wrist and pulling him out of the lounge and up the stairs. 

They threw themselves into Paul’s bedroom and on his bed, kissing furiously and grabbing at each other. Paul briefly pulled away and threw off his tank top, his charm necklace now prominently displayed on his chest. But instead, of the menacing power it once had, the amulet was now powerless, all its energy being soaked into the enchanted booze that seeped out through Paul’s sweat. 

Feeling his power return to him came with a sense of lucidity as Kosmas tested out the control he had over Paul.

When Paul leaned in to rip the underwear off Kosmas’s legs he found that he could no longer move. Every muscle strained against him as his blood vessels contracted, leaving him terrified and utterly helpless. 

Kosmas overcome with his sense of success laughed at the display of the larger man hanging over him. He slid out from underneath him and traced a finger along Paul’s back feeling the many hills and ridges of his massive muscular frame.

Small, confused grunts escaped Paul’s lips as he tried to make sense of what was happening, so Kosmas decided to let the man speak. 

His body partially freed from Kosmas’s control, Paul panted and took a deep shuddering breath.

“What are you doing to me?” Paul asked, quietly, his breathing labored. 

    “Remember, when you told me that I was to be yours forever?” Kosmas asked, kicking his underwear to the floor.    

“In a way, I am going to be yours forever, just not in the way you thought,” Kosmas said. He got in the bed behind Paul, using his control over Paul’s body to make him shrug off his jeans, while he faced the headboard, unable to look back. 

    “For you see, in all our years together a resentment has been building. An intense hatred. You treated me as a plaything, because your family controlled my father’s paycheck. You hurt me whenever you wanted, fucked me whenever you wanted, and killed anyone that came in danger of severing your control of me.”

    After Paul pushed off his jeans, Kosmas decided to do the extra work of pulling Paul’s tight red jock strap off his ass. The soft fabric curled in his fingers as he pulled downwards, Paul whimpering slightly. 

    “I didn’t know he would die in there. It was a mistake,” Paul stammered, cowed probably for the only time in his life. 

    “That’s the fun bit about the magic of the evil eye, Paul. It doesn’t give a shit about accidents or circumstances,” Kosmas said, sliding the jockstrap out of Paul’s dick and ass before sliding it down his thighs. 

    “It only cares about outcomes. The outcome in this case being, the only man I’ve ever loved is dead because of you.” Kosmas said, calmly, throwing the underwear behind him.

    “So, to repay your earlier favor I’m taking your life because you stole mine,” Kosmas whispered into Paul’s ear as he rubbed his back.

    “Please, my grandmother will give you anything. Just don’t kill me,” Paul begged, tears sliding down his cheeks.

    “Oh don’t worry, you won’t die, not really. I’ll just be taking your body and your identity as my own. And don’t worry about Evita either, the other servants and I have big plans for her,” Kosmas said, plucking a baseball cap off the nightstand and placing it on Paul’s head.

Kosmas grinned. 

“There’s my favorite sports star,” he whispered, kissing Paul’s ear.   

    Paul said nothing as Kosmas gathered himself into trance, using the entirety of his magic to make his body into a superfluous membrane. 

    Within a few minutes, his body had become a clear viscous like substance. Still in trance, he pushed against Paul’s back, feeling him gasp with pain as Kosmas entered his body. 

    He slid inside the man in seconds, but he was left in pitch darkness. His form had to grow and stretch against the confines of Paul’s body, his legs inflating, his back adding several inches of spine.

    Paul bucked against this of course, frothing with rage as he engaged in a losing battle against his own body, but within a few moments it was done.

    His essence was constrained and then enveloped by Kosmas’s, sucking in his emotions and memories, before crushing what remained of his free will and sense of self. By the time he was done with him, all that was left of Paul was a library of thoughts that Kosmas would have full access to.

    Finally in full control, Kosmas allowed himself to concentrate on his body’s physical sensations.

    He felt his massive chest breathing in and out. Around his neck the nazar still hung off his neck, once again glowing with a blue intensity, but instead of the sharp pain or weakness Kosmas feared there was nothing. The nazar recognized this body as his own.

He cracked his neck and pulled his arms over his head, surprised at their weight. He pulled his arms down and opened his eyes. Crawling off the bed, Kosmas took a few unsteady steps forward and curled his toes. No pain.

He grinned.

As the years passed, Kosmas or Paul as he was known publicly, whittled away at Evita’s title and fortune using lawsuits, bribes, and blackmail until he could finally run her off the estate. 

With Evita removed from power, the fired workers were able to return and together with several nearby villages were able to operate an agricultural co-opt that guaranteed housing and jobs to the people. 

Kosmas thrived as an administrator of the co-opt, keeping things running smoothly with his eye for finances, while his well-muscled body helped out in the fields. 

He still felt conflicted about wearing the body of someone he hated, but he found ways to alter his appearance without drastic measures, growing out a beard and letting thick brown hair grow all over his chest. He was in control of things for the first time in his life and Kosmas couldn’t be happier. 

[starkerforlife6969]

I’ll Be Home - Starker

@starkersecretsanta @lilsoshie For you <3 

The story starts when Soldier Tony comes home for a few days, and is introduced to the love of his life. 

TW: Mentions of war, overload of fluff, A/O dynamics, mutual pining

Happily Holidays, my dancing sugar plums! 

Tony remembers his first station. 

Just off the coast of Kuwait, he was a fresh recruit, eighteen years old and awkward with a gun in his hand.

Though the army is Alpha-only, Tony had never really thought he’d want to join until he finished school. He remembers that first year, remembers the fear, remembers the confidence building, remembers the shared-smiles of people in his platoon. 

Stephen had been his bunkmate during training camp, and the two have been inseparable since. Stephen’s an irritating, self-righteous ass, a damn fine medical doctor, and Tony would lay down his life for him. 

One night in February, fresh off the plane, their general hires out a bar and fills it with dancers and family and lays on a huge spread. Tony’s just about to treat himself to the most expensive drink on the menu, when Stephen taps his arm. 

“Anthony, I want you to meet my brother. General Rogers had him flown out as a surprise for me.”

Tony lifts his eyebrows, already a little bemused at the softness around Stephen’s eyes. He’s never seen that before. A gentle smile on the doctor’s face, relaxed in a way that’s impossible to be unless you’re home.

Out from behind the other Alpha, a little omega steps.

He can feel his lips part, feel his mouth drop open a little in awe. The omega is beautiful. Tony’s never seen anyone so beautiful in his whole life. He has dark hair like Stephen, but it’s all fluffy and curly. He’s tiny, with huge honey eyes and lips like pink oceans. 

Tony doesn’t know what love at first sight is. He’s never read about it in books, never known anyone who experienced it, never heard stories. All he knows is that the second he lays eyes on the boy, he can see it all. In a flash he sees a future of shared smiles and kisses, he sees a family of curly haired children and a dog running in with the paper in his mouth. He sees the boy in white walking down an aisle, a veil framing him in all his glory, he sees-

“Peter, this is Tony, he’s the most narcissistic, egotistical, brilliant soldier I know. I’m very proud to call him my friend. Tony, this is Peter, the best little brother in the world and Brooklyn’s finest obstetrician in training.”

Okay, Stephen’s gotta be pretty drunk to be this nice, but Tony doesn’t even have the focus to mock him for the sentimentality. Peter. Perfect, beautiful Peter Strange. He’s got the loveliest blush on his cheeks, ducking his head like he’s shy and Tony’s heart-

Peter holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you,” he beams, a sunbeam, a fucking ray of sunshine- “and I’m not very good, Stephen’s the real doctor.”

Stephen scoffs in outrage and Tony grins, tipping his head.

“I’m sure that’s not true. There’s quite clearly something special in your family’s genes.” Tony murmurs, feeling stupid even as the words leave his mouth. He can just picture this omega with babies now, babbling in his arms, babies with big eyes and soft skin and-

A woman from across the bar calls Stephen’s name and he wanders off leaving the two with each other. Peter blushes again.

“Let me buy you a drink.” Tony offers and Peter smiles.

“No, no, please let me buy you one. It’s the least I can do- thank you for-for your service, it’s- so- so brave-“

Tony laughs, feeling a little giddy. “I’ll have a beer. And I’ll get you a…” he glances at the drinks on the board. “A blueberry horizon.”

The omega hops onto a barstool and Tony slides in beside him. Peter nods delightedly. “Okay. Are they nice?”

“I think you’ll like it, I have an eye.” The alpha hums, “it’s very sweet. Like you.”

Another glorious blush.

Tony remembers that night. Eighteen years old and his first time back. He remembers talking to Peter all night, remembers them leaning into each other, feeling the heat of the omega’s body, he remembers Peter’s giggle, remembers steadying him when the two had gone outside for some fresh air.

He remembers the starlight in Peter’s eyes, and the flush across the bridge of his nose.

“I want you.” He’d whispered, drunk off alcohol and lust.

Peter had blinked up at him sweetly. “Want me to do what?” He’d whispered back, and Tony’s chest had clenched something fierce. 

“To…to take a walk with me.” He’d offered instead, holding out his arm like a gentleman. “To look at the moon with me.”

Peter had been speechless for a moment, looking up at him in wonder. “It’s like an old movie.” He’d beamed and Tony laughed. 

They’d strolled away into the darkness and by the time dawn came up, Tony was in love.

***

It’s been a few years since then. Tony’s twenty-five now, and his six-year contract has finally come to an end.

“You’re not gonna stay on?” Stephen asks in surprise, renewing his contract as a field medic for another five.

“Enough for me,” Tony murmurs, looking up at the moon the way he always does when he feels like he could finally get everything he wants. 

The problem with only being back in America a few weeks at a time is that over the past few years, he and Peter have only seen each other on a handful of occasions. They’re friends. Peter writes and sends care-packages to both his brother and Tony.

On average, Tony’s seen him maybe two days a year for the past seven years. 

Each time Peter is more beautiful. Last time was at a New Years Party, with Peter breathlessly regaling him with a story of a premature birth, hands moving expressively, as the two of them leaned against the railing on the roof and watched fireworks going in the distance. 

“I’ve missed you, Pete,” Tony had admitted, wincing at his own lack of tact. “I never get to see you.”

“Aw, Tony,” Peter had knocked their hips together, resting his head on Tony’s shoulder. “I miss you too. But it means we always have lots to talk about when you’re back.”

They talk and talk and they have a good time, but there are topics that are never touched on. 

Tony’s never asked if Peter’s seeing anyone. Never broached it with Stephen either. It hadn’t seemed fair to express any sort of interest, to stake any sort of claim, not while he was away so often. The thought- the miraculous thought- of Peter liking Tony back, and then having to wait for him. To wait alone for a few days of snatched contact, to be lonely and unsupported and-

The thought was too agonising. 

So, Tony has waited and waited and-

“I want to go home. Settle down. Be around.”

Stephen smiles, pouring the both of them some bourbon. “Any idea where you’ll go?”

Tony takes the glass as it’s offered. “Brooklyn, maybe.”

Stephen chuckles in surprise. “Well good, keep an eye on Peter for me. He adores you, you know.”

Tony’s fingers tremble and he hopes it’s true. 

Stephen gives him a look then, curious and frighteningly intelligent, but he doesn’t say anything. They play cards and drink bourbon and Stephen accuses him of cheating.

At the end of the night in their bunks, Stephen talks into the darkness. 

“I’ll miss you, Stark. You’re…you’re like another brother to me.”

Tony says, “I’ll miss you too,” and thinks about what it might be like having Stephen as a brother-in-law.

He thinks it might be pretty great. 

***

As a young Alpha in Brooklyn fresh out of the army, he’s treated with a lot of respect. People nod at him, offer to buy him drinks and clap him on the back like he’s an old friend.

He finds a place to rent and gets a great deal even though he doesn’t need it. He’s got a lot saved up. His fingers itch to call Peter, but first he goes to a few job interviews. Tries to get a feel for living in the city and having his own space after so long of sharing and barracks. 

He gets the first job he applies for. It’s as a security consultant for a big firm. It’s good pay and the female Alpha who shakes his hand is no-nonsense and impressed with him. 

He buys himself a bed.

He spends a lot on it. It’s ludicrously big and the mattress is extra plush, queen, memory foam. He gets a fancy headboard and high-thread blankets. When he tries to sleep on it that night, it’s a little awkward. He sinks into the softness, feels unnatural. 

He tells himself he wants a change, but he’s lying. The bed isn’t for him. 

It’s for the softest, most beautiful, most deserving person Tony knows.

***

“Tony!” Peter cries, leaping into his arms in the March sunshine and clutching him tight. Tony lifts him clear off the ground: breathing him in. 

Tony’s in uniform. He feels more comfortable in it, but also, he thinks that maybe- maybe Peter likes seeing him in it. A few people on the street around them aww and applaud, but Tony has eyes for none of them. 

Peter’s in a bumble bee sweater and white jeans, looking so pleased to see him that Tony wants to- wants to make his move. 

But no. It’s not the right time. He’s just got back, he’s just moved to Brooklyn, he’s just started his job- it’s too soon. 

“Wow,” Peter murmurs, tracing his finger down the jagged line near Tony’s eye. His touch is like heaven and Tony leans into his caress. “A close call?”

“Real close.”

“I’m glad you’re safe.” Peter whispers, eyes huge, “and it’s very, very handsome.”

The scar had bled and bled and hurt like a bitch when it happened-

And Tony would do it again in a heartbeat, just for the way Peter wets his lips as he looks up at him. 

***

Over the next few months, things move slowly. 

Tony has a few bad dreams, writes letters to Stephen, and does his job. He buys more furniture, puts down more roots in the form of a real oak coffee table and a tv with cable. 

He visits Peter at the hospital he works at. He sees Peter as everything he knew he could be. Capable, brilliant, eyes flickering over information and reassuring to the pregnant Omegas. Peter’s hands are confident, assured, as they touch round bellies or squirming, wriggly babies. 

After his shift, they go and get lunch. 

“It’s like watching Stephen,” Tony says in awe, “you’re brilliant.”

Peter blushes and smiles, a classic Tony adores, and takes a bite of his salmon. Tony watches it go past his lips. “Well I think you’re brilliant.”

“And devastatingly handsome.”

“It’s devastating alright,” Peter teases. “So, what’s new? Have you made any friends in your building yet?”

Tony makes a face. “Why on earth would I want friends in my building?”

“Fine, Mr Grumps, what about…um…have you been…dating, or- or anything? Seeing someone?”

Tony stills, eyes flickering over Peter’s face trying to read him. What does that mean? But the omega looks carefully schooled, focused on his lunch. Is Peter asking as a friend? Or asking because- because- “I’m not seeing anyone,” Tony murmurs, waiting for Peter’s reaction. “Are you?”

“You’re- me? No, no…”

“No?” Tony hums, “no Alpha swept you off your feet?”

Peter’s honey eyes meet his. There’s silence for a beat, before Peter looks away. “Well, I mean- it’s just hard to find the time.”

“Is there someone you’re interested in?” Tony asks, voice a little too rough.

Those big, beautiful eyes keep looking at him, and then Peter’s pager beeps and they both seem relieved.

Tony finishes his lunch alone and tries to think. Maybe it’s time, maybe it’s time he made a move. He’s wanted Peter since that night in the bar. He’s back now, he’s-

But no. No, it’s not the right time and Peter’s right. The omega works so hard and doctors’ shifts are long and tiring and-

No. Not yet.

***

Peter’s apartment is all bronze accents and fluffy pillows. It’s near the hospital and has a pretty good view that makes up for all the sirens that go by. 

“I swear you’ve spoilt me.” Tony moans after he’s finished dessert. Peter’s cooking is phenomenal. After three helpings of spaghetti and chocolate brownie for dessert, he’s so content he could purr. 

Peter laughs, licking chocolate from his fingertips in a way that’s obscene. “I love watching you eat. I wish I could just feed you all the time, make sure you’re getting enough.”

It’s a very omega thing to say to an Alpha. Very traditional. Very domestic. Very intimate. What does it mean?

“It’s late,” Peter says, standing up and stretching. Tony can’t drag his eyes away from him. From the gorgeous figure he makes even in his frumpy green sweater with the floral collar and chocolate on his mouth. 

He pulls himself to his feet and reaches for his coat. “You’ve got an early shift-“

“No, I mean-“ Peter takes a step closer, swallowing hard, looking brave. “I mean, it’s late, you could…if you wanted, you could just stay over…”

Tony frowns, “what do you mean? The commute will be a bitch in the morning.”

Tony doesn’t understand when Peter looks embarrassed. “Nothing, no, don’t worry, I was just being silly, sorry.”

Tony doesn’t like that. Doesn’t like Peter looking awkward and humiliated. He feels like he’s missed something. “Pete?” He prompts gently, “are you alright? Was it a…was it a bad shift today?” That happens sometimes. Tragic things happen and Peter gets small and sad and needs someone to lean against for a few days, Tony gets that. “I’ll stay, sweetheart-“

“No, no, you don’t-“

“Hey, hey,” he collects the boy into his arms. “I’m here for you, okay? I’m here for you.” He kisses Peter’s temple: holds him tight. It takes a second, but eventually Peter relaxes into his embrace and they stand there, wrapped around each other.

Eventually they pull apart a little, and Peter peeks up at him.

Maybe now, Tony thinks to himself. Maybe this is the moment, maybe this is the right time-

But no. Peter’s had a long day and-

Warm and soft and perfect is the kiss placed onto the corner of Tony’s mouth. 

He’s so stunned that he can only stand there, unmoving, staring down at the omega in shock. 

Peter’s the colour of a rose petal, looking like the bravest thing in the world. 

Tony can’t even move. Does this- is this-

Peter stretches onto his tiptoes, hands still clutching Tony’s shoulders, and slower, much slower, presses another little butterfly kiss right onto the corner of Tony’s mouth.

He can hear his heart beating in his ears- is this- does he-

He’s hyperaware of his hand on Peter’s waist, one on the small of his back, of how they’re pressed together, of how perfect-

“Tony, I really like you.” Peter whispers, breath fanning over Tony’s face. “I was um…I was wondering if-“

“Yes,” Tony croaks, “yes, yes, yes, yesyesyesyes.”

Peter makes the most adorable sound of delight, and kisses Tony right on the mouth.

He tastes of chocolate and love and Tony sees it all again. He sees the golden mornings and the crosswords in bed. He sees the dog coming into the kitchen with the paper in his mouth, he sees a future, his future, with the love of his life-

“Hey Tony,” Peter giggles, lashes all wet with tears, “I adore you.”

Tony lets out a sob and buries his face into Peter’s curls. 

Coffee tables and cable can go screw themselves. He doesn’t need roots to be tethered somewhere- with Peter, he’s always home.

***

On Christmas Eve, Christine and Peter are making mince pies and competitively quoting It’s a Wonderful Life, and Tony’s in the living room, phone to his ear.

“How’s Christie?”

“You just spoke to her-“

“How is she really, Anthony?”

Tony sighs. “She misses you, but we’ve got her, Stephen, don’t worry. She understands. It’s just hard.”

Stephen’s silent for a while. Tony wonders if he’s thinking about his contract. Stephen clears his throat: “It’s a squeeze the three of you in that tiny flat, when are you and Peter going to get a house?”

“We’re gonna start searching after Christmas,” Tony chuckles, “Guess what I’ve got Pete for Christmas.”

“Something ingenious no doubt. A framed photo of yourself?” 

“Ha ha. No, get this,” Tony drops his voice, “it’s a puppy.”

“Really?”

“Uh huh,” Tony grins, “Rhodes is bringing it over tomorrow morning, crack of dawn.”

“Tony, he’s going to love it.”

“I know, right? Best-present-ever-sex is definitely on the table.”

“That’s my brother, Tony.”

“Not literally on the table, Christie’s here-“

“I’ve got you something.”

Tony laughs in surprise. “Really? How’d you pull that off? You didn’t have to do that, Stephen-“

“Shut up and let me tell you what it is.”

“Is it good?”

“Obviously. You’re going to feel bad about making sex jokes.”

“I’m excited.”

“Christie should’ve put it under the tree- in an envelope.”

Tony hums in surprise, looking under the tree where all the presents are. Sure enough, there’s a red envelope with his name on it. He examines it curiously. “What is it?”

“Open it, you moron.”

Tony rolls his eyes, balancing the phone in the crook of his neck, and opens it up. Inside is what looks like an old letter. He glances at it in confusion. “What am I looking at here, Doc?”

“It’s a letter Peter wrote me a very long time ago.”

Yes, he can recognise Peter’s handwriting now, doctor-scruffy with lots of loops. It’s very sweet. Tony gets the gist of the first few paragraphs. Peter asks if Stephen’s safe, tells him he misses him, how his studies are going and then- and then-

You might not remember but you introduced me to one of your friends when you were here last month. His name’s Tony. Is he single? He’s got the prettiest dark brown eyes and he was really nice to me and I was just wondering if he’d told you about me? We went for a walk and we talked all night. Do you think he might like me? Could you tell him I say hi? Don’t make me sound like a dork! He’s not like any Alpha I’ve ever met before. And mom said to call her! And-

“Holy shit.”

“Indeed.”

“A month after we met- a month after-“

“Yes, Tony,” Stephen sighs, but his voice is fond. “I’ve had the pleasure of seeing you two pine for seven years. I thought you might like it. I don’t say it often, but I do love you, Tony. I’m very glad you’re with my brother. However, you do worry. You’re a soldier and you have a keen sense of time and when to do things, but you hesitated with Peter. I’m not sure why, maybe you thought he didn’t like you, but regardless, I think, in love, just doing what feels right is okay, from time to time. Especially with you and Peter.”

“Stephen…”

“Merry Christmas, Tony.”

“I’m so glad I met you. You’ve changed my life.”

Stephen sniffles, like he might be crying. Tony calls Christie in, to let the two of them say goodbye, and heads into the kitchen.

Peter beams at him, flour on his cheeks. “George Bailey, I’ll love you till the day I die!” He quotes merrily, skipping over to peck Tony’s cheek, and Tony thinks about Stephen, and about love and about the puppy he’s going to give Peter tomorrow and the dog it’ll grow into and the kitchen they’ll have. He thinks about timings and all the waiting and the missed moments and then- he doesn’t think, he just does.

The first thing he says is: “I love you so much, Peter.”

And the next thing he does is get down onto one knee. 

--

merry christmas @lilsoshie your prompts were all equally amazing so it was really hard to choose, so I tried to merge a few of them together. I hope you liked this and that you have an amazing Christmas! All the love in the world1 

#starkersecretsanta2019

[spicykoreantatertots]

The Dive Bar and an Old Fashioned (or Five)

Pairing: CEO!Taehyung x Bartender!Jungkook (briefly ft. Beomgyu of TXT)

Word Count: 5k

Genres: Non-Idol AU

Warnings: Misunderstandings and a trip to the hospital (but everyone is okay).

A/N: I’m so happy I got the opportunity to write this fic in honor of one of @bangtan-headquarters​‘ editors, @rkivepacks​!! This is a very well deserved gift and I apologize for the delay on getting this out. I hope you can enjoy this! Also shout out to @guktro​ for the stunning banner! ~~~~~~~ After signing the lease on a new warehouse down town, Taehyung decides to stop by a nearby dive bar for a quick drink to celebrate the further expansion of his company. 

Taehyung pulls on the heavy door and quickly steps in. He starts to pull off his dark Armani jacket, but he quickly realizes that there is no one there to take it from him. He shrugs it back on and walks toward the bar. 

The dim lighting makes it hard to tell which of the bar stools is the least dirty and he wonders if that’s intentional. The bar top itself is surprisingly not sticky. While waiting on the bartender to make an appearance, Taehyung scans the other patrons. 

Several large men with oil-stained hands sit around a table, beers piling up quickly in the middle. A couple of older men sitting at the other end of the bar sipping on whiskeys. There’s a few people huddled around a game of cards in the back corner booth. Quite a few people considering it’s just after 5pm on a weeknight. 

“I’ll be right with you.” The bartender nods in Taehyung’s direction, appearing from behind a swinging door carrying a large tray of nachos. He takes it over to the table of large men and clears away the empty beer bottles. 

“What can I get you?” The bartender asks when he approaches. Taehyung looks up to ask for his usual, but his breath catches. From a distance, he didn’t realize how beautiful the bartender is. 

“Uh, just, uh, whatever’s on special.” Taehyung chokes out and, to his dismay, the bartender flashes a half smile. He quickly looks down at his phone to try and catch his breath. He scrolls through a few work emails and responds to a text from his mom, something he’d been putting off.

The bartender sets down an Old Fashioned in front of Taehyung and heads back into the kitchen. Taehyung sets his phone down and lifts the glass a few inches, inspecting its contents. 

He’s used to drinking cocktails made with the finest spirits, but he can’t imagine that this bar has anything higher quality than Jim Beam. There’s a thick slice of an orange and two cherries floating alongside the ice cubes. He’s not quite sure what to make of it, but he takes a sip anyway. 

The cheap bourbon burns on its way down, but there’s a sweet aftertaste that follows. The bartender definitely put too much sugar in, but the sweetness soothes his throat. Taehyung gulps down the drink, not wanting to offend the handsome bartender, but also not wanting to savor the taste of it.

“Did you like it?” The bartender seems to have appeared out of nowhere, his dark eyes wide and hopeful. Taehyung scans his beautiful features, a face he refuses to disappoint. 

“It was actually really really good!” Taehyung overenthuses. He picks up the glass and shakes the ice around. 

“Great I’ll make you another!” The bartender spins on his heels and grabs a new glass. 

“No I-” Taehyung stops himself, accepting his defeat. “That’d be great... what’s your name, Mr. Bartender?” He questions. 

“Jungkook.” The bartender turns back around and sets a fresh drink in front Taehyung. “And you are?” 

“I’m Taehyung. Nice to meet you.” Taehyung tries to smile behind another sip of cheap bourbon. It doesn’t burn as much when he’s got two doe eyes trained on him.

The third doesn’t burn quite as much either.

The fourth doesn’t burn at all.

The fifth... well Taehyung can barely remember the fifth drink of the night. 

~~~~~~~

A loud and unfamiliar ringing sound wakes Taehyung. When he opens his eyes, he can see sunlight pouring in, and he knows he’s late for work. He pulls back the sheets and rushes to find the source of the ringing. 

He follows the sound through his large penthouse and finds himself in a room he very rarely visits: the utility room. Hanging on the wall near the cabinet with cleaning supplies is a corded landline phone. 

Who even has landlines anymore?

“Hello?” Taehyung picks up the phone, fiddling with the tangled cord. 

“You’re late.” Hye-jin is on the other end.

“Why do I have a landline phone in my million dollar penthouse?” Taehyung rubs the bridge of his nose, a headache is forming behind his brow.

“So I can call you when your phone is dead and you are late.” She responds.

“Can you rearrange some things? I need a shower and some coffee.” And some time to remember what I did last night. Taehyung yawns into the phone. He just hopes he didn’t make too much of a fool of himself in front of Jungkook.

“I can’t rearrange an international call, you know that. There’s a driver there to pick you up, we’ll have to go pick up your car later. I hope it’s still intact. I’ll have coffee for you by the time you get here.”

“Thanks.” Taehyung slams the phone into its holder. Much more satisfying than hitting the non-existent button on a glass screen. 

Taehyung returns to his bedroom and plugs his phone into the wall. It charges up while he washes his face and brushes his teeth. He carefully puts on a clean suit and grabs a pair of sunglasses before he heads down to the ground floor. 

In the town car, he finally opens his phone and scrolls through the barrage of emails, texts, and other notifications from his assistant Hye-jin. At the bottom of the notifications, there are a few texts from The Cute Bartender.

The headache intensifies, but Taehyung clicks on the messages to assess the damage.

TCB [2:40am]: Hey let me know when you get home safe. 

TCB [2:46am]: Oh I realize your phone is probably dead. Maybe when you come back for your car you could stop back in for another drink. It was nice talking to you all night. 

TCB [3:34am]: Next time I won’t make you so many Old Fashioneds. 

Taehyung breaths out a small sigh of relief. It’s not as bad as he expected it to be considering he can’t really remember what happened. 

~~~~~~~

Hye-jin greets Taehyung in the lobby of the office building with an iced coffee. She updates him on his meetings for the day as they walk toward the elevator, but the moment the doors close, she changes the subject. 

“Tell me about Jungkook.” Hye-jin turns and cocks her eyebrow. Taehyung tries not to react. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He replies, taking a rather large sip of his drink. 

“Did you check all your texts this morning? You texted me a dozen times last night about “the cutest guy you’ve ever seen” and I want to know more.” She emphasizes her urgency with a few taps of her foot. 

“Can we do this later?” Taehyung rolls his eyes, but he knows he won’t be able to avoid her forever. 

“Fine, we’ll talk when I drive you to your car later.” The elevator stops on the 47th floor instead of the 50th. Taehyung gives Hye-jin a questioning look. “I’m going to go talk to the cute girl in IT that helped me set up my new computer. I think it’s got a virus...” Hye-jin gives her best pouty face and promises to be in the conference room for the international call before stepping out of the elevator. 

Taehyung takes out his phone and scrolls through his messages with Hye-jin.

Taehyung [1:32am]: i’m at th at bar dow by the new warehouse with the CUTEST BARTNDER UVE EVR SEEN

Taehyung [1:33am]: he’s CUTE AND SINGEL AND FUNNY???

Taehyung [1:46am]: he keeps making me drinks but they are not that good

Taehyung [1:53am]: his name is jungkook and i’m going to ask him out

Taehyung [1:54am]: HAHA i can’t ask him out

Taehyung [1:55am]: i asked him out

Taehyung [2:34am]: he said he would love to go out sometime and then called me a cab is that mixed signals or what

Flashes of boisterously drunk Taehyung appear in his mind as he reads through the texts. Did he really ask out Jungkook or was he being his dramatic drunken self?

~~~~~~~

The work day drags on with meetings and spreadsheets and green juice that Hye-jin swears will cure any hangover. Taehyung swears the only cure for his hangovers is a big bowl of ramen, which he orders for lunch. The soothing broth relaxes him, heals his soul much more than some watery greens could. 

Lunchtime is one of the few times that Taehyung can sit in his office undisturbed. His secretary holds his calls, Hye-jin leaves him alone, and he can sit and enjoy the view from his window. The world seems so small from the 50th floor. 

Today, after slurping down his ramen, he stands in front of the floor to ceiling windows and looks far off to the east. He can’t quite see the warehouse from here, but if he focuses hard enough he can imagine where it would be. He can imagine the bar down the street too. 

There’s not much that Taehyung can learn about Jungkook without having his last name. He searches for the dive bar on Google, but aside from the phone number and hours of operation, there’s not a lot of information to go off of. A text pops up, interrupting his thoughts. 

Hye-jin [1:17pm]: Sorry to bother you during your lunch, but I ran a background check on Jungkook. I can bring you the report if you’d like to see it.

Taehyung [1:17pm]: How did you find him, I don’t even know his last name.

Hye-jin [1:18pm]: Do you doubt my sleuthing skills?

He should have known that Hye-jin would go sleuthing sooner or later. Taehyung flips back over to the unhelpful Google search. And he thinks. Does he really want to know what that report has to say about Jungkook? His past jobs, education, relatives, his debt? And what does Jungkook know about Taehyung? Probably not a lot. 

Taehyung [1:19pm]: Is there anything dangerous in his past?

Hye-jin [1:21pm]: No, there’s not. He seems pretty legit.

Taehyung [1:21pm]: Then I don’t want to see it.

Hye-jin [1:21pm]: WHAT

~~~~~~~

“Would you mind explaining to me why you don’t want to read this THOROUGH report about your new love interest?” Hye-jin interrogates Taehyung the moment he steps into her car after work. 

“Can you even call him a love interest? I don’t even remember asking him out.” Taehyung points out. 

“I’m just trying to protect you.” Hye-jin sighs. “You know people take advantage of wealthy men with good hearts...” 

Silence falls between them in the car. Taehyung knows that she’s right. He’s been hurt many times before.

“Maybe I should... try to hide it.” He suggests.

“Hide what? Your money?” Hye-jin scoffs. “You better get rid of that Rolex and that Armani tie.”

“You think he can tell?”

“He’s a man who dates men. He can tell.” Hye-jin and Taehyung roll their eyes at each other. 

Hye-jin pulls up next to Taehyung’s BMW and waits for him to get out. 

“You know, you probably shouldn’t let him see that car either.” She laughs. 

Taehyung gets out of her car and walks around his car once to make sure everything is just the way he left it. After finding his hubcaps intact, he unlocks his car and gets in. Hye-jin honks a couple of times as she drives away. 

He flips the sun visor to look at himself in the mirror. His hair is getting long again, it’s curling at the ends. He looks pretty good for someone who got absolutely hammered last night. Looking down at his watch, he decides to shed the accessories that make him stand out from the crowd. His watch, his tie, and his Saint Laurent wallet, opting to shove a few twenties in his pocket instead. 

He gets out of his car and walks down the street toward the bar he visited the night before. As he approaches the door, he can feel the nerves fluttering around in his stomach. He recalls the cheeky smile on Jungkook’s face and he cannot wait to see it again. 

Once again ducking into the poorly lit bar, Taehyung heads straight for the bar. 

“There he is!” Jungkook shouts from behind the bar. He begins slowly clapping as Taehyung approaches the bar and sits down on the same stool from last night. “I’m glad to see you in one piece.” 

“Thank you.” Taehyung laughs, admiring the tall bartender. “I have to be honest, I’m still recovering my memories from last night.” He adds with a sigh. 

“Oh no, does that mean you don’t remember stripping on the bartop?” Jungkook chuckles.

“I did WHAT?” Taehyung’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline and his cheeks turn red. 

“I’m kidding Tae. Calm down, calm down.” Jungkook, still laughing, places a napkin on the bar in front of Taehyung. “What can I get you?”

Taehyung, still stuck on being called Tae, gives Jungkook a puzzled look. Jungkook looks back at him with a small smile as he processes the information. But the lingering eye contact draws Taehyung in, the original question long forgotten, a new one forming to take its place. 

“Listen... did I...” Taehyung pauses, finally breaking eye contact. He licks his lips and starts again. “Did I happen to ask you out last night?”

“Yeah you did.”  Jungkook smiles to himself as his cheeks heat up. “You were pretty drunk though, so I wasn’t going to say anything.” He grabs a bar rag and wipes down the already clean bartop. 

“You probably get hit on at work all the time.” Taehyung watches the blush on Jungkook’s face deepen and he feels his confidence level rising. “Well, I’m sober now and the offer still stands, if you’re at all interested.” Taehyung lifts an eyebrow at the bartender. 

“I’d like that.” Jungkook flashes his teeth. “So, can I get you something to drink?”

“I think I’ll pass tonight. Would you like to meet for dinner on Saturday?” Taehyung asks. Jungkook works on weeknights, so he hopes that he has weekends off.

“Ahh Saturday?” Jungkook runs his fingers through his dark locks and looks off into the distance, thinking. “I can’t on Saturday. I know it’s a bit weird, but would Monday work? The bar is closed on Mondays.”

“Monday is perfect.” Taehyung replies. “I’ll text you details and see you then.” They exchange smiles and Taehyung leaves the bar. 

Once he’s back in his car, he lets himself breathe. He has a date with the most beautiful bartender he’s ever seen. His eyes shine even in the darkness of the bar, what will it be like to see him in the real world?

~~~~~~~

On Saturday, alone in his apartment, Taehyung sits and tries to focus on the movie his friend Jimin recommended he watch. All he can think about, though, is a pair of doe eyes and a brilliant smile. 

He tried to stay busy, but after working out, cooking lunch and dinner, and doing some online shopping, he still finds himself bored out of his mind, wishing that Jungkook had the night off. 

Taehyung [7:54pm]: I can’t stop thinking about him.

Hye-jin [7:55pm]: Don’t you have a short pink haired friend you can hang out with? Or at least text him, I’m sure he’s at home alone. 

Jimin [7:55pm]: I HEARD THAT

Hye-jin [7:56pm]: Did you seriously put us in a group chat??

Hye-jin [7:56pm]: I’m getting ready to go OUT LEAVE ME ALONE

Jimin [7:57pm]: Did you say he was working tonight, why don’t you just go visit him?

Taehyung [7:57pm]: I was thinking about it....

Hye-jin [7:57pm]: NO

Hye-jin [7:58pm]: DO NOT DO THAT YOU WILL LOOK SO DESPERATE

Jimin [7:58pm]: Don’t you have somewhere to be hag

Hye-jin [7:59pm]: DO YOU SEE WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU PUT YOUR TWO GAY BEST FRIENDS IN A GROUP CHAT

Taehyung [8:00pm]: I’m going to the bar ttyl

Hye-jin [8:00pm]: NOOOOO

Jimin [8:00pm]: YESSSSSS

~~~~~~~

On a typical Saturday night, Taehyung would be in a town car on his way to a nightclub on the north side, decked out in Gucci from head to toe, ready to dance the night away. Tonight, he’s driving himself downtown, dressed in some casual clothes he normally wouldn’t wear outside his apartment. 

Taehyung finds a spot to park a block away from the bar and walks the distance, nerves nibbling away at his insides. As he approaches the bar, he can tell it's quite a bit busier than it has been before. Maybe this isn’t a great idea. 

Pushing away his doubts, Taehyung opens the door and walks into the now familiar bar. The place is pretty packed. Groups of loud, boisterous men huddled around tables and booths watching the game on the televisions. He approaches the bar and an unfamiliar face greets him. 

“What can I get ya?” The short bartender asks. Taehyung looks around to see if he can locate Jungkook, but after scanning the room he finds nothing. The bartender clears his throat and asks again.

“Actually, is Jungkook here?” Taehyung questions. 

“Are you his new friend?” The bartender scans Taehyung’s face, then shakes his head. “He’s with Beomgyu tonight.” 

“Oh.” The nerves flitting around his stomach turned to stone.

This wasn’t a great idea.

~~~~~~~

Sunday was spent at Jimin’s apartment eating carbs. Switching between cursing and praising Jungkook. He’s so stunning, Taehyung was stupid to think that he was the only one Jungkook was seeing.

“I’ve been avoiding asking you this, but are you still going to go out with him tomorrow night?” Jimin questions Taehyung gently.

The two of them are sprawled out on Jimin’s broken down sofa. The leather is worn out under them, but it’s much more comfortable than the high end couch at Taehyung’s place. They are sharing a bowl of popcorn. Some drama is playing in the background of their conversation. 

“I guess so. I mean it’s not like he lied about anything. It just kind of sucks.” Taehyung sulks.

“I think you should confront him about the Beom-whoever.” Jimin gets up from the couch to replenish their snacks. “What kind of name is that anyway?” He mumbles to himself. 

As Jimin continues muttering to himself, Taehyung grabs his phone from the coffee table. He ignores the I told you so messages from Hye-jin and opens his conversation with The Cute Bartender. As he rereads the caring messages Jungkook sent him a few days ago, the text bubble pops up. 

Taehyung sits up straight on the couch and Jimin returns with chips and pocky. The bubble pops up and disappears a few times before the message finally comes through. 

TCB [4:48pm]: Hey, are we still on for tomorrow night? Let me know what sounds good for dinner. 

Taehyung sets the phone back down on the table and closes his eyes. Why does he feel so much turmoil over this bartender. He barely knows him. What is so special about Jungkook? Taehyung tries his hardest to forget the curve of his cheeks... his nose... his lips. 

When he opens his eyes again, his phone is not on the table, it’s in Jimin’s hands. 

“What are you doing?!” Taehyung shouts, reaching for his phone. But it’s too late. The message that Jimin had been typing out was sent. 

Taehyung [4:49pm]: How was your date with Beomgyu?

“Why would you do that?!” Taehyung shouts. “Now he is going to think I’m stalking him!”

“You deserve to know the truth!” Jimin shouts in return. They both watch and the typing bubble appears. 

TCB [4:50pm]: What? 

TCB [4:50pm]: How do you know about Beomgyu?

Taehyung doesn’t hesitate with his response.

Taehyung [4:51pm]: The other bartender told me. I went to visit you at work last night, but obviously you weren’t there. 

TCB [4:51pm]: Yoongi?

TCB [4:51pm]: Listen, I promise it isn’t what it sounds like.

TCB [4:52pm]: Let me explain over dinner tomorrow night. My treat.

Taehyung and Jimin consider the offer. If he isn’t dating Beomgyu, then who is he? 

Taehyung [4:52pm]: Okay.

~~~~~~~

The sushi restaurant that Jungkook picked is a little bit... quaint. Is quaint the right word? Taehyung is used to dining at sushi restaurants that have plates starting at $40, but the most expensive thing on the menu here is a $12 Drunken Sailor roll. 

There are a few people eating at the bar and a few tables taken up around the restaurant. Taehyung arrived early so he could ground himself before facing Jungkook. He’s still embarrassed about the message Jimin sent. Maybe he’ll be able to explain himself....

“Hey! You’re early.” Jungkook is walking in the door. He’s wearing dark ripped jeans and a plain white t-shirt. The same thing he usually wears at work. Every part of him is shining. 

“Yeah sorry.” Taehyung tries to laugh, but it comes out more as a cough. “I’ve never eaten here before, thought I’d check out the menu.” He gestures toward the menu board that’s secured to the ceiling. 

“Well everything is good here. I come here at least once a week.” Jungkook smiles brightly. This is exactly why Taehyung came early. He knew he would struggle to focus on anything but Jungkook. 

It’s not just his physical beauty. The way he carries himself is so warm and inviting and Taehyung wants to be close to him. Even after the awkwardness from the day before, it feels so natural to be standing there with him. 

“The Drunken Sailor roll sounds interesting, but I may have to stick with the timeless classic, the California roll.” Taehyung says.

“Ah, you know I’ve been meaning to try the Drunken Sailor. It’s a new addition to the menu.” Jungkook steps forward to order and pay for the two of them. “Two California rolls and a Drunken Sailor roll. Oh and a bottle of sake.” 

Jungkook confidently leads Taehyung toward the back of the restaurant to a booth. The way he slides into the seat, Taehyung can tell this is his preferred spot in the restaurant. 

“So I guess, I should go ahead and address the elephant in the room.” Jungkook starts. A waiter brings two glasses of water, two empty cups, and a bottle of apple sake. Taehyung reaches for his water to sip.

“I think there was a misunderstanding. Yoongi thought you already knew about Beomgyu.” Jungkook says as he pours some of the sake into the cups, Taehyung chokes a little on his water. 

“Who is Beomgyu?” Taehyung finally asks. Jungkook waits a moment, sipping the sake before responding. 

“Beomgyu is my son.” Jungkook states plainly. Taehyung pauses to absorb the information, but quickly a feeling of relief washes over him. 

“Did you mention him when I was wasted?” He asks.

“No, no. I don’t usually tell people I have a son until after a few dates.” Jungkook replies. It makes sense. It’s safer to protect the child’s identity. “But I like you and I didn’t want to throw our chance away because I wasn’t telling you the whole truth.” 

Taehyung smiles, but he feels a twinge of guilt growing in his gut. He had been planning to hide his wealth from Jungkook, but maybe he should just be honest too. 

“In the spirit of being honest, maybe I should tell you that I’m... fairly wealthy?” Taehyung’s voice fades to a whisper by the end. “I run a company.” He adds. 

Jungkook cracks a smile. 

“I know.” He says. “You told me all about that when you were drunk.” Jungkook chuckles. 

“Oh really?” Taehyung scratches the back of his head. How embarrassing. 

“To be honest, that’s another reason why I didn’t want to tell you about Beommie at first.” Jungkook shuffles in his seat. “I don’t want you to think that I’m interested in you for your money. I mean look at this place, obviously I don’t make a lot of money.”

“Hey this place is great. I’m sure the sushi is delicious.” Taehyung argues. 

“Yeah, it’s just. I don’t want you to think that I’ve got a son and I’m a... gold digger.” At that, the two of them break out into laughter. 

“Well when I’m sober, I try not to let many people know about my money. It changes the way people act around you.” Taehyung sighs, pouring himself some of the sake.

“It’s the same with having kids. No one is interested in dating someone who is already tied down like that.” Jungkook watches Taehyung’s face carefully for a reaction, but he just furrows his brow. 

“I think kids are great.” Taehyung shares with a genuine smile. 

“I’d love for you to meet Beomgyu sometime in the future. I usually wait until things are more serious than a first date to introduce him to people.” Jungkook explains and Taehyung lifts a brow. 

“Not, not that there’s been a lot of people, I’ve only introduced him to one person I dated a while ago.” Jungkook tries to recover.

“Hey, hey it’s okay. We both have pasts. I am kind of curious though, are you gay or bisexual? Most single gays don’t end up with children.” Taehyung questions and Jungkook shakes his head a little.

“I don’t really like to label myself. I guess back then I thought I was straight, but now?” Jungkook taps his fingers against the table, thinking. “I guess most people would label me pansexual.” 

“Wow so I’m in competition with... everyone then?” Taehyung chuckles to himself and then takes a sip of the sake. 

“I actually met Beomgyu’s mother in high school, we were-” Jungkook is cut off by the sound of his phone ringing. Jungkook fishes the phone out of his pocket. “And this is her, sorry I have to take this.”

Jungkook scoots out of the booth and steps away from the table. Taehyung can tell by his body language that he’s worried. After just a few seconds on the phone, Jungkook returns to the table with a crease in his brow. 

“Apparently Beomgyu fell and hit his head pretty hard. He’s okay, but he’s at the hospital getting checked out...” Jungkook trails off. 

“Oh, okay, we can reschedule for another time.” Taehyung throws a couple of twenty dollar bills on the table and exits the booth, but Jungkook pauses. 

“Listen, I rode my bike here, could you possibly... give me a ride?” Jungkook asks hesitantly, rubbing the back of his neck.  

“That’s no problem at all.” Taehyung motions for Jungkook to follow him and leads the way to his car at a quick pace. Jungkook seems unfazed by the shiny BMW parked down the street. 

“I really appreciate this, Tae.” Jungkook smiles over at Taehyung as they buckle into their seats. 

“Please don’t worry about it.” Taehyung reaches over and squeezes Jungkook’s hand before driving off toward the hospital. 

~~~~~~~

“Would you like me to wait here, or I can schedule a Lyft for you?” Taehyung questions Jungkook when they arrive at the children’s hospital and he thinks about it for a moment. 

“Would you like to come in? I know it’s very sudden to meet Beomgyu, but...” Jungkook squeezes Taehyung’s hand that he hadn’t yet let go of. “I’ve got a good feeling.” 

The two men navigate the hospital corridors together, stopping to peer inside the window of Beomgyu’s hospital bed. The small boy, who shares many of his father’s beautiful features, is playing with his mother’s cell phone. 

“Would you mind waiting here for a few minutes?” Jungkook asks.

Taehyung nods and Jungkook enters the hospital room. Immediately Beomgyu abandons the phone and Taehyung can see him mouth something excitedly to his dad. Jungkooks sits on the foot of Beomgyu’s bed, his all black outfit stark against the clinical background.

Taehyung catches Beomgyu’s mom looking at him while she talks to Jungkook. She’s beautiful too. She stands and collects her phone from Beomgyu before exiting the room.

“I’m going for a coffee, would you like anything?” She says with a coy smile. Taehyung shakes his head and gives her a little wave. 

Jungkook is still chatting with his son. Beomgyu is animatedly explaining something to him and both his and Jungkook’s eyes light up, almost a mirror image. Taehyung is grinning when Jungkook looks over at him and motions for him to enter the room. 

Taehyung cautiously enters the room, but keeps his distance. He gives wide-eyed Beomgyu a wave and a slight bow. 

“Hello, I’m Taehyung. You must be Beomgyu?” The boy nods. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” Beomgyu smiles, but his attention is quickly grabbed by the doctor entering the room. 

“Which of you is Mr. Jeon?” Jungkook promptly stands. “I’ll catch you up quickly.” Jungkook follows the doctor back into the hall to discuss Beomgyu’s status. 

Taehyung crosses the room and sits on a chair near the window. Beomgyu’s eyes follow him curiously. 

“Beomgyu, what kind of things do you do for fun?” Taehyung questions.

“I like to do art!” He responds. 

“What’s your favorite medium to work with?” Taehyung continues.

“Medium..?” Beomgyu’s face twists with confusion. 

“Ah.... Do you like to draw with crayons or do you like to paint?” Taehyung clarifies his question. 

“I like to paint, but my mom thinks it’s too messy, so I mostly draw.” Beomgyu explains. 

“I like to paint too. Maybe we can paint together sometime. I have an art studio in my home.” Taehyung smiles. 

~~~~~~~

After the doctor gets the important information out of the way, the fact that Beomgyu will be okay and doesn’t require any treatments, Jungkook’s gaze falls back inside the hospital room. Taehyung and his son are laughing about something together. Taehyung seems like a natural. 

“Dad!”

“Beomgyu!” Jungkook responds as he enters the room. 

“Taehyung is so cool, he said we could do art together and he doesn’t even care if we make a mess!” Beomgyu practically falls off the hospital bed in excitement. 

“Wow that sounds like fun, as long as it’s at his house.” Jungkook winks at Taehyung, who smiles and nods in return. 

“Can he stay for dinner tonight?” Beomgyu asks, Taehyung’s smile growing wider. 

Maybe he can stay forever... Jungkook thinks.

~~~~~~~

Thank you so much for reading!

[nerdgenie]

Vermish musings

I don't really write fics. I wouldn't know where to begin, but this thought has been swirling in my head, and I wanted to get it out. Soooo, here goes:

Vera and Hamish are still together. They divide their time between Vera's home and Hamish's apartment. They've settled into a steady routine and have basically built a life together. Feelings are still not being said out loud because they're idiots who don't know how to function without the defective defense mechanisms they've developed through all the pain they've endured.

Cassie is alive because magic. She wasn't really dead, and another werewolf group found and took care of her. Apparently, there are more werewolves and hides out there. She got another hide and has been fighting bad magic with the other group. She did not go back to Belgrave and to Hamish because reasons.

Belgrave is under threat by another magic group. Cassie and her group had been tracking said group and ended up in Belgrave.

Hamish and Vera are being sweet and in love when Cassie revealed herself to them. Cue confusing emotions from everyone. Emotions needs to be set aside because of threat.

Vera decides to break things off with Hamish. She knows how much Cassie meant to Hamish, and now that he has her back, she was not going to stand in the way. She thinks Hamish was just too much of a gentleman to end their "purely physical" relationship so she does it for him. She also realizes she's in love with him, but love means doing what's best for the other person. She will keep her mouth shut if it means Hamish gets to be happy.

Hamish is understandably confused, but because of the threat they were facing, he had not had a moment to process his feelings. When Vera broke things off with him, he was not able to react. He just kinda.. stood there. Vera left. He finally snapped out of it, and felt bad for how he handled their talk. He's also still really confused. Everyone else assumed he and Cassie would get back together. Now, Vera breaks up with him so he can go back to Cassie. He's happy Cassie is alive and back, but thinking about being in a relationship with her doesn't feel right. He's a different person now. Cassie is different. They don't really know each other. He's confused. Also, apparently Vera doesn't really have feelings for him. It's a "convenient hookup that lasted longer than it should" Those words coming from Vera hurt more than he expected they should.

Everybody works together. Vera and Cassie are formidable together and have a mutual respect. They are both bad ass, and they know it.

They win against the threat. Happy hugs and high fives. Hamish is looking for Vera in the commotion. He sees her leaving. He realizes how much it hurts to see her leave. He's missed her. He's been staying in his apartment instead of the den because that's where Vera's scent still lingers. Her toothbrush and the coffee mug that still has her lipstick stain from the morning they hurriedly left without doing the dishes are still there. Vera's favorite shirt of his that she used to wear is there -- in their bed. He's never really stopped to think about it, he was just doing what his body (turns out it was really his feelings dictating his actions) told him to do - going through the motions. He's still staring at Vera's retreating form when the realization of how in love he really is with Vera suckerpunched him

Vera doesn't love him he reminds himself. To her, it was just sex. It's like a knife through his heart. He's feeling sorry for himself when he gets a text from Vera about Order business - just your standard Grand Magus text - but his heart swells. He can't do anything if she doesn't feel the same way. The important thing, he decides, is Vera is still in his life. He'll take whatever she's willing to give.

Cassie talks to Hamish. She and her group are about to leave but she and Hamish has a lot they need to talk about. She explains her reasons for not coming back. He says that it hurt and confused him, made him angry even, but in the end, he forgives her. Cassie tells him she wants to try again, maybe even pick things up off from where they left. Hamish tells her they can't do that anymore. They are different people now. They've grown in the last almost 10 years. Cassie realizes he's right - that she just asked Hamish to try again because it's what people would expect them to do - but it's not what she wanted ultimately. Her life is with her pack, and she wants to be with them. They hug goodbye. They will always be important to each other and will always be there when the other needed them. As she's leaving, she turns and gives Hamish one last advice "tell her how you feel." Hamish just gives her a sad smile.

Vera and Hamish are both idiots. Hamish is sticking with 'she doesn't love me but that's okay because at least she still talks to me.' He hasn't told her there's nothing going on between him and Cassie and that Cassie left because how would that go? "By the way, I know you don't really care but Cassie and I are not together. I don't have feelings for her. I'm in love with you." That would probably make Vera cut him off from her life completely and that was the one thing he can't allow to happen. Vera doesn't ask him either because it hurts too much to think about. She assumes Hamish doesn't mention his happy relationship to her because he really is a gentleman and is avoiding hurting her. She also doesn't ask Hamish to help out with Order business despite her needing his counsel and his constant visits to the Temple to offer help. She just sends him home because she promised herself she'll do what she can to make Hamish happy. That includes not taking time away from his personal life. Idiots the pair of them.

Vera is going on a date. Hamish finds out when he arrived at the Temple after his class as he always does. Vera is dressed in the black dress she wore that one time. He remembers how she finally relented to him planning a "celebration" they were calling it. He took her to her favorite restaurant, walked around holding hands until they went home and made love. She awkwardly explains an old Order friend asked her out. Hamish tells her to have a good night. Vera leaves. He decides to stay in the Temple. He pours himself a glass of bourbon after being sober for almost a year.

Vera thinks about how stupid she'd been agreeing to a date. She and (what's a good handsome name for her date?) goes way back when they first started in the Order together. They were also dancing around starting a relationship, but he was transferred to another chapter. She thought going on a date with someone she was interested in might snap her out of the feelings that she can't seem to get rid off. She thought wearing that dress - that dress that made her feel like she actually had a chance at happiness, like the look Hamish had in his eyes that night was love - on her date would somehow replace the memories of that night with the memories of her date. Stupid, she thinks. She and whathisname had a good enough night. He's a good guy, but he's not Hamish. She resigns herself to her annoying feelings, cuts the night short (it wouldn't be fair to string him along. She considered spending the night with him but the thought of someone other than Hamish's hands on her makes her recoil) and decides to go to the Temple to for a drink.

She's still feeling sorry and mostly angry with herself for being so pathetically in love with a man who's in a happy relationship with someone else when she finds Hamish slumped in the Temple bar with a drink in his hand. Whatever she was feeling for herself immediately turned to concerned for Hamish. He has been sober for some time now and doing so well at it. He's never really struggled to the point of a relapse, and here he was with a drink in hand.

She approaches him slowly and attempts a light touch "I hope that drink's for me" she says. Hamish is surprised to see her there. How long has that been? Two hours since she left for her date? Why is she here? He slides the glass to her and asks her how her date went. He can't help but torture himself. She shrugs, sits beside him and takes a sip. She tells him it was okay but that she doesn't really want anything resembling a relationship -- with someone who isn't you, she thinks but doesn't say out loud. She starts to ask Hamish why he has a drink. He cuts her off by saying he never actually drank anything. He was really close when she walked in. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asks. "It's just something I need to work through. I'll be okay." "Okay. How about we both don't drink and just sit here tonight." she says as she lightly bumps her shoulder with his. "I'd like that." And for the first time since their relationship ended, they both felt whole.

My head still needs to work out a happy ending for them, but that's all I've got for now.

[ahh-fxck]

Chapter 11 of Warrior’s Blues: What Would I Do Without You?

Folks, I am so excited. I finally get to present to you the next chapter of Warrior’s Blues! This chapter (and the following two) have been a labor of love. @stressedspidergirlsfandomblog​, editor and co-creator of this fic, thank you for all your hard work and insight!! Ok folks, here it is:

Chapter 11: What Would I Do Without You?

Yennefer's visit throws Jaskier for a hard loop. His best friend helps him sort it out. Best Friend Rating of the Geralt Incident? 10/10 top notch Jaskier fuckery. She loves her disaster queer.

CW for drinking, smoking, implied death of an original character, grieving

Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged (or untagged!) for future updates of this story!

@astouract​ @smolpoe​ @yes-im-the-violin-girl​ @ladyknight-keladry​

  On the day of Yennefer’s visit, Jaskier arrives at work on a bicycle. He’s late and on a bicycle for the same reason, which is to say, he is drunk and cannot drive his car. He is drunk because he’d been so full of mixed emotions after Yennefer left that he’d sat down to eat the rest of the fruit and whipped cream. Somewhere in there, it had seemed like a brilliant idea to pour half a bottle of bourbon after it. 

It was not. Luckily for him, the person working the bar tonight is Julia.

She is a stocky woman in her mid-forties. She has tawny skin and skeptical hazel eyes, and there’s a kind twist to her lips that she often hides. She has a tuft of cropped blue hair and wears a denim vest with a white t-shirt. Even though she is exasperated when he staggers through the door, she feeds him a sandwich and coffee while she fills him in on the meeting he missed. From there, she lets the crew in for the night. 

Jaskier feels like the whole world is an itchy sweater, even after the sandwich and coffee. It’s like his brain is on fire, and he can’t quite settle into the usual friendly chatter that his job requires. He passes an irritable and lonely night out by the door. By the time it’s time to clock out most of the staff is eager to clear out from underfoot; Jaskier is a great boss, but when his nearly infinite good humor runs out he can be a real asshole.

The only one who doesn’t give a fuck is Julia. She knew from the second she saw him wheeling in the door that it was going to be a late night, so she lets the rest of the staff out before pouring herself a big glass of gin. Then she settles her elbows against the bar, watching Jaskier mop the dancefloor. He is flailing wildly with the mop, clearing the floor with brutal inefficiency. Internally she begins to count down the time until he knocks the bucket over. Sure enough, a moment later he does just that. She nods in satisfaction, pleased that her timing is still on point.

Jaskier throws his head back and lets out a shout of pure frustration as his poorly-contained feelings boil over at last. Julia smirks and grabs a bunch of towels, then ambles over to him and starts tossing them on the floor to soak up the mess. 

As she does so she says nothing, but the look she gives him makes him feel transparent. Jaskier avoids her eyes as he tosses some towels down onto the puddle. 

Julia gives a little harrumph, unimpressed, bending to help him clear the towels away. They right the bucket and clean the floor in silence. When they’re done, she turns to him and gives him a long look. 

“So… What’s eating you?”

Jaskier grumbles and straightens. “Nothing.” He hauls the bucket away, fills it with water, and returns. Without making eye contact he begins to mop again.

Julia hums, crossing her arms. “Yeah, and nothing made you stink like bourbon, too. Cough it up.” She leans against a nearby wall, giving him a skeptical look. He looks at her from under the fringe of hair that has fallen over his face. Something about the wide-eyed, guilty glances that he keeps shooting her makes him look sixteen again. She smirks. “I think you wanna tell me but you’re embarrassed, so how about I start making guesses?”

Going pale, Jaskier groans. “Why are you so hell-bent on pushing my buttons?” The last thing he wants is Julia making guesses about what is bothering him. She has a terrible habit of being accurate and she has a memory like an elephant.

“Because you’re not a dumbass kid anymore and you haven’t shown up drunk in years. You missed an important meeting! What the fuck, Jaskier? Don’t make me call you Julian, I swear to fucking god I’ll break out your birth name.”

“Julia…!” Jaskier protested. “I d-”

“Julian Alfred P-”

“Fine! Stop! Oh my god, you are merciless!” Jaskier cries, but secretly he’s glad that she cares enough to needle him. He stops and holds the mop for a moment, blowing his hair out of his eyes as he gathers his thoughts. Then he starts pushing it across the floor again. “I’m sure you heard about the man who rescued Pride this year.”

“Heh, I feel like I’ve met him. Yarpen won’t shut up. Heard from him recently?” She narrows her eyes at him, sure that she’s about to hear some sort of horny idiot story. 

Jaskier blushes hotly, confirming Julia’s suspicions. “Well, funny thing about that.”

“What did you do now?” Julia asks, smirking. She retreats to the bar and picks up her tumbler of gin, then lights a cigarette. 

“We-e-elll…” Jaskier prevaricates.

Julia gives him a long look, and he folds. 

“Um, so I might have brought him back to my house after Pride.”

Julia barks a short laugh. “Color me not surprised. What’s the problem? Is he why you were wearing that birdy when you came in?”. 

Jaskier’s flush deepens. “I meant to take that off before his wife showed up. After that my day got all sort of… muddled.”

“You mean you got chewed out and then got drunk, right?”

“No! You know what, Julia? She yelled at me when I met her in the hospital, but when she came to my house she was…” He pauses, seeing the bewildered look on Julia’s face. “All right, let me back up and explain. He broke his hand, and I had to take him to the hospital. Two weeks later we go for his followup appointment and his wife is there waiting for him. Tracked him down all the way from fucking England! Got the third degree from her there, but the wildest part is, she showed up at my house the next day to talk. About me dating him.”

Julia laughs again, harder and longer. “What the fuck, Jaskier?”

Despite himself, Jaskier breaks into a rueful grin.“Right? Seriously though Julia. If I talk to you about this it stays strictly between you and me, got it? All of it. He’s in the closet and no one else here needs to know any of this.”

“You got it. No gossip. Your secrets are my secrets.” Julia smiles crookedly, sipping at the last of her gin. She’s been keeping Jaskier’s shit to herself since he was a teen. At first, it was out of a desire to not get involved, but by now she genuinely likes the dingbat. He’s dumb but sweet, and he’s been good to her. “So what’s the deal, kiddo?”

“So what it all boiled down to is that she’s not mad at me for sleeping with him… she’s mad I slept with him so fast. Turns out she’s okay with me seeing him again.”

Julia puts her glass down on the bartop, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Okay, that is a new one on me, I gotta admit. What’s the story there? She into watching or something?”

A surprised laugh escapes Jaskier. “No, thank fucking god, I don’t think I’d survive. This woman… oh Julia, you should have seen her. She’s like, five foot four inches of lightning in a bottle. A total force of nature. I think she could snap me like a twig.” A wry twinkle comes into his eye as Julia’s eyebrow goes up.

Smirking, Julia taps some ash off of her cigarette. “Sounds like a hell of a woman.”

Jaskier snorts, cutting her an amused look. “She is, but I don’t think you’d get very far with her. She’s asexual.”

“Oh? The plot thickens.” Julia grins wolfishly, leaning her chin on her hand. Jaskier had a way of getting up to his neck in crazy situations, and it had become something of a spectator sport for her over the years. 

Flushing with embarrassment, a crooked grin flickers across Jaskier’s face. “Yeah, well.” He turns his glass in a full circle. “So it turns out, they uh… have a kid together. And I want you to understand how terrifying this woman was because there was no way in hell I was going to ask for more details. But. What she told me was this. They got married because of their daughter, but Geralt… her husband, the man I was sleeping with… He’s gay.”

“Oh man, you really have a way of finding them, don't you?" This is top-notch Jaskier fuckery, it really is. She’s glad she’d stayed to get the story out of him, even though she knew it meant that she’d be dragged into his shit sooner rather than later. 

“I really do,” Jaskier agrees with a little groan. 

“What’s her name?” 

“Yennefer.”

“Hm. Nice names. Yennefer and Geralt. So she got mad at you for sleeping with Geralt so fast, and then what?” 

“And then, Julia! She told me that she’d always hoped that he’d find someone special. She looked me dead in the eye and said, ‘maybe someone like you’ and I just lost my mind. Just- Pow!” He makes an exploding gesture out from his head with his hands, then shakes his head and returns to mopping. 

“Wow. That was not the reaction I was expecting.”

“Yeah. Yeah! No kidding! Apparently, he’s always been free to choose his lovers. He’s never wanted to bring one home before, though.”

Julia lets out a low whistle, her eyebrows going up. “So he likes you, likes you. And his wife is… okay with this?”

“I don’t think she likes me very much, Julia, but she gave me the phone number to their hotel room. Says I should have a real talk with him before I think about dating him.” He stalks past her into the kitchen to dump out the dirty mop water.

“Just like that?” Julia laughs, leaning in the doorway.

“Threatened to bury my dead body if I didn’t treat him right, in those exact words,” Jaskier says over his shoulder.

Julia leans against the doorframe, shaking with mirth. “Oh my fucking god, Jaskier.”

“I know!” Jaskier cries, flinging his hands up. “This is absurd, Julia! And you know what’s even more ridiculous? I really think I could fall for him, I really do. He’s just so…” He sighs, tossing the mop and bucket in their corner and washing his hands.

“Yeah, Yarpen wouldn’t shut up about him. Six feet plus, white hair, amber eyes, stacked? Sounds very striking.” Julia drawls, eyebrows arching. 

“No, Julia- Well, I mean, yes, but…” He walks back out to the bar, flopping onto one of the tall stools.

“But what?” She smirks, returning to the bar and tapping out her ash.

“Well, I was gonna say beautiful, but I didn’t mean it like that.” Jaskier puffs, drumming his hands on the bar top, trying to find a way to put it. “Like… ohh, I sound like a fool, but he feels like a warm hearth. I just wanna curl up next to him with a book and a cup of tea and fall asleep because I feel so good around him. Safe. And don’t you go telling me he’s a stranger-” Jaskier breaks off as Julia rolls her eyes and opens her mouth to speak. “I know that! I know, and that’s what makes it so weird, Julia. But like, good weird.”

Julia hums thoughtfully, tipping her head to the side. Jaskier has been getting more self-aware as he ages, and for once, she’s inclined to believe that he remembers this guy’s a stranger. “Have you called your therapist yet?”

“For once in my life, yes. I called her before I came in. Hopefully, she’ll have gotten back to me by the time I get home.”

“Good for you. So this is why you came in here drunk off your ass this morning? This whole mess?” She pours him a shot glass of rum and passes it to him.

He takes it with a nod of thanks. “Yeah… I guess I got a little freaked out after his wife grilled me this morning, didn’t cope with it well.” Taking a sip, he frowns. “Julia, I’m in over my head. I don’t really know what to do here. He’s never had a boyfriend before.” 

Letting out a low whistle between her teeth, Julia stubs out her cigarette. “Ain’t he about my age?” 

“Yeah… He’s… I guess he spent his whole adult life in the military and never let himself have one. That’s what his wife said.” Jaskier worries at his lip, blue eyes wide as he shoots a glance at Julia. His glass scrapes on the bar top. 

Annoyed by the sound, Julia tosses him a coaster. Then she hums thoughtfully, swirling the dregs of gin in her glass. “That’s a long time to be lonely.”

Puffing out a long, slow breath, Jaskier nods. He draws the coaster over and sticks it under his drink with a guilty look. “Yeah.” Slumping to the bar top, he puts his chin on his hands. “She said… if I cheated on him it would crush him. She said… ‘Please don’t make things worse by being irresponsible with his very fragile heart.’” Putting his face into his arms, Jaskier gives a little groan. 

Julia sucks in a breath, watching Jaskier crumple in front of her. He’d at least grasped the concept of fidelity by now, but until recently his romances had never been particularly stable. Her heart goes out to him. She finds herself walking around to the other side of the bar to stand awkwardly by his side, her stocky frame only coming up to his shoulder where he sits on the stool. She awkwardly pats said shoulder, then gives it a squeeze. “That’s gotta feel pretty big to you. How are you doin’ with it?”

“I’m feeling massively intimidated, Julia. He’s gorgeous and I really want to date him, but I’m really afraid I’m going to be bad for him. I don’t exactly have the most amazing track record.”

Julia hums, sucking her teeth thoughtfully. She rubs a gentle circle between Jaskier’s shoulderblades, an unusually affectionate gesture for her. “Kiddo, you know I wouldn’t say this normally, but you’ve put a damn ton of work into your personal relationships. I trust the man you’ve grown into, and I think you should try trusting yourself for once. See how it works out for you. It’s been a long time since you let anyone in.”

Jaskier sighs, leaning into the touch. “I know. I worked so hard, and Rue didn’t even get to see much of my life after the dust settled. I hope she’s proud of me.”

A smile lights Julia’s face, but as she speaks a note of grief creeps into her voice. Her partner Rue had passed two years ago, but the pain was still fresh and hot. Rue had been more than a friend to Jaskier, she’d been his absolute favorite person. He missed her almost as dearly as Julia herself did. 

“She’d be proud of you all ‘round, kiddo. You’ve really shaped up. Hell, you stepped up when I needed you.” She gives Jaskier a little shake. “You might be a dumbass, but it matters that you try to get things right. It matters more that you do your best now to fix it when you don’t. That’s all anyone can do.” Julia’s hand moves back to his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “You’re a good man, and I think she’d tell you that, too.”

Jaskier nods, swallowing hard. As Julia’s hand closes on him he realizes all of a sudden how much he misses Rue. His heart contracts with terrible grief. “Oh!” He gasps, surprised by the abruptness of the pain. Reaching back to squeeze Julia’s hand, he can feel his throat tightening. “I feel really lost right now. She’d know what to do.”

A crack appears in Julia’s heart. She nods and steps closer to Jaskier, reaching around his hip and pulling him close. Jaskier leans into her and she grips him tightly with her strong arm. Her cheek presses against him and she squeezes her eyes shut, nodding. “Me too. I miss her like hell.” As she grips Jaskier, silent tears dampen his cheeks. Before long, Julia’s eyes begin to well over too.

Rue had been the center of both of their lives. Julia had been in love with her since they met one hot summer on Coney Island as teenagers. They had kissed in the rain under one of the piers, and that had been it for her. By the time they’d moved in together as adults, Julia would have gone down on one knee and married her in a heartbeat. 

Every summer they took a long vacation on Fire Island, where Julia would pick up part time work as a bartender. They’d met Jaskier one summer there when he was just sixteen years old. He’d been a disaster of a baby queer, but gregarious little Rue had seen something of herself in him. She had taken him under her wing, and he had thrived.

When Rue was diagnosed with ovarian cancer four years ago, it had been at a quiet time in Julia’s life. Jaskier had gotten a therapist a year before and was finally out of her hair. The bar was thriving. Rue and Julia had settled into their home just the way they’d liked it, tea settees and all. Julia remembers looking at this yellow, gold, and cream-colored doily on their tea table after they got home from Rue’s diagnosis. The little sunburst pattern had seared into her mind as she sat in shock. 

The following two years had been hell on a plate. The bar came closer to folding than it ever had as both Julia and Jaskier bent themselves completely out of shape trying to get Rue the care she needed. In the end, that had meant hospice and a funeral. Jaskier had ended up having to plan it for her, and he’d stepped up to the role with a seriousness that she hadn’t thought him physically capable of. It changed something about his personality. Julia watched him go almost overnight from a happy-go-lucky kid to a closed-off and responsible adult. The only exception had happened shortly after Rue’s death. 

When the fuss from the funeral had died down, Jaskier had disappeared for the better part of two weeks. Scheduled everyone in, made sure payroll was cued to go properly, and just… vanished. He’d come back with a bloody lip and fear in his eyes, and Julia had been too heartsick to ask questions. That night they’d grieved Rue together, sitting next to one another and crying their eyes out. Jaskier had fallen asleep on their dinky little couch, and she’d tucked one of Rue’s crocheted blankets over him before she went to bed. 

Since then Jaskier had been eerily quiet. At least, until Pride. After that his mood had been so pleasant that it was making Julia downright nervous. She’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Now, at last, it had. 

Jaskier takes a few napkins out from under the bar top, passing them to Julia. They wipe their faces in sticky silence, and afterward, Julia pulls out a smoke and hands him one too. The click of her lighter is loud in the silent bar, echoing off the far walls. 

“Can you imagine what she’d say about this mess?” he asks, a soft huff of laughter escaping him as he shakes his head. His wide blue eyes turn up to take in the fairy lights over the bar, the smoke twisting among them.

“Oh! I can just imagine.” Julia chuckles damply, shaking her head. “She always said you found love in the strangest places.” 

Jaskier smiles crookedly. “She’s not wrong.” Smoke drifts from the cigarette between his long fingers, swirling eddies forming as it rises. 

Julia nods, then blows a slow, lazy smoke ring. “She’d say… don’t listen to your heart anymore. Don’t listen to your head. You’ve heard enough from them for now. Go find someplace quiet, where the silence can slip in through the cracks of you and fill you up. Sometimes the answer slips in alongside the silence." 

The damp groan of chagrin that escapes Jaskier makes Julia smile. "That's right,” he replies, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And I would say, I hate silence, it makes me nervous."

Julia nods, amused. "And she would say-" Jaskier's voice joined Julia's and they finished together, "There's your problem right there." 

With a damp chuckle, Jaskier shakes his hair out of his eyes and blinks away the last of his tears. “Oh lord, Julia. I’m glad you’re still here. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Suffer.” Julia jokes, knocking back her gin. “Suffer and die, probably.”

“Crash and burn, at the very least.” Jaskier snorts. He knocks back his glass of rum, then rises at last from the bar. He stubs out his cigarette as he rises. Then, with a soft clinking, he gathers all the glasses and takes them back to the sink to wash. A hush falls over the room, broken only by the splash of water against the metal sink.

Julia turns to watch him, leaning her elbows against the counter. Her head tips to the side as she watches Jaskier dry the dishes, then start scrubbing at the already-clean sink. He takes sanitizer and sprays it on a towel, then starts trying to evict the microscopic grit left around the base of the faucet. After a while, she stirs. “You think this guy might be it?” she asks, her eyes soft as she tips her head to look at her friend.

Jaskier looks down at the wet towel dripping in his hands. “I don’t know. I just… he’s different. I feel really different around him. I think I want to try, but I’m trying to just...” He grimaces, tossing the towel into the bin with a little too much force. “Take a minute to look before I leap.”  

Julia breaks into a wry smile, hazel eyes sparkling with gentle humor. “Good for you. Does that mean I’m gonna be staying late a few more nights?” 

“Could you? I could use the company.” Jaskier looks at her out of the corner of his eye, moving on to wipe the counter. 

Julia scoffs, but there’s a playful note in her voice. “Fine, but you gotta cough up those kreteks you've been teasing me with. You owe me.”

“Oh! I actually have those back at my house, thank you for reminding me!" Jaskier exclaims, smacking his forehead. "I can't believe I forgot. I’ll bring them in tomorrow, I got you a whole case. They came in from Indonesia last week and I just spaced out about them what with everything else going on.”

Eyes lighting up, Julia socks Jaskier affectionately on the shoulder. “Hey! My man! That’s what I’m talking about.” 

Jaskier laughs, rubbing his shoulder. “Anytime. It's the least I can do.”

Julia takes one last drag off of her cigarette, then turns to stub it out. “Listen. You want a ride home? It’s late.”

Jaskier wavers, then turns to look at the storeroom where his bike is. It’s a long ride home in the cold and dark, and he’s heartsick as all hell. It’s hard to turn her down. “Got room in your trunk for my bike?”

“Yep. No sweat. I’ll pull the car around front while you shut down.” Julia pats her pockets, making sure that her wallet, keys, and cigarettes are all in place. 

By the time she’s parked in front, Jaskier is locking the door of the bar. They wordlessly wrestle the bike into the back of the car together, working with the ease of practice. In the car, Julia flips on the stereo and pops in a Patti Smith cassette. Patti’s smoky, dry voice floats through the car, twining through the bouncing and jangling guitar riffs of the opening song of the album. Oh, she looks so fine… I’m gonna uh-uh, make her mine… 

They drive home in comfortable silence. Julia pulls up behind Jaskier’s car and parks. She eyes the white truck in the driveway silently, finishing her smoke as she considers it. Jaskier sits beside her, making no move to get out of the car. Finally, she stubs out her smoke and says, “Is that his?”

Jaskier nods. “Engine keeps overheating. He knows what’s wrong with it but I don’t have the tools for him to fix it, so it’s gonna stay there until I can get them for him. Honestly I don’t have the faintest idea what he wants, it all goes in my ear and then out the other. If he’d just let me take him to the store it would be fine but no-”

Putting her hand on the door, Julia eyes Jaskier kindly. “Kiddo, I don’t need every single detail. It’s his truck, I get it. Let’s go in.”

Jaskier puffs as he’s thrown off track. Then he smiles crookedly, face catching in a bar of orange light from the streetlamp outside. “Sorry. You go on in, I’ve got to bring the bike around back.”

Flourishing her keys, Julia nods. She ambles around the front of Jaskier’s house and unlocks his door, letting herself into the dark entryway. Flicking on the lights, she looks around. The place is uncannily clean and stinks of floor wax and furniture oil. Jaskier’s home usually looks a bit rumpled, like a bed that’s been slept in and then had the covers thrown back into place without being smoothed or tucked. Not dirty, precisely, but not clean. Lived in. This, though… she gives a low whistle under her teeth. Her friend had been understating the distress he’d been experiencing. His home didn’t get this tidy unless something really got under his skin.

She kicks her boots off and heads to the kitchen to get a pot of coffee going, then snags a pudding out of the fridge. As she’s digging around for a spoon, she hears the jingle of keys announcing Jaskier’s arrival through the back door. 

He notes the pudding cup in her hand and the very corner of his mouth turns up, but he doesn’t comment. Instead, he slips past her to drop his bag in his bedroom. When he returns to the kitchen he smiles at her, leaning against the fridge.

“Better?” she asks, tearing open the plastic lid.

“Better,” Jaskier agrees, eyes dancing with a teasing light. “Still like the taste of stolen pudding?”

“Tastes better if you swipe it,” Julia grins unrepentantly. She settles on the stool with her pudding. “Gonna cough up those kreteks?”

Jaskier grins. “You’ve got it. Just a minute, darling. I have to figure out where I put them.” He turns on his foot and bounds off to the other end of his house, rummaging around until he remembers where he stuck the package. It turns out it’s still next to the front door in plain view, hidden on a shelf by the other oddities it’s been stuck on top of. Jaskier’s house is unusually clean, but it isn’t that clean. Making a triumphant noise, he grabs it and heads back towards Julia. 

Pleased, Julia opens the case up in a few quick movements and takes out a carton. She flicks it open, smelling it with great satisfaction. The rich smell of clove and tobacco wafts up to her, and she sighs in contentment. “Ah, that’s the good shit. Thanks, man.”

“You’ve got it. I’ll order more tomorrow, you deserve them. Takes them a while to import but we should be seeing them in the next month or so.” 

Julia laughs. “Man, I’m earning them signing up to listen to your shit like this. Go check your message machine, I ain’t subbing in for your therapist.”

Jaskier huffs a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Fine, fine, I’ve got it.” He pours himself a cup of coffee, then ambles over to the message machine and picks up the receiver. He punches in a code and waits, then jots something down on a pad of paper next to it with a brief smile flashing across his face. He turns back to Julia, wiggling the notepad at her. “Got an appointment tomorrow before I go to work. She shoehorned me into her lunch hour.”

“Huh,” Julia grunts, amused. “Better bring that poor woman lunch, she’s a saint for taking you back like that on short notice.”

Jaskier looks chagrined. He settles himself back on a stool with his back to the refrigerator. “Yeah, you're not wrong. Best kind of saint. I thought I’d bring her Thai from that place up on Market street. You know the one with the little golden treasure bag dumpling things?”

“Man, she gets treasure bags? Do I get some?” Julia teases.

“If you come hold my hand tomorrow, you get anything you want.”

“Mm, no dice. I’m doing enough hand-holding as it is. Speaking of which, you could still bring it to me at the bar...” she grins over her mug, eyes sparkling playfully.

Jaskier rolls his eyes and sighs. “Extortionist.” 

“You love me,” she snorts.

“I do,” he breaks out into a smile, leaning against the island top with his elbows. “Thanks for running me home.”

Julia shifts in her seat and sighs, leaning forward onto her elbows and giving Jaskier a frank look. “I got you, it’s no problem. It’s not every day you get blown out of the water by something like this. You gonna be ok?”

Jaskier considers his mug with a thoughtful moue, then nods. “I think I am, Julia. I’m sorry about this morning, it won’t happen again.”

Smirking, Julia shrugs. “Just do better.”

Fluffing the hair on the back of his neck, Jaskier nods. “You got it.” He takes a thoughtful sip of his coffee, then asks, “How are you doing?” His voice is gentle as he asks the question, sensitive to the ongoing nature of her pain.

Julia shifts uneasily, squinting at her mug. “I dunno. I’m making it. Don’t wanna look for a new place yet, but I know it’s gonna be time soon.” She casts a short, hard-to-read look at Jaskier. She appreciates him asking, but she’s also not sure how much she wants to talk.

“When’s the lease up?” Jaskier asks, his eyes soft. 

“Uhm…” Julia cleared her throat. “June.”

“Julia!" Jaskier gasps, exasperated. "That was over a month ago! You didn’t just sign a new one, did you? Why didn’t you talk to me first?” 

“I didn’t wanna talk about it,” Julia growls, scowling.

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Oh, don’t get all growly with me. You’re miserable there! Rue is all over that place, darling! I can barely turn around twice in there without bumping into something that breaks my heart, I don't know how you go and live there every day."

Julia presses her lips together, tapping her carton of kreteks between her fingers. She shrugs. "I can't imagine being anywhere else. All I have left is there."

Heart breaking a little, Jaskier sighs. He regards Julia kindly. "You can't hold on like that forever." 

Scowling, Julia shrugs. That might be true, but she didn’t have to like it.

Pursing his lips thoughtfully, Jaskier looks her over for a moment. He hesitates, then says, "Why don't you just start looking? There's no harm in at least checking the paper…" he nudges her gently. "Worst that can happen is you don't fall in love with the first place you see. No harm, right?"

Julia shuffles uncomfortably, taking a big gulp of her coffee. She frowns at her cup, then looks out of the corner of her eye at Jaskier. “I can’t afford to break the lease.”

“Nonsense, you’ve got plenty of savings to cover shit like that,” Jaskier replies, still exasperated. “Besides, even if you didn’t, I’d cover you. You know that!”

“I know…” Julia grumbles, “But-”

“So what you mean is, you’re still stuck and you’re not ready to go yet.”

Julia scowls. She wants desperately to argue with him, to lash out and protect herself, but the impulse passes before the words can even form. She shrugs. “Maybe so.” 

Jaskier sighs. “Julia darling, I’m convinced there’s a place in the world for you. Somewhere that will feel good and be just for you. Who knows, maybe you’ll even meet someone soon? Stranger things have happened.”

“Stranger things can eat my ass,” Julia snaps.

Unimpressed, Jaskier shrugs. “Okay.” He pops open his pudding cup and spoons up a mouthful, sucking it off of his spoon thoughtfully. “Mm. Should you ever decide to come out of that suck-ass hedge-maze of grumpiness you’ve built for yourself I’ll be here. I love you, despite all your best efforts to turn into an unmanageable troll.” 

“Oh what, and you’re Prince Charming?” Julia scoffs. “Puh-lease, you little drama queen.” They both eye each other for a moment, wavering, then break out in quiet laughter. Jaskier reaches over and pats her hand, and Julia smiles crookedly. She drains the last of her mug, then sets it down with a final-sounding ‘thunk.’ “All right, mijo. I won’t keep you talking all night. Thanks for the kreteks, I hope you work everything out. Call me if you need me.”

“I will. Same goes for you, darling. My phone is always on for you, and my door is always open. I don’t care what time it is, if you need me you come. Ok?”

Julia eyes him uncertainly, then nods. She had taken him up on the offer before, showing up at odd hours eaten alive by grief and unable to be alone with it anymore. “Ok. See you tomorrow.” She punches his shoulder affectionately, then heads for the door.

“Good night, Julia. Safe drive, I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

~*~

Jaskier puts himself back together during the intervening days. He attends therapy, brings Julia her takeout, and things return to normal at the bar. Sunday morning he rides his bike, but this time he’s sober, more himself. At the end of the night, he pulls Julia to the side as she sighs in exasperation. 

Jaskier gives her a sheepish smile, leaning back against one of the counters. “Sorry, I’m not going to keep you long tonight.”

“Yeah? Good, my fish are starting to worry I’m seeing someone new,” Julia cracks. “What’s up?” Her eyes travel to the closet where the bike is and back to him. “Car ok?”

“What?” He looks over his shoulder in the direction she’s indicating. “Oh! No, it’s fine. I just wanted to take a long ride tonight after work, maybe catch the sunrise out south of my house.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s Geralt. I finally decided to call him. I think I’ve got my head on straight and I still wanna do it.”

Julia sucks her teeth thoughtfully. It’s sweet to see him excited, but she worries about his heart, too. He doesn’t always guard it as carefully as he should. “You sure? From what you’re telling me, it doesn’t sound like you’re lookin’ at a walk in the park. He’s married, he’s got a family halfway across the world, he’s in the closet…”

Jaskier sighs. “I know, Julia. I was there, I remember.” 

Julia arches her eyebrow at him but doesn’t comment. 

Jaskier chews his lip. “I know it’s probably stupid, and I know we could break each other’s hearts, but…” he ruffles his hand through his hair. “I don’t meet men like that every day. Besides. I will definitely regret it if I don’t at least see him one more time.” 

Julia rolls her eyes, but a fond smile creeps across her tawny face. “I’ll give you wanting to see him again one more time, you two really should talk. Just try not to be a dumbass, ok? Go slow. You’ve gotta take care of yourself, you’re not twenty anymore.”

The look on Jaskier’s face softens thoughtfully, and he nods. “I know. I’ll try to be good.”

“Good. Where are you planning on taking him? This doesn’t sound like public conversation material.”

“Well… that’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you. I was thinking maybe the best place would be the bar.”

“What, don’t want to use your house?” Julia asks dryly. 

“Nnnoo, uh…” Jaskier rubs the back of his neck, turning red. 

“I get it.” Julia cuts him off with a quick gesture, smirking.  “You wanna keep it on the up and up. Don’t you have somewhere else you could meet him though?”

“Mmm… I mean, there are some parks I could take him to, but that feels weird for a private conversation, you know?” Julia nods. Jaskier continues, “He’s staying with his wife at the hotel, and I feel like it would be rude to ask him to kick her out so we can talk. Most of my friends have these teeny apartments so I can’t exactly borrow space from them. The bar seemed like the best place.”

Julia hums, then nods. “I get it. Not like I have a porch I could offer you or anything.”

“Yeah. So…?”

Shrugging, Julia stuffs her keys into her pocket. “Go for it. Just don’t fuck all over the furniture or I’m gonna fire you,” she cracks.

Jaskier laughs. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She might not be able to actually fire him, all joking aside, but Julia has a way of finding truly horrifying tasks to saddle him with. He isn’t about to try her and they both know it.  He pushes off of the counter, then digs a faxed receipt out of his back pocket and unfolds it. “Kreteks are on the way, by the bye. Here’s the tracking number.” 

Julia lights up, making grabby hands as Jaskier hands the receipt over. She scans it, then gives a satisfied smile and folds it up to stick in her wallet. “Great. All right, I’m gonna head outta here. Let me know how it goes, ok?”

“As if I’d leave you out of the loop,” Jaskier hums fondly. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Am I gonna lose a hand if I try to hug you?”

“Yep,” Julia says with a chuckle. She reaches over and slaps Jaskier’s shoulder companionably on her way out the door. “Good night, mijo.” 

“Good night, Julia. Drive safe.” Jaskier says to her retreating back, smiling. He turns away as the kitchen door swings shut and makes one last circuit of the bar. When he gets outside he closes up; there is a satisfying click as the tumblers lock into place. It has been a good night, and tomorrow is full of possibilities.