#head canon casual Fridays exists thank you

[midostree-art]

He and his guitar on a casual friday

[onceupon]

London Boy - Part 4: Just friends

summary: You wake up to find Rafe Cameron in your bed. Even though nothing happened, you’re still left trying to make sense of it all.

pairing: Rafe x reader (slowburn)

warnings: swearing, drinking

word count: 5k

a/n: thank you so much to all of you who have been reading along <333 sorry in advance if you want this to progress faster haha, it simply must be this slow, sorry I don't make the rules (even tho I do lol). Not canon Rafe!! 

masterlist

Your eyes slowly flutter open as the early morning rays wake you up. You didn’t even remember falling asleep. As you slowly gain consciousness you’re startled by the weight of Rafe’s arm draped across your body. What the hell? When did that happen? He spent the night in your bed?

Your mind races at a million miles an hour as you slowly slip out from under his hold. You were careful not to wake him up, not wanting to face any awkwardness. You throw on fresh clothes and grab your backpack, desperate to make your escape. You had wanted to get to school early today to work on some homework anyways, never before so eager to trade in the comfort of your bed for the library. 

After a quick pit stop to pick up a coffee and a croissant, you swing the heavy wooden doors open. You liked campus at this hour, the morning light still soft, the air crisp, and the atmosphere silent. As you scan your eyes for a spot to sit, you notice the unmistakable sight of fluffy brown hair hunched over a table. 

“Liam?” your whisper. “What the hell are doing here?”

That classic cheeky grin spreads across his face as he looks up to find you standing in front of him. “I go here, Y/n. Forget already?”

You roll your eyes, “I just didn’t know you were the studious type.”

“Not gonna lie to you babe, I’m not. But Rogers is already all the way up my ass over this class, and I’m not letting that prick hold me back a year.” 

You pull out the chair across from him and go to sit down, spreading your books out on the table. 

“Who said you could sit with?” he asks, and you shoot him a look. You’re not in the mood. “Geez alright, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed… you good Y/n?” he slows, taking in your disheveled appearance. You hadn’t so much as brushed your hair. 

“Can you promise not to tell anyone,” you stare dead into his eyes. 

“On my life,” he extends his pinky, and you accept. 

“Rafe… slept over last night…”

“Oh shit!” he exclaims, and your eyes widen at his echoing voice. 

“Not like that,” you hiss, not wanting to draw anymore attention to the two of you. “Nothing happened… like he just came over to watch a show and then we talked for a while and just accidentally… fell asleep. I panicked when I woke up and realized he was still in my bed so I ran out of there as fast as I could and now…. well now I’m here.” You nervously chug your coffee, heart racing. 

“So he hung out with you all night and didn’t make a move?”

You nod, nervously awaiting his analysis as you take a bite of your croissant. 

“Damn, boy must really like you,” he muses. 

“What? Definitely not,” you scoff. 

“Y/n, let me tell you a little something about guys. If we really like you, we’re gonna make the time to hang out with you, no matter what. The fact that he’s coming over your room to watch a show and hanging out with you until he physically can’t stay awake - I mean I can’t make it any more obvious to you.”

“I don’t know I just don’t think so… You don’t know Rafe like that, he’s a total player back home. He can pull any girl he wants, so if he liked me like that he would’ve done something by now. This is probably how he is with all his friends and I’m just reading too much into it. I’m sure Lily Colts will be in his bed soon enough,” you mumble. That last part stings in particular, you had already thought it, but saying it out loud made you feel… icky. 

“I may not know Rafe like that, but I know guys like him. I am guys like him. He likes you Y/n. So what if he pulls a lot of chicks, he doesn’t actually care about them. But he cares about you, probably can’t even understand why, and now it’s like bam Uno reverse. He can’t pull the cards he normally does, and now you’ve got him confused and he doesn’t know what to do. Man’s down bad. Give him time though, he’ll come around,” he explains to you calmly, stealing your coffee cup from you and taking a sip. 

“Honestly can I just start paying you to figure my life out for me. You make everything seem so simple.”

“Because it is simple. You insist on complicating it. But I know how you could pay me,” he adds with a wink and you shoot him a glare. You know he’s just joking (partially), he loves pushing your buttons. 

“Well whatever. I’ll believe it when I see it,” you resign on the Rafe matter. You wanted to believe what Liam was saying but it didn’t quite make sense to you. You were only going to drive yourself crazy trying to read between lines that you weren’t sure existed. Rafe was just used to situations like this with girls. To him last night was probably no big deal. It was to you though. You would never let ‘just a friend’ stay over like that, with his arm around you no less. But Rafe didn’t need to know that, you decide. 

—-

You manage to avoid Rafe all day, not having any classes with him on Friday’s. As soon as your last class is over, you sprint home, relieved when you’re the first back at the flat and can quickly slip into your room undetected. You set down your bag and sit on the edge of your bed. Your hand slowly runs over your comforter, still ruffled from where Rafe had been laying the night before. The indent of his head is still on your pillow; you can almost smell the scent of him lingering in your room and hear the sound of his soft whispers. You wonder what his first thoughts were when he woke up in your bed alone - was he confused? Embarrassed? He probably thought nothing of it at all. You can just picture him casually getting up with a stretch, like it’s the start of any typical day.

You slip into the shower and let the water wash over your body. It’s warm and soothing, and it’s reminding you of Rafe laying next to you, of his arm wrapped around you. God if there was only a way to shut your brain off once in a while. As much as you tried to suppress it, there had been a tiny part of you that was happy to have woken up in his embrace, giddy like a school girl with a crush. You’d always wondered how a moment like that would feel, or how a moment like that with him would feel. You had conveniently failed to mention the “arm” detail to Liam, maybe because in the back of your mind you knew it would only help prove his theory right.  

When you make your way back to your room, your phone buzzes and the Royal Fam 🇬🇧🇺🇸 group chat appears. 

Olivia: who wants to go out tonight 😈

Topper: me and Rafe have to be up early tmrw for soccer - rain check on this one ladies 

Olivia: :( 

Olivia: girls night out??

Millie: you know I’m there!

You’re a little bummed that Rafe won’t be there tonight. But a girls night sounds like just what you need to get him off your mind. 

Y/n: I’m in :)

Not even a few minutes later Olivia and Millie are barging into your room, causing you to let out a startled yelp. 

“My god, heard of knocking,” you exhale with your hand coming to your chest. Your statement falls on death ears. 

“Which jeans with this top,” Olivia asks, holding the clothing items against her body. 

“Should I curl or straighten my hair with this,” Millie follows, holding her outfit up. 

“Uhh,” your mind scrambles, “those jeans Liv. And straight, Mills,” you reply, shocked by your own decidedness. “But now you guys have to help me, I have no clue what to wear.”

“Say less,” Olivia flashes a smile. 

Within minutes they tear through your closet, picking out your outfit. Things were always much more clear with a fresh set of eyes. The three of you discuss the night’s logistics before making your way to the kitchen - couldn’t go drinking on an empty stomach. Rafe and Topper are already there, and you try your best to act natural even though your stomach ties itself in a knot the moment you catch a glimpse of his face. You haven’t seen him since you ran out this morning. 

“Uh hey I’m gonna run to Sainsbury’s real quick, I wanna get a chaser, anyone need anything,” you ask, avoiding eye contact with Rafe. Your nerves get the best of you and in terms of fight or flight, you were ready to flee. 

“Hey wait I’ll come with you. Gotta pick something up for dinner,” Rafe stands grabbing his jacket, and before you can interject, he’s leading the way down the hall and out your shared flat. 

“So what are you chasing tonight?” 

“What?” you ask startled, his question pulling you back to reality. Your mind had been running in a loop, trying to read him and the thoughts in his head. You wished now more than ever that you knew what Rafe was like behind closed doors back home, so you could somehow make sense of it all.

He chuckles at you, lost in your own world. “You said you needed a chaser?” Those intimidating blue eyes have found their way to yours again and you hastily look away, focusing in front of you instead. 

“Oh yeah- uh just for the vodka,” you laugh nervously. 

“Basic,” he mocks. You scoff in surprise and lightly hit him on the chest as the laughter leaves your lips. He’s sporting a shit-eating grin, having successfully egged you on. 

“You’re funny if you think I’m gonna do shots of whiskey before going to a club.”

“Well you do owe me one…” he says.

“Oh so he remembers?” you reply, amused.

“Of course,” he states so calm and so sure. Your head swirls at that, his cool confidence making you melt. The automatic doors slide open in front of you, fluorescent lights stealing your attention from the boy you were finding dangerously more attractive by the second.

“I thought we’re supposed to take it together? But someone’s being lame and not coming out tonight,” you say sarcastically, playing it as cool as you can manage. Rafe’s confidence seemed to come naturally, but you were more of a fake-it-till-you-make-it kind of gal.

“Hey you know I have soccer,” he defends. The Kook Prince was not one to turn down a party without cause.

“Excuses excuses,” you shake your head.

“Actually, speaking of soccer, you uh- you and the girls should come tomorrow. If you’re not doing anything. Or not too hungover I should say. Game’s at 12.”

“Can’t make any promises Cameron, but we’ll see,” you smile, earning a satisfied smile from him in return. 

You make your way to the frozen food aisle, Rafe explaining to you how they call a soccer field a football pitch here, as you laugh at him grabbing 5 frozen pizzas (dinner solved for the next week, of course). You ask him which chaser you should pick. He points out a cola, so naturally you decide to get blackberry seltzer water, Rafe twisting his face in disgust (who would voluntarily drink that tv static). You always felt so nervous at first, to be in Rafe’s presence, but all it ever took was a few minutes for you to completely relax around him. He was intimidating, yet inviting. Mysterious, yet open. He was somehow the cause of your anxious nerves and yet the source of your comfort. The fear of facing Rafe after running out this morning had paralyzed your thoughts all day, and now you could hardly remember why. He hadn’t mentioned it at all, as if nothing happened. His normalcy confirmed for you that him sleeping over was in fact no big deal, and you almost want to laugh at yourself for how much you had worked it up in your head. You two were just friends, and perhaps Rafe was used to being… a friendlier friend than what you were used to. But that was okay, you could learn to be friendlier too.

—-

Rafe and Topper had decided to accompany you guys in the kitchen as you pregamed. They slowly sipped beers as you, Millie, and Olivia pounded back shots, laughing at the way you guys got progressively drunker and progressively louder before finally heading out. And much to your surprise, the boys were still seated in the same spot hours later, when the three of you stumble back into the flat, McDonalds in hand.

“Oh look who’s still up,” Olivia slurs, taking a bite of her cheeseburger. 

“We can’t go out, we have soccer,” Millie mocks, almost falling to the floor as she trips over her heel, Topper and Rafe not making any effort to hide their clear amusement. 

“Fun night huh?” Topper quirks his brow. 

“The funnest,” Millie holds her head high, sinking down against the wall until she’s sat on the floor. You had made a beeline for the dining room table, silently admiring your chicken nuggets. In that moment, they were the best thing you had ever tasted. 

“I want Jake,” Olivia pouts, and before anyone can say a word she’s turned on her heel, burger in hand, off to crawl into her boyfriend’s bed. 

“Alright you drunk, let’s get you to bed,” Topper laughs, scooping an incoherent Millie up to her feet by her elbows. 

“M’not drunk,” Millie protests, even though she’s leaning her full body weight against Topper who sarcastically nods at her, escorting her down the hallway. Rafe sits on the couch, silently playing with the cards in his hand again, not the least bit uncomfortable with sharing your company in silence. 

“I’m mad at you,” you say matter of factly, taking a bite of a french fry. At this point, the alcohol is doing the talking. 

“Mad at me?” Rafe stops shuffling the cards and raises his head to look at you, intrigued. 

“Yeah because you didn’t come to the club,” you furrow your brows, chucking a fry at him. He catches it instantly, laughing to himself with a shake of his head. 

“Don’t worry I saw all your guys’ snaps, I feel like I was practically there.”

“That’s not the same,” you frown, throwing another fry which he catches yet again.

“I’ll try to be there next time,” he laughs.

“That’s better I guess,” you grumble, eating another chicken nugget. The room grows quiet, Rafe training his attention back to the cards.

“When are we watching the next episode Cameron,” you break the silence, chucking another fry. He barely has to look up to catch your latest throw, shaking his head with a chuckle. He puts the cards down and makes his way over to the dining table, standing right above you now. 

“Come on, time for you to go to bed,” he beckons you toward him with his arm, to which you only furrow your brows in indignation.

“I’m not done with my food,” you protest.

“Now you are,” he says, grabbing your last fry and finishing it with one bite. “Now c’mon.” You reluctantly grab onto his extended arm to help you get up. You walk down the hall together and he opens your door for you, letting you in as he leans against the frame. You immediately fall back and collapse on to your bed with a gasp, you didn’t remember it feeling so soft when you were sober. 

“Goodnight L/n,” Rafe laughs, staring down at you. 

“Goodnight Rafe,” you mumble, seconds away from passing out. He smiles to himself at the sight of you still in the outfit and shoes you had been out in, bent in surely the most uncomfortable position possible, legs half way off the bed, yet somehow already asleep. He’s about to head back to his room, but he hesitates, turning back to you with a sigh. As slowly and quietly as he can, he pulls your shoes off for you, lifts your legs onto the bed, and covers you in your blanket. And just as quick, he slips out of your room and back into his.

—-

You wake up the next morning, letting out a groan when you realize you’re still in the outfit you had worn clubbing. Your head dully aches and your throat is desert dry so you force yourself up and to the kitchen. When you see the aftermath of McDonald’s containers on the table, vague memories start flooding your brain in horror. You couldn’t have… could you? Did you actually throw french fries at him? You close your eyes and slowly run your hand over your face in realization. Great, you think to yourself, Rafe probably thinks you’re an annoying idiot. Good grief.

You hear the door of the flat opening and Olivia appears in the kitchen, holding a plate of breakfast sandwiches, your mouth watering at the sight.

“Thank the lovely lads in apartment 4E,” she laughs, placing them on the table. “Oh god, we went hard last night didn’t we,” she says, taking in the sight of the flat.

“A little too hard…” you remark.

“No such thing, darling! Now eat up and get dressed, we’ve got a match to catch,” she declares before disappearing down the hall where you can hear muffled groans of Millie being reluctantly dragged out of her bed. You sigh and sink down into a chair, grabbing a sandwich and taking a bite. Heaven. You make a mental note to thank Jake for his chef skills. You had completely forgotten that you and the girls were supposed to go watch Rafe and Topper’s match today. Your worries about having to face Rafe yesterday had been quick to melt away, but today they were back with a new vengeance.

—-

“Okay no one wander off when we get there. Y/n, fair warning, these games get… rowdy,” Millie says, as the three of you walk toward the field, arms linked.

“Things get pretty crazy at Kildare too,” you laugh, “so yeah, don’t fucking let me out of your sight.”

The three of you shake off your fits of laughter as you stumble toward the stands, finding a spot amongst the already packed crowd. You’re finally able to take in your surroundings, glancing at the field ahead. The opposing team is warming up on the pitch, clad in red. Westheath’s team is off to the side, the boys stretching and getting ready in their white uniforms. The dirty blonde immediately catches your eye. He’s jumping and jogging in place, headphones in as though he’s tuning out the physical noise around him, and probably the mental noise too. You wonder if he’s listening to one of the songs he showed you the other night. 

He pauses his jogging to stretch out his arms, his eyes glazing over the stands, when suddenly they lock with yours. Your cheeks flush pink, embarrassed at having been caught staring, but his face just pulls into a wide grin and he gives you a wave. You wave back, and he does a quick hand motion that everyone does at Kildare games back home. You laugh and do the responding gesture, as he smiles cheekily at you before a teammate comes up to him, pulling his focus away. The exchange was brief, but oddly intimate. There was a whole field and a couple dozen people between you, and yet you two were the only witnesses to the interaction. You smile to yourself, relief in the fact that maybe getting a french fry chucked at him wasn’t enough to make him hate you after all. You wonder briefly if Rafe spends half as much time overanalyzing things the way you do. Liam was right, you do insist on overcomplicating things. 

“Hey, earth to Y/n!” Olivia laughs, waving her hand in front of your face. “The game is starting!”

—

The final score flashes on the screen: 4-2, a win for Westheath. The students are going nuts, rushing the field. Olivia and Millie lead the way, pushing through the crowd until you guys reach Rafe and Topper.

“Let’s go boys!!” Olivia yells, jumping up and down with the sea of bodies and beer around you. Rafe and Topper react with equal enthusiasm, pulling each of you in for a hug. You and Rafe are the last to hug, him pulling you in brief but close against his large sweaty body, arms wrapped around you. You don’t even mind the stickiness of the hug, feeling deja vu at the warm feeling of being in his embrace again; a feeling that is foreign yet familiar, one you hadn’t felt before. 

“Did you guys see Rafe’s goal in the second half!?” Topper asks, clapping his friend on the back.

“Of course we did, super star!” Millie cheers, giving Rafe a high five as he humbly shakes his head and laughs at his friends. The mental image of his goal was burned in your head, one that your mind would certainly play for you involuntarily over the next coming days. 

“Alright we gotta go do some stuff with the team, but everyone’s going to Central Bar later. See you guys there?” Rafe asks.

“You got it,” Olivia replies, and they jog off with quick waves, you meeting those blue eyes in silent acknowledgement once again. It was that gaze that always made the rest of the world seem to disappear while his eyes met yours, making your heart skip a beat. He’s just a friend, you remind yourself. Just a tall, attractive, soccer-playing friend…

—

“Y/n! Liv! We’re doing a round!” Jake calls you and Olivia over to where him and Liam are already at the bar, four shot glasses ordered and lined up.

“On three! One, two-“ Liam chants, as the four of you down the alcohol. Central Bar had been buzzing with what felt like half of Westheath’s student body all day. After the game, you and the girls had gone back to your flat to nap and eat, before meeting up with Jake, Liam, and the rest of their boys to head to the bar. Rafe and Topper were already pretty buzzed when you guys got there, playing a round of table tennis with you before the rest of the soccer team and their other friends pulled their attention away. You couldn’t help the way your whole body tensed when Rafe greeted Lily with a tight hug, humbling you with the confirmation that Rafe’s actions toward you weren’t anything special. You resolved yourself to a night of drinking and dancing your worries away with Liv and Liam instead.

“Alright, round of table tennis? You two against me and Y/n?” Liam challenges.

“Please, I saw Y/n playing before, you guys have nothing on us,” Olivia flashes an evil smile, her competitive side coming out.

“Oh it’s on Liv,” you laugh, as your foursome stakes your claim at the pong table. While Olivia and Jake gather the balls and paddles, you notice Liam grimacing off into the distance. You follow his line of sight, landing on Topper and Millie drunkenly dancing together across the bar, a bit too close for comfort.

“What is she doing with that geezer,” he mumbles.

“Liam! Jealousy is unbecoming of you,” you gasp in mock disbelief.

“I’m not jealous,” he scoffs, and you quickly realize that he actually is, even though you had just been joking. Your jaw falls slack as you put two and two together. Liam and Millie were always by each other’s side, at school, at the pub, when you were all watching a movie at his apartment a few nights ago. He would tease her relentlessly and his own words rang in your ears If we really like you, we’re gonna make the time to hang out with you, no matter what. 

“Shut up! Shut up!,” you whisper yell, hand coming to your mouth. “I should have realized this whole time… of course you like Millie! Everything you’ve been telling me you think exists between me and Rafe has actually been about her! She’s your Uno reverse card!” You’re shocking even yourself at these revelations.

“No no no, you can’t use my own words of wisdom against me, that’s not how this works Y/n. So what, maybe I slightly give a shit about Millie? Who cares. Her and I both know that’s never gonna happen. I still stand by everything I said about you and Rafe so don’t think your getting off so easy on that.”

“Then tell me why you’re staring at Millie while Rafe hasn’t so much as glanced my way since the minute Lily Colts got here, hmm?”

“Oh Y/n, Y/n Y/n Y/n,” Liam tuts, shaking his head laughing as he turns to the game your group of four is about to begin. You don’t have the energy to argue with Liam over the matter right now, oblivious to the fact that Rafe had indeed been glancing your way, several times. In fact, he was glancing at you right now, as Liam reached his arm over yours to help you actually hold the paddle the right way. You just hadn’t been glancing back to notice, scared of what you may or may not see between him and Lily if you did. 

—

The night dies down and it’s time for the pilgrimage back to your building. You’re walking with Millie when Liam quickly falls in step with you two. You give him a knowing smirk, to which he responds with a glare behind Millie’s back, but you let the two banter as you fall behind, now walking alone. You stare ahead, eyes mindlessly settling on Lily walking in between Callum and Henry at the front of the pack. You don’t notice the pair of legs that begin moving in pace next to your own. 

“Tonight, by the way,” Rafe’s voice startles you as you jump next to him. He chuckles at the confusion written all over your face. “You asked last night when we’re watching the next episode. And my answer is tonight, L/n,” he states.

“Haven’t you been up since like the crack of dawn? Aren’t you tired?” you ask incredulously.

“Too tired for Game of Thrones? Never,” he scoffs, Liam’s words ringing in your ear. If we really like you, we’re gonna make the time to hang out with you, no matter what.

“Well then tonight it is,” you smile. “Sorry about the french fries last night by the way,” you say meekly, looking down at the sidewalk in front of you, cheeks burning.

“Seriously L/n, talk about a horrible throw. Room for improvement,” he jokes with a comforting smile, saving you from yourself.

“Good game by the way,” you add, grateful for the way he was letting you off. 

“Thanks,” he looks at you, shoving his hands in his pocket. You turn to look at him too, and after a few moments laughter is taking you both apart. Nothing funny was said. Neither of you knew why you were laughing. And yet it felt natural, not an ounce of awkwardness in the air.

As your whole group walks into the building, people begin to peel off, splitting towards staircases and off elevator stops. 

“I’m fucking beat,” yawns Topper, as you and all your flatmates file into your hall. 

“I’m gonna sleep like a baby tonight,” Millie yawns in agreement. One by one everyone files off into their rooms. You open your door, backing into yours, Rafe across the hall from you backing into his. Laughter tugs at both your faces once again, as you let your doors close. You manage to change into your sweats and brush your teeth before you hear the light rap on your door. Rafe enters, in a t-shirt and gray sweatpants, your weakness. But you feel comfortable being alone with him now. The Rafe jitters had finally began to subside. 

“Alright L/n, episode 4, you ready for this?” he asks, plopping down in his spot next to you. 

“Oh I’m very ready,” you reply, sitting up to reach for your laptop which was resting by your feet. As you lean back, you find yourself in Rafe’s arm. He had extended it out before you sat back, effortlessly catching you against him. His hand rests casually on your arm, and you gulp, pressing play. You pray he can’t feel the way your heartbeat quickens and your body flushes. So much for those jitters being gone. 

The episode plays, you and Rafe making comments here and there before your chatter eventually dies down, leaving just the sound of the show to fill the room. You can feel Rafe’s body lean further and further down, becoming heavier and breathing slower. You very slowly turn to check, and sure enough he’s fast asleep. You sigh, and shut your laptop, careful not to stir him. You could easily shake him awake, tell him to go to his bed, but for some reason you don’t. You don’t mind him here. In fact, you almost prefer it, his body heat keeping you warm. He had already slept over once before and it clearly hadn’t been a big deal, so what was the harm in letting it happen again? You’re just friends after all, you remind yourself, not sure who you’re trying to convince. And so, the two friends fall asleep in the same bed again. 

---

🏷: @hopebaker​ @pogueslandia​ @mardema​

[nikibogwater]

A Shot in the Dark: Chapter One (Author’s Commentary)

(read the fic here)

General Notes:

(So I kind of stole this idea from my friend @unexpected-possibilities after she made an author’s commentary post on one of her fics, and I was like “Oh. Wait, I actually find this kind of stuff SUPER interesting to read." So...yeah, here’s mine for anybody who feels similarly lol)

I have been dying to write this kind of story pretty much since the completion of my second Wizards/ToA fic back in August, but it took me a while to suss out the plot. I generally try to keep my fics as canon-friendly as possible (not that I have anything against AUs, that’s just not a direction that I usually go in) so it was tricky to create a high-stakes adventure story that didn’t mess with canon too much. 

That being said, Chapter 1 is pretty chill, apart from the scene at the end. But it is incredibly important to the plot, because it sets up elements that will be very relevant later in the story. It also serves to re-establish the three-way relationship between Douxie, Archie, and Nari, which will give their interactions in the future chapters more weight. 

One last general note before we get to the passage-specific stuff: The song “Protector” by City Wolf has always been my go-to theme for the Douxie-Archie-Nari relationship, but I think it really captures the feel of this story in particular (or at least, it will once the whole thing is posted lol). I’ve never associated a particular song with any of my other fics before, but this one really was a huge part of what inspired this story, so I highly recommend that you give it a listen, if you are so inclined.

Passage-Specific Notes:

Two pairs of luminous golden eyes were hovering uncomfortably close to his head and staring at him fixedly. Douxie yelped and threw off his covers, scrambling upright and fumbling for his magic vambrace nearby. A small green hand held it out to him politely, and after a bit of confused blinking, Douxie finally registered the faces of his companions. Nari and Archie were sitting on the floor next to his mattress, looking at him eagerly. 

Two short things: One: I had no idea how I was going to start this scene, and then I remembered that one Calvin and Hobbes strip where Calvin wakes up to find Hobbes hovering over him menacingly, and I was like “Yes, that will do nicely.” Two: I still have no idea what Douxie’s magic bracelet-thingy should technically be called, so I settled on vambrace. I know Merlin refers to it as a bracelet in the show, but Merl, I’m sorry, but you clearly know nothing about jewelry. That thing is NOT a simple bracelet. (Also I had to research the difference between bracers and vambraces in order to determine which word to use. Bracers are apparently protective gear that is exclusive to archery, while vambrace is a more general word for any kind of armor worn on the forearm).

“It’s also the day you promised to bring Nari to Central Park,” Archie informed him.

This is a callback to a previous entry in the series, Home Away From Home. Although each entry in the Immortal Bonds series is written in such a way that it can be enjoyed as a standalone, I do weave tiny threads of continuity throughout all of them.

Mornings for Nari looked very different than they used to, she realized as she set the kettle on the stove, stepping back so Archie could light it (due to her somewhat complicated relationship with Bellroc, she was still wary about anything that involved fire). As a demigoddess who had existed for hundreds of millenia, she had never had much experience with something as human as family domesticity.

The scene where Nari and Archie make Douxie’s tea was originally going to be much longer and feature a lot more introspection on Nari’s part (I even researched the British tea-making process for it, since I’m fairly certain Douxie is the one who taught her how to make tea). I was going to start exploring the idea that Nari is still insecure about her place in this little found family, but I realized after about three paragraphs that there’s no way Nari doesn’t know how much Douxie genuinely loves her--she is already proficient in reading his emotions at this point. So that’s an internal conflict for another day.

“Keep very still for me, Nari.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his aura flowing out and wrapping around her like a warm, familiar cloak. “Celare,” he murmured, and Nari felt a sharp tug on her spirit as the spell washed over it, cool and comforting like the shade of an old tree.

If you’ve read previous entries in this series, you know that I can wax poetic about the physical sensations of magic for DAYS. It is one of my favorite aspects of writing Tales of Arcadia fanfiction. Also Celare (kel-ahr-ay) is Latin for “Hide” or “Conceal.” I had to get outside help for this because I don’t speak Latin, and Google Translate is (as I found out) completely unreliable for even the simplest, single-word translations (it gave me the word for “clothe” when I used it 😑)

The first time she had walked the streets of New York City, Nari had been on the verge of tears. There were so many sensations assaulting her mind at once, the feeling of countless souls buzzing around, a crowd of spirits so thick that sometimes it felt like a wall. Even without tapping into her roots, she was drowning in a sea of tangling energies, as hundreds, even thousands of voices echoed in her soul all at once.

Oooooops, is that a parallel for Sensory Processing Disorder? Well, how did that get in there??? *shoves my own mental health issues under a rug with my foot* I have no clue.

This is probably as good a time as any to discuss auras vs. life energy. Basically, aura is the energy radiated by the presence of magic. Magical creatures who share close bonds can become very sensitive to one another’s aura, and because magic is so inextricably linked to emotion, Nari is able to read Douxie’s aura to pick up on whatever he’s feeling (though this is because she is extra sensitive to magical presence--Douxie is attuned to her aura, but he can’t read hers the way she can his). Life energy, meanwhile, is the energy given off by every living soul, magic or otherwise, and that’s what Nari is able to sense via her powers as a demigoddess. I sometimes interchange the word aura with spirit or soul or something similar, but if Douxie or Nari are sensing one another in any capacity apart from their actual physical senses, it’s their auras. Archie also has an aura, but it’s not as intense as that of a true magic-wielder.  

He was fashionably dressed, (“business casual,” the humans called it), with an elegant black trench coat hanging nonchalantly off of his arm. He had dark brown hair, handsomely trimmed and styled, just a bit shorter than Douxie’s, and was wearing a large pair of expensive-looking sunglasses. He looked thoroughly uninterested in the world around him, and had the appearance of someone who was waiting to meet up with a particularly tardy acquaintance. But Nari couldn’t sense that he was waiting. She couldn’t sense anything from this man. He emitted no life force, no aura or energy of any kind. He was like a standing, breathing corpse.

I have had this character floating around in the back of my mind since August, and I was just waiting for the opportunity to use him. Also fun fact, he was originally conceived as a sort of prototype for who I thought Mordred Le Fey would be in the ToA universe. But since canon is technically still ongoing and the ToA writers could still bring Mordred into the picture, I decided to adapt him into the original character Rivan (whose name will be properly revealed in the next chapter).

Beside her, Douxie’s aura was rippling with unease. But a moment later, his spirit stilled, and he put an arm around her to turn her away from the alley...

...A minute later, the crosswalk signal changed once more, and they continued on their way. Though Douxie’s spirit was radiating a placid energy, Nari couldn’t help noticing that he kept his arm around her for the rest of the journey.

It was important to me that Douxie not look like a complete idiot in this scene, which was a little difficult since this part isn’t told from his perspective. Homeboy absolutely knows better than to ignore something suspicious like this. But he is also acting as Nari’s brother/guardian in this scene, so he tries to play it off to keep her from worrying too much. He promised her a fun day in Central Park, and he’s not willing to bail on that just yet. But I’m hoping that the fact that he has to force his aura into a state of calm and physically holds Nari close to him as they walk are good indicators that he has gone on high alert.

And that’s a wrap for this week! Next Friday, all hell is gonna break loose, so definitely come back for that. If you have any questions/comments, definitely hit me up either in my Ask Box or over on Ao3. As always, thanks for reading! ✨💕

[buckyreaderrecs]

A Toast to Whiskey: Chapter 2 / 2

CLICK TO READ PART ONE

Summary: You work in an old bar hidden away from the modern world. It’s almost charming, but not quite. That’s probably why Bucky likes it.

Part 2: Steve finds Buck, then you. Lush! Bucky and a cat! Christmas! Domestic bliss! 

Words: 10,093 Pairing: Bucky Barnes/reader Characters: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Peter Parker Additional tags: Bucky needs a hug, recovering Bucky, mostly canon compliant (Infinity War and Endgame didn’t happen, Stark Tower still exists), angst, she/her pronouns, brief mention of Nazis, mention of suicide attempt (no scenes of it though), medium level discussion of Bucky’s past trauma, Peter is mentioned and has one line, v briefly mentioned: Sharon/Peggy/Sam/Wanda/Pepper, friendship with Steve, Lush Cosmetics, Steve/Bucky friendship

Dedicated to: all the people that helped brainstorm Christmas gifts - @browngirlmagic @megthemewlingquim @pinnedandneedled @cosmicbreathe @headmistressofbitchcraft @valkyriesryde

Note:  When I thought of this fic, I split it into two parts that were meant to be equal. Part one was 2,325 words. This one is 10,093. I am sorry. Lol.

A Toast to Whiskey Chapter 2 / 2

To say you missed Bucky's presence was an understatement. It was kind of remarkable, actually. Considering how quiet he was, how he mostly just sat, it seemed strange to miss him so deeply, but that you did. He'd been in your life for months. To have him suddenly not there was a lesson in soft brutality. Others noticed too.

"Miss ya boyfriend there, missy?" the regulars teased.

"Where'd that mystery man get to then?" co-workers asked.

When two weeks Bucky-less came and went, you finally resigned to the fact that maybe you'd just have to let it go. You'd have to stop wondering if The Avengers had a phone number. You'd have to stop taking detours wherever you were going just to pass Stark Tower in the hopes you'd cross paths with Bucky. You'd just have to… stop.

Then the most surreal thing happened. Captain fucking America walked through the bar's door.

It was around midday on a Friday. You'd just opened up and were still pulling chairs from the tabletops from where they rested overnight. A few regulars were sat at the bar, waiting for their table to be set up over by the television screen. They paid no mind to Steve Rogers as he stepped into the dimly lit room, the streams of light he briefly let in highlighting the dust particles in the air.

When you saw him, your stomach dropped and your heart jumped out of your mouth. As Steve approached, you stumbled backwards, recollections of all bad news delivered before flashing in your mind.

Please, no.

"Hi. Are you Y/N?" he asked. When you managed to nod your head, he continued, his voice calm. "I'm-"

"I know. Is he okay?" you interrupted.

Steve had been interrupted many times. He was used to it. Another thing he was unfortunately accustomed to was giving people bad news.

"Yes. We’ve found him-"

"He was missing?!"

The volume of your voice drew attention from the people at the bar. "You right there, Y/N?" one of them asked.

"Yeah, yeah, Dave. Thanks. I'm alright."

Looking back to Steve, you caught the last split second of a smirk being willed off his face. "Y/N," Steve started. "Buck doesn't… doesn't know I know about you. But…"

"Where is he?"

"He's fine. He's at the Tower," he answered, his hands coming up in a defensive position. "Look, Y/N. I think he needs a friend…"

"What are you?" you snapped, suddenly blaming Steve for whatever had happened.

There was silence while you watched each other, working each other out.

Steve had not purposefully set out to spy on Bucky, or anything of that nature. In passing Peter Parker had said, "Mr. Rogers Captain Rogers Sir," and told him how he thought it was super cool that Bucky Barnes' local pub was across the road from a place Peter sometimes bought bubble tea from. It sparked curiosity that Steve ignored for as long as he could. But it got the better of him.

"I'm his best friend. But you've been given me a run for my money for a while. He spends more time in here than with the rest of us combined."

You thought about that for a second. Fuck, that was sad. "That means he spends a lot of time alone,"

"Yeah… Think that's been the problem…" Steve replied slowly.

Out of nowhere, Steve's composure changed. In a motion too fast for you to track, he pulled a chair off a table and sat. His elbows were pressed into his thighs and his head was in his hands. He groaned a little, then sat up straight, looking right at you.

"Buck… he… he does it sometimes. Disappears for a few days. No communication. He's always come back though. And it's only ever been a for a few days… This time, after a week we got worried…"

"You found him though," you pressed, annoyed at the pace of Steve's story.

"We found him. He wasn't in good shape, Y/N. I don't think…"

When Steve had walked in, you thought that something had happened to Bucky on a mission or something like that. The worst case scenario, of which you had only entertained for the shortest of times, was that Hydra had been lurking in the shadows, waiting.

Another possibility became painfully apparent at the end of Steve's trailed off sentence. Somehow, the thought of it hurt more than all the others.

Steve could see it on your face you knew what he was trying to say. You needed to hear it though. It was the only way it could be real.

"He wasn't planning on coming back."

Bucky wasn't planning on running away either. It was the metaphorical end of the line for him. Like so many times before, Bucky Barnes had forgotten to factor in Steve bloody Rogers. Saved by his best friend yet again, Bucky had woke up in a clinically clean room in Stark Tower. If he thought it was hard to get drunk, trying to kill himself was even harder.

You knew there was no comparing your friendship with Bucky to Steve's. There hadn't been a friendship in the history of humankind that could compare. Making Steve say it out loud wasn't kind, but it wasn't unnecessary cruelty either.

"Will you come see him?"

…

You thought you'd known weird. Turns out, nope. Being escorted into Stark Tower by Steve Rogers was weird. Being full body scanned by technology you couldn't begin to comprehend was weird. Feeling so, so much about someone you barely knew was weird.

All the weird became secondary to a rushing wave of relief at seeing Bucky Barnes. The wave met a tall, unmoveable wall very quickly. Bucky wasn't awake. Steve sat in a chair next to Bucky's bed and motioned for you to take the one on the other side.

Bucky was pale, lips chapped and hair stringy. Someone cared for him though. Although messy, the hair was tied back in a bun. There was a tube of chapstick sitting on the bedside table.

The sheet was pulled up under his arms. He was in a thin, white singlet. You'd never seen his vibranium arm; he'd always been in jackets in the bar. He'd always worn gloves, even after it was apparent you knew who he was. The scars on his body were confronting, but you had to file that away for a later day.

"Fuck," you finally said on a breath out.

Steve nodded in deep agreement.

"He's gonna wake up." You'd meant it as a statement but it definitely curved up too much at the end.

"He will," Steve confirmed. "He's lost a lot of blood… They tried blood transfusions but his body… The serum in him is too unstable. It made him worse. We just have to wait. He'll heal himself,"

"Okay," you said softly as you shuffled the chair closer to the bed.

As you took Bucky's hand in yours, you thought what all people do when they're bedside like that. Can they hear me? Do they know I'm here? You rubbed gentle circles across his skin with your thumb.

For a while, Steve was still, then he too dragged his chair across the floor. He got as close to the bed as he could, then folded an arm on the mattress and rested his head. You watched him look up at his best friend. Steve reached out with his free hand and gently stroked Bucky's cheek once, then settled in for the wait.

…

Sleep was uneasy, but it came. When you uncurled your body from the chair, you were alone with Bucky. He hadn't moved, hadn't dreamed. He wasn't really asleep but in some sort of super soldier serum limbo that you hoped to God wasn't a form of Hell.

It was only about ten minutes before Steve arrived back in the room. He came bearing gifts - coffee and a doughnut.

"Did you think he was going to wake up, like, when I got here?" you asked.

Steve shrugged. He'd changed clothes at some point while you slept. Grey track pants and a white t-shirt. Comfy. Casual. Not very Captain America but you guessed, pretty Steve Rogers.

"No. Yes. I don't know… We don't know when he'll wake up… I just thought he'd want to see you,"

"Do you think he comes and proper hangs out with me? Because he doesn't. He just kinda…"

"I know. Buck's never been that much of a talker. Even before. Doesn't stop him from being charming," Steve said.

"No… it doesn't. Guess he wouldn't come to see us if he didn't wanna," you reasoned, thinking about the awkward prospect of Bucky waking up and asking why the bartender was there.

"He wouldn't, no," Steve agreed.

Silence was comfortable with Steve, which was a blessing because you sat watching the television with him for a couple of hours. That's when you really took in the room beyond Bucky and the bed. It was a strange mix of hospital and home.

When you had arrived earlier, the elevator delivered you to a sweeping hallway. It didn't give much away in terms of what the function of the floor was. Stark Tower was multi-purpose. Very multi-purpose. It was head office to an ever-growing business. It was science and technology laboratories. It was home base for The Avengers. Those were the things the public knew the building did.

On the list of suspected functions included primary home of Tony Stark. Correct, although he had many other properties. Pepper was trying to sell some without Tony knowing. The Tower had to house weapons too, as the headquarters of The Avengers. Correct. Definitely in the upper limit of what was legal. Where did all The Avengers live? Where did the ones from space stay when on Earth? Theory was the Tower. Correct. Many, but not all, superheroes affiliated had very large, very beautiful private spaces in the Tower. I surely had to have its own medical wing. Incorrect. It wasn't a wing.

Stark Tower had its own dedicated floor for bio and med. Cutting edge research. Direct and tailored medical support. And that's where you had found yourself. A hospital room, spectacularly disguised as comfortable. Regardless of the armchairs by Bucky's bed and the huge flat screen, it wouldn't ever not smell like bleach.

By mid-morning, it became apparent that this wasn't Sleeping Beauty and Bucky wasn't going to wake up just because you were there with all your true... whatever.

"What's the plan?" you asked.

Steve sighed hard, stood from the chair and stretched. Your attention stayed on Bucky, but when Steve failed to answer, your eyes flicked to him. He seemed very agitated by not knowing what to do. He couldn't Captain America his way out of this one.

"You're welcome to stay. There's a room next door. We can take shifts… Or if you want to head home I can call when he wakes…"

"I'll stay," you decided quickly. Nothing else seemed as important.

…

Two days later, you'd gotten more sleep than you would have predicted. The room next door to Bucky's was another designed for the injured, but it doubled as a hotel room just as well. The bed was comfortable and nobody disturbed you when it was your turn to rest. You and Steve shared takeaway and swapped stories. It was nice to find a real human beneath the public image.

Steve could see why Bucky had continued to gravitate back towards you. You made him feel normal. And he almost came to enjoy the routine you and he had fallen into, keeping watch of Bucky. Then, as you were throwing grapes across the room, aiming for Steve's mouth, you both heard him.

Bucky mumbled a very groggy, "Fuck," as his eyes adjusted to the light.

"Buck?" Steve called, appearing at the bedside in a second.

You walked over more slowly, carefully. What if he did think it was strange you were there?

Bucky tried to move, but Steve put his arm across him. "Nope, Pal. Stay right there,"

"Lemme up, Steve," Bucky said, still groggy.

Steve folded, moving away so Bucky could sit up. He rubbed his face, his unshaved jawline. You almost thought he hadn't noticed you, but then, "How long have ya been spying on me then?"

Bucky looked at Steve, raised his eyebrows.

Neither you nor Steve had ever been in this specific situation before. No script for what someone waking from a suicide attempt should do or say. But you were both shocked by Bucky's… normality. He'd just sat up like it was another day. Not like he'd run away, hurt himself, never said goodbye.

"What the absolute fuck!" Steve whispered. Was it to himself or to Bucky? You were unsure. Bucky just stared at him, expressionless. "That's not- How could- Jesus, Buck. What were you thinking?"

You cringed, knowing it was the wrong thing for Steve to say.

"What was I thinking?" Bucky repeated.

There was a second of silence. Two. Then Bucky just ripped the covers off, swung his legs out of bed and stood up. He looked down at himself, then up at you. It was the first eye contact you'd had since he woke, and it caught the breath in your lungs and swallowed it up.

"Hey, darlin'," he greeted softly. He'd never called you that before. Before you knew it, he'd closed the space between you and had pressed a kiss to your cheek. "Sorry for all the fuss,"

"Ahh…" you started to say, but he was already walking away.

"Bucky!" Steve yelled, following him through the door. "Where are you going? We need to talk," he urged.

Feeling very out of place, you just followed Steve, hoping sticking close to him would lead you back to comfort.

"Steve, look," Bucky said, spinning on his heels. "I know, alright… I know… But I need… I can't be here. This place is drivin' me crazy… And I'm already ten different types of that,"

"Where are you going to go?" Steve asked, his voice smaller and sadder than it had just been.

Bucky shrugged casually, almost comically.

"You scared the shit out of me,"

"Not the first, won't be the last," Bucky joked, deflected.

"It could have been."

That made Bucky shut up. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Steve.

"But it wasn't. Someone needs to stick around to look after your stupid ass," Bucky said.

"Then stick around."

If you felt out of place before… Watching the two men hug then step away from each other, you could feel the weight of their history in the air. It was oppressive and you were honestly in awe. Then, before you knew you were even speaking, you just squeaked out, "You can stay with me."

…

Bucky had taken you up on the offer like he wasn't an ex-prisoner of war with decades of trauma just sitting below the surface of his crumbling composure. He'd disappeared upstairs to change and grab a bag or two, leaving you and Steve standing in utter shock.

"Are you okay?" you asked as soon as Bucky was gone.

"I… Christ, I don't know, Y/N. That wasn't normal was it?"

You laughed then. "I don't fucking know. Do you mean for someone who just… or for him? 'Cause you're meant to the expert,"

"Not anymore apparently," Steve said, more hurt than bitter.

"I'll… try to…" You were going to say 'look after him' but the concept of looking after Bucky Barnes seemed ridiculous. Steve had kinda just proven that.

Steve looked defeated, so you did the only humanly right thing to do. You pulled him into a hug. He welcomed it.

"Thought when we brought him home he'd be alright," Steve mumbled into you. "Stupid,"

"Not stupid. Just hopeful. I… Look, I don't know what…"

"I know. Sorry. Sorry, Y/N. I've just pulled you into all this when you were just-"

"No, no. It's okay. I… I'm glad I'm here. He can come stay with me. Make a plan or something. Does he have a doctor or anything?"

The enormity of the situation dawned on you both then. The complexity of it stunning you into silence. Bucky had gone through abject horror and hell and he'd survived. His body had been stitched and sewn back together. His brain had been rewired, given back to him. But now what? Nobody had really thought of that.

…

Bucky was back to his cap-wearing, strong and silent type on the way over to your apartment. Through the doors, he dropped his bags and looked around.

"I'll make some tea," you said quietly, leaving him to introduce himself to the space.

Your apartment was on the third floor of a pretty old block of units. The space was small. Sometimes it was too small for just one bartender… And yet, Bucky didn't seem too big for the space. From the kitchenette you watched him walk from the front door across the open-plan space. He glanced at the bed, probably wondering where exactly you planned on keeping him. Bucky stood at the window, surveying the view.

"How do you take your tea?" you asked.

"However," he replied.

Frowning, you shook your head. "That's… not… What do you mean?"

Bucky turned, smiled, almost confused at your confusion. "Not picky,"

"Everyone has a preference."

He just shrugged.

"No… Come here. Sit down," you ordered.

Bucky smirked. He considered it for a second, then strode over to the kitchenette and sat at the small breakfast bar.

"Take your fucking cap off. This is your home now so you can drop the weird mysterious guy thing," you told him, putting four mugs out on the bar.

Bucky chuckled and obeyed. "Didn't Steve tell ya to be gentle with me or somethin'? Don't cha know I'm all messed up?"

You could hear it in his voice that he was taking the piss.

"There he is," you said, smiling. "Alright. I'm gonna make four teas, alright? You're gonna try them all and you'll know which you like best,"

"Don't think it matters, Y/N. It's just tea,"

"It's not. It's not just tea. It's… it's about preference. You can have things the way you want."

Bucky watched you pour the boiled water, brew the teas.

"I don't want someone else tryna fix me," he said seriously.

You pushed milk and sugar towards him. "If Captain America can't fix you, I don't think anybody can."

Bucky took the mug and held both palms to it. You wondered if he could feel the warmth in his left. (He could.)

"Then why am I here?" he asked, going to sip the tea.

You paused, trying to think of a good answer to that question.

Thinking.

Thinking.

"I… don't know… One minute you're sitting at my bar drinking whiskey. Next minute you're… in my house drinking tea… I have no fucking idea how this happened."

He made a face, pushing the mug back across the table. You swapped it for milk no sugar.

"It's a bad idea. Me being here."

Bucky tasted the tea and let you swap it again. No milk no sugar.

"Then why are you here?"

"Ain't that what I just asked you?" he quipped.

No milk sugar. And an unimpressed look that made him laugh.

"I'm here because since I've been stateside I've just wanted to… I don't know. Rest. Take a fuckin' second. Feel normal… First time I've felt normal was in your bar drinkin' your whiskey,"

"…What about my tea?"

"Also works… Milk and no sugar."

…

Bucky didn't make any jokes about how tiny your place was. After tea, small talk, you handed him the television remote, threw him a blanket and told him to make himself at home. You both went about your nights individually, but side by side. After all the tension of Stark Tower, it was overwhelmingly relaxing. There wasn't a moment where you asked yourself if it was stupid to let someone as dangerous as Bucky Barnes into your home. There wasn't a moment of reconsideration. It was just… easy from the first night.

"Buck, that sofa folds out bigger," you told him, climbing into your bed after showering and getting into P.J.s in the bathroom.

Bucky, who was still in the jeans and henley shirt he'd changed into at the Tower, glanced over. "You going to bed?" He sounded scandalised.

"Sorry, Jesus. Some of us haven't been asleep for days."

Bucky laughed. "Brave joke, darlin'."

There it was again, that nickname. Was it chosen or did it slip out when he wasn't watching his words?

In the morning, it was like you'd spoken in your sleep, conversed with each other and decided on a routine. Bucky was standing in the kitchenette when you woke. He'd clearly been for a run; his headphones hanging around his neck and his runners still on his feet. He was cooking.

"Hey," he greeted when you made your way over, sitting down. "Wow. Can see why you work at a bar. Not a morning person."

Your morning expression was one part deep confusion about not still being asleep, and one part anger about not still being asleep. Bucky kinda loved it.

As you ate bacon and eggs with him, you tried to process how you got to that point. It seemed like a fruitless task. Up until Bucky, your life was… well, it was easy to explain. Doing A resulted in B happening. A simple story. Then, Bucky. Doing A resulted in nothing, and suddenly Z was happening out of nowhere. Like, Jesus Christ, stuff like that just didn't happen. But the coffee was really truly being poured and Bucky was really truly just… there.

…

You went back to work quickly; you'd used up too many leave days sitting by Bucky's hospital bed. Picking up a couple of extra shifts in that first week Bucky was at yours, you hardly had time to really talk to him. He was a ghost in your home for all intents and purpose. It worried you. Each time you left the apartment, you'd try to find a new way of checking he was okay, that he'd be there when you got back.

"Are you doing anything today?"

"Seeing Steve later?"

"Not planning on trying to hurt yourself today?"

Bucky recognised the concern in your voice. It was the same tone he used to take with Steve before everything happened. It was the same tone Steve used on him now. Goddamn those turning tables. He did his best to be reassuring without lying to you. He felt he owed you that much, at the very least.

What else did he have to offer though?

That's when it started. Bucky Barnes turned into your bodyguard, personal chef, housekeeper, and handyman. When you realised it was part of him trying to cope, settle in, be okay, you just let him do it. You'd never won any fights to try to stop him. And, you kinda liked it.

He'd be lingering out the front of the bar when you locked up. Bucky would walk you the two streets home, mumbling "Can't believe you do this alone," the whole way. If he was early for pick up, he'd come in and put chairs on tables. He mopped once. The task was completed with frightening efficiency.

By the end of the week, the apartment was spotless. What did the Winter Soldier look like holding a feather duster? Had he read the spines of all the books on the shelves? Was the television on while he cleaned, or was he a music kind of guy? You could have sworn you saw him narrow your eyes when you left an empty dish on the coffee table.

"You went food shopping?" you asked stupidly one morning, waking up to the sound of Bucky unpacking groceries. He raised an eyebrow, went to provide sass, but you put a hand up. "Don't! Just… make me some coffee, please."

As he placed the mug on your bedside table, he gently ruffled your hair - the only part of you poking out from under the covers. "Got work?" he asked.

"Yeah. Closing. Don't start till 7," you answered, emerging into the daylight of the morning… Of the almost-afternoon, you learnt as you checked your phone. "What you got planned?"

"Same thing I've been doing all week, Y/N."

He was back in the kitchenette, folding plastic bags neatly into a pile.

"There's a bag under the sink full of other bags. Don't need to fold them," you told him. He looked up at you; when would you stop over-explaining things, he wondered. "It's like, a thing everyone has. The bag of other bags. And a messy Tupperware cupboard,"

"Are you okay?" Bucky asked, a little amused.

"No! I just woke up and it's too bright and you're folding plastic bags. Are you okay?"

Bucky shrugged. He did that a lot, sometimes accompanied by a twitch of a lip curl. Sassy bastard.

"So when you say 'same thing you've been doing all week,' you mean clean and watch T.V.?" you asked, sitting up and plumping a pillow to act as a headboard. Bucky waited until you'd picked up the coffee and were looking back at him before he nodded. "How about we just… hang out,"

"Hang out?"

"Yeah. 'Cause I don't wanna move from here until I absolutely have to. So we can watch stuff on my laptop and stay in bed and Ubereats something fancy." When he failed to reply, you added, "You deserve a chill day."

Bucky crossed the space and dramatically flopped down on the bed. "Just exchanged one bossy boots for another, huh?"

"Really pretty, well-meaning bossy boots, yeah!"

…

Bucky was sitting in the window, patting a black cat you'd never seen in your entire life. He looked over when the front door closed behind you.

"Hey," he greeted, voice soft so not to startle the cat.

"Who's your friend?"

"Dunno… She was just out here when I got out the shower,"

"Right… Well, say goodbye and come inside. Got something for ya."

Bucky left the window open, and the cat remained out on the fire escape.

Inside, Bucky plonked himself on the sofa and watched you unpack things from the large paper bag you'd brought home. Bucky's bright eyes sparkled with curiosity and you could tell he could smell something unfamiliar.

When everything was unpacked, you looked at Bucky.

"This is gonna sound so dumb. I know that. But just bear with me, okay?" Checking to see if Bucky was taking you seriously, you saw his focus was on you entirely. "I… I cannot even begin to comprehend what it must be like being you. It's… It's fucked. It's fucked even in the context of superheroes and aliens and all of it… I don't know how you do it and I know it's hard and I have no idea if you're… Like, okay? Or getting better? Or if being here is helping at all but I wanna help. I want to do something for you but I know I can't do anything like, proper. I can't… I don't know… So I thought maybe I can help in a different way. In a kind of shallow… ah, superficial way? So that's what this is."

Bucky was trying to keep his expression neutral.

Bucky also didn't know how he continued to exist. Sometimes he thought it was because he felt he had to make up for what the Winter Soldier did. Save a life for each taken. Balance the books. Sometimes he thought maybe he was just superhumanly resilient. Maybe he was just more okay than made sense, and that was fine. And sometimes, like in those days he went missing, he thought he had no right being on Earth any more.

"I… I don't know what this is," Bucky started, motioning to the table of unidentifiable objects. "But you're already doin' more than enough. Me being here is helping. You give me space," and at that, you snorted, but he continued, not letting you redirect the conversation like he was so good at doing. "It's the only thing that I know helps. It helped in Wakanda. It's helping here."

In the quiet of three seconds or so, you and Bucky watched each other, testing each other's honesty. You had to trust each other, which was hard. But it was happening.

"Okay," you whispered when you grew too hot under his gaze.

"What's all this then?" Bucky asked, sitting up straight and putting his best version of 'excitement' on his face.

"This is… treat yo' self, self-care. You look after your insides, I'll look after your outsides,"

"My outsides?" he said, tone suggestive and eyebrow raised.

It made you blush.

"Skincare. Haircare. That kind of thing… It's from a store called Lush and I'm a bit obsessed. They invented the bath bomb!"

Bucky set his expression to 'I'm giving you nothing' and crossed his arms across his chest. "Bath bomb?"

"Yeah… They're these… things you put in the bath… It fizzes and makes it smell nice and look cool and is good for your skin and stuff. I didn't get one because we don't have a bath…"

You thought you were losing him, but that's just what he wanted you to think. He was wildly interested in whatever it was you were trying to sell him. He didn't hate the idea of skincare, haircare, and whatever else was going on in those little black pots. He'd looked after himself so well in the 40s. His hair was always perfect. Wasn't caught dead with too much stubble.

"I got like, a full routine for us to do together… If you want…"

Bucky liked the pronouns you were using. …we don't have a bath. …routine for us.

"You're beautiful. You know that?"

It caught you off guard. You hoped it was a rhetorical question. Blushing hard, you broke eye contact and looked at your Lush haul.

"So, you're in?" you asked quietly, pretending to read one of the labels.

"Yeah, doll. I'm in. Where's my fluffy robe?"

Squealing in happiness, you jumped up. "No robes, but pyjamas, yeah?"

Bucky took the bathroom and you took the… bedroom/loungeroom/kitchen/rest of the apartment. Once together, you put on old episodes of Golden Girls and sat Bucky on the couch. He watched as you run about finding all the perfect bowls and towels. When you had the random-under-the-sink bucket filled with hot water, you returned to him.

"Okay. First, we put on hair and face masks. I got this hair one 'cause it kinda smelt like chai latte." You opened the pot and let him smell it.

"Never had a chai latte…" Was his only response. He read the pot, "H'Suan Wen Hua… Chinese,"

"You know Chinese?"

"I know a lot of languages," he replied.

"Hmm… Okay, well, do ya want me to do this or do you want to?" you asked.

Bucky looked genuinely confused. "Do what?"

You hadn't wanted to assume Bucky would be cosmetic-clueless, but maybe it was better to just play spa. Let him sit back and relax and you do it all for him. The thought of that was both terrifying and exciting.

"Sit back. Watch T.V. Lemme do this."

And that's just what he did.

You could literally see him relax into the sofa as you saturated his hair with the treatment, massaging it into his scalp then pinning it all on top of his head in a curl, secured with a clip. If you had been able to see his face, you would've seen him biting his bottom lip, holding in a bigger reaction to the feeling of your fingers raking through his hair.

For the longest time, he'd only known touch to equal pain or death. After that, it was the tentative hands of doctors and Steve's sometimes suffocating arms. But you… you were a whole different kettle of fish. You, he could get used to.

When you jumped onto the couch next to him, it looked like you startled him out of a daze. Bucky seemed happy. It made you happy.

"Alright. Face mask. I got two different ones because the one I like kinda smells fucked but in a good one. Here, smell," you ordered, shoving an open pot of very garlicky Cosmetic Warrior under his nose.

He frowned like a child. "Smells like what Sarah made Steve eat when he was sick,"

"That's cute. But yeah. It's strong. Try this one."

Mask of Magnaminty was more his thing. Mint was a familiar smell. Bucky sat very still as you gently painted his face with the cool green goo.

"You can smile," you whispered as you watched him try to conceal a grin. "Feels nice, huh?"

"It's… different," he agreed.

It was quiet. Bucky watched the concentration on your face as you carefully finished the job. When you tapped his nose, complete with an audible "Boop!" he laughed.

Fuck, his laugh was spectacular. Maybe it seemed golden because it was a rare thing. Maybe because the action made the corner of his sparkly blue eyes crinkle. Maybe just because you liked him. A lot.

"'Kay. I'm just gonna go put mine on," you said motioning to the bathroom, "Then we can-"

"Do you want me to do yours?" Bucky interrupted. And holy fuck, how had you not thought of this as a possibility. Bucky had 1940s manners. Not even Hydra brainwashing could take that away from him. Of course he'd offer reciprocation.

"Ah… Sure. Yes."

He took the pot from your hands and dipped his fingers into the goo. "Stevie's the artist, not me. But I'll do my best," Bucky promised.

"I didn't know that,"

"Think all his best parts didn't make it into the history books," he continued. "Don't think some of them made it to 21st century…"

"If I say something based on knowing you for not long, promise not to get salty at me?"

"Salty a bad thing?" he asked, to which you nodded. "Okay…"

"Maybe it's because like, he went rogue for you or whatever. And we got sold this fairytale best friends since birth story… But I kinda expected you guys to be… Nicer to each other."

To his credit Bucky didn't stop painting your face. He was however, clearly unsettled by the statement. He thought for a second. "Yeah… It's… I don't know…" He shrugged. "We'll be alright. He knows I love him… Just handles things different. And he doesn't like being upset. Needs to fix everything. Fight the fight… I've never been like that. Not really… He was the one that wanted to go to war,"

"You didn't?"

"Nah… conscripted."

That fucked you up a little. Hydra wasn't the beginning of his lack of autonomy. He'd been owned by other people since he was basically a kid.

"It's alright," Bucky said.

"Is it?" You'd asked so quietly for a second you thought maybe no noise had emerged from your mouth. There was a twitch in Bucky's expression that reassured you it had.

He'd finished your face mask, putting the pot on the coffee table and wiping his hands on the same towel you had used. It was smeared with green and grey colours. Bucky's gaze focussed on it while he spoke.

"I don't want to keep fighting… But if I don't, I don't know how I'm meant to make up for what I've done."

Your nose began to tingle, the tell-tale warning sign of crying. Biting your lip and willing yourself to be calm you nodded, mostly to yourself. It would be a lie to say you understood, but you could genuinely see his sad logic.

It took so long for you to say something that Bucky had already picked up the next tissue paper wrapped product in your line of Lush. He was rotating it in his hands, trying to work out what could be inside.

"I.. I don't think you can… But not, not because… You just don't have to because it's not your fault. Like, you're not the… reason it all happened. So it doesn't make sense that you have to make up for it. That's not your responsibility. If anything someone has to make it up to you."

Bucky looked at you, a small smile on his lips. He was grateful that you weren't changing the subject, shying away from a hard conversation. It wasn't like you were saying anything brand new to him. But it was nice to hear you say it. He believed you more than when the others had said it. It was a sentiment they all had to believe, because there was red on all their ledgers. Not yours. You had no stake in the claim.

"If it's not my responsibilities, who gets that? It's on me, Y/N. I'm here. Capable. Gotta do it… Someone can make it up to me when I'm old."

There was finality in the statement. That was that. So, you did what any good bartender would do.

"Okay… Well… How about I pour you a whiskey and you tell me how you don't think 102 is old?"

There was that laugh again.

Two Foot Soak and Fancy Frees and whiskey fireballs later, Bucky was well and truly on his way to joining the Lush cult. He looked ridiculous, sitting there covered in product and trying to drink while not getting face mask on the glass. After picking Yog Nog shower gel over Snow Fairy, he disappeared into the bathroom to wash himself clean.

When you were both showered and back in pyjamas, you showed him how to do the towel-hair-twist things that he claimed only women knew how to do. "That's sexist," you teased. And when he did it first go, you suspected he had known all along.

"All that's left is body lotion,"

"Sleepy," he read, taking the pot from you. Opening it, he considered the scent. "Lavender,"

"You're good at this,"

"Everyone knows the smell of lavender,"

"Whatever," you said with a shrug, reaching out to scoop some of the lotion up.

Bucky watched you for a second, before snapping out of the moment. Probably not the coolest thing to do - watch a girl cover herself in lotion. Unless you wanted him to watch. If you did - he would have complied.

Watching Bucky out the corner of your eye, you tried not to laugh. He could tell.

"What?" he sighed. "What am I doing now?"

"Nothing. It's just… Winter Solider covering himself in lavender scented body lotion… It's a mood."

Bucky frowned, not sure exactly what you meant. He did know you were happy.

…

After the self-care session, you and Bucky had fallen asleep on the sofa. It wasn't like in the movies where bodies overlapped and comfortable sleep was found. Bucky was sat upright, head rolled back into an awkward position that would have almost definitely caused an ache by morning. Even for a super soldier. You were on the opposite end, curled up with your feet pressed into Bucky. A siren somewhere outside woke Bucky around three in the morning. He carried you to bed, tucking you in and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. You didn't stir at all.

Each night thereafter you let yourself drift off on the sofa, enjoying the proximity to Bucky and knowing you'd wake up in bed. It was on the cusp of being routine until one particularly stormy night. Wind had been howling for hours, catching somewhere in a drain or gutter just outside the windows. It caused a high pitched whistle that kept pulling you from sleep.

As Bucky laid you in bed, you woke, confused for only a moment.

"Is it like that every time there's a storm?" Bucky whispered through the darkness of the room. You made a grumbling sound, which Bucky correctly interpreted as a yes. "I'll fix it tomorrow,"

"Wait," you grumbled a little more clearly. "Stop sleepin' on th' couch. Come 'ere." You had your hand around Bucky's wrist and were pulling. There was no way you'd be strong enough to actually pull him onto the bed, but there was no way Bucky was going to say no either.

He crawled under the covers with you, trying to decode what it meant that he was in your bed. Meanwhile, you were wide awake trying to work out if he was buying your sleepy mumbling.

Which was worse, the tension of the want to wriggle back into him, let him curl his arms around you and keep you safe, or the anxiety produced by the thought of rejection? At what moment had Bucky turned from customer to friend? From friend to something else? Had those lines ever existed, or did Bucky's unreal history smash any chance of social normalities in his future? Did the carnage leave only constant unknowns and unmapped territory in its wake? Why did he always smell so goddamn good?

…

It was the start of June when Bucky Barnes had walked into a dusty bar seeking solace. It was the start of August when he disappeared into the night, not planning on returning. Alas, Captain America. So, it was almost four months ago he found refuge in the two-room apartment of one bartender. That brought him all the way up to December. Christmas.

"S'not what it used to be," Bucky grumbled from where he was sitting on the sofa, socked feet on the coffee table.

"But you didn't have my eggnog in the 40s," you countered.

Bucky narrowed his eyes and hid a smile with another sip from the mug in his hands. God, he loved your eggnog. He loved a lot of things about you, but he kept that to himself. He said nothing and continued to watch you decorate the small, plastic Christmas tree you'd set up in the corner of the room.

"You're not gonna help?" you asked.

"You're doing fine, darlin'. I'll tell you if you miss a spot,"

"You're a little fuck, you know that?"

"Mmm. Been told once or twice."

You snorted and got back to your tinsel.

Now, you weren't a psychologist and you didn't know shit about the deep trauma Bucky had experienced and still lived with, but you felt he was definitely in some early stage of recovery. The bed you occupied and the sofa bed he did were close enough that you could hear the whimpers of nightmares. Mornings after, you could pretend you hadn't heard. But, when he shared your bed, which he often did, there could be no ignoring the fact that you knew. However, the nightmares had lessened over the past two months. He made more jokes. He checked the windows less. He went over to Stark Tower a lot to keep training. You even suspected he'd made a friend in Sam Wilson.

"Would it be weird if I got Steve a Christmas present?" you asked, standing back from the tree and looking at your masterpiece.

"He'd probably cry,"

"What? Why?"

"Neither of us got much as kids… Everything's special. Don't think he's grown out of that," Bucky explained, trying to sound casual but the admiration for Steve was too thick in his words for that. "What are ya gonna get him?"

"Not telling you. You'll go snitch. You tell him everything," you accuse, spinning on your heels to point a finger. He made a face that said 'yeah, that's valid.' Smiling, you moved to plug the fairy lights into the electrical outlet. "Should we invite him over?"

By the time you'd stood, marvelled at your sparkling beautiful tree, taken a photo of it, then turned back to Bucky, you saw he had his deep-in-thought face on. It was his serious face, reserved for serious things. You put your phone down and sat next to him, nudging your way to curl up under his arm that hooked over the back of the sofa.

"Talk," you said softly.

"This is your house… so you should do what you want…"

"But?"

"I don't know… I… Nothing bad's happened here, you know? Nobody even knows where here is. It's… safe… from everything else," Bucky said, speaking slowly, carefully. There was a vulnerability in his words that made your heart ache.

"Yeah. It is. Okay. That's okay. We can keep it like that… Our little safe space, huh?"

Bucky nodded, then turned to look at you. God, he was so soft. He smiled, turning you into a pool of feelings.

"Thank you," he said, probably not meaning to whisper it.

You just nodded once and looked back at him. How could anyone have ever wanted to hurt him? How could they fucking touch him?

Before you could even work out who moved first, your foreheads were pressed softly to each other's and he'd wrapped you up in his arms. Bucky often smelt like Lush shampoo you'd bought him that he referred to as the "green jellybean" shampoo. And he always smelt like mint toothpaste because he brushed his teeth multiple times a day, citing a lack of access to such good oral hygiene supplies in the 40s as the cause. Under all that was his own scent, that unique humanness everyone has. Bucky's was sweet and warm and it contrasted against the mint much like the coolness of vibranium pressed to skin.

You knew him. You knew he wouldn't go where you'd not invited him.

As softly as you could control yourself, you tilted your head up and kissed your lips to Bucky's. A second. Two. He kissed back. His first kiss since 1945. And for the first time since coming out of Hydra brainwashing in 2014, Bucky Barnes was so fucking happy to be alive.

…

"I've just realised the best reason for this happening here instead of at ours," you said as you climbed the stairs to Steve's apartment. Bucky hummed a response from in front of you. "We don't have to do any dishes,"

"You don't do dishes anyway," he replied, not trying to be funny but simply stating a fact.

"Killin' my Christmas joy, Barnes,"

"Reckon I was the one bringing the joy," he said, reaching out to gently touch the dress you were in.

Bucky banished you to the small bathroom while he wrapped your Christmas gifts the day before, but as you emerged he seemed perplexed. "Feel like maybe you should have this one now," he'd said, then handed it over. The dress was beautiful, probably very expensive and new despite looking quite vintage in style. "Thought maybe you'd wanna wear it to Steve's tomorrow?" Yes. Yes, you fucking did.

When he saw you in it, saw how it fit you and how you glowed, Bucky felt validated and like all his insides were made of goo. Walking up the stairs to Steve's, he felt the same. Maybe worse. Oh, God, maybe like the first time he'd brought home a girl to meet his family. Bucky tried to distract himself from… you, by counting stairs and taking in his surroundings in detail.

Steve's apartment block was very unassuming. Nobody would guess Captain America lived there. Of course, the other residents had seen him around, shock eventually giving way to acceptance. As you arrived at his door, you could smell and hear all the other Christmas Eve parties happening on his floor.

"Door's unlocked!" Steve called from inside at the sound of your knocking.

Pointedly, Bucky locked the door behind him when he came inside, then put the brightly wrapped gifts on the small table beside the coat rack. Steve was far too busy hugging you tightly to notice that though.

"Y/N! You look beautiful!"

"Yeah? Thank you! Guess where this came from," you quizzed, spinning on the spot to make your dress twirl.

"Bucky?" Steve guessed too quickly.

You pouted, annoyed the game was over. Looking over at Bucky you asked, "Did you tell him?"

"He didn't tell me," Steve said. "That's just a very Bucky dress,"

"You're right. He does also look spectacular in it," you agreed, laughing.

The night went on, and it came as no surprise that Steve was an excellent cook. Although he dismissed compliments, citing Wanda Maximoff for recipes, he seemed to almost buzz at how much food you and Bucky consumed. When it was time for presents, you took a bowl of paprika mashed potato with you to the couch.

"Wait… I thought you were moving these to get to our gifts," you said confused, pointing to the pile on the coffee table.

"I like Christmas," Steve replied, shrugging.

Each carefully wrapped box had a sticker tag on it, the handwriting beautiful. Each one with your name on it looked like typed font it was so perfectly replicated. Bucky's, however, all had variations of his name. Bucky. Buck. Buckaroo. Jerk. Punk.

"I wanna go first," Bucky announced, clearly annoying the scene Steve had playing out in his head. "Here," he said, throwing a box at Steve. Obviously, he caught it.

Steve was immediately suspicious of Bucky's enthusiasm. He did his best not to give his best friend the satisfaction he so badly sought. Simply, Steve rolled his eyes when he unwrapped the ridiculous Captain America action figure.

"See, if you press here, he says things!" Bucky explained, reaching over the coffee table to press the button.

The action lit up and a recorded voice proudly announced, "Avengers, assemble!"

Bucky started to cackle. Steve held in a grin, sucking in his bottom lip to bite it between his teeth.

"That's not even your voice," you noted.

Steve pressed the button again. The toy said, "Freedom and justice for all!"

Bucky was absolutely beside himself.

"I… don't think I've ever said that," Steve said, composing himself. "Actually, Buck, before you get too proud, here." Steve handed Bucky a gift. It stopped Bucky in his tracks. He narrowed his eyes at his friend and began to slowly unwrap it. "If I'm a joke, buddy, so are you," Steve said in the best anti-Captain America tone he could.

Bucky held up the teddy bear. The Bucky bear. Unlike Steve and the action figure, Bucky didn't seem embarrassed by the toy.

"Didn't know they still make these," he said slyly. Bucky knew for a fact they did not make them. He'd gone looking out of interest. Unless Steve had found a mint condition, not at all aged bear, which was incredibly unlikely, it meant he had one especially made.

"If you don't want him, I'll have him," you said, reaching out for the teddy with grabby hands. Bucky (the human) smiled as you hugged Bucky (the bear) to your chest.

"That backfired, didn't it?" he grinned across to Steve.

Steve shook his head. "Here, punk. Got you these too."

Steve had bought Bucky three more gifts. One of the past, one of the present, and one of the future. The past was a vintage record player, which momentarily sent Bucky into a hazy daydream. To use in the here and now - a top of the range knife sharpener. The future was the box set of Gadget Man. You wondered if Steve knew how weird Richard Ayoade was.

He wasn't done; Bucky hadn't been kidding about the whole 'had nothing growing up = now overdoes gifting' thing. Steve presented you with what you could only assume was a very expensive fancy decanter, the most beautiful antique brooch, and a book about the women of WWII. "That's the only one Peg had ever approved of," Steve said.

"You remember everything, huh?" you replied. All those months ago, waiting for Bucky to wake, Steve had told you about Peggy Carter and all the other women he'd met in the war. He'd recalled how enraptured you were.

Lucky last was a pair of matching ugg boots for you and Bucky. Buck pulled his on immediately, loving the feeling of his wriggling toes in the softness.

"Okay, so you moonlight as Santa. Cool," you laughed when Steve was finally done.

Steve grinned with pride.

"Our turn. This one is from me," you said, handing two parcels to Steve. "Bucky told me about how you used to draw. Reckon you both need some… non-combat hobbies."

Steve unwrapped the illustrator's pencils and drawing pads. "Y/N, these are beautiful… It's really thoughtful. I'll draw you something,"

"Draw me," Bucky chimed in.

"She's already unlucky enough to see you every day, Buck. Doesn't need your face on her wall," Steve replied casually, nonchalantly.

You adored when Steve and Bucky were soft around each other, to each other, but fuck it was fun when they'd bicker like an old married couple. The swings they took at each other were always held back with love.

"Christ," Bucky laughed. "Anyway, you interrupted me. I wasn't finished. Here," he said, tossing Steve another gift.

A new leather jacket ("…faux leather, Steve, gotta get with it…"), some very specific thing for Steve's bike that you did not understand, and a fondue set. You also did not understand that.

"Apparently…" Bucky started, leaning back on the sofa looking smug as fuck. "…Peggy told Sharon. Funny stories from Aunt Peg's past and all that… Sharon told Sam. Sam told me. So, ah… fondue."

Steve said nothing.

"I don't get it,"

"Why are you like this?" Steve asked Bucky.

…

The mewing sounds of a black cat woke you early on Christmas morning. Bucky sometimes opened the window when he got up, left a little dish of milk out on the fire escape for the stray. It didn't seemed cagey, like it was used to being inside the apartment.

Bucky emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered and smiling happily at you and the cat. "Mornin'," he greeted, reaching down to pat the cat's back, just where its tail began. The cat shimmed happily.

"Are you talking to her or me?"

"I mean… Both?"

You shook your head at him while he went about making coffee. The cat followed him, curling around his ankles like she'd been his best friend forever.

"What's her name?"

"Becca."

You nodded, watching the cat. "So, are you gonna come wish me a happy Christmas?" you asked Bucky when he remained focused on the cat, then on pulling bowls and pans from the kitchen cupboards.

"How 'bout you come here and wish me a happy Christmas. Since I'm about to make you special pancakes,"

"Special pancakes?!" you repeated, quickly getting out of bed and slipping your feet into closest pair of ugg boots. Not yours. Bucky snorted as he watched you cross the apartment walking like a little kid in their mother's high heels. When you got to him, he opened his arms and pulled you in close. "What makes them special?"

"If they work, they're gonna be eggnog flavoured… Maybe," he answered, leaving the hug to begin cooking.

After eggnog pancakes and The Grinch, you both pulled out your Christmas gifts.

"Did you actually go into a Lush store?!" you squeaked, quickly taking the lid off the Merry and Bright giftbox.

Bucky sighed. "Yeah… I did… Had to get something without the bath stuff in it," he told you.

The image of Bucky Barnes walking into a Lush store and asking for a giftbox for you was all a little too much. The signature smell of the store was in the air and Bucky looked relieved.

"I love it. It's perfect. Thank you," you said softly, hugging him.

It was his turn. Bucky opened the small box, held up the contents. You'd never seen confusion so perfectly executed in expression before. The pink cat collar looked especially tiny hanging from his finger.

"Notice anything different about Becca?" you asked then.

Bucky immediately started to look around for the cat. She came when he called, and he picked her up. Still confused.

"See that little tattoo in her ear? Means she's yours. Took her to the vet to see if she was microchipped or anything. But she wasn't. She was homeless, and now she's not. She's wormed and flead and registered to us. Turns out she's young too. Just a bit of a big boi, probably all that milk you've been giving her,"

"Y/N... I..." But he didn't know what to say, so he turned to the cat. "Did ya hear that, Bec? You don't have to sneak ya in anymore."

Bucky put her new collar on while you told him that he'd have to take her to her appointment the following week; she needed to be desexed. And, that you had to give her a name at the vet. "I don't know if we can change it now... Didn't want to ruin the surprise, so I just did it. But it's not like it says Bucky on your birth certificate, so…"

"What did you call her?"

"Whiskey,"

"Whiskey… Of course you did. How about I make us some tea then, before you get ready for work? Do a toast to Whiskey?"

…

 "Most places are closed Christmas," Bucky stated like you didn't already know that fact.

"Yeah… But I don't know, we open every year and the regulars come. I don't know where they'd go if we weren't open," you explained, pulling your boots on.

"I'll come with you," he said then, quickly dragging himself off the sofa and looking around for something to wear. No real cleaning had taken place in a couple of days. The Christmas spirit was well and truly alive in the form of loose bits of tinsel and stray gift bows. Clothes were scattered about too, and empty shopping bags. You were surprised Bucky hadn't freaked out about the mess.

"You can if ya want, but you don't have to. Don't feel obligated or anything."

Bucky was dressed and at the door before you'd finished with your laces. His beauty was effortless.

"I don't," he reassured, tying his hair up in a bun.

As you and Bucky turned the corner onto the bar's street, you could see a couple of people leaning against the old building. Out of instinct, Bucky's grip on your hand tightened and he walked a little closer to you. Approaching the bar, you recognised Dave and another regular. "Hey, guys," you greeted them, hugging them before opening the bar and letting everyone in.

Like it was a normal day, the tables filled with people and the jukebox was set to bad 70s and 80s rock and country. You poured out a free round of beer and ordered a couple pizzas for the men that had only your bar to call home.

Once everyone was settled, you wandered back over to Bucky, who was residing in his usual place.

"What's a boy like you doing in a place like this?" you asked, grinning and resting on the bar.

"Oh, you know. Good service. Think I might ask the doll that works 'ere out," he replied, trademark Barnes.

It made you laugh. Bucky leaned across and kissed you gently.

"So what will it be? Whiskey? Oh, fireball! For Christmas?"

Bucky made a face he couldn't hide fast enough. "Don't take this the wrong way, darlin', but… prefer your eggnog,"

"I've made you fireballs before at home?"

He tried to hide a smile. "How 'bout that old bottle. Still floating around?"

The 1940 bottle of whiskey. In the wake of Bucky's abrupt disappearance all those months ago, you'd hidden the bottle behind stacks of till rolls and bags of straws. It did nothing but remind you of Bucky, which in turn caused nothing but heartache. In all honesty, you'd forgotten about it until the moment he'd asked for it.

"Not drinking with me?" he asked when you only poured one glass.

"Buck, you know I love you, but I'm just not drinking that shit ever again."

He watched you for a second, studied your face to see if you were going to take it back or laugh like it was a joke. But you didn't do either of those things. Rather, you just smiled. Gentle but sly. Knowing.

You kinda loved him from the get go.

"Think I've been waitin' eighty years for you," Bucky said, his voice shaky, like the words had slipped from the deep, pure recesses of his mind without filter.

"Merry Christmas, James Buchanan Barnes. Glad you're here," you replied, holding your can of Dr Pepper up to tap against his glass of whisky in a toast.

"Merry Christmas, darling."

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Please like, reblog, and comment if you’ve got any feels about this! It took ages to write and was a lot of work. I’d appreciate it a lot. xo Rhi

Tag list: @browngirlmagic @darlingtholland

[camillemontespan]

a kingdom divided [final chapter: now and forever, i’m your king]

A/N: I want to point attention to one of my old one shots which focuses on when Drake becomes a dad for the first time; in my head, he has a big deep chat with his newborn baby girl, working out his thoughts. I didn’t copy the one shot here because some parts of it don’t fit with a kingdom divided but the scene where Drake talks to Lily is my head canon, so if you fancy reading it for a big bowl of fluff, here you go:

Friday, 5th September, 5am 

Now, onto the final chapter of A Kingdom Divided! Thank you so much to those who commented and reblogged and sent me private messages asking about the plot, spoilers etc.  It’s been awesome having you all reading! I’ve enjoyed writing this but it’s time to finish it. Hope you guys enjoy. 

@jovialyouthmusic @pug-bitch @sirbeepsalot @moonlightgem7 @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @dcbbw @notoriouscs @be-still-my-aching-heart @carabeth @iplaydrake

*****************************************************************************************

'Good morning Cordonians! I am Natalia Patrovsky, it is 7am and what a beautiful day we have in store! Today's top headline: has King Liam managed to restore peace and order to his kingdom after his televised speech? Keep watching the programme for live updates and expert analysis.'

                          *************************************************

Liam sat on his throne and surveyed the Grand Hall where he had called his remaining courtiers.

Remaining.

The few courtiers who hadn't taken part in the uprisings were relieved that it seemed peace was on the way.

40 of the courtiers who had rebelled had decided that they would stay in Cordonia and donate 500,000 euro to orphanages, hospitals, animal shelters as per the Kings conditions - they had slowly come to realise that violence was not the answer. They wanted to help move Cordonia forward into a calm and peaceful future and make amends.

20 courtiers and 10 servants who had rose up against the King couldn't stomach being ruled over by him. They had left in the night, away to France, America, other countries that did not have a monarchy. They strode out with purpose, condemning Cordonia for being weak.

Now, Liam looked out over his smaller court but he didn't feel guilty. This was a fresh start. A clean slate. The palace was quieter but all the better for it.

Liam was aware that his allies, bar one, were gone. Drake, Camille, Hana and Maxwell were still in Texas. Olivia hadn’t turned up to the Grand Hall.  Leo was in Cuba. The only ally Liam could see was Bertrand, who stood front and centre of the courtiers. He was wearing a silk red kimono with gold embroidery, a silk navy shirt, black trousers and loafers with gold tassels. He looked casual and extravagant at the same time, with not a sweater vest in sight. He looked at Liam and gave him a wink.

Encouraged by his friend, Liam stood up and cleared his throat. 'My court,’ he began. 'It’s been a long road, a difficult time. But we have survived it. Look around you. This court may have diminished in size but it has increased in loyalty, kindness and goodness. Let us work together to make Cordonia a peaceful and better place for everyone. I want us to be a proud nation again. I want us to be as one.  No more division. I will fight until the end, so raise up and help me make Cordonia the jewel she is meant to be. For Cordonia! '

'For Cordonia!' everyone chorused and Liam felt relief. Relief and hopefulness. He needed to have hope that Cordonia would thrive and that he was the person to lead them. He watched as everyone repeated 'For Cordonia!' and he hoped that their choruses would spread across the country, echoing around the world.

 ****************************************************************************************

Liam sat in his study with his door open. He had decided that from now on, he would have an open door policy. Now, anyone who passed his study would see him at his desk and know that they were welcome to talk to him.

'Your Majesty?'

Liam looked up to see Bertrand. 'Bertrand! Come in!'

Bertrand smiled and entered. He cleared his throat. Liam gestured for him to sit down opposite him. 'What can I do for you?' he asked.

'I'm here to ask if I can donate 500,000 euro to the orphanages,' Bertrand said.

Liam frowned. 'But you didn't betray me?'

'I know, Liam. But I've learned. I made mistakes too. I would often use my title as a way to gain material things. I would shout my name for all to hear. It never occurred to me how it appeared to the people of Cordonia.  I'm the worst type of noble. So, I want to make amends. I may not have rebelled against you but I was poisoned - clearly, I rubbed people up the wrong way. So, here is my cheque for you to deposit. Consider this my fresh start.'

'Fresh start? Does that explain why you're suddenly wearing your kimonos in public?'

Bertrand chuckled. 'Don't I just look fabulous?'

******************************************************************************************

Leo was sat nursing a glass of rum. The bar was empty except for the bartender who was drying glasses and the smell of cigars punctuated the air. Leo had been in Havana for a few days, staying in a rundown apartment on Calle Linea. This bar was next door to his address and it had become his second home. He actually quite liked it; it had a bohemian vibe to it with rustic orange walls, potted palm trees, distressed leather chairs and chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. He had gotten to know the bartender, Diego, extremely well. Diego probably hated Leo, as all Leo did was drink and pine for the beautiful redhead he had lost. Right now, he wasn’t exactly the most fun to be around. 

He signalled to Diego that he wanted another top up.  Diego rolled his eyes and poured him another rum then placed the bottle beside Leo. He had a feeling Leo would be drinking more. 

Leo rubbed his eyes and saw his reflection in the glass on the bar. He looked like shit. He clearly needed a shower and to eat something. He had only really been existing on rum and cigars since he had arrived. 

He ran his finger along the rim of his glass and tried to block out thoughts of Olivia, and as usual, he failed. Olivia was all he thought about. Leo hadn’t heard from her since he had left Cordonia and he had no idea if she had read his letter. If she had, she had probably burned it. 

Leo took another swig of rum and closed his eyes, focusing on the burn in his throat. 

‘Hey trouble.’

Leo choked on the rum and whipped around. Leaning on the bar to his left was the one person he never expected to see but the one he wanted most in the world.

Olivia.

Diego looked between the two of them and quietly slipped out to the backroom. Thank God the weepy blonde man finally had some female attention. 

Leo stared at Olivia. He wanted to reach out and touch her, just to check that she was real. She casually went behind the bar and brought out a glass, before pouring a measure of Leo’s rum into it. Leo stared at her as she did this. He had to be hallucinating. He had to be.

‘Are you really here?’ his voice croaked. 

Olivia took her glass and went back to Leo’s side of the bar. She sat up on the bar stool and placed her hand on his cheek. ‘I’m really here.’ 

‘Wh.. why are you here?’

Olivia took a gulp of rum. ‘I read your letter.’ 

Leo paled. Oh god. Now that he knew she had read it, he wished he hadn’t been so honest. So pathetic. He had been sickening. 

‘I loved it,’ Olivia whispered. ‘It’s the best thing anyone has ever given me.’

There was a loaded silence. Leo bit his lip, unsure what to say. Luckily, she continued.  ‘I’m sorry I was so harsh with you. I shouldn’t have been a bitch but I got scared. I just hate to feel vulnerable, you know? I’m so vulnerable with you and it terrified me. I felt weak. I was brought up to believe that having feelings was a sign of weakness; how fucked up is that? I pushed you away to save myself because I thought you would hurt me but after I read your letter, I realised how stupid I had been. I was pathetic.’

Leo clenched the edge of the bar top. ‘You were never pathetic. I understood your reasons. Come on, I’ve hurt every woman I’ve been with. You were right to be wary-’

‘But I was wrong to assume you would do the same to me,’ Olivia interrupted, her voice fierce.  ‘You wrote that you would never break my heart, that you would protect it.  I believe you now. I just hope you can forgive me for pushing you away.’

Leo stared at her, his eyes wide. ‘Olivia, I was never angry with you. There’s nothing to forgive.’

Olivia blinked back tears and her gaze met his. ‘Can we.. go back to how it was?’

Leo frowned. ‘As in, before I told you I loved you? Wouldn’t blame you, I was pathetic.’

‘No!’ Olivia grabbed his hand now. ‘No. I want you to love me.’ 

‘You do?’

‘Yes. Because I love you too, Leo. I love you.’

Leo stared at her a for a long moment then took a deep sip of his drink. He placed the glass on the bar and studied her. ‘If we’re going to do this, maybe we should have some rules in place-’

‘Fuck the rules,’ Olivia breathed and before Leo could work out what was happening, she had grabbed him by the neck of his shirt and pulled him into her, their mouths crashing together. All Leo could taste was rum and Olivia and he wanted to drown in it forever.                   

******************************************************************************************

They crashed into the apartment. Leo’s hands were tangled in Olivia’s red hair and he could smell the scent of vanilla on her skin. He wanted to inhale her. Still kissing her hungrily, he slammed the door behind them and the two of them pulled at each others clothes, not once leaving each others lips. 

Leo pulled her red top off her and cast it aside. It hit a lampshade, which caused the lamp to fall to the ground with a smash, but he honestly didn’t care. 

He felt Olivia’s fingers tugging at the buttons of his shirt, before she murmured, ‘fuck it,’ against his mouth and ripped the buttons free. Her hands roamed down his chest, down his abs and ran along the waistband of his jeans. ‘Olivia..’ he groaned. 

They continued kissing, their tongues twisting, and Leo managed to guide them both into the bedroom. His hands wrapped around her and he picked her up, grinning when she wrapped her legs around his waist. Leo pushed her up against the wall and kissed down her cleavage, his hand unclasping her bra. He loved how pale and poreless her skin was; she was like alabaster stone against his gold. 

Olivia threw her head back when she felt Leo’s fingers explore up her thighs. His touch was like fire against her skin. He gently pulled aside her thong and she let out a gasp when his fingers found her. ‘You’re so wet,’ he muttered in her ear. Olivia reached down and pushed his fingers into her deeper in response. 

They kissed deeper. Leo needed her. He needed to have her right now. His jeans were incredibly tight and he wanted to feel her around him. 

Leo carried her to the bed and threw her down. She landed gently and he watched as she eagerly took off her skirt and underwear. He stood and studied her. She looked beautiful; the sun was casting a glow on her skin and her red hair shone against the pillows. 

‘Fuck me, Leo,’ she said. Leo quickly unbuckled his belt and pulled down his jeans. Olivia smirked when she saw his erection. He slowly crawled over to her, suspending his body over hers. Olivia reached out to run her hands down his arms, corded with muscle. She loved his arms. Leo gently leaned down to kiss the crook of her neck. 

The atmosphere had changed now. What had been desperate, primal  and all consuming had turned into something gentle and slow. Leo was taking his time now. He wanted to savour this. 

‘I love you,’ he whispered. His breath made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and she closed her eyes as Leo kissed his way down her body. Every kiss burned; she felt like she was on fire. Her made her into fire. 

Their mouths met again and Olivia wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling down. She let out a gasp when she felt his length against her. She remembered how big he was. 

Her ice blue eyes met his forest green ones and she told him, not caring how it sounded, now caring how vulnerable she now was, that she loved him. Leo smiled softly and Olivia braced herself for impact. 

She had no idea what she was letting herself in for with Leo. This was all new to her. But she wanted to be brave and bold. As he moved against her, his arms wrapped around her, holding her body close, Olivia wanted to be brave and bold for Leo. 

*****************************************************************************************

Hana and Maxwell dragged their suitcases downstairs. Well, Hana dragged hers. Drake was helping Maxwell as he had packed a ton and could barely lift it.  Drake lifted it like it weighed nothing. 

Bianca stood at the bottom of the stairs bearing gifts. Maxwell beamed when she handed him a tupperware full of homemade brownies. ‘My speciality,’ Bianca said. ‘It’s been so good having you both here with Drake and Camille. I’ve loved meeting you!’

Hana gave her a hug. ‘Thank you for your hospitality, Bianca. It’s been amazing. Um.. sorry about the utensil business.’ 

Maxwell blushed and looked down at the floor. Bianca laughed. ‘That reminds me.. wait a second!’

She bustled through to the kitchen then came back. 

‘Here you go!’

Drake paled and Camille placed her head on his chest, hiding her sniggering.  Hana and Maxwell looked like they wanted the ground to swallow them up. 

Hana gingerly took the rolling pin. 

‘Um.. is this so we can make your speciality brownies?’ she asked, dread filling her voice.

‘If that’s what you kids are calling it these days!’ Bianca said, grinning. 

‘I figured the ladle you both used as a whip was a little.. weak. Now you can enjoy this a little more,’ Bianca said casually. ‘I used a rolling pin with Bastien, ohh boy. It’s got more of a bang.  You’re welcome.’

Drake looked like he was going to be sick.

Hana reddened. ‘Um, thank you, Bi..’ she whispered, opening her bag to take the rolling pin. Bianca let out a laugh and grabbed the rolling pin from her. 

‘Oh god, I was only kidding! I went out to Walmart and bought this for a joke.. Oh honey, I’m sorry!’

'I'm never using a utensil from this house ever again,' Drake muttered.

Bianca wrapped Hana and Maxwell into a tight cuddle. ‘Sorry my loves.’

Hana smiled now. ‘I’ll miss Texas.’

‘We’ll miss you too,’ Camille replied. 

‘When are you both coming back? Are you both coming back?’ Maxwell asked. He looked scared now; thinking about life in Cordonia without them suddenly had him nervous. Drake and Camille were the only two who made life at court feel normal. 

Camille looked up at Drake, who smiled softly down at her. ‘I think we’ll be coming back,’ Camille confirmed. Maxwell raised his fist in the air.  ‘Yes! Everything is restored!’ 

Hana grabbed Camille into a hug then threw her arms around Drake. ‘Ahhh! Next time we see you guys, you’ll both have a baby! Oh my God! Isn’t that so cool?’

‘That’s one word for it,’ Drake chuckled. 

‘Try terrifying,’ Camille said and Drake wrapped his arm around her.  ‘You’ll be a great mom, Camille.’ 

‘Hopefully,’ Camille said quietly. ‘Baby steps.’ 

*******************************************************************************************

Leo woke up tangled in the sheets. Sitting up, he blinked his sleepy eyes and looked down at the space beside him.

His heart leapt. 

Olivia wasn’t there.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

He pulled the sheets off him and flung on his jeans and shirt, which were in a pile on the floor. The bedroom was empty. He rushed out to the hallway and turned into the living room. 

Nothing. She wasn’t there.

‘You fucking idiot..’ he whispered to himself. ‘You’ve scared her off.’ 

He focused and then stopped. The balcony doors were open, the white curtains blowing in the breeze. Slowly, Leo moved towards the balcony. 

He let out a breath. 

Olivia was sat out on the balcony, her legs up against the balcony railing. She wore one of his shirts which was oversized on her body and she wore black cat eye sunglasses. A cigar was placed in between her fingers. 

‘Hey, you,’ she greeted him. Leo smiled, relieved. She wasn’t gone. She was still here. 

‘Where did you get the cigar?’ he asked.

‘Your stash,’ she said casually. ‘Hope you don’t mind. I took one anyway.’

‘No worries, help yourself.’ 

She looked at him and pushed her sunglasses up on top of her head so he could see her eyes. She smiled at him. 

Leo sat down on the chair opposite her and pulled it in further so he was sitting closer to her. He slowly leaned forward and kissed her. She didn’t push him away; she leaned into the kiss and wrapped her hands around his neck. 

‘I’m never going to get bored of doing that,’ he told her once they broke away. Olivia blushed. Leo grinned. He had never seen her blush before.  This was new.

Olivia now looked at him, biting her lip. 'Leo, can I ask you something?'

'Sure. What's up?'

'We had all these rules but you never told me what rule six was. My fault, I distracted you. You mentioned it in your letter to me that we will always have rule six. So what is it?'

Leo smiled bashfully. 'Aw Liv, it's not important..'

'Tell me.'

'Well, Rule Two and Rule Three were about not falling for each other. Rule Six was about in case we did. Rule Six: if we feel ourselves going there, you know, falling for each other, we are honest.'

'How did you know that would happen?' Olivia asked softly.

'To be honest, the rule was more for me,' Leo admitted. 'I just had a feeling you would be different to all the other women. I was right. I will always be right about you. I know us, we don't talk about feelings or are truly honest. Now, we have to be honest with each other. We need to be.  No more walls. That's why we will always have Rule Six.'

*******************************************************************************************

‘In the studio with us we have our royal correspondent Katie Summers. Katie, tell us your thoughts about the King and the peace he is wanting for the kingdom. Do you think he has succeeded?’

A perky brunette newsreader arranged her paperwork. ‘I do, Natalia. He has dispensed justice, which is always going to be difficult, and now he wants to move forward. Bear in mind, that he is the late Constantine’s son. Constantine was known for being harsh and Liam has made no secret of the fact that he does not want to be like his father. So, this is his chance to create a new Cordonia.’

‘What do you think his reign will be like?’

‘All Kings have to focus on their legacy and how they want to be remembered. Think back to how the rebels used the L'affaire des poisons from French History as inspiration; they wanted to poison the King and so they used this as a starting point.  What Louis XIV did to his enemies, the ones in his court who were using poison and magic against him, was cruel. He locked many of them up and they were never seen again.  They disappeared forever. The Cordonian rebels could easily have had the same punishment, which I believe they wanted. They wanted to prove that King Liam could be like King Louis. But instead of locking them up- as far as I know, Liam has only imprisoned two people- he gave them the choice. The choice to either donate their money to various causes and improve Cordonia, or leave.’ 

‘Do you agree that this was the right way forward?’

‘I do.  King Liam is trying to carve his own path and be a new, modern, fair monarch. He doesn’t want to be a tyrant like his father or Louis XIV. He wants to be his own person and I think it is fair to say that he is on the way to becoming that.’

****************************************************************************************

                                         Two months later

Drake helped Camille out of the car. ‘You okay, honey?’ he asked. Camille nodded and looked around.

The Manor looked the same except Camille knew their servants hadn't come back yet. She didn't want them to yet anyway - she wanted to enjoy their first few days back in Valtoria just the three of them.

Drake opened the car door and gently took out the baby carrier. ‘Hey there, sleepyhead!’ he cooed, looking down at his baby daughter. 

Lily was the exact miniature of Camille with the same big, brown eyes and caramel skin. Her downy hair was dark. The one thing she shared with her father was the Walker smirk. Drake had discovered it one day when Lily had had a.. toilet accident. The baby looked like she was so pleased with herself as she watched Drake try his best to clean her up. 

She was wearing the yellow babygrow with the marshmallow embroidered on the pocket, the babygrow Camille had given to Drake when she surprised him with the pregnancy news. Lily was only two weeks old and Drake and Camille were terrified that they would break her; she looked like a little doll with her tiny fingernails and tiny starfish hands.

They opened the Manor door and placed the baby carrier down on the floor. Camille bent down to take Lily out of it and held her close, supporting her head. 'Let's give you a tour, sweetie,' she whispered. Drake took Camille's free hand and the new parents wandered through the Manor until they reached the nursery.

The crib that the Valtorian citizens had built and painted for the baby stood pride of place under the stained glass window. The room had the sunshine rolling in, the floor cast in colours of pink, gold and blue from the stained glass window.

'Look honey, this is your room!' Camille told her daughter. With Lily in her arms, she twirled around and the baby girl looked around. Her big brown eyes caught the stained glass window and she reached out a hand to it. Camille smiled and moved slowly towards the window so Lily could get a closer look. Lily touched the window, transfixed.

Drake leaned against the wall and watched as his two girls touched the window. They were bathed in colour, the pink and gold shining off their skin. Lily gurgled, still touching the stained glass and Camille kissed her forehead before catching Drake's eyes.

Drake looked so happy.

******************************************************************************************

‘Right, let’s go introduce Lily to everyone!’ Drake said excitedly. He began to carry Lily in her baby carrier towards the palace but stopped when he saw that Camille wasn’t with him. He turned, confused, to see her still standing at the car.

‘You okay?’ he asked.

Camille shook her head. Drake wandered back to her. ‘What’s up?’

Camille’s eyes flashed to the palace. Drake saw her nervous expression and sighed. Slowly, he brought her in for a hug. ‘Camille, it’s different now. I promise.’

‘I know..’ Camille replied shakily. ‘It’s just.. the last time you were here, you nearly died. I’m just nervous, that’s all.’

‘Babe, I promise, there’s peace here now. No more riots. Liam’s been keeping us updated the whole time and hey, you get to see Hana and Maxwell!’

Camille smiled weakly. ‘I kinda need Olivia right now. At least she always carries a dagger.’

‘Sadly, she and Leo are travelling around the world. God knows how that’s going, I imagine she’s refusing to climb down hills, while Leo is practically having to drag her down them.’

Camille giggled now at the thought and Drake felt relief. He always wanted to keep her happy and safe. He didn’t want her worrying ever again. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and guided her towards the palace. Lily curled up in her baby carrier and gave a little yawn. 

*******************************************************************************************

'Oh my God, she is gorgeous!' Hana squealed, jumping up and down when she was presented with the baby. 'Camille, she is your double! Ooh I just want to squish her little cheeks!'

Maxwell rushed over. 'Ohh she's so tiny..' he breathed. He gently brushed his finger against her forehead. 'Congrats guys!'

Bertrand swept up in a cloud of blue kimono. 'Let's see mini Camille then!' he said, smiling widely. Camille gently passed Lily over to Bertrand. Bertrand stared down at the baby girl, cradling her gently, supporting her head. 'She's beautiful,' he whispered. Lily snuggled into his arms. Bertrand blinked back tears. 'Camille. Drake. You two have grown up a lot,' he chuckled, shaking his head.

Camille squeezed Drake's hand. 'We wanted to ask if you would be Lily's godfather,' she said to Bertrand. 'I mean, you were the one who taught me how to be noble. You're a great teacher and also one of my favourite people. I can't think of anyone better to show Lily the ropes when she's older.'

Bertrand shot her a wobbly smile. 'I actually think the student has become the master,' he replied. 'But I would be honoured. Thank you Camille. Thank you Drake.'

Drake patted him on the back. Bertrand wiped his eyes and looked down at Lily who was smirking at him. 'Oh.. she has Drake's smirk. That's.. alarming.'

Drake's eyes bulged. 'Oh god, Bertrand, hand her over! She's like a grenade! She'll explode at any moment!'

****************************************************************************************

Once Lily was cleaned up and changed into a fresh babygrow, Drake and Camille shamefully brought her back into the Throne Room. They stopped when they saw Olivia and Leo.

'Aren't you supposed to be travelling?!' Camille shrieked. Olivia rolled her eyes. 'You mean our daily expedition of torture? We are, but we heard from Liam that you were going to visit with Lily, so we thought we would make a pitstop here.'

Leo leaned over to look down at Lily who was nestled in Camille’s arms.

'Well, hello you,' he said, his mouth quirking up into a lazy smile.

'I'm so glad she looks like you, Camille,' Olivia said bluntly. 'So glad.'

Drake stared at her. 'You know I'm the father right? I can hear you.'

Olivia shrugged and Drake groaned, sloping off to find Liam. Camille looked at Olivia and Leo. They both looked happy. Sickeningly happy as Olivia would dryly say.

'Where are you guys travelling to next?' she asked.

'Bali. I figured this one could use a few days on a private beach and cocktails,' Leo said, looking pointedly at Olivia.

'You figured right,' Olivia muttered. 'I fucking detest camping.'

'Remind me how you guys work as a couple?' Camille joked. Olivia looked at Leo and ran her hand down his chest, daringly close to his belt. Camille gagged. 

‘Camille!’

She looked up to see Liam and Drake coming into the room. Liam was smiling, his eyes warm and he had his arms out, ready to give her a cuddle. ‘You look amazing!’ Liam cried. He squeezed her shoulder then looked at Lily. 

‘Can I hold her?’

Camille passed him the baby gently. Liam cupped the baby’s head and held her close. ‘Hey Lily..’

He looked over at Drake, a grin on his face. ‘I can’t believe you have one of these.’ 

Maxwell passed them eating a macaroon. He overheard Liam’s comment and piped up, spraying French delicacy everywhere.  ‘Liam, I still am one of these!’ 

Hana passed Maxwell a napkin to wipe his mouth. He beamed at her and pulled her in for a macaroon flavour kiss. 

Liam passed Lily over to Drake who scooped her up and kissed the top of her head. He looked good with her. Like he was meant to be a father. It was a lovely thing to see his friend now have his own place in the world, here with his wife and baby. Liam understood now when he watched Drake and Camille kiss each other softly before Camille ran her hand through Lily’s hair. 

Liam understood that Drake’s priorities were clear and defined; he had told Liam numerous times that his family were the most important thing to him. Liam couldn’t believe that when the rebellion had started, he had tried to force Drake to put the kingdom first. That had been wrong; the kingdom was Liam’s responsibility, nobody else’s.

*******************************************************************************************

When the others had left, Liam went out onto his bedroom’s balcony and looked out over Cordonia. Usually, Liam would spend all of his time in his study to go through his diary and write up the day’s work. But he didn’t want to be in his study right now. He wanted to look out into the night sky and think out in the open.

The palace stood on the top of the hill and down below, Liam could see the lamps of the Old Town lighting their way down to the harbour. This was his home; not just the palace, but Cordonia.

Poisoning. Mobs. Uprisings. He had watched Cordonia tear itself apart, beginning from the people and spreading into the palace like wildfire. Liam had watched as allies turned into foes. His friends had been in danger; Bertrand had been poisoned but thankfully lived. Penelope had been poisoned. Kiara had been killed. Olivia had been stabbed but she proved that nobody could take down a Nevrakis.  A servant girl had been shot. Drake had to escape the palace during the uprising, uncertain if he would ever see his pregnant wife again.  Danger had been their lives for months; peace had seemed to have abandoned them when they needed it most.

Liam could see now that he had struggled to begin with. He had been caught between wanting to be a powerful king, one who wasn't dictated to by his people, rejecting their pleas for a committee or even just representation. He hadn't wanted to be the final nail in the coffin of the monarchy. But on the other side of the coin, he hadn't wanted to be a tyrant like his father.

Liam knew he had made poor decisions. The ball he held to gain support from his courtiers had resulted in an angry mob of citizens who broke the windows and tried to get inside the palace, mirroring the storming of Bastille.

He had tried to force Drake to choose between Camille and the kingdom and his friend had rightly put his foot down and said he was a husband and father first, a Duke second. Liam felt his stomach turn when he thought back to that argument.

He had pushed away Olivia, rejecting her attempts to help. Liam realised that she had only been looking out for him, as always. He had been an idiot.

But he was wiser now.

Liam knew he would always have to fight to keep the throne, he couldn’t assume this was over. It may be calmer now but who knew when the next rebellion would ignite? All Liam could do was work to keep the throne strong and keep his kingdom protected. He had learned that it was okay to show weakness, it was okay to feel scared and it was okay to doubt yourself. 

Those were lessons learned and accepted.

Now, as he looked out over his kingdom, he finally felt ready to bear the weight of the crown and all that entailed. He was ready to prove that he was worthy of the throne and the role of King. But he wasn’t going to make the same mistakes as those before him.  Liam was going to forge his own path, stemming away from his father and brother, and be the King that Cordonia needed and wanted.

'For Cordonia,' he whispered to himself.

He would fight until the end, now and forever.

[composeregg]

What is tma I keep seeing you post about it but idk what it is and it most certainly looks interesting but I have no idea what it is

It’s The Magnus Archives!!!! Thank you for asking this means I get to ramble!!! I binged it and caught up p quick, the episodes are almost all around 20-25 minutes. Between tuesday-friday last week I literally listened to 107 episodes.

It’s a horror fiction anthology podcast. Jonathan Sims is the new Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, an organization that investigates the esoteric and strange. He finds that the Archives are a mess, and decides to digitize and record all the statements, but some don’t work on his laptop, so he brings out the good ole’ tape recorder, and those record on that, and the taped statements are what we hear.

He gets three assistants too, to help with this project. Tim, Sasha, and Martin. All four of them dig in, and Jon often has the assistants do follow-up research so he can add more information and how credible it is to the end of each statement.

But as they do research, they notice threads that crop up time and time again. There’s a bigger picture here, something terrifying. And as they look into the depths of the archives, something starts to look back.

(Full disclosure I stole that last line from the website)

It has a lot of continuity. Some statement givers from very early on come back, and the overarching plot is bone-chillingly good. It also breaks from the case-episode format over time, with canonical reasons as to why you’re hearing what the recorders are picking up. Each season if 40 episodes, and episode 160, the end of s4, comes out tomorrow. There are going to be 5 seasons total, and s5 (161-200) will start in April 2020. 

There’s also a lot of good representation. I’m iffy with horror stuff sometimes due to how they treat mental health, but TMA gets an A+, and in fact they do charity livestreams sometimes during xmas to raise money for a mental health organization. They know how to acknowledge mental health without making it the villain.

On top of that, it’s like, super queer. The MC Jon is canonically confirmed to be asexual! (An ace!!! An ace!!!!! I got so excited!!!!) Martin has been pining for him since like, the very start of the podcast (this is literally canon they had a great moment in 159 that everyone went feral for). Tim is openly bi/pan. A lot of the statement givers are just… casually queer? There’s trans ppl, and gay married couples. And like, alright, it’s not happy-feely but they exist in this story, but it is a horror story so shit happens! 

The Rusty Quill info page is here

Additionally:

Here is an archive for transcripts

And Here is a content warning list for each episode

Full disclosure, it can get kinda hard at points in terms of SFX or some descriptions. But it’s really good! It’s my newest Special Interest and I am well and fully hooked! I infodumped for 5 hours about it today to a friend! I’m stopping now because I’m infodumping again and this is getting long hahaha

[momentofmemory]

fictober - day five

Prompt #5: “I might just kiss you.”

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe (All Media Types/Iron Man Films)

Warnings: Canonical Major Character Death (referenced)

Rating: G

Characters: Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Howard Stark (mentioned), Peter Parker (mentioned), Steve Rogers (mentioned)

Words: 2397

Author’s Note: taking a short break from the may & peter series bc the prompt didn’t fit, so instead we have a tony-centric character study. cap is referenced but the primary relationship is between tony and howard. i have mixed feelings about this one, honestly, but it’s done before midnight at least, so, ~le shrug~

>>Sins of the Father

Tony had never understood his father’s obsession with Captain America.

If he was being perfectly honest (which he wasn’t), part of that was because he’d never really tried—had actively avoided trying, actually, because Howard had never bothered trying to understand him. It seemed fitting to return the favour. So, when Steven Perfect-Posture Grant Rogers popped out of the ice, God, did it feel like a punch in the teeth.

(Teeth that weren’t as perfect as Captain America’s.)

There’d been one night three weeks before Tony was supposed to move out for college when Howard had announced he’d be going on a month-long expedition to try to find the almighty Captain America, yet again. Tony didn’t remember much after that except a lot of yelling and a lot of hurt, because how dare his father leave them to search for someone whose body had probably decomposed five times over by now.

(Steve popping up thirty years later, obnoxiously alive and younger than he was, would prove this argument to be factually wrong, but Tony still stood by his conclusion.)

He’d wanted nothing to do with Steve at first, furious at his father for being right about the man surviving more than anything. But fate and Nick Fury refused to let him have his peace, and he found that getting to know Steve—and maybe not hating him—had been an even stranger thing than discovering he was alive.

Then Sokovia and the Winter Soldier and Siberia and a grainy video tape from 1991 happened, and all he wanted was to hate Steve. And he did, because god if he doesn’t know how to hold a grudge—Howard taught him a lot about never letting go when it comes to Captain America. But he also didn’t, because he wasn’t Howard, and Steve… Steve wasn’t just Captain America.

Tony spent the next two years doing everything in his power to forget Steve ever existed, which included ignoring calls from Ross about the man’s whereabouts. After one such call that ended spectacularly badly after Ross hinted he wanted information on Spider-Man, Tony found himself sitting in his father’s office, staring at the mockup of the city. It seemed his life had boiled down to the same thing as his father’s: a consultant on the neverending search for Captain America.

Tony flicked up the schematics for a new iteration of Peter’s suit—the upgrades he’d made to his own nanotech needed to be incorporated, just in case Peter ever changed his mind about it. He tapped his fingers on the armrest and stared at the shield hanging on the wall. 

He didn’t understand Ross’s obsession, just like he didn’t understand his father’s. He still didn’t care to try.

One man isn’t important enough to waste all of that time on finding.

Tony maintained this perspective until one moment Peter was standing in front of him, whole and alive and so, so young, and then the next he found himself falling through dust and air because Peter was gone.

He stared at the ash clotting the blood on his hands, and all he could think was, Oh.

This was how one life could be important enough.

An alien flew him across the galaxy and then another one carried him home, and when he saw Steve had survived he couldn’t help the bitter thought that at least his father’s life work wasn’t lost again.

Just his.

After Dr. Cho allowed him out of the infirmary, Tony hid in the penthouse with Pepper and filled every waking moment reading up on the latest time travel theories. The EPR Paradox in particular kept him up for three days straight, until he rejected it on the basis that quantum travel was too theoretical—not to mention risky, even for him.

Then Pepper told him she was pregnant, and Tony's heart lurched out of his chest because he was going to be a father, and seeing Morgan for the first time seven months later awakened something that felt like hope inside of him.

Three months into the kind of sleep deprivation only a newborn baby can provide, Tony snuck down to the lab he’d installed in the garage for the first time since Thanos.

_________________________

The hologram’s failure message projected blood-red light over his hands.

God damn it.

Tony dropped onto the bench and ran his hands through his hair, trying to get rid of the feel of dust and ash. He didn’t know why it wouldn’t work.

“Tony?”

He jerked his head out of his hands and saw Pepper, whose lips pulled thin as she took in the sight of Friday’s projection. “What is this?”

Shame curled in his stomach.

“Just, you know,” Tony slid to his feet and hid his pen behind his back. “Stuff.”

Pepper pulled up the list of iterations Tony had run through the simulation, and Tony winced at the sheer number of decimal places in Friday’s report.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time down here lately,” Pepper said, too casually for it to actually be.

“Gotta keep the old mind busy,” Tony said, closing the charts before Pepper could comment on the hours logged. “Wouldn’t want Morgan thinking her old man was slipping.”

Pepper looked at the physics papers on the desk. “And is he?”

“...Maybe. I just…” Tony paused, and then turned to gesture at the hologram. “What if there was a way to... fix all of this? I feel like I owe it to at least try.”

“I’m not going to stop you, Tony.”

Tony froze. He tore his eyes away from the hologram to look at Pepper, who stood with her arms crossed in front of her. “Hang on, sorry, I think I just had an auditory hallucination. Wanna repeat that?”

Pepper’s mouth twitched. “Tony,” she said, coming over to sit on the workbench. “If you really can do something about this, I can’t stand in the way of that.”

Tony stared at her, and then sat down as well, cautiously—unsure if it was a trap.

“But.”

There it was.

“I am going to request boundaries,” Pepper said. “One of which is that you can’t hole up in here for more than three hours at a time.”

“I feel like we could make allowances, maybe like an every other Tuesday thing, but continue.”

“And secondly, don’t beat yourself up over something you know won’t work.”

“…What?”

“I know you, Tony.” Pepper poked his chest. “You don’t like admitting when you can’t do something. So tell me: is this really possible?”

The Mobius strip rotated languidly behind him, the TEST FAILED alert blinking in rhythm with his heart.

“…No,” he admitted. “Or at least, not any more. The only thing that seems like it could work requires Pym particles, which we don’t have. Even with them, I can’t get the simulation to work.”

Pepper nodded, a mixture of relief and disappointment on her face. Tony wondered if this was how Howard felt: living in a world that couldn’t keep up with his ideas, knowing Cap was out there but not having the tools to do anything about it.

“Okay,” Pepper said. “Then three hours it is. And you have to read to Morgan every night before bed, when she’s old enough.”

“You strike a mean bargain.”

He looked at the simulation again. Pepper was right: there was nothing he could do. Howard had wasted years of his life chasing after Cap, and even though he’d been right about him being out there, that didn’t change the fact that there was nothing Howard could have done to save him, anyway.

“Okay, Pep.”

Tony stood and walked over to the projector, and turned it off. Pepper’s eyes softened.

“Don’t get too excited, I’m sure I’ll find something else to wreck the household with,” Tony said, shutting down the rest of the system. Pepper arched an eyebrow at him and he sighed. “Fine. You got me. I’m sorry I’ve been… Distracted.”

“Mm. That does seem like a problem,” Pepper said. She stood and came up behind him, wrapping her arms around him to trace her fingers along his collarbone. “I can think of a few other ways to distract you, though.”

Tony spun in her grasp and wrapped his hand around her waist. “Oh really? You got something in mind?”

“As a matter of fact, I was thinking I might take you upstairs—”

The baby monitor’s light blinked on and Pepper’s thought was interrupted by the sound of Morgan’s cries echoing through the garage. The six-month-old had apparently woken up from her nap.

Pepper winced.

“…Or I might just kiss you and leave it at that.” She disentangled herself from Tony’s embrace, and Tony whined in displeasure.

Pepper tapped him on the nose with her finger, but kept her promise by following it up with a quick kiss to his cheek. “And you can meet me in Morgan’s room in five minutes with a glass of iced tea and that book on caring for llamas.”

“You are no fun,” Tony said.

Pepper laughed and kissed him again, this time on the lips, which Tony enthusiastically returned.

“I believe Morgan requires your assistance sooner rather than later, Mr. and Mrs. Potts,” Friday said, with a practiced air of professionalism that still managed to sound incredibly pointed.

“Yeah, got that, thanks Fri,” Pepper said, pulling away from Tony with a final squeeze on his shoulder. “Don’t be late.”

Tony watched Pepper go, tapping his pen against his fingers. He looked at the projection table, and thought about all the lonely nights he’d had as a child, and how he’d wished Howard would’ve stayed home just once.

He turned the lights out, and went to be with his daughter.

______________________

Ant-Man was back, and Ant-Man had steam-rolled through all the theories Tony’d studied on and off over the last five years out of sheer dumb luck. And he had Pym particles, enough for a pretty decent sized team.

Tony couldn’t do this.

He’d never fully given up on bringing everyone back, toying with ideas on and off, but had never been able to figure out a solution to the forward progression of time. The Pym particles solved the issues with the Planck Scale, but as far as the Deutsch Proposition went… It’d been five years and he still hadn’t solved it.

When Cap asked him if he could do it, what he thought was I tried, and what he said was “I can’t.”

Tony felt Howard’s disapproval at his back as he watched their car drove off.

And yet he’d said I can’t, but when he stood in the middle of the kitchen and saw Peter Parker in that stupid picture that’s always been his favourite, with their smiles and upside-down certificate, everything clicked.

He asked Friday to pull up the schematics right there on the living room table, but this time, inverted: or, upside-down. 

Friday’s simulation worked, and Tony felt like he’d just found Captain America.

Then Morgan walked down the staircase, and Tony felt like he was six years old, watching his dad leave them again.

Tony coasted through the next half hour in a blur, getting juice pops for Morgan and tucking her in bed, and mostly thinking about how incredibly lucky he’s been. He went downstairs thinking only about three thousands, but the second he saw Pepper everything came tumbling out. She tilted her head and asked a question he didn’t see coming.

“But would you be able to rest?”

Tony looked away, placing the popsicle stick back in his mouth. He worried it between his teeth as he thought about how to put into words everything he’d been harboring over the past… forever, really.

“I’ve been thinking about my dad,” he said, finally. “Howard… never knew how to let go of his failures, and he hurt a lot of people because of it.”

Pepper pulled her knees up onto the couch and rested her chin on her hand. “Sounds like he might have had some problems with ego.”

Tony looked at her in surprise, and she sighed.

“Tony, your father’s obsession with finding Cap was a problem because it was never about Cap—it was about Howard. His own guilt at not being able to do something he felt like he could. That’s not what Peter is for you.”

Tony frowned. “I don’t think we’re on the same wavelength here.”

“You’re not trying to bring him—and everyone else—back because it’s something you need. You’re doing it because it’s something they need. If it was an obsession, you wouldn’t have been able to put it aside all those years ago when it wasn’t feasible.”

This was true—ever since his talk with Pepper, the urge to figure out time travel had become more of a hobby than anything, because it was, after all, strictly theoretical without the Pym Particles didn’t exist. As Morgan had gotten older, he’d learned how to appreciate what was in front of him instead of regretting what was behind. 

That didn’t mean he didn’t still want to make it right.

“This isn’t obsession, Tony. This is a desire,” Pepper said, and then hesitated. “...And it’s not just yours.”

Tony saw Pepper’s own grief over what had been lost flicker over her face, and took the stick out of his mouth and flicked it into the fire. She was right.

“You know there’s a good chance we won’t all make it back.”

Pepper pursed her lips and looked away, but her voice didn’t waver. “I know. But I also know you’ll make it worth it.”

They spent the rest of the night in companionable silence, and the next morning, Tony drove to the Avengers compound.

Tony had forgotten how good the rest of his team was, and it didn’t take long before they had drummed up a pretty solid plan, a full team, and enough time particles to make it work.

He went into the past with Pepper’s words ringing in his ears.

Tony ran into his father and finally said a thank you that he meant, and it was worth it. Tony hugged Peter, alive and whole and so, so young, and it was worth it. Tony caught a glimpse of Morgan, laughing and powerful and thirty-six, and it was worth it.

Tony closed his eyes and let Pepper’s voice wash over him, and drifted off into the black.

And it was worth it.

[littlespoonevan]

I know you asked not to send you any prompts for the time being, but I saw this stardefiant(.)tumblr(.)com/post/157460338749/one-of-the-talented-writers-in-this-fandom-the and it made me think of you, because I love everything you write :) I just wanted you to see it, if you haven't already, in case it's something you'd be interested in!

aksjdfhjdksh oh god i couldn’t resist this one. i messed with canon a lil so even and sonja aren’t together and there’s a few references to other scenes but here you go!!! i hope u like it!!!

**edit: i forgot to mention the most important part, which is that isak is already out in this fic whoops lmao. 

prompt:the first scene of season three, but with even coming into the bathroom instead of emma……all i’m sayin’……….. (original post here courtesy of the lovely @stardefiant)

*

Isak lets his shoulders drop as he lazily exhales thesmoke from his mouth. He relaxes back against the tiled wall behind him andpasses their makeshift bong over to Mahdi, letting the boys’ conversation driftover his head. They’re talking about which first year girls they think are hotand Isak honestly couldn’t give a fuck.

One of the pros of finally coming out: he doesn’thave to involve himself in these kinds of conversations anymore.

“What about you, Isak?” Magnus asks abruptly, wagglinghis eyebrows when Isak looks over at him. “Any of those first year boys catchyour eye?”

One of the cons of finally coming out: Magnus triesto talk to him about boys.

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Fuck off, Mags.”

“There was that guy whose locker is by yours!” Magnuscontinues, unfazed. “With the black hair? He was totally checking out your asson Friday.”

Isak pulls a face – he’d rather not have Magnus talkingabout his ass, no matter the context.

“Nei,” Mahdi disagrees. “Isak is way out of that guy’sleague. Who’s the guy we were talking to the other day, Jonas?”

“The one who couldn’t find his chemistry class?”Jonas snorts. “Forget it.”

That starts all three of them on a debate about whichpotential first year boys are up to Isak’s non-existent standards. Like before,Isak tunes out, only vaguely listening to the hum of their voices while hesnatches the bottle back off Jonas.

“Nei, nei!” Jonas says suddenly, cutting through thefaint buzzing sound of their conversation and effectively catching Isak’sattention. “I know who Isak could like.”

The gleaming smile is somewhat disconcerting and Isakfinds himself shrinking away from him and into Mahdi’s side. Jonas knows Isak’stastes too well, where is this going, oh fuck-

“Even,” Jonas announces proudly. “In 3STB.”

Magnus screws his face up in confusion. “Since whenis there an Even in 3STB?”

“He just transferred,” Jonas explains. “I met him theother day; apparently we have the same dealer. But he’s definitely your type,Issy.”

“Is that so?” Isak asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Yep!” Jonas insists, undeterred by his sceptical reaction. “He’s tall, blond-“

“You’re literally just describing me,” Isak snortsand Jonas smacks his shoulder.

“Taller than you,”Jonas says pointedly. “He’s got this whole James Dean vibe going for him. He seemedcool. Definitely the kind to make your jaw drop if you saw him.”

Isak doesn’t answer right away. The worst part is he thinkshe might know who Jonas is talking about. He’d seen him the other day when theywere in the cafeteria and accidentally made eye contact when the guy – Even,apparently – had caught him staring.

And yeah, Jonas hadn’t been exaggerating with the wholeJames Dean thing…

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he says haughtilybecause he realises he’s paused for too long and he has to say something.

And then, because the universe fucking hates him, thebathroom door opens.

And who walks in?

Oh just 194cm of long limbs and blond hair twisted upin that fucking James Dean cinnamon swirl, with a denim jacket draped over atight white t-shirt that leaves nothing to the imagination.

Isak hates his life.

Scratch that, Isak hates his friends.

Jonas starts nudging him, looking meaningfully atEven, who doesn’t seem to have realised they’re even in there as he closes thedoor behind himself and goes to the mirror – to inspect his hair, presumably.

He has a joint behind his ear and he lookseffortlessly cool and Isak hates him a little bit, suddenly self-conscious inhis Jesus t-shirt and snapback.

Jonas somehow manages to convey to Mahdi and Magnusthat this is in fact the Even he was talking about with just the use of hiseyebrows. Which would be fine except Magnus screams, “Oh fuck! That’s Even?”

If Isak was closer he’d punch him.

Even startles, spinning on his heel and mouthdropping open in a tiny “o” when his eyes land on each of them. (Isak thinkshis gaze lingers on him a little longer than the others but he can’t be sure.)

“Halla?” he says confusedly, a tiny wrinkle formingbetween his eyebrows and god, he’sgorgeous. Jonas wasn’t wrong.

“Hey man!” Jonas greets enthusiastically, taking offhis sunglasses and gesturing to his own face. “I’m Jonas, we met the other day?”

Even’s face lights up in recognition and he smiles. “Ofcourse! Hey.”

There’s a beat of awkward silence where Even rocks onhis heels, looking between each of them where they’re all clumsily shoved intothe bathtub. “So what are you guys up to?”

“Smoking,” Mahdi replies with a contented sigh. “Wanna join?”

Even grins and Isak wants to die. “Tempting. But I should probably get back out there.”

“Your girlfriend waiting for you?” Magnus askscasually except it’s Magnus. So it’s not casual at all. Made even more obviousby the fact he winks at Isak.

Judging by the look on Even’s face, he definitelysaw. Fuck.

“No. No girlfriend,” he replies amusedly.

“Boyfriend then?” Mahdi asks with just as muchunsubtlety as the blond dumbass sitting on Jonas’ left that Isak officiallydisowned about thirty seconds ago.

“No boyfriend either,” Even laughs. “Unfortunately.”

Magnus reaches behind Jonas to start shoving at Isak’sshoulder and Isak would very much like the ground to swallow him up now. Heknows what they’re all waiting for him to do. They’re waiting for him to turnon the charm and wrap Even around his little finger like he used to do withgirls. But the only reason Isak could dothat with girls is because he didn’t care. He wasn’t interested, it didn’tmatter.

But Even…oh man, he’s interested.

“Even, have you met my buddy Isak?” Jonas pipes upsuddenly and Isak is going to drownhis friends in this fucking bathtub.

Even’s gaze finally settles on him and Isak can feelthe heat rising in his cheeks.

“No, I don’t think I have,” he replies smoothly, eyesbriefly dragging down what he can see of Isak’s body before he smiles at himagain. Shit.

“You mind keeping him company while we uh- while we-“

“While we go see a man about a hoodie,” Mahdi cuts inwith the weirdest fucking excuse of all time.

What the fuck.

“Sure,” Even answers, raising his eyebrows as theother three immediately start to clamber out of the bathtub, leaving Isak defencelessand alone with a really hot olderboy. He can’t decide if he loves them or hates them.

“Ring me when you wanna leave, Isak!” Jonas callsover his shoulder, shoving Mahdi and Magnus out in front of him.

That doesn’t stop Isak from hearing Magnus sing, “You’ve got that James Dean, daydream, lookin your eyeeeeees…” as he trails out the door.

Jesus christ.

And suddenly they’re alone and the bathroom feels alot quieter than before.

Isak should probably get out of the tub.

Before he can, however, Even’s sauntering forward andplopping down beside him, long legs hanging over the ledge. “So, uh, Isak, wasit?” he asks nonchalantly, plucking the joint from behind his ear and pattingdown his pockets for a lighter.

“Mhm,” Isak hums vaguely, mind stuck on the way theirbodies are pressed together shoulder to hip.

“I’m Even. But it sounds like you already knew that.”His grin is teasing but Isak still feels mortified. It helps a little when Evengets the joint lit and immediately offers it to him.

Isak takes a hit, grateful to focus on something elsefor a second, before he passes it back to Even and feels his nerve-endingstingle as their fingers brush.

“So was I completely misreading the signals or wereyour friends trying to hook us up?”

Isak freezes, snapping his head to the side to seeEven’s head tilted back against the wall as he glances at him, amusementdancing behind his eyes.

“You didn’t misread it,” Isak says after a beat,mouth dry. He thinks those might be the first words he’s actually said to Evensince he showed up.

“Oh thank god,” Even huffs out a laugh. “I’ve beenlooking for an excuse to talk to you for weeks. That would’ve been embarrassing.”

Isak chokes on his inhale, coughing and splutteringas he stares at Even in disbelief. “What?”

“Couldn’t you tell?” Even asks, furrowing his brow. “Ithought you caught me staring the other day?”

“You werestaring?” Isak asks, bewildered. That’s absolutely not how he remembers it.

“Yeah. In the cafeteria,” Even replies unashamedly,picking the joint out from between Isak’s slack fingers. “You definitely lookedat me.”

“I know,” Isak answers quietly, swallowing hard. Even had been looking at him, Even had noticed him.

Even grins then, seeming to catch the implicationbehind Isak’s words.

“Well Isak,” Even says, handing the joint off to himwhile he digs in his pocket for something. He produces his phone a second laterand offers it to him. “I don’t really like the idea of this being a randomparty hookup so how about you give me your number now so I don’t forget to askyou later when you pull a Cinderella on me?”

There’s too many things in that sentence for Isak tofocus on – namely, I’m not gonna pull aCinderella? – but what ends up coming out of his mouth is. “But we haven’thooked up?”

He claps his mouth shut as soon as he says it but thedamage is done.

Except Even smiles at him then, different frombefore. It’s soft around the edges and he’s looking at Isak with something likeendearment before he’s leaning in and gently stealing a kiss.

It’s incredibly soft and in complete juxtaposition toeverything that’s happened so far tonight but Isak melts with it, body going pliantas he leans his shoulder more heavily against Even’s.

He doesn’t even consciously realise he’s leaning backin again until their noses are brushing and Even’s now lopsided quiff brusheshis forehead but Even stops him at the last minute with a hand on his shoulder.

“Phone number first. Kiss later.”

Isak bites his lip to hide his grin and plucks thephone out of Even’s hand, handing him the joint to dispose of. He types in his number,deliberating for a second before he puts the bathtub emoji after his name. Hedrops the phone in Even’s lap, looking at him expectantly and tilting his chin –a little in defiance, a lot in asilent request to be kissed.

Even beams like he can see right through him andducks back in to slot their lips together.

(The boys might find them still in the bathtub,heavily making out, a few hours later when it’s actually time to go home.)

(At 2am Isak gets a text from an unknown number thatsimply says, “Goodnight, Cinderella.”)

(He saves it as the bathtub emoji.)

*