#say good morning drink their fucking coffee and checkout normally

[trans-labyrinth]

I lose a year of my life every time a guest comes up to me and goes "wow, you're so tall!" like I know! believe me, I know everyone can't get enough of going "wow you must be over 6 feet that's crazy" like yeah it's a miracle of nature that a girl is tall

[lenaariewrld]

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KUROO — 8. a strange feeling

You wake up when you feel an unexpected weight suddenly placed on your chest, a gentle rumbling echoing through your ribcage. Your eyes peek open to see your cat, a shark hat strapped under her chin. “Bimmie!” You coo sleepily, your arms cradling the cat and rubbing her spine. She arches her butt against your palms.

“Good morning. Time to get up,” Kuroo stands at the foot of your bed, fully dressed and staring at you over a mug of coffee. You turn your attention away from your cat to glare at him.

“What time is it?”

“Seven,”

“Fuck that,” You turn back to loving on your cat, scratching her ears and chin and rubbing the sides of her fluffy body. She purrs and coos from all the wonderful attention, kneading her paws into you particularly hard when she enjoys the rubs you give her. A gentle laugh leaves you when she finally decides she has had enough and she saunters her way to the space on your bed not occupied by humans, curling up and tucking her paws beneath herself.

Kuroo is still standing by your bed and waiting for you to get up. You sigh and sit up, frowning deeply. “Why am I getting up so early for?” You ask, “It better be for those good pancakes, or else I will kill you,” You threaten softly.

The man chuckles, watching you get up sluggishly. His amusement continues as you drag yourself around the room to gather your proper materials for waking up and being a functioning member of society. Because mornings do not make you look like a functional member of society.

He seats himself in your chair while you leave to head to your bathroom.

“We need to go grocery shopping... I got the others to make lists of things they wanted or needed, what meals we could make, and all that. I just need someone to keep track of the list,” He informs you, spinning the chair to look around your room.

The walls are decorated with posters of your favorite characters from anime and tv shows you like, shelves stacked with manga or figurines from games you’ve adored. Your desk is a neat mess of gaming things and just cute knick-knacks that make it look more you. Kuroo finds himself smiling at it all.

The bathroom door opens sometime later and he turns his head to hear you if you should speak. “Okay, I’m assuming this is your roundabout way of telling me if I go, you’ll buy me snacks?” You pose the question, rubbing a towel over your head to dry your hair.

Kuroo hums.

“You got a deal,” He finally declares, a cheeky smile flashing in your direction. You sarcastically smile back, heading to your closet and grabbing clothes to change into. Kuroo once again takes the time to look around your room.

You don’t go through your entire morning routine this time, deciding to save the man the trouble and put it off until you feel more energized to actually have thoughts. Instead, you just settle for a good shower and clean clothes. Kuroo waits patiently for you the entire time, standing up and holding out his mug for you. To your surprise, it’s not his coffee but yours, made exactly how you like it.

A funny warmth spreads in your chest, and you haven’t even drank the coffee yet.

“Thank you,” You hum, following him downstairs and towards the front door, nursing your mug the whole way. It’s not piping hot so drinking larger gulps is much easier.

You make a quick stop in the kitchen to transfer your coffee to a more portable cup before heading outside. Kuroo is waiting for you once again, a patient smile on his face.

The whole drive he plays soft music, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. You notice he only moves his pointer finger or pinkie to drum.

“Okay,” You brace yourself in your seat, wiggling your body as much as you can to face Kuroo more. “What is the plan this time, chief?” You raise your brow and slide your cup into the cup holder that separates the driver and passenger seat.

“I’ve already organized the shopping list into different categories so we can just go from aisle to aisle and get it all rather than jumping throughout the whole store,” Kuroo says, “It’s on my phone,” He adds before you can question where this oh-so-meticulously put-together list is. Instead, you nod. Kuroo smiles and hands you the device from his sweatpants pocket.

“Add your snacks,”

The rest of the drive is short and helps wake you up completely. By the time Kuroo parks and you climb out, you have the energy to ransack a whole 7-11. Hypothetically.

Kuroo leads you inside, letting you push the cart and being, for once, responsible about the shopping while you trail behind with a small smile. He tells you all the tips for making sure vegetables are ripe or fruits are the kind of look and taste you might want, how to get the best quality of items without overpaying, and what to look for when buying fresh meat.

Admittedly, you are indulging him. You know a good portion of the tips (let’s be honest, who doesn’t know how to make sure an apple or a tomato is good?). However, his happiness to tell you and his earnest helpfulness are refreshing.

“Do you eat salads?” You question as he turns the third variety of lettuce in his hand, inspecting it for bug bites and dirt. “Because that’s the only thing I can think of why you need multiple kinds of lettuces,” You add when he looks at you. Kuroo pouts.

“Don’t be mean,” He huffs. You giggle.

“Then put down the lettuce. Stick to the list. And I don’t see three types of lettuces on here,”

Kuroo sets down the lettuce and turns to you, lightly keeping his hand on the cart. He leans close to you as if preparing to share a secret. “What if I just wanted us all to be healthier?” He says, adding a ‘hmm’ at the end as if he owned you with his sick hypothetical logic. You bump his shoulder and keep pushing the cart past all the leafy vegetables.

“As if you care,”

Kuroo dramatically slaps his hand over his chest. “I am wounded, muffin,” He leans over the cart to lay against your back, laughing as you try to shove him off. However, he was an athlete in high school and still kind of works out thanks to Bokuto being his roommate. You, who has never even looked at an exercise machine, are not as strong as him, and struggle to move him.

“You’re wounding me now!” You shove his bicep, earning a laugh from him. He only drapes his arms around your shoulders, relaxing his body against you further without actually hurting you.

A few other shoppers in the store look at you two. It’s mainly older women, and they simply smile at the two of you and shuffle past without saying anything.

How cute they are, they must think, so happy.

You finally manage to get Kuroo off of you and continue the shopping trip, now with a lot fewer distractions. You make Kuroo keep one hand on the cart as a precaution, reading off items he needs to grab. He doesn’t pout or complain, simply nodding along and going with what you say.

“I know this song,” You comment as you push the cart farther into an aisle. You strain your ears to hear the music faintly playing over the store’s speakers, a smile spreading on your lips as you recognize the tune you had listened to on repeat before. “It’s one of my favorites,”

“Really?” Kuroo carefully grabs a jar of jam and sets it in the car basket. You hum and nod. He smiles back and crosses his arms as he leans on the side of the cart, watching your face. “Why did you like it?”

You stop pushing the cart to check the list. “Why wouldn’t I? It was a great dancing song,” You shrug and cross off the items the both of you already set in the cart. A good chunk of the list had been cleared, and you smile at how much you’ve already completed of this trip. You turn off the phone and hold it out for the man, letting him take it back.

“Show me?” Kuroo asks, holding out his hand. You let out a small laugh. Dancing in the middle of a store aisle sounds like something from a romantic book or movie. Gently, you take his hand and step closer to him. The shopping was temporarily forgotten.

You start leading him in a simple dance, stumbling through the motions as you try to hear the music over the other noises of the store. Kuroo chuckles and follows your lead, holding both your hands and twisting around the small space. A laugh bubbles in your throat and he twirls you, his hand coming around your waist to pull you in again. “You’re quite skilled!” You say, squeezing his hand twice.

He squeezes back.

Again, you feel a funny warmth in your chest. This time, paired with a fluttering in your stomach. Kuroo’s smile never fades as he stares at you, continuing the silly made-up dance you both perform.

“You’re the one leading, I should say that about you,” Kuroo once again twirls you. You release one of his hands and extend your arm, twirling back in until your back hits his chest. You giggle. “See?” He comments, humming along to the song.

You both rock back and forth like that for a moment.

“Now you’re just being cheesy,” You tease, stepping away from the man. He shakes his head playfully, brushing off your words. You run your fingers through your hair, clearing your throat. “We should get back to the shopping,” You take the cart again. Kuroo is right behind you, already with a new item from the list in his hand. He sets it in the basket before placing his hand back on the handle.

You pat the back of his hand, relaxing your hand over his absentmindedly.

The shopping continues like normal, with occasional breaks for Kuroo to look at items or point out interesting things he sees. It’s quick work, and you find yourself at the checkout before you know it, packing your items into bags and carrying them to the car.

The strange stomach twisting doesn’t die down. Even when you unpack the bags with Kuroo, roping Kageyama and Bokuto into helping you both put all the groceries away, it sticks.

Strange.

previous | masterlist | next

funfacts:

Kuroo is in charge of the grocery shopping because he’s the only one who likes doing it

Kenma or Yamaguchi usually go shopping with Kuroo but he decided to torment you instead

taglist: @odxrilove @pogpixelz @toshiswifey @thechaosoflonging @anime-meme-sanctuary @chaseyui @lucyrocks86 @mirikusashes @bolinhodadestruicao @w0rm-babie @fandomsgotmefucked @meena-in-a-nutshell @halcyondaisy @emisse @cerealfrdinner797 @sakusasimpbot

[libsterslobsters]

Whole Lotta Love

Synopsis: For some people, Valentine’s Day is another word for "stress", especially when you don't know what the other person is expecting. Several years into their relationship, Bucky’s pretty sure he has a good understanding of the Reader, until a word from Sam makes him question everything he thinks he knows. The race is on to make their first Valentine’s Day since saying their vows a special one, but as per usual, fate has it's own ideas about what will make the holiday truly memorable

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem! Enhanced! Super-soldier Reader

(Reader can see bits and pieces of the future in visions as well as speak every language)

Warnings: Smut, Fluff

Author's note: This fic contains references to earlier stories. For more information, click the series masterlist link. As always, the reader is unnamed so that this can be read as a self-insert, but at this point, I think of her as an OC.

The song referenced is Hearts Don't Break Around Here by Ed Sheeran

Series Masterlist

A The Song Remains The Same Fic

---------‐-----------------------------------

“So, Valentine’s Day.”

Bucky doesn’t look up from his laptop (or more specifically, the field report he’s typing) at Sam’s words. Despite his concentration, he can tell that his partner is staring at him, boring holes into his back with his gaze.

“Uh-huh.” He’s listening, but so far, he doesn’t care.

“What are you doing for it?” For Valentine’s day? Um…

“Not much.” It’s a Tuesday this year, right? Then probably working, like most other people, he’d imagine.

The room is silent as he types, so Bucky assumes that settles the matter. That is, until Sam mutters a quiet, “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“About what?” How many paragraphs does he have to type before he can pass this off as a full report? When he joined the Avengers, he thought the hardest part of his job would be the bad guy of the week, not doing paperwork!

“You’re really not doing anything for Valentine’s Day? Seriously?” He nods absentmindedly and clicks the save icon. He’ll finish this tomorrow. It’s five o’clock. Time to head home. Home to-

“What’s your wife gonna think about that?” He shrugs and cuts the power to the laptop.

“She thinks that the whole holiday is a rip-off. See you Monday?” He turns around for confirmation, only to catch Sam staring at him, mouth hanging wide open. “What?”

“A rip-off?” Is he just going to be stuck repeating himself?

“Yep.” Told him that the first February 14th they spent together.

“And you actually believed her?”

He nods. “She’s not one to lie.”

Sam nods incredulously. “Uh-huh. And are you planning to ever have sex again?”

He’s not going to dignify that with an answer (because really, isn’t it obvious?).

“Fine.” Sam shrugs. “You do you, man. All I’m saying is, if I had a wife who looked like that-” he indicates the lock screen of Bucky’s phone (a picture of her laughing, telling him to put away the damn camera after wrestling the dog for the tie to her favorite robe). “-I’d have my V-day plans set up a month in advance.”

Normally Bucky would take what Sam says with a grain of salt, but he is after all a man out of time, so maybe it’s worth considering that his partner may be right.

“What would you suggest I do?”

“Outside of the bedroom?” He narrows his eyes at the Falcon. “Okay, bad joke.” Sam scratches at the back of his head, thinking. “I don’t know, man. That’s your girl. You know her best, but flowers are always a good place to start.” Good to know that hasn’t changed since the 1940s. Although, last time he brought her flowers, she spent the afternoon sneezing until he eventually convinced her that it was okay, he wouldn’t be offended, she should throw the damn things out. Then again, that was before she was a super soldier.

“Flowers.” He repeats, earning a nod from Sam.

“You can get creative. Do a little research. But I’m just saying, when a woman waits five years for you to reappear, the least she deserves is a few flowers.” On that, they can agree.

He must bid Sam some sort of goodbye and make his way through the Avengers compound, but he’s unaware of anything until he’s in the parking lot, sitting behind the wheel of his car, googling “What to do for your wife on Valentine’s Day.” There’s a web page that boasts twenty different selections. Might as well give it a look.

___________________________________________________________________________________

She’s nearly home when her phone dings with a text from Barnes. “Just got in. Forgot to get milk. Can you swing by on your way, or should I go to the gas station and pick up a gallon?” A frown forms on her face. It’s pretty rare that Bucky forgets things. Must’ve been a hell of a day at work, then. Either that, or his brain has completely turned to mush thanks to typing out field reports. Either way-

“I got it. See you in twenty.” She thinks about tacking on a “love you”, but the light turns green before she can.

The grocery store is packed thanks to so many people getting off work. There’s only three carts left, all with bad wheels. She chooses the least squeaky option and, grabbing an add on her way, heads into the grocery store. Milk, and if she remembers right from this morning, they’re running dangerously low on coffee and tea. Despite caffeine having absolutely no effect on their enhanced bodies, both of them are nightmares to be around in the mornings without their beverages of choice. Force of habit and all.

She’s halfway to the checkout when she sees it. A sign, decorated in garish shades of red, pink, and purple. “All Valentine’s Day chocolates 10% off.” Shit. Yeah, that is coming up. To tell the truth, she’d completely forgot all about that day halfway through February. For most of her life, it only meant giving homemade cards at school when most kids had store-bought. Then, once she reached adulthood, it was a reminder that she was destined to be alone. Who would want someone who’s on the run, and what’s more, sees the future? Once she and Barnes got together, it didn’t change much. That first Valentine’s Day, he mentioned the holiday, and she shut it down immediately. They were both broke (or at least, he had no legitimate way of making money while she was broke), and celebrating a mostly commercial holiday seemed like a waste. Plus, she didn’t want to put a strain on a new relationship. Over the years, the subject never came up again, and she’s content for it to stay a non-starter, thank you very much. In her opinion, you should show your partner you love them every day of the year, not shoe-horn it into one twenty-four hour period. Call her unromantic if you must.

She’s completely immune to the various displays of cheap chocolate in heart-shaped boxes and overly sentimental cards as she approaches the register and starts to unload her items. Milk. Tea. That one specific brand of coffee that he likes because, “It tastes like what we drank in basic training. Terrible, but I kinda got used to it, so now everything else tastes like it’s trying too hard.” whatever that means. He’s right; she’s tasted it, and it’s fucking awful. Still, every morning, he drinks at least three cups while she drains her pot of tea.

“You got a hot date for Valentine’s Day, hun?” The cashier asks her, never breaking her rhythm as she rings up the items.

She chuckles. “As a matter of fact, yes.” The cashier’s eye go wide, and she holds up her left hand. “And every other day.”

“Ooh, nice. How long have you been together?”

“Nine years.” Wait… “Or four years, depending on which of us you ask. He blipped, I stayed.”

The cashier nods. “So are you older than him now?”

Physically? They’re not completely sure, but if you calculate the times he was off the ice with HYDRA and add that to the age he was before the serum, then they’re not far off. But chronologically- “No, he’s still older.” And yes, it will always be funny that Sam responds with “Okay, boomer” whenever Bucky makes an outdated reference (even if he’s off by a good twenty years).

With a little more light chatter, she pays for her items and leaves. Now, for home.

As soon as she opens the front door, she’s greeted by their dog, Sarge, barking excitedly and hopping around like he’s on a trampoline despite missing a leg. Bucky’s not far behind, placing a quick peck on her forehead before taking the bags from her and unloading them in the kitchen. Tonight’s his night to cook, but unless her nose has suddenly decided to give out, he hasn’t started dinner yet. She doesn’t mind taking over tonight, and when he sheepishly apologizes while she begins her preparations, she brushes it off. Although, for the second time in an hour, she’s seen proof of his unusual absentmindedness. Oh well. She’ll ask him about it later.

Despite being relieved from tonight’s chef duties, Bucky stays in the kitchen, sitting at the breakfast bar scrolling through his phone as she cooks. His expression is neutral, which can mean one of two things; a) he’s just killing time and there aren’t any interesting posts or articles vying for his attention, or at the opposite end of the spectrum, b) he’s deep in thought, possibly angry, sad, or even frightened, but he’s gone into Winter Soldier mode and shut down so that she won’t pick up on his mood. Damn the man and his poker face.

Eventually dinner is served and she sends him off toward the fridge in search of two beers while she serves their plates. Just as she’s spooning a generous helping of salad into her bowl, it happens. A vision, but a limited one. All she’s seeing is a phone. Well, that and the hand holding it. She’s not sure whether to be proud or embarrassed that she immediately recognizes the hand as Bucky’s, but that goes by the wayside as she takes in the article he’s reading. “Should you do something for Valentine’s Day even is she says no?” It’s a thread on some anonymous discussion board. The reply that has his attention is in reference to a now divorced individual who “was dumb enough to believe that, on our first V-Day as a married couple, she didn’t want anything.” Oh boy. Not good. This will be their first Valentine’s Day since exchanging vows, and if the fact that he’s read this reply (if not already read, will read soon) means that it’s at least crossed his radar that she might be feeding him bullshit. That’s not the case, but after his research, she knows from experience that no matter how much she tries to convince him otherwise, a small part of his mind will be stuck on, “But what if this is a big deal?” Which means-

“Doll, are you just gonna stand there with the salad tongs in your hand?” That snaps her out of it.

“No. Just a vision.” He frowns as she passes him his plate.

“Anything important happen?” Should she say?

“No.” She’s not sure if the smile or not, so she takes a bite from her roll to cover it. “Random sneak peek.” It’s not a lie. What she saw really isn’t important. Still, if he’s in that mindset, she should probably go on and do something for him just in case. After all, why should it only be the ladies who reap this holiday’s benefits?

___________________________________________________________________________________

Not flowers. That’s the one thing that, after copious amounts of research Bucky is one hundred percent certain about. They may still be a common romantic gift, but since they were also a go-to back when he was courting girls in the 1940s, it’s safe to say they’ve been overdone. Plus, he doesn’t really want to remind her of that time she had such a severe allergic reaction to the flowers he picked her on a walk through the park in Bucharest that her eyes nearly swelled shut and she sneezed herself sick. That doesn’t exactly seem like prime romance.

Chocolates or other candies have the same issues as flowers. Contrived and predictable. A bottle of wine is nice, but neither of them can so much as get mildly tipsy thanks to the super serum. The fourteenth is his day to cook, so he guesses he could do some reading and try to create something a little more special than spaghetti (he thought about going to a nice restaurant for dinner, but there’s a few issues with that, not the least of which is they’re likely to be recognized without their disguises, and he’d rather not look at his wife through sunglasses on Valentine’s day), but that seems a little underwhelming.

As he loads the dishwasher (she fell asleep half-way through the third episode of whichever nonsensical comedy they’re watching this week, so he sneaked back downstairs to clean up the dinner dishes), he thinks back to the dozen separate articles he read on the subject of Valentine’s Day gifts. Jewelry was a common theme, but that’s out. She’ll say thank you to his face, but worry about the cost behind his back. Plus, he has absolutely no idea what she’d like, and there’s no sense in purchasing something only for her to hate it.

Another common one was lingerie. Bucky almost choked on his tongue when he saw some of the examples given with that option. None of it looked comfortable (in fact, he’s still scratching his head about how you even put on one of the pieces that popped up on the web page) and he doesn’t want to give her the impression that she has to dress up for him. Even putting all that aside, he has no idea what size she’d even wear. He likes to think that he knows his wife pretty well, but somehow, in all their years together, it never occurred to him to ask her for her clothing sizes. That, and have you even seen the bra sizing system? Does it make sense to anyone, because to Bucky, it’s all gibberish. 32 B? 36 DD? What the hell? Somehow, when HYDRA was training him to extract information, they failed to go over the translation of a woman’s bra size. He supposes he could ask, but he’s not sure there’s a non-suspicious way to work, “Hey, sweetheart. What size are your breasts?” into casual conversation.

Sam said to get creative, so he tried to think outside the box. What’s something she really needs? A new vacuum cleaner is the first thing to come to mind, but he’s not stupid enough to think that would make a good gift. He knows she’s had her eye on a set of throwing stars, but that doesn’t seem to correlate well with what this holiday is all about. That’ll keep until her birthday.

He’s still wracking his brain for anything at all that might work when he feels a wet nose poking at his hand. Sarge. “Hey, boy. Has your mom gone to bed?” The response is a quiet “woof” and lick to his palm. He scratches the mutt behind the ears, smiling to himself as Sarge’s back leg thumps at the treatment.

“What do you think we should get our girl? Huh?” There’s no reply (of course not, he’s talking to a dog), but he nods, pretending all the same that Sarge has offered up a suggestion. “A bone. Yeah, somehow I don’t think that’s her thing. Try again.” The dog blinks at him lazily. “No, you’re the one who wants new tennis balls. Not Mom. Although you’re right about her liking peanut butter.” At this rate, he might as well get her a bone and some tennis balls, because he’s sure not coming up with any ideas.

She likes music. The thought pops into his head while he’s brushing his teeth. All sorts of music. Over the years, he’s tried to make sense of the songs he’s heard her listen to, but has yet to find a discernible pattern in her listening habits. She doesn’t seem to stick to just one genre or era. More like she picks songs by how they relate to what she’s feeling at the moment. Wait a second-

“A mixtape.” His reflection mouths the words back at him. Despite technology having moved on from the days of burning CDs, she still has a thick stack of the disks stored in a cabinet and plays them on the regular. He’s even seen a few that she made herself, pasting together the songs she likes to make a “Cleaning mix”, “Workout Mix” and “Pissed off Mix”. Bucky’s sure he could figure out how to burn a CD, but it’s not like she’d be able to listen to that everywhere she went. That leaves a playlist. She uses one of those apps to listen to music on her phone, right? Surely he can put something together for her using that.

Quietly, he climbs into bed next to his sleeping wife and pulls her back against his chest, slinging one arm over her waist as usual. He closes his eyes, but his mind is alight with activity. A playlist. Of course. He’ll put some extra effort into whatever he cooks that night, stop by a bakery and pick up some sweet treats for dessert. Hell, maybe they’ll both dress up and act like they’re on a date. Then, once they’re sitting down to their meal, he’ll pull out his phone and hit play. It’s perfect. At least, he hopes it is.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Putting on a lacy bra and panties set underneath her regular work attire seemed like a brilliant idea this morning. Today’s a short day; she’s only got three classes to teach, and Rhodey called last night to tell Bucky that he’s suspending work hours at three pm “Since most people have holiday preparations to make.” Her plan was to be waiting on the sofa in the living room when he arrives home, professional button-down blouse open just enough for him to get a good look at what’s underneath, pencil skirt pushed up enough to reveal the stockings and garters she’s donned for the occasion. It’s fun, with just enough cheesiness to match this whole holiday. And, well, it’s a guarantee that by the end of the night they’ll be in bed together, both rumpled, sweaty, and satisfied. Perfect, right?

Wrong. On her drive to work, her skimpy underwear began to ride up, giving her a wedgie, and there was no way to adjust without running the risk of wrecking. She was so distracted by her discomfort that she missed her exit, and by the time she arrived at the college, she was running so behind that she didn’t get the chance to run to the bathroom and readjust. Her lecture on sentence diagrams was pure torture before the underwire from her bra decided to join in the fun and poke her directly in the ribs, but with that addition, she was especially impatient with her students’ tendency to joke around a little too much in class.

Luckily, she had just enough time to wrap the exposed metal bit in tissues before her next class, which eliminated the pain in her chest, but did nothing to alleviate the discomfort once her stockings began to slide down, having at some point disconnected themselves from the garters. She taught like that for the next two classes, but as soon as they were over, she pealed the whole ensemble off in the teacher’s restroom and changed into her gym clothes. Alright, screw the whole seduction routine. She needs to blow off some steam and fast, or else she’ll be in a bad mood all night.

That’s why, thirty minutes later, she finds herself in the training room of the Avengers compound, working over a punching bag. “Fuck-” Her fist connects, making the bag swing crazily from it’s hook. “-this- whole- day!” It goes sailing, and she feels a little better.

“Ouch!” The voice comes from behind her and she whirls around, gaze resting on-

“Sam.” The man in question holds up his hands in an “I surrender” gesture.

“Don’t shoot! I come in peace.” Rolling her eyes, she holds up her middle finger, receiving a snicker in acknowledgment.

“Just working off a little frustration before I head home.”

“Good.” Sam chuckles. “’cause otherwise, I’d be worried that when Barnes pulls out his dick tonight, you’ll bite it off.” She thinks about telling him that there’s no chance of that, but she might just cut off his if he crosses her. However, that jogs her memory.

“Has he left yet?” Sam nods.

“About an hour ago. Said he had to pick up groceries.” Shit. There goes her plan to shower, throw the damn lingerie back on and proceed as planned.

Bidding Sam a hasty reply, she makes tracks towards her car and, once inside, heads for home. Fine. New plan. She’ll shower once she arrives and then when the evening is drawing to a close, wait for him in bed. Nodding to herself, she puts the car in park and climbs out. Now, to psych herself up enough in the next few hours to put the damn lingerie back on.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Where did he go wrong? It takes all of Bucky’s self control not to spit out the spoonful of sauce he just tasted. This was supposed to be an easy recipe for Chicken Alfredo (or at least, that’s what the website boasted; he should’ve known better than to get his information from the internet and stuck to a good old-fashioned cookbook from the library). Not… whatever the hell this is. Maybe even if the sauce is nauseating, the chicken is okay?

He pulls open the oven door, and immediately smoke billows out, making his eyes water. Okay, chicken’s a little well-done. Who is he kidding? Black. The chicken is burned black. And the pasta… he lifts the pot lid and stirs, only to come to the realization that the pasta is completely stuck to the bottom of the pot. Wonderful.

It’s inevitable; over the years, he’s had his fair share of cooking disasters, but usually he does okay. Tonight though… who the hell up there did he piss off, because the only explanation for how badly this is going is his karma coming due.

Still holding the offending spoon, he looks over at Sarge, who’s staring at him, long pink tongue sticking out as he pants. “Trust me, boy. You don’t want any of this.” There has to be something else he can pull together on short notice. Normally he’d be worried that she’s running late without so much as a text, but today he’s relieved. At least if she’s running behind he’ll have time to… what? Maybe order takeout? Before she gets-

“I’m home.” Shit.

Sarge yips, shaking with excitement, and starts towards the kitchen door, then turns back, uncertain. “Go on. I know you’re dying to jump on her and lick her face.” Something they really should be training out of him because he’s getting too big for that sort of behaviour but, well… there’s a reason they call them “puppy dog eyes.”

Not needing to be coaxed, the dog takes off, tripping a little in the momentary lapse in his memory that he’s a tripod, but easily catches himself and goes on his merry way, leaving Bucky to clean up his mess. From the sound of things, a game of fetch is going on in the living room, so she should be distracted for a while.

He manages to pour the sauce down the drain and scrape most of the pasta into the trash while Sarge is acting as a decoy, but there’s absolutely no way he can dispose of the chicken without tipping her off (damn enhanced senses, it’s a wonder she hasn’t already smelled it). Finally, he decides to just go for it. She’s going to notice whether he throws it out now or two hours from now. Might as well get a head start on cleaning.

Sure enough, not ten seconds after he empties out the oven, he catches a movement in his peripheral vision, and the familiar sound of her breathing tips him off that he’s no longer alone.

“Hey, Doll.”

“Hey, Bucky. Did something burn in here, or-” He holds up the pan for her inspection before continuing his scraping.

“That’s one way to put it, yeah.” He slams the lid back on the trashcan and turns on the tap, intent on rinsing out the pan. “Another is whoever the god of culinary arts is has it in for me today.”

She chuckles. “You know, that would be funnier if we didn’t actually know a god.”

“Yeah, but he’s in control of thunder.” He meets her eyes, smirking slightly. “Although it did look like I electrocuted the bird.” Her lips quirk up into a smile, and he takes the opportunity to kiss her, cupping the back of her head gently to hold her in place when she tries to move away, muttering something about being sweaty.

He’s not entirely sure how it happened, but by the time they come up for air, her back his pressed against the wall and he’s got her pinned in place. Not that he’s complaining.

“Anyone ever tell you that the tip of your nose turns pink after you’ve been kissed?’ Her cheeks go rosey in response.

“I think so. One guy did. I told him it’s only when I’m kissed properly.”

He really would like to continue the playful banter, but there’s still the small matter of whatever it is they’re going to eat.

“What do you feel like for dinner tonight?”

“Apart from electrocuted chicken?” He responds with a swat to her ass, which earns him a snicker. “Let’s keep it simple. Pizza. Your choice of toppings.” Right, that’s easy enough. Plus, if they have to wait longer than thirty minutes, it’s free.

“Okay. I’ll order while you shower?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

He’s just pulled up the menu on his phone when the sound of her clearing her throat attracts his attention. She’s standing in the doorway, combing through her freshly let down hair with her fingers, a playful look in her eyes.

“Or you could join me. Just a mild suggestion.”

Dinner can wait for a while.

___________________________________________________________________________________

The Brooklyn townhouse they live in has many nice features. There’s a functional if small screened in back porch, big enough to hold a table for two and a grill. Two bedrooms, on the off chance someone from work needs to crash for a night or two. A kitchen with a dishwasher. A working fireplace. Good closet space. And an en suite bathroom.

Maybe it’s a little ridiculous to call a bathroom luxurious, especially when, in comparison to what’s featured in many brownstones, it’s more than modest, but she can’t help but think of it as such. There’s a double sink so that in the morning rush to get ready, Bucky’s able to shave and brush his teeth without having to wait for her to finish applying her makeup. Shelving above the toilet makes certain that even if the last person to shower took the towel with them, another one is on hand. Speaking of the shower, it’s not the largest one in the world, but both of them can fit in comfortably at the same time, which is what’s lead to their current situation.

She’s just finished allowing the water to course over her body, easing the sweat from her skin, and is about to begin the process of washing her hair, scrubbing her body, but she hesitates. She might as well ask. It’s only practical after all.

“Do you want to start now or get cleaned up and have dinner beforehand?” It’s obvious what she’s referring to, so she doesn’t bother to spell it out.

His brown knits, and if she didn’t know him as… intimately… as she does, she’d actually believe he’s confused.

“Oh, so you’re just assuming there’s gonna be sex involved at some point tonight?”

She shrugs, wringing out her hair.

“Seemed like a safe enough bet.” She glances pointedly between the two of them. “After all, we’re already undressed. “

His laugh is a quiet huff, barely discernible over the sound of the water. “Then I’d say start now, have dinner, then go for round two. Sound about right to you?”

She nods. “Solid plan.”

“Then get over here.”

Unlike the welcome home kiss they shared not half an hour ago, this one is less tender, more electric. Hands twist in hair, bodies press together. Tongues begging for entrance quickly give way to teeth nipping at bottom lips, an unspoken sparring match for who’ll be in control this time around. Ultimately he wins, grasping her hips and lifting as she wraps her legs securely around his back.

There’s no need for prep; the teasing of their earlier words is foreplay enough. Back pressed against the wall, her body easily welcomes him in as she braces one arm against the glass shower doors for balance. Any concerns about slipping and falling wash away as they move together like so many times before. She’s sure her nails will leave marks on his back, fingertips digging in for purchase and it’s a guarantee her hips will be littered with fingerprints from his grip, but she can’t find it in her to care, and if the desperate, bruising kiss assaulting her lips is anything to judge from, neither can he.

“So damn good, Doll.” It’s panted against her neck. “Always. So damn perfect for me.” All she can manage is a moan in response.

She feels him twitch inside of her and knows he’s close. So is she, but she can’t quite get there without-

As if he’s read her mind, he reaches between them to touch her where she needs it most, and on instinct, she readjusts, locking her arm around his neck to stay in place. “Let go, sweetheart. Can you do that for me?” She couldn’t disobey if she wanted to.

“Fuck.” As her walls contract around him, he pulls out just in time to paint her middle with his release.

“That’s one word for it.” She’s still fighting to catch her breath, but she shoots him a shaky smirk, which he returns.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mrs. Barnes.” Snickering, she releases him to stand on unsteady legs and pecks his legs.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mr. Barnes.” Maybe there’s something to this holiday after all.

___________________________________________________________________________________

“You want the last slice?” Bucky considers it for a moment before deciding-

“Nah. You can have it.” It may not be exactly what he planned, but it’s been a good night. Between the two of them, they’ve gone through two large pizzas while watching the new version of Beauty and the Beast (she rolled her eyes when he asked if this was her way of saying he reminds her of a certain hairy, horned character) in their pajamas.

“No, really. You take it. I don’t want it.” She nudges the mostly-empty pizza box towards him. The noise makes Sarge lift his head from where he was snoozing beside her on the sofa. That gives him an idea.

“I don’t want it either, but I can think of someone who does.” He cocks his head towards the now-drooling dog. “How ‘bout it, boy? Wanna help us out?”

Snickering, she picks the pepperonis and pieces of sausage and ham from the pizza, forming a pile. “Here, Sarge. Catch.” She tosses a coveted treat in the air, and Sarge’s jaw snaps, swallowing it whole. “Good boy.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes before she speaks again.

“You know, I actually did have something planned for you.”

“Oh, yeah?” She nods.

“Absolutely. Had a whole seduction plan laid out. Tiny underwear, lacy bra, and stockings with garters included.” Huh. Guess she wouldn’t have taken the “lingerie” option the wrong way. He’ll file that away for future use… along with a mental note to ask her bra size. “That is, until I tried wearing the damn things for longer than an hour. Turns out, hiding a dirty secret under your clothes is more itchy than sexy.”

He can’t help it. He laughs, producing a pout from her which quickly turns into her own quiet laughter.

“Well, that fits in perfectly with my fancy dinner going up in smoke.”

“We really do have shitty luck with the whole “romance” thing.” She’s joking, but he decides to respond anyway.

“I don’t know about that.” Entwining his fingers with hers, he lifts their hands, twin wedding bands catching the light. “You waited five years for me to reappear after the blip, and I convinced you to elope with me. Seems pretty romantic.” Although, that reminds him…

“Don’t move.” Releasing her hand, he stands and goes in search of his phone.

“Bucky, what-”

“Don’t move, Doll. Stay right where you are.” Ah. On the kitchen counter, just where he left it. Jogging back into the room, he resumes his place on the couch next to her. Ignoring her questioning gaze, he pulls up the app and, selecting the correct playlist, hits play.

Immediate recognition blooms on her face at the opening lyrics. “She is the sweetest thing that I know. Should see the way she holds me when the lights go low.” He’s not one for modern music, but when he was googling “songs for Valentine’s Day” and this one popped up, he couldn’t help but think that the lyrics were fitting.

“I didn’t know you’d heard this one.”

He chuckles. “Even old men have a few tricks up their sleeves. That, and a wifi connection.” She rolls her eyes but leans closer, which he takes advantage of to show her the playlist.

“This is the app you use, right?” Receiving a nod, he continues. “Feel free to scroll through and add whatever you want. I haven’t listened to all of them the whole way through, but they seemed to fit the mood.”

Her hand closes over his, covering the phone. “Thank you, Bucky. It’s perfect.”

As the singer goes on about how hearts don’t break around here, he presses his lips against hers.

“I love you, Doll.”

“Love you.”

Not bad for a disastrous Valentine’s Day. Not bad at all.

[sleepless-stories]

Soulmates

Virgil had always been so excited to meet his soulmate, though also anxious because they’d finally be able to meet. The moment when one meets their soulmate is so hyped up, it kinda scares Virgil a bit. But he knew it would be all fine, your soulmate was supposed to be your true love as most tails predicted. He always had ignored the rumors that your soulmate was your worst enemy or the one who would kill you, or that they could only be your friend. They were only rumors and everyone already knew them as false, your soulmate was simply your true love.

 When one turned 18 they gained a mental link to their soulmate, to be able to see, feel, and hear the world as their soulmate does. Though when they looked in a mirror nothing would be seen, so you’d never know what your soulmate looked like. You’d only be able to find them based on what they could see, or what you could see. Many didn’t meet their soulmate for years, some met them quicker than others. 

Virgil was a lucky one, he had met his soulmate when he was 21. Virgil had been walking home from his job stocking shelves at the local supermarket, buy and go, it was around 10pm at the time. He had decided to stop in a bookstore on his way home to buy a book he had been wanting, it was a fantasy horror novel. He walked in looking around for a bit before grabbing the book and walking over to checkout. That was when he met him, his soulmate, Patton. Somebody had grabbed his arm and Virgil turned ready to deck them in the face for touching him when he looked though, the guy had his eyes shut. Virgil tilted his head and closed his eyes for a moment too. 

When he closed his eyes, he saw… himself. Virgil quickly opened his eyes looking at the other. “You’re…”

“We’re soulmates.” The guy said softly, finishing Virgil’s thought. “I’m Patton.”

“I’m Virgil.”

Patton nodded smiling brightly as he let go of Virgil’s arm, “Wow…” he mumbled seemingly in shock.

Virgil nodded stepping back a bit to have space. “Hey um… I’m going to buy this book real fast, then maybe we could talk?”

Patton nodded, the smile not leaving his face as Virgil walked away checking out the book. 

--

They moved in together a year later after several dates. 

Virgil was happy with Patton, he loved him. He had always been so fearful of messing up the day he met his soulmate… but it was perfect to him. He had learned Patton was a pediatrician at the close by hospital and didn’t have any family, his parents had given him up at birth, His adopted parents died with his brother and had died in a car accident years before. 

Patton was absolutely in love with Virgil past their first interaction, he treated Virgil like his whole world. 

Virgil walked into Patton's house and smiled, “Hey Patt! Could you help me with my boxes?” He called out. 

Patton walked down the hall, an apron on and flour covering him, “Sure, sweetheart, let me just clean up a bit.”

“Alright, and you know I don’t really like pet names.” Virgil sighed and walked out back to his car getting his boxes. 

Patton came out after a little bit all cleaned up, “I know, I’m sorry Virge.” He sighed softly, “It just slips out…” He shook his head softly grabbing a box.

Virgil sighed running a hand through his hair then lightly hugged Patton from behind, “I know Patt, it’s fine.” He said letting go and grabbing a box bringing it inside the house. He started bringing the boxes upstairs to the hall for them to figure out later. As he was walking he slipped slightly, Patton’s arms were around him immediately. 

“Virgil go sit down, I’d rather you not hurt yourself.” Patton said letting go of him.

Virgil nodded and walked down the stairs and sat on the living room couch. He watched his protective boyfriend go to the kitchen and come back with a cookie and hot chocolate.

 “Here, I’ll bring everything else in.” He said softly walking back outside. 

Virgil rolled his eyes and sat there on the couch. 

--

Months passed, Virgil and Patton getting closer. They were happy with each other. 

Virgil stood in line at a cafe waiting to get a drink, a guy tapped on his shoulder and he turned, “Yes?”

“Hey, I thought I should say hi… mostly because I’m curious and want a friend. Plus I see you here literally every day and I was concerned about how you’re literally here at the same exact time daily.” He laughed.

Virgil laughed a bit too, “Oh… Am I? Wow… coming here is just a part of my normal schedule.”

“Makes sense, same for me too.”

Virgil smiled, chatting with him for a bit, only stopping when he ordered his coffee. The two finally parted ways when the other realized he was late for work. Virgil had laughed at him and started walking away when the guy ran back over to Virgil.

 “Hey, um… could I have your phone number?”

“Hmm, I think you will have to wait till tomorrow, you’re late anyway.” Virgil said and walked home. 

Virgil walked inside and smiled seeing Patton, “Hey Patton.”

“Sweetie… Who was that you were talking to? At the cafe?”

“What? Um.. Just some guy. And could you please not call me sweetie.” Virgil shrugged and sat down sipping his coffee. 

“Just some guy? You seemed to be getting along with him quite well. I’d rather there be no secrets between us.”

“Patton, this is ridiculous. He was literally just some guy at the cafe. Now could we drop this.”

“No!” Patton yelled and stalked over to him grabbing him by the chin, “I will not have you leaving me like everyone else in my life.”

“Patton I’m not leaving you, he was just a new friend of mine.”

Patton growled then slapped him across the face, “STOP Lying!” He cried out then stared at Virgil before letting go and walking upstairs. 

Virgil sat there, his cheek burning red from the slap and tears welling up in his eyes a bit. He watched his boyfriend go, confused. Maybe Patton just had a tough day at work. He knew he occasionally had those. It was best to just let Patton have his space for a little while. 

Through the week Virgil noticed how Patton seemed more and more stressed, he knew Patton had troubles expressing his emotions so he just let Patton have his space. It wasn’t until friday Virgil saw his new friend again. 

Virgil stood in line when he felt a tap on his shoulder, “Hey, haven’t seen you in awhile.” he said and looked at the guy behind him.

“Yeah, sorry. Work has been hell. Haven’t even had a chance for my coffee break.”

Virgil nodded and pulled out his phone giving it to the other, “you could have my phone number, I don’t have many friends.”

“Yeah me neither, just so busy.”

Virgil nodded making a noise of understanding. He ordered his coffee and took his phone back. After his friend ordered they went and sat together just talking. Getting to know each other. Virgil looked at the time at one point and swore. “Sorry I have to go, I want to get home before my boyfriend. I want to make him dinner.” 

The guy nodded and stood up moving closer before hugging Virgil. 

VIrgil stood there confused for a moment before smiling and hugging back. “Nice to see you again.”

“Yeah! You too.” The guy nodded smiling. 

Virgil walked out of the cafe and quickly went to his and Patton’s home. Thankfully Patton wasn’t home yet. He went to the kitchen and started getting set then cooking. 

Patton came home when Virgil was halfway through cooking. He walked into the kitchen and glared a bit, “What are you doing?” he growled.

Virgil turned and looked at him, “Clearly I’m cooking dinner.”

“What do you call this dinner?” Patton asked and shook his head pushing the pot of spaghetti off the stove, the hot water splashing on Virgil, burning him through his clothes. 

“What the fuck Patton!? You have been an ass all week.” He yelled. 

Patton grabbed him pushing him against the wall hard then pinning him there, “At least I’m not cheating! Do you think I appreceate how you are fucking acting!”

“Cheating? Wha-”

“Don’t play coy! I know about you and that guy! Don’t even think I don’t fucking know!” Patton yelled, pulling Virgil back then slamming him against the wall before letting go of him. “Now go be good and sit in the living room! I’ll fix your mess of what you said is dinner!” Patton shook his head before going and cleaning up the kitchen. 

Virgil got up off the ground, wiping away some tears and glared as he walked into the living room and sat on the couch. He pulled out his phone and opened his new contact. 

Patton closed his eyes looking through Virgil’s seeing what he was doing. As soon as he saw he immediately opened his eyes walking over to Virgil. He took his phone and threw it across the room, “don’t you even think about texting him.” Patton sneered. 

“You know what! I’m going out!” Virgil said getting up from the couch only to be pushed back down. 

“No you’re not! I don’t think I could trust you anyway. You’re staying right here.”

“What the hell is your deal Patton?!”

“My deal? You’re the one leaving me!” 

“And you’re just pushing me away!”

“No I’m not! And stop accusing me!”

“You’re the one accusing me of cheating!”

Patton shook his head annoyed and slapped him, “Just shut up!” He begged, tears running from his eyes. “Virgil… I can’t have you leave me like everyone else did. Please! We’re soulmates! I love you!”

Virgil looked down and sighed, “I’m not leaving you Patton.”

Patton nodded softly, “I’m going to order a pizza.”

Virgil nodded softly. 

Patton walked away cleaning up the kitchen before sitting and cuddling Virgil. 

They had a nice night cuddling together and watching movies. 

Virgil went to work the next morning, it was as if nothing had happened. But it made him think, was he cheating? It was just a friendship… but was he sending the wrong signals? Was this actually his fault? Virgil shook his head forcing the thoughts out of his head as he walked to work. He went to the cafe after work, standing in line and ordering his usual. Afterwards he sat down at the usual table and sipped his coffee. His friend walked in after a little while, it was funny they still didn’t know each other's names after all this time though. “Hey”

The other turned and smiled, “Hey.” he replied but his smile fell after a moment and walked over sitting across from Virgil. He noticed how Virgil had a slight bruise on his neck and jaw. “You alright? How’d things go with your boyfriend?”

“Yeah I’m fine and things went well. We watched movies together all night.” 

The other nodded slowly then got up. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to go order.”

 Virgil nodded and sat there quietly. 

He came back after a minute and handed Virgil a chocolate chip muffin. “Here.”

“Oh! Thanks.” Virgil smiled. 

He nodded. 

Virgil started eating and looked up at the cafe’s clock. “Mmm, I should get going.”

The other nodded, “Ok… see you soon.”

Virgil nodded and got up, leaving the cafe. 

Virgil got home only to be shoved against the wall and punched in the face. 

“I want you to stop seeing him!” Patton said, tears rolling down his face. “Don’t you love me?”

Virgil looked up at Patton about to answer when he was punched again. “Don’t you love me?” Virgil yelled at him. 

“Of course I do! And I’m only doing what’s best! But you… you keep lying to me then going off to flirt with that… that guy! Don’t you love me anymore, don’t you care about me.”

“Patton…” Virgil said softly, moving and hugging him. “Of course I love you.” 

“Then stop seeing him! Please! I don’t want to lose you… but you make it seem like I am. Call out of work. Stay home tomorrow with me.”

“Fine.” 

Patton nodded and stepped back letting go of him.

Virgil grabbed his phone and called out of work. 

__

This continued on for weeks, Patton asking him to call out of work and stay home. Patton always pleaded with him, saying how he didn’t want to lose Virgil like everyone else. And when Patton asked Virgil to quit his job… Virgil agreed. Thinking it was for the best.

Patton started not letting Virgil leave the house, when he did he’d come back to be beaten and abused. 

Virgil got up one morning, seeing Patton had left early for work. He quickly ran out of the house to the cafe, bruises as clear as day. He was just walking in when he decided to close his eyes for a moment to only see his own back he opened them and looked at Patton. “Patt… I can’t stay in all the time.”

“Babe we’re going home.” 

Virgil looked around and nodded softly not wanting to cause a scene. He left with Patton and went back home. Patton punched him hard, throwing him across the room. 

Patton was just a bit over protective of his anxious sweet baby boyfriend. 

Virgil got back up after Patton finished. He went into the bathroom cleaning himself up before going and grabbing the house phone. He couldn’t deal with this anymore, with Patton’s abuse. He didn’t know what changed but something did, and he didn’t love this version of Patton. The version he loved was gone. 

Patton stalked into the room ripping the phone from Virgil’s hands, “Don’t you even dare call the police. Now I have to get to work, you will stay home. And if you do leave I will know. I will know if you try making any calls. Please Virgil… I love you, don’t leave me.” He whispered and kissed Virgil’s cheek before walking out of the house, getting in his car and leaving. 

Virgil stood there for a few minutes, he knew he couldn’t call anyone, or run away… but he couldn’t go on like this any longer. He went upstairs and started grabbing their extra sheets from the closet. He went over to the landing of the stairs and tied the sheets to the railing then around himself before getting up and climbing the railing and falling. 

When Patton closed his eyes, he saw darkness, he didn’t understand at first, maybe Virgil was just sleeping. He kept closing his eyes to see what Virgil was seeing but only darkness remained. He got in his car and sped home. He ran inside to see his boyfriend, lifeless and hanging over the stairs. Patton screamed in agony realizing that his boyfriend had left him… like everyone else. 

_________________________

General Tag List @crazy-multifandomfangirl

Other people

@dragonindigo245

@ayyyden-main

[turtle-steverogers]

Not Guilty- 2

murder mystery’s back! im having too much fun with this story guys

Link to chap 1 in case you need it

warnings: albert being a human disaster, abuse of the word ‘milk’

ship: ralbert, platonic spalbert

word count: 1680

editing: lmaoooo no

Chap 2

When Albert gets to the precinct the next morning, he’s wary to find a wrapped parcel on his desk that looks suspiciously like a sandwich.  He pokes at it, frowning when he sees a singular smiley face drawn on the underside in black sharpie.

 “Hey, uh, Spot?” He calls, looking up when he hears his partner’s chair roll out from his desk and subsequently poke his head around the low wooden wall that separates their cubicles.

“Yes, honeycakes?” Spot’s expression is the face of innocence and Albert’s stomach churns.

“Did you-” He stumbles, gesturing to the presumed sandwich, “Is this for me?”

“It’s on your desk, isn’t it?” Spot smiles, rolling back into his cubicle.

Albert sighs, taking off his messenger bag and jacket and sitting heavily in his desk chair.  He cautiously unwraps the white paper to find a loaded meatball sub sitting in the middle of a napkin.  There’s a sticky note placed delicately on the fluffy white bread and Albert plucks it up, squinting at the words:

Sorry you didn’t finish your sandwich xoxo Spottie

He laughs probably too loud and sticks the sticky note on his desktop, right next to the note from Jack that reads: ‘I’m sorry for stealing your pants, I had brains on mine’ after Jack had taken his extra pair of slacks from his locker when his got spoiled at a crime scene.

He takes a bite of the sandwich, pleased to find that he can still stomach his favorite Gianno’s special after yesterday’s events.  As he chews, careful not to get any tomato sauce on his shirt, he plucks a sticky note from his own pad and scrawls out: Thanks, Pop Spotcket.  Love u, dear xoxo and tosses it over to Spot.

A moment later, Spot snorts indignantly, “‘Pop Spotcket’? Really? Does anyone actually use those anymore?  The only person I know who has one is my niece and she’s eleven.”

Albert rolls his chair so he’s in Spot’s cubicle, sandwich still in hand, “I have one, asshole.  They’re useful.  Anyway, thanks for the sandwich.  How’s it looking at Gianno’s?”

Spot sighs wearily, placing a stack of papers down and turning from his computer to look at Albert, “Eh.  They’re closed today.  I stopped by this morning to pick up some evidence left at the crime scene and one of the waiters asked if I wanted anything and I remembered that you didn’t get to finish your lunch yesterday so…”

“Thanks, man,” Albert says, mouth full.  Spot wrinkles his nose and tells him not to speak with food in his mouth.  Albert rolls his eyes, “Anyway, evidence?  What’s new?”

“Nothing really,” Spot says, “Just Wiesel’s receipt from his last meal.  Wasn’t really much on it, but it gave us a sure timestamp that lines up with our original record, so at least that’s set.”

“Good,” Albert shoves the last bit of sandwich into his mouth, licking his fingers.

“Yeah.  Saw our boy there, though.”

Albert raises his eyebrows, “Higgins?”

“Mhm.”

“How’s he?”

Spot shrugs, “Didn’t talk to him.  Kid looked like shit.  Well, more shitty than yesterday if that’s somehow possible.  Kept sending cute little glares my way, fucking ray of sunshine, that one.”

“Christ,” Albert grimaces, “I’m convinced he’s a player in this debacle somehow.  I mean, he seemed genuinely surprised when he found out the vic was Wiesel, but too many strings lead to connections on his end.”

“Yeah,” Spot agrees, “I dunno, I say we dig a little into Wiesel’s other relations as well.  I feel like there’s a gap here somewhere.”

“Toxicology came back,” Albert says after a pause.

Spot looks at him, eyebrows raised, “And?”

“Sarin poison in the blood.  Stab wounds were post-mortem.  Someone wanted this shit to look messier than it is.”

“Interesting.  I wonder who’d go through the trouble of poisoning, then following up with a physical attack.  ‘Specially in a public place.  S’kinda risky.”

“That’s what I was thinking, but whoever it was, clearly knew what they were doing.”

“Clearly…”

XXX

Albert never understood why there was such a wide variety of milks in the world.  And why, in this moment, he can’t find any simple fucking 2%.  

He scans over the selection again, bypassing the almond and oat milks and skimming over the fritzy lactose free shit.  There’s strawberry milk and chocolate milk on display and even horrifyingly enough, mint milk, but no fucking 2%.  It’s not even like this fucking bodega is big enough to warrant having so many milks. 

He just wants some damn normal person milk!

“Excuse me, detective.” 

Albert doesn’t startle.  He doesn’t.  He’s a trained law enforcement officer and detective.  People like him don’t fucking startle.  But, he is on high, professional alert when he turns around to see Antonio Fucking Higgins standing behind him, eyebrows raised in what’s probably amusement and hands shoved in his pockets.

Albert makes a strangled noise, eyes working on their own accord as they trail down Higgins’ body.  He’s sweaty, looking like he just came from some sort of workout, and a pair of tight adidas running pants hug his legs in all the right places.  He’s in a tank top today, somehow doing his arms more justice than the grey shirt he’d been wearing yesterday.  A hat sits backwards on his head, doing little to tame the curls that are trying to sneak out of the stupid hole where the strap meets the fabric.  He looks hot and it’s unfair and Albert’s never been ashamed of his sexuality, but right now he’s wishing that he could reign in his gay ass a little bit because aside from the fact that Higgins is a bit of a prick, he’s also a suspect and that’s, like, number one in the Book of Nope for cops of any kind.

Higgins is still looking at him, but now there’s a small crease of concern between his eyebrows, “You alright, man?” He asks, “You look kinda like you’re having a heart attack.  Do you have any chest pain?  Your left arm feel numb at all?”

Albert shakes himself, morphing his expression into something he hopes looks less like Gay Panic, “Yeah, sorry, I-” He splutters a bit, then shuts his mouth with a click.  

Higgins scoffs, “I just need milk, man, you mind?”

Albert starts, hastily stepping out from where he was definitely blocking the milk selection and watching as Race grabs a carton of-- fucking 2%.  How did he find it so fast?  How did Albert not see it?  He’s supposed to be the one trained to look for details others don’t see!

Trying not to flush, Albert reaches out and grabs a carton as well and Higgins looks at him again, laughing, “You were standing here for a long time, dude, I thought you were gonna murder the milk for a second.”

“Couldn’t find the 2%.” Albert mumbles, blushing harder when Higgins laughs louder.

“Real good reconnaissance there, detective.”

When Higgins is laughing, his face changes into something a whole lot more pleasant.  Not that it was ever unpleasant (the dude’s got a jawline of a god), but some of the hardness in his eyes and shadows on his face go away and for just a second, he looks like the 25 year old he’s supposed to be.  It’s nice, Albert thinks, ignoring the way alarm bells are going off in his head.

“Shut up, Higgins, I’m tired.  Some of us have to read about murders all day, so excuse me if my milk finding skills aren’t the most refined.”

Higgins’ face softens and the smile in his eyes turns into something else that Albert doesn’t want to dissect, “Race.”

“What?”

“Higgins is my dad, not me.  And I don’t like the name Antonio very much, so if we’re gonna be talking more, be it over murder or milk, call me Race.”

“Race?”

Higgins--Race--winks, “That’s a story for level five amici.”

“Oh, okay.”

They pause for a moment and even though Albert’s not drunk, his inhibitions seem to flutter away from him against his will as he blurts out, “Drinks sometime? Would- uh- would you wanna get drinks sometime?”

And fuck-fuck- SHIT- what are you doing Dasilva? What the fuck?

Race considers him for a moment, “Not that I wouldn’t hit that,” he nods to Albert’s body and Albert flushes.  Damnit with the flushing!  He’s 26, not some flouncy high schooler, “But I don’t think that’s a good idea, detective.”

Albert nods, “No, yeah, honestly I don’t know why I asked- uh-”

“Relax, don’t have an aneurysm, it’s okay.  I just don’t think it’s a good idea right now.”

“No no, you’re right.  Absolutely.”

There’s another pause, then Race smiles apologetically, “I gotta go get the rest of my groceries.  Take care.”

Albert cringes internally at how fucking painfully awkward this exchange has been, “You too,” he says, watching Race retreat to the wine aisle.  He takes another moment to gather himself, then goes to the checkout line.

XXX

Albert turns up the volume on his TV, pleased with the quiet solitude of his apartment for the night.  He doesn’t love living alone, but it’s been a long couple days and he’s been looking forward to a night to himself since he’d woken up that morning.  Just him, some thai, and the Animal Planet playing reruns of ‘It’s Me or the Dog’ all night.  Fucking self care.

He’s just yelling at some dog owner on the TV for feeding his pug 24 eggs a day and watching as Victoria Stilwell chews out the greasy fucker when his phone rings on the coffee table in front of him. 

Groaning, Albert mutes the show and chugs down a few sips of beer, before picking up the phone and answering with an annoyed, “Someone better be dying.”

There’s silence on the other end and Albert pulls the phone away from his ear to check the caller ID.  It’s Spot.  Shit, someone might actually be dying.”

“Spot?  Everything okay?”

Spot sounds sheepish when he says, “Well no one’s dying, technically…”

“But…”

“There was another murder.”

“Shit.”

-

Race went straight home after the bodega, right? RIGHT!??!? stay tuned ;)

thanks saph for ‘pop spotcket’

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

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[francoiserenaldt]

week one

prologue | next week 

warnings: cussing (and lots of it), angst

word count: 1860

“Indefinitely? Fuck,” Desirée muttered, covering her face with a pillow. This was going to be a disaster. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Well, I guess I should call Stacy and tell her to turn around.” Andy scratched his neck. “We’re not gonna be able to leave for a while now.” 

“I can’t believe this is happening right now. This is actually the worst thing that could happen.” Desirée groans, pulling her head away from the pillow.

“Hey, I’m not that bad.” Andy teases.

“No, you’re not. It’s just...I had an interview for Vogue lined up to start on Monday. I’ve been interning and writing papers for months to get it and now…” She closes her eyes, willing the tears away. 

“Damn, I’m sorry. You would’ve killed it, I bet.”

“And now I guess we’ll never know.” Her eyes fly open as a realization hits her. “What the hell changed in less than 24 hours? They know that’s not enough time to pack anything and leave.”

“I don’t know, but we’ll figure this out, okay?”

She nods and he disappears into the bedroom. When she glances back at the TV, the time reads 4:35 AM. She rolls her eyes and tries in vain to go back to sleep.

And so it begins.

Sunday, August 3rd, 2023 - Day 1 of quarantine

She eventually gets off her ass around 8 AM and finds something to wear. She settles on a pair of black Nike sweats and her shoes from yesterday. 

One look at her phone notifications shows an unethical amount of missed calls and text messages from her parents, all of which she ignores. An hour later, she gets texts from Stacy.

stacy: just touched down in boston, hope you’re safe

desirée: great! you get to the airport okay?

stacy:  hell no. the police presence at the border is insane. I saw them cornering every car that tried to leave after me! I was lucky they got distracted.

desirée: holy shit it’s even worse than i thought

stacy: how are you getting back to nyc?

desirée: i’m def not w that border thing

stacy: so you and andy are...

desirée: stuck w each other for the moment. it should be fine.

stacy: are you sure, babe? 

desirée: it’s not like i have a choice.

stacy: if you say so. stay safe!

desirée: will do!

“Hey.” 

Desirée looks up and he’s there, dressed comfortably in sweats that show off his muscular build. He looks good and, if the way her eyes linger is any indication, he knows it. She should’ve replied 5 seconds ago, but the second-best time to say something is probably now. 

Speak, dammit.

“Hey. What’s up?” Her voice, thankfully, doesn’t betray her internal monologue. Andy doesn’t seem to notice.

“Since we’re gonna be here for a while, I should probably show you how everything works around here.”

The next hour is spent learning about where the dishes go, how to properly turn on the shower and all of the boring home life things. Throughout the tour, she notices the ways he’s changed since she was last with him. For one, he cooks now, and he has a relatively organized kitchen with spices and sauces. But she still gets some glimpses of who he was before California. He still eats with plasticware because “it doesn’t make sense to have silverware in a place where you don’t live all the time”, which is incredibly moronic thinking and she tells him so, he still wears oversized shirts to bed, and he still smells like his signature spicy cologne when he gets close to her. He’s still so easy to talk to, always knows exactly what’s on her mind and when there’s more to the story than she’s letting on and-

Holy shit.

This can’t already be happening.

As her luck would have it, the apartment he normally stays in alone only has one bed and he refuses to let her sleep on the couch again, so they share the bed. 

The tears only come when she sleeps with her back turned to him, kicking herself for ever letting him go. 

Monday, August 4th, 2023 - Day 2 of quarantine

In the morning, Desirée wakes up with his warmth against her back. One look down finds his arms loosely wound around her body in a way they definitely weren’t when she fell asleep.

Once she begrudgingly gets out of bed, she makes the call to the higher-up at Vogue and tells them the news. She wants to believe that the bored tone the receptionist uses when she delivers the news is just an attempt at a brave face and they secretly are very disappointed that she couldn’t make it. 

She wants to cry. 

Instead, she goes into the bathroom and gets ready for the day. Apparently, her attempts at a facade weren’t as effective as she thought as Andy stops her in the bedroom.

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah.”

“You’re obviously not okay, Desirée.”

“So why bother asking, then?” She snaps. “It’s been a hard enough morning without you trying to psychoanalyze me, so please spare me the effort.” 

“Look,” Andy snaps, “I know you’re upset about your thing in New York, but I don’t deserve that.”

“You know what, Andy? You’re right. You don’t deserve that. So I need you just leave me alone for a second because I’m in an incredibly shitty mood and this,” she waves a hand between the two of them, “isn’t helping.”

“Do you think being an asshole is going to help?” Andy raised an eyebrow. Desirée only offered a huff in response. “So I’m going to ask you again. What’s wrong?”

“You’re clearly not letting this go, so...I had to call Vogue that I’m stuck in quarantine in the middle of nowhere in Oregon and that I won’t be there in time to start the internship,” Desirée speaks slowly, not far from tears. “The lady listening couldn’t have given less of a shit if she tried.”

“Now was that so hard?” Andy gave her a small smile and opened his arms, clearly intending for her to hug him. She holds out at first, glaring at him. He tilts his head slightly as if to say, Come on already! and she runs into his arms, finally allowing the dam to break. He strokes her back as she cries, closing his eyes to hold back his own. Once her sobs lessen, she whispers something in his ear and he almost misses it. 

“You’re the worst.” 

Tuesday, August 5th, 2023 - Day 3 of quarantine

To help her move on from her internship, Andy attempts to teach her how to play video games. 

Attempts being the operative word.

She’s admittedly stubborn and confused about everything and Andy is entirely too amused about the entire thing. This goes on for hours until eventually:

“Maybe I could just watch?” 

So that’s what they do. She sits while he plays his game, stopping every now and then to explain how to make certain moves and unlock certain weapons. She lays her head in his lap. They don’t talk about it.

Wednesday, August 6th, 2023 - Day 4 of quarantine

On Wednesday, they drink. Wine bottles were lined on the coffee table in front of the couch as Desirée’s legs rested on Andy’s lap. She feels his thumb running softly along her calves as she stares at the ceiling. 

“I’m sorry I was being a bitch on Monday.” Desirée murmured, her head hanging on the arm of the couch. “I haven’t done that in a long time. I thought I was getting better at not being so...me.”

“You wanted space and I pushed.” Andy squeezes her calf. “I’m sorry, too.”

Maybe it’s the wine or the way his hand feels on her leg, but she feels emboldened in a way she hasn’t in years. So emboldened that she finally asks:

“Why didn’t we end up working it out?” She whispers softly. 

The question lingers between them. The thought had plagued her thoughts ever since that first night, and the morning after, but she’d never dared to say it aloud before this moment. 

“We were headed in two different directions,” Andy says after a while. He turns to face her and forces a smile, which she returns. “You were going to New York City to become some big-time stylist and I was going to Los Angeles to be a basketball player. Our lives were just going to be too different.” 

She remembers what she’d told him years ago; that their lives were just beginning and their relationship had no future in them. But 4 years later, she’s finding that her heart beats just as fast when he winks at her and hugs her as it did before. And she’s not imagining the redness on his cheeks when she lets her gaze linger too long or the feeling of his arms tightening around her in the morning. 

Of course, that was never the problem, was it?

“I wish we would’ve figured it out.”

“Me too.”

He sleeps with his back to her. They don’t talk about it.

Thursday, August 7th, 2023 - Day 5 of quarantine

Thursday, and the rest of the week frankly, is spent looking at the news. The cheery news anchor, who’s broadcasting live via Skype, promises that everything will be over in a couple of weeks, but independent news outlets are projecting that citizens of Westchester County should expect to stay in their homes for the next couple of months. 

They finally name the new age plague cutis dissolutitis, but everyone sticks to calling it the Westchester Plague. Apparently, high pH bacteria erode the skin until the person has no outer layer of protection left. They have yet to figure out how the disease is transmitted. There have been 3 casualties so far, and each one has been due to suicide rather than the disease itself. 

“Holy shit,” Andy gasps as medical professionals bicker like middle schoolers on the TV screen. “Do you really think it’s only going to be a couple of weeks?”

“No,” Desirée replies. The monosyllabic response is horrifyingly final.

She wants to be wrong.

Friday, August 8th, 2023 - Day 6 of quarantine

On Friday, the first case outside of Westchester County is reported. 

“A 25-year-old woman has contracted the Westchester Plague in Big Bear, California. The patient has claimed to not have been to or from Westchester in her lifetime. The governor of Oregon has scheduled a press conference this afternoon. More at 12-”

Andy turns off the TV. 

Saturday, August 9th, 2023 - Day 7 of quarantine

On Saturday, they run out of food. 

Neither wants to leave the other alone in the house, so they tentatively head to the nearest grocery store. They grab the essentials.  In the checkout line, everyone stands 6 feet apart from each other. Every person who dares to be out, save for her and Andy, is wearing gloves and a mask. Boxes of both items are given to each shopper as they exit the store. 

Each day, life comes closer and closer to becoming a dystopian nightmare. As they return back to Andy’s apartment, she wonders if she’ll start calling it home soon.

[carmenlire]

Brother Dearest

 read on ao3

Alec swings by a local bakery on his way to the Institute. There’s a bit of a line since it’s so early in the morning and he passes the time waiting by reading a few pages of his ebook on his phone.

When it’s his turn, he orders a large latte for himself and gets two double chocolate fudge cupcakes. He pays without fuss and just a few minutes later he’s back in the late October air, chilly yet inviting.

It’s Alec’s favorite time of the year and he doesn’t mind his commute quite so much when he can wear sweaters and combat boots without dying of heatstroke. It’s only another fifteen minutes to the Institute and Alec walks into the building without ceremony, heading directly to his office.

Just shy of eight in the morning and it’s time to start his day. He sets his goods on his desk before shrugging out of his jacket, hanging it up on the iron coat rack in the corner. He runs an absent hand through his hair before heading back over to his desk, grabbing his coffee and taking an absent sip as he starts up his computer and enters his password.

He gets to work and it’s only half an hour later that his first visitor of the day knocks on his door before swinging it open.

“Hey, hermano,” Iz says as she walks in. Her smile is more of a pained grimace and Alec notices that she’s wearing one of her more comfortable outfits-- a looser tunic style dress with low heeled boots.

“Hey, little sister. How are you this morning?”

Isabelle doesn’t deign to answer. Instead, she walks until she’s standing in front of his desk. Noticing the paper bag from her favorite bakery, she shoots him a look before reaching for it. When she opens it, peeking inside, her face lights up and Alec swears that he sees tears for a brief second.

She takes out the cupcake and just stares at it for a second before looking up at Alec. “You got me a cupcake?”

Alec grins, nodding. “It looks like I did. Wanna take a break and eat breakfast?”

She nods distractedly, heading over to the couch in the corner of Alec’s office. Alec takes his own cupcake out and joins her, bringing his coffee.

The two of them sit there for awhile, silent. Izzy inhales her cupcake with veteran practice and Alec doesn’t even say anything when she slyly reaches for his untouched one, instead focusing completely on his coffee.

After polishing off the second cupcake, Izzy relaxes against the back of the couch, extending her legs out and slumping a little. While she’s ruminating on whatever the fuck, Alec’s texting Magnus.

Hey, babe, are you busy tonight?

He gets a reply seconds later.

Morning, Alexander. I have a meeting that will probably run late, so you’ll have the evening to yourself.

Alec just responds with have fun. Iz and I are have a movie marathon at our place.

That done, Alec looks up when Isabelle moves closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. He wraps an arm around her and they relax for a few minutes in the stillness of the room. Alec has a million and one things to do but between work and Izzy, it’s no contest.

“Want to come over tonight for a movie marathon? Pizza and ice cream provided.”

Isabelle hums, hugging herself, making herself smaller. From where her head is angled downwards, he catches her frown a little.

“We can watch whatever I want?”

“Isn’t that the way it always works,” Alec dryly asks.

She doesn’t say anything, just smiles, and Alec squeezes her to his side before letting go. Izzy stands up and so does Alec, arms already opening for a hug. Isabelle moves right in wrapping her arms around Alec’s waist and Alec engulfs her for one of his patented Big Brother Hugs. They sway side to side for a moment before Iz is breaking away and leaving Alec to the day’s responsibilities.

She’s off duty today, though she’s on night patrol tomorrow. Alec lets her go, calling out a reminder to wait for him this evening and they’ll head over together.

Alec’s work day goes on as usual. Thankfully, there are no fires to put out and he spends the next nine hours going through mission reports, catching up on correspondence, and writing budgets and strategic planning for next quarter.

Five o’clock comes around finally and he’s just booting down his computer when Izzy comes into his office. She’s dressed down in one of Alec’s giant hoodies and a pair of leggings, wearing plain brown Uggs for the trek over to the loft.

Alec stands up and grabs his wallet and keys, throwing on his jacket as she waits in the doorway.

He pops the collar, smoothing it back into place, as he asks, “Have you decided what we’re watching tonight?”

Isabelle shrugs as Alec walks over to her, throwing an arm around her shoulders as they leave his office and the Institute at large.

“I don’t know. I’m in the mood for funny but I think sappy might also appeal. But then you know I always like a good mystery.” She looks aggrieved as she continues, “And don’t even get me started on movie or tv show. I have no idea. All I know is that I want a heap of junk food and a couch.”

Alec laughs. “Alright, what if we stop by the pizza place and pick up dinner, get some ice cream at that corner store, and I’ll surprise you?”

Isabelle just looks at him. “I thought I was supposed to pick what we watch.”

Rolling his eyes, Alec says, “I promise you’ll like what I pick. Have I ever steered you wrong during our monthly marathons?”

Izzy gives him a skeptical glare but finally acquiesces. “Okay, I’ll let you pick something this time but if I hate it then next month I’m picking the goriest horror movie just on principle.”

“You know I can’t handle scary movies” Alec splutters.

“Exactly,” Isabelle says, smug. “That should guarantee that you pick something good. Though, I’ll never understand how you can’t handle a little horror movie when you’re a damn shadowhunter.”

Sending her a withering look, Alec mutters, “I can handle demons and shit but serial killers always look so normal. And don’t get me started on that creepy ass music or those demented dolls,” he shudders.

Iz laughs, though Alec catches the way it turns into a faint groan and she straightens a little. They walk into a local a pizza joint that Magnus had introduced him to when they’d first started dating. Alec had ordered online and everything is waiting for them when they enter. He pays while Izzy leans over the pizza box, inhaling like it’s world class coke and he just shakes his head. He carries the pizza and sides while Iz is helpful enough to hold open the door.

Just another block and they hit the corner mart. They walk in and Isabelle makes a beeline for the freezers at the back. Alec makes a bet with himself and sure enough, when his sister turns around a few minutes later, she’s holding her favorite pint of Ben & Jerry’s along with his. He turns around and heads to the checkout only to turn around when he doesn’t hear footsteps behind him.

He sees Izzy in the junk food aisle and walks over to her, adjusting the takeout in his arms.

“See anything you like?”

“Too much,” she says glumly.

He laughs. “Get what you want. You always do anyway and you know I’m paying”

Izzy looks at a few options before reaching for a bag of chips and bag of cookies, juggling everything in her arms.

Shaking his head, Alec returns to the checkout. He has a bit of a time getting out his wallet but Isabelle is kind enough to take it, reaching in and pulling out enough cash to cover everything.

She takes her plastic bag and they finally make it to the loft. Alec doesn’t need a key-- the wards are tuned to him and let him in automatically-- and they walk straight to the kitchen, dumping everything down on the counter.

“I’m gonna go change,” Alec says. “Make yourself at home.”

“I always do,” Isabelle says, returning to the entryway and taking her boots off, revealing fuzzy socks in a rainbow of colors.

Alec heads to the bedroom. He changes into more comfortable clothes before going to the bathroom and grabbing Magnus’s container of makeup wipes.

He walks back into the living room and sees his sister sitting cross legged in the middle of the couch, elbow deep in the bag of chips they’d bought.

“Hungry?”

Izzy looks up sheepishly. “Starving. Are we ready to eat?”

Alec nods before tossing the makeup wipes her way. She catches them on reflex and exclaims softly. “I knew I was forgetting something,” she says, getting up and going to the guest bath.

While she’s doing that, Alec walks over to the tv and reaches for one of the DVDs on top of the stand. He pops it into the player, taking the remote and turning the television on.

That done, he heads to the kitchen, grabbing plates, napkins, and drinks. He has a glass of unsweetened iced tea. He knows better for his sister, though, and grabs a bottle of ice cold water from the fridge. He takes those to the living room and returns just as Izzy’s leaving the bathroom, face shining and makeup free.

“Thanks, hermano. You know I hate watching tv with makeup on.”

Alec hums and flips the pizza box open. He grabs a few slices as Iz does the same, getting some cheesy bread, too.

The go back to the living room and plop down on the couch on either end. Alec sets his food down and grabs the remote, waiting for Iz to notice what movie they’re watching.

“Love, Simon,” she exclaims.

Grinning, Alec’s thumb hovers over the play button. “Yup,” he says, popping the ‘p.’ “I know that you’ve been wanting to watch it and Magnus bought it on DVD last week. This is a pretty perfect choice, if I say so myself.”

Isabelle sends him a considering look before saying, “Okay. I’ll admit I have been wanting to see it and this might be a perfect time. Let’s do this.”

Alec starts the movie and they dive into their food as the voice-over begins. Alec’s seen this movie a dozen times-- is getting weirdly close to being able to recite most of the dialogue-- and he relaxes against the couch, feet tucked under him.

After a little while, plates clean, Alec pauses the movie for a minute as Izzy darts to the kitchen, grabbing their ice cream and the cookies. They start back again as the Halloween party scene unfolds and even though he’s seen it so many times, Alec still laughs at the awful karaoke. Izzy is into the movie and he catches her raise her eyebrows at Leah and Abby’s interactions during the scene.

Izzy eats most of her ice cream before settling against the couch. Alec doesn’t say anything, just moves until his feet are resting on the coffee table in front of them. After a minute, Isabelle wiggles down and lays her head in Alec’s lap, pulling her knees up. Alec reaches behind her and pulls down the throw, shaking it out and placing it over her. It’s huge and fluffy and Izzy burrows into it, trying to make herself even smaller.

He runs his hand through her hair and they watch the rest of the movie. Izzy’s reactions are suitable and he agrees as she mutters insults against the screen when Martin is an ass.

When the end credits start to roll, Isabelle closes her eyes before shuffling to her back. She throws her legs over the back of the couch, rearranging the blanket for maximum coverage.

Alec lays an arm on the back of the couch, tapping the ankle closest to his hand in a slow pattern.

Groaning, Isabelle says, “I hate the end of the month.”

Alec’s lips quirk up. “I know.”

“Having a period is the worst thing ever. It’s like a medieval torture device except it’s 2018 and I’m a good person.”

Alec laughs. “I’ve heard that before.”

Izzy tilts her head up until she’s looking at Alec upside down. Alec quirks a brow as he looks down at her.

“How did you know to movie night tonight?”

Alce just raises his eyebrows and sends her an unimpressed look. “You bit my head off yesterday morning when I asked you to run new budget numbers. And then you almost started crying when you saw a chipmunk outside my office window.”

She frowns. “You know that I don’t like budgets and chipmunks are cute.”

Alec flicks her ankle as he rolls his eyes. “We’ve been doing this almost ten years, Iz. I think I’d have a clue by now when to break out the junk food and couch potato routine. If I didn’t, your reaction to the cupcake this morning would’ve clued me in.”

Isabelle reaches up and pats his head. It’s clumsy, since the angle is awkward, but Alec just smiles.

“Thanks, hermano. What do you say we break out Hulu and watch some Brooklyn Nine Nine reruns?”

“Sounds great, Iz.”

Alec switches over apps and selects one of the Halloween episodes. They watch a couple of hours of that, laughing their asses off-- Iz even snorts at one point though she threatens Alec with bodily harm if he tells anyone.

Isabelle falls asleep curled up on the couch and Alec dozes, waiting for Magnus to come home.

He has no idea what time it is when he feels a pair of lips on his forehead and a gentle hand running through his hair.

“Babe,” he asks, face scrunching.

“It’s me, Alexander,” Magnus whispers.

“Time is it?”

“Just after eleven. I’m sorry I woke you, darling.”

Alec yawns, muttering, “It’s s’okay. I like knowing when you get in.”

His eyes are still closed, Magnus scratching softly at his scalp. It’s a minute or two before Alec finally wakes up enough to open his eyes.

“Hey,” he says softly, careful not to wake up his sister.

“Hey, yourself. I should’ve guessed what it meant when you said you’d be having a movie night on a Tuesday.”

Nodding, Alec says, “Yeah. There’s still some pizza left, I think, if you’re hungry.”

Magnus hums. “I may just take you up on that. My meeting in L.A ran late and I haven’t eaten anything since lunch.”

“I’m trying to sleep here,” Izzy mutters, forehead wrinkling as she frowns.

Alec looks down. “Sorry, sleeping beauty. We didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Isabelle just groans. Magnus’s mouth quirks up as he looks at her. “Would you like me to take care of that, dear?”

“I feel like death,” she says, dramatically.

Magnus huffs out a laugh. “Yes, I’ve heard that a time or two. Want me to make things better? I can’t do long term but it should last you until the morning at least.”

She flops to her back, staring at Magnus incredulously. “I never sleep through the night when I’m on my period. Everything hurts too much.”

Magnus waves a hand, blue waves of magic simmering gently. “Interested?”

“Hell, yes, I’m interested.” Izzy flops over onto her back again as Magnus takes a few steps until he’s standing right in front of her. He waves a hand over her stomach, pulsating blue tendrils reaching out. Izzy sighs, tension leaving her and looks up, hopeful. “My back hurts, too,” she pouts.

Magnus doesn’t say anything, just works a moment longer before pulling back.

Izzy bites her lip as she takes stock and it strikes Alec that she looks almost unbearably young right now. She looks like his little sister.

She sits up gently before standing and hugging Magnus. “I feel so much better,” she says, relieved.

“I’m glad to hear it, dear. Like I said, it’ll probably wear off by morning but I can make a potion or two that should ease the symptoms until it’s over.”

Izzy pulls back, looking eager. “Could we make a monthly contract? If anything works half as well as your actual magic then I’m sold.”

Magnus laughs. “I’m sure we can work something out, Isabelle, dear.”

Alec stands, stretching his back before shuffling closer to Magnus and wrapping his arms around him from behind.

He nods down the hallway. “You can take the guest room and stay here tonight.”

Izzy nods, drawing the blanket around her like a human burrito. She’s already shuffling away from them when she calls out over her shoulder, “I’m expecting waffles in the morning.”

Alec snorts before responding, “As if I didn’t already know that.”

Magnus laughs and Alec tightens his arms, nuzzling into the side of Magnus’s neck. Magnus hums, reaching back and ruffling his hair. He turns his head just a bit, asking, “Ready for bed?”

Alec kisses the juncture between Magnus’s neck and shoulder before standing back and throwing an arm around his shoulders, guiding him to the kitchen.

“You said that you were hungry. Food then sleep,” he says.

“You’re exhausted, darling. You were snoring when I walked in.”

Shrugging, Alec sits in one of the chairs, watching as Magnus is already grabbing a plate and opening the pizza box. “Yeah, but you’re here and I missed you.”

Magnus doesn’t say anything, just smiles to himself as he grabs a slice of cold pizza and takes a bite.

The two of them stay in the kitchen for twenty minutes or so, Alec sitting and Magnus standing next to him devouring the rest of the pizza. They catch up on their days and share the small talk that’s always interesting, even after months together.

When Magnus is done, they head to their bedroom, Alec closing the door behind them while Magnus goes to the bathroom, taking off his makeup and undressing. Alec goes directly to the bed, landing face down and his boyfriend joins him moments later, climbing into bed in just his boxer briefs.

“Love you,” Alec says, face smashed into the pillow and more than halfway asleep again.

Magnus relaxes into the sheets, his answering, “I love you too, darling,” drowned out by those adorable little snores he loves so much.

Magnus falls asleep, content, remembering at the last minute to wake up with Alec.

His boyfriend was many things, but cook he was not. Those waffles that Isabelle enjoyed so much were the work of Magnus fixing Alec’s diligent attempts and it wouldn’t do to let his charade fall to pieces.

It was nice to let Alec have some things, after all.