#sleep will never catch me while i have my espresso shots

[skeletoninthewaterfilter]

You will never catch me, tiredness induced staring! (eats a pure espresso shot and binge reads the Eye of the World)

[xothatnerdykid]

Aizawa x Reader Established Relationship Headcanons

(Cannot, for the life of me, get over my writer's block but I've still got Aizawa brainrot thanks to s7 so here.)

I might be in the minority here but I don't think Aizawa would smoke. He eats healthy and works out to keep his body in shape. Why would he compromise his health by smoking?

His only vices are chronic snacking (he loves those jelly pouch things) and caffeine.

He's usually up 'til dawn most days because duh, he works two jobs (hence the 5-7 shots of espresso in his coffee). 

Despite his sleep deprivation most days, he is soooo sexy when he wakes up in the morning. Messy hair. Baggy shirt and boxers. Or sometimes a body hugging tank top and sweatpants. And his voice — his raspy, sleep-addled voice. The feeling of his stubble against the smooth planes of your face waking you up. 

He doesn’t usually cook breakfast but he does always brew a fresh pot of coffee for you. And he never leaves without a kiss goodbye, even when you’re still snuggled up in bed, asleep.

When you first start dating, Shouta talks to you pretty much the same way he talks to everyone else. So curt and succinct, you sometimes used to wonder if he was upset with you. He’d usually get confused as to what made you ask that, and then explained that he’s just a man of a few words, that’s all. 

As your relationship becomes more established, you notice subtle shifts in the way he communicates. It's not a sudden change, but your conversations start to feel more like a secret code over time, filled with inside jokes that never fail to make him smirk.

Shouta’s love language is definitely acts of service. He’s a pragmatic, action-oriented person who values efficiency. So of course he’d think that actions speak louder than words when it comes to letting someone know your true feelings. 

That’s why he loves it when he comes home to your cooking, especially when you surprise him with his favorite dish. Because after 16-hours or so of working two jobs, he usually just passes out on the couch the moment he gets home and you’re not around.

He feels so bad when he comes home too late sometimes and finds you already asleep and his dinner sitting cold on the stovetop or in the fridge. He always makes sure to make it up to you by preparing breakfast the next day or…other…pleasing ways…

Seeing you take care of Sushi, the cat his very-well-and-alive friend Nemuri sometimes asks him to babysit, makes him feel all warm inside, too (although he doesn’t actually admit it, you just catch him smiling softly at you sometimes and quickly looking away when you notice).

As for how he expresses his love for you, it mostly comes in the form of acts of service, too, as well as gifts and physical touch.

Shouta’s romantic gestures are like rare collectibles. They often come as a surprise, but when they happen, you cherish them dearly. He'll surprise you with a thoughtful gift and leave it on your desk with a simple, "Saw this and thought of you."

He won't serenade you under the moonlight or anything, but he'll make you a warm cup of tea when you're tired, or wrap a scarf around you when it's cold.

You don't really have time to go out on dates most weeks, but when you do, you're either at a quiet restaurant or taking a walk through nature in the parks. 

His favorite thing to do is sit with you by the window sill on rainy days and just have you snuggle up to him, bundled in his arms, while you read or do your own thing in comfortable silence.

Fighting with Shouta was like having a verbal sparring match. He’s always strategic, although his patience wears thin sometimes, even with you. Still, he knew when to bring something up and when to back down. 

He won't shy away from a disagreement, but he's not one to let it linger. He’ll tackle the issue head-on, find a compromise, and move on.

One of your favorite things about him was that he never held a grudge or took conflicts personally.  

Shouta’s life is a constant juggle between being a pro hero, a UA teacher, a single dad, and being your boyfriend. But oh, does he master it.

At first you thought maybe he was just a really efficient and organized planner, but one look at him, his apartment, his phone, and his non-existent planner told you otherwise.

“How do you plan on getting all of this done?” You often ask him about his mountain of papers to grade and reports to submit, to which he just shrugs.

“I don’t know, the usual? Coffee. Eye drops.” He sucks on his second jelly pouch of the day and goes back to his cluttered desk, papers strewn about like fallen leaves. "Duct taping my eyelids," he grumbles the last part under his breath.

You laugh, watching him from the couch with a fond look in your eyes. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

He looks up, one eyebrow raised. “For what? Managing to stay awake?”

“For…everything,” you shrug, walking over to perch yourself atop the edge of his desk. “For being you.”

He hums appreciatively as he pulls you closer by the waist.

“I don’t know how you do it, but I’m grateful.”

He glances up at you, smiling a little. You scratch at the stubble on his chin. 

“Ready to call it a night?”

“Not quite,” he smirks before leaning up to kiss you fervently, tangling his hands in your hair.

Both of you slept better than you have all week. Afterwards.

You occasionally surprise him by finding him when he’s out on patrol and checking up on him. You love seeing him like this, in his element. He’s so kind to all the people he helps…

(A lot of the time, you end up making out against an alleyway or with him hanging upside down from a fire escape, but that’s neither here nor there.) 

[youwouldntlietopapa]

The Words That Were Never Spoken: Chapter One

His warm leather glove slides from your neck up into your hair, pulling you closer so he can claim your mouth. Deeply, passionately, a parched man who’s discovered an oasis. Hints of coffee still on his lips and the faint smell of tobacco lingering on his clothes. His other hand pressing into your lower back as if you ever needed to be encouraged to press yourself against him. As if it’s not exactly where you’ve wanted to be for what feels like a lifetime. Nose brushing against yours and his mismatched eyes staring into your soul, so close that his lips brush against yours when he whispers. “Sorella…”

“Sorella?” Copia says a little louder and you jump.

Shit. “Sorry! Sorry. Just… got a bit lost in this text.” You wave at the ancient tome in front of you. There is extremely little to get lost in considering the text is about as exciting as watching paint dry.

The Cardinal smirks and there’s that mischievous glint in his eye. “That would be a very impressive feat, Sorella, with your eyes closed.”

What might have been an endearing pink flush from being caught daydreaming immediately becomes a deep red that rushes up from the collar of your habit up into your hair. But he only laughs and brushes off your apology. His hand gently pats yours in a way you’re sure you won’t be thinking too hard about for the rest of the evening.

“It is late. Later than I should be keeping you. I already ask too much, trapping you in this dusty basement all afternoon.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I offered to come help. It’s hardly a terrible chore to get a quiet afternoon with my friend.” Without thinking, your hand wraps around his, giving it a light squeeze not really letting go until your brain catches up with what you’re doing.

He makes that face, the one that breaks your heart every time. Like it’s something special or undeserved. That you’d be there because you want to be, not simply because you’re obligated. “Still, I keep you too long.” Copia smiles a little shyly. “It is late and I won’t keep you all hours. You need rest.”

“So do you.”

“I will, I will… in a while.” He pulls another heavy book toward himself you can already guess will have him stuck at that table until sunrise. “My word, cara.”

“Of all the sins, my dear Cardinal, lying might be the one you’re worst at.” You tease, standing up and starting to tidy things up for the night. “If I leave you here alone, you’re either going to fall asleep at this table or you’re going to pretend that five shots of espresso is a replacement for sleep. Neither will be good for you. Come on. Up. We’ll come back to this tomorrow.”

“But-”

“No buts! You need actual sleep! You deserve to rest, Cope. Whether you’ll admit it or not.” You walk around the table to his side and push the heavy book away from him. It takes every ounce of willpower not to cup his cheek with him looking up at you like that, so you settle for taking his hand once more. “You may not know this about me, but I’m actually quite protective of my friends. It’s a weird quirk I have, wanting them to be healthy, happy, and cared for.”

“Sorella…” He pouts, giving a very weak defence.

“Fine. If you’re staying, I’m staying.” You say firmly, letting go of his hand and marching back to your seat defiantly. “Either it’s acceptable to stay up all night, working yourself to death, or sleep is important and you need it as much as anyone.”

“You are being ridiculous.” Copia huffs, but you know the look he gets when he’s actually angry and that isn’t it.

“Only as ridiculous as you.” You smirk, sliding your foot under the table to nudge the toe of his shoe. “So? Do I put on another pot of coffee or are you going to finally admit that I’m the sensible one.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Sensible might be a stretch. Stubborn, more like. But I concede. You win. We work more tomorrow, si? You will join me again?”

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

Copia finally gets up with a groan, rubbing his backside while you definitely don’t watch too closely or think about how much you’d like to offer to take over for him. “These chairs will be the death of me before the need for sleep.”

“I promise to burn them all to avenge you.” Your arm slips through his, leading him back through the stacks and toward the stairs.

“I can always count on you, cara mia.”

Together you walk through the quiet Abbey halls. Everything feels different at night. More private and smaller. During the day it’s hard to find time to yourself, always Siblings and Ghouls here and there. But in the dim light and the silence, it’s just the two of you. Right up until the hall that leads to the Clergy wing, headed away from where your own quarters are with the rest of the Siblings. Not so different from any other hall in the Abbey, but just then, it seems to you, to be the ugliest, most loathsome hallway you’ve ever seen. Every step closer to it is reluctant and stopping next to it feels like leaning over the cliff’s edge, staring down into the pit.

But Copia seems blissfully unaware. Smiling softly and trading your arm in his for taking your hand. “Sleep. I promise.” He reassures, as if that were the only thing on your mind. “Breakfast tomorrow?”

“Absolutely. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

His lips brush the back of your hand, moustache tickling just enough to get a smile. “I will see you then, Sorella.”

“Until tomorrow.” You turn and start toward your quarters, calling back over your shoulder before you lose your nerve. “Ti voglio bene.”

……………...

Copia stands in stunned silence as you disappear down the corridor, hand still hovering in the air, right where it had been when your fingers slipped free of his. Watching you leave is always a challenge, but this feels like some new level of hell. Or heaven. He can’t decide. Some realm of pain and pleasure in equal measure that makes him want to chase after you and pour out his heart and soul, while at the same time making him even more sure you have no idea what you do to him. And all he can settle on is to stand there, motionless, watching you go until you vanish from sight.

“Ti amo…” He whispers in the silence of the hall, cursing himself for a coward and dropping his hand to his side.

His quarters, when he finally manages to get his feet to cooperate enough to get back to them, seem especially dark and empty. Like a piece is missing. The piece he can still feel pressed against his side, holding his arm, making sure he takes care of himself and noticing all the little things most people overlook. He sighs deeply and shakes his head. Foolishness. Taking something good and comfortable and safe, and trying to make it something it’s not. Risking everything for his own selfishness.

And yet…

Copia’s practised fingers struggle with the buttons of his cassock, too distracted, lost in his thoughts. Finally managing to free himself. Trying to ignore the rush of shame as he brings the fabric to his nose, inhaling deeply to catch the faint smell of your perfume still lingering there. He strips off the rest much faster as if making up for the time spent shaming himself will erase it all together. But, in the end, it just leaves him ashamed and naked.

Not a first time for that either, the spiteful voice in his head reminds him.

He snatches a make-up wipe and roughly cleans off the paint around his eyes. Well aware that the job he’s done will have him looking like Robert Smith in the morning, he simply can’t bring himself to care. Of all the hundreds of thoughts racing through his mind, not a single one is a concern over that. Copia, as if to demonstrate that very fact, flops down onto his bed and groans into his pillow.

He’d missed you at breakfast or, more accurately, he’d missed breakfast. An early morning meeting meant that he’d made do with a danish from the tray provided and a paper cup of whatever they were trying to pass off as coffee from the same urn they’d been using since the dawn of time. But, waiting on his desk, when the meeting was finally over, was an insulated travel mug still full of hot coffee just the way he liked it. He didn’t need a note to know who’d left it. No one else would have thought to do it or remembered his schedule at all.

Copia flops onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, wondering how in all the levels of hell he’s supposed to get to sleep. Alone. In his empty rooms. Wishing for things he should put out of his mind.

When he’d seen you, finally, and you’d smiled that easy, unguarded smile. Slipping your arm through his and teasing lightly. Agreeing without hesitation to join him in the basement archives, his personal work dungeon. Smelling like sunlight and flowers from the garden. His need to have you there conflicting with the crime of dragging you into the dark while the afternoon sun made a halo of fire and gold of your hair.

He can still feel your arm tucked into his, your hand softly squeezing his fingers, the familiar weight of you leaning against him just so when you walk by his side. Imagining it here, in his bed. The familiar weight of you pressed against his side, your arm draped around him, your hand softly squeezing… caressing… stroking. He closes his eyes and huffs, giving in and letting his hand drift along with his thoughts. Fingers tangled in your hair and the taste of your lips.

Each time you’d licked the tip of your finger, concentration unbroken from the dusty old scrolls and manuscripts, his heart had skipped a beat. His own concentration and resolve were far weaker than your own. Each time your foot brushed so casually against his, or your fingers rested on his arm to get his attention, or your voice was kept low in the stillness of the archives like you’d worried about anyone overhearing what was just for him, he found himself lost entirely.

He breathes out your name, not daring to voice his desires any more than that. Your words echoing in his head. “Ti voglio bene.” You must have been learning in secret, beyond the little bit you’d learned from him. Who else was there to learn for? And that phrase specifically… Maybe it was nothing. For a friend. A close friend. But maybe it was more. Maybe it was everything. “Ti voglio bene.” He can hear your voice so clearly, moaning at the thought of it joined with the touch of your hand. At the thought of it mingled with your scent and your warm skin pressed against his. The taste of you on his tongue. “Ti voglio bene… Ti amo… Copia.” His whole body shudders with a want and a need, an ache at his core.

The walk back up had been torture. The struggle to keep a calm smile on his face when he wanted to scream. Every step closer to that damned hallway where he’d have to let you go. Trying to focus on every little thing except that. All the details he wants, needs to remember. Closing his eyes and letting you guide him, even for a moment, just to focus entirely on the warmth of your hand, radiating through the sleeve of his cassock. Unable to simply let go, shifting his arm and moving his grip down to your hand. “Don’t go.” It had been on his lips. “Don’t leave.” He would beg if he had to. Beg and plead. “Stay with me. Stay tonight. Stay forever. Please.” Anything but that practised, placid smile and the same timid bullshit as the last time and the time before that and the time before. But his own voice betrayed him and the only thing left was to place a kiss on your hand. Play the gentleman again and smile like it wasn’t killing him.

His hand isn’t your hand, but the vision of you there, looking down at him in that way that leaves him stumbling over his words and struggling to form a thought. Like he’s worth something. More than something. That he’s worth the time and the energy. That you want to be there, with him. And maybe, just for a moment, he can pretend that you want to be with him. It’s enough. For a moment. Grabbing a pillow to muffle his cry as he spills his need and shame over his chest and stomach.

“Ti voglio bene.” Echoing in his head.

“Ti amo.” He whispers in the silence of his room, closing his eyes against the truth and dropping his hand to his side.

[stewyonmolly]

WANT TWO: CHAPTER FOUR

Waiting for a dream

RUFUS WAINWRIGHT

Waiting for the present, for the present to pass

Waiting for a dream to last

You are not my lover, and you never will be

'Cause you've never done anything to hurt me

There's a fire in the priory

And it's ruining this cocktail party

Yesterday I heard they cloned a baby

Now can I finally sleep with me?

Diving through the rising, through the rising waves of night

Keeping a reflection of you in hindsight

But in turning back the brackish waters will not reflect you

After you have turned the color black of death or something like

That

There's a fire in the priory

And it's ruining this cocktail party

Yesterday I heard the plague is coming

Once again, to find me

There's a fire in the priory

And an ogre in the oval office

Once again we all will be so broken

Now can I finally sleep again?

——

Kendall felt amazing.

He demolished a slice of seedy spelt bread upon rolling out of bed in the pre-dawn dark, stood over the kitchen sink, pure fuel. He jacked off to his reflection on the en-suite shower door to the sound of Stewy snoring in the attaché. He doom-scrolled on his iPad while shitting but successfully pulled himself out of it like a fucking boss and funneled his energy into something useful: he decoded Stewy’s allusive espresso machine and had two burnt-black shots all clarifying tannins that pricked his tongue yet tasted inconsequential going down. He had another for luck. He felt like moving his body. He felt like push-ups and pull-ups. He enlisted one of their softspoken and inexplicably uncomfortable cleaners to help him find workout clothes in his new closet, told her she didn’t have to have that face, that everything was peace and love, then went to Stewy’s private gym, a jungle lush with high-tech machines of all sorts, enough to keep Stewy from boredom and to catch Kendall’s attention, his usual meditation and circulation flows unappealing in this brave new world. He fiddled with an electronic mirror which tried to tell him to do a thirty-minute intensive HIIT circuit. Thirty minutes were not enough. Kendall became frustrated with the touch-screens and went to the treadmill, which thumped under his weight, which reacted to his every whimsical button-prod with polite increases in incline, immersive sceneryscapes, he ran through a deciduous forest and tried to imagine morning mist on his cheeks, he upped the speed, his body hit its stride and yet his animation did not waver. He consciously opened his fists, pushed his shoulders back, cross country posture. He lost himself in the virtual path he was on, beneath tree canopy, past deer and rabbits, he raised the speed. He felt he could do anything. He felt his body was consciously and carefully designed for these purposes. Kendall Roy was a runner, yes he was. His attention elapsed before his vigor; he changed the scenery to an arctic wasteland and accessed Spotify and blasted Fugazi’s Instrument Soundtrack and felt like he was on the lam. He shut his eyes and trusted his balance and worked up to a near-sprint. His lungs wrung. His pulse flew spiraling wingnut circles. He was lightheaded and thunderhearted and indomitable. He hadn’t slept for two nights.

Kendall opened his eyes to toggle the incline higher and caught a peripheral glimpse of Stewy behind him in the mirror; he startled with a curse and nearly tripped, had to grab the handles of the treadmill, jump to the solid sides, but his knees gave, so he squatted there half-hanging like he was laboring to deliver the lump of his tangled guts and watched Stewy’s reflection roll its eyes and approach.

“Hi,” Kendall said, craning to smile at him. His head and hands tingled, he realized, as Stewy reached over him to stop the treadmill’s whining, then scooped him upright. When Stewy let go, Kendall’s jelly legs wavered; Stewy swore with fiendish precision and caught him.

“Hey Siri,” Stewy yelled, voice still rough from sleep but eyes thoroughly awakened, electric, “turn the music off. Jesus.” Silence descended gravely. “Fuck. What are you doing?”

“Working out?” Kendall said. “Honing my bod?”

“It’s four in the morning,” Stewy said. “I saw like six used espresso cups on the kitchen counter. I’ll ask again, what the fuck are you doing.”

“I wanted to move.”

“Fucking clearly, Ken.” Stewy experimentally released Kendall, whose balance held, then pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t look like himself, but he looked like Kendall’s version of him: bed-rumpled, shirt crooked on his shoulders, gooseflesh from the air conditioning Kendall had blasted into the gym, frizzled curls and glasses haphazardly applied.

“Why are you awake?” Kendall asked.

Stewy shot him a look. “You had that music on volume one hundred.”

“But I closed the door.”

“You didn’t,” Stewy said. Kendall felt chided, could not accept it, and turned away. “Hey. Come back.”

Kendall threw himself into push-ups on a yoga mat.

“Hey,” Stewy said louder. “What’s going on, man? Talk to me.”

Kendall’s elbows gave; he hit the mat with a huff, then boosted back up and kept going.

“I don’t fucking like this,” Stewy said. “What are you running from, huh?”

“Running with.”

“What?”

“Running with. Not from.”

Stewy sat on the floor and ran his hands through his hair, which served to make it stand nearly straight up. His eyes were rounded, crackling with latent—something. “With, then. Kendall, stop. Come to bed.”

Kendall shook his head. “Not tired.”

“When did you last sleep?”

“Uh huh.”

“That wasn’t a yes or no question.” Stewy half-tackled him, his full weight on Kendall’s spine. “Fucking look at me, Kendall. Let me look at you, let me see.”

Kendall fought for breath. It was as if the cardio caught him late, a delayed reaction, or Stewy had reached into his body and seized his lungs. “I feel good,” he said.

Stewy grabbed Kendall’s wrists and pinned them to the mat. It was a distinctly sexless act that nonetheless chubbed him up. Kendall could smell his own sweat, started to feel it drip down his forehead in thick rivulets. He could just see them in the mirror, Stewy the crimson archangel, Kendall the captured shade.

“You don’t,” Stewy said.

Kendall’s body released.

It was a full system-wipe. His mind buzzed faintly. Stewy didn’t let up.

His breath refused to return to him.

“Alright, Ken,” Stewy said. He dropped his brow onto the back of Kendall’s neck, rubbed the arc of his skull against the knobs of Kendall’s spine. His knees pinned Kendall’s thighs. “There you go. Is that what you needed? You fucking freak. Just tell me next time. You wake me. Don’t make yourself sick like this. You don’t have to do that anymore.”

“I’m sick,” Kendall said.

“I know,” Stewy said. He changed his grip, took Kendall’s wrists in one hand and wrapped the other arm around his chest, pressing them closer together. “Should we get a PlayStation? Not like the one I got for Christmas in tenth grade, a new one. We can get really fucking into MLB the show and twelve year olds can call us slurs from their racecar-shaped beds. Say something. Do you want to smoke about it?”

“Don’t move,” Kendall said. “Don’t let me go.”

“Why can’t you breathe? You’re scaring the shit out of me. This is like summer before college shit. You need to call your therapist, for real.”

Kendall tried to center himself. Measured nasal inhales, then out through his mouth.

Stewy’s love was a beast Kendall could never contend with. It was unfailingly kind and enormous, therefore terrifying. Kendall loved Stewy with everything in him. It came nowhere close to how Stewy loved him. There was never a chance for net-zero. No balanced equation. A bloodslick remainder that beat like Stewy’s heart.

“Can I roll over,” Kendall said, ragged.

Stewy raised himself to allow it. When Kendall’s back hit the floor, he yanked Stewy onto him, where Stewy sunk, boneless and warming and wakeful. Kendall planted his feet on the mat, grounding. He wished Stewy were heavier.

“Hi,” Stewy said, “you’re strangling me.”

“Sorry.”

“Still strangling me.”

Kendall slid his hands to hold Stewy’s waist.

“Talk to me,” Stewy said. He rubbed the top of Kendall’s shaved skull.

“What is it like,” Kendall said. “Loving me.”

Stewy made a curious sound, then lifted his face from Kendall’s neck. He looked like a disheveled but doted-upon cat. “Like, how does it feel? Or do you want a day in the life. Sparknotes?”

“I just mean—I worry. Never mind. It’s stupid.”

“No,” Stewy said. “Say it.”

Kendall tried to work himself back into agitation, but failed. Exhaustion had finally come, in the wake of rung bells and panic alarms, at the moment when he least wanted it.

“Does it affect you,” he said carefully, “to love me more?”

“Love you more than what?”

Kendall struggled. He shut his eyes and shook his head. Thoughts rattled against his skull like whacked pinballs, fleeting shots of silver, moonbeat aura.

“Hey,” Stewy said. “Come back.”

“Sometimes you hate that you love me,” Kendall said, keeping his eyes shut. “Right?”

Stewy ran a knuckle along his cheek. “Yes,” he said.

“Sometimes,” Kendall said, “you love it?”

Stewy pressed a scruffy kiss to his chin. “Yes.”

“I don’t hate or love to love you,” Kendall said. “I just do it. I don’t think about it. It just is. Death and taxes, man, and Sadeq all the way down.”

Stewy kissed him again, on the mouth this time, so softly it made Kendall’s toes tingle. “No one loves anyone the same way. Do you love everyone you love the same way?”

“I might,” Kendall said.

“I don’t,” Stewy said. Kendall opened his eyes, masochistically craving Stewy’s lighthouse gaze. “I can’t love any two people the same way. I don’t think anyone who has ever been in love—I don’t think any couple is made of two people who love each other identically. Romantic or whatever. Fucking, snowflakes.”

“Yeah?” Kendall said. “I don’t know. It feels weird. To me.”

Stewy studied him, frowning slightly. Kendall reached to smooth the knot between his brows with his thumb; Stewy caught his hand and pressed it to his mouth. He said, “I’m not ignoring you, I’m trying to think of an example. I mean, my parents, obviously. You were around enough—you know what my mom is like, she’s constantly up to something, arranging flowers or painting or playing the flute. She loves to make life pretty.”

“I remember,” Kendall said, “garden parties. She was very particular.”

“Regimented, sort of,” Stewy agreed. “And my dad is all business. Wants everything to make sense, hates waste. But he loved to give us little gifts, just to see us get excited, and he loved to watch us enjoy the things he bought. They never fucking kissed in front of me. But she’d cut up flowers to put in their bedroom; he’d get a new vase for her to put them in. She’d slip those little watercolor paintings in my lunchbox—”

“The boats,” Kendall said.

Stewy smiled, crinkly and happy. “The boats, or the park, or whatever. Whatever caught her eye that day and she wanted to share. And my dad would sneak new Hot Wheels into the toy chests for me to find. They love each other differently, they love me differently. But all I remember is they both love me. I was lucky. It was never a competition for me. Who loved who best, whose love was good enough to earn the prize.”

“That’s not how it was,” Kendall said, knee-jerk.

Stewy’s thumb traced the line of his jaw. “Yeah, it was,” he said. “I’ll remember it for you. It’s all burnt into my fucking retinas, Ken.”

“I think it’s hard for me. To, um. Believe it. When people just… love me. When they don’t have to.”

Stewy rubbed his beard against Kendall’s three-day stubble. “So, like, are you what you want?”

Kendall’s brain couldn’t comprehend the question. “Ask it another way.”

“Yeah, okay. Are you walking through life looking for your clone? Do you want to be loved by people the way you love people?”

“Fuck no,” Kendall said, though he privately thought that was exactly what he deserved.

Stewy’s face drew, like he could read Kendall’s mind. Kendall wouldn’t be surprised if he could.

“Hey,” Stewy said. “None of that. We’re doing good, we’re talking it out.”

“Sorry,” Kendall said. “It’s—um. Yeah.”

“So you think only people who are fucking, fucking, I don’t know, emotionally stunted should love you,” Stewy said. “You’d cut yourself out of the world entirely and just cling to the same thing you’ve always had, which, I should note, has not been fucking working so well for you.”

“I get what I put out,” Kendall said.

“Maybe,” Stewy said. He finally took his weight off of Kendall and stood, barefooted and glorious beneath the harsh fluorescents. Kendall’s eyes hunted for the curve of his stomach beneath his hitched shirt, his thinned-down shoulders, his graceful hands. “Or maybe not everything is bigger than life. Maybe, like I’ve been incessantly telling you, you’re free. You’re fucking free.” Stewy clasped his hands prayerfully, shot beams of fervency from his eyes. “You’re free, Kendall. Come on.”

Kendall shoved up onto his elbows, shoulders still trembling and weak, and said, “You’re relentless.”

“This isn’t a fight!” Stewy said. “You refuse to hear me! I don’t have to be gentle, I don’t owe you that. I owe you respect. And I do respect you, I respect your mind, I respect that you’ve made it this far, I respect how far you still have to go, which is why I’m listening to you say this shit and I’m hearing it. I’m internalizing it. I’m actively working to understand you every day, Kendall, and you don’t do that back to me. Ever. It’s like—you met me, you made an assessment, and that’s who I’ve been to you since that moment.”

This blew Kendall’s mind. He laid flat on his back again. He said, “I’m hearing you. I swear, I’m hearing you.”

Stewy sighed, then nudged Kendall’s calf with his foot. “Great. That’s fucking great, man. Hey, quick question. Who do you actually think loves you? Like, really loves you, I’m not talking about those girls on Twitter who threw me in a group message where they send photoshops of you in Saw traps.”

“Roman,” he said. “Connor. Shiv. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Stewy repeated. He then rolled his eyes in a monumental and pointedly bitchy way. “Cool. Because you’re talking to them right now, all the time, so much, because they love you, the human you, not what you are or what you can do for them.”

Kendall wanted to sink into the floor. He thought he’d get trapped halfway through, heavy and weightless at once, the proverbial amber-trapped mosquito.

Stewy scoffed loudly.

“Of course you,” Kendall said quickly. “I don’t even think about—it’s not even a question. I know you do. I know.”

“Okay,” Stewy said, though when he sat beside Kendall, he still looked crazed. He ran his hands through his hair again; his curls barely fell back when he released them. “That’s—something.”

Kendall felt emotionally depleted. He wanted to be done talking, but Stewy, who unfailingly tore through the gossamer curtains and knew him and then determined a way for them to move forward, did not.

Kendall held his hand out. Stewy took it in both of his own, cradled it, then dropped his face into it.

“Without the paps,” Stewy said, “and the journalists, and the fucking goons, the entourage, the old guard and everyone else, the bodymen, Jess—dude, I’m not saying this to be a dick, I swear, but who the fuck do you have left without Waystar?”

Kendall did not state the obvious. Morbidly, he asked, “You’ve got all of me, man. Does that make you hard?”

Stewy pressed Kendall’s hand to his chest, over his heart. “No, Ken,” he said. “It makes me sad.”

----

Kendall went back to bed until sundown. Stewy returned home from work an hour later, uncharacteristically dressed down beneath his coat: a simple crewneck sweatshirt, slacks, and smart sneakers, variegated shades of charcoal, even his gloves and scarf. The bags under his eyes were corpselike. Kendall wanted to profusely apologize, to strip Stewy down, to console him with a joint and then head in the shower. He was badly shaken by the way Stewy had cried to him days before. He felt he had entered a new phase of his life—BC (before crying) into AC (after)—he couldn’t unsee it. The miserable crumple of his mercurial face. His exhaustion. His grief. He wanted Stewy never to feel like that again. He wanted badly to stop hurting Stewy. He thought of all the ways he’d fucked up and all the ways he would fuck up in the future. His mouth went stupid and what he said was, “How can I love you more?”

Stewy looked up from his watch, one brow raised. “Are we still on this?”

“I’m sorry,” Kendall said. “You’re right.” He went to Stewy and eased him out of his coat, offered his forearm for balance as Stewy neurotically untied his sneakers before removing them. “Do you wish I could love you more?”

Stewy, still hunched in half, sighed. “Give me five,” he said. “I need a piss and I need to wash my armpits. Then I’ll be ready.”

This sounded reasonable. Kendall stood awkwardly in the entryway under the chandelier with Stewy’s coat over his arm, eventually realized he should hang it up, opened two linen closets and a spare bathroom but couldn’t find the coat room, so he returned discouraged to the kitchen and draped it—thick wool, not too itchy, glimmering mother-of-pearl buttons, it made Stewy look like the sexiest reaper in human history—over the back of a stool.

When Stewy came to find him, he was wearing house clothes and slippers. Kendall met him halfway but didn’t quite hug him—pressed his forehead into Stewy’s shoulder like a shy horse. Stewy palmed his neck, pressed a kiss to his temple. He smelled of mouthwash as he whispered, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Kendall said back. “Work?”

“Long. Back to back meetings from eleven until four.”

“Ouch. Sorry.”

Stewy kissed the side of his head again. “Just happy to be home. C’mon, let’s go sit.” He pulled away enough to cradle Kendall’s face, press their brows together, and say, “Thank you for giving a minute.”

“I have a lot of them to offer,” Kendall said conspiratorially. Stewy cracked a laugh. It lightened his mood. He wrapped his arm around Stewy’s shoulders and led him into the living room. They sat at opposite ends of the couch, too many throw pillows, an aesthetically pleasing but itchy afghan, Stewy’s bare feet hugged to Kendall’s chest. Stewy waited for him to hunt down his nerve, patient, warm.

“I guess—yeah,” Kendall said. “I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

Stewy began to stroke his shin through his sweatpants. “Uh huh.”

“I did, um. I called my therapist.”

“Did she help?” Stewy asked.

“A little,” Kendall said. “I mostly—I have more questions.”

Stewy leaned his face against the cushion of the couch, pulled a pen from his pocket, and ripped it. When he said, “Shoot,” the word was all sweet smoke.

“I think it’ll help me,” Kendall said. “To, uh, understand. I need to know if you wish I could love you more.”

“Okay,” Stewy said, still soft. “Kendall, what I wish is that you’d stop fucking worrying about stupid shit that no one else thinks about. I’m not, like, keeping a chart of how many times you get me off versus I get you. It’s not an eye for an eye. I love you all the time, I want you to feel like yourself, I want you to stop torturing yourself. I want you to finally enjoy your life.”

“Is it annoying?” Kendall said. “Me, like, asking. Everything.”

“No,” Stewy said. He gave a little laugh; despite his zen, the sound was despairing. “I’m fucking floored you’re talking to me. Actually inviting me in instead of actively holding the door shut while I slam on it like a pugnacious fucking—I don’t know. Pugnacious… whatever.” He shook his head and hit the pen again. “I’m grateful, to be clear. Just… yeah. Shocked out of my fucking mind.”

“We’d been trying,” Kendall said, “before, uh. Explicitness. To be a team. Before the end of things. It’s, I don’t know if it’s a habit yet, but. Yeah.”

“Wow,” Stewy said. “Radical honesty from Tweedle Dumbshit and Tweedle Dickhead. I’m surprised that Hundred experiment lasted as long as it did.”

“Me too,” Kendall said, and they both laughed, Kendall tentatively but truly, Stewy loudly with a toss of his head. “Yeah, I don’t know, we were kidding ourselves. But it kind of helped. I think it’s supposed to be healthy.”

“Honesty? Yeah, I’d have to agree. Less stress ulcers that way.”

“I’m trying,” Kendall said, barely a whisper. His eyes burned. He hugged Stewy’s feet tighter. “I’m trying so hard to help make an actual foundation for—all of this. Us. I’m trying so hard to do it right. And I feel like a fucking moron no matter what I do.”

“Honesty,” Stewy said, holding one hand up. “Shame,” he said, raising the other. He knit his fingers together, here’s the church here’s the steeple. “Hey, it’s good, Ken. That was good. You feel any better?”

Kendall sunk more deeply into the couch. “Yeah,” he said. He was coming to understand he’d rather have Stewy with him and exasperated by his failed attempts at normalcy than cut him out in the name of safety.

Kendall, though it scared the fucking daylights out of him, was beginning to want to live.

----

It was Kendall’s suggestion, a weekend trip, but he brought it up on Stewy’s behalf. The sleepless way he looked, the tracks on his skin from Vitaglow IVs, the shuffle of shame to the bathroom to sneak a bump between phone calls. He had begun to stare listlessly out of windows and spend periods of his workday leaning back in his chair with his face craned to the ceiling and his hands knitted on his chest, lost in thought.

“Your place in Napa,” Kendall said. They were in bed, laid facing each other, knees locked, Kendall warming his toes beneath Stewy’s calf. “How much warning does the staff need before it’s ready for use?”

Stewy’s brows pushed together, then smoothed. His eyes were glassy. But he looked okay. “A day, maybe. It’s not so big. Why?”

Kendall touched Stewy’s tired face. “We should go.”

“Yeah?” Stewy said. “You feel like getting away?”

Kendall hummed. “You up for it? Or do you just want to sleep in your own bed?”

“Hey, any bed I own is my bed, man,” Stewy said. “They’re all quality, fucking memory foam. Let’s do it. I like Napa in February. No crowds, no fucking tourists. And I have good heating. It’ll be nice.”

“Good,” Kendall said. He pulled Stewy’s head onto his chest and pet his hair in a way he knew Stewy liked because it turned him boneless enough to drool. “Now go to sleep.”

They left Friday evening, landed before midnight, settled in perfunctorily, asked the staff for tea, drank it outside around a fire pit, blanket-wrapped and silently admiring the stars.

They slept in late, shared a bath, fooled around while soap-slick until Kendall bruised himself slipping on the floor of the tub. Stewy laughed hard at this, but brushed a palm over Kendall’s smarting forehead and said, “Oh, come here. Let me see.” He kissed the mark, laughed against it some more, quietly said, “Aw, baby.”

Kendall, in reply, curled against him and enjoyed the hot soak.

Stewy surprised him over brunch with a plastic baggie of shrooms.

“You shouldn’t have,” Kendall said, feigning ingenue.

“Au contraire. Never say I don’t do anything nice for you.”

They took them, then wandered through vineyards until they hit. Small doses. Everything beamed beautiful and harmonious. The sun on the bare vines, the stiff dirt underfoot, distant fog painting rhimey beards on the hilly skyline.

They returned stumbling to Stewy’s house to ride out the high. Stewy was always so nice on shrooms, just sitting and looking and smiling, happy to be there. His face went lax and his mouth went soft. He looked so pretty. He looked so real. Kendall told him so; Stewy thanked him, then laughed and told him he was goofy.

When Kendall’s phone began to ring, it was a distant, incorporeal interruption. He didn’t check it, but then it kept ringing, incessantly, repeatedly, in a way his ears didn’t like.

“Shut it up,” Stewy said. They were looped together in a truly incomprehensible way, so they had to struggle to locate it. Kendall retrieved one of his hands from down the back of Stewy’s jeans, found the phone, blindly jabbed at the screen, and was treated to Roman’s hysteric voice for his trouble.

“You fuck! You absolute fuck! Pick up when someone calls you! No one fucking makes a phone call for no reason! I need to—”

Stewy snatched the phone from Kendall’s stunned grip, hung up the call, and threw it across the living room.

“Better,” Stewy said. Then he kissed Kendall, which felt amazing. Kendall was infatuated with him, with the taste of his own chapstick in his mouth, with the hyperreal plumes of cigarette smoke swirling as if wind-caught silk in his throat.

His phone rang again. They ignored it. Again.

They tried very hard. They did. Then Kendall shot off the couch, caught his balance against the entertainment center, hunted his phone out from under a recliner, and considered it, pulsing and shouting in his hand. His brother’s name on the screen. His name.

Looking for—what? More poison? A new scar to prod during sleepless nights? Someone to stick their fingers down his throat?

Kendall, in that moment, loved his brother immensely. He wanted to hear his voice again. He wanted to tell him he was—if not okay, then stable. He wanted Roman to feel peace like he sometimes did. He wanted to give Roman the affection he craved, and he wanted to package it like a suckerpunch.

He dropped the phone to the floor, then stomped on it. Cracks emanated; the shards stuck beneath the screen protector; Kendall did not bleed.

“Hey,” Stewy said. “I thought of a question for you.”

“Yeah?” Kendall said, staring at the wreckage.

“Is this how you want to be loved by your family?” he asked. “The way you always have been? Does it feel good to you.”

“We don’t know any other way,” Kendall said.

“Well, that’s a lie, straight-up,” Stewy said. Under the wash of affection Kendall felt at hearing Stewy’s voice, he was distantly aware that Stewy sounded snide. “You don’t love me like that. You don’t fucking smash me.”

“You don’t ask to be smashed,” Kendall said. “There’s one way to love the two of them.”

“Eat and be eaten?”

“Yeah. Exactly.” Kendall felt suddenly, deeply lonesome. “Can I ask one back?”

“Look at me first.” Kendall turned to Stewy, who was laid longways across the couch with his massive hunger-dark eyes and his glasses hopelessly crooked. “Okay, now go.”

“You voted for me,” Kendall said.

“I did,” Stewy said. A nod of acknowledgement.

“Why? Why, um, did you vote for me?” Kendall said.

Stewy held an arm out. Kendall went to the couch, sat at Stewy’s hip.

“Ken,” he said, “either way, I stood to win. You know that. There was no harm. So why not stand behind you. You are the one who asked me to.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to,” Kendall said. He swallowed roughly; his throat was mortally dry. “It would’ve been safer. To—vote for the sale.”

“Safer,” Stewy said. “Smarter. Saner.”

“What’s in it for me?” Kendall mimicked, slow rolling words and a cock of his head.

“I do not sound like that!” Stewy said, laughing.

“You do. But whatever.”

“Hey. Ken.”

“Hey Stew.”

“I believed in you,” Stewy said, shining. “But I love you way more than I believe in you. Honestly.”

It struck Kendall as silly, impractical. Stewy should love him exactly as much as he believed in him. That was, Kendall thought, how love worked; he trusted Stewy absolutely, no matter how many times Stewy cautioned him against it, so he loved him absolutely.

Kendall looked at his lap, then flopped onto the couch beside Stewy, who pulled him close. Stewy had been affectionate forever, physically so, in a way that made Kendall feel he was lost in the gaping Daedalian trenches of Stewy’s guts, another swallowed morsel at the other end of the maw, wandering aimlessly for either escape or a place to settle. But Stewy continuously, tactically set himself on fire to light Kendall’s way. To warm his hands. To cook his food. To lead towards the waiting cushion of his heart.

Kendall felt certain he’d never been loved before the way Stewy loved him. In that way, he and Stewy could agree: love had the potential to be different, when wielded differently.

With the stunning clarity of one high out of their mind, Kendall accepted, then, that he’d never love anyone more than he’d loved his father. He’d never love anyone in the same way he loved his siblings. But he loved Stewy precisely how he could love Stewy, and Stewy never asked him for anything more than that.

He finally knew his question.

“How do I love you better?” he whispered.

“See me,” Stewy breathed back. “Appreciate me.”

Kendall lowly said, “I appreciate you, Stew.”

Stewy’s eyes darkened. “Yeah? Show me. Make me believe it.”

Kendall divested him slowly. He felt teary and grateful. He felt sick with love. He felt all of these things in bounty, and he tried to pour them into Stewy, who was even more reactive than usual, as if the shrooms had torched his nerves. Kendall kissed and bit Stewy’s thighs, which he loved, while Stewy moaned like he was three knuckles deep. Kendall did things he thought Stewy liked best. He wanted to lavish love upon Stewy. He wanted Stewy to feel how he felt at the other end of Stewy’s kerosene-blaze stare. He massaged Stewy’s pretty calves, his feet, his hands, until he was limp and wanting. Then he worked Stewy off, reverent and languid in a way they rarely enjoyed but, tonight, felt just. Kendall didn’t want to pop Stewy open. He wanted to sweat off each strip of tape, preserving the paper. He wanted to take the jigsaw apart piece by singular piece. He wanted to make Stewy sleep for twelve glorious, comatose hours. He wanted to live up to Stewy’s image of him, of his strange but good love.

Stewy, amazingly, seemed to catch it all. Mind-reader. Or mind-knower. He came with a whimper, not a bang. He shook, and gasped, and faintly moaned, again and again, as Kendall worked him through it.

“Too much?” Kendall asked, slowing the pump of his tired arm.

“Fuck,” Stewy said. He gaped at the ceiling, all pupils; Kendall caught his hand and held it tightly, with the strangest feeling in his chest, like he was a child watching a balloon ebb skywards. “Just enough.”

[hiddenwashington]

                                       we are the april fools

welcome to the brain cell of the admin team working! we love a good bit so, here is a compilation of our bullshit for your memeing pleasure. enjoy!

**tw for nsfw, drug mention, alcohol mention, swearing

‘ fuck off you fucking gremlin ’

‘ mister mistoffelees is my cat boyfriend ’

‘ one is a kink, one is a crime ’

‘ i live for chaos you gotta feed me ’

‘ i’ll continue being an asshole for your amusement ’

‘ i’m ready, bring on the anxiety ’

‘ hey bro, what the fuck ’

‘ we’ll scar ourselves for valentines day ’

‘ and then she wrote me a novel about his cocaine addiction ’

‘ sponsored by ritz cheese crackers, absolute shit ’

‘ you have no legacy, your legacy is to be disappointed all the time ’

‘ you’re like some sad soccer mom that came for the wine instead of your kids soccer game ’

‘ karen can choke i would never forget the sangria ’

‘ your moms dead, i’m your problem now ’

‘ it is i, the mullet of your dreams ’

‘ you cannot mention pornhub! this is why you’re not hr ’

‘ i’m on the clock to knock your lights out ’

‘ i’m livin la tiddy loca ’

‘ she was hot, i don’t know what to tell you ’

‘ righting the world and the economy one karen at a time ’

‘ you can fight my brain and my anxiety sis we’re having ✨a terrible time✨ ’

‘ i’m on it drag that bitch to denny’s i’ll take her ass out ’

‘ can god stop vibe checking me ’

‘ today i learned that cocaine could be an antidepressant if the government weren’t cowards ’

‘ i had five shots of espresso, even god can’t stop me ’

‘ ted bundy is up first i will square up ’

‘ one day i will have the pleasure of going to hell and murdering freud ’

‘ i will not face consequences for my actions. you can not make me ’

‘ i can accept that i have a flaw or two. that’s it though, just two ���

‘ i know you try very hard, but you are very stupid ’

‘ let’s go straight, a thing we’ve never said before in this groupchat ’

‘ you better be ready to sleep with moth man - hi dad! ’

‘ that’s like the saddest uwu i’ve heard in my life ’

‘ i just want the thrill of rejecting a god ’

‘ you really think you could take on the kool-aid man and take no damage??? ’

‘ i don’t have a foot fetish, i’m just autistic ’

‘ i haven’t even learned multiplication, how am i supposed to know what a pyramid scheme is? ’

‘ do i look sexy while dying? ’

‘ have you been watching too much youtube? ’

‘ fucking ipad kids, man ’

‘ i can be sane about this i promise but not today ’

‘ i’m a catch and i can also sleep with a younger man ’

‘ how do you milk an oat ’

‘ fuck my dad ’

‘ sometimes you just need to start swinging ’

‘ i just watched a cat girl walk out of thin air in a starbucks ’

‘ isn’t that that furry thing people are into ’

‘ i’m gonna go on The Google and see if i can figure anything out ’

‘ am i high too? ’

‘ fuck off bambi ’

‘ since there was no warning and i make the rules here ’

‘ you’ll go where i say you’ll go ’

‘ does a - mother fucker ’

‘ gonna play chase the emo ’

‘ we love biting dilfs….? ’

‘ optimistic nihilism, right? none of us matter ’

‘ it’s kinda cringe to be kidnapped ’

‘ you rolled a 5, stfu this rabbit’s coming to brand you ’

‘ is he immune to KNIVES?? ’

‘ alright – now to kill this dad ’

‘ if you think garfield is going to stand against me in court, you’re out of your fucking mind ’

‘ no offense but you have like no mom vibes ’

‘ i think i got threatened by a furry ’

‘ speak of the cat lady and she shall appear ’

**shotguns frappuccino** ‘ there’s many ways to drink a drink ’

‘ these hands are magic, baby ’

‘ are you saying naruto is jesus?? ’

‘ your pride is going to get us killed ’

‘ you look like you could fit under a bush ’

‘ y’all test me… ’

‘ it’s your reward for being a dumb bitch ’

‘ i am SO GLAD you didn’t get vored by a cloud ’

‘ did you get so high/drunk you circled back to sober? ’

‘ try to crowd surf the third graders! ’

‘ some things are better off unknown , the phrase will haunt me but… ’

‘ we’ve summoned satanic tennessee ’

‘ what’s a chakra? i didn’t bring anything with me ’

‘ hey lady, did you give me crack ? ’

‘ there are no nutrients in my body, only spite! ’

‘ i’m here to be fun and cute! not smart! ’ 

‘ i don’t joke about setting timers ’

‘ eggs aren’t meat... yet ’

‘ this is being run by a bisexual maniac ’

‘ maybe nessie’s lonely, maybe nessie needs to get laid! ’

‘ biting is my kink ‘

‘ don’t worry, i will slowly eat away at you until you are a husk of a person ’

[iamwritingsanders]

Inherited Mess Pt. 4

First: Link Previous: Link Next: Link

Morning Gossip

Virgil woke at his usual time, not the earliest, but early enough since he enjoyed getting his run in while most of the house was still sleeping or getting their morning drinks. He liked being alone while training himself, but now that was off the table while he had to keep an eye on the spoiled brat known as Roman Prince. 

“I put an extra shot of espresso in yours.” Janus chuckled as he sipped from his coffee, an extra mug on the counter next to him. They had a silent agreement that whoever got up first made the coffee. “It's going to be a time to get his royal highness out of bed at a decent hour.” 

“I have my tricks.”

“You're going to end up picking him up.”

“Probably.” Virgil took a big gulp of his coffee, the warmth feeling good on his throat. “Remy said he heard Adrien’s annoyed that I'm on princey duty.”

“When isn't Adrien annoyed at something Remus decides?” Janus scoffed. “Even before we lost Micah, Adrien was gunning for Remus to reject taking over.” 

“He probably wanted Remus to step down and just hand it over to him. He hates change and knows that he doesn’t have his grubby paws in Remus and can’t easily convince him to do things he doesn’t want.” 

“Little does he know that the youngest ones of the group hate his guts and would never listen to him. There’s a reason I never let him be alone with Patton.” 

“Who’s not allowed to be alone with me?” Patton asked, only catching the very end of Janus’ comment as he came into the kitchen, still dressed in his nightwear of bright blue pajamas with white clouds. 

“Adrien,” Janus answered, seeming to relax the moment he saw Patton. 

“He’s a grump,” Patton stated.

“He’s an asshole,” Virgil said into his cup as he downed the rest of his coffee.

“Well, that too, but I don’t like saying it.” Patton shrugged as he started pulling supplies out of the cabinets. 

“Because you’re too adorable for this world.” Virgil chuckled. “I still don’t get how you’re involved in an assassination-centric business and dating Janus out of all people.” 

“Okay, rude.” Janus protested.

“I’m dating him because he’s fun, kind, and caring.” Patton listed off as he went to the fridge and grabbed milk and eggs. 

“That’s all lies. It’s the sex, isn’t it?” Virgil joked, pointing it more toward Janus and getting the eye roll he was aiming for. 

“It is a nice bonus.” Patton giggled. Janus choked on his coffee and faced the sink as he coughed, Virgil nearly dropping his mug from laughing so hard. 

“Are you all having fun without me?” Remy strolled in, looking like he had literally just rolled out of bed, hair messy, shirt missing, and the legs to his sweatpants uneven. He rested his elbow on Virgil’s shoulder, using the few inches of height he had on him to do so. 

“We’re talking about why I’m dating Janus,” Patton explained, squatting down to get a large bowl out of a different cabinet. 

“It’s the sex, right?” Remy asked without missing a beat, getting Virgil to break out into another hard laugh. 

“I swear you three make everything about sex.” Janus huffed. “I’m thankful Remus isn’t up yet, or I’d be throwing the rest of the coffee out the window.” 

“Not the coffee!” Remy exaggerated his protest. “I’m such a bitch without it.” He added as he slipped away from Virgil to make himself a mug. 

“You’re one with it,” Virgil said.

“I’m sassy with it, but without it, I am so mean.” Remy played up his tone again. “And, speaking of sex, how long are you going to be able to keep your hands off of our dear boss’ brother?” 

“I’m going to end up strangling him if I do put hands on him. He is obnoxious.” Virgil grunted the last part. 

“You know, you said the same thing about me, and we’ve had our fun together~” Remy sang, leaning over and poking the tip of Virgil’s nose.

“We are not bringing that up.” Virgil slapped Remy’s hand away. 

“Oh, but we can talk about me and Patton?” Janus clicked his tongue. 

“You and Patton are still a thing. Me and Remy were years ago. We don’t bring up old dirt.” Virgil stated.

“Old dirt?” Remy scoffed. “I don’t recall you thinking that when we were-”

“I have a brat to go wake up.” Virgil stopped Remy’s comment and quickly left the kitchen. 

“I give it a week before we find Roman stumbling out of Virgil’s room.” Remy chuckled. 

“I’d say a little less than a month.” Janus countered. 

“I don’t know the timing, but I do know they’re going to kiss after yelling at each other, have some awkward tension, and then realize their affection for each other.” Patton almost sounded like he was telling a prophecy as he measured some flour. 

“If he’s right, I’m kissing him.” Remy laughed.

“Only if you want stabbed.” Janus’ threat got Remy to laugh more.

x~x~x

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty,” Virgil said as he flicked on the lights to Roman’s bedroom. 

“No,” Roman grumbled, putting the pillow over his face. 

“Yes,” Virgil said in a mocking tone, walking over to the bed. “Training starts today, so it’s time to stop pouting.” 

“Screw off.” Roman’s voice was muffled. 

“If only I could,” Virgil muttered before grabbing the blanket and yanking it off Roman. 

“Hey!” Roman moved his pillow to cover his chest. 

“Your brother sleeps naked. I’ve seen much worse of the Prince’s bodies.” Virgil tossed the blanket aside and went to the closet, grabbing the first shirt he saw and throwing it at Roman. “Now, get dressed and let’s go.” 

“I’m getting dressed, but I’m not going anywhere,” Roman said as he slipped the shirt over his head, staying seated on the bed to add to his point. 

“We’re going for a run.”

“A run? Who runs at this hour?” 

“A good handful of us, now up.” Virgil felt like he was talking to a stubborn puppy. 

“I am not running. You are out of your mind.” Roman crossed his arms.

“I tried to be nice.” Virgil sighed.

“You did not-Virgil!” Roman shouted when he was suddenly thrown over Virigl’s shoulder and carried out of his room. “Put me down this instant!” 

Remus, having heard Roman, stepped out of his bedroom in just some boxers and instantly started laughing at his brother’s struggle.

“Looks like the first day is already going great.” 

“Remus! Tell him to put me down now! I am not-” Roman’s demands died off when he noticed the scars all over Remus’ chest, and one stood out like a sore thumb. “You’ve been shot?” His tone got Virgil to stop and put him down. This was for the two of them to talk about, and Virgil stepped aside for them to figure out what they were doing.

“A while ago, I’m fine,” Remus spoke too casually for Roman’s liking. 

“How did I not know you’ve been shot? It’s a massive scar on your shoulder, and then there are the other scars, too. Why don’t I know about any of those?” Roman couldn’t tell if he was pissed or saddened. It became a painful mix of the two, and it caused a sour ache in his stomach. 

“I don’t know.” Remus chewed the inside of his cheek. 

“I don’t know about this business, I don’t know how many times you’ve gotten hurt, what else don’t I know?” 

“I don’t know.”

“When will I?”

“I don’t know.” 

“Remus!” 

“I need to go.” Remus went back into his room, closing and locking it before Roman could try to open it back up.

“Remus! Remus Prince, what the fuck!?” Roman slammed his fist against the door several times. “Remus!” 

“Remus?” Logan’s voice was almost a whisper compared to Roman’s. 

“Damn it!” Roman hit the door one more time before finally stopping, and his stomping footsteps slowly faded. 

“Remus?” Logan tried again as he finished putting his pants on, not bothering to button his shirt, and walked over to Remus. “Is everything okay?” 

“Roman didn’t know I got shot.” Remus looked confused. “I mean, I know he never saw me when I was healing because he got sick again, but…my parents never told him.” 

“Maybe they just didn’t want him to worry,” Logan suggested, placing a gentle hand on Remus’ chin and guiding him to turn his head to look at him. “But you should talk to him after he’s calmed down. If he’s anything like you, he needs to clear his head first.”

“Virgil will be sure he gets all of that out.” Remus took hold of Logan’s hand and kissed his palm, trailing a few kisses down his wrist and arm. 

“Would you like for me to help clear your head?” Logan asked with a chuckle. 

“Only if you want to, LoLo~” Remus grinned and laughed when Logan kissed him before pushing him back onto the bed. 

[aguzziadventure]

Day 5: Heading South

The bivvy bag is swimming. It's not a true bivvy bag, more of a wrapper that you put a sleeping bag in, with a small frame around your head for comfort. Unfortunately, during the thunderstorm, it wicked lots of moisture through, soaking everything including my sleeping bag and making for a restless night.

The morning is thankfully dry, so I leave my gear to air out and plan the day ahead. My phone, doubling as a sat nav, has water in its charging port and won’t charge. More thunderstorms are on the horizon for the next few days, and I plan to head south to outrun the weather. This means bypassing many mountain passes I had shortlisted and curtailing my time in Andorra. However, I aim to include col du Mente and col de la Core on today's route, heading towards Perpignan on the southwestern coast of France.

The start of the day is mostly main roads and open country lanes with a quick pitstop at Saint Bertrand's de-commingles to explore the cathedral. I'm tired today. I had planned on covering a lot of miles, but it seems like it'll be a day of regular stops. A perfect excuse to explore more small towns and villages.

Not long after, I pull over again in Saint-Beat-Lez for an espresso and a coke - a phrase I have learned to muster in French. It’s a Saturday, the roads are bustling with local bikers enjoying their day. At the cafe, I strike up a conversation with some French riders who simultaneously admire and tease my Guzzi, playfully suggesting it won't survive the entire journey through France.

The 1400m ascent of col du Mente is a true wake-up call with its super tight hairpins. At the peak, I encounter a French hill climb club meet-up featuring a range of unique cars I've never seen before, including a Renault 12 Gordini and an original Renault 5 Alpine Turbo. They are quite taken by an MGB that pulls up - a car that's commonplace in the UK, but apparently rare here.

The descent from col du Mente is packed with hairpins. While I still feel I'm struggling with these sharp bends, I manage to catch up with a group of French riders, which boosts my confidence. The wide-open valley suddenly transitions into darkness as I enter a 1 km stretch of road entirely shaded by a tree canopy.

After a refreshing water break by the river near Les Bordes-sur-Lez, I head for col de la Core. The vistas here are spectacular, offering me my closest look at a snowy peak so far. I consider a quick hike in my bike gear but a raindrop makes me reconsider, and I head back down the pass to the small town of Seix.

To my delight, Seix is hosting a motorbike show. The entrance is unmanned, and I seize the opportunity to stick the mud-covered Guzzi right at the front. With live music, food stalls, and plenty of bikes, it's a lively atmosphere. I grab two rhubarb tarts and a kiwi panna cotta for lunch before I meet another V7 owner who runs me through the modifications on his bike, sparking thoughts about potential upgrades to my own.

Leaving Seix marks the end of my Pyrenees leg, which I would have loved to extend by a day. But I need to stay ahead of the impending thunderstorms. The journey out of the Pyrenees takes me through a wide gorge past St Giron.

An hour later, I stop at the nondescript town of Saint-Jean-s'aguies-Vives. Here, amidst the locals playing jaques and veterans in uniform, I suspect a military holiday or celebration is underway in the region. I take a look at campsites to stay in Perpignon, which proves more difficult than anticipated. I’m up against the location’s popularity and a bias against a single male traveler on a motorbike. Not to mention, my fallback option - wild camping - isn't a practical option in the densely populated area. So, yet again I change plan, and head towards the southern Pyrenees-Orienteles.

This new route introduces me to the delightful D177, a valley road that sweeps and swerves at high speeds. One stretch is a straight 2 km shot, where the road is so clear I can see to its end. A closed road leads to an unexpected detour on the lumpy but twisty delight that is the D2. I stop at Quillan for my first substantial meal of the day, though the fact that I have to leave my bike out of sight does make me anxious.

The final leg to my campsite, Camping des Randonneurs, is just half an hour away. The rest of the D177 continues to impress, with sweeping roads, sheer drops, and sections carving through a mountain cleared with dynamite. I didn’t know it at the time - but this was Gorges de la Pierre-Lys - one of Frances most famous balcony roads. The climb on D9 feels like a mountain pass in its own right, the kind you'd see in commercials.

The campsite is nestled within woodland. Here I am, hoping everything will dry before I have to get into it again, pondering about the day's adventures and the journey ahead. Tomorrow might be a long boring run towards the French / Italian border, but I’ll decide in the morning.

[magecrafts]

like clockwork.

RATING: G FOR GENERAL AUDIENCES.

yelena x reader ; from the tumblr prompt: you don’t know how to use the coffee maker and i always help you but i saw you using it perfectly by yourself and yet you still ask me for help.

warnings: pfft. nada.

a/n : just a lil thing before my brain shuts down for the night.

i do take requests but please give this a read before doing so!

Yelena Belova, your prettiest coworker, knocks on the door to your office every morning at nine-fifteen sharp.

“Hey. Sorry,” she says every morning, smiling sheepishly as she lingers in the doorway. “Can you help me with the espresso machine?”

You’ve shown her how to use it countless times, walked her through the process until she threatened to break the machine with her bare hands, hell, you even wrote down step by step instructions for her once. Yet still, like clockwork every morning, there she is asking you for your help yet again.

“Yeah,” you say every morning with a smile, “I gotcha.”

Every morning you go with her to the little kitchenette at the end of the hall and go through the process of fixing her coffee while she leans up against the counter and watches with with a look that is equal parts appreciative and awed. You pull a blank shot, tamp the grounds while it brews, and when the water’s good and hot you pull a real shot into the Scooby Doo mug she uses every day.

She thanks you every morning with a dreamy smile and a squeeze to your arm before heading off to her department, leaving you to grin and chuckle to yourself while you return to your office.

You and Yelena have had this little routine since the day after you got hired.

It never changes and you’d never change it, the number of times you’ve shown her how to use the machine notwithstanding.

And then one day you’re working late, you’re behind on paperwork, and you’d rather camp out in the office until long after the sun’s gone down than come in on the weekend to catch up. By ten you figure you’ve got another two hours to go before you can cut and run and go topple into bed at home. By eleven you’re yawning, furiously blinking the dawning sleep from your eyes as you pore over yet another expense report.

You reach for a soda in the mini-fridge beneath your desk and find it empty.

“Son of a bitch,” you mutter to yourself, knocking the door shut with your foot and slumping back in your chair. A moment later you decide aloud, “One shot couldn’t hurt.”

You head down the hall and into the kitchenette only to find out that you aren’t the only one working late.

Yelena doesn’t hear you come in.

She’s got her back to you and a pair of headphones over her ears and she's singing softly under her breath. And she’s making coffee. All on her own, without error, like she’s done it a thousand times before, like she doesn’t come ask you to do it for her every morning.

Takes you a moment to put the pieces together and when you do a cheeky grin spreads across your lips. You’ve got a theory, and it might just be because you’re getting real sleepy, but you believe in it, so before she has the chance to notice you you slip back down the hall and into your office.

The next morning, like clockwork, Yelena Belova is at your door wearing a sheepish grin and saying, “Hey — can you help me with the espresso machine?” and you’ve never been so pleased to be right.

[nightlychaotic]

I Like You a Latte

“Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy, but here's my number, so caramel me maybe?”

The barista, Marinette her name tag read, stared at him, a small smirk forming.

“Nice try, Romeo. What can I get you?”

“Surprise me,” Dick grinned as she put something into the monitor next to her.

“For here or to-go?”

“To-go. Name?”

“Dick.”

She smiled, and directed her attention to the next customer, as Dick moved to the side to wait.

“Caramel Macchiato for Romeo!” got called out. Dick looked over to see the barista grinning at him, cup in hand. She gestured it out towards him. He chuckled as he moved to grab it. “Come again soon,” she told him as she handed him the cup. Dick grinned as he left the shop.

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

“What can I get you?”

Dick leaned onto the counter, and smiled at the barista. “Are you on the menu?”

“Not today,” she replied with a grin, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “Anything else catching your interest?”

“Not nearly as much as you do, but I suppose I’ll take whatever you think and a black coffee.”

“On it. For here or to go today?”

“Here.”

“On it.”

Dick sat at a window seat, glancing out looking at the dreary day as he waited for Tim to arrive. He needed a break from work, so Dick decided to drag him to a coffee shop. Wouldn’t get him to sleep but would get him away for work for a while. A decent compromise.

“Hey,” Tim greeted sitting down across from him.

“Took you long enough,” Dick greeted. Before Tim could respond he heard Marinette call out.

“Flat White and Black Coffee for Romeo!”

Dick went to grab their coffees and came back to Tim’s unimpressed face.

“You’ve been flirting with the barista.”

“Whatever gives you that idea?”

“How’s it working out for you Romeo?”

“Well she gave me a cookie, so.”

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

“I've been thinking about you a latte.”

“Oh have you now?”

“I love the way you espresso yourself.”

“Two in short succession. Someone’s upping their game,” she replied grinning. “What’ll it be this time? Or do you want a surprise again?”

“Surprise me.”

“And here or to go?”

“To go.”

“Coming right up.”

Dick didn’t have to wait very long before he heard “Latte with a shot of espresso for Romeo!” ring through the small coffee shop. He grabbed the cup with a smile.

“See you tomorrow.”

“See you then, Romeo.”

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

“Hello there, how are you brewing today?”

“I’m brewing well, you?” she replied before clapping a hand over her mouth. “I just punned. Oh dear god. Don’t tell anyone you heard that. I’ll never hear the end of it if that gets out.”

Dick laughed. “It’ll be our secret.”

“Thank you, so much. Surprise you to-go?”

“Got it in one,” Dick replied grinning. Moving off to the side

“Coffee for Romeo,” she called. She handed him a to-go cup and a bag with a few pastries. “My treat for our little secret,” she told him with a small wink.

Dick grinned in return as he took the order from her. “Thanks, Marinette.”

“Thank you.”

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

“Where’s Marinette?” Dick found himself asking the blonde barista who stood where Marinette usually did at this time. The blonde gave a quick laugh as he looked at Dick. “So you’re Romeo?” Dick nodded as the blonde continued. “She’s out sick today. She’s been working herself too hard.”

“Actually, if it’s not too much of an ask, I’m a bit busier than I expected and I know for a fact that Marinette doesn’t have a ton of ‘feel better’ supplies as I like to call them. Could I get you to pick some up and drop them off for me? That is if you’re not too busy. I’ll give you your coffee on the house for a week.”

“If it wouldn’t be intruding, I’d be happy to help out.”

“Nah it’ll be. She’ll be glad to have the company,” he said as he scribbled on the back of a napkin, before handing it to Dick. “Here. Supply list and her address. Just knock ‘shave and a haircut’ and you’ll be good to go. Thank you so much.”

“It’s no problem.”

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

Dick knocked on the apartment door, bag full The door opened, revealing Marinette, wrapped in a blanket, she didn’t look at him, just turned and trudged back to where she collapsed on the couch, as she started speaking.

“Adrien, how many times do I have to tell you, just wear your key around your neck so you don’t keep forgetting it. You had that stupid bell, you can have a key...You’re not Adrien.” she trailed off as she looked over to where Dick was standing.

Dick shook his head. “I come bearing gifts, though. Your coworker, the blonde one, asked if I could make a supply run and drop it off with you, since the Cafe was a bit busier than he expected.”

“Of course he did. Stupid meddling cat,” she muttered. “Come on in, make yourself at home.”

Dick joined her in the living area, depositing the bag on the coffee table, taking a seat across from her.

“So who’s Adrien?”

“The blonde coworker filling in for me. My roommate. Best friend. You two’d get along great. The cheesy pick-up lines and the puns. He’s the reason you're sworn to secrecy about that pun the other day.”

Dick laughed. “My lips are sealed, Don’t worry.”

“Thank you so much for that. For this too. I’ll owe you.”

“Well in that case…You've turned me down before but I'm asking for an extra shot.”

Marinette laughed, shaking her head a little. “Shoot your shot.”

“Can I java your number? Because I’ve been thinking about you a latte.”

Marinette laughed at that.

“Give me your phone,” she said holding out her hand. Dick handed it over and watched as she put in her contact information. “There you go, Romeo. Feel free to text me whenever.”

“I have a name you know.”

“I know, Dick. But if you get to make cheesy pickup lines, I get to call you Romeo.”

“That’s fair. You know, I mocha me crazy.”

“And I’ve somehow, despite the puns, come to like you a latte.”

[youwouldntlietopapa]

The Words That Were Never Spoken (OC Re-Edit) - Chapter One

His warm leather glove slides from her neck up into her hair, pulling her closer so he can claim her mouth. Deeply, passionately, a parched man who’s discovered an oasis. Hints of coffee still on his lips and the faint smell of tobacco lingering on his clothes. His other hand pressing into her lower back as if she ever needed to be encouraged to press herself against him. As if it’s not exactly where she’s wanted to be for what feels like a lifetime. Nose brushing against hers and his mismatched eyes staring into her soul, so close that his lips brush against hers when he whispers. “Isobel…”

“Isobel?” Copia says a little louder and she jumps.

Shit. “Sorry! Sorry. Just… got a bit lost in this text.” She waves at the ancient tome in front of her. There is extremely little to get lost in considering the text is about as exciting as watching paint dry.

The Cardinal smirks and there’s that mischievous glint in his eye. “That would be a very impressive feat, Sorella, with your eyes closed.”

What might have been an endearing pink flush from being caught daydreaming immediately becomes a deep red that rushes up from the collar of her habit up into her hair. But he only laughs and brushes off her apology. His hand gently pats hers in a way she’s sure she won’t be thinking too hard about for the rest of the evening.

“It is late. Later than I should be keeping you. I already ask too much, trapping you in this dusty basement all afternoon.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I offered to come help. It’s hardly a terrible chore to get a quiet afternoon with my friend.” Without thinking, her hand wraps around his, giving it a light squeeze not really letting go until her brain catches up with what she’s doing.

He makes that face, the one that breaks her heart every time. Like it’s something special or undeserved. That she’d be there because she wants to be, not simply because she’s obligated. “Still, I keep you too long.” Copia smiles a little shyly. “It is late and I won’t keep you all hours. You need rest.”

“So do you.”

“I will, I will… in a while.” He pulls another heavy book toward himself she can already guess will have him stuck at that table until sunrise. “My word, cara.”

“Of all the sins, my dear Cardinal, lying might be the one you’re worst at.” Isobel teases, standing up and starting to tidy things up for the night. “If I leave you here alone, you’re either going to fall asleep at this table or you’re going to pretend that five shots of espresso is a replacement for sleep. Neither will be good for you. Come on. Up. We’ll come back to this tomorrow.”

“But-”

“No buts! You need actual sleep! You deserve to rest, Cope. Whether you’ll admit it or not.” She walks around the table to his side and pushes the heavy book away from him. It takes every ounce of willpower not to cup his cheek with him looking up at her like that, so she settles for taking his hand once more. “You may not know this about me, but I’m actually quite protective of my friends. It’s a weird quirk I have, wanting them to be healthy, happy, and cared for.”

“Izzy…” He pouts, giving a very weak defense.

“Fine. If you’re staying, I’m staying.” She says firmly, letting go of his hand and marching back to her seat defiantly. “Either it’s acceptable to stay up all night, working yourself to death, or sleep is important and you need it as much as anyone.”

“You are being ridiculous.” Copia huffs, but she knows the look he gets when he’s actually angry and that isn’t it.

“Only as ridiculous as you.” Isobel smirks, sliding her foot under the table to nudge the toe of his shoe. “So? Do I put on another pot of coffee or are you going to finally admit that I’m the sensible one.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Sensible might be a stretch. Stubborn, more like. But I concede. You win. We work more tomorrow, si? You will join me again?”

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

Copia finally gets up with a groan, rubbing his backside while she definitely doesn't watch too closely or think about how much she’d like to offer to take over for him. “These chairs will be the death of me before the need for sleep.”

“I promise to burn them all to avenge you.” Her arm slips through his, leading him back through the stacks and toward the stairs.

“I can always count on you, cara mia.”

Together they walk through the quiet Abbey halls. Everything feels different at night. More private and smaller. During the day it’s hard to find time to herself, always Siblings and Ghouls here and there. But in the dim light and the silence, it’s just the two of them. Right up until the hall that leads to the Clergy wing, headed away from where her own quarters are with the rest of the Siblings. Not so different from any other hall in the Abbey, but just then, it seems to her, to be the ugliest, most loathsome hallway she’s ever seen. Every step closer to it is reluctant and stopping next to it feels like leaning over the cliff’s edge, staring down into the pit.

But Copia seems blissfully unaware. Smiling softly and trading her arm in his for taking your hand. “Sleep. I promise.” He reassures, as if that were the only thing on your mind. “Breakfast tomorrow?”

“Absolutely. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

His lips brush the back of her hand, mustache tickling just enough to get a smile. “I will see you then, Isobel.”

“Until tomorrow.” She turns and starts toward her quarters, calling back over her shoulder before she loses her nerve. “Ti voglio bene.”

……………...

Copia stands in stunned silence as she disappears down the corridor, hand still hovering in the air where it had been when her fingers slipped free of his. Watching her leave is always a challenge, but this feels like some new level of hell. Or heaven. He can’t decide. Some realm of pain and pleasure in equal measure that makes him want to chase after her and pour out his heart and soul, while at the same time making him even more sure she  has no idea what she does to him. And all he can settle on is to stand there, motionless, watching her go until she vanishes from sight.

“Ti amo…Isobel…” He whispers in the silence of the hall, cursing himself for a coward and dropping his hand to his side.

His quarters, when he finally manages to get his feet to cooperate enough to get back to them, seem especially dark and empty. Like a piece is missing. The piece he can still feel pressed against his side, holding his arm, making sure he takes care of himself and noticing all the little things most people overlook. He sighs deeply and shakes his head. Foolishness. Taking something good and comfortable and safe, and trying to make it something it’s not. Risking everything for his own selfishness.

And yet…

Copia’s practiced fingers struggle with the buttons of his cassock, too distracted, lost in his thoughts. Finally managing to free himself. Trying to ignore the rush of shame as he brings the fabric to his nose, inhaling deeply to catch the faint smell of her perfume still lingering there. He strips off the rest much faster as if making up for the time spent shaming himself will erase it all together. But, in the end, it just leaves him ashamed and naked.

Not a first time for that either, the spiteful voice in his head reminds him.

He snatches a make-up wipe and roughly cleans off the paint around his eyes. Well aware that the job he’s done will have him looking like Robert Smith in the morning, he simply can’t bring himself to care. Of all the hundreds of thoughts racing through his mind, not a single one is a concern over that. Copia, as if to demonstrate that very fact, flops down onto his bed and groans into his pillow.

He’d missed her at breakfast or, more accurately, he’d missed breakfast. An early morning meeting meant that he’d made do with a Danish from the tray provided and a paper cup of whatever they were trying to pass off as coffee from the same urn they’d been using since the dawn of time. But, waiting on his desk, when the meeting was finally over, was an insulated travel mug still full of hot coffee just the way he liked it. He didn’t need a note to know who’d left it. No one else would have thought to do it or remembered his schedule at all.

Copia flops onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, wondering how in all the levels of hell he’s supposed to get to sleep. Alone. In his empty rooms. Wishing for things he should put out of his mind.

When he’d seen her, finally, and she’d smiled that easy, unguarded smile. Slipping her arm through his and teasing lightly. Agreeing without hesitation to join him in the basement archives, his personal work dungeon. Smelling like sunlight and flowers from the garden. His need to have her there conflicting with the crime of dragging her into the dark while the afternoon sun made a halo of fire and gold of her hair.

He can still feel her arm tucked into his, her hand softly squeezing his fingers, the familiar weight of her leaning against him just so when she walked by his side. Imagining it here, in his bed. The familiar weight of her pressed against his side, her arm draped around him, her hand softly squeezing… caressing… stroking. He closes his eyes and huffs, giving in and letting his hand drift along with his thoughts. Fingers tangled in her hair and the taste of her lips.

Each time she’d licked the tip of your finger, concentration unbroken from the dusty old scrolls and manuscripts, his heart had skipped a beat. His own concentration and resolve far weaker than her own. Each time her foot brushed so casually against his, or her fingers rested on his arm to get his attention, or her voice was kept low in the stillness of the archives like she’d worried about anyone overhearing what was just for him, he found himself lost entirely.

He breathes out her name, not daring to voice his desires any more than that. Her words echoing in his head. “Ti voglio bene.” She must have been learning in secret, beyond the little bit she’d learned from him. Who else was there to learn for? And that phrase specifically… Maybe it was nothing. For a friend. A close friend. But maybe it was more. Maybe it was everything. “Ti voglio bene.” He can hear her voice so clearly, moaning at the thought of it joined with the touch of her hand. At the thought of it mingled with her scent and her warm skin pressed against his. The taste of her on his tongue. “Ti voglio bene… Ti amo… Copia.” His whole body shudders with a want and a need, an ache at his core.

The walk back up had been torture. The struggle to keep a calm smile on his face when he wanted to scream. Every step closer to that damned hallway where he’d have to left go. Trying to focus on every little thing except that. All the details he wants, needs to remember. Closing his eyes and letting Izzy guide him, even for a moment, just to focus entirely on the warmth of her hand, radiating through the sleeve of his cassock. Unable to simply let go, shifting his arm and moving his grip down to her hand. “Don’t go.” It had been on his lips. “Don’t leave.” He would beg if he had to. Beg and plead. “Stay with me. Stay tonight. Stay forever. Please.” Anything but that practised, placid smile and the same timid bullshit as the last time and the time before that and the time before. But his own voice betrayed him and the only thing left was to place a kiss on her hand. Play the gentleman again and smile like it wasn’t killing him.

His hand isn’t Isobel’s hand, but the vision of her there, looking down at him in that way that leaves him stumbling over his words and struggling to form a thought. Like he’s worth something. More than something. That he’s worth the time and the energy. That she wants to be there, with him. And maybe, just for a moment, he can pretend that she wants to be with him. It’s enough. For a moment. Grabbing a pillow to muffle his cry as he spills his need and shame over his chest and stomach.

“Ti voglio bene.” Echoing in his head.“Ti amo.” He whispers in the silence of his room, closing his eyes against the truth and dropping his hand to his side.

_____________________________________________________________

Sorella - Sister

cara/cara mia - dear/my dear

Ti voglio bene. - I love you (informal)

Ti amo - I love you (formal)

[swcetnight]

It’s Definitely You || kth (m.) 1

synopsis:

Working as a barista in NYC has its perks, but when your ultimate dream of being on the Broadway stage tends to come crumbling down, the only thing that raises your spirits is the comfort of a complete stranger… who seems to have known you for far longer than you thought.

masterlist here

→ pairing: taehyung x barista!reader (also musical theatre performer cause I had to)

→ genre: fluff, angst, future smut | strangers(ish) to lovers… i won’t give the truth away... gonna have to read and find out for yourself ;))

-> warnings: self doubt, adorable plant names... there's really not many warnings for this chapter!

→ word count: 7,973

authors note:

alrighty everyone... here we go! (i’m so nervous) this is the first chapter of this series (which it took me 50 years to figure out whether I wanted this to be a series or a two shot... lets just say that it's gonna be a long one, so I think that a series is the best way to go)! this story is really near and dear to my heart, so 1. I really hope you enjoy it and 2. I hope all of you know how hard it was to write this into words... my goodness. now, make sure you look for clues throughout this series... there's a secret in here that won't be revealed for a while ;)) but if any of you have ideas, please be sure to send an ask while we wait to find out together! anyways, I hope you enjoy !!

authors thanks:

a HUGE thank you to @hantaev and @monvante for beta-reading and being so so supportive of me and this little (but not so little) story... y'all truly have no idea how helpful you've been and how thankful I am to be friends with both of you! forreal, y'all are the greatest and I'm sending you all my love!!

also, if you are enjoying this story, please don’t hesitate to send me an ask (on or off anon) and let me know your thoughts, feelings, theories, etc!! i would love to hear from all of you 🤍

If time-travel existed, you would be on the first time machine and head back to 2 years ago. A time when you had a free schedule and were able to go out on Friday nights. A time when you felt confident in yourself and were raring to pursue theatre. A time when you didn't have this job (cause apparently, theatre is impossible to get into) that forces you awake at 4 in the morning for the opening shift.

You can't say you don't love your Barista job because you do. Still, when your alarm wakes you from the beautiful dream of performing on the big stage, you have to use everything within yourself to crawl out of your sheet cocoon… and that is unacceptable.

What's even more unacceptable is the fact that your co-worker, Jimin, hasn't arrived at the Academia Cafe yet. You have about 30 minutes to prepare for the morning peak; brew coffees, set up the bakery items, clear the boards "coffee of the day," etc. The problem is, it takes up all of the 30 allotted minutes— and you can't start prepping early because Jimin has the keys to the cafe.

You’ve worked at the Academia Cafe for about a year now, taking a break from your endless theatre audition schedule— since that was getting you absolutely nowhere. No matter how badly you want it, nothing seems to work. No matter how many times you practice, it never seems to be good enough. Let’s just say, you took this job at the cafe because you were over the repetitive let downs.

… But here you are, with a “Jimin being late” let down.

[To: Jimin ☕���] hey, you almost here? times ticking, keys!

You stuff your phone into your winter coat pocket, the brown material catching snowflakes as they fall gently from the cloudy sky. You love this weather; it's always been your favorite. When you were little, you used to pretend to be a dragon; running all over your front yard and releasing heavy breaths that chilled in the air and spread like smoke. You don't enjoy the cold, but the entire feel of winter has you cozying up in a blanket with hot cocoa and a good book… nothing could beat that.

A buzz in your pocket catches your attention.

[From: Jimin ☕️] Hey! Look up.

Your eyes immediately lift to see Jimin smiling a few feet away, shuffling through the snow as he drags the keys out of his pocket. He's sporting a heavy blue coat that reaches down to his knees — making his short stature appear even smaller — topped with a matching blue beanie. Despite his tardiness today, you’ve always been fond of Jimin. He's like a ray of sunshine, beaming through the skyscrapers of the city and making everyone around him happy just by flashing a single smile. Honestly, you wish you could sneak some of that happiness from him and lock it somewhere safe... so you can save it for a time when you need it most.

"Your timing is impeccable." He laughs, gently placing the keys into the front door lock. "You texted me right as I was rounding the corner."

"I'm telling you, Jimin; we're always on the same wavelength."  Smirking, you make your way through the doors of the cafe, greeted by the warmth that surrounds you like your sheet cocoon did this morning, but accompanied by the smell of fresh coffee. "Except for the fact that you, my friend, are late, so now we only have twenty-eight minutes until opening."

Old, rustic book pages litter the cafe's dark walls, executing the dark academia theme flawlessly. You have to give the interior designers a hand, what with the black stools and high dark wood counters etched with different story pages. You wonder if anyone took the time to read the stories that covered the cafe; maybe the stories moved them in a personal way. Maybe there was a reason why they read them, a part of the butterfly effect of their life.

With a quick survey of the main room, you shuffle into the back to put your belongings away. "You would think it would be less busy on the streets because of the snow," Jimin calls, already working on the first batch of light roast coffee. "But unfortunately for me, that was not the case, and I nearly lost my life multiple times on the way here because of how slick it is."

A laugh emits from your lips, echoing in the backroom as you throw your apron over your head.

You begin with date labeling all of the pastry items, placing them accordingly onto the pastry cart; croissants, muffins, scones, etc. Then, you move onto organizing syrups and setting toppings along the bar where drinks are made. Bar is your personal favorite position-- since you're able to make the drinks… Plus, you're so busy that your shift goes by way faster. The sooner you're done, the sooner you get to go home and sleep.

“All set?” Jimin questions when you finish setting the steaming pitchers next to the espresso machine, tossing the rag he used to wipe down tables into the sanitizer bin. You give him a nod, taking a quick once over of the bar. “Alright,” he claps, “let's do this.”

This morning runs like every Friday morning, busy and fast. The sounds of coffee glasses clinking and the calling of customer names at the hand-off station echoes through the air.

Ahhhh, the scenery in coffee shops; the quiet hush over the room as soft jazz plays over the speakers. It’s soothing, all encompassing, and extremely helpful for motivation… You used to go to a local cafe for homework when you were still in school.

You take a breath, relaxing against the back counter as you overhear a conversation a group of regulars are having. It’s the usual small talk: the weather, families, sharing pictures of recent events. Coming up with questions of the day for customers becomes easier after knowing their stories, so you subconsciously listen in often.

Because of this, you almost don't notice the man waiting at the register, wholly delved into the neighboring conversation— only looking over when you hear your name called.

"Y/n?"

You turn your head, catching eyes with the stranger behind the counter who holds his credit card ready. The first thing you notice is that he's young, probably around your age, wearing a brown turtleneck and white slacks. His eyes are dark, standing above his perfectly sculpted nose and lips. His hair is dark as well, forehead drowning within the wavy bangs that fall over his eyebrows as he takes you in. To be completely honest, he's probably the most handsome man you've had the pleasure of seeing… is that weird? You don’t know him… maybe that is weird.

The second thing you notice is that he looks completely anxious, hands grasping the edge of the counter like there's a thousand-foot drop below him. Why is he looking straight at you while doing that? Maybe you should call Jimin to take ove-

“Is it really you?” He questions, taking you aback.

"I-" You clear your throat, walking forward to meet him at the register, "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

With an intake of breath, he releases the counter as he studies you. Was he… crying? You swear his eyes were not this bloodshot three seconds ago.

"You-" He pauses, taking another sharp breath and running a hand through his hair. If you thought he couldn't get more attractive, you were wrong. "Do you know me?"

Attractive? Yes. Psycho?...possibly.

You shake your head slightly, “I… I’m sorry. I don't-"

Wait… is he a regular? You swear you haven't seen him come into the cafe before. Shoot.. What if he is? The number one thing your boss has made perfectly clear: remember the regulars, so they come back and feel at home; recognized. Customer connection was the most important thing at the Academia Cafe… He's probably a regular.

“I’m so sorry, there're so many people that come to visit us and sometimes I forget the regulars!” You apologize. “That’s my fault… remind me of your name again?”

He's staring at you. Full-on staring, jaw slacked. Shifting uncomfortably in your keds, you eye beside you to see Jimin working away at a macchiato. You consider changing places, nearly walking over to him before the customer speaks again.

"It's- It's Taehyung."

You force a smile, nodding while he continues to stare at you. He seems a bit more hesitant, his eyes looking in different directions but ultimately falling back onto your own. Even if he tried, he couldn't hide the rosy color that spreads onto his cheeks. What was this guy's problem?

"Taehyung! Awesome, well, what can I get for you today?" You chirp, attempting to brighten up your increasing discomfort. He might have mistook you for someone else, you decide, jumping back into your customer service personality: kind and quick to the point.

Taehyung doesn't move, training his eyes on you. You've never had a man's undivided attention before, since boyfriends were never an option. When you were a teenager, you stayed home most of the time in your hometown, and the boys there were all just in it to take your pants off. You avoided them and never really caught their attention, so you can't help the uncomfortable blush that grows on your cheeks. It’s short lived though, your nerves dissolving as soon as you notice a single tear fall onto the front of his shirt.

Oh. Okay, he’s definitely crying.

"Sir..." You begin, leaning in closer to avoid drawing attention. "Is everything alright?"

"I…" The shake in his voice is evident as he puts his credit card back into his wallet, still refusing to break eye contact. “Excuse me." Without another word, he turns on his heel and rushes towards the exit, clocking a customer in the shoulder in his rush. He apologizes quickly, bowing to them before glancing behind to make eye contact with you once more.

You wish you could read minds, wondering what the hell is going through his brain… but you notice the tiniest gleam of a hopeful smile that hides on his lips.

And then he’s gone.

“I swear it was the strangest thing, Jimin.” You speak nervously, tugging at the strings of your apron and lifting it over your head. It had been busy all day, despite a quick thirty minute break when everyone had left and the cafe was suddenly a deserted island. You appreciated the busyness, it made your shift go by faster. Right now, all you wanted to do was go home, eat a fat bowl of icecream and distract yourself from the events of today with a movie. Thank God your shift was over.

“Maybe he thought you were someone else?” Jimin insists, taking a bite into the extra Blueberry Muffin you’d accidentally heated when you were distracted by the events that occurred earlier.

“Yeah? Well, I must be the spitting image because he was totally freaked out.”

“You never know, y/n. Or, maybe he just used that as an excuse to talk to you.” You could hear the smirk in his voice, throwing your rolled up apron at him harshly before you grab your belongings.

“Ha, ha, you’re hilarious. This guy looked like he had seen his ex… He was crying. I don’t think he was into me.”

“Maybe his eyes were watering from the cold wind?” He offers.

“Enough to cry actual tears?” You scoffed, “C’mon Jimin.”

He shrugs defensively, picking up his things so the two of you can head out a few minutes earlier than usual. Whenever the baristas have a chance to leave early, they take it. “If he comes back, then ask him: hey, dude, what’s your deal?”Jimin works his way through the cafe, throwing an excess chair upside down onto the table with the rest of them.

You hold your hand above your heart, which is still beating at a faster pace due to this discussion. Can hearts even beat this fast? This can’t be healthy… “Oh wow, you have such a way with words. That definitely won’t make him feel uncomfortable!”

Yes. Sarcasm coping mechanism.

“Y/n.” Jimin meets you at the door and puts his hands on your shoulders, making extra sure he has your attention. “Go home. Don’t think too much into it… He was probably high or something and mistook you for his ex that dumped him and now he’s moping through the city and getting into all sorts of trouble and he’ll forget that he even came here tomorrow morning. Okay?”

You nod slowly, exiting the cafe with Jimin on your tail. "Don't worry, y/n." Jimin adds, "He probably won't even come back." He locks the door and gives you one last thumbs up before heading in the opposite direction, calling out at the last second. “See you tomorrow!”

The forced smile on your face appears again (looks like this was a regular occurrence today), waving him goodbye.

Yeah… tomorrow.

Jimin was right. The handsome crying stranger was probably never coming back.

It has been a few weeks since you met him for the first time. Now, it feels like a distant memory. He hadn’t shown up to the cafe the day after the encounter, or the day after that, or the day after that, and eventually you’d come to the conclusion that he was probably never going to show his face again out of pure embarrassment. You can’t say you blame him. You’d be embarrassed too if you stared at and cried over a random stranger.

Still, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment... You'd kind of hoped you could figure out what his problem was, maybe ease his mind a little if you really did look like a past lover. You would make sure he knew that it wasn't you. What if he was avoiding the cafe because he literally thought you were someone else? Great… now you just feel bad.

"Y/n? Are you listening?" Jimin beckons over the phone.

"Huh? What?" You bounce back to reality, the soft comforter of your bed lying beneath you as you stare out the window. Thanks to your wonderful apartment search, you have a beautiful view of the city. Jimin had helped you find a place when you first moved here. The two of you had met when you visited to check out the first apartment options; he even took you out for a drink afterward to celebrate the first days' completion. Jimin had immediately clicked with you, as he does with everyone-- he was the kind of person to make friends insanely quickly. He must've been super popular in high school... unlike you.

"Y/n Y/l/n. I am giving you a chance to meet more people, and you're not even listening to me!" He cries, a light smack coming from the other end (probably from him slamming his hand on the table).

"Okay, okay-- I'm sorry. I'm listening now; what's up?"

With a deep sigh, he speaks again. "Party. My house. Tonight. It's not gonna be wild, don't worry... it's just a get-together with some of my friends, and you can have a few drinks if you would like to."

Gnawing at your bottom lip, you look over towards the clock on your nightstand. 5:00. "I don't know..." You begin, the bed shifting as you raise into a seated position. "I have to work tomorrow morn-"

"Already got your shift covered." He deadpans.

"What??"

"I already got your shift covered, so you have no excuse."

This sly guy.

"Who covered it?" You question, setting the audio to speaker-phone as you rummage through old text messages you haven't gone through (to prep for your "thank you for covering my shift" text message).

“Jin.” Noted.

“So…” Jimin continues, “are you coming?”

You can't even remember the last time you met new people, let alone gone to a party. Parties weren't necessarily your thing, especially with your busy schedule of workdays and auditions-- you just never had the time. You should be excited, right?

Well, you aren't.

"Jimin, I don't know… I'm not really a huge fan of parties." You mumble over the phone, picking at the lone string that popped out of its stitch on your comforter.

"Y/n, it's a small get-together, and it's not gonna be that kind of party. Believe me; it'll be really chill. It's just me, you, a few other coworkers, and some friends from my journalism class."

You chew at your bottom lip, looking over at your closet to see a single green cocktail dress that you hadn't worn in years. The memory of the dress was a good one… you had just finished up curtain call for The Addams Family and wore that dress to the after-party. It's a short sleeve, layered green dress that flows just over your knees, the same color sash tying the waist in a floppy bow. You blush at the memory of winning best dressed.

A pause, “Okay.” You conclude. “I’ll go.”

Jimin was honest about how chill it would be; soft music plays in the background as the group sits around the table playing cards. A basketball game is playing on the TV, desperate for attention as a player scores a 3-pointer, but no one is watching. Shuffling of cards is the only sound heard in the room as the game continues.

The atmosphere is calm… quiet…

“BULLSHIT.”

The immediate crumble of everyone’s mood causes the loud “HELL YEAH” that makes you jump in your seat.

"And that is how it's done, Ladies and Gentlemen." Jungkook (your fellow coworker) claps, his smile brighter than the sunset that seeps through the curtains on the opposite side of the room.

"And that's on cheating!" Jimin picks up the cards in the center of the table, gathering them clumsily back into a pile.

"It's called having skill," Jungkook replies, holding his hands up as he smirks at his opponents.

"No, it's called luck." Yoongi finalizes as he puts his hand of cards down on the table with a roll of his eyes. You haven’t met Yoongi before until tonight. He’s one of Jimin's friends from Journalism Class.

When you arrived, you decided to sit out of this round and learn to play before joining the game-- knowing you; you would've been crushed within the first minutes of playing. Card games weren’t exactly a skill of yours— board games on the other hand were where it’s at! That, and charades. For the sake of the party, a card game didn’t sound too bad this time around— so you poke at Jimin to give you the hand as he serves cards for everyone else.

“Wait, wait, wait—“ Jimin pauses, his hand disappearing beneath the table to grab his phone. “Hello?”

“I’m not Irish, so does luck really count?” Jungkook questions in a hushed whisper, nudging Yoongi in the side.

“Oh hey...yeah... it’s apartment 205.” Jimin continues.

“You’re so funny, Jk. Maybe you’ll actually become successful if you choose stand-up comedy rather than becoming a musician.” Yoongi replies nonchalantly, his cat-like eyes staring at the abandoned pile of cards before he seems to come to the decision to shuffle them himself. He gives you a small smile when you hold your hand out to signal that you’re joining in this round.

“Mhm, you can just walk on in! Doors unlocked… okay.. alright, see ya in a minute.” When Jimin's phone is down, Yoongi passes a hand of cards to him.

“Think you can beat me, Y/n?” Jungkook asks,”Since apparently these four can’t?” He motions to Yoongi and Jimin, glancing at the other two players of the game: Hoseok (Jimins other classmate) and his girlfriend, Faith.

“I think I can.” You say, smirking at the determined expression on Jungkooks face. Even if you weren’t very fond of card games, there was one thing you were even less fond of: losing.

“Mmm, might want to rethink that, but okay.” Jungkook replies. The two of you are death staring when the sound of the front door creaking open catches the attention of everyone else at the table. Jimin shoots out of his chair.

“Taehyung!”

You freeze.

"You-" He pauses, taking another sharp breath and running a hand through his hair. If you thought he couldn't get more attractive, you were wrong. "Do you know me?"

Attractive? Yes. Psycho?... possibly.

“I’m so sorry, there're so many people that come to visit us and sometimes I forget the regulars!” You apologize. “That’s my fault… remind me of your name again?”

"It's- It's-."

“Taehyung, you just missed me creaming everyone in bullshit.” Jungkook boasts. Your eyes are glued to the side of Jungkook's head, not daring to make eye contact with the source of your nerves the past few weeks.

“Oh did I?” The familiar, deep voice utters.

Okay.. you can’t help but look…

Holy—it’s actually him.

Immediate regret sinks into your soul when you see him. God, he’s even handsomer than you remember. A white woolen sweater hangs over a pair of his black pants, matched with white sneakers and accenting the head of dark wavy hair you’d been thinking about since you last saw him.

“Yep!” Jungkook continues. “And now Y/n’s about to get shitfaced too.”

The moment his eyes swiftly glance your way is the moment you crumble and turn your head back to Jungkook. You had hoped to make a sly remark, something along the lines of “in your dreams,” but you’re caught breathless from the tension in the room. The tension only the two of you are aware of. He must be tense too, right?

“I wouldn’t underestimate her.” You hear out of Taehyung's mouth, stealing a look at his face once more. He’s smirking at Jungkook, hanging his coat on the hook beside yours, oblivious of the way you’re basically dissecting his every move.

“Have you met Y/n?” Jimin questions, provoking Taehyung's eyes to fall back onto yours. This time, you don’t look away.

He doesn’t answer right away, making you more nervous than you should be— the silence deafening as you make to explain, “We-“

“No.” He states plainly, cutting you off. An innocent smile plays on his lips as he looks at Jimin and places his messenger bag beside the door.

No? Uhhh, was he not the guy who pretended to know who you were and cried in front of you without even explaining why? Nope, it’s definitely him.

“I’m Taehyung.” He calls in your direction, offering you a boxy smile and a small nod, “Don’t let Jungkook fool you. A girl pinched him when we were in grade school. He barely lasted five seconds before running away screaming.” Taehyung moved to the table, sitting beside the man he just brutally embarrassed.

“That girl was terrifying. She was way taller than all the other sixth graders. It was an unfair situation.” Jungkook protested, sinking in his chair as he shuffled the cards he held in his hand.

You couldn’t help but stare dumbly at Taehyung. Was he embarrassed of his outburst at the cafe that he just hopes you forgot about him? You guess you didn’t exactly meet each other, other than a few words exchanged before he disappeared out the door. He probably doesn’t want his friends to know about what happened. Or did he not recognize you and completely forgot about the whole ordeal?

Okay, it’s fine… totally fine.

“I’ll have to keep that in mind,” you laugh, “no more coming in late, Jk. Or I’ll have to pinch you.”

Jungkook merely rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his beer. You see the crinkle in Taehyung's eyes as he laughs, the boxy smile taking root on his face again… a smile you’ve begun to enjoy the look of.

Hey. Snap out of it. This guy is so confusing. That’s a red card.

You straighten up in your seat, catching Jimin's attention when you move towards the kitchen, motioning with your hand to signal that you’re getting another drink. You have a feeling you’re gonna need some more alcohol to get through the evening.

Jimins place is clean, every knick knack placed neatly where it belongs; accompanied by the smell of potted plants that he keeps by his windows. Little name tags are attached to the plant stems: Flo, Sprout, Bob. He names his plants. Sweet.

He, like you, has a great view of the city too, a mid-size window perched above his breakfast nook where a small potted plant (quotabley named “bean”) grows. The city is bustling below as you reach for a beer, shrugging off the fact that you hate beer, but at least the taste will distract you from Tae-

“Hey.” You hear a soft voice call from the kitchen archway. When you turn you nearly drop the bottle out of your hand. Taehyung gives you a soft smile.

“Hey! Uh.. did you want a beer, or are you a wine guy?” You question, cringing at how much higher your voice sounds at his close proximity.

“I— Sorry, neither.” He starts, shoving his hands into his pockets as he makes his way around the island. “I uh- I just wanted to talk to you about something.”

You nod slightly, “Yeah of course… what’s up?”

“Um,” he’s nervous, you notice. “I just wanted to apologize about the whole thing at the cafe a few weeks ago.. I was— not in the right state of mind.” He meets your eyes hesitantly, “you just look like someone I know from a long time ago and it kind of.. took me by surprise, I guess.”

Jimin was right. You offer him a smile, shaking your head in disbelief, “You know what, I truly thought that was the reason… It’s totally fine. I’m not who you think I am, by the way.”

A flicker of something crosses his features at your comment, something you can’t quite pick up, but he changes it quickly to a smirk. “Obviously.” He laughs, “I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.. I’m not weird, I swear.”

“Mmm, that’s what they all say.” You tease.

He laughs, a soft sound that you want to hear over and over again. “You’ve got me there.” He takes a pause, placing his hands on the island countertop. “Let’s start over? If that’s okay? I didn’t want to mention it when I came in because I wanted us to have a fresh start.”

You push down the questioning thought of who this woman he mistook you for was, not wanting to overstep any boundaries. “That’s totally okay.. clean slate?”

“Clean slate.” He finalizes.

“Straightforward,” You add, “I like it.”

He gives you a warm smile, the same edge in the way he looks at you dances in his eyes before he breaks it off, sliding the bottle of beer out of your own hand. “Actually, I think I will have a beer. You don’t seem like a beer drinker, anyway.” He turns quickly, smirking at you before striding out of the room. “Thanks, Y/n!”

Protestations die on your lips as he disappears from the room, your beer along with him. How rude. You can’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you turn back to the cupboard, skipping the beer and pouring yourself a second glass of wine. You weren’t a beer drinker, after all.

Although you weren’t one for parties, you couldn’t help but admit the fact that you were having a good time. No, a great time. All of you are seated in Jimins living room; a plate of chips sits on the coffee table, which was the hot spot of the night (considering there’s hardly any remaining). Others in the group still have a glass of alcohol in their hands, the tipsiness evident by the slurring of their words. You had stopped yourself after half of your second glass, playing it safe since you still have to walk home after the party. You weren’t much of a drinker anyway-- your family history being the root of this decision.

It isn’t the games that made the night this enjoyable, or the food, or the movie that is currently playing over Jimin's television (which, by the way, is Moulin Rouge, because half of the room enjoys musicals, and the other half enjoys regular movies. So, you decided to settle on a movie musical). None of that matters, except the fact that you’ve never felt this carefree in a long time.

For one night, you can put aside your cafe job, auditions, and never-ending to-do lists and just have fun. Real fun. Even in the audition rooms, it has never been fun for you. It’s been nerve-wracking to a fault and always ends with a “thank you for taking the time, but we’ve decided not to accept you this time around,” or a callback, which ultimately concludes with the same grueling fate.

But this is different.

This is a group of people who genuinely want to spend time with you and get to know you… with no “not this time’s” or open-ended questions.

Especially with Taehyung. You’re surprised at how quickly the two of you seemed to hit it off, despite the awkward introduction. Now, it feels like he’s known you for years… in the best way. You’re comfortable talking to him, chatting together during the movie about the plot points or songs you find specifically endearing. You had initially planned to sit next to Jimin… but ended up next to Taehyung on the couch.

It just happened.

He enjoys musicals as well, you learn. Maybe not as much as you do, but at least he doesn’t despise them. He’s one of Jimin’s friends from their shared art class. He loves the color brown. His favorite food is watermelon. He does illustrations for Jimins journalism projects (which, in your opinion, are exceptional from the photos he showed you during the movie while the others were engulfed in the film). He wishes to pursue traveling journalism, where he draws what he sees rather than taking pictures. His whole aura is warm… like a heated blanket that envelopes you whole when you feel him shift beside you on the sofa. A small reminder that he’s still there.

Okay, you’re liking his presence way too much.

He finds romance movies corny but a guilty pleasure nonetheless. This, the reason why he agreed to watch Moulin Rouge despite the cheesiness in the beginning. In the end, it was anything but cheesy.

"Well, that was stupid." Jungkook scoffs, slamming the remote onto the neighboring loveseats' armrest. The once loud room filled with music is now quiet from the after-effects of the movie.

“I told you it was sad!” Jimin exclaims. The two of you had seen this movie before in theatres… and this was nothing compared to how the ending hit the first time. “Y/N was nearly choking. She was crying so hard when we saw it.”

An immediate blush rises onto your cheeks as you shake your head in defiance, trying to hide the tears that had been stinging your eyes for the last thirty minutes. “Who wouldn’t cry at that??”

“Taehyung probably didn’t. He never cries.” Hoseok deadpans. Ha. You can’t help but remember the tear that ran down his face in the cafe… He never cries?

With a quick look over your shoulder, you find that Taehyung is no longer seated on the couch. When did he get up? You attempt to shrug off your curiosity, pivoting back towards the chip table where only sad little crumbs remain. You were worrying way too much over a man you quite literally just met tonight… even if it felt like you’ve known him for much longer.

Taehyung eventually reappeared, stating that he had to use the bathroom— you ignored the fact that it took him a solid 30 minutes to get back to the party. It wasn’t your place to ask any questions, especially since he lifted a smile onto his face the second he reentered the room. See, y/n… nothing to worry about.

It wasn’t long before you insisted you head home, knowing that you’d curse yourself in the morning if you stayed out past the sunrise. If you did, you’d sleep through tomorrow, and that would be awful. You’ve done this a few times… and every time, you felt like you had wasted an entire year of your life.

You move to grab your purse and jacket, which are hanging comfortably on the hook beside the front door. With a small smile, you bid everyone goodnight— smiling as they resume a card game around the table at one o’clock in the morning. It’s nice to know that the group of you hit it off… now; you can look forward to plenty of get-togethers in the future.

Your mind is bustling with all kinds of ideas: picnics in central park, late-night broadway shows, hangouts at the caf-

“Y/n!” The soft calling of Taehyung's voice causes you to halt near the exit, turning on your heel to see him jogging towards you. He had haphazardly thrown his jacket over him since it’s still being tugged onto his body as he runs. His hair becomes even more chaotic in his haste… Why do you want to run your hands through it?

“Hey!” You squeak, interrupting your thoughts before they trudged down a guilty road. “What are you doing? Weren’t you going to play another round?”

He gives you a smirk, catching his breath as he holds out your house keys. “You forgot these! You were really moving fast… sick of us already?”

“Wh— oh my god, thank you!” With a quick swipe of your hand, you’re stuffing your keys into your pocket with a grateful smile. “Also, hardly.”

You admire the way his eyes light up at your confession. “Well.. since you don’t want to leave us so quickly.. how about I walk you home?” He seems almost hesitant asking, but you can’t help but applaud him for actually taking the initiative to inquire.

You shake your head, pulling the strap of your purse farther up your shoulder. “You don’t have t-“

“I want to!” He cuts you off quickly, catching you by surprise as he moves past you to open the door. He glances back, taking in your reluctant expression, “It’s not safe this time of night Y/n… You shouldn’t be alone.“

You know he didn't mean anything by that statement… But the idea of someone genuinely caring and not wanting you to be alone makes your heart swell. Jimin cares about your safety of course, but this feels… Different.

This is the reason why you allow him to walk you home.

The snow crunches beneath your feet, like a symphony that beckons you home. You’ve been feeling exhaustion seeping into your bones for the last ten minutes, but Taehyung's occasional brush of his arm as he walks beside you keeps you wide awake. He doesn’t think to apologize for accidentally touching you, but you blame it on the time of night. Delusion.

“How long have you lived in New York?” You question, wrapping your coat tighter around you to kick out the nipping air.

“About a year now,” He responds, shuffling his feet, “though it feels like way longer. You?”

“Three years.”

Taehyung turns his head towards you, eyes wide. “Wow, way to one up me.” With a teasing smile he continues, “You must know this city like the back of your hand.”

The truth is… you don’t. You came here for the sole purpose of making it on Broadway... you never really took the time to focus on anything else. Part of you wishes you had learned more, craved more, wanted more with your life—then you wouldn’t be so miserable when the one thing you do want doesn’t work out. “Yeah… kind of.”

If he hears the somber tone of your voice, he ignores it, turning against the wind as he walks backwards down the sidewalk. “It’s overrated in my opinion.”

You raise your head at this, “Why is that?”

“Everyone here has dreams… and those dreams get crushed more often than not.” He shrugs, “No one cares if you want to succeed, only if you already have.”

You stare at him for a moment, awestruck by the weight of his words. “But,” he adds, turning back towards the wind, “the ones who never give up and continue to chase that dream can become successful. Despite all of the no’s they might face, they always hold on till they hear a yes. That sounds like true success to me.”

Turning your head, you stare at the side of his face— admiring the way his hair tosses back a bit against the harsh winter winds. His words hit you way deeper than he probably realized, sinking into your chest with an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. You’ve been contemplating recently on whether or not to give up on your dream… that maybe it just wasn’t going to work out for you. You have been trying for so long, and have repeatedly been let down. There was no way Taehyung could have known, which is why his words hit you as hard as they did. Despite the hardships, you’ve been here for three years and you’ve never given up or stopped trying to chase your dream.

That was an achievement, right?

“To be honest… I've heard a lot of no’s in my three years of being here.” You speak softly, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind your ear. “Sometimes it feels like there will never be a yes… but here I am. At least I'm still working— at a coffee shop, not on the stage.”

“It’s admirable that you keep going.” Taehyung glances at you over his shoulder. “It makes you different from a lot of people who have left the city when they faced failure. It’s something to be proud of. Plus, coffee shop or big stage, you’re in New York City and pursuing your gift. It’s special.”

When your eyes meet, you smile at him, feeling a sense of victory the longer you hold his gaze.

“Don’t give up, Y/n. No matter what.” He speaks genuinely, leaning towards you to nudge you gently on your shoulder. You can’t help but laugh at his playfulness, giving him a nudge in return before your eyes downcast to your winter boots. The snow on the ground is fresh, powdery and sticking to the toes of your shoes. “Plus,” He adds, sucking in the chilly air, “you've got what others don’t have…”

This time when you meet his eye he has a serious expression, making sure he has your full attention as you round the corner towards your apartment building. His gaze is genuine, captivating… and a part of you hopes that the close proximity of your apartment wouldn’t cut this moment short. Finally, he speaks.

“You have passion.”

Taehyung's words weigh on you for the rest of your night. It started off as something simple, looking up audition songs for an upcoming off-broadway show your agent was telling you about. Then, you went to learning it. After that, putting on makeup. And finally, completely forgetting about your sleep schedule and filming an entire audition tape in your room at 2 in the morning (and you were belting… your poor neighbors). It wasn’t until four that you finally turned in for the night, not bothering to take off your makeup or get changed-- simply falling onto your pillow and blacking out the moment you hit it. You were definitely sleeping the next day away… but at that moment, you didn’t mind. Having a day off from your busy schedule wouldn’t be so bad.

“I sent in an audition tape two nights ago.” You speak confidently, wiping down the back counter that’s littered with coffee grounds. They stick to the rag like glue, tiny dots scattered along its white surface. If it weren’t for your apron,

and your expertly rolled up white turtleneck sweater, you would look alot like this rag right now.

“Did you?” Jimin questions from the bar, sleeving the cup before placing it on the handoff counter.

“Christopher! Medium cappuccino!” He calls, multitasking while he cranes his neck to still hear you.

“I did. I feel really good about this one..” You add, meeting him beside the bar as he lifts the pitcher up and down to create the latte-art of a flower in the center of the mug. You have tried sooooo many times to make latte art… and every time it ended up looking like a glob. A big, distorted snowball. Jimin was the master of latte art, always finishing it off beautifully with a whip of his wrist. The foam atop telling a story. “It was so late-- I was totally out of it… and yet I actually enjoyed myself while filming it. I just imagined being there.. In center stage.”

“I’m happy for you, Y/n!” He smiles, turning to place the hot mug next to the cappuccino.

“Caleb! Medium caramel latte!”

He was only half listening to you. The cafe was bustling, so it truly wasn’t Jimin's fault that he was sidetracked— but nothing could hold back the small smile that played at the edge of your lips. You had actually enjoyed singing for the first time in a while.. all because of Taehyung's Academy Award winning pep talk. Who knew that all you needed was for someone to tell you like it is. With a minuscule smile, you turn back towards the counter and lift the latte you’d whipped up this morning to your lips. Your distorted snowball is fully on display at the top.

Despite the busyness, the front register is deserted, giving you time to think for a moment about the pep talk... or rather, the person who gave you it.

“I think Taehyung likes you.” Jimin deadpans.

Uhhh… You nearly spit out your snowball at that— clearing your throat as you set it down slowly onto the wooden countertop. He speaks as if this is a natural conversation starter… it’s not.

“I’m sorry?” You croak.

“Taehyung.” He repeats, turning his head in your direction with a knowing smirk. “I think he likes you.”

You give him a scoff of disbelief, watching as yet another group of regulars enter through the door. “That’s not true, he just doesn’t know me… so he made an effort to talk to me.” If you weren’t studying the group, you would've seen Jimin giving you a scrutinized look.

So, now you have his attention.

“Y/n. It’s so obvious… He spent the entire night talking to you, he left moments after you did to give you your keys and he never came back. If that isn’t someone who’s interested, I don’t know what is.” Jimin is an expert at multitasking, finishing off two drinks at the same time and calling them out.

“Well, Jimin, when people don’t know each other, they get to know each other. It’s this thing called talking and becoming friends.” The sentence hangs in the air as the doorbell chimes, signaling that yet another customer has entered the cafe and into the swarm of regulars, but the two of you disregard the sound and continue on through your bickering.

“I’m just saying, Taehyung doesn’t usually talk to girls.” Jimin adds, wiping his hands off on the white rag seated beneath his espresso machine. “Even if they wanted his attention, he didn’t give it to them. I mean— he’s nice to girls, don’t get me wrong.. but he’s never talked to them like he did with you on game night. I don’t think he’s dated anyone since he got here.”

“He’s career driven.” You say quickly.

If you thought his smirk couldn’t get any wider, you were wrong. “Yeah, girls don’t know that about him— meaning he told you, and not other girls.” Jimin deadpans.

You stare blankly at him. There’s no way. No way that a guy as attractive as Taehyung would even think about looking at you like that. There’s just no way. You’ve never had a boyfriend... or even a guy friend, until Jimin. Eventually, you’d accepted the fact that maybe you just weren’t that interesting. Maybe you weren’t pretty enough. Maybe you couldn’t flirt…. okay, you definitely couldn’t flirt— but that’s besides the point.

“He’s not interested in me.” You conclude.

“He is.” Jimin counters.

“He’s not.”

“He so is.”

“He’s so not.”

“Y/n. I swear to you. He’s interested and you need to shoot your shot.” He whisper-screams, throwing the rag in his hand onto the bar.

“Taehyung is not-“

A clearing of someone’s throat from beyond the register cuts your argument short, nearly making you lose your balance when you see who the source was.

You’re fairly certain you’ve turned pale.

Taehyung stands in front of you, eyeing between the two of you with an awkward expression. God, how long has he been standing there? “I figured I should step in before the two of you start fist fighting.”

“Hey!” The shrill of your voice causes you to wince.

“Hey.” He says with a smile, folding his arms in front of him and raising his eyes to the menu above your head. You can’t help the glare you send towards Jimin, who's notably holding back his laughter as he moves to the blender, the station farthest from the register. Ridiculous.

“What can we get for you?” You ask routinely, trying not to make it obvious that you were just talking about him… and praying that he wasn’t there to hear what the two of you were talking about.

“Hmm…” He looks especially good today, wearing a brown, long coat and a brown plaid scarf around his neck. He wasn’t kidding when he said his favorite color was brown, that’s for sure. It suits him. His hair is wavy, flowing to a point just under his eyebrows with a split off center, giving you the tiniest glimpse of his forehead. “How about an americano with hazelnut, and some cream?”

“We can do that for ya!” You have to force yourself to stop looking at him, pressing the buttons to ring up his order before you forget. You nearly overlook ringing up the hazelnut syrup. Why were you so dazed? He’s already placed his credit card into the chip reader, but your foggy brain asks anyway. “Anything else?”

“Yes, actually.” He speaks as you move towards the bar beside the register. Grabbing an empty pitcher, you pour the milk inside and reach for the steamer. He drops a dollar into the tip jar, not giving you enough time to thank him for the unnecessary effort before he speaks again. “Are you free later?”

NEXT CHAPTER

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[beyondspaceandstars]

While You Sleep

Chapter 19

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: n/a (we’re at happier days i promise) Summary: Soulmate!AU - Throughout life, you’re given glimpses of your soulmate through dreams. As you sleep, memories flash in your mind showing you the life your soulmate has lived. Everyone around you raves about how their soulmate reads great books or volunteers in their spare time. But you can’t relate as your dreams end up being more like nightmares. Through initial images of death and violence, you come to learn your soulmate is the Winter Soldier.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

You didn’t have to wake up the next morning - you were already awake. It was a situation you hadn’t found yourself in in a pretty long time. Usually, you could power through, just take it like a woman, but last night had been too much. It went beyond just seeing Bucky’s actions. It crossed into a territory of feeling his shame, his hatred towards himself. You didn’t think that was going to leave you anytime soon. 

Due to the fact you were back on a regular schedule at work, you couldn’t ponder it. You felt like you had slipped back into the cycle except this time you were actually in contact with your soulmate. The prospects of it getting better fluctuated. 

After a quick shower, you tossed your bag together and began making your way out of the apartment. You were opening this morning at the shop alone and maybe that was for the best. No one needed to see you this exhausted. A couple - or dozen - shots of espresso should have you up and running for the morning rush. 

But when you began descending down the apartment building steps, you noticed a looming figure waiting on the sidewalk, looking towards the street. Your heart sank as you raced to the door. 

“Bucky?” You called out. He perked up, turning his head quickly towards you. He was sporting a bit of a black eye and cut above his lip. It was, without a doubt, him. You broke off into a run, throwing your arms around his neck. He welcomed it, pulling you in by your waist. You could feel yourself suddenly begin to weep.

“It’s me, doll,” he mumbled into your hair. His grip on you got tighter. 

“Are… Are you okay?” You asked as you pulled your head away from his chest to look up, inspecting the damage on his lovely face. His expression was sad and heavy. “I-I saw-”

But he cut you off before you could go any further, “I’m fine.” He knew what you saw. There was no need to dig up the grave.

You were relieved both regarding the fact you didn’t have to explain anything and that your soulmate was okay - or at least going to be. You relaxed slightly.

“I’m so glad,” you said. And you meant it wholeheartedly. “That was it, right? Those days are…” 

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, sweetheart. Hopefully, everything’s going to be a little bit easier now. Steve is passing along the news. From my understanding it’s going to take a little negotiating but... the Winter Soldier is going to be out of commission.” He let out a weak laugh but you didn’t find that last statement humoring.

“I never thought of you as the Winter Soldier. Not really Not - Not genuinely.” You sighed, your hand coming up to the non-injured side of his face. “You’re just Bucky. My Bucky. My soulmate.”

Bucky gave a small nod but from his eyes, you could tell he wasn’t fully convinced. He changed the subject swiftly, “Are you okay?”

You removed your arms from around his neck, almost wanting to put distance between you two, but Bucky wasn’t exactly letting up yet with an iron grip still on your waist. You settled for resting your hands on his chest.

“I’m going to be,” you shrugged. You just wanted to be honest. “Maybe it’ll take a minute or two but it’ll be alright. We’re going to be alright.”

Bucky gave a small smile in agreement before finally letting you out of his hold. He took a step back and then offered her arm towards you. You frowned, confused.

“What?” He scoffed. “Did you expect me to just show up and not walk you to work?”

You couldn’t help the smile that began spreading quickly across your lips. Without a second thought, you wrapped your hands around his bicep, moving in close to his strong body as you two started on the path towards the coffee shop. 

***

Amazingly, Bucky stayed with you for your entire shift. After you two arrived and you began setting up, you poured him a fresh cup of coffee while he grabbed the morning newspaper from the entrance stoop. He made himself comfortable at a table in the back of the shop where he sat reading the paper quite intensely. 

Just after the morning rush had died down, you got a bit concerned. Bucky was still at it, eyes roaming the words as he sipped his lukewarm coffee. You worried there was some article about him or that something from the mission was going to require more attention. But when you walked over to the table and peaked at the page, you found Bucky was reading the classifieds. 

“Looking for anything in particular?” You asked casually, trying to keep your voice light.

Bucky shrugged. “I was hoping there’d be some job openings I could apply for but I don’t know. I don’t think any of these places want a one-hundred-year-old ex-brainwashed assassin working for them.”

You frowned and glanced back at the front counter. When there was no sign of any customers ready to order, you sat down across from him.

“I don’t think anyone would turn down an Avenger,” you said. 

Bucky shook his head. “I wasn’t an Avenger, doll.”

You scoffed. “Fine. You were a freelance superhero.”

“I don’t know if that’s correct either-,”

“Bucky,” you sighed, “if you see something that catches your eye, you gotta go for it. Sure, maybe you’ll get passed on but, honey, that’s just the job-hunting process. Not sure if you had to deal with that back in the day or anything.” You let out a little giggle, mostly at the thought of teenage Bucky trying to man the counter of a store.

“I had a few jobs in my day, thank you very much,” He chuckled before folding up the newspaper. “Now,” he turned towards you, “when do you get off?”

You raised your brows. “You trying to pick me up or something, Barnes?”

His eyes shamelessly wandered over your form. You didn’t know what he was checking out as your apron wasn’t exactly the definition of sexy but with a little smirk, he responded, “All the time, doll.”

You felt your face get warm. “I’m off in a few hours, why?”

“Just wanted to take you on a date,” Bucky shrugged. “Said I was going to make it up to you when I got back, didn’t I?”

“Oh, Bucky, we don’t need to…”

He placed his hand over yours on the table. “Yes, I think we do.”

His look was serious despite the flirty tones. You weren’t inclined to argue. “Alright,” you nodded. “A date sounds lovely.”

After you agreed to a date, you gave Bucky a quick kiss before heading back to the counter. Your coworker had just arrived and was getting ready for her shift. From the expression on her face, you could tell she had witnessed your little love fest at the back table. You avoided her eyes as you started the coffee grinding machine.

“He’s really here,” your coworker whispered to you as she clocked in. You averted your gaze, trying to hide that blush on your cheeks that just wouldn’t go away. 

You nodded, “He is here.”

“How’s it been?” She asked. “Still in that honeymoon period?”

You moved towards cleaning the syrup bottles. “Well, it’s been quite the trip so far but I think we’re mellowing out.”

She hummed, intrigued. “If anyone would’ve told me after that day you broke down crying that you would eventually be falling head over heels for him, I would’ve said they were insane.”

“Yeah,” you sighed, glancing back over at where Bucky still sat, “it’s crazy, isn’t it?”

“That’s certainly one word for it.”

You stifled a laugh as a customer approached the counter. You jumped back into your job, your thoughts constantly wandering to your lovely soulmate sitting just feet away.

***

“Do you, like, enjoy surprising me or something?” You asked as you and Bucky walked hand-in-hand to whatever destination he was leading you towards.

Bucky chuckled, “I do get a kick out of it.”

Your shift had ended early after your coworker offered to take the rest of your hours. You had mentioned Bucky recently came back from an assignment and wanted to take you out. She immediately insisted you didn’t need to be spending your time serving coffee when you had a “gorgeous man” - her words, not yours, but you didn’t disagree - waiting. Bucky had looked so relieved when you told him you were off early, immediately grabbing your hand. 

The scenery became familiar. Confusion rushed over you as he stopped in front of the compound. You frowned, not sure this was the super cute romantic date you thought he had planned. 

Bucky must’ve noticed your disappointed look as he quickly explained, “I just need to grab something.”

You nodded, following him into the lobby. He asked you to wait right there then he was off. You stood around a bit awkwardly as it appeared to just be you and the front desk lady. She gave you a wave in greeting. You waved back. You felt a bit unsure if you should approach her, though. The past times you were living at the compound, you either never saw her or were too distraught to stop and chat. You did notice sometimes Steve would talk to her and even Bucky would say hello. 

“You’re Bucky’s soulmate, right?” The lady asked. You jumped, completely caught off-guard by her question.

“Oh, um, yeah,” you nodded, fumbling with your fingers awkwardly.

“Sorry, I don’t think I ever introduced myself. I’m Ella, the secretary.” 

You gave a small smile and shared your name with her. “Nice to meet you, Ella.”

You two had fallen into a bit of an awkward lull but luckily Bucky reappeared moments later. He had a backpack slung over one shoulder, his metal arm gripping its strap tightly. You wanted to ask what it was but before you could, he was grabbing your hand and exited the building. He called goodbye to Ella. 

“She seems nice,” you said as you continued to let Bucky guide you.

Bucky nodded. “I think she and Steve have something going on.”

“Hm, good for him,” you said.

You didn’t press any further, instead turning your attention back to wherever Bucky was taking you. You appeared to be making your way out of the city now, coming up on some park area. There wasn’t much around besides a chain coffee shop - one that could never match your place of employment. You had quite the brand loyalty. But Bucky walked right past it all, heading towards the pond in the center of the park.

Eventually, he stopped in the middle of the park lawn, just coming up to the edge of the water. You glanced around, only finding trees and the occasional chirping bird. You two appeared to be the only ones out today. You never recalled being around here before, usually not one for just hanging out in nature. 

Bucky, though, seemed fairly comfortable. He knelt down, placing the backpack beside him. He began unpacking it revealing a blanket and containers… A picnic, it dawned on you. He was setting up a picnic for you two. 

“Y-You planned a picnic?” You asked shyly as you sat on the blanket, watching Bucky spread out the packages of food. There were sandwiches, fruits, salads… 

Bucky blushed. “Well, I had some help from Steve but… Yeah, I wanted to do something a little different. I-I hope this is okay.”

You wanted to speak. You wanted to say that it was perfect. That he was perfect. That he was way better beyond your wildest dreams. That the nightmares you endured never, ever came close to representing who he truly was. That he was so much more than them. 

But words were failing you greatly so you took a spontaneous chance. A chance you never thought you'd be taking, not after everything you had endured. But you did and it somehow felt right.

You leaned over the blanket, over the lovely food that had been prepared, and snaked your arms around his neck. Bucky began to ask what you were doing but you quickly silenced him by placing your lips on his, all hot and needy. 

He was visibly surprised but reciprocated the action effortlessly. His arms came around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You let out a moan as you climbed into his lap, refusing to break the kiss. 

It was Bucky who eventually had to pull away for a second. He could feel where this kiss was going. And you playing with the ends of his hair wasn’t helping his situation. “W-We- We’re in a park, doll.”

You began littering his neck with kisses. “No one’s around,” you hummed. 

“The food-,”

“James,” you practically growled. 

Bucky chuckled, lowly. Dangerously. “You’re going to be the death of me.” His lips found yours seconds later. 

***

As you two laid in your bed later that night, you couldn’t believe how this, how everything, was panning out for you. Your mind shamelessly replayed your little park adventure which, yes, did eventually end with you two eating the food. But it had also lit something within you. You felt like you had after your first date all over again but stronger. Better. There were miles and miles to go on the recovery front but you could feel yourself getting somewhere. 

You shifted closer to Bucky who had fallen asleep a while ago after another round of glorious lovemaking. You just about lost track of how many times you two had gone at it today. 

You had just about surprised yourself with your boldness. The actions of sex were no longer scaring you as if you needed that push back into it. You don’t know what has caused it but there was a fire lighting in you. You probably could give some credit to therapy and time, healing time. The future was upon you. Everything seemed possible.

Softly, you leaned over and placed a kiss on Bucky’s lips causing him to stir a bit in his sleep. 

Groggy, he mumbled, “Everything okay?”

You placed your head on his chest. His arm came around your shoulder, whisking you in tightly. You sighed. “Yeah, Buck, everything’s okay.”

He hummed. “Good night, doll.” 

“Good night,” you whispered back. 

It took a bit of psyching yourself up but you eventually closed your eyes, trying to let sleep find you instead of you chasing it. 

Darkness filled your vision. And then there was Bucky.

[starsstruck]

cloudbusting; part five.

a classic coffee shop story. harry is a painter that quickly becomes a regular at his neighbourhood cafe, and it just might have something to do with a certain barista. cloudy mornings, gallery openings, and rooms full of paintings.

pairing: harry x reader warnings: language, mentions of anxiety words: 8.9k

series masterlist

art by holly warburton. (i have no vision for the mc of the fic, people in the images of paintings i use are purely because this is how i envision harry’s art to be)

a/n: i am so excited (and nervous) to share this chapter but she is here ! amazingly big thank you to tina @sunflowers-styles​ for beta-ing, you are the best ily💕 ! as always please share if you can, and let me know your thoughts, i love to here everything you have to say !!🍊💕 happy reading xoxo

The clouds that came in seemed to have doubled, growing bigger and darker as a cool wind came with them.

The change in weather was quick, summer seeming to slip right out from under you as fall settled into the air. Although, the change was welcomed. There was always something about the sun glowing in the sky while the air was cool. But this was not one of those fall days, no today was damp and misty and not at all pleasant. 

That Saturday morning, there was a light rain when you woke up for the mid-shift that you had to cover since apparently your coworkers didn’t know how to give notice before deciding they couldn’t work.

“What time are you off?” Your brother asked, as you were taking a bite out of the jam covered toast you had made yourself before needing to run off to work.

“Three,” you called between bites.

“I can come meet you when you're off if you’d like,” he said, joining you in your kitchen. “Might bring in my laptop, get some work done.”

You nodded. “That sounds good,” taking a quick glance out the window, you faced him once more. “Hopefully it’ll be slow today considering the weather.”

“Fuck,” you muttered quickly, half a slice of toast in your hand as you caught a glance of the time from the clock on the oven. “I gotta go. I left you the key on the table if you want to head out and I’ll see you this afternoon!”

You called to your sibling who was behind you as you grabbed your jacket and bag from where you had left them on the couch. “Sorry again about this.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, looking through your recently filled fridge. “I have some things to get done so it works out well.”

With a hurried goodbye, you were out the door and rushing down the street. You always left maybe a minute too late and ended up having to power-walk to work. The morning air was chilly and just wet, overall unpleasant and not doing much to up your mood.

You hadn’t slept well at all the night before.

You were unable to sleep after the hole you had dug for yourself from your Instagram deep dive, your mind not shutting up about everything that happened within the past two months – the past two months with Harry.

You were feeling this small twinge from the back of your mind, something that was getting louder and louder in your head. A small hint of a voice that you knew was your own, that was telling you that you should be afraid.

And after all the emotional exhaust from the previous day, you had to go make small talk with person after person which was something you just really weren’t looking forward to.

“What are you doing here?” Saya asked when she saw you turn in past the counter and into the back room to hang your coat and bag. You were happy to see that there weren’t a lot of patrons, and that Saya seemed relaxed with the morning so far.

“I’m covering for Noah,” you told her as you clocked in, not even aware of the way your eyes scanned over the work space to look for anything that needed to be done.

“Of course he’s off,” she muttered under her breath, herself having her own issues with being unable to say no when people asked her to cover for them. “Weren’t you supposed to have the week off?”

You nodded. “The whole week, yeah. Grace is going to cover one of my shifts so I’ll have an extra day off, which is nice. But my brother is visiting and I just –” you sighed, “don’t feel like being here.”

“I get that,” Saya shot you a smile as you made yourself a big hot latte. “It’ll be okay, I don’t think today will be that busy.”

And boy was she wrong.

Seemingly minutes after your conversation, a steady flow of clients came in. The steady flow turned into a rush, which again never seemed to end. You didn’t know why everyone was out and about, wanting coffee on this cloudy September morning, and why they couldn’t just be at home.

Saya, the angel she was, took the orders while you rushed through making drinks. It was arguably more stressful to be the one making drinks, but it also meant you didn’t have to talk to people as much. At ten-thirty, Aleena came in as well, and joined your side in making drinks so it became a bit more bearable.

Your brother had come in at the height of the rush, lucky to find a spot in the back to sit at and do whatever work he needed, as he drank the americano you’d made for him.

Luckily the noon lull came, as it often did, and you had a small moment to catch your breath and do some tidying up before it inevitably got busy again.

You walked around with the dish bin against your hip, and it quickly got heavier as you filled it with utensils people had neglected to bring back. A man then very rudely grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks to ask you where the washroom was and you were muttering under your breath in annoyance as you balanced the bin to pick up a stack of plates.

“Hey,” a voice that you hadn’t expected to hear, and one that you were trying to keep out of your head, was suddenly sounding next to you.

Head whipping up to where it came from, you pushed some of your hair out of the way after placing the plates along with the other dishes in the bin.

“Oh, um –” you said, a bit dumbly. “Hey.”

“Surprised to see you here again – I remember how you said you had a week off.” Harry said, standing tall and beautiful and everything you didn’t need to be reminded of right now.

“Covering again,” was all you said, avoiding his gaze. The dish bin in your hands felt like it was growing heavier and heavier, and provided you the perfect excuse to step away from the conversation.

“I got to um,” you lifted the bin in your hands, wordlessly telling him you needed to empty out the bin.

“Oh, of course,” he nodded with a tiny furrow in his brow that you didn’t have time to analyse as you kept your eyes on the small line up that had re-formed in front of the till.

You stepped past him, quickly disappearing behind the door of the back room, where the dishwasher sat ready to be loaded.

Just as you were stepping out after rinsing the dishes and loading the washer, you were heading out from the back room when someone stopped you again.

A call of your name made you jump slightly, a small ‘jesus’ leaving your mouth before you turned to see Harry slightly invading the employee space of the café as he tried to reach out to you.

“Sorry,” he spoke, after seeing your small bit of shock. “I wanted – are you alright?”

You hated yourself for the passive answer. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Oh I just,” he paused, a slight furrow between his brow. “You seemed stressed yesterday…”

You shook your head, teeth pinching the corner of your bottom lip. “I’m fine.”

Seeing his mouth part open to speak once more, you were quick to cut him off with a motion towards the register. “I should get back – busy day.”

And then you were off without sparing him a second glance. Your heart rose to a lump in your throat, a nauseated feeling taking over your stomach that you didn’t think was due to the coffee intake.

You rejoined Aleena by the espresso machine, and saw that she in fact was not busy and was just wiping off sparse grounds from the counter top, and cleaning out milk pots.

You helped her, cleaning out the already clean baskets again to occupy yourself as you knew from the corner of your eye that Harry had walked to the till to order something and that would mean his next stop would be counter by the espresso machine to pick up his drink.

Letting Aleena make the drinks, you bent down to rearrange the mugs that sat under the counter to occupy yourself. When you stood back up to your feet after completing the menial task, you stumbled back away from the counter lightly due to the small head rush, and to the fact that Harry was leaning forward across the counter, forearms lightly resting against it.

“Doesn’t look too busy.” Although his words seemed to have a small bite to them, his tone was light and maybe the punch wasn’t intentional.

“It was…” you stated weakly, eyes briefly flitting over his before looking back down again.

There was a small pause, one far too uncomfortable for you to deal with, especially with Aleena right next to you and other customers on the other side of the counter.

“Are you upset with me? He asked you directly, his words causing you to glance back up at him.

“No, I –” you paused, unsure of what to say and not wanting to say it here. Waving your hand in a motion for him to follow, you turned on your feet and headed to the space before the back room, where the floor of the café met the floor from behind the counter.

Harry followed you from the other side, meeting you where he had stopped you a mere couple minutes ago to talk – something that seemed like you couldn’t avoid at the moment.

“Are you okay?” He repeated the question from before, as you leaned your side against the wall, arms crossed over your chest.

“Yeah, I’m just a bit stressed I guess,” you said lamely, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sleeves. “A lot going on.”

He slowly nodded, as if not convinced by your words. “Did you want to do something after your shift, blow off some steam and relax?”

Shaking your head no, eyes dropping away from his as you couldn’t bear to look at him in the eye anymore. “I can’t, my brother is with me for the weekend.”

You darted your eyes over to where your brother actually sat not far off, oblivious to the interaction unfolding near him with his eyes glued to his laptop.

“Right, sorry I forgot.” His voice was quiet, words being followed with another moment of silence that you wished to skip through, the only noise coming from other voices in the cafe and Comment te dire Adieu playing a bit too loudly.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” He probed for the third time, the frustration in his tone starting to seep through. 

“I am,” you didn’t know if he caught the slight shake in your tone, the slight shake that completely contradicted the words to leave your mouth.

“It’s just,” you paused again, all words seeming to fall out of your head as you were unable to form a sentence. Either that, or you were holding back what was about to blurt from your mouth. “I think that –

He sighed your name. “You think what? Did you want me to leave, or something?”

“I – what do you mean?”

“I don’t know, you…” he ran his free hand over his forehead, pushing some hair out the way. With a little sigh, he glanced at you again. “You’re acting like you want nothing to do with me.”

The nausea was rising from your stomach to your throat.

“I think that um, maybe you should go.”

He didn’t move. “Where is this coming from?” There was a small crack in his tone, one that made your eyes shut for a moment too long as you willed yourself not to get visibly upset.

“I’m tired… I’m tired of being someone that people just pass through.”

You dared to cast a glance at his expression, seeing a deep pull in his brows and a frown on his lips. It hurt you more than you’d like to admit.

You liked him – probably more than you’d had liked anyone, but that was something that you couldn’t think too much about. You liked him a lot and you were so afraid that your first instinct was to run and hide. You knew very well that you were succumbing to your own insecurities, that you were picking and pulling at any loose thread that could be used as a valid reason for your fears.

“What are you saying?” He asked, frustration growing in his voice as he silently begged you to look up at him. “I don’t – I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“I just – I’m tired Harry.” You sighed, worrying the inside of your mouth. “I’m tired of being hurt…”

Voice not sounding like your own, you spoke words that were about to bring tears to your eyes. “I think you should go.”

You saw his expression twist in every which way, but he only shot you a curt nod before turning on his feet and walking away from you just as you’d suggested. It was the last thing you had wanted to see, but at the moment, at work, you couldn’t deal with anything more than that.

Taking a brief moment, you begged yourself not to start crying for the thousandth time. You made sure not to watch him leave, knowing that it would only hurt you more. Instead you watched his figure walk through the door from the corner of your eye, seeing him turn a quick corner and disappearing you’re your sight. You had no idea when you would see him again.

Wordlessly joining Aleena, you picked up one of the order slips and read over the list of three personalized drinks. Hands moving on muscle memory alone, you cleaned out espresso filled baskets and pulled two shots to start preparing the drinks.

You let your mind wander just the slightest as you steamed milk, thinking about the way you had just completely sabotaged yourself. You knew you had your own reasons for it, as crazy as they may seem.

The slight screeching sound of the milk growing too hot brought your attention back to your task. You watched as the milk was just about to bubble out of the jug, quickly twisting the dial on the steam wand to turn it off. You poured the milk as you always did into the to-go cup, with a nice little rosetta for the customer with the medium latte, before you repeated the same action over and over, making drink after drink. 

You also knew that any fear you had over Harry’s ex was probably overly thought of, something that you shouldn’t be thinking about, but you just couldn’t help it. The self-deprecating part of you just didn’t see Harry wanting you to be that person to him, as much as you maybe wanted to.

So you continued to steam milk, working in perfect unison with Aleena as the workflow picked up again 

Your shift continued as it always did, with nothing out of the ordinary, and soon three o’clock was rolling in and you were free to leave and do all the wallowing you could ever want to do from the peace and calm of your own room. You left along with your brother, who said he had gotten all the work that needed to be accomplished just in time.

You walked in silence side-by-side down the street, with a tea in hand from work to warm you up and your brother with another coffee. The sky was swirling with dark greys and blues, the smell of rain high in the air as if a downpour was ready to come at any moment.

“Who was that, earlier on?” Your brother asked, after a moment.

You held in a breath. “Who?”

“The guy you were talking to, in the cafe. You looked upset.”

“He’s just,” you paused. “A friend. Or we were friends, I don’t know.” You muttered, your eyes stuck on the ground as the both of you walked together.

Your brother was quiet for a second from next to you, and you thought that you had been vague enough for him to drop the subject, but no such luck. “Did you guys date?”

Pausing, again you weren’t sure how to answer. “Not really.”

Looking at your sibling next to you, you saw him watching you with a little furrow between his brows. “What do you mean, not really?”

“Like,” you sighed. “Kind of, I don’t know. We had… a thing but never really went out I guess. Either way, I think it’s over.”

“You looked upset,” he repeated, as you turned onto the steps to your apartment and searched for your keys. “Did he say something, or…?”

You shot your brother a glance, nearly smiling as you shook your head. “No, it just…” you trailed off. You kind of wished you could tell him more, but also didn’t know what to say.

You opened the door to the building, letting the two of you in before walking up the flight of stairs together to your floor.

“You can talk to me, you know.” His words caught you slightly by surprise. You wanted to be able to talk about it with him, you wanted to be someone who could talk about anything they wanted with the people that were close in their lives.

Remaining silent the rest of the way up the stairs, neither of you spoke until your apartment door shut behind you.

“I kind of fucked everything up,” you sighed, words falling free from your mouth. Your brother put down his bag on the shelf by the door, watching you as he kicked off his shoes.

“I felt – I don’t know,” you repeated the three words for the thousandth time. “Today I think I completely pushed him away.”

Your brother was quiet, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Is that what you wanted?”

“I mean,” you sighed. “No. I don’t know, maybe. The thing is, he didn’t do anything wrong, not really. And I know that, and I feel dumb for it but I just –”

You cut yourself off, hearing the small shake in your voice. You knew if you kept speaking that tears would start to fall from your eyes, always being an angry and frustrated crier.

“But now I probably fucked that up for good. It was nothing serious to begin with so I’m sure I only scared him off.”

Your brother cleared his throat, unmoving as he spoke softly. “You don’t know that.”

“I guess,” you sighed, grabbing a glass from the cupboard for some water.

“I always do this,” this time, a few tears fell past your eyes as you couldn’t do anything to hold them in anymore. “I always said I needed to be more selfish in life and let things come my way but I – I guess I was selfish because I did what I did for no reason other than protecting myself.”

“Protecting yourself?”

You wiped your cheeks with the back of your hand, slightly tilting your head back as if to blink back in the tears that were freely falling.

“I do the hurting before I can get hurt, you know?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping that the rest of the tears inside your eyes would fall and you’d be done, but it didn’t seem to work quite like that. You opened them when you felt his hand on your shoulder, wrapping you in for a small side hug.

“You,” he sighed. The two of you had never been that affectionate with each other, it was something you were not used to. “You deserve more than that.”

You think that it is one of the nicest things he has ever said to you.

“I always fucking do this, you know? I don’t know why; I don’t even notice I do it until after.”

You were on a roll, now freely crying and letting everything you wanted to say fall from your mouth. “I can’t – I feel so stuck. I don’t know why I’m so afraid of everything.”

“I just can’t let myself be happy for some reason.”

His hand squeezed your shoulder. “You deserve to be happy, too.”

The two of you were quiet as you cried. Letting the tears fall down your face, chest shaking with small heaves as you let everything out.

After a moment, he asked you. “You really like him, huh?”

“What?” Your voice cracked lightly, breathing evening out as you wiped away the wet streaks on your skin.

“The guy, at your work. I don’t think you’ve ever told me about anyone you’ve dated.”

“I have too,” you muttered lightly, although you knew he was right. You had mentioned names in passing, only of the few more serious relationships you were in. Even then, the details were very sparse.

“But seriously,” he continued. “It’s okay to let yourself be vulnerable. Sometimes that’s all you can really do.”

You let him wrap you in a true hug, something you don’t think you’d done with your brother since you were young.

“Do you want to order in? It looks like the rain finally started,” he spoke after pulling away. “We can eat, watch a movie.”

You nodded, the idea of food sounding like the best thing in the world right now. “That sounds good, yeah.”

“You choose what we watch,” he nodded to you, grabbing his phone from the counter, presumably to order whatever kind of food he had in mind.

Wordlessly walking over to your couch, opening up your Netflix as you mindlessly scrolled. You weren’t really paying close attention to the titles, mind still stuck on the little breakdown you had just had.

“What was the French movie you always used to watch when you were sad? I don’t mind watching that if you want.” You head your brother call from the kitchen.

“Oh,” you hummed, nodding at the perfect suggestion. Already knowing that Netflix had Amelie, you quickly found it and had it ready to play.

“It’s a happy one, right?” Your brother spoke, as he sat next to you on the couch while you watched the rain hit the window and pulled a thick blanket over your legs.

“Kind of,” you nodded. “It is a nice ending, but it’s a kind of happy-sad movie, you know?”

“Did you not want to watch it, then?”

“No, no I do,” you offered him a small smile. “I like to watch it when I feel lonely, or upset. Plus, I almost like that happy-sad feeling, it feels just more realistic.”

There was something about it, about your self-induced melancholy. There was still something that felt right, about sitting under a heavy blanket after your wallowing, the only noise around you coming from the rain against the window and the opening notes of Yann Tiersen’s soundtrack playing.

There was something so calming and comforting about the music coming from the TV, a soundtrack you knew maybe too well considering the amount of times you had seen the movie, on top of how often you simply listened to the soundtrack itself on its own.

But a little comfort was just something you needed right now.

You had your little days of comfort, wallowing, lounging, and relaxing. Your time with your brother ended up being surprisingly pleasant, and you two left off on a good note.

You still had three more days off until you had to go back to work, Grace was coming in and covering one of your shifts since you had picked up those extra ones when no one else could.

You spent those days relaxing, getting dinner with Mae and some other friends, running errands, and cleaning out your entire apartment. The weather never changed, the rain pouring the entire time, something that you for now were enjoying because it made you feel okay for lounging at home.

But now you powered down the street as you were about to be late, with your umbrella swaying in the wind and your off-white sneakers splashing in the puddles. You felt the relaxation of your week off slipping away and a small pit of anxiety settle in.

It wasn’t about going to work that stressed you out so much, it was about the possibility of seeing someone who you usually seemed to see at the café.

Once you pushed past the heavy front door, you immediately were looking around at every table to see if you could spot the familiar figure of curly hair as he hunched over the table, twirling pencils between his fingers.

But he wasn’t there, and that table where he usually sat in the back was occupied by a middle-aged woman sipping a latte and speaking loudly on the phone.

He wasn’t there when you were steaming milk and someone was asking you about who had painted the paintings that were hanging on the walls, and he wasn’t there when you had to close alone.

The following day was the same, as well as the weekend, and the next week.

That particular Monday morning you thought you might see him, a shift where he never failed to come in even if he couldn’t sit and stay.

But the only familiar faces were those of older regulars who talked to you about the changing weather and the week of rain that was happening.

That week slipped by, just as the other had. It had been two weeks since you’d had your little breakdown, and since you’d indulged in your self-sabotaging streak. You really knew that it was the wrong thing to do, but just like everything else, you knew that this would pass.

When you really thought about it, he was just listening to you. You had basically told him to leave you alone and that was what he was doing.

But when it had been over two weeks since you’d seen him, you realized you might have had the slightest tinge of heartache.

Just as you would always do, you pushed that feeling away. Telling yourself to forget about it and move on, and that would be that. A thing of the past, a future memory.

Though things had a funny way of working out, apparently it was in store for you to see Harry again.

Nearly halfway through September, the air fresher and more crisp, another thing about the changing weather had you pleased that you could layer on a big sweater but didn’t need a thick coat.

That Monday, you were coming in for the afternoon shift, distracted by attempting to close your soaking wet umbrella when the door of the coffee shop swung open and nearly smacked you in the face.

Taking a stumbling step back in shock, the umbrella in your hand still opened with the rain hitting the top of your head because, of course, the light-knit jacket you were wearing didn’t have a hood.

“Sorry,” deep voice muttering over the sound of cars driving on the wet road, a taller figure appearing from where the door had opened. “You alright – oh –”

Head turning at the far too familiar voice, looking up to be stared down by those clear green eyes.

Fuck.

He had a big coat on just as you did, a hair seeming a bit wet as well and sticking to the skin on the side of his face. There was a little 4 oz cup in his hand, looking so much smaller than it usually did, eclipsed by the size of his hand. 

Fuck.

The two of you must’ve looked a bit ridiculous, both with wide eyes and mouths agape, stuck in the doorway of a café with rain hitting the tops of your heads. But you couldn’t move, and you couldn’t walk away, and you wished that the rain would form a current and swiftly wash you away.

“Sorry,” you eventually blurted, gaining a confused look from Harry.

He had the corner of his bottom lip between his teeth, fingertips tapping against the little cup in his hands. Part of you hoped he felt as nervous as you did, but part of you also knew he was probably upset with you and wanted nothing to do with you.

“Have nothing to be sorry for…” he eventually said, words trailing off as if he wanted to say more.

Your eyes shot through the glass window of the coffee shop, knowing you were now officially late for your shift and that maybe someone would run out and tell you that you absolutely had to get to work, but again, no such luck. You could see Aleena yawning through the coffee shop opening.

Again, there was that pit of anxiety, the one that twisted your stomach and made your legs feel numb, as if you couldn’t stand straight but couldn’t move either.

“I didn’t think you were working today,” his words pulled you from your thoughts. “I uh, didn’t see you this morning and thought –”

He cut himself off, stumbling over his words, his gaze flicking away from yours. You didn’t even know what to respond, hoping that anything could get you out of this awkward encounter.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, just as you had.

You shook your head, biting your lips together. He had absolutely nothing to be sorry for.

“You –” again stopping yourself, not knowing how to say what you wanted to say. “I need to get to work…” you said instead, a small point to the door of the café that was still slightly propped open.

“Right – of course,” he took a wide step out of the way, allowing you space to walk out from the rain and to hold the door open for yourself. “Have a good shift.”

You only sent him a tight smile and a little nod, unsure of what else to say.

Not looking back, you quickly walked across the floor of the café with small squeaks coming from your wet shoes. “Oh my god,” muttered under your breath, feeling yourself heat up and grow uncomfortable under the layers you were wearing.

That entire interaction was so completely embarrassing and awkward, and nothing you wanted to ever happen.

You gave yourself a moment in the back room, hanging up your bag and coat, setting your dripping umbrella on the ground. The door pushed open slightly, Aleena’s voice speaking through the wood. “You okay?”

“Hey,” you opened the door all the way for her, hands running over your dampened hair, you sure looked a bit messy. Aleena watched you quietly for a second, as you smoothed your hands over your pants. “I’m assuming you saw that,” you said to your colleague after a moment.

“I did…” she trailed off. She knew more or less everything that had happened between the both of you, and you had no idea that he still came in and seemingly on purpose when you were not working.

You didn’t want to ask, and you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of asking -- even though that was ridiculous and he wouldn’t possibly know that you were asking about him, but you couldn’t help it. “Does he come in a lot?”

“No,” she shook her head. “First and only time I saw him was today.”

Only nodding, you grabbed your phone from the table and slid it into the back pocket of your pants. The two of you headed out of the back room, you went to clock in and Aleena stood by your side to take the order of a customer.

You followed her to the espresso machine after the order was taken, pulling a shot to make yourself a drink as well.

“He asked about you, you know,” your coworker spoke as you were watching the steady pour of espresso as she was steaming some milk. “He said he thought he’d see you when he came in – which I guess he did.”

Your ears buzzed with her words, but you let the heat in your spine settle as you remembered the reality of the situation. “Didn’t really seem like he wanted to see me.”

Aleena only shook her head, tapping the milk pot on the counter before taking a second to slowly pour it into the mug that already had espresso in it. Once she made a nice big heart with the white foam of the milk, she placed the mug down on the counter and called out the drink before facing you once more.

She looped a finger through the belt loop on your jeans, tugging you towards her tightly. “Babe you’re too hard on yourself,” she spoke as she shook you by the jeans. “He asked about you, asked why you weren’t working this morning.”

You ignored the nervous twist in your stomach at her words, and the heat that rushed to your neck. Although really, you needed to remind yourself that you should remain grounded to reality.

And that seemed to be it, for the moment at least. You had told yourself that you’d made your peace with it, although you knew that really wasn’t true, and so things continued as they always did.

But things had a way of finding the person they were intended for, and on a chilly Saturday afternoon a few days later, it was like a sign had landed right in your lap. 

The day was slow, the colder weather usually slowing down clientele for a little while at least a little while. With a lull, you did as you always would and started some cleaning around the café. Wiping down tables, looking for dishes, sweeping up big messes that usually wouldn’t have to be dealt with later on in the day.

Your eyes sweeping over the side of the café, glancing at every table for any forgotten dishes or spilt drinks. Only seeing a few empty mugs left on a table in back, you walked the short distance needed to grab them and wipe over the wooden table with a dampened rag, just as something on the community bulletin board caught your eye when you casually glanced over it.

Two sheets of paper side by side, both the same, were screaming your name.

Metaphorically, of course.

They were posters made to promote an event; the name of the gallery written on top being one you were funnily enough familiar with. But that wasn’t what drew your attention in.

The design of the poster itself was minimal, the only image was front and centre. Image of a painting, one that was bright and cheery and screamed various shades of orange and yellow with a few streaks and splash of blue and green

It was the café.

“Oh my god …” muttering under your breath, you snatched one of the posters off the board as your eyes scanned over the page.

The name of the show was written over top in big bold letters, One Last Time Before You Go, with only one name written beneath it, one name you didn’t even need to read in order to know it was him. With Harry Styles, opening Tuesday September 22nd.

Forgetting the dishes you had been about to pick up, you brought your rag and the paper back to your colleagues.

“Do you know when this was brought in?”

It had to have been yesterday, it was the only day you were off. Noah had no answer for you, saying he hadn’t seen it until now. Aleena, however, had a much different answer for you.

“Oh, shoot sorry babe. I almost forgot,” she grabbed the paper from your hands as Noah went to take an order.

“Forgot what?”

You felt faint, your head was spinning. Why did he put these up here? When did he put these up? Does he come in more often when you're not working, has he asked about you more than that one time Aleena had mentioned?

“I think you know who put these up,” she clicked her tongue, flipping the page over to glance at the backside. “Wrong one…” she muttered.

“What? What do you mean wrong one?” You were babbling, questions flying out of your mouth.

She only smiled, weaving her way around you and until she was leaving from behind the counter and walking back to the bulletin board in the back where you had found it in the first place. You followed, watching her grab the identical one from the board and pin back up the one you had grabbed.

Handing it to you, she nodded her head at it. “He came in yesterday, told me to make sure you saw it. He also left a little something for you on the back.”

You glanced down at the paper in your hands, flipping it around and seeing she was right. On the back was written a note addressed to you in blocky red writing.

“I think you’d enjoy this show, and I’d love for you to be there. Hope to see you, Harry.”

Signed with a little scribbled in red heart and everything.

“Oh my god” you mumbled again, reading and rereading the note again and again.

You forgot you were still standing with Aleena. “You’re going to go, right?”

“What?” Raising your head at the sound of her voice, you saw her watching you with a smile playing on her lips. “I don’t know…”

“I’ll go with you, come on.” She raised an eyebrow at you.

“I think I close,” you stated, very weakly. The opening started at eight, and went until eleven, just like the other one. Even if you were closing, which you realized you weren’t, you would have plenty of time to go.

“No, you don’t,” she stated. “You open and I’m mid-shift. I’ll go with you, c’mon!”

You smiled at her. “You’re the best, you know that?”

“I’ll come to your place that night, and then we’ll go together, okay?”

“Okay,” you nodded slowly.

“Good.”

Three days. For three whole days it was all you could think about.

You knew you had made a bit of a mistake; you really knew that right away – as soon as you had pushed him away.

You wondered how he’d talk to you, if he’d even want to. You wondered if it would be like when you’d run into him briefly outside of the café, if it was going to be awkward and tense with nothing good  to come out of it. You knew that technically he had invited you, technically. But still, you really didn’t know if any good could come of it.

Maybe Rory would be there too – tall and gorgeous and literally looking down on you – but also maybe you were just slightly spiralling.

When Tuesday finally arrived, you were practically buzzing, and it wasn’t from the amount of caffeine you had had in the morning.

You took a nap after your opening shift, showering just before Aleena came over. She brought a bottle of wine, immediately opening it and telling you to pour yourself a glass while you got ready.

The weather was still warm enough outside, but there was a brisk fall breeze in the air. Deciding to layer up just a bit since it was also dark out earlier, you pulled a chunky knit cardigan over your patterned orange dress.

After both sharing and finishing off the bottle of wine, you grabbed your beaded purse and headed out the door. You felt as though the wine had helped, but you were still bouncing with nerves. Aleena was chatting your ear off about the car her husband wanted to buy that she thought was too expensive, her story distracting you from your anxious state.

The two of you got to the gallery just before nine o’clock, purposely a bit late.

It was the same energy as the last time you were there, again a man in a red blazer stamping your hand at the entrance right after walking through the double glass doors. Aleena stuck by your side, now done with her story and telling you that you would be okay.

The first painting you saw was directly in the middle. The gallery seemed to be arranged differently than it was before, and although you knew they couldn’t have moved an entire wall, for some reason everything felt more enclosed, more tightly hugged together.

The first painting was the same as the one from the poster, except this time it was in its full size and glory and completely took your breath away. Now as you saw it larger, it was one hundred percent clear to you that it was the café Harry had painted.

“Wow,” Aleena mumbled from next to you, eyes also trained forward. The two of you slowly walked further into the space of the gallery, away from the door and towards that first painting.

It had to be at least seven feet tall, and nearly just as wide. It was all oranges and yellows, with a few streaks of blue. There were also some loosely painted figures of people in front of the shop, all vague and loose but you still wanted to know who he was basing them off of.

After spending another minute or so in front of the painting, you read the small white card that was placed next to it.

Harry Styles And I could sit here for hours. And I did. Oil on canvas, 2020

You read over the words again and again.

If you thought that was breathtaking, you were absolutely not prepared for what was to come.

As you let your eyes wander around the rest of the space, you felt like your heart was a brick in your chest, sinking through your body until it shattered on the floor to your feet.

The gallery was filled with warm hues of orange and blue.

Paintings of hands touching, heads resting on shoulders, arms wrapped around each other. Paintings of what you recognized to be the café, paintings of shared fruits, paintings of your favourite colours and your favourite places in the city.

You felt so overwhelmed and you didn’t know where to start.

Finding it in yourself to move your feet, you walked towards the nearest wall away from the entrance. From the corner of your eye you had seen a smaller piece, one that was drawing in your attention. It was slightly tucked away near two bigger paintings, but your eyes remained stuck on this particular one.  

The blue was so strongly familiar, like the wave of the ocean encompassing your entire body and pulling you away with it. You realized, as you squinted slightly at the smaller canvas, just why it was calling out to you.

“You keep it,” you shook your head as Harry tried to convince you to take the barely started painting with you home.

“Are you sure?” He watched as you swung your bag over your shoulder, having slipped the light cardigan you had brought in case it got cold.

You nodded. “I couldn’t do much with it, I don’t even have paint at home.”

“Okay,” he slowly nodded, eyes falling to the ground as he placed the small canvas on the table next to him. “Guess I will need something to remember this day by.”

You only laughed, watching the way his eyes glowed with his joke, before dipping your head down and hid your smile as you slipped on your shoes. You wanted to brush off his little comment, but really it made your stomach twist with the possibility that he did really want to remember every moment of his time with you.

The feeling of his hands gripping your thighs barely an hour ago was still burned into your skin, and you were sure to find a few more streaks of paint along yours legs that a part of you was excited to see.

“Let me walk you home,” his words took you slightly off guard, not expecting the offer.

“Oh,” you stood up after tying the laces on your sneakers, “you don’t have to, I’ll be f –”

“I want to,” he cut you off, as you faced him. “And it’s late out and …” he paused, biting his lips together, “and I want to.”

“Okay,” you smile, wanting him to walk with you too. “That would be nice.”

He grabbed a lightweight black jacket that was sitting on the shelf by the door, slipping his arms through it as he held his front door open for you.

The two of you walked side by side, down the emptying street as the moon rose in the sky and the air cooled down. You discussed your day off, and what you had going on with some friends that you hadn’t seen in a while. He told you about how he had promised his friend to help him move, a feat that no one enjoyed.

“What do you think you’re going to do with that painting I started?” You asked, as your feet came to a stop in front of the stairs that led to your building.

“Hmm,” he raised his head slightly, as if thinking deeply about his answer. One of his hands rested at his side, while the other slipped around your back until he was hugging you from the side. “Think I’ll hang it above my bed.”

You let out a small laugh, feeling his hand pinch your hip. Shoving him with your elbow lightly, as if to try and push him away, but he quickly tightened his grip around you and pulled you into his chest instead.

Only laughing again, chest shaking against his and you felt his other hand wrap around you and keep you locked in close. You instinctively raised a hand to his neck, fingertips toying with the strands of hair that poked out above the collar of his jacket, while your other hand rested on his shoulder.

He kept his gaze locked with yours, smile in his features and on his lips as he mirrored your laugh. You only stared up at him, feeling like the two of you were the only ones standing on the street, like the only ones in the city.

You saw his smile die down a bit, before his lips parted slightly. You knew you were staring at his mouth, and when you finally looked back into his eyes you saw him staring at yours as well.

“Do you think things happen for a reason?”

He spoke lowly, his eyes meeting yours again. You felt as though his words carried the weight of the world, but his tone was light as he peered down at you.

“I don’t know…” you shook your head, unable to think. “Why?”

Harry only hummed, remaining quiet as he kept you pressed tight against his chest. “Do you?” You asked after a second, throat feeling dry.

His head dipped down the slightest bit, his nose nearly brushing yours. You let your eyelids close lightly, feeling his lips nudge yours as he spoke again. “Could be,” he hummed, the words pressed as kisses on your mouth.

You couldn’t remember what he was even responding to.

His lips pressed lightly with yours, a sweet kiss of opening mouths and whispers of names. His hands around your back held you tight, as he let out a shaky little sigh against your mouth.

Pulling away for a second, he murmured softly from across you.

“I think I’m starting to have a pretty good idea of what to do with that painting.”

It was the painting. He had added some details over what you had started, more than some. There was nearly an entire figure added, but it was the painting.

The one you had started with him the first time the two of you truly purposely hung out outside of the café, the second time he had kissed you. The painting you didn’t get the chance to finish because he had laid you down on the floor with his head between your thighs and his name on your lips.

Slowly walking towards it, you let your eyes scan over every stroke of the brush.

The figure on the canvas – you knew it was you. Lying there on the floor, only painted from the chest up. Your dress was blending in with the background, one arm bent with your hand resting just above your head. Face turned to the side, you had your eyes shut and your bottom lip between your teeth, though still a hint of a smile on your face.

Orange and pink highlights over your cheeks and under your jaw, lighting up your entire face as the rest of the painting was more gestural and less defined.

To anyone who looked at it, you were sure it must look like someone lying in the sun, perfectly content. You had absolutely no idea how he had captured your likeness. It was done in an extremely realistic manner, but it was you.

You glanced at the white card next to it, breath stopping in your throat when you read over it.

What did my fingers do, before they held you? Acrylic on canvas, 2020

Over the title, just as every other card in the gallery was his name. But with this particular painting, there was a little “, and” following his name, where yours was written.

You were in awe. Technically, the two of you had both put paint onto this canvas but for him to credit you?

Stuck in front of the painting for who knows how long, you had multiple people come and pass you as you stood there. It was when a familiar voice broke you out of your daze, that you finally turned around.

“It’s my favourite piece too.”

Your stomach twisted into a big huge knot. When your eyes fell to him, you felt like you had forgotten your own name.

He looked so handsome, and maybe even nervous with the way his hands were fidgeting with each other. He had a bright yellow sweater on, collar of a shirt underneath peaking through, with some light grey trousers and a longer black jacket over everything.

His hair was falling perfectly in soft curls around his face, that sweet little smile on his lips as he met your gaze.

“I was worried you wouldn’t come…” he spoke softly, fingertips rubbing over the skin of his bottom lip.

You were sure you looked like a deer in the headlights, eyes widened as you looked at him and failing to come up with anything to say.

“I was worried you wouldn’t even see that poster I put up,” he continued, after you didn’t say anything. “And that you wouldn’t have seen the note I left.”

“Aleena,” you finally spoke, voice quiet as you turned around for a second and waved your arm around to the general space behind you to motion to wherever Aleena stood. “She showed me.”

“Good, good,” he nodded, hands clasped together as your eyes met again. “That’s good.”

A small silence hung in the air, and you wanted to sink into the ground. “I actually saw the poster first,” you blurted in a quick breath, a small sigh leaving your parted lips as you paused. “I recognized your art.”

You saw a smile dance over his features, calming you down the slightest bit. “Really?”

Nodding, you couldn’t help the way your eyes darted over his features again. “Really.”

A pause in conversation again, the two of you stood facing each other, both unsure of what to say or do. “Harry I –”

You cut yourself off, just as he started to speak. “What do you –”

Another little silence hung in the air, before you cleared your throat and spoke again. “The show – it’s really…”

Again, you found yourself unable to properly finish a sentence.

Harry rocked forward on his feet slightly, a little furrow in his brow as he watched you attentively. “Do you like it?”

“It’s so,” you glanced around, completely at a loss for words. “Harry it’s so – it’s beautiful.”

His features relaxed. “Yeah?”

You nodded, feeling your nerves calm down. “Yeah. I don’t even know how you did all this,” your words trailing off as you glanced around once more. “I mean, its all…”

“You. It’s all you.”

You didn’t think you had ever heard him speak so surely about anything. Your heart twisted and jumped in your chest, pounding so heavily that you could barely focus on your breathing.

“Harry –” your voice shook, unable to finish your sentence once more as you didn’t even know what to say and you didn’t think you could properly control your voice at the moment.

He shook his head, lips pulling a bit higher in a smile, although you could still see the way his teeth anxiously pulled at his bottom lip. “Have a look around,” he spoke softly. “We can talk after?”

You nodded lightly. You didn’t deserve him.

“After.”

[timothy-chamlet]

the afterparty - t.c. fanfic

pair: timmy x female reader

warnings: unprotected sex, general smut

word count: 2.6k (2640)

a//n: ok er ive never written for timmy before so im nervous snsvsj but if you read it tell me what u think !! <3

°•○●○•°

people often thought the two of you were dating. paparazzi tended to make it look that way through press. despite all the candid photos of you and timothée plastered in magazine spreads and floating around on blogs, he would tell people you weren't together. interviewers would ask, and time again he would put an end to the rumor by saying you weren't dating, you were just friends. 

to be fair, you honestly couldn't even be mad at him. it was a good marketing tactic, at least. if all the girls knew he was single they'd still be invested in the persona of a young, attractive starlet that - despite his more than desirable qualities - is still single. genius. meanwhile you were being his best friend and his trophy for award shows. 

it was growing on you though. you enjoyed walking red carpet events and going to extravagant parties and meeting big names in the industry. it was really a win-win for both of you. 

another one of those win-win situations was tonight. the past three days had been crazy. hair appointments, nail appointments, dress fittings, photoshoots, brunches, and dinners. running each new day on an hour of sleep - maybe two if you were lucky. fueled by energy drinks and the promise of rest after the event. showing up to an awards ceremony on nothing more than a 20 minute nap and a double shot espresso. being timothée's showpiece was exhausting. but it was good for you. 

you had just finished your last consultation for dress fittings and were on your way to your styling appointment. the dress would arrive shortly after you so everything was ready to go. things were set for timothée to meet you there in an hour or so, after his own styling. 

currently you're getting your makeup done. a swarm of professionals all around you, handing products, giving directions, telling you how gorgeous you look, at least three hands on you at all times. after almost an hour all the disembodied hands move from your face to reveal the *almost* finished product. you still need your hair done, but your face was flawless. your skin was insanely smooth; not a pore in sight, your lids were a bronze shade, and your lips were a perfect nude. 

a hair stylist soon steps into view, also admiring your makeup before diving into your hair. it was simple. a slicked back ponytail is all, careful not to draw away from your face and your dress. 

the strong aroma of hairspray clouds you as you maneuver to step into your dress. stripped of your previous clothes, you step into your dress and a couple people help you pull it up. the woman attending to the supper in the back steps away for a moment, seeming to answer a question. 

"what's his name?" she asks into her ear piece. "uh yes. she's in here with me. send him in."  

she returns behind you and does up the zipper to your dress. to your surprise, you see timothée waltz in the room. dressed in a charcoal gray suit with a light lavender button up underneath. "y/n," he exhales, walking towards you. "you look breathtaking, ma chérie." 

"you don't look too bad yourself, timmy," you say, stepping down from your pedestal to be almost eye level with him.

"is she done here?" he asks everyone around without taking his eyes off you. 

one of the women there swoops in with a pair of shoes and says, "slip in to these and you're ready to go, darling." 

you step into your shoes and link arms with timothée. "carriage awaits," he says as the two of you get escorted to the limo. 

once inside you let out a deep breath you didn't know you were holding. "you okay?" he asks from beside you. 

"yeah, just.. tired." 

he chuckles and drops his head. "absolutely exhausted." you two had similarly scheduled days so he knows exactly how you feel. "don't worry, mon amour, i'll have you home in about 8 hours." 

"i thought the awards show was only 4-" 

"there's always the afterparty.." 

you audibly groan and drop your head as timothée places a reassuring hand on your knee. 

"we're here," he says with fake enthusiasm as the limo pulls up to the event. the past 45 minutes felt like hours as your head began to pound from the lack of sleep. yet, lucky you, 45 minutes in l.a. traffic was a miracle. 

the two of you step out into the scene. flashing lights from camera flickers, the general buzz of the crowd, people you knew trying to get your attention, people timothée knew trying to get his attention. being the kind person he is, he doesn't shy away from fans calling his name. he walks over to give high fives, say hi, sign things, and really interact with the people that are so invested in his career. you look at him with a fond smile on your face as he greets  people.  

"timothéeeee," you both hear and turn around to match the loud booming voice to a face. 

"armieee!!" he yells in response, hurrying over to hug his co-star. 

you stand idly by as the two hug and catch up. fiddling with your ponytail and the skirt of your dress. until that same voice catches your attention. 

"bring it in hot stuff!" 

"hey, armie! how've you been, handsome?" you two had only met a handful of times, but it's like your souls clicked instantly. he had kept in touch since the first time you met and you guys had been pretty close ever since. 

"oh i’m doing great. really. just excited for this evening. can't wait to see how many awards lil' tim brings in," armie ends with a light laugh before timothée chimes in. 

"oh god no-" 

a cheery voice interrupts the conversation. 

"helloooo," armie's wife says in a sing-song voice and joins his side. "nice to see you again, y/n. and congrats timmy on your nominations." 

you and timothée nod in response and utter small, nervous 'thank you's' before armie excuses the two of them, promising to catch up later. 

"well, well, well- this is it, timmy." you say from your seat next to him. the host reads the nominees for best breakthrough of the year, and timothée's name is mixed in with so many other talented actors. he nervously puts his hand over yours. "you are absolutely amazing. everyone knows that. you're gonna get it." he looks at you and you pass him a reassuring smile. 

"and the award for best breakthrough goes to… timothée chalamet!" 

his head shoots up in shock. cameras pan around him and his baffled expression appears on huge screens behind the stage. he slowly stands from his seat and makes his way to the stage. making a beautiful speech, thanking almost everyone he's ever known. giving gratitude to everyone he's ever worked with, his parents, and his best friends. he comes off the stage and returns to his seat beside you. a year runs down his cheek, and you move to wipe it away, but he grabs your hand away from his cheek only to press his lips to your knuckles. "thank you for always believing in me." 

"you're an amazing actor and an even better friend. 

the night was nearing an end. people were saying their goodbyes and their 'see-you-soon's and going their separate ways. you and timothée walk out of the event, arms linked, with his hands tightly gripping his award. the smile never leaves his face. "i can't fucking believe that, y/n."

"you did it, timmy! all you and your hard work. lemme pick a nice spot on your shelf for it yeah?" 

"i was thinking about sitting it on my dresser right above the drawer full of your shit you keep leaving at my house," he says with a barely visible smirk. 

"oh, well if it's such a problem," you begin "i guess I'll just have to come get my 'shit' then?" you finish sarcastically. 

"oh! how dare you?" he begins to shout, going on a tirade similar to that of hamlet; overly dramatic and mostly nonsensical. "leave them be! small, small remnants; reminders of thee." he trails off softly, dropping his head to your shoulder and bringing his other hand up to trail his fingertips down the side of your face. 

you can't help but chuckle at this. "bravo timothée! amazing performance." 

he straightens up before taking a bow and returning to his previous position on your shoulder. "do you wanna skip the afterparty?" 

"and do what, tim? i thought you were gonna catch up with armie?" 

"i dunno- go to my place?" 

you nod your head, and timothée let's the driver know to just go to his house. 

you get out of the car in front of his apartment, quickly thank the driver, and dash inside; excited to remove the day. "can i shower?" you ask quickly already making your way upstairs.

"oui, mon trèsor, make yourself at home. ill be up in a while." it was almost as if he had it scripted. a routine more or less. you'd ask to shower - despite him telling you almost each time you never had to ask - and go up stairs to do so; him trailing along about an hour later behind you. 

you finish your shower earlier than planned so you decide to lay on his bed until he comes up. you let your freshly washed body relish in the textures of the cotton t-shirt and shorts you're wearing and the damp-cool feel of the comforter on his bed. 

you're not left alone for long before he darts up the stairs and into his room, catching your attention. you watch as he walks around, dropping various articles of his clothing haphazardly on his floor. left in only his boxers. 

"timmy?" you ask in a drawn out voice. 

"hm?" he asks lowly in response; his eyes trained on you. you don't respond to his muffled question and instead watch as he comes to lean over the foot of the bed, by your legs. "i've been thinking," he continues, "a lot recently. about us.." 

"us?-" 

"about what the media thinks we are. what the people say. the blog posts, the tweets. i read it all… what do you think about it, y/n?" he ends with a light sigh, making drawing light swirls on your leg. 

"i dunno really. i've never thought much about it," you say sitting up. 

he moves up from his place in front of the bed, crawling up to sit to the right of your legs. knees drawn up to his chest, eyes meeting yours. he raises his hand so his fingertips ghost the curve of your cheek. "you never think about.. the possibility of us?" he pauses as his eyes drift from yours. hands falling to his lap as he scoots even closer to you. you sit stunned, not knowing how to answer as if it was some rhetoric instead of a simple question. filling the silence, he continues. "i think about how different things would be if we were together. what it would be like to hold you and kiss you and- can i kiss you?" 

his voice wavers as his eyes meet yours yet again. with quick movements, he moves to straddle your legs, both hands resting lightly on either side of your face. 

"can i kiss you?" he asks again, his face millimeters from yours. 

you shake your head yes as your eyes fluttering closed, your lips brushing against his as you move. 

he plants his lips firmly on yours. innocent at first, but the kiss quickly gets deeper. more desperate, his hands moving from the sides of your face to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back giving him access to your neck. his lips dance around the skin of your neck, being careful not to leave any marks. “is this okay?” he whispers, dragging his hands from your hair to the hem of your shirt. 

you nod your head vigorously and he pulls your shirt up and over your head, throwing it to the floor with his clothes. you lean back and give timothee free reign of your chest and stomach. he makes his way from your neck down and across your chest. your hands rush to knot in his hair as he takes a nipple in his mouth, carefully flicking his tongue across the hardening bud before doing the same to the other. 

"timmy.." you breathe out as he leaves your chest and explores lower. his eyes meet yours as his teeth come into contact with the flimsy waistband of your sleep shorts. "please," you whisper. 

he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and pulls them down your legs; eyes going wide when he sees you have nothing underneath. 

"so pretty," he whispers almost to himself as he throws your shorts in his floor with the rest of your guys' clothes. he runs his finger along your slit, collecting some of your wetness, tasting it. laying back down with your legs over his shoulders, he hooks his arms around your thighs to keep you in place. he runs his tongue along your folds and you arch your back in response. he sucks on your clit making you squirm and tangle your fingers tighter in his hair, pushing against his face, eager for more. 

"tim-... timmy," you beg.

timothée kisses his way back up your body. "hm?" he hums softly beside your ear only for you to utter another weak 'please' in response. 

"please… please what, mon amour?" 

"baise moi.." you didn't know much french. you had picked up on a few of timothée's most used phrases, but this you hadn't learned from him, so it caught him off-guard. stuck in a moment of shock. hearing you say something so dirty in french felt so strangely intimate; you didn't have to ask him twice. 

he slips his boxers, finally accompanying you in nakedness, and slips into you, moaning at the feeling of you around him. 

"fuck.. timmy-" you groan as he picks up his pace. he coos sweet nothings into your ear while drilling into your core. 

his head drops to your chest and the soft, sweet praises slowly turn into obscenities. "merde," he groans, picking up his pace even more. holding himself at arms length above you, he throws his head back; lips parted in pure bliss. 

you lift one of your hands to trail down timothée's torso. you lazily drag your fingertips across his chest and down to his stomach. the pleasure building inside you, your hand finds its way to your clit. “timmy... fuck! ple- please don’t stop. fuuuuuck!” 

“défaire pour moi, y/n.” you didn’t think french could ever drive you to orgasm, but when it came from timothé anything was possible. you convulse around him as your wave of pleasure washes over you. timothée reaching his own peak soon after, pulling out and emptying on your stomach. he quickly finds something to clean you up with before plopping down on the bed beside you. many silent moments pass - nothing but heavy breaths leaving either of you - before he speaks up. “you know,” he begins in a soft whisper, “i felt bad- like i was using you. just to go to events with me. i know you don’t really like them but-” 

you cut him off and turn to face him. “i might hate going to those award shows, but they’re a little less bad with you around.” 

he breaks into a wide smile and pulls you closer, putting his head on your stomach. "mon amour, je t'ai toujours aimé." you reach down to play with his curls and begin to drift off on your way to sleep. 

[fandomsonrequests]

dad!ateez: your instincts kick in this time

reader is female. kind of a second part to this but not really..? it could be read as a second part requested by an anon, i hope you enjoy it!

taglist: @ddeonghwva​

Hongjoong: 

You wake up to an empty bed and a loud clang in the kitchen. You reach over to the lamp beside you, blearily blinking away the sleep in your eyes as your ears pick up various giggling in the hallway. The digital clock beside the lamp read 2:30 am. It took you a couple of seconds to realize what was happening before you were jumping out of bed and storming towards the kitchen.

“Kim Hongjoong and Kim Junseo,” You grumble as you appear in the kitchen doorway. 

The two loves of your life stopped what they were doing- which was currently mixing some espresso with a shot of some energy drink. You knew what this meant- your husband had no plan of sleeping yet and your son thought it would be a good idea to go along. But you, of course, weren’t having it.

“It was daddy’s idea,” The little boy said and pointed to his father the minute he saw your unamused expression.

“Yah, don’t sell me out like that-” 

“It’s two-thirty in the morning. Go to sleep,” You lifted your finger before they could protest. “You need sleep, you’re still growing.” You tell your son before facing your husband. “And you, have been working overtime. Come on now misters- off to bed.”

The father and son pair decided to follow before you push them into bed. But as Junseo hops off the counter, he knocks the glass of espresso-energy drink cocktail down to the ground. Your body moved on its own accord before you could realize what happened, and grabbed the glass, spilling some of the content on the floor.

“Go to bed, I’ll clean this up.” You say when you come to your senses. “And please for the love of God, no more staying up.”

Seonghwa: 

It was a sunny day in the amusement park. You, Seonghwa, and Hyojin were by the large slides. And of course, Seonghwa was taking pictures of his two beautiful models, whether candid or planned. 

“Again, again!” Hyonjin cheered when she reached the end of the slide, standing up and clapping her hands. “But let’s do the big ones!”

“Are you sure you can handle that sweetie?” Your husband asks her as he helps her off the slide, fixing her little dress and the bow in her hair. He smiles when she nods and tugs on his and your hands to lead you to the slide she wanted. 

She had definitely gotten this enthusiasm from you. She was always so ready to jump into things and try them, even if it seemed scary. He always called her his brave little princess for that. Sometimes he feels like he’d get a heart attack from what she does but as long as he or you was there, it was fine. 

You and Seonghwa stay at the end of the slide and wave up to her when she reaches the top. She waves back energetically before sitting on the small mat that was given to her to help go down the rather enormous slide. As Hyonjin scoots forward, she lets out an excited holler, her long tresses flowing behind her as she zooms down towards you. 

Unfortunately, she tried to slow down her descent by sticking her feet to the sides. And of course, by the law of inertia, the sudden stop makes her fly forward. Her face could have planted into the ground if you hadn’t jumped forward and caught her in your arms. 

You both tumbled to the ground and Seonghwa immediately rushes over to you, ushering his two princesses to the side. “Are you two okay?” He says as he looks over the both of you. 

Hyonjin, oblivious as ever, only nodded. “Mommy caught me so I’m okay.” 

“I’m a little shaken,” You admit but the smile never leaves your face. “Maybe a kiss from my prince and my baby would help me feel better.”

Hyonjin only giggled and placed a big, wet kiss on your cheek. You chuckled at the ticklish feeling before Seonghwa cups your chin, gently turning your head to face him. He lovingly strokes your cheek before leaning in to press a short but sweet peck to your lips. 

Yunho:

“Daddy look, it’s uncle Mingi!” Eun-jung, now nine years old, said from her spot on her father’s shoulder. 

Yunho laughs as she indicates the giraffe in front of them. “Oh yeah, it does look like him.” He mused and handed her a short branch of leaves for her to feed to the creature.

Yunho turns to you while you were busy entertaining your son, Eun-sang. He was now three years old and can hold a conversation with people. It felt like only yesterday when his son was just born and his sister was begging to hold him. 

“You enjoying the giraffes buddy?” Yunho asks his son.

“Mhmm! I wanna see something ewls too.” Eun-sang says. 

“I’ll take him to see the koalas,” You tell Yunho. “Don’t give daddy a hard time, Eun-jung!” 

“I won’t mommy,” She promises and waves goodbye to you.

You adjusted your hold on your son, lifting him up further, and started to walk to where the koala enclosure was. The two of you were so wrapped up in your conversation that you didn’t notice a couple of children running in your direction. Yunho’s eyes widened, realizing that the kids could barrel into you, making you fall.

“______, watch out!”

You turn at his voice, seeing the kids rushing at you. You jump to the side but you lose your footing, making you tumble to the ground. Your son grasps onto you but you swerve and fall onto your knees so that you don’t crush him under you. He looks up at you, wondering what had happened. “You okay mommy?” He asks and puts his small hand on your cheek

Your husband rushes to you, your daughter following alongside him and checking up on the both of you. Eun-jung, being the hands on older sister she was, took her brother from you while Yunho helped you up. “God, that was terrifying.” He admits and helps you brush off the dirt on your clothes. “But that was quick of you babe.” 

“Mommy has Spider-Man refwekses.” Eun-sang giggles and you smirk up at your husband. 

“HAH, I told you I had them too.”

Yeosang:

You cooed down to your daughter, Haneul, as she lay on her back on the changing table. She smiles up at you, hands outstretched as you cleaned her up and started changing her diaper. You handed her the chicken stick rattle that Yeosang gave her the month she could start holding things to distract her.

“Oh, that’s stinky!” Ji-ho complains as he passes by his little sister’s room, dragging his toy behind him. 

“You’ll be on diaper changing duty one day, mister!” You call out to your son in amusement as you finish up. 

You only chuckle to yourself when he protests, making you shake your head. You hum to yourself as you throw away all the used materials. “Where’s her shorts?” You ask yourself and momentarily turn away to get it.

But what you didn’t realize was that Haneul grew bored of her rattle and became impatient of just laying there. She cooed as she started to roll over, thinking that it was just another flat surface to crawl all over. The second she fell off the edge of the changing table was the second you turned back around to put it on her.

Your eyes widened and it felt like the whole world slowed down. You lunged forward and caught your baby in time before she could hit the ground. The force of the impact made her cry, causing you to snap out of your stupor. You cradle her to you, gently hushing her and leaning her head against your shoulder. 

“It’s okay baby, mommy’s here,” You coo to her and pull away to kiss her head. “You’re such a little troublemaker aren’t you?”

San:

The sounds of giggles floated around the kitchen along with the clanging of cupboards. It was currently eight-thirty in the evening in the Choi household. Nari and Sooyun, both four and nine years old respectively, were in the kitchen, sneaking cookies from the cookie jar after managing to slip past their babysitter who was watching tv in the living room. 

They were supposed to be asleep in their shared room and for a while they were. That was until the coast was clear and their babysitter returned to the living room. That meant to wake up from their fake sleep, grab some goodies from the kitchen, and head back into the room to snack on it. 

Nari and Sooyun were now in their room, mouth, and teeth covered in chocolate while their little plastic cups were filled with strawberry milk. They giggled to themselves, high on success after sneaking past their babysitter. But that joy was short-lived when they heard the familiar rumble of the car’s engine in the driveway. 

“Quick Nari!” Sooyun urges her sister and the two girls quickly cleaned up and disposed of their trash. They hastily taped the plastic bag full of Kisses Chocolates, thinking their parents wouldn’t find out, threw it in the fridge, and jumped into bed. The oldest girl turned off the lights and made sure things were in order before sleeping. 

You and San come to check on your two angels after your little date night. But as soon you walked into the room, you knew something was off. You spot the little crumbs by the foot of Sooyun’s bed and the pink plastic cup that she had hastily shoved under it. You shake your head in amusement, walking over to pick it up as your husband kissed the two girls’ foreheads.

“Why do you have that?” San asks when he sees you with the cup. You say nothing, but nod your head towards your daughters. It took him a couple of seconds before he realized what had happened and he nodded in understanding. 

“Oh well, I guess we won’t be going to the ice cream parlor tomorrow,” San sighs loudly, seeing the girls tense under their blankets. “I guess you and I will be the only ones to go. What do you say _____-”

“We’re sorry mommy!” Nari said, the first to cave in. She was sniffling as tears threatened to fall down her round cheeks. “Please take us to ice cream!”

Mingi:

You chuckle as Young-soo bounces on the mattress, cupping his dad’s cheeks when his father leans over him. Mingi settles his son in the middle of the mattress again while you stay on the other side, ready to catch him in the next few seconds. Your husband flops down onto the edge of the mattress, making the two-year-old boy fly up in the air and squeal in delight. 

“Hold on, I have to head to the bathroom,” You say as you get up. 

“Don’t take too long babe,” Mingi says as he pulls his son towards him and tickles his stomach.

You assure him and jog to the bathroom, leaving the two boys alone. For a while, Mingi entertains Young-soo by blowing raspberries into his stomach or cheeks and by tickling his sides. Joyous giggles fill the air but the boy soon grows bored of just being tickled. 

“Up, up!” He tells his dad, shaking the man’s much larger hand. 

“Let’s wait for mommy bud, it’s not safe.” He tells his son. The boy, sensing that he didn’t get what he wanted, started to burst into tears. Mingi cringes at the sound, trying his best to hush him. Eventually, he caves in when none of his attempts seem to work. 

“Alright, alright. Just this once. But don’t tell your mom.” He says as he settles his son on the center of the mattress again. 

Once more, he launches his son into the air but the little boy twists, making him go off course. And he would’ve fallen to the floor if you didn’t enter in time to catch him. You grab Young-soo by the arm and leg and pull him to you. “Oh my God- Song Mingi.”

“Baby he wanted it!” He tried to protest, only to see his son make a funny face at him. 

Wooyoung:

“Good job kiddo,” Wooyoung says as he pats his son’s head.

Minjoon beams proudly up at his father, continuing with mixing the batter for their little cake meant for you. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he took after his father’s cooking skills- in fact he always made sure to mention it to his friends. And because he wanted to level up his skills to be on par with his dad’s he always made sure to practice whenever he could. 

Minjoon hums as he rocks back and forth on the bar stool behind the counter. Wooyoung hears the creaking noise of the chair’s wood and reaches out to still his son’s actions. He didn’t want to have the high chair incident repeat again. 

“You can’t sit still, now can you buddy?” The man teases his son, only to receive a pout. 

“I’m not going to fall dad,” Minjoon argues but follows nonetheless. He only pouted more when his dad ruffled his hair and went back to what he was doing. 

Eventually the two fell into routine again, exchanging some father-son banter and helping each other around the kitchen. The two grew focused on what they were doing that Wooyoung didn’t notice that his son started to rock back and forth on the seat again.

You walk into the kitchen a little later, a gentle smile on your face. You were about to ask what the two were doing when Minjoon tilts a little too backward, making the chair tip over in that direction. You drop whatever you were holding at that moment and rush to catch him. 

Your son falls with a choked yell, landing into your arms as you both topple to the floor from the impact. Wooyoung ran from his spot by the stove, turning it to low heat first- you didn’t want a fire to start, and over to you. “What happened??”

You look up from your spot on the floor, your arms protectively wrapped around Minjoon. “The little rascal fell,” You breathed. You look down to your son and kiss his hair, letting out a relieved chuckle. “You have got to stop doing that, buddy.” 

Jongho: 

One of the perks of being an active family is that the kids are always entertained and you get to have fun at the same time. Exercise is just a bonus. Right now, you were in this bouncy house/parkour gym for people of all ages- a treat for your kids who managed to get high grades in class. 

As of now, your twins were by a small area where some short wire-lines were set up for the zipline. It was the type of zipline where you hang by your hands, allowing you to jump into the pit filled with soft blue blocks. Jongho was on top with your son, Young-min, while you and your daughter, Young-soon, were at the foot of the zipline, cheering him on. 

“Come on Young-min! You got this!” She encourages as she bounced around. She was always the more daring one between the two of them. 

Jongho knelt by his son, cupping the back of his head. “You ready bud?” He asks gently.

The boy only nodded, both excitement and nerves filling his system. He brushes his sweaty palms against his pants and releases a curt sigh. His fingers then curled around the bars that the gym worker handed him, bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

“You don’t have to do it if you’re scared-”

“No, dad-” Young-min answers firmly. “I got this.”

He exhales and pushes off, feeling the wind whip against his face as he zipped down. He could faintly hear his sister’s cheers as he raced to the bottom. Unfortunately, he doesn't let go on time. So when he hits the metal stopper at the bottom of the zipline, the force of the impact causes him to launch forward, throwing him out of his hold on the zipline and away from the safety pit below. 

You instinctively reached out, your body reacting before you could register what was happening, and pulled him towards you; you’ve practically saved him from potentially face planting into the ground. He looks shaken up when you help him to the ground, eyes wide with adrenaline. 

“Are you okay?” You ask him, a bit worriedly, as you look over him for any pulled muscles. 

All anxiety melts away when he beams widley and throws his hand up in the air. “AGAIN!” 

[multiplefandomsblog]

your roommate hcs are so cute, can i request for naib, demi, tracy, andrew, kurt, patricia, and victor?

:0 holy crap yes! I’m so glad you enjoyed the roommate hcs!! Me and the other mods hope you enjoy these! Thank you for requesting :))

(i added melly because why not? lmao hope you don’t mind.)

Part 1!

Naib Subedar

This man deadass didn’t know you were living with him

Even when people told him about it, he wasn’t rlly paying attention and didn’t rlly care

Your stuff in his room? He thought it was his or someone just broke into his room and left it there

When he saw you on the toilet however, he just freaked out.

“Why the hell are you shitting in my room!?” “Your room? I’ve been living here for 2 months!”

Once he found out you lived with him, he made sure you knew what was his and what was yours

also, since he’s very protective of his things-- you being one of them-- he would totally get jealous if he caught you tallking to someone that wasn’t him.

he would probably give you the silent treatment and act like a pissy baby

He hates it when you touch his stuff

especially his photos, the photos were special to him because they were of him and his army friends.

You’d sometimes catch him looking at the photos with a longing in his eyes, it was highkey sad.

having you live with him meant lots and lots of training

he made sure you were always prepared for matches and that you don’t get downed early

when you got downed early however, He would scold you but he would still rescue you anyways because he’s soft

“You’re such an idiot, you’d better do better next time! Or else I’ll kick your ass.” 

one time he got cocky while kiting because you were watching him

he forgot to turn on his elbow pads and face palmed into the wall.

“...You saw nothing.” He turned around, a bit woozy from hitting his head on a wall. He flipped the hunter off before stumbling wooshing away

When you first get to know naib, he’d probably come off as intimidating and menacing

but once you get to know him--the real him--, you start to understand that even though he may be tough on you, its because he wants you to be the best

he has good intentions

During matches he’d let you handle yourself and made sure you didn’t rely on him too much

One time you needed to shower but you ran out of your shampoo so you used his.

When he questioned you, you simply responded “What? You don’t need it anyways, you’re bald!”

He didn’t rescue you the next round.

should’ve seen that coming

though he forgives you when you braid his luscious long existent hair for him

Kurt Frank

The amount of times you almost stepped on this man is astronomical.

he would constantly be in his tiny form because he would lose a lot of his things

his tiny form helped him find his things easily

Though when you first moved in with him, you had no idea what his ability was

so when you first saw a tiny version of your roommate you thought he was just a weird doll

until you heard him say a tiny, “Hey can you move your ginORMOUS foot? You’re stepping on my book.”

You fucking screeched and took off your shoe to try and kill him

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH”“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH”

After he explained to you about his ability you calmed down a bit and spared this tiny man but only this time!

Frank loves books, he probably filled your shared rooms with stacks on stacks of books

You’d often see him tiny, waving at you while you’re decoding

Once you overhead Kurt arguing with First Officer over who was the rightful owner of some sort of treasure map

They fought for days,

kurt would constantly complain about it to you

turns out it was just a game on the back of a Cereal box.

sorry this is short like kurt

Tracy Reznik

Would be a little awkward at first, but the awkwardness slowly fades away when you both make bad jokes

she gives me childhood best friend vibes

Has her doll sitting in the corner of your shared room room, it’s lifeless eyes scare the living shit out of you in the dark you try not to make eye contact, afraid it’ll curse you or smth

if she was mad at you she would move the bot in a way that looked like it was flipping you off you off in your direction before you went to bed.

Always making little robot things that are super fun to play with

Loves sharing her things. Has no problem with it

you wanna wear her clothes? sure

you want to wear her underwear? evEN BETTER-

Pulling all nighters, trying to get her machines to work like how she wanted it to work.

Would live off of kraft Mac n cheese and junk food in the modern day

Pretty hyper, chugs pink monster energy drinks while pulling all nighters, also, in the modern day

would probably be a bruh girl

Her room is a mess, covered with blueprints and scrap metal

her room is practically a safety hazard

Sometimes she dresses her doll up a bit, putting wigs or her old clothes on it (which scares you half to death)

Once she made her doll dress up like her

and you almost went up to it to ask what it wanted for dinner.

Has a photo of her and her dad

You never wanted to bring it up, worried it might make her upset :(

Sometimes she’d feel really guilty about being downed in the first 30 seconds

please comfort her, she feels super bad

She always relies on you to rescue her

She gets really happy and thankful when you body block for her but she still gets a bit concerned when you do it randomly

“i wasn’t even kiting-” “Protecc the mecc.”

Demi Bourbon

Always out at the bar

Smells like alcohol constantly

tipsy 24/7

she’s never 100% sober

You have to hold her hair out of her face when she comes back to your shared room to hurl

Likes bringing back hard vodka or weird flavoured alcohols back for you guys to get wasted try together

Room is bit cluttered, but she doesn’t have much in her room since she’s always out in bars or matches

Usually latches onto you like a parasite when she’s drunk.

it gets a bit awkward when her face is a bit close to yours,

“Are we about to kiss right now-? BLeurghgrhgherrgh.”“...*audible sigh*”

You’d go to her expecting her to heal you like a normal person but no

instead she shoves dovlin down your throat

She likes to do your makeup, and always adds a matching beauty mark

unless you don’t wear makeup, then she’d ask you to do hers 

always loves how she looks afterwards

more than sometimes demi would get into bar fights, 

so you know she’s about to throw hands when she starts takes off her earrings-

10/10 would fight for you <3

She’s gives me cool wine aunt vibes

Probably a lesbian too (check out our Demi smut fic ;))

Or bi, idk

Just straightn’t

She’s really good at hyping you up, especially when you’re taking shots

“CHUG CHUG CHUG CHUG-”

Andrew Kreiss

Would be very shy at first, opens up a little when you get to know him

Totally a night owl, can’t sleep at night from all the guilt and “what if’”s

if you see this baby awake at night, hug him, he really needs it

You’ve never seen the other side of his face

How does he see with hair in his eyes?

He’s albino, which is super dope

Sometime you fear he’s thinking about burying you

You always see him thwacking Luca with his shovel

Barely talks

Room is moderate

He doesn’t want you to find out too much about him

He may seem bland, but he loves sweet food

You’d bake him cookies and other sweets

He’d act as if he’s not embarrassed and brush it off

“Are you blushing?”“No, I-I’m sunburnt.” “On your face?” “....I stare into the hot red sun sometimes because it eases me.”

to keep his lie going, every time he catches you staring at him he would fry his eye balls by staring into the sun until you left

partially the reason why he can’t see well

When he’s not looking, you stare at him while he’s eating the stuff you made because he looks so happy :’)

One time you found him down in the dumps so you made him a cup of coffee, and when you handed it to him you said-

“Depresso espresso?”

*sniff* ”..are you oka-” “IM NOT CRYING, YOU ARE”

he actually cried

it was such a nice gesture(?), that he started ugly crying

You’d ask him if he wanted hugs during matches when you see him get stressed

He’d be flushed and kinda confused

hug... him? why tho lmao

he’d definitely agree tho, to be fair, with some hesitation 

if y’all ever cuddled in bed, i feel like he’d be a little spoon

poor boy needs the comfort, he wouldn’t mind if you wanted to be little spoon tho

he just wants to be close to you

Victor Grantz

You love playing with his dog, Wick

Super nice and polite, but a little guarded

The type to be too afraid to call people out when they do something wrong but would totally trash them in his head

You write him little letters everyday and leave them on his bed to make him happy :))

He’d a be a little spoon

Wick would always join you guys while cuddling

Kisses would be soft and gentle

Usually sends you the first letter in matches

Loves to cuddle

He bb 🥰

You always get him a birthday present AND a Christmas present

You also get a gift for Wick

He loves giving you surprise hugs

Likes to read with you while cuddling

Literally a cinnamon roll

Once he was eating a cinnamon roll

And you whispered

“C a n n i b a l i s m .”

He was very confused

and kind of scared- were you going to eat him?

Patricia Dorval

Room always smells like herbs

She could literally smoke weed and you’d think it’s some magical healing herb

it magically makes you feel better

Always there to stun the hunter when you’re ballooned

The mature one

Her room is organized, with boxes labeling what herbs and magic stuff that are in them

You were cooking dinner for the day and you accidentally used one of her fancy herbs in your soup

She didn’t realize until she tried the soup

She wasn’t mad just disappointed

She lectured you on how you shouldn’t touch her stuff or use it for cooking

Gotta admit tho, the soup was pretty good

she acts like the mom everyone wishes they had

totally the type to be like, “dude we should think this through.” before doing something risky

and then five seconds later, “cowABUNGA MY DUDES”

one time she caught kreacher leaving the mens washroom without washing his hands

seeing as she was the mother of this manor, she had to protect her children from diseases

so she yeeted her monkey skull at kreachers head, cleanly knocking him out

and everybody cheered.

Melly Plinius

When you heard melly was going to be your roomie, you couldn’t have been more excited.

you finally had a victim for the many insect pick up lines!

So you decided to make some good first impressions by waiting for her in your room.

so when she arrived to your room and greeted you, you happily greeted her back, and slipped in the pick up line.

“Hello, my name is Melly. I believe I will be your ro-?”“Yeah nice to meet you too, say, what do bees make?”

She kinda thought you were a bit rude so much for first impressions

“...Erm, honey?” she replied hesitantly

“YES DEAR?” 

... okay maybe you weren’t thaaaat bad.

after that she kind of developed a teensy crush on you 

so it was hard living with you because of her crush, since she was constantly flustered 

you loved her reactions, she constantly got red.

it was funny watching her try to keep her cool and fail.