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love-and-monsters · 3 years

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Fake Dating pt. 2

M Faerie X F human reader, 6,405 words

This is a part two to this story. Elwain and his human are safely in the human world, dealing with things far more mundane than an assassination attempt. Both of them are adjusting to the new life and to each other. Very fluffy, with some caretaking. I was in a very romantic mood while writing this and I think you can tell.

Content notes: mentions of parents trying to kill their child, descriptions of minor illness.

“This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen. Why do humans like this?”

You repressed a snicker. “You’re watching it.”

Elwain didn’t even look away from the screen to reply. “You put it on.”

“I just turned on the TV. You’re the one who started watching.” Elwain made a noncommittal noise. You pressed your lips together, trying not to smile. “I can change the channel, if you want. There’s a documentary on that I wanted to-”

“No, this is fine,” Elwain said. He hopped onto the couch next to you and curled up. “Ugh. These people know that expensive doesn’t mean good, right?”

You covered your mouth with a hand. Elwain actually, legitimately enjoying trashy reality shows was by far the best thing you’d learned about his personality since you’d started living together. The worst thing was probably that he’d grown up with servants and had no comprehension of household chores. It had taken a few weeks to get him to put his food back in the refrigerator when he was done with it, and you weren’t sure he was ever going to get the hang of doing dishes. Still. He was getting better.

“You’re still going to need to vacuum later tonight,” you reminded him. Elwain groaned.

“I spent all day at work!” he said. “I should get a day off.”

“You only had a five hour shift today. I worked seven. Plus, I have school. You don’t get breaks on household chores. Doesn’t matter how much you worked, they still have to be done.” Elwain looked away sulkily. That was an expression you were getting uncomfortably familiar with. “And you’re not allowed to do magic for it, either.”

“What? Just because you can’t use magic, there is no reason for me to be forbidden!” Elwain said.

“Yeah, sure. You remember what happened last time you used magic to clean the apartment?” Bright pink spots appeared on Elwain’s cheeks. He glared down at the couch, expression screwed up in irritation.

“I fixed that.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. You fixed the apartment. What you’re never going to fix is my trauma from walking into my apartment and finding everything covered in spiders!”

“I apologized!”

“Look, the next time you decide to enchant a bunch of bugs into doing household chores, just. Don’t.”

Elwain huffed. “They weren’t even venomous to humans! All of you are so easily frightened. They weren’t going to hurt you.”

“I think the heart attack I had upon entering my own apartment could be considered as hurting me,” you muttered. Elwain looked sour, but didn’t respond, apparently returning to his TV show. Elwain’s adjustment to the human world had been… difficult. He had no real understanding of conventional social norms and obviously still expected everyone to treat him like a noble, despite working a minimum wage job at a fast-food restaurant. Not to mention that he seemed to have very loose morals when it came to enchanting mortals. As far as you were aware, he’d never done it to you, but he didn’t seem to have any sort of restraint when it came to anyone else. Before he’d gotten his job in customer service, he’d made all of his money by charming random people off the street into handing over their wallets.

Admittedly, his skills had come in handy. You didn’t feel particularly good about it, but he had charmed the landlord into giving you the apartment for significantly less than the going rate. In your defense, there hadn’t been many options. You couldn’t stay in your parent’s house with a Fae hanging around, and even with both of you working, there was no way to afford an apartment otherwise.

It did not help that Elwain apparently found your moral crisis very funny.

“You all live by such dumb rules all the time. If you really wanted, I could probably charm someone into giving us their house, or just letting us stay there.”

“That feels morally dubious,” you said.

“Ugh. You won’t let me steal anything, you won’t let me charm people into letting us use their things without stealing them, you won’t even let me charm people into handing some things over!” Elwain flopped across the couch. “So now we’re living in a garbage apartment and I have to work at a greasy food place where customers yell all the time and-”

“It’s a nice apartment, especially considering what we’re paying for it,” you interrupted. “And if you use magic too often, people might start figuring out that something weird is going on.”

“I doubt it. Mortals are stupid.” But Elwain didn’t protest, and went to his job as usual, and didn’t steal, which was more respect for your rules than you were worried he’d show. And, really, you were glad you’d instated the ‘no magic’ rule at large, given how unpredictable the results could be.

Elwain sprawled across the couch. He had a tendency to take up ridiculous amounts of space, pushing you to the edges of the couch to avoid contact. Eventually, you got up.

“Where are you going?” Elwain asked as you walked out of the room.

“I’m going to study for a bit before bed,” you called back. “Enjoy your show.”

He stared after you until your door clicked shut. Weird. He’d seemed almost annoyed about you leaving, even though it meant he could watch his shows for longer and you would stop bugging him about vacuuming. Whatever. He’d been acting weird recently, though. Maybe you should talk to him about it. He’d seemed fine for the first month or so after leaving his home and his parents trying to kill him, but maybe he was having some sort of delayed reaction.

You buried yourself in your textbooks for the next few hours, trying to get a solid start on one of your papers. The back of your mind seemed to be focused on the little noises in the apartment, though. Every sound of footsteps or things being moved pulled your attention back to the rest of the house. Eventually, you heard the sound of the vacuum running for a while before Elwain headed into his room.

He never went back into the main area of your apartment and, buried in work, you were soon thoroughly distracted. Gradually, as you worked, your mind grew less and less focused until you were face down in your books, dead asleep.

“Wake up!”

You bolted upright. There was a piece of paper sticking to your cheek from a stream of drool. You hurriedly pulled it off. “What? What’s going on?” You blinked, focusing on Elwain’s fine face in front of you. “What are you doing in my room?”

“Your alarm was going off. I can’t believe you didn’t hear it. It woke me up.” Sure enough, your phone, which was still sitting across the room from you, on its charger, was ringing furiously. You weren’t surprised that you hadn’t noticed it, though. Your head felt like someone had stuffed it with cotton.

“Oh. Sorry.” You rose a little unsteadily and turned the alarm off. “Thanks for waking me. Probably would have slept right through it if you hadn’t.”

“Uh huh,” Elwain said. “Did someone curse you?”

You blinked at him. He seemed dead serious. “Uh, no. I doubt it. Unless you know something I don’t.”

“If you’re asking about my parents, I would assume they are no longer concerned about me,” Elwain said. His voice was clipped, like it always was when he talked about his parents. “I don’t think they would bother to curse a mortal. If they had the means to lay a curse on someone, it would be far easier and more effective to just curse me.” He paused. “I was only asking because you look terrible.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled.

“You do. Why didn’t you sleep in your actual bed last night?” he asked.

“Because I fell asleep at my desk by accident. Are you going to stand here and just insult me or-” You broke off into a round of thick, hacking coughs. Elwain took a step back, alarm crossing his face.

“What is happening to you?” He lifted his arms in front of him, like he was trying to ward off some kind of evil spirit.

“It’s a cough,” you said. “Have you never seen a cough before?”

Elwain lowered his arms, still looking at me like he thought you would start convulsing at any moment. “Fae don’t do that.”

“They don’t cough?” You rubbed at your chest. A significant amount of phlegm had settled there. God, your body really had to pick the worst time to get sick.

“Not like that,” he said. “What’s the matter with you?”

“I’m sick,” you told him.

He nodded slowly. “I’ve heard of that. A mortal thing. Your forms are weak, so you occasionally fall ill. It is a sign of your small, failing lifespans.”

You considered correcting him, but decided that you had better ways to spend your morning than trying to explain germ theory to a Faerie. “Yeah. Sure. Well. I’m sick. So that’s why I’m coughing. It’s just a cold. I’ll be fine.”

Elwain narrowed his eyes. “Hmph. Well. I have work. Don’t die while I’m out.”

“I’m not in any danger of dying,” you told him. “Go head to work. Have fun.”

“That’s unlikely,” he muttered, but he left your room without protest. You closed your door after him and set about getting ready for your day.

The cold had settled into your head and chest and you could tell it was going to be bad already, even before it had come on fully. God. You could not afford to get sick.

Elwain was eating breakfast when you shuffled into the kitchen. You’d needed to absolutely cake your face in makeup to look presentable, and you saw his brows rise as he looked at you. Fortunately, the Fae at least knew how to keep their mouths shut. He just looked back at the frozen waffles he was toasting.

You snagged a granola bar and headed for the door. “Have a good day at work!” you called over your shoulder. Elwain grunted in response. The door swung shut behind you.

Work was exhausting, as per usual. It was better than Elwain’s job by a long shot, since you were working in a local candy store run by a sweet older couple, but between keeping an eye on any batches of candy being produced, sorting out customers, and having to deal with the requisite child-throwing-a-fit-for-not-getting-sweets, it was tiring. Trying to look bright and perky while being weighted down with a cold was awful.

As soon as work was off, you had class. Dragging yourself through it was a slow, painful slog. By the end, your head was fuzzy and you felt dead on your feet. Slowly, you hauled yourself on the bus and fell asleep.

Naturally, you missed your stop.

About an hour after you were supposed to be home, you dragged yourself in through the door. Elwain practically slammed into you. His hands clapped on either side of his face and he peered intently at you. “Where have you been? I’ve been calling you! I thought you were dead!”

You pushed him off you and bent to one side to cough heavily until you were nearly sagging to the floor. Elwain stared at you. “Sorry,” you rasped when you’d stopped. “I fell asleep. And then my phone was on low battery and I wanted to make sure I had enough battery to use my GPS to get home.”

“You couldn’t have texted me?” Elwain drew himself up, hands on his hips. The entire situation reminded you, ridiculously, of your mom when you came home after a night out. “I was worried! I didn’t know where you were, and mortals are so ridiculously fragile-”

“Aw, you’d have been fine,” you said. “If anything, you’d be able to do more without my stupid mortal morals.”

Elwain’s expression went strange for a moment. “Are you feeling well? You seem… off.”

“I’m not feeling well. I’d like to lie down, actually.” You coughed again. “That okay with you?” Elwain was still frowning, but he stepped aside, allowing you down the hall and into your room.

You went down into your bed face-first. Almost as soon as you hit the pillows, your mind faded into sleep. Sleep came to you in fitful waves. You kept waking, coughing, rolling over and falling asleep again. When your alarm pulled you back to full consciousness, you felt thoroughly awful. The cold had settled firmly into your chest and head, gumming everything up. Your chest rasped every time you breathed in, prompting heavy coughing fits, you shivered even when you were wrapped in blankets, and your head felt full, achy, and cloudy.

The cold had apparently decided to upgrade to a full-blown illness. Slowly, you shoved yourself upright. It was hard to breathe through your nose and your mouth. Your throat stung with every inhale. Every cell of your body just wanted to pop some of the cold medicine that made you sleep and hopefully you’d wake up when it was all over.

Just as you were standing up, someone knocked on your door.

Well, you knew who. There was only one person who it could be. Grimacing, you walked over to the door and pulled it open. “Elwain. What?”

He stared at you. “I was- are you okay?”

“I’m sick. You remember the discussion was had yesterday?” you said. “Anyway. You needed something?”

Elwain looked you over. You hadn’t looking into a mirror, but given his expression, you probably looked terrible. He seemed to think you were five seconds from crumbling into a pile of ash, like a vampire exposed to sunlight. “Do I need to call 911?” he asked.

“Uh, no. It’s a cold. I don’t need an ambulance. I need to sleep for a while. Why are you knocking on my door?” you asked. Elwain’s mouth moved wordlessly. Whatever he had wanted to talk to you about, it seemed to have been completely derailed.

“I… er.” Elwain’s gaze flicked over you again. “Well. I wanted to see how you were doing. You went to bed right after you got home last night and I never saw you again. And you seem to be doing… poorly.”

“Yeah. I’m not doing great. I really just want to go back to bed.” You rubbed your hand over your head. “I feel like shit.”

Elwain hesitated. “Do you need me to do something?”

“Just go about your day. I’ll try to keep my gross self out of your way.” You slouched across your room to your bed. “If you don’t need anything else, I’m going to try to get a little more sleep.”

Elwain lingered in the doorway for a few moments longer. Finally, he turned and headed into the kitchen. The door remained open behind him, and you couldn’t be bothered to get up and close it again. Instead, you buried your head in your pillow. Sleep claimed you again within moments.

Less than an hour later, your alarm went off again. You slapped at it balefully until it shut off. Somehow, it felt like you gotten negative sleep, like sleeping had made you even more tired. Slowly, painfully, you pushed yourself upright. Shivers wracked your frame. How had sleep made everything worse?

You threw on the first clothes that you could get your hands on and shuffled into the kitchen. Elwain looked up from his breakfast. His mouth opened slightly. “Good lord. Maybe you have been cursed.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled. “I don’t look that bad.” You did, but you’d slathered enough makeup on your face to cover most of it. Then again, maybe that wasn’t enough to hide from Fae eyes.

“You look like a walking corpse,” Elwain said. You collapsed in the seat next to him and coughed into your fist. The force of the motion made your head throb. Elwain curled his lips back from his teeth in a grimace. “Are you certain you don’t need me to call 911?”

“No. It’s a cold. I’m-” You dissolved into a fit of coughing so severe it was difficult to catch your breath. Elwain stared at you, eyes wide. “I’m fine,” you croaked.

Elwain narrowed his eyes, but returned to his phone. You didn’t know where he’d gotten it from, because he certainly hadn’t purchased it, but you’d decided you weren’t going to ask. You ate slowly, mostly because your stomach felt tender, and you couldn’t finish even half of your normal portion. After a while of picking at your food, you dumped your dishes in the sink and started gathering your items to head out.

“Where are you going?” You startled. Elwain had appeared at your shoulder, completely silent. You might have chalked up not noticing him to your cold-dulled senses, but he could sneak up on you no matter how well you were feeling.

“Work,” you said.

Elwain looked back down at his phone. “You are not supposed to leave the house if you’re sick.”

“It’s a cold. I’ll be fine,” you said.

Elwain kept looking at his phone. “If you are sick, you are supposed to stay home, both so you can avoid infecting others and so you can recover.”

“Are you reading that off a website? Where are you reading that from?” You tried to grab his phone, but he gracefully slipped out of your reach.

“I searched about human illnesses on the internet,” he said. “Your symptoms are consistent with the common cold, but they are also consistent with pneumonia. It says you should sleep and drink water until you are recovered.”

“Look,” you said. “I’m fine. It’s a cold. I’ve had them before. I will have them after this one. I know how to handle them. I’ll pop some cold medicine and I’ll be fine.” Elwain stared at you. His expression was hard to read. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll live.” You sniffed and blotted at your face with a tissue. “I’m going to leave now. I’ll see you later.”

You swept out the door, giving Elwain a wave. He stared after you, not moving until you slammed the door shut.

It was a long, slow, awful day. You could barely keep your head together. By the time you got home, your limbs were heavy with exhaustion and your mind was swimming.

You dragged yourself through the door. Your body felt like you were wrapped in a massive, thick blanket. Everything was warm and it was hard to move, like everything was stiff.

Elwain stared at you as you pulled yourself into the kitchen. “You look like death warmed over.”

“Fine,” you mumbled. “’m fine.” You slouched over the counter and leaned against it. Elwain stood, stepping closer to you. “I’m good. I… I’m good. Just… Tired. Tired. Need to nap.”

“Perhaps you should nap in your room,” Elwain said. “Not on the counter.”

“I’m fine here.” Your words were getting mushy. Why weren’t your lips moving correctly? “I’m good. I just, um. Need. Something…”

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Here, hold onto me. I’ll-” Elwian’s hands were on your waist, on your back. You felt boneless, mushy. Your limbs weren’t moving the way you wanted them to. The only thing you could feel were Elwain’s hands supporting you. Was he carrying you? Maybe. You felt like you were floating. Your head was disconnected from your body, floating. Someone was speaking to you from far away, a soothing voice. It was so soothing. Maybe you could just sleep for a bit. Just sleep. It would be nice to just sleep.

Dimly, you came back to yourself. You blinked your eyes open. The ceiling was unfamiliar, at least as ceilings went. Not that you were familiar with many ceilings, really. Looking down at yourself revealed why the ceiling was so unfamiliar. The bed was covered in heavy, dark blue sheets. Elwain’s sheets. You were in his bed.

Slowly, you pushed yourself upright. You still felt bad, but less bad than you had been feeling. A raking cough escaped your chest, thick with phlegm.

“You’re up!” Elwain appeared in the doorway. He looked… frazzled? You weren’t sure the Fae could look as frazzled and unkempt as a human could, but he didn’t look as ethereally beautiful as he usually did. He looked sort of ruffled. “I was considering dragging you to the hospital, but the internet said that maybe ginger tea would actually be better, so I got you some of that.” He indicated the cup in his hands.

“You have got to stop getting all your information from the internet. Or at least I need to give you a media literacy course on identifying good sources,” you croaked. Your voice sounded bad, but it no longer hurt to speak. It just felt uncomfortable.

Elwain gave you a bewildered look and held the cup out toward you. “Drink it.” You took it obligingly and took a sip. Elwain must have dumped half a bottle of honey in it, because it was so sweet you almost couldn’t taste the ginger. You swallowed it carefully.

“Thank you,” you said when you’d finished the cup. “What, uh. What exactly happened to me?”

Elwain sat on the end of your bed. He was wearing his old cloak, the one he’d taken with him when he’d fled from Faerie. He tucked it tighter around him, fingers fidgeting at the hem. “I was hoping you could inform me of that, actually. I was quite frightened when you collapsed like that.”

“Oh, yeah,” you said. Vaguely, you remembered passing out. “How long was I out?”

Elwain glanced at the clock. “Mn. Less than an hour? You were in and out for the first ten minutes, mumbling a lot.” You had vague memories of Elwain leaning over you, expression panicked. Must have been from then. “Once I got you into bed, you fell asleep. I wasn’t sure if I should wake you or not.”

“It is,” you said. “Probably a good idea to let me sleep. Though if I ever do collapse again, please call 911.” You considered. “Well, I guess don’t call 911 unless I’m actually dying. I can’t afford the ambulance.”

Elwain nodded, even though he looked politely confused. “Is your illness getting worse?”

“Maybe,” you said. “It’s hard to tell. I think I have a fever now, so that sucks.”

With absolutely no warning, Elwain leaned forward. His face was abruptly so close to yours, close enough to feel his cool breath tickling your skin. The hairs on the back of your neck lifted. Suddenly the only thoughts in your head had to do with his lips pressing to yours, his cool mouth meandering along your skin-

His forehead touched yours. His eyes closed, a little furrow appearing in his brow. “You’re warm,” he said. “Very warm.” He sat back.

You blinked. “Uh. You can do that with your hand, you know.”

“Oh? I saw the forehead one on the internet,” Elwain said, but he reached up and cradled your face in his hands. With a soft, delicate touch, the back of his hand brushed against your forehead and down your cheek. The touch made something in your chest tighten and your breath catch. “You still feel warm.”

You moved your mouth, trying to get your brain back in gear. “Uh, yeah. Fever! That’s, uh. Bad. I need, um. You remember that pill bottle in the bathroom I showed you? The one with the little red pills?” Elwain nodded. “Get those and a glass of water. They’ll bring the fever down.”

Elwain vanished for a moment and returned with a tall glass water and the bottle of pills. He watched as you downed them and sank back into bed. His sheets were softer than yours, his bed even more luxuriously plush. You weren’t sure where he’d gotten the sheets from, or if maybe they were the sheets you’d bought him, just augmented with magic. “Why did you put me in your bed, anyway?” you asked. “My bed’s not that much further away.”

“I wanted to keep an eye on you,” Elwain said. “And you do not like me coming in your room.”

“I don’t like you just walking into my room whenever you feel like it, but you can come into my room,” you said. But you were pretty glad he’d put you in his bed. Everything in his room smelled faintly floral and herbal, a smell that relaxed you. Everything was cozy.

“I am not familiar with how to deal with sick mortals,” Elwain said. “Do you need anything else?”

“No. I just need to rest.” You paused, looking toward the window. “I should probably head back to my own room, actually. You’ll probably want to sleep here tonight, right?”

Elwain shook his head. “Stay. You need to rest. I will sleep elsewhere.” He swept out of the room, cloak fluttering behind him. You stared after him for a moment before sinking back into bed. Despite just waking up, your head was already muddy again. Maybe Elwain had gotten you the pills with the sleeping medicine in them. Your eyes closed. Within moments, you were drifting away, fast asleep.

You dreamed of strange things, of hands on your face, cupping your cheek, of soft lips pressed to your neck, of kind eyes and strong arms carrying you around. When you opened your eyes to see the same kind eyes staring down at you, you were half-convinced you were still dreaming.

“Hello,” Elwain said. “You have been asleep for a while.”

You blinked. Your body did have that foggy heaviness that came when you’d been sleeping deeply. Even your discomfort from the illness seemed far away and dim. “Elwain.”

“Yes. I’m right here.” He said it more gently than a simple statement of fact, almost like a reassurance.

“How long was I out?” There was bright sunlight streaming in through the window and across the bed. You lifted a hand to clumsily shield your eyes.

“Over twelve hours. I thought you should probably sleep. That’s what the internet said.”

“Oh, man, we are going to need to get you some better resources than just ‘the internet,’” you said. “But you were right. Thanks for letting me sleep.” Slowly, you shoved yourself up into a sitting position. “What’s that?”

Elwain held a bowl out to you. “I was told that soup was good for mortal illnesses.”

You took the bowl of vegetable broth. Elwain’s cooking was usually pretty hit or miss- he could follow recipes just fine, but he also had a habit of deciding that he had a better idea than the recipe and going completely off the rails. The soup just seemed to be broth, though. You took a cautious sip. It was watery, but tolerable.

“Are you feeling better?” Elwain asked. You nodded, glancing over at the clock.

“It’s past nine,” you noticed. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“I called in sick. I wanted to stay home to make sure you were all right.” Elwain looked completely serious.

“It’s just a cold. I’m fine.”

Elwain’s eyes narrowed. “You collapsed.”

“Well, yeah, but…” You trailed off. There wasn’t much you could say in response to that. “Fine. But if you get fired for this, I’m going to be pissed.”

“I will not be fired. My boss loves me.” Elwain gave a superior little sniff, nose stuck up in the air. You laughed into your bowl of broth.

When you were finished, Elwain took your bowl back into the kitchen, returning only a few moments later. “Do you need anything else?”

“I think I’m okay,” you said. “You really didn’t have to stay home to take care of me. There’s not going to be a lot to do. I think I’m mostly going to sleep.”

“Regardless. I think it is better to be safe.” Elwain looked at you from the doorway for a moment longer. “I need you.”

He left the doorway. You could hear his footsteps retreating into your apartment, perfectly steady, like what he said hadn’t made your chest tighten intensely. You sank back into his bed. His scent wreathed around you, gentle and reassuring. Oh, god. Warm feelings were fluttering up in your stomach, swelling through chest and trembling in your lungs. Worse than that, they felt familiar. How long had these feelings been lingering in the background of your mind? And now they had surfaced and you didn’t know what to do with them. Naturally, you would have some kind of emotional crisis when you were sick.

You faded in and out of dreams where Elwain’s scent wreathed around you and his gentle hands stroked your forehead and cheeks. You woke up feeling oddly melancholy.

The sounds of the TV drifted through the open door. Shaking some feeling back into your heavy limbs, you hauled a blanket over your shoulders and headed into the living room.

Elwain was draped over the couch, staring at the TV. There was some soap opera on with a woman and a man hysterically throwing themselves at each other. Elwain looked up as you padded into the room. “Is it okay for you to be out of bed?” he asked.

“Yeah. I feel better, actually.” The sleep had helped quite a bit. You still felt foggy, but the pain in your head and chest had faded. Elwain sat up, drawing his limbs in closer to himself so you could sit next to him.

“You look less… corpse-like,” he said. Before you realized what he was doing, he took hold of your face in both hands and pulled you closer to him. “You are still warm.”

“Uh, yeah. I’m getting better.” You reached up and carefully pried his fingers off your face. You were overly aware of how your fingers lingered together. “How’s your day off going?”

“Human TV is still strange,” Elwain said, turning back toward the screen. “I can’t imagine any humans really behave like this. I have never seen it.”

“No, it’s a soap opera. It’s supposed to be deliberately over-the-top and crazy. That’s why they’re fun to watch.” Elwain rolled his eyes, but there was amusement in his expression.

“Is there anything you want to watch?” he asked.

“No, this is fine.” You settled into the soft cushions, staring at the TV. As much as you were looking in the direction of the TV, most of your attention was focused on Elwain. His gaze kept flicking toward you, as if he was unable to focus on the show either. After a moment, he reached out toward you.

One of his hands settled on your head, the other on your shoulder. Before you realized what had happened, he pushed you so your head was resting in his lap. You stared up at him as he, apparently unconcerned, started weaving his fingers through your hair.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“You did this for me when I first came here,” Elwain said. “It was soothing. I thought you might like it as well.” He paused. “Was I incorrect?”

You considered for a moment. His fingers were still carding through your hair, twining strands around his fingers. “No. I don’t mind.”

Elwain continued to stroke your hair. His nails scratched lightly at your scalp. The feeling of being touched made something tremulous swell in your chest. It was a pleasant feeling, but one so sharp and overwhelming that it almost made you cry.

You lay with Elwain for a while, his hands absently playing with your hair and trailing along your head and neck. He seemed to be paying far more attention to you than to the TV. “You should take better care of yourself,” he said, stroking your bangs back from your forehead. “If you were to die, I would be alone in the mortal world.”

“You’d manage,” you said.

“Perhaps.” Elwain removed his hands from your hair and hesitated for a moment. He seemed to be struggling to speak. Then he sighed. “But I would prefer it if you were with me.”

You looked up at him. He was staring deliberately to one side. There was a faint pinkish color to his cheeks and his eyes were narrowed. “You could have left, once our deal was up. I only asked you to stay with me for the night. And yet, you helped me. There was no reason to. I no longer have my connections or any particular Faerie skills. Even the few powers that remain with me, you don’t like me using. You have gained nothing from this deal and you help me regardless.”

“Of course, I did.” Thinking about that night only brought one image to your mind. Elwain, who had nearly been killed by his own parents, looking lost and confused and abandoned. He had been cocky before, but in that moment, he had just looked forlorn and upset. He had just looked scared. “I wasn’t going to just leave you on your own.”

“You could have,” Elwain pressed on. “Easily, you could have. You could have justified it, even by mortal morals. There’s not a lot here that could kill me. As you have pointed out, I would be fairly fine on my own. But you stayed with me regardless, for no other reason than just helping me.”

“You’d just almost been assassinated. I couldn’t leave you,” you said.

“You could have. But you didn’t. And, at least so far, you have asked for nothing from me in return. To be quite honest, you’ve been almost annoying with how little you allow me to do.”

“I try,” you said. Elwain snorted. It was an inelegant noise, but somehow also incredibly attractive. “Where are you going with this?”

“I’m trying to explain to you that I care about you. I want you to be well and safe and healthy because you saved me and you didn’t have to and I appreciate it.” Elwain’s cheeks flamed red. “That’s what I’m trying to say.”

You reached up slowly and let your hand cradle the side of his face. He leaned into your touch, eyes closing. “It’s strange. I’m not used to this,” he said. “My parents loved me as far as they could use me. It’s how Faeries are. But you have used me for nothing, gained precious little advantage from having a Faerie living with you. And I wasn’t used to it. I still think I’m not used to it. But I am so… so… happy. For this. For you.” He blinked his eyes open. They were hazy with emotion. “Thank you.”

It was an impulse maybe you could have resisted if you were feeling better, but you were overwhelmed with feeling and not in the mood to fight with yourself. The hand on his cheek shifted position toward the back of his neck and pulled him down on top of you. His mouth pressed into yours, tense and unyielding, then softening as he realized what was happening.

There was a moment of fumbling, while Elwain registered that you were kissing. You broke away from his mouth, but he was pressing into you again, pulling you close to him and meeting your lips over and over with his own. His tongue brushed your lower lip and his moan sounded against your mouth.

You weren’t aware of how it happened, but suddenly you were lying back on the couch with Elwain on top of you. He was kissing you furiously, his hips flush to yours. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pushing him as close to you as you could get.

One of your gasping breaths caught in your chest, triggering a coughing fit. You rolled over, trying not to cough right into Elwain’s face. He sat back. His lips were already slightly kiss-swollen and he looked a bit rumpled. “Right,” he said, trying to finger-comb his hair back into a presentable state. “You’re still not feeling well.”

“Hold on. Give me a minute, we can keep going,” you said between coughs. Elwain pressed his lips together, but they were twitching toward a smile.

“You are admirably determined, but I think it would be better for you to rest,” he said. There was a pause. Elwain tugged on a few of the longer strands of his hair. “I take that to mean you feel the same way?”

“That I like you? Yeah.” You pulled him down so he was laying across your chest. He looked at you, eyes surprisingly wide and innocent. “When I first met you, I thought you were kind of an asshole. And you are kind of an asshole. But you’re also charming and endearing and you try to follow my rules even when you totally don’t have to. And you’re willing to take care of me when I’m sick.”

“You took care of me when I had lost everything,” Elwain said. “I only wished to return the favor.” His fingers wandered over your stomach, tracing absent patterns on your shirt. You could feel his warmth against your skin. “Usually, that’s how it works, with Faeries. Favors are given because giving means you can get something in return, and you’re always trying to leverage the deal to get more than what you’re giving.” He closed his eyes for a moment, brows furrowing. “But when I saw you were sick, I wasn’t thinking that I needed to pay you back. I was only thinking that I wanted to help you.”

You stroked your fingers through his hair. “That’s what love is.”

“Mortal love,” he sighed. “I always thought it was flimsy and weak and short-lived.” His eyes opened again and he nestled into you. “It’s much stronger than I thought. So much more than I believed. It almost hurts, but it’s a good hurt.”

You started coughing again. Elwain swung himself up and gathered you into his arms. “I’ll take you back to bed,” he said. “You need to get better. I want to continue this.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. You rested your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes. His heartbeat thudded against you, slow and steady. The feeling of him holding you swelled and ached inside you, a pleasant ache. You clung to him as he eased you into bed and settled in next to you. Your illness was all but forgotten. Everything was soft and pleasant under a heady wave of love.

#exophilia #fae #faerie #fae boyfriend #monster boyfriend #monster lover #Fae lover

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nineteenninety-six · 3 years

Text

It’s What We Make It

Just a warning, this is technically based in S2 but at the same time it’s not. It contains scenes from seasons I like but it doesn’t follow the show’s timeline. Also, a lot of time skips because I’m lazy.

This took me two weeks to write and though I wish it could be better, I’m done with it. It was meant to be a request fulfil but it’s so far gone from that lol. Also this better appear in the bloody tags otherwise I’ll fight someone

Word Count: 14,827

The night (Y/N) escaped from her family's home would be a night she would never forget.

She disappeared in the middle of the night and triggered the plan she had spent almost a year planning. Due to what her family did for a living, she worked alone in case she got caught.

Her family had enough money to the point where they wouldn't notice a small amount going missing, which is exactly what she did. She took enough to ensure she left the country quickly and safely. She also stashed a few jewels and other expensive items to sell once she reached her destination.

She planned to go to England. She didn’t know where in England she would go but England was far away enough from her home country that she should be able to live comfortably and without fear.

(Y/N) didn’t know what her family would think about her disappearance, maybe they’d think that a rival gang had kidnapped her, but she knew that they wouldn’t let it simply go and they would send people to look for her.

.•° ✿ °•.

Once (Y/N) arrived in England, she took a random train to Birmingham and then another to Small Heath. She had no clue where she was going or what these places were like but she did not let that stop her and if it was not the place for her, then she would move on.

When she arrived it was late in the day but the streets were not quiet and (Y/N) could see a pub at the end of the street that was filled with people to the point that people spilled out onto the street outside and the faint sound of people talking and singing spilled out alongside them.

(Y/N) gave the pub one last glance before she made her way into the small hotel and paid for a room. She would spend a few days at the hotel and discovering the place before she decided if Small Heath was a place where she was to stay long term.

(Y/N) garnered a few stares of curiosity as she walked around Small Heath which wasn’t surprising since she was clearly an outsider. The town was clearly one that wasn’t used to new people but they seemed merely curious at best.

She wandered around the main road where all the shops rested, making mental notes of them and she passed by the pub that was alive with people the night before stopped by a small cafe for lunch. The sweet owner easily answered any questions she had, seemingly not having an issue with the fact that she wasn’t from around there and even though she had only been in Small Heath for less than two days, (Y/N) was pretty sure this was the place she wanted to stay.

She asked the cafe owner about any job openings in town and was informed of the Garrison, the pub she saw earlier, was looking for a barmaid.

(Y/N) had never worked a day in her life but she wouldn’t be able to survive for long on the money she got from selling the stuff she had brought with her. She didn’t have the skills or the experience to become a barmaid or for any job for that matter, as she never had a reason to. Her family had drilled into her at a young age that once she was old enough, she would be married to another gang family. Either as a gift to thank a family that had been long loyal or to a rival to calm rising tensions and to gain allies.

She had been coddled for her entire life. Her parents gave her the best tutors in the country but she had barely left their manor at all through her childhood, which gave no social skills or friends but that was all about to change.

When she entered the pub, there was only one man in there and he was sweeping the floor but he looked up when she walked in.

“I heard that you were looking for a barmaid?” (Y/N) spoke first, when the man did not.

The man looked her up and down with a disbelieving stare, “You? A barmaid? Don’t make me laugh”

“Please,” (Y/N) took a step forward, “I’m desperate”

“Look, the people around here aren’t nice. Especially when they are drunk. You just look a bit too delicate to work here”

“I can hold my own”

She could. It wasn’t uncommon for her father to hold parties or dinners where he and his allies would drink until the sun rose and he’d always make her stay the entire night, most likely to show off how dutiful she was. After all, the men in that type of business weren’t looking for a headstrong and independent woman, they’re looking for a meek woman that would obey their instructions and carry their children to continue the family name and (Y/N) wasn’t that type of woman.

The man still didn’t look like he believed her but he must have seen the desperation in her eyes as he let out a resigned sigh, “Trial run tonight. If you do well, you get the job.”

(Y/N) bobs her head with a pleased smile, “Thank you.”

“Harry” The man held out his hand.

(Y/N) shook it, giving him her name.

“Seven pm on the dot tonight.”

“Thank you, Harry, I’ll be there”

.•° ✿ °•.

At seven pm, the pub only had a few customers but she dealt with those easily. Harry had taught her how to pour a pint and create a few other drinks and luckily for her, the people of Small Heath were simple when it came to their drinks.

By nine pm, the Garrison was filled to the brim with people. A portion of the pub was loudly singing along to the song that the woman at the piano was playing and the rest of the patrons were talking with their friends, almost shouting to be heard above the singing.

The atmosphere was unlike anything (Y/N) had ever experienced before but she found herself enjoying it. She didn’t think she stopped moving for a moment as she spun around the bar, fulfilling orders until a small window at the corner of the bar, something she hadn’t noticed until that moment had opened up, causing her to pause in her steps. It was more out of surprise than anything else at first but the man at the other side of the window with his bright blue eyes had also caught her attention.

With Harry busy, (Y/N) made her way to the small window, “...May I help you?”

The man’s eyes flickered up to her and he seemed speechless for a moment before he orders, “Two bottles of dark rum and four glasses”

(Y/N) nods and turns around only to smack straight into Harry’s chest.

“I’ll get that for you, Tommy. (Y/N) there are some people down at the end who want some ale”

(Y/N) looks up at Harry, confused on why he suddenly butt in and took over the order but just as she was going to silently nod and do as she was told but ‘Tommy’, spoke up before she could.

“Let her do it, Harry. She looks perfectly capable”

Harry looked like he would argue, but he quickly nodded and allowed (Y/N) to get the drinks but he quickly followed behind her.

“Anything that he or the other members of the Shelby family is free of charge.”

(Y/N) frowned and turned to ask him why but he had already disappeared to fulfil the orders of the other patrons.

She picked up the two bottles of rum and placed them by the window before she went off to collect the glasses.

“Harry says everything is on the house,” She says as he places the glasses down next to the bottles of rum, hoping that he could explain why.

“Hmm,” The man simply hummed as he picked up the drinks and placed them on the table in the snug behind him.

He turned around but stopped midway before he turned back to face her, looking at her up and down. “You’re not from around here”

“What gave it away?” (Y/N) responded sarcastically, knowing that her accent stood out.

“What’s your name?” Tommy’s interest had been piqued and he leant forward on the bartop

“What’s yours?” (YN) threw back.

Tommy squinted his eyes and (Y/N) raised an eyebrow. She had been raised amongst egotistical and big-headed men and she knew how to deal with them.

“Tommy Shelby”

“(Y/N)”

“I’ll see you again, (Y/N)”

“I’ll make sure of it, Mr Shelby”

Tommy gave her one last nod before he disappeared into the snug and closed the window doors behind him.

(Y/N) was swept up with the rest of the customers the rest of the night and only got a break when they had closed up for the night and she was cleaning up.

“Listen, (Y/N), it’s best if you try to keep away from the Shelby’s.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just promise me that you’ll stay away from them?”

“Only if I have the job”

Harry was silent for a moment before he sighed and nodded “Alright, you have the job. You did good tonight anyway.”

“Thank you, Harry”

(Y/N) had spent the rest of the night looking at places to rent in the newspaper, marking down which one suited her needs, making notes to call the landlords in the morning. With a secure job, she could now start to settle down in Small Heath.

.•° ✿ °•.

(Y/N) found a small flat that was perfect for her, she had paid a deposit and the first month of rent before moving herself and her singular suitcase into her new place. It was the opposite of what she grew up with but she found that it didn’t affect her as much as she thought it would. Her old bedroom was at least four times as big as her dingy little flat but she found the little room appropriate enough and she was determined to perservere and not give up.

Once she had finished settling in, she took another walk around Small Heath before she had to go in to work that evening.

She had found herself by the cut and she stood right by the edge with the tips of her shoes just over the edge as she thought about her life. She knew it wouldn’t be long before her family somehow narrow where she had run off too, no doubt they had already sent men to America, Australia and England already but she hoped that Small Heath was a small enough place that she’d have at least a few years before she had to move on.

“Hullo”

(Y/N) swung around, not hearing whoever it was come up behind her but her momentum had caused her to trip over her feet and fall backwards, falling into the canal with a loud splash. Her thick coat and her shoes had weighed her down as she struggled to resurface.

Tommy raced over to the edge and kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his coat and cap before he dived in after her. He swam down until he could see her and reached out and grabbed her arm before he started to swim to the surface, pulling her along.

When they both reached the surface, they gasped for air and (Y/N) coughed and sputtered out the water that she had accidentally swallowed. Tommy swam to edge, still tugging her along before he pulled himself out of the water before helping her out.

(Y/N) coughed a few more times before falling back so that she was flat on her back as she stared up at the sky.

Tommy walked over to her and looked down at her, “You alright?”

(Y/N) glared at him as she took his offered hand and stood up, “Do you creep up behind every woman you know?”

“Only the ones that fascinate me”

His words caused (Y/N)’s glare to falter, “I suppose I should feel flattered then ?”

Tommy ignored her question as he turned on his heel and began to walk away before he called out to her over his shoulder, “C’mon, follow me”

(Y/N) grimaced as she moved to follow after him, her stocking covered feet squelched in her heels as she walked behind him. The rest of her clothes clung to her uncomfortably and her hair stuck to her face and neck.

She didn’t know where Tommy was going and she didn’t exactly know why she was following him either but she supposed he fascinated her as she did him.

He took her to Watery Lane and into one of the houses, and she still squeaked uncomfortably behind him as she followed him into the kitchen.

“Sit”

Tommy pointed to a random seat before he shuffled around the kitchen putting a full kettle on the stovetop and letting it boil while (Y/N) sat down as he instructed.

(Y/N) looked at the kitchen around her in curiosity. The walls had been knocked down to let it be more open and just to the side of her there was a large green double door which she guessed led to the property next door but she had no clue why. She could hear the faint sounds of people talking through it but it was too muffled to hear anything clearly.

Just as she snapped out of her mind, Tommy had placed a cup down in front of her.

(Y/N) looked down at the cup in curiosity, “What’s this?”

Tommy sat down on the other side of the table, across from her with his own cup.

“Tea. To warm you up”

“What type of ‘tea’?” (Y/N) asked, “Anyway, I think getting out of my wet clothes will help more than a cup of hot..tea”

“Tea, tea. Have you never seen tea before?”

“I have never heard the word tea before. In my native language, we call this something else.” (Y/N) carelessly reveals, “Are you meant to drink it straight”

Tommy files away her first sentence away in his mind, making a mental note to find out where she was from before he leant across the table and pulled the teacup closer to him.

“You can if you want. Most add milk and sugar”

“How much-” (Y/N) asked, “How do you do yours?”

“Splash of milk, two teaspoons of sugar”

(Y/N) nods, “Okay, I’ll try it the way you like.”

Tommy nodded and did the tea for her. Never at all did he think that he would be making a cup of tea for a woman the second time he had ever met her but he supposed he did feel a little guilty for her falling into the cut and almost drowning.

(Y/N) took a sip and let a pleased hum, “This is...nice.”

“You like it?”

“Yes, I enjoy your...tea”

Tommy’s lip quirked at her words but the smile that nearly graces his lips quickly vanishes when Polly walks through the green doors,

“Thomas, have you-oh” Polly freezes in her steps at the sight of the stranger sitting at the table.

“Polly,” Tommy cleared his throat as he stood up, “This is (Y/N), the new barmaid at the Garrison”

(Y/N) stood up and shook the hand of Polly and tried not the feel exposed as the woman raked her eyes across her.

“Why are the two of you wet?”

“I fell into the cut and Tommy helped me” (Y/N) quickly spoke before Tommy could speak.

Polly looked at Tommy as if she couldn’t believe what (Y/N) was saying was true. (Y/N) finished off her cup of tea before he cleared her throat, catching their attention, “Thank you for the tea, Tommy but it’s probably best I get home. Staying in wet clothes will only make me sick”

Tommy nodded and seemed perfectly fine with just walking her to the door but Polly spoke up for him, “Tommy walk her home”

(Y/N) opened her mouth to argue but the look Tommy sent her told her that it was better to not argue.

They walked back to her flat in silence and it made (Y/N) realise how weird her day was. In what was meant to be a normal day exploring, ended up with her almost dying and then being treated with a cup of tea by a man whose mere presence prompted question marks.

.•° ✿ °•.

That evening (Y/N) was back at the Garrison, pulling pints and serving customers. It was never not busy and (Y/N) wondered how she didn’t end up with a headache every night but she enjoyed the work.

When the pub quietened suddenly, it caused (Y/N) to look up from her work and she saw Tommy, Polly along with three other men who she had never seen before entering. Polly and the men entered the little snug whilst Tommy made his way up to the bar and with Harry overwhelmed, (Y/N) made her way over to him after she finished with her current customer.

“How may I help you, Mr Shelby?” She asked as she wiped her hands on her apron.

“Bucket of mild and four mugs and one whiskey”

(Y/N) nodded and went to go fulfil his order when Harry called out to her,

“We’re out of the mild! I’m gonna go get a new barrel.”

(Y/N) turned around and gave Tommy a sorry smile, “I’ll bring it to you when Harry’s done”

Tommy gave her a nod before he disappeared in the snug. (Y/N) watched him for a moment before she turned to the next patron with a kind smile.

.•° ✿ °•.

Tommy joined his family in the snug and sat in his usual seat, paying half attention to the conversation around until it suddenly turned to him.

“Oi, Tom, who’s the new barmaid?” John asked, “And where are our fucking drinks?”

“A new hire by Harry” Tommy said as he lit up a cigarette, “Needed a new barrel, it’ll be here soon.”

Just then (Y/N) walked into the snug, bucket and mugs in hand.

“Sorry for the wait,” She said as she placed them on the table and quickly disappeared back out of the snug.

Once she left, John and Arthur let out low whistles.

“She’s a looker ain’t she” John commented

Polly rolled her eyes at her nephew’s behaviour while Michael noticed something else about the woman.

“Where is she from? Her accent is not from England”

Tommy shrugged, “Haven’t a clue”

Polly raised an eyebrow, “You don’t know? Usually, you’d know everything about her, especially since she works at the pub”

Tommy ignored her for a moment as he began to scoop up a mug of ale, his brothers following suit before he answered her.

“There’s something she’s hiding and I don’t think any call I make will clue me into it”

.•° ✿ °•.

That night as (Y/N) and Harry closed up, (Y/N) finally asked Harry about something that had been itching her about Tommy Shelby.

“Harry, when you warned me about Mr Shelby, what did you mean? What do the Shelby’s do?”

Harry sighed as he dropped his rag down on the bar, “They’re bad men. They’re a gang, they fix races, kill people, blackmail, threaten, you know all of it. If they want it, they get it.”

(Y/N) settled in silence at his words, her mind racing. Did she just escape from the gang at home just to run into a new gang? Was her luck that shitty?

She remained silent for the rest of the night but vowed that she’d try her best to avoid Tommy Shelby.

.•° ✿ °•.

Avoiding Tommy was easier said than done, he was somehow everywhere yet at the same time it was like he was a ghost. Whenever she saw him on the streets of Small Heath, she ducked into the many side streets and alleyways of the town. Whenever he entered the Garrison, she took his order swiftly and avoided eye contact.

Tommy had noticed her behaviour.

A few weeks later he found her once again by the cut but this time she was sitting on the edge with her feet hanging over the edge. Tommy walked over to her but didn’t sit down next to her.

“You’ve been hiding from me”

(Y/N) didn’t even look up at him when she replied, “Have I? It seems that you’ve found me”

“Why?”

“Why do you care?”

Tommy hummed, “I suppose I don’t. Not really.”

“But you do though, don’t you? You care”

“I do”

“Why?”

“You fascinate me.”

“...I’ve heard about the things you do Tommy.” (Y/N) decided to tell him why she had been avoiding him.

“Yeah?” Tommy asked as he took a seat next to her, knowing that this wasn’t going to be a short conversation.

“I do...I do not understand why”

“Growing up around here you have to know how to fight otherwise you won't survive. You have to adapt and grow. Fixing races or scamming the rich to get some money was the only way that we were able to feed our family at times.” Tommy offered her a cigarette which she accepted. “After the war, whilst we were at war, fighting for our lives and country, the men at the top simply sat at home and continued getting richer.”

(Y/N) had a frown on her face as she took a couple of drags of her cigarette, “But you murder people?”

“I’ve killed a few people”

“And that doesn’t affect you?”

“In the war, I killed about a hundred men who were just following orders like me. I used to beat myself up about taking a life but now, killing the people who profited off the war in some fashion barely gets me to blink”

“...So you only target the rich?”

Tommy nods, “You ask anyone and they’d probably say that we’re a pain in the arse but we’re their pain in the arse. We pump the money back through the town, making sure everyone has jobs and that they can support their families”

(Y/N)’s heart eased at his clarification.

“My fa-” (Y/N) cut herself off realising that she was about to spill too much information about herself, “Back home, the gangs there targeted everybody. The poorer people suffered the most since they couldn’t pay ransoms or blackmail...every week a body would be discovered. Politicians and the most powerful men in the country were being controlled by these gangs, being played like marionettes. Not to mention the constant wars between rival gangs…”

(Y/N) hadn’t spoken about how life was back home and it felt good to finally speak to someone about it. She knew she had it good considering she rarely left the family manor and had anything and everything she could have asked for and nothing that her family did had negatively affected her in any way.

“Is that why you left your country?”

(Y/N) nodded, “I was scared that I left one gang and fell into the grasp of another”

Tommy took one last drag of his cigarette before he chucked it in the cut and (Y/N) followed suit.

Tommy took her chin in his hands and pulled her face so that she was facing him, “You won’t be hurt here. You’re safe”

(Y/N)’s placed her hand over his that was still on her face but she didn’t try to remove it, “I’m am not safe, they will find me”

“Who will?”

(Y/N) gave him a soft smile as she finally pulled his hand away, “Never you mind. I’ve already said too much”

(Y/N) stood up and brushed off the dust and dirt from her before she offered him her hand, “Walk me to work?”

Tommy grabbed her hand and pulled himself up, “Of course”

The walk back was silent but (Y/N) felt at ease now that she knew the truth behind Tommy and the gang’s motives.

.•° ✿ °•.

(Y/N) no longer hid whenever she saw Tommy in the streets but instead gave him smiles. He wouldn’t always return them but (Y/N) felt a warmth bloom in her chest whenever he gave her a nod or a tiny smile in answer.

One day, in the early afternoon, Tommy and his brother, Arthur had entered the Garrison, so she went over to take their order.

“What can I get you two?”

“Go get Harry for us”

(Y/N) got Harry and moved further down the bar but still close enough to listen to their conversation.

“What can I get you, boys?”

“Harry,” Tommy gave him a smile that wasn’t sincere in the slightest, “We want to buy your pub”

(Y/N)’s mouth dropped and so did Harry’s.

“Uhhh, it’s not for sale I’m afraid”

“It wasn’t a request, Harry.”

Harry instantly deflated as he knew he couldn’t exactly say no to the Peaky Blinders unless he wanted his eyes cut.

“Alri-”

“You can’t just do that!” (Y/N) stepped in, throwing Tommy a glare, “Harry said it wasn’t for sale, that’s your answer and you should accept it”

“Harry was just about to agree-”

“Through coercion” Once again, (Y/N) cut in.

Harry’s eyes were wide as he tugged on (Y/N)’s arm, telling her to stop but she didn’t listen.

“I didn’t make any threats. Did you hear me make a threat, Arthur?”

“Nah, I didn’t hear you make any threats brother” Arthur backed his brother up

“The implication was there. ‘Do as I ask or get your eyes cut’.”

Harry pulled on her arm again but (Y/N) shrugged him off.

Tommy sighed, he patience wearing thin, “Listen, we’re just offering a considerable amount to buy the pub, nothing more”

“Since you have so much money, build a bloody pub yourselves, or better yet shove it up your-”

Harry finally pulled her hard enough that she had to move unless she wanted to fall flat on her face,

“(Y/N) go in the back. I’ll deal with it.” Harry pushed her away, “Go”

(Y/N) threw one last glare over her shoulder before she disappeared in the back. She paced around in Harry’s office waiting for him, she knew that he’d more than likely accept the Shelby’s offer but a part of her hoped that he didn’t.

When he returned there was a roll of money in his hand which caused (Y/N) to release a frustrated sigh.

“I don’t want to end up in the cut” Harry tried to explain

“I know, I know. I’m not blaming you, I’m just annoyed at those Shelby men.”

“Listen, I know your stubborn but don’t go creating fights with those men”

“I can’t promise you anything” (Y/N) walked towards the exit, “I’ll go back to the bar”

(Y/N) was in such a bad mood for the rest of the day that the patrons simply made an order and then quickly scurry off once they got their drink, not wanting to be on the receiving end of her if they’d pushed her.

She was still in a mood once she had finished for the day and stormed home but once she collapsed on her bed, she felt a bit of tension drain out of her shoulders.

Despite how much she wanted to stay in bed, she knew couldn’t do it with the day's clothing still on her. She kicked her shoes off in the corner of her flat and chucked her coat on the small couch before pouring herself a glass of whiskey.

She sipped on the whiskey as she wiped down her face with a damp cloth and changed into her nightdress before taking a seat near the window with the rest of her drink, the bottle next to her on the side table. Usually, she read a bit before she slept but it was raining that night and the sound of it hitting the window always calmed her, so she simply looked out of the window, watching the last few stragglers of Small Heath wander through the streets.

She had been at peace before loud knocking disrupted her and she huffed as she made her way over to her door, only opening it enough to fit her head through.

“What do you want?” Tommy was on the other side.

“I’m here to talk”

“It’s late. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“I want to talk now” Tommy pushed the door open and forced himself into her flat.

“Thomas! You can’t just force yourself into my flat” (Y/N) hissed at him as she closed the door behind him knowing she wouldn’t be able to physically remove him at this point.

Tommy looked around the flat checking it out as she took off his coat and hat, throwing next to where (Y/N) left hers.

“Nice little place you got here”

“Why are you really here Tommy?”

Tommy turned around and raised an eyebrow when he saw what she was wearing causing (Y/N) to wrap her arms around her chest as she hurried to her dressing gown and putting it on.

“What do you want?” (Y/N) repeated herself, “If this is about earlier, then I refuse to speak about it”

“It is about today and you will speak about it”

“Well if you truly want to speak then let it be known that, I will not sit around and let you bully people into doing what you want”

“That’s how it works around here”

“That’s how you force it to work around here. People would rather say yes than end up blind or floating in the cut” (Y/N) corrected him.

She took a deep breath before she topped off her drink and offered him one, “Whiskey?”

“Please”

She gave him a glass before shifting the coats that rested on the couch onto the coat rack and then taking a seat on the now free couch and Tommy soon joined her.

“You say you’re not like the people back home but your actions today say different” (Y/N) took a sip of her drink, “You keep going down this lane and you’ll be like my….”

Tommy turned to her, “Like your who?”

“Never mind.” (Y/N) shook her head, “You’ve never been told ‘no’ in your life have you?”

“I have. Polly tells me about five times every day”

“I don’t mean by your family. You’ve never been told by a woman or by anyone in Small Heath like Harry, have you?”

Tommy shrugged his shoulders, “No, I don’t think so”

“Luckily for you, I’m here to humble you”

“Luckily?”

“Luckily.”

Tommy placed his hand on her thigh which caused her to raise an eyebrow at him but she didn’t say nor do anything.

“I know nothing about you,” Tommy told her

“I could say the same thing about you”

“You know things about me. You know my family and my past.”

(Y/N) snorted, “That’s a bit of a stretch. I know that you fought in the war, that’s it”

“That’s more than I know about you.”

“Okay” (Y/N) holds up two fingers, “You get to know one thing about my past and one about my family”

Tommy sipped his drink as he thought about which questions he would ask her.

“How many siblings do you have?”

“Four older brothers”

“You’re alike our Ada”

(Y/N) had never met the Shelby lady but judging by the little bits she heard from the brothers, it seemed like she, other than their aunt, was one of the only people who could tell Tommy to ‘shut up’ or ‘fuck off’ without consequence.

“In more ways than you may realise”

“Where are you from?”

“Ah!” (Y/N) held up her hand, “I won’t answer that”

“Why not?” Tommy fiddled with the edge of her dressing gown, his hand shifting higher up her thigh

“Because I said so, now, new question”

“How was your life back home?”

“Easy. I never had to worry about if there would be food on the table at the end of the day but I was restricted.”

“How?”

“I was not allowed to leave my house nor have friends, my life was lonely.”

“Was you sick as a child?”

“No. I was a vulnerability” (Y/N) downed the rest of her drink before turning to Tommy, “I’ve said too much. That was more than one thing you pulled from me”

“I’ll make it up”

“I hope so”

(Y/N) bit her lip as she thought something through as the flat dissolved into silence.

“Are you going to sleep with me or are you going to continue to play with my dressing gown?”

“Are you going to say no?”

“I won’t be tonight”

“Good”

With that, Tommy swooped down and pulled her into a kiss, one that she eagerly returned. They kissed until they pulled apart needing air and Tommy pulled her onto his lap,

“You sure?”

“Yes”

(Y/N) pulled him into another kiss as Tommy lifted her into his arms as he pushed himself onto his feet and made his way over to her bed where he promptly dropped her though he quickly followed suit.

.•° ✿ °•.

(Y/N) mindlessly trailed her fingers across Tommy’s ribs as they laid together underneath her blanket. Tommy was sat up against the headboard as he smoked a cigarette while (Y/N) was curled into his side.

“Next week, I’ll take you down to London,” Tommy announced, breaking the silence.

(Y/N) snorted, “Are you asking me out on a date?”

“I don’t do dates.”

“Hmm, I suppose you don’t have to wine and dine them. Somehow your charm does the work”

“‘Somehow’?”

“You’re a miserable bastard Tommy” (Y/N) looked up at him and gave him a smirk

“Next week then?” Tommy ignored her jab

“Yeah, I’ll talk to Harry and get a day off”

“You don’t have to ask Harry. We own the bloody pub, take as many days off you want”

“You may own it but I do not work for you, I work for Harry” (Y/N) looked up and glared at Tommy, before rolling to the other side of the bed and wrapping the blankets around her shoulder, “Anyway, I’m going to sleep now. Stay or leave, I don’t mind.”

Not realising how tired she was, (Y/N) almost immediately fell asleep and Tommy stared at her sleep form.

He was enamoured with her, her mysterious life aside, he looked forward to every time they would meet and he enjoyed her fiery attitude towards him but he was confused as to what he wanted their relationship to be like. He didn’t date but he wanted something more than a purely sexual dynamic but he didn’t know what she wanted either. He could speak to her but that was outside of his comfort zone.

Tommy did not leave but he did not sleep, he continued to sit and smoke through the rest of his pack as he watched the sky turn light and the sun rose before he finally left.

.•° ✿ °•.

The next week, Tommy had picked (Y/N) up and together they drove down to London. She had dressed up a bit but nothing in something that would be overdoing it but she had noticed Tommy run his eyes over her appreciatively, something that she enjoyed.

“You know, I’ve never been to London” (Y/N) said as she watched the scenery go.

“Never?”

“No. When I arrived in the country, I came straight to Birmingham on a train and that was that”

“Well, I hope you enjoy it”

(Y/N) smiled at him, “Me too”

(Y/N) filled the rest of the journey with questions, not just about London but about Birmingham and Small Heath as well.

When they arrived in London, (Y/N) got swept up in all of it. She enjoyed the bright lights and people filled the street. It was unlike anything she’s ever experienced and she loved it.

Tommy took her to go see a play, and as she watched the actors perform, (Y/N) thought she should make a list of things that Tommy was introducing her to because she was quickly running out of fingers to count on.

After dinner, Tommy took her to a bridge that crossed the River Thames and they talked as they looked over the barrier, like they did by the cut in Small Heath.

“Tonight was great, thank you, Tommy”

Tommy took a step closer to her and took her hand in his, “Look, I don’t know what the future entails or what I exactly want between us but I do want you next to me”

“I’ve never heard of that position before” (Y/N) curled her fingers around his, “I’m not your partner, your fiance, your wife but…”

“You are my person”

“...Your person”

As Tommy leant forward to kiss her, (Y/N) suddenly snapped back, her head swivelling around.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

(Y/N) threw one last look over her shoulder before turning to him with a smile that he was starting to recognise as one she used as a distraction and a cover-up. It worked on him before and he has seen it being used against various members of Small Heath, who, once seeing that smile, had followed her conversation change though (Y/N) also had no problem using her sharp tongue if anyone crossed any lines.

.•° ✿ °•.

Just as Tommy leant down towards her, (Y/N) heard people speaking the language of her home country causing her to pull away from him. She strained to hear what was being said but the voices were quickly drowned by the chatter of over people on the bridge along with the cars that sped around them.

She looked around trying to see if she recognised anyone but yet again, the bridge was so busy, it was impossible for her. (Y/N) mentally cursed at herself, she was foolish to let her barriers remain down whilst they were in London, as it was more likely her father had men there and if she had been spotted, she wouldn’t know until it was too late.

When Tommy called for her attention she turned to him with a smile after one last look over her shoulder. While she couldn’t see anyone, she would be on edge for a while.

“So, did you book a hotel room or are we driving back tonight?”

Tommy stood back and offered her his arm, “To the hotel it is”

.•° ✿ °•.

A month after the trip to London, (Y/N) and Tommy were going steady, if that was an appropriate word for their dynamic. They saw each other on a regular business but he hadn’t taken her on a date anywhere as extravagant as the one to London but (Y/N) enjoyed the nights in her flat where they would just drink and talk.

She was less on edge now she was back in Small Heath and nothing had happened to her but she remained vigilant but her new life relatively undisturbed changed that evening.

She had been working at the pub as usual when she felt eyes on her, it was unusual that when a patron got drunk that they would stare at her but they would usually look away once a prostitute or a friend got their attention but this man was different.

She took quick glances at him as she worked and not once did this man's gaze falter, he had been nursing the same drink he had first ordered and his eyes were clear of any drunkness. (Y/N) knew something was up with him.

Not wanting to be defenceless, (Y/N) went out to the back of the pub and picked up one of the loose bricks that were laying around and put it in her handbag before she returned to the bar, hoping that the man assumed she only took a toilet break.

Once her shift ended, (Y/N) left Harry to close up and started her way home. The man had left with the other patrons when the pub was closed but (Y/N) knew the man was waiting in the shadows for her.

As she walked back to her flat, she heard his footsteps behind her and her heart raced. If her plan went wrong then she would either be brought back home or dead and out of two, she preferred death.

She sped up and turned into the upcoming alleyway as she took her handbag off of her shoulders and grasped it tightly in her hands and when the man turned into the alleyway, she swung her bag at his head and watched as it successfully connected, causing the man to collapse at her feet.

She paused waiting to see if he stirred but the man was knocked out. (Y/N) dropped to her knees before she searched the body, looking for a gun or any sort of weapon but when she heard hurried footsteps heading her way she froze before she pulled the brick out of her purse and held it aloft, ready to throw it whoever to turned the corner, fearing that the man had an accomplice that she didn’t see.

.•° ✿ °•.

On his way home from his office, Tommy had spotted (Y/N) on her way home from work but just as he was about to call her name and get her attention, he noticed the man following her.

He snapped his mouth shut but silently followed after the man but when he and (Y/N) disappeared in an alleyway, he ran after them, pulling his gun out of his holster as he did so.

He rounded into the alleyway, gun drawn and ready to shoot but froze at the scene he ran into. The man who had been following (Y/N) was unconscious on the floor and (Y/N) was crouched over him, brick in hand ready to throw.

Tommy let his arm drop to his side, “What the fuck is going on?”

(Y/N) who sighed in relief at the sight of him, threw the brick to the side and continued to search through his pockets like she was doing before Tommy interrupted.

“You have a place where we can drag him, yes?” (Y/N) asked as he pulled out a gun from one of his pockets

“(Y/N)! What the fuck is happening?”

“Yes or no, Thomas!” (Y/N) snapped, “I will tell you but only if you fucking help me”

Tommy tucked his gun back in his holster before he made his way over to the man and hooked his arms underneath his armpits and began dragging him towards one of the many empty buildings in Small Heath.

“Follow me”

(Y/N) quickly snatched up her purse and followed after him but she was constantly checking over her shoulder to see if anyone was following them but once they arrived at the building, most of the tension dropped out of her shoulders.

Once Tommy dropped the man in the middle of the room he turned on his heel and pointed a finger at her, “Right, tell me what the fuck is happening.”

(Y/N) tugged off her scarf and went over to the man and began tying his ankles together,

“You know I haven’t told you anything about my past” (Y/N) grunted as she pulled the knots tight, “Give me your tie”

“You’ve told me a little,” Tommy said as he tugged off his tie before he gave it to her.

As (Y/N) began tying his wrists together, she began to tell Tommy about her life.

“What I told about how gangs run the country wasn’t a lie. Life there is hell for the common people, death is better than living there. But…”

“You left out something…”

(Y/N) sighed as she turned to Tommy, “My family is the biggest criminal organisation in the country. They have politicians and royalty in their pockets. Honestly? It makes your little gang here seem like a joke in comparison”

“...So you ran away from home?”

(Y/N) glared at him, “It was not that simple.”

“Then explain it to me then”

(Y/N) made her way over to him and took a seat on the floor, “I couldn’t get anyone to help me because if we got caught they’d be killed and I couldn’t have that on my conscience. Also, they’re a liability. I had to steal some money and other items from my family so that I could sell them and I had only planned as far as getting out of my country. Everything after that was a spur of the moment decision.”

“Your life was good, why run?”

“It wasn’t ‘good’, it was easy. Besides I was the only daughter and my father would sell me to the highest bidder or to whoever he had been beefing with as a gift”

“Your brothers have no issue with that?”

“They’re men, so they’re more valuable” (Y/N) rolled her eyes and put quotation marks around the word valuable, “They’re all just like my father.”

“Your mother”

“A weak woman. Sold to my dad like how my dad would sell me off. Are you going to ask me about my uncles next?”

This time Tommy rolled his eyes but he took a seat next to her, “So, who is this man?”

“No clue” (Y/N) shrugged, “I’m guessing one of my father’s men or you know, one of the men of my father’s men”

“What do you plan on doing with him?” Tommy asked as he pulled out a couple of cigarettes and lit them, giving on to (Y/N), which she gratefully accepted.

“It depends on what information he knows and what he has shared, but I’ll probably have to kill him”

“Have you ever killed someone before?”

“Nope” (Y/N) sent Tommy a grin, “But you have”

.•° ✿ °•.

The man awoke with a sputtered cough before squirmed on the floor, trying to get up until he realised he had been tied up. He rolled on to his back and craned his head so that he was looking at Tommy and (Y/N)

“Release me!”

(Y/N) stood up and crushed her cigarette underneath her shoe before walking over to the man and stood over him.

“I have questions first”

“Fuck you!” The man cursed the language of (Y/N)’s home country.

“Ah!” (Y/N) grinned, “You speak the language, so I’m guessing my father sent you”

“I’m not the only one he sent” The man spat, “There’s about a hundred in England looking for you. Hundred in America and Australia too. No matter where you go, we’ll find you”

“Of course. I know that but I’m not particularly concerned about that, I’m more curious about you.”

“Me?”

(Y/N) nods, “You.”

Tommy watched the interaction with interest. He had no clue what they were saying but he assumed that (Y/N) was pressing the man for information and truthfully speaking, he found it kind of hot.

“It was my father who sent you, correct?”

The man nodded, “Whoever finds you and brings you back gets a seat on his council and your hand in marriage”

(Y/N) scoffed and rolled her eyes and then turned to Tommy, “My father is offering a seat on his council and my hand in marriage to whoever finds me and brings me to him. Interested?”

Tommy snorted, “Does the marriage come with a nice house in your country?”

“Hmm, I’d have to ask”

“Does the marriage come with a nice house?”

This time the man actually spat at her causing her to flinch back and wiped her face with her sleeve with a grimace.

“Okay, enough joking around. How did you find me?”

“London! A bunch of us were stationed there but I’m the only one who spotted you” The man had switched to English.

“Did you tell anyone that you were coming here to get me?”

“No. If I did, I would already be dead.” The man shook his head, “You don’t get a joint prize if you join up with someone.”

“So no one knows you’re here?”

“No”

“...Good”

(Y/N) turned away from the man and walked back to Tommy, “I need a favour”

Tommy raised a knowing brow, “What do I get in return?”

“My undying gratitude?”

“Okay,” Tommy nods, “What’s your plan?”

“Luckily, he hasn’t told anyone about Small Heath but if we let him go, he could tell anyone.”

“So we kill him.”

“...We do”

The man started to scream in protest at their words, moving about erratically, trying his hardest to escape from his restraints.

“Shut up!” (Y/N) shouted at the man

“I’ll get Uncle Charlie to sail down to London and dump his body there, we don't need any unnecessary attention.”

“Your Uncle Charlie would be okay with that?” (Y/N) found that hard to believe.

“No, but he’ll do it anyway.”

“So,” (Y/N) sighed, “How do we get him you wherever your Uncle Charlie is?”

“Knock him out I suppose”

“...I left my brick in the alleyway”

That caused Tommy to snigger. Their current situation wasn’t a laughable one but somehow (Y/N) had managed to make him laugh. He pushed himself up to his feet and pulled his gun out from his holster and made his way over to the frantic man.

He climbed on to the man, legs on either side of his body and then gripped the gun by its barrel before he raised his hand up and struck down with strength, hitting the man with the butt of his gun and rendering him unconscious.

The man became limp and Tommy climbed off and tucked his gun away, “That should do it”

“Alright”

Tommy hooked his arms underneath the man’s like before and started to drag him out of the building with (Y/N) leading the way to Charlie’s yard. Once they arrived, Tommy dragged the man to the edge of the dock.

“Charlie!” Tommy shouted into the night, “Uncle Charlie!”

Moments later an older man hobbled out into the yard, “Jesus Christ, Tom. The sun hasn’t even fully risen yet”

Realising how much time had passed, (Y/N) looked up at the sky and saw the sun just starting to rise and suddenly, all at once, a wave of tiredness waved over her and she was exhausted.

“I need a favour”

“What now?” Charlie grumbled

“I need him dumped in London.” Tommy kicked at the man at his feet

Charlie looked down at the body with what could almost be described as negative interest, “He’s dead then is he?”

“Just knocked out.”

“I’m not going to kill him” Charlie protested, “It’ll take four days to get London anyhow and I won’t have a dead rotting body as I go down”

Tommy was silent as he thought about what to do,

“I’ll go down but I’ll take Curly.”

Charlie nodded, “Alright, I’ll go get him.”

When he left, (Y/N) tugged Tommy to the side and placed her hands on his chest, looking up at him, “You don’t have to do this you know? This is too much for me to ask”

“Hey” Tommy took her chin in his fingers, “Don’t worry, I want to do this.”

“...Thank you” (Y/N) gripped his coat, “Come back to me”

Tommy pressed a soft kiss to her lips, “I will”

.•° ✿ °•.

(Y/N) was on edge for the rest of the week, constantly looking over her shoulder for any suspicious men along with walking around Tommy’s office and Watery Lane for any sight of the man but she didn’t see the man until just over a week since the last time she saw him.

It was late at night when she heard a knock on the door and she scrambled to open it, knowing that it could only possibly be Tommy.

When she opened the door, she threw herself into his arms, arms tight around his neck, “You’re okay”

“Did you think I died?”

“Something like that, now come in”

As Tommy settled himself on her couch, (Y/N) makes them with a drink before she joined him,

“How did everything go?”

“Quick, easy, no need for concern”

“H-How did you do it?”

“Stuffed him full of alcohol and then pushed him overboard” Tommy filled her in

“Smart, if they find him then they’ll just assume he drunk too much and accidentally fell off a bridge or something”

“...Are you safe now?”

(Y/N) gave him a small smile, “For now. They’ll realise he’s been missing or dead soon enough and there still will be a group of people after me but for now, I am safe.”

Tommy’s hand slipped into hers, “I’ll protect you”

“You don’t need to”

“I want to”

.•° ✿ °•.

Months passed without any sort of drama from her end though the same could not be said for Tommy. He had been getting involved in all sorts of business and trouble, something that his Aunt Polly deeply disapproved with but Tommy did what Tommy did, which was whatever he wanted.

That morning, Tommy had gone to the funeral of his brother-in-law along with the rest of his family, leaving (Y/N) alone in Small Heath for the day. Tasked with setting up the pub that morning, (Y/N) made her way to the pub but the sight of two women in black pushing baby prams had stopped her in her steps and she watched as they left them by the doors before running away.

Concerned, she made her way towards the prams but before she could get too close, she was thrown back by the blast of the explosion. Her body hit the cobblestone street with a harsh whack, leaving her dazed.

Once the ringing in her ears had faded and she could open her eyes without immediately wanting to throw up, (Y/N) pushed herself up so that she was sitting up straight and watched as the Garrison burned and tears of heartbreak mixed with her tears of pain.

Soon the streets were filled with policemen and firefighters as they worked together to put out the fire and clear up the area and she watched them as she held a handkerchief that Moss gave her, to the cut on her cheek. Her heart hurt as she looked at what remained of the Garrison, the pub had meant a lot to her and seeing it being reduced to nothing stung, (Y/N) returned back to her flat, unable to take anymore.

Not long after, two cars pulled up the Garrison and the Shelby’s spilt out, Tommy and Polly leading them.

“It happened at, uh, exactly 7 a.m. Only one person saw anything. Our patrols were not in the area.” Moss informed them.

“Who saw it?” Polly asked as she looked at the building.

Moss looked at his notepad, “One of the barmaids, (Y/N). She was also caught up in the blast”

Tommy spun on his heel at the mention of (Y/N)’s name and stalked over to Moss, “What happened to her?”

Moss looked over his shoulder, “She was over there but I guess she must have gone home”

Tommy strode away from the Garrison, ignoring the shouts from Polly as he made his way towards (Y/N)’s flat. He knocked on her door before he walked in, knowing that she rarely locks it during the day.

He found her wrapped in her blankets on her bed, staring mindlessly through her window. Tommy sat on the edge of the bed and placed a hand on her leg,

“You alright?”

(Y/N) let out a wet laugh, “Not really”

“Moss said you got hurt”

“Hmm, the blast flung me back but I’ll be fine. My body will ache and I’ll have a killer headache for a few days but I’ll be fine”

“Look at me”

(Y/N) turned to face him, slightly crawling out of her blanket cocoon and Tommy took her face in his hands, his thumb tracing just underneath her cut.

“What happened?”

“There were two women, in black and they were pushing prams and just left them by the door. I went over but they exploded before I could get too close”

“Did your upbringing not teach you to not go looking at things that are suspicious?” Tommy chided

“I thought there were actual kids in the prams and they had been abandoned”

Tommy didn’t say anything but a look of understanding overcame his face, “I guess that makes sense”

“Not one thing made sense about this place since I arrived. Not one”

“I’ll give you that” Tommy agreed with her

“What’s your plan with the Garrison then?”

“Fix it up.” Tommy sighed as he stood up, knowing that he couldn’t stay with her for any longer “I’ll give you some money until you’re able to get back to work”

(Y/N) smiled at him, “Thank you. You going?”

Tommy nodded at her, “Got business.”

He gave her a kiss on the cheek before he left and it wasn’t until he was halfway to his location, did he realise that he’s never done something like that before.

.•° ✿ °•.

The reopening night of the Garrison was a big one and when stepped through the doors, she noted the stark differences with a frown tugging at her lips. The walls were gold and the curtains were red, the chandeliers were grand but it wasn’t the Garrison.

She gave pleasant smiles to those she came across as she made her way towards the back of the bar, the place where she felt the most comfortable. Arthur was also there and she could tell he was on something due to his erratic behaviour but she didn’t mention it to him, only giving him a wave as she wrapped the apron around her waist.

She was quickly swept up with taking orders and making drinks that she didn’t realise that Tommy had reached her until he placed his hand on her hip,

“What do you think aye?” He tried to speak over the loud music

(Y/N) stepped to the side to somewhere slightly quieter and pulled Tommy with her, “It’s certainly something”

Tommy frowned at her, “You don’t like it?”

(Y/N) sighed before she dragged Tommy to a room at the back so they could have complete privacy, “I don’t hate it and obviously I’m very happy to be back at work but the Garrison looks like it belongs in London rather than Small Heath”

“We’re moving up”

“You are but not everyone else in Small Heath is. Obviously, it’s too late to do anything about it now but in the future, remember you’re in Small Heath and not in London.”

Tommy moved so that there were only mere centimetres between them, “Sometimes, I forget who’s the one who grew up here and who’s the one who arrived a year ago between us”

(Y/N) grinned at him, “What can I say, the town of Small Heath is special to me”

“Want to get out of here?” Tommy asked with a raised brow

“I’m sure Arthur can handle the bar by himself” (Y/N) said as she reached for his hand, allowing him to pull her out of the pub.

.•° ✿ °•.

It wasn’t until a month after the reopening of the pub did (Y/N) realise what her fooling around with Tommy had resulted in. After she had connected the dots herself, she had made her way to Watery Lane to find the person who could confirm it for her along with giving her some solid advice.

She made her way into the house of Watery Lane first rather than entering the betting den, hoping that Polly was there instead of her office.

Tommy had told her about the betting den and his illegal business not long after the incident with the man who had followed her and she did not judge, as it would be hypocritical if she did but she understood the reasoning behind what he did for a living but she still hadn’t visited the actual den itself.

Luckily for her, Polly was in the kitchen of the house and (Y/N) slipped into the seat opposite her,

“I need your...expertise”

Polly put down her cup of tea and looked her up and down before she reached out and placed her hand on (Y/N)’s stomach before moving up to her breast, “You’re pregnant, I’d say two, maybe three months”

(Y/N) sunk back in her chair and released a huff, she didn’t know what to do.

“I’m guessing it’s Tommy's,” Polly said as she made them both a cup of tea.

“Who else's would it be?” (Y/N) scoffed.

“Do you want to keep it?” Polly asks as she sets down the two teacups on the table.

“Hmm, I think I do but I’ll have to talk to Tommy. If he doesn’t want anything to do with it, I’ll guess I’ll have to leave Small Heath,”

“Listen, I don’t know the in’s and out’s of whatever you have going on between you two but I do know my nephew. He cares about you deeply and he’s not the type of man to abandon his child.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“Last I heard, Charlie’s Yard”

(Y/N) stands up with a nod, “Alright, thank you”

As she made her way to Charlie’s Yard, (Y/N) thought of how she could tell Tommy the news. There was no point dragging it out and Tommy was someone who liked to get straight to the information but she was nervous either way.

She pushed open the gates and made her way to where Charlie and Curly were, “Hello Charlie, Curly.”

Curly stuttered out a greeting and Charlie nodded at her.

“Is Tommy around? I’d heard he was here”

“You just missed him, he went to the Garrison” Charlie informed her.

(Y/N) nodded in thanks and quickly scurried away before she could hear the second sentence.

“But he’s with a woman…” Charlie finished as he watched (Y/N) run away.

(Y/N) hurried to the Garrison, annoyed that she had to run around Small Heath just to find one man and it didn’t help that the news she was carrying was heavy. Finally arriving, she called out his name as she pushed open the door,

“Tommy?! You better be here otherwise-oh” (Y/N) paused at the sight of Tommy with a woman at the bar.

“I thought you weren’t working today?”

“I’m not, I wanted to speak to you and was told I’d find you here but you’re obviously busy, so I’ll leave you alone”

Tommy nodded in understanding and just as (Y/N) was turning to leave the other woman stood forward and offered her hand,

“I’m May. May Carleton.”

(Y/N) glanced over to Tommy, taken off guard but he continued drinking his drink so (Y/N) shook May’s hand, “(Y/N). Nice to meet you”

“Just (Y/N)? No last name?”

“I don’t have one.” (Y/N) gave May one last polite smile before she left.

May stared after her for a few more moments before she turned to Tommy, “She’s not serious right? What is her last name?”

Tommy gave may a shrug, “If she has one, she hasn’t told me”

.•° ✿ °•.

“Right, what’s wrong?” Tommy asked as he stepped into her flat later that evening.

“Uhm okay, I’m just going to get it right out”

Tommy watched as she paced in front of him, whatever she had to tell him was clearly weighing heavily on her mind and he didn’t push her over getting it over and done with.

“Tommy,...I’m pregnant”

Tommy stared at her in shock. Out of all the things he guessed she would tell him, that wasn’t one of them.

“I know this isn’t what we planned or anything and I’ll completely understand if you don’t want anything to do with it but I want to keep it” (Y/N) rushed out in one breath.

“(Y/N), I don’t want you to get rid of it and I want to be involved” Tommy pulled (Y/N) into his embrace, “We’ll raise this child together. You and me.”

(Y/N) looked up at him with tears in her eyes, “Really?”

“Really. We’ll do it.”

(Y/N) wrapped her arms around Tommy tighters and cried into his shoulder and he let her, rubbing his hand up and down her back in hopes it comforted her.

“I was so scared”

“I know. It’s okay.”

They were wrapped up in each other’s embrace for a while before Tommy moved them over to the couch,

“Have you been to the doctor?” Tommy asked

“I went to Polly. Practically the same thing”

Tommy agreed, there were moments where he trusted Polly’s opinion and help over a doctors.

“What did she say?”

“Two months, maybe three”

“I know you went to Polly but I want you to go to the doctor, just to make sure”

(Y/N) nods in agreement, “I will.”

.•° ✿ °•.

One day, almost two months after (Y/N) found out she was pregnant, Tommy picked her up from her flat and took her for a drive. He wouldn’t tell her where they were going but he reassured her that she would like it.

Recently, they were at odds with each other with Tommy wanting (Y/N) to stop working entirely and (Y/N) being totally against it, so she assumed that perhaps he was trying to butter her up.

“You’re not trying to do something so that I’ll forgive you?” (Y/N) asked him.

“No, you can still be as mad as you want, I’m not going to stop you.”

“So the surprise had nothing to do with it?”

“Nope,” Tommy said as he pulled a tie out of his pocket and gave it to her, “Wrap it around your eyes”

(Y/N) did so without arguing and a minute later they pulled up to a stop and Tommy went over to the passenger side of the car to help her out. He kept his grip on her arm as he leads her forward before they stopped.

“You ready?”

(Y/N) nodded, “Yes”

“You can take off the tie”

(Y/N) gasped at what she stood in front of. It was a house, though that was being generous, it was massive and as (Y/N) looked around her in shock, she also realised that they were surrounded by copious amounts of land.

“What’s this?”

“This” Tommy walked towards her, “Is our house”

“Ours? All of it?”

Tommy grinned at her, “All it and all of this land as well. There’s also a stable round back”

“You had to make it worth your while as well, huh?” (Y/N) teased him

“Want to look inside?”

“Can we?”

Tommy offered his arm and (Y/N) took it and allowed him to lead her inside.

The interior was just as grand as the exterior and (Y/N) had fallen love with the place, it was perfect for them, yet also brought back some memories.

“You know, this reminds me of my house back home. It was bigger since it had to satisfy my father’s ego but it never felt like home, not like the way my flat does.”

“This will be different, this will be a home where our child will grow up and they won’t grow up as we did”

(Y/N) nodded reassured.

“I know you want to work for as long as you can and I know I can’t stop you but when you’re ready you can move in here”

(Y/N) was grateful that Tommy gave her space and he understood her because she knew she would go crazy just staying at the house and doing nothing whilst she was still pregnant. When the baby arrived, it would be a different story.

.•° ✿ °•.

When (Y/N) could no longer bend down to collect glasses due to her bump, she knew she had to throw in the towel and stop working. Harry had her working on the books for the most part while she occasionally did bar work but she had reached her limit with her feet swollen and her back constantly aching.

Truthfully the reason why she was having such a difficult time leaving her job was that she did not know when she would be able to return. She enjoyed working at the Garrison and interacting with the locals but once she had the child she would have to put that on pause as she raised her child. She could have a nanny but that was how she was raised and she did not like that.

She made her into Tommy’s office, pausing by Lizzie’s desk to see if he was free before entering. He didn’t look up from his papers when she entered but he did give her a greeting which she returned as she took a seat.

“I’ve decided to hang up my apron” She announces to him.

This makes Tommy look up, “Yeah?”

“I can’t reach the glasses, my ankles are swollen and I have a constant need to go toilet” (Y/N) complained, “If I knew how terrorising pregnancy would be, I wouldn’t have gotten pregnant”

“Want me to call you a driver?”

“Please, I need a nap” Their bed was calling to (Y/N)

Tommy reached for the phone on his desk and called for a driver for her and as (Y/N) watched him, she realised how domesticated it was. Though in many ways, they were too, they lived together, shared a bed and (Y/N) was pregnant with their child but they weren’t in any sort of official relationship of any kind. She would have thought that Tommy would have suggested that they got married for the sake of the child but he hadn’t even brought it up.

She had thought about talking to him about it but her fears quickly overtook her whenever she built up the courage and though it frustrated her, she had more important things to worry about.

.•° ✿ °•.

Childbirth was an experience unlike any other and (Y/N) had to wonder how her mother did it five times but at the end when she held her daughter in her arms, she had never felt happier. It was, in fact, the best day of her life.

Tommy was sitting next to her on the bed, a similar smile on his face. He had never thought that he would become a parent but now that he was one, he found that all of his love was directly for one tiny human and their mother and he had something to live for. He wasn’t afraid of death but now he wouldn’t go throwing himself into situations where he could die and leave his family behind.

“What should we name her?” He asked

“I like the name Isla.”

“Isla Mary Shelby”

(Y/N) looked up at him, “Is Mary your mother’s name?”

Tommy nodded and (Y/N) smiled at him,

“I like that, it suits her. Isla Mary Shelby”

.•° ✿ °•.

Life with a newborn was hard and even though they had nannies on hand to help out, (Y/N) still had reservations on relying on them but slowly she was working towards something that worked for her.

The rest of the Shelby family were just as enamoured with Isla as her parents were and so Polly and Ada were regular visitors. (Y/N) in particular was very grateful for Polly’s presence, the woman always had the best advice and the woman would practically be the closest thing to a grandparent Isla would have.

As (Y/N) unlearned the behaviours of her own parents, so did Tommy. They did not want to become their parents and it took a lot of reassurance and from each other to make sure that they were doing the right thing, they weren't perfect but there was no such thing.

One day, when Isla was a few months old, Tommy brought up the elephant in the room; their marriage or much rather, their lack of one. They were outside, enjoying the warm weath of the summer, watching the horses in the field when he spoke up.

“One day, we’ll get married” He spoke out of the blue, linking their fingers together, “I’m not just saying that so that Isla is safe incase anything happens to me but I do love you and I do want to get married to you”

(Y/N) squeezed his hand, “Is this you proposing to me?”

“Yeah, it is”

Tommy pulled a ring box from out of his pocket and opened it and in there rested a gorgeous ring. He plucked the ring out of the box and held it out to her,

“(Y/N), will you marry me?”

(Y/N)’s lips pulled into a bright smile as she nodded, “Of course, I will.”

Tommy slipped the ring on her finger and pulled her into a kiss. (Y/N) gushed over the ring as she pulled Tommy into hug,

“I know our relationship is unconventional but I know we’re meant for each other”

“We’re good to each other,” Tommy agreed.

“I want to do it when she’s older though, so she can be the flower girl” (Y/N) says as she runs her fingers over Isla’s head, smiling at the little girl’s coos.

“A year or two then”

(Y/N) nods before she brings him into another kiss.

“What is your last name?” Tommy asks

“Does it matter? I am to be a Shelby” (Y/N) replied as she admired her ring.

“I suppose it doesn’t”

.•° ✿ °•.

Just as promised, two years later, Tommy and (Y/N) were getting married. The wedding ceremony would be taking place in a nearby church whilst the reception would be held at their house.

(Y/N) slipped her wedding dress on with the help of Polly whilst, Ada touched up her makeup.

“Nervous?” Polly asked as she did the buttons of the back of her dress

“No” (Y/N) said as she watched her daughter through the mirror, “It’s been a long time coming.”

Polly patted her shoulders, “You’re good to go.”

(Y/N) gave her one last smile before she made her way over to her daughter.

“Hi princess, you ready?” (Y/N) asked

Isla was already dressed as she sat on the floor, playing her dolls, with a cute hair clip that matched her dress.

“We see daddy?”

“Uh-huh” (Y/N) nodded, smiling when Isla jumped up and took her hand.

As she had no family to walk her down the aisle, John had stepped up and offered his arm, which she gratefully took. Isla toddled down first, throwing handfuls of petals out of her little basket down to the floor before she hurried over to wrap her arms around her father’s legs giving him a quick hug before Polly scooped her up.

Then, (Y/N) and John walked down and (Y/N) could not keep her eyes off of Tommy. He had a straight face but that did not fool her in any way, she knew he wanted the wedding as much as she did.

The ceremony sped by and before she knew it, (Y/N) was walking back down the aisle but this time her arm was in Tommy’s and their friends and family were cheering and throwing petals at them as they left the church.

They stopped at the steps as they waited for the rest of their family to join them and they took the moment to have half a second of alone time.

“I told you we should have gotten married just by ourselves with an officiant.” Tommy muttered underneath his breath.

“I don’t plan on having another wedding, do you? I want this to be a day I remember for the rest of my life” (Y/N) responded, “Now, please don’t frown, you’re worse than Isla.”

Tommy rolled his eyes at the reminder that his daughter took after him in many ways but relaxed his face as the rest of their family joined them and took their places for the picture.

.•° ✿ °•.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know they would do this”

(Y/N) jumped when Tommy suddenly stormed into the room she was in, a newspaper clenched in his hands.

“Huh? What are you on about?”

Tommy gave her the newspaper before he began to angrily pace in front of her. (Y/N) looked down at the newspaper and her stomach dropped at the headline and the picture from their wedding day below it;

‘Thomas Shelby OBE MP marries wife in small wedding in Warwickshire’

“What the fuck…”

“They must have snuck in with the other photographer” Tommy theorised, “It’s a national paper”

“Oh Tommy,” (Y/N) sighed, “Is this today’s paper?”

Tommy shook his head, “Yesterday’s”

“Then it is too late” (Y/N) whimpered, “They know where I am and they’ll be here to get me”

“It’s been what, three, four years since you ran away, would they still care?”

“It doesn’t matter how long it’s been, they won’t stop until I’m back or dead. I defied them and they’ll never forgive me”

Tommy dropped to his knees in front of her, “They won’t I promise you that.”

“If this is yesterday's paper then they could be here already. It’s too late.”

“I have men here, we can take him”

(Y/N) shook her head in denial, “Not if they get my father or brothers”

“They’ll take a couple of weeks for them to get there, we can plan in that time.”

“No, Tommy” (Y/N) sounded defeated, “No offence, but your Peaky Boys have nothing on my fathers men and we’re isolated out here”

“Have you given up?” Tommy was in disbelief, “Have you given up on living? Given up on your daughter who sleeps upstairs?! That’s not who you are!”

“You don’t know them! They will kill all of us except me if we try to fight back and they will torture me with that fact. If I go to them without a fight, then you can live!”

“No. I refuse.”

“You refuse?” (Y/N) couldn’t help but laugh

“We go on the run. Escape to America until it’s all blown over”

“They’ll find us there and it’ll repeat until they get me”

Tommy released a frustrated sigh as he paced to the other side of the room and pour himself a large class of whiskey,

“I refuse to simply allow you to give yourself up to them. Isla needs her mother and I need my wife. You said you didn’t want to be the type of parents yours were but what you have planned, is simply no better.”

“Then what do you suggest?” (Y/N)’s voice was quiet but there was an edge to it.

“We go back to Small Heath, we gather our men and we plan.”

(Y/N) took a deep breath and nodded, “We do not give up”

Tommy pulled her into a hug, “We do not”

.•° ✿ °•.

They had temporarily moved back to Small Heath and Tommy and gathered all of the family but as (Y/N) refused to let anyone get too involved or close, the brunt of the plan laid on her shoulders.

It had almost been a month and nothing had happened which meant that her family was coming or she had managed to get away with it but they were still on edge and weren’t willing to put their guards down. Tommy had Moss keep an eye out along with Alfie Solomons sending information about what was happening in London. According to him, (Y/N)’s father’s men had paid for spies across the city and that they knew they were in Birmingham.

Their intuition was right when one day they had received a call from Moss about two cars heading into Small Heath and (Y/N) knew her family had finally arrived. Not wanting to bring the confrontation to the streets of Small Heath, Tommy and (Y/N) drove to the edge and met them there but they weren’t completely alone, Tommy had gun men placed around the area which gave them a little advantage but there was no knowing what her family had planned.

If things went south and neither (Y/N) or Tommy survived then Ada was instructed to escape to America with Karl and Isla and (Y/N) could only hope that wouldn’t happen.

They stood in silence as they waited for the family to arrive but when (Y/N) spotted them, she pulled Tommy into a kiss and hug,

“I love you, never forget that.” She whispers to him.

“I won’t”

They pulled apart when the cars pulled to a stop and turned to face the men who stepped out.

An older man stepped out first, before four younger men climbed out after him. (Y/N) could not help herself as she ran her eyes over her family, looking at what had changed since she last saw them.

“Father. Brothers” She greeted as they stood to a stop opposite her and Tommy.

The youngest brother, the one closest in age to her tipped his head in greeting whilst everyone else glared at her.

“Daughter. I see you decided to make the correct decision and give yourself up.”

(Y/N) snorted and shook her head, “I have not. I will not”

“Do not be foolish sister,” Her eldest brother takes a step forward, “Don’t you realise how worried we’ve been? We’ve been searching for you for year, only to find out you’ve been here in this...shithole”

Her brother looked around in disgust as he finished his sentence.

“Drop the act. I’m not here to play games.” (Y/N) was tired already, “I’m not leaving with you, so what’s your plan?”

“You don’t have a choice. I set up a marriage between you and my closest man, you know he has spent all these years travelling across the globe looking for you? He deserves a reward”

(Y/N) pulled a face at her fathers words, “First of all, I am not a reward, I am a human being. Second, he must have not been looking very hard considering I ended up being ousted by a newspaper and thirdly, I’m already married and I don’t plan on getting married again”

Her second eldest brother snarled at her, “You’ve grown a backbone sister. We’ll have to beat it out of you”

This caused Tommy to finally step forward and cleared his throat, “I can’t let you to do that”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m her husband” Tommy gestured towards (Y/N) and she could see that he enjoyed it.

“Enough!” (Y/N)’s father stepped forward, “No more arguing, I’ll give you one last chance or we’ll take you by force”

(Y/N)’s shoulders slumped, “Why don’t you leave me alone? Go back and just forget about me”

“No one will take us seriously, if we don’t make an example out of you, then we’ll be seen as a joke.”

“I won't go and you cannot force me to and I’d much rather die than go anywhere with you”

Her father pulled out his gun and her brothers quickly followed which caused Tommy to do the same and the air was thick with tension.

“No, no, no if she wants to die then I’ll be the one to kill her.” Her father waved at her brothers and they put their guns away.

(Y/N) looked at Tommy and gave him a nod, and Tommy nodded back knowing the meaning behind the look and he put his gun away too. (Y/N) made her way to her father and when she was close enough, he reached out and pulled her towards him and jabbed his gun underneath her jaw.

“This is the end, daughter, you brought this upon yourself” Her father growled

“This is the end, but not for me”

(Y/N) pulled the gun she had been hiding in her waistband of her trousers and pressed it against her father’s chest. She didn’t even give him a moment to realise what was happening before she pulled the trigger, shooting her father in the chest.

He staggered back in shock before (Y/N) pushed him and causing him to fall backwards, landing on the floor with a thump,

“Fuck you!” (Y/N) spat in her native language.

One of her brothers came running at her and she pointed the gun at him, stopping him in her tracks, “I’ll kill you too, don’t fucking try me”

“Go back to your home and never return.” Tommy stepped forward.

(Y/N)’s brothers looked between each other before (Y/N) spoke again, “Leave. Take his body and go back. Never come back here or try to find me.”

Her eldest brother motioned for the youngest two to take the body of their father while he cursed at her,

“We’ll never forgive you and you’ll pay for your crimes in the afterworld”

“I’ll meet you there and we can pay for our crimes together”

Her brother growled her one last time before he got into the car and sped off. Once (Y/N) could no longer see them, she turned and collapsed into Tommy’s arms, a massive weight finally lifted off of her.

“You did it!” Tommy pulled away and smiled at her, “You did it, you wonderful woman”

(Y/N) let out a soft, “I did, didn’t I?”

Tommy took her gun and whistled, signalling for the men stationed around they could come down before he began to lead her towards the car,

“Want a drink?”

“Several but before that I want to see my daughter, go back to Arrow House and take a hot bath”

“Whatever you want”

.•° ✿ °•.

The shouts of children filled the gardens of Arrow House along with the chattering of adults and (Y/N) felt the last of the weight of her shoulders disappear. She had always been worried that her family would find her but now that they were truly gone, she could live without worry.

It was Isla’s third birthday and her and Tommy had decided to throw a party to celebrate it. Her and a group of local children were running around whilst the parents and other adults were sitting around enjoying the warm summer air and cool drinks.

Tommy crept up behind (Y/N) and wrapped one of his arms around her waist and gave her a kiss on her cheek, “You okay?”

(Y/N) gave him a smile and a nod, “I’m great”

“Mama!” Isla came running up to her, arms raised, “Up pwease!”

(Y/N) did as she was asked and lifted her daughter up, “What’s up princess?”

“Cake?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. What do you think, dad?” (Y/N) turned to Tommy with a smile

Isla turned to her father and put on her biggest puppy dog eyes, “Pwease dada!”

Tommy put on a show as if he was seriously debating on what to do, “Only if I get a hug from the birthday girl”

(Y/N) almost dropped Isla from how sudden she tried to get out of her arms and into her fathers but she helped her climb over and watched as she gave Tommy a tight hug with an added kiss on the cheek.

“Cake now?”

“Alright, go get your friends and we’ll go get the cake?” Tommy put her down and watched as she ran off to her friends.

“She’s growing up too fast” (Y/N) pouted as they walked inside, “In no time she’ll be spending most of her time at school”

“If she’s anything like her mother, she’ll be fine” Tommy assured her.

(Y/N) sighed, “I know, but I’m still going to be sad. Now let’s get going otherwise our princess will come storming in here demanding to know what’s taking so long”

Tommy pulled (Y/N) to a stop just before they entered the kitchen and cupped her face, “I love you”

(Y/N) smiled at him, “I love you too”

#call an ambulance but not for me vibes in 'that' scene lmao #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder imagines #tommy shelby imagines #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby #imagines #x reader #thomas shelby

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j-pankratz · 3 years

Text

Stuck in the Middle with You

A gift for the lovely @chubbykatsudon for the Novigrad Gift Exchange 2021!

Geraskefer, minor Lamden. 16507 Words. Can also be read here on ao3! Rated M for an abundance of cursing and deeply suggestive flirting! Tags for a small amount of canon typical violence, & a very big dog (Roach, my love)! Other tags include: Oh My God The Were Neighbors, Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Idiots to Lovers, We're Really Running The Gamut Here, Going viral on TikTok, The best lease of all fucking time, apple juice, and ever changing groupchat names.

“A year! A full year. Two! THREE!”

“Hmm.” Geralt muttered. In one hand above his head, he dangled the dead-though-still-writhing remains of a drowner. He’d stabbed it in the spine— nerve damage, unfortunate stuff. At his feet, the groveling man who’d gotten him into this mess in the first place. About 75% of the people he had to rescue from monsters, he found, were the rich sticking their noses places they oughtn’t, out of pure arrogance. This one, a landlord, apparently, had decided to wander off drunkenly from a party and go poking about the river.

He whimpered. “I— I’ll throw in maintenance! Please, Witcher, I—”

“Do you allow pets,” he asked dryly, “I need a place for Roach.” He gestured with his head to Roach, who was watching the thrashing drowner body with interest.

“Ah, no, we don’t—” Geralt dug his thumb into a wound in the deceased drowner’s neck, causing it to hiss and send out spittle. The kneeling landlord cried in fear.

“Yes! Yes! Fine, we can accept your dog, please, please Witcher I can’t die, I—”

“Deal,” Geralt said, and thrust his sword through the drowner once more, severing its head from its body. The man yelped as blood and assorted monster bits sprayed out. Geralt dropped the remnants of its head and neck to the ground, landing with a sickening splat, and the man wailed again.

“When’s move in?”

——

Move-in, as it turned out, was a week and a half later, the first of the month. It was a good apartment, better than he’d have ever rented for himself— a quiet street, an elevator, laundry in the basement, and a doorman half the time. Geralt had a view of the city from his bedroom and of the tree-lined street below from his brightly and naturally lit living room, while the second bedroom had a view of the apartment’s courtyard. The kitchen was a good size, though he didn’t cook much, and it had a dishwasher, which was worth its weight in gold. There was a corner shop at the end of the block, and a few restaurants, coffee shops, and bars within walking distance. Eskel and Coën would love visiting, at least, and if he got a decent enough couch and tv, Lambert would too. Not that they’d have much opportunity to visit, but he could have his dreams, few and minor as they were.

It was on the 8th floor, which was high enough to feel safe. There were only four apartments to a floor, which helped. Ultimately, he figured, nobody would really suspect a Witcher to live in a regular apartment building. And if anyone came after him, well, he’d deal with that then. With Ciri away at school, he would have less to stress about. He’d be subtle, wouldn’t tell people in the building he was a Witcher, wouldn’t talk much to anyone, would hope they wouldn’t notice his eyes. He’d wear sunglasses. It would be fine! This apartment was probably the second most favorable payment he’d ever had from a contract—the first of course, being Ciri— he wasn’t about to turn it down, or regret taking it.

Even when he was stuck in the elevator with, quite possibly, the most annoying man on earth.

Geralt was taking the last of his suitcases upstairs, which was really Roach’s suitcase, and a box of his cooking supplies— an embarrassingly small number of pots, pans, bowls, plates, and utensils. Just as the door was closing—

“WAIT! Hold that, hold that, if you’d please, fuck!”

A man with brown hair came barreling toward the elevator, just barely sticking his expensive looking brown leather shoe in the doors before they closed. They slid open with a soft ding, and the man, out of breath, tumbled inside.

He was tall, with a mop of brown hair and egregiously bright teal pants, a slightly lighter blue dress shirt tucked in to match. He heaved against the elevator walls, breathing heavily and eventually sinking down to a crouch to catch his breath.

“Good save,” Geralt said.

“Thank you,” the man said between gasps. “You saved my life.”

“I didn’t do anything."

The man waved his hand at the buttons. “Button. Button. You. Press. You pressed the— you know.”

“No I didn’t.”

The man paused, his breathing slowly going back to normal. “You didn’t—” He looked up at Geralt, his eyes a brilliant, piercing blue. He was frowning. “What do you mean you didn’t? You didn’t press the button?”

“Nope.”

The man came to standing, and Geralt found that the man wasn’t just tall, he was nearly Geralt’s height. “You mean to tell me, you see a man running for the elevator, screaming for you to hold the door, and instead you just— just stand there and watch?”

Geralt lifted his box a bit. “Got my hands full.”

“You have elbows! Two of them, might I add!” the man cut in before Geralt could lift the suitcase tucked into the crook of one arm. Instead, he shrugged.

“More fun to watch you run.”

“More fun to— I cannot believe this,” the man said, looking up at the floor numbers. The elevator continued to rise, and he suddenly groaned. “Ah, fuck, we’ve missed my floor,” he said, fumbling over to the buttons. Geralt frowned.

“We’re only on the fifth floor.” He watched the man press the button for the second floor. “You ran to the elevator… to go to the second floor?”

“I don’t like stairs!” he complained; Geralt could tell he’d had to give this explanation many times before.

“You like running more than stairs?”

“I would run toward convenience any day.”

“Mmm,” Geralt hummed softly.

They stood in silence for a moment. “Sorry, who are you? New neighbor, then?”

“Yep.”

“Do you have a name, or must I call you Mildly Rude Elevator Man? You wouldn’t be the first to earn a title from me. I don’t even know the woman’s name who lives in the Penthouse so now she’s just Penthouse Lady. But surely you have a name?”

Geralt smiled. “8b.”

“Oh, hilarious, 8b, alright, then I’m 2d. Lovely to meet you, 8b,” he said as the doors slid open to the 8th floor. “Do you need some help with those?”

“No,” Geralt said, and maneuvered himself out of the elevator carefully.

“Alright, fine then, if you say so, but I’m very helpful, actually, when I need to be. I have two hands, you know.”

“I’m sure,” Geralt grunted and approached his door. Fishing in his pocket for his keys for a moment, he found himself turned to the man in the elevator— 2d— and watched as his eyes grew wide as they fell on Geralt’s medallion, just as the elevator dinged and the doors began to slide closed. Well. Fuck.

“Wait— is that—” 2d’s eyes grew wide, and then a grin split across his face. “You’re a Witcher, aren’t you! Wait!” but the doors had already met, and the elevator began its descent.

Okay, so, subtlety gone, and given how chatty 2d had been, he figured it was only a matter of time before the entire building knew. That was the price for a free 3-year lease in a building far above his price range at the best of times, he supposed.

There was no way this would be worth it.

——

There were three days of peace, before 2d came knocking.

It was mid-afternoon, and in the living room the sunlight streamed through his new windows onto the small amount of furniture he’d arranged so far. Roach’s bed, his orange couch, a small tv, a chair, a barstool, a bookcase. Everything else was either still in boxes or simply not purchased yet— he’d never had need for it. He didn’t even know what to do with an apartment he could enjoy spending time in. The morning had been spent sitting on the couch, letting his coffee go cold as he looked around and tried to figure out what to do with this place he might actually be able to relax in. Until, of course, the knocking began.

He tried to ignore it, but 2d was persistent. After the 5th set of knocks, Geralt groggily rose from his chair, coffee in hand, and opened the door.

“Good morning! Hi, ah, hope you’re alright, settling in well?”

“What do you want.”

“Oh, glad to see you’re in a good mood,” 2d replied easily. His outfit was just as bright today, his pants a vibrant green with a mango pattern on them, his shirt a matching orange, with yellow cuffs, and a… oh, gods above, a guitar case strapped to his back, the leather strap running across his chest, hugging him closely. His clothes fit remarkably well, Geralt noticed, and then tried to promptly un-notice. But it was hard. 2d’s eyes looked especially blue today, which was bullshit. Geralt raised an eyebrow and hoped he wasn’t being obvious about anything, though it wasn’t as if Witchers let their faces be easily readable.

“Listen. You’re a Witcher. Very neat, very cool, I could smell the heroics and heartbreak on you in that elevator, I’m getting whiffs of it even now—”

“That’s sweat. Or coffee.”

“Well, okay, it’s not, but okay. My point here is, you have stories. And I write stories. Well, I write songs. Music. Poetry, art, etcetera. And I’m good, I promise I’m fairly decently good—”

“Was that you on Sunday singing the song about the… rabbit? And the moon?” He didn’t remember it well, but whoever was singing had definitely mentioned worms, as well.

“The… oh! Yes! Ah,” he cleared his throat and began. “But have you heard the story of the rabbit in the moon? Or the cow that hopped the planets while straddling a spoon? Right? Yes, love that one, it’s a fun one to sing at bars. Great warm-up song. Cosmo Sheldrake! Gotta love them, strange bastards. I should record that for TikTok, now that I think of it.”

“Sure.” The man’s singing voice was… light, airy, with something like a faint rasp in there, but he dipped down low into his register another was a whole new layer of sound there as well. It sounded like him, but it was somehow completely different than what Geralt would have expected the man’s singing voice to be like. “Cows don’t do that, though. And the references to beasts in your other songs were just as unrealistic. You shouldn’t be confusing people, monsters are serious business. Someone could get hurt.”

“Perfect!” 2d cried excitedly. “See! You know these things. I would like to learn these things. Think of it as educating the public, and helping out your great new friend Jaskier. Which, hello, I’m Jaskier. You’re Geralt, right? Of Rivia?”

Geralt shifted on his feet. It shouldn’t have surprised him. There were only so many witchers, let alone ones with long white hair and a wolf medallion. Damn internet. “And if I am?”

Jaskier’s wide grin turned sly. “Then I know for a fact you have stories.”

The witcher sighed. Well. He’d bore this man with his bad storytelling, and he’d get bored, and he’d leave. In the meantime, Geralt would get to look at 2d’s well-fitting clothes and shoulders that looked terrifically broad. It could be worse. There was a long pause.

“Fine. This once. But I’m not your friend.”

“Brilliant! Beautiful, fantastic,” Jaskier was saying, and slipped past Geralt and in to the apartment.

And then Roach barreled in.

“OH, HOLY FUCK!” Jaskier screamed in surprise, as the great Dane barked, getting right up to Jaskier before Geralt quieted her with a quick command. She plopped down at Jaskier’s feet obediently, and stared up at him with big, watery brown eyes. Jaskier’s hands were raised high above his head, and when he spoke, it came out as a raspy whisper.

“I did not know you had a dog. Have you always had this dog? Whose dog is this, this is your dog? How have I missed this. What’s his name?”

“Her name is Roach.”

“Her names Roach,” he repeated in the same horse whisper. “Why have you named your dog after an insect.”

“Can’t get rid of her,” Geralt replied, though he knew that made it sound like he didn’t absolutely adore her. The name had been a joke, and it had stuck, simple as that.

“Oh. Lovely. Okay. Will she eat me? She won’t eat me, right? This is a good dog, a good dog with manners?”

“She won’t eat you. Unless I tell her to.”

“Stop that!! Oh, stop that, oh my gods. Okay. Okay. Hello puppy. Nice, non-murdering puppy. Not a puppy. Good… large dog. Good large girl. You’re nice, aren’t you. You won’t kill me at all, not even a little bit.” He slowly let one hand come down to his side, and Roach surged forward to lick it. Jaskier yanked his hand back up and shut his eyes tightly.

“Okay. Maybe I should come back. At another time when I am more prepared for your non-murdering, not at all monstrous 4-foot tall dog.”

“She’s more like 2 1/2 feet tall.” Geralt cocked his head to the side. “Maybe three.”

“Fuck. Gods. Okay. Okay. Another day then! But definitely. I will want to hear these stories. Okay?”

“Sure,” Geralt agreed. This was more entertainment than he had expected today. He held back laughs, smiling while Jaskier’s eyes were still shut tightly. “Another day, then.”

“Okay. I’m backing out now, he said, and slowly began to do so, not turning away from Roach. She came to standing, and he jumped back at the sound of her nails against the tile floor of the kitchen, eyes still squeezed shut. “OKAY, OH, NO, okay doggie, no following me. No following. Thank you. Okay. I will. See you soon. Okay? Okay.”

And then Jaskier was out the door, and running down the stairwell. Geralt closed the door behind him, and turned to see Roach looking at him, her head cocked. He laughed, and bent down to pet her.

——

It took just over 24 hours for 2d— no, no, Jaskier— to come knocking once more. This time, Geralt answered the door more quickly; best to either get this over with, or get some more laughs out of it while he could. Behind the door stood Jaskier, mildly nervous looking, already glancing over Geralt’s shoulder into the apartment.

It was either a blessing or a curse that Jaskier’s outfit was not nearly as tight-fitting today, though the strap of his guitar case still cut close to his figure against his lavender sweater. In his arms, he held a variety of brand-new-looking dog toys; kongs and bones and pull-ropes and even some balls.

“Hi! Ah, this time, I’ve come prepared! With distractions and assurances your Roach will not eat me. If you’d still be available for relaying some stories?”

“…You bought her toys?”

“Ah…. maybe a bit? Well, yes, I certainly don’t have a dog, I just did some searching for what kind of things abnormally large dogs might enjoy and picked some up on a walk this morning. Nothing big.” Geralt looked again at the pile in Jaskier’s arms. He’d… bought toys. For Roach. Who he’d just met the day previously, and had scared him silly.

The more time he spent around Jaskier, the less he understood about the man.

Geralt took a step back and gave a whistle, and soon Roach was trotting in from his bedroom. He could smell the tension off Jaskier, and put a hand on his shoulder to calm him. “Try to relax. She’ll know if you’re stressed.”

“Right. No stress, just a dog who could swallow me whole. That’s fine, this is fine.”

“Put your hand out low, so she can sniff.”

After a bit of hesitation, Jaskier took a deep breath and did as he was told. “Friendly, Roach,” Geralt said as she sniffed loudly around Jaskier’s hand. And a moment later, she was licking his hand, sobering all over it. Jaskier laughed nervously, a light and airy sound Geralt found himself enjoying a bit too much. His smile was radiant, the relief in his broad shoulders palpable. He carefully moved his hand to give her a scratch on the cheek, and Roach leaned into it, pressing up against him, her tag wagging a mile a minute.

“Feel better?”

“Hmm? Oh! Yes, yes,” Jaskier said, pulling his attention away from Roach. “I’m really not usually scared of dogs. She’s just… very large, and was unexpected. But you’re a good girl, aren’t you? You’re not nearly as scary as you look! Just like your owner, isn’t that right.”

Geralt frowned. He knew he was frightening, there was no sense in denying it. He had frightened nearly every human he came across, at least in some small way. But even since Jaskier had realized he was a witcher, Geralt hadn’t smelled fear on him. Only just now, when he’d met Roach.

Again, he understood Jaskier less than before.

Geralt stepped back wordlessly and allowed Jaskier to step further into the apartment. He pulled out one of the balls tucked into the pile of toys in his arm and threw it further into the living room, and Roach excitedly ran after it, plopping down to chew on it next to her well-loved gray bed.

Jaskier followed, moving through the room like the breeze, before sitting on the couch, kicking his shoes off, and shoving his feet between the cushions.

“So! Where should we begin! Tales of your early days, your first forays with beasts? Your most recent victories? Epic quests?”

Geralt stared at Jaskier, an eye twitching. “Don’t— what are you doing?”

“Well, I figured we’d be here a while, might as well get comfortable!”

“On a stranger’s couch. A witcher’s couch.”

“On my new, good friend Geralt-The-Witcher’s couch! We’re hardly neighbors, we’re strangers! Wait, no, sorry, hardly strangers, we’re— where are you going?”

Geralt had turned and walked to his bedroom. He quietly shut the door behind him, walked to his bed, grabbed a pillow, and screamed into it. He was good at controlling his emotions. He barely had them, after all, that’s what they said about witchers. But this man, this self-proclaimed friend was driving him to madness, and it had only been four days in the building. He briefly considered moving, abandoning the apartment entirely, giving it to someone else. Or perhaps throwing this Jaskier out the window. But none of those were worth the time, or the inevitable paperwork. He could kick Jaskier out, but he’d come back, he knew he would.

It was best to just be boring. Just be boring, refuse to tell the good stories, and tell the boring ones he did have, badly. Jaskier would get tired of it, take what he got, and discover there was nothing interesting or worth telling about witches. Who would want to hear songs about him, anyway? Humans, in large part, still thought witchers were monsters. It had gotten better the past few decades, but… not much.

He took a deep breath and pulled the over-worn pillow away from his face. Time to just get it over with, he supposed. Another deep breath and he returned to the living room, where Jaskier had pulled out a pad of paper, several pens, his guitar, a small bag of what looked to be popcorn, and three notebooks that looked completely filled already. Jaskier whipped around to see him and gave a big, toothy smile.

He was doing this, Geralt thought, just to get the writer out of his hair. No more, no less. It had absolutely nothing to do with anything else.

“Geralt! I am perfectly ready, and if you can’t think of where to start I have dozens of questions for you. Hundreds, really, so don’t worry about it at all! Sit down, sit down.”

“This is my house,” Geralt said, grabbing the only other chair and sitting a ways from Jaskier, “I should be inviting you to take a seat.”

“Well, that might be the case if you were an experienced host, but I get the feeling it’s not really your forte. Alright, ready to begin?”

“Did you notice how I didn’t invite you to take a seat?”

“I did, actually! Again, I can tell you’re not a natural at the hosting thing. Not to worry, I’m plenty comfortable now.” There was a glint in his eye that told Geralt he knew exactly what he was doing.

Geralt sighed, and fought off the thought that Jaskier was very, very lucky he was pretty.

A few hours later, Jaskier had gathered up his things, ready to head out. “Don’t worry, Geralt, you were plenty helpful. And our next session we will absolutely get to some… even more interesting stories, I’m sure we’ve only just barely scratched the surface.”

“What.”

Geralt had been as boring as he could possibly manage, giving only the barest of details. Jaskier had still seemed intrigued, still prodded. His eyes had been full of life and wonder at the smallest details, he’d taken fervent notes, he’d looked like an oil painting when the sun had begun to set and cast him in vibrant golds, showing off the warmth in his cheeks and the well-hidden but sharp lines of his body. This had nearly killed Geralt. And now Jaskier wanted to do it again?!

“Yes, of course, I’ll need to do some writing and then come back to you for more— really, I think I should just accompany you on your next contract, I think I’d get much more out of it— not to say you didn’t do wonderfully, dear, but I can hardly imagine that anything compares to the real thing.”

“No. Too dangerous.”

“I can keep out of the way!” Jaskier said, hefting the guitar case onto his back.

“You can’t, you won’t it wouldn’t matter if you could. No.”

“Oh, I’ll wear you down.” Geralt was deeply afraid that this was correct. “Gods, I should probably eat. What time is it? It’s not Thursday, is it? Is it Tuesday? Oh, I wonder if Posada’s is doing their wings night tonight. You’ve had them, right?” Geralt stared back blankly. “Geralt. Ohhhhh, Geralt, you cannot tell me you haven’t had Posada’s wings yet.” Geralt raised a single eyebrow.

“I’ve been here four days.”

“And what have you eaten!”

“…Food?” The real answer was anything that took less than 15 minutes to prepare, cook, and eat, but he wasn’t about to say that, was he? That’s not a thing you say to people.

“Ohhh, no, Geralt. No no no.” Jaskier shrugged off his Guitar case and whipped out his phone. “No, this is my treat. Oh fuck, it’s Thurs—no, nope, sorry, saw the T and got worried. It is in fact Tuesday, and it’s 7pm so we’re in the clear; we are in fact doing Posada’s wings deal. This is half the reason rent on this place is worth it— not that you have to worry about that. I mean, neither do I but, whatever. Sit down, I’ll order now. Wait, no, you get the plates, I’ll order, okay.”

Geralt stared blankly at Jaskier as he bustled through the apartment, around the unopened boxes and suitcases, the few pieces of furniture, all while on his phone, ordering takeout for the both of them. He seemed to be a natural at almost everything— except talking, somehow, which didn’t give Geralt much hope for his lyricism. But he flowed through the apartment like water, the lilt of his voice carried through the air like honeysuckle on a breeze.

(If you asked Geralt how Jaskier had managed to stay at his apartment from 1 in the afternoon until 10:30 in the evening, Geralt wouldn’t be able to tell you. It involved some toys for Roach, some terrible storytelling, and a wing deal that seemed like it should be financially devastating for Posada’s. And if you asked him at what point Jaskier had started feeling like, well, maybe one of the better things in his life, he would deny it was so early as a mere few days after they met.

He’d be lying, but he likely wouldn’t quite realize that.)

——

Contracts weren’t especially plentiful in the early spring like they had been in years past, but the ones that did crop up were often fairly big. Such was the one Geralt happened to find on a walk with Roach, a week later on a billboard outside the largest park in the city.

A Griffin’s nest. He could probably relocate them, if he had help. He didn’t like killing monsters when he could avoid it— and griffins weren’t horribly dangerous when left well enough alone. It wasn’t their fault society had branched outwards, into their natural habitats. They shouldn’t have to pay for the mistakes of humans.

Besides, he understood monsters more than people, half the time.

So, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, snapped a picture of the flyer. The chat was used so infrequently that he didn’t even bother to scroll for it, he just typed in the names with one hand, the other busy wrapped Roach’s leash. Slowly, the names appeared. ESKEL, LAMBERT, COËN.

He sends the picture with a short message; ‘Anyone in, or am I doing this myself’ before tucking the phone back in his pocket. Geralt had learned years ago to keep his phone on Do Not Disturb when on walks with Roach; it was his quiet time. If he didn’t have his walks with Roach, he would lose his mind. When he arrived back at the building, he checked the phone in the elevator.

24 Messages from GETTING LIT WITH CITY WITCHERS

Coën – Just now

I don’t think that’s how flamethrowers work??

And before he could even open up the messages, another notification popped up as he stepped out of the elevator;

25 Messages from GETTING LIT WITH CITY WITCHERS

Lambert – Just now

Fine ruin my dreams fuck

He smirked and put it away to let himself and Roach into the apartment. A turn of the key and he let go of the leash, Roach pushing the door open and bolting for the couch, rolling all over the orange cushions. Before Geralt stepped in, he heard the sound of music fluttering up from the second floor; this time, Jaskier was writing a new song, getting stuck on different chords and changing his idea on the words every few seconds. The stop and go nature of it should have bothered him, having to hear someone all the way from the second floor should bother him (why did Jaskier insist on having the windows constantly opened??) but instead, he found it… pleasant.

That could not possibly be good.

——

When the four returned back from the contract, they were bruised, had splinters in truly unspeakable places, and were covered in grime. But, four griffin eggs successfully relocated, a mother griffin tolerant of her new home, and a decent paycheck to split amongst the four of them. Roach, dirtiest of all of them, ran into the apartment first and rolled around on the cool tile of the kitchen. At least it wasn’t on the couch, Geralt supposed, as he led in his fellow witchers. His apartment had been the closest when they’d returned to the city, and he’d agreed to let them all crash.

“Geralt holy fuck,” Lambert said, sounding incredulous as he began to shed his armor. “This is ridiculous! I know you saved the landlord, but shirts, did you show him a good time too?! This is unbelievable.”

“Damn, Geralt. You did good,” Eskel agreed with a pat on his younger brother’s back.

“It’s really nice. You could use some… decoration, though,” Coën added. “Just, you know. Anything on the walls. Pictures, posters, something.”

“I just moved in. Do you guys want coffee?”

The three groaned, and Lambert flopped on the couch, sufficiently de-armored. “I want to sleep for a hundred years, Geralt. No I don’t want fucking coffee.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, and put up a pot.

“It’s 11pm,” Coën said blankly. “Do Wolves not sleep? Is this a thing? I thought it was only Cats who didn’t sleep.”

Lambert shifted carefully onto his side. His next words were said almost in rote, as though he’d heard someone else say them a thousand times before. “Cats sleep pretty soundly, they just don’t do it at night. They have better things to do."

Coën shrugged and headed for the bathroom, but Eskel and Geralt sent each other a look. Eskel’s eyes squinted a bit, and they slowly turned to look at Lambert, motionless on the couch. There was a long moment of silence, as they just stared at the youngest wolf.

“Where’d you learn that one, lil Lamb?” Eskel asked carefully. Geralt caught a whiff of anxiety emanating off his younger brother for a moment.

“What? Oh. Uh, yeah, I met a Cat. So what?” He turned to look at his brothers, and he frowned. “Hey! So what?! You have something to say?! I can make friends!”

“You get this defensive about all your friends?”

“Geralt I will throw your couch out the fucking window, I swear to God.”

“What’s your new pal’s name?” Eskel asked. “This buddy of yours. Your chum.”

“I fucking hate you both!” Lambert shouted, and buried his face in a pillow.

With the coffee done, Geralt poured himself a mug and sat down at the kitchen bar, watching Lambert toss around on the couch. Eskel settled into one of Geralt’s only other chairs, and sat back.

“Are you gonna tell us about him?”

“…I need to be fucked up for that,” Lambert muttered. Geralt gave a gesture with his head to Eskel, who rose and opened a cabinet in the closet to reveal two bottles of White Gull. Eskel barked a laugh.

Lambert groaned and let his head fall back against the cushion once more. “Fucking hate you guys. Give me one of those.”

This was not the first time the halls were muddy.

Over the past two and a half weeks, the floor of the lobby had often been tracked with mud. She had tried to ignore this. The annoying musician, (her mortal enemy on the second floor), had been particularly stuck on some new song that was both uninspired and going nowhere. She had tried to ignore this, as well. She’d ignored Jane on the fourth floor’s delivery fiasco, and the fact that Eiman from floor 6’s fire alarm had gone off in the middle of some careful brewing she’d been doing. She had even tried to ignore the barks of a large dog from the new tenant in what was supposed to be a strictly no-dog apartment building.

(It wasn’t that she cared about the rules, she couldn’t give a shit about rules. She just hated them being broken when it inconvenienced her.)

What she could not ignore, however, what had pushed her decidedly past her breaking point, was what sounded like a heard of grown men who had trampled through the lobby, made their way up the stairs, undoubtedly coating it with mud, and were now somewhere several floors below her, all the windows thrown open, one of them lamenting about some man who he was infatuated with.

It wasn’t even good gossip. It had stopped being good gossip an hour ago, when he’d become so drunk he’d just started repeating the same things about this man— Adam, or Adrien, or Aiden, or something like that— over and over and over again.

And they were doing all of this past quiet hours. Did she have insulated, noise cancelling windows, yes. Did she herself enjoy a good night in with friends, or even a party, sometimes past quiet hours? Of course. Had she occasionally made a mess in the lobby? Possibly.

But she’d cleaned up, taken responsibility, and not made it everyone else’s problem at 2am on a Wednesday night when she’d very much like to have the windows open for a fucking breeze.

This, Yennefer thought, was not what she paid rent on a Penthouse for.

She groaned, checked her phone, and turned her bedside light on with a wave of her hand. Hadn’t anyone told these poor bastards about the witch who lived in the Penthouse? She stared at the hour again; it was 2:06am. Did she want to deal with this now? Or did she want to save raining down unholy terror for a reasonable hour, and instead capitalize on time differences.

It wasn’t a difficult decision. She pressed a few buttons, and her video chat call began to ring. A few moments later, a smiling but confused looking Anica lit up her phone, adjusting her tortoiseshell glasses.

“Yennefer! It’s lovely to hear from you but… what time is it there?”

She groaned. “2am. Don’t remind me. New neighbors suck. Tell me something fun you’re working on.”

Anica smiled. “Oh, if you want something fun, you’ve come at exactly the right moment. This week Sabrina’s here, and we’re working on a warding charm against fungi in gardens— I figure we could likely scale it up to fields, but I want to have things worked out just right before we move on….”

Yennefer smiled as her friend went on, and tried not to wince every time she heard a faint wail come from several floors beneath her.

“And— he sucks. Like, he’s fucking. Sly, and cocky and shit. Where does he get off being all—” 3 hours after he had begun, the deeply drunken Lambert was still talking, gesturing wildly in front of them. “—You know?! It’s no v’y thoughtful.” He drifted into silence once more, while Coën, Eskel, and Geralt just nodded. Most of what that had gathered was that Lambert’s overwhelming crush on this mysterious Cat Witcher, Aiden, had hit him like a truck a year or so back and he still hadn’t made a move. Which meant he was serious about this one.

Coën opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. There wasn’t much to say— Lambert was a goner. He hadn’t quite fallen asleep yet, so far as Geralt could tell from the rise and fall of his chest, but he was getting there. Eskel slowly began to stand up and collect the empty bottle of White Gull they’d finished. Suddenly, Lambert’s eyes flew open, and he careened forward, arms waving wildly. “AND HIS HAIR?! I fucking hate him! He’s awful. He’s so fucking hot and I hate everything. He sucks. How do I get him to sleep with me?!”

Eskel sat down again with a sigh.

“Wait. Geralt, you went on a contract without me?! After I specifically asked to go?! Geralt!” Jaskier huffed, his tub of sesame chicken nearly spilling. The nature documentary in front of them hummed along, though neither payed it much mind. They never did, really.

“Griffin nests are too dangerous,” Geralt said around a bite of noodles. Jaskier’s presence in his life could be described with many negative adjectives, but he had to admit, he was better fed when the musician was around. “Besides, that was two weeks ago now. You’re behind.”

“All the more offensive that I’m just hearing about it now!”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “You going to come watch me deal with these Wyverns, or not?” He might as well just let Jaskier tag along for something small. Maybe he wouldn’t be a disaster, and then he’d stop pestering Geralt for stories he didn’t want to tell, much less be broadcast to the entire world. Unfortunately, he was beginning to admit to himself that he rather enjoyed Jaskier’s company, but that was all the more reason to cut him out of his life, wasn’t it? He was too big of a liability.

Jaskier had started helping to brighten up Geralt’s apartment, both figuratively and literally. There were now some framed pictures on the wall, as well bright takeout menus (“At least it’s something, Geralt, you need color in your life!”) and even a plant hanging by the window, which was thankfully fake. When Jaskier was around, everything seemed to fit well enough.

When he wasn’t though, the living room was discordant, this wall decor was now big and bold in places and nothing matched, and very few things were things he’d pick out himself. When he saw it in the mornings, he often sighed and shook his head, and tried not to think about it too much, or who had put it there.

He tried really quite hard not to think about Jaskier very much at all, but he was over nearly every day now. It was hard not to.

If Geralt had also finally bought himself a sturdy bedframe, bedside tables, and good sheets for himself, well, that had nothing to do with Jaskier at all. It’s not like Jaskier would ever see it, after all.

“Fine,” Jaskier replied after some internal debate, “But I want to see griffins, someday.”

“Mmm. Look them up, if you’re so keen on seeing one.”

“It’s not the same! Do you think it’s the same?! Ugh.”

“So, you’re coming?”

“Of course I’m coming! What sort of question is that? When do we leave? What should I bring? Ooo, what do I wear?!”

Geralt sighed deeply. “Don’t wear anything baggy, or bright, or anything that will make much sound. Don’t bring anything. Your phone, but only for if you get lost. Do NOT get lost. We leave here tomorrow at 5am.”

Jaskier choked on a piece of chicken. “Five a— Geralt, we cannot possibly leave here at 5am. Why! God, the things I do for music. How non-vibrant do my clothes have to be? Does a sort of forest-y green work? Do I have to wear camouflage? Please say no. You’re already severely limiting my wardrobe options, please don’t also make me commit fashion crimes.”

“Jaskier, you’re not going anywhere where you have to… impress people. You’re watching me catch, tag, and release a wyvern outside the city. That’s it.”

“I think the Wyverns deserve a good outfit! Besides, this is my first hunt! Our first big outing! I want to mark the occasion, but you and your rules prevent me. Frankly, I’m hurt.”

“Would you rather get eaten?”

“At least I’d leave a handsome corpse!” Geralt chuckled, and took a swig of beer as Jaskier swallowed thickly and continued. “But, ah, no, I’d really prefer to avoid death and injury as much as possible. Really. Truly. Not a masochist. Which surprises some people, weirdly. Do I give off a vibe? Geralt, do I give off vibes? I don’t give off any vibes, right?”

The biggest benefit of having Jaskier around, Geralt found, was that he could tease to his heart’s content, and Jaskier wouldn’t realize until Geralt had gotten a good laugh out of it.

Geralt nodded. “I can see that. There are definitely vibes.”

Jaskier gaped, and then stuttered in response. “I—you—no! That’s—there is no way—how—and what do—what’s—abs—there—I—you—that is not—!”

If Geralt could fight off his smirk a little longer, he’d get to watch Jaskier fumble for at least another minute… and it would take his mind off of trying not to picture Jaskier on his bed, pale skin and dark chest hair fully revealed, arching his back while Geralt indulged him in some fictional, masochistic tendencies. No, couldn’t think about that. Not realistic, anyway.

And then the image flipped, now with Jaskier above him, gazing down lovingly, raking his nails against Geralt’s exposed chest…

“I—the—Geralt! I thought we were friends!!”

Geralt shook it off. Not realistic.

——

The contract was supposed to be for the removal of a particularly pesky wyvern, who’d made a habit of sleeping on the top of a high rise on the other side of town, occasionally swooping down on unsuspecting residents on their balconies. Recently, it’d nabbed a little girl’s doll, which shouldn’t have tugged on his heartstrings, but after Ciri had come into his life, all bets were off. So, a nasty wyvern, somewhere it shouldn’t, who needed to be returned to a suitable habitat and tagged for tracking purposes. It had happened before, there was nothing suspicious about the contract.

Unfortunately, things were rarely so cut and dry in Geralt’s world.

It was 7 o’clock before Geralt and Jaskier finally dragged themselves back to their building; muddy, grimy and tracking it all through the lobby. Geralt’s chest was somehow still sore from being thwacked by a steel baseball bat. The contract had been a sham, and he and Jaskier had been… detained, Geralt would say, kidnapped being too strong a word, by some idiots who wanted to prove they could best a witcher. He’d hoped they’d mostly left violent displays of superiority back a few decades ago, but humans never failed to live up to the worst of themselves, he thought bitterly.

If they woke up from their concussions, hanging upside down from some pipes in the basement they’d chosen for their assault, Geralt was fairly sure they wouldn’t bother with witchers again.

“So, this was a less dangerous one, mm?” Jaskier asked groggily as they piled into the elevator. “Wanna come to mine? I feel like I’m five minutes from sleep.”

Geralt shrugged. He hadn’t actually seen Jaskier’s apartment. Not that he wanted to, of course. Jaskier mashed his finger into the button for the second floor, swaying on his feet. He slumped against one of the walls and let his eyes fall closed, and Geralt found it hard not to stare. His dark green shirt was ripped, exposing some pale skin and shallow cuts and bruises he’d received. His pants were filthy, and his face was still covered in grime, while bits of his hair stuck out at odd angles. Small prices to pay for making it out alive.

In fact, Jaskier had put up much more of a fight than he’d been expecting. He wasn’t a trained fighter by any means but he’d made himself more than useful. Geralt might not have made it out without his quick thinking—a phone flashlight to the eyes of their assailants, a kick to the back of the knee of another, biting the wrist of a third when it shot past his face, as he had lunged for Geralt. Jaskier had been damn near feral. Adrenaline, Geralt supposed. Hell of a drug.

Witchers felt adrenaline too, though it was different. Similar enough, though, that he was sure his overwhelming fear of seeing Jaskier hurt, how he’d screamed at their captors to let Jaskier go, how he’d been a second away from ending them in retaliation before he’d realized how far he’d gone, yes, he was sure that all of that was nothing more than adrenaline. Even if it had only kicked in when he realized Jaskier was in danger, rather than just himself, rather than when they’d spat obscenities at him. It had been when Jaskier had spat at them, called them bastards, and earned a kick in the stomach for it.

The elevator was silent as the doors slid shut.

“Do people always look at you like that?”

“You mean with a dagger in their hands?”

Jaskier frowned, chin still tipped toward the sky, arms folded close to his chest, eye lazily shut.

“No. I figure you wouldn’t have brought me, if that happened very often. But they were so…” he shook his head. “They were fucking hateful. They were monsters.”

Geralt huffed a laugh. “Monsters chasing a monster.”

“No, you’re not. Hey. Geralt. No, you’re not.” Jaskier had opened his eyes and waited Geralt to meet them. The witcher looked away as the doors slid open. “You’re not a fucking monster, I don’t care what they say. I know you by now.”

“Just open the door.”

Jaskier sighed and shuffled over to his door, opening it after a bit of a fumble with the keys.

The layout of his apartment was different, Geralt noticed—the front door let out into the living room, not the kitchen, and his bathroom was on the left, not the right. It seemed like there was only one bedroom, and his main window looked out over the cityscape. But it was, predictably, the décor that stood out the most.

Jaskier had lined his ceiling molding with little lights, and as they entered, they flicked on, drifting smoothly between all colors of the rainbow. The place itself was messy, notebooks strewn about everywhere, cords coming out of various outlets without rhyme or reason, cups and plates scattered about. Geralt spotted what he thought might have been pants in one corner, but he chose not to look so hard. Jaskier flicked on the light switch, and Geralt could see how bright and colorful Jaskier had made his home—it worked somehow, though it seemed as though if a single piece were removed it would look wrong, somehow.

His instruments all looked remarkably well-kept, though. They hung on the wall in specialized mounts; two guitars, a violin, some other string instruments Geralt didn’t recognize. There was a small black case maybe holding a wind instrument sitting next to a rather impressive-looking keyboard, and the table where they sat was the only tidy area in the apartment, so far as he could see. Of course, he hadn’t seen Jaskier’s bedroom. Yet. Not that he would want to, of course. Or ever have cause to.

Jaskier plopped down on a vibrant green velvet chair and waved one hand at the room, the other covering his eyes. “Sorry for the mess. You can sit anywhere. Oh, wait, there’s cider in the fridge, would you mind? Second shelf. And don’t laugh at me for drinking cider.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I know it’s too sweet. I get it. But if you drink beer or wine every night it gets boring. And if I ever grew bored of alcohol, I’d be devastated.”

“Won’t disagree with you,” Geralt muttered as he returned to the living room with a 6-pack. He sat down on the couch and opened the bottles, handing one to Jaskier. They drank in silence, and Geralt tried to get comfortable on the overly plush blue couch.

“Sorry you got dragged in—”

“No, no, stop that. I asked to come. Specifically. You had no way of knowing. Besides, I’d rather be with you to deal with that, instead of you… oh, disappearing to your apartment for days and not answering me.”

Mm. He’d done that, once or twice. Maybe three times. “Sorry.”

“Geralt. It’s fine. It’s their fault. You did nothing wrong, you were just trying to help.”

“Mm.”

They drank in silence for a bit. The cider was, in fact, too sweet, but it suited Jaskier. Geralt find he didn’t mind it much as he should have. He tried not to think of kissing it off his lips.

Jaskier gave a snort in the silence. Geralt looked over and raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry, it’s just—got any other enemies I should know about?”

Geralt smiled and leaned back. “Mm. A few. Lot of humans.”

“Right, just, in general. Alright, so just ‘most humans’, got it. Next?”

“Monsters. Don’t know why, they just don’t like me.”

Jaskier laughed. “How unfair of them! They ought to give you a chance. Anyone else?”

“Mmm… some other witchers. None from my school, though. Definitely some mages.”

“Oh, fuck mages,” Jaskier said.

“Don’t fuck mages,” Geralt teased, “It won’t end well.”

“Ugh. Trust me, I know.”

Geralt raised his eyebrows until Jaskier looked at him and groaned. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ve only done it a few times, and I’ve sworn off them.” He finished his cider and reached for another.

“Do you have any enemies I should know about, Jaskier?”

“Valdo fucking Marx,” Jaskier spat immediately, kicking his legs up on the table. “Garbage. Absolute garbage. Stole my work at Oxenfurt. Deeply fucked up man. I want him dead. Not in a, ‘I’d hire someone to kill him’ way, but in a, ‘if he died in an untimely and horrific way tomorrow, I would spend the weekend celebrating’ way. Shouldn’t say untimely. His death will absolutely timely, whenever it comes. Really, maybe untimely because it’ll be late. Hmph.”

Geralt nodded, kicking his feet up as well. “Anyone else?”

“Mmm, no. Oh! Well, Penthouse Lady, or as I like to call her, The Bitch of the 13th Floor. She’s a mage, you know.”

Geralt stared at Jaskier. “Oh, no, no, don’t think like that. That is decidedly not one of the mages I was speaking about. No, Penthouse Lady is just… I mean, gorgeous, but evil. Extremely, wickedly beautiful, which should be a crime. She will take your clothes out of the washing machine, wet, just because you’ve left them there a bit too long. A minute. 35 seconds, minutes, whatever, really. And if you break one of the building rules and catch her in a bad mood, she will eviscerate you. She’s made people move out before, out of pure terror.”

“But not you?”

“No! No, I’m not leaving. She’s can’t make me. We’ve been mortal enemies for years now, that’s a commitment.”

Geralt laughed. “How do you afford to live here, anyway? You haven’t got a job.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, lowering his cider with a smile, “How dare you. You have no idea. I could be employed. I could have several jobs, you don’t know.”

“Jaskier, I met you at 3pm on a Monday. You come over at all hours of the day. You are rarely doing anything one could describe as ‘work’.”

“Alright, alright, I get it. It’s a… parents thing. And grandparents. Whole family, really. Ever been to Lettenhove?” Geralt thought a bit, and then nodded—it had been awhile. “Yep. That’s us. Earls and whatnot. Technically, I’m a viscount, but I prefer the title ‘Family Disappointment’. More accurate.”

Geralt pushed Jaskier’s foot with his own. “Stop that.”

“No, it’s not—it’s not a bad thing, to disappoint those people. You know? If I’m disappointing them, I’m doing something right. Besides, they keep throwing money at me in hopes that it’ll change something. Which, you know. I’ll take it.” They sat quietly for a moment. “I have been published, to be fair. And I do go out to sing at bars on Thursdays and Saturdays. I have some followers on Spotify, TikTok and what have you. I’m not nothing. It’s just not up to their standards. ‘S why I have a pen name in the first place.”

“Jaskier?” Geralt asked, and his friend nodded. “It’s a good name.”

“Why thank you.” There was quiet for a moment. “You know what they named me? Julian Alfred Pankratz. What a name. That’s the thing, with them, and their traditions—I’ve got two other people’s names, and none of my own. ‘S why I picked one for myself.”

“Mm,” Geralt said softly. Jaskier hadn’t ever said much about himself, now that he thought of it. Might as well take the plunge. “Don’t know what my surname was. Just have Geralt. Witchers are left to their schools and made to pick their own names. Picked Rivia out of a hat, essentially.”

Jaskier looked at him oddly, before raising his bottle. “To families that don’t know what they’re missing,” he said softly, and Geralt clinked their bottles together, the sound short and sweet.

——

A few hours and ciders later, Jaskier had slipped asleep, chest rising and falling gently. It hadn’t been a hard call for Geralt to make; he’d slipped Jaskier’s shoes off and carried him to his bedroom, laying him down on the bed, maneuvering him under the sheets. The bedroom was subtler than his living room—a cream color, beautiful loose paintings and sketches on the walls of flowers, hung up with tape, and dozens of pictures; some framed, some loose polaroids hanging on strings, all of friends and places he must have travelled. His oval mirror had sticky notes around the edges—what looked like scraps of songs, chord progressions, passwords, dates to remember, and a small note of encouragement to himself— ‘Keep Going!!’

Geralt smiled, found an unused sticky note, and grabbed a pen. When he was done, he smiled to himself, and put it just below the ‘Keep Going’ note.

After leaving a glass of water on his bedside table, Geralt slipped out of Jaskier’s apartment taking the elevator up. When the doors slid closed, he took out his phone.

4 Messages from CITY WITCHERS GETTING LAMBERT A DATE (ES….)

Lambert – 48 minutes ago

God, this shit should NOT be so hard.

To: CITY WITCHERS GETTING LAMBERT A DATE (ESKEL, LAMBERT, COËN)

Message: yeah, I feel you

He slipped it away, and hoped nobody would question it in the morning.

Yennefer stretched, sun hitting her eyes, and sucked in a lungful of the breeze coming through the window. It was… nice. Pleasant.

Boring.

She took out her phone.

To: Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Message: Who wants to go clubbing this weekend. I’m bored. Also Sabrina I know you’re 200 miles away w Anica don’t be snarky

She rose and began to stretch, sparing only a glance when her phone dinged.

Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Sabrina – Just Now

Sure count me in. I’d love that. Woohoo

She rolled her eyes and smiled, ignoring that her friend should absolutely still be asleep, given the time difference.

Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Coral Lytta– Just Now

I’m down for a barhop at least but only if we’re coordinating outfits I’m begging you I don’t want a repeat of last month!!

Yennefer finished her stretches and flicked her hand to start the coffee pot in the kitchen. She needed a change of pace. Things had gotten too predictable. Maybe she’d take someone home, that would be fun. She checked her phone again.

Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Fringilla – 7 minutes ago

Why is anyone awake??? Go back to sleep

To: Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Message: Frin it’s 7am. This is a normal hour.

Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Fringilla – Just Now

Not on my day off it’s not

She sighed. Okay, maybe they wouldn’t end up clubbing, not given everyone’s moods this week. But at least she’d get out of the apartment, and maybe get someone else into bed.

9:37am

Thursday, March 12th

2 Messages from Jaskier

Just now

Oh, and the note, I’m just seeing this now. “Reminder: Don’t Fuck Mages.” Thanks, Geralt, what would I do without you? My witcher in… slightly muddy armor, last I checked. ;)

7 Messages from CITY WITCHERS GETTING LAMBERT A DATE

Eskel – 19 minutes ago

“YEAH I FEEL YOU??” GERALT????? (sent with Echo)

NEWS

New Novigrad Times – 2 hours ago

Three men suspected of breaking and entering, larceny, and assault found suspended upside-down in a residential downtown building. This story is will be updated as new information is revealed.

14 more notifications

The next afternoon, he heard it while on a walk with Roach, and tried to brush it off. A voice sounding suspiciously like Jaskier’s was emanating from some teenager’s cell phone. “Oh Valley of Plenty, Oh-” the voice sang, before he tuned it out. It was deeply unlikely it was Jaskier. Something in seeing him asleep a few nights before must have poisoned Geralt’s brain.

He heard snatches of it, though, everywhere he went.

Toss a—

They came after me , with masterful—

Brings you to mourn—

That’s my epic tale—

It drove him mad, but he shook it off every time. What was the likelihood of it being Jaskier, anyway?

It’s in the lobby, where he realized. The doorman, Sonny, was swiping through his phone as Geralt checked his mailbox. When he turned back around—

With Geralt of Rivia, along came this song…

Geralt grimaced. “Fuck.”

When he returned to his apartment, he found a sticky note waiting on the door for him.

If you track mud into this building one more

time, I will make you kneel and fix it yourself.

All the best, ~Penthouse.

Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Coral Lytta – 17 minutes ago

Yen! Isn’t this your ~enemy~??? That guy from the second floor who takes like 3 hours with laundry?? http://vm.tiktok…

——

Jaskier -- 15 minutes ago

So. I may have gone viral,

——

To: Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Message: How the hell does this have 700 thousand likes already? It was only posted today

——

Jaskier -- 5 minutes ago

This is a good thing though, right??? Is this the wrong time to invite you to see me perform tomorrow night

Ciri -- Just Now

Hey uh??? Dad??? I think someone wrote a song about you???

——

Anica -- Just Now

Yennefer, I am so so sorry, but I already have it stuck in my head. I’ve only watched it twice now I swear

——

8 Messages from CITY WITCHERS GETTING LAMBERT (AND GERALT) DATES

Lambert – 1 minute ago

Literally how the fuck does this happen to you

Jaskier -- Just Now

Hey that rhymed!!

Jaskier had told him not to stress about what to wear, that he could just ‘sit in the corner and brood’ and that ‘nobody would recognize him’, but nothing about this felt like a good idea to Geralt. Is this what having friends was? Going to places he didn’t want to be, at times he didn’t want to be there, just to make someone else happy? It was terrible, and frankly, he wanted a refund.

Geralt slipped into the bar a few hours before Jaskier was slated to go on—just to get a booth decently near the stage where nobody would bother him. He didn’t care about seeing Jaskier warm up. He was on stage, tuning his instrument that wasn’t quite a guitar—either a mandolin or a lute, Geralt thought. He was listening for something, adjusting things, getting a feel of the space. His brows were furrowed and he looked to be deep in thought. Not wanting to bother him, Geralt bought whatever was on tap (some earthy beer he would tolerate for the evening) and slipped into a booth near the stage, far enough out of the light so that he wouldn’t be noticed easily by people.

He sat, watching Jaskier, letting his eyes wander down his teal and red ensemble. The pants were a tight fit, but the shirt was airy, unbuttoned a bit more than might be decent, and Geralt found himself mentally unbuttoning more, and more, and more, until his eyes flashed up and made contact with Jaskier’s.

The musician lit up like the sun, a wide beaming smile, and he quickly hopped down from the stage. “Geralt! You made it! And early, too! Oh, I’m so glad. Okay, I’m 3rd up, so you will have to sit through some other people, but not too many. I’ll join you when I’m done! You’ll enjoy it. Well, I don’t think you’ll love it, but you’ll probably tolerate it for your dear dear friend, who is slowly but surely making you famous. Right? Okay!”

“You’ll be fine,” Geralt said. He knew Jaskier’s nervous energy speeches by now.

“What? Oh.” Some tension in Jaskier’s shoulders loosened. “Thank you. I just haven’t been on a stage since suddenly so many people know my face. I did post about this, but I don’t think very many people will come. Maybe I shouldn’t have? I dunno. Still navigating fame! Alright, I should get back. I’ll see you soon!”

“I’m making an executive decision,” Fringilla said, turning on her heel. They’d been walking for 45 minutes, trying to decide on a bar. “We’re going here. We are too damn old to be spending half the night walking around.”

“Fine,” Yennefer relented, taking Coral’s arm, “but if it sucks we’re going out again tomorrow and it’s my pick.”

The three entered the bar, a dimly lit place, mostly wooden and already fairly active with people bustling about, a stage in the back looking ready for a musician.

“Oh, I love live music, yes! You get us a table near the stage and I’ll get the drinks,” Coral said; “Dry Martini and a Whiskey Sour?”

“You know us so well,” Fringilla said, and she and Yennefer left to find a table. They ended up at a booth egregiously close to the stage, in Yennefer’s opinion. They got comfortable, settling in for the night, most likely. Until one of them found someone to go home with, at least.

When Yennefer looked up, it was to a tidal wave of people entering.

It wasn’t to say the place wasn’t busy before, but soon she could barely see the bar, as giddy looking patrons took up tables and booths, and eventually, just whatever standing room they could find. Coral managed to cut through the crowd, levitating the three drinks, looking frazzled. “When did all these people get here?!”

“No idea,” Fringilla said, reaching for her Whiskey Sour, “but I’m glad we’ll at least be able to see.”

“Mm,” Yennefer agreed, grabbing her Martini, raking her eyes over the crown. Options, she thought. It was always so good to have options.

“Any idea who’s performing tonight?” Coral asked. “I couldn’t find a poster or anything that said—probably someone good, for all these people to be here”

“No idea,” Yennefer replied absentmindedly. It’s not like it mattered. She couldn’t imagine herself giving much of a shit about who was on stage, anyway.

The first performer was fine. Geralt thought they were a little boring, but they weren’t who he was there to see, anyway. Yennefer couldn’t be bothered, staring instead at a handsome young woman in a low-cut satin dress. When she finally made eye contact, though, she gave a friendly, decidedly not flirtatious smile, and Yennefer moved on.

The second performer, a kind of musical comedian, was pretty good. She capitalized off of the energy in the room, which Geralt had to admit was palpable. As soon as people had flooded in, he’d made a point to look intimidating—much as it had prevented people from sitting at his booth, it hadn’t stopped them from buzzing around the bar, and he realized they must be there for Jaskier. It put a pit in his stomach, but also made something in his chest whizz around in joy. Ah, fuck.

And then, up was Jaskier. The announcer welcomed him on stage, and Jaskier bounced on, to the warmest welcome thus far.

“Gooooood evening everyone, lovely to see you all. And I do mean all. How many people are here? There are at least…” he counted for a moment. “At least 12. Possibly more.” He got a laugh, and winked at someone in the middle of the audience as he sat down on a stool in front of the mic.

“I cannot fucking believe this,” Yennefer groaned quietly. Fringilla patted her on the back. “There, there. Maybe he’ll be terrible.”

Jaskier hummed softly, warming up his voice. No, Yennefer though, he wouldn’t be terrible, because unfortunately, he was quite fucking good.

His first song was another one that had also blown up after his sudden viral-ness of the past week, an original he’d told Geralt he’d written in university, and never stopped being proud of. Geralt smiled into his second drink of the night, enjoying watching Jaskier get comfortable on the stage.

His second song finished to applause and cheers, and Jaskier got up to bow, pushing the stool far behind him with his foot. Yennefer put a fist in her hair. Unfortunately, her mortal enemy was fucking magnetic.

“Freak him out, like you said you do,” Coral whispered to her. Yennefer frowned, but nodded soon after. At least she could make this fun for herself.

Jaskier grabbed the mic and moved it off to the side of the stage, throwing some smiles to people who had their phone out, before stopping and speaking into it when the crowd had quieted a bit.

“Hey,” Jaskier said gently, his voice commanding the bar, as he looked out into the crowd. He found Geralt’s face, and beamed at him, before turning back to the sea of people. “Is uh… is anyone here on TikTok?” The crowd cheered and he launched into Toss a Coin, forgoing the stool entirely, choosing to dance around the stage.

To Geralt’s complete mortification, at the top of the first chorus Jaskier suddenly pointed to him. “Toss a coin to your witcher, Oh valley of plenty, oh!”

By the third chorus, Geralt had been sufficiently pummeled with coins, bills, and what looked like a gift card to a café, when Jaskier tipped back his head to the other side of the stage. Yennefer was sitting back, arms folded, a single eyebrow raised, flanked by Fringilla and Coral on either side, looking expectant of the musician, mimicking their friend’s pose. Yennefer thought she was fighting off her smirk, but it was hard to say. Her eyes met his, and for a brief, brief moment his smile faltered, before he let out a cackle, continuing to play. The audience ate out of his hand, and he seemed to grow more and more at ease, preening at the attention.

“It was worth a shot,” Fringilla said with a huff of laughter and a shake of her head, returning to her glass. “He’s really got something, hate to admit.”

When the song finished, he took a deep bow to riotous applause and caught a coin someone threw to him, tucking it in his pocket.

Behind him, a witcher and a mage made eye contact for the first time; gold met violet, and the air between them seemed to electrify.

“I think we’re on our own for tonight, Coral,” Fringilla said with eyebrows raised, watching her friend stare across the room, and Coral giggled in response. Yennefer made a point to use a fraction of her chaos to stir her martini from afar, so this man knew what he might be getting into.

“Thank you, thank you all. I think we have time for one more quick song. And I do hope you’ll give our next artist after the break the same amount of attention, as a personal favor to me,” Jaskier said, getting some laughs, and tuned his instrument for a moment before speaking again. “You’ve been a dream. Really, truly, thank you. I fully expect this kind of turn out every week, though, so cancel all your other Saturday night plans for the next, oh, 7 to 8 years.”

A smattering of laughter again from the audience, and then Jaskier was starting Fishmonger's Daughter, a song Geralt had deemed dirty enough to ignore the lyrics of. He looked away from the woman, clearly a mage, across the stage from him—she was gorgeous, long black hair and bright violet eyes. She was flanked by two other women in similar deep velvet dresses—the first a rosy pink, the third a midnight blue, while the woman’s he’d locked eyes with was pitch black, matching a choker around her neck. She tilted her head to expose more soft tan skin, examining him from afar as she stirred her drink with magic, graceful and languid.

Do not fuck mages. Do not fuck mages. Do not fuck mages.

He sat back in his chair, and suddenly realized that Jaskier’s set had ended; his friend was bowing, and then disappeared off the stage in favor of the announcer. The bar was buzzing, people milling around, and then Jaskier, blue eyes gleaming, cheeks flushed, smile stretched from ear to ear, was sitting in front of him.

“Geralt! Was it good? Give me your thoughts.”

“Not bad,” Geralt said with a smile, and a pat on his friend’s shoulder. Was it too much? He gave it a small squeeze, and something small in Jaskier’s face changed. He looked up and down Geralt’s face, and suddenly the witcher realized how close they were, that Jaskier was licking his lips, that he hadn’t taken his hand off his shoulder, that the world had disappeared around them. His gaze dropped for a moment to Jaskier’s lips. He could smell arousal, and excitement, and happiness, but he was in a bar, there was too much to take in, no way to know for sure it was coming from Jaskier. He held his breath, and met Jaskier’s eyes again.

His phone rang.

They kept staring.

Another ring, and someone tapped on Jaskier’s shoulder.

“I should—you get that, Geralt, I’ll be a moment, just ah, have to say hello to the adoring public, I’ll be back!”

Geralt let his witcher-slow heartbeat a few more times, dazed, before looking down at his phone to see Lambert was calling. He answered, putting a finger in his other ear.

“Geralt!” Lambert hissed. Geralt could barely hear him over the noise of the bar. “Geralt! Have you seen the group chat?!”

“No. Speak louder, I can barely hear you.”

“I can’t! He’s in my apartment, Geralt! What the fuck do I do! He brought booze! He looks fucking fancy!”

Geralt frowned. “Are you on a date?”

“Not that I’m fucking aware of!”

Geralt frowned deeper. “It sounds like you’re on a date.”

“We can’t be on a date! He just asked if I wanted to do dinner! That’s not a date!”

“It can be. Clearly is. Just—take him out somewhere.”

“Fucking WHERE, Geralt!”

“Don’t you have a sushi place around the corner? Do that. Or somewhere else. Doesn’t matter, just wear something decent and go.”

“How the fuck—” Lambert was asking when Geralt hung up. He looked at his phone screen—98 unread messages from the clowns. He shook his head and looked up—Jaskier was peacocking around the bar, flirting with everyone who seemed receptive. He was a natural, winding his way through the crowd, making them all feel special. Someone was buying him a drink, and it looked like he was already part of the way through another. He delighted over everyone, taking selfies, accepting compliments, giving them in return to appreciative and giddy smiles.

That was how Jaskier was, Geralt thought. With everyone. Little moments didn’t necessarily mean anything.

He turned back to look at the sorceress across from him. Her companions had left her, disappearing into the crowd for more drinks, perhaps. She was playing with something on her table, and glanced up to see him staring. She smirked, picked up the small object, and began to levitate it over to him.

Geralt watched as through the crowd, over the stage, the object floated over to him.

When it finally arrived at his table, Geralt watched as a small coin was dropped neatly in front of him, giving a small clink.

He smirked. It was a parlor trick, and barely that, for a mage. But it was intriguing. She was intriguing. And Jaskier was busy being fawned over by fans, so it’s not as though Geralt would be missed. He stood and waded his way through the masses, towering over many of the other patrons, before finally making it to his destination. He held up the coin.

The woman smiled up at him, sly, and spoke before he did. “No need to thank me, just doing as the song requested. Are you so often followed around by… loyal bards?”

He laughed. He hadn’t heard someone use ‘bard’ in decades. “Not until recently. To who do I owe the pleasure?”

“Whom, I think,” she quipped, and offered her hand. “Yennefer.”

“Geralt,” he said, and she laughed as he sat down across from her.

“Yes, I’ve heard as much. The White Wolf. Quite the title.”

“I didn’t pick it myself, I assure you.”

“You don’t seem to mind it all that much.”

“… I suppose not. Better than some of the other titles I haven’t picked.”

“Do you have many of those?”

“Plenty. Couldn’t tell you what most of them were, though. Hard to hear when you’re dodging enemies.”

She titled her head slightly and sat back to let her gaze drag over him. “So, none from lovers, then?”

He smiled again. “Cheeky.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Take it however you’d like.”

“You’re not much for flattering yourself, are you, Geralt.”

“That’s what I’ve got my bard for.”

She laughed, a light thing that he knew would be echoing around his chest for days. She leaned back in, looking around conspiratorially. He leaned in a touch as well, their faces only inches from each other now. “Tell me, Geralt. Are you as noble and chivalrous as that song made you out to be?”

“It flatters me. But I do my best for… those in need.”

“And if I were in need, you would do something for me?”

“I might be able to do that.”

“Well then.” She leaned in to whisper in his ear. “I would be entirely grateful, Geralt… if you get me some apple juice.” He leaned back in confusion, while she pressed the coin he still held further into his hand. “This should cover it.”

When he leaned away, she wore an unmistakably coquettish smile, biting back a laugh. He smiled despite himself, brows furrowed as he looked down at the coin, and back at her, before letting out a small laugh himself.

“Alright. One apple juice, fair mage. I will do my best.”

“Take care on your dangerous voyage!” She called after him, as he slipped into the crowd. She whipped out her phone; the break would be lasting another 15 or so minutes, just enough to play a game on her phone. Whether or not Geralt made it back to his table in time for the next set was none of her concern. Besides, he’d somehow befriended her most recent mortal enemy, so anything that happened tonight would have to be a one-time thing. If anything happened, of course, but Yennefer was not in the habit of letting a good time pass her by.

Things were perfectly right in her world, as she waited for her phone to load, until suddenly someone dressed in frankly garish teal and red was standing before her. She didn’t look up from her phone.

“Ahem?”

She continued looking at her phone. The damn thing wouldn’t load.

“You know, it’s very rude to keep your most reviled enemy waiting.”

It still wouldn’t fucking load. She groaned and put it down. “What do you want, Jaskier?” Her neighbor, grinning widely and holding two glasses of punchy looking drinks, sat down across from her. “No one else hesitated to applaud my wonderful performance except… for you. Come on. You must have some review for me. Three words or less.”

She raised an eyebrow and looked at him for a moment. “I don’t buy it.”

He frowned. “No, that’s four. What don’t you buy?”

“The song. You expect me to believe you willingly put yourself within 10 miles of danger? You already complain that the second floor is too dangerous for you.”

“It is dangerous, and I sleep there, so it’s different. Really, it did happen, you could ask Geralt. Actually, gods, no, don’t ask Geralt. Don’t talk to him, actually. You’d hate each other, definitely, best stay away.”

“Oh dear. Someone’s already jealous.”

“I am not—!” he squeaked, before leaning in. “I am not jealous, I just don’t need you and your…” he waved a hand at her, “your face-ness scaring him off!”

“My face?”

“Yes! It’s full of… secrets. And… plots. Evil plots!”

“Right. Do you know what your face is full of?”

“Charm? Charisma? An air of mystery?”

She swiftly grabbed one of his drinks and splashed it in his face, while he gaped. She swiped a finger across his cheek and tasted it. “Mmm, no… something fruity. Strawberry?”

“Raspberry,” he corrected. His face dripped. “I had that coming, a bit.”

“Oh, absolutely.” She waved a hand, and the drink was gone—his face, shirt, the table all now dry. “Don’t take that as a kindness. I just don’t want to pay for your dry cleaning.”

“Of course,” he replied, touching his now dry face. “And I don’t want any more battles with you in the laundry genre, if I can help it.” Despite herself, she laughed.

“Ah, I see there is a brain behind those blue eyes after all.”

“You just like seeing me covered in liquid and at your mercy.”

“Maybe,” she admitted.

He sat back in the booth. “You know, if you weren’t utterly terrifying, I could write songs about you as well. I’m sure you’ve got stories. We could make some together.”

“I am the story.”

“See, that’s good! Have you considered abandoning magic and the position of ‘very sexy, very scary witch’, and instead working towards of ‘very sexy, very charming poet’? At least then we’d be competitors in the same field. Same playing ground! Same weapons, which is to say, absolutely no weapons.”

“Mm. And have you considered abandoning your current title of ‘unfortunately charming, unfortunately talented, deeply annoying musician’ and opting instead for ‘very quiet, mildly charming eye candy’? It would suit you more.”

“The day I stop talking is the day I run out of breath.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Dear Ms. Penthouse, I’m sure you’ll be the one to bring it about.”

“Wouldn’t you love to be so lucky. Besides, haven’t you got a wolf in shining armor to protect you?” Just then, a sound went over the loudspeakers. 5 minutes until the end of the break, then.

“Well, much as I’d love to continue this lovely and for me, a frankly sexually confusing chat, I must grab my drinks before our next musicians are on.”

“Take care, then. I’d hate to see you die without getting to be a part of it,” she said, giving him a pat on the arm, her hand lingering as he looked at her for a moment, licking his lips and then hurrying off.

It was only moments before Geralt returned.

“One apple juice,” he said, setting a tall glass in front of her with a straw. Yennefer smiled and pulled it closer to her, taking a sip. “Is it to your liking, fair mage?”

It was quite good, actually. “Acceptable. Thank you, dear witcher, for your services.”

“Any others you’d like to request of me?”

“Mmm… give me the evening to think of one.”

“I can’t promise I’ll be here forever.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll think of something. You just go… sit in the corner and brood.”

He laughed. “You’re not the first one to say that to me tonight.”

“Mm, so you’re completing quests for others? Should I be worried?” She snuck a glance toward the crowd, and Geralt followed her eyes to land on Jaskier, fliting between people, drinking something that this time looked icy and blue. “Just a friend, I hope?”

Geralt turned to look back at her. His face had too many things subtly happening for her to read it well, and after only a moment Fringilla and Coral had returned, beginning to slip into the booth.

“Will you be joining us?” Fringilla asked, but Geralt shook his head.

“I’ve been told to go brood,” he replied, and made his way back to his booth.

——

Geralt did, in his defense, make an attempt to listen to the other performers. Jaskier spent the evening continuing to flirt around the room, hands lingering on him, his own hands gently caressing shoulders and arms. Geralt could tell already he’d be going home alone that night. Well, not alone. Yennefer and he had been sharing glances as the night progressed, and he was fairly certain he knew where that was heading.

He just wouldn’t be going home with Jaskier, who would himself undoubtedly be going home with some fan or other patron. He had his pick of the room, for the most part. Which was good. Geralt knew he sought the praise, the fame. Besides, Jaskier and he had only planned to spend the late night catching up on their weekly nature documentary.

Another man paid for Jaskier’s next drink, a fizzy concoction, and Geralt felt himself give the tiniest hint of a growl.

Eventually, Yennefer’s companions slipped out, and he returned to her booth.

“Do you have a quest for me, then?”

“Mmm. How about, protect me here, until it’s time to leave, and then walk me back to my apartment?”

Geralt nodded. “That, I can do.”

The night pushed onward. After a few performers more, Geralt looked around in between sets and realized he’d lost track of Jaskier entirely. It would be unlike him to not give a heads-up before going home with somebody. Geralt frowned and checked his phone. A few dozen messages from Eskel and Coën, and; one missed call from Jaskier. Shit. He took a deep breath—he could smell his friend in the air, but not quite which direction it came from, not with so many people. Yennefer gave him a look.

“What’s wrong?”

“Missed a call. Hold on.” He pressed the redial and held it to his ear. It rang three times before it picked up. “Jaskier?”

“Mmm. Ger. Ger’lt. Do you wanna go home? With me.”

“You want me to take you home?” He shot an apologetic look at Yennefer.

“Come home with me.”

“Okay, Jaskier. Where are you?”

“Outside.”

“Alright. Be there soon.” Geralt hung up and began to slide out of the booth. “Sorry. He’s had a big night.”

“I could tag along,” Yennefer offered. “And then you’ll have doubly earned your rewards tonight.”

“I—sure, sure,” and they were off, navigating around the bar and out the door. “He doesn’t live that far away,” Geralt began to explain.

“Oh, I know.” Geralt shot her a questioning look as they exited the front door.

——

Jaskier was right there, leaning against the wall. His head ached—he’d had possibly more to drink in this night than he had for the past two weeks combined. It had all caught up with him, and he’d found himself outside, taking deep breaths of fresh air, clutching his lute bag to his chest.

He’d flirted around all night, but nothing, nobody had been worth his time. How was he supposed to focus on anyone when Geralt was right there? Not that he was interested, of course. But he’d come out, he’d come early, just to see Jaskier perform. Well, to be fair, his hit song, (he had one of those now!) was about Geralt, so that was probably why he came. But he wanted to pretend it was just for him. That Geralt had wanted to see Jaskier perform. He was miles out of Jaskier’s league, but oh, could he could absolutely dream some very, very sexy dreams.

And then his mortal enemy had been there, and wasn’t that a treat. She’d looked gorgeous. It was unfair. His building was full of beautiful people, all who only tolerated him, were abysmally out of his league, or would eat him for breakfast, if they had the chance. At least fighting with her gave him the excuse to look at her, talk to her. She’d splashed a drink in his face and he’d needed to slip away to the bathroom when they’d finished talking, just to calm himself down. That was unfair. Don’t fuck mages, he reminded himself. Not that she ever would. He’d had at least 6 more drinks after that, just to push the thought away.

He’d thought he’d been doing a bit better, the past few minutes. But clearly, he wasn’t, as he must have been hallucinating.

Before him stood Geralt (gorgeous, fascinating, generous, kind, warm-hearted Geralt), looking a bit dazed himself, as well as The Bitch of the 13th Floor (intriguing, deadly, witty, beautiful). So, his sexual fantasy that he had not until that moment realized existed.

“Oh dear. I’m worse than I thought.”

“Jaskier, what’s wrong?”

“Too much to drink. Now I’m hallucinating.”

Geralt frowned. “What do you see?”

Jaskier pointed to the woman in front of him and then shut his eyes tightly. “Unless… unless it’s a magic thing.”

“No—Jaskier, this is Yennefer. Yennefer, Jaskier.”

Jaskier’s eyes flew open. “You know this woman? Of course you know this woman. So you do have a name!”

“Of course I have a name.”

“I don’t know, maybe mages don’t all have names.”

“You two know each other?”

Jaskier smiled loosely. “That’s my mortal enemy.”

“This is not Valdo Marx.”

“No! Penthouse Lady. Second one.”

“Oh. The Bitch of the 13th Floor.”

“Glad to know I hold a reputation in your circles, Jaskier,” she said lightly. “Though I’m a touch offended I’m only number 2.”

He frowned, and reached out for her arm, and held it lightly, then did the same with Geralt.

“Oh fuck. You are both here.”

“Right. Let’s get you back home.” Carefully, Geralt lifted Jaskier’s arm over his shoulders, and the three began to walk, Yennefer on his other side. They went to walk before he stopped, pulling Jaskier’s arm off him, and bent down.

“What are you--?”

“Your shoe strap is undone,” Geralt explained, before flashing a grin up at her. “I suppose this isn’t what you meant when you told me to kneel.”

“As I recall, I haven’t asked you to do that yet. I was saving it for the bedroom.”

Geralt finished with her shoe and then rose up, and they began walking. “The sticky note. ‘I will make you kneel and fix it yourself’?”

“…You’re the new tenant?! You’re the muddy bastard?!”

“Wait, you two were going to have sex?!” Jaskier whined.

“Let’s not jump to any conclusions.”

“I thought it was ‘Don’t fuck mages’, not ‘Don’t fuck mages unless they’re really hot, then that’s the exception’!”

“I can’t believe this,” Yennefer said. Her world fell apart and clicked into place all at once as they crossed the street. “Oh my god.”

“Did you not know?”

“Of course I didn’t know! You didn’t say how you knew him!”

“Well, there it is,” Geralt sighed. “And Jaskier, don’t just to conclusions, I wouldn’t presume that of her. All I did was buy her apple juice.”

“Now what kind of metaphor is that!”

“The kind that isn’t a metaphor at all.”

“Jaskier, if you say a single word about my apple juice—”

“I’m not saying anything about apple juice! It’s a noble beverage! But your apple juice leads to some implications!”

“And what if it does!” “Well! Well!” Jaskier flustered. “Well! We were going to watch our nature documentary tonight!”

“No we weren’t,” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier looked at him, hurt. “What?”

“We weren’t going to watch the documentary, Jaskier. You were going to find someone to go home with.”

“I did find someone to go home with!” He said, bumping his hip into Geralt.

“I don’t count,” Geralt muttered, as they finally made it into the building.

“Why don’t you count?”

“Because, Jaskier, you weren’t planning to sleep with me.”

“Says who!”

“Let’s just go to mine,” Yennefer said as they stepped in the elevator. “I don’t want to try and navigate his apartment in the dark. I’m sure it’s a wreck.”

“It’s fine, actually,” Jaskier muttered. “Geralt I know we wouldn’t have slept together, you have standards, but—”

“Well, more like because he was planning on sleeping with me, thank you very much.”

“Watch out, Lady of the Penthouse, or I’ll… write a song about you.”

“Who said I was planning or not planning on sleeping with anyone?”

“You did!”

“I haven’t said anything.”

“That’s the point!”

“So, you two… aren’t sleeping together?”

“What’s your point?!” Geralt demanded, oblivious to Yennefer’s question.

“Well, that’s how you know someone doesn’t want to sleep with you! One of the many ways. They don’t say they do! You’ve made it clear we’re just… you know. Pals.”

“I never said that!”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

“Jaskier, for once in your life, would you say something with some sense?!” “I said, ‘come home with me’! How much more clear do I have to be than ‘I’d rather spend the night with you’?! Actually, frankly, with both of you, this is nice. Loud, but nice. I can’t believe I’m saying this about my sworn nemesis.”

“Now, hold on—”

“Everybody shut up!” Yennefer said, loud enough that the boys shut their mouths. “No more speaking. We will be at my apartment soon. I will be going into my kitchen to get you,” she pointed at Jaskier, “something to ensure you don’t get sick all over the elevator.”

“I’m—I’m feeling a lot better, really,” he said. She made a shushing motion against his lips, and she could feel his hot breath, could sense his heartbeat race faster, watched his cheeks flush. Interesting.

“By the time I’m back, I want you two sorted.” The doors dinged, and they emerged on a landing in front of an intricate white door, which Yennefer opened with a wave of her hand. “I’ll be back in a moment. Just… let me know who Geralt will be kneeling for,” she said, and then walked into the kitchen, heels snapping against the tile.

She looked at her cabinets, opening one and retrieving the bottle she wanted. Well. They’d need more than a few seconds, surely. She placed it carefully on the counter and listened.

“I…” Geralt was saying. “Um.”

“I didn’t… Geralt. I’m sorry. I don’t want to… ruin things.”

“You’re not ruining anything.”

“You’ve hardly shown interest, I know you’re not…”

“I’m bad at these things. Talking. You know that.”

“Okay, then…” Jaskier trailed off, and took a big breath. “Then show me.”

“Show you?”

“What you mean. Or… what you don’t mean. I don’t know. But if there’s… Geralt, if there’s something, anything about me that you want, in that way, I am asking you to show me. It’s fine if not. But… I’m here, I want it, if you do. I mean, I want it either way, really. Have for a bit.”

“…You’re drunk.”

“I won’t be, once Yennefer gets that… thing. And it’ll be the same. I promise.

“I don’t want you regretting anything.”

“How could I regret you? Show me, Geralt. Please.”

“…Show you."

“Yes, yes, please, Geralt. Pl—”

And there was silence. Or, there was the sound of mouths sliding against each other, soft, deep moans reverberating in their chests. She let them have the moment, and then Jaskier gave a soft whine, and she smiled. That was her cue.

She clicked into the foyer, bottle held aloft.

“A gift,” she said, and the two staggered apart, “for my nemesis. Purely because his white wolf brought me apple juice, let it be known. And thank you for the show. Both at the bar and here.” Jaskier stepped toward her and took the bottle.

“I must warn you,” she said, “it tastes like goat piss.” Jaskier popped the cork, and chugged the bottle before making a face.

“How long does it take to— oh, fuck—”

“Pretty instantaneous,” Yennefer said as he grabbed her shoulder to support himself. Geralt came up behind him.

“The room stopped spinning. I didn’t even realize it was spinning,” he frowned. He shook his head for a moment, turned back to Geralt, and grabbed his neck, pulling them to meet in a firm kiss. “See? Meant it.”

“Maybe I need some of that too,” Geralt muttered. “Things are spinning.”

“As much as I enjoy playing cupid,” Yennefer said, taking back the bottle, “it seems as though I’ve been a bit removed from the equation, so you two had best be off, I suppose.”

“Someday, you’ll be won over by my charms,” Jaskier said with a kiss to her knuckles. “But if you two had… plans… I could always wait a night. Unless you’d like both of us in your bed,” he half-joked to her.

“I don’t know how this is happening to me,” Geralt muttered.

“Oh, be careful what you wish for, Jaskier,” she hummed, “you might just get it.”

“Does this mean I’ve won you over?”

“It means I don’t let a good night pass me by.”

“Oh, so you think I’ll be good, you admit that.”

“It means I’m open to you proving me wrong. But I saw you play. You can make good use of those hands. Geralt?”

Geralt was leaning against the wall, staring into the middle distance, looking lost. “I just. A lot has happened. I thought you hated each other?”

“I told you she was gorgeous, I don’t just say things.”

“You do very much just say things.”

“Well, then, someone’s going to have to shut me up.”

Yennefer tilted his head back to face her and pulled him down into a kiss—languid and slow, as one of his arms grabbed her waist and pulled her upwards and to him, just enough that she was standing on tip toe. She ran her hands up his chest, coming to rest around his neck, playing with his hair. He finally pulled away, just to kiss a line down one side of her jaw, sucking a small mark onto her neck.

She looked back at Geralt, still a bit dazed but with a fire behind his eyes. “Well,” she said, detaching herself from Jaskier. “Will you be joining?”

Rather than answer, Geralt took a few steps forward toward her. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her—gentle and almost pleading. They fit together so easily, he thought. He hadn’t ever fit with someone like he had with two people tonight. How had he earned this? How had he made it to this point in his life?

Jaskier was suddenly behind him, kissing his back, running one hand up his chest, the other against Yennefer’s hand, which had reached his shoulder. He couldn’t have all this, could he?

“You think so loudly, Geralt,” Yennefer teased him.

“It’s true,” Jaskier agreed. “Even I hear it, darling.”

“Okay. Then… take me somewhere I don’t have to think.”

Yennefer smiled, took his hand in hers, and Jaskier’s in her other. “I’m glad your place was the bedroom,” Jaskier whispered, “Because honestly, mine would probably be the zoo.”

Yennefer pinched his hand, “Ow! But am I wrong?! You don’t need your brain for the zoo!” and led them on.

8:24am

Sunday, April 3rd

16 Messages from Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Coral Lytta — 9 hours ago

okay, thanks for letting us know, yen!!! have fun!!

Fringilla – 9 hours ago

Wait, I’m sorry, were the two people you just went home with the witcher and the musician? The guy you hate?

Sabrina — 9 hours ago

What on earth is happening

Fringilla – 9 hours ago

She didn’t specify which two guys she went home with, but I’m pretty sure I just saw them all leave together.

Sabrina — 8 hours ago

I can’t believe drama is happening without me

Coral Lytta — 7 hours ago

its not drama drama is frin getting the number of someone with a green hair when she specifically said she’d sworn off of green hair for at least a year

Sabrina — 7 hours ago

omfg

Fringilla – 6 hours ago

Coral!! Where are you, I’m not letting you get away with this! They’re cute! You can’t shame me.

Coral Lytta — 5 hours ago

update everyone we got a car home and frin has been texting green hair (jesu) the whole way home if youre reading this its too late for me it was nice knowing u

Sabrina – 3 hours ago

Loving this. Just blew up half a field with Anica. She says hi

Sabrina – 2 hours ago

Hey yen I am seeing this mystery enemy of yours on tiktok people filmed his set

Sabrina – 2 hours ago

He’s hot good job

Sabrina – 2 hours ago

But why is he playing a fucking lute

Coral Lytta – 1 hour ago

morning all yennefer please send pics of ur hot date(s)

Fringilla – 15 minutes ago

Are we not addressing that Sabrina and Anica blew up a field?!

Sabrina — Just Now

Lol

8:24am

Sunday, April 3rd

167 Messages from CITY WITCHERS GETTING LAMBERT (AND GERALT) DATES… Showing 16

Lambert – 10 hours ago

Okay I made him laugh and now I’m in the bathroom what the fuck now??

Eskel – 10 hours ago

Pay for the bill, leave a good tip for that waiter for saving your ass, and then ask him if he wants to go back to yours. You’ve done this before, Lamb.

Coën – 10 hours ago

He’s been flirting with you all night, you’ll be fine.

Lambert – 10 hours ago

Fuck Okay If you never hear from me again it’s because I died of embarrassment

Lambert – 10 hours ago

Bye forever

Eskel – 9 hours ago

Drama queen. Hey Geralt how’s it going?

Coën – 9 hours ago

He’s in it too deep. He probably watched that guy play live and just died.

Lambert – 6 hours ago

Sex is so awesome

Eskel – 6 hours ago

Congrats bro. I’m sleeping now.

Lambert – 6 hours ago

Don’t you wanna hear about how great sex is

Eskel – 6 hours ago

I know it’s great, Lambert. I’ve had sex before

Lambert – 6 hours ago

Are we sure are we super sure you had sex cause like I just had GREAT sex possibly the best

Coën – 6 hours ago

It is two in the morning. I am begging you to shut up

Lambert – 6 hours ago

Put us on silent so I can talk about how great sex is

Lambert – 6 hours ago

Ha beat you to this one Geralt bet you didn’t have sex with someone hot tonight. HA

Lambert – 6 hours ago

Okay gotta go round two bye

8:24am

Sunday, April 3rd

Geralt – 10 hours ago

You coming back to the table?

Geralt – 10 hours ago

If I’m gone when you get back let me know when you get home

Geralt – 10 hours ago

You did really good, Jaskier. I’m proud of you

TikTok – 2 hours ago

You have 25,634 new followers!

TikTok – 1 hour ago

You hit 2.3 million views! Click here to see what people are saying…

Spotify – 15 minutes ago

You have 5,785 new followers and 806,216 new listens on Toss a Coin EP

Maybe: Yennefer – 5 minutes ago

It's Yennefer, send me that selfie of all of us you took, I wanna freak out my group chat

Geralt, Maybe: Yennefer

Maybe: Yennefer – 4 minutes ago

I can’t believe I’m the one doing this, but I guess we need a group chat.

To: Geralt, Maybe: Yennefer

Message: 1 image

Here’s the selfie for you both!! Use it wisely ;)

A Sorceress, A Witcher, and a Handsome Bard Walk into a Bar…

Yennefer – 3 minutes ago

Geralt get me apple juice while you’re up

A Sorceress, A Witcher, and a Handsome Bard Walk into a Bar…

Yennefer – 2 minutes ago

Jaskier, this chat name, you cannot be serious

A Sorceress, A Witcher, and a Handsome Bard Walk into a Bar…

Geralt – Just now

Haha

A Sorceress, A Witcher, and a Handsome Bard Walk into a Bar…

Geralt – Just now

#geraskefer #geraskier #witcher fanfiction #geralt x jaskier x yennefer #Novigrad Exchange #chubbykatsudon #enemies to lovers #friends to lovers #Ensemble fic #Butterbard's Fics #lambden

74 notes · View notes

221castiel · 3 years

Text

Yesterday - Chapter One

Master Post // AO3

He isn't exactly sure why he wants it so badly, his own parents were only married for five years before Mary had died and even then it was only a year later when John had stopped wearing his ring. Opting to instead leave it some drawer filled with other forgotten items; pennies and keys with no purpose other than to collect dust. Cas's parents had divorced when he was nineteen. Something that had become a long legal battle over every little thing, the house, the kids, every single piece of silverware that filled the kitchen.

Marriage had never been a permanent thing in either of their lives, and yet, Dean wanted it. He wanted it the same way he wanted the sun to set every night and rise every morning. He wanted to whisper each vow as he stared into Cas's vibrant eyes, to feel the other's lips as they kissed for the first time as a married couple. Dean wouldn't consider himself a romantic, he was just as happy to stay at home and watch Game of Thrones as he would be going on an over planned date, and yet, he wanted every sappy moment he would roll his eyes at growing up. The first dance, shoving cake in each other's faces, the perfect ring, which Dean had quickly learned is something far easier said than done.

It had taken months of stopping at the mall's jewelry store, sorting through each shipment of new rings before he'd finally found the perfect one.

"Holy shit," Charlie cries, her nose only inches from the glass case that she'd lent over, "that's a lot of bling." Dean nods, a grin tugging at his lips. Charlie's excitement was contagious, warming his chest as she continued to study the ring. He had a ring. He was going to propose. It was happening. "Seriously dude," Charlie continues in the same raised voice, "Marline Monroe would be jealous of this."

"Well could you keep it down," Dean teases, as one of the workers behind the counter gives them a side glance that he's frankly too excited to care about. "Or at least let me buy the ring before you get us kicked out."

Charlie looks up, a wide smile across her face. Her bright hair had been pulled back in a ponytail though through the workday it had begun to fall out and now framed her face in small strands. "Sorry," Charlie whispers, a grin still spread across her lips. She stands up properly and adjusts her walmart vest that she'd draped over her arm. "I'm just so excited for you- and jealous of Cas."

"I'll buy you one next."

"I'm holding you to that," Charlie teases, causing Dean to roll his eyes.

She looks back to the glass case and Dean steps forward looking over her shoulder at the rings that fill it, his gaze immediately finding the ring he'd spent the past weeks looking at. The band itself is silver, the center lined with small diamonds, while the edges were carved with a leaf like pattern. In the center a large diamond sat, catching the store's bright light and reflecting it in small shimmers. "Do you think he's going to like it?" Dean whispers. He'd been sure Cas would, but now he couldn't kick the tug in his stomach, the thought that maybe he's better off saving for a little longer, buying one a little bit more expensive or with a bigger diamond.

"He's going to love it," Charlie replies.

Dean looks up as Charlie goes silent, meeting her concerned gaze. Her lips pressed in a tight line, eyes darting over Dean's face, eyebrows knit together, her whole expression weighs on him. He already knows he doesn't want to hear whatever she has to say. Is it too late to walk away?

Despite the sudden dread that weighs on his shoulders, Charlie continues speaking. "Look," she begins, "I want to be all supportive and stuff, I really do, but how the hell can you afford this, it's gotta be more than you and Cas make in a month."

"I've been savin'"

"For what the past century?"

"Three years and just under ten months," Dean corrects. He shrugs his shoulders looking back down to the ring. "But who really keeps track of that crap."

Dean shoves his hand into his jean pockets, pressing his lips together as he looks across the rings. He can feel Charlie's eyes burning against the side of his head, but he refuses to meet them, he already knows the expression that would sit across her face, concentrated and curious, trying to figure out Dean's exact thoughts.

Charlie takes a small step closer, and Dean doesn't move, continuing to study a rose gold ring that holds a dark blue jewel in the center. "Dean," Charlie says, her voice low and gentle. "You know Cas would be just as happy with a cheaper ring, something you can actually afford."

"Cas would be happy with a fuckin' ring pop," Dean grumbles. "Doesn't mean I can't buy him something better."

"Could you push a side your prince charming complex for five minutes, and not make the most financially stupid decision of your life?"

Dean looks back to the silver ring. He knows Charlie's right, hell the thought has been in the back of his mind since he'd begun saving, putting every extra penny or dollar won during a game of pool, aside. They could pay off almost two months of their health insurance, fix their bathroom sink, save the money for if an emergency came. Dean could think of a million different things the money could go towards. Things Cas, who was far too selfless for his own good, would want the money to go towards, yet Dean couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Charlie-"

"You can't-"

"No," Dean insists, looking back to the other. "I'm going to do it."

Charlie's expression softens her lips tugging into a gentle smile. A gesture that's so simple yet seems to lift whatever weight that'd been resting across Dean's shoulders, easing his breathing, and allowing him to return the smile. "He's going to love it," Charlie says.

"I hope so."

His feet ache as he doesn't so much as walk down the apartment building's hallway but drag himself, the dim lights above casting shadows over the dingy hallway walls. Stopping at his apartment Dean pulls the keys from his pocket, the sound of fighting from the neighbours clear through the thin walls.

Fuck people. After a six hour morning shift at Walmart followed by a five hour shift at McDonald's filled with bitchy people and forced smiles, Dean was done with people. Especially loud neighbours that spent nights fighting until they broke up, only to get back together a few days later. If he had to listen to make up sex even once that night he was complaining to the landlord.

A loud crash comes from their neighbours and Dean sighs. Maybe he'd prefer the makeup sex over hate sex.

He finally manages to unlock the door and step into his apartment where he's immediately met by silence, the main room of the apartment -a small joint living room and kitchen- dimly lit by the living room table lamp. Though other than the lamp and a few dirty dishes there was no sign of anyone else. Not that Dean minds, it gives him a moment to breath. A moment to catch his thoughts and relax.

After dropping his things onto the kitchen chair Dean goes to get a glass of water, though his attention quickly changes as he stops at the kitchen counter where papers were spread out. A mix of bills and lined papers that were covered in Cas's neat writing.

Across the top of one page the words, Next Month's Budget, had been printed. Various numbers were printed underneath as Cas balanced out their income, trying to figure out how they could buy new light bulbs while saving money for Jack's birthday. He feels sick just looking at the numbers.

He already knew everything on the page. There were no surprises, medical insurance took out most of his income, car insurance took what was left. Everything Cas made was spent on food and rent, making sure the heat stayed on the months they really needed it and that water came when they stepped in the shower. There was close to nothing left.

He already knew that.

And yet he feels sick.

He flips the page over to read the back, though he doesn't get more than a glance before the sound of footsteps comes, followed by Jack's voice, "dad!"

Dean turns at the sound, forcing a smile across his face as Jack comes running towards him, a wide smile across the child's and his arms out for Dean to pick him up. "Hey kid," Dean hums, picking Jack and resting him against his hip. "Did you have a good day?"

"So good!" Jack cries, wrapping his arms around Dean's neck in an awkward half hug, causing a genuine smile to tug at Dean's lips. A warmth spreading across his chest that has him gripping Jack together as the child buries his face into Dean's neck.

"So good, huh?"

"So so good!"

Dean laughs, smiling down at Jack. "What made it so good?"

"We goed to the park," Jack says, burying his face further into the crook of Dean's neck where he rubbed his nose much to Dean's disgust, then made a soft sniffle. "And- and drawed."

"All while you're sick?"

"I'm not sick!"

"He's been refusing to take the cold medication," Cas says, Dean's gaze immediately darting up at the sound of Cas's low voice. He stood at the entrance of their hallway wearing one of Dean's AC/DC shirts, his dark hair tousled with strands overlapping one another or simply sticking out in random directions as a small smile rests across his face that Dean returns. How couldn't he. When his boyfriend was standing there looking gorgeous even with his messy hair and slightly darkened eyes from lack of sleep. Boyfriend- hopefully soon to be fiance.

"I don't want it," Jack grumbles. Dean looks back down to the pouty expression that now rests across Jack's face, his bottom lip puckered out, and eyes pleading. Something that only makes Dean's smile grow. "It's bad, I want ice cream!"

"How about you take the medicine," Dean offers, "and I'll get you some ice cream, deal?"

Jack stares back for a moment, bottom lip still puckered out as he gives a firm nod. "Deal."

After Jack runs off to the bathroom, Dean grabs a bowl from the cabinet filling it up with a few spoonfuls of vanilla ice cream before he walks out of the kitchen. He makes his way down the small hallway and into Jack's room where he finds Jack standing on his bed while Cas helps him get into his superman pajamas.

"Superman?" Dean hums as he steps into the room, careful not to break any of the toys that scatter the floor. "Batman's way cooler."

"See Daddy," Jack cries to Cas, "I telled you! I telled you!"

"I know Bee," Cas replies as he helps Jack slide his arms through the shirt's holes. "But they need to be washed."

"I want them now!"

"You can have them tomorrow night."

"Tonight you'll just have to be lame Superman," Dean teases as he takes a seat on Jack's bed. He knows it's not a good time, Cas is obviously tired, and Jack is starting to get sick, something that always leaves him a little more sensitive, but he can't help himself. He knows it's worth it when Cas sends him a glare, an expression that Dean finds far cuter than he ever should.

"Daddy!" Jack cries, Burying his face into Cas's chest as Cas wraps his arms around the child and rubs small circles into his back.

Cas leans down pressing a kiss to Jack's head. "It's okay Bee," He whispers gently, though when he looks back up the glare he gives Dean is anything but that. "You're provoking him," Cas whispers.

He definitely was.

"Am not," Dean replies in a similar low tone. Cas's eyes narrow, and Dean sighs. "Let me fix it."

It takes a few minutes for Dean to calm Jack down, between a mix of apologies and promises that Superman was in fact a very cool super hero, and in fact almost as cool as Batman. By the time he does, Jack is more than happy to eat his almost melted ice cream, then receive a piggy back ride to the bathroom where he brushes his teeth, and continues to tell Dean about his day. Specifically about the squirrel he'd seen at the park and the tv shows he'd watched in the morning. Finally after a long conversation about a show Dean's never even heard of, Dean manages to get Jack into bed, whispering a goodnight before he goes to flick off the lights.

He reaches out to the light switch, his finger grazing it before he hesitates, looking back at Jack.

Even in the single bed Jack looks small, far too small for a four year old. The doctors had insisted it was fine, a common side effect to a chronic illness, nothing anyone could fix, and yet Dean couldn't help but feel guilty. A weight in his stomach as if he'd swallowed lead, he wanted to fix it so bad, wanted to make sure Jack was never going to be anything but okay. He wanted to fix it no matter how many times he was told he couldn't, and he knew Cas felt the same way.

Jack made a small sniffle then his eyes fluttered open, meeting Dean's stare. "Dad?" Jack whispers, his voice sounding more nasally than before.

"Yah?"

"I love you."

"I love you too," Dean whispers back, a small smile tugging at his lips as he flips the light switch.

After stepping out of Jack's room, Dean takes a deep breath allowing himself a second to calm his heart before he walks into his own bedroom, finding it empty. The living room and kitchen is exactly the same as when he first got home, the lamp still dimly glowing, dirty dishes and papers still scattering the surfaces. The only difference is that the porch door had been propped open, letting the night air linger through the living room

Dean walks across the livingroom and to the porch doorway, where he leans his shoulder. An easy smile spreads across his face as he watches Cas stand over one of the many plant pots that cover their tiny porch.

With a pair of scissors in hand Cas carefully looks over the pot of Marigolds, cutting off any leaves that had begun to wither and letting them fall off the porch and onto the street below. A concentrated expression rests across Cas's features as inspects the plants, his lips pressed in a tight line and eyes narrowed, his fingers working carefully. How Cas had the patience to watch something grow, to care for something so frequently, Dean would never know.

"It's cold," Dean finally says, stepping onto the deck. Cas doesn't look up and instead picks up his watering can, tilting it over to let the water soak the marigolds. "Do you need a coat?"

"I'm fine."

"You won't be saying that when you're sick."

"I won't get sick."

"Just cause you don't get cold doesn't mean you can't get sick," Dean mumbles.

Cas looks up, the smallest smile tugging at his lips as he tilts his head to right, a small action that always brings a warmth to Dean's chest. A comforting feeling that leaves him wanting more, one more look of Cas's eyes, one more touch of his fingers that were surely frozen from the chilled wind, one more second of just being with the other.

"Dean," Cas insists in his usual gravelly, monotone voice. "I am fine."

Despite Cas's arguments Dean tugs the first sleeve of his jacket off and then the second, the evening air immediately freezing against his bare arms. "Comeon angel," Dean says, offering his jacket. "Humor me."

Cas narrows his eyes, but still takes the jacket from Dean's hand and pulls it around himself before turning back to the plants. Dean leans against the deck railing no longer trying to speak and instead watches as Cas works his way from plant to plant, trimming leaves, and drizzling them with water. He can hear the distant sound of voices in the streets below, some kind of fight that could be just heard over the ambulance sirens from a few blocks away, both noises that occur far more frequently than Dean would ever like.

Maybe it wasn't a good time to buy an engagement ring, maybe they'd be better off saving to move to a different apartment. Somewhere nicer, where kids didn't walk in the middle of the streets because it was safer than walking near the alleyways, or near parks that weren't filled with used needles and other things that had Dean caring Jack rather then letting the child walk (though honestly Dean wasn't sure if Chicago had any parks not like that). Maybe they'd be better off buying light bulbs or saving for the over the top birthday Dean knew Cas wanted Jack to have.

Saving it would be the best choice, yet Dean couldn't bring himself to not picture the ring. To not imagine how Cas's eyes would light up as Dean opened the box, he'd say yes, Dean had never been so certain of anything in his life. Cas would say yes, and then they'd kiss, holding onto one another as if it was their last moments alive.

"Do you regret anything?" Dean suddenly says, his mind spinning with too many what ifs to stop himself.

Cas pauses for a second, before he continues inspecting the small tomato plant that had just begun to sprout. "No," Cas replies, his voice steady, though Dean can hear something else in it, hesitation, maybe worry, "do you?"

"No- yah- I mean, I don't know," Dean shoves his hands into his jeans pocket, trying to warm them from the numb feeling that had quickly begun to grow. The fighting down below had stopped though the ambulance's sirens continues to blare and for a moment Dean let's that fill the silence as he tries to sort his thoughts. "I think I'd've liked to try harder at school, maybe got a degree in mechanics, something that'd make us money." He pauses, looking down to his shoes, it's easier than looking at Cas as he admits his defeats. "We could have a nicer apartment."

"I like our apartment," Cas replies.

"The neighbors suck," Dean says, "We've got the Joker and Harley Quinn on one side and a fuckin' hooker on the other."

"Meg is a respectable woman."

A smile tugs at Dean's lips. "Yah well most apartments have nice chicks."

"Dean," at the sudden softness in Cas's voice, Dean looks up, his eyes meeting the other's. Cas places his watering can down and steps forward. "Are you alright?"

"Yah." Cas gives the smallest tilt of his head, a crease forming between his eyebrows as his gaze darts down Dean. Dean pushes himself from the railing and raises his arm, lacing his fingers with Cas's. "Really, angel," Dean continues, pulling Cas into his arms, "I'm fine."

Cas wraps his arms around Dean's neck, resting his chin against Dean's shoulder. Even with the help of his jacket Cas feels frozen as Dean wraps his arms around the other's waist, Dean's fingers grazing the frozen skin from under Cas's t-shirt. "Dean," Cas says, his voice louder in the suddenly silent night. "You are allowed to talk to me."

"I'm just thinkin'" Dean replies. He holds Cas closer to his chest hoping that it will keep the other warm, and rests his chin against Cas's shoulder. "Worryin' about Jack, money, the future, that kind've crap," Dean says. "Things are just goin' to get more expensive."

"I understand your concerns," Cas replies. Dean tilts his head as the other talks, pressing a kiss to Cas's neck, followed by a second, the kiss so soft and gentle Dean's lips just ghost the frozen skin. "But Jack will be starting school soon and when that happens I'll discuss working more hours with Crowley. We will figure it out."

"I'm worried about you," Dean whispers, something which was only half true.

He was worried with every beat of his heart that he could never give Cas what he deserved. That one day Cas would realize he deserved better and walk out. Dean wasn't worried about Cas, Cas could handle himself, he was worried the day Cas would realize he was worth more.

Dean was worried that one day he would be left with nothing but a broken heart for memories, and the feeling of sorrow to wash it out.

"Dean," Cas whispers, "there's no reason to worry about me." Dean presses another kiss to Cas's neck and slowly let's his fingers travel down the other's back, tracing the curve of Cas's spine. "Please don't worry about me." The thought of arguing crosses Dean's mind but instead of trying he buries his nose into the crook of Cas's neck as Cas's grip around him tightens.

It was moments like this that left Dean holding Cas closer, clinging onto every second as if it would be his last with the other. When they were alone in the dark, only lit by the decks faded orange light, and the world around them had gone silent as if to give them one moment alone. It was simple moments like this that left Dean out of breath, and at a complete loss of words, unable to describe just how in love he was with Castiel Novak.

Slowly, humming softly, Dean removes one hand from Cas's back and laces the fingers of his right hand with Cas's left. "Here comes the sun," Dean begins barely above a whisper, swaying softly, an action Cas mimics.

"And I say," Dean sings softly, "it's alright."

"Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter," Dean continues, his voice hanging through the silent night, only broken by their footsteps as they move across the deck. "Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here." Cas's lips press lightly to Dean's neck and he replies by giving Cas's hand a gentle squeeze, it's all he can manage. Any words would ruin the moment, nothing he could say would be as gentle as them swaying, sharing one another's warmth as the wind continues to blow.

"Here comes the sun, do, do, do. Here comes the sun, and I say," Dean sings, "it's alright."

They continue to dance as the song goes on, footsteps heavy, and their swaying half a beat off. Cas's fingers are still frozen against his, and Dean's own arms had long ago become numb, and yet it's perfect.

Dean wouldn't trade it for a second of perfection. The breathless feeling leaving him light, his heart pounding constantly in his chest yet always one beat not enough. It's impossible to breathe properly when all his senses are heightened on one thing.

Cas.

By the time the song comes to an end and their slow dance has stopped, Cas's eyes were on Dean's, the normally vivid blue casted in shadows by the deck's light. Cas's hand moves from where it rests on Dean's shoulder and to his cheek, the contact so light Cas's fingers barely grazes Dean's skin. "I love you," Dean whispers, because he isn't good with words, he never has been, and that's the only thing he can think of that can even remotely describe how he feels.

"I love you too," Cas replies. He leans forwards pressing his lips to Dean's for a slow kiss that has Dean's heart somewhere between racing and stopping, tearing all the air from his lungs. When they pull away, their lips still grazing, there's only one thing Dean's sure of; he's going to marry the love of his life.

#Destiel #Destiel fanfic #destiel fic #Yesterday #Here comes the sun series #dean winchester #castiel #jack kline #domestic fluff

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meta-squash · 3 years

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Brick Club 1.5.9 “Madame Victurnien’s Victory”

This is simply a translation thing, since Hapgood translates it as “success,” but I think the title containing the word “victory” is interesting because it really implies that Mme Victurnien got something out of what she did to Fantine, that she “won” against Fantine. What she got was a sense of sated curiosity, a curiosity whose satisfaction ruined another human being.

Hugo starts the chapter off saying that Victurnien’s actions did some good, only he then reveals that Valjean never entered the workshop and explains that the overseer was only charitable from a certain angle. How is this good? Valjean, who is described as “even the best men,” is trusting that this woman’s morals are in line with his own simply from word of mouth, rather than checking in. He never sets foot in the workshop and has given her full power. Again, no wonder people are turning to sex work as a side hustle. How many other women has this happened to? And the overseer thinks she’s doing some good!

The overseer is “full of the charity that consists of giving, though to some extent lacking in the charity that consists of understanding and pardoning.” But isn’t this the entirety of Madeleine’s system and philosophy? He helps people by giving them money. He tosses money at them but doesn’t want to see the aftermath and doesn’t want to be the one doing the face-to-face benevolence. He can’t handle being responsible for problems that a little bit of money can’t fix. The only time he seems to do things face-to-face with others is when they specifically come to him (like as a judge or a settler of conflict); he doesn’t ever go to them. The overseer is full of the “charity that consists of giving” because that’s what Valjean’s rules teach. They don’t have space for sitting down and trying to understand. The morality of these rules don’t allow for that. If the only rule to work in this factory is to be an “honest woman,” how do you confront a structure that creates this desire to seek out and banish immorality rather than examine itself and its components for prejudices and then find ways to assist these women who clearly have little to no support?

I’m wondering too if Valjean’s rule fostered this rumor mill. Having a strict code of morality is a great way to foster ill will if people are more nosey or malicious or less mutual aid-minded than others. Especially in a factory where people are paid by their output. If someone is better than you at the job you share, it makes sense to start a rumor about them to get them kicked out so you become the one who gets their pay. This isn’t quite what happens to Fantine, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it happened to other women. In terms of Fantine and Victurnien, again this strict moral code is a breeding ground for the gossips and rubberneckers that Hugo described last chapter.

Valjean’s system just frustrates me so much. Again, putting so much power in the hands of a person without checking if they’re trustworthy or not, without having a system of “is this person treating my workers right” is just so....careless? That’s not exactly the word I’m looking for but it’s just like Valjean puts this morally strict system in place and expects it to just solve all problems. He’s busy helping other people solve conflicts and things and doesn’t seem to realize that these rules he’s put in place are going to create problems as well. Not to mention that everyone’s ideas of ethics or morals are going to be different. Would Valjean have condemned Fantine if he’d heard her story? We don’t know. But this overseer’s idea of the right thing to do and the right action to take may well be very different from Valjean’s intention upon setting these rules. Which creates circumstances like this.

Am I reading something wrong, or did the overseer not take record that she had given Fantine the 50 francs? I read “of which she rendered no account” as the overseer not bothering to write down the fact that she gave Fantine 50 francs from the money for donation and aid to workers. Is that right? If this is true than it would also give even more reason for Valjean to have no idea: if he doesn’t set foot in the women’s workshop but does look at the expenses, this wouldn’t have shown up either.

The landlord telling Fantine “you’re young and pretty” is a foreshadowing of the next couple chapters, but I also think it’s interesting that the landlord seems to insinuate that she could be a sex worker. Again, this is a garrisoned town. Sex work must be an open secret here, something Valjean maybe refuses to see.

I love Marguerite so much. I think this might be the first and only time Fantine has a friend who actually cares about her. It makes sense that Fantine would have a much older woman as her friend. Hugo says she’s wise, and I think that her sort of quiet wisdom would resonate more with someone much older than with grisettes her own age. Plus an older person might be much more patient with her when teaching her these new ways of living and maybe guiding her through actually noticing these social cues for the first time. Marguerite is kind of like Fantine’s Myriel; she is a pious and religious old woman who takes Fantine under her wing to learn how to live and survive. Only, rather than taking Fantine’s soul for god or anything, she’s giving Fantine a friend, which seems to be something she’s never had before. This is the first time we see Fantine talking to someone else as an equal.

Hugo mentions that Marguerite taught Fantine how to give up an expensive bird. It’s odd to me that this bird is never mentioned. When did she get a bird? If it was with her in Paris why did she not sell it to move to M-sur-M? However, I 100% understand owning a pet even when you barely make any money to buy yourself food. Pets make you feel better about yourself because you’re caring for and getting love from another creature. Fantine has now had to give up Cosette and her bird, both two small things she’s able to give her love to.

Fantine’s backstory is so odd. How did she not know how to “live poor” already? She was an orphan, and as we see later, orphans in the Brick (taken in or otherwise) are generally treated poorly and are exceedingly impoverished. How had she never lived in enough poverty to learn how to reuse things and give things up? This is clearly the most poor she’s ever been, and even Feuilly makes a good deal more than her later on, but it seems strange that even as a young child or teenager she didn’t live in similar poverty, if she was an orphan with no other monetary support besides her own work.

Fantine mentions that she only sleeps five hours a night. We don’t get a lot of mention of characters sleeping. A little here and there, but the Thenardiers don’t seem to sleep, like, at all when they’re in Paris. This is a kind of subtle aspect of it, but being this poor is crazy hard to get out of because it requires so much work. Fantine makes like 9 sous (I think?) making shirts. She’s taking up just under 19 hours of her day sewing, which I would imagine might produce maybe 3 shirts? Depending on whether she’s doing the entire thing from scratch or using patterns or taking someone else’s already fitted and cut out pieces and stitching them together. Either way, sewing takes quite a while, and if she’s taking 19 hours of her day doing that, she has no time to do things like look for a better job. And she’s also still in debt, so she can’t move somewhere with more opportunities, either. The Thenardiers barely sleep because they’re constantly trying to come up with ways to get money as well. Marius seems to barely sleep; he spends his time translating. Sleep is so rare in this book, it’s kind of a surprise when it’s mentioned.

“When one is sad, one eats less. Sufferings, troubles, a little bread on the one hand, a little anxiety on the other--all that will keep me alive.” More of Hugo’s weird thing about suffering. Even more than an ableism kink, he’s got this whole suffering = good thing going on. This is from 3.5.1, about Marius, but I think it summarizes Hugo’s opinion well: “Firm and rare natures are thus created; misery, almost always a step-mother, is sometimes a mother; destitution gives birth to might of soul and spirit; distress is the nurse of pride; unhappiness is a good milk for the magnanimous.” (Hapgood translation as I’m too lazy to transcribe from FMA.) Reaction to suffering is Hugo’s gauge for a character’s goodness.

Also, this line about bread reminds me of Eponine’s line about not eating for three days, only Eponine admits to the misery of not eating, while Fantine tries to keep things light and optimistic. Again, we have Fantine seeing things through a sort of rose-colored lens. This time I don’t think it helps much, but it’s also not concealing danger from her either. It’s just that Eponine has lived so long in poverty that hunger is just an aspect of her life, and misery is something she seems to have simply accepted, while this is still vaguely new to Fantine and she’s trying to figure out how to deal with it.

“In this distress, to have had her little daughter with her would have been a strange happiness.” Mostly I just want to hang on to this quote because it parallels the later line talking about Baron Pontmercy wishing to have young Marius with him. I made a post before about the parallels between Fantine and Pontmercy, and somehow I didn’t catch this one, but here it is.

Everything in this book is about money, about how to pay. Everything in life is about money. It puts Valjean in an expressly unique position as someone who has a frankly ridiculous amount of money compared to pretty much every other character. But everyone except Valjean and Cosette are so highly aware of money, of how much everything costs, and what it takes to pay for something. And really the thing about poverty is that “cost” isn’t just francs, it’s also time and labor and emotion. If Fantine had just the tiniest bit more money, she could send for Cosette, but would Cosette then end up like the child of Valjean’s sister, sitting out in the cold in the early morning after Fantine went to work but before the schools had opened? Sewing shirts takes time; that’s either less time to be with Cosette and nurture Cosette or less time making shirts which is less money. Making enough money to live means sacrificing so much.

Only now does Fantine seem to be aware of social cues, which now have turned into paranoia (though she’s probably at least a little right). Since the beginning, she hasn’t noticed when people are laughing at her or whispering about her or making fun of her to her face. Even when Tholomyes left, I doubt she noticed because all of the grisettes were abandoned at the same time; I don’t think she would have realized that for everyone else it was a little bit different. But now all those whispers and mocking and social cues have been thrown in her face, and now she’s seeing them everywhere. It sounds like paranoia, but I think she’s right, and Hugo basically says so about a sentence later.

“She came and went, head high and with a bitter smile, and felt that she was becoming shameless.” This is another reason why I Dreamed A Dream in English frustrates me so much. The French version at least touches on Fantine’s anger, on the ways she has begun to harden. The English version really does not do that at all. It is interesting that she longs for the anonymity of Paris, and in the end seems to decide to treat M-sur-M as though it was Paris, and go out brazenly anyway.

Mme Victurnien and Tholomyes are at opposite ends of the self-centered individual. Tholomyes fucked Fantine over but didn’t care or think much of it, because once he’d satisfied the amusement he got out of his affair with Fantine, he simply dropped her and probably never thought of her or Cosette ever again. Victurnien, on the other hand, turns Fantine into a weird sort of obsession. Instead of not caring about ruining Fantine’s life, that becomes a kind of pleasure for her. A “dark happiness,” as Hugo calls it. It’s a sort of sadistic schadenfreude. Tholomyes didn’t spend anything to abandon Fantine, he simply left to go back to the country. Victurnien spent money to destroy Fantine’s life. Both are so terrible because one is so deliberately careless and the other is so heartlessly deliberate.

A last thought which is just kind of a throwaway thing, but since gaining the “Fantine as autistic” headcanon from whoever it was that came up with it, I’ve been imagining Fantine’s love of brushing and braiding her hair as a form of self-soothing. I haven’t had long hair in over 15 years but I remember when I did, brushing it or having someone else brush it always felt really nice. Fantine’s hair is so beautiful (later on Hugo says it falls to her knees which is !!!!) and I wonder if part of that is because of how often she uses brushing it to self-sooth when things are terrible.

#les miserables #les miserables meta #brickclub #lm 1.5.9 #les mis #les mis meta

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fleckcmscott · 4 years

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Watch What Happens - Chapter 24

Chapter links: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23

Summary: Arthur, an aspiring comedian, has struggled to find normalcy and compassion his entire life. Y/N, a hard-working paralegal and transplant to Gotham, has just been put on a case for the Wayne Foundation. When they meet, unexpected sparks fly.

Chapter warning: Angst, Swearing

Words: 4,020

A/N: Special thanks, as always, to Karen, @ithinkimawriter, for beta-reading this chapter and helping me work through some of my uncertainties!

Send me your WWH requests!

About two months after Penny moved to Endsbury Place, a nursing home in mid-town Gotham, Arthur's bank account was nearly in the negative. With Penny's disability paying for her long-term care, and his only income coming from the occasional shift at Amusement Mile or random gig Gary forwarded his way, it became clear to him that he wasn't going to be able to afford his rent. The situation wasn't a surprise, but it frustrated him all the same. He'd done the best he could to stretch his dollar. Dates were at home unless Y/N insisted on treating, which he disliked. He was skipping meals, even though he denied it when she'd asked.

And he'd only filled one of the three new prescriptions Dr. Ludlow, the psychiatrist Y/N had hooked him up with, had given him. They were prohibitively expensive - he'd been shocked when he was told the price for all of them. It was cheaper to keep up with his journal, work on his material, and try to use the new cognitive behavioral techniques he'd been learning at their sessions. He'd ended up picking the medication for insomnia, hoping his mind would be more coherent if he could at least get some rest.

Y/N thought the solution to all this was obvious. She'd been hinting that she wanted him to move in with her, but he had reservations. They saw each other nearly everyday and often spent the night together. Even so, it was hard for him to believe someone would want to be around him constantly. One night over takeout, sitting together on his living room floor, she tried her best to convince him. "You already have a toothbrush and deodorant at my place. I have tampons here. We might as well save on rent. And you'll stop getting those stupid letters from Renew Corp."

She was being kind, he thought, not bringing up how poor he was. But he wanted to live with her because he loved her, not because he was broke. It was with reluctance that he accepted a copy of her key. He frowned down at it for a little while before saying, half-to himself, "You already pay for too much. I don't want to be a burden."

He quirked a dark eyebrow at Y/N when a greasy napkin hit his face, already knowing what was coming. "Stop it," she said, then leaned closer to him. "You're my partner, not a burden. Besides, you're in my bed half the time anyways." He blushed at that, but she didn't stop there. "Be glad love bit you when it did. And you didn't get hives." When she pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, he shook his head. She always went for a sarcastic remark when she thought he was being too morose. Sometimes it annoyed him because it wasn't what he needed. More often than not, it brightened him enough to walk another step with her.

On moving day, while boxing up his belongings, he came to the realization that nearly everything in the apartment belonged to his mother. There wasn't a lot he could do with her stuff; there was limited space in her room, and he'd already sent over what he thought she needed. He decided to leave what he didn't want - the landlord, Renew Corp., the Waynes or whoever could deal with it.

The unexpected pang in his chest while packing made him nervous. The change that was coming was a rare positive; it had to be. But he was still leaving home. When his anxiety started clouding his thinking, around noon, he tried to call Y/N at work but didn't reach her. He phoned her apartment, then. What he heard when the machine picked up caught his breath. "Hi, you've reached Arthur and Y/N. We're not able to come to the phone, but if you leave your name and number and a brief message, we'll get back to you as soon as we can. Thanks!"

He hung up and called back to listen to the greeting again. Even after doing that, it took him a few seconds to speak, trying to keep his voice from trembling. "Uh... Hi. It's Arthur. You updated your message." He sniffled, then laughed lightly. "I'm almost done here. Come over whenever." He paused and braced himself against the kitchen entrance, resting his forehead on it as he sighed. "I love you. A lot"

Y/N came by with a dolly that evening, stating she'd borrowed it from the supply closet at her office. The four medium boxes, VCR, cookbooks, and LPs stacked on it easily, and it wouldn't take up much room on the train. He left a couple of paper bags and his prop bag for her to carry. After giving the apartment a quick once-over to ensure he hadn't forgotten anything, he placed his key on the counter. Then he opened the door and stepped out, rolling his belongings behind him. He stared at the doorknob and worried his bottom lip. Save for his stints in Arkham over the past ten years, he'd lived in 8J all his life. It would be strange to leave it forever.

Her light touch on his arm brought him out of his reverie. "You all right?" she asked, giving a comforting squeeze. "Are you ready?"

His reply came slowly. "Yeah?" Seeking reassurance, he looked at her. There was no doubt in her eyes, only affection and kindness. The same as when she'd saved his ass on the subway and his life had changed forever. Smoothing his palm over his hair, he nodded and shut the door. "Yes. I am."

~~~~~

Those early days after moving in felt as if Arthur was on his first vacation. He'd spent a lot of time in Y/N’s apartment, but he'd never stayed over more than one night in a row. The sensation faded quickly, though. Y/N kept correcting him whenever he referred to her building, her bedroom, or her refrigerator, insisting everything was theirs now. When they were in the kitchen together, she'd ask him to get needed items from the cabinets, in an attempt to get him used to treating the place as his own. And she made sure their possessions were intermingled, telling him she wanted him to feel at home.

"I know," he said softly as they sat on the couch, having put away the last of his records. "It's just... I think it'll take awhile."

She pulled him to lay with his head on her lap. The gentle glide of her touch over his jaw, then the side of his neck relaxed him. "That's normal," she said, massaging his shoulder. At the use of that word, he closed his eyes and nuzzled at her thigh. "If you need anything, tell me."

He allowed himself to enjoy her for awhile before asking, "What do you get when you cross a mentally ill loner with a paralegal from Missouri?"

"Uh, limited culpability?"

He chuckled and squeezed her knee. "A really abnormal couple."

She laughed, sliding her palm to his sternum. "I prefer to call us novel.” Whatever they were, he cherished it. He took her hand as she leaned to press her lips to his cheek, more at ease than he had in weeks.

But living with Y/N wasn't the panacea he had naively imagined. He hated to admit it - he loved being with her - but Arthur found it difficult to build a life with someone who wasn't oblivious to him. When he had lived with Penny, he had developed his own rhythms, routines, and, he knew, odd habits. He often talked to and danced with himself. And he could smoke the entire time, wherever he wanted. With Y/N, some of that went out the window. Smoking on the fire escape had been expected, but it was forcing him to cut down, since he didn't want to stand outside the whole day. And the talking and the dancing didn't seem to bother her. In fact, she claimed to like it.

Though, he thought, maybe she liked it a little too much. Some days after the move, when he was shaving after a shower, he put the radio on. He swiveled his hips with the music, holding his electric razor, singing along quietly. He didn't detect her sneaking in. When the towel disappeared from his waist, he grabbed the edge of the sink and froze. He opened his eyes to find her behind him in the mirror. “If you're going to dance like that," she said. "You better get in the habit of locking the door."

But then she appeared to notice his discomfort. Holding the blue terrycloth back around him, she apologized for startling him. And berated herself for not knowing he wouldn’t react well. Once his nerves were quieted, he patted her hand. “I’m okay,” he rasped. But he could see the regret in her eyes when he turned to her. Putting his arm around her back, he willed his voice to be soft. “Knock next time you want to jump me.” The peck he planted on her cheek made her giggle and lean into him.

Another change was having to decide on meals together. Back on Anderson Avenue, he could eat when he preferred, if he preferred to. Y/N insisted on grocery lists, whereas he'd always bought whatever was on sale or in the clearance bin that week. And she often asked for them to cook together; he loved that and it made his heart swell each time. But she wanted them to try preparing dishes with ingredients such as bay leaves or cooking sherry, items he hadn’t heard of or stayed away from because he hadn't had the money to experiment or buy more than the basics. The prices made him cringe and wonder how few dollars he would have left after shopping.

And it wasn't only food that prompted that reaction. He didn't know if he could ever get over worrying about money, even though she'd shown him her account and said they had enough. If he'd ever wanted to do anything special before, he'd had to plan days or weeks in advance in order to afford it. Habits borne of poverty died hard. And Y/N was getting mildly frustrated with him for second-guessing their finances whenever she suggested they do something special.

One weekend early on, she told him they should go to the disco. She wasn't a big fan of them, she said, but she'd wanted to go with him after he'd bragged about his dancing skills on their first date. And, she reminded him, he'd admitted he used to fantasize about going to one. Before he could finish his question about the cost, she stopped him and told him it didn't matter. He tried to believe her. But when he heard the price of the cover charges, he gently asked if they could go.

It was apparent from the redness of her cheeks and serious face that she was irritated. Grasping his wrist, she led him under the velvet rope, to a secluded area about twenty feet from the entrance. "Arthur." She took a deep breath. "I need you to believe I can calculate the price of covers, drinks, and food." He looked at the ground, unmoving. When her hand cupped his cheek, his eyes fluttered shut. "I know you're used to constant struggle," she continued in a softer tone. "But you don't have to be now."

"I'm- I'm sorry," he said meekly, shaking his head.

"Don't be sorry." She smiled and kissed him, bumping her nose to his. "Just have a good time."

The evening had been interesting. The style of dancing hadn't been what he was used to, given that it was modern music and not the older tunes he favored. It was loud, too - he didn't want to have to raise his voice for her to hear him. They spent most of the time at their table, sipping on cocktails. When slower songs played, however, he was always able to entice her into a slow dance, even though she stepped on his feet. While they walked to the nearest subway station, she asked him how he'd liked it. "I wouldn't go back," he answered, then turned and gazed down at her. "But you made it nice."

Most of their concerns were easily resolved with a little time, a conversation or two, and compromise from both sides. Unexpectedly, that pattern continued when Y/N asked, a couple months later, if he would mind her dropping the occasional letter to Penny. She made it clear she wasn't expecting him to keep in contact. But she wanted Penny to know how well he was doing, that they were living together now, and how overjoyed she was to be with him.

He didn't respond at first. But some minutes later he said, "I gave the nursing home the new address." After finishing washing dishes and drying off, he spoke lowly. "She didn't give a damn before. She's not going to care now." Then he locked himself in their bedroom with his journal, brooding over what to do. And he continued to mull it over that night, listening to Y/N's slow breathing while sleep eluded him.

As they drank coffee in silence the next morning, her question still hung between them. She was watching his every move, and he knew she'd soon prod him for an answer. "Fine. Let her know I'm fucking up less," he said, exhaling sharply as he picked up his cigarettes and headed outside. "And found someone who thinks I’m funny."

Even with her reassurances, what was harder on him was his inability to find steady work. He'd been the breadwinner in his household since he was a teenager. It had been difficult, but he'd been proud of the job he'd done. It pained him not to be able to provide for Y/N in the way he believed he should. She always told him that doing whatever he could, pursuing his stand-up, and helping her take care of the apartment was enough. That him being there was what she needed, and she was happy to have such a wonderful partner. Still, whenever he had an income, he'd give her something towards rent, the electric, or whatever. But she'd always try to give it back. Occasionally, he secretly paid a bill out of his checking account.

Gradually, as their lives blended together, he gave her more details about what he’d referred to on Murray. That he’d been in Arkham a number of times, because he’d been deemed a danger to himself. And he'd only been out about eight months when they'd started dating. That the treatment he’d been getting through the Department of Health had been court mandated. That he sometimes still struggled with hallucinations and disassociating. And that his main motivation for going to his current appointments and trying different medication was wanting a decent future with her, not necessarily being healthy.

He was smoking on the fire escape, sitting on a metal step, when he told her. "You think I should be reason enough." He scoffed, then flicked ash off his cigarette. "I've hated myself all my life, Y/N." Pressing his lips together, he looked out at the lights of the Gotham skyline and shook his head. "When I’m with you, it’s not so bad."

It took her awhile to react. But she eventually sat next to him. "There's so much love in you. I hope someday you can spare some of it for yourself." Then she hugged him, so tightly he could barely breathe. “You’re never getting rid of me, Mr. Fleck." At that, he leaned his head against the top of hers and closed his eyes, hoping to gain her confidence and belief in him by osmosis.

~~~~~

When Arthur did get gigs for stand-up, they were mostly non-paying, open-mic nights he'd signed up for. Once in awhile he'd get a spot in which he could get a small percentage of the night's cover charges. Y/N hated those, stating he was being treated as a novelty act. He was aware but he didn't care. He merely wanted to be seen and tell his jokes. If luck struck and he got a break, that'd be great. He worked on his comedy diligently, with the goal to write at least one new joke every day. His delivery slowly became easier. And though his laugh attacks never went away completely, they became less frequent with the more stage experience he got.

And Y/N was always there in the audience, supporting him even though comedy wasn't her thing. Afterward, she'd go over the show and give him pointers on what she thought might improve his material. He almost never took her advice. But he always listened; her speaking thoughtfully about it made him feel valued, like he mattered. Sometimes it pleased him so much, he’d interrupt to give her a quick kiss and hug her. She’d pat his back when that happened and say, “I’m going to have to be more critical if this is the reward I get.”

To Arthur's chagrin, one night Y/N told him she wouldn't be able to see him perform. Her excuse had been flimsy, but he’d accepted it. He'd gotten through everything all right, but he'd missed knowing her eyes were on him while he was in the spotlight.

When he got home, around ten, Y/N was sitting at the kitchen table, wearing only a robe and engrossed in a newspaper. He crossed his arms over his chest and watched her, wondering what had actually prevented her from coming to the show, until she turned around.

To his confusion, she sprung from her chair, saying, "Close your eyes. I have a surprise for you."

Smirking slightly, he did as she asked. She grabbed his hand and guided him along. He did his best to follow her, but bumped into the coffee table with his shin. Laughing, she slowed their pace, and they stopped a couple steps later. "Okay, you can open them."

Doing so, he saw they'd moved to the back corner of the living room. A well-worn writing desk was in front of him, against the wall, a small lamp on the corner. To the right of the desk, a folding room divider was extended, creating a private space. It took him aback. "What's this for?"

She nudged him in the side with her elbow. "It's for you, silly."

Bewildered, he looked down at her. She was already too generous with him, always giving him a new notebook, sweater she thought he’d like, or other small item when he could barely buy her a bouquet. "Why?"

Sitting on the desk and drawing him to her with her foot, she smiled. "Do you know what today is?"

The correct answer eluded him, despite the effort he put into finding it. Lifting his eyebrows, his tone apologetic, he said, "Thursday?"

Y/N gave him a soft kiss and squeezed his sides. "Six months ago we went out for pie." Her fingers started working the buttons of his vest. "This is why I couldn't come to your show."

Arthur winced. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I wouldn’t have signed-up for tonight if-" Then he cocked his head, his voice low. "I thought anniversaries were yearly."

"They are. But I needed an excuse," she said. "I've seen you close your journal when I've walked in the room. It's been hard for you, not having any privacy." As she spoke, she untucked his shirt. "Now you have your own writing nook. And the desk drawers lock." Her fingers traveling along the v-line of his abdomen made concentrating on her words difficult. "You can hide your journals, or a ring-" his eyes momentarily widened at that, cheeks burning, "- or anything else."

Leaning into her, a lump formed in his throat. He ran a palm along the edge of the desk before taking a deep breath. "Thank you," he whispered, pulling her robe open, then settling his hands on her bare hips.

“But there’s one thing you need to do first,” she said as she slipped his pants and briefs down his thighs.

His gaze dropped to watch as she pressed him to her entrance. Groaning, he pushed against her. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” he chuckled before devouring her mouth.

After she left for work the next day, he went to a pawn shop he’d dealt with before in Otisburg and put a small, simple ring on layaway, making three payments upfront. The receipts were hidden in his journal, between two pages he’d obsessively filled with the words “Y/N Fleck” before he’d moved in with her.

The private area she’d put together was the space he hadn’t realized he needed. He’d gotten in the habit of locking himself in the bathroom or bedroom to have privacy to write. But now, without the underlying fear that she’d see some of the darker notions he put down, he journaled more. Sometimes for a couple hours. Y/N left him alone when he did that, apart from the occasional peppering of kisses along his shoulders or ruffling of his hair when she’d bring him something to drink. (Which, he figured out, was her way of checking on him.)

When the negative thoughts became too heavy, or if he was disassociating and wasn’t sure if what he was seeing was real, he’d go there and sit. The feel of the wood beneath his hands, the heat of the lampshade, the framed photograph of the two of them together he kept on the right corner, grounded him and let him know he really was in a safe place. And that he was loved.

Most days, he knew where he was and who he was. And, for the first time he could remember, there were periods in which he felt content. Over the years, he’d dreamed of many things he’d assumed would fill the hole inside him. Meeting his father, being a famous stand-up, having a friend. While he still had those desires, he never would have thought settling down with a woman he didn’t have a lot in common with would be so fulfilling.

Tonight, while they were watching the news on the couch, he couldn’t stop looking at her. It had been five months since she’d dropped off her envelope at NCB studios. And he knew she pined for a report on it everyday, even after all this time. She always looked disappointed when nothing was mentioned. Instead, there was a story about the mayoral election. Thomas Wayne was leading in the polls.

Y/N groaned. “If that asshole wins...”

Arthur grabbed the remote and flicked off the television, then went to the record player and put on an LP. It was one of the “mood music” records he loved but she found corny. He knew it would cheer her up, though. He’d learned how to do that; she was a much easier case than he was. He held out a hand to her.

Gazing up at him, a sly smile came across her face as she took it. “What?”

“Come on,” he said, pulling at her gently. “Dance with me.”

She stood and winced. “I’ll never be good at this. You’re lucky you still have your toes.”

The arm that went around her waist held her tightly. “You’ve taught me a lot,” he said softly, a grin on his face as he dared to pat her bottom, prompting a chuckle from her. “It’s my turn to teach you.”

After a few moments, she put her head on his shoulder. Arthur stroked Y/N’s hair as he closed his eyes. Breathing in her scent, feeling the warmth of her body against him as they gently swayed, he became acutely aware that a positive vision he’d had for himself had actually happened. A soft hiccup escaped him.

“Are you all right?” she asked against his neck.

Nodding quickly, he swallowed, continuing to lead. “Yeah,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I feel good.”

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @clowndaddyfleck @sweet-nothings04 @stephieraptorr @rommies@invisiblewispofwhimsey @let-the-stars-fall-in-the-abyss @gruffle1 @octopus-plasma

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck x ofc #arthur fleck x female reader #joker 2019 #watchwhathappens

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vagrantblvrd · 5 years

Text

Where the Heart Is, (1/1)

Summary: Michael knows Ryan doesn’t like his apartment building. Knows he doesn’t like the fact it’s a shitty little place with a shitty little landlord. Knows he really doesn’t like the security – or really the lack thereof – it has to offer its tenants beyond the deadbolt and chain on their front doors.

Notes: I was playing around with this prompt generator and got one that felt perfect for these two and this AU in particular and then shenanigans happened. :D?

Takes place in the Crinkle Dot AU.

(Read on AO3)

Michael knows Ryan doesn’t like his apartment building. Knows he doesn’t like the fact it’s a shitty little place with a shitty little landlord. Knows he really doesn’t like the security – or really the lack thereof – it has to offer its tenants beyond the deadbolt and chain on their front doors.

He knows all that, which is why after a steady campaign of harassment and innocent doe eyes proclaiming that’s not what it is, Michael, really, Michael agreed to get a new apartment.

He’s still waiting on the paperwork at his work to go through with the bump in pay to go with it because fuck if he’s going to let someone else pay his way even if Ryan and the others insist it wouldn’t be like that.

That they’d paid Phil for what he did for them, found a way to make it look all nice and legal and shit and just.

Look.

Michael’s not an idiot, okay? Could use the money they’re trying to give him to live a better life and all that, but it feels shady to him considering he’s got more invested in the crew and Ryan in particular than Phil ever did.

So, all that money they want to give him goes to the non-profit clinics around the city instead. Split evenly among the little places barely staying afloat who do more for the communities they serve than the cops that like to hassle them from time to time ever have. (Doesn’t amount to all that much in the end, but it’s better than nothing and that’s what matters.)

Jack and Gavin are looking for places he’d agree to move to, and he keeps reminding them he’s got a budget and no funny business. No leaning on some poor bastard to give him a discount or whatever else because he has ties to the crew.

Other bullshit that has to happen first like getting Ryan to stop being so fucking smug about winning the argument or whatever he thinks this was.

Until then, however, Michael’s got shit to do.

A wedding back home for starters. One of the million and one cousins he has getting hitched, and Michael expected back for it as a member of the wedding party.

========

It’s weird, being back.

Relatives and other assorted assholes he hasn’t seen from anywhere from a couple of years to when he was in diapers.

He spends the first day back on a nostalgia kick, wandering around the town he grew up in and realizing how small it seems now. All the shine it had in his head from his time there growing up worn off and that special warm glow in his heart about the place fucking right off now that he’s seeing it from a different perspective.

Sure, he’s still got all those fond memories from his childhood kicking about in his head, but looking around now he can see the shittier side of things. Stuff he wouldn’t have noticed as a kid or the teenager he grew up to be. Young twenty-something in his first crappy apartment thinking he had life figured out and no idea how dumb he was then. (Or how much dumber he’d get because look at him now.)

He stops by his old high school and walks the grounds after all the extracurricular activities ended hours before.

Goes to his old work and wonders how things could have gone differently if he hadn’t taken that job offer that fucked him over, if he’d stayed. (Doesn’t dwell on those thoughts too long because they’re depressing as fuck and miserable as hell to think about compared to his life now.)

Thinks about calling up his old friends but his heart’s not in it. Not when he’ll see most of them at the wedding anyway, and it’s. He doesn't know what he’d say if he did call, because two years is a long time for something like that and they’re all doing their own things now which is how it should be.

The second day back, though. Goddamned nightmare with his mom dragging him around for last-minute errands like picking up his rental tuxedo and other things she wants his input on.

And then there’s the day of the wedding.

Wedding ceremony that goes off without incident that leads to the worst part afterwords with the wedding party. Small-talk up the wazoo and cheap booze and overly expensive chicken dry as a bone he chokes down between the small-talk.

His mom flitting about poking at the assholes trying to one-up her regarding their families and success of their kids and all that bullshit Michael’s never understood. Cousins and people he doesn’t recognize sidling up to him because they’ve heard the horror stories about Los Santos and Jesus Christ, Michael, how can you stand to live there?

Michael shrugs, because really it’s no worse than being back here.

Less murder in the streets and panicked screaming, maybe, but yeah.

Overall the same.

Assholes of all kinds and most of them out to put you in your place one way or another. Pecking order that gets real huffy about things if you put a toe out of line and something he’d forgotten dealing the clusterfuck of moving to Los Santos and everything that came after.

Kind of funny, actually, how dealing with his family and neighbors and whatnot prepared him for Los Santos.

Real Karate Kid Mr. Miyagi wax on, wax off kind of bullshit.

“You’d be surprised,” he says, thinking about Ryan and that dumbass crew of his. The shit he’s been dragged into because of his own stupidity and terrible life choices. Smiles at the concerned looks it gets him. “It’s not that bad.”

Watches the worst of the lot go back to their cliques and gossip circles probably spreading rumors Michael’s fallen into bed with organized crime or something along those lines.

Which, ironic really, given the truth.

His mom shoots him a dirty look when one of his aunts says something to her that has to do with Michael being a horrible son. Piece of shit kid who’s probably doing drugs or murdering kittens in his free time, because you’ve heard about people in that city, haven’t you?

He has to look away when she gets that look on her face Michael remembers seeing as a kid. The one where she’s gearing up to tear someone a new one for talking bad about her kids. Doesn’t want to give the game away even though his aunt should know better by now.

Sure, they're awful little bastards, but they’re her awful little bastards and like hell will she let anyone talk shit about them in front of her.

Michael wanders away from the main party at some point. He’s been home for three days now, and it’s.

He’s starting to realize he can’t call it that anymore.

Feels wrong when he does.

Things have wound down enough it should be safe to head back to his hotel without causing some sort of social faux pas. Everyone outside his mom worth talking to is already gone, and she just tells him to drive safe when he says his goodbyes, look in her eyes like she understands.

He stops to get food on the way, little place he used to go to all the time they don’t have on the west coast and the worst kind of food for you. Greasy and artery-clogging goodness that tastes like heaven and if he ever brings Ryan to meet his family, he knows he has to bring the asshole here to show him what fast food is supposed to taste like.

Speaking of, Ryan picks up on the second ring when Michael calls him, concern in his voice like he thinks Michael’s run into trouble in small-town Jersey. Uncovered a criminal ring being run by the local soccer moms or some bullshit and needs to be rescued like a damsel in distress.

“Michael?”

Michael rolls his eyes, not really sure if it’s at the worry in Ryan’s voice or the way Michael gets this little warm fuzzy feeling at hearing it.

He’s called to check in a few times since he got to Jersey. Make sure the idiot’s looking after his busted ankle he earned himself for a botched parachute jump out of Jack’s Cargobob. Part of a heist or just some dumb stunt for the hell of it and Ryan being an asshole with frail old man bones. (He’s not, really, but goddamn is it fun to rile him up about it.)

“Hey, asshole.”

They don’t really go in for lovey-dovey pet names, the two of them. More of Michael calling Ryan an idiot or moron or an asshole, because that’s what works for them.

Ryan tends to stick to Michael’s name, but every once in a while he’ll be more of an asshole than usual and ‘yes, dear’ him which doesn’t seem like it should be as infuriating as it is? And yet somehow Ryan just has that special superpower.

There’s a pause, some shuffling noises on Ryan’s end before he says anything else. No gunshots or screaming or police sirens, which means he might actually be listening to sound medical advice and resting instead out having a rootin’ tootin’ good time with the rest of the crew.

“Is something wrong?” Ryan asks. Careful. Measured. Like he thinks Michael’s been kidnapped again, probably the soccer mom criminal ring and is making a phone call under dress, who knows. “Did something happen?”

Michael sighs because no, but also yes, and he’s just.

Getting old.

Appreciating the things he has, the life he’s lived to get where he is and how it all fits together when it has no right to. All kinds of insightful bullshit he didn’t expect to deal with when he booked his flight to Jersey weeks ago.

“You manage to burn the place down yet?”

See, Michael knows Ryan’s supposed to be taking it easy and letting his ankle heal? But he also knows Ryan.

The idiot’s got a key to his place and this restlessness to him. Those plants he pawned off on Michael when he first mentioned heading to Jersey for the wedding. Perfect excuses to out from under the watchful eyes of the others when they’re not being chaotic disasters because they know as well As Michael does how dumb Ryan is about his own well-being.

Valid reason to check in on things while Michael was gone because someone needed to water them even though Michael was only going to be gone for five days at the most, but sure, okay.

Make himself comfortable, cook something up while he’s there because the man’s predictable as hell.

Ryan huffs, because he’s really not enjoying the implication he doesn’t know his way around the kitchen. (That, and there’s a real possibility Ryan or one of the others will just. Do something and Michael's apartment will be in flames, because that just happens with them.)

“No Michael,” he says, sullen note to it that makes Michael grin. “I haven’t burned your apartment down. Yet.”

It's the ‘yet’ that gets Michael, but he lets it slide because he knows Ryan wants him to take the bait and he’s just asshole enough to leave him hanging.

“Good,” Michael says. “Try to keep it that way.”

Ryan sighs, like Michael’s being unreasonable about not wanting his shitty little apartment to be on fire and can’t believe the big, scary Vagabond is still being bullied like this.

Ryan asks how things are going, so of course Michael has to counter with his own inquiry into Ryan’s day and eventually one of them gives a real answer. Which leads to Michael telling Ryan about his new side-hobby of murdering kittens, or maybe it’s puppies, and Ryan’s quiet snort because no, that’s his shtick as the previously noted big scary Vagabond.

From there it’s just.

Nice, really, telling Ryan about all the bullshit he’s dealing with and listening to the bullshit Ryan’s had to content with because the Fakes are a goddamned handful and menaces all around.

Eventually the time difference catches up to Michael. Exhaustion not creeping up on him so much as sucker punching him when he yawns. It’s only a few hours difference, but the last few days have been busy as hell.

Ryan laughs at him because he’s an asshole, and Michael should remind him he’s the one who falls asleep during movies because he’s an old, old man, but.

Yeah.

“Shut up,” he says instead, which just gets another laugh out of Ryan and this comfortable silence Michael’s learning to appreciate. “I’ll be back the day after tomorrow. Try to keep from burning the pace down until then.”

Ryan’s still sputtering protests about not being that bad about things when Michael hangs up, dumb smile on his face and that warm fuzzy feeling that’s edged out the homesickness he’s been feeling.

========

“So,” Michel says, suitcase still in hand. “I’d like to say this is quite the surprise, but I’d be lying.”

His smoke detector’s going off, which makes sense given the way his entire apartment smells of smoke, decent cloud of it in the kitchen the fan over the stove and open windows can’t quite keep up with.

Ryan’s swearing and flapping a dish towel uselessly trying to help it dissipate and looking guilty as hell as he turns to face Michael.

“I can explain,” he starts to explain, and then just.

Doesn’t.

Caught red-handed, as the expression goes.

Not expecting Michael for a few hours, but Michael had the chance to catch an earlier flight home without any outrageous fees to deal with and jumped at the chance.

Came home to a screeching fire detector and apartment filled with smoke and Ryan at the center of it, because of course.

“Uh, hey,” Ryan says, shoving the dish towel behind his back like that’s going to do anything to hide what’s going on here, whatever it is. “Michael. Hi.”

Jesus Christ.

Michael sighs, because Ryan, and after a quick check to make sure his kitchen isn’t actually on fire goes to dump his suitcase in his bedroom and wash up a bit. Give Ryan some time to hide the body or whatever evidence he needs to because he’s too tired to deal with it right now.

By the time he comes back out the smoke clouding up his kitchen’s gone, but the smell’s going to linger for a while longer, so thanks for that.

Also, Ryan is staring sadly at a tray on the stove. Blackened bits of...something in it and this slump to his shoulders.

Looks all sad and pathetic.

“What is the one thing I told you not to do?”

Sad panda Ryan aside, Michael came home to a smoke-filled apartment with a dangerous criminal waiting for him instead of a regular apartment with a dangerous criminal waiting for him.

Ryan pokes whatever is in the tray with a spatula and frowns like he doesn’t know the answer. Really has to think about it for a bit before that memory resurfaces as though all the reminders he needs aren’t literally in front of him.

“...burn your apartment down?”

Oh that’s. That’s nice, the way Ryan turns it into a question. Like Michael made any other requests of him while he was out of town because he knows how Ryan feels about the place.

“And what did you do?” Michael asks, feeling like he’s talking to one of his baby cousins however many times removed or however that shit works.

Small words. Simple sentences. Not asking a lot because toddlers and their limited grasp of pretty much everything ever at that point in their lives. Like Ryan with not setting things on fire or exploding them or other highly dangerous (and doubtless illegal) things.

“I made you dinner?” Ryan says and gives Michael this dumb little smile.

All lopsided and stupid sweet and overall sad because from the evidence before them, he really kind of didn’t.

“And almost burned the place down,” Michael says, walking over to get a better look at the charred remains. Steak by the look of it, because Ryan. “But guess I should have warned you my oven’s broken before I left.”

Not that he expected Ryan to use it to surprise him by cooking dinner, but just an in general sort of thing. It’s been broken for a couple of weeks at this point, his landlord assuring him it’s on the list of things for him to see to he hasn’t gotten around to yet.

Doesn’t seem all that bothered about the way it veers from not working at all to burning hot like the surface of the sun or how that might constitute a hazard of some kind.

“I figured that part out on my own, yeah,” Ryan says, glancing at him.

Touch of wariness to it because Michael's not annoyed or mad at him for the whole possibly burning his apartment down thing, even if was unintentional.

Hard to be angry about it when he was trying to do a good thing, and yes, okay. Michael missed him and his dumb face while he was gone, so there’s that too.

Figures he ought to thank him for the effort he put into it, the sentiment, so he does. Hooks his fingers into the collar of Ryan’s shirt and pulls him down for a kiss, grinning when the idiot looks surprised about it like Michael's just that much of a bully to him.

“Thanks for making dinner,” he says, and gives him another kiss when Ryan huffs like he thinks Michael’s giving him shit for his failed attempt. “No, really, moron. Thanks.”

And now he’s embarrassed, blushing and having a hard time meeting Michael’s eyes. Awkward as anything because he’s shit at accepting compliments that don’t involve wholesale mayhem and destruction.

Michael lets him squirm out of it, watches him fuss half-heartedly with the ruined tray of steaks and all that until he settles.

“Take-out?” Michael asks, because he’s not in the mood to bother cooking anything or go out somewhere.

He’d rather sit on his couch and watch shitty movies with Ryan while they have the time for it with their schedules, and he’s sure Ryan’s not quite up for more cooking adventures at the moment.

“I...yeah,” Ryan sighs. “That sounds good.”

Great, because there is something Michael’s annoyed about, which is the fact Ryan shouldn’t be bumbling around anywhere with that ankle of his.

“Awesome,” Michael says, “now go sit the fuck down before you make your ankle worse than it is.”

And Ryan, because he’s Ryan, gets this look to him like he’s about to tell Michael he’s fine, really. Ankle miraculously healed since Michael saw him last like the idiot thinks he’ll fall for it.

Michael crosses his arms and waits, because Ryan’s stubborn as hell and real dumb sometimes. (Most of the time.)

“Alright, alright, alright,” he grumbles, and hobbles his way to the living room.

Michael would offer to help him, but he knows Ryan would just get all dumb about it again. Insist he can manage and no, no, really. Look at how strong and independent I am, Michael like that’s anywhere close to being the point. (Because idiot.)

Michael rolls his eyes and turns back to the stove clean up before he calls in their take-out order because this is his life now, and for whatever reason he likes it, which.

Yeah.

A sign he’s fucked in the head, but life’s just like that sometimes. Dumps you into some ridiculous situation and lets you fumble your way around until you make something of it, whatever that means you.

For Michael it’s this whole clusterfuck of a life he never could have predicted, because what person in their right mind would?

And that’s just fine with him because strange as it is, he’s never been happier, even with all the assholes he has to deal with now.

So, yeah.

Michael’s an idiot, but he’s a happy one, and that’s all that matters.

#myan #ragehappy #Crinkle Dot #vagrant fic #something soft because it's been A Week #:D?

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melodiouswhite · 4 years

Text

Live forever - Ch. 01

(A/N: I’ve been obsessed with the historical Dr. Faust lately, so I decided to indulge the urge to create content - I hope you like it. I’ll write about the other members of the alchemist group later on too. ^^)

Johann Georg Faust had been called a lot of things throughout his life.

Charlatan, sorcerer, madman, heretic, liar, necromancer, criminal, hell child, accomplice of the Devil … he had stopped counting all the insults that had been thrown at his ginger-haired head.

Some of them were true, others weren't.

A charlatan? No.

Sure, he was versed in the art of stage magic (and used it more than often), but his magic powers were genuine. They had been since his birth.

Of course he had no idea where they had come from.

He didn't know why he could read minds, foresee the future and perform other things that other people weren't capable of. But it was so, hence he took it and used his abilities to their full potential. This was nothing to dwell on and overthink anyway.

With mixed feelings he stood in front of the grave.

A name and numbers on a tombstone made of the most expensive stone he had been able to afford.

He owed it to her.

Once he had been both grateful and resentful towards her for the drastic things she had done to make sure that he could go to the best schools around.

He had been resentful, because others had called him a bastard and a demon child, had bullied him for always asking questions, had feared him because of his abilities – and for all of this he had blamed her.

He had been grateful, because she had supported him and believed in him through it all, had called him a miracle and a gifted, blessed child, had told him that he was special and meant it.

It was because of her, that he was what he was.

He was a universal genius, a bachelor, physician, philosopher, teacher, alchemist, astrologer, medium … so many things. Yet, it wasn't enough for him, he wanted to learn so much more, more than a human could possibly learn in a single lifetime.

But it was only because of her, that he could even acquire all the knowledge.

That he could even read and write.

With a bitter smile, he placed the flower bouquet onto the grass.

“Hello, mother. I'm sorry I didn't visit you sooner.”

When he was 32 years old, he stumbled over an old, mysterious book.

Being the incorrigible glutton for knowledge he was, he had acquired it immediately.

The book spoke of hidden and forbidden arts and awoke something in him that he had never known was there.

Another kind of hunger.

Until now he had thought that perhaps he could try to be content with being a respected doctor and master of arts, work at a university and help lots of students become another generation of highly educated, arrogant twits, who flaunted their degrees and doctorates. Perhaps he would have married, even though he had never loved in his whole life.

That was out of question now.

Now he wanted something else.

He wanted to become a sorcerer. And if not that, at least the great alchemist of his time.

Oh to be on the same step of so many other great alchemists, perhaps accomplish even more than they did …

He wanted immortality.

Three years later, he hadn't achieved immortality yet.

Sure, he was famous – his name was known in a surprisingly large part of the Holy Roman Empire and it would be known for a very long time.

But metaphorical immortality wasn't enough!

He wanted the real deal!

He wanted to live forever and be forever young! He wanted to make all of his dreams come true, see the world, learn everything there was to learn, maybe write it down and share it with everyone – so many things!

And he would do anything to be able to.

Giving up was not an option. He wasn't like everyone else. And he wouldn't die at fifty or less, like everyone else.

When he was 37 years old, he looked in the mirror and scowled at his own reflection.

He was beginning to show signs of old age; there were bags under his eyes and soft wrinkles around them. And were those frowning wrinkles on his forehead?

From what he had read in the book, the elixir of immortality would stop the ageing process, but it wouldn't make him younger.

He had to find it quickly, before he started to look like some wizened old hermit!

A few weeks after discovering his first wrinkles, he spotted his first grey hair and spiralled into a mental breakdown.

He put more effort into his alchemy and not just once it ended in small explosions.

On top of that, he had to evade authorities, who accused him of the worst crimes and angry mobs that thought he was a witch or possessed.

No wonder I'm already growing old and grey.

When he was 38 years old, he discovered how to make pure gold.

Now he couldn't be that far away from immortality too.

Besides, he could now grow stinking rich.

Sure, he knew how to present himself and often read horoscopes for rich people – then, he was also a surgeon and miracle healer – one of the best, may he add! No false humility!

But if he suddenly became stupid rich, people would ask questions and assume the craziest stuff – or find out his secret. That would get him into trouble with … basically everyone who desperately needed or wanted gold.

“I need to save the gold-making for times, when I really need it”, he mumbled to himself, “And only enough to live fine.”

He wasn't quite 44 years old, when he achieved his goal by accident.

Once he had made gold, but forgot to empty the containers with the gold-making substances afterwards – it had been late and he had been overtired from lack of sleep.

When he had discovered his mistake the next morning, he opened the vials to clean them of the gooey substances.

But as he scraped the remains off the glass, he found something in one of the vials.

His blue-grey eyes widened.

It was a small, red stone.

At first he thought it was a ruby and considered selling it to the next jeweller.

But as he held it into the light, it began to shine in rainbow colours and the light revealed thin golden veins within the red material.

This was something new!

Deciding that he wanted a better look, he put it in a bowl of water to wash the dirt off.

The water turned purple.

He quickly opened his book about hidden alchemy to make sure that this was what he thought it was.

And sure enough …

“Eureka!”, he whispered.

He had found the Philosophers' Stone!

After drinking the purple water – which had tasted horrible, by the way – he found the next morning, that his wrinkles were gone.

Sure, the bags under his eyes were still there – but he knew that they had little to do with his age anyway.

He had finally achieved his goal.

Overwhelmed with joy, he threw his head back and laughed and cried with sheer happiness.

This is the best day of my life!

When he was 51 years old, he realised that he wouldn't be able to hide his agelessness for much longer.

So far it was still easy to do so, as he wandered from place to place and no one knew how old he really was. Those were strangers, people he'd meet once and then never again.

But he was naturally a flashy and showy person with a remarkable appearance and a lot of people had at least heard of him.

Sooner or later, some elderly person, who had met him or heard of him before, would recognise him and question, why he looked so young after so many years.

I guess I will fake my death as soon as enough people ask me about my age.

He was 70 years old, when he decided that it was time to get lost.

Just a few days before, a little child in a nearby village had asked him to cure her sick grandfather and he had done so. Unfortunately, the old man had remembered meeting him 30 years before and had recognised him immediately. He had tried to convince the old man, that he was the son of the famous Doctor (of himself), but the other hadn't bought it and instead accused him of necromancy and devil worship, or witchcraft, as the inquisition and the common folk called it.

Technically, the old peasant was right. He was, by all standards, a necromancer, just as much as he was an alchemist, astrologer and surgeon.

Still, he couldn't help but take offence. He wasn't a worshipper of Satan!

“How dare you!”, he shouted in outrage, “I cure you for free out of goodness of my heart and this is how you thank me! The audacity! The gall to attack my honour like this! Had I known that I would be insulted like this, I wouldn't even have come here! Accused of witchcraft by a peasant I just cured, Jesus and Maria! Never have I been so mortified in my entire life! Oh, I have half a mind to go to court for this injury, but this isn't even worth it!”

Then he had rushed off, ere he did something he'd regret. The little girl had apologised for her grandfather's behaviour and thanked him for the help, but he had left the village the very same day.

Now he was sitting in a shoddy hotel room and contemplating on how he was to go about it.

He couldn't just vanish into thin air, that would raise suspicion.

“They need to think me dead.”

It was in 1541 – five years later – when he finally had all the things he needed for his plan.

Somehow he had managed to make a dummy that looked like him, without anyone noticing.

He bought a real hair wig, some old clothes and posed with that outfit in front of the mirror in his hotel room in Staufen. Good. He didn't look like himself at all.

Of course he could just have turned into an animal – by now he was capable of that – but the superstitious folks in the area tended to notice the sudden appearance of black animals rather than strangers coming and going.

Now he just had to choose which explosive he wanted to use.

He left a generous tip to the landlord as compensation for the room he was about to destroy.

Then he dressed the dummy in his own clothes, mixed the chemicals together and climbed out of the window over a wall, before they blew up.

The explosion was deafening, he saw debris and parts of his dummy flying over the wall and faintly heard the screams of the people in the hotel.

Just as he was about to bail, he heard someone exclaim: “The Devil himself has finally got him!”

He fumed, but swallowed his irritation. There was no time for losing his temper right now.

No one even took notice of him, as he left the borough, dressed as a poor citizen.

A few years later, he found that he had become something of a folk legend.

That amused him not just a little - and perhaps it flattered him too. It meant he had left enough of an impression for the people to still talk about him after his “death” - they often forgot about people quickly, once they were gone. But he would be remembered.

They would tell stories about him for a long time.

He was now immortal both literally and metaphorically.

#dr faustus #johann georg faust #it's not certain when he was born #they say either 1480 or 1466 #i decided to go with the latter

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brieannakeogh · 5 years

Text

Dog Days of Summer-Ch 7

Dog Days of Summer- Chris Evans X plus sized reader. Dog days of summer are usually defined as the hottest of the year, some define it as lazy days. This year ‘hottest’ has nothing to do with the outside temp. You meet Chris and Dodger Evans while taking your own dog to the park.

Previous Chapter / Master List

Warnings: Cursing and fluff, mild angst

Chapter 7

You were a ball of anxiety on the couch that night. Chris wanted to ‘talk’ after he calms down. Welp it was nice to date him for 2 days anyway, also multiple kisses, yet you knew this was it. He wouldn't want to deal with your ex drama, and if Matt did go to the tabloids, it was easily deniable if the two of you had no contact. No proof, no pictures, no story. Honestly it was the smart play, it just sucked.

Chewing your nails to give your hands something to do while watching Chris’ new favorite drama series. You couldn’t even follow along with the plot anymore, making plans in your head to watch the episodes again without him, so you could be ready to watch more tomorrow night. Wait no, scratch that, he wouldn’t be here tomorrow night would he? Back to chewing.

The sound coming from the tv stopped, but it took you a few moments to notice, or at least that was the impression you got from Chris’ expression.

“You’re not going to be able to calm down are you? You’re worried.” He watches you nod your head and he lets out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Ok...ok…” He mumbles seemly more to himself than you. His hand rubbing your arm with his that is slung over your shoulder. “It’ll be fine. I mean it’s been what? A week or so since we met, but other people do it all the time. It’ll be good.” Again it feels like he’s more talking to himself and not to you. It’s like he’s trying to convince himself that leaving you wouldn’t be hard since it was such a short time.

You felt very differently, but you couldn’t blame him, it was the smart thing to do. He was a freaking superstar and he had to protect his image and subsequently his job. Public perception was everything nowadays. You can feel your chest tighten and throat closing as you fight back tears that are inevitable. The feel of you stiffening in his arms has him look down at you, seeing you start to break down. You watch as his jaw locks and he pushes you off the couch, standing up as well.

“Go pack a bag. If it has you this upset we’re not staying here.” Your eyes snap to him, wide and confused. “I don’t think he has another key but if you’re are that worried that it has you crying you can stay at my place for a night or two, at least until you can decide what to do.” You don’t move from your spot near the couch. “I’ve got a spare room, don’t worry.” He smirks. Did this mean he didn’t want to stop dating you? “Was there something else that you’re worried about?”

“You said we were going to ‘talk’. I just had my ex break into the apartment he’s technically paying for, see you and recognize you and admit we’re dating, while trying to get back with me, probably just so he has a place to live, and you said you wanted to ‘talk’. In what universe is that not ‘we’re no longer dating’?”

“Shit did I use the ‘T’ word?” Chris winced.

“Yeah, ya did.”

“I just meant about you and him and the key situation with the housing. If you were going to stay here or we needed to look at more places, security systems, that sort of thing. It never even crossed my mind to not see you again.” He stepped into your space and placed his hands on your neck and face.

“Huh...you’re kind of strange you know that?”

“I’m sure I’ve been told that before. Probably will be again.” He smirked.

“It would be smart to not see me anymore. Make life for your manager a lot easier, so he doesn’t have to catch a story if Matt is stupid enough to leak the information.”

“He needs a little excitement in his life. I’m such a boring celebrity. He should be put to the test to see if he can handle a scandal.”

Your arms are now around his waist as he places a kiss on your forehead. “You know you called me your girlfriend earlier.”

“Caught that did you?”

“Were you trying to be subtle?” A grin on your face.

“I learn from the best, or worse in this case.” You slap him on the chest but end up hurting your hand instead, which just makes him laugh, but he kisses your hurt palm anyway. He grows quiet for a moment, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand gently. “Even though you were thinking of something else, did you still want to come to my place? Until you can get the locks changed at least?”

You’re chewing on your lip again and look at your feet. “While I would feel more comfortable not being here until that happens, that’s an insane step to offer. You barely know me. You can’t possibly be comfortable with this.”

“But you would be, right?” You shrug, not looking up. “We’ve known each other the same amount of time, why do you get to be comfortable letting me into here but I can’t be comfortable letting you into my home?”

That has you glancing up, eyes narrowed in a very ‘really? It’s very obvious why I would be more comfortable.’ look.

“Hey I could be a bad person and I just interview well.” He counters, which makes you giggle snort.

“Are you sure? Like 100%, die on this hill sure?”

“Having to ask that many times makes me less sure....” He laughs. “Yes, go pack a bag. You can call the landlord to get a locksmith out here from my place.”

“She actually lives on the first floor. We can stop by on the way through if she’s home. I think it would be easier if I explained the situation in person.”

He nods and you move into the bedroom to pack a bag. Making sure to pack clothes for the next day and some pjs, along with your toiletry. When you come out, you see Chris has grabbed a few of Popcorn’s toys and treats and is currently looking through the cabinets for his food.

He holds up Popcorns bowl. “Are you out?”

“No, he’s just a spoiled little shit that now will only eat the refrigerated food. The bag’s in there.”

Pulling the little plastic bag from the fridge, he puts that in the bag with the toys and treats. “I think I’ve got him all set, what about you?”

“Thanks and yeah I’m good.” You smile and suddenly get nervous. It didn’t actually hit you to what you were agreeing to until right now. Yes it seemed necessary, your ex invading you space and then raging over Chris being there, not a safe situation if he came back, but this was going to his house. If he deemed you crazy, you would know where he lives. It was a much bigger step than a phone number that he could change at any moment. This was a trust you’re not sure you deserve.

The dogs get their leashes back on and you tote the bag with Popcorns items, and Chris took your bag, while he grabs your hand with the other. You get down to your landlady’s apartment and knock on her door. A dog barking and a muffled “Shhhh” on the other side, let you know she’s home.

“Hey Ms. Daniels. I’m sorry to bother you, but I need something done on my apartment.”

Her smile is pleasant and she looks from you to Chris, who is standing a few paces behind. She was familiar with the situation with your ex and was sympathetic. “Sure, did something happen?”

“We got in and found Matt in the apartment. He apparently didn’t give back all the keys. Is there anyway we could get a locksmith out here and change them? He said it was the only copy he had left, but he said the same thing before.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. Your name is on the lease too so I just need one of you to sign the work order. I’m assuming you’re not staying there at the moment.” She asked, eyeing the duffel and leashes in Chris’ hand.

“No I’m staying with…” You glance behind you. “A friend.”

“Alright dear, I’ll text you when it’s done. Let me go get one of the order forms for you to sign.”

Once the paperwork was done, you thanked Ms. Daniels again and headed out to walk to Chris’ apartment.

“I’m sorry again, this wasn’t how I was expecting our night to go.”

“You can stop apologizing.” Chris squeezed your hand in his as he said it. “You didn’t do anything wrong, and it’s still early. We can make up for it.”

He tugs on your hand, stopping you in front of a building, a nice building, a very nice building. Even with it being only a few blocks away from your own apartment, you can see the difference in the neighborhood and the details in the building itself. It all screams expensive.

There is an actual doorman that opens the door for you and Chris. He even has the little hat and outfit that you had only seen in tv shows. Tipping his hat with a polite “Mr. Evans” and a smile to you, Chris says a quick hello before leading you to the elevator doors.

Once the doors are shut, and you are alone in the little box, you turn and fully face Chris.

“You have a doorman.” Your tone flat, almost accusing.

“Yeah….?”

“He has an outfit and a little doorman’s hat.”

“And?”

“I didn’t know those existed.”

“The doormen or the outfit?”

“The outfit, specifically the hat.”

The doors open to a short hallway, at the end of which is a single door. You look around and don’t see any other rooms or doors. Swallowing, you hold Popcorn closer, trying hard to not think about the fact he has a full floor to himself.

“Why the hat?” His question seems out of place now that he has gotten the door open and ushered you inside. Dodger running around, excited to be home. Taking a moment to get your bearings and to pet the insistent Dodger, you use the silly conversation to hide how awkward and uncomfortable you’re feeling. It’s hitting you again just how very much out of your league he is.

“It’s adorable. I think I want one.” You set Popcorn on the floor and remove the leash quickly. He’s starting to get annoyed with Dodger sniffing him and jumping around and you know he wants to go hide somewhere.

“Exactly when and where would you wear it?”

“I’m sure I can come up with an eclectic outfit to pair it with. Or better idea! You come in from a long day of shooting and I’m just standing around in a set of lingerie and the hat. Sexy right?” You giggle and turn back to him to see him frozen at the door. Crap you went too far.

He shakes himself a bit before he answers. “How about no to the hat. Although the other, you are more than welcome to do any time.” A hand smacks your ass as he goes past you, further into the living room, earning a yelp and a groan from you, your whole body growing hot. You shouldn't have started it, because now you didn’t know how you were going to survive a night at his place.

Next Chapter

Sorry later in the afternoon, lots of things on my day off to do lol. Let me know what you think. She has to stay at his place for a night or two hehe. Also sorry it’s so short again V.V

Tags are still open as well.

@spidey-babe-parker, @stevieang, @albinotigerpython, @paintballkid711, @katykyll, @avengersrulez1536, @ultrafreespirit, @wantingtobekorra, @i-had-a-life-once, @ghostssss, @babybeluuga, @bodhi-black, @kanupps06, @hatterripper31, @grandloser, @reniescarlett, @kjidhzyx, @normanreedus5150, @ilovethings-somuch, @spiderman-2013, @bloodyvalentine93, @xx-raven, @passionghost, @prettybubblesintheair, @averyrogers83, @ria132love, @patzammit, @whom-the-fack, @pooslie, @3dsaunt, @kristiedwyer, @janeyboo, @theonelittleone, @aslandia726, @itsmysticalmystery, @stanclub, @geminimoonbeamx, @lookwhatyoumademequeue, @eyesfixedonthesun22, @mrsalh32611,

#chris evans x reader #Chris Evans #chris evans x plus size reader #plus sized reader #Dog Days of Summer

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chilligyu · 5 years

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info: lee jihoon/reader, teen, neighbor au genre: fluff, romance | word ct: 5k warnings: none summary: the man who lived next door was a mystery, quiet, reserved, and she was drawn to him in a strange way. her landlord warned her that he was this grouchy old man in a college kids body, but she didn’t let that stop her from discovering what was beneath the surface. she was determined to get to know lee jihoon, and grow closer to him in the process.

For as long as she could remember it had always her dream to move to the big city, to Seoul. It seemed simple and her friends often laughed at her but she wasn’t swayed. Nothing would stop her. She knew that leaving home wasn’t an easy task, but it was one she was determined to accomplish. After a couple of years of saving up and working odd jobs she was one step closer. When she was finally there, finally staring her dream right in the face, she was practically euphoric. As she stood in her empty apartment, the last box from the moving truck getting heavier by the second, her freshly cut keys dangling from her hands, she had never been happier.

“Looks like that’s the last of it.” Seungcheol, her landlord and childhood friend, confirmed with a smile. “Rent’s due at the end of the month, no smoking, no pets allowed, blah blah blah, you’ve heard this all before. Don’t be afraid to text me if you need anything.”

She nodded eagerly, dropping the box down on the couch. “Thank you so much, Seungcheol. I really appreciate everything you’ve done.”

He waved her off. “Not a problem. I’ll see you around!”

Waving, she watched the door close behind him. Then she waited a few more seconds just to be safe before jumping up and down in pure unadulterated excitement. Part of her still couldn’t believe how everything fell into place. In a few short weeks she had a job at a restaurant, a moderately cheap apartment thanks to Seungcheol, and a bright future ahead of her. It was a dream come true.

After nearly exhausting herself from bouncing off of the walls she decided it would be helpful if she began unpacking. She’d thank herself in the long run. Except what she considered unpacking was mostly her digging through boxes so she at least had her toothbrush and a fresh set of clothes for the morning. But that was enough in her mind. There was Chinese takeout down the street, a handful of pizza joints, she was set. Those boxes could wait for a few more days.

Once she was “unpacked” she thought it would be a great idea to introduce herself to the neighbors. She’d never had neighbors before, she had lived with her parents for most of her life. This was the first time she could proudly marched next door and say with confidence “I just moved in!” and somehow that further fuelled her excitement. As she practically skipped through the complex, knocking on everyone’s door and showing them her best smile, she didn’t think anything could bring her down. That was before she came full circle back to the person who lived right next door in 201.

“What?” Her neighbor grumbled, a young man with dark hair and leering eyes. “Whatever it is you’re selling I’m not interested.”

Momentarily stunned, she shook her head. “Oh no, I’m not selling anything. I’m your new neighbor!”

“And?” He asked. “I’m busy, get lost.”

When the door slammed in her face, she didn’t really know what to do. She just stood there, frozen in time, her chipper smile still plastered on her face. Never in all of her dreams had she accounted for grouchy neighbors. Granted she really should have, it wasn’t that farfetched of an idea, that didn’t mean it didn’t throw her off track. Feeling dejected she headed back to her apartment. She was still determined to make the best of her situation, and maybe she could get some help.

“You met Jihoon?” Seungcheol prompted when she called him about it. “I was hoping there’d be some time before that happened. He tends to leave a bad impression.”

“I can’t imagine why, he was pretty rude…” She mumbled, twirling the ends of her hair. “What’s his deal?”

Seungcheol sighed. “He’s not what I’d exactly refer to as a “people person”. Or a morning person now that I’m thinking about it. I’m the only person in the building he actually talks to and that’s because he has to. He has most everything delivered to his apartment and never really leaves. He just likes to be left alone.”

“That’s pretty unfortunate.” She muttered. “He doesn’t have any friends?”

He hesitated for a brief moment. “Not that I can think of. Most people in the complex think he’s a kid who lives with his mom. He’s only a year younger than us, isn’t that sad? It’s—it’s put him on the defensive. He hates it when people bring up his height.”

“I—” She started, thinking back to the split second she got to get a good look at Jihoon. “I didn’t even notice that he was short.”

“How could you not?” He asked in disbelief. “It’s pretty obvious.”

“Well I’m not exactly what one would refer to as “tall”, Cheol.” She rolled her eyes. “Maybe I should try talking to him again.”

Seungcheol laughed suddenly. “Hopefully this time will go better than the last.”

Her expression soured considerably. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Oh no I’m being sincere.” He reiterated. “This’ll be good for him. I’ve been trying to get him to come down to my place for drinks since I moved in and became the landlord but he always has some excuse why he can’t. Granted they’re good ones, he’s usually working. But still, I try. If there isn’t a purpose to what he’s doing he doesn’t want to do it.”

“So I basically won’t have any luck is what you’re saying.” She groaned in frustration, plopping down on the couch. “He’s not going to talk to me if he thinks I’m bothering him.”

“You’re—right. Shit.” He swore quietly. “Well—how about you bring him something? A present? Maybe he’ll open up if you bribe him.”

Leaning back, she snickered. “I don’t want to pay him into being a sociable human being.”

“Then I’m not going to be of any help to you at all.” He informed her. “I’m not what one would call an “upstanding citizen”.”

She chuckled underneath her breath. “Tell me something I don’t know, Cheol. What about—what about food! I can make him dinner when I have a night off!”

“That’s a pretty good idea!” He agreed. “Easiest way into anyone’s heart is through their stomach.”

“Do you know what he likes?” She asked, grabbing a pad of paper. “Or at least what he doesn’t like?”

“Well—” Seungcheol started reluctantly. “I can’t really speak for his tastes in detail. What I can tell you is that he never has spicy food delivered to his apartment. Usually pretty mild stuff, but he always gets rice with chicken. Always.”

Shaking her head, she quickly penned down the information. “Thanks, Seungcheol. At least you’re good for something.”

“Hey, I’m good for a lot of things.” He protested. “Like that time when there was a spider in your room and you woke me up in the middle of the night to come over and squish it.”

“Can you blame me? It was huge!” She exclaimed. “On what planet did you expect me to take care of that myself?”

“All I heard from that is that you admit that I’m useful.” He beamed with pride. “Speaking of which, I just remembered that Jihoon gets jjajangmyon every now and then. And maybe he likes to mix it with another sort of noodle but since I’m of no use to you I’ll keep that information to myself.”

She exhaled deeply in defeat. “Okay, you win. You’re very useful Cheol. So please tell me what Jihoon likes.”

“I was actually bluffing, I have no idea what he mixes it with.” He admitted haphazardly. “But that still counts for something, right?”

“Goodbye Choi Seungcheol.” She rolled her eyes for the hundredth time before hanging up the phone.

As much as her friend had an innate ability to get on her last nerve, he definitely offered her some top quality information. The next time she had a day off—Tuesday’s were her best bet—she’d make sure to stop by Jihoon’s apartment again, this time with food in tow. Her actions might’ve seemed odd, but she couldn’t explain why she simply wasn’t able to accept that she wasn’t going to get along with her new neighbor. Perhaps it was because the thought never crossed her stubbornly positive mind.

The following Tuesday she got right to work whipping up a batch of jjajangmyeon just like Seungcheol advised. It was simple enough, black bean noodles, no sweat, and cooking for Jihoon meant that she had something extra to gnaw on for the evening. Even if the ordeal went south she could still make the best out of a bad situation. That was perhaps her one superpower, finding silver linings no matter how grim or dire the scenario was.

After packaging up the dish and cleaning up her mess, all she had to do was knock.

“Jihoon, right?” She offered with her best smile when he opened the door. “I made some extra food and I was wondering if you wanted some?”

He eyed her suspiciously from the doorway, an expensive headset around his neck. “What is this?”

“It’s—it’s food!” She stammered slightly. “Do you not—”

“No.” He interrupted, narrowing his eyes into slits. “What is this? What’s your angle?”

“No angle, just a neighbor being friendly.” She beamed optimistically. “Plus, Seungcheol did mention that you like jjajangmyon and this is way too much for myself.”

Jihoon’s eyes widened subconsciously and he did his best to hide it. “O-oh. He did. Then—then I guess that’s fine. Jjajangmyon sounds—it sounds good.”

Success! “I’m glad it’s not going to waste. Thanks Jihoon.”

“N-no problem.” He muttered, bowing slightly. “Thank you for the food.”

“It’s no biggie.” She tried to reassure him. “Have a good evening!”

Nodding, he waved goodbye. “You too.”

This time when the door closed on apartment 201 she felt nothing short of triumphant. Grinning to herself she punched her fist into the air in celebration. What she was celebrating exactly was beyond her, but she was an excitable person at heart. Accomplishing a task, no matter how small, filled her with such immeasurable joy. And her work was far from over.

Every Tuesday for the next two months, without fail, she was knocking on Jihoon’s door. At first he still seemed skeptical, she could almost see the gears turning inside him head as he analyzed every single move she made. His brow would furrow in doubt, his hands would reluctantly take whatever she had to offer, and he would hesitantly close the door once their exchange was done. None of that bothered her because each time she visited that door would stay open longer and longer.

“Do you—” He started one day, a faint blush dusting across his cheeks. “Do you want to come in?”

At first she could’ve sworn that she misheard him. Because the alternative was, quite frankly, impossible. As well as absolutely absurd. And while she tried to determine what was truth and what was delusion, that left Jihoon standing before her fidgeting in place. Indecisiveness pursing at his lips and regret glinting in his eyes.

“Nevermind.” He mumbled. “Forget about it.”

“N-no! I want to!” She quickly informed him with a bit more exuberance than intended. “I mean—I’d love to, honestly. I just wasn’t sure if I heard you correctly.”

Slightly startled by her outburst is took him a moment before nodding slightly and beckoning her inside. “Come on in, sorry about the mess.”

Following behind him, she failed to notice anything she would constitute as messy. There wasn’t anything on the floor, the tables were clear apart from a couple of stray pieces of paper, even peering into the kitchen there wasn’t a single dirty dish in the sink. Jihoon’s apartment was practically pristine, especially in comparison to her own. Or Seungcheol’s, whose place was something straight out of a nightmare.

She shook her head after completely scanning the room. “If this is what you consider messy you do not want to see my apartment.”

Jihoon chuckled quietly. “Well—it’s messy for me. Do you want anything to drink? I have water, strawberry milk, soju—probably not soju. But that’s up to you.”

“Water’s fine.” She snickered, toeing off her shoes. “Have you lived here long? Seungcheol talks about you sometimes like you’ve been here for years.”

He paused briefly. “You—you talk about me?”

“Oh it’s nothing bad I swear!” She tried to reassure him. “I was just a little curious about my new neighbor, that’s all.”

“I—I see.” He said quietly as he put the jjajangmyon in the kitchen. “I’ve been living here since I started university. Seungcheol wasn’t my landlord back then.”

“So cool…” She found herself mumbling without meaning to. “How did you afford university and this apartment?”

Jihoon kept his back to her, scratching his neck. “I worked at—uhh—at a radio station in college. I was in charge of the music selections.”

“That’s amazing Jihoon!” She commended. “You’re such a hard worker, I’m jealous.”

“Yeah…” He agreed, clearing out his throat. “So—I’ve got some spicy ramyun noodles in here if—if you wanted to join me for—o-or rather—uhh—stay for dinner? Feel free to say no, I—I wouldn’t blame you.”

Her heart skipped a beat.

“W-wow!” She exclaimed. “I’d—wow! That sounds heavenly! I’d love to!”

Eyeing her suspiciously, he pulled out another tupperware container from the fridge. “Are you always this chipper?”

A nervous laugh escaped her. “Y-yeah, kinda. I guess it’s sort of irritating, isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t say that…” Jihoon muttered underneath his breath. “Just—different.”

“Different good or different bad?” She pressed eagerly.

Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but she could’ve sworn that Jihoon almost smirked.

“We’ll see.”

The next couple Tuesdays were almost carbon copies of that afternoon, he’d invite her in, they’d chat for a while, and she could feel Jihoon’s defenses chipping away. Progress was slow, but progress was progress and she’d take whatever she could get. Eventually, after a lot of persuasion, she even managed to talk Jihoon into having dinner with her and Seungcheol one night.

“As I live and breathe!” Seungcheol exasperated when he opened the door and saw Jihoon standing there. “For the longest time I thought you were allergic to the sun or something. Guess I lost that bet.”

“I’ve changed my mind, I’m not hungry.” Jihoon said suddenly, turning and heading back upstairs. “See you guys later.”

Seungcheol reached out for him, taking Jihoon by the arm and stopping him in his tracks. “Oh no you don’t, I didn’t make this dinner for you to bail on us.”

“You cooked dinner?” She challenged from the kitchen. “That’s news to me. If you cooked dinner then what am I doing right now?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Seungcheol offered her an apologetic glance. “Being the best tenant a landlord could ever ask for?”

“And?” She prompted, cupping her hand around her ear. “What else?”

He rolled his eyes with a smirk. “And the best friend a man could ever want.”

“There we go.” She smiled triumphantly, returning her attention the hot skillet in front of her. “That sounds like a far more accurate statement.”

“You—” Jihoon started hesitantly. “You two are friends?”

“We’ve known each other since we were kids.” Seungcheol informed him. “Much to her distaste.”

Shrugging her shoulders, she laughed. “He’s not wrong, he’s been a pain in my ass for as long as I can remember.”

“Well that’s—” Jihoon began, clearing his throat. “At least you two seem to get along.”

“Barely!” She countered. “I’m only nice to him now because he rented me my apartment for dirt cheap.”

A jovial laugh bubbled past Seungcheol’s lips. “Surprisingly enough she’s right for once, she’s going to owe me one for the rest of her life.”

“O-oh.” Jihoon muttered. “I—I should really get back to my apartment I—I have some stuff I need to—to work on.”

From the kitchen she pointed her wooden at him threateningly. “Don’t you dare! I’ve slaved over this stove all day and by God above you’re going to enjoy what I’m about to serve you!”

Startled, he nodded slowly. “When you put it that way—I guess I can stay for a while.”

“That’s the spirit, Jihoon!” Seungcheol exclaimed, patting him on the back. “Do you want a beer? I’ve got plenty.”

“I’m not a big fan of alcohol.” He declined politely. “I’ll just—I’ll have some tea, if you have it.”

Seungcheol nodded. “Coming right up!”

She watched out of the corner of her eye as Seungcheol walked into the kitchen and pulled out a box of tea. “See? He’s not this grumpy old guy. He’s actually pretty sweet.”

“I don’t know about that.” He whispered. “Maybe he’s only sweet to you because I’m not seeing it.”

Rolling her eyes, she turned off the stove. “You’re also really oblivious from time to time, Cheol. Now go set the table. It’s time to eat.”

“You’re the best.” He grinned, hugging her around the shoulders quickly before doing as she instructed. “Let’s hope this food lives up to your grandeur!”

“It will.” Jihoon replied bluntly.

An awkward silence blanketed the room briefly until Seungcheol dissipated it with a laugh. “Oh that’s right, she’s been making you dinner every week! What a lucky guy!”

“Will you keep quiet for half a minute?” She groaned. “You’re starting to give me a headache.”

Seungcheol pouted at her. “Why are you always so mean to me…”

“Because you’re annoying!” She laughed, stirring her skillet one last time. “If you don’t get the table set in the next five minutes Jihoon and I are going to be enjoying this meal all by ourselves!”

“Yes ma’am!” Seungcheol saluted. “One set table coming right up!”

“I’ll help.” Jihoon piped in, following Seungcheol. “It’s the least I can do.”

Her heart warmed slightly at his kindness. “That’s so nice of you Jihoon, but you don’t have to. You’re a guest here, let Seungcheol do all of the work.”

“Hey, let the man speak for himself!” Seungcheol protested. “If he wants to help then let him help.”

“Lazy good for nothing.” She mumbled underneath her breath. “You’re lucky I like you!”

Once the table was set and the two were done bickering like an old married couple, they finally sat down to eat. Seungcheol helped himself, as always, plating enough food for two people and grinning from ear to ear. She had to resist rolling her eyes, they were getting sore from doing it so often and the night was still fairly young.

“So what do you do, Jihoon?” Seungcheol asked once they had started eating. “You’ve changed jobs recently, right?”

Jihoon levelled him a disbelieving look. “I emailed you about it months ago.”

“You guys know better than anyone that the wi-fi in this building is pure shit.” He scoffed in response. “I check my email probably twice a year.”

“Oh, we’re aware.” She confirmed, flicking a cob of baby corn at him. “Maybe you should, I don’t know, upgrade the internet plan so an entire complex isn’t sharing a router meant for a single family!”

“I’ve been thinking about it…” Seungcheol mumbled. “But ever since Mingyu moved out there isn’t anyone on the lot that knows how to deal with all that electrical shit.”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Electrical shit—all it takes is a phone call!”

“He needs to get a new modem too.” Jihoon interjected calmly. “New routers, new wiring, I can help with that. It’s not that hard.”

“You’re in music production, right?” She asked, remembering him mentioning it once upon a time. “How the hell are you managing with this shitty connection?”

Jihoon chuckled quietly. “I don’t even use the internet here, I have my own.”

“Well shit…” Seungcheol whistled, obviously impressed. “What’s your password?”

Narrowing her eyes, she kicked Seungcheol underneath the table. “You really are rude sometimes, you know that?”

“I’m the rude one?” He protested, nursing his injured shin. “You keep hitting me in my house! You’re my guest!”

She pointed ignored him and turned her attention back to Jihoon. “How’s that project coming along? The song you were writing?”

Blushing ever so slightly, he nibbled on his lower lip. “I mean it’s—it’s getting there.”

“Why do you sound so unsure about that?” She teased. “You’re the maestro.”

Jihoon stared down at his hands in embarrassment. “I’m just—I’m surprised you remembered…”

“I have a great memory.” She smiled proudly. “Concerning important things, anyway.”

“You have a what?” Seungcheol sputtered in disbelief. “Now that is a bold faced lie.”

“No one asked you Choi Seungcheol.” She stated. “Were you even invited into this conversation?”

He pointed his chopsticks at her, leering suspiciously. “You better watch yourself young lady or your security deposit is going to be used to buy me a hot tub!”

“Is that so?” She challenged. “Then maybe I should show everyone in the complex that video you sent me back in grade school. The one where you serenaded me, professed your love, and asked me to marry you!”

Seungcheol’s eyes widened in fear. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

“That video doesn’t exist anymore! I deleted it!”

“But I didn’t.”

While they continued on and on throughout dinner neither of them noticed how Jihoon retreated into himself. He became quieter and quieter as the night went on, offering almost little to no input in the conversation. Perhaps he was shy or uncomfortable, but was practically silent until he said his farewells and returned to his apartment. His eyes lingering on her just a second longer than necessary, yet not long enough to make her question it.

“I think he likes you.” Seungcheol said once Jihoon was gone. “Like—a lot.”

She elbowed him in the ribs. “Stop making shit up, we’re not kids anymore, it’s not funny.”

“I’m serious!” He persisted with a laugh. “I’ve never seen him act like that around anybody! He was—he was practically nice.”

“Jihoon is a really nice guy once you get to know him.” She stated. “Just because you refuse to believe that he isn’t your grumpy 201 tenant doesn’t mean I have to listen to you. I can form my own opinions, you know.”

“Oh I know.” He scoffed as he rolled his eyes. “They tend to be pretty loud too.”

She glowered at him maliciously. “I’m about to leave and make you clean up this whole mess by yourself.”

Seungcheol snickered as he started washing the dishes. “In all seriousness, Jihoon is a completely different person when you’re around. You mark my words, things are about to get interesting around here.”

Jihoon didn’t come to the door the following Tuesday, or the one after that. Each time she stopped by there was a sticky note taped to the door handle with a simple message written on it apologizing for not being home. Or he was asking not to be disturbed. Both legitimate reasons why he didn’t answer her persistent knocks, but she couldn’t shake the anxious feeling that racked her body day and night. She was worried about Jihoon, wondering what was going on in his life.

A whole month passed before she even caught a glimpse of Jihoon again and it was down in the laundry room. He had his earbuds in, he didn’t even know she was there, she could’ve easily cornered him. But—she was glad that she didn’t. Something told her to stay put, to stay out of sight, and she was eternally grateful for it. Because Seungcheol came up next to him only seconds later, and what she overheard in the following moments was enough to make her heart sing.

“What’re you up to, Jihoon.” Seungcheol sighed. “It’s been weeks, you’re starting to worry us.”

“I’ve been busy.” He tried to deflect. “Sorry for being such a bother.”

Seungcheol rolled his eyes. “You’ve been holed up in your apartment for days. This is the first time you’ve left in a long time. I have no idea what you’re playing at, but it’s not working.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jihoon muttered in response, pulling his clothes out of the dryer. “I’m not up to anything.”

Seungcheol wasn’t buying it. “Give it up. I know you like her it’s obvious.”

“I don’t.”

“Stop lying to yourself kid!” Seungcheol groaned loudly. “I’ve seen the way you look at her, don’t think I didn’t notice how you were acting at dinner that one time. You got to be missing her! Why are you torturing yourself! Just tell her how you feel!”

“Why the hell would I do that?” Jihoon gritted angrily through his teeth. “She obviously likes you!”

Seungcheol burst out laughing. “Wait—what? You think that she likes me? She hates me!”

“That’s how girls are, right?” He asked. “They pick on the guys they like! She’s so—nice to me. She probably thinks of me like a kid brother like everyone else…”

“She thinks I’m her kid brother.” Seungcheol snorted. “That’s why we’re like that. Trust me, she’s not interested at all.”

Jihoon was quiet for a moment, placing his hands on the dryer. “I don’t—I don’t have a lot of—ex-experience with girls. What if—what if she doesn’t like me back? I don’t—I can’t—”

“Listen to me, Jihoon.” Seungcheol started, taking him by the shoulders. “I’ve known her for most of my life, I know her better than most people ever will. So I implore you to tell her how you feel, because she definitely likes you back.”

I need to get out of here. She surmised after her knees started to shake. I need to run!

“Well—” Jihoon hesitated. “If you’re 100% sure—”

“I am.”

“Okay, then how should I tell her?”

Seungcheol sighed and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “I might know her best as a friend, but you two speak your own language. I can’t help you out there, kiddo. Sorry.”

Move!

Before either of them had a chance to see her, she was making a mad dash for the stairs. She had no idea that Jihoon liked her. And, if she was being completely honest with herself, she hadn’t realized that she shared the same feelings. Jihoon was—so different, so strange, but so undeniably sweet and kind. The few times she spent over at his apartment made her painfully aware that Lee Jihoon was more than the grumpy façade he wore to protect himself. She was eager to see why more she could learn about her mysterious neighbor.

Even with Seungcheol’s interference, Jihoon still didn’t approach her in the following week. Despite Seungcheol’s advise, he stayed away. It was driving her absolutely insane. Each day she wondered if today was the day, would he show up at her apartment and confess? Would he have her meet him somewhere private and romantic? Realistically she knew that would never happen. But the longer it took for him to show himself the more ridiculous her theories got. Thankfully she didn’t have to wait much longer.

When he showed up, it was a Tuesday.

Due to Jihoon’s absence she had picked up a shift on her usual day off. She left the house at around noon and didn’t get back until almost midnight. She was slowly making her way up the steps, digging around in her purse for her keys, when she almost tripped at the landing. There was something in the way, something heavy. Looking around in confusion, she was startled to see Jihoon asleep at the top of the stairs.

“Ji-Jihoon?” She stammered, kneeling down and shaking him slightly. “Jihoon? You’re going to catch a cold if you stay out here all night.”

Grumbling, he peaked through his tired lids before drifting off again.

She laughed quietly. “Oh no you don’t, time to wake up mister.”

Still he only grumbled in response.

“C’mon, Jihoon.” She persisted. “Wakey wakey!”

Finally he stirred, stretching his arms out to the side. “Ugh, what time is it?”

She checked her watch. “A few minutes before midnight. How long have you been out here?”

“Since six…” He muttered, yawning loudly.

“What? Why?” She laughed in disbelief. “Have you finally gone completely bananas?”

He sat up a bit straighter, his dark eyes swimming with something she couldn’t place. “I—I wanted to tell you something. So I—I waited—I didn’t—I didn’t want to miss you.”

She shook her head at his foolishness as she sat beside him. “What was so important that couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

“Well it’s Tuesday, right?” He asked sluggishly. “It wouldn’t be as meaningful if it was a Wednesday.”

For some reason that made her heart race.

“Sorry, I picked up a shift tonight.” She halfway explained. “I didn’t think—I wasn’t sure if I was going to see you tonight.”

“That’s my fault…” He admitted, slightly ashamed. “I’m—I’m sorry. But I—I wanted to—to make it up to you at least…”

“What’re you—” She started in confusion, noticing the container of noodle sitting beside him. “Oh my God. did you—did you really—”

He nodded. “Y-yeah. I just wanted an excuse to—to talk to you.”

“You don’t need an excuse to talk to me, Jihoon.” She informed him. “So—what is it that you want to say?”

He eyed her cautiously, he had his lower lip between his teeth. “Honestly I—I had this whole speech planned out but what the gist was—what—what I’m trying to say is that—well I—you know—what I wanted to tell you—I wanted—wanted you to know that—that I—I really like—”

The suspense was killing her.

“I just—” He tried again. “I—I really like Tuesdays. It’s probably my favorite day of the week.”

At Jihoon’s sudden statement, her heart started racing even faster. “I—I like Tuesdays too.”

“You—you do?” He asked as if her response was completely unheard of. “Does—does that mean—”

“That I feel the same way you do?” She finished coyly. “I—I do, I really do. I—I really like Tuesdays.”

Looking up at her, he offered her a sleepy yet blissful smirk. “That’s good… I’m glad…”

As Jihoon drifted off again, his head lulling to the side and resting on her shoulder, she had never been happier in her whole life. Her heart had swelled to probably five times its normal size and she found herself reaching for his hand subconsciously. It was an odd confession, one she didn’t expect, and one someone else would’ve surely missed or misunderstood. But for them it was all that needed to be said.

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