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somekindofpoet · 1 year

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Nevermore Grounds

Summary: Reader owns Nevermore Grounds, a Brooklyn coffee shop that Jenna stumbles upon.

Word Count: 4K

Warnings: Language

A/N: @irish-piece-of-trash thanks for the request my friend! Hope you enjoy this one. Also, is there a Raven cameo from The 100 or is she cleverly named Poe reference? I'll let you decide :)

Part II

Nevermore Grounds

It had been your dream for most of your life to own a coffee shop. To create a space that felt like a hazy dream. Somewhere you could retreat to no matter the weather or circumstance. So that is exactly what you did. You went to school and earned your business degree with a minor in dramatic literature for fun.

Thus, Nevermore Grounds was born, tucked away amongst the brownstones of Brooklyn. You had created an atmosphere you never wanted to leave, so you simply did not. You rented the apartment above the shop, ensuring you rarely needed to leave the building if you didn’t want to. The shop had turned into an expression of yourself, with soft leather secondhand furniture, dark bookshelves filled to the brim with every kind of story, and the ever-present smell of espresso grounds.

Many of the people who frequented your shop were college students or young New York transplants, tapping away at their laptops or tucking themselves on the couch in front of the large fireplace to read one of the many books from the shelves. In every season aside from summer, a quiet crackling fire was lit, the lighting was low, and the atmosphere was warm and comfortable. You kept a small staff of four to six, choosing to barista yourself most days. Most of your employees were also college students, rotating out every few years as they graduated and moved away, thanking you for your companionship and easygoing management.

It was a particularly nasty day outside, so you let the two on shift head home early, telling them you’d lock up at the end of the day. Usually, customer traffic died down in the late afternoon, giving you the place to yourself. You still had a few hours until you could lock up, but the place was dead empty, so you grab your dog-eared copy of Salems Lot and curl up in front of the fireplace, content to read until you closed.

You’d read the book many times, but you could always get lost in the tale of the small Maine town haunted by vampires. Your eyes were growing heavy as you read, the gray light outside fading as the sun slowly set over the city. The bells jingling from the front door snapped you out of your Stephen King daze, and you jerk your head up toward the sound. A slight girl and two rather large men were shaking the rain from their shoulders, the girl closing an umbrella as she stepped inside. She picks her head up and looks around, frowning in confusion. You sit up further on the couch, catching her attention.

“Oh, uhm, I’m sorry. I thought this was a bookstore.” Her voice is soft and airy, floating across the room.

You stand and smile, “You thought Nevermore Grounds was the name of a bookstore?”

A bashful smile pulls at her lips as she eyes you, “The Grounds bit was slightly confusing, but I saw the shelves,” she gestures at the overflowing books on the wall, “and figured I’d give it a shot.”

You make your way around the counter toward the cash register, and point up at the menu. “I sell coffee. The books are free.”

You know who she is, you knew the moment she spoke, but you decided not to fan girl and just treat her like you’d never seen her before. She seems to appreciate it because she approaches the counter with an intrigued smile.

“I’ll take a coffee then and a book recommendation if you have that too.”

You glance back at the two men hovering behind her, and she turns to look over her shoulder at them. She turns back to you and shrugs, “They like following me around.”

You raise your eyebrows, playing in to her joke, “I don’t blame them.” You grin at her, your eyes twinkling with mischief, “You want that coffee black? And do they want anything?” You lower your voice to a comedically loud whisper, leaning closer to her over the counter, “Can they speak?”

A surprised smile stretches across her face, showing her teeth and wrinkling her nose. “Only when they smell fear. And I’ll have a latte, actually,” she turns to the men behind her pretending to ignore your conversation, “Billy, Phil, coffee?”

They both light up, their eyes crinkling above their smiles and nodding. She nods once and turns back to you, “Make it three. And the book recommendation?”

You input her charge in the cash register, “That’s six dollars even, Miss…?”

She slides a ten dollar bill across the counter to you, squinting at you, trying to figure out if you’re messing with her or not. You absolutely are, but you’re not going to tell her that.

“It’s Jenna.”

You nod, “Mhm, and there are no bad books here, they’re all great choices really. Just grab one from the shelf, and I guarantee it’ll be the right one.”

“They’re all great? That’s a bold assumption.” She says as she wanders over to the closest shelf, running her fingers along the spines.

You busy yourself making their coffee, watching her when you look up. “I should know, they’re all mine.”

She stops and turns back to you, her fingers resting on the top of a paperback, “All of them?”

You nod, looking back down at your work. You’re focused on the foam art, a recent practice you’d picked up during hours when the shop was slow.

Jenna returns to her exploration, humming now and again as she reads the titles. “So you’ve read all of them?”

You walk two of the lattes to the counter, pushing them toward Billy and Phil, “I think so, unless people leave their books here, which happens sometimes. Those ones I haven’t sorted yet.”

You turn back to finish the foam art on Jenna’s drink, smiling down at the picture you’d created. You pick it up gently and walk it to the counter, setting it down and resting your chin in your hand.

“One latte for Jenna.” You say, smirking at her when she turns toward you.

She leaves the shelves and approaches the counter, pulling the mug over and looking down at the foam. You’d created a rather detailed image of Thing Addams, and she looks up with a playful frown.

“So you do know who I am then.” She says as she lifts the cup and leaves the counter, picking through the wayward furniture to a table close to the fire.

You leave your station to follow her and sit on the arm of the couch. “Of course I do. Does anyone not know who you are?”

She shrugs and sips the coffee, closing her eyes to savor the taste. “This is good.” She sips the coffee again, this time keeping her eyes on you.

“I’m glad you like it, or I might have to change professions.”

“You could audition as an actor, you did pretty well fooling me.” She says over her cup.

“Ah, I love New York too much. Plus, I’ve heard actors can be real divas, you know.”

A snicker draws your attention to the two men sitting a few tables away, they’re listening to you openly now, laughing at Jenna’s expense. She pretends to be affronted, but the smile never leaves her face.

“I like to think I’m pretty humble, thank you very much.”

You laugh and stand, heading over to one of the bookshelves. You pull The Bell Jar down, swiping the dust from its cover.

“Have you read this one?”

She eyes the cover, “Sylvia Plath? Of course I have. Try again.”

You hum, returning the book. Which one to give her, which one? She’s probably read most of them, so you’ll need to dig a bit deeper. Your eyes light up when you find The Song of Achilles, and you bring it to her.

“This one?”

She frowns, looking down at it, and takes it from you. She opens the first page and scans it, flips the book over to look at the back.

“No. I haven’t read this one.”

“I’ll leave you to it then,” you say, returning to your spot on the couch. You crane your neck to look at her, “We close in an hour, by the way.”

She tilts her head at you, “Your boss lets you read on the clock?”

You snort, “Yes, she does. She also looks at me in the mirror when I brush my teeth every morning.”

She stares at you, trying to understand, then her face lights up in realization, “Oh, you own this place!”

“My pride and joy,” you say, opening Salem’s Lot again, grinning at the pages.

You don’t see the small smile on Jenna’s face as she watches you or the raised eyebrows of Billy and Phil as they watch her. You do notice when she gets up half an hour later and leaves her empty mug on the counter, then comes back to curl into the armchair to your left, the book still in her hands. You glance up over your book and watch her eyes racing across the page, spellbound. You return to reading your book, but you’re hyper aware of her, just in your peripherals.

A throat clears behind you, making both of you jump. You twist around to see Billy standing behind the couch, his finger on his watch.

“Ms. Ortega, it’s time.” He says, his voice deep and raspy.

Jenna sighs and slides a napkin into the pages of the book, then looks at you. She lifts the book, “Can I take this?”

“Only if you bring it back.”

She nods, one eyebrow raised, “Smooth.”

You shrug, “I do my best.”

She stands and stretches, looking down at you, “I never got your name.”

You get up off the couch and look at your watch, it’s an hour past closing time. You yawn and make your way to the door, opening it for Billy when he follows you. Jenna crosses her arms expectantly, waiting for you to answer.

“Tell you what,” you say, scratching your head and ruffling your hair, “Come back with my book and I’ll tell you my name.”

“And if I don’t come back?” She challenges.

“Then I’m out a book, and a giant missed opportunity.”

She smirks, accepts your answer, and follows her bodyguards out the door. You lean out of the doorframe, watching them climb into a black town car and give them a small wave as they drive down the street. You turn in and lock the door, pulling the shades closed and heading to the register to close it out. As you’re counting the dollars, the gravity of the scenario you’d just lived out slams into you. You’d just flirted with Jenna Ortega successfully for the last two hours. No one was going to believe this.

——

Two days pass, and your book has yet to be returned. You made a point to be in the coffee shop as often as possible, your eyes are always drawn to the door when it opened. Many faces passed through, but none of them were the one you were hoping for.

One of your long standing employees, Raven, took it upon herself to poke at you endlessly about it. You had relayed the story to her the day after Jenna showed up, and at first, she didn’t believe you. It wasn’t until she’d read an article about the movie Jenna was shooting in Manhattan that she finally accepted you were telling the truth.

“Dude, count your losses, she’s not coming back.” Raven’s voice made you jump, pushing yourself off the counter.

“You’re such a pessimist.” You grumble, grabbing the rag you were using before your daydream and returning to wiping down the wooden bar.

“And you’re entirely too hopeful,” Raven says, laughing softly and shaking her head.

You sigh, “Probably. But a girl can dream.”

You head into the storage closet to return the rag, fumbling around for the light. You end up tripping over the mop handle and fall into the bucket, which is still half full. Everything happened so suddenly all you can do is sit in the bucket, your butt soaking wet, and reevaluate your life choices. You consider getting angry and scolding your employees about the importance of cleanliness and organization until you remember you were the one who left the bucket half full and the mop haphazardly strewn to the side.

When you finally pull yourself together, you realize you’re stuck. You close your eyes and inhale deeply. Of fucking course, your ass is stuck in the mop bucket. Why wouldn’t it be? You were always so lucky. You squirm around trying to find purchase on anything but just end up rolling the bucket around the room, your feet unable to reach the floor. You slump, giving up, and scoot toward the door.

“Raven!”

“Uh, kinda busy boss!”

“Raven seriously, right now!”

“We have a customer!”

“Tell them I’m very sorry, but your boss is currently stuck in a FUCKING MOP BUCKET!”

“Oh I don’t think you want to tell them that…”

“Raven!” You throw your hands up, desperate for her help.

You hear footsteps approaching the closet and sigh in relief.

“It’s about time dude, help m-“

Your words are cut off as you see who’s come to your aid. It’s not Raven, that’s for sure. You hide your face in your hands as your savior barks out a hard, genuine laugh. Just your luck. The day Jenna comes back, she finds you stuck in a bucket. You think maybe you’ll find whatever god has cursed you and fight them to the death. Raven pops up over Jenna’s shoulder, a pained smile on her face. You shoot her a ‘what the fuck’ look, and she throws her hands up, shrugging and gesturing at Jenna.

“I know this must be truly hilarious, but would one of you please get me out of this damn bucket?!”

You figure since your pride has dissolved in the soapy water under your butt, you may as well resort to begging for help. You reach both hands out, and Jenna takes one, Raven the other. They pull, finally dislodging you. As you begin to wiggle out, the bucket tips forward, sending you sprawling onto the floor, the mop water dumped on your body. They let go of your hands and begin laughing uncontrollably, both bent over, their legs weak from their giggling. You remain on the floor, questioning the universe and wondering what you’d done to deserve this.

You roll onto your back, any pretense of being cool long gone. “I’m glad you’re both getting such a kick out of this.”

Jenna composes herself first and holds her hand out for you. You take it, and she helps you to your feet. Raven has abandoned the bar, flopping onto the couch, tears running down her cheeks. You finally see Billy and Phil perched at a small table, drinking their coffees and chatting happily. The rest of the shop is empty, due to the hour. Jenna’s hand is hovering near you like she’s unsure if you need her to steady you. You glance down at it, then back to her, blowing your hair out of your face.

Her brows furrow in a mixture of amusement and concern, “Are you okay?”

You laugh and shake your head, “My pride has been mortally wounded. Other than that, I think I’ll be fine.”

Jenna smiles, nodding, “I brought your book back.”

“Did you like it?” You ask her, trying to hide the hope in your tone.

“I loved it, you were right, it was great.” She says, making her way out from behind the bar and to her purse on a chair near the fireplace.

She holds it up, showing you it’s been returned safely, and places it back on the shelf. You look down at your soaking wet clothes, dripping onto the floor. You look back up at her, she’s waiting for you to keep your promise from the other night.

“I’m going to go change, and when I come back, I’ll fill my end of the bargain. And give you another book if you want one.”

She raises an eyebrow but nods intrigued. She sits in the armchair she had been in the other night and makes herself comfortable.

“Hey Ray,” you call out, “can you make Jenna her coffee? And an extra for me, please, the usual.”

Raven drags herself off the couch and salutes you, “Right away, fearless leader.”

You roll your eyes and head to the back of the shop, where the door to your apartment is. You quickly change into dry clothes and hurry back down the stairs, eager to spend more time with Jenna. When you open the door to the coffee shop, Raven is perched on the bar, talking animatedly. The smallest shiver of anxiety passes through you, who knew what horrors Raven had told Jenna. Then again, she had just pulled you out of a mop bucket, so things probably couldn’t get worse. Probably.

Jenna smiles up at you when she catches sight of you, and you can tell Raven has told her something you’re not going to appreciate.

“Raven was just telling me about your recent interest in watching your front door,” Jenna says, her tone poking fun at you.

You cross your arms and shoot a glare over to Raven, who yelps and rolls off the bar and behind the counter.

“Oh, was she now?” You say, flopping onto the couch.

Jenna laughs, and Raven pops her head from behind the bar. “See, what had happened was I’m a great wingman and figured she should know that you’re a useless lesbian who-“

You twist around on the couch, throwing one arm out, your eyes wide in horror, “Ray what the fuck!”

Raven sinks back below the bar, her fingers slipping off it as she hides from you. You turn back to Jenna, your cheeks burning. She’s leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, her chin resting on her fist. She’s smirking, her eyes burning into you, making you pull at your collar to let out some heat.

“She is a good wingman,” Jenna says, her eyes glinting.

You run your hand over your face, mortified. “She’s a menace, I’m sorry if any of this makes you uncomfortable.”

“If it made me uncomfortable, I wouldn’t have stayed,” she says matter of factly.

Her eyes are still on you, evaluating something you don’t quite comprehend yet. She seems to make up her mind on something and leans back in the armchair, her hands on her knees.

“Do you want to go out with me?”

You raise an eyebrow, curious, “Sure, where?”

She laughs, shaking her head, “No, like, on a date. Would you go on a date with me?”

Your jaw falls open, and you freeze. Your brain has short-circuited, and you can’t for the life of you figure out how to do anything but stare at her in awe. Her smile begins to falter, and the quickest flash of worry crosses her face.

“If you don’t want to, that’s oka-“

“Are you kidding me I’d love to!” You finally begin processing information again and shoot up off the couch.

You reach your hand down to her, offering to help her off the armchair. She looks at your hand, confused, and looks up at you. You realize she hadn’t meant right at this moment but lean into it.

“Let’s go.” You tell her, your hand still outstretched.

“Don’t you have to work?” She asks, her eyes darting across your face.

“My shop, remember? Plus, my menace of a wingman can lock up, can’t you Ray? Unless you have something else going on this evening?”

Jenna shakes her head and takes your hand. She doesn’t drop it when she stands but interlaces your fingers. It’s a gesture so intimate for someone who was basically a stranger, but it doesn’t bother you.

“Have you ever walked the High Line?” You ask her, grinning.

Dates in NYC were your specialty, and you knew she’d love it. When she shakes her head no, the decision is made. You look over to her bodyguards and whistle at them.

“Hey boys, there’s enough of me to go around, let’s go on the world's weirdest date!”

Jenna lets go of your hand and tsks, slapping your shoulder with the back of her hand. You are in rare form, recovered from the embarrassment of earlier and riding a high. You’d show her a great time in NYC if it were the last thing you did.

——

The bodyguards were courteous and trailed along far enough behind the two of you that you almost forgot they were there. The High Line is a 1.5-mile elevated park lined with gardens and murals, and stunning views of the city. Jenna loves it, as you knew she would. She walks with shocking ease in her high heels, her eyes wide and absorbing everything the city has to show her. While you walk and take in the surroundings, you talk, getting to know each other better.

You learn that she prefers New York over Hollywood and that she always wished she could move there. You tell her about the coffee shop and getting your degree at NYU. She talks about the movie shes filming and how much fun she’s having with her cast.

When you reach the elevator that will take you off the High Line above Chelsea Market, you pull her toward it. “I have to show you this place,” you skid to a halt, turning to her, “You do like tacos, right?”

She gives you a deadpan stare, pursing her lips. She doesn’t need to answer, her face is enough. You give her an awkward smile realizing it was a stupid question.

“Right,” you say, “Latina from California…well this place is something different. Its Japanese inspired tacos, one of my favorite places.”

You pull her through Chelsea Market, Billy and Phil closer to your sides, keeping the crowds away. People recognized her, but most of the locals ignored the two of you. Celebrities were nothing new in Manhattan, so most people would stare and then go about their business. You buy her dinner, and the conversation between you is easy and endless. It felt like you had known her forever. When you leave Chelsea Market, Billy taps his watch, his eyebrows raised.

Jenna nods at him and turns to you, “I have to go, but I had a great time with you today.”

You sigh, smiling and nodding your head, “I wish you didn’t, but I get it. Jenna Ortega is in high demand these days.”

She laughs and holds her hand out, “Give me your phone.”

You hand it over with no hesitation and watch her as she types away, her tongue poking out between her lips as she focuses. She hands it back to you, her name in your contact list. Butterflies explode into your stomach as you absorb the information. You look up at her, gaping.

“Text me, okay?” She says, stepping closer to you.

You nod, unable to speak. She leans in and kisses you gently, her hands pulling at your waist. You take far too long to register, and she’s already pulling back when you find the brainpower to reciprocate. You reach out and pull her back in, kissing her, taking her by surprise. She laughs, her teeth brushing your bottom lip. Billy clears his throat, and she leans back, waving him off.

“I’m serious,” she says, still inches from your face, “text me.”

You smile, “You couldn't keep me from it if you tried.” You peek over her shoulder at Billy and Phil, “Not even your personal beefcakes could stop me.”

Billy barks out a laugh at you shaking his head. Jenna laughs, too, rolling her eyes.

“Next date is on me. I’ll see you soon.” She blows you a kiss and walks off, disappearing into the crowded sidewalk.

#jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #vada cavell #tara carpenter #lorraine day #phoebe atwell

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esmedelacroix · 6 months

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Coffee Shop Love Pt.4

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader

summary: He's as stern and cold as the snow falling from the sky blanketing the bustling streets of Nueva York, Miguel O'Hara stumbles upon a hidden gem of a coffee shop just around the corner from Alchemax. Only problem is the annoying-as-shit smiley-ass barista.

contents: slow burn, no use of y/n, fluffmania, implied age gap, suggestive, forced proximity

author's note: Hi lovies, :( this part is coming to you very late >.< ! The semester is ending soon and I'm an academic weapon so I've been writing papers and studying, here's the fourth chapter for y'all :) ! I suggest you read this chapter while listening to "Strangers In The Night" by Frank Sinatra on repeat it sets the perfect tone for this chapter, enjoy...

word count: 1.6k

Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3, Pt.4, Pt. 5, Pt.6, Pt.7, Sequel: Sweet Tooth

You both looked down at your phones in disbelief. Your thoughts raced like a thousand wild stallions, galloping through your mind at breakneck speed What do we do? Will he have to stay over? How will he react when I tell him I have one bed? He couldn't fit on the couch to save his life. You thought to yourself trying to figure out what could be done.

"So a whole day here?" Miguel asked as the shock slowly dissipated from his face.

"Yeah, well I better lock up and turn the heaters on," you said as you got up the locked the doors.

"So uh, I live upstairs," you said awkwardly.

"Okay, I live several blocks down," He joked eliciting a chuckle from you as laughter danced lightly upon Miguel's chest.

"You know what I mean, I'm inviting you into my apartment," you said pointing at the stairs as a flush crept onto your cheeks.

"I'm just pulling your leg chula," he chuckled. You both walked up the stairs to your apartment. A melange of peppermint, gingerbread, and vanilla, like Santa's North Pole workshop in an aromatic form.

The fireplace crackled merrily, festive blankets were strewn across the couch, and a tray of gingerbread cookies patiently awaited their turn in the oven. Your apartment was the epitome of Holiday cheer and warmth. The exact opposite of Miguel's place. Which was currently dark cold and empty. Not a trace of color other than the black and dark blue that his interior designer had insisted on. But was the point of a home that didn't feel like anyone was living in it? Your house was all color. Your house had memories scattered over the wall just like in the shop. Your house had lights all around, messy blankets and pillows, dishes in the sink, and baked goods sprinkled all over the dining table.

"So sorry it's a little messy," you murmured timidly.

"That's fine, it's nice," he mumbled.

You both looked at each other awkwardly before turning away. "So, I only have one bed, and there's no way you're fitting on the couch so, I could take the couch," you thought aloud.

"Well I'm not going to make you sleep on your couch," he said.

"I'm fine with sharing the bed, as long as you don't make it weird," you said.

"Well you just made it weird by thinking that I was gonna make it weird," he quipped.

"Well, well, ditto," you rebutted.

"Ditto? Double ditto," he chuckled.

"Double double ditto times a million trillion gazillion," you giggled.

You both burst into a fit of laughter. You both agreed to take turns in the shower. You lent him your brother's old clothes that he had left the last time he visited. That was how Miguel ended up sitting on your couch with a generic pair of black and red plaid pj pants. With the ugliest ugly sweater on. You plopped down next to him, straight out of the shower.

Your hair smelled like fresh candy canes. He could smell it every time it would whip around when you cracked your neck. Your skin smelled faintly like sweet gingerbread and vallina. You had an interesting selection of Christmas-themed self-care. What's the use of 'sugar cookie' lip balm? I kind of want to taste it..., ew Miguel, he thought to himself.

"So since you have to spend all night and a whole day with me, you have to understand why I love Christmas so much. We're going to watch only the best holiday movie series ever, 'A Christmas Prince,'" you said excitedly as you got up and got some holiday treats and put them on the coffee table.

"This better not be some sappy romance," he groaned.

"Oh hunny, it's all the sap, all drama, and all stupidity and miscommunication. But that's what makes them so good," you explained.

Although Miguel was sure he would hate the movie, he was more invested in it than you were. Every time you would try to talk he would shush you, "I need to see what happens next," he would whisper as he strangled you squish mellow from anticipation.

You started messing with him by talking during the movie which got him so frustrated he threw a pillow at your face playfully. But you had taken this as a declaration of battle and started a pillow fight. It was full-on warfare and giggles all around. You could tell Miguel was holding back all of his strength because he could probably actually hurt you.

You pounced on Miguel, knocking him backward onto the couch. Pillows flew in the air around you as you both tumbled, your laughter turning into shared, breathless excitement.

You found yourself on top of him, faces inches apart, heartbeats racing. Your warm breaths hit each other's face, and you both lay there, staring into each other's eyes.

Miguel's playful smile slowly softened into something deeper, something more intimate. His eyes locked with yours, and for a moment, the world outside the room ceased to exist. It was just the two of you, lost in that brief moment of connection.

Your breath caught as the intensity of the moment enveloped you. You felt a magnetic pull towards Miguel, an unspoken attraction that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long. The air between you crackled with unspoken words, and as your eyes locked, they shared a moment of understanding, a silent promise of what could be.

But just as quickly as it had come, the moment was broken by the sound of the timer on the oven going off, signifying to the two of you that the gingerbread was ready. The laughter returned, but now it held an extra layer of tension, a newfound awareness of the connection you had just shared.

You both get up, brush yourselves off, and head to the kitchen to take the baked goods out. "Why bake more when you have a million variants of baked goods everywhere?" Miguel inquired as he helped you put the slabs of gingerbread into your fridge to cool.

"I have to test and create the entire seasonal menu before I serve it," you explain.

"That sounds tiring..." he starts.

"No! It's actually really fun! Here try this red velvet cake," she said excitedly. Miguel was waiting for another opportunity to have your baking without having to outright ask you for some, and you knew that.

He took a bite and to no one's surprise, he loved it. But he wouldn't tell you that and tried not to let it show either. The rest of the night went on without a hitch until you were both exhausted. You took a look at the clock, [2:23 am]. Your eyelids felt heavier, and you could see Miguel start to blink for a little too long while trying to watch the third Christmas Prince movie. You used all the energy left in your body to get up. "C'mon big guy, we should get to bed," you said tapping his shoulder. All you got from him was a small smirk and picked up a pillow and whipped it at his face.

"You nasty!" you started before stopping and stomping into your room. Miguel followed you into your room chuckling lowly.

The moon cast a soft glow through the bedroom window, painting the room in muted silver hues as you and Miguel settled into bed. There was an unspoken tension between you two, a tangible distance that lingered in the cool air. The bed, once a refuge for dreams, now seemed an expanse to navigate cautiously. As the night unfolded, lost in the realm of dreams, you began to shiver subtly. Miguel noticed your discomfort, remembering you telling him that you were always cold.

With hesitancy, he inched closer, the space between you shrinking with each careful movement. The distance that had felt overwhelming moments ago now seemed trivial, as if the gravitational pull of shared warmth was irresistible. Miguel's arms encircled your body, a gentle cradle against the night's chill. His body heat became a lifeline, a silent promise to ward off the cold. Nuzzling his face into the curve of your neck, he couldn't help but marvel at the vulnerability of sleep and the unspoken connection that drew them closer.

You, amid a dream, sighed with the blissful surrender of someone finding solace. As Miguel held you close, your shivers ceased, replaced by a quiet tranquility. The once-distinct boundary between them dissolved into the shared warmth of the moment. In the hushed stillness, you emitted a soft, contented snore, a sound that resonated with an endearing charm. Miguel couldn't help but smile, finding the delicate symphony of her sleep both heartwarming and irresistibly cute.

Cuddling in bed wasn’t a part of the plan but you weren’t complaining. Your sweet scent invaded Miguel's senses. You smelled just as good as the cookies you had baked. Your skin was as soft as the velvety stockings you had hanging over your fireplace. He could stay like this forever. He never made wishes but he hoped and prayed that Medusa would come to him and turn him to stone so that he would never be able to let you go. He let fatigue carry him to dreamland, your snores acting as a fleeting melody in the silent serenade of the night.

Next... Pt.5

taglist:

@iite-cool@jewelz-teehe@br0-please@amber-content@thesilenthill@d1lf-loverrr@corpsebridenightamare@laysmt@bitchystrawberrystudent

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thefangirlfever · 1 month

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DBF! Miguel O'hara (headcanons, part 2)

Tags: fluff, angst, age gap, taboo relationship, F/M relationship, angst, fluff

Notes: Just a quick headcanon because I haven't written a lot about these characters recently and I feel like giving ya'll a bit more of them :)

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dbf ! Miguel who makes sure your cup of coffee is ready when you wake up. He loves this small ritual between the two of you and even with his tight schedule, he manages to give you at least five minutes of his time every day.

dbf! Miguel who, every time he passes in front of a flower shop, thinks about you. He looks at the bouquets of turnips, roses and peonies wondering which ones would be your favorites. He doesn't dare buying them; not because he doesn't want to, but because he is afraid it might be out of touch. What does he know afer all? It's been so long since he gifted flowers to anyone...

dbf ! Miguel who wants to take you on a date. A real date, not the crumbs you two had been used to. He is too afraid to act upon his desires. He also fears e would look ridiculous, an old man like him with a young woman like you by his side. But he can’t fight this. It has become one of his most recurrent fantasies. He wants to take you out, show you that you deserve better… he would totally show you off because he thinks you didn’t deserve less.

dbf ! Miguel whose heart jumps in his chest when he thinks he has seen you in town.

dbf ! Miguel who understands just how down bad he is the moment he steps into his car and still smells your scent on top of the seat you were sitting on.

dbf ! Miguel whose heart melts when he sees you taking care of your sick father. He sees how hard you try at cooking, cleaning up the house… and he gladly helps when it’s possible.

The fact that you keep working so much just reinforces his will to take you out one day. He wants you to relax just one day, to let yourself get pampered for once… That’s why he always makes sure to let small intentions specially for you.

dbf ! Miguel who has more difficulties controlling himself when he is at your place. Every room is marked by you, by your essence, your scent… That plaid you knitted is always on the couch, there’s always a cup with a stain of your lipstick on the countertop in the kitchen, and your scent always lingers on your coat hanging in the hall…

dbf ! Miguel whose heart sinks in his chest when he sees the pictures of you hanging of the walls of the living room. A lump forms in his throat as if he was choking on guilt. He can’t believe he has become this type of man. The difference between the two of you seems more evident when he sees that picture of you during your graduation day hanging over the fireplace. You look stunning, with a bright smile he has never seen yet on your face. The red dress and hat you’re wearing compliments your complexion perfectly and he feels his heart swelling with pride, affection… and that’s the only things he should feel about you, he knows it. Then what is this other emotion surging inside him and that he can’t quite comprehend?

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Note : I don’t know if I should make NSFW headcanons since they are not here yet in the main story… Tell me if you would be interested. The fifth part is currently in my draft, thanks for your patience :)

#miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #atsv #spiderverse #atsv miguel #across the spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel 2099 #fanfic #dbf!miguel #miguel ohara fluff #miguel fanfic

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xsavannahx987 · 2 years

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I got up early the next morning, although I hadn't slept much. The thought that Cullen might be hiding something from me gripped my stomach for most of the night. Why so much mystery? His house was not far away, but walking in the snow was tiring, especially since it had begun to snow heavily and the streets had not yet been properly cleaned. The sky was gray and heavy, visibility reduced, and a chill wind blew at a steady pace as I slowly made my way through Copperdale's central square. There were few people around that morning. Many inhabitants were crammed into shops and bars, away from the frigid temperatures of late December. A fifties man was walking with the dog, one hand in his pocket and the other clutching the leash was turning blue from the cold. He smiled at me as I passed and I returned the greeting in a casual gesture. Some children, heedless of the bitter cold, played snowballs or built a slightly crooked snowman under the watchful eye of their parents, sitting on a bench holding a steaming cup of take-away coffee. The house where Cullen resided was the same as in his adolescence, with green walls a little peeling from time and white windows. It had certainly done some maintenance judging by the brand new gutters and the recently repainted fence. The front door had also been replaced with a more modern one, with glass now fogged by the cold. I went up the steps a little fearful of what I might find beyond that door, but nothing had prepared me for what happened. I knocked gently with my fist in the woolen glove and waited for someone to come and open it. The door emitted the typical click of a handle being lowered and a woman came out, about 25 years old, tall and blonde, deep eyes and marked features, wrapped in a sweater of a larger size. "Do you wish?" she asked at my sight. "Greetings!" I greeted feeling a tightening grip around my stomach "I'm looking for Cullen". "Of course!" the woman answered looking at me from top to bottom with an austere air "Please, come in!" and she moved to let me in. Closed the door I was enveloped by the warmth of the room. In the background I heard the sound of the fire burning in the fireplace and the laughter of a man mixed with that of a small child. "Cullen, honey!" the woman called in a loud voice and that word tore through my chest. "There is a visit for you!" she finished. "We're in the living room!" Cullen's deep voice answered, cheerful and carefree. "I'll lead the way!" the woman then announced, turning to me. I felt my feet getting heavy with every step, an unconscious fear that made more and more place in my heart. When I entered the living room I saw Cullen on all fours on the wooden floor. On his shoulders a child with a little dark skin and light eyes laughed happily, making incomprehensible sounds that I assumed might be words. "Hello!" she greeted me with a smile, but my heart had lost a few beats. Was that what he was hiding from me? A wife and a child? "Maybe I was wrong to come here ..." I murmured and started to leave, but Cullen stopped me. "Come Branson. Let's go get the toy car!" the woman then announced, taking the child in her arms, a little offended by the end of the game. "I think I'd better go. I'm sorry I bothered you. Good day everyone and ... Merry Christmas," I said, turning on my heels. "Why are you leaving?" Cullen asked, rising from the ground and coming towards me. "I don't want to disturb the intimacy of your family. I won't disturb you anymore" and I felt the pain explode like a bomb, but I fought back the tears, at least until I was gone from that house. "Are you kidding, aren't you? Don't bother!" he asserted with a smile, which vanished in the exact instant in which he noticed my eyes a little blurred "What is it?" "I thought ... I thought ... Why did you lie to me? Why didn't you tell me ..." but the grip in my stomach tightened even more and prevented me from continuing. "What ... oh! Oh no, Hailey! Good God" "Hailey? Is she Hailey? Oh shit!" the woman declared loudly. "I'm sorry Mrs. Rutherford." and I looked for an excuse not to disturb her life "Your husband helped me in an unpleasant situation and I came to thank him. I didn't want to disturb your family serenity!" concluded. "My what?" the woman asked and I noticed that a smile was drawing on her aquiline face. "Hailey this is Mia, my younger sister. And this is Branson, her son," Cullen announced, taking my hand. "But ... but, she ... honey ..." I stammered "She has called me that since she was a child" "Mom used to call him honey. It's a way of reminding us of her. I'm sorry you misunderstood, but it's been ages since I last saw you and didn't recognize you. You didn't recognize me either, apparently," Mia said smiling. "Did you really think I might have a family?" Cullen asked staring into my eyes and I saw in his eyes that I had hurt him in thinking he could be so mean. And I was ashamed of it. "I'm sorry. I was overwhelmed by jealousy. I'm leaving, sorry again" "Come here, princess! You know I would never lie to you!" and he kissed me finally loosening the knot that had been slaughtering my stomach all along. "I'll make a hot chocolate! Do you want some?" Mia asked as Cullen's lips parted from mine. "I'd love that"

I spent the rest of the morning in their company, listening to stories of Cullen's childhood from his sister that embarrassed him on several occasions. Mia invited me to stay for lunch, avoiding my every attempt to dissuade her. "Oh no! You have to tell me about how you and my brother found each other, because this blond bear doesn't want to tell me!" she declared laughing and ruffling Cullen's hair with her hand. "Stop it, Mia!" he said offended. "Come on, you're always beautiful and then I bet Hailey has already seen you all messed up! I'm going to prepare. Branson, come with me to the kitchen!" and she leave. "No! I play, uncle!" Branson muttered annoyed. "Uncle has to talk to Hailey now," Mia said firmly in her decision. "Do you want to play with me, Branson?" I asked the child, smiling. "Plays!" and he stretched out his arms to be grabbed by me. Cullen watched me hold a smiling Branson in arms and his eyes gave a strange twinkle. The feeling of the baby's warm little body against mine thrilled me. It was a strange but beautiful feeling of complete peace and something bloomed inside me, like a flower tasting the spring sun. My biological clock had started ticking. "You didn't tell me you lived with your sister," I asked as I stacked colored cubes on top of each other and then had little Branson knock them down with a snap. "We don't actually live together. She wrote me last night that she was coming with Branson to spend Christmas together," he replied. "I understand. Well it seems right! You are a family and Christmas means family!" "Actually she was supposed to be spending the holidays with Kevin's family, her husband, but lately they seem to be at loggerheads in their marriage. So Mia asked me for asylum. Knowing Kevin's character, I couldn't deny a shelter and protection. to her and my nephew " "is he a violent man?" I asked shivering. "He's definitely not a calm man, that's for sure, but I don't think he's ever used violence on my sister or Branson. Mia would have told me, or I would have noticed the signs anyway. Anyway, Kevin doesn't know they're both here. " "Aren't you afraid that he might guess and show up here? In short, from the way you describe him, he might not accept the divorce and do some nonsense" "Hailey, I'm a trained soldier. Do you really think a guy like that could scare me? You don't worry!" and he ended the conversation when Mia appeared in the doorway to announce that lunch was on the table.

#thesims4 #ts4 #sims4 #mysims #gen1mint #nsb #not so berry #notsoberry #nsb challenge

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dreambook06 · 9 months

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Dream from: May 25, 2017

on march 3 i had the most bizarre dream involving our old house. i kept putting off writing it down because i was too “lazy” so i forgot most of it by now but i still retain fragments and will now try to write them down… it gets bad weird so probably dont read this lol

e took over and asked the man if we could come inside…. he said yes and right as soon as you went in the door it was the living room which isnt true to real life and there were like 6 people ,adults, sitting around on maroon-ish leather furniture like couches and the fireplace was still there! i think the room was a different color? and it was some kind of gathering whatever … etc etc forgettingg….. then we wanted to look aroiund the other rooms and he was kind of showing us around etc. dont remember stuff……………….. later the dream felt different & people changed (i dont remember my family being there at all … i think they left & went to a coffee shop thing i dont f r eaking know) then the man showed me upstairs to my old bedroom OMG it was to the left up the stairs just where it always was… but… it was so different…… it was huge! and the closet was tall and narrow and only went back a little bit and inside was this detailed crazy i-spy esque display that was like a mini world with beads hanging like a curtain and little toy figures and objects everywhere and it was really small though once i stuck my head inside, only my head could fit through the opening. i stuck my head inside the closet because i wanted to see if the secret message my dad had written on the back wall right before we moved was still there… i craned my neck upwards but stuff wa in the way and i knocked stuff over and hit my head kind of hard and it felt like it really hit my head… i couldnt see the message. i puled my head out …etc. other stuff happens i dont remember…. the re is a girl in there like around age 9 idk… who is the new owner of the bedroom and she’s changed it up i think but at the same time in another half of the dream / my mind it looks the same only it’s all deteriorated with ripped up carpet and paint peeling off the wall… anyway the girl in there had lots of stuff idk if i ever saw her but she had like a stack of books and old toys and posters on the wall and on the slanted side wall & stuff idont know!!!!!! too vague… like she’d made it all roomy and it made me sad like i dont own this place anymore its not mine and never will be again…etc.etc.etc. then we were going to leave eventually but i needed to stay longer,,,, i wanted to get photos of the place(my bedroom) before i left it, possibly forever! so i had my camera but i hd to go get it? ten i came back and i had my camera and the man said i needed to do something if i want to keep staying at the house , there is a price to getting to go upstairs and take photos as i please. he said i had to have s*x with him and i was so desperate to go back to go back to my room that i had to and i dont remember it happening in my dream but i remember the leading up to it & it felt real & i was kind of getting excited & i was half aware that it was just a fake dream at that point somehow so i didnt really care about anything that was going on because i half felt it wasn’t real anyway… anyway we were fully clothed the whole time and so it was just s*xual stuff but never physical s** . KWIM? .. at least that is what i remember i may not be remembering clearly. it was a dream. anyway then i got to freking go to the bedroom then. i took hundreds pictures of every crack and crevice of the place, even the carpet, in the bedroom, from all different angles, just in case it is gone forevr…i was getting anxious that the camera would run out of space or battery the whole time…then i think the right side of the room wall ripped open to the outside and it was like crumbling like deteriorating - the whole room falling apart… thats all i remember unless i care to access deeper into my head which gives me a headache

Dream from: May 25, 2017

so it was kinda felt like the 2016 trip to the old neighborhood… but dreamlike and out of reality… so we were going to see if the new oowners of the house were home and we walked up the porch and a man answere dm the door? and then my mom who wasnt really like my mom yet it was idk… asked can we please come inside and look around the house? we’re the original owners from when it was first built… -something like that, but she said it really awkwardly and it was really odd like she kept pausing and stumbling on words…. like the words wouldnt come out so i or someone took over and asked the man if we could come inside…. he said yes and right as soon as you went in the door it was the living room which isnt true to real life and there were like 6 people ,adults, sitting around on maroon-ish leather furniture like couches and the fireplace was still there! i think the room was a different color? and it was some kind of gathering whatever … etc etc forgettingg….. then we wanted to look aroiund the other rooms and he was kind of showing us around etc. dont remember stuff………………..

later the dream felt different & people changed (i dont remember my family being there at all … i think they left & went to a coffee shop thing i dont f r eaking know) then the man showed me upstairs to my old bedroom OMG it was to the left up the stairs just where it always was… but… it was so different…… it was huge! and the closet was tall and narrow and only went back a little bit and inside was this detailed crazy i-spy esque display that was like a mini world with beads hanging like a curtain and little toy figures and objects everywhere and it was really small though once i stuck my head inside, only my head could fit through the opening. i stuck my head inside the closet because i wanted to see if the secret message my dad had written on the back wall right before we moved was still there… i craned my neck upwards but stuff wa in the way and i knocked stuff over and hit my head kind of hard and it felt like it really hit my head… i couldnt see the message. i puled my head out …etc. other stuff happens i dont remember…. the re is a girl in there like around age 9 idk… who is the new owner of the bedroom and she’s changed it up i think but at the same time in another half of the dream / my mind it looks the same only it’s all deteriorated with ripped up carpet and paint peeling off the wall… anyway the girl in there had lots of stuff idk if i ever saw her but she had like a stack of books and old toys and posters on the wall and on the slanted side wall & stuff idont know!!!!!! too vague… like she’d made it all roomy and it made me sad like i dont own this place anymore its not mine and never will be again…etc.etc.etc. then we were going to leave eventually but i needed to stay longer,,,, i wanted to get photos of the place(my bedroom) before i left it, possibly forever! so i had my camera but i hd to go get it? ten i came back and i had my camera and the man said i needed to do something if i want to keep staying at the house , there is a price to getting to go upstairs and take photos as i please. he said i had to have s*x with him and i was so desperate to go back to go back to my room that i had to and i dont remember it happening in my dream but i remember the leading up to it & it felt real & i was kind of getting excited & i was half aware that it was just a fake dream at that point somehow so i didnt really care about anything that was going on because i half felt it wasn’t real anyway… anyway we were fully clothed the whole time and so it was just s*xual stuff but never physical s** . KWIM? .. at least that is what i remember i may not be remembering clearly. it was a dream. anyway then i got to freking go to the bedroom then. i took hundreds pictures of every crack and crevice of the place, even the carpet, in the bedroom, from all different angles, just in case it is gone forevr…i was getting anxious that the camera would run out of space or battery the whole time…then i think the right side of the room wall ripped open to the outside and it was like crumbling like deteriorating - the whole room falling apart… thats all i remember unless i care to access deeper into my head which gives me a headache

(it all was way more bizarre & more things happened than i’ve written because i just write the factual things not really the feeling things because its surreal and cant be put into words because it is specific dream feelings only i know) ..

#2017

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fanficimagery · 2 years

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‘Tis the Season

When an incident takes place between you and a team member, the argument afterwards leads to you quitting the Avengers. You're sad to go, but you're excited for your new adventure.

Word Count: 5.5K Author's Note: I have nothing against the Avenger the reader will be arguing with. In fact, they're actually my favorite lol. I wasn’t going to post this today because this is the only thing I’ve written since I took my break, but I figured I needed to since it is Christmas themed. I’m not sure when I’ll post again. I am writing, but I can’t seem to complete anything. Ugh.

When you were younger, Christmas was your favorite holiday because of all the presents you received. Then when you became an adult, Christmas was your favorite because of all the decorating and baking. But your life took numerous twists and turns, and you didn't get to celebrate as much as you liked.

You'd been a part of the Avengers for quite a few years now, having left SHIELD behind in favor of being an agent for the team. You were constantly working or out of the country that you never had a chance to celebrate, so you were ecstatic when the villains decided to take some time off which in turn gave you time off. But after Thanksgiving, no one from the team made any inclination of decorating for Christmas. And when you brought it up, no one seemed to have any Christmas cheer. So when you went wandering the halls one day and ran into Tony, you brought up the idea of decorating the common floor. He mentioned he didn't have time to decorate, but you assured him you'd do it all on your own. You just wanted his permission since it was his tower. Tony had agreed and even tossed his bank card at you, telling you to go nuts and to make sure to buy whatever Avenger themed ornaments you could find.

So with Tony's card in hand, you went a little crazy shopping for Christmas decor to decorate the common floor with. But not all the decorations came from the stores, some having come from your storage locker where you kept a few mementos from your childhood.

There are wreaths adorned with holly every few feet along every wall, pre-lit garland strands drooping from wreath to wreath. The kitchen bar is draped in pre-lit garland, as well as the coffee table in the sitting area and the wall of windows that looks out at the New York skyline. There's even more garland along the fake fireplace, along with some Christmas themed snow globes. Strands of cascading snowflakes and icicles had been attached to the ceiling, but you didn't like how fake it all looked. Then help came from the most unlikeliest sources- Loki.

Thor and Loki had been away when you started decorating, and only came in when you had finished the tiring task of decorating the ceiling. You had wrinkled your nose and sighed dejectedly when it didn't look like you had hoped, and then your eyes widened in awe when after a snap of his fingers, Loki illusioned the ceiling to make it seem like it was snowing inside the room. You had thanked him profusely for his magic and kindness, and though he kept brushing off your praise you could see it made him happy. Almost as happy as Thor was seeing his brother willingly offer his help.

You had asked them if they wanted to help decorate the tree, but Thor had other plans already. Loki tried to seem put-out about helping you, but the faint twitch of his lips told you otherwise. You let him assemble the tree with his magic, but that was as much as you let him do. The lights, tinsel and ornaments had to be placed by hand.

You circled the tree over and over again until the twinkling white lights covered the entirety of it, and had a great laugh when Loki got annoyed with the clingy tinsel. Red, green, blue, gold and silver glass ornaments were carefully placed so no one color was repeated too close to one another, and you laughed once more when Loki heaved an annoying sigh at the Avenger ornaments. He did, however, give pause when you gave him an ornament of his horned helmet.

"Believe it or not, that was the last one I was able to find," you told him. "Your helmet, Cap's shield, and Tony's arc reactor all sold out."

Seeing Loki genuinely smile made your heart melt just a little and you quickly went back to decorating less he found you staring at him like a smitten fool. The last ornament you placed before letting Loki put up the tree-topper was a clear glass orb with a bit of snow at the bottom and a Christmas tree glued down to the middle so it didn't top over. And when you told Loki the story behind the personal ornament, he smiled fondly yet again and you mentally cursed yourself for being so weak when it came to the mischievous Asgardian.

You and Loki managed to make the common floor quite the festive sight that even Tony and Pepper were impressed with it all. And since it was Christmas, you couldn't help but get everyone a few cheap gifts so the tree had presents beneath it.

But one day, after returning from getting hot cocoa from your favorite café down the street, you and Loki return to the tower to find the common floor an absolute wreck. Several wreaths and strands of garland and lights have been ripped from the walls, snow globes are smashed, the fake pre-lit candles are strewn about the room and the Christmas tree is lopsided with about 80 percent of the ornaments shattered. There are even books and kitchenware scattered all over the place.

Your and Loki's joyful mood instantly vanish, and you stumble further into the room in shock. Wanda stands in the middle of all the mess, chest heaving and hands still glowing red.

"What.. what happened?"

Loki frowns as he starts to magic some of the mess away and you walk closer to Wanda. "I saw the ornament meant to represent Pietro and I- I lost it."

"You lost it?" You repeat, incredulously. Her gaze darts to you and it's then you notice the tears swimming in her eyes. "If the ornament upset you that much, Wanda, then you take it down. You don't do this," you say as you gesture around the destroyed room.

"You don't understand." Her accent is even thicker than normal in her emotional state.

"I understand perfectly well." You shake your head at her, sighing as you stare at the ruined tree. Your gaze just so happens to fall downwards and your heart suddenly aches at the sight of your personal ornament amongst the ruins. You walk towards it, bending down to scoop up what you can. This time when you look at Wanda again, it's your eyes that are swimming with tears.

"YN?" Loki calls out as you slowly stand, but you only have eyes for Wanda as anger slowly fills you.

"You think you're the only one who's lost someone?" You ask her. "You think lashing out and ruining someone else's property is okay because you're grieving? Newsflash, Wanda, everyone in this tower has lost someone!"

Her jaw clenches. "Do not.. raise your voice to me."

"Why? Are you going to lash out again and destroy the room?" You scoff. "Oh I forgot. You already did that."

"You don't get it. You don't understand."

"I understand perfectly! The only difference is that my mother didn't choose to die whereas Pietro knew it was a possibility."

"He did not-"

"He did!" You scream back at her. Her hands flare brighter in response, but it does not deter you. Out of the corner of your eye, however, you see Loki readying himself to step in. "And to think that he would still be alive if the two of you hadn't run off to HYDRA to be experimented on because you placed the blame of your family's death on the wrong person."

"Tony was-"

"-innocent," you cut her off. "Tony is innocent," you reiterate. "Yes he made weapons, but Tony did not drop the bomb."

Wanda shouts in a sudden rage, raising one hand and clenching it into a fist. For a moment you have no idea what she's doing until you feel a tightening around your throat. Your eyes widen in surprise that she'd attack you and when you open your mouth, all that comes out is a choked off gasp.

"Stop it." Loki sends a wave of green energy at Wanda, knocking her back a few steps and breaking her concentration.

"What is going on here?!" Steve marches into the room just as you gasp for breath and Loki steps up to your side. "Why are you attacking Wanda, Loki? Need I remind you that-"

"Are you fuckin' kidding me?" You ask, cutting the righteous Captain off. "Loki literally just saved me and you think he's attacking Wanda?"

"Well I did witness him knocking her back with his magic."

"Because she was choking me!"

Steve frowns. "Why would she-"

"Because Miss Maximoff destroyed the room," Loki drawls, setting a hand on your shoulder to calm you down. "Lady YN was merely upset that Wanda broke something very personal to her and Wanda did not want to hear what was said in return. So instead, she attacked."

Wanda gives Steve a quick recap of what was all said and Steve frowns as he stares between the two of you.

"Well she is grieving."

"Oh don't give me that bullshit," you huff. "Mostly everyone in this tower has lost someone, but you don't see us being dicks and destroying someone else's personal property while calling it grief. Stop treating Wanda with kid gloves, Rogers. She's a grown ass woman. Make her own up to her mistakes like you do to the rest of us."

"Alright.. that's enough," he says, standing a little taller.

You stare at Steve in disbelief at his clear backing of Wanda. You shake your head as you take a step back, bumping lightly into Loki who only squeezes your shoulder in response. "You're right. It is enough." You glance between the two Avengers you once thought of as friends. "I quit."

"Wait, what?"

You exhale tiredly, staring at the ruined Christmas ornament in your hands before letting it and your tears fall. "I'm done. I quit."

Without meeting anyone's gaze, you step out from under Loki's hand and make your way to the elevator.

Loki watches YN go, making sure that the Captain doesn't follow. Then when YN is out of sight, Loki bends down and picks up her ruined ornament before standing to his full height once more. "Do you know why YN was so upset with you, Wanda? Hmm?" The young witch says nothing as Loki turns his cupped hands this way and that way while looking at the broken mess. "She is upset because Christmas was the one holiday she truly enjoyed with her family. Her mother had a tradition where she got her children one special ornament that was just solely theirs. Do either of you wish to garner a guess as to which ornament YN had?"

Both Steve and Wanda frown, their gaze darting to Loki's cupped hands. Understanding quickly dawns and for a moment he catches a flash of regret in Wanda's features.

"YN has lost many people in her life, yet she does not throw tantrums in a fit of so-called grief." He brings his cupped hands closer to his face, murmuring softly and magically mending the ornament into perfect condition. He smiles and then looks up, watching the two Avengers squirm. "I'll be in Asgard until the New Year. Do try not to let the world implode with your childish team, Captain. I'll not be interrupted during my time with my mother."

Before Steve can say anything else, Loki briefly glows green before vanishing altogether.

You had been more than ready to move out of the tower the same day you had quit the Avengers, but Tony was quick to pull you into Pepper's office for an explaination. FRIDAY had alerted him immediately of your decision to leave the team and he had wanted you to rethink it. But after sitting with him and Pepper, and explaining how this was a long time coming, they reluctantly agreed to stand by your decision. However, Pepper wanted you to stay in the tower until you had a steady income once more.

And well.. you couldn't exactly pass up an apartment with all expenses paid. Especially in New York.

You stay in the tower until after the New Year, ignoring everyone with the exception of Clint, Pepper and Tony. And with all your free time, you've finally come to a decision about what you want to do. Which is why, nearly sixty miles away from home, you're meeting in secret with the one person who will keep your whereabouts to himself if asked.

Nick Fury takes a seat across from you, expression already bored.

"Hello, Nicholas."

"Agent YLN," he deadpans. "Do I even want to know what the meaning of this meeting is?"

"I quit the team," you tell him right away, mentally preening at seeing his one eye subtly widen. "I want back into SHIELD. Your SHIELD. And I don't want any of the Avengers knowing where I am or what I'm doing. The only person permitted to know is Miss Potts."

The corner of his lips twitch upward. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Something like that." You shrug. "I'm surprised Captain Rogers hasn't informed you."

"Captain Rogers likes to run the team how he sees fit. He doesn't need my input."

You scoff. "He needs all the input. That man is determined to see Wanda Maximoff as a child instead of the powerhouse she is. Mark my words, Director, that one of these days she's going to get someone killed because she can't control her powers. The world will turn on the Avengers if he can't condition his team properly."

Fury remains quiet, letting your words soak in. He leans back in his seat, resting his arm along the backside of his bench seat. "So you had a falling out with Maximoff then."

"There was an incident. Steve walked in at the wrong time, wouldn't hear the truth, and proceeded to choose the wrong side when all the facts were laid out for him. He chose the wrong side, so I walked."

"And now you want back in as one of my agents again."

"You can take the girl out of the superhero club, but you can't take the superhero out of the girl." You grin.

"Well said, my pet." The words startle you and you glance up just as Loki steps up to the booth. You smile at him and as he moves to take a seat, you readily scoot over for him to sit beside you.

"Laufeyson." Fury grunts. "This is a private meeting."

"Nonsense. If Lady YN gets to leave the team and join you, I want in."

"You what?"

"I want to be YN's partner."

"Loki," you frown. "You don't have to-"

"I know, but I want to." He finally turns to meet your gaze and his eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles at you. "I tire of my brother and his friends. Part of Father's punishment was that I save Midgardians, but he didn't say I had to be an Avenger to do so. Where you go, I shall follow."

You manage a brief bashful grin before Fury's voice cuts in. "So let me get this straight. You want to join SHIELD? Because of her?" He says, pointing at you. "Why?"

"Because Lady YN was the only reason I was able to play nice. If I must stay with my brother, I shall seriously maim him more times than I'm sure the Captain will be able to tolerate."

Chuckling softly, you loop your arm through Loki's and rest your temple on his shoulder while staring at Fury. "Come on, Director, what do you say? Can Loki and I please work together?"

Fury's eye darts between you and the God of Mischief, expression neutral. "Agent YN will immediately be reinstated, but you.. you are on a trial run, Laufeyson. One toe out of line and we'll slap a magical leash on you faster than you can call for Heimdall."

Loki chuckles. "Doubtful, but I'm willing to play by the rules for now."

Over the next several days, agents running around SHIELD HQ are stunned with Director Fury's decision to have the God of Mischief work alongside them. Everyone was made to attend a mandatory meeting about the importance of keeping your and Loki's whereabouts a secret, and as the days turned into weeks the agents seemed to slowly stop looking over their shoulder.

A few months in and Loki's taken Fury by surprise with how well he works alongside you. Agents went from fearing the Asgardian to politely nodding and greeting him in passing or while eating in the cafeteria. Then when the holidays are right around the corner once more, you needle Fury over and over until he gives you the okay to spruce up HQ.

You manage to arrange for the cafeteria employees to make a Thanksgiving meal for those working at HQ instead of spending time with their family and/or for those who live at HQ like yourself and Loki. It's a nice surprise for those who didn't think they'd get a Thanksgiving meal, and it's an even bigger surprise when you manage to order a thirty foot Christmas tree on Fury's dime and have it set up in the lobby.

You had Loki magically decorate the enormous tree and the lobby, and then stared a little too innocently at Fury when he glared at you for all the Christmas cheer. Garlands and lights were strung up from corner to corner, and wreaths dotted the walls here and there. You didn't ask for too much since this was a workplace and you mentally cheered every time you saw an agent appreciate the decorations.

When it came time to decorate your own place, you found yourself hesitating to do so. And if it weren't for Loki encouraging you, you don't think you would have. But instead of getting a normal six to seven foot tree, you opted for a small three foot tree that sat comfortably on your coffee table.

"You must be joking," Loki drawls when he sees it for the first time.

"What? It's cute," you tell him.

"It's appalling."

"I love it and it's staying." You stare up at him, hands on your hip as your eyes narrow slightly at him. "Now will you help me place the mini ornaments and lights I found for it?"

He exhales loudly, rolling his eyes. "If I must."

"Don't pretend you don't enjoy spending time with me." Then crossing your arms over your chest, your right eyebrow raises. "I think we both know that if you didn't want to be here then you'd have vanished by now."

"Curse the Christmas spirit."

You crack, laughing at his deadpan delivery. "Come on, Grinch." Hooking an arm around the back of his waist, you say, "It won't take us long."

Loki picks through the miniature ornaments as you quickly wrap a string of multi-colored lights around the tree. Then when you're content with where the lights are situated, you ask for the ornaments.

"Before we start intricately placing the festive ornaments, I think you should situate this one in the middle and work around it."

"Hmm?" Having been tweaking a tree limb, you turn to look at what Loki's holding in the palms of his hands. You stop short, breath stuttering before your vision blurs with the sudden onslaught of tears. "Loki, what-"

In the palms of his hands sits the Christmas ornament your mother once gifted you, the ornament you thought Wanda had destroyed nearly a year ago today. "I managed to mend it that same night you quit." He shrugs as if it were no big deal and you step closer to him until you're facing him head on. Hesitantly reaching for it, you carefully take the ornament in your own hands. "Just thought I'd save it for today."

You blink away tears before carefully studying it for any sign of cracks and then huff a laugh of disbelief. When you finally glance back up at Loki, he's smiling so soft at you that you can't help what you do next.

Transferring the ornament to one hand, you reach up with your other hand and grasp the back of Loki's neck. And without second guessing yourself, you push up until you're on the tips of your toes as you pull him down to kiss him for the first time ever. It's a simple press of the lips that turns into several soft kisses and when you fall back onto the balls of your feet you find that Loki's hands are grasping your hips quite tightly.

You subconsciously lick your lips, gulping as his gaze follows the very movement. "So, um, yeah. That happened," you say while slowly retracting your hand from his neck.

Loki smirks. "If I'd known that giving you the ornament back would have garnered me this reaction, I'd have done it a lot sooner."

"And you ruined the moment." You exhale in mock annoyance and he laughs as you swat at his abdomen with the back of your hand. You flash him a bashful smile before turning around and busying yourself with placing your ornament in the perfect position.

After that, it takes a few minutes to place the rest of the ornaments all around the tree. And when you're done, you stand back to take it in, in all it's miniature glory.

Loki's arms wrap around your shoulders and across your collarbone from behind, his chest pressed against your back. You move your head to the side as you feel him gently nudge you with his chin before pressing a kiss to your temple. "It's perfect."

Your hands come up, grasping onto his forearms as you pull back slightly to kiss the skin of his arm. "Thank you. For helping me decorate and giving me back a piece of my mother."

"For you? Anything."

"Careful with that statement, Laufeyson. I'll hold you to it until one day you can't pay up."

He chuckles deeply. "Doubtful."

THREE YEARS LATER

Steve, Tony and Thor walk into SHIELD Headquarters, the trio being the only ones who were available to attend Director Fury's apparent Christmas party.

Tony whistles lowly when he sees the enormous lit tree in the middle of the lobby and the numerous decorations around the room. "Do you guys think there was an alien invasion we weren't aware of? Fury cannot be behind this."

Steve huffs a short amused laugh as Thor grumbles in agreement. The receptionist beams upon spotting them and then directs them to the auditorium where the party is taking place. On their way there, the three Avengers can't help but suspiciously take in all the festive decor. Not once have they ever seen SHIELD decorated as such and they're all eager to know what changed since they had last been here because Christmas decor and lights were way too festive for the agency.

Inside the auditorium, a large lit up tree sits on one side of the stage with hundreds of gifts sitting around it and a DJ booth on the opposite side. Just below the stage is an open floor space where many people are mingling. Tables are adorned with either tall clear vases that have lights shoved inside of them or tall vases filled with liquid and a little motor inside circulating glitter to give it a snowing effect. There's an open bar off to the side of the room and caterers standing behind tables while feeding those in line.

But the one thing that really throws them all off is that all the agents attending are wearing ugly Christmas sweaters.

"Did we miss a memo or something?" Tony asks.

But before Steve can ask a passing by agent, he's stopped short by the sight of Director Fury making his way towards them- the Director who strikes fear into all his agents with just a single look and who also appears to be wearing an eyepatch that's decorated with a miniature wreath.

Tony gapes upon the Director's arrival and Fury narrows his one good eye at him. "Not a word, Stark."

"But-"

"Nope."

Tony continues to stare as Steve clears his throat and nods in greeting. "Director."

"Captain, so nice of you to make it."

"Of course, sir. Wouldn't miss it for the world." Steve pasts on a smile that Fury immediately sees through, but decides to not call him on it. "We're a little surprised, however. SHIELD doesn't seem like the agency to throw such a party."

"Yeah, well, you can thank agent YLN and that boyfriend of hers." And that- that catches both Tony and Thor's attention. "They made a whole goddamn speech about celebrating the holidays since our jobs are too bleak. And once they got Hill on their side, I knew it was a lost cause."

"YN?" Tony asks. "YN's here?"

"Of course. I figured you knew."

"No! Why would you think-" Just then, the woman in question who's dressed as an elf of all things comes into view on the arm of none other than Pepper Potts. Tony gasps in mock outrage and pushes past Fury. "You dirty little traitor! You said you didn't know where YN was!?"

Laughing at something Pepper has said, you're startled when someone's shouting just a few feet in front of you. Tony's ire is directed at Pepper, but you and her have had one too many drinks to care. So instead of being chastised, the two of you break down into giggles.

"Are you two seriously laughing at me right now?" The giggles turn into full blown laughter at Tony's pout and you can't help but mimic his expression. "Stop looking like that. I won't be able to stay mad at you with those ridiculous pointy ears."

"Aww, Tones. Come on. Bring it in," you say while holding your arms out, waiting for a hug. "I missed you, pal."

"Apparently not enough to let me know where you were."

Your arms drop as you slightly narrow your eyes. "Yeah well apparently you didn't miss me enough to realize I was barely an hour away." Tony opens his mouth to retort, but then quickly snaps it shut. Instead, he steps forward to greet you with a hug. "Yeah that's what I thought."

You hug Tony before he sidles up to Pepper to have a quick hushed conversation, smile at Thor and nod politely at Steve.

"So you're responsible for all this?" Steve asks, glancing around the room. "I mean I knew you liked Christmas, but I didn't think anyone had it in them to confront Fury with this much Christmas cheer."

You slowly grin at him. "Well when you and your partner are his current top field agents, Fury finds that he'll reluctantly do whatever to keep his agents happy."

"You and your partner?" Tony asks. "This partner of yours wouldn't happen to also be your boyfriend, would he?"

"Maybe."

"YN.." Tony's eyes narrow suspiciously, "who's your boyfriend?"

You're not sure how to answer him, but thankfully Thor interrupts and takes the heat off of you.

"Loki?" Oh damn. Well the heat won't be off for too long. "What is my brother doing here?"

Everyone looks in the direction Thor is staring off into, surprised to see Loki in a deep red cloak with his usual green and golden Asgardian leathers beneath it. But the most surprising aspect of Loki's appearance is the Santa hat atop his head and the fact that he's chuckling along with several other SHIELD agents.

"Oh he didn't tell you?" You wonder. "Loki is now agent Laufeyson."

Thor and Steve's jaws slightly gape, and Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. "YN, please tell me you're not sharing a bed with Reindeer Games?"

You bite your tongue and purse your lips, but it's no use. Your nose ends up wrinkling and you end up nervously giggling. "No can do, Stark. Loki and I.. well we're..I guess what I'm trying to say is.."

"Darling! There you are." Loki comes to the rescue, tucking you under his arm and kissing your temple. "The party is a hit. The other mortals are loving it."

"Brother.."

Loki, having been totally distracted and in his element with his co-workers, startles and takes into account the people standing before him. You mentally cringe when you see his smile falter before smoothing out altogether as he stands a little taller. "Thor, I wasn't aware you had been invited. Or were on Midgard for that matter."

"Well I wasn't aware you had a change of heart and started to work for SHIELD."

"Surprised that it wasn't our brotherly bond that got me to-"

"Okay!" You say, cutting Loki off. "It's Christmas, guys. 'Tis the season and all that. If you piss me off, there will be a rampaging elf around HQ and nobody wants that."

There's a tense moment of silence before Loki's smile comes back as he stares down at you, the annoyance of his brother forgotten. "Of course. Sorry, pet." Your lips automatically pucker when he leans down and you can't help but laugh at Tony's exclamation of disgust when you and Loki share a chaste kiss.

"The two of you have been working for SHIELD all this time?" Steve asks when you and Loki give them your attention once more. "How did we not know this?"

"Because I asked Fury to not let anyone know." You shrug. "I was livid with you and Wanda when I quit, and I didn't want anyone to try and make me go back. Fury was all too willing to keep quiet when he realized the asset he now had at his beck and call."

Steve frowns at that, but Thor is still all too curious about his brother's predicament. "And Father approves?" He wonders. "Of your change in job and your relationship with a mortal?"

Loki slowly smirks as he tugs you so you're standing directly in front of him, your back to his chest. "Look harder, brother, and tell me what you see."

Thor's brow furrows as he stares at Loki and you see the moment realization settles in as his gaze unfocuses for a moment before darting all over you and Loki. "You have an Asgardian blessing," he says in awe. "From both Mother and Father."

"We believe Heimdall tattled," you muse. "Your mother, who's lovely, by the way, was ecstatic to meet Loki's lady love."

"And Father.. well he didn't quite believe what he'd been told. He kept us on Asgard for a week-"

"-for observation-"

"-and was quite taken aback about how much I'd apparently grown. By the time YN and I were set to leave, Father pulled us aside and gave us his blessing."

Thor is stunned speechless, Pepper's already heard all this, so it's Tony and Steve who are most curious about Thor's surprise and Loki's smugness.

"What does that mean?" Tony asks. "Having an Asgardian blessing?"

You grin. "Having an Asgardian blessing, especially from the king himself, means that should Loki become super serious about us and ask for an apple of immortality-"

"-it will not be refused," Thor finishes. "Father would welcome Lady YN as his daughter-in-law."

"Holy shit."

"Language," Steve admonishes Tony and then looks quite abashed for the slip of the tongue when everyone glances at him. "Sorry. Habit."

Loki chuckles. "Well while you three wrap your minds around all that's been revealed, my little elf and I have some rounds to make."

Tony groans. "Gag me."

"Fair warning, there's enchanted mistletoe floating around. Happy dodging!" You cheer as Loki tucks your arm through his to lead you away.

Loki winds a path between tables and agents, and straight towards the bar where he readily gives the bartender an order for the two of you. As you wait for your drinks, you take a seat on the stool and cross one knee over the other. You can't help but grin at Loki.

"How are you feeling after that meeting?" He asks, stepping closer and laying a hand atop your knee. "Did it go as you expected?"

"Better, actually. I was expecting Clint, Natasha or Wanda to show up."

"Are you and Barton no longer friends?"

"We're still friends," you tell him. "He even knows about us, but I got the feeling he wasn't too excited about the news. I was nervous he'd show up and I'd spend the night dividing my time between the two of you."

He sighs. "Ah. Yes. I forgot I must make amends for brainwashing the agent all those years ago."

"Yep. And sooner rather than later, love. After all, we get married next year."

Loki smiles as the memory of you agreeing to take his name comes to the forefront of his mind. The bartender slides your drinks across the bar, and you and Loki take them. Then each grasping your own drinks, you clink them together in a toast. "To mischief and mayhem."

"Loki.."

"Fine." He adorably pouts. "To love and blah, blah, blah."

"To love and blah, blah, blah." You laugh. "I really picked a winner, didn't I?"

He smirks. "Only the best."

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson x reader #loki imagine #loki laufeyson imagine #marvel imagine #loki laufeyson #marvel #wanda maximoff #steve rogers

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djrogers-barnes · 2 years

Text

Stucky X Reader - No Damsel Here - Part 2

Character pairing: Stucky X Reader

Word count: 916

Warnings: The press? (I think that's it. Don't hold me to it though lol)

Synopsis: After being cornered in an alleyway, you meet some unexpected and odd new friends

When anyone hangs out with a couple of world-renowned super soldiers, the press is sure to be involved. However, you did not expect the picture of you, Bucky, and Steve sitting in the coffee shop to go viral. It was on every platform there was. It was in the newspapers. It was on the Daily Bugle. It was trending on Twitter, Instagram and even Facebook. You were pointed at in the street. Your neighbors stopped and whispered about you when you left your apartment. You couldn’t escape the rumors and assumptions. One article claimed you to be a surrogate. Another claimed that you were a charity lottery winner. One even claimed that you were a doctor who claimed to reverse the serum.

What made it worse was the barrage of apologies and pleas from Steve and Bucky. Of course, you didn’t blame them but you certainly did not want to be in the spotlight any more than you already were and that’s why you refused to message them back. Or accept their calls. Or accept their gifts.

Steve and Bucky were becoming desperate. After all, they had agreed on one thing.

Flashback -

“You called me James earlier,” Bucky said, his voice slightly stained. He was sitting on the sofa with Steve’s head in his lap, idly playing with his boyfriend’s hair. Steve stiffened and sighed before sitting up causing Bucky’s anxiety to grow even more. This seemed serious.

“(Y/N)-”

“The girl we met today?” Bucky interrupted and Steve nodded “That was afterward”

“I know but she fits into the... situation.” Steve sighed “buck do you ever- ever feel like we’re missing something.”

Bucky looked at him in shock. It wasn’t just him. He wasn’t being inconsiderate or ungrateful. He wasn’t going to hurt Steve’s feelings because he felt it too.

“I didn’t know you felt like that.” Bucky said quietly, still shocked

“I’m so sorr-”

“No Stevie I agree with you. I agree with you wholeheartedly. I thought it was just me, not being able to remember much from the 40s. And then today” Bucky trailed off.

“She made you happier?” Steve asked with a small smile. “Happier than when we’re alone in the coffee shop?”

Bucky nodded and looked down at the floor, somehow the conversation had been completely flipped onto him.

End of Flashback.

You walked out of the elevator, your face in your phone thanks to the newest rumor. Now you were Bucky and Steve’s PA. You scoffed and shoved your phone in your pocket angrily. Was it so hard to believe that she was just friends with them? If you could even call them that, you’d been avoiding them for days.

“Hey Doll”

You almost had a heart attack as you jumped from the sudden voice. You looked down to see both Steve and Bucky sitting against your front door. You frowned and sighed

“We didn’t know what time you got off” Steve shrugged “And we didn’t want to ask tony because he’d dig every little thing up about you”

“Oh don’t you worry, that’s already been done” You said sarcastically waving your phone. They both scrambled out your way as you unlocked your apartment door and went inside.

“Are you coming inside or what?” you said with a slight smile on your face. You couldn’t bring yourself to say no, not after they had been out there for god knows how long and they’d made an effort not to pry.

The two super-soldiers walked into your apartment. It was small but comfortable with a fireplace and throw blankets. Your kitchen was all wood and the walls were an old magnolia colour. Pictures of you with various people were dotted around with quirky things like the porcelain pig you got from your trip to las vegas.

You quickly tried to hide a few things you wouldn’t want them to see. Finally, you looked over at them. Bucky and Steve were sat on your sofa, looking around your apartment. You blushed slightly but sat down on the armchair across from them.

“Nope” Steve shook his head and pulled you over between the two of them. Your heart convulsed and your cheeks went even hotter as you sat between the two super-soldiers, something about their aura made you feel nervous but safe.

“What- What can I do for you then boys?” You asked, trying to maintain your usual cheeky behavior.

“Well you see love, when someone doesn’t answer our messages, we get rather bothered” Steve said teasingly, making you recoil into the sofa with a guilty look. The two men laughed making you pout

“I didn’t want to make anything worse than it already is” you pouted. Steve’s smile dropped and Bucky wrapped an arm around her comfortingly.

“We’re used to the press prying and we’re so sorry you got dragged into it.” Bucky said softly and you shrugged.

“It’s not like we were doing anything wrong. Newspapers are fiends. Especially the Daily Bugle” You said softly “I just wish they hadn’t dug so deep. My mother had reporters on her doorstep the other day”

“We’ll get it sorted Love, we’ll talk to the publicist at the tower” Steve said, appalled that people would do such a thing. They had never meant for you to get hurt.

“Meanwhile, I say we watch a movie and order some take out” Bucky offered, pulling out his phone. All you could do is smile and agree, settling down between them. Maybe you should have answered their calls.

Tags: @tripletstephaniescp

#the avengers #stucky #fem!reader #stucky x reader #stucky x y/n #marvel #captain america #bucky barnes #oneshot

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wkemeup · 4 years

Text

Honey and Chamomile

summary: Four cups of tea, four distinct moments in time, and each pulls you in closer beyond the walls surrounding Bucky’s heart pairing: bucky x reader word count: 5.8k warnings: lots of fluff, but also nightmares, and lots of tea because im a fanatic a/n: this was written for @coffee-with-bucky‘s 2k writing challenge and it’s a thousand years late, but I hope you enjoy it! My prompt was 🌟 tea 🌟

It starts late in the evening as the thunder rolls in, low breaks amongst the clouds in the distance, a flicker of lightening touching the night sky and illuminating the shadows cast by the city. Painted raindrops slide against on the windowsill, racing one another to the edge of the pane. It’s soothing as you close your eyes and lose yourself in the soft tap-tap-tap to the walls of the tower and the hums of thunder miles beyond the city. It’s better than the silence, anyway.

The whistle of a kettle sings by the stove and it pulls you gently from your stance at the window. Mug in hand, you grab a bag of peppermint tea from the small box to the right of the kettle; paintings of sunsets and starry nights along the wooden frame. You close the lid and tug the string of the bag so it lays over the lip of the mug. Hot water finds its home at the center and the air around you fills of candy canes and memories of nights wrapped in blankets by the fireplace.

You hear footsteps behind you as you set the kettle back on the stovetop, careful of the bright red rings of the burner, and slowly wrap your hands around the mug. There’s a shuffle at the edge of the kitchen as the warmth of the mug touches your palms, soothes right up into your arms, the liquid too hot to drink but the steam of it is comforting against your cheeks. Crisp and cool amongst burning heat.

“Didn’t think you were home,” you say quietly, back turned to the figure who takes in a sharp breath in response.

The team was out on a mission, one Cap insisted you stay clear of after your near fatal gunshot wound in Bratislava last month. You fought it tooth and nail, but what Cap says goes, and well, you didn’t.

“Steve says I need more time,” Bucky replies, voice barely a whisper and you can practically picture the way he digs his hands into the pockets of his plaid pajama pants, scrunching at the fabric from the inside as a way to ground himself.

“Steve’s a little overprotective, don’t you think?” you chuckle lightly, turning from the window where the raindrops cast down along the glass in full, sweeping lines to find Bucky standing just beyond the plane of the kitchen. Just close enough to make his presence known, far enough to escape. Always one foot in, one foot at the exit. Self-preservation is a hell of a drug to kick.

“He’s right, though. Hard to trust a teammate who doesn’t trust his own mind,” Bucky mumbles slowly, scratching at the nape of his neck.

The shine of silver catches your eye under the dim overhead lighting and he notices it almost instantly, the way your gaze draws to solid metal, how you study the lines and bolts in his joints, and he drops his arm. He holds it then behind his back, tries to play it off casually, but you see how he hides it from view, like he’s been caught with something he shouldn’t have. A weapon.

You sigh, setting the mug down on the counter, the whisper of peppermint on your lips. He sells himself short, gets locked up in the mindset of what Hydra conditioned him to be, struggles to come back to himself and trust that he can control his own mind again. You know how often he wonders when he’ll lose it again, when he’ll break to someone else’s will and be forced to commit terrible acts again. It’s never a matter of ‘if’, but ‘when.’

He wonders when he’ll hurt Steve, or Sam, or Nat, or you. He wonders when the final straw will break and the floor will be ripped out from under him, when he’ll take a life he can’t give back. He wonders when enough will be enough and you’ll decide he’s not worth the trouble.

“I trust you,” you say, and you do mean it, but Bucky only shrugs, eyes downcast.

He shuffles he feet again. It’s uncomfortable for him to hear, you realize. It's foreign in his body and he barely recognizes the kindness in it when he feels it, the certainty of it, because it has been so long since he knew anything but cruelty and manipulation.

So, you pull a second mug from the cabinet; the one behind the Captain America logo painted on the side and Tony’s Disney themed mug that reads ‘Greatest Place on Earth 2003’ down the handle. You grab onto the edge of the mug tucked far into the back; light blue in color, soft undertones along the bottom. It’s painted like the waves of the ocean. It reminds you of him.

Bucky doesn’t say anything as you grab a second teabag from your wooden box and drop it in the mug, or as you fill the cup with the steaming water. You set it at the edge of the counter, eyeing him carefully as he remains still in his stance. One foot in, one foot at the exit.

“There’s sugar and milk if you want some,” you offer but Bucky shakes his head.

“No, no, this is just fine,” he says, voice a little uneven, almost as if he’s surprised by the gesture.

He steps forward, out of the shadows of the hallway and lets the soft lights of the lamp at the couch’s end touch his skin. They illuminate over messy hair, a few strands out of place, creases in his cheeks from pillow cases, the way he sways side to side in his stance. Nervous energy for a man with precision behind a barrel unlike anyone you’d ever seen.

He takes the mug, testing the heat of the surface, before he pulls it between his hands. You busy yourself with your own tea, taking a sip as you watch him bring it the mug to his lips. He pauses, smelling the hot water and you’re almost certain you see his cheek twitch. Ever so slightly, gone in an instant, but a remnant of a smile remains.

“I’ll be at the gym by nine tomorrow morning if you want to join me,” you say as you head towards the hallway. “I’ve seen your left hook and I could use some help on my stance.”

Bucky swallows back scalding hot tea like it’s nothing, his shoulders pushing up by his ears, startled by your request and it makes you laugh a bit. He chokes out a short nod, flustered perhaps judging by the pink in his cheeks.

You smile back at him, pausing at the doorframe to look at him one last time as he leans against the kitchen sink.

The smell of peppermint lingers in your wake.

***

You sit on the couch in the living room with your feet kicked up on the ottoman, book resting in your lap and a warm cup of tea nestled in your right hand. Its leans onto your chest as the steam of a sweet, woody scent of green tea filters through the air.

Fresh off of a month-long surveillance mission in Chechnya, your body is sore from long nights in cramped cars and your mind a little disengaged from hours staring out at a single window through the short end of binoculars.

Natasha sits quietly at the kitchen table behind you, flipping through the files spread out amongst the surface in organized chaos. The soft hum of a playlist on the overhead speakers drown out the grunts of Steve and Sam sparring down the hall in the training room.

You smile as you hear the shuffle of footsteps at the edge of the room, feet dragging purposefully along the tile. You don’t have to look up to know who is it, but you do wonder when Bucky decided to start dragging his feet to alert you to his presence.

He used to be impossibly quiet in his steps, like he was hunting prey even with his defenses down as much as he would allow them. He's snuck up on you a few times before without meaning to, his voice in greeting startling you enough to drop a mug of scalding tea from your hands and onto your exposed thighs and the tile below. If you think hard enough about it, you’d realize it was that moment, as he scrambled to dry your skin of the hot water, frantic apologies under his breath, as he knelt into the broken shards of your mug, that his steps became louder when he approached.

He hasn’t been able to sneak up on you since.

“Hey,” he says quietly from the edge of the room.

You smile to yourself, eyes still on the lines of the novel though you haven’t looked up at him yet. “Hey.”

“Smells good.”

You nod, taking in a heavy whiff of the steeping tea. “Wanna try?”

Bucky sits down on the couch beside you, a full cushion as a barrier between, but you don’t mind. He’s slow to warm up, cautious with even the people he trusts most, and you have no interest in pushing him beyond his boundaries. He sits rigid on the couch, stiff, though you can tell he’s trying to relax. He's fighting with his muscles and arguing with his mind.

“Here,” you offer, extending the mug to him.

He stares at you, blue eyes flickering from the tea and back to your face suspiciously.

“I haven’t poisoned it, Bucky,” you tease, pulling it back to your lips and taking a sip in proof. You sigh as it passed down your chest, warming you from the inside. It doesn’t slip your notice that Bucky’s eyes linger on your lips long after you’ve extended the mug back to him.

“If it’s a germ thing, I can make you a fresh cup,” you offer, laughing a bit under your breath.

“No, uh, thank you,” Bucky musters out and slowly takes the mug from your hands.

You nod and quickly return to your book, though you keep an eye on him in the reflection of the television screen. He studies the mug for a moment, looking over the slightly uneven edges of the ceramic, the speckles of golden flakes mixed amongst the brush strokes.

“Did you make this?”

“Steeped it myself,” you chuckle. “Strenuous work.”

Bucky laughs at that, though it’s muffled a bit, restricted, but it’s still there, still light and airy and incredibly beautiful.

“The mug,” he clarifies as he holds it up. “Did you make the mug?”

“Hey, even an Avenger need a hobby, right?” you shrug, albeit a little embarrassed. The walls of the mug are uneven, the painting done under dim lighting after hours as the little ceramics shop would have been swarmed with fans if not for the kindness of the owner who let you stay late into the evening. “I know it’s not very good--”

“I like it.”

Bucky smiles softly as he nods at you, examining the mug further. He traces over the handle that’s slightly too small for his grip, the edges that sway up and down like waves, the dot of red paint at the bottom that accidentally made its way onto the surface.

He takes a sip and you watch as his whole body seems to sigh in response. Muscles easing, tension leaving him. It’s a respite.

When he hands the mug back to you, you expect him to leave. He doesn’t. Instead, he stays quietly with you, sitting contently as he picks up a newspaper from the end table and you resume your place in your book. Perfectly quiet. Comfortable.

***

“Will you just take the medicine... please?”

“I’m an Avenger, Bucky, I can fight off the common cold.”

“You can barely breathe on your own. I might call for an ambulance. It's starting to look dire. Life or death kind of situation.”

“Oh, shut up,” you laugh, swatting his hands away as you quickly move to cover your mouth as another coughing fit takes over. It burns deep into your lungs, aches hard in your chest, makes it quite hard to catch your breath again, but you feel a soft touch on your back; gentle, soothing circles of a flat hand pressed to your spine, and you manage to find air again.

You wipe your lips as he pulls back. “Thanks.”

“It’s nothing,” he says with a soft smile, waving you off.

“I could get you sick. You should’ve had me quarantined like everyone else.”

“Aren’t you dramatic today?” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I can't get sick with this serum running in my veins, you know that. Besides, no one’s quarantining you. They’re just--”

“--avoiding me like the plague?”

Bucky grimaces. “Yeah, maybe.”

You smile tiredly at him, heat a little fuzzy, vision a little tunneled, but you enjoy the way he smiles back at you. He has such a nice smile, pretty, to the point where it’s almost unfair. It curves up into his cheeks, creating lines around and under his eyes, bright and cheery and you almost forget he’s also a ghost story of an assassin with the sharpshooting range more precise than a drone.

Before you can realize what you’re doing, under the haze of a clouded mind, your hand reaches out and touches his cheek. He freezes under your touch, surprised more than anything else, and he watches with wide eyes as you dreamily trace the lines in his face, the curve of his jaw and the tip of his nose. Your head feels a little fuzzy and your eye lids flutter heavily, just as Bucky begins to smile again.

“Take the meds, doll,” Bucky asks again sweetly. He slowly pries your hand from his face and sets two red pills in your left hand, a glass of water in your right. He guides your hand with the medication up towards your mouth. “Please? I miss my training partner. Can’t spare with someone who’s half dead in the living room from a stuffy nose and I refuse to go back to Wilson.”

“Okay, okay,” you grumble playfully, quickly swallowing the medication and chasing it with the water.

The couch dips slightly as Bucky gets up, jogging over to the kitchen. The whistle of the kettle is muffled in your ears, like it’s distant and behind several walls and closed doors. You stretch your jaw, trying to pop away the barrier, but it’s of no use.

You watch silently as Bucky scrambles around the kitchen, a little flustered for his frame, and you can’t help the smile that pushes at your cheeks.

“Top right,” you tell him, pointing to the cabinet over his shoulder.

He sighs, shakes his head, and sure enough, the mugs are in the cabinet on his right. He pulls down two from the shelf. For you, the one with the tiny cartoon dinosaur on the front dressed in an Iron Man suit, and for himself, he grabs the one you made months prior, with the uneven edges and the red paint stain on the side.

Then, he starts in search of the wooden box and you give him a minute of pulling open every drawer he can find until you tell him, “behind the bread bin on the counter.”

"Oh, of course. Makes perfect sense,” Bucky teases and flips through the packets inside.

He purses his lips, narrowing his eyes, clearly in search of something specific. His whole face lights up as he grabs what he’s in search of and quickly rips open the packets and sets them inside the mugs. He pours the hot water and carefully blows on the surface of the mugs, the steam pushing out in front of him as he sighs.

“Careful, it’s hot,” he says as he makes his way back to you, setting the mug on the arm rest of the couch to give you enough leverage to grab the handle. You smile up at him appreciatively as he takes his seat next to you.

Bringing the mug to your lips, you take in a deep breath – or, as much as you able to give the swarm of congestion in your head.

Spiced and warm. Peppery sharp. Lemon and ginger.

“Bucky Barnes, did you use google for me?”

He chuckles nervously as his hand rakes through his hair, pushing it from his eyes only for it to fall back to place again. “It, uh, it said ginger tea is supposed to be good for you when you’re sick, so I thought, uh, it thought it would help.”

You struggle to contain your grin, hiding it behind the mug as you take a sip. You can already feel your sinuses beginning to clear.

“That’s very sweet of you. Thanks, Buck.”

He nods a little sheepishly, fluster burning warm in his cheeks, but he meets your eyes; the perfect wave of blues and greys, a gentle ocean amongst a sweeping current.

***

When you wake with a harsh gasp in your throat, a sharp yank of reality away from your dreams, the piercing sound of screams echoing down the hall, it’s not the first time.

You know the routine well by now, know that Steve will meet you in the hallway by Bucky's door where the screams only seem to get louder with every passing second and he’ll ask you gently to go back to your room, remind you that he’s got this and Bucky will be alright. He always is, Steve tells you, but it doesn’t lessen the heartbreak of hearing the cracks in Bucky’s voice, the sudden whimpers, the shattering silence that follows as he wakes.

The two of you will skirt around things in the morning as you always do. Bucky will stumble out of his room with dark circles under his eyes, a drag in his feet, shoulders slumped as he slides into a chair by the kitchen. He’ll sit silently as you pour him an herbal tea from your box, never something with caffeine because he’s got enough energy in his veins as they come out in tremors in his hand and bouncing in his knee. Sometimes you give him raspberry, sometimes apple caramel, sometimes peach, and he’ll nod without looking at you, pull the mug close to his face and hold the steam to his lips until it goes cold.

Those mornings frighten you because it takes him back to Bucky you knew in the beginning, before he’d learned to smile and laugh again, before he became a permanent fixture in your life, one you were unwilling to live without.

So as your feet carry you down the hall, skirting around the corner and chasing after the screams, you realize Steve won’t be there waiting. He’s out on a mission with Sam in Ukraine for the next few days. There’s no one else on this floor. It’s just you.

You, Bucky, and the monsters in his dreams.

You freeze at the edge of his door, hand gripped tight to the handle, but you can’t move.

You’re made of marble and stone because even though you and Bucky had come miles since he first came to the tower, you’ve never seen him like this; scared, begging to invisible forces, voice breaking, crying. You haven’t seen him at his lowest and you don’t know if he’ll resent you opening this door, if he’ll be angry with you for breaking that wall of trust, for intruding on something so vulnerable he doesn’t share with anyone but Steve.

But when a scream leaves his lips again, one so broken and distorted it jars itself straight through to your heart like the serrated edge of a blade, you shove your way inside, pushing consequences to the morning.

Bucky lays amongst a mess of sheets, damp with sweat as his hands curl into the fabric, teeth gritted, chest heavy with labored breaths. His eyes are closed shut, painfully so, and you try to ignore the drip of sweat down his exposed chest, how it falls along the lines of his muscles, because he’s thrashing in his sleep like something is holding him down, chocking him, and there’s tears in your eyes as you rush forward.

“Bucky,” you call far too gently. “Bucky, wake up.”

You don’t know what to do. Steve is the one who usually wakes him and you don’t have the kind of strength he does. You don’t know what laying a hand to Bucky’s shoulder will do, if the touch will ground him or shock him to a dream like state, pull him from his nightmares or throw him back to the clutches of the soldier.

But you have to try.

You can’t listen to him beg through bated breaths, “stop, stop please-- don’t! Please, someone help--”

“I’ve got you,” you say a little louder. “You’re okay, Buck. You’re not alone. You’re safe, alright? But you’ve gotta wake up now. Please, Bucky. Wake up.”

You set a hand on his forearm and he jolts up in an instant. You stumble back a few paces in shock, heart beating like thunder in your chest as you hit the sharp edge of his dress to your spine. Hands clutched tight to your chest, afraid you might have to fight him to bring him back, but Bucky remains still. He’s panting, chest heaving as hair falls down into his eyes.

You decide to test the waters.

“Bucky?”

He flinches violently, a sharp intake of breath, though he doesn’t turn to look at you. His hands dig deeper into the sheets in search of a respite he will not find and it nearly breaks your heart in two.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, voice rough and used. He can’t bear to look at you. “I thought it was under control. I—I told Steve it was okay for him to go. You shouldn’t-- You shouldn’t have to--”

“Do you want some tea?”

The words tumble out faster than you can process them. It feels like the wrong thing to say, especially with that look on his face, the guilt and shame seeping through beautifully soft and kind features, but you know his heart is racing a hundred miles a minute. Judging by the tension in his back, he’s stiff as a board, too.

You step forward as he slowly turns to look at you. There's confusion mixed in with the undeserving shame, but it’s a start at least, you think. A couple cautious more steps closer to the bed and you’re standing right next to him, hovering above him as he bends his legs and wipes his brow of sweat with the edge of the sheet.

“It usually helps me calm down at night,” you offer slowly, as gently as you can manage. “I, uh, I get nightmares, too, sometimes. Not quite as loud as yours but...”

Bucky nods in understanding. He’s heard you pacing in your room in the dead of night when sleep evades him as it often does. He’s seen when you trudge out from your room in the early hours of the morning with the kind of look in your eye that reminds him too much of himself.

“It’ll only take a second,” you say, nodding to yourself as you try to calculate the time it would take to boil the water and ready the mugs. “I’ll be right back.”

You move to take a step back but there’s a tug on your wrist. You pause, glancing down to find Bucky’s hand circling at your arm, holding you steady, though his stare remains glued to the sheets.

“Don’t go.”

It comes out in a whimper, a low break in his voice, and your heart plummets down to your stomach.

“I’ll come right back. I promise,” you ease him, stepping closer again, though you notice he doesn’t release your hand. It’s not painful, but it’s firm. He’s holding on for dear life.

“Please,” he whispers and this time, as he looks up with you, you’re met with tears in the blue of his eyes. It cracks your resolve in an instant.

“Okay. Will you come with me?”

Bucky swallows thickly, holding your gaze for a moment before he eventually nods. The sheets are thrown from his legs and you realize he sleeps only in his boxers. The realization seems to hit him just as quick.

“S-sorry,” he mumbles, “just, um, just let me--”

You step back as he releases your hand and slowly stands at the edge of the bed. He grabs his pajama pants from the floor and quickly step into them with a heated blush on his cheeks. It makes you painfully aware of the mess of an old, ratted t-shirt and shorts you sleep in, though you push it aside quickly because Bucky’s eyes have fallen to the ground and you don’t want him to retreat within himself. Not again.

“Come on.”

You extend your hand for him, waiting patiently as he stares at it for a moment. It’s an intimate gesture, more contact than you’ve had with him, but you know despite his aversion to touch, he craves it unlike anything else. He’s vulnerable right now and you hope he’ll take the anchor as you throw it to him.

When his hand does mold to yours, it fits perfectly, exactly where he’s supposed to be and you can’t help but wonder if he’ll ever let you do this again. You squeeze his hand softly as he finds an even pace at your side and you lead him to the kitchen.

He lets go of your hand to give you enough space to prepare the water, but he’s never far from reach. When you glance back at him, you find a strange mixture of fear and something you can't quite place in his eyes. It isn’t until you catch him surveying the room, the adjoining hallways, the flinches at the slightest settling of the tower, that you realize he’s on guard. It’s like he’s protecting you.

“Take a seat, Buck,” you ask of him gently, nodding to the chair at the kitchen table. “Try and relax for me. Deep breaths, okay?”

He follows your gaze, hesitantly glancing over the area, always on alert, before he turns back to you. There’s a resistance in his movement as he takes his first steps away from you, but he holds your gaze, holds the softness of your smile as long as he can, while he slumps down into the chair. It’s too far away from you, but he manages.

The kettle boils quickly and you slip two bags of tea into the mugs. Hot water in next, you drizzle an ounce of thick amber on top, swirling it around with the heal of a spoon. The smell of earthy apples and sweet nectar.

Honey and chamomile.

When you make your way over to the table to join him, Bucky is slouched down in his seat, dark circles heavy under his eyes, though he forces out a strained smile as you slide in next to him. You drag a chair up as close to his as you can, your shoulders bumping somewhat as you set the mug in front of him.

“Drink,” you tell him. “It will help you fall back asleep.”

“I can’t go back to sleep after that. I never do after... you know,” he mumbles, shaking his head, though he does take in a heavy inhale of the sweet aroma of steam.

“You’re telling me my teas won’t cure all of life’s problems?” you scoff playfully. “Blasphemy.”

It steals a smile from his lips, curving up ever so slightly into his cheeks though you can see his body fighting against it. You set a hand on his forearm, one that comes in comfort by stark contrast of the way he used to flinch out of your touch. With a slight squeeze, you draw his attention back to you, the blue of his eyes overcast into deep navy, lids falling heavy with sleep despite the race of his heart.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” you say slowly. “You don’t have to say a thing. Just let me help you, alright? Drink the tea, Bucky. I’m not going anywhere until you do.”

He nods, a slight ghost of a laugh in his exhale. “Okay.”

You smile triumphantly as you pull your own mug to your hands, warmth spreading into your palms and you take a sip. It stings on your tongue a bit, too hot, but it feels nice as it travels down into your chest, warms you from the inside out.

The two of you sit in silence for a while, the only sounds between you coming from the muffled purr of the furnace and the contented sighs as the tea touches your lips. Bucky’s shoulders start to relax as he his mug nears empty, his body swaying in his seat and you can practically see the exhaustion nestled in his bones.

You swig back the last sip in your own mug and set it on the table, a task you’ll deal with in the morning as you slowly push Bucky’s mug out of his reach.

“Come on, Buck. Let’s get you back to bed.”

He comes easily as you offer your hand, guiding him away from the sanctuary of the kitchen and back to the room that holds his monsters. The grip on your hand tightens with every step and you rub your free hand down his forearm soothingly, trying to pull the tension away. You can feel the anxiety rushing through his veins, the panic reemerging back to the surface as you cross the threshold into his room.

You know he won’t ask. He won’t dare because he can so often get wrapped up in his own mind, the chamber of burden and isolation, of guilt and shame, and he often forgets how much of yourself you’re willing to give to him.

So, you don’t say a word as you lead him slowly to the bed, releasing his hand as he slides back under the covers. His body is rigid as ice and you can feel his eyes on you, trying to memorize your face for when the darkness takes over and he prepares for you to leave.

It surprises him when your hand slips over his forehead, brushes up into his hair, and you lean down to kiss his temple. The gasp that it pulls from him is muffled, impossibly sweet, and you linger there a moment longer before you pull away.

Bucky stays silent though you can see the question burning behind the blue of his eyes.

Stay. Stay. Stay.

There isn’t an ounce of hesitancy as you slowly make your way around to the other side of the bed and pull back the covers. The mattress is firmer on this side in its lack of use as your knee dips onto the surface. Bucky is watching you cautiously, stunned, but his muscles start to relax as you settle in next to him.

“This okay?” you ask, just to be sure.

He nods quickly. “Y-yes.”

“Try to get some sleep, alright? I’ll be right here.”

He doesn't say anything, but there’s relief slipping through the tension in his body, pushing out the stones with the gentle flow of a calming stream. You smile at him as you turn onto your side, one hand gently resting on his shoulder, grounding him to the earth, to you.

You close your eyes and hope that he will feel safe enough to follow.

***

“Y/n?”

“Yeah?” Your voice is muffled by the pillow and you turn to find stars still littering the night sky. You don’t know how much time has passed, how long he’s been lying there in the prolonged silence, churning thoughts racing through his mind, so you turn onto your stomach, prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him.

“You wanna go to the tea shop in Brooklyn with me tomorrow?”

You narrow your eyes, confused why he’s asking you near – you check the clock by his bedside – three in the morning. His stare is trained up at the ceiling for a moment before he turns to look at you, ocean blue littered with nerves, a new kind of vulnerability you haven’t seen in him before.

“Of course, Buck. Whatever you--”

“As a date, I mean.”

It catches you off guard, wakes you quickly. Tongue tied and throat dry.

Bucky swallows nervously and you can tell that he’s been working himself up to asking you in the hour or so that he’s been lying here awake as you curled up next to him. There are dozens of excuses brewing in the back of his mind, ways to play this off as a joke or anything but what he wants it to be in a way to preserve the friendship between you, but before he can start the waterfall of backtracking, a smile curves up along your lips.

“That sounds really nice.”

He smiles back at you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Okay, good.” He nods to himself, settling back into the mattress with the widest grin you’d seen on him in ages. It wrinkles up into his eyes, brightens across his face bright and cheery, sits in startling contrast to the way you’d found him just hours before. You like seeing him this happy. You like being the cause of it even more.

“Will you go to sleep now?” you tease him, nudging at his shoulder enough to pull a laugh from his chest.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

“Good. Don’t want you half asleep on our date.” It twists pleasantly in your stomach as you say it, butterflies and goosebumps and you bite back the smile pushing high up into your cheeks.

“Can’t have that,” he replies, chuckling to himself and it doesn’t slip your notice how his smile seems to widen as you say the word, too. Date.

You slide back down onto the mattress, trying to find your comfortable position again when Bucky extends his arm. There’s a short pause as he waits, staring up at the ceiling, and you realize what he’s offering. Without a second thought, like you’re coming home, you scoot your body closer to him, rest your head on his shoulder as his arm curls around your back, holding you securely against him.

The soft thumping of his heart beats gently under your ear, your hand resting against his ribs, tracing lines that leave shivers in their wake. He traces patterns onto your back, his eyes slowly fluttering shut until the movement stops and he falls into the warm embrace of sleep.

You sigh, content in his even breaths, the slow pace of his heart, the muffles snores. Hugging him close, holding him in your arms where he’s always belonged. You fall asleep wrapped in the scent of honey and chamomile.

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #lyn2k

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emmyhem · 3 years

Text

right where you left me (l.r.h)

a/n: hi everybody! so this is a bit of a longer one that is inspired by the song “right where you left me” by taylor swift on evermore. it’s one of my favorites by her because i love the writing and the concept. whether you’re a taylor fan or not i suggest reading and then listening to the song with the fic in mind, it makes the song hit extremely hard. also expect more taylor inspired stuff in the future because she’s one of my all time favorite artists. this one is sad but i live for the angst so what’re you gonna do? my calum piece, “everything you’re missing” should be up by the end of the week and i’m working hard on my very first michael and ashton pieces as well, which is really exciting. anyway i hope you all enjoy and are being safe (get vaccinated if you can!) once again my messages are always open and feedback/criticism is always appreciated. hugs and kisses to all, thanks - emmy <33

pairing: luke hemmings x fem!reader

summary: you met 20 year old luke hemmings in a coffee shop eight years ago and were sure your life had been decided. you once told him you’d wait for him until you were sure he was happier without you. you never thought that day would actually come.

warning(s): angst, cursing, alludes to possible infidelity, it’s a sad one so buckle in.

word count: 6.2k

Current time - December 14th

The familiar ring of the entrance bell pulled your attention from the worn book beneath your fingers to take a routine glance at the patrons rushing in from the early December chill. Mitten covered hands, and icy cold flushed cheeks entered one after the other. Your typical seat in the corner of the small cafe was shielded from the penetrating winds that accompanied each person in their entrance but you still shivered in sympathy at each new arrival.

Your steaming earl grey had faded into a tepid puddle at the bottom of your mug as the hours passed on the analog clock that adorned the brick wall in the front. Olive, a barista you had become friendly with over the years approached your table with the cafe’s winter speciality, an orange cranberry muffin in hand.

“Last one.” she said, sitting it on a pine green napkin in front of you.

You reached into your purse for a few spare bills to cover the cost when she stopped you by placing a hand on your forearm.

“On the house for our favorite customer.” her eyes were filled with pity as she nodded down to you, and you were too tired to feel embarrassed.

“Thanks, Liv.” you sighed.

“It’s my pleasure, besides I always feel like we’re robbing you when you pay full price, you only ever eat half anyway.” she added as she walked away.

You picked at the baked good, memories flooding your brain with each bite.

Eight years ago - December 14th

As you clutched your books with a death grip you cursed yourself for forgetting your gloves in your dorm. The wind was picking up and it wouldn’t be long until they were numb completely, and your sweater paws were less than effective in warming your frozen fingers.

A flickering red light glowed just a bit down the street and a sugary citrus aroma was pulling your stiff limbs towards it against the wind. The closer you got the more mouthwatering the smell became and soon enough you had reached the door, bracing yourself for the chill of the copper handle as you pulled it open.

Sweet, warm air enveloped you as you stepped inside. The red brick walls were chipped in more than a few places, red and green christmas lights twinkle from a tree in the corner, and the crackling of the fireplace was like music to your ears. You wondered how you had never noticed the quaint cafe before as you took your place in line behind a tall man wearing only a thin black hoodie and beanie for protection from the cold weather. As you got closer to him a piney scent cut through the sweet smell of pastries and you caught yourself leaning in to get a better whiff of its freshness.

Your eyes scanned over the menu that hung behind the cash register while he ordered and did your best to ignore the chill that ran up your spine when his soft aussie accent invaded your ears.

Once he finished and stepped off to the side to wait for his order you moved forward and placed your books on the counter.

“Hi, how can I help you today?” a young ginger barista with an abundance of freckles said.

“Hi,” you paused and located her name tag. “Olive, I’ve never been here before but there's this smell that-”

“Our orange cranberry muffins.” she interrupted pointing to a chalkboard in front of her that read, “Warm up with a wintery treat, try our famous orange cranberry muffin today!”

Your stomach growled quietly at the thought as you nodded.

“I would love one of those and...a medium early grey, please.” you replied, pulling a 10 dollar bill from your pocket.

“Sadly, we have just sold our last one to the customer in front of you.” she nodded to the enticing blonde man that had caught your attention earlier, who was now staring down at his black vans as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

You narrowed your eyes at the muffin thief when he glanced up at you innocently while accepting his coffee from another worker.

“We do still have our gingerbread and pumpkin muffins if you’d be interested in one of those instead.” Olive continued motioning a hand to the glass display of tasty treats to your right.

You let out a disappointed huff, “That’s okay, just the tea please.”

You paid for your order making sure to leave a few extra dollars in the tip jar before taking a seat on a worn burgundy couch near the fire to wait for your drink.

Leaning your head against your hand for support you allowed your eyes to drift closed and listen to the pops and crackles of the fire meshing with the soft holiday music echoing through the place. You only opened your eyes back up at the feeling of the couch dipping beside you.

Sitting too close to not acknowledge, was the boy from earlier who was now alternating sips of what smelled like a strong latte with bites of the muffin that could’ve been yours.

“Are you doing this on purpose?”

His head snapped in your direction at the sound of your voice, and he finished chewing before responding.

“Doing what?”

“Taunting me with your stupid muffin.” you were aware of how childish you sounded but hunger had always brought out the irrational side of you.

“It’s actually quite delicious.” he smirked, ignoring your frustration.

You groaned in jealousy, “Don’t rub it in.”

Realization sparked in his eyes.

“Got the last one didn’t I?”

You nodded.

“M’happy to share.” he grinned, breaking off half and holding it out to you.

“No, really it’s fine. I’m just being annoying.” you waved him off.

“I’m not annoyed. Really, take it. I’d have to throw it away otherwise.”

Your eyebrows raised at his comment.

“I’m stuffed.” he explained, patting his stomach twice.

“I don’t believe you, but I’m starving and this smells incredible.” you responded, accepting the baked good.

You closed your eyes and let out a satisfied hum after biting into it.

“Holy shit, this is like the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

The boy watched you and laughed at every pleased noise that you released.

Once you had finished your half you turned back to see him still watching you, he had scooted even closer to you and your knees knocked together at your movement.

“Thank you, that was amazing. Although it was pretty rich I don’t think I could eat a whole one either.”

“Your welcome,” when he paused you realized you hadn’t even introduced yourself but still stole half of this guy’s muffin.

“I’m y/n.” you filled in.

“Luke.” he returned.

You nodded and repeated it, testing how it felt on your tongue.

“Thank you again, Luke.”

The two of you began talking about, school, work, music, your favorite movies, astrology, anything really. By the time you glanced up from the conversation the cafe was nearly empty and the fire in front of you had burnt out leaving a smoky debris hanging in the air.

“I think they’re closing.” you said while checking the time on your phone.

“Fuck, I’ve got a paper due tomorrow.”

“Sorry, I kept you back.” you apologized, both of you gathering your things as you talked.

“No, s’not your fault.” he dismissed as you both began to walk to the door.

Standing a few feet away from the exit you could already feel the nip that was permeating through the glass, it sent a chill through your spine making you wiggle your shoulders. As you stared at the floor over the books in your arms, trying to decide what the best way to ensure you would see Luke again was, you heard the buzz of a zipper. You lifted your head to see your new acquaintance removing his arms from the sleeves of his black hoodie.

“Are you crazy? It’s freezing out there.”

“I know, you’re shivering.” he answered, swinging the fabric behind your back until it dropped and wrapped around your shoulders. He pulled on the sleeves till they were hanging in place and you watched through your lashes, completely in awe of his concentrated expression.

“Luke, I can’t wear this you’ll freeze and I can’t just take your clothes.”

“C’mon of course y’can. I’m warm blooded. I'll be fine and you aren’t taking it. I’m gonna want to come in for one of those muffins tomorrow and you know I can’t eat the whole thing, so you’ll just have to be here to share with me. We meet, we eat, I retrieve my jacket, all is right in the world.” He smiled through his words, attempting to warm you up by rubbing his hands up and down your shoulders quickly. “Think you can do that?”

“I’m sure.”

“Excellent. Meet me here at 9:00 tomorrow.”

You nodded as he pushed the door open and despite him trying to act unaffected you could tell from his rigid stance he was freezing.

“I’m counting on you alright? Stay warm, y/n.” he reiterated through chattering teeth before exiting the shop.

Current Time - December 14th

When they talk about one moment defining your life it seems silly, and unrealistic. One day of your life is hardly even a blip so one minute defining everything seems completely ludacris. You would have never bought into it eight years ago, right up until Luke muttered those three words to you before braving the cold.

“Stay warm, y/n.”

He said it and you had one of those moments. One of those, “and then everything changed.” moments.

You had always been sure that your purpose would come to you later in life, maybe you’d have a spiritual awakening while in some foreign country. Maybe you’d read a book that would change your view on everything, or god forbid you’d have a close encounter with death and the epiphany would come then. You would’ve never guessed that a nearly missed encounter with the world’s best muffin and a lanky Australian guy would do it.

But here you were eight years after the encounter, your hair was longer, the crinkles that appear by your eyes when you smile now linger, and Luke was nowhere to be seen, but some things haven’t changed at all. A half eaten muffin, the comforting cafe, and your unwavering certainty that your life’s purpose was to love and to be loved by Luke Hemmings all remained.

Seven years ago - March 27th

The door swung open to a positively beaming Luke, he leaned in to press a swift kiss on your cheek before hurriedly pulling you inside.

“I have a surprise for you.”

“You do?” you questioned, taking notice of the subtle burnt smell in the air and the smoky atmosphere of his apartment.

He nodded excitedly pulling you by the hand into the kitchen where you were met with messy countertops packed full of lumpy and slightly charred muffins. Your mouth fell open and you turned to face your boyfriend who was smiling timidly at you, eyes scanning over your face.

“I made you our muffins.” he smiled, proudly looking at his work.

“Wha- how? How did you even get the recipe?”

“Olive helped me out.” He responded, taking a seat on one of the bar stools by the island.

“Lu, this is incredible. Thank you.” you praised, moving to stand between his legs.

“I hope they turned out good. Y’know baking is a lot harder than it looks.” he tutted while unwrapping one for you. “Open up.” he instructed, tapping your chin.

Your teeth struggled to bite through the dense baked good, and while your taste buds fought with the bitter crumbly substance you questioned whether Luke had actually followed any recipe at all because what you were eating tasted nothing like the warm, gooey, and tart treat that the two of you had come to love.

You chewed slowly to avoid swallowing and kept your face as neutral as possible.

“How is it? Good?” he spoke nervously and the little glint of hope in his eyes forced you to swallow it down and paint on a pleased smile.

“Mmm” you moaned “It's delicious, Luke.”

“Yeah?” he beamed.

“Really good.” you nodded, your eyes drifting longingly to the sink. In that moment you would’ve killed for a glass of water.

“Wow, I mean I thought they’d be alright but this is great. Lemme try.” he brought your muffin up to his mouth and in a panic you snatched it from his hands, squeaking out a small “No!” before shoving the rest of it in your mouth.

“Babe, there’s plenty, no need to be greedy.” he laughed while unwrapping another. And you really should’ve thought this through because with puffed out cheeks full of possibly the worst muffin in history you took a step back and watched him bite into one. His face twisted in disgust and he quickly spit what he had taken back into the wrapper.

When he looked back up to you, you were standing there with a full mouth and wide eyes. He cocked his head to the side in confusion, “You enjoyed that?”

The second you shrugged your shoulders, feigning innocence Luke burst into a sharp cackle, his legs kicking up into the air from the force of his laughter. You took that as an opportunity to run to the trash and rid yourself of the awful taste in your mouth.

Luke was still struggling to catch his breath while you finished pouring yourself a glass of water.

“It’s not funny, Lu.” you argued between sips.

“Why didn’t you just spit it out?” he chortled, beckoning you closer with grabby hands.

“Because, it was so sweet.” you reasoned.

“Really? I would argue it was more rancid than sweet.”

“Not the muffin you goon, the gesture.” you elaborated, smacking his shoulder.

“I can’t believe you ate the whole thing.”

“Shut up. I was trying to be nice.” you pouted.

“Hey,” he said, standing and opening his arms. “M’sorry I know.”

You waddled into his embrace, wrapping your arms around his back.

“I love you for that.” he sighed, before kissing the top of your head.

You froze in his hold, those three unexpected words echoing through your head.

“You what?”

His chest shook lightly as a laugh fell from his mouth.

“I love you.” he repeated. It was so nonchalant, as if he’d said it to you a hundred times before. “You alright with that?”

You nodded before pulling back just enough that you could see his face.

“I love you.” you returned.

Luke’s hands cupped your cheeks, a groan passing his lips before he pressed a soft kiss to your now pouty mouth.

“Say it again.” he pleaded into your mouth.

“I love you.” you sighed, chasing his lips with your own.

“And again, and again, and again…” he continued, rewarding you with one lingering peck for each declaration.

“Mmm” he hummed in content when he decided he was satisfied. “Never stop saying it.”

Current Time - December 14th

A whirlwind romance like the one that the two of you had shared was never meant to be sad. It was the kind of love that constantly feels like a cheesy montage full of sweet moments that happens at the end of a rom-com. Unsuccessful baking attempts, cozy study dates, spontaneous weekend trips, hundreds of shared muffins, piggy back rides home from the bar, that’s what made you Luke and y/n.

The two of you didn’t do well with the hard stuff and it worked because there just wasn’t any. Everything was easy and it felt good. It felt right.

It had never even occurred to you that the hard stuff was part of any great love, that inevitably one day things would get hard. It really hadn’t occurred to you that pushing through the hard stuff was something that Luke may not be up for. Because you were and you always had been, all in.

Six years ago - February 17th

You had gotten home late after a long shift at the library you worked at part time . Luke was sitting on the couch scribbling something in a notebook and taking tiny sips of his steaming cup of tea, too impatient to wait for it to cool properly.

You’d been listening to an audiobook while organizing the shelves that day and the somber tone of it had seriously dampened your mood. It also made you extremely grateful that you had Luke to cuddle away all your sorrows.

He had noticed your sad expression the second he saw you and was quick to pull you into his arms and press you for information.

“What happened baby?” he cooed as you nestled as close into him as physically possible.

“Sad book.” you mumbled into his chest.

“Aw, love you shouldn’t let that stuff get to you. S’not real, there’s no need to get upset.” This was something you had heard plenty of times before, seeing as you were an extremely emotional person and felt things strongly.

“It was so sad though, bubs.” You reasoned that talking through it with someone else might dull the ache that it had left on your taut heartstrings. You explained the whole plot, how the couple had met on a plane and spent their two separate vacations together and along the way fallen in love. Luke would hum or nod every so often indicating he was listening but you knew most of his focus was on the fact that you were tearing up through your explanation. He let his lips rest along your hairline as you got to the climax of the story, speaking through cracks in your voice to tell him that they had lost each other’s numbers on their way back and while the woman was able to move on and find love later in life, the man waited at the airport for years hoping that one day he would see her again.

Luke’s hand ran through your hair while your head rested on his chest.

“I don’t think there’s anything romantic about it. It’s just sad.” he concluded.

“I disagree.”

“Really?”

“I’d wait for you.” you confirmed, running your fingers over the fabric of his shirt.

“Not forever though,” he added.

“I’d wait until I knew you were happier without me.”

“Yea, me too.” he agreed.

“I’d never be happier without you.”

Current Time - December 14th

One thing that you never doubted in your relationship was whether or not Luke loved you. You knew he did. It was something that had always been casual between the two of you, it was as much a greeting as it was anything else.

As the sun rose and broke through your curtains the words to break the silence that lingered from the night before wasn’t “Good morning” it was “I love you.” Before leaving for work instead of an impersonal “Bye!” you shouted “Love you!” through the closing door of your apartment. It was a phrase that had been repeated millions of times, and despite the casualness of it all, it never lost its meaning.

Even now, five years since you’d last seen him you knew with every bone in your body that no matter where he was right now, half the world away or two blocks downtown, he still loved you.

Luke always kept his promises, a million times he had promised that he would always love you. And a million times you had promised it right back.

A hundred years apart wouldn’t change that, let alone five.

Five years ago - December 13th

You watched the snow fall from the living room window, what you would normally find peaceful was making you go insane. It had been perpetually silent around your apartment for the past couple of weeks. Luke was hardly ever home, when asked he would tell you that he had a big project at work and needed to teach the new intern how things were done in the office. You hadn’t thought much of it, there were times when you were busy and had to put things with him on the back burner to focus on the uncertainty of work. It had never been an issue because as far as you were concerned things were set between you and Luke. There was the unspoken promise of forever.

Of course, that didn’t stop you from missing him tons. On this specific occasion the cold weather had left you with clogged sinuses and a bad headache, one that you would typically soothe with a cup of earl grey from the cafe and an abundance of snuggling. Since Luke wasn’t around to fulfill your touch deprivation you decided that wearing one of his favorite sweatshirts would have to do for now.

You blindly reached into his drawer to search for it but stopped when your hand caught on a folded piece of paper. You pulled it out and walked to the bed, flicking on the lamp as you sat. Once the light turned on you were able to see it clear as day, two airline tickets to Sydney departing on the 20th and returning on January 3rd. The two of you had briefly discussed travelling to Australia at some point so you could finally meet his family but nothing had ever been confirmed.

The naivety that had always been a part of who you were began to connect non-existent dots with hopeful lines. Luke was planning on surprising you with Christmas in Australia with his family. It explained why he was never home, it also explained the secretive phone calls you had started picking up on after he scurried out of bed in the middle of the night a while ago to speak to someone in hushed tones just outside the bedroom door.

That night when he finally got home at nearly eleven you had made sure to leave half a muffin with a note that read, “Miss you, stud muffin. You work too hard. Love you -y/n” on the kitchen counter. From where you laid in bed, you could hear him laugh as he read it aloud. You quickly sat up in bed when the laughs you were reveling in started to sound like sobs.

The dim lighting in the kitchen didn’t stop you from seeing the tears on Luke’s face as he looked up to where you stood, stunned in the hallway.

“What’s wrong?” you hurried to him.

He made a sniffing sound before gathering you in his arms. He held you so tight that if it wasn’t so sincere it might’ve hurt.

“Lu, what’s going on.” you squeaked out.

He tightened his arms around you and nuzzled his face into your hair, emitting soft cries every so often.

“I love you, y/n.”

“I know. I love you too.”

“I swear I’ll always love you. I swear.”

“I know. Hey, Lu I know.” you soothed as his breaths became more labored.

At some point you had managed to calm him down and coax him into bed, you reasoned that he was just so tired that his feelings got the best of him, something that had happened to you many times before. And honestly you were just happy to be back in his arms once again, so when he was wrapped around you in bed, his hands playing with your hair like they always did when he got anxious, you didn’t think twice about it when he said,

“We need to talk tomorrow, over breakfast. We can go to the café if you want?”

You nodded against his chest as sleep overtook you, the last thing you heard being “I promise I’ll always love you.”

Current Time - December 14th

Your reminiscing was interrupted by a high pitched screech from the front of the cafe. When you followed the sound your eyes landed upon a distressed toddler, about three years old if you to guess, who was pouting up at a tall, gorgeous woman that was apologizing profusely to Olive for her son’s outbreak. You wouldn’t have looked twice at the scene if it wasn’t for the way Olive’s troubled expression and wide eyes were directed precisely on you.

The child was screaming through his cries “I want daddy’s muffin!” His face was red and blotchy from tears and the cold weather but didn’t completely overtake his creamy skin tone that complimented his familiar blue eyes. He was an adorable kid, a full head of blonde ringlets and chubby cheeks that you were sure turned a light pink when he smiled.

He kind of reminded you of Luke. When the thought entered your head you were quick to dismiss it though, because if you were being honest most things reminded you of Luke.

“I’m so sorry about this. He isn’t normally so loud, it’s just that my husband loves these muffins and he promised Sammy one.” you heard the gorgeous woman say.

“It’s fine, the cranberry orange muffin is a big hit around here. They sell out almost everyday.” Olive responded, her eyes unbreaking from yours.

“Yea that’s what Luke always tells me.”

Five years ago - December 14th

The walk to the café felt longer than it typically did and you had no idea why, for some reason you didn’t notice that Luke was dragging his feet. Maybe it was because you were sure that this impromptu breakfast date was to tell you of the surprise Christmas trip to Australia. Maybe it was because any amount of extra time you got to spend holding Luke’s hand in your own you considered a gift.

When you finally arrived you were quick to usher him to your favorite table, one that was secluded in the corner, enough to have a bit of privacy but also allowed you to people watch on slow days and have telepathic conversations with Olive from across the room.

You noticed that Luke wasn’t eating after a few minutes, his muffin half sat untouched in front of him and his nervous demeanor was driving you crazy.

“I have to admit something.” you finally said, tired of the silence.

Luke nodded for you to continue but refused to meet your eyes as you spoke.

“I know about Australia, I found the tickets in your drawer so if that’s what you're so nervous about, there’s no need. Of course I’ll go with you, you have no idea how excited I am to meet your mom, she can finally show me all those baby pictures that she’s always telling me about.” you were so busy picturing your potential trip to Luke’s hometown that you didn’t notice Luke’s teared up eyes and anxious tapping.

“Y/n, the tickets aren’t for-” he cut himself off before the approaching crack in his voice could prevail. “I met someone.”

“Okay?”

You didn’t even know what that meant, he met someone? You met people all the time, what does that have to do with the trip? You lifted your mug to take a sip while you waited for him to continue.

“I mean I-I have feelings for someone, uh someone else.”

You didn’t even feel your grip release, you didn’t hear the shattering noise, you didn’t feel the scorching liquid seep through your top onto your skin.

Luke was leaving you. He fell in love with someone else. It was serious enough that he was bringing her home. Luke was leaving you. Luke was leaving you. Luke was leaving you.

“I don’t understand.” The crying had already begun, and although it didn’t surprise Luke he couldn’t bear to watch it. He stared at the spilled tea and shards of glass. The entire cafe’s eyes were on you and you didn’t even notice all you could see was that Luke’s weren’t.

“Look at me.” you pleaded. There was a time when he would’ve seen your face, seen how distressed you were and gone back on everything solely because it hurt him too much to see you hurt.

When did that stop? Why hadn’t you noticed?

“I love you y/n, really I do. But I love her too.”

“You love her more.” you didn’t even try to phrase it as a question, there was no point, you already knew the answer. He must’ve loved her more because he was leaving you for her. Luke was leaving you.

Your acknowledgement of his feelings didn’t make it hurt any less when he didn’t deny it. Luke was leaving you.

You sat in silence for at least five minutes, it felt like years. Luke watched you cry, fighting the urge to wrap you in his arms, and sway you back and forth until you stopped. He wouldn’t do that because it was selfish, it would ease his troubles more than yours, he deserved to see how his hurtful actions affected the one he swore to shield from any and all pain.

“I’ll have everything out of the apartment by the end of the week.”

The end of the week? You had planned on spending the rest of your life with him and he was telling you that he would essentially be out of your life by the end of the week. Luke was leaving you. None of it felt real.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I love you.”

Watching him leave felt surreal, you couldn’t hear anything but your blood pumping, you hardly took any notice when Olive rushed to your table and pulled you into her embrace.

Luke left you.

Current time - December 14th

You could feel his presence as soon as he stumbled out of the bathroom.

How could you have missed him coming in?

You dragged your eyes up his body from his feet, and when they fell upon his face it was like someone had pressed play after fast forwarding through the years that had been taken from you. You weren’t 23 anymore, and Luke certainly wasn’t either. He’d always had a strong build, but he held himself differently now. He was confident and collected, very sure of himself. He had a bit of scruff lining his jaw but you could tell it was well kept and intentional and a pair of black rimmed glasses sat on the bridge of his nose. You reacquainted yourself with his appearance from your spot in the corner.

With each subtle change you catalogued in your brain, vivid images danced through your head, like a kaleidoscope of what could’ve been. You saw lazy Sunday mornings on the couch leisurely sipping coffee, the open windows next to you bringing in a sweet breeze making the house smell like fresh grass after it rains. You saw yourself pushing a stroller through a park, Luke chasing behind one of your little ones just a few feet ahead. You saw roadtrips, vacations, theme parks, crowded family dinners, trick or treating, white gowns, and wedding cakes. You saw binkies, and bottles, tangled sheets, ruffled hair, pecks on the forehead, lunch boxes, and I love you notes.

The last scene you saw, one that felt so real you could’ve sworn you were really there, started with Luke sitting on the floor surrounded in wrapping paper a toddler curled up in his lap. He wore flannel pajama pants and a ratty shirt he had purchased at the concert you went to for your third date. He took sips from his mug of lukewarm coffee every so often, and you were sure if you got close enough you’d be able to smell it on his breath, not that you would mind. His curls were grown out more than he typically liked them, they were messy from sleep and obstructing his vision slightly. Just as you reached out to brush them from his forehead, it was like you had been thrown backwards by a force strong enough to make your stomach drop.

Reality.

You could still see Luke from where you stood but he was so far away now. You reached your hand out again, gasping in shock when it hit a sheet of glass, you knocked against it firmly but nothing happened. It was like a window where you watched the scene unfold. A woman you had been in the same position as not seconds ago stood up and revealed her face. It was his wife, she handed Luke a small gift bag and waited patiently as he opened it. He acknowledged the gift, a framed photo of the two of them and leaned forward to press a thank you kiss to her lips.

“Stop!” you called.

No one can hear you.

“Luke, I’m right here.” you yelled, slamming an open hand to the glass.

Hot tears fell from your cheeks as you continued to knock and shout.

“Lu, please.”

As he pulled away from the kiss a grin plastered his face. And it hit you, he was happy. He really was happy.

Realization of the thing you dreaded the most in the world happened quickly, but not painlessly. Luke’s eyes flicked to your own, he saw you through the window. He saw you calling for him, crying for him, begging for him. He saw you and then he looked away.

And reality snapped you back yet again, right into the present moment. You were in your café, staring at your empty mug, your face felt hot and wet. When had you started to cry? You reached a shaky hand out for a napkin to wipe your tears, but ended up knocking the mini poinsettia pot in front of you over instead. A crash echoed through the café and everyone turned their attention to you and your frantic demeanor. Everyone, even Luke.

You forced your eyes up from the glass that sat shattered on the white tablecloth with slow movements and shallow breaths until they finally found the culprit, the reason for your pain. You could see right through the light blue of his eyes, shock and bittersweet nostalgia pooled in the cerulean waves.

Just like you were suddenly 29 and hurt when you saw Luke. He was suddenly 20 and enamored when he saw you.

He physically winced while taking notice of the black streaks that cascaded down your cheeks. It reminded him of leaving you. It was all his fault.

He met your gaze with a desperate one of his own, silently praying that you could still read him well enough to understand.

His eyes released unspoken declarations with every slow blink.

I can’t believe I’m seeing you. I miss you. I still love you. I’ll always love you.

You can’t be here right now. I’m with my family. I’m happy now. I’m happy without you.

Every silent, stabbing confession all summed up into one that you had been afraid of for the entire eight years that Luke Hemmings had stolen from you.

I love you, but somehow that stopped being enough.

The place was silent. All eyes on you.

“I’m so sorry.”

You weren’t quite sure who you were apologizing to or what for, it could’ve been to Olive for making yet another mess that she would end up cleaning. It could’ve been to all the customers you disrupted when you broke the flower pot. Or Luke’s son who you had stolen a muffin from. Or maybe his wife, that you had been demonizing in your head for years, seeing her only as the woman who stole the love of your life. It could’ve been to Luke, you were sorry you hadn’t taken him seriously, he was in love and he had a family and you were still waiting around for the day he decided to come back for you. The day that would never come.

Deep down though, you knew you were saying it to yourself. Eight years is a long time, you had stopped living for yourself a long time ago. You did miss Luke, of course you did but maybe part of the hole in your chest that you had been so desperately trying to fill, was yourself. You really missed you. You without Luke. How could you have forgotten about her?

“I have to go.” this time you knew exactly who you were talking to and as your feet carried you to the door you didn’t even contemplate turning around when Luke’s voice broke through the silence of the café to say,

“Y/n, wait!”

You kept walking, past the stunned patrons, past Olive, past Luke. You kept walking until you were sure that no one would catch up. You just kept walking because after all this time you were so done waiting.

#luke hemmings one shot #luke hemmings imagine #5sos imagine #5sos one shot #5sos imagines #luke 5sos #5sos one shots #luke hemmings fluff #luke hemmings #luke hemmings imagines #luke hemmings blurb #luke hemmings drabble #luke hemmings one shots #luke hemmings x reader #luke hemmings x y/n #luke hemmings x fem!reader #luke hemmings angst #luke hemmings au

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imagine-loki · 3 years

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What About Trust, Chapter 1

TITLE: What About Trust CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 1 AUTHOR: fanficshiddles ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki owns a bookshop on Midgard. He had to do something there to try and avoid getting any attention. But he’s not fond of having customers, is rather grumpy and guarded. But then he meets a bright, bubbly and trusting young woman who doesn’t recognise him. To his dismay, he finds himself becoming rather fond of the mortal. RATING: M NOTES/WARNINGS: Fluff ahoy in this fic! Lots of fluff.

Cleo was just strolling along the streets in the Northern Quarter of Manchester. It was her favourite place to be and since she had a day off, she was going to make the most of it.

As she worked in an independent record shop on Oxford street, she knew the importance of supporting small local businesses instead of the larger ones. And there was plenty of quirky shops in the area, including other record shops.

But suddenly the heavens decided to open and started dumping a load of rain on top of her.

‘Shit, shit, shit!’ She had forgotten to take an umbrella. And her jacket wasn’t exactly waterproof either.

She pulled her jacket up over her head in an attempt to try and at least keep her hair from getting utterly soaked and she sprinted along the street. Then she ducked into a small doorway that had a small overhang, enough to save her from the sudden downpour anyway.

Sighing, she looked round to see what she was outside of. Her eyebrows shot upwards when she saw it was a bookshop. It didn’t look very brightly lit inside, but there was a very small sign that said open.

Unable to resist looking around a bookshop, she pushed the door open and stepped inside. There was a small bell above the door that announced her arrival. But the shop was empty, aside from books.

‘Oh wow.’ She gasped as she looked around, it was quite a small place but the owner had managed to stack hundreds and hundreds of books in, with really tall shelves on every wall and a few aisles on front of her.

There was a beautiful wooden spiral staircase just off the centre of the shop, leading to an upper floor that came out halfway, where she saw even more books.

A lit fireplace was to the left of her, in a space amongst the book shelves. It kept the place cosy and was one of the few light sources in the shop. As well as a large lamp to her right.

Cleo breathed in deeply, revelling in the book smell that surrounded her.

How she had never noticed this place before was beyond her. Considering she frequented the area all the time, pretty much every week. But she decided she was certainly going to make up for lost time now.

‘Hello?’ She called out, wondering if there was even anyone here manning the place.

There was no response. But she didn’t notice the green eyes watching her from the back corner, hidden in the shadows.

Not caring much, she started to the right and looked at some of the book titles. She felt giddy when she realised this was no normal bookshop, these were rare books. Some were foreign, a language she didn’t even recognise. But some of the books were decorated in beautiful and intricate patterns, capturing her attention.

She pulled a few books out from the shelves and went to the fireplace, where it was warmest. There was a lone green arm chair on front of it, she took a seat with the books on her lap and she started looking through the first one.

It was a William Shakespeare play that was said to have been lost many years ago, she couldn’t actually believe it was in her hands as she carefully turned the pages.

‘What are you doing?’ Came a rather cold voice from beside her.

She jumped, having not heard anyone approach. When she looked round, her eyes widened when she saw a really tall man… A really tall and rather handsome man, at that. With long black hair, nice cheekbones. He was wearing a dark green shirt and leather trousers with boots. He didn’t look like an ordinary book shop owner, but who was she to judge?

He had his arms folded across his chest and didn’t look overly pleased at her presence.

‘Oh, sorry. I did shout when I came in but no one answered… I’m reading, that’s not illegal, is it?’ She smirked up at him.

‘No, it is not.’ He drawled. ‘But this is not a library.’

‘I can see that. It’s way better than a library.’

Loki had no idea why this mortal was in his shop, reading a book and sitting on his chair. Sure, it was a book shop, but barely anyone ever came in. Never mind stayed for this long.

‘Are you going to buy that book or just put your grubby hands all over it?’ He grumbled.

Cleo narrowed her eyes at him. ‘You’re not very friendly for a shop owner. No, I am not going to be buying it, I suspect this would be well out of my price range. Do you not like to share with a fellow book lover? I was going to leave some money on my way out, I know it can be difficult for small businesses to keep afloat.’

Loki was a little surprised at her answer. And the fact she was still there, sitting on his chair. Normally when a mortal came in and stayed to look through his books, they soon scarpered when he made his presence known. Either because they recognised him, or were just put off by his coldness towards them.

‘Fine. Whatever. Just… don’t rip any of my books.’ He huffed and walked away again, leaving her to it.

Cleo was rather confused at what the hell had just happened.

‘Wait.’ She carefully placed the books down on the small coffee table on front of her and rushed after him to the back of the shop. ‘What’s your name? I’m guessing you are the owner?’

Loki rolled his eyes before turning around to face her. ‘I am… My name is Luke.’

‘Nice to meet you, Luke. I’m Cleo.’ She put her hand out towards him. He eyed her suspiciously for a moment, then shook her hand when he decided she didn’t seem much of a threat.

‘I’ve never seen your shop before, it’s quite hidden. But it’s incredible. I can actually see why you wouldn’t want it to get too busy, it would ruin the atmosphere. But it’s quite the wee gem.’ She said as she looked around, still taking it all in.

‘Thank you… You’re not from here, are you?’ He quirked an eyebrow up.

‘Nope. I’m from Inverness, but I’ve lived here for the past eight months. Much more exciting than back home.’ She smiled.

Loki nodded once. ‘Well, I shall leave you to your reading… If there areany books you’re interested in buying, let me know.’

Cleo’s face brightened. ‘I will, thanks.’

She watched as Loki disappeared through a door at the very back of the shop, it said staff only on it. She shrugged the encounter off and went back to the few books she had taken out to look at. After flicking through them, she carefully placed them back in their place and went upstairs to look some more.

As she carefully pulled a book out from its shelf, she nearly jumped out of her skin when Loki suddenly spoke next to her.

‘Are you still here?’

She held the book she had in her hands close to her chest in fright, her heart was racing but soon calmed down when she realised it was just the owner.

‘Jesus Christ. Do you always sneak up on your customers?’

‘Are you always so jumpy?’ Loki countered, raising an eyebrow. A ghost of a smirk on his lips.

Cleo rolled her eyes and looked down at the book in her hands. ‘How did you even get hold of most these? They’re so rare and expensive.’

‘You could say I’ve travelled a lot.’ Loki said as he started walking down the aisle, she followed him, curious.

‘Really? That’s cool. I’ve never been out of the UK before. But I would love to visit some countries like Iceland, Finland and Norway, for the culture and history. Those places fascinate me.’ Cleo rambled a bit.

Loki suddenly turned on his heels, going back right past her. Cleo was a little stunned but turned and followed him again.

‘How long have you had the shop?’ She asked as Loki stopped and started skimming through the shelves, looking for something.

‘A year.’ He said simply as his long fingers tapped gently along the spines of the books on the upper shelf.

‘I can’t believe I’ve only just found it. I’ve been living in the city for the last eight months, I’m around this area every week.’ She said as Loki plucked a book out, he briefly turned his back to her so she didn’t see the slight shimmer of green that surrounded the book before he quickly turned around to face her, holding the book out towards her.

‘What’s this?’ She asked, tucking the other book under her arm.

‘Nordic tales. Since you seem interested in the Nordic countries, perhaps you might find that of interest.’ Loki hummed.

Cleo’s eyes widened as she looked at the book. She looked up at Loki in disbelief. ‘I’ve been looking for an English edition of this for… years! I didn’t think one existed. I thought I was going to have to give in and google translate every single word.’

Loki scoffed. ‘Google translate is not reliable at all, believe me.’ He turned on his heels again and started heading back towards the stairs.

Cleo was too busy looking at the blurb of the book, by the time she looked up Loki was back downstairs. She hurried after him, putting the other book back in its rightful place first.

As she was rushing down the stairs, she held the Nordic Tales book out. ‘How much is this? Please, God. Let it be within my budget!’ She said as she rushed over to him by the fireplace.

Loki folded his arms over his chest and sighed, narrowing his eyes at her for a moment. Then he smiled, just a little bit. ‘Call it a gift, for a fellow book lover.’

Cleo’s mouth opened wide in shock. ‘What? Seriously? But the originals are like at least fifty quid anyway. This English version must be worth a shit load more than’

‘Do you want the book or not?’ Loki interrupted.

She nodded sheepishly. ‘I do…’

‘Well then, like I said. Consider it a gift. Before I change my mind and decide to charge you triple what it’s actually worth.’

Cleo grinned and slipped the book safely into her handbag. ‘Maybe I did get you wrong, you’re an alright shop owner.’

Loki chuckled. ‘What is it they say? Don’t judge a book by its cover.’

‘Never a truer word spoken.’ Cleo agreed. ‘Well, it was really nice meeting you. Thank you so much for the book, I really appreciate it. I’ll be back before you know it, I want to read that Shakespeare play through properly.’ She said as she started to head towards the door.

‘I look forward to your return.’ Loki said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Cleo turned back to face him and grinned widely. ‘Ohh, I bet you do.’ She laughed.

As Cleo left the shop, Loki shook his head. But he smiled.

‘What a curious mortal.’

#Loki #Lover #Submitted fic #What About Trust #chapter 1 #fanficshiddles

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rodr1cks · 3 years

Note

hi !! i love your works sm !! i was wondering if you could do a devon bostick x reader where they met on the set of diary of a wimpy kid and they’re now like engaged ? just something surrounding that. thank you sm !!

this is shit i’m sorry i’m so tired

You were just an extra, nothing overly important. You had accepted the role anyway, knowing it would look good on paper. Although, you were completely unfamiliar with the films.

Plus the previous two movies were box office hits.

When the producers showed you your costume, you were… apprehensive. It was a relatively small bikini. The fact you’d be in a swimsuit never crossed your mind, despite knowing you’d be featured in a pool scene.

The director instructed you to exude a relaxed and luxurious attitude, it was the country club, after all.

You were in your lounging chair, the sun beaming down onto your exposed flesh.

Alright, cool, calm, luxurious, I got this.

Then you saw him. He was tall, had chocolate locks that fell haphazardly over his pale skin, and was clad in charcoal swim shorts. You studied that expanse of his chest and all it’s ridges and curves, nearly drooling.

Your composure flew out the window. Your palms were sweating and your eyes were blown wide. You were enamoured with this man, whoever he was.

Shooting your scenes only took about half of the day. You retired from the set, finding your way over to the craft services tent.

Mindlessly, you picked at the spread, grazing on some grapes here and there. You weren’t paying much attention to the food, it was more so an excuse to remain on set and observe the dark headed boy.

Apparently, you’d lost track of time. The sun was beginning to set over the stucco walls surrounding the glistening pool.

The following events happened quickly. The actor you’d been admiring was sauntering over to the tent that stood over you and was in front of you within seconds.

“You did a great job uh… sitting today.” The man said while grabbing fistfuls of pastries and candies from the table. Stuttering, you managed a response. “Yeah, u-uh, you did really great, too.”

He raised his eyebrows, “Well you would know, saw you staring the whole day.” He garbled through a mouth full of food. His gaze was unfaltering, still focused on the array of treats displayed in front of him. Your cheeks ignited, warmth attacking your skin.

Again, words escaped you. Your eyes widened with shock from his extremely blunt comment.

“I didn’t mind, don’t worry. Had it been Mr. Clean over there,” he gestured to his bald scene partner, “it would’ve been an issue. You let out a small giggle, impressed with his wit.

“Oh that would’ve been terrifying,” you quipped back. His playful banter was easing your nerves.

“I’m Devon, want a pastry?” He stuck out a raspberry danish. You shrugged, accepting the baked good from his hands.

“I’m y/n.”

From there, Devon invited you out on coffee dates, showed you his favorite book shops around the city, and most importantly, made you watch the Diary of a Wimpy Kid movies with him. He also introduced you to some more seasoned cinema over time. And at some point, he grew to love you.

This all led you to where you are now, leaning on his chest in front of the fireplace. A blanket is draped lazily around the two of you, the cracking fire calming you while you snuggle deeper into his arms. You sleepily admire the ring he gave you just weeks prior, signifying your engagement.

The ring wasn’t just a normal diamond, he knew that wasn’t your taste. It was a smoke diamond, shades of grey and black clouding the outer corners of the stone. The diamond was encapsulated by a gold band, lined with smaller black gems. It was beautiful.

Devon brought a hand up, languidly stroking your hair. He smoothed a kiss onto your temple, relaxing back into the couch.

“I love you, y/n.”

ring inspo

#rodrick fanfiction #rodrick heffley headcannon #rodrick heffley #rodrick x reader #diary of a wimpy kid #devon bostick

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talsiaa · 3 years

Text

Tattoo Shop AU - wolfstar

*not my art but it’s stunning <33 it’s by @savysami !*

Pairing: Sirius Black x Remus Lupin (I love wolfstar sm)

Summary: Sirius owns a tattoo parlour. Wolfstar fluff ensues. Also, they’re not wizards and Remus isn’t a werewolf :)

Warnings: tattoo stuff -needles, blood, pain.

Word Count: 1420

A/N: This is apart of @band--psycho ‘s bingo challenge, I’m so excited to be apart of it :)) Disclaimer though, never once have I ever been into a tattoo parlour so this is what I assume happens but I could be wrong so read it with a pinch of salt if you actually know about tattoos. Hope you all enjoy <3

The soft glows of sunset brushed upon Remus’ skin, bringing out his freckles, as he paced back and forwards in front of the tattoo parlour he was booked into about 15 minutes ago. At first, he had not been phased by the idea of getting a tattoo - ever since he was a teen he thought they looked incredibly attractive and was so sure he wanted one. Now, however, as he stood reaching for the door handle for what must have been the fifth time, he was unusually nervous. What if it hurts too much? What if he hates it? What if he flinches and causes the artist to mess it up? With the many doubts running through his head, he had not yet spotted the amused-looking tattoo artist watching him through the window from the front desk. Deciding he could no longer sit and watch his 5 o’clock appointment pace in front of his shop, Sirius Black made his way outside, startling Remus as he opened the front door.

“So are you going to pace out here all night or would you like to come in?” Sirius mocked, still giving the other young man a warm smile as to not scare him off.

“S-sorry, I just, erm...well...” Remus stood like a deer in headlights at the (rather attractive) man in front of him, not really having a reason for his pacing that wouldn’t completely embarrass him.

“Don’t worry, most people who come in are nervous for their first tattoo.” Sirius reassured him, nodding his head into the parlour and holding the door open for Remus who very uncertainly took the hint to go inside.

The parlour was unexpectedly cosy - a small fireplace opposite the front desk making the art-covered walls glow orange. Pictures of past work hung above the desk and Remus couldn’t help thinking how beautifully talented you must be to be able to do any of it.

“I’m Sirius, by the way.” Sirius walked past Remus, towards a crooked spiral stair case in the corner of the room. Remus supposed he should follow.

“I’m Remus. Sorry, I am quite late.” Remus with his six-foot-something frame struggled to fit in the passageway at the top of the stairs, ducking his head when he went under a light.

“Oh, it’s okay. You’re my last appointment and anyway,” Sirius now turned around to smile at Remus once again, walking backwards through a door that let to a tiny break room. “I enjoyed watching you pace, it was cute,”

“Oh, er, you saw the full fifteen minutes, huh?” Remus decided to chuckle instead of just combusting with regret, scratching at the back of his neck. Sirius hummed in response, flicking a kettle on.

“It’s okay, though, honestly. Loads of people get nervous coming in for their first tattoo...” the reassuring speech Sirius started was muted in Remus’ mind as he finally got to look properly at the artist.

Sirius Black was covered with tattoos. Tiny doodles peppered his skin, filling the space between some of his bigger pieces. On his forearm Remus noticed a constellation, although half of it was covered by the white shirt arms he had rolled up and untidily buttoned halfway up his arm. His skinny jeans didn’t quite go with the rather smart looking shirt, but once again Remus’ mind was racing because wow, Sirius Black was hot.

“So yeah,” Remus tuned back into Sirius’ words, both of them sitting round a small coffee table in the middle of the room on battered leather armchairs. “Drink your tea and we’ll talk about what you actually want tattooed. I’ll draw some designs and you can pick your favourite - oh, you don’t take sugar, do you?” Sirius asked just as Remus put his mug to his lips and shook his head. “I’ll answer any questions you have too, it might make you less nervous?”

Remus gave a small, grateful smile at this and murmured a thank you, placing his mug onto the table while Sirius opened his sketch book. “I actually had a few ideas, but I’m not sure which I’d like to go with. So, one of them was the phases of the moon, maybe just below my collar bone. Or, this on my bicep,”

Remus quickly took out his phone and showed a picture he’d saved a few weeks prior.

“Not the writing, though, sort of just the circle bit,”

“Alright, great. Here, might be able to choose if you can see them drawn out.” Sirius thrust the sketch pad at Remus and he took it, biting his lip in concentration. The paper showed the tattoos he wanted drawn onto a rough sketch of both body parts. “If you want both that’s okay too. Like I said, you’re my last appointment so I really don’t mind if it takes a bit longer than expected.”

“Erm, can we do the moon phases one today and the other one another time? I’d hate to keep you late.” In reality, Remus wasn’t sure he’d stay 100% conscious if he got both done one after the other. He had just a little fear of needles. Sirius could definitely sense this was the real reason but didn’t push it.

“Definitely. Come on, we’ll go into the studio.” Remus followed him back out of the room and into the tiny corridor again but luckily went straight next door. In this room, everything was sleek and clean and smelled like disinfectant. A black couch stood against the wall, facing the tattoo chair. Drawers and plastic boxes of various equipment were organised about the room.

“Jump on the chair and pop your shirt off,” Sirius flicked the lamp attached to the chair on and sauntered across the room to get the tattoo gun, ink and disinfectant.

Pulling his David Bowie tshirt over his head, Remus started feeling even more shaky and nervous. A pit was starting to form in his stomach and he didn’t like it one bit.

“Nothing to worry about, okay? You’re perfectly safe, I promise.” Sirius had made his way back to sit on a stool next to Remus with everything he needed sprawled out next to him. His voice low and soothing, making Remus suppose that even if he was in an unbearable amount of pain in the next five minutes, at least he’d have a really attractive man telling him it’s okay in the most enchanting way he’d ever heard. “If you need me to stop for a few moments just tell me. Afterwards I’ll get you a lolly if you’re a really brave boy, yeah?”

Although mocking, there was a quite a suggestive undertone to Sirius’ words. Remus took a deep breath and nodded while the other boy got to work, cleaning the area under his collar bone. The tattoo gun then graced his soft skin, making him wince and screw his eyes shut, tensing up a little.

“Just try and relax for me, Remus. You’re doing great, it’ll be over in a minute.” Sirius’ soothing words caused Remus to relax into the chair a little, the pain becoming a little duller as blood prickled to the surface of his skin, making it numb.

After not long at all, the pain stopped and was replaced by an ache instead. Looking down, a perfect depiction of the moon phases was etched into his collar bone and he immediately loved it, even if it was reddened at the present.

“There we go, all done. See, that wasn’t too bad was it?” Sirius started cleaning the gun, putting various bits back where they came from and helping Remus out of the chair. “You good?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m alright. I really like it, thank you!” Remus was grinning at him, and Sirius couldn’t help but grin back.

Another five minutes and Remus had had his tattoo carefully wrapped up and was at the counter downstairs again, being given instructions on how to look after his tattoo until it heals.

“That’s a pack of all the stuff you’re gonna need to keep it from getting infected and swollen.” Remus was handed a plastic toiletries bag of different lotions and anti-bac stuff. “As promised, a lolly for being brave,” Sirius smirked as he handed Remus a strawberry flavoured lolly. “And, er, this is my number.” A small piece of paper with small digits was also handed over.

“In case I have any problems with it?”

“Yeah, I suppose that too. But also,” Sirius leaned in over the desk separating them, his smirk only growing. “In case you wanna text me so I can ask you on a date.”

Remus had never blushed so hard.

#band--pyschos bingo challenge 2021 #wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #sirius x remus #gay #fanfic #fanfiction #marauders #au #tattoo shop AU #harry potter #tattoos #harry potter au

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wendimydarling · 3 years

Text

Cover the Mirrors

Summary: Amber is earning a masters degree in mythology and folklore; when a handsome stranger sweeps her off her feet, she’s left wondering how, and struggles to keep up with his lifestyle.

Pairing: Vampire!August Walker x OFC (first person reader)

Word Count: 6826

Warnings: Alright, we ready to get into the menu of delights we will be reading today? Okay but seriously, if you are triggered by anything on this list, it is your responsibility to not read this work of fiction. The warnings are as follows: manipulation, subtle exhibitionism, fingering, penetrative sex, mention of oral (male receiving), biting, clawing, choking, blood, male violence, gore, non-con, rape, spitting, fear play, primal play, breeding, mention of death, torture, and potentially cannibalism, if you squint.

A/N: Okay so this story is based off of this thread where @killjoy-assbutt-1112 gave me a fic title, but I added another twist to it that I’d been brewing for months; I was excited about it but now I’m not. Whatever, I’ll give it to you anyway. Sources for my vampire lore came from here and here. Cover art was made by me; August was drawn by the amazingly talented @cheyentjj and has been used with her permission. Thank you so much to everyone who brainstormed with me, and a special thanks to @agniavateira for betaing!

“If you look at the Slavic region, vampire folklore runs rampant. One especially interesting specimen is the Pijavica. The Pijavica (translated “leech”, or “drinker”) was a rare species of vampire— traditionally male, and a powerfully strong, cold-blooded killer. The potential for conception is most commonly believed to be through the incest of the deceased with his mother during his life, though some believe that one can be created through the exceptionally malicious and evil acts of the deceased before his death.

The birth of a Pijavica is attributed to many different causes, including suffering an “unnatural” or untimely death such as suicide, excommunication, improper burial rituals, or even simple causes such as an animal jumping or bird flying over either the corpse or the empty grave, being conceived on certain days, or being born with a caul, teeth, or tail.”

I paused my typing, fingers leaving the keyboard in order to brush loose strands of hair from my face. Around me, the baristas of my favorite coffee shop were buzzing like worker bees in an old hive; they were gearing up for the lunch rush, and I realized I’d been here four hours already.

This place had long been my go-to study zone. It was small; there was just enough hustle and bustle to keep me from descending too deep into the abyss of studying and yet, it had the respect of the patrons that a library does. The owner, Fred, made sure that conversations were kept in hushed tones, courteous to those of us who needed to work in noise instead of quiet.

“If ya wanna be loud, go sit at a Starbucks!” He’d huff at those who didn’t heed his warning.

My eyes took in the familiar surroundings as I stretched. An oversized wood-burning fireplace filled the wall next to the vintage cash register; it was sandwiched between two built-in bookcases housing stories of all kinds that were meant to be read and enjoyed. The old stone clackling ran all the way up the wall, and a custom mantle made from an old oak tree that had fallen in Fred’s backyard sat delicately above the firebox. Yes, this shop was magical. It held a special place in my heart, and I’d visited so often that old Fred had deemed the table I sat at as “my table”. It was always kept reserved for me.

I reached for my coffee without looking; my brain needed more caffeine. I’d spent months on this master thesis, and yet for some reason, the notion of vampires was such a struggle. I didn’t understand the fear of those who lived back then. The origins of bloodsuckers were chaotic, the “treatments” laughable and still, people were willing to kill their own offspring over such nonsensical superstitions. Cold drops of stale roast hit my lips in a harsh reminder that I’d finished my previous dose. I sighed heavily and dropped the cup to the wooden surface of my table. Eyes closed, I laced my fingers around my neck and drew my elbows together to stretch my spine. Coffee. I need more coffee.

“Having trouble?”

A man’s baritone, smooth as whiskey interrupted my thoughts. My body jolted at his leisurely tone, and I nearly tumbled off the chair as my eyes snapped open to view the intruder. Sitting across from me was anything but a man; I was in the presence of divine artistry, two breathtaking orbs of gray-washed sky centered below auburn curls that adorned his perfectly symmetrical face. A sharp nose pointed to his strong jaw, while an amused smirk tugged at the corner of lips that I’m certain could send even a nun to her bedroom for self-maintenance. He wore a crisp, pinstripe suit, the buttons of his dress shirt undone sinfully low, revealing a smattering of additional curls.

My oversized turtleneck sweater and leggings suddenly felt subpar.

“The name’s Walker,” he mused further, gesturing a large hand toward the empty paper tumbler that was now lying on its side. “What were you drinking?”

“I--I um,” I fumbled with my words, embarrassed by my sudden inability to form a proper sentence. “I had a flat white? With two extra shots of espresso.”

The man named Walker had the cup in his hand and was out of his chair before I could blink; he was already ordering another coffee by the time I managed to process his intentions. I watched him hand the barista a bill I couldn’t see, but by the shocked expression on her face at the man’s declination of the change, it must have been a sizable amount. He sat down at the table again and stared at my chest unabashedly, making it clear he wasn’t just looking but imagining as well.

I should have been offended or felt objectified, but instead I felt drawn into his gaze.

“Having trouble?” He asked again, gesturing this time at my laptop.

“How long were you sitting there?” I blurted out, still too flummoxed to answer his question. Walker laughed and I swear, time stood still. Never in my life had I heard something so beautiful.

“Long enough.”

His reply was short and cryptic, a dismissal of my burgeoning curiosity. The barista chose that moment to bring two orders of coffee to the table, offering both of them to Walker by mistake. I took in her awestruck countenance, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that if my face matched hers I’d sink to the floor and die of shame. That notion shook me from my stupor and I was finally able to address his question.

“It’s my master thesis,” I explained, taking a sip of the scalding liquid he handed me. “I’m a History major, with an emphasis in mythology and folklore.”

I took another sip and tapped my phone, large numbers greeting me on the screen. Numbers that told me I was extremely late.

“Oh my god I have to go, I’m so sorry!” I apologized, scrambling to pack my things. In my haste I knocked my drink off the table. Resignation sunk in deep, submission to the knowledge of further humiliation at the impending spill. None came however, as Walker caught the drink in his hand before it crashed to the dark tiles.

“Thank you,” I murmured, gawking at him in bewilderment. Who was this man?

“It’s my pleasure,” he said, standing to help me collect the remainder of my books. “I’m interested in your thesis, could we perhaps discuss it over dinner? I don’t want to keep you from your next engagement.”

“I—” I stared at him, his face open and inviting. I’d been asked out before, but never this abruptly, and never by someone who looked and behaved like him. It sounded like an adventure…or a good story to tell on girls’ night at least.

“You know what, sure. Why not?”

I scribbled my number onto a napkin and slid it his way, grabbing the rest of my gear and heading toward the door. As I pushed against the hard metal, Walker’s large fingers caught my wrist, wrapping around it like ivy wraps around a lamppost. They were cool to the touch and yet somehow, my entire body immediately felt heated.

“We forgot first names,” he chuckled, “I’m August.”

I grinned sheepishly, pulling my arm from his surprisingly firm grip. The clank of the metal door handle resonated with the introduction I threw over my shoulder as I left the warmth of the shop and the handsome man behind.

“Amber.”

It took August a full week to call me. I felt like a fool; Did I leave on a poor note? Had I offended him somehow? Did he simply decide to change his fucking mind? I was kicking myself for saying yes; how could I have agreed to go on a date with a complete stranger? Now that I was no longer in his flustering presence, I began to see reason again. I knew nothing more than this man’s name, and the fact that he was more than likely rich. He could be a cold-blooded killer for all I knew, and I had every intention of telling him off.

I was in my apartment when he called. Still stuck on my thesis, I was currently unable to determine how best to explain the theory behind the sexual appeal of vampires. In my frustration, I hung upside down over the side of my bed, reading a book that discussed the many different works of literature revolving around vampirical romanticism and hoping the blood rushing to my brain would help me ascertain how to go about my explanation. The book was written by two authors who essentially argue the whole time, one of them convinced that the human fascination with vampires stems from the cannibalistic nature of bloodsucking or that it alluded to other bodily fluids such as semen, whereas the other stood firm in his belief that it held a much simpler cause; it was nothing more than the presence of oral fixation and sadism that caused the fantasy to plant its seed.

My phone vibrated but I ignored it, too engrossed in my book to be bothered with answering. I was so close… the answer was right there, it just continued to escape me. It wasn’t until my phone vibrated a second time to notify me of a voicemail that I put the pages down and picked up the electronic device.

The moment I heard August excusing his delay in calling to a work emergency, I immediately sat up and hit redial. There was something in his voice that made my heart quicken and my pulse race; it made the hair on my arms stand on end. I regretted sitting up so fast as it rang, the blood surrounding my brain draining quickly into the rest of my body. August answered on the second ring.

“Hi, Amber.”

“I—hi.”

I rolled my eyes then flinched in pain, congratulating myself sarcastically on how pathetic that response sounded with a slap of my palm to my forehead.

“Please, allow me to apologize again for waiting so long to call,” August insisted, seemingly unphased by my lack of vocabulary. “I still intend to take you to dinner, that is if you haven’t written me off completely.”

“No it’s fine, I totally get it,” I assured him. I had completely forgotten my earlier annoyance. He had explained it after all, and it could happen to anyone.

“Perfect. I’ll send a car tonight then, at seven. Wear something revealing please, I wasn’t able to see that pretty little neck of yours last time.”

My insides shook with an unexpected pang of shocked arousal at August’s request. The sexual confidence saturating his tone had me instantly reduced to nothing more than a deep desire for him to drag me to my knees by my hair. Why I wasn’t offended by the dominantly abrupt way this man spoke to me, I’ll never know. I put on the best flirty air I could manage in my stupor.

“I think I can manage that. Might have to charge you though.”

August laughed for the second time since I’d known him and I smiled, proud that I’d caused such a melodious sound to grace this earth.

“I like your spirit; you’re gonna be fun. I’ll see you tonight.”

“I—okay bye,” I managed to say before he hung up. I stared at my phone stupidly, as though I thought he was going to call again. Instead, the large clock face glared up at me like it always does, an ever present reminder that I live on a different plane of time than the rest of the world. I fell back on the bed, thinking about the man named August.

He likes my spirit? I hadn’t really shown him much, I’d been unable to do anything but stammer and trip over my words like a schoolgirl would when confronted by the cutest jock at school. What could he possibly see in me? The woman I truly was, the one I knew was underneath the bumbling idiot finally answered me. You’ve got three hours, Amber. Show him what you’re made of.

Resolve set in, and I bounced off the bed and walked toward my closet. For whatever reason, he’d chosen me, so I was going to let my confidence in that thought override all the self-doubt that was threatening to surface. I pulled my favorite dress from the hanger and set out to work. He wanted revealing? Then revealing is what he’d get, but I was going to do it my way.

The car was punctual, though I was less so. I scrambled to put diamond studs in my ears while being driven to some unknown location, my nerves making my hands shake. Once again, the notion that I could be driving to my death crept up my spine, but I brushed it off. Rich men send cars, it’s what they do. And I am an intelligent woman, I wouldn’t let myself be put in that situation.

Would I?

Touching the final stroke of Red Wine lipstick on my lips, I pulled my loose curls over my shoulder to expose my neck and put my things in my vintage black clutch, staring out the window at the ancient building that housed the most expensive club in town. I was suddenly grateful I’d chosen such a fancy dress. I fidgeted with the soft hem of the sleeve at my wrist, drawing it back and forth between my fingers while I waited for the driver to come to a stop.

I saw August there waiting, looking sharp as ever in another expensive three-piece suit, buttons undone just as low as the first time. This time however, I felt much better matched to his attire, and my confidence rose right next to my excitement. August came down the steps to open the door and I took his hand, hiking the burgundy velvet up to my thigh so that I could exit the car smoothly. The heavy fabric dropped to the ground the moment I freed it from my grasp, allowing August to study how I’d chosen to honor his request.

August drank in my covered form, taking in the way my dress hugged my curves and accentuated what it needed to. His eyes darkened as they lingered on the single large triangular section of bare skin that started at my shoulders and came to a point between my breasts, and I watched his tongue dart out of his mouth softly. He looked downright hungry. August stepped closer, fingertips grazing the flesh on my collarbone before he fastened his grip onto my nape and inhaled the hair at my temple deeply, pressing his lips to my ear.

“You are simply mouthwatering,” he growled, low and possessive. His hand released my neck and slid down to the small of my back, sending a shiver down my spine. My insides quivered at his touch, fragrant drops of dew pooling rapidly in the flimsy lace that guarded my mound from potential intruders.

“You wanted to see my ‘pretty little neck’,” I teased his earlier arrogance, lifting my skirt to traverse the steps leading inside, “I thought I’d frame her for you, give her the spotlight.”

August cocked an eyebrow at me in amusement, sensing my challenge. His fingers dug into my hip a little harder than necessary as he guided me through the establishment with nothing more than a nod to the hostesses. Apparent jealousy marred the face of one, and I thought I saw a hint of worry on the other. We were gone before the emotion could register in my mind.

I was escorted to a private booth in the upstairs of the establishment. While the first floor was crowded and full of people, the second floor was empty; August had requested it for our use alone. I could hear the hum of nightlife below, the haunting, non-lyrical melody of a soft alto wafting over the balcony as we walked past, the whispered promise of an enchanting night. A few tables and chairs were strategically placed on the floor, hugged by back-to-back rounded booths on either wall. Light ethereal curtains hung on either side of them, offering privacy from the guests who would typically sit in the next box over. August led me to the corner booth nearest the balcony so that we could look upon the stage if we chose.

“Our table, milady,” he joked, leaving a wet kiss on the back of my hand. Though the charade was seemingly in jest, it could not have been farther from it. His piercing eyes never left mine and I gasped at the feel of his brazen tongue on my skin. The suggestion of what he could do with it hung thick in his gaze, lacing the air with the succulent first tendrils of decadent tension. Playing along, I took a sharp breath and curtsied. I stayed low as August stood to show him the appeal of my figure at this angle, tilting just my head to look up at him. He stood there, head held high like a king, and the smile I received at my display was downright sinful.

“What a treat you are,” he murmured, cupping my chin briefly. My breasts swelled as I stood, consenting August the claim to chivalry by way of settling me into the alcove. He swept my hair over my shoulder again, trailing a single finger down my neck in admiration before taking his own seat. My insides were nothing but a pile of kindling, and every touch he gave was a spark that threatened to ignite the dry leaves into a burning flame of need.

The courses came and went just like those moments, every phrase emphasized with physical intimacy of some kind, whether it be just a gossamer brush of his fingers on my ear or an intentional grasping of my hand. He went as far as to boldly stroke the back of his knuckle along my cleavage, making me dizzy with desire. Each touch was avaricious—like he owned me—and I had zero qualms about letting him.

We ate our fill, but August made no move to leave the comfort of our small corner. With the noise of people below dulled by the far reaches of our seclusion, it was easy to converse. I told him more about my master thesis and the Pijavica, how they could read minds and enjoyed the power of persuasion, how they were impervious to all but decapitation, and how only their offspring could kill them. He listened intently, sharing tales of his own career. It was how I discovered that he was a doctor.

“I don’t practice anymore though, I prefer to study and learn. Specifically, I’m attracted to tears.”

“Tears?” That struck me as odd; it wasn’t often you came across someone who had such a unique field of study. “Why tears?”

August swirled the whiskey in his glass and downed it abruptly. He subtly indicated to our attendant for another before continuing his explanation.

“I’ve always had a fascination for the small things, things that people don’t seem to think matter; the mind-body connection, you know? For example,” he brushed a thumb over my cheekbone, “Did you know that the cellular structure of tears looks different based on the type of tear?”

August cupped my neck with both of his hands, tilting my head this way and that, his calm features set in measured focus as he spoke.

“Basal, reflexive, emotional... they all look different.”

I closed my eyes, letting him caress my skin. August’s touch was intoxicating, addicting. Even his scent was an aphrodisiac to my senses. I couldn’t get enough of it, lured ever closer to his sturdy frame, letting him manipulate my body how he saw fit. He nuzzled my hair, his soft spoken words dripping with lust into my ear.

“In fact,” he went on, “Even among those categories they differ, dependent on the stimuli.”

I could feel his breath on my neck, his lips surrounding the pulsepoint in my veins as he spoke, my jaw his destination. A hand snuck under my skirt, skimming along my trembling skin toward the seeping treasure that awaited him at the end of his journey. I spread my legs willingly, inviting him into my deepest of secrets. August hummed as he went on, sending spirals of tingling vibrations through my chest.

“The sting of onions, the sadness of grief… the satisfaction of overwhelming pleasure.”

“August…” I breathed, but my voice was severed as August simultaneously laid claim to my mouth and my womb. Thick fingers penetrated me in the same moment as his probing tongue, and it was in that moment I knew I was lost; August Walker could pull everything from me and I wouldn’t care; I’d want it, need it. He had spent all night teasing me, testing me, manipulating me and filling me with nothing but a desire for more, leaving me empty and wanting. He had succeeded, I now craved him above all else in this world.

August lifted my skirts, hoisting me with little effort to straddle his lap and I cried out in shock. The sound of my sudden impalement on the thick steel of his manhood was camouflaged by the crowd of people below; no one heard the echo of carnal awakening that sang through the air. When had he undressed? I bit my lip as he sank deeper into my core until the salty bitterness of copper and iron stung my chin. August’s eyes fell to the red droplet, darkening until the only color left in his pale irises was the very absence of light. With a hideous growl he ravaged my mouth, tasting every inch of my bruised lips with the hunger of an animal that’s been caged for far too long.

Thrill and terror tangled themselves in my mind, weaving an intricate web of wanton desire inside of me as August took me right there in the booth. Time itself seemed to halt, the room disappeared. Were we still in the club? Was it still the dead of night? Did I still require oxygen to breathe? Or was my life source now August’s touch, the light in my very soul dependent upon his kiss?

I didn’t notice when we left, nor when we arrived at a house that overlooked the city. I didn’t notice the lock on the basement door, or the fresh garden in the yard. I didn’t notice the continual rising and setting of the sun. I didn’t notice when I grew hungry, nor when I grew tired. I didn’t notice, not anything but passion, need, and desperation.

I didn’t notice.

Sleep drained from my limbs slowly. I awoke to black silk caressing my skin, dim sunlight shining through the wall, diffused by a covering of clouds that hung in the sky. It confused me that it was coming through the entire wall, until I realized that said wall was simply one large window, and the room I found myself in was built into the rock of an obsidian cliff overlooking the city. The room was minimally decorated in dark tones that coordinated with the nature outside, save for a striking, golden painting of a woman crying on the far wall. I clearly wasn’t home, and last night’s events slowly returned to the forefront of my mind.

August.

August was, without a doubt, the most attentive lover I’d ever had. Memories of his lips, his scent, his god-like physique that was surely carved from marble entertained my thoughts, returning my mind to the pleasure I’d never experienced in my life. Chills ran up and down my skin, alighting in wonder as my hand drifted to my sex. My fingers found my petals, swollen from overuse, aching in the dull agony of satisfaction. I stroked them gently, soothing the pleasant tenderness, moaning softly as the blood rushed to swell my clit once more, my other hand slipping beneath the silk to join in the heavenly edging torment.

A sharp, sudden sting at the brush of my inner thigh caused me to cry out, my hands snatching away from their play. I sat up, peering beneath the sheets to discover a semi-circle of divots cut into my leg. Is that a… a bite mark? I pulled at the skin and felt the dried blood crack, a small pinprick of new red seeping through the scab. I lunged from the bed to stand in front of the full-length mirror in the corner and look for other signs or markings, but what I found made me gasp.

Bruises peppered my neck, chest, hips and thighs. A few other crescents were scattered amongst them, standing out against the dark patches that shaded my skin. I took a physical inventory then, feeling the soreness in my jaw from being stretched by his cock, the ache of my neck from having my hair pulled, the shaky feeling of muscular fatigue in my legs from being tensed by orgasm after orgasm. I thought I detected a slight sheen on my skin, but I couldn’t tell if that was from the tremulous bliss of a satisfying fuck, or if it was the sweat and oil caused by said satisfying fuck. Either way, I looked happy and content. I grabbed August’s dress shirt from the floor and threw it on as I left the room to explore.

The bedroom led to a hallway, the wall to my left still nothing but expansive glass that showed off the impressive view. On the other side were large, black and white abstract prints, hung evenly spaced against dark panels. To the left of each was a shadow box with an ornate glass vial inside; each bottle was thin, no longer than my palm and differing in design from the others. Tiny, intricate patterns were painted on the outsides in white, blue, and gold, and gold stoppers sealed each one. When I entered the main room, I discovered a curio cabinet that housed at least a hundred of them, and I leaned in to look at how varied each one was.

“Victorian tear catchers,” August’s voice was suddenly behind me and I whirled sharply, startled. He chuckled at my alarm and I laughed with him, enjoying that glorious sound.

“They’re beautiful,” I murmured, turning back to look at the delicate glass. August pulled me against his naked chest, nosing my hair and kissing my neck.

“Yes you are,” he whispered, earning an eye roll from me. August chuckled and opened the cabinet.

“Would you like one?”

“Really?”

I looked at him, stunned. He simply nodded his head in the direction of the vials and I examined them, selecting one that had a white pattern on it that looked like lace.

“Mmm, a good choice. Perhaps I can collect tears of ecstasy for you,” August whispered. The thrill of what he was implying awakened my senses, and I let him lead us slowly back toward the bedroom. I felt like teasing him, so I delayed a bit by asking about the art on the wall.

“What are those?” I pointed to the first print, a cross-hatching pattern that looked like it was made of sewing pins.

“Those are tears of grief,” he stated, stopping in front of each as he walked me gradually down the hall.

“A yawn,” he said of the next, a white background with dark, fern-looking splatters. August traced his mouth along my jaw, his hand dipping beneath the button of his shirt to play with the sensitive nipples he had rediscovered. I keened as he continued shifting us toward the kitchen, struggling to keep my composure. The next print was a much darker gray, and it looked like it was covered in snowflakes.

“Any guesses?” August asked, mouthing my earlobe in tandem with the flick of his thumbs over my hardened nubs. I whimpered, my knees weak in his lustful embrace.

“Uhm… cold air?” I rasped as he sucked on my neck. August chuckled through his nose, the vibrations of his voice rippling through my chest to connect with his teasing fingers.

“Onions.”

“Yeah okay.”

I tilted my head so that I could kiss him, but suddenly the thought of onions turned my stomach. I lurched, pulling away and gagging slightly. Instead of concern, August smiled knowingly, seemingly unbothered by my retching.

“I see morning sickness has set in. It’s a little early and I had hoped you’d be able to avoid it, but alas, that’s not the case.”

My head swam suddenly, confusion mutilating all thought. I backed away from him.

“Morning what? What are you talking about?”

August took a step toward me, placing a hand on my belly and lacing his fingers in the hair at my nape.

“Women always taste better after they’ve conceived. And I can keep them longer; they make much more blood when they’re host to a fetus.”

I pushed against him, turning away and vainly attempting to process his words. Pregnant? Taste better? Blood? My eyes focused on a card I hadn’t noticed earlier in the shadow box, a single word printed on it.

Bridgette

“Isn’t it ironic,” August mused, tracing my collarbone with a thick finger, “That five weeks ago, you had a chance encounter with the very thing you’ve been studying for months, and now you carry his child.”

The room spun. I couldn’t think; my brain refused to process the nonsense he spoke.

“Five—five weeks?! No that’s not possible, our date was last night!”

“It’s more than possible, sweet morsel. Think about it.”

Bile rose thick and acrid in my throat then, threatening to spill. Memories and time started filtering into my mind, replacing the fog with everything I’d lost. The last puzzle piece clicked into place, confusion all but disappeared and I was left with nothing but the cold, terrifying truth. Pijavica. Vampire. Monster.

I’d fallen into the clutches of a monster.

I did the only thing I could think of; I slapped him as hard as I could and took off through the house, ignoring the sharp pain of a chunk of hair remaining in his hand. My heart pounded in my chest, desperate to be free of this sudden nightmare. I slammed into the front door and grabbed the handle, a strangled sob catching in my throat when it wouldn’t open.

I rattled the door knob, panic consuming every fiber of my being. Suddenly, it wasn’t just my life I was fighting for; apparently there was a life inside of me that needed protecting. The child of a Pijavica that was depending on me to escape, so that he could come back and kill his father. I have to get out. I gave up on the door in anger, spinning around and looking for another way.

“Do you know why I chose you?”

I heard August’s voice again, but he was nowhere to be seen. His voice came louder, penetrating my mind. I have to keep moving.

“It was because of your name; they match your eyes.”

I whimpered at his words, sneaking my head around a corner to survey the living space for some form of an exit.

“Amber has a historical application, you see,” he went on, louder. I dashed over the floor, desperate to be gone from him. Door after door remained locked, and my terror grew with each attempt. Every now and then I could hear August, whether it be a rustle of fabric or the knock of his foot on the wooden floor. The scholar in me knew that it was on purpose, that he was luring his prey, giving chase to his food, and yet my rational mind refused to take charge. I was being led by my flight response, and his jarring monologue wasn’t helping.

“Throughout history, whenever a goddess cried it was typically tears of amber, save for the goddess Freya, who cried gold. You met her in the bedroom.”

His laughter echoed through the dark walls of his lair, and chilled me to my core. It was no longer a beautiful sound, but grating and horrible. I was nothing but a petty human to play with, some toy that he could eat when he tired of me. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I came to the last door. Dear God, please let this one open. To my utter relief, the door swung wide and I was met with stairs. Stairs went down, and we were on a cliff. Down was good. Down meant freedom.

I clambered down the steps and flung open the door at the bottom, stumbling into the room and falling to the floor in horror and fear. There in front of me, was nothing but mirrors. A maze of mirrors, each one showing me my trembling features, mocking me, letting me know just how fucked I was. I turned back, intending to go back up the stairs and try another way, but August’s silhouette stood at the top, preventing me from going back into the house. I heard a scream and realized it was my own.

Scrambling off the floor, I took off into the maze, blinded by my tears.

“Each of those girls made it this far you know,” August taunted. I heard the slam of the door and nearly choked as I ran. “You’ll die in this room, just like they did.”

His nonchalance, his continual unconcern about chasing me, his arrogance that he would no doubt catch me made me so angry. I raced from path to path, growing ever more frantic every time I reached a dead end. I didn’t even know if this room had an exit, I just knew I had to keep moving. I tripped over something as I rounded a corner, screaming when I saw what it was.

“I see you found Bridgette,” August chuckled, and I looked up from the skeleton to see his hideous face marred with a sinful sneer. I gasped and took off again, turning this way and that. Hitting another dead end, I doubled back and ran smack into August’s broad torso. He caught me and held me close as I screamed, ripping his shirt from my body. He spun me around, pinning my wrists between my back and his belly, trailing his fingers languidly over my naked frame in an inspection of his handiwork. My jaw was gripped in an iron vice and August forced my gaze to the mirror.

“Do you see what I see?” he mocked. I could only stare in horror, for nothing but my own terrified expression stared back at me.

August had no reflection.

“Out of all the patterns in the world, do you know which tears are my favorite?” August continued to torment. He inhaled my hair deeply, snaking his tongue along the length of my cheek, tasting the stains my tears had left in their wake.

“Fear.”

I heard August growl as I fought against him, his iron grasp caging me against his cool skin, more of the cursed moisture pooling in my eyes. Glassy drops fell, retracing a new path toward my chin but August just kissed them away, shoving me to the floor when my knees buckled of their own accord. He let go of my hands to fidget with his slacks, pulling me back toward him every time I tried to crawl away as a parent would to a petulant child. On the third attempt he snapped my knee, a scream tearing from my throat in my woeful submission to his desire.

Finally free of his clothes, August lifted my hips, lining his rigid cock up against my sweat-soaked folds. He dove into my treasure without care, forcing his way into the depths of my belly, stretching and tearing my walls until he was fully sheathed. Strong arms wrapped around me again, and I felt two sharp points prick the junction of my neck and shoulder. I cried out and thrashed in fierce protest, knowing that small pinch was just a warning of oncoming pain.

August’s teeth punctured my skin easily, shredding muscle and sinew until they hit bone. I howled in pain as I watched blood drip from the wound, a familiar crescent shape joining its brothers on my body. Searing heat shot through my neck with his first draw of thick plasma; the violent removal of blood causing an intense burn that I felt all the way down to my injured leg. August released my neck and I clapped a hand over the fresh wound.

I looked over my shoulder at him; his head was tilted down, mouth still full of my blood; the lack of a reflection behind him unsettling to my senses. August opened his wicked maw slowly, dark scarlet trickling from his lips onto the junction where my hips met his, run through by his sword. He looked up at me with a nasty grin, bloodstained fangs curdling my stomach. I closed my eyes and turned away as he swiped a hand through the mess. His fingers penetrated my core alongside his cock, deaf to my sobbing objections.

“You’d better open your eyes, pet… This needy little cunt is dripping, I’d hate for you to miss it.”

August emphasized his sick joke by grasping my hair, shoving my head to the floor, forcing me to look once more into the polished glass. My desperate wails for mercy were all that kept me grounded as I watched him thrust, my battered hole be stretched beyond capacity. Nothing but empty space plundered my core, crimson air bruising the very place within me that only just last night had been treated with such tenderness and care. Not last night. His slick fingers found my mouth and violated it effortlessly; no amount of pressure I could apply would break through his tough skin.

“God, you look so beautiful.”

August pulled me up and took to my neck with fervor, latching onto the broken sliver of skin like a leech. The more he drank, the weaker I became, until there was no resistance left within me. I could see the color drain from my bloody face, I could see black slowly creep into my vision, but I was powerless to stop it. August was in charge, he held my entire existence in his hands, and he intended to extinguish it. I closed my eyes again, accepting my fate.

I was going to die.

One of my favorite places to visit is a small outdoor cafe, very near the coffee shop where I met Amber. Mmmm. Amber. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of that tantalizing woman.

She lasted so much longer than all the others, you know. I was able to feed off of her nearly three full months as she hung there in my basement, until the last drop of her tantalizing nectar was finally extracted. She smelled of carraway and saffron, tasted of sweet mulled wine, and with the rich, heady, piquancy of her fertile womb seasoning each sinew, every inch of her opulent flesh begged to be consumed. I must admit, I should have dispatched of her sooner, but fascination overtook my curious mind as her own was consumed by insanity.

First it was freedom she asked for, and then death. Sometimes she would beg to speak to her mother one last time. But by the end, she only asked for one thing.

“Please,” she would whisper, “Please… Cover the mirrors. Just cover the mirrors.”

She asked so nicely, but how on earth could I hide such beauty? Her tears were just as rare, you see. They hold a beauty unmatched by any of the others that hang on my walls. I’ve never seen such a fear pattern like hers; it is more exquisite than the dawn of a misty spring day in the countryside, more beautiful than a woman at the height of euphoria. And they way they sparkled against her skin, lustrous tracks that wound down her temples and through her hair, glinting in the mirrors with each slow rotation of her inverted body... well, it was as if I was living among the stars. Adding her ashes to my garden was such a shame.

I sat at that little cafe, eyes closed, viewing the world through my enhanced scent. Each drop of bitter coffee, the pollen of a nearby bee, the oil in the bike chains of two clumsy humans as they rolled past; each note and fragrance alerting me to its owner. A familiar scent reached my nose and I turned my head sharply, focusing on it.

Carraway… Saffron.

I smiled softly, opening my eyes to greet the woman that now sat at my table. The honey irises that had intrigued me all those months ago met mine and I chuckled low.

“Amber.”

Read on AO3.

#august walker #august walker fanfic #august walker fan fiction #august walker fanfiction #august walker fan fic #august walker smut #vampire!august #non-con tw

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maryeve-the-bitch · 3 years

Text

Un jour de février

Fruk week 2021

Day 4: winter / spring

Words: 2,565

Summary: Domestic fruk. Old married couple vibe. The couple is visiting Matthew in Quebec city during the cold month of february.

Warning: French, so much french (Translations are at the end), and mention of sex. Not really explicit though.

Francis couldn’t wait to visit his son in february. However, he was dreading the cold and the weather he would face when they’d arrive in the city. He wasn’t used to that kind of cold anymore ergo he knew how much he would suffer through it. At least, he would be in good company and his boyfriend Arthur was coming as well.

As soon as Francis and Arthur landed in Quebec city, they traveled straight to their hotel since Mathieu would only be coming the next day and his meeting in the capital got delayed. Hopefully, Francis would enjoy a nice evening with his dear Arthur. The hotel room they picked had a cozy fireplace with a plaid fluffy blanket laid on the king bed. The decor of the room reminded Francis of a lumberjack’s cabin with deer antlers hanging down from the wall and the wood-like walls. While it wasn’t the usual style Francis would like, he did appreciate the coziness of it. He reminded himself not to let Arthur choose a hotel for them by himself again. At least, the bathroom was huge compared to what he is used to and in the middle of it, there was a bath that could easily fit 3 people in it. At the sight of the bath, Francis gave Arthur a teasing smirk as he tucked a lock of his blond hair behind his hair. Arthur rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Sure, love. Later.” Arthur agreed to his boyfriend’s silent plea.

Francis wrapped his arms around Arthur’s from behind.

“Je te promets qu’on passera un bon moment.¹” Francis whispered to his ear as he delicately bit it.

“I promise I’ll kick you in the arse if you don’t stop teasing.” Arthur said with his jaw clenched and a blush on his cheeks.

The comment made Francis chuckle and hugged his boyfriend closer.

“C’est trop facile de te taquiner."² Francis kissed Arthur’s cheek and let go of him.

Since they were both exhausted from the flight and the jetlag, they decided to go to bed early after they took a shower.

In the morning, they decided to wait for Mathieu to tell them when and where they would meet in their room after they got back from eating breakfast on the first floor. Francis looked outside the windows, contemplating the landscape from the city under the snow, as Arthur finished getting dressed and buttoned his shirt up.

“On n’a plus d’hiver comme ça par chez nous, hein?”³ Francis sighed.

“You never had winters like this before. Unless you count the ice age.” Arthur commented.

“Ouais. Du coup, c’est ben mieux que ta pluie 10 mois par année.”⁴ Francis retorted, looking back at his boyfriend.

Arthur glanced at Francis before taking his jacket from the bed and put it on.

“Tu sais que la reine vient pas aujourd’hui, hein?”⁵

“Shut your bloody mouth and get dressed, Francis.” Arthur sighed.

Francis let out a dramatic sigh as he let himself fall on the bed face first and grumbled Arthur’s name on the pillow. Arthur just rolled his eyes, ignoring his melodramatic scene as he was well too familiar with it. Francis turned around and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Peux-tu m’aider, mon amour?”⁶

“What? Help you get dressed? You’re not a child anymore.” As Arthur spoke, he received a notification from his phone that was placed on the desk and charging. He picked it up to see what it was.

“It’s Matthew. He wants to meet at the castle at noon.” Arthur paused to look at the time. “You’ve got one hour to get ready.”

“Quoi? Une heure?” Francis whined. "Ça nous donne même pas le temps de faire l'amour."⁷

"We would if you hurry the fuck up and stop whining."

Francis finally got up from the bed, not without whining even more. At the end, he did get ready in under an hour. When Francis got out of the bathroom, he paraded in front of Arthur who was sitting on the chair in front of the desk. Francis wore an open blue see-through shirt with some kind of green flower pattern on it. As for the bottom part, he wrote black trousers with the same flowery pattern.

"We're not going to a gay pub or a fashion show."

"Ah mais il faut que je sois à la hauteur de moi-même quand je sors. Je ne peux pas sortir comme si je serais un pauvre paysan. Pour qui tu me prends, putain?"⁸

"What the hell does that mean?" Arthur sighed. "You're going to wear a warm coat at least?"

Francis walked over to his suitcase and pulled out a navy blue double button wool coat and put it on.

"C'est sublime, non?”⁹ Francis turned around to show all angles of his outfit, feeling proud of it.

“Yes. You’re looking very handsome. You’re going to be cold though. Have you not brought something warmer?” Arthur put his hands on his waist.

“J’ai une écharpe qui ira bien avec. De toute façon, on restera pas trop longtemps dehors. Qui serait assez fou pour aller dehors en un temps pareil?”¹⁰ Francis replied.

“Right. Don’t say I haven’t warned you, frog face.”

Francis would probably die of humiliation if he had to wear something ugly so he’d rather die of hypothermia and being pretty than be seen wearing something hideous. The couple left their hotel room and took a cab to get to their destination. They were still a few minutes late, but nothing Arthur would mind and Mathieu was already waiting for them in front of the castle as agreed.

Upon meeting, Francis hugged Mathieu tightly since he hadn't seen him for months. Arthur greeted him politely under his giant coat that he brought to make sure he didn’t freeze to death. He wore both a winter hat and the hood of his coat with a scarf and at least 2 pairs of gloves. Since Mathieu knew both Arthur and Francis, he didn’t make a comment on how they were dressed. In his opinion, one was overdoing it and the other thought fashion was more important than warmth.

Since Mathieu was getting hungry, they went and looked for a restaurant. While Francis wasn’t hungry, he was gladly welcoming the idea of getting inside. He’s only been 2 minutes out and thought his nipples were already frozen. On their way to the restaurant, Francis tried to warm himself with his hands in his coat pockets and holding his arms close to his body, without much success.

After going down some stairs, at Francis’ displeasure, they walked down a small street that led to the restaurant. Francis remembered that street, he visited it during summer a long time ago. It changed a bit but not enough to not recognise it. He would admire the scenery if he wasn’t so goddamn cold. He just couldn't wait to get to the restaurant at last. Mathieu was explaining to Arthur the historic facts of some buildings even though Arthur already knew those facts; he just forgot. Their chatter sounded mostly background noises to Francis as his focus was mostly on his movements.

Finally, they reached the restaurant. They got seated and offered the menu to order.

“You’re awfully quiet, frog.” Arthur commented as he opened the menu. “Not complaining. That’s just unusual for you.”

Francis glared at his boyfriend. They both knew why he was quiet.

“Can you two stay civil please?” Mathieu asked. He knew his dads and their tendency to fight or argue way too well.

“Of course, lad.” Arthur replied. “I’d offer you my coat for a while, at least until you warm up, but I know too well you won’t accept it.” He continued.

“J’ai pas besoin de ta pitié. Je vais juste commander un bon café chaud et ça ira.¹¹ Francis replied.

“If you say so, love. I hope they offer good tea here.” Arthur said, dismissing Francis’s passive aggressivity.

The waitress came soon after and they all ordered their food and drinks. She took back the menus and left for the kitchen.

“You two are so different. I sometimes wonder how you are still together.” Mathieu commented.

Both Francis and Arthur looked at each other, Francis smiling lovingly.

“Cause we have great sex. That’s why.” Arthur answered Mathieu’s wonderment. He soon received a kick under the table from his partner.

“C’est vrai.”¹² Francis added.

“Please stop. I don’t want to know.” Mathieu interrupted Francis before he would add anything too explicit for him. The Frenchman chuckled while Arthur smiled. Well, at least, Mathieu succeeded to ease the situation between the two.

While they waited for their order, Francis grabbed Arthur’s hand under the table.

“Fucking hell, Francis!” Arthur exclaimed when he felt his boyfriend’s cold hand on his.

“Ah. Je suis désolé, mon amour.”¹³ Francis apologised, looking dejected.

“It’s fine. You surprised me, that’s all.” Arthur said softly as he took Francis’s hand in his.

Thankful, Francis smiled and let Arthur warm his hand. Usually, Arthur hated public displays of affection even as small as hand holding, so it overjoyed him that he accepted to do so.

They talked about Alfred the rest of the time they waited for the order. The American was quite busy at the time so he couldn't make it, but Matthew was grateful he couldn’t because he could easily bring all the attention to him. He appreciated the rare times he got alone with either of his parents. Even when Alfred wasn’t here, he got all the attention, but that was fine with Mathieu. He’d prefer that over Alfred present and talking loudly and interrupting him.

After lunch, Francis felt warmer and happier from the cup of coffee he drank and the small affection he received. His joy wouldn’t last long when Mathieu offered to walk alongside the river and the old port since they were close by. Arthur agreed to it too quickly, Francis thought.

“Et si on allait faire du shopping? Ça serait pas mal, non? Tu m’avais pas parlé d’un centre commercial avec un mini parc d'attractions à l’intérieur?”¹⁴ Francis suggested.

“Well, Matthew and I never liked shopping much and I don’t especially like theme parks either.” Arthur protested as he put his coat back on.

“Besides, there are probably too many people there already.” Mathieu added.

Francis pouted and followed the other two outside. They walked a few minutes until they reached a pedestrian path near the river. Arthur narrated the scenery with tales of the past, including Mathieu in it. Francis would normally enjoy joining in and teasing his partner, but he had troubles following them up even though they walked at a relatively normal pace. The Frenchman wished he was anywhere else other than outside in the cold. He thought of leaving them, calling a taxi and going back to the hotel on his own, but his fingers were already frozen again and he would have to look for the taxi’s number. Arthur probably had the phone number since he called one earlier. However, Francis was too prideful to ask him the number.

They walked and walked until they reached a small park in front of the train station. By that time, Francis thought his fingers were so frozen that he might lose some of them. His feet weren’t any better. Arthur and Mathieu spotted a bench and sat on it to take a break while Francis stood in front of them. At this point, Francis had his hands inside his coat pockets and the bottom half of his head hiding behind the scarf. Some of his hair locks were frozen too for some unknown reason and his cheeks and ears were red, almost turning to purple. When Mathieu sat down, he noticed how cold Francis looked.

“Es-tu correct, papa?”¹⁵ Mathieu asked him with concern.

“Ouais”¹⁶ was all Francis could be able to say through his shivering.

“Would you like to go back to the hotel, Francis?” Arthur sighed.

Francis nodded.

“You could have said so before, you dumb bitch.” Arthur added as he took his phone out to call a taxi.

The Frenchman didn’t have the energy to insult him back. Mathieu stood up and removed his jacket and offered it to his papa. He wouldn’t have taken it if he wasn’t so desperately cold and if he didn’t appreciate and enjoy gifts he received from his kids. The inside of Mathieu’s jacket was really fluffy and warm, like wearing a cloud.

When Arthur was done telling the taxi operator their current location, he hung up the phone and noticed Mathieu gave his jacket to Francis and only wore a red t-shirt.

“Aren’t you cold, Matthew?” He asked his son.

“Nah. It’s only -10°c anyway.” Mathieu shrugged.

Arthur almost choked himself with his saliva at this comment.

“What do you mean, ONLY -10°c? That’s too bloody cold, lad.” Arthur replied, making the taller blond boy laugh. “Even I want to go back inside and get warm. Perhaps get a cup of tea or something.”

“We can wait for your taxi inside the train station if you want.” Mathieu suggested.

The other two didn’t even have to say anything; they both agreed and followed Mathieu inside the train station.

Back at the hotel room, after Arthur took out his own coat, gloves and hat, he helped Francis get undressed and wrapped him around in the fluffy tartan blanket from the bed.

“Sit down on the chair and I’ll light up the fireplace for you.” Arthur requested him.

Francis smiled softly as he sat down in one of the two sofa chairs in front of the fireplace. It didn’t take long for him to sit with his bare feet on the chair, holding his legs close to his body. Arthur took a match out of the matchbox sitting on the top of the fireplace and lit it up. He quickly threw the match inside the fireplace and closed the glass door.

“Right. I’ll get some water boiling for tea. Would you like a cup?” Arthur asked.

“Oui, s’il te plaît.” ¹⁷

Arthur kissed his boyfriend’s red cold cheek and left to the small kitchen to boil some water with the kettle. Francis laid on the side of his head on the chair and watched him, smiling. While Arthur rarely said he loved him or complimented him much, he did care a lot when it mattered. He was there for him if he needed him and of course, Francis would do exactly the same.

Arthur came back with two cups of boiling hot water and put it down on the side table between the two sofa chairs and sat down next to Francis. The Frenchman noticed his boyfriend brought his own tea bags and even thought of bringing Francis’ favourite kind of tea even though he preferred coffee over tea. He watched as Arthur soaked the tea into the cup.

“Are you feeling better, love?”

“Oui. Merci.”

“You’re welcome”

Francis got up from his chair and went to sit on Arthur’s lap.

“What do you think you are doing?”

Francis wrapped his arms around his partner’s neck and kissed him tenderly.

“I love you.” Francis whispered after he was done kissing. Arthur blushed and pulled Francis closer.

“Je t’aime aussi.”¹⁸ Arthur whispered back.

Translation:

¹ “I promise you a great time.”

² “It’s too easy to tease you”

³ “We don’t have winter like this back home, do we?”

⁴ “Yeah. At least, it’s better than your rain for 10 months a year.”

⁵ “You know the Queen isn’t coming today, right?”

⁶ “Can you help me, my love?”

⁷"What? One hour? We won't even have time to have sex."

⁸ "I must be at the top of myself. I can't go out like a poor peasant. Who do you think I am?"

⁹ “It’s gorgeous, right?”

¹⁰ “I have a scarf that would look good with it. Anyway, we won’t stay long outside. Who in their right mind would stay outside in that kind of weather?”

¹¹ “I don’t need your pity. I’ll order a nice hot coffee and I’ll be fine.”

¹² “It’s true

¹³ “Ah. I’m sorry, my love.”

¹⁴ “What about going shopping? Wouldn’t it be nice, would it? You told me about a shopping mall with a mini theme park inside, didn’t you?”

¹⁵ “Are you ok, dad?”

¹⁶“Yeah”

¹⁷ “Yes please.”

¹⁸ “I love you too.”

#frukweek #frukweek2021 #aph fruk #hws fruk #fruk #ukfr #aph ukfr #hws ukfr #aph england #hws england #aph france #hws france #THIS TOOK ME TOO LONG #i do love fluffy old married couple trope #no beta read #we post the first draft like the finnish in russia #i legit thought we were during winter at the end like bruh we're only in August. its hot out

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myelocin · 4 years

Text

the most beautiful thing | hanamaki t.

synopsis: beautiful, hanamaki takahiro thinks, sees, and feels. in this home, within four walls, with you as his forever and his two children as the sun that shines soft on the vanilla skies he’s loved all his life.

characters: hanamaki takahiro, you (HMMMMMM), your two kids

genre: fluff, domestic!au, parenting!au

wc: 1600+

a/n: hei yes i am ok. i did not just type this in 20 minutes flat because i dreamt of this. i am ok. i swear. plz help. i love him so much. by hanamaki takahiro x reader,, i rlly mean hanamaki takahiro x nicole thank u.

beautiful, is the word that first flashes in hanamaki takahiro’s mind.

bare foot against the dark stained wooden kitchen floors, your hair down and a little tangled against the white of his old shirt that fit you just comfortably. he thinks there’s hints of a vanilla sky outside.

cotton candy pink, lilac, and just the right amounts of blue. he met you under a sky like today’s, he notes to himself with a smile. it’s a little past eight am, where on a normal day you’d be up two hours earlier; you, with a train to catch, and him with customers waiting in front of the shop.

but the calendar says that today’s sunday. and sunday mornings, takahiro recalls you say, are days for family.

and back then he remembers that he laughed at your little explanation, thinking that it was just a ploy to get him to stay in bed for a little while longer. back when it was just the two of you in the house above his flower shop. where sunday mornings meant the extra time in the mornings were reserved for morning sex and for talks about love and life alike as you settled in the afterglow.

but sunday mornings now, he realizes, is this.

it’s waking up with your side of the bed empty and coming into the kitchen with the smell of freshly brewed coffee in the air and the low sizzle of eggs frying in a pan. a little boy, with a head of strawberry brown hair peeking at him from his spot in the table, and his sweet, sweet ten month old baby girl sitting in her high chair with smeared baby food all over her mouth.

takahiro’s heart swells, because he feels love—before he realizes that more than that, he feels a sense of home too. and even if the feeling had always settled in his chest years ago, it’s in the smallest most unexpected moments where he feels the world’s kindness remind him of its existence.

he knows he’s been in love and been at home when you said yes six years ago; a ring offered by his hands, trembling like the knee he’s leaned down on. then when you kissed him with tears in your eyes after telling him your “i do,” in a voice that assures him your love for him is as real and as raw as the kind he feels for you.

that same year too, when he held the keys to the flower shop he risked his—and frankly a little bit of your—life savings over. your hand, warm and steady against his that trembled with the same intensity from before as he pushed the key in the lock and opened the new chapter of your life together.

where a home, from that time, became the second floor of that same flower shop. photographs lined on the stairwell and a windowsill with the herbs he’s grown in memory of someone he knows you love dearly. where the polaroids you took with him over the years were first hung around the room with little pieces of string and handwritten notes beneath them, before later kept in glass frames and left by the fireplace for those who came to your little world and see.

then five years ago when he he saw the two little lines on a test you planned to keep a surprise for him but ultimately crying with him anyway, because if there was one thing your husband was never good at: it was knocking at the bathroom door before entering. but then again—if there was one thing you were also never good at, it was locking the door when you’re supposed to.

he laughs at the memory everytime because just like that he knows that you two just fit like that. he feels love and home again, as he thinks of your teary smile and the happy crack in your voice as you cried and told him you were going to be a family.

(he held you that night with tears in his own eyes, a few crumbs of fear settling in his heart, but anticipation for the universe’s blessings serving as the adrenaline rush he knew would last him for this lifetime and the next.)

and the rest, takahiro thinks to himself, comes to him in flashes.

the blessing of being able to feel love within home when he first held his son in his hands. the tell tale strawberry brown hair looking like a carbon copy of his own. the freckles across his cheeks that awfully look a lot like the ones he stares at in front of the mirror everyday. but the quirk of his lips looking like yours, because takahiro memorizes the contours of your smile like he knows his loved ones by name.

much like the smile he sees on your youngest daughter’s. where even at ten months old, he can already tell that she’s taking after you a lot more than him. it’s the smile, he recalls his mother tell him, when she first came into the world.

though really, takahiro thinks, it was the hue of her eyes when she first opened them. bright and sparkling as it told him the same sort of stories that you told him all those years ago.

stories about how in life, heartbreak is unavoidable.

how in life, there is as much pain that will be felt as there comes the happiness that lays either before or after it.

but also, as cruel as life is—it can also be so, so kind. the kind of kindness that has you forgetting all the bad that you’ve trudged through, because when you ride that sort of high that life gives you—it truly feels like you’ll soar for eternities that are here and the ones that have still yet to come.

takahiro feels that; every day.

“papa,” he hears. “breakfast!” his son calls.

and so he pushes himself off of the doorframe as he first walks towards you, a kiss pressed to your cheek as the smell of day old roses and rosemary lingers—making you smile.

and as the word beautiful, flashes in his mind for the second time that morning—he knows it isn’t meant for the vanilla skies that swirl slowly outside the kitchen windows. it’s the way you look when you take a seat across him and smile, sipping your cold tea and sighing as if all the world’s problems are rolling right off your shoulders.

the ring, on your left hand’s fourth finger catches the light when you raise the spoon by your daughter’s mouth; golden like the picture frame hanging above fireplace in the living room, with four smiling faces instead of just the two from the polaroids before.

beautiful, life really can be even without the vanilla skies because he knows he has the best that life could ever offer right here. in this little room, the world in his hands, and the promise of heaven’s grace clear as day right in front of his eyes.

“papa,” he hears his eldest call again. takahiro takes a slow sip of his coffee before he turns to his son and smiles. “yep?”

“how do you spell your name?”

your husband doesn’t catch it when you smile, already knowing what he’s about to ask. letting your husband bask in the moment, you turn to face your ten month old daughter who stares back at you with eyes and face identical to your own. she was a messy eater, you observe with a chuckle. she took after her father in the little ways, you suppose.

and she always, always looked the most beautiful around flowers too. the polaroid of her sitting in the counter, next to a handful of roses was the photo she smiled at the widest. under the vanilla skies in that morning you think about how takahiro looks like a different sort of radiant around the flowers too.

“what’s it for?” you hear your husband ask, voice still a little scratchy from sleep.

“it’s for this!” your five year old beams.

takahiro stares at the paper he could only guess is his homework. his last name written next to your son’s giving name, erased pencil marks over his mistake still a little evident on the paper. he smiles as he reads through the little questionnaire, but pauses as he gets to the last part.

“who do you want to be like when you grow up?” it reads, a blank line next to it.

a familiar, welcome feeling thrums in takahiro’s chest again, so he thinks of the word beautiful once more. because life, he thinks, has never been more beautiful than how it looks in this morning.

“papa your naaaaaame.”

he swears that ever since he met you, he falls in love with life more and more every day.

(he cries to you later that night as he closes the flower shop downstairs for the day. red eyes, and a happy smile in place. you kiss his cheeks and tell him he deserves happiness every day.)

(your son’s homework and doodle of your family next to another one of flowers and rosemarys with a little cross above it is pinned on the fridge later that night.)

you fall asleep with his arms around yours, your kids asleep in the room next to yours.

this, you smile. this is the beautiful part of life.

a/n: rosemary is the herb my mom had on her windowsill. she died before she could plant her herb garden. i always think that makki likes to keep a herb garden so he could feel close to my mom in a way : - )

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