#we hide in a dark room all alone the two of them ooh la la

[fireintheforest]

Behind the Blue, chapter 18

Serving breakfast, although easy, had been boring (except for the instance where the lawyer interrogated Saufinril) and Toivon was glad it was over. The next part of the day had gone in moving furniture with another footman so a maid could clean behind, meeting Aubry  -a charming, friendly butler whose first words upon meeting Toivon were “and who is the elf?” while looking at him up and down with the face of a man that was looking at someone else eat their own shit. They’ll be friends in no time- and opening doors for people with fully functioning hands and arms that could open doors by themselves.

Fuck the rich.

Hawkcroft had left for a meeting around six, and at ten Aubry instructed him to wait for Hawkcroft at the main door so he could open it for him (fuck the rich) and let him in when he came, in around 20 minutes. An estimate. It was now half past midnight and this old fucker was still set loose in Evermor.

As cherry on top, he’d sent Saufinril a message in the afternoon to meet him on the other side of the property’s hedge at midnight. And here he was, drumming his fingers on his thigh while waiting for Hawkcroft. Saufinril was probably wondering where he’d been gone to. He didn’t want to risk leaving the place in case Hawkcroft came, but chances are Saufinril was out there wondering what had happened to him.

 Just what had happened to Toivon?

Saufinril looked around yet again, a hand combing his ponytail absentmindedly. Was he right? The message said to meet him on the outside of the manor, on the other side of the property’s edge. In the back. Yes. That’s where he was at. Where was Toivon? He’d circled the place a couple of times, he’d even strayed away from the manor here and there in case the Dunmer were hiding in a more discreet location, and yet no such thing had happened.

He wouldn’t have just told him to come and then forgotten, could he? Saufinril looked around again. The image of the blue eyes against the bluing, drowned face of the second victim was still imprinted on him, and for a second the thought of the killer being nearby crept on him. He quickly pushed it back, instead straining to hear if someone approached.

He’d waited too long. Maybe he should go back to the inn? Leave him a message? What if someone found it before? In any case they wouldn’t know it was them if he left his real mess- be smart, Saufinril. Toivon was probably the only Dunmer he’d seen in this side of Evermor so far, of course they’d know it was him. Saufinril looked around, his gaze lingering on the hedge and the top of the manor’s roof. Maybe he’d have to get inside to see where was Toivon.

  The floor was dead silent, everyone was asleep. There was nobody in the house except for the footmen and maids that patrolled the house every hour. A new safety measure, along with the guards, implemented since the party fiasco. Toivon leaned against the wall, his eyes lost in thought. From what Sorcise told him, the servant activity post-heist remained pretty much similar to the pre-heist during the day. But the footmen and maids patrolling the hallways in turns was a new measure implemented only at night (when nobody of the main house could see them) and the guards patrolled only the outside gardens. It’s as if Hawkcroft didn’t want to disturb the daily life of himself or his family at all.

An orange tinge of light at his periphery made Toivon turn his head. It was one of the maids, a girl with her blond hair in a messy braid, yawning and walking slowly to the stairs to do her patrolling. Toivon watched her walk past. This girl was one of the kitchen hands, she’s around her late teens and supposed to be up and working in 3 or so hours, but she’s patrolling a house that isn’t hers.

Toivon himself yawned, a chain reaction propped by the girl.

 Breton keyholes were easy, only slightly harder than Nord ones. Saufinril was crouched on front of the kitchen back door, an ear close to the keyhole as he worked the tumblr locks one by one.

Click, click, click.

When he tried to climb the hedge, Saufinril had been shocked to see a labrynth of plants that he didn’t recall seeing in the party. Going through it would be a huge waste of time, so he’d had to go around the property until he got to the side of the house, only to almost jump over the hedge at the moment that a guard patrolled past. He didn’t recall those either. Had Emmanuel increased security? Maybe this is what Toivon had wanted to tell him, he mused as he waited patiently for the lock to give in. Using an unlocking spell would catch attention, what with the show of lights and smoke it made, but lockpicking with a spell that put back the pins was going to take forever. Saufinril stepped back.

He had to try another place. Saufinril walked around the house again, the dark of the night making good cover but still sticking to the hedge side for extra safety in the shadows. The silence would only give away any noise he made, any-

“Is someone in here?” a guard called out

Saufinril froze, looking back at where the voice came from. From the kitchens, right where he’d been standing, a lantern moved towards him. Fuck! He’d been spotted! He ran to the front gardens.

“Hey!”

Thuds of his own feet against the grassy ground, thuds of the guard’s feet in pursuit. He turned around the corner and saw two more lights, in further distance, stop their slow procession and move faster. Fuck!

“Stop in there!”

 Toivon’s ears perked up. There was noise in the…Saufinril!

 Saufinril immediately ducked around one of the topiaries. This stupid fucking garden had way less hiding places than the maze. Why didn’t he stay at the maze? No time to overthink.. One of the lanterns was moving in his direction. He had to hide! Where?!

It was a split second, but he saw it: a topiary, a shadow, a bench, flowers. There. Go! He ran, are the steps his or his pursuers?

No time to see which. He dropped on his knees, force driving him forward, he hit his shoulder on the bench. Then on his hands! Lower! Legs first, tucked under the topiary, then his torso, then head. He tucked himself in a fetal position and held his breath as the guard came to where he’d been a second ago. And another.

“What is it?”

“I saw someone, he was running here!” the guards looked around, “Can’t have disappeared just like that.”

“Got to be around somewhere.”

Saufinril cursed himself mentally. He didn’t check behind himself, a very very basic mistake that could’ve cost everything! Damn it Saufinril! You know better than this! One of the guards walked towards his bench. Oh no. Oh no. He saw him. He saw him. Are his feet tucked? Did he breath out? Had something caught their eye? Was he charging magic unknowingly? That had happened before, especially when he was younger. Saufinril felt a rush of warmth and jittery energy. He was going to have to kill them. Here. Ok. He knew which spells. And he’d take the bodies to-

The front door opened.

 The front door opened and Toivon walked out. Two guards near a unicorn topiary turned to look at him.

Shit, say something! First thing that comes to your mind!

“Shhhh!” Toivon hissed, “There’s people sleeping here!”

The guards didn’t reply. Toivon stepped back and closed the door.

“Was that an elf?” one of the guards asked

“I think so.” Saufinril could see their boots right in front of him, shuffling as they looked around. One of them took some steps to the right to look around. Saufinril steadied himself. The silence was suffocating.

“Must’ve been a shadow.”

“No, I saw it.”

“Then maybe you scared it away?” one of the guards sat down at the bench (fucking great) as he went on, “Get back to your part. I’ll stay around and see if he’s gone.”  The first set of boots walked away, back to where he’d originally come from. The second set, annoyingly in front of the Altmer, remained seated for 5 too-long minutes before he stood up again, summoned a light, and went towards the left. Only after another minute had passed did Saufinril dare to slowly crawl out of the bench, now looking in all possible sides to make sure the zone was free before pulling himself out and pushing up.

He was wiping the grass and dirt from his clothes when he looked at the door and noticed the shadow on one side that indicated that the door was not shut close completely. He felt his heartbeat increase; had Toivon left it like this on purpose? Maybe he knew he was here. Looking around to know where to go and avoid more guards, Saufinril stuck to the shadows and advanced to the main entrance.

 Toivon paced. That’s the only thing he’d thought of as a distraction. It was the worst distraction ever. What was he doing here?! It was well past midnight, of course. The meeting, the meeting, the damn meeting he couldn’t go to because someone needed a Dunmer to open their own door for him. There-

The door opened quick, Saufinril slid in, and closed the door behind himself. Immediately, Toivon grabbed his wrist and pulled him inside the house.

“Wh-”

“Shh!”

On they went. Toivon took him down a hallway Saufinril had just walked to this morning, but when Toivon pushed a door open the light of a lantern in the dining room made him close it immediately.

“Hello?” a feminine voice asked from the other side. Toivon, still grabbing Saufinril’s wrist, took him quickly back down the hallway and away. Down another hallway, on their left in an open door room there was another lantern light. They stopped on the side, pressed to the wall, waiting until the light moved away. Then they went on down the hallway. Toivon turned to the right, peered at a double door, then pushed it open and motioned Saufinril to follow.

It was an elegant room with a spinet, a table with two chairs and a whole big room for dancing. Too bad the total darkness enveloped everything, letting light from the hallway be the only moment both mer saw the instrument before the black engulfed them when they entered. Toivon closed the doors behind themselves and then went further down the room, followed by Saufinril. The heavy curtains kept any moonlight from filtering in, so they were both in complete darkness. Steady, secure, hiding darkness. The first one to talk was Toivon, who was (from what Saufinril could tell) in front of the Altmer.

“Sit down. What happened out there?” he asked in a hushed whisper as Saufinril held the ruffle of clothes, the patting of skin and the scuffle of shoes next to him as Toivon sat on the ground, “What are you doing here?”

“It was one’s mistake, one didn’t see the guard-” Saufinril explained as he himself sat on the cold ground too. He could guess he was next to Toivon, maybe facing him, based on the direction Toivon’s voice came from.

“Are you mad? Breaking in here like this?”

“One waited for you! One’s been in the spot since midnight!”

“I know! I wanted to be there, but the butler set me to wait for Hawkcroft.”

“Wait for him?” Saufinril’s voice was confused, “He’s not here?”

“No. He left for a meeting around six and hasn’t returned.”

There was a second of silence before Saufinril replied, “Armellon said this morning he had other commitments.”

“Uh, how do you know that?”

“He took the same carriage as one to The Marigold after breakfast today.” Toivon felt a small lump in his throat at that, but listened as the Altmer went on, “One thinks he suspects something. One can’t put a finger to what, but ever since the party he’s been transparent on his suspicions to one.”

“Damn.” Toivon whispered in a way Saufinril fleetingly thought was attractive, “If he keeps this sniffing, that lawyer could put a damp on this.”

“One has managed to keep him away for the most part. Have you found anything about La Zadine? Where it could be?”

“To be honest, nothing. Everybody acts like nothing went on, and Hawkcroft’s new security measures are at night. He doesn’t want anyone to see anything’s changed.”

“Interesting. You mean, he doesn’t want people to be alarmed?”

“Could be. This tells me La Zadine is more important than we thought.”

“Do you think if we find out why, we can figure out where it is?” Saufinril inquired

“It’s a theory. Ugh, this feels like it’s all over the place, where do we even start?” Toivon whispered

“One agrees. It’s a lot and this meeting was rushed.”

“I wouldn’t say rushed.” Toivon started

“We were set to meet almost forty-five to fifty minutes ago outside, you got set to watch the door and then one triggered the alarm and we had to run all around the manor to this cold room to have a chance to have a quick chat that one is sure has to end soon before Emmanuel comes or you’re missed. It was definitely rushed or botched, to say the least. Inconvenienced.”

Toivon let out a chuckle. It was a pleasant surprise.

“Fine. It was inconvenient. Tell you what. Starting on Turdas at midday, I have the afternoon and night off. I’ll get to The Marigold and we can talk more in depth about this. In the meantime, I’ll try to get as much information about La Zadine and Hawkcroft and just overall this whole mess. You do the same. We’ll discuss what we found.”

“Deal.”

The rustle of clothes, patter of hands on the ground and scuffling of shoes sounded again when they were getting up, but this time when Saufinril put a hand on the ground to push himself up, instead of touching the cold ground, what his palm and fingers set on was another warmer hand. He removed it immediately.

“Oh, sorry.” He whispered.

A second passed before Toivon’s voice whispered back an “Nevermind.”

 The double doors of the room opened shyly, and again Toivon guided Saufinril past the maids doing their turns, down the hallways and open or closed doors until they got to the vestibule Saufinril had come on to. It was exactly how they’d left it, unless miraculously Hawkcroft realized he could open his own damn doors himself. Highly unlikely. Nobody was in the vestibule, no lights, no sound, no movement. Saufinril turned to Toivon.

“One can sneak out through the dining room and kitchens, then out to the backyard. Should be easy to get out from there.”

“Kitchen is too close to the servants quarters though, are you sure?”

Before Saufinril could reply, a sound of hooves and carriage wheels not too far from them made them turn to the door.

“Emmanuel’s carriage.”

“One is sure. See you on Turdas, The Marigold. Wait for one on the bottom floor, near the stage.” And with that, Saufinril silently darted to the dining room. Toivon resumed his position as he heard Emmanuel greeting the guards, then walk up the stairs. Toivon opened the door wide, letting Emmanuel in, who didn’t say a word and walked to the stairs. Toivon closed the door and walked behind Emmanuel to his room. It was 1 am now. A 7 hour meeting. And, Toivon narrowed his eyes, observing the Breton, Emmanuel’s hair was wet.

Without saying a word, Toivon opened the door for Emmanuel, who went in his room. The door closed, and Toivon headed down the stairs and hallways, finally to go to bed.

#behind the blue #btb #dunmer #breton #altmer #in which these two failed to make a plan B in case one of them couldn't show up #in which STEALTH #we hide in a dark room all alone the two of them ooh la la

[jipuragi]

la nostra casetta (our little house)

Summary:

 “An Italian child can cook better than him.” Vincenzo cast a disapproving look in Chef Toto’s direction. 

“Does that mean you can cook too?” Chayoung playfully nudged his knee under the table. 

“You never asked,” he shrugged before taking a delicate bite of kimchi.

Ship: Hong Chayoung x Vincenzo Cassano (Gen)

Word Count: 2876, AO3 link

A/N: Written by @soulofevil and @the-marathon-continues-nip , beta’d by @sunalsolove​ , banner by @acerobbiereyes​

“I can’t believe we’re eating kimchi fried rice at an Italian restaurant,” Chayoung commented as she lifted her chopsticks to her mouth, laden with rice. “Mmm, it’s delicious.” She ate her bite then eagerly dug in again. “Chef Toto is an amazing cook.”

Vincenzo snorted as he carefully picked away the mushrooms and placed them to the side.

“He’s passable at Korean food. Terrible at that contrivance he calls Italian.” Vincenzo cast a disapproving look in Chef Toto’s direction. “An Italian child can cook better than him.”

“Does that mean you can cook too?” She playfully nudged his knee under the table. “And why hasn’t the great Vincenzo Cassano offered to make spaghetti for his dearest partner Hong Chayoung? Hmm?” She folded her arms in mock anger.

“You never asked,” he shrugged before taking a delicate bite of kimchi.

“It’s a date then. You cook, I’ll bring the wine,” Chayoung lifted her water glass in a salute. “Call me when you get home.”

“Hey, you can’t pick the wine,” Vincenzo said, sitting up straight. “You’d probably get something French.”

Chayoung’s heart skipped a beat when she realized he didn’t argue about it being a date. “What’s wrong with French wine?” she asked, eager to change the subject. She could feel her cheeks burning. “Don’t they make the best red wine?”

Vincenzo’s chopsticks clattered to the table, thankfully oblivious to her blushing.

“The French make the best red wine?” He raised his voice at the horror of it all. “Do they make the best pasta dishes too? Why would I want French wine with Italian food?”

Chayoung couldn’t help but lean forward, placing her elbows on the table to watch him fondly. Vincenzo was always so attractive when he was engrossed in a subject he loved, whether it was fighting or talking about food and wine.

After agreeing to cook for Cha-young, Vincenzo now had the dilemma of what to cook.

He took stock of the contents of his refrigerator, wanting to put his imported Italian goods to use but unfortunately, he didn’t have much.

Babel kept them busy and restocking his luxury items had been pushed to the wayside.

But didn’t his adopted mother always say that the best dishes were often the simplest?

Inspiration struck and he began moving around in his small kitchen, pulling out the flour, eggs, olive oil, and salt.

It was a simple recipe, one he’d been making since he was a Korean-only speaking youth, and needed to stand on a chair to reach the countertop.

His adopted family used cooking as a chance for them to bond and teach him those Italian words that had felt so foreign in his mouth. Soon, mixing and kneading the dough had grown into a simple but pleasant experience, one that had become a weekly habit in Italy.

Maybe that was part of the reason he was feeling at ease now?

He hadn’t bothered cooking anything that required more work than boiling water since coming to Korea but now, as he tossed flour onto the counter and worked his hands into the dough, he felt different. Until recently his apartment had been little more than a hotel room, a temporary place to sleep until he could obtain his gold while he and Ms. Hong fought Babel.

His kneading slowed as he thought about Chayoung, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. She frequently crossed his mind these days making him feel... lighter. It was a foreign feeling that he couldn’t name yet but found pleasant and refreshing.

He dropped the dough before he could overwork it and wrapped it in plastic so it could rest, and then moved on to start his prep work for the carbonara and the scene for dinner. With an eye on the clock, he sent a quick text to Chayoung telling her to arrive in an hour before he settled back into the kitchen.

Running on autopilot Vincenzo went to work mincing shallots and garlic while remembering his earlier conversation with Chayoung.  

She’d called this a date, maybe setting out a candle would be appropriate? It was also cliche as hell and she’d probably make fun of him, but he wanted to make her happy, to feel just a fraction of the warmth he did when he was in her presence. He smiled softly, glad to be in the privacy of his apartment so he could be alone with his thoughts and away from the rest of Geumga Plaza.

His smile disappeared, and his eyes widened in horror. Would Chayoung compare his table setting to Chef Toto’s garish setup?

A small sigh escaped him as he moved onto the next step of dinner. He didn’t question how Chayoung would react to their revenge plans against Babel which involved actual murder but something as simple as a candle for dinner made him… nervous?

It was such an unfamiliar feeling after being the Cassano consigliere for so long.

The alarm on his phone went off as a timer he didn’t even remember setting finished. He stared at it blankly before shaking his head, half an hour had already passed and he didn’t even notice.

He finished dicing up the pancetta and turned his eyes to the resting pasta. Asking ‘Chef’ Toto for his pasta machine would’ve saved him time but his pride demanded that he do it by hand, especially for Chayoung.

Besides, it was easy enough that he could go back to thinking about Chayoung, a soft smile returning to his face.

Chayoung loved alcohol and would drink soju, beer, and makgeolli, but she didn’t know much about wine.

It bothered her that Vincenzo didn’t think she was sophisticated enough to know what wine to choose, so she took it as a challenge.

She was going to surprise him with the best Italian wine.

Chayoung remembered Vincenzo saying that the wine store near her house was better stocked than the one near Jipuragi. Initially, she’d thought he was merely giving an excuse to walk her home but he did have a point.

The wine store in her neighborhood was a large one that stocked drinks from all over the globe.

“ Sforzato di Valtellina,” her tongue tripped over the Italian. According to the label, it was an intensely scented red wine that had an interesting origin of Nebbiolo grapes that had been left to wither.

Wasn’t that like her and Vincenzo? On the outskirts of society, left for dead as outsiders?

She bought the bottle of red wine, and white wine, just in case.

The knock at the door was right on time.

“The door’s open!” Vincenzo made sure he was loud enough to be heard, too engaged at the stove to leave it. He did take a look behind him, not wanting to miss Chayoung’s animated reaction to the amazing smells filling his apartment.

He wasn’t disappointed.

“Omo!” Chayoung sniffed the air dramatically as she entered Vincenzo’s apartment. She eagerly kicked off her shoes in the foyer and slipped into house slippers. “Am I at a Mafia’s house, or an Italian Chef? It smells delicious!”

“Don’t be silly,” he grumbled, stirring the pot, though his mouth curved upward in a smile.

“If Babel puts us out of business, we can always open up an Italian stall in the night market.” Chayoung stepped into the kitchen. “You can cook behind the scenes, and since I’m the pretty one, I’ll attract customers and sell.”

“Are you finished with your wishful thinking?” Vincenzo asked, rolling his eyes, though he agreed with her assessment that she was the pretty one.

“Never.” She poked his side and eagerly peered at the pot on the stove. “Can I taste?”

“No, it’s not finished.” Vincenzo batted her hand away though it was more playful than anything. “What’s that?” He gestured to the bags she’d left on the table.

“I hope you like it.” Chayoung blushed, uncharacteristically shy. “I wasn’t sure what to get,” she mumbled, tucking her hair behind her ear, feeling self-conscious. “I don’t usually drink wine and-”

“Don’t worry. I’ll like it,”  Vincenzo said softly.  His heart skipped a beat, as it always did when Chayoung seemed vulnerable. He wanted to hold her, to reassure her that everything was okay, and he’d never make her feel inadequate.

He helped her unpack the bags. “You bought Italian wine and not French?” His slight smile turned into a grin. “And two bottles?”

“And soju. And makgeolli. Just in case.” Chayoung’s cheeks were flaming now because she felt silly.

“It’s perfect,” Vincenzo said, not taking his eyes off her. “Thank you.”

She dipped her head in acknowledgment, then changed the subject.

“So, if times get tough, can we cook Inzhagi, or is he a family member now?”

Vincenzo couldn’t move two steps without Chayoung being behind him. She wanted to see what he was doing, taste the sauce along the way, whilst commenting on the process.

Normally, he was able to adapt to her being around, but this time, he was getting nervous.

Suppose he didn’t cook it correctly?

Suppose he did it right, but it wasn't to her taste?

Suppose-

“Ooh, Mr. Cassano, are these candles?” Chayoung interrupted his thoughts.

Vincenzo turned around. Chayoung was at the dining table, holding the tea light candles he’d fished out from a drawer, probably left there by the previous tenant.

“Are you planning to seduce me?” she smirked. “How naughty!”

“Ms .Hong -”

“They’re scented,” she made a show of holding the candles and sniffing them. There were about half a dozen of them, in an opened package, smelling faintly of vanilla. “How romantic!” She scrunched her nose at him playfully.

Vincenzo didn’t even hide his smile as she meandered off. He was happy and enjoying it. Just then, the timer for the pasta began beeping, and attention diverted, he left her to her own devices.

While he was distracted with marking dinner, Chayoung slipped into his bedroom, looking for a lighter.

His room was dark, smelling faintly of Vincenzo’s cologne and her breath caught, wondering if he’d thought of her in his bedroom if he ever thought of her as he showered and dressed. Her gaze moved to his bed, tucked in the corner, plain and neat as a pin, and begging to be messed up.

Unbidden, an image formed in her mind.

One of her leading Vincenzo to the bed and making him sit quietly, hands to his side so he could watch her slowly disrobe.

Would he like to be teased? Or would he prefer to take the lead, pushing her on the bed and pinning her arms above her head, kissing her deep and rough, like he wanted to-

“Lighters are on my dresser. If that’s what you’re looking for.”

Chayoung yelped, almost dropping the candle. Vincenzo was right beside her, watching her intently.

“Of course that’s what I’m looking for,” she gathered her wits. “Why else would I be in your bedroom?”

“Why else indeed,” he smirked, as he gestured to his dresser, on the other side of the room. “Make yourself at home.” He abruptly turned and left.

Chayoung’s face flushed.  He couldn’t have guessed her thoughts, could he?

But she forgot about her embarrassment when she came across his lighter collection.

“How beautiful,” she breathed.

There were six golden lighters set upon a navy blue cloth with different sheens from bright lusters, to worn patinas.  She gravitated towards the one that looked like a pocket watch, as it was the only round one, but then she noticed the plain lighter with no engraving. It wasn’t as eye-catching as the rest.

It made her think.

When did Vincenzo start collecting lighters? What made him choose one above the other? Did they have to be gold? If she gifted him with a lighter, would he accept it?

She chose the plain one, then returned to the kitchen where the pasta was already drained, the sauce finished, and Vincenzo was now setting the table.

Chayoung’s chest tightened as she clutched his lighter and blinked back tears.

She remembered life before her mother passed away, and the mundane things that made them a family. Cooking her father’s favorite food, and buying her mother’s favorite dessert, and spending time together in their kitchen.

How did it all go wrong, where she was now an orphan and alone?

Just then Vincenzo looked up, his eyes widening in alarm as he saw her face, before softening.

“Light the candles, Ms. Hong?” he asked, gently. “While I pour the wine?”

She nodded, choked up.

With the food done, wine poured, and Chayoung lighting the candles, the atmosphere was almost set for their evening.

The silence between them was a comfortable one, however, Vincenzo wanted more to fill his apartment.

His music library was limited to the soundtracks of his favorite operas, one of the few comforts he’d allowed himself when he was homesick for Italy.  Some Wagner, a Mozart, but it was Pucci’s Tosca that his fingers settled on.

It was hard to pick a favorite opera but Tosca was easily his favorite soundtrack.

He put it on, turning down the volume so it would fill the background with the pleasant soprano of the titular Tosca before taking his seat across from Chayoung.

She smiled warmly, her eyes sparkling, and his breath caught. This was life and joy, and he wanted to experience every moment.

He picked slowly at his food, twirling his fork in the pasta, eating at a leisurely pace.

“This is so good,” Chayoung moaned, closing her eyes. “You’re such a good cook.” She opened her eyes, grinning mischievously. “What else are you good at, Mr. Cassano?”

Vincenzo took a sip of wine as his heart thudded.

“I made this for you , so I’m glad you like it.” He avoided her flirtatious question, raising his glass in a toast, though his face grew warm. “I want you to be happy.”

Her smile faltered as her gaze drifted to his lips, and then his hands which were clutching his wine glass.

“I love it,” she said, dipping her head before she attacked her pasta again.

The tea lights had burned down and the first bottle of wine had been finished off along with the carbonara when Vincenzo and Chayoung moved to the couch bringing the second bottle of wine.

Music played softly in the background, filling the comfortable silence that stretched out between them. He was at ease, not just physically but mentally and emotionally as well. It had been a long time since he had felt this level of peace with another person and Cha-young…

She was something special.

He didn’t know the words to describe how she made him feel or the way she affected him. But Vincenzo knew he wasn’t ready for her to leave just yet, even as their drinking slowed and Cha-young’s head rested on the back of the couch with her eyes closed.

It was foolish to sit there, savoring the way she looked like he savored the Sforzato in his glass but he had no choice.

She looked peaceful in that half-asleep state with only a small frown resting on her lips and not all the tension and worry of the Babel case etched on her features.

“What are we listening to?”

He tried not to jump when she spoke up, masking his surprise with a hum. Cha-young didn’t seem to notice as she continued on.

“It sounds terribly depressing and sad. I can’t imagine how bleak the words must be.”

Vincenzo chuckled softly, she wasn’t wrong.

“It’s Pucci’s Tosca ,” he said. “We’ve been listening to it since dinner started.”

“No wonder I’m sleepy now,” Chayoung snorted, snuggling close to Vincenzo, her head laying on his shoulder.

“I can turn it off,” Vincenzo offered. He settled into the couch, making room for Chayoung, and following her lead, he wrapped his hand around her waist so she could cuddle closer to his side.

“No. I can like it ‘cause you do.” Chayoung melted into his side, closing her eyes. “Stay.”

Vincenzo exhaled as he looked down, her silky hair fanned across his chest, and her long eyelashes dark against her cheeks. He gave in to the feelings of tenderness that had been creeping up all evening and letting it wash over him.

“I’ll stay as long as you want me to,” he murmured.  It was hard for him, letting his guard down, and being vulnerable. But he would do it for her.

“I think I could fall in love with you, Mr. Cassano,” Chayoung whispered, burrowing even more into him. She was now laying on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, her legs tucked under her as she fell into a deep sleep.

And just like that, Vincenzo knew that his plans had to change, that he couldn’t leave Korea without considering this woman who’d been at his side, showing him light and love, and a better way to live.

He stroked her arm, waiting for her breathing to even out, and when she started lightly snoring, he smiled, closing his eyes and resting his head on hers.

“I’m already in love with you,” he confessed, deliberately speaking in Italian.

Curling up into the couch, and around Chayoung, he fell asleep as well.

#chayenzo fanfic #vincenzo #vincenzo kdrama #hong cha young #vincenzo cassano

[saiilorstars]

Familial Bonds Pt.2 (One-shot)

(Part 1)

Companion to Dare To Forget Me || Montserrat’s masterlist

Pairing: Rafael Barba x OFC

Summary: Montserrat decides to meet her grandmother for the first time but when she can’t find her brother or their cousin, Casey, she gets an unlikely offer from Rafael.

Taglist: @ocfairygodmother​ @anotherunreadblog​​ @maaaaarveeeeel​ @stareyedplanet​ @perfectlystiles​ @averyhotchner​​

Montserrat was nervous enough. In fact, she was frantically nervous. Every person she passed on the street could mistake her for someone who is on the verge of crying. This was not the way she intended on looking like when she visited her grandmother for the first time...but she wasn't in the best of states. Things just weren't looking good. 

"Gael, please just answer me? Please?" She finished her tenth voicemail in the same way but her older brother still hadn't called her back. Truth be told, Montserrat didn't expect him to. 

Somehow, Montserrat got Gael to agree to visit their maternal grandmother after countless arguments. He told her he would stop by her place so they could leave together but Gael never showed up. He wasn't even answering her phone calls. In a desperate attempt for company (support, really), she thought Casey would do her the solid and accompany her. Unfortunately, Casey wasn't answering phone calls either. 

Montserrat felt like the world was against her today. Gael could get away by hiding, and could even get his family to hold up a lie, but Casey was married to her work and there was no place to hide in that office of hers. Montserrat practically stormed into Casey's office despite her assistant telling her twice that Casey wasn't there.

"Miss Novak, maybe you should take a seat..." the petite brunette assistant tried getting through Montserrat but the latter was pacing back and forth inside the office.

"I need to find Casey! Where is she!?"

"Would you like a glass of water? Coffee?" the assistant continued to ask but Montserrat stormed past her. "Miss Novak?"

"What I want is my cousin to show up!" Montserrat's shout echoed in the hallway.

The assistant flinched behind her. "She's busy-"

"Clearly!" Montserrat continued to shout. "I need Casey here! Please, just go get her!"

"Montserrat?" Rafael's call momentarily froze Montserrat. He'd come out of his own office after the shouts got too loud to ignore. "What the hell are you doing?"

Montserrat quickly garnered her frown from before. "Nothing! I was leaving!"

"Miss Novak was looking for her cousin," the assistant still answered for Rafael's benefit.

"She's with Homicide, isn't she?" he asked, briefly recalling the Homicide ADA rushing out - nearly crashing into people due to how fast she was going - to meet with her detectives over a case. "She's out of the building for the rest of the day."

"Dammit!" Montserrat exclaimed, covering her face with her hands. 

Rafael made a gesture for Casey's assistant to return to her place. It seemed like the assistant was grateful for the release. When Montserrat got into one of her episodes, it was scary for anyone. Luckily, Rafael didn't get scared so easily - what kind of lawyer would he be if he did? He stepped out into the hallway as Montserrat made way for the building entrance doors.

"Montse, Casey's stuck on a case so if you're looking for her it'll probably have to wait until tomorrow. They're dealing with a serial killer-"

"Well that's just great!" 

Rafael looked at her with a level of incredulity. "Right...like I said, it's an easy thing to solve..."

His sarcasm was met with a deep glare from the woman. "I don't need that! I don't need you - I need my cousin! I need someone!" Somewhere along her shouts of necessities, she lost her glare. Tears filled her eyes instead.

"Useless question, I know, but what is going on, Montse?" Rafael was no stranger to Montserrat's shouts but this was something else.

Montserrat looked around, knowing that to everyone else she probably looked like a crazed woman. "...no," her answer came in the form of a hushed tone.

"Alright...do you want to step into my office for a moment? Get yourself calmed down?" he made the mistake of reaching for her arm. She snapped and pushed his hand away.

"I can't calm down! I'm already late!"

Rafael raised his hands to remind her he was on her side. "Montserrat, what the hell are you doing?"

Montserrat took in a deep breath because she knew the next strike - her third one - with him would not end well. "I...I'm supposed to visit my grandmother today. Remember the whole trouble with that?"

"It involved a lot of shouting too..."

Montserrat rolled her eyes. "I convinced Gael to come with me but he's not answering his phone and I know that if I go to his place his wife will just cover for him. So naturally, I came for Casey since she wasn't answering her phone."

"Yes, like I said, she's on a case-"

"-I know," Montserrat closed her eyes for a second. She didn't want to shout anymore but her stress levels were off the charts. "I just wanted someone to come with me and since my brother decided to ditch me..."

"Casey was your next choice," Rafael understood then the issue.

Montserrat shook her head. "These are just signs that I shouldn't go. Gael had it right from the beginning."

"You know that's not true. You're just talking yourself out of going-"

"-you're damn right I am!" Montserrat snapped once again. "And you know what, I'm very convincing because I'm going home!"

"N-n-n-n-no, wait!" Rafael grabbed her arm before she could escape. He was sure if she never went then she'd regret it, and worst of all she wouldn't stop saying how much she regretted it. "Now wait, just...just think about it, alright? Now this woman went through a lot to get you to agree to visit. She played detective just to find you, Montse. Do you really want to do to her what Gael did to you and not show up?"

Montserrat groaned. "This is no time for you to use your stupid persuasive words!"

"It's a talent I can't stop," Rafael said with such a plain, serious tone it got her to at least smile a bit. "And you know that I'm right about this. You don't show up, you will just break your grandmother's heart. That is just cruel."

Montserrat threw her head back and groaned again. "I do not break old ladies' hearts."

"No, I didn't think you would. And look, if you really need to have someone with you, maybe...I could come with you?"

Montserrat blinked in surprise. "...you would?"

"I do have experience with abuelitas," he reminded with a smirk.

"Well...you would be a good translator in case they start saying things..." Montserrat swayed her head as she considered the idea. It did make her feel better knowing she wouldn't be alone. Granted it wasn't the idea she'd pictured but Rafael was trying to help her out and she wouldn't turn him away. She'd get Gael later anyways. "Okay. But I was supposed to meet her like fifteen minutes ago. When can you leave?"

It didn't appear like Rafael even thought about whatever work he still probably had. He answered her straightaway. "Right now if you'd like." The big grin on Montserrat's face made it worthwhile.

~ 0 ~

As it turned out, Montserrat's grandmother lived in a suburban neighborhood in the Bronx. It was relatively quiet but the closer they got to the designated house, the more noise they heard.

"How cowardly would it be to just turn away right here?" Montserrat's question came just outside the front door.

"Very," Rafael gave her a look that warned her not to even try it. He wasn't above shouting her name to get the grandmother out. "It'll be fine, just...don't be snappy. Grandmothers do not like that."

"I am not-" Montserrat stopped after she received yet another sharp look. "Fine," she muttered. She took in a deep breath and knocked on the door.

There were various voices on the other side, but ultimately an elderly dark-haired woman opened the door. Her dark eyes met Montserrat's same ones and gasped. "You have Regina's eyes."

Montserrat blinked in surprise. "You know who I am...?"

The elder woman chuckled. "Of course I do. You've been on the news, newspapers - en todos lados!" she unexpectedly pulled Montserrat into a hug. "It's so good to see you, Montserrat. All grown up!"

"Uh...yeah..." Montserrat awkwardly pulled away. "I don't...really remember the last time I saw you..."

The elderly woman just laughed and waved her off. "It'd be crazy if you did. You were in diapers! Tenías un añito cuando te vi!"

Montserrat awkwardly laughed but swayed her head to Rafael. "Help me?"

He rolled his eyes at her. "You were one year old when she last saw you."

"Ooh," Montserrat nodded. It did sound about right in her time line of events. Her mother had walked out on their family around that time. "Um, so this is my friend I brought along, Rafael Barba. We work together."

"Hello," Rafael shook hands with the woman.

"I've seen you on television too," she recalled after studying him for a moment. "Irene Ramos."

"Irene?" Montserrat repeated, earning strange looks from both in return. "That's my middle name."

Irene smiled bashfully. "Your parents named you after me."

"Oh..." Montserrat truly hated how little she knew about her mother's family.

"Come in," Irene motioned them both inside. "You're a little late but it's alright."

"You didn't know who you were named after?" Rafael whispered to Montserrat as they walked down the foyer.

Montserrat shrugged. "How was I supposed to know? My Dad doesn't talk about my mother's side! I could've been named after the first thing my parents saw for all I know!"

The two finished their hushed conversation as Irene led them towards the dining table. "Dinner is already ready. Como estamos en Cuaresma, hay camarones deliciosos!"

Before Montserrat could ask Rafael for the translation, the man eagerly asked Irene something else. "A la Diabla?"

Irene threw him a smirk. "Y de caldo."

"Bless you," Rafael said and got a laughter from the woman. 

"What the hell was that?" Montserrat soon had his arm in her grip. Irene left them in the dining room where sure enough the table was set with plates and glasses. "What did she say? What did you say!?"

"She made shrimp, Montse. Calm down," he pried her hand off his arm. "It's Lent so there's no meat involved in the meals."

"Lent?"

"Yes."

"That thing where you don't eat meat on the first Wednesday and Fridays, right?"

"Yes."

"...I don't celebrate that."

"Today you do," Rafael patted her arm and led her to the table.

"I feel like an idiot. I don't understand my own language - my own culture!"

Rafael turned back to see her shaking her head, practically blaming herself for something she wasn't responsible for. "Montse, you understand that this isn't your fault, right? You can't learn what wasn't offered to you."

"You know I had Spanish classes back in high school and I blew them off? I actually ditched the class," Montserrat looked around the neat dining room. "Now I have no idea what my own blood is saying to me. I don't understand the point of..."

"...Lent?"

"Yes, that. I don't...it makes me feel like an even bigger outcast from this family."

"Okay, you need to stop thinking like that. That woman in there-" Rafael nodded back into the kitchen, "-sincerely loves you. I've seen that look so trust me." His hand reached for one of hers, meaning to provide support but it actually did more than that for the two.

"Abuela? Ya llegamos! Dónde está la comida?" a man's voice practically echoed in the house just before two young children ran into the dining table.

"You need translation for that, or...?" Rafael smirked when Montserrat hit him on the arm. She was more focused on the two kids staring up at them with wide, blinking eyes. The girl didn't seem to be past seven while the boy looked around twelve.

The kids were soon flanked by the man who'd called out and a woman.

"Hey, it's my cop cousin," the man beamed and hugged Montserrat in the same straightforward manner Irene had. Montserrat just wasn't used to that kind of behavior. 

"Leo, she doesn't know you like that," the woman behind scolded him but 'Leo' just laughed.

"She's my cousin, Nadia," Leo stepped back, his hands still resting on Montserrat's shoulders. "She's family and she's gonna have to get used to hugs!"

"Leo, what's all the shouting for?" Irene came out of the kitchen for a moment, probably to scold.

"Just saying hi to my cousin," Leo innocently shrugged. In that moment, Rafael was sure this man was Montserrat's cousin. She did the same annoying thing whenever she was pushing him or the squad towards something she wanted.

"I'm going to start bringing out the food - behave yourself, Leo," Irene warned before returning to the kitchen.

"Of course, abuela," Leo waved her off then turned back to the visitors. He held a hand out to Rafael. "Leo Ramos."

"Rafael Barba," Rafael smiled as politely as he did to the grandmother.

"Boyfriend?" Leo's question made the two in question red in the face.

"No!" Montserrat exclaimed. "We work together! That's it!"

"Definitely it," Rafael added and cleared his throat. "But it's nice to meet you."

Leo's smile lingered just a bit longer than the two would've liked. Leo stepped back to be beside the woman and kids. "This is my family. Nadia," he started with the woman.

"Hi," Nadia shook hands with Montserrat then Rafael. "It's so nice to meet you."

"And these are our kids: Valeria and Holden," Leo gently pushed the two kids forwards.

"Hi!" the two kids chorused with matching grins.

"Abuelita said you're a cop," Holden looked Montserrat up and down as if not believing it.

"Detective, but basically," Montserrat smiled at the brunette boy.

"The boys at my school say girls can't be cops," Valeria tilted her head. 

"Well they're all liars," Montserrat shrugged. "You can be anything you want to be."

Holden's gaze flickered to Rafael. "Are you a cop too?"

"God no," Rafael said just a bit too fast.

Montserrat threw him a sharp glance. "Anything wrong with that?"

"No, I just prefer my job, that's all. I'm a lawyer and that involves less running-"

"-and being a smart ass," Montserrat simply could not help herself. Valeria and Holden giggled with a mutual "she cursed" shared between them.

Rafael scowled but kept his mouth shut. At least she seemed to be returning to her usual self. Thankfully, Irene started coming out with the food. As they helped to set up, more people started arriving. It seemed like Montserrat wasn't the only one who'd been running late. She had an uncle Carlos - who turned out to be Montserrat's mother's older brother and Leo's father - arrive just ten minutes after Leo and his family. He and his wife Alicia were both lively, letting Montserrat see where Leo got his cheery personality from. Before dinner ended, Montserrat met so many family members she felt like she needed to make a list - or a family tree - just to remember everyone the next time she came around. Still, everyone seemed like fine people.

It made Montserrat a bit resentful towards her father for never allowing her to meet these people when she was younger. She had cousins - Leo, Paloma, Itati, Hugo, etc. - and aunts and uncles to spare. She wanted to spend more time with them and she promised herself that she would whenever she had the time.

Later that night, a couple of her uncles were preparing a wine toast so the rest of the family gathered in the same room. In the meanwhile, Montserrat came across the various photographs her grandmother had in the living room. She picked up one particular photo of a dark-haired teenager sitting at the edge of a park fountain in her graduation cap and gown.

"That was Regina when she graduated from high school," Irene came up beside her.

Montserrat cleared her throat, "I've never really seen any pictures of Mom, much less when she was young." 

"Yes, I imagine your father wouldn't have liked a reminder of what Regina did," Irene sighed. 

"Gael looks like her," Montserrat grazed a finger over her mother's face. "He's got the same hair, eyes..."

"You have the eyes too," Irene reached up to touch some of Montserrat's hair. "Hasta con éste pelo rojo! Parece lumbre!" (A/N: "Even with this red hair! It looks like fire!")

Montserrat smiled sheepishly. "Irene I have to be honest with you-"

"I am your grandmother, Montserrat," Irene playfully scolded her.

With the same sheepish smile, Montserrat tried again, "Grandmother, I have to be honest and just...I don't really understand you when you speak Spanish. I never really learned..."

"I know that," Irene chuckled. "You think I didn't notice you asking your friend to quietly whisper-" she whispered for dramatic effect, making Montserrat smile again, "-what was said every now and then."

"I'm sorry," Montserrat put the photograph back on its place. "I don't...I don't know anything about this family. And my guess it's going to take a while until I can get just the basics down."

"And what's the problem with that?" Irene crossed her arms. "I'm just happy you came."

"I have to be honest about that too. I wasn't going to come at the last moment. Gael bailed on me and my cousin Casey was working...it felt like they were signs that things wouldn't go well if I showed up here." Irene didn't seem upset over the admission which really surprised Montserrat. "You understand what I said, right? I wasn't going to come."

"But you did meaning something changed your mind," Irene said plainly. "And I'm grateful for it."

"We've got the wine, come and get some!" Leo exclaimed and motioned people to grab a glass.

With the promise of getting a glass for her, Irene left Montserrat. The ginger continued to study more photographs, and perhaps it had to do with the fact a lot of them were of her mother. It was nice to see what her mother looked like as a kid and even just as a young woman. She only looked away when she heard Rafael's voice nearing the living room again. He'd stepped out to take a call, but since that had been over fifteen minutes ago she assumed there'd been more calls than expected. He'd given up his afternoon of work to accompany her and now he was probably going to work through the night just to catch up. He may have been snarky most of the time - and it was possible that sometimes she just wanted to strangle him - but when it came to the important stuff, Rafael really was a good man. 

"Just leave it for tomorrow, we'll talk," Rafael seemed particularly more irritated than usual after hanging up. 

"Are you in trouble?" Montserrat asked him, drawing him to her side.

"No, they're going to be tomorrow." At least whatever problem he had didn't stop him from being his usual confident self. He glanced to see the photographs beside them and took all but ten seconds before he pointed out Montserrat's mother in three pictures. "You two have the same eyes. It seems like a Ramos trait."

"I guess it is," Montserrat nodded.

"And the orange hair is obviously the Novak trait."

Montserrat laughed and brought a hand to her hair. "I guess it is. I wonder what else I inherited from these people."

"Well, the good thing is now you'll be able to find out," Rafael reached to touch her arm. Montserrat surprised him when she hugged him unexpectedly. "What are you doing?" his hands were debating whether or not to touch her back.

Montserrat wasn't in the mood for the usual sarcasm of feigning kindness. She felt at a good place right now and she wanted to let him know how thankful she was to have him with her. "Thank you for coming with me. It really means a lot to me."

"I...I guess you're welcome," Rafael hid his smile when he finally hugged back. When they pulled apart, they exchanged smiles.

"Montserrat, will you and Rafael be joining us?" Leo's teasing call didn't go unnoticed by the two.

Montserrat shot her cousin a sarcastic glare. "I don't know, you haven't drank the entire bottle already, have you?"

"You don't have to be mean to your own family," Rafael told her as they headed to get their glasses of wine.

"It's okay, I'll still have plenty of sarcasm to use on you tomorrow," Montserrat promised him...but he promised to be sarcastic right back.

#ocappreciation #svu #rafael barba #fd: svu #svu imagines #rafael barba imagines #rafael barba fics #svu fics #svuedit #oc: Montserrat Novak

[crayonwriting]

Irreplaceable You: 7 (Bucky Barnes)

Summary: Unexpectedly diagnosed with a terminal disease, you embark on a mission to find a new love for your fiancé and childhood best friend, Bucky Barnes.

Disclaimer: This story is a rewrite of the movie of the same title on Netflix. Directed by Stephanie Laing and written by  Bess Wohl. Go check it out!

A/N: So, we’re almost midway to the whole story now. And I don’t know if anyone is still reading this. Haha. But for the sake of this beautiful story, I shall finish it to the end. 

You, who is reading this, I hope you enjoy!

—

"A hundred and fifty dollars? Aren't there anything here that's worth at least five hundred?" Tony inspected each rack of clothes. He would pull one out, look at—more like, judge—it then sigh disappointedly before returning each item. "Can I buy class here?"

"Focus, please." You held up a denim coat before returning it in the rack. "We just need to freshen up Buck's look a little."

"Why is that again?" He questioned, sassily.

"Trust me." You sighed. "Any woman that meets him is gonna want to shop for him." You pulled up a pair of bell-bottom pants with one too many rips. You cringed. "The wrong one will put him in these." You turned your attention to Tony. "What are you doing?"

Tony removed his jacket and tried on an ugly looking vest. Tony pulled on the end of the it, smoothing out the fabric. He checked himself out in the mirror. He spotted your questionable gaze.

“What? You're the only one who gets to make bad decisions because you're dying?” Tony signalled to the assistant nearby. “Terminal cancer. Put it on my bill.”

“You're just so cool with everything.” You scoffed, shaking your head.

“I'm not cool with any of this. I've been dying longer than you have.” This made you stare at him. Tony just shrugged. “You get better at it.”

“How?” You interjected.

“Well,” he gestured to his body. “It's like this vest. At first it's, ‘Why is that old man wearing that horrible vest?’ Pretty soon I become the vest guy. After that, you realize that you'd hardly recognize me without it.” He continued to stare at his reflection, somewhat longingly. “I look comfortable in it. It's a part of me, so...you accept it.”

He stared straight at you through the mirror. You shook your head and busied yourself by looking at a nearby rack.

“I don't think I can ever accept you in that vest.” You said, holding out a dark blue jacket towards him. “Try this on. I want to see what it'll look like on Bucky.”

“Okay.” Tony slipped it on and checked his reflection. You made a face at how good it looked on him. He also nodded in approval. “This looks nice. I look three days younger."

“Great.” You patted his chest. “Let’s go look for jeans.” You rushed off to the other side of the store with Tony trailing behind.

—

“Come on.” You pulled your hardest to get the jeans you got for Bucky to fit. You were standing behind him, tugging at the material.

“These... Oh!” Bucky struggled. “They're cutting off my circulation.” He  jumped a few times, wiggling his hips to ease the pants in. He chuckled, almost strained. “Seriously, my ankles are tingling; my feet are asleep!”

You didn’t respond to him as he finally buttoned his pants on. You inspected it carefully before picking up the jacket on the bed and helping him put it on.

“You look hot.” You remarked.

“It's just… Can I ask what this is about?” He tugged the jacket on, adjusting to the fit.

“Just.. Just some retail therapy.” You purse your lips, shrugging nonchalantly. You placed an arm across your chest; your hand under your chin. You looked him up and down, liking the results.  

"And where am I supposed to put my phone?"

You just laughed and walked towards him. You inspected the tag inside the jacket and showed it to him.

"Now… Okay, this jacket is dry clean only. Which means," You looked at him straight in the eye. “If I'm not around, do not put this in the laundry.” Your eyes widened in realization. “Oh. Shit. Laundry.”

You held his hand tightly around yours, pulling him out of the bedroom, into the kitchen and then to the small laundry room beside it. You both stood in front of your washing machine. Putting a hand to your waist, you turned to him saying,

“All right, so—”

“Really?” Bucky interrupted, smiling. You gave him a pointed look and he just raised his hands in surrender.

“Okay, so…,” you continued.

“I know how to turn it on.” Bucky cut you off once again. He gave you a knowing smile.

“Yeah, I know. But colors, whites, delicates.” You pointed to the various buttons on the machine.

“Right.” Bucky rolled his eyes playfully.

“The dryer sometimes gets stuck, so, uh, you just give it two kicks.” You kicked twice on the lower right corner of the washing machine. “Right here. Like that. And it will generally unstick itself.” Bucky chuckled softly, walking toward you and mimicked your actions.

“Exactly.” You smiled, proud. “Uh, this dial is the minutes. It tells you how much time you have left...”

You looked at Bucky then back at the washing machine letting your words sink in. Bucky looked at you with a pained expression but he did his best to hide it. Oh, how your words filled something more than teaching Bucky how to do the laundry. The air in the room grew thick. Without looking at him, you continued.

"If-if the time runs out before the clothes are ready, you just...turn the dial." You sighed softly, feeling defeated all of a sudden. Your chest felt heavy and your shoulders ached somehow. You looked slowly at Bucky who had the same expression as yours.

You gulped loudly, with eyes looking up at him in  worry. Bucky smiled sadly at you and reached out for your hand, holding it tightly in his. He tilted his head down and kissed you softly on your trembling lips. You kissed him back only for a moment until he pulled away.

He stepped back slowly, waiting for your response. He continued to smile at you encouragingly.

“C’mon…” He whispered, pulling on your hand.

You walked closer to him and leaned up to kiss his lips once again. He kissed you back, pulling you flush against his body. The kiss turned into something more as you poured out your everything—all the pain, fear and struggle you’ve felt since learning about your cancer.

He breathed in, holding on to your arm and kissing you urgently. You kissed him back with much fervor, taking off his glasses and setting it on the counter blindly. He pushed against you, leading you out of the small room and into the kitchen. He lifted you on the kitchen counter, still kissing you. You grabbed and nipped at his lips, hungry for his touch.

A sharp pain shot through your side and you clutched it tightly. You pushed Bucky away with your other hand as you waited for the pain to pass.

“What?” Bucky panted. He eyed you warily. You groaned loudly, shaking your head a little as the pain grew. “Are you okay?” He asked.

You pushed him out of the way, jumping down the kitchen island and ran for the sink. You retched and coughed out the contents of your stomach, clutching the metal sink to keep you steady. Bucky pressed a warm hand against your back, trying to soothe you. He leaned down and kissed the back of your neck.

“Yeah, I tend to have that effect on women.” He chuckled, making you laugh amidst your vomiting. “Too soon?” He asked. You just laughed at him, wiping your mouth. Bucky laughed to himself. “Yeah, too soon.” He grabbed a clean glass and filled it with water before handing it to you.

—

You were relaxing in your ‘treatment suite’ when a gust of something wet touched your face.

“Mom, would you stop?” You wiped at your face, irritated. You opened an eye and saw your mother spraying on some facial mist on her own face.

“Hospitals are very dehydrating.” She looked to you, slapping your hands away from your face. “Don't touch your face. I don't want you to get sick.” You gave her an irritated and knowing look. She shrugged and said, “Well, more sick.”

“Everything going okay in here?” Scott came in, eyeing you. You gave him a pleading look, glancing at your mom. He nodded discreetly.  “Hey, Mom, you want to do me a favor and run down to the cafeteria and get us some Ho Hos?”

“Ho Hos?”

“Yeah. You don't know Ho Hos? They're like little pinwheel cakes. Chocolate covered. They're delicious.”

“How about if I get you a green salad?” She looked at you. You smiled tightly and nodded.

“Great.”

“Green juice.” Your mother stated.

“That sounds great.” Scott interrupted. “Yeah, but don't forget those Ho Hos though. I got a little bit of a sweet tooth.”

“They still make Ho Hos?” She asked gathering her bag, getting ready to go out.

“They still make them.” Scott smiled.

“Thanks, Mom.” You murmured as she kissed your forehead and went out of the room. You looked to Scott and bumped your elbow with his—a secret handshake. “Thanks Scott.”

“No problem.”

—

“Psychology. Spirituality. Oh! Here we go.” You gasped. “Vegetable Gardening for Dummies. Camping for Dummies. Ooh. He could take up Bridge.” You pulled out each book title, adding them to the pile in your arms. “It could help him meet people.” You showed the book to Clint who was on the other end of the aisle.

“Oh. Here's a good one.” He showed the book to you as you neared him. “The Art of Letting Go. Try that.” He smiled, putting the book in your arms. You rolled your eyes at him, putting the book back on the shelf.

“Look, if you don't agree with what I'm doing…”

“I don't. You know I don’t, Y/N.” He eyed you before turning his attention back to the shelf. “But you’re my best friend. Can’t leave you doing shit alone. Even if it is dumb. Plus,” he crossed his arms against his chest, “It’s interesting to see where this idea of yours is gonna go. It’s like a slow-moving car crash.”

“Thanks.” You said, sarcastically. Sighing, you felt your shoulders sag a little. “It's exactly how I feel, actually. It's like I'm heading towards this brick wall, and I can't do anything…” You looked at Clint who was busy on his phone.

“Clint!”

“Huh? Oh, sorry.” Clint pocketed his phone. You huffed out at him in frustration. “Aww, come on. Don’t be mad at me.” He slung an arm around you, pulling you tight.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” You shrugged his arm off. “You’re lucky you’re my best friend.”

“Shouldn’t I be saying that?” He pointed to the stacks of books you were carrying. “You're gonna get all of that?”

“Yes.”

“Is Barnes that much of a dummy for you to buy all the dummy books ever published?” He took the books from you as you both walked to the counter.

—

‘Likes vegetable gardening and is learning to play Bridge,’ you typed away at your laptop, updating Bucky’s dating profile. Finishing up, you closed your laptop and set it on the bedside table. You looked at Bucky who lay beside you. The sight made you smile.

He was asleep. His mouth was slightly agape, glasses still perched on the bridge of his nose. One of his big, heavy science books lay open on his stomach.

You reached over and pulled off his glasses. He stirred slightly, looking at you with glazed eyes. You smiled down at him, placing his glasses on his bedside table. He languidly placed the book aside, opening up his right arm to you so that you could settle into his side.

You made yourself comfortable, wrapping an arm around his waist. He kissed your forehead and relaxed his body. Out of the blue, a question popped into your mind.

"What if I had run away and joined a cult?"

"I guess…" he said slowly, trying to wake himself up more. "I would have to join too."

"What if relationships between cult members was frowned upon?"

"Like an asexual cult?"

"Yeah. And you couldn't do an intervention and get me out because I was totally brainwashed."

"Hmm." He thought for a moment. "Well, I guess I would have to become a rival cult leader, re-brainwash you according to my philosophy, and then steal you away into my cult," he raised his index finger into the air, "Which would be a sex cult." You laughed lightly.

"What if I were exactly like me, except I had really terrible halitosis?" Bucky looked down at you.

"I would get you a mint." He chuckled. "Or I would destroy the olfactory receptors in my nose so that I didn't care.."

You smiled, pecking his nose. You stared off into the distance.

"What if I die, Buck?"

He didn't answer right away. You regretted ever asking that. Bucky wrapped both of his arms around you, burying his nose into your hair.

"I would…never recover."

You stared into each others eyes, letting the words sink in. He smiled sadly before pulling you closer. You basked in his embrace, letting yourself fall asleep.

—

feedback is greatly appreciated!

Tags: @blueskiesbleakeyes / @justanothergirlwithdemons /  @butteryoptimisticpeanut /  @likes-to-smell-books /  @hennessy0274-blog​

#b writes #irreplaceable you series #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagine #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine

[jennycalendar]

Bravery (23/?)

the end is legitimately in sight. i repeat: the end is legitimately in sight. i think i have to write two or three more chapters and then i will be officially done with bravery which...what the heck am i gonna do with my life then. for serious.

(it’s also on ao3)

“I’m sorry about beach day,” said Ms. Calendar as she got into the front seat of the car. “In my head, there was less drama and more of you two enjoying yourself.”

“It was definitely memorable,” Xander tried. Ms. Calendar looked back, giving him a wry, affectionate smile that made him feel like he’d somehow managed to do something right. It was a little weird, but in a good way. “And hey, the first fifteen minutes were pretty good. I have some great pictures.”

“What were you talking about with Giles?” Willow asked, buckling herself into the driver’s seat. She seemed to have regained her energy enough to drive them home, which Xander was glad for; as much as he liked Ms. Calendar, he didn’t exactly want to put the drive home in her still-healing hands.

Ms. Calendar hesitated, then, “That’s something we need to talk about when we get home.”

Willow turned, looking at Ms. Calendar with a strange expression. “You never got your iced coffee,” she said.

“What?”

“At that diner place—you never got your iced coffee. And then you came out all weird, and drove straight to make sure you could see Giles before we headed home.” Willow seemed to be working out some equation that Xander hadn’t even considered. It was a little disconcerting, but judging by the nervous, guilty look on Ms. Calendar’s face, it was also accurate. “What happened at the diner?” Willow finished, looking up at Ms. Calendar. It wasn’t at all accusing, just inquisitive and worried.

Ms. Calendar drew in a breath. “Look,” she said. “I made an executive decision, and I hope that it’s not one either of you will resent me for.” She hesitated, looked down at her hands. Looked back up at Willow. “Buffy’s okay,” she said. “She specifically asked me not to tell anyone where she was, and I’m trying to respect that.”

This was not at all what Xander had been expecting. “Wait,” he said slowly. “You saw Buffy?”

“At the diner, yes,” said Ms. Calendar, her voice careful and detached, the same way it had been back when Buffy was mad at her. “She isn’t ready to come home.”

Xander felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. So Buffy was okay. Buffy was okay, and while they’d been worrying about her, she’d been hiding in some random LA diner because she didn’t feel like coming back to Sunnydale. Did she ever even care about them at all? Why did she keep doing this? Waltzing off over the summer without a word to any of them. It was like they were only a part of her life when it was convenient to her.

He was brought out of his thoughts by Willow’s high, nervous voice. “Ms. Calendar—”

Xander looked up. Ms. Calendar was looking out the window, her eyes fixed on a distant figure on the beach. “I keep on wondering,” she said, more to herself than anyone else, “if he’d be doing better at this than me.”

“You’re the best,” said Xander fiercely. He wasn’t sure if he meant it out of a genuine appreciation for Ms. Calendar or out of spite for Buffy and Giles, but at Ms. Calendar’s startled, gratified look, he felt determined to stick by it. “They didn’t stay. We did. That’s what counts at the end of the day.”

Ms. Calendar nodded, but Xander got the sense that she hadn’t really heard him.

“I’m not crying over Buffy,” said Willow from the driver’s seat in a somewhat choked-up voice. “Crying while driving is a hazard.”

Ms. Calendar looked over at Willow with a small, tired smile. “Very conscientious,” she said, closing her eyes. “You can take all the time you need.”

“It might get dark,” Xander commented a little nervously.

Willow sniffled. “Good point,” she said. “Ms. Calendar, are my eyes clear enough to drive?”

Ms. Calendar actually laughed. It was a startling sound, cutting through the somber mood of the car. “I think so!” she said, pressing her fingers to her mouth and visibly trying to tamp down her smile. “God, sorry, Willow, I really am taking you seriously, it’s just been such a—weird day.”

Willow smiled too. It was wobbly and watery, but still there, which made Xander feel a little better. “It has,” she agreed, and started up the car.

Xander fell asleep in the backseat. Jenny couldn’t carry him, so she had to wake him up and get him to come into her house. She wasn’t having him go back to his parents’ house tonight—which, incidentally, she was going to seriously look into that next year; from what little she’d heard, that didn’t seem at all like a good place for a kid to live. Granted, Xander was closing in on eighteen, but she still thought it was important to get him out of there as soon as possible.

“Just—couch,” she said, waving her hand ambiguously in the direction of the living room. “Willow, you get the bed.” She was very glad that Willow was too tired to argue with her about the ethics of taking her bed. It was barely sunset, but the day had been exhausting on a lot of levels, so it would be nice for her to have some alone time while the kids napped.

Jenny made herself tea. She’d gotten good at it over the last few weeks. Rupert used to tease her about how she always let the leaves steep too long, but she’d all but perfected her timing now. It was strange, thinking about the fact that now there was an aspect of her Rupert didn’t know, and that it was almost definitely going to stay that way.

She’d left the necklace with him because some selfish part of her wanted to make sure he didn’t forget her. If he didn’t go through some miraculous change of heart, that moment on the beach was the last one she intended to have with him, and she’d wanted to make sure he had some part of her to keep.

So, yeah. She was still in love with him. But that didn’t change the fact that she had more important things to do than get hung up over some guy who had been gone for over a month anyway. She was moving on, which was sad, but it was also freeing.

The teakettle went off, and Jenny hurried to turn down the water. As she poured out the tea, she heard footsteps, and then Willow’s sleepy voice saying, “Is there enough for me?”

Without turning around, Jenny smiled. “More than,” she said. “Always planning for unexpected guests. You warm enough?”

“I borrowed one of your sweaters.” Willow sounded a little guilty.

“Cool,” Jenny replied easily, turning around to look. “Looks better on you than me, to be honest. You can keep it if you want.”

“Ooh, really?” Willow grinned at her. “Thanks!” She sat down at the kitchen table, adjusting the sleeves of the plum-colored sweater. It was just a touch big on her, but it really did compliment her hair quite nicely. “How are you?”

“Doing better.” Jenny handed Willow one of the mugs of tea before sitting down next to her. “You get enough sleep?”

“Mmm.” Willow shrugged noncommittally. “I was—thinking.”

“About?”

“I-if Giles isn’t coming back, and Buffy isn’t ready to and might never be ready to—”

“Hold on, that’s not a given,” Jenny said immediately, more for Willow’s sake than her own. “Buffy could still come back.”

Willow smiled a little sadly. “But she might not,” she said. “And if she’s not, we need to start really preparing for this year.” She put down her mug. There was the beginning of an excited light in her eyes that warmed Jenny more than the tea possibly could. “Like, really preparing. Not just fighting, because we can’t all be Buffys. We need to consider all of our strengths and use them to our advantages.”

“Okay,” said Jenny carefully. “Still not sure what you’re trying to say here.”

Willow hesitated. “I—didn’t mean to snoop,” she said, “but you’ve got lots of books in your bedroom. Magic books. And—”

“Whoa, hold on.” Jenny held up a hand, feeling a sudden spike of worry. “I know you’re a smart girl, Willow, but magic isn’t something anyone can jump headfirst into without instruction.”

“I know.” Willow was still smiling, but there was a touch of shyness to it. “I was hoping—” She twisted at a loose thread on the blanket. “Maybe you could teach me?”

Jenny blinked. “Willow, I—” She looked down at her mug, somewhat embarrassed. “I’d love to say that I’m a qualified teacher, or a good spellcaster, but it takes a natural affinity for magic to be able to use it efficiently. I’m not skilled enough to do that.”

“You’re Jenny Calendar,” said Willow with a fierce pride. “You stood up to a vampire twice, and you translated a soul spell when you said it couldn’t be done.”

“You know, I broke up with Rupert for idealizing me,” Jenny said, trying to make it sound joking. It fell somewhat flat.

Willow shook her head. “That’s not my point,” she said. “Anyone as brave and smart as you is completely qualified to teach someone magic. And if I don’t have a natural affinity for magic, or—or whatever else it takes, then no harm, no foul, right?” She had a hopeful, nervous look on her face.

Jenny didn’t answer, considering this. Willow did have a point. It wouldn’t really hurt to try and teach her what she knew. It could actually be pretty helpful to give Willow a general sense of the magical world, especially if they were fighting demons who might use magic against them.

“I mean, obviously you’ve been through a lot lately, and I wouldn’t want to pressure—”

“Willow.” Jenny gave her a patient smile. “I’d be happy to try and teach you what I know. I just don’t want to get your hopes up when it comes to you blowing things up or setting vampires on fire with your mind or whatever. It could take years to hone whatever natural talent you have, and by that time you may have already decided to leave Sunnydale behind, you know?”

Willow nodded thoughtfully. Then she said, “I don’t think I could leave Sunnydale if there’s no one here to protect it.”

“There’s me,” Jenny reminded her. “And Xander, and Oz, and Cordelia once she gets back from—where did she go?” Willow rolled her eyes and made a face. “Helpful,” Jenny quipped, and took a sip of tea. “I can tell you’ll be a model student.”

“So that’s a yes?” Willow inquired eagerly.

“It’s an I’ll try,” Jenny replied gently. “I can’t promise more.”

Willow beamed at Jenny over her mug of tea. Jenny lightly bumped Willow’s shoulder with hers.

#anyway. willow and jenny continue to be wonderful & good #fic #bravery #jenny and willow #i'm thinking of changing their tag to 'put a little trust in me' #or 'yogurt' #or something more bravery-specific #because i'm a dork #but we shall see #i just. i love writing them