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winterscaptain · 4 years

Text

constellations.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: as usual, an ajf fic that requires very little context. i’m so sorry this took so long!! i was busy thinking about how to quit my job this week and then KIRA CAME TO VISIT ME (we’re being safe and covid-conscious!) so this took a couple of days longer than expected. also - i see your beautiful messages! i will keep chipping away at them :)

you can expect the route 66 fic on tuesday at 11pm pdt!

words: 4.4k warnings: canon-typical discussions of violence, some mention of canon-typical sexual assault, language

summary: as hotch recovers from the explosion in new york, you find yourself more concerned than you expected. (au!2008)

masterlist | a joyful future master list | requests closed!

“The Angel Maker. I remember the case.”

It’s a fairly normal start to the week, with a case packed and ready for you at 10am. Aaron was out of the field for a week or so with his injuries, but his presence at the round table and the go bag you spotted beside his desk this morning warms you.

He’s back. Not completely, but that’s better than not at all.

“They caught that guy.” Reid’s flipping through the case file, but you know he’s got one ear open.

Rossi’s on the same page, and finishes Reid’s thought. “And executed him.”

“That’s right,” JJ says. “He was put to death by lethal injection a year ago yesterday.”

You release a little breath you were holding. “Yesterday?”

That’s a clear enough trigger for a fanatic. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen something like this, either with your tenure at the BAU or in previous case studies at the academy. It was always a little shocking - the lengths people go to complete the work of the devil they romanticize...

Derek throws a finger at you as if to say Exactly. “So we’re looking for a copycat.”

“Honoring the anniversary of his hero’s death.” Dave sits back in his chair, almost satisfied. You smile a little.

The confidence of a seasoned profiler.

Aaron catches your smile, and his lips pull just the barest amount. You shake your head, suppressing a wider grin.

Funny, isn’t it?

His brows tug. What?

It’s so...normal. And so predictable. You sit back, peering at Aaron over your copy of the file. He huffs (you recognize it as a laugh, though the rest of his face remains exactly the same) and turns his attention toward Reid, who’s still flipping through the file.

“It says here they found semen at the crime scene. Perhaps locals will get a DNA match through VICAP?” When you follow Aaron’s gaze to Spencer, you’re not surprised to see him already absorbed in the latter half of the report.

“See, that’s where things get weird.” Her face screws up. “They already ran it, and got a match.” She throws the file toward you, and you open it.

“If they already have a name, why’d they call us?” Emily’s confusion is swallowed up in your own.

“You’ve got to be kidding.” You look over at Hotch, who takes the file from your hands. “The match they got back on the DNA is to Courtland Bryce Ryan -”

Hotch lets out a sharp huff. “The Angel Maker.” You meet his gaze again.

This is going to be a weird one.

“Wheels up in thirty.”

+++

You lean against the back of Hotch’s chair, peering over his shoulder as ideas bounce around the cabin. He’s focused on Reid along with the rest of you as the younger agent spins a theory.

Derek’s the first one to question his particularly amusing line of thought. “Reid, you’re not seriously floating the idea of an evil twin, are you?”

“No. I’m floating the idea of an eviler twin.” Reid looks dead serious, and Hotch glances up at you. You shake your head a little, and he shrugs before restoring his attention. “Traditionally the concept is good twin and an evil twin. But in this case, it’s evil twin, eviler twin.”

You swallow a laugh as both Derek and Emily look at him like he’s grown three extra heads all at once.

Before any of you can say anything, Aaron’s hand rises to his forehead and his face scrunches up in pain. You place a hand on his shoulder from over the seat, patting him for his attention. “Hotch?”

He hums something that sounds like, “Yeah?”

“Are you cleared to fly?”

He sucks in a breath to cover a wince, and you take that as a no.

You sink your hands into his hair as he tips his head back against the seat with his eyes closed. The tips of your fingers find the little pressure points around his head, and you lean forward, keeping your voice soft. “Does that help?”

He nods, just a little, and you’re satisfied. You look at Derek over Hotch’s head, and he looks just as concerned as you feel.

+++

“I give you a legacy. A breath of life from the Angel Maker himself. Those who prayed to forget me will one day see my face and shrink in fear.” Reid recites aloud from the letter, and you listen with your head propped on your hand.

The sheriff sighs and crosses his arms. “That’s the last thing people need right now.”

“Reid, how does that compare with the original correspondence?” Derek ignores the sheriff, redirecting his attention to the letter and the genius holding it.

You jump on Derek’s line of thinking. “It can’t be authentic, can it?” You drop your hand from your chin and lean toward Spencer, feeling Aaron hover over your shoulder.

“They share some compelling characteristics. I’d obviously like to look at it under a magnification under a better light…”

Obviously.

Hotch’s voice almost startles you, right by your ear. “Best guess, Reid?”

“I’d say it’s authentic.” Rather than looking at Hotch, he looks at you. Your furrowed brow speaks for everyone present.

“How can it be authentic if the guy’s been dead for over a year?” Looking over at Hotch, you hope he has something better than paranormal speculation.

He doesn’t disappoint. “It could be an elaborate forgery.”

“Or,” Reid adds, “it could be a genuine article, just written before his death.”

You hum. “That's my favorite of the theories so far.”

The sheriff shakes his head, coming up on your other side. It’s almost comical the way you’re all crowded around the letter. “Mail here isn’t that slow.”

Derek’s the only one who hasn’t joined you. He’s still happily posted up at the desk, leaning against it with his arms crossed. You glance at him before offering, “Could have been released through an intermediary.”

“You mean the copycat?” Reid asks.

Nodding, you suggest, “He could be buried in those visitor logs - we’re checking them out now to see who visited Ryan and how often.”

Derek finally joins you. “That’ll narrow the suspect pool.”

Hotch flinches again and his fingers press to his brow as the front door opens, allowing the rush of a truck to sound through the room.

“Hotch?”

He waves you off. “I’m fine.”

Liar.

There’s nothing you can do.

+++

You’re with Derek in one of the interrogation rooms, going through letter upon letter from Ryan’s time in prison. “What happens if Hotch actually loses his hearing?” You can’t help the overwhelming notes of concern coloring your voice. “I mean, what are we going to say to Strauss? ‘Excuse me ma’am, if our unit chief goes deaf because he won’t fucking slow down, can he still be our unit chief?’ I mean - “

You shut your mouth as Hotch walks into the room. Shame floods through you. It was more than unkind to talk about him behind his back as it was, and here you were - broadcasting your worst fears about his condition to one of your closest mutual friends.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean -”

Aaron once again waves you off. “It’s alright.” He comes to rest beside you, and you reach for his arm in apology.

“How are you feeling?”

He shakes his head, and Derek leaves the two of you alone, closing the door behind him. Hotch looks over his shoulder, satisfied that you’re on your own.

“Dizzy. Nauseated. Tired.” It’s like a checklist - matter-of-fact and without bias.

You take stock of him. The cuts on his face are healing nicely, and the bruise on his cheek is fading. The bags under his eyes, though, betray the lack of sleep. “What can I do?”

He shakes his head with something that isn’t a smile if you don’t know him. “Nothing. Just keep doing good work.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt. “I didn’t mean to be insensitive earlier.”

“I know.”

“I’m just worried, is all.” Your voice tapers off at the end of your thought, just a little embarrassed.

A little breath leaves his nose, and you know it’s sort of a laugh. “I know.” He presses a hand to your shoulder for a moment before diving into one of the boxes himself.

+++

Hotch walks quickly, and you keep up as best you can as he informs the sheriff, “I have to advise against this.”

“All due respect, this isn’t your town. I have to convince them that Courtland Ryan is dead and buried.”

Hotch glances back at you, and you shrug.

Small towns. Serial killers. What are you gonna do?

The cemetery is relatively quiet, the sleepy town waiting for something to happen with bated breath. It’s not like anyone would be taking late-night walks anytime soon.

His head tips, and you know he agrees. Nevertheless, he turns back toward the sheriff. “You’re indulging the killer by perpetuating the ruse he’s created.”

Nice. Five dollar words for the two-bit sheriff.

“He’s right. It may embolden him. Prompt more murders.” Emily says, watching the proceedings with a discerning eye. You can only agree.

The sheriff shakes his head. “Celia lost her only daughter to that murdering bastard. We met when I was working the case and had gotten close. I thought we were past all this, but...I guess I was kidding myself.”

The crane starts up, and there’s a sinking feeling that you’ve forgotten about something as the chains tighten and begin to lift the coffin. All at once, you remember and turn as Hotch steps away, his hand over his ear and the other pressed against his brow again.

You hover beside him, not sure what to do. Pressing your hands to his forearms, you do your best to shield him from some of the sound with your body.

He makes a weak attempt to wave you off, but his voice startles you. It’s so small as he insists, “I’m alright. I’m fine. Just -”

“Hotch -”

“I’m okay I’m okay I’m okay. Yeah.”

You don’t believe him for a second, but as the noise decreases, so does his agony. He removes his hands from his ears for a moment. He’s blinking rapidly, looking simultaneously dazed and far too aware.

“Aaron…”

He shakes his head. “Don’t. I’m fine. I’m okay.”

Your lips press into a thin line and you remove your hands from his arms. “Take it easy. I can’t make your life hell if you can’t hear me, alright?”

Your teasing has the intended effect, and he levels you with his signature glare that’s only halfway playful.

+++

“The victim is Maxine Chandler. The neighbors say she’s lived here her whole life. All twenty-eight years of it.”

The house is infused with the presence of children - play structures, toys, the whole nine. Aaron voices your thoughts. “How many kids does she have?”

“None of her own. She runs a daycare. The guy who called 911 came here to drop off his toddler and found Maxine in her bedroom.”

That’s an eventful morning.

“Well,” you note, “now that we have more than one victim, we can compare victimology.”

Hotch nods, and you meet his eyes for a moment. “Different data points should help us significantly narrow the profile.”

“I’ll get JJ to bring us the files on the first victim.” Morgan says, his phone already in his hand.

“What did you find?”

The coroner runs you through his findings, and they’re not much different from the first murder, but there is one notable difference.

“Nine puncture wounds,” Emily notes, her dark eyes roaming over the body.

You’re close to Hotch, watching them bounce off each other. It’s always inspiring to watch them. As close as you and Aaron are, you were deeply impressed but his professional relationship with Emily. There’s part of you that chalks it up to your age - they are only two years apart. They form their own little age bracket on the team while you, JJ, and Spencer make up the younger strata.

More often than not, the three of you were able to keep up with each other just like Emily and Aaron.

“Can I have your pen?” Emily asks.

“Yeah.” Hotch pulls the pen from his inside pocket, handing it over into her eager hands. “What is it?”

You wait as she doodles something into her notepad before her head whips up. “She did this.”

“What do you mean?” You’re not following, and you can tell Hotch isn’t either.

“The unsub. She made this before she made the puncture wounds.”

Hotch tips his chin, understanding. “That’s why the coroner found paper in the wounds.”

“It was a template. The Angel Maker did it from memory, but she needed a guide to get it right.”

You pull your phone out, already dialing Reid as Hotch says. “We need to go back and re-examine each of the patterns. Where’s Reid?”

“Spence. Hey. We have something for you.” You pass the phone and a little smile to Hotch, who takes both with a grateful look.

Emily watches the exchange, feeling suddenly like an outsider - almost an intruder. There’s something between you two, always has been, but this moment is such a clean-cut outline of it. You’re constantly anticipating the needs of the other, ready with a warmth and fondness at a moment’s notice.

She sees it again when he presses your phone back into your waiting hand. You take it and brush past him as he turns over his shoulder to follow you out the door. It almost looks choreographed. In fairness, you’d both done it what feels like thousands of times before.

When you pause in the living room, both turning at the same time when Derek calls for Hotch, a shadow of a thought crosses her mind. It’s gone before it’s truly there, and she lets it go.

+++

Reid’s finally cracked it, and you’re all crowded around him again as he explains what he’s found. He profiled the author, figured out the cypher used by the Aryan Brotherhood, and generally made use of his insane brain. The patterns themselves are constellations, woven into every aspect of their relationship.

You find a smile breaking out over your face as you listen to Spencer spin. Hotch leans over and whispers, “He hasn’t let loose in a while, has he?” You’re standing on his left, of course, just in case.

Shaking your head, you laugh a little. Emily’s looking at Spencer like he’s from another planet. She pokes him and voices the thought you’ve all had at least once. “He’s so lifelike.”

Her comment gets a laugh out of you and a smile out of Aaron. You’re warmed by it.

+++

You clear and search Chloe Kelcher’s house, staying firmly attached to Aaron’s seven o’clock position, right off his left shoulder.

“Alright. We all know what the endgame is. She’s looking for her final victim. She may have already chosen one.” Hotch looks around, suggesting assignments with the flicker of his eyes around the house. “Let’s tear this place apart, look for anything that might tell us who she’s targeted.”

You follow Hotch and Derek into the nursery, noting the stars on the ceiling. The crib captures your attention - the carefully placed onesie indicating the pain of a woman in denial. Your brow crumples, and Aaron steps up beside you, nudging a couple of stuffed animals out of the way as a cursory search.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just...thinking.” The trigger is as clear as a neon sign, and you’re sure much saner people would break down like this at the loss of a child. There’s a silent prompting as he stands beside you, waiting for you to elaborate. “I dunno. I can just see how someone close to reasonable would be in bad enough shape after something like this, not to mention someone as unstable as our unsub.”

He sighs. “It must have devastated her to think that she could hold on to Ryan by having his child and then lose the baby.”

Derek hums from across the room, joining the conversation. “Completing his murders became the only way she could hold onto him.”

Something strikes Aaron then - something intangible. He turns and opens the trunk in the corner of the room. Its contents pull your upper lip up in disgust.

With a dubious pair of eyebrows, Aaron notes, “Not the only way.”

“Guess that answers that.”

+++

You reach the final victim’s house, and you can only hope you’ve made it in time. Hotch immediately assumes authority, leading collaboration between the BAU and local law enforcement. He assigns Derek to find an opening into the house, while he directs the sheriff to bring all the cars to the front, no lights.

He finds a megaphone for Emily, and you take your place at his left side, crouched to take the low firing point through the car’s open window.

“Hit the lights,” he directs, and they do.

All at once, it’s bright - nearly daylight. Emily starts talking, and you’re singularly focused on the front of the house. The windows, the door, and the curtains are all within your purview. You glance up at Hotch, who glances down at you. He unholsters his weapon, and you bump his hip with your elbow and return your attention to the front of the house

“Go into the pouch next to my extra magazines.”

You can sense rather than see his frown.

“Just trust me. Open it.”

His left hand finds your belt while he continues to scan the area, unclipping the pouch without looking. You hear a huff of laughter as he finds what you left for him.

“Put one in your right ear and don’t argue with me.” Your voice is still low, but you dropped into the tone you learned from him, only half-joking.

He rolls his eyes and stuffs the foam earplug in his bad ear before unholstering his weapon.

“Door,” you warn as the front screen opens.

“Chloe. Drop the gun.” Aaron’s voice is heavy with authority, and the sheriff backs him up.

The world slows down when she raises the gun toward you all, and the sheriff fires. Despite the earplug, Aaron immediately collapses, dropping his service weapon at your feet and covering his ears with his hands. You holster your weapon and turn toward him on sheer instinct.

You retrieve the gun, checking the safety and slipping it into your waistband. When you return your attention to him, he’s almost folded completely into himself, pained groans leaving him. Rossi beat you to him, half-holding him up, but he shifts Aaron to you when you reach them both.

“Aaron.” You wrap him in your arms and he takes some of his weight as his feet get back under him. He leans into you, and you do your best to support him. “Hotch, are you okay?”

He reaches out, finding your arm and gripping tight. You stay steady, almost in tears. It’s agonizing to see him in pain.

“I’m okay. I’m okay.”

Liar.

+++

The next day, it’s decided he’ll drive one of the cars home, instead of taking the plane.

You laugh as Derek throws the keys at Spencer. Hotch steps up beside you, throwing his go bag in one of the cars. Going out on a bit of a limb, you ask, “Want any company?” You keep your voice low, just in case anyone’s listening.

First of all, you don’t want to out yourself in front of your colleagues - they all know how much you care about him and you don’t want them getting any ideas. Second of all, you know how Hotch gets when he’s alone too long.

He raises his eyebrows for a second, but Dave interrupts his thought before he can share it with you. “Why don’t you two drive together? It’ll be a better trip with some company and you can’t stand the rest of us for more than three hours at a time.”

Hotch snorts. “Fine.” He looks over at you and you shrug and throw your go bag in the backseat with his.

“I’m good with that. What are you thinkin’? Straight through, or are we taking a the scenic route?”

Dave pipes in again. “I think a couple of days could do you both some good. It’s been a long few weeks.”

You and Hotch look at each other. You look back at Dave. “Good idea. See you Tuesday?”

He nods and joins the rest of the team in the other car, slipping into the passenger seat.

+++

The car is quiet for the first half hour or so. You’re driving - it’s the only way Aaron can hear you in the car, so you’ll probably nap or post up in the backseat when it’s his turn to take the wheel.

You glance over at him before you hit the state line. “You’re thinking very loudly over there.”

A smile pulls at his lips. The heel of his hand supports his cheekbone as his elbow rests on the window ledge. “Am I?”

“Mhmm.”

He shrugs a little. “It’s weird not driving.”

“Ah. So that’s why you’ve been silent for the last…” you check the clock on the dash, “thirty nine minutes.” You’re teasing him and he knows it, but it’s also loaded with questions.

There’s silence, and you wait for him. It’s another thing you’ve learned about him in the last year. Sometimes he’s quiet, but he never avoids you for long.

“I’m thinking about Kate.”

There he is.

You prompt him a little, intrinsically knowing he needs a direction. “Did she have family?”

He nods. “An older sister. She’s flying in from London for the service, but their parents are gone and she wasn’t married, so...that’s it.”

Still looking at the road, you reach out, wrapping your fingers around his forearm. “I’m so sorry, Aaron.”

His hand covers yours for a second. “Thanks.”

You pull back, adjusting your grip on the wheel. A question pushes at your lips, but you roll it around in your head before you really consider asking it aloud.

“You can ask.”

Your head whips toward him for just a moment. “What?”

“You can ask,” he repeats, the shadow of a smile crossing his face. “I know you want to.”

You concede with a little chuff. “Fine. What happened between you and Kate?”

“In what sense?” He’s totally fucking with you, and you shove at his shoulder.

“You know exactly what I mean.”

He shakes his head. “Alright, fine. There was…” he searches, “a moment when she and I were finished working together on the Scotland Yard case that something...happened.”

“Something?”

“Well,” he amends, “nothing actually happened, but let’s just say she had a couple too many and made her intentions very clear.”

Can’t blame her for that one.

Yeah, and that’s why we don’t get drunk with everyone else. Shit happens.

You glanced at him, suppressing a smile. “So what happened?”

He shakes his head, and there’s a sort of dry humor in his voice when he answers,“Obviously, she was pretty out of it, so I took her back to her place and made sure she was settled for the night with a glass of water and some aspirin.” A smile cuts through his huff of laughter. You’re not surprised to hear mourning in it, too. “She was miserable in the morning, and called me to ask what happened the night before. I may have...very loosely implied that something small might have happened, just to save her the embarrassment.”

He pauses, and you know he’s a little reluctant to be this vulnerable - you’re almost sure he never expected to tell this story to anyone, let alone you.

“The attraction was mutual, so I didn’t feel too bad about omitting the consequences of her…” he searches for a word again, “forwardness. It was - is - something I respect about her both personally and professionally.”

“Did you ever tell Haley?”

He shook his head. “I told her the truth - that she needed some help getting home, I set her up for the night, and came right back. She wasn’t thrilled, but she and Kate got on well enough that she didn’t mind too much. I think she was more annoyed that I got home so late even without a case, now that I’m thinking about it.”

You laugh a little. “That sounds like her.”

“She wasn't always like this, you know.” His voice takes on something a little more pensive, and you settle deeper into your seat to let him know you’re listening, even if your eyes hardly stray from the road. “We had a ridiculous amount of fun together when we were younger - first married, I was fresh out of law school, everything ahead of us, and all that.” He heaves a sigh. “It’s really only since Jack was born that things got...bad.”

He pauses, thinking for a moment. “I wish I could explain the work to her - I sometimes wish she could see it, even though I never actually want her to see the things we see every day.”

You keep your voice light, understanding. “I get that. It can’t be easy knowing that we’re your family, too, and even that’s difficult to explain.”

There’s silence, and you know there’s a tacit agreement in it.

His next comment comes a little from left field, but it makes you smile. “She likes you, by the way. She really does.”

“Good.” You glance over at him. “I’m glad.”

There’s something he wants to say, and you raise your eyebrows expectantly, knowing he can see it in your profile.

“Would you want to come over sometime and spend some time with Jack? I -” he exhales, and tries again. “It’s sometimes...weird to have him all to myself.” He laughs a little. “I almost don’t know what to do with him all day when it’s just the two of us.”

A real smile breaks across your face. “I’d love to.”

He nods, satisfied with himself. “It’ll be nice for Haley to see you as well. I know she feels a little cut off these days.”

“Understandable.”

Another bout of silence fills the car. It’s comfortable. Safe.

“Thank you,” he says, after a long while.

You look over, letting your eyes wander down his profile for a moment. “Of course.”

+++

You stay at a little motel off the highway, pulling over after about four hours on the road. It’s only a little ways back to Fairfax, where you’ll drop him off at home before returning the car to Quantico, but Rossi’s right - it’s nice to take some time.

In two separate double beds across the room from each other, you wish each other good night in the dark.

+++

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all1e23 · 4 years

Text

Between the Stars [Pt.8]

Pairings: Past!Steve x Reader, Bucky x Reader

Series warnings: CHARACTER DEATH. Grief. Overall sadness. Depression. It’s pretty angsty if I’m being honest. Things mellow out as the series goes on. TW: Military/Spouse death.

A/N: **TW: A certain death is finally explained in this chapter. It is the second half of the chapter. It’s not in crazy detail but there is some important plot stuff mixed in. I decided to post despite someone stealing my work. 😤 Thanks to my beautiful beta @moonbeambucky for looking this chapter over for me. Enjoy the sad I guess. If you like it write me a book report, sing me a song or come scream at me.

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam, though! Thanks!****

Stepping away from music for those ten months turned out to be the best thing you could have done for yourself and your career. Without the small reprieve, you doubted you would have found your way back to teaching, and you loved teaching. Not that it had been intended as a break at the time you walked away. You had every intention of never looking at another sheet of music again, but then Bucky came home and things became more complicated and somehow easier. You doubted that he knew what he was doing, and why should he? It wasn’t as if he had planned on coming home to pick up all your broken pieces so he could help put you back together. He did -- whether he realized it or not -- help you get some of your old life back. The bit that you could take with you into this new one. You even called a few of your former students and asked their parents if they were interested in picking up their lessons. Most said they would love to pick up where you left off, and a few said they found someone new in your absence. You couldn’t blame them. The world had continued while you chose to stand still.

Bucky must have noticed a difference because he told you he liked how pretty you looked when you were smiling.

Lessons started with the school year, and fall was here before you could blink. You were surprised to find you weren’t dreading the holidays as much as you thought. It would be the first holiday season since you got the call and you had expected it to feel like the rest -- hollow and grim. Along with Easter and Memorial Day, you had skipped celebrating Steve’s birthday. There was a small cake you shared with Bucky, three bites in, and you couldn’t force any more falsities down. You spent the rest of the night in your room. It was one of the rare nights you hadn’t slept next to Bucky since he had been home. You needed the night to yourself, and he understood that. By morning, your wedding ring had found its way from your ring finger to a chain that Steve had given you years ago. It felt strange at first. From the moment Steve slipped it on your finger, it rarely left your skin, and when you did, it always felt like there was a piece of you missing. That feeling didn’t show up this time, but you imagined there weren’t many more pieces of you that could go missing. You didn’t want to make it a big deal, so you kept it tucked inside your shirt. Of course, Bucky noticed the absence right away. He never questioned it.

It was a step forward (or maybe backward you weren’t sure some days). They were small, slow steps taken, but at least you were moving.

You’re not sure when it happened, but one morning you woke up and everything didn’t hurt as bad, you guessed it started right around the time Bucky came home. While moving forward was necessary (as everyone continued to remind you), there were days when it felt like a betrayal. You are moving on, and Steve can’t come with you. A little guilt blackens your heart every time you smile on those days; so you falter and take those arduous steps back. It lessens with every laugh and smile Bucky draws out of you, but it’s there under it all, and there’s the fear too. You’re afraid if you move on and keep up with the rest of the world you will forget. You will forget everything you and Steve had, and it will be as if you were never anything at all. Bucky shook his head when you confessed that to him late one night with your forehead pressed firmly against his shoulder, fighting your sleep and the nightmares you were sure would follow.

“You’re holding on to the past, Y/n. You gotta let it go. I’m not sayin’ you have to stop lovin’ him, but you gotta let go of the part of Steve that’s keeping you from moving on and being happy. Or it’s going to continue to tear at you until there’s nothing left.”

“And if I forget him?”

“You won’t, Trouble. You can’t forget a love like that. Trust me, I know.”

Bucky didn’t elaborate, and you didn’t dare ask. He’s never mentioned anything about falling in love in all the years you’ve known him. You’ve never seen him hold onto a woman for longer than a month and the idea of Bucky being in love, holding on to that love all these years without ever getting to know it turns your stomach inside out and shades your heart a bitter green. You’d rather not dwell on those feelings long enough to understand them.

Neither of you spoke about it again, and you were thankful. You didn’t think you could handle discussing Bucky’s long lost love when you could barely pick out an outfit. You’ve been staring at your clothes for an hour now, and everything either looked awful or felt wrong. Maybe you needed to buy new clothes and start from scratch. Every piece you owned had a memory stitched into the fabric, and you didn’t need to be reminded of things you would never have again. Bucky pulled a grey flannel out of his closet, and you reached across the bed, yanking it right out of his hand to slip over your head. That would have to work for today. Bucky rolled his eyes and turned back to the closet to grab a blue Henley for himself.

You always did like the way he looked blue.

“I can go see Sam so you can have some time alone with Tasha and Wanda.”

You didn’t say anything. Just gave a simple nod of the head, refusing to look up from the pile of clothes on the bed that now needed to be put away. You could leave it. The girls would be here any minute, and with Bucky gone, you could deal with it then. Bucky reached out to wrap his fingers around your wrist and gave a gentle tug, forcing your gaze to follow the motion up to meet his eyes. He ran his thumb over the soft thumping in your wrist and stared at you for a while as if he was working something out.

“Or,” Bucky suggested gently. “I can stay right here and work on my bike.”

Your lips curled up in a small smile despite your brain’s wish to keep them in a permanent frown.

“Okay,” You agreed with an easy smile. You slipped your wrist out of Bucky’s loose hold and made your way towards the door, stopping before you crossed the threshold and looked back at him with a deep frown replacing the pretty smile you were wearing only a second ago.

“You don’t have to babysit me, y’ know?”

Bucky’s laughter was followed by an exasperated groan. Of course, that was why you were upset.

“Yeah, I know. You’re just fine on your own.”

There was no fighting the grin Bucky’s words caused. “Yes, I am. But… you can hang around if you want to.”

“I’ve meant to clean up my girl anyway. I’ll hang around today, Trouble.”

Bucky assurance made your heart rest a little easier and maybe his too because he looked relieved when you nodded. The doorbell broke your silence and forced you to leave his side; you barely made it to the top of the stairs when you heard Bucky mutter, “Pain in my ass.” There was a fondness in his voice that made your heart leap.

Even though you were back to teaching you made sure not to overwhelm yourself; Tuesdays and Thursdays you worked late into the evening. It was nice to have something to look forward to, and Bucky always had something to eat ready when your last student left around 8:30. That was nice too.

Natasha had called earlier in the week wanting to come over Thursday night, and you had to explain that you went back to work. There was silence on the other end of the line, and silence was never good with Natasha. She was probably mad you didn’t tell her and that you were keeping things that important hidden, but it wasn’t something you wanted to advertise. Besides, Friday was as good a day as any to have the girls over. No one had to work the next day and took some of the pressure off. Everything felt normal when Natasha and Wanda arrived; you shared a hug or two. Okay, three. Wanda liked to hug, and she showed you the muffins she baked while Natasha held up a bottle of something that looked as if it could melt the glass it came in. You didn’t know what you expected. You hadn’t thought you would feel so excited to see them. Not because you didn’t love them, but having excitement around anyone but Bucky has been rare these last few months.

Sometimes the unexpected was good.

You chose to sit on the window bench that happened to overlook the side yard where Bucky had his black and chrome bike parked and was sitting on an old milk crate hard at work. That didn’t go unnoticed by Natasha. Not that anything ever does.

“So are you two living together now?”

You slowly draw your gaze up from the wine glass in your hand to look at Natasha and Wanda, who was skillfully avoiding your eyes as she blew on her tea for far longer than necessary.

“Yes. Is that a problem? It’s not like we talked about it or anything. It just sort of happened.”

Natasha shrugged in answer to your question and waited for you to go on. She wanted more of an explanation, so you rolled your eyes and explained why Bucky was staying with you.

“He didn’t have anywhere to go when he came home.”

Natasha smirked at the suggestion that Bucky would have been homeless if he hadn’t come to live with you, and you knew right away what you said had been a mistake. “Besides his mom’s, right? She lives twenty minutes from here. What about Sam’s? Or at my place with Clint and I? And I’m a hundred percent certain Sarah Rogers would have taken him in if everyone else in his life let him down for some unknown reason.”

You turned to look back out the window right as Bucky looked up, catching his eye, and you felt the panic in your chest lessen. Bucky gave you that pretty smile and scrunched his nose at you before going back to work. You fought to keep your smile small and lost the battle before it even got started. Wanda’s voice pulled you back into the living room; it was gentle as if she was trying to offset Natasha.

“I think what Nat was trying to ask is if you are planning on staying here together, or is he going to get his own place eventually?”

“We haven’t talked about it. I suppose he will at some point, though...”

You frowned at the thought. Why did that bother you so much?

“He doesn’t have to do anything, you know?” Wanda added at the sight of your upset. “He might want to stay here.”

“Maybe, but he has to move on eventually,” you added, dread filling your voice from the mere thought of Bucky leaving you. “He can’t stay here just to keep me from falling apart for the rest of this life.”

They were right. Bucky will eventually want to get back to his life. He can’t babysit you forever. There was going to come a time when he will want to date, fall in love, and get married. Maybe even have kids. Do all the things that you were supposed to do with Steve. The thought of Bucky leaving you to have that life with someone else made you sick, and you know it’s selfish. It’s unfair to expect him to stay there with you because you don’t want to lose him to someone else.

“How are you doing?” Natasha sounded a little softer this time, sensing your unease. “Are you sleeping?”

“Yeah, I started sleeping in Bucky’s room with him. It seemed to help.”

They stayed quiet but shared a look. You weren’t fond of whatever that was.

“What?”

“It’s nothing.” Wanda rushed out far too quickly, but Natasha was quick to cut in, and by her tone, you could tell she’s been feeling this way for a while. “I’m just wondering how long you are going to keep punishing yourself?”

Natasha stared at you and Wanda swore under her breath. They talked about this before coming over. That was clear by the glare Wanda was settling Natasha with. You briefly wondered how often your friends discuss you like that. More often than you approved of, you were sure.

“I’m not punishing myself. I’m allowed to be sad. My husband died--”

“You’re right. You are allowed to be sad. Just like you’re allowed to find new things that make you happy and start putting your life back together.”

“I’m fine, Nat. I don’t need anything new. I have our house and my music--”

“And, Bucky?”

While she was right, you did have Bucky, in a sense. Bucky wasn’t new. You had a feeling what she was suggesting would be very new and not a notion you wanted to entertain.

“Natasha--”

“It’s okay to be happy again, Y/n. It’s okay to let your heart get put back together and heal. It doesn’t cheapen what you had with Steve. It doesn’t mean you didn’t love him, and it doesn’t mean you are betraying him. You aren’t doing anything wrong by letting yourself find happiness again. Even if that happiness is found with Bucky.”

You had a feeling what Natasha was hinting at, but hearing it outright like that made you a little queasy. Did people, your friends, talk about you and Bucky like this? Is that what everyone was worried about, who would get you next?

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t act stupid Y/n. You’re a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them.”

“He’s been my best friend since I was thirteen. It’s not-- It’s never been--” You took a deep breath and told them both, firmly. “He’s my best friend.”

Wanda pinched Natasha’s thigh and grabbed your hands from where she sat on the floor between you and Natasha. “All Nat is trying to say is if you wanted to find happiness again... with Bucky or anyone for that matter, it’s okay. You’re not doing anything wrong by moving on.”

“It’s been nearly a year since you lost Steve. It’s time to start picking up the pieces, Y/n. With Bucky or without. You can’t stay stuck in this in-between, and you can’t go back.”

You turned your gaze back out the window to catch Bucky staring at you. He quickly looked back at his bike and fiddled with the wrench in his hand. It reminded you of all those days he would hide you in Shop class so you could skip Geometry with Mr. Coulson. The memory makes you grin. The girls might be half right. Maybe you couldn’t go back, but that didn’t mean you wanted to let it go completely.

----

Three hours after Natasha and Wanda left, you found yourself wandering around the house with what you thought was purposeless. It started in the kitchen, and you slowly made your way through your home, somehow ending up in the doorway to Bucky’s room. Your heart must have told your feet where to go and left your brain in the dark. His hair was still wet from a fairly recent shower. The ends were darker than the rest and shiny from being wet. It wasn’t long enough to tuck behind his ears, but it was long enough that he could slick it back. His beard had become relatively thick due to his laziness these last few months. To be fair, most of his attention has been on you. When he mentioned trimming it a few weeks ago, you wrinkled your nose at the thought, and at the time, he had laughed.

He never did trim it after that.

Bucky glanced up at you, hovering at the threshold to his room, and he smiled, crooking his finger for you to come in. You pushed off the doorframe and made your way over to where he was resting on the end of the bed, wet towel lying on the bed next to him. You wanted to tell him it was getting your side of the bed all wet, but you thought better of it.

It’s not your bed, after all. You have your own you should probably start to sleep in and let Bucky get back to living his own life.

“Have a good time?” Bucky asked. There was a softness in his voice he saved for you and you alone.

You shrugged.

“Tasha called me stupid on the way out. Got any idea what that is about? Should I be scared?”

You grinned and brushed a fallen strand of hair back to lay with the rest. “I don’t know, but being scared is always a safe bet when Nat is involved. How’s the bike? It looked like you got a lot done.”

“She’s good. Just cleaned her up a bit and changed the oil. You know, I like fiddling with her a bit, and she’s been sitting at my mom’s collecting dust.”

You cupped his cheek and gently rubbed his cheekbone with your thumb. He nuzzled your palm right away, eyes falling closed, and he seemed to relax a fraction. There was tension in his shoulders you hadn’t noticed before, a darkness that has never lingered in his eyes this long, and his smile never quite reached his eyes anymore. He’s spent all this time taking care of you, and you never once noticed how badly he was struggling.

He was lost just like you.

“Hey.”

Bucky looked up at the sound of your voice and quickly pulled away from your touch as if he remembered he shouldn’t be doing that. You slowly drew your hand back, letting them drop to your side and choosing to sit next to him instead.

“Wanna talk?”

“‘Bout what?”

He looked dejected, troubled. A little scared, too.

“What’s been weighing on your heart.” Bucky dropped his gaze, his tell for waiting to drop the subject, but you pushed a little more. “I didn’t see it before. I was too wrapped up in my shit, but I can see it now. The guilt and the hurt.”

If he honestly couldn’t talk, or didn’t want to, you would drop it.

“Y/n, you don’t want to hear about that.”

So it was about Steve’s death then. You had a feeling.

“If I couldn’t handle it, I wouldn’t have asked. I need to hear it, Bucky, and I think you need to talk about it as well.”

It took a long time before Bucky made any movements at all. He shifted further away from you, tossing the towel onto the desk chair and turned to face you. You mirrored his position tucking one leg under you on the bed and letting the other hang off the edge. He was still quiet, gathering his thoughts and a little courage, too. You nudged his barefoot with yours and he gave you a small smile.

“Steve was… He was walking in front of me. Like he always does-- like he did, and Sam was on our left.” Bucky licked his lips, tossing words around his head to find the right ones. This was harder than he thought it would be.

“I wasn’t paying attention. I should have been. That’s my damn job. I was too busy staring at the damn…” Bucky stopped short, and the look of guilt he gave you said he feared you already knew his crimes and found him deserving of judgment.

“At what, Bucky?”

Bucky dropped his eyes and shook his head.

“You’ll hate me.”

“Bucky… I could never hate you. Nothing you could do would make me hate you.”

Bucky closed his eyes, squeezed them shut really. He didn’t want to see your face when he said what he had to say next. “I was staring at your scarf. It was sticking out of his collar, poking up right out of the back of his BDU’s and all I could think about was you, and how I could never have-- I was distracted.”

He reached up and wiped the tears from his eyes with the palm of his hand. You had to stop yourself from reaching out and pulling him close. Bucky needed to get this off his chest and you needed to hear it.

“Next thing I knew, there was a shot fired and then about ten after that. Maybe more. I don’t know. Steve was down, and at first, I thought he dropped to take cover, but my damn ears were ringing, and shots were flying everywhere. I tried to yell out, but I couldn’t hear my voice over the noise. Sam was trying to drag me away, but I couldn’t leave him lying there…”

Bucky’s words became stuttered and choked. You could follow along, but you had to piece together the holes Bucky couldn’t fill. He explained how Steve had taken the bullet for him, how he had been distracted and didn’t see it in time. Bucky told you that he had pulled Steve undercover, and Steve had begged for Bucky to take care of you for him. Bucky left out the reason Behind Steve’s choices that day. You didn’t need to know that when Bucky asked why he did that, Steve told him with that stupid lopsided smile, “You’re my best friend, Buck and Y/n... S-she can go on without me. She can’t live without you though.”

You wiped your tears away with shaking fingers. Bucky blamed himself for Steve’s choices and you couldn’t let him go on thinking he was at fault for something he had no control over. Scarf or not.

“It’s not your fault.”

“Yn...”

“No, Bucky. It wasn’t your fault. If it had been the other way around, you would have jumped in front of him. We both know you would have.”

“But if I was--”

“It’s not. Your fault, Bucky.”

You crawled into his lap and pulled his head to your chest. Bucky tightened his arms around your waist, clutching at the thick fabric of his shirt still clinging to your skin. “I don’t blame you, and I know Steve wouldn’t,” You cooed softly in his ear. ”He would do it a hundred times over, and I know you would do the same for h-him.”

Bucky tucked his nose into your neck and took a shaky inhale. The two of you sat like that as the glow of the room slowly faded from orange to dark blue. Bucky’s quiet sobs had settled into barely-there sniffs along with your own. There was a new heaviness resting on your chest, but despite the pain that came with knowing the truth, it gave you a tiny bit of closure. He never said if he believed you or accepted your forgiveness. You prayed he did. You hoped now he would be able to forgive himself, too.

“Bucky?”

There a beat of silence. Bucky rubbed his beard against your neck making you shiver. You could feel a faint smile on your skin when he finally spoke.

“Yeah?”

Bucky slowly lifted his head, so the two of you were sitting nose to nose now, you were so close that when you whispered he could feel your breath against his lips, “I’m glad you came home… to me.”

Maybe now, you could both heal and move on to something new.

“Me too, Trouble. Me too.”

Previous // Next

#bucky barnes x reader #Bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #past!Steve Rogers x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x yn #alternate universe #military au #tw: military death #tw: loss of spouse #tw: character death

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tenspontaneite · 3 years

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Beyond the Moon Gardens - Extracts (1)

For lack of anything else to post today, I’m releasing some extracts from one of my non-public fanfictions – Beyond the Moon Gardens – as my participation in the @raayllum valentine’s event.

Information on and context of the story itself is below the cut. The 10k of snippets are also below the cut.

(General overview of the content of the snippets: established rayllum, fluff, domesticity, horn care, silliness, cuddling.)

Story information:

‘Beyond the Moon Gardens’ is a successor to ‘In the Moon Gardens’. The former was written in a month in late 2020, and has been worked on sporadically since. The latter was written in approximately three weeks between December 2019 and January 2020. Both are currently incomplete. I do not intend to publish either to the public in full, but may well post further extracts in time.

‘In the Moon Gardens’ is a story about Callum and Rayla getting married; however, the circumstances are deeply unpleasant and the experience is traumatic. ‘Beyond the Moon Gardens’ is considerably longer, and is focused on trauma recovery, hurt/comfort, relationship development, and fluff. The story is structured around a plotline involving rescue and disaster relief efforts in a Sunfire elf city called Lux Marea.

All snippets presented below take place on day 7 of the story’s timeline. They have been carefully curated for fluffiness for the purposes of Valentine’s day, and do not contain any of the hurt/comfort or post-traumatic scenes prevalent in the story at large. Some extracts have been edited to slot together and minimise empty space.

I may potentially post further snippets throughout the week if people are interested.

The extracts:

(Snippet 1: domesticity, fluff, city descriptions. Context: Callum and Rayla are staying in fancy diplomatic quarters in the city, where they arrived somewhat earlier in the day.)

Rayla turned away from her reflection and went for the door.

She glanced around, and found Callum in his own robe sat at the sofa in front of the window. Surprisingly, he wasn’t drawing. He was just staring out across the city, looking pensive.

“Not drawing?” She asked, and he startled, looking up at her in surprise.

He blinked. “Oh. I didn’t hear you.” He said sheepishly as she approached.

She snorted, and moved around the sofa’s edge to plant herself down beside him. “So I noticed.”

Callum smiled at her, looking for all the world like the best thing that had happened to him today was her sitting down next to him, eyes settling on her like he’d be perfectly happy to do nothing but look at her forever. She withstood that expression for only a single second before she had to lean in and kiss him. He made a pleased sound, reaching out to rest a hand on her back, fingers stroking reflexively over the thick wool of the robe. “You smell nice.” He said happily, turning his face sideways to tuck his nose behind her ear. He was undoubtedly getting a face full of wet hair that way, but he didn’t seem to mind. “Fruity, sort of.”

“They’ve got a lot of soaps in there.” She said, and her voice came out more soft than amused. Stars, but she loved him. “It’s nice. There’s all these soaps, and towels, and I think bath oils too.”

“You think?” He inquired, curious, still with his face in her neck. He pressed a kiss to her damp skin.

“Didn’t check them out properly or anything, but there was a drawer full of some fancy stuff. Bottles and the like. Looked like it might be bath oils.”

With a final kiss to the edge of her jaw, he pulled back to resume staring at her contentedly. “We’ll have to have a look later.” He said, and paused to give her an appreciative once-over. “That dressing gown looks nice on you.”

She rolled her eyes. “You say that about literally everything I wear.”

“That’s because you look good in everything.” He claimed staunchly, and honestly, he wasn’t looking half-bad in his dressing-gown either. The colour was familiar on him, but the casual comfortableness of it was weirdly pleasing to look at. Made him look cosy and cuddlable.

Rayla shook her head, then leaned in to kiss briefly along his jaw. It prickled a little. “You might want to see if they’ve got razors in there.” She said dryly. “You’re starting to prickle.”

He blinked, startled, and raised a hand to his jaw, feeling along it. Mercifully, he grew facial hair extremely slowly, making it less of an issue on the move, but it did still grow. He’d last made an attempt at shaving some two weeks ago, and that had sufficed up to now. “Elves don’t grow beards, though.” He said, after a moment. “I’d probably better just stick with mine.”

Once or twice, they’d made an attempt at shaving his bristles with Rayla’s swords, which had been kind of nerve-wracking, and plenty memorable. For lack of proper razors to be found in Xadia, they’d eventually ended up getting him a small knife that he claimed was alike enough to a ‘straight razor’ to work, though it periodically needed to be sharpened to an absurd degree. It was all very strange to her, even after a good half year of living with him. “Maybe.” She agreed at last, and gave him a sniff. Fresh from bathing, his state of uncleanliness was far more obvious to her nose than it had been before. “You should be getting washed up first though. You’ll make your dressing gown stink.”

He snickered. “Bet I reek to you now that you’re clean.”

“Just a tad.” She prodded him in the side until he started moving. “Off with you. Wash up.”

Evading her hands, he leaned in and planted a final kiss on her forehead before leaving, disappearing into the bathroom while she shook her head at him. She heard the water start up quite soon after, and eventually ended up staring out of the window like he had.

The city was still bright, both with sunlight and with the ongoing glory of the temple’s radiance. Settling into a sort of quiet lassitude, she watched it with eyes half-lidded, following the patterns of steaming light as though the smoke from a fire.

It was a striking city. Unlike Lux Aurea, which was so much gold it hurt to look at, Lux Marea was a thing of contrasts. The buildings were all built from the same dark stone as the bathroom had been done in, a grey that cast deep black shadows behind the gaze of the sun. And yet – every building was lined with gold. Accents on the corners, or moulding between the bricks, or running in thick channels up the walls…it gleamed, rich and distinct against the stone. Some of the largest, richest buildings had elaborate golden murals on their sides, luridly metallic and shining in the sun. All of that gold was glowing with magic now.

Rayla wasn’t much for aesthetics. But even she could appreciate the beauty in that view. She watched it for a while longer, lulled a little by the twisting patterns of glowing haze rising from the buildings, then stood and went to find something to do.

(Snippet 2: Calum and Rayla investigate the supplies their fancy bathroom is stocked with, discover bath bombs and are confused, Rayla points out various horn-care items, and Callum makes her very flustered by offering to use said items)

After that, they went through and classified each of the mysterious drawer goodies a little faster. They found more varieties of lotion, some weird nearly liquid soaps, and a pot of some mysterious mini chalky spheres whose purpose neither of them managed to guess until Callum’s hair dripped on one and it sizzled. “Is it supposed to go in water?” Rayla wondered, befuddled.

“No idea. Try it.” He suggested, and they took the rinsing pot, filled it with water, and dropped the thing in. It fizzed and foamed magnificently, releasing pleasant odours and bits of dried flower as it dissolved, and both of them stared at it with fascinated consternation.

“Is that for baths?” She asked him, befuddled. “What’s the point?”

“…Fun, maybe?” He offered, reaching out to swirl a finger in the foam. “It looked pretty cool, after all. Maybe you’re supposed to throw them in the bath for the fun of it?”

“Fun foam and nice smells?” With a huff, she put that pot aside as something to maybe experiment with if she felt like it. “Well, maybe.” She snorted, and in the last unexplored corner, found something highly important. “Oh thank god.” She said, in that way she’d absolutely picked up from Callum, and he looked over with interest.

“What did you find?”

She brandished it triumphantly. “Toothbrushes.”

“Oh thank god.” He echoed instantly, peering over. “My teeth feel disgusting.”

“You’re not the only one.” She withdrew both toothbrushes from the drawer and set them aside. “Well, at least we know what everything in there is now. Mystery solved.” She went to close it, but was stopped with a hand on her wrist.

“Wait, but what about those?” he asked, indicating the small collection of things she’d already set to one side of the drawer with the horn-scrub.

“Oh.” She’d forgotten he wouldn’t know those on sight. “Right. Well, this thing here-“ She plucked up a narrow, vaguely curved implement with a soft-smooth coating. “-is a horn buffer. For making horns smoother once you’ve already scrubbed all the rough bits out with a proper scrub.” She planted it in his hands, since he seemed fascinated by it, and withdrew a sort of soft spongey thing with a texture like felt. “Horn polisher. Same thing, kind of.” He took that as well, and she pulled out a pot of thick paste that turned out to be exactly what she thought it was when she uncapped it. This one had obviously attempted to smell as pleasant as possible, but it still had a very strong and distinctive edge to it. She wrinkled her nose. “Horn polish.” She said, closing it up again. “To be applied and used with the polisher. And lastly-“ She picked up one of the remaining bottles, “horn oil.”

He looked weirdly interested. “What’s the oil for?” He asked, leaning in. “I mean, I guess the rest of it’s to make your horns smooth and shiny, right? So what about this?”

“It’s kind of fancy and unnecessary, and expensive, so not everyone uses it, but usually you put it on after scrubbing or polishing.” She explained, withdrawing the bottles one at a time. “They smell nice, which is good after the polish, and letting it sink into the horns is supposed to make them healthier and glossier-looking. You can technically put it on multiple times a day if you’re really into your horn presentation, but pretty much no one bothers.”

“Because it’s expensive?” Callum guessed, and she made a so-so noise.

“Well, there’s that.” She said dryly. “But it’s just kind of a lot of hassle, you know? If you’re already washing and doing your hair and keeping your horns not-gross, it’s just extra fuss you don’t really need.” She shook her head. “It’s less effort than full on polishing, I suppose, but I’ve never been bothered about polishing my horns except on special occasions anyway. It’s a lot of work.”

“Huh.” He said, in a sort of weird tone of voice. Rayla turned to him, and found his expression similarly strange. Thoughtful, interested, and a little bit furtive.

She eyed him suspiciously, picked up an armful of the supplies they’d set aside, and stood up with them. “What’s that look for?” She asked archly, setting things onto the broad side of the bath. He followed her lead, picking up the rest of it and standing, looking a little shifty.

“What’s what look for?” he asked innocently, putting it all out in neat rows.

“I know that face.” She told him, unimpressed. “I’ve told you so many times I know that face. That’s your dumb idea face. So out with it.”

For a moment, Callum looked sheepish. Then he cleared his throat, and looked at her, and she reflexively fell silent. “I…was wondering if you’d let me do your horns.” He said at last, and she made a strangled noise in the back of her throat.

“What?”

(Snippet 3: tail end of the horn-care discussion, domesticity, Rayla bemused by the concept of room service, Callum pestering Rayla for details on how horn care works, and discussion of one of Rayla’s newer hobbies)

“That’ll be nice, then.” He said, sounding very at peace with the idea. “I can wash and comb out your hair, maybe. Give you some hornrubs.”

Her cheeks heated. “Callum.” She complained. “That’s so sappy.”

He pressed his face close alongside hers, and she could feel his smile against her cheek. “Treat you real good.” He said, very contentedly. “I’m gonna spoil you rotten.”

Rayla managed a strangled, deeply embarrassed sound in the back of her throat. A little indignant, she protested “You can’t just say things like that.”

“I can, and I did.” Callum grinned against her skin, and leaned in further to kiss her near the corner of her lips. “Love you.” He lifted a hand from around her waist, fingers settling at her jaw with a gentle suggestion of movement. Feeling near to bursting with mortification and adoration, she grumbled wordlessly but followed his hand, allowing him to lead her face around so he could kiss her on the mouth.

“You,” she muttered, into his lips, “need to get dressed.”

He paused, then huffed a surprised breath over her skin. “That’s right, I’m still just wearing a towel.” He remembered, ruefully. “At least I’m drier now.”

“It’s been ages, of course you’re drier.” Rayla shook her head at him, then nudged at his arms until he let her go, extricating herself from his embrace. She had difficulty looking him in the eye when she turned, after all of that. “…Get dressed.” She repeated, softer, and shoved the dressing gown he’d hung nearby into his arms. She leaned in, kissed him once on the lips, and then turned away to leave the bathroom.

She settled on the sofa, ensconcing herself beneath the soft blanket she’d found, and stared out at the city while her heart recovered. Sometimes, she loved Callum enough that it was a little hard to cope with, like she was afraid that the emotion in her would rupture if it built too far. He was used to her retreating a little at times like that, just long enough to breathe and feel slightly less overwhelmed.

He took long enough in the bathroom that, eventually, she guessed that he was shaving. That disappointed her, a little. She liked to watch him when he shaved. It was always so strange to her, something quintessentially human; a bizarre banal grooming ritual that reminded her again and again that he wasn’t an elf, he really was a whole different kind of being to her, and his humanity was made of so many little things. He never failed to chuckle at her for how she watched him shaving, but had grown very used to her keeping him company for it.

She sighed, and looked out on the city under the sun, and regained her emotional footing. By the time he emerged, clad once again in the dark red dressing gown, she had her equilibrium back and looked up gladly at his return.

“Where’d this blanket come from?” He asked, bemused, coming over to join her. She held one end up so he could sit down under it with her.

“One of the drawers. There’s a bunch of stuff in here.” She informed, and once he was seated she didn’t waste any time in reaching out to run her fingers along his still-damp jaw. It was so smooth. She murmured, pleased, cupping his face between both hands.

He coloured a little, looking across at her with soft eyes. “You’re so weird.” He told her, sounding utterly besotted, and she leaned in to kiss him lightly along that jawline.

“Love you.” Rayla said contentedly, and drew back just enough to nestle firmly against his side. He wove an arm around her back and turned his head to kiss her at the brow.

“Love you too.”

After a good bit of cuddling and watching the city together, Callum admitted to wanting a drink and Rayla to not knowing whether their waterskins were still filled. They were, as it happened, but-

“You know, if you wanted fresher water, or moonberry juice, we could just ask for it.” He pointed out. “All we’d have to do is open the door and ring a bell and someone would come up, and we’d ask for a drink, and they’d have it up for us just like that.”

She shook her head, utterly exasperated at the idea. “That’s so weird.” She said, and then actually considered it. “…Let’s do it.”

He laughed, and obligingly got up and went to the receiving room to fetch the bell. He mostly-closed the intervening door for her sake, so that when a servant responded to the ring she didn’t feel particularly on edge about it. They couldn’t see her. It was fine.

After a short conversation with the servant, they were off, and Callum shut the outer door before returning. “Five minutes.” He said, and true to his words, there was a knock at the door not too much later. He went to answer it and brought back an actual platter, balancing an entire jug of moonberry juice, an entire jug of water, and two glasses.

“Did you ask for a whole jug?” She asked, disbelievingly, as he set it down on the low table ahead of the sofa. “Or the water?”

“Nope. Actually, they passed along their apologies for not leaving a jug of water in here in the first place. Apparently that’s their usual thing to do, but since they were hurrying for us it got forgot.” He poured her a glass of juice, and then some for himself, and sat back.

She snorted. “What a terrible standard of service.” She said, mockingly. “I mean really, forgetting to leave us wee little glasses and chilled water, what is this place coming to?”

He snickered at an inopportune moment, very nearly making a mess with the glass he’d been in the process of drinking from. “Don’t say that around Vervain, I think she’d actually explode.”

“Right there on the spot.” Rayla agreed. “It’d make a terrible mess.”

They traded a few light-hearted quips on the subject of the accommodations while they had a drink, then they set it all aside for later. Callum, who was clearly angling for it, managed to get her onto the topic of how exactly a proper horn care-and-polish was supposed to go, and she spent pretty much the entirety of that torn between being increasingly embarrassed and increasingly amused. He was so interested, like she was sharing arcane magical knowledge instead of stupid basic grooming tips.

“I mean, I’ve seen you using your horn-scrub on the road sometimes, to file away rough or flaky bits, right?” He was saying, while she leaned over to lay against his chest. He reflexively put an arm around her even while gesturing with the other one. “You kind of go…with the sort of curvy lines in your horns? Like one at a time?”

“They’re called ridges, Callum.” She informed him, incredibly amused. “And yes. You need to file along them all one by one, and be careful to keep the shape too. If you do it badly you’ll flatten out the tops of the ridges and it looks really stupid.”

He stared down at her horns with fascination, and lowered his gesturing hand to trace the shape of – she presumed – one of her horn-ridges in detail. She made a flustered sort of murmur at him, but he seemed too busy to notice. “Right, so, hm.” He almost seemed to be speaking to himself. “Yeah, if you just file it from the top it’d all flatten out. So you have to sort of work around each one? Following the curve?”

“That’s why Moonshadow horn-scrubs are so much more complicated.” She informed him. “We need the wee fiddly parts to get between all the ridges and file it right without losing the shapes. Takes forever. Our horns are more of a pain than almost any other kind of elf’s.” She grinned up at him. “Unlucky for you.”

“Are you kidding?” He asked, incredulously. “This is great. Means I get so much longer to spend on you. You never let me spoil you enough.”

She processed that, and groaned, burrowing her face into the wool gown over his chest. “You��ll change your tune soon enough.” She muttered, but wasn’t entirely convinced. Callum really was an incredible sap when it came to doing things for her. “It takes so stupidly long.”

“I’m counting on it.” He declared happily, and she huffed.

“You’re ridiculous.” She informed him, and after nearly ten more minutes of him trying to wrangle intricately detailed horn-polishing knowledge out of her, just rolled her eyes and said with exasperation “It’s like polishing armour, Callum. Or boots. You just buff it up, then go at it with polish on the polisher for ages. There’s not much of a trick to it.” She paused, but did add “Gets kind of messy though. The filing stage puts horn dust and bits everywhere, and once you start polishing you get like…murky polish liquid all over your hands. Better put a towel down.”

Eventually, after enough sitting around that the cuddling alone wasn’t engrossing enough anymore, Callum did go and get his sketchbook and immediately sat down to begin producing what Rayla was certain would be the first of many, many drawings of the city. He drew it as seen from above first, and Rayla settled in to watch with half-lidded eyes.

She’d grown very used to spending time watching Callum draw. In large part, this was because he tended to spend a lot of his free time doing it, and she was often around when that happened. It was quite satisfying, to sit there and observe as the shapes on the page took form. But even so…

There was only so much of watching him draw that she could do before she started getting bored. Throughout their journeying, it had rarely got to that point. What with the time constraints of camp-craft and travelling, there’d been little enough spare time that Rayla hadn’t felt compelled to find anything else to do. Now, though, she found with surprise that her fingers were itching for her knives.

“Huh.” She said to herself, with interest, and Callum turned his head to peer at her.

“Hm?”

“My knives.” She said, and then realised this wasn’t especially helpful. “My carving knives. Just realised I’m hankering for them a bit. That’s never really happened before.”

“Oh.” He thought, then looked pleased. “Looks like you’re starting to make a habit of it after all. That’s really nice.”

“Less nice when I don’t actually have the knives.” She snorted, and considered her empty hands.

Rayla, on the whole, tended towards active ways of passing the time. She liked to train, and she liked to exercise, and if Callum was free she always liked to go flying with him. But inevitably, after half a year spent together, there had been plenty of afternoons and evenings in their off-time when she was too tired to go out for training, or Callum was spending time drawing and she wanted to be around him, and she ended up with nothing to do.

He’d been the one to gently pester her into taking up some sort of hobby. At first she’d just grumpily sharpened her weapons over and over again, but with enough work he’d got her to try other things. He’d suggested either knitting or whittling, on the basis that both involved the use of stabby implements, and she was a fan of those. Knitting she hadn’t taken to. But whittling…

At first, she’d just done it because he’d prodded her into it, and she didn’t hate it, and there was nothing better to do, so she might as well. But now, considering her empty hands with consternation, Rayla realised for the first time that she actually kind of wanted to be doing it. When had that happened?

He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Pick up some things in the city tomorrow, maybe.” He suggested, and turned back to his drawing.

“Bit of a waste, when I’ve got a plenty good enough set of knives at home.”

“You don’t need to get a full set. But it could be nice to have a couple of the main ones around, for travelling with.” He shrugged. “You can practice on any random bits of wood, right? So it’s mainly the knives you need.”

She snorted. She’d learned enough to know that the type of wood one chose was, in fact, very important. But…yeah, for messing around like she did, random wood was usually fine. If splintery. “Maybe.” She said in the end, already thinking of the knife she used most. “It’s not a bad idea. Clothes and supplies are the priority, though. So maybe if there’s anything left after that.”

“We’ll need cold-weather gear, if we’re going through the Shiverthorns in winter.” He remarked, and huddled into the blanket like the mere thought was making him cold. “Thick cloaks and stuff.”

“Which are expensive.” She reminded. “And also heavy. It’ll slow you down.”

He shrugged. “I figure that’s okay. We won’t be in a huge hurry to get back, after all.”

(Snippet 4: Callum and Rayla discuss dinner options, watch the sunset, and investigate the light fixtures. Context: in this story, I worldbuild Sunfire elves as some weird blend of French and Roman.)

He hummed by way of agreement, and pulled her tighter in to his side. “For now, let’s try not to worry about that.” He said, determinedly. “Today our job is to relax and rest up, and that’s it.”

Rayla sighed, and shifted around to lay part-way across his front, face half into the red wool at his chest. “I can probably do that.”

They cuddled for what actually didn’t end up being that long, because there was a knock at the door. It echoed sharply through the polished wood, even with the intervening door closed. Rayla, who’d heard no footsteps of any kind due to the ostensible soundproofing, stiffened immediately.

Callum blinked, then carefully extricated himself from her. “I’ll go get it.” He said, and she didn’t object. She didn’t relish the thought of being seen by strangers when she was in her bathrobe. That was private.

He unlocked and opened the receiving room door, closed it behind him, and then unlocked and opened the outer door. There was actually a decent degree of sound loss between there and Rayla’s current spot, so she couldn’t hear what was being said beyond stray words. After a while, Callum said something in a distinctly goodbye-ish sort of voice and the encounter ended. He considerately locked both doors for her on his way in.

Over his arm, he was holding a neat stack of clothing and armour. “Already?” She asked, startled, and watched as he set it all down on the bed.

“Already.” He agreed, seemingly pleased. “I guess their drying spells really are useful. Look, they’ve cleaned your armour. And our boots.”

Rayla lifted herself from beneath the blanket to go over and look. All of their things looked fresh and new, bereft of the dull beige hues imbued by travel and sleeping in dust and dirt. It half looked like they’d re-dyed some of it, honestly, to get the clean colours back. She lifted Callum’s scarf from the pile, sniffed it, and hummed at it.

“Laundry smell?” He asked, amused, and she shrugged.

“Unsurprisingly.” She considered putting it on him, but in the end decided she was enjoying the look of him in the bathrobe, all cosy and comfy-looking. “What else were you talking about?”

“Hm?”

“With the servant.”

“Oh.” He paused to collect his thoughts. “Dinner stuff. He wanted to tell me the options they’ve got, so we can order ahead of time.”

Rayla made a thoughtful noise, and drew him by the wrist back over to the sofa again. “And?”

“You want me to list it all off?” She nodded, and obligingly he went off listing the various items on the menu, many of which were evidently examples of bizarre Sunfire ideas about cooking. Snails, really? Frog legs? Her nose wrinkled at that one, and Callum’s lips quirked. “They serve glow toad too.” He admitted ruefully. “I mean, I guess I heard they were delicious, but it’s one thing to hear it and another thing to have it on the menu, you know?”

She made a face. “Ez would never forgive us.”

“Bait would never forgive us.” He agreed, snickering.

“And besides – ew.” Rayla shook her head, and waved her hand. “What else?”

He went through all of the selections, drinks and desserts included, and then finished up by saying “He left a sort of booklet thing behind with it all written down, if you want to look over it.”

She stared at him with exasperation. “Callum. You really just stood there and said it all when you could have just handed me the bloody menu?”

“Well, you did ask.” He said, like this was reasonable, and she sighed fondly at him.

“You dumb prince.” She told him, affectionate, and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek before going to look for the menu.

By this point, it was around four in the afternoon, and the sun seemed to be making a very definite bid for descent. She retrieved the Booklet of Food Options and retreated to the sofa with it, where Callum had already planted himself to watch the city. There was a hint of yellow-green in the bright clear sky, and the angle of light from the sinking sun was casting some particularly dramatic shadows. The temple was still gleaming with light off to the side, and the golden circuitry through the city still exhaling. She stared at it for a moment, certain that tonight’s sunset really was going to be spectacular, and then opened the menu to start looking.

It had been long enough since lunch that the sight of so many food options was plenty enough to make her start considering the idea of an early dinner. In an hour or two, maybe. Some of it was too weird or too exotic to consider, but there was a lot that wasn’t.

She passed the booklet over when she was done making selections, but Callum seemed too occupied with the burgeoning sunset to want to look at it. She snorted, leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, and then leaned comfortably into his side to watch the city.

The sun fell over a period of around half an hour, sinking lower and lower, until the sky filled with such intense yellows and deep reds that it seemed almost to have caught fire. The grey slate of the city turned bloody red in the light, every golden trace lit up and shining in the growing dark. The few wispy clouds left in the sky were shining too, until the sun began to pass beneath the lip of the sea on the horizon, and the blue-green edges of the dusk glittered with stars.

“That,” He said, very softly, when dusk was ebbing into twilight, “was a really incredible view.”

Rayla had little artistry in her heart, but she’d appreciated that sunset. She knew that by contrast it must have touched Callum deeply. She looked at him, taking in his expression, finding it every bit as amazed and awed and happy as she could have hoped for. Her heart fluttered, happy for that he was happy, and in the warmth of that contentment she reached over to cup his cheek with her hand.

He looked at her, leaning into the hand, and offered her a small and very soft smile. Her thumb smoothed over his cheek as he lifted his hand to settle atop hers. Wordless, she leaned in to kiss him, warm and brief, and lingered there close by his face for a long while after their lips parted. He sighed very quietly, entirely happy and entirely at ease. It was peaceful in a way she’d dearly missed.

Feeling utterly suffused with warmth, Rayla nestled in beside him, fingers hooking lightly in the soft red wool of his robe. His arm came around her, and both of them sighed, and both of them settled, and it was quiet.

Neither of them felt the inclination to move or speak for quite a while. The sky was dark and full of stars by the time she shifted, and the city’s golden circuitry shining boldly through the shadow. The Moon, ascendant in the sky, was very nearly full.

“Might not be so bad after all, staying here a while.” She said, finally, and pressed her lips to his neck. “Comfy, nice bathroom, nice views…and the food options look kind of incredible, honestly.”

He chuckled, soft and fond. “Bit of a weird honeymoon.” He murmured into her hair. “But I’ll take it.”

She huffed. “Honeymoon.” She repeated, shaking her head.

Well. She supposed if they’d had to go through that whole forced marriage ordeal, they did at least deserve to get a nice holiday out of it. Even if most of that holiday was going to be spent working, the not-working parts of the day looked to be a lot fancier and more luxurious than they were back home.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Was her conclusion, in the end. “Did you decide what you’ll be eating?”

“Pretty much.” He kissed her brow. “You ready to order? It’s still kind of early.”

“Eh. It’ll do.” She shrugged, and listed off her selections. He kissed her again, then gently untangled himself from her limbs to go off and summon a servant.

The room had gone darker while the sun set, and the soft yellow glow of the fireless light fixtures along the walls had grown more prominent. Now a little curious, Rayla took the opportunity to investigate one, and on closer inspection found it to be some sort of…weird bioluminescent plant. Or maybe animal? It had long rigid tube-like structures that had plainly been cultivated into ornamental shapes, that looked almost like some sort of stone, though it had obviously been painted or dyed the usual deep red. It exuded a number of softly glowing yellow-orange tendrils from the openings at the end of the tubes, short and blunt but weirdly pretty.

She reached out cautiously to touch one, and at once the tendrils retracted inside the tube, the light dimming. Startled, she drew back to watch it, but the tendrils didn’t start to tentatively reappear again for another minute, during which she heard the light murmurs of Callum conversing with whatever servant he’d summoned.

When Moonshadow elves wanted light after dark, they just used enchantments, or glowstone, like normal people. Fancy Sunfire elves, however, apparently favoured plants. Or animals. She honestly wasn’t sure which this one was. Some sort of land-coral?

“I ordered the food.” Callum said, when he returned. “They said it’ll be about half an hour. And they’ll bring it all up at the same time so we don’t get disturbed twice.”

“Perfect.” She pronounced, with satisfaction, and then dragged him over to meet the light fixtures. Predictably, he spent a good ten fascinated minutes investigating the weird glowing polyps, and then a while longer sketching one out, and was half-way through that when the food arrived.

(Snippet 5: after dinner, Callum and Rayla engage in some silliness, then cuddle. Domesticity.)

“I’m so full I’m not going to move for a week.” Rayla announced, after staggering her way back through to their sofa, followed by an amused Callum. “It’s going to take at least that long to digest all of that.”

“That might make it tricky to get supplies.” He said, pretend-thoughtful. “But I’m sure we can work something out.”

She snorted, patted him on the shoulder, and then promptly pulled him into her side when he started looking at her in the imminent-cuddles sort of way. He hummed contentedly, turning his face into her shoulder, breath warming the wool over her collarbone.

“This bathrobe is so comfy.” He said happily, words muffled by wool. “It’s so nice.”

Having had very similar sentiments about his bathrobe earlier, she quite agreed. “Shame they didn’t include wool pyjamas, really.”

He didn’t offer any response for that, just snuggled, putting an arm around her waist. It was almost a little uncomfortable, really, what with how full she was, but she didn’t protest. She just held him close, smoothed her free hand over his hair, and looked out over the city. In the dark, watching the vaporous light rise felt very much like watching fire. It was very entrancing.

Some time later, Callum started to show signs of beginning to fall asleep on her. She looked down at him, snorted, and then nudged him until he stirred. “If you fall asleep now you’ll be up too late.” She informed him as he made plaintive noises at her. “I’m not having you exhausted and useless for your magic channelling nonsense tomorrow.”

“But you’re too comfy.” He complained, and she smirked.

“That sounds like an invitation to be less comfy.”

He opened an eye to peer at her suspiciously. “What do you mean, ‘that sounds’ – hrk!” His words cut off as, unceremoniously, she swept him up with an arm under his back and another under his knees, on her feet with a quick shift of her weight and his. She grinned down at him, finding him instantly and distinctly awake. “….Honestly this is still pretty comfy.” He said, weakly, when he’d spent enough time staring wide-eyed at her to recover his words.

Rayla pretended at thoughtfulness. “That sounds like a challenge.” She said, and he looked alarmed.

“It wasn’t! It wasn’t!” He protested, to no avail; she stepped around the sofa, judged her angle, and tossed Callum at the bed.

He wasn’t particularly aerodynamic, but her aim had been good enough anyway; he sailed neatly between the posts at the corners and impacted decadent Sunfire quilting with a muffled oof. She was laughing at him outright when he turned, staring at her with a sort of red-faced stupefaction that told her exactly what he thought of the whole experience. “Your face right now,” she managed, doubling over to snicker in his direction. Hilarious.

“You know, there’s a saying,” he began, a little dazed. “About trusting someone as far as you could throw them.” He pushed himself up on his elbows. “You could probably trust someone a lot, is what I’m getting at.”

“…I actually do sort of know how far I could throw you, now that I think about it.” Rayla said, thinking back. “It comes up in assassin training sometimes. Throwing teammates at walls and the like, to give them a leg up. I lobbed someone about your size around six, seven metres once.” She paused, and added “Lengthways, I mean. Throwing someone upwards is a lot harder.”

This did not make him any less wide-eyed. “That’s like, over twenty feet,” he marvelled, looking at her with plain admiration. “You’re amazing.”

She huffed, reflexively bashful at the praise, and shook her head. “Amazing at throwing people, at least.” She said dryly, and went over to stare down at him from the foot of the bed. “How’s the bed?”

“…Very nice, actually.” He said, after a pause for consideration. “You’re pretty bad at making things less comfy.”

“You’re definitely awake now though.” She pointed out smugly. “So my work here is done.”

He snorted, sitting up fully to beckon to her. Obligingly, she bent forwards to meet him with a brief kiss. “Hard not to wake up when someone throws you half-way across the room.”

She rolled her eyes. “It was not that far.” She said, and after a moment made the executive decision to fall forwards onto the bed, face impacting the plush duvet and sinking in. Her feet hung from the edge, and Callum giggled.

“Hehehe toes.” He said, and reached out to poke one. He found her four-toed feet amusingly charming every time he was reminded of them, which would have been funnier, except her feet were pretty ticklish and she twitched every time he prodded like this.

“I will kick you.” She warned, and he subsided with another snicker. Instead of messing with her any further, he shuffled over and started playing with her hair. “Mm. Better.” With a sigh, she closed her eyes and tipped her head forwards, face smooshing deeper into the bed. His fingers carded through her hair, nails trailing lightly at her scalp.

“You didn’t brush it.” He noted, carefully working out a couple of tangles, and she shrugged.

“Couldn’t be bothered. ‘Sides, it only tangles again when we cuddle, anyway.”

He hummed, and went through it again more purposefully, parting it carefully around her horns as he looked for and eliminated a few knots. He brushed around her hornbeds and she shivered. Apparently noticing the reaction, he did it again, more deliberately, chuckling at the way she murmured and pushed her head into his hand. “You look like a shadowpaw when you do that.” He said, affectionately, scritching gently around her horns. “Headbutting people’s hands when they pet you.”

“Anyone else and I’d be cutting off their hands, trust me.” She mumbled at him, already a little indistinct and fuzzy around the edges of her thoughts. Hornbed-scritches did that. “…Suppose the shadowpaw’d do that too. Except they’d bite the hand off instead, if they didn’t like you.”

“What I’m hearing is that if you were an animal you’d probably be a shadowpaw.” He sounded very fond.

“Mm. Guess so.” What would he be? Something doggish, probably. Friendly and playful and loyal, and then all teeth and fierceness when threatened. That sounded about right…

She drifted, a little. It was hard not to, when collapsed onto a comfy surface with one’s hornbeds being rubbed. He stopped after a while though, evidently noticing her drowsiness, and stroked a hand over her head between the horns as he chuckled. “Now who’s falling asleep?” He teased, and she made a half-hearted rude noise at him.

“’s your fault.” She muttered at him, indistinct around the duvet in her face.

“Uhuh.” He sounded amused, and stroked the back of her head again.

(Snippet 6: very detailed depiction of horn care, which in-setting is considered intimate)

She was suddenly very glad he’d interrogated her so persistently on the procedure earlier, because she wasn’t at all certain she’d have been able to tell him anything more sophisticated than ‘um’ when he was literally about to do her horns for her.

“You’re so cute.” He told her affectionately, obviously very aware of her current emotional state, and then finally set soapy hands onto her horns.

“Oh my god.” She muttered, cheeks flaming, feeling the weight of his hands, the subtle pull at the rest of her skull. She had never been quite so aware of her horns as when he started soaping them up and washing them, and it didn’t take long at all for the warmth of his skin to soak far enough through the keratin so that she could feel it in the living horn. A little while later, he applied the coarse-bristled-brush-side of the horn-scrub to her left horn, and she made a tiny embarrassed sound at the ceiling. “You should scrub them harder than that.” She managed after a moment, since he really was being too gentle about it. “Horns are tough, you know.”

He hummed with interest, and obliged, scrubbing hard enough that it pulled at her head a little. The towel-pillow had been a very good idea of his, really. “How much horn care do you normally do?” He asked, curious, getting the washcloth to rinse her horn before scrubbing again. “I’ve seen you file them, but…”

“…Usually just this. A good scrub to make sure they’re clean, and then filing down the rough bits.” Rayla offered a mortified noise. “But it’s been weeks and I’ve not even done that. They’re probably so dirty…”

“Shush, they’re fine.” He huffed at her, and kept on at her left horn until he was satisfied with it, moving over to the other one. Rayla regarded the ceiling with a persistently red face the whole while, cheeks feeling nearly as warm as the half of her body that was still in bathwater. “I wonder if your face is going to be this red the whole time.” He remarked, when he’d apparently finished with the washing.

“Probably.” She muttered, self-consciously, and felt her gut squirm when she felt the first experimental scrape of the fine filing parts on her horn.

Callum laughed softly, and started setting to work with the file. “If you say so.”

For all that he’d never done this before, the muted sensory feedback Rayla gleaned from her inner-horns and her ears suggested that he seemed to be doing fine with it. He readjusted the file enough that she could be relatively sure he was respecting the curve of the ridges, and worked slowly along the shape of each one, from the hornbed to the pointed tip, over and over again.

As she’d told him, it was a long process. It took a long time. Long enough that, contrary to her words, her embarrassment did start to burn out a bit, the red of her cheeks easing until she only felt a little flushed, a little flustered.

“I see why you thought the cloak would be a good idea.” Callum said ruefully, a while in. She could only imagine how much horn-dust and flaky bits of keratin must be littering it. “This does get kind of messy.”

“Told you.”

“For now this is just making your horns go sort of…pale, and scratched-looking.” He commented, working the file around one of the ridges on the underside. “I guess it goes dark again once you start buffing it?”

She made a small despairing noise, but agreed “Yeah, basically. Honestly all you really need to do is wipe it over with a wet cloth and it’ll stop looking like that. But…”

“But I’m not stopping there.” He said, with evident satisfaction, and a little more heat rose in her cheeks.

He was slow and meticulous about the filing, but got through it a lot more quickly than she could have if she’d done it herself. It was hard to work on your own horns – the angle was bad, you couldn’t see what you were doing, and adjusting to get the undersides was a huge pain in the arms. By contrast, doing it for someone else was just…a lot easier.

Finally, he set the scrub down and went for the washcloth again, soaping up and rubbing her horns clear of dust, poring over them for any spots he’d missed. When he was finally satisfied, he said “and now I buff them?”

“Mmhm.” She confirmed, bringing her hands up to hide her face for a moment. So, at her confirmation, he started on that part next. He evidently hadn’t expected how vigorous the buffing and polishing stages of horns were, because she kept telling him to press the buffer harder, and he kept making worried noises about it, and she had to keep assuring him that no that’s how it’s supposed to be, and eventually she start started laughing helplessly at him.

“I feel like I’m going to hurt your neck,” he complained at her, when the strength of the requisite motions pulled at her head. “Or like, hurt your hornbeds, or something.”

“I’ll be fine, Callum.” She assured him, still laughing, mirth and embarrassment squirming in her chest. “This is just how it goes, you know.”

“At least I brought you a pillow.” He sighed, and obligingly kept on. A fair while later, when he was done with the buffing and had washed her horns again, he leaned back a bit to admire his work. “That really is looking a lot smoother and shinier.”

“And you’ve not even done the polishing yet.” Rayla felt very weird then, laying back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. She’d been through embarrassment, and then amusement, and now…now, there was something else. She felt almost calm. Almost settled, like she’d finally started to grow used to this. Like the novelty of his hands on her horns had worn through.

Now, she felt kind of comfortable. At ease, in a way. Her mind was drifting in the way it did when Ethari or Runaan had helped her with her horns before, like this was just a normal thing. A normal thing that took ages, and that one had to daydream through to pass the time.

“I’m actually really looking forward to seeing what they look like when I’m done.” He was saying, as he put the buffing things down and went to get the bottle of polish and the polishing tool. “I’ve never seen your horns all done up before.”

“Maybe now you’ll finally understand what I mean when I say my horns have gone gross.” She pondered, and he laughed. “Finally you’ll know what well-kept horns are supposed to look like.”

“I have seen other Moonshadow elves’ horns, you know.” He informed her, obviously amused, and she heard the cap of the polish opening. A moment later, she smelled it, because there was really no mistaking that smell. “Yours still look nice no matter how long it’s been since you scrubbed them.”

Rayla made a disagreeable noise at him, and he snickered back, and then finally set about the polishing.

She’d told him, earlier, that horn-polish was pretty potent stuff, and that’s why you applied it to a sort of spongy cloth attached to a handle, rather than scrubbing with it by hand. At full strength, it actually melted the outer surface of the horn – just a little, just enough to meld it all down into a smooth, gleaming, perfect surface. Diluted polish was fine if you did it regularly, but with how long it had been for her…she’d told him to keep it undiluted. And it stank.

Her nose wrinkled, even with all the pleasant soap smells competing, and held her neck lax as Callum worked on her horns vigorously enough to pull her head back with every other movement. That was just how it went, so she wasn’t bothered. The towel was enough padding that it didn’t hurt, so she just laid there and let him work.

“Think I might actually nearly be done.” He pronounced at last, sounding genuinely a little out of breath. She’d told him it was hard work, and evidently he’d found that out for himself. He sounded very pleased, though. Like he’d done a good job and knew it, and was plenty proud about it. “Just got to wash all this polish muck off, right? Soap your horns up again.”

“That is the last stage.” She agreed, trying to glance up at him, but all she could really see was the top of his head. “Aside from oiling, I suppose.”

(Snippet 7: aftermath of horn care, domesticity)

It was then, by the sink, that Rayla finally removed the towel from her head, and Callum made a loud noise of pure joy at her. She stared at him, alarmed, and then noticed where he was actually looking. Oh.

“Shiny!” He exclaimed, gleeful, and reached out to stroke her horns. “Oh my god.”

“Callum!” She complained, but she was already laughing, because honestly she should have predicted this reaction. He practically groped at her horns, bright-faced and beaming, and she flushed all the while she stood still and let him. “Are you going to let me see them any time soon?” She asked him, dry. “Or are you just going to stand there groping them?” He subsided at that with a very high-pitched giggle.

“Hehehe,” he offered, and then “yes, go look! You need to tell me how well I did.” He took her by the shoulders and turned her to the mirror, his face lingering by her shoulder in her reflection with the enormous grin still very much in residence there. He was such a dork, honestly.

Finally, Rayla tipped her head forwards and inspected her horns. They were…shiny. Very shiny. Every ridge had been filed and buffed and polished to a gleam, and when she turned her head, the light glimmered off of them like they’d been waxed. Her eyebrows went up, and she lifted her own hand to feel along one. It was smooth. Entirely dry, but as she ran her finger along one ridge, it felt so smooth. Their dark colour was actually glossy. “…Wow.” She said, a little admiringly, and tilted her head to watch the light move. “That is shiny.”

He looked absolutely delighted by that response, as if he’d needed her go-ahead to be certain that, yes, that was definitely impressively shiny. She smiled, helpless to stop it, and turned her head to kiss him on the cheek; her reflection mirrored her.

“You did a great job, Callum.” She told him fondly, her cheeks pink at having seen exactly how great a job he’d done. Stars, but the second anyone saw her they’d know exactly who was responsible for those horns. “My horns haven’t been this shiny in years.”

Callum looked at her like she’d hung the Moon, like this praise was enough to render him utterly overjoyed. He tugged her around enough to kiss her, deep and excited and full of energy, so much so that she made a muffled noise of surprise into his lips. It caught her off-guard, and she was feeling a little breathless and a little dazed when he drew away a few moments later. “You have to let me do this again.” He told her, beaming. “I’m going to keep your horns this shiny, just you wait.”

Her cheeks flamed, and she ducked her head, suddenly flustered. “You can’t just say things like that.” She complained at him, and of course he looked utterly unrepentant. He leaned in and kissed her, then moved and kissed her on one cheek, and then on the other cheek, and his hands were already up and stroking along the wide bases of her horns again.

“Smooth,” he commented, gleefully, fingers warm around her horns. His face was very, very close to hers. “They’re so nice.”

The heat in her face decidedly didn’t abate. “Oh my god, Callum.” She mumbled, shaking her head, and he just kissed her again. Feeling increasingly dazed, she said into his lips “you know, it’s a lot faster if you’re doing it regularly. You can skip the filing and just buff and polish instead.”

He considered this excellent news, if the way he kissed her was any indication.

Finally, she summoned the force of will to reach up and peel his hands from her horns, stepping away. It was not easy, because – because when he looked like that, so elated and alive and full of delight, when he kissed her so enthusiastically, it was hard to think of pretty much anything. She looked across at him, incredibly flustered, and couldn’t see anything except how beautiful he was. “You, calm down.” She ordered him, gruffly, and led him by the shoulder to the basin. “We came in here to brush our teeth, you numpty. Not fondle Rayla’s horns.”

“But Rayla’s horns are really really pretty.” Callum pointed out cheerfully, and she made an involuntary noise half-way between embarrassment and pleasure.

“Be that as it may, Rayla and her horns want you to brush your teeth now so we can go to bed.” She said, and she shuffled over to the basin to make good on her words.

(Snippet 8: Callum and Rayla go to bed finally. Cuddling, fluff.)

It proved as magnificently soft and comfy as she might have expected, when she peeled back the covers and climbed in. Callum meanwhile was perusing the canopy with consideration.

“Curtains or no curtains?” He asked her, and she considered it.

“Curtains.” She decided, and watched with satisfaction as he reached out and unhooked the bed’s attendant drapery. She reached to the one closest to her, and he got the rest; it all fell into place, a rich dark red that blocked out the light from the room around them and cast their bed into soothing shadow. Something settled in her then, that hadn’t quite been at ease in the unfamiliar surroundings, or the openness of the room. She sighed, and burrowed down under the duvet, laying her head back on the pillows.

He joined her, lifting the covers and slipping in, closing his eyes for a second in obvious profound enjoyment. “This is so much better than hard cold floor.” He murmured happily, and she smiled, tugging him to her with a hand at his shoulder. He went gladly, and within moments they were pressed close, legs tangling, the warmth of his skin comforting against her own.

“Been a long few weeks.” She sighed, resting her forehead against his, and he lifted a hand to stroke her cheek.

“Kind of an understatement.” He murmured back. “I’m glad we’ve got a chance to rest now.” A pause. “Sort of, anyway. Aside from the work.”

She understood his meaning, though. There was something strangely safe about the idea of the time they’d spend here, whether it would be a week or longer than that. This wasn’t home, where there’d be people to explain things to, or where they’d have to adapt their old life to fit around what had happened. This was a new place – unfamiliar, but easier to cope with for that unfamiliarity, in its own way.

Here, she thought, they’d be able to find their footing a little. Settle a little more into their new normal, before the vagaries of travel and normal life needed intrude again.

“Me too.” She agreed, at last, and reached a hand across to press lightly around the back of his neck. He made a soft, pleased sound, then shuffled to give her better access, face smooshed into the pillow. She kissed him on the cheek, and he peered at her with one green eye, a smile fluttering on his lips.

“…Thanks for letting me do your horns.” He mumbled back, eventually. “I liked it.”

Her heart fluttered. “I’ll repay you sometime.” She promised, and moved her hand to smooth down along his upper back, enjoying the warmth of his skin. “Tomorrow, maybe. Give you a nice backrub or something.”

“Sounds great.” He shifted closer, tucking his face against her shoulder with a sigh. She kissed him at the top of his forehead, stroking him gently from the nape of his neck to his shoulders and back. He made quiet contented noises at her, drowsier and drowsier, and steadily began to drift off.

She lingered there, holding him, trailing fingertips over his neck as he settled into sleep. It really had been a long day for him, for all that they’d spent the latter half of it indoors and resting. Now, finally, he’d be able to sleep properly, in a bed comfortable enough to ease the ache of his overworn muscles. Now, finally, without the city’s doom hanging over them, they could rest a little.

Rayla smiled into his hair, nestled against him, and closed her eyes. She wasn’t aware of falling asleep, but it took her anyway; almost between one moment and the next, she was gone.

#rayllum #rayllumvalentines #moon gardens #these snippets will probably not get posted to ao3 #i'd like to reiterate that I have no intention of posting the entire story either #but i hope you can enjoy these extracts regardless #i adore this fic tbh #it's a delight to write #which is probably how i managed to write 120k of it in one month #still proud of that #one heck of a personal record really

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golbrocklovely · 4 years

Text

remember me // colby brock

A/N: this is not a request, but this is something i have been thinking about for a long time, probs since i started writing. i only finally wrote this out bc i’ve seen a lot of edit on insta that are like ‘what if your fave didn’t exist?’ and i figured this was sign for me to finally write it. if you guys want me to make a sequel to this, lmk. hope you enjoy.

prompt: everyone has forgotten colby, except her. but why?

trigger warning: angst, kinda sad, ppl forgetting colby

word count: 3567

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The day started out like any other day for Colby. Nothing felt out of place as he woke up and laid in bed for a couple minutes. He knew today was going to be one of the less crazier days for him and Sam. No meetings of any kind, and no filming either. He had gotten everything done earlier this week and he was excited to have a bit of a day off. The only thing he had planned for today was to go workout with Sam early. He glanced at his phone. 9:34 A.M. Perfect time for him and Sam to go down to the apartment's gym and get some work done.

Colby stretched as he stood up, stumbling over to his closet and changing into what he usually worked out in, a muscle shirt and basketball shorts. He trudged into his bathroom and brushed his teeth quickly, opting to take a shower after he got home from the gym. He slipped his sneakers on as he walked into his kitchen and got a water bottle from his fridge. Taking a big gulp, he grabbed his keys and headed straight down the hallway to Sam's apartment.

He knocked three times, calling out to Sam as he waited for the blonde-haired boy to open the door. Finally, Sam did, rubbing his eyes and staring at Colby confused.

"Hey dude, did you oversleep?" Colby smirked, "That would be a first."

Sam narrowed his eyes at Colby, his voice still tired. "Um, I'm sorry?"

“Don't you remember? We planned to work out this morning. We talked about it last night.” Colby replied, twirling his keys in his fingers.

“What are you talking about?” Sam scrunched up his face.

“Last night after we filmed your video, we said we should go workout this morning…” Colby chuckled lightly, “Are you okay, brother?”

“I'm sorry, but... do you have the wrong apartment?” Sam asked nicely.

Colby exhaled. “What?”

“You must be looking for someone else, dude. I have no idea who you are.” Sam mumbled to himself, “Or how you know my name…”

“Okay, ha-ha. Very funny. Come on, Sam. Let's go.” Colby stated, taking a step back to leave.

Sam insisted, his voice getting louder. “No seriously, I have no idea who you are.”

“Babe, who is that?” A voice called from inside the apartment.

Colby looked over Sam, seeing Kat walk around the corner in her pjs. Colby glanced above Kat and noticed something off but ignored it.

“Hey Kat, did Sam hit his head last night?” Colby joked.

Sam turned to Kat. “Do you know him?”

Kat took a step back, glancing at Colby quickly. “No, I have no idea who he is. Do you?”

“No, I don't.” Sam shook his head.

“What are you guys on about? Of course, you know me.” Colby hissed.

“Seriously, I have no idea who you are or how you know me. But you gotta leave.” Sam ordered.

“What?” Colby raised an eyebrow, his voice softening, “Is this some type of prank?”

“Leave now, or I'm gonna call security on you.” Sam grunted.

Colby started. “Dude what are you talking-”

Sam slammed the door in Colby's face, locking it loudly. Colby scoffed, staring at the door for a second.

If this is a prank, I'm so gonna get him back for this.

Colby rolled his eyes and went down to the gym. He couldn't wrap his head around what just happened. Why was Sam pranking him if they already filmed last night? Was he trying to film for next week now too? Was this for someone else's video?

I mean, this has to be a prank... right?

Colby shook his head, ignoring the strange thought. Of course, this was a prank. It was probably for Jake's video. Maybe even Kat's. Or Kevin's. Someone was doing it to him. He couldn't remember the last time he had pranked somebody. But whoever he did, they were probably trying to get him back now for it. And they were doing a pretty good job.

Colby jumped onto the treadmill, keeping the pace slow at first as he searched through Spotify to find his playlist. Where was his playlist? As cheesy as it was to listen to the playlist he made for fans, it was filled with his favorite songs, so he would actually listen to it a lot. But now... he couldn't find it.

Where the fuck is it?

He searched, even going to his profile, but it wasn't there. Gone, like it never existed.

Maybe Spotify is acting up. Let me just go to Youtube.

Colby clicked on the app, searching up a song he wanted to hear. Then he paused for a moment, deleting the text he had written and typing in 'sam and colby'.

No results found.

“What?” Colby murmured, twisting up his face.

He then typed in 'colby brock'.

No results found.

Colby's heart sped up in his chest, his breathing quickening. Did his channel get deleted? Why were there no results for his channel, or 'Sam and Colby' for that matter? He finally typed in 'sam golbach', and Sam's channel appeared.

Colby clicked on it, glancing around at the different layout. This wasn't the layout Sam had had before. The only time they change it is when they are starting a new chapter, and they always do it together. Maybe he changed it last minute?

He clicked on Sam's videos. Scrolling through the list of them, he noticed something weird.

Sam always included Colby in the thumbnail. But now... he was nowhere. Now someone different was in the thumbnail, like Jake, Kevin, or even Corey. But... Colby was nowhere.

What the fuck was going on?

Colby clicked on a video he knew he was in, 'This Is How He LOST The Game’. He watched through the first ad, waiting impatiently. Finally, when the video loaded, his eyes widened at what he saw.

He wasn't in the video.

Sam had started the video off like normal, showing all the guys sitting on the couch as he explained the name of the game. But Colby, who knew for a fact he was in this video, was no longer there. His spot empty.

It was one thing to pretend not to know him, it was one thing to remove him from the thumbnails. But to remove him from videos all together...

“It's impossible.” He uttered under his breath.

Colby rushed off the treadmill, no longer in the mood to workout. He ran up to his apartment, feeling his heart bang against his ribcage.

Maybe this is all a weird ass dream? Or an extremely elaborate prank?

Colby went into his closet, deciding he wanted to change out of his clothes into something more comfortable. He gazed over at the corner of his closet, where he kept all of his merch, along with the XPLR ones too.

It was empty.

“What the fuck?” Colby grabbed at the empty hangers, spinning around his closet. He threw open drawers to try and find his merch, but he couldn't find it.

Colby swiped open his phone, sliding to his pictures. He knew him and Sam had a recent photoshoot in the new XPLR merch, so as long as those photos were there, he knew everything's okay.

As he opened his photo album, a certain dread trickled through his body.

Colby never deleted anything off his phone. He wanted to keep as many photos as possible. Plus it was always good to have extra photos in case he didn't have anything to post on his Instagram. But now, every photo he had was different than it once was. He had many photos of him and Sam from their years of friendship. But now every photo that had him and Sam in it... was gone. It was no longer Sam and Colby. It was just... Colby.

I'm not doing this right now. This can't be real.

Colby shook his head, his nerves getting the better of him as he laid back down on his bed. He took some deep breaths, trying to relax. This must just be the most realistic dream he's ever had, and he just needs to go back to sleep and wake up to everything normal again.

Normal... Sam's neon sign was gone.

Colby groaned to himself, closing his eyes and getting comfortable in bed. No, this is not the time to think. I just need to sleep.

As Colby felt himself relax into sleep, his dreams that followed were confusing and dark. Nothing made sense, but all he knew was that he was in a panic.

Colby jolted awake suddenly. He could tell by the way the sun was peeking through his windows that it was later. He opened his phone. 1:34 P.M.

He sighed deeply. Colby was used to waking up on his days off this late. Everything already felt better.

Did I dream all of that? Or was that prank real?

As he slid out of bed to the bathroom, he decided to check twitter. If that was all real, maybe Sam had mentioned the prank to the fans.

Colby opened twitter and nothing seemed out of the usual. He looked at Sam's account, and noticed it was not following him anymore.

He's being extremely thorough, isn't he?

As he went to switch over to the Sam and Colby account, he noticed the icon wasn't there. His fingers twitched as he typed 'sam and colby' into the search bar. Everything but that account showed up. 'Sam and Colby' twitter didn't exist.

A nauseous feeling rolled through Colby's body. Colby went to his profile, looking through the people he followed, not even noticing the significant lack of followers he had. He knew he followed a couple fans, maybe they knew what was up. As he scrolled through, he noticed the usernames were different.

He knew a bunch of fans off-hand. A lot of fan accounts always stuck out to him; and it was easy to remember the username, especially if it was named after him.

But nobody's username was.

He saw a lot of 'Golbach', but no 'Brock' or even 'Golbrock', which he always thought was cute. Not a single username was related to him anymore.

Alright, that's enough.

He angrily clicked on his contacts, needing to call Sam and tell him to call off this prank. It was no longer funny and honestly, he didn't even want to be a part of it anymore. Most pranks he was fine with, but this one was going too far for him.

Colby gasped as he stared at his contacts, dropping his phone like it electrocuted him.

All his friends were missing from his contacts. The only people in his phone were his family, and that was it.

Colby began to hyperventilate, unable to stop the panic that surged through his body. He bore at himself in the mirror, staring at his stress-ridden face. He gripped the counter of his sink, trying to calm himself down.

If he couldn't turn to Sam, who could he turn to?

He picked his phone back up, leaning against his counter as he called his mom. He just needed to know that someone remembered him.

“Hello?” His mother’s voice sang through the phone.

Colby breathed, slightly relaxing against the counter. “Hey Mom, how are you?”

“Hi Cole-baby. I'm doing okay. How are you?” She asked sweetly.

Colby pouted. “Um, I'm feeling a bit... off, to say the least.”

“Oh no, what's wrong?” She responded.

“I know this is gonna sound like a weird question, but do you remember my friend Sam?” Colby questioned, tapping his hand against the counter.

She hummed, guessing. “Sam? Sam... Johnson?”

“What? No. I never knew a Sam Johnson.” Colby rolled his eyes, frustrated, “I mean Sam Golbach. Sam Golbach. Do you remember him?”

“No... should I?” She admitted.

His heart dropped at her words. “Yeah, you should. He's my best friend. We were friends all through high school. We started a literal career together, he's basically your third son at this point.”

“Woah, honey. What are you talking about?” She puzzled.

“You don't remember Sam? He's the whole reason I moved out here, Mom.” He urged, needing his mother to remember.

She paused, then spoke. “Colby, you moved out to LA alone. Last month.”

“What?” He choked.

“You worked all through high school and college and saved up money and just recently moved out there.” She informed.

His eyes widened. “Mom, I've lived in LA for almost five years now.”

Also... college?

“Maybe it feels like five years, but honey, you only moved out a month ago at max.” His mom’s voice softened, lowering slightly. “Are you okay?”

“No momma, apparently not.” He sighed, “Who was I friends with in high school if I wasn’t friends with Sam?”

“Honey, you didn’t have any… or none that you ever brought home.” She mentioned.

Colby queried. “And college?”

“You didn’t really talk about anyone. You were very focused on your schoolwork.” She explained.

That literally doesn’t sound like me at all. I couldn’t even pass math without Sam.

Colby glanced down at his tattoos for a second, pursing his lips. “Another quick question, I was allowed to live in our house with dyed hair, tattoos, and pierced ears?”

She gasped. “Wait what? You got a tattoo?!”

“Mom, I have like five.” Colby deadpanned.

“When did you find the time to get them?!” She hushed, “Cole, you know how I feel about tattoos.”

Colby grew tired. “So, you've never heard of a Sam Golbach before?”

“No, absolutely not. But don't try to change the subject on me, Cole Robert.” She scolded.

He huffed. “I'll talk to you later, momma.”

She sputtered. “What? Don't you-”

Colby clicked ‘End Call’, lowering his head to the counter, taking in a deep breath and holding it.

“What the fuck is happening right now?” He demanded out loud.

Colby jumped up, going to his closet and slipping on some clothes quickly. The only thing he knew for certain is that something wasn't right, and he needed to get out of his apartment and go somewhere else. Anywhere else.

He grabbed his keys and rushed down to the parking lot, getting into his car quickly and driving off.

He drove for a while, finally pulling into another parking lot and turning off his car. He needed to get something to eat, and then maybe he could figure things out. He glanced around and noticed the parking lot he was in was for a diner named Meyer's. He locked his car as he left, swinging the diner's door open hastily. The diner wasn't packed, but it wasn't empty either. A nice lull of conversations droned on as he sat down at the furthest booth, cracking his knuckles nervously.

He picked up the menu that was already at the table, staring at the front of it. He didn't even realize a waitress had walked up next to him.

"...Are you okay?" The soft voice said, breaking him out of his thoughts.

Colby stared up at the waitress, noticing her eyes first. They were captivating and beautiful, much like herself. Her hair shined brightly in the sun that basked through the window. Her smile was wonderful to see after a day of unpleasant looks.

He stuttered. “What? Uh-I. Yeah, no, I'm fine.”

She giggled. “Okay. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Um, a water. No, a soda. Please.” Colby muttered.

“Alright. Coming right up.” She nodded.

Colby stared at the menu again, gazing over the pictures of sandwiches and wraps. He wasn't really hungry, but he felt like he should just eat something, even if it was just to pass the time.

The waitress came back over with his soda, placing it lightly down in front of him. “Are you ready to order?”

“No, not yet.” Colby answered, not looking up from the menu.

“Okay, I'll be right back.” She started to walk away, then stopped and turned back. “Are you okay? I know I already asked you that but... you look really upset.”

Colby’s shoulders slumped as he gazed up at her. “I-I... don't even know how to explain it.”

“Why? Is it complicated?” She guessed.

“You could say that,” Colby glared down at the menu. “It just doesn't make any sense. It sounds fake, to be honest.”

“Well, you can tell me. I won't judge.” She smiled.

I might as well tell somebody...

“Everyone's... forgotten about me?” Even Colby was confused at his words.

“What do you mean? Like they're ignoring you?” She questioned, her hand resting on her hip.

“No. Like they literally forgot I exist. Or, I somehow don't exist in their lives anymore, when yesterday I did.” He confessed.

She shrugged. “Well, maybe they're trying to ignore you instead of talking things out.”

“No, I don't think you understand. I don't exist to them. They don't know me. Like, at all,” Colby corrected. “My best friend, my brother, the fucking dude I got arrested with, doesn't know who I am.”

“Wait, you've been arrested?” She raised an eyebrow.

“It was just breaking and entering. And having fake IDs,” He commented. “But that's not the point, the point is no one remembers me, but I remember them.”

The waitress stood there silently, awkwardly.

“I don't know what to say.” She whispered.

He gulped. “I don't know either. But if you have a solution, I'd gladly hear it.”

“Maybe it's a prank?” She speculated.

“I thought about that too. But if it is, this is extremely elaborate. And borderline impossible.” Colby disclosed.

She argued nonchalantly. “People do crazy things for social media.”

“Yeah, but even my friends wouldn't take it this far for just a dumb video.” He complained.

“Are your friends famous?” She inquired.

“I wouldn't say that. My best friend is Sam Golbach.” Colby revealed.

“Sam Golbach? Why have I heard that name before?” She asked quietly.

“He's got a lot of followers. He’s a Youtuber.” He pointed out.

“Wait, you're Sam's best friend?” Her eyes widened.

“Yeah?” He cocked his head to the side.

She gasped. “Oh! You're Colby Brock!”

“I'm what?” He stammered.

“You're Colby, right?” She doubted for a second, “Or did I get that wrong?”

Colby jumped up out of his seat. “Oh my God, you know who I am! Wait, how do you know?”

“My one friend is a huge fan of you and Sam. She showed me you guys like a month ago.” She paused for a second, smirking. “She's actually really into you... Maybe I should call her.”

“Please do. I need to know if she knows who I am.” Colby pleaded, sitting back down.

The waitress followed him, sitting across from Colby. “Of course she does, she literally has you set as her wallpaper.”

She pulled out her phone, glancing around to make sure no one was watching her. She clicked on a contact, putting the phone on the table and clicking ‘Speaker’.

“Hello?” A voice broke in through the phone.

She grinned, staring up at Colby. “Hey Sara, you need to come down to the diner real quick.”

“What why?” Sara questioned.

“Colby Brock is here.” She announced.

Sara remarked. “...Who?”

“Colby Brock, the guy you're in love with.” She repeated.

“I have no idea who you're talking about. I've never heard that name before.” Sara denied.

“He's Sam Golbach's friend.” The waitress described.

Sara exclaimed. “Oh my God, is Sam there?! Because I’ll-”

She interjected. “No, he’s not.”

“Oh... then I don't want to come.” Sara recalled, “I've never heard Sam talk about a guy named Colby before.”

Colby swallowed the lump in his throat, his eyes falling off of the waitress’.

She fretted. “Okay then. I'll talk to you later.”

“Alright, bye.” Sara ended, hanging up the phone.

After a moment of silence, the waitress stated, “I'm sorry about that.”

“What's there to be sorry about?” Colby quavered.

The waitress scoffed suddenly. “Is this some kinda joke?”

“What?” He queried.

“Are you pulling a prank on me? Was Sara in on it? Because I’ll kill her if she met you and didn’t tell me.” She jeered jokingly.

Colby shook his head, deadpanning. “I haven’t met Sara, and I’m not pranking you.”

“How can I know if you’re lying or not?” She questioned, squinting her eyes.

“Google my name. Search me on any social media,” Colby suggested. “I don’t exist.”

“Okay…” She agreed.

The waitress quickly typed in his name into Google, coming up with no images that looked like him. None of his social media links came up either.

She gazed up at him slowly. “This is really weird.”

“You’re telling me.” Colby uttered, “No one remembers me.”

She blurted. “But I do.”

“Yeah… why is that?” He inquired.

“I-I don’t know.” She sputtered, confused. Then she jolted up from her seat instantly. “I-um, gotta go help out my other tables. Do you need me to give you some time to look over the menu?”

“Yes…” He continued, “But one other thing.”

“Sure.” She leaned in, her hands resting on the tabletop.

“Can you help me? Please?” Colby begged, lightly grabbing her hand.

She silently gasped, whispering, “How?”

“I don’t know. But I think you’re the only one that can.” Colby divulged.

The waitress stuttered, but no words fell from her lips.

He exhaled, staring into her eyes. “So, will you?”

| >>

#colby brock #colby brock fanfiction #colby brock fic #colby brock fanfic #colby brock angst #colby brock x reader #colby brock x oc #colby brock oneshot #colby brock one shot

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dramioneasks · 4 years

Text

HP FESTS: DramioneFanfictionForum (Part 3)

Sounds Like Dramione 2020:

Not fond of asking by Anonymous - M, 4 chapters - The five times Draco and Hermione cared about each other without owning up to it and what happened when they finally did.

The Scars we Share by Anonymous - E, one-shot - Those who survive war never do without any scars. Some however are invisible. Eighth year Hermione and Draco try to make a go of it, but the past doesn’t seem to want to let go.

The Magic in the Marrow by Anonymous - E, 6 chapters - Auror Inspector Malfoy is making forensic scientist Hermione Granger's life difficult.If he's not dragging her to a crime scene, he's invading her dreams.

Healing by Anonymous - M, one-shot - Returning for his final year a changed man, Draco Malfoy finds that everyone suffered and no one is alright Becoming close with Hermione Granger is healing in a way he didn’t know he needed.

fools with hearts that tried too hard by Anonymous - T, 3 chapters - For the 2020 Sounds Like Dramione Competition on the Dramione Fanfiction Forum. My prompt was "Maybe all we are is fools with hearts that tried too hard/And maybe that's just fine as long as you're here in my arms" from Maybe, I'm afraid by lovelytheband.

Loving Her Was Green by Anonymous - E, one-shot - Their secret shag sessions were a means to an end — mutually beneficial and nothing more. But when jealousy takes over, Draco Malfoy should have known better than to think it could have ever stopped there.

Ghosts That We Knew by Anonymous - T, one-shot - Malfoy keeps following Hermione around Hogwarts. She has no idea why.She traced the scar on her left arm, wondering about Horcruxes and curses, and what marks they left behind on one's soul.“Is that from – was that Aunt Bellatrix?” a voice said in her ear, and Hermione shrieked.“Fucking hell, Malfoy!”He looked sullen. “This is the dungeons, you know.”“Yes,” she agreed, trying to remember how to breathe. “If only you spent all your time here –”

Catalyst by Anonymous - E, 5 chapters - Six years after the war, Hermione has a challenging career and fulfilling friendships, and movie nights with Draco are the highlight of her week. But her impending marriage to Ron fills her with increasing anxiety.

Preying on You by Anonymous - T, one-shot - A chance meeting and Hermione finds out a long hidden secret.

Starving by Anonymous - E, 5 chapters - Hermione has everything figured out. Sex is like food. Club nights are far too expensive. And men belong in the category of 'things that are more faff than they're worth'. You know, like hair straightening charms, lingerie, and mathematical integration. This is a story about food and sex, though not at the same time.

Why Can't We Be Three by Anonymous - E, 3 chapters - One was her unlikely best mate, the other a longtime love newly her fiance. And Hermione felt utterly barmy nestled between the two in the back of a pub, the wrong man's hand toying with the waistband of her shorts. But if her fiance didn't mind, who was she to deny that two could become three? Who was she to refuse her fiance the pleasure that she, too, so desperately craved?

Everlasting Light by Anonymous - E, 3 chapters - no summary

Slowly, then all at once by Anonymous - M, 2 chapters - Hermione begins her training at St. Mungo’s the summer after her eighth year. She’s excited to put the past behind her—that is, until Draco Malfoy turns up in her ward and she’s forced to relive the past, if only so he can remember it. Title of the story is inspired by a line in The Fault in Our Stars by John Green.

Add it up! by Anonymous - M, one-shot - Draco struggles to keep on task while on a case with Granger.

Love is a Beautiful Thing by Anonymous - T, one-shot - How can you choose when you never wanted to hurt anyone?

How I Ended Up Inside by Anonymous - E, one-shot - no summary

Make Damn Sure by Anonymous - T, one-shot - Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy may of overcome their differences and fallen in love along the way, but with an impending betrothal on the horizon, will everything change for them?

Lost Souls by Anonymous - T, one-shot - Broken by war and years of secrecy, Hermione and Draco struggle to find true happiness together while hiding behind double lives.

Hold Me When I'm Here by Anonymous - M, one-shot - No longer on the wrong side of the war, Draco finds himself fighting beside unlikely allies, each day about getting through whatever way he can.Sometimes, that way is her.

Guilt by Anonymous - E, one-shot - Getting a nanny in would work wonders.

Deflower Draco 2020:

Mind and Body by sarena - E, 5 chapters - Hermione tilted her head, taking a step back to look him up and down. “Draco Malfoy, is this your first time?” He winced reflexively but he tried to cover it up immediately by shaking his head. “Of course not,” he scoffed.

Something Deeper by kmd0107 - E, one-shot - Draco and Hermione have to consummate their marriage bond. Draco may have left out one not-so-tiny detail.

Something Unexpected by GaeilgeRua - E, one-shot - Hermione learns that the rumours about her new husband may have been exaggerated a bit. It’s a good thing that the Slytherin Sex God and the Gryffindor Princess work so well together now.

A Stellar Collision by Somandalicious - E, one-shot - They were a white dwarf and a neutron star hurling through space and time on an elliptical trajectory with catastrophic consequences.

Prick the Virgin by Klawdee - M, one-shot - 7th year Au, in which, Hermione (not the Head Girl, but knows a bit about head or at least several different slang words for it) asks Draco for his virginity, but NOT that virginity, and yet she gets both, that is if either really exist at all... Canon divergence - Voldy Moldy didn’t return 4th year or in this fic…at all… -Diggory was the only Hogwarts Champion…but also not in this fic… -Umbridge did teach 5th year but was chased out early due to out of control rise underage rituals…hinted at but not elaborated on… - it’s AU; Sargent and really…there is no plot, what plot? Inspired by an incorrect (as I’ve soon learned doing some minor research) tumblr post assumption on what “Virgin Blood actually” means, and I ran with it anyways. Some humour, or at least some attempts at humour. I know my confidence is staggering, hopefully you give it a go anyhow, and humour me.

In the Twist of a Curl by SlytherinHermione - E, one-shot - There she goes again. Draco couldn’t help but to watch, mesmerized as she took a long strand of her hair, and followed its curled path around her finger.He felt turned around, twisted upside down, and he couldn’t really stop himself from falling.

Waking The Dragon by Lilithmorningstar69 - E, one-shot - Draco Malfoy had very few choices, despite being a spoilt brat, as a pureblood and only living heir to the Malfoys, he is expected to uphold some antiquated traditions. That is until he sees an unexpected pair in a very compromised position.

still got you all over me by HawthorneWhisperer - M, one-shot - “Earl Grey,” a deep voice said, and it was like walking straight through a ghost. Her stomach plunged, her veins turned icy cold, and she made herself count to three before turning around.It was worse than a ghost. It was him, warm and in the flesh, cheeks slightly flushed from the summer heat outside. Draco hadn’t noticed her yet, too busy paying for his tea, and she inched toward the door. If she could just scoot past the cluster of witches waiting in line, she might be able to—“Granger?” the barista asked. Dammit. Draco’s face went several shades paler. She gave up trying to sneak out and sheepishly wended her way to the counter. Hermione accepted her cup with a meek smile and nodded to Draco like this wasn’t the worst thing that had happened to her in years. It had been seven years since she had last seen him, standing alone in front of the lake. Everyone else had been crowded into groups, surrounded by their families and loved ones, but Draco was alone. No one had come to his commencement ceremony, not even his mother.

The Infidelity Clause by melanoradrood - E, one-shot - "It ends with infidelity," he said carefully. "If one of us were to have sexual relations with another, then the contract is broken."Draco's future has been written in ink and magic since he was a child, but now that he faces it, a marital contract, he knows that there's only one way out... but the consequences of breaking such a contract are... permanent.Hermione rather likes the sound of them.Written for Deflower Draco Fest 2021

Not Your Average Sex God by GracefulLioness - E, one-shot - Draco's in love. And that's isn't even the most embarrassing thing he's confessing tonight.

Until You by BiscuitsForPotter - E, one-shot - After a potions accident at fifteen, Draco must resign himself to living with an affliction for which there is no cure. Written for the 2021 Deflower Draco Fest.

The Bowtruckles and the Beasts by PurpleSugarQuills - E, one-shot - Molly Weasley brandished a copy of The Bowtruckles and the Beasts in one hand and a ripe, yellow banana in the other. Hermione could only blink, moments away from receiving The Talk from her ex-boyfriend’s mother.This was, as so many things tended to be, all Ginny Weasley’s fault.And eighth-year fic for Deflower Draco Fest

Fortuitous timing by emotionalsupporthufflepuff - E, one-shot - Rumor has it that Draco Malfoy is a skilled and generous lover.He may have started that rumor himself...But when Hermione Granger wants to find out for herself, will it result in another disastrous event for Draco, or is his luck finally turning around?

This fest is ongoing.

#dramionefanfictionforum #Fests/Exchanges/Challenges

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fortheloveoffanfic · 4 years

Text

The Reveal

Keanu Reeves x Reader (A/n- Written in the The One That Stays universe, because I love it, and those characters so much. This is about 3 years post the last chapter, and I was really iffy about posting it, but here we are anyway.)

Warnings- Nothing really, just pregnancy and fluff.

“And I thought I loved you then.” -Then, Brad Paisley

Warm yellow rays from the barely cloudy sky cast a picturesque gleam on the surface of cool, blue water. That day, thankfully, hadn't been as sweltering as the ones in the weeks gone by, and the forecast predicted for that weekend had been one conducive to recreational boating, which was why they'd decided to rent a yacht for the weekend. Joining them had been Keanu's side of the family, his sister, her husband and his mother, along with Julie, her husband Eric and their two year old Lucas.

It was their second day out on the water, anchored off the coast of Los Angeles and by late afternoon, everyone had gathered on deck, around the small pool to hang out. Eric had taken to the pool to humor Lucas, as had Keanu's brother in law, while everyone else had kicked back on lounge chairs. Y/n was laid back on Keanu's chest, his worn shirt soft and comforting against her exposure arms as his legs spread slightly to accommodate her bare one. One of his large hands were splayed on her stomach, while the other absently twirled the ends of her hair, something he'd taken to doing after she'd let her tresses grow out a bit longer, all while Y/n toyed with her wedding band. The diamonds shone proudly in the sunlight, and though the ring hand made its home on her finger almost two years ago, Y/n couldn't help but smile faintly. She was Mrs. Y/n Reeves.

"You okay?" Keanu broke her thoughts, gently rubbing her rounded stomach. They were just under four months shy of welcoming their first child. They’d been discussing having a baby even before they married, in a small ceremony at Keanu’s favorite hotel, but hadn’t gotten down to actually trying until about a year earlier, when he had decided to cut back on the amount of roles he took and Y/n’s work schedule cleared up. Thankfully, though their road to pregnancy hadn’t been a trying one, they were both fairly healthy and it greatly helped that they were usually all over each other, and within about three months of being off her birth control, they had taken a home test, which had confirmed that Y/n was indeed pregnant. Since then, Keanu’s protectiveness had nearly quadrupled; the woman he loved was carrying their child, and he’d be damned if anything remotely bad happened to either of his favorite people.

Shifting a bit in his embrace, she laid one of her smaller hands next to his, feeling the light kicks of their baby, like butterflies fluttering in her stomach. According to Julie, those were only going to get stronger, and apparently a little painful, but Y/n didn’t care, she’d endure it any day if the reward was having their child in her arms afterwards. “Yeah,” Y/n smiled softly, nuzzling his chest with her cheek, “I’m good, we both are.”

“Good,” Keanu bent to kiss the top of her head, reassured for the time being. He’d been a little skeptical when Y/n and his sister had conjured up the idea of taking a boat out for the weekend; out on the water, if anything happened to her, getting to her doctor or the hospital would take longer than he preferred, and there had already some difficulties that had him almost constantly on edge. But, alas, Y/n was extremely persuasive and eventually convinced him that she was fine to get away for the long weekend, “And-”

A gasp from his mother, Patrica from her own chair as she set her cocktail down cut off Keanu’s words, and everyone turned to her, “I just remembered,” she sat up, eyes fixed on them both, “You two had an appointment this week, did Dr. Shaw tell you the sex?”

Boy or girl, it had recently become a hot topic in the Reeves family. Every time they all met, it somehow came up; what family names would work if it were a boy, how cute they’d dress up a little girl and Y/n was even sure that their was a bet going on between her sister-in-law and Julie, “We didn’t,” Keanu chuckled, “This little one was turned away from us; shy like their mommy.”

“And their daddy!” Y/n playfully slapped his thigh, giggling when he tucked her closer. When their laughter died down, Y/n elaborated, “I promise, you’ll be the first call when we find out.”

“Call?” Patrica repeated incredulously, as if the word were a capital crime in itself. How dare they simply call?

“We’ll take you to dinner?” Keanu scrunched his nose, trying to appease her. He knew it was a big deal, almost every family member had made sure to remind them of it, but surely, it couldn’t be that big.

“Dinner- ugh,” she put a long, manicured finger to her temple, her entire, though possibly exasperated expression, was hidden by her dark sunglasses, though, her words were enough to tell them just how much a their options had not sufficed, “I’ve waited twenty years for my only son to get married to a nice girl. And now, they’re having a baby, and all I get, after all this waiting, is a phone call? My grand-baby is worth more than a phone call, you need to have a reveal.”

Julie squealed in agreement, “Oh! That would be perfect! You could do it where we had ours, at that cute little pastry shop in the city.” Y/n remembered that party well, especially since she’d nearly planned the entire thing. Julie had gone the perhaps, more old fashioned route, with a cake reveal. They’d rented out her favorite shop for an afternoon and gathered their closest friends and family for the vintage style soiree, where everyone was encouraged to wear a color that matched their suspicions; pastel blues and greens for a boy and light pinks and purples for a girl. Y/n, who’d been sure that she was going to have a godson from the very beginning, had opted for a cute blue dress with white lace trimming, claiming victory over Keanu who’d opted for a pink, which he dubbed salmon, shirt.

“A gender reveal?” Y/n shifted again, scooting upwards, aided by Keanu and subsequently tucking her head in his neck after turning on her side. Quite recently, finding comfortable positions had started becoming quite a daunting task, but somehow, being cuddled to, or rather on top of, Keanu had remained Y/n’s favorite. “We didn’t really think of doing one of those, my mom already wants to do a baby shower, we just feel like it's too much.”

“Yeah,” Keanu chimed in, trying to be another voice of reason, “Besides, that’s a lot of work, and we’re supposed to be keeping an eye on her blood pressure-”

“Well then let me plan it,” his mother protested, determined to have a reveal, “I’m sure Julie and Karina will help, and we can have it at her place too.”

Perking up, Karina joined their conversation, “Oh! That would be perfect,” she clapped her hands excitedly, no doubt on board with the idea. She’d been bursting with excitement since they’d announced that they were expecting, teasing that having a baby in the family this time around would be more fun considering she wasn’t the one who’d have to wake up at four am feedings. She was however, down to babysit whenever her niece or nephew started sleeping through the night. Yeah, their family thought of it all. “I’d love to help!”

“Count me in too,” Julie beamed, taking her son in her arms just as Eric came out from the pool, handing him over so he could go get Lucas a towel.

And then, before Y/n and Keanu knew it, the three women were all involved in planning a party that they hadn’t even signed off on, though, at that point, it was clear that they didn’t have a choice anyway. “Perfect, all you two will have to do is show up,” she smiled triumphantly.

Three weeks later Y/n was a the snack table, surveying its contents and deciding if she wanted something, when Keanu came up behind her, causing her to jump with he placed gentle hands on her shoulders, pecking the crown of Y/n’s hair, “It’s just me sweetheart,” he chuckled, his baritone warm and familiar.

“You startled me,” Y/n pressed one hand to her chest over the neckline of her white flowing dress, while the other cradled her bump. The little, unofficial planning committee had instructed guests to wear white, though, the decor had entailed a charming mix of baby blue and a light pink, beautifully mixed to compliment each other. The deserts; everything from inviting cupcakes to cute cake pops and elegant looking macaroons, and party favors, mostly made of little pouches filled with jelly beans along with fuzzy topped pens along with several other little trinkets, were also color coordinated. The ladies had really gone out, though arguably, simple wasn’t exactly their MO. “This is supposed to be a gender reveal, not a baby reveal,” she joked, turning to face Keanu.

“You’re right,” his lips brushed her forehead, one of his hands on her waist sliding to her stomach, “Wouldn’t want our bun popping out too soon,” he crouched down, so he could ‘talk to the baby,’ something he’d been doing for months now, “As excited as we are to meet you, you still gotta keep mommy company in there for a few more months.”

Threading her delicate hand through his dark mane a fond sorire upturned Y/n’s pink stained lips. She absolutely adored those little moments that Keanu would spend chatting with their baby, at first, he’d started with brief sentences, ‘I love you’s and ‘can’t wait to meet you’s, but as months drew on, and it the reality set in, Keanu had started reading to her belly, and sometimes at night, when he’d join her in bed, he could spend well over an hour talking about all the things he’d teach them as they grew up. Already, he was proving to be an exceptional father; extremely loving and always ready to put his wife and child first, and Y/n knew that things would only get better when they met their baby.

She was so lost in her own thoughts, that Y/n had barely heard a thing of what Keanu had said, only returning to the moment when he pressed a chaste kiss to her tummy, offering one final declaration of love before standing again and heading to another end of the table after kissing Y/n one last time. "What are you doing?" She giggled as he picked up a pen and a little blank card out of a stack next to two decorative wooden boxes. The entire set up was for one of the many games being run that day, where their guests could vote on their options. Before the reveal later that evening, someone was supposed to count them and the reward would be satisfaction at the end.

"I'm placing my bet," Keanu defended, scribbling on the white surface as he spoke.

"It's not a bet," Y/n placed a hand at the top of her growing bump as she made her way over to him, standing on her toes to peer over the loose shield he'd made with his hand, "You're going with girl again, huh?"

"Hey, Julie and Eric's baby was one thing, but I think I know our kid," folding the card in half, creasing it for emphasis, Keanu slipped it into the box with the word "girl” carved in cursive at the front, "This baby," he palmed her stomach with both hands, "Is definitely a girl."

Rolling her eyes, Y/n decided that she'd get in on it too, plucking on of the cards from its spot, swiping the pen from off the table and using Keanu's chest to press on, "Well, you must like being wrong," she chewed on her lower lip as she wrote, dramatically showing Keanu what she'd written before slipping it into the matching box labeled boy, "I was right then, and I'm right now."

"And how are you so sure of that?" The giddy smile of both their faces didn't show any signs of fading as Keanu reeled Y/n back in, "Why don't we bet on it?"

“Because I’m carrying the baby, duh,” she rolled her eyes playfully. Throwing her arms around his neck, Y/n twirled the ends of Keanu's hair in her fingers, leaning into his chest as far as she could, "And yeah,” his arms circled Y/n's waist, toying with the lace on her flowing maxi dress, "Let's do it. What does the winner get?"

Keanu scrunched up his face, looking up thoughtfully, "The winner gets….." he thought on it some more, "Whatever they want."

Y/n eyed her husband suspiciously for a minute, a little curious about what he could possibly want, if by some miracle, he won. "Okay," she finally said, “Winner gets whatever they want,” Y/n smiled mischievously, almost certain that she would be triumphant.

Hours later, just before noon had turned to evening and when the brightness had gone hazy as the sun journeyed to the horizon, everyone had gathered in the backyard, on the lawn for the long awaited moment. It was time for the reveal. They’d gone with a balloon reveal, and when it was time, Y/n and Keanu were positioned near the fence, just a few feet in front of their family and friends, all ready with phone and cameras. Keanu held on to the string of the large, shiny black balloon, one with a silver question mark painted on at the front, while Y/n had been armed with a metal skewer from Karina’s kitchen.

Just about an hour earlier, the contents of both boxes had been counted, and the team banking on Baby Reeves being a boy had come in strong, outnumbering the other side by a landslide. The small victory, though it couldn’t be considered a real prediction, had only built Y/n’s faith in her own suspicions, almost everyone, even down to her own parents, were convinced that she and Keanu would be greeting a son in the coming months.

“Ready?” Keanu’s eyes met hers, the nerves shared between them, along with bright, excited grins plastered on both their faces. They both knew that in the end; boy or girl, daughter or son, it wouldn’t matter. None of it would matter as long as their baby was healthy and safe.

Y/n nodded vigorously, using her free hand to tuck some hair behind her ear, positioning the skewer near the opaque balloon, “Yeah.” Somewhere in the crowd, she heard her mother anxiously prompt her to “just do it already,” while someone else interjected that their camera was ready, “Okay, okay,” Y/n laughed, ready to get on with the moment of truth.

Taking a deep breath, Y/n didn’t even try to steady her shaking hand as she finally pressed the tip of the stick to the balloon, wincing and shutting her eyes tightly at the loud popping sound. The crowd cheered loudly, jubilance igniting a celebration and when Y/n opened her eyes, her jaw hung slack with shock. Rendered speechless, she just stood there, rooted to the floor, dropping the skewer and placing her hands on her stomach, barely smiling breathlessly at the patter of kicks beneath her palms. “Oh my god…..” Tears of joy welled up in her eyes as she raised her head to meet Keanu’s equally glistening gaze, “I…..”

For a second, he too seemed shocked, and the jeers of congratulations faded in the background as everything moved in slow motion. She could have sworn that there had never been so much love in his eyes, and Keanu thought that he’d never been that happy, though, their wedding day came in at a very close second. Suddenly, the prospect of parenthood seemed a thousand times realer. After that evening, so much would change, they would finally choose a name.

Without another moment of hesitation, Keanu took her into his strong arms, lifting Y/n off the ground and spinning her in a circle and planting a passionate on her ready lips. In turn, she hugged him tightly, forgetting everything and everyone else as they basked in their joy. “So,” he began when he set her down, brushing some pink confetti off her shoulders and picking a couple similar pieces out of her hair, “I guess you were wrong,” he chortled, still holding her close.

Nodding, Y/n looked at the ground around them; the healthy green grass was now freckled with bits of fuchsia pink, “I guess I was, we’re having a little girl,” she kissed him again, that time quicker, not even caring that everyone was still taking pictures of them, “You win.”

“I do,” Keanu pressed their forehead together, the tip of his nose brushing hers. By then, they both looked equally rosy, the sheer joy of the matter seeping through their skin, “And I know just what I want to cash in my win for.”

“What’s that?” Y/n giggled.

“This,” and before she knew it, Keanu was dipping her, one hand holding Y/n steady at the center of her back, while the other cradled her head. Her loose tresses hung in a waterfall, disturbed only by Keanu’s stocky fingers, just as he captured her lips again, in a breath stealing bout of sweet endearment.

******

Taglist- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves

#keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves x you #john wick x reader #john wick x you #the one that stays #the reveal #fanfic #fanfiction #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves oneshot #oneshot #ff #john wick fanfiction #fluff

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falsegoodnight · 3 years

Note

hi! not sure if you’ve ever talked about this before, but do you have a specific writing process you follow when you write fics?? i’d love to hear about it if you do :)) love your fics so much!!! (p.s. feel free to ignore this if you don’t want to/don’t feel comfortable talking about it!)

hiiii! first of all, i’m really glad you like my fics! thank you for reading them :) and for my writing process: i think i have talked about it a couple times but i do plan on making a thorough and detailed post describing my writing process but i’m lazy so it keeps getting put off! for now, i’m copy & posting what i said for an old ask where i split it into stages and described how long each one took (+ new notes!!)

(under the cut because i ramble)

1) idea/brainstorm

i tend to get ideas from other subject matter such as books, tv shows, movies, music, etcetera just like most people but i also get a lot of fic ideas in dreams. those actually tend to be the best ones, in my opinion. and once i get an idea and it won’t leave my brain for a bit, i open up a notebook page or my notes app and write down everything i can about it (the general gist, anything specific i dreamt/wanted, etc). sometimes i’ll even write out a scene if i can’t stop thinking about it. in fact, i’ve based an entire fic around one written scene more than once in the past.

if i’m super excited, i usually end up blurting out the idea to a friend and there’s just something about explaining an idea to someone else that has you fleshing it out and building upon it and then suddenly you’re even more excited than before--

2) outlining

this actually tends to be a relatively quick stage for me! for the most part, once i get an idea and i get inspired, the story just comes together! there may be gaps but i don’t worry about them yet - i just start my character profiles and a scene list! my outlines tend to be pretty detailed but they can range from around 1k to up to 5k depending on the complexity of the story, characters, and whether any worldbuilding needs to be done. and every story is different - some i just have fleshed out in my head already so i don’t need to work it out on paper (or, on screen, i guess) and others i need to plan out every last detail or else my brain gets too muddled trying to sort everything out. and in my experience: the longer the outline, the longer the fic.

i’d say typically this takes around a couple hours (for the basic outline) but i always come back to my outline frequently even when drafting, changing and tweaking things or adding/cutting things. outlines are fluid! they’re meant to change and alter with new ideas and different directions :)

[edit: i’m just quickly going to add a:

3.5) research

this isn’t for every fic but sometimes a story i want to write involves something i don’t have a lot of knowledge/experience for and so i always make sure to research the topic as best as i can in order to portray it as accurately as possible. of course, this is fanfiction and no one is going to grade you on how credible everything is (and they shouldn’t!! this is all for fun!!) but i personally really enjoy the research aspect of writing and getting to learn about things i normally wouldn’t ever get the chance to. i’m currently writing a fic that’s required so much research (i have pages of notes; it’s ridiculous) and i’ve been having a lot of fun with it!! i also want to make a post about this but the main thing i try to do is find experts, whether that be from expert sources or from experts themselves on platforms such as youtube, specific websites, or even reddit and quora. the best way to learn is to learn from someone else who knows it well]

3) drafting

as expected, this stage definitely takes the longest. i’d say my average for writing days (as in, only counting days where i write) is around 2-3k or maybe 4k. on a really good day, i can write 6-8k (edit: haven’t done that in a hot second haha). the biggest streak i’ve had was when i wrote 40k in 4 days (ie: before we knew, which i posted the same day i finished, of course) but that is very uncommon, obviously.

so it all depends on the length of the fic and the type of story for how long drafting takes but i’d say majority of my fics were written either in a week (these are the shorter ones, just to clarify) or in a few weeks depending on length. one of my 50k+ fics was written in exactly 25 days (that sounds a bit like Nanawrimo but it was october) and then on the other hand, a fic that ended up at 30k-ish took me months to write - part of that was just that i wasn’t prioritizing it, but i also just struggled a lot with it.

(edit: so just to elaborate a bit more with challenges that are typically faced in this stage - there’ll be times where i get stuck on a scene or lose motivation and then i typically jump around and move to a different scene that i feel more excited about. that’s what’s so helpful with outlines: they let me switch between different points of the story without getting everything jumbled or creating hordes of plot holes and inconsistencies. for more on things i do to help me write more, i answered this ask a while ago. also if i get stuck plot-wise, then i often consult a fellow writing friend or go back to my outline to work it out)

4) beta stage

i have two very lovely people who beta for me: @soldouthaz and my friend chelsea who does not have a tumblr :( (edit: she does now!! @kittenlouis :D) i’d say they’re both pretty fast, finishing in a couple days when i need them to! but again, it depends on the fic/length/other circumstances. they’re really good at catching my embarrassing typos and giving me feedback when i ask (edit: i tend to leave questions in the form of comments on google docs if i want specific input or feedback and it’s really helpful)

honestly i really don’t reread/revise my own work (i actually sort of did for my second blff though since i had the extra time so we’ll see if it pays off!) (edit: i think it did!) but when i go through the edits from sarah and chelsea, i do typically end up skimming scenes and making changes that i deem necessary. i do highly suggest self-editing to anyone else though because it only ever makes the story better, never hurts it. i need to get better at it myself.

i hope this gives you some sort of idea of my writing process even though it’s sort of a mess. feel free to ask more questions if you want me to extrapolate/elaborate anything. i wish you all the best!

#asks #writing advice #my writing tips #writing

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jadeile-writes · 3 years

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Fanfic Progress Update 129

Hi hi hi<3 Stay tuned for a spoilery glimpse into the next chapter of Adventure Gone Mini at the end.

Current WIPs:

Adventure gone Mini

Fandom: Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild / The Minish Cap

Summary: Sidon is given his very own Sheikah Slate, the first replica Purah has managed to make, and sets out to travel with Link with the intention of registering warp points for convenient travel in the future. However, when a malfunction shrinks them down to the size of bugs, and they meet little people called the Minish, they have to change their plans from “fun adventuring” to “getting out of this mess”. Not that those two have to exclude one another. Link/Sidon.

Progress: Chapter 54 is the current latest chapter and was posted on 21st of July. Chapter 55 is 2/3 done. The scheduled posting date shall be 18th of August, unless I’m swamped and don’t have the time to write.

I post a new chapter every three weeks on Wednesdays, except when I don’t manage to and move it by a week. These updates always include a sneak-peek for the next chapter, slowly getting longer over the three (or four) weeks’ waiting period.

—–

Hah! Our afterlife is the most hilarious bushwa, dearest

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Summary: This is not a stand-alone story! This is a oneshot/drabble collection in the universe as “Shit, the Radio Demon is a part of my afterlife”. Read the main story before bothering with this one.

I decided to give my readers a chance to throw Radiohusk prompts at me, and had the Afterlife-verse as an option to set the stories in. Everyone liked that, so this fic is now a thing. Enjoy the extra mischief from these two dorks!

Progress: Chapter 28 is the current latest chapter and was posted on 27th of November. Chapter 29 is technically written, but I’ll need to look it over to see if I want to tweak it before I can call it done. The scheduled posting date is Some Friday, and there will be a sneak-peek on the Previous Thursday. Chapter 30 is half-done as well.

Note to new people who might be looking at this: I’m not taking prompts anymore. These will be the last chapters, and then the fic will be done.

—–

Other WIPs I’m not currently working on but intend to get back to someday:

PoE Drabbles (Pillars of Eternity) (btw, I’ve gotten back to playing the game, so this’ll likely be back on the table soon)

DC Drabbles (Justice League)

Diaphanous Relations (Forgotten Realms, R.A. Salvatore’s books)

Revalink chapter fic (Zelda BotW)

A bunch of Hazbin oneshots and chapter fics, some started, some just on the idea phase. There’s… there’s a lot…

—–

That’s it for the WIPs! Here’s the promised sneak-peek into Adventure gone Mini (Note: the text may end up slightly different in the fic itself due to more editing happening before publishing). Enjoy!

Mini

Link sat cross-legged on the stone floor of the Minish sized shrine. The entrance was a large stone door that could be opened with a Sheikah Slate, and the interierior so far was an expertly carved and elaborately decorated tunnel with Fire Chuchu jelly lanterns on the sides. It was distinctly lacking the mystical floating rock slabs of the regular shrines, which meant the entire dungeon was on ground level, which in turn made sense considering how little space a Minish shrine logically took. His slate had gained a blacked outline of a map upon entering the shrine, so he assumed that his first job would be to find a map-granting altar somewhere nearby. ...Should he be exploring, that is, which he wasn’t going to be able to do on this trip. Damn it. Slateri had nabbed a Fire Chuchu jelly from one of the lanterns and was boiling a pot of water with some sort of medicine mixed in, planning to fix Link’s coughing with it. If Link got to go through the inevitable tussle with the Vaatians cough-free, he swore he’d be a lot less sour about Slateri’s bossy attitude in return. “Alright, now this needs to boil for a bit and then it’ll be ready for use”, Slateri stated after a while, packing up his supplies in a green satchel that matched his hat, just without the glowing. He turned to look at Link. “And now I believe I owe you some explanations, hero.”

—–

That’s it this time. See you next Saturday!

Links:

My AO3 My FFnet My Ko-fi Radiohusk Discord Server

#Fanfic progress update

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fanficflaneuse · 4 years

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One Day - Part 3

A/N: Hello, Magical tumblr friends! I have absolutely no self control. Writing has flown very easily lately and I just want to post as soon as I finish. First, as always, I want to thank you for all of your love and support. This has been awesome so far. Every little heart, reblog and note makes my heart soar. Thank you, thank you, thank you! Second, I really want to apologize in case my writing has too many mistakes. I’m a perfectionist. I usually try very hard to be polished and strive to have a near perfect grammar and spelling, but English is not my first language, so even when I reread my writing time and time again I still find a lot of mistakes. I’m sorry! I’m really trying my best and hopefully it gets better :)

Third, this post features Fragment 31 by greek poet Sappho, translated by Jim Powell.

Details:

Draco x reader (she/her pronouns) Word count: 1465 Summary: One day AU. Post-war. Since The Battle of Hogwarts, Draco and y/n meet one day a year.

Enjoy!

Masterlist

3 May, 2000

My dearest (Y/N/N),

I imagine you probably want to burn me at the stake right now. I know I promised to write as often as possible, but the things I’ve experienced in the last few weeks have shaken me to my core. And I can already imagine you saying something along the lines of “there’s always time to scribble a few lines, it’s not that hard, Dray”, but not everyone is a talented writer like you, darling. Be it as it may, in case my words don’t grant me your forgiveness with this letter you’ll find a couple of books I’ve read lately and I’d love to discuss with my favourite bookworm.

I arrived in Prague last week. Oh, (Y/N/N)! What a wondrous place. It’s everything you described and so much more. I spent the first few days sightseeing and walking around. I ventured into the wizarding library you told me about and I could totally understand your excitement. I spent two whole days there and I don’t think I covered more than half of it. It reminded me a bit of Hogwarts and a great deal of you. I miss you terribly, (Y/N), and the only thing I’d change about this trip would be having you with me. We should go on a holiday together, explore a corner of the world we have yet to see. What do you say?

I started venturing into the muggle parts of the city as well. Muggle tourists seem to be three times more of a pain in the arse than wizard tourists are. All in all, I’ve learned a great deal from them as well. I’ve visited cathedrals and museums and I even consulted a muggle about their literature. As much as I hate to admit this, you’re right: there are some awfully great things out there. That Kafka fellow? An absolute genius. The way The Metamorphosis made me feel is nothing short of magical. What a gross book (in the best possible way).

What else can I tell you, love? I definitely needed all of this. I needed to get away from Britain, away from my parents, away from everything I once knew. I needed to get lost in places where my last name meant absolutely nothing. It has helped me put things into perspective and get to know myself. I haven’t found myself just yet. I don’t even know if it’s possible, to truly find oneself. But at least I’m ridden with questions and challenges to my old beliefs. I am not ashamed to tell you I’m terribly afraid of the answers, but I at least I don’t fear finding them anymore. The price of not asking myself all I have to learn is much too high.

I hope this letter finds you well, (Y/N/N). Tell me what’s new with you. Please make my days better with some of your poems and short stories. I miss them as much as I miss you (plus, I want to collect a bunch of your original works to boast when you’re a famous writer).

I send you all of those hugs I cannot give you right now.

Hope to see you soon.

Love,

Your cuddling partner.

D. M.

...

My dearest Dray,

I was thinking about sending you a howler when you owl arrived, lucky bastard. I’d say there are no words to describe how much joy your letter brings me, but I am want to be a writer so this doesn’t apply to me, I guess. I knew a change of scenery would open your mind to different things and I’m genuinely happy for you. I hope all of those questions lead you to live your truth and build a life that truly fulfils you.

Thank you for the books, love. I’m quite impressed by your selection. Muggle books? I never would’ve imagined you, of all people, would send me muggle literature. I’m so proud! And Kafka is wonderful. I only got my hands on some of his short stories. I guess I’ll give that little novel a go now that it has your approval stamp. I’ll read all of these books and send you a very extensive review. I won’t quite forgive you, though, until you drag your arse back here and we can have yet another cuddle session.

I’d love to go on a holiday with you, Dray. What do you propose? I’ve never been to America and I’m really curious of what it has to offer. I’d also love to go someplace sunny, enjoy the nice weather and hopefully get a bit tanned, don’t you think? (Or at least try…You’re so freakishly pale tanning seems like a big stretch).

I’ll tell you some of my news. Last week I started working at the Ministry. I’m part of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement now. It is a lot of work and it includes a great deal of paperwork, but at least I have Hermione, Harry and Ron with me. (They all send you their regards, by the way. Ron says that if you don’t bring gifts with you, you won’t be allowed at the Burrow anymore. Hermione scolded him, but the threat remains). I like helping people. I guess this is just a more official continuation of what we’ve been doing since we’re eleven, don’t you think? I am learning a lot and I am very busy. It makes me happy and excited for what’s to come.

Yesterday we went back to Hogwarts for the second anniversary of the battle. It was all very gloomy. The wounds are still fresh. I got back home and cried my heart out. But I feel it was absolutely necessary for us – all of us – to be there. We need to heal collectively, Dray. I know you say it’s not your place. I know a lot of people won’t be able to look past the mark in your forearm. Many others, though, asked me about you and your wellbeing. I am sure it is going to take a while, but I hope you can go back and face those demons. I wish for you to recover. I cherish the day in which we all do.

You have no idea how much I miss you, Draco Malfoy. Even Harry is jealous. It’s not my fault that our cuddle partnership is absolutely awesome and that he’s a terrible cuddler. I guess you’re my one and only.

I have a bunch of short stories in the works. To be honest I have been a bit lazy lately. I’m so tired once I get home that I don’t really have enough patience to work on my tragic heroines. I’ve been writing a lot of poetry, though. I write verses on napkins and stray pieces of parchment, on the back of the forms I have to fill or at the margins of the books I’m currently reading. I’ll send you a couple of them.

(…) once I look at you for a moment, I can't speak any longer,

but my tongue breaks down, and then all at once a subtle fire races inside my skin, my eyes can't see a thing and a whirring whistle thrums at my hearing,

cold sweat covers me and a trembling takes ahold of me all over: I'm greener than the grass is and appear to myself to be little short of dying.

Hope to see you soon.

Love,

Your cuddling partner.

(Your Initials).

Draco unfolded the letter and read it for the tenth time. He loved how (Y/N) could write the most erudite poems and elaborate stories, yet her letters seemed to have a more conversational tone. It made him feel closer to her. He could imagine her saying every single sentence out loud, complete with guessing where would she breathe, laugh or make dramatic pauses.

In the last two years, Draco and (Y/N) had built a one of a kind friendship. It was foreign territory even to her, who was used to a tight-knit group of friends. He’d be lying if he didn’t admit that his heart almost leaped out of his chest when he read the words “you’re my one and only”. If he had to guess, he’d say she had written that in a more teasing tone. After all, he had started with the pet names.

And yet.

The poem was the icing on the cake. He wanted to think she had written it with him in mind. Reading her writing was like having access to a very reserved piece of her mind he’d never quite grasp. And he wanted as much of it as he could get. Draco folded the letter once again and saved it with the rest. (Y/N) (Y/L/N), his best friend, would be the death of him.

Tags: @fandomscombine @okaydraco @iliketoast23 @naomi02hook

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maybankiara · 4 years

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I HAVE COME TO SAVE THE DAY

pairing: JJ Maybank x Kiara Carrera

summary: JJ is a postman and Kiara is his favourite receptionist (alternatively, 4 times Kiara didn’t know JJ’s name and the one time she did).

w/c: 5k

a/n: i posted this on ao3 back for jiara week and totally forgot to post it on tumblr, too, so here’s a belated jiara fic, a short ‘lil enemies to lovers trope for y’all!!

masterlist | tag list

read on archive of our own

1: J.

‘Carrera Law Firm, how may I help you?’

The guy standing in front of Kiara in a postman’s uniform gives her a glance that’s part-question part-disbelief, and then points at the device in his hand. ‘Delivery for Anna Carrera.’

‘Oh. Okay.’

Blood rushes to Kiara’s cheeks as she clicks the button on the desk telephone, reaching her mother within seconds.

‘Just sign it in,’ says her mother.

‘Okay.’

She hangs up and looks at the guy, extending a hand. ‘I’ll sign it.’

He gives her a slight eyebrow raise and she may or may not see a hint of wickedness in the tight corner of his smile as she takes the device from him. She’s quick to sign it, with a shaky hand, and give it back to him.

‘You’re new here.’

Kiara nods, says: ‘Yeah, it's my first day’, even though it was a statement, not a question.

He stares at her for a hot second with the same expression, and Kiara expects him to ask something else, make it a conversation—it seemed like a conversation starter—but he doesn’t even acknowledge her answer.

‘Where do I put this?’

There’s a slight thud and she leans across her desk, seeing a medium-sized box with his black combat boot right next to it.

Her lips purse as she realises what he’d done, and decides she dislikes him.

All she wants to do is tell him off, that could be fragile, but she’s new and he seems cocky and reeks of trouble enough to make her bite her tongue.

So all she actually does is lean back into her chair and nod towards the wall to her side. ‘Just leave it there.’

He does so without a question, and on the way out, gives her a two-finger salute.

Kiara checks the paper slip he left on her desk, finding his name with ease: J. Maybank. She thinks of his short but shaggy blonde hair, rugged and self-satisfied appearance that oozed confidence, and yeah, he looked like a boy whose name begins with J.

It’s not the most awkward conversation/situation she has that day, but it’s the most memorable one, mostly because she can't get his smirk out of her head for more reasons than just one (and far too many of them she’d never admit).

She decides she hates him, anyway.

2: JOHN

The next time he comes, it’s Friday and Kiara’s got the hang of it, so she wags a finger at him to tell him to wait as she picks up the ringing phone.

‘Carrera Law Firm.’

She talks with the customer—a lovely lady, has the misfortune of living next to a new construction site—for a little bit, laughter falling from her lips. It’s Friday already and she’s gotten better at this, more confident, and making J. Maybank wait on her is worth it.

(It’s not a personal vendetta, per se – more of karma, really.)

She watches him shift weight from one leg to another, hands resting in his pocket. He’s got a slouch to him, the ease in his shoulders making him seem as if anything he wishes for, the world gives him. Kiara’s friend Sarah calls boys who stood like that suave, but Kiara calls it arrogance.

The same half-smile with the same dose of wickedness in its curve is mocking her when she bids farewell to the lady on the phone. Her back is resting against the chair and a pen slides across the paper, before she actually looks at him.

‘Delivery?’

J. Maybank reaches into the side of his backpack and takes out a handful of letters, placing them on the desk.

Kiara frowns, because he’s still standing there. ‘Do I need to sign those?’

‘Nope.’

He doesn’t budge and neither does his smile.

She collects the mail and goes through it, separating them in piles for each of her mother's employees. It takes her a couple of seconds, but J. Maybank’s gaze on her burns on her cheeks and makes it last a whole eternity.

Her glance at him comes in pair with a single raised eyebrow. ‘Can I help you?’

J. Maybank puts his fingers on the desk, tapping one of them. ‘I can leave a message with you, right?’

‘Yeah, sure.’

‘Okay’'

He nods. Kiara notes his fingers are shaky as he reaches into his pocket, taking out a pen and a piece of paper, even though there’s a bunch of both already on her desk for this exact purpose.

He scribbles down a note and folds the paper in half, hiding the text. He slides the note towards her, fingers still shaky. It’s a far cry from the overconfident, cocky person he was a mere minute ago.

‘I looked up on the internet and it said that you offer free consultations, right?’

Kiara nods. ‘Mostly, yeah. Depends on what you need.’

‘Family law,’ he elaborates.

‘Then a consultation is free. It’s Mrs Viola Glisson’s department.’ Kiara puts her finger on the note and she wants to open it, to see what he’d written. Instead, she swallows dryly. ‘Do you want me to give this to her?’

He nods. ‘That’d be great.’

No thanks comes her way, only a smile that is innocent for less than it takes her to blink. He gives her the same two-finger salute and is back to the cocky J. Maybank in moments, and Kiara hates to admit that she can’t take her eyes off of him as he walks through the glass door. His uniform doesn’t fit the aesthetic of the building, nor Kiara’s smart black trousers and a red t-shirt with a propper-up collar and a zipper on the cleavage, but he doesn’t look out of place.

As soon as he’s out of sight, Kiara’s fingers take the paper note, ready to give it to Viola, a woman who grew up with her mother and Kiara dated her son James back in middle school. She’s planning to give it to Viola immediately, no wicked intentions, but J. Maybank’s face pops up in her mind, complete with the self-confident smirk. She gives in with a sigh, thinking that he deserves her snooping for the way he’s been acting.

To her disappointment, the writing is just a phone number with John Maybank written underneath it.

She hands it to Viola with a sigh, offering no information to go with it. Viola reads the note and a knowing look spreads over her features. ‘Maybank, the postman, right?’

Kiara nods.

‘He’s about your and James’ age, no?’

‘I guess.’ Her face flashes before her eyes and she places him in her school corridors with ease. She knows he doesn’t go to the Cooke Academy because a face with demeanour like his would stand out.

‘He’s a good kid, Maybank. Mowed our lawn a fair amount,’ Viola muses to herself. Her fingers flip through a stack of papers and she writes something down, looking up at Kiara. ‘Did he say what he needed?’

‘Just a consultation with Familial.’

‘Hm? That’s interesting, might be about his father... Can you bring me a cup of coffee on your way out? You make the best coffee I’ve had in years!’

Kiara knows when she’s being dismissed, so she does as Viola asked of her. Her mind buzzes with the newfound information about J.—John—Maybank.

He’s a mystery, and stays in her mind longer than she’d like, again.

3: JOHN J.

‘Mrs Grubbs, I can’t give away our employee’s private information.’

‘It’s just a phone number,’ repeats Mrs Lana Grubbs in exasperation. ‘It’s not private.’

‘A personal phone number is private information. I don’t have the right—’

‘Fine, I’ll just do it myself.’

The short woman with greying brown hair pulled into an elaborate bun walks past Kiara's desk with complete disregard of any manners whatsoever, and is already halfway through the main hallway when Kiara comes up in front of her.

The young Carrera puts her hands between her and the woman, lips pressed tight. ‘Mrs Grubbs, you can’t walk in here unannounced.’

‘Announce me, then.’

‘You need to have an appointment,’ elaborates Kiara. She feels herself close to seething; there are firm rules set in stone when it comes to culture, and the woman before her seems to have completely missed them. ‘I can arrange you an appointment.’

Mrs Grubbs scoffs. Her perfectly defined eyebrows shoot up, and her lips purse as she raises her chin. ‘I need an appointment now, young lady.’

‘My mother is in the middle of a meeting, and is busy until the end of her shift.’

‘She is not that busy. Push me in after this meeting.’

Kiara sighs. Even if she pushed her in, she knew her mother wouldn’t give her time of the day with that attitude. ‘With all due respect—’

‘Ms Lana!’

The two women avert their attention to Kiara’s reception desk, where a fair-haired boy in a postman’s uniform is standing with a small box in his hands and a grin on his face. He waves at them, but he’s looking at Mrs Grubbs.

‘Hey, Ms Lana. How you been?’

Mrs Grubbs’ demeanour changes in an instant – Kiara watches her go from a ruthless witch to a friendly lady from the neighbourhood. She approaches John Maybank and squeezes his cheeks with, asking about school, his friends, and whatnot.

Kiara takes the opportunity to go back behind her desk, eyeing the exchange suspiciously. Before she knows it, John is hugging Mrs Grubbs and she turns to the girl with a disappointed smile on her face.

‘I will arrange an appointment elsewhere,’ she states, as if Kiara is supposed to give a damn. ‘Your services are subpar.’

at least we don’t need to deal with entitled, mannerless assholes like you, crosses Kiara’s mind, but the only thing noticeable is the smile on her face. ‘In that case, I hope you find services that match your demands.’

What she gets in return is a distasteful eye roll paired with an over-dramatic huff. Mrs Grubbs turns on her heel and walks out of the door without so much as a goodbye.

At last, Kiara takes a deep breath and shifts her gaze to the postman in front of her desk.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ he tells her with the smirk she’s gotten used to in the past two weeks. ‘Ms Lana is a bitch to everyone.’

‘Not you,’ sighs Kiara.

‘No, that’s because everyone likes me.’

She raises her eyebrows at him—she seems to be doing that a lot when he’s around—and just opens her hand. ‘What you got?’

‘Delivery for Mrs Viola Glisson.’ He hands her a paper slip and the device to sign, which she does. ‘So you don’t agree that everyone likes me?’

‘I don’t.’

‘Ouch.’ John places a hand over where his heart is supposed to be (a little too far to the left) and grimaces. ‘That hurts my feelings.’

Kiara gives the device back to him, walking around the desk to pick up the box and put it on it. She knows he’s staring at her cleavage (not very exposed, but noticeable when she bends over) and wonders if he left it there on purpose.

When she sits back in her chair, he’s still there, fingers tapping against her desk.

‘Look, thanks for your help with Mrs Grubbs,’ she says, because a) she’s not a fool and she can tell what he did, and b) she can swallow her pride for one second.

‘Does that make me your prince?’

‘You didn’t come on the white horse or in your shining armour.’

‘My uniform’s kinda shiny,’ he says, tugging at the short sleeves that have the reflective tape on it that is a must-have for Kildare. ‘And my bike is white.’

Kiara laughs. ‘Your bicycle?’

‘My motorbike.’

He says it slowly, with the “e” stretching into a knowing smile, and Kiara hates that he knows exactly what he’s doing, and hates even more that it’s working.

Thing is – by now, Kiara is half-certain that the majority of the reason why his presence irks her is because she’s attracted to it, and Kiara Carrera hates being attracted to people who are cocky and self-serving. He looks like he could be a good night’s fun, with his cheeky grin and eyes that remind her of waves she sometimes surfs on, and he reeks of trouble, still. This used to be her type – tall, blonde, with a streak for illegal activities, but Kiara said to herself that she isn’t fifteen anymore. She hasn’t been fifteen in two years, come two weeks. She’s past that childish behaviour.

‘I don’t need a knight in shining armour, pal,’ she states, shutting down her thoughts before they progressed even further. I need a postman.’

‘We could be friends,’ he says. ‘Why not, huh?’

‘Do you always chat with receptionists for longer than it’s appropriate?’

‘Only cute ones.’

Kiara can’t contain her laugh this time, and it echoes in the room full of marble. John is smiling at her, and she thinks that the wickedness in the crook of his smile is just playfulness, instead. Teasing, too, and maybe just the slight hint of a daredevil.

She leans her elbows on the desk, intertwines her fingers, and rests her chin on her hands. ‘I don’t even know your name.’

He cocks his head to the side as if he knows she’s lying and, based on the way he seems (perceptive, in any case – he’s very good at finding out what makes her tick), he knows that she is.

The blond extends her a hand and she takes it. ‘John J. Maybank.’

‘Kiara Carrera.’ His grip is firm but so is hers, and they have a little staredown. ‘Adding in a “J.” to make yourself seem fancy?’

(She pretends her hand isn’t cold once his is away; she pretends she doesn’t feel the blood coursing through her veins, or the knots in her stomach when his eyes fall to her lips.)

John J. Maybank laughs with his whole chest, arms crossed on it. ‘Fancy is the last word anyone would use to describe me.’

Her eyes travel up and down his body, and she tries not to linger on his biceps, accentuated by his pose, or the way his uniform sits just right on his body.

Instead, she grins. ‘I can tell.’

He taps his fingers against her desk, and her eyes catch a pair of rings she didn’t notice before. ‘Anyway, we're friends now.'

‘Do I want to be friends with you?’

John J. Maybank is already halfway out of the building when he turns to her, walking backwards, and shrugs with his arms outstretched. ‘I don’t think you have a choice.’

He’s right – she doesn’t.

She thinks he’d be surprised if he knew just how little choice she has when it comes to him.

4: JOHNNY JAY

John J. Maybank catches her as she’s walking out of the small—hers only—bathroom next to her desk.

‘Hey, friend.’

Kiara still rolls her eyes at the greeting. There’s something off about him, only she doesn’t notice what it is until she's sat down at her desk – he’s wearing a basketball top and short cargo pants, paired with the usual combat boots.

Kiara certainly didn’t expect to find out that the uniform actually hides quite a good bit of his body that is, objectively (and not in the way of Kiara objecting), quite pleasant to look at.

He catches her looking. ‘I’m here for an appointment with Mrs Glisson.’

‘Now?’

John J. Maybank glances at the clock to his right, above the bathroom door. ‘In ten minutes.’

‘Give me a second.’

Her mind buzzes as fast as her fingers flip through the book of visitors. She recalls him asking for a consultation with Viola about two weeks ago, distinctly remembering Viola saying something about his father possibly being the reason. Her fingers land on the last time someone came for Viola.

‘Sorry, she’s still in a meeting.’

‘Thanks. It’s okay, I’m not in a rush,’ he says, taking a seat in the waiting area, a few feet from Kiara’s desk. He throws one hand on the back of the seat next to him, ankle over a knee, and grins. ‘Besides, I don’t mind the company.’

‘I’m busy,’ retorts Kiara.

‘When’s the last time you had fun?’

‘How long ago did you come here?’

‘Damn, dude. You still don’t like me?’

‘Nope.’

They both know it's a lie.

In the past two weeks, he’s been here about five times, and every single one of those, he stayed behind to chat a little bit. Kiara didn’t mind – she liked having someone to talk to, especially someone who was her age.

(Well – not anymore, as of today.)

‘You should come to the Boneyard,’ he says. ‘And before you say you don’t want to—I see you—I’ll just let you know that I know you do, because I’ve seen you there, with Sarah Cameron and the kooks.’

At this, Kiara leans back in her chair, crossing her ankles underneath her desk. ‘Don’t recall the Kooks playing at a Boneyard party. I think they tend to have proper concerts, instead.’

‘So what, you’re gonna say going to Boneyard parties isn’t your bad habit?’

A smile spreads over her lips, heated underneath his gaze. She likes that he caught her reference – she likes that maybe they have the same taste in music. She likes the idea of them dancing to it, at a Boneyard party, red solo cups in hand.

‘Relax, Johnny Jay.’ He raises an eyebrow at the name, but doesn’t interrupt her. ‘Boneyard parties aren’t really my scene anymore.’

John J. Maybank stares at her with the same knowing look. She catches the glimmer in her eye that tells her she's not fooling him, and she sees the intent in the curve of his Cupid’s bow.

He flashes a set of white teeth and a pair of dimples. ‘Bring Sarah Cameron and the kooks. It might be a pogue party, but it’ll be a proper party.’

Kiara’s smile is soft, and her cheeks are heating up again underneath the sharpness of his gaze. ‘What will they say when I find out I’m friends with a pogue?’

‘You care about that?’

‘No,’ she admits, ‘but I thought you might.’

‘Nah, dude. My friends already know about us.’

‘There’s no us.’

‘There could be.’

He gives her an award winning smile, one that must’ve given him the aura of someone good for a night's worth of fun. (She hates that it’s drawing her in the way he is, making her want to say yes when she told herself she’d be more responsible her last year before leaving for college.)

Kiara just sighs, going back to what she was doing before she took a bathroom break – doodling on a paper they used for testing the new printer (the one only Kiara seems to understand, which makes her useful, and the situation annoying).

John J. Maybank walks over to her, fingers on the desk. It irks her when he does it, so he does it as often as possible.

She looks up at him and for once, there is not a hint of anything wicked.

‘Come on, Kiara. Next summer, you’ll be getting ready for college, and you’ll be too busy to enjoy yourself. Then you’re gonna leave for college and you won’t look back, and that’ll be the best years of your life wasted. Besides,’—he taps against her hand and she slaps his—‘I won’t be there anymore.’

He tries touching her hand again, and she slaps it all the same. ‘Why does that matter?’

‘‘Cause I’m the best thing Kildare has to offer.’

as if.

Kiara is about to snap back with something—he hasn’t figured out what—when Rafe Cameron walks past the two of them, giving her a court nod. She pushes John J. Maybank’s hand off the wood, pretending her hands don’t burn where skin touches skin. ‘That’s your cue.’

He nods, and she notices the smile fell off his face while she watched her best friend’s brother walk out. His blue eyes are glazed, and his lips are trembling so Kiara pokes his hand with the top end of her pen.

‘You’ll be fine, Johnny Jay.’

‘Yeah.’ He nods to her, or himself, and taps once against the desk. ‘See you later, I guess.’

Kiara gives him what she hopes to be a reassuring smile.

John J. Maybank leaves, and she listens to the familiar thuds of his boots until she hears Viola's door open, and he walks in. What they’re doing isn’t her business, regardless of how badly she wants to know. Rafe Cameron’s here because he’s dealing with some bullshit his dad’s putting him through, and the only reason she knows any of that is because Sarah told her. Kiara is practically family to the two, even if she isn’t the biggest fan of the boy.

Johnny Jay, on the other hand, is someone she struggles to even consider a friend, since they’ve never met outside the confines of these four walls. They read each other well, bounce off of one another like a pair of old friends, and they’ve got a lot more in common than she would’ve ever thought.

They’re not friends in the traditional way, but they’re friends enough.

The telephone on the desk buzzes with the word VIOLA in place of caller ID. Kiara answers.

‘Kiara, sweetheart, can you please print for me the documents I sent you?’

‘Of course.’

‘Thank you, darling.’

Printing is actually much simpler than any of them realise. Kiara doesn’t even open the documents before sending them to the printer, clicking a few buttons that are just settings for how the page will come out (and most of them she doesn’t even need to touch). The printer is in the building’s library on the first floor, and the room smells of old books and freshly printed papers.

There’s a difference between snooping into a note he left for Viola and looking over the documents that she is currently taking out of the printer – she can’t not see what is written on them when she has to check that the printer hasn’t gone out of ink.

It’s only a glance at each of the pages, but it’s enough for her to see EMANCIPATION FORM and RESTRAINING ORDER FORM written at the headers of each of the two sets to clock onto what’s happening.

The only thought in her head is: shit.

She wasn’t meant to see that.

Kiara’s hands produce a shaky knock against the wooden door, and it’s Viola’s raspy smoker-voice that invites her in. She’s still feeling a little bit sick in the stomach when she enters, papers in hand.

‘Thank you, Kiara,’ says Viola, a thoughtful expression on her face.

‘No problem.’

Her voice is feeble, filling out every inch of space not occupied by something, or someone. She’s halfway out the door before Viola even gets to dismiss her, and she glances at Maybank on the way – he’s pale, face sickened with something she doesn’t recognise, but his eyes are weary in a way no sixteen-year-old’s should be.

He doesn’t seem angry – it’s Kiara’s last thought before the door shuts, and she can’t see him anymore.

Time passes as she waits for the meeting to be over. The fair-haired boy is all she can think about; she shouldn’t ask questions but there are many in her head, and her doodles can’t distract her anymore. When customers call, she doesn’t chat to them, and no people walk in to divert her attention.

He walks out about quarter of an hour later, a bittersweet edge to the eyebrows looming over his eyes, a stack of paper in tow.

‘Hey, friend.’

A finger taps against the desk, next to a doodle that looks an awful lot like him. She moves her arm and rests her elbow on it.

‘Hey,’ she says back. ‘Did it go well?’

‘Well.’ A sour smile. ‘I’m not sure getting a restraining order against the same old man you’re trying to get emancipated from could ever go well.’

‘I’m sorry,’ offers Kiara, and it's genuine.

To John J. Maybank’s credit, he gives her a court nod and a smile that seems a little less like it’s saying i am doing something that could go terribly right or terribly wrong.

‘Come to the Boneyard on Saturday. Bring Sarah and everybody. It’ll be fun.’

‘I’ll think about it.’

He must know her well enough to be able to tell this is as close to a yes as anyone will ever get from her, because the smile his cheeks stretch into is the one with dimples, and a fancy for trouble.

She knows him well enough to be able to tell that what she found out stays between them.

(Kiara wonders when strangers turned into friends turned into people who understand each other without having to say anything.)

‘Oh and, uh,’ he calls back from the main door, ‘happy birthday!’

He doesn’t stick around long enough to hear her thanks, but he sticks around many other times.

+ 1: JJ

Flowers.

‘Those better not be for me,’ muses Kiara from her desk. ‘I don’t like orchids.’

JJ walks in with a bouquet of flowers and his postman uniform, all accompanied by a wide, cheerful grin on his face. He’s got a spring to his step and he swings himself around the desk, planting a kiss to Kiara’s cheek.

Her hands loop around his waist. With the flowers now on her papers, Kiara feels as if she walked into the Camerons’ backyard.

‘It’s not for you,’ says JJ, wrapping a curl around his finger. ‘For Mrs Glisson.’

‘What’s the occasion?’

Kiara’s—well, whatever they are to one another—hesitates for a second, but she thinks it’s more for dramatic effect than actual hesitation.

His finger taps her cheek, warm and rough at the tip. ‘I’m moving into the Chateau today. Officially.’

‘Have the forms gone through?’

He nods, and Kiara flings her around his neck, pulling him into a full kiss. It shifts into a hug, and she feels him relax into her. ‘I can breathe now.’

‘I can only imagine.’ She pulls back, smiling as wide as he is. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Shocked. Terrified. Excited. Ambi-feelous.’

‘That’s not a word.’

‘God, you’re starting to sound like Pope. I never should’ve introduced you.’

‘It was inevitable,’ Kiara says.

They both know it, so JJ just runs a finger alongside her jaw, and his lips briefly touch hers. He’s gone after that and so are the flowers (Kiara is genuinely glad they weren’t for her). Viola isn’t in a meeting right now so it’s fair game, and about two minutes in, she’s pretty sure she can hear the woman crying/yelling (when it comes to Viola, those sounds are way too similar). It’s a big deal for everybody – the whole firm took him under their wing once they found out about the horrors of living under the Maybank roof, enough that they decided to do the case pro bono.

(JJ doesn’t like pity, so he made sure to help out in any way they can, from running errands while doing her postman job or being their personal mechanic during his free time.)

When he comes back, he’s all smiles, lips stretched out wider than Kiara thought it possible.

‘I’m picking up post today,’ he says, walking over to the box with mail thrown into it. ‘Busy day.’

‘How busy?’

�� ‘Busy.’

‘Could you spare ten minutes?’ asks Kiara, stepping away from her desk. He can see her in her full glory now – she’s pretty sure he has a thing for secretaries and their lookalikes, and she’s been putting in extra effort the past few days. ‘I think a pipe went off in my bathroom, or something. Since you said you’d help out with maintenance…’

JJ checks the clock above the bathroom, then shrugs, facing away from the camera to give her a coy grin. ‘I guess ten minutes won’t hurt.’

‘Thank you.’ She starts walking over to the bathroom, JJ at her heel. ‘I’ve been dying to get this fixed for days.’

‘Mhm. I can imagine. It must’ve been awful.’

‘Truly terrible.’

The moment they’re behind the closed door of Kiara’s bathroom, she’s pressed against the cold wall, JJ’s body hot in front of her. His lips are all over her neck and her hands making a mess out of his hair, while his are busy tugging her shirt out of her trousers and sliding underneath the fabric, pulling lines on the bare skin.

Instinctively, Kiara’s hips buckle against his as she arches her back and tilts her neck, exposing more skin for him to brush his lips over. She feels the bugle, and lets out a hearty laugh.

JJ stops kissing her, just enough to give her a glare with a frown. ‘I can see how terrible it’s been if you have time to laugh at me.’

‘Shut up,’ Kiara says, tugging at his collar to pull him closer. ‘We’ve got to be quiet.’

His hands travel downwards until they’re in her trousers, cupping her ass, and Kiara buckles against him again. She pulls him closer until they’re chest to chest, and she kisses the spot right below his ear, feeling him moan against her, his hands gripping her tighter. The thrill of being caught is making both their hearts race, and Kiara can think of very few things hotter than this moment.

‘Quiet is the last thing you’re going to be, Kie,’ he threatens.

She’s up on the sink within a heartbeat, and he tugs her trousers down with more ease than she’d think possible.

There’s a mirror on both sides of the wall, in front of her and behind her; she sees the grin on her lips, with self-assurance and a hint of wickedness to it, watching JJ press kisses up her tight that leave marks no one but her will be able to see.

Her hands are tugging on his hair, pulling him closer to her. ‘Ten minutes,’ she reminds him. ‘Make ‘em count.’

All JJ does is bury his head between her legs, and she starts to think that this bathroom had never been meant for anything other than this.

★

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