Wow it’s almost like selfcare is what is best for the self and not what others on the internet tells you it is

Holding onto our family pt.2.

{Larissa Weems x fem niece reader} pt.1 here

Thank you to you guys who recommended I do a p2 I wasn’t going to I was just gonna leave it as a one shot, sorry if this isn’t up to your expectations so in advance I’m sorry :/

Words: 4K? Idk.

Warnings: alcohol, swearing.

Note/summary: everything is strictly platonic! Just these two babies.

Still standing in the door way with shock plastered to your features, tears rolling down your face and the smallest smile tugging at the corner of your lips, Larissa grasped your shoulders and pushed you back slowly into her office closing the door behind her. You couldn’t stop staring at her and smelling her perfume, the same one she’s used since you saved up and brought a bottle when you were 10 for Mother’s Day one year.

“I know it’s a lot to take in darling… are you ok?” She asked taking your chin between her fingers making you stare into her eyes. “Yeah…” you croaked. She’s here… She’s home. “Come on beautiful, a tea should calm those nerves.” She whispered placing another kiss to your forehead and taking your hand pulling you towards her quarters. “Lissa… I’m going to need something far stronger than tea.” You said trailing behind her. “Wine or whiskey my dear?” She asked with a chuckle. “Whiskey.” You said knowingly due to the extremity of this situation. She led you to the small kitchenette and let go of your hand to open the overhead cabinet retrieving two tumblers and a crystal decanter full of high end alcohol.

She was silent while she poured the liquid into the glasses, you wrapped your arms around her waist from behind and buried your head into her shoulder. Larissa let out a small ‘oof’ at the force of your hold giggling a little spinning around in your grasp. “Oh little one, it’s alright.” She cooed softly. She was right of course it was ok, she’s here, she’s home. You tug down on her waist like a child and drag her to the floor, your knees giving way the second you bent them. Larissa followed your lead and gracefully fell down with you, wrapping her own arms around your shoulders pressing you into her chest.

“Don’t you dare leave me again.” You mumbled. Larissa sighed and stroked your hair. “My darling girl… I never really left, I’m not going anywhere.” She hummed. “What happened? Where were you? How are you here? Lissa are you…you know…you?” You asked quickly sitting up a bit to examine her with a slight glare. “Yes honey I’m me…and…before you ask, you accidentally put red socks in with your uniform and it turned your pristine white blouses pink.” You smiled widely at her words, when you left school you made sure to plan a safety question in case you ever came across another shapeshifter with bad intentions. “But what happened to you?” You asked.

Larissa slouched against the base cupboard and raised her arms to pick up the glasses resting on the counter above her head, she gave one to you and looked as though she didn’t want to talk about it, but you didn’t care, you needed answers. She put the glass to her ruby lips and threw back the alcohol in one go. “Well… I was poisoned, I’m sure you know that by now, and I died… for a few minutes anyway.” She said unfazed staring blankly behind you. “Oh my god.” You breathed taking a sip of liquor. “Mmmm.” She agreed nodding.

“How are you here?” You asked less frantically. She sighed again “When I woke, I was on the floor of the observatory alone… it took me a while to get myself out of there, my legs were numb and I could hardly move, I almost fainted a few times but I managed to make it into my office and collect a few things, I was far to weak to help the students and once I knew that everything that happened was over and they were safe, I left town for a while and laid low in Burlington.” She said pouring another whisky for herself, topping up yours while she was at it.

“You must have been fucking terrified.” You say letting the events soak in. Larissa expectedly gave you a look before you both said the word ‘language’ in unison, it brought a smile to her face at how predictable you know she is. “But…you’re right, It was fucking terrifying, now I have to explain to hundreds of people that I’m still alive and completely fit to continue as headmistress.” She muttered downing the second glass yet again. You giggled a little at her explicit response and instant visible relief when she drank. “You are fit, you’re the only person who can manage this school, I’ll do everything I can to make sure it stays that way.” You said fully serious, because you were, there is no way anyone can handle what she does, many can’t even comprehend what she does, you know that she makes difficult and somewhat uncomfortable decisions for the sake of the school’s expense and reputation, you think everyone else would be to selfish to put nevermore before themselves, besides this was out of her hands she’s the victim after all, not the instigator.

Larissa only smiled in response as well as stroking from the top of your head to the side of your cheek giving her best toothy grin, yet you still see right through her, the damage that Mari- Laurel gates caused, you see it with Enid too, her poor scars from defending Wednesday, you never bring it up because you don’t think she wants a reminder that her skin is tainted with the memories of that horrific night. Just like that tears welled in your eyes again, you try blinking them away but they continue to fall stinging from the previous path they followed. “Oh sweetheart, what’s wrong?” She asked placing her cup on the floor. “You were gone. You were taken from me. I-…you were dead and I had nothing!” you sobbed breathlessly breaking down In front of her.

Larissa’s own tears fell into her lap and the crease between her brows deepened. “I’m sorry, little one.” She whispered wholeheartedly tracing the shapes of your face gently. “I never meant to frighten you dear.” She smiled but it quickly faded when your body wreaked with more uncontrollable sobs. “You’re all I have, you are the only important person to me and you were gone, a piece of me was ripped away.” You squeak using your hands to help explain better. “I know.” She cried. “You’re not my aunt Larissa. You’re my mother….You. Are. My. Mum.” You punctuated to make sure your statement made some kind of impact.

Larissa smiled and nodded, she sniffed and wiped her eyes smudging mascara across her faint crows feet. “I never thought of you as my niece y/n, not my brother’s child, not ever a burden… you’ve always been my daughter, my special little girl.” She whispered cupping your cheeks and pressing her forehead to yours. It feels like everything is going to be ok, it feels like everything is as it was, but different in a way, it feels like everything is in its rightful place as it should be, because she’s here, she’s home.

“What happens now?” You asked. “What do you mean, honey?” She wondered. “Like, what’s the plan from here?” She looked puzzled and wasn’t sure herself. “Right now? I don’t care. All I want is to be with you my sweet, ok? That’s all that matters we can figure the rest of the mess out tomorrow.” She stated. The buzz from the alcohol started to warm up your body, absentmindedly you curl up into her lap wanting to be completely engulfed by her. “Can I sleep with you tonight?” You asked quietly, it’s been years since you did, the last time you stayed in the same bed was when you had a series of nightmares for a month when you were still a student at nevermore, the other option is to go hunt for a vacant dormitory, that would definitely raise questions though.

“You don’t even need to ask that, little one.” She whispered into your hair. You moved back and stood up slowly offering a hand to Larissa, she placed her hands in yours and rose with a few pops of her joints and groans from sitting on the floor. It’s nearing 1:00am and it’s still hard to distinguish if this is really happening or if it’s my mind deluding me from pain. “I could use a shower…” she says softly, removing a piece of hair out of your eyes that had fallen from the thrown up bun. “No you deserve a bath, let me run it for you!” You said energetically, leaving her to go to the bathroom. “Ooo wait!- lavender, rose or bergamot?… for essential oils?” You ask excitedly happy to be able to do something for her again.

“What ever you please darling.” She giggled, her brows raise and a grin finds its way to her lips, Larissa knows that if you want to do something there’s no room for argument, to the point you will have an essay in your brain of all the pros and cons to list for her. The whole time you were in the bathroom Larissa downed 3 more glasses of whiskey before placing it back on the top shelf, She walked over to her bed that’s left unmade because it’s been occupied by you and ran her hands over the luxurious silk sheets, she all but twirled around the room happy to be home, alive and with her 23 year old not so baby girl.

Happy with your job, you exited the bathroom and Larissa was no where in site. Panic set in your bones. No, she’s here. The room felt like it was expanding and you were the only person in the world, searching for her in the closet, on her balcony and possibly on the other side of the bed on the floor she wasn’t there. “Are you ok my sweet?” Her voice rang from behind you and relief spread back through your body, you turned to face her, she was closing the door to her office baring a bottle of wine. “Jesus don’t do that!” You exclaimed. “Do what?” She questioned pacing slowly towards you. “Leave… especially without telling me.” You warned giving her a playful but sincere glare.

You turned off the lights in the bathroom and lit candles around the tub, bubbles filled all around the top of the bath and it smelled heavenly, the rose scent is what you opted with. “It’s done lissa!” You called out turning off the water. Larissa made her way into the bathroom and thanked you quietly, you stepped back out into the room and walked over to the kitchenette again to pull down two wine glasses and walk back to the bathroom door and knock. “You decent enough?” You asked. “Yes darling.” She said.

You opened the door and closed it behind yourself. Larissa was sitting in the water with bubbles shielding all of her body apart from her shoulders and collar bones. “Do mind if I sit with you for a while?” You asked, placing the glasses on the tile floor, sitting down on the mat and opening the bottle. “Of course you can.” She cooed. You were both silent for a while taking turns sipping the slightly bitter velvet liquid. Larissa had her head resting on the porcelain rim and the wine glass dangling from her fingertips, she’s free from make up now and her hair is taken out spilling over the tub’s edge. “Your hair’s longer.” You said rolling the glass into your chest to lean forward and run your fingers through her platinum tresses. “So is yours dear.” She replied lulling her head to the side facing your amber licked skin from candle light.

“It’s been two years…” you remarked sadly feeling guilty for the length of time you hadn’t seen her physically. “Far too long.” She mumbled. “Well it’s not going to happen again I can assure that.” You stated sternly. “Don’t dwell on it y/n, we’re here now.” She replied. Silence fell over the two of you again and you busied yourself by fiddling your hands picking lint of Larissa’s clothes and tossing them back into the washing hamper. “Can I ask why you didn’t contact me?” You whispered looking at her waiting for an answer.

Larissa licked her lips and thought of a response. “I didn’t think you knew what happened, i didn’t believe that anyone would have known to get in contact with you, so I planned on telling you about this whole situation when I somehow found a way to reveal myself back to school society, but clearly that didn’t work. I came back tonight to see if I could get back into my office without being seen, that’s when I heard you talking with Melanie, your voice… I knew, I couldn’t run from you and leave you alone with no explanation.” You nodded along with her words and understood what she meant.

“Why did you run?” You asked. She sat up a bit, placed her glass on the floor and swallowed thickly. “I had to mourn my own “death” and take a little bit of time to rest, recover, process it, come to terms with the fact that things are going to be different. Imagine what the sheriffs going to say when I magically waltz my way back into society… I had you to protect as well. I couldn’t be reckless to get you involved in such appalling circumstances.” She said dipping her finger in water collecting bubbles and tapping the tip of your nose in a humorous, lighthearted manner. You couldn’t help the small giggle that erupted from your throat as you wiped the bubbles away feigning disgust.

You rested you head on the edge of the bath and let down your wavy blond hair finding comfort in having her so close. Larissa stroked your hair behind your ears and hummed in delight. “I remember when you loved me playing with your hair… when you were very small, I’d sit you on my lap and put in these hair ties in that had these iridescent plastic balls on them, you had a blue one and purple one, and they hardly stayed in your hair but you insisted to have them in… you had little white ringlets on either side of your head because you would throw a fit if I didn’t do it like that.” She reminisced playing with soft hair around your neck.

“I remember that, I see you still have the hair clips too, I also remember when your hair was short, reaching to you jaw and how I would mess it up all the time…but you would just shift it to look tidy again and that infuriated me.” You laughed. Larissa giggled and looked at you like you hung the stars. After a while and when the water turned lukewarm you left her alone and went and snuggled into bed. For the rest of the night you lay on her chest hearing her heart beating and listening to her soft humming. The last thing you remember before succumbing to sleep were the words I love you.

The next morning you made her breakfast in bed and started to work out a plan for ‘her return’ Larissa was a bundle of nervous energy, she stumbled over her words and spaced out a few times during the conversation but ultimately the plan was going to be set in motion. The day just consisted of the two of you lounging around her rooms and talking and talking and more talking, it’s always been like that, you can go a while without speaking and pick up like you saw each other just the day prior. Luckily nobody caught on to anything, Enid burst into her office at one point to show you her new blog post about one of the couples in nevermore. You kindly reprimanded her for not knocking but was able to usher her back out before Larissa walked out unaware of her presence.

The day has finally come for Larissa to make her entrance and the both of you felt nervous to say the least, poor thing could hardly move. “Will you let me do your make up lissa?” You asked hopefully. Larissa stared at you blankly before eventually nodding. She was still in her emerald green night slip bare of any added detail, her lashes a brilliant blond, skin pale and shoulders freckled. You envy her natural beauty, although you are both similar in appearance you can’t beat the original. You situated her on the floor near the vanity while you took the stool, her legs crossed, hands politely intertwined in her lap and posture perfectly straight, apart from her rigid shoulders.

She sat still for 45 minutes not moving a muscle, you took your time perfectly applying each layer of make up from coating every lash in a deep blue mascara, to laying on the best eyeliner you’ve ever done, to lining and painting her lips with your shade of lipstick, which is only a few shades of red darker then her own. You smiled down at your work and started the process of her hair, she turned her back towards you and lulled it to the side letting you do a large braid from her temple almost down to the nape of her neck, her side part was meticulously crafted and pulled back into a low pony tail with the braid wrapping around it, you opted for this hairstyle because you remembered seeing it in a photograph from when she was a teen, it was still beautiful and suited her very well, something different, but also full circle in a way.

Next was her outfit, that was a tough one. “Really… I can just throw something together darling.” She said in the door way of the closet. “No I’m picking.” You pouted up at her sternly. She laughed and joined you in the room, after painstakingly picking each article of clothing you chose a suit, something she doesn’t wear often if at all, something different which makes a statement, it’s a plum colour with very small, thin, green and gold stripes a vintage channel line from the 60’s. And the most important part, matching plumb coloured heels.

You left her alone to get dressed and once she stepped out your breath was stolen from you lungs at how gorgeous she looked, close to 50 years old and yet still remarkably beautiful and very glamorous, the only thing she lacked now was confidence. “You looked incredible!” You said enthusiastically. “I actually feel beautiful… it’s been a while since I’ve worn this.” She said softly. “Are you ready?” You asked hoping for a yes. “I think so my darling…” she replied. “One more thing...” you quickly walked back into her closet to pull down her box containing all of her personal trinkets and walked back out.

Larissa stood curiously watching as you flit about the room before b-lining back to her with something in your hands. You reached for her arm and put your old hair tie with those plastic beads on around her wrist then put her sleeve over the top of it and opened her blazer putting your old pink polkadot hair clip over the waist band of her trousers. “I know it’s silly… but because I’m not physically going to be there, doesn’t mean I’m not going to be with you.” You said buttoning her blazer back up and flipping her hair over her shoulder.

Larissa wrapped her arms around you and pulled you tightly into her embrace. “I love you.” She whispered. “I love you more mum.” You could hear her heart beat quicken at the word. “Now, go… call me if you need anything.” Larissa smirked as she pulled away. “Yes little boss…” she chuckled. “you’re so grown up precious girl, I can’t believe the wonderful woman you’ve grown up to be.” She pulled back and just like that she straightened her posture and a spark of confidence was alight yet again. She walked out the door and blew you a kiss leaving with an ‘I’ll be back soon’ wink.

You might be proud of her, you might love her so much, but Larissa will infinitely be more proud of you and far more envious of her little gift, her beautiful niece, her stubborn yet perfect miracle and her darling bestowed daughter. It’s going to get a whole lot better, because she’s here and she’s home.

@barbarasstar @giogwensversion @yourgaeyisshowing @maxfanartfan @anonymous-zakmo @sabraaabra

Restless

Alcina Dimitrescu x gender neutral reader 

Bela Dimitrescu, Cassandra Dimitrescu, Daniela Dimitrescu

Summary: Can’t anyone get any sleep around here? 

Warnings/tags: restlessness, midnight snacks, a possible threat, worrying about dying, Lady D comforts you

You sighed as you once again tried to get comfortable. It’s not like sleeping in a luxurious bed cuddled up with a nine foot tall vampire wasn’t comfortable, it just so happens you were restless that night. Normally when you were having trouble falling asleep you would snuggle in close to Lady Dimitrescu. You would listen to her breathing or put a hand on her chest and the motion of her chest rising and falling would put you to sleep. Sometimes an incoherent mutter would escape the lady’s lips leaving you to chuckle. But tonight you just couldn’t seem to turn your brain off. However, there was a reason. You had overhead Lady Dimitrescu and Mother Miranda talking about a mysterious incoming threat. It’s not like you were scared per se since the girls had started teaching you how to fight the best way a human could. You were more concerned with loosing Lady Dimitrescu or one of her girls in an effort to save your life. You didn’t want to be the reason any of them died because it would rack your soul with such a deep pain. Just the thought of that made you want to be sick. You shook your head getting up and exiting the bed doing your best not to wake the lady of the house. She stirred for a moment before she began her sleeping breaths again. You slipped into your cardigan and made your way to the kitchens. Maybe some tea would help you sleep? Milk and honey? Perhaps. You reached the door to the kitchen and noticed a dim light coming from under the door frame. You furrowed your brow before pushing the door opened. 

“Daniela?” you asked as the redhead turned around a scrap piece of an organ hanging out of her mouth and her hand in a glass jar with other scraps. 

“Hi y/n,” Daniela said her words distorted by the snack in her mouth. There were a few candles lit in the kitchen giving it a dim yet cozy atmosphere. 

“Can’t sleep?” You asked folding your arms. “Something on your mind?” You probed hoping she was worried about this mysterious threat as you were. 

“Nah I’m just hungry! I haven’t eaten all day, too busy catching vermin,” Daniela said with a wicked smile as she chewed on another piece of an organ.

“I see,” you replied making your way over to the tea cabinet. 

“Are you ok?” Daniela asked noticing your demeanor.

“Oh I’m fine, just annoyed I can’t sleep is all,” you lied picking a raspberry tea from the cupboard and you started to prepare it. Daniela shrugged as she continue to snack on the bloody scraps. Voices outside the door made the two of you whip around.

“Are we late for the party?” Bela mused as she and Cassandra entered the kitchen. You and Daniela laughed.

“Nope you’re right on time,” you said as you added sugar and honey to your tea then sliding up on the counter sitting with your legs crossed. 

“You guys hungry too?” Daniela asked her sisters.

“I’m hungry Cassandra is thirsty,” Bela replied dipping her hand into the same jar Daniela was snacking out of.

“Mhmmm raspberry tea! You have the right idea y/n!” Cassandra exclaimed heading to the same cabinet you had previously. You stirred your tea. ‘Great.’ you thought. ‘None of them are restless for the same reason I am.’ Not that you wanted to girls to be worried you just needed some validation. The four of you sat on and around the island chattering lightly with the occasional laugh. You were just starting to feel more at ease and dare you say sleepy when the very recognizable footsteps of Lady Dimitrescu were heard approaching. 

“There you are draga mea!” Alcina said dipping under the doorframe. The four of you smiled up at the matriarch of the family. She surveyed the scene. “Nibbling are we?” Lady Dimitrescu asked lightly chuckling. 

“Yes honey,” you replied finishing the last of your tea. 

“I was practically famished,” Daniela said placing the jar back on the self seeing as her and Bela had had their fill. 

“Y/n and I just wanted a spot of tea,” Cassandra chimed in in an overly exaggerated English accent. Alcina laughed. 

“Oh my sweet little ones,” she said as the girls laughed but she cut her eyes to you as you placed your cup in the sink without as much as a smile. Seeing Alcina had made you start to worry again which was odd because she normally had the opposite affect on you. “All right, I think it’s time for all of us to think about sleep,” Alcina said with a yawn picking you up and holding you on her hip. The girls simply nodded in agreement each letting out a yawn. You and Alcina bid them all a good night as they swarmed away to their respective rooms. You rested your head and hands on Lady Dimitrescu’s shoulder while your outer leg swung lazily by the knee. Lady Dimitrescu didn’t ask you what was wrong while she made her way up the steps and back to your shared room but she had every intention to. She knelt under the doorframe not letting you down only taking a few strides to arrive at the bed. She sat down still holding you to her hip. You didn’t make a move to get off just staying on her side. 

“What’s wrong my dove?” Alcina asked tilting and turning her head to look at you. 

“Nothing.” 

“That was convincing.” 

“I’m fine Alci really.” 

“Again so convincing,” she said taking you in both her hands so you were now facing her. “What’s wrong drag mea? Tell me please so I can make it better.” You let out a deep sigh realizing there was no way out of this. 

“What were you and Mother Miranda talking about the other day? Should I be worried?” 

“Draga mea, there’s always threats present. Of course any lesser family wants to overthrow the four lords. Not that we must be worried but on alert. Does that make sense my love?” Alcina explained lifting your chin so you were looking at her. “Oh don’t cry Iubirea mea! No need for tears, it’s nothing serious I promise you.” Lady Dimitrescu reassured as tears now fell from your eyes. 

“I always worry when I know Mother Miranda has warned you about some looming conflict. I’m so afraid........I don’t want you or one of the girls to get hurt or....d-...die protecting me because I’m so weak and I can’t defend myself!” And with that you started to absolutely sob. You realized how much this had been eating away at you that your own sobs surprised you but it was too late to suck your tears back in so you just went with it. 

“My poor sweet y/n! It’s ok, hush hush, oh my dear y/n.” Alcina pulled you in close your tears staining her nightgown as you gripped onto it for dear life. “I would be glad to lay down my life for you and I know the girls would to.” 

“That shouldn’t matter! I should be able to defend MYSELF and the girls can only teach how to fight to a certain extent!” You were bawling now and couldn’t get any more words out. 

“Shh, draga mea, calm down, come now,” Alcina said in a steadying voice scooching back so she could lay the both of you on your sides. “Y/n!” Lady Dimitrescu said in a stern yet still comforting tone. This caused your sobs to subside enough to listen to her. “When I took you into this castle and into my life that meant something. If I die protecting you then I would have done my job. Same goes for the girls. You ARE a Dimitrescu and this family prides itself on loyalty. So I don’t want to hear you say anything of the sort ever again....understand me cel mic?” Alcina finished her tone softening again. 

“Yes...Alcina...Iubirea mea, thank you,” you sighed. She cupped your face in her hands and kissed your tears away. You allowed your body to relax and when you did you were finally ready for sleep. She pulled you close to her so your cheeks were gently pressed together. You tossed your leg over her waist and she placed a hand on your thigh while her other wrapped under you resting on your shoulder. You wrapped both of your arms around her neck resting your hands on the back of her head. You fell asleep with a sense of relief knowing your presence wasn’t a liability but a joy. 

Cold Pizza (Raphael x Gender Neutral Reader)

Rated: T Gender Neutral Reader, power outage, banter, light angst and fluff, mutual pining, friends to lovers, Raph can cook <5k words

*

Snow falls gently upon the city outside your window, and it should be calm. You should want to listen to soft jazz or something. You should be sipping tea and enjoying the sight. But instead you're stifling a laugh at the sound of Raphael swearing behind you as he stubs his toe in the dark.

"Shit. Why the hell is that in the middle of the floor?"

"It's a coffee table, Raph. It's in front of the couch same as always." You haven't redecorated the apartment in months, but it's only Raph's second visit. You can't really blame him for not knowing the layout of the place by heart. But he's a ninja, isn't he? Shouldn't he be better at finding his way through the shadows?

The table scrapes against the hardwood floor as he drags it back into place and you snicker into the sleeve of your long-sleeve tee. The building only lost power ten minutes ago but your hands are already getting cold.

The crinkle of the last bag of potato chips gets louder as Raphael comes up behind you. "Don woulda neva let this happen."

"Really?" You huff. "Donatello wouldn't have let the blizzard get so bad that it took down the power lines?"

"Well, he woulda made sure the generator was workin', but no. That's not what I'm talkin' about." He crunched and munched in your ear.

As payback for the purposefully annoying chew, you snagged a chip out of his hand and gnashed your teeth over it hard. Crumbs fell to the ground and he snarled, shaking his head.

"You heathen. This is the last of the food! Your cupboards are bare."

"My cupboards? Ok, grandma..." You don't hide your snicker this time. "There's canned soup and, like, other stuff in the pantry, dude. Don't get your panties in a twist."

"We can't turn on the stove if there's no power, genius."

"It's a gas oven, genius."

"I don't know what difference that makes, Einstein."

"It means all I need is a lighter and I can ignite the gas, Einstein."

"Well, you don't smoke, Edison."

"Valid. But I do have a lighter. It's in a drawer somewhere."

It does take another ten minutes to actually find the lighter, in your nightstand, having been tossed there after you used it to light some candles in your room forever ago. And even after you find it, you set a pot of water to boil only to have Raphael complain that he can't find the pasta you were sure was in the pantry.

"Well, what is in there?" you ask as you light a few more candles around the kitchen.

Raphael places a jar of tomato sauce on the counter, but his tone remains unimpressed. "Flour and shit."

"That's fucking gross."

"You know what I mean." Raphael opened the cabinet door wide. "Flour, sugar, salt... I don't know. Like, a thousand different jars of seasonings you've probably never used ever."

"How do you know I've never used them?"

"Probably because they've all got their plastic seals on?"

"Right. I don't really cook that much."

Raphael gestures to the otherwise empty shelves. "I'm shocked."

"Well..." You pass the jar of tomato sauce you were going to use for the pasta you actually don't have from one hand to the other as you think. "There's gotta be something. Grab the cereal, at least."

The Honey Nut Cheerios barely have a bowl left. It's hard to ignore it when Raphael's stomach growls.

"Ok, ok. Maybe we should order take out?" But as you form the question, you notice something more than hunger and frustration in the way Raphael wraps his arms around himself. "You feeling alright?"

"Sure." Raphael shrugs, and though you have to squint in the evening's fading light, you think he looks a little paler than usual.

"Raph?"

He's the master of compartmentalizing and hiding his feelings -- until they bubble over into a fiery mess -- but he's utter crap at suppressing the shiver that runs through his arms while you're staring.

"Dude… you're sick or something."

"I'm not," Raph says, relaxing his arms from around his body to his sides, but his shoulders remain tense. His arms stay tucked tight against his sides. "I'm fine. There's nothin' to say. We're stuck here. Right?"

"Call Donnie."

"He can't… he can't come out in this weather."

"The weather?" The winds had died down. And yeah, the drifts were pretty high in some parts of the city, but it was dark enough that- "Are you too cold?"

Raphael shrugs.

You move closer to him, reaching out, and his arm under your hand feels cold to the touch. "Raph…"

He leans into your touch a second longer than he wants to, chasing the heat as you pull your hand away. You're close friends, but you don't go around holding onto each other or anything. The way he chases the warmth of your hand, the small needy sound in his throat, breaks you inside.

"It’s why we got generators at the lair. They mostly run on street power Donnie got hooked up, but… don't do so well in the cold, y'know?"

"Shit. I'm sorry." You turn on another burner and fill another pot of water. "Can you, uh, get in touch with D? I know there's a way to get the oven going but I, er, don't wanna blow up the apartment in the process."

Raph nods and you notice another shiver. He hunches in on himself as he thumbs out a text to his brother.

While he's occupied, you rush over to the living room and grab a blanket from the couch. You're not sure he wants to admit just how cold he is, so you don't wrap it around his shoulders yourself, but you place it on the counter with purpose and head into the bedroom to find a heavier sweater for yourself. And some socks. You definitely need to double up your socks. And shit, maybe you should offer Raph some socks too.

But what the hell socks do you have that'll fit him?

You grab the comforter from your bed and hug a pair of pillows to your chest. The way to the livingroom causes you to stumble and you know you're not looking the cutest you've ever looked when you crash into the couch with your load, but you manage to grunt like a buffoon when you bounce off the couch cushions and land hard on the floor.

"Graceful." Raphael says from the kitchen counter. He saunters over, wrapped up in the blanket, wearing it like a shawl and looking ever so much like a reptilian version of the big bad wolf pretending to be grandma.

"My, what big eyes you have." You kid, and you smirk, but color blooms high on Raphs cheeks and you watch him duck his head just a bit as he tries not to break your gaze.

"They um… they're the same as always , y'know?"

From there on the floor, you look up at him and wonder when he became so shy. He's been your best friend for ages. He's muscles and bravado. He's a ninja skill set and a heart of gold. He's fire and sugar and the kind of spicy that'll catch you on fire if you stay too close, but you always want to be close to him and you know one day you're going to get burned. It's why you don't touch. It's why you point to the blankets and pillows on the couch and you back away from the pile so he can get them himself.

You know if you get too close. If you let yourself linger near him, you'll stay too long. You'll get burned. What's between you simmers when you keep your distance. That's good. That's better. You don't want him to push you away, so it's better to keep some distance. He hasn't pulled you closer, so you think you're doing the right thing. If you were reading this wrong, there would have been some clue. Someone would have said something. Raph would have said something. He's not one to mince words about what he wants.

He's very much the guy who tells you what he wants when he wants it.

"Don says we can light the pilot and have the gas oven heat the room, but you're gonna have to do it because my hands are too big."

"Know what they say about a man with big hands?"

Raphael crosses his arms over his chest, unamused. "Woulda lit the damn thing myself if my hands were smaller so it don't really matter what people say about big hands. At the moment these big hands are useless."

"Geez, Raph," you scoot around him to get at the oven. "You're not useless. Chrissake."

The oven lights and you crank it up to 500°F. "We can leave the door open a crack and let it warm the room."

"Or we can make pizza."

"Sure. Yeah." You say, dripping with sarcasm. "We could totally learn how to make pizza in the dark with no electricity or ingredients."

"We don't got no ingredients." Exasperated, Raphael throws off the blanket and gestures toward the pantry. "You got spices. Sauce. Flour."

"What about cheese?" Your hands are on your hips and your toe is tapping because you just know he's going to come after your snacks.

"I saw like 7000 Polly-O string cheese things in your crisper drawer-"

"Don't touch my string cheese!" He wouldn't dare.

"We can grate it down for-"

"You monster!"

Raphael is more snarl than laugh when he crows, "You're being ridiculous! I'm making pizza. Are you in?" His gaze narrows and you think he may be serious about tossing you out of the kitchen. "Or are you just in my way?"

As it's the only warm room in the apartment, you're ready to make all the sacrifices necessary to keep your ass in the kitchen.

Raphael and his big hands leave you at a loss as he uses his thick fingers to ever so delicately arrange his phone against the tomato sauce jar. “Sit still ya lil fucker.” With each adjustment he makes, the phone slides down the counter, unwilling to stand in place so that he can read the recipe without getting his phone dirty with sticky doughy hands.

You shouldn’t just stand there watching with a grin, but you really can’t help it. It’s adorable. You really think you may be falling in love with him just watching the way he shifts the phone inch by inch. Then when he finally has the phone in place, he throws his hands up in the air, victory writ large upon his features. His smile is open and wide and it’s such a stark contrast to see him now, his body flooded with joy and warmth as opposed to when he was near frozen, that you can’t help but smile back. You’re a little thrown by just how charming that smile can be. You lock eyes and get stuck. He’s so handsome. He’s so true to himself. He’s just real and raw and he doesn’t care that this is only a tiny victory of some phone vs man vs counter slip ridiculousness. He’s excited and he lets you join him in this celebration because it’s fun and it doesn’t have to mean anything more than fun.

You shake your head as you grab the flour from the pantry and place it on the counter. “One small step for a man, one giant leap toward making a pizza. We actually need to get some ingredients in a bowl, methinks.”

Raphael takes the flour and tears the never opened bag open from the top. He’s obviously never done it before. Flour ends up everywhere and you don’t even bother to tell him that he could have easily unfolded the flour bag and made far less mess.

As you watch his flour dusted face reemerge from the plume of flour, you’re actually glad you didn’t mention it. Or else you wouldn’t have had the chance to see him look so surprised. To surprise a ninja, now that had to be some kind of feat.

Raphael’s green eyes blink at you, stark contrast green from the white floured face around them. His mask is caked in the stuff. You laugh as you reach forward. “May I?”

He hasn’t really said yes, but he’s spoken no objection either, so you slide the mask over his head and dust it off before laying it on the counter.

Seeing him without his mask is always a pleasure. One of the small pleasures you don’t mention out loud. Like standing too close, it runs the risk of being burned. Something Raphael could take away if you make too big a deal of it. So, you try not to stare, while simultaneously trying to memorize every bump and slope of his features.

“You’re a real mess,” you say, wiping Raph’s cheek with a clean hand. “How much of this flour are we gonna lose before you whip up dinner, huh?”

Raphael has been staring at you. He hasn’t even been paying attention to your words. In fact, he’s not sure you’re speaking. Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion because your hands are reaching toward him for the second and third time today and that never happens. That never happens and Raph knows for sure because he pays attention to that sort of thing. He notices when you come close because he waits for it. He wishes for it. He clocks each step you take toward him and bites back a pout each time you pull away.

When your hands reach for his mask, he doesn’t know what to say, so he stays still. And you unmask him. And the world doesn’t stop turning, but it sure feels like all of the air has been sucked from the room. But you’re smiling, so he knows nothing bad has happened.

You’re smiling so the world is still spinning.

His mask is in your hands and flour is falling to the floor like weightless raindrops and he can almost make out your laughter past the sound of his own thoughts. There’s nothing Raphael loves more than his time with you. The sound of your voice. The curve of your smile. The barely visible sunburst of silver under the pigment of your iris.

He shouldn’t know about that design. He shouldn’t pay such close attention to your eyes that it would be plastered in his memory. But he has. He does. He watches you when you’re not paying attention. When you’re playing around with his brothers or working at your computer. He watches the light reflect off your eyes. He could map the lines of your irises. And that’s probably weird. He’s no artist. He knows that. He can’t do flowery words or paint a picture. But he has a mind like a steel trap. He remembers everything about you.

So, when you tease him about making dinner, he knows you’re probably thinking about your own lack of culinary experience. You’re worried about screwing things up and probably relieved that Raphael is a little clumsy himself.

Raph uses this to his advantage, to make things a little easier for you. With a kind smile, he points to the cabinets. “I need a mixing bowl and some measuring cups. Oil, salt, and sugar. And yeast. We need yeast.”

“Yeah. OK. Like I have fucking yeast up in this bitch.”

Raphael hums and turns. He’s pretty sure he saw something that looked suspiciously like yeast in the cabinet. And there, on the row with all of the other unused herbs and spices, was a jar of the stuff. “You really suck at this.”

You raise an eyebrow in surprise. “Don’t I know it.” There’s no way to argue around it.

Taking orders from Raphael isn’t a turn on or anything. You’re not getting goosebumps from his praise or hanging on his every word like it’s the air that you breathe. But he’s standing close and the way his breath is warmer than the air around you makes your blood feel like it’s thrumming through your veins a little more quickly tonight than it was just minutes ago.

Standing in front of the open oven is hot work. You don’t know much about dough, but you’ve watched enough Great British Bake Off to know this rise is going to happen fast in the hot kitchen.

“We should close the oven door,” you suggest. “Get the inside temperature right and let the dough do it’s thing before we shape it and sauce it up and stuff.”

“Wow, that’s a lotta we talk. You sure you’re up to the task? Thought you were taking more of a supervisory role, here.”

“I grated the cheese, didn’t I?”

“You made more wine than cheese, sweetheart.”

“Yes, well, it was my favorite snack.”

“It’s sacrifice will be worth it.”

The pizzas only took about ten minutes in the oven before the dough was crispy, the cheese not quite burned, and the sauce was bubbly hot. Raphael moved them onto the bare countertop to cool. “So, we keepin’ the oven on or?”

“Of course we can.” You glance at the oven and then at the pile of blankets and pillows in the living room. “Can’t we?”

“I could ask Don? Seems like the power could be out all night. Not sure we should leave the oven on indefinitely.”

“Well… we’ll figure that out after we eat, I guess.”

Eating was weird. You sat close, sharing the light of a candle to make sure you weren’t dripping sauce all over yourselves. Your elbows nudged each other as you moved and you had to stop yourself from shifting further away each time. It would look suspicious. You weren’t close because you wanted to be, because you desired to be as close to Raphael as physically possible without fear of your feelings being known… you were sitting elbow to elbow with him now because you needed to. He wasn’t going to read anything into it.

“You have sauce on your chin.”

“I what?”

“Sauce,” Raphael said, quieter than you expect from him. Perhaps he worries about shouting in your face. Things do seem louder in the dark. So then why does he sound like he’s whispering?

“Oh. Yeah. The sauce is good, Raph. You, uh, know your way around that spice rack.”

“Nah, I mean…” Raphael shakes his head good naturedly and sighs before lifting his thumb to your chin. He takes your face in his hand as he drags his thumb over your chin, wiping your skin clean with a smooth drag of his thumb.

“Raph?” You suck in a breath and you catch his gaze. He’s squinting at you as you struggle to make sense of his sudden closeness.

When he pulls away, you watch as he wipes his hand on his shorts. “You had sauce. Ya know? It was uh, just there.”

“Oh!” You wipe at the spot Raph has already cleaned, your cheeks and ears growing hot. “I… thanks.”

“Yeah, no prob.” Raphael clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck. He’s still not wearing his mask, so each twitch of his eyes is out in the open. But you wonder if it’s a trick of the light, him looking embarrassed and unsure.

“The blankets and stuff. I was gonna say we should tuck under them. I don’t know about you, but that oven’s been off for a minute and I’m already feeling like-”

“The blankets are good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Raph says, swallowing hard. “The cold makes me a little tired, you know?”

You shrug. You suppose it makes sense. You feel a little tired yourself. “You could sleep. Do you mind if I share the couch with you? That’s my stuff from my room.”

“No. I mean, yeah. I mean. I don’t mind sharin’. Donatello says humans run hot?”

“Compared to you?” You know you probably shouldn’t joke about something like this when Raphael was vulnerable, but you always joke about everything. To not joke about this feels like it would make things worse, make them mean more, give the vulnerability more weight than if you treat it the same as everything else. “Yeah. I guess. We’re warm-blooded.” It feels weird to refer to humans as we and the turtles as they. You rarely think of yourself as different from them. You haven’t thought of them as other than the guys for so long. “It’s um…”

“Yeah, so, like sharing would be fine. It’s cool.”

“You wanna use my body, Raph? That what this is about? You tryin’ to steal my heat? My human fire?”

“Are you kidding?”

“About mi fuego humano?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Baby you can light my fire.”

“I don’t even know you.”

“You wanna sleep with a stranger! For shame!”

“Don’t slut shame me. I never slut shame you.”

“Yeah ok, sure, dude.”

“What? I don’t.”

“Uh, you crap on every guy I’ve ever been out with.”

“No, I don’t. No I haven’t.”

Suddenly all the joking isn’t fun. Because if Raphael can’t see how hard you’ve tried to get over him. How hard you’ve tried to move past your feelings for him, feelings that he so very clearly does not reciprocate, then you really don’t want to play this game anymore.

You stand up and move to the couch. You won’t deny him your body heat if that’s what he needs, but you don’t think you can carry on this conversation. By the time he gets to the blankets, they’ll be warm, you think. Then maybe you can have a minute to yourself.

Raphael follows you to the living room in quiet contemplation. “I hate the guys you date.”

“Great. They were real winners anyway so, thanks for running them off. Never did stand a chance with them.”

“They weren’t good enough for you.”

“Pfft.” He doesn’t get it. None of them were good enough, yeah. Because every guy you’ve ever talked to, ever listened to talk about their hobbies and dreams and hopes and family, every guy who has ever taken an interest in you, you’ve compared to Raphael. And every one of them has come up short.

“You know how good you are? Like, a good person. Not like 'tries to be good' or 'does the right thing' kinda good…”

“Gee thanks, big guy. I’m blushing.”

Raphael turns to face you on the couch, his back braced against the arm rest and honest to god shoves you with his bare foot. You can’t help but notice his toes are ice cold. “What I’m saying is you’re the 'real' good. A good heart. You do the wrong shit for the right reasons kinda good. You hurt because you care, yet you still care.”

You let Raph ramble because you don’t know what you’d say if you stopped him, if you acknowledge the things that he says. You let Raph ramble and you pull his ice cold foot into your lap under the blankets. You warm it in your hands. Maybe it should be gross. He’s been walking around the apartment since early this afternoon barefoot. But it’s just feet. Just skin. Just flesh and bone and it’s all so cold between your palms.

Raphael scoots down against the armrest, just a little so that his foot is resting comfortably in your lap. He turns away from you to look at an alert on his phone, all the while still talking about how good you were when you tried to help Leo with his attempt to try every flavor of Pringles that you could find at the gas station mini mart. It was a valiant attempt and Leo didn’t want to do it alone. You both ended up with pretty bad indigestion, but it was fun and Raphael had seemed extra happy to see Leo making a friend and being a total idiot with you.

“Donatello says the power should be up and running again sometime tonight. There was an update on the website or something.”

“They give updates on this shit?”

“I guess?”

Your hands move to Raphael’s other foot as you nod. “I don’t really like the guys I date either,” you admit aloud. “It’s not that I set out ready to dump them, it’s just that they don’t interest me. I try to get to know them, I try to let them get to know me. But it goes nowhere. I don’t get that feeling, you know?”

Raphael’s jaw tenses, but he doesn’t answer.

You think maybe he doesn’t know that feeling. Maybe he doesn’t feel romantic attraction the way you do. “Raph, have you ever-”

“I don’t like it.”

You nod, thinking you’ll get more out of him if you stay silent. But when he doesn’t elaborate, you realize you have to say something. “You don’t like…”

“All those guys goin’ out with ya. They don’t know ya. They don’t treat ya the way ya should be treated.”

“Really? How do they treat me?”

“Like… like… They don’t let ya let go. I see ya going off with them and you go quiet or you laugh too loud.”

“I’m too quiet. I’m too loud. Which is it, Raph?”

“You deserve somebody who lets ya have fun. You make jokes and goof off and sometimes yeah it’s cause you’re nervous but mostly it’s cause ya have funny shit goin’ on in ya head and ya wanna let me in on the joke.”

You nod. You really do think you’re the most hilarious person on the fucking planet. It’d be a shame to keep all the good stuff to yourself. Even so, you don’t share your thoughts with just anybody. Raphael is right, it’s him who you want to let in.

“If I took ya out, it’d be like tonight.”

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah.” You say thoughtfully, sarcastically, poking fun and rubbing at your chin not caring a whit that you just had Raphael’s feet in your hands. “Like tonight. You’d cut the power to the city so we could freeze our asses off, then set up a super romantic dinner where we eat by candlelight.”

“We’d be laughing. Teasin. I’d make you dinner and if you want fucking candles I’ll light you a fucking candle.”

“And I’d rub your feet to thank you for making me such a delicious dinner.”

“Yeah. I deserve some pampering.”

“What about me? I don’t deserve to be pampered?”

“I just made you a romantic dinner with candles and all that shit.”

“Hypothetically. Yet here I am, literally rubbing your feet.”

“So what do you want, you want a foot rub for you too? Huh? You want a little shoulder rub cause you worked so hard watching me work my ass off in the kitchen?”

You pinch his ankle surprised he can feel anything when it all feels like rock solid muscle. Instead of answering with words, you give him a wry grin and move around a bit under the blankets. You relax into his chest, lying your head over his heart and settling your body between his and the pillows. “You’re a real smartass.”

Beneath you, Raphael lies still.

“This OK?”

Raph shifts a bit, you feel his hands rise and fall. “I don’t really know what to do with my hands.”

You hum and nod your head against Raphael’s chest. You reach blindly for Raph’s arms, one by one, and wrap them over your back. “Don’t have to do anything.”

Raphael relaxes a little at the news. He ducks his head low and you think you can feel him breathe you in. He rests his cheek on the top of your head before asking, “This that body heat thing?”

You nuzzle his chest, allowing yourself to slip under his arm a bit. Better position for falling asleep. “Yeah,” you say. “Sure.”

Raphael squeezes his arms around you, but he doesn’t say anything. You have to ask or you won’t be sure. Even if it means getting burned. Even if it means you’ve put too much meaning into things and you’re going to be pushed away, you have to know.

“This is more than a body heat thing. For me.” You bury your face in his chest as you wait for his response. At least, for a few seconds longer, you can pretend his heart is beating for you.

“When I take you on a proper date, there’s gonna be tables and napkins. And maybe something fancy to drink...”

“And then-”

“This. And then, this.”

“I like this.”

“Me too.”

Candy, Canes, and Caffeine

Summary: After Spencer is shot in the leg, Y/N finds it hard to hide her feelings.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Tags: fluff!!! (light smut). Reid-with-a-cane!!! gif by @imagining-in-the-margins​

A/N: fulfulling this request!

Rating: Mature(ish)

Words: 2,540

MASTERLIST

~

You didn’t even realize that it was Spencer on the ground when you arrived at the scene. At the sound of his squeaky voice shouting to help the shot man, your blood ran cold.

Forgetting all your FBI training, or, more accurately, throwing it out the window, you bolted onto the green lawn, collapsing by Spencer’s side and examining the wound just under his knee.

You didn’t even realize that he’d been talking until you felt his strangely cold hand on your cheek, lifting your gaze to him.

“Hey, I’m okay,” he assured you, looking far too calm for a man with a bullet in his leg. But, that was Spencer, always doing the opposite of what you expected.

Before you knew it they were wheeling him away to the hospital and you were left wondering why the hell your heart was beating so fast.

It didn’t take you long to figure out. In fact, precisely four days after Spencer’s return. It started rather simply: the team was out of town on a case and Spencer stayed behind to assist Garcia due to his injury. Which would have been fine! If not for the fact that they needed you to stay behind as well to assist the two of them.

In your opinion, it didn’t make any sense. They could have easily had someone else stay behind, but for some reason, Hotch had impressed upon you the necessity of having you there with Reid.

And Garcia! Of course.

It wasn’t like you were just there to babysit Reid. An idea that became more and more enticing as time passed.

“Hey, I’m gonna get coffee, do you want anything?”

Spencer glanced up at you from where he’d been rereading the case file, rubbing his eyes drearily. It was nearly nine p.m. and the two of you were the only ones still in the office.

“Oh, you don’t have to…. Here, I’ll come with,” he muttered, standing up and leaning on his cane to come with you.

“Spencer! You should be resting!”

“Actually, some studies have actually found that it’s better to use an injured muscle rather than slack off. For example—”

“Okay!” you laughed, hooking your arm around his as you walked to the kitchen. “Okay, I believe you. But at least let me make your cup for you?”

With a soft smile, he sat down at the little table, wincing as his weight left his leg.

“Does it hurt?” you cringed at the question. Of course, it hurt! A goddamn bullet went through it.

“Only when I stand on it. Or move it too much. Or too little.”

When you looked back to see if he was joking, you were pleased to find him smiling widely, scrunching his nose at you and tucking his hair behind his ears. God, his hair had gotten long.

Sticking out your tongue at him, you set the timer on the coffee maker and picked out a couple of mugs from the cabinet.

“Hey, are there any more of those little chocolates left? They go so well with coffee.”

You looked in the little tin Emily had brought in that used to contain an assortment of little dark chocolates. Sadly, it was empty.

“No luck. Although….” you reached up to the cupboard above the microwave, cheering when you saw an identical tin. “I knew she had an extra one!”

But, even standing on your tippy-toes, the shelf was too tall for you to reach on your own.

“Ugh, dammit!”

A soft hand snaked around your shoulders, softly pulling you toward the ground and you spun around, face to face with Spencer. You gasped softly at his proximity. He was so close, you could smell his shampoo. He smelled like green tea and autumn.

One hand on his cane, holding him upright carefully, the other hand reached up and fetched the tin effortlessly. You’d forgotten how tall he really was in the past week due to his frequent inclination to sitting.

“Thank you,” you breathed, suddenly painfully aware of how close your lips were, or, more accurately, how far apart they were.

“Sure,” he whispered back.

It was dark in the kitchen. After seven o’clock, the lights get turned off so the only luminance you got was from the wide-awake city just outside the huge glass windows.

Spencer’s eyes were half-lidded, watching you very carefully, neither of you daring to move.

For a split second, it looked as though he was leaning in, but, oh so cruelly, the coffee timer went off and you flinched away, turning toward the machine. When you looked back, Spencer had sat down.

Oh well. It was probably wishful thinking, anyhow.

“Three sugars?” you teased as he proudly poured several packets into his mug. “How are you alive?”

“You know, I ask myself that more often than you might think,” he laughed, glancing down at his leg.

Unintentionally, he’d shifted the mood of the conversation and the questions you’d been holding back were daring to break free.

“Spencer, do you ever….”

“Do I ever what?” he prompted after you trailed off.

“I don’t know…. Do you ever feel like sometimes, it isn’t worth it?”

“No.”

He answered quicker than you’d expected and with a sureness you didn’t associate with him. At your shocked expression, he clarified.

“I mean, there are times when it doesn’t all work out, sure. But… every life we save… that makes it worth it.”

“Yeah,” you leaned back, taking a long sip of your coffee. “I guess I’m just worried about the lives we don’t save.”

He shrugged.

“Sadly, in our line of work, you have to separate yourself from the case. Don’t get attached.”

“What if it’s too late? What if you’re already attached and the person whose life doesn’t get saved is someone you lo—”

Stopping abruptly, you took a deep breath, glancing down at where your hand was tightly clutching your cup, letting the tension melt away. When did that happen?

“It’s very rare that an unsub comes after our loves ones,” it sounded like he was trying to sound calm about it but you felt the weight of his eyes boring into you.

“What if the person who gets hurt isn’t…. What if it’s someone who doesn’t know they’re loved?”

Spencer was looking at you but you didn’t dare to meet his gaze. If you did, you knew he would instantly understand what you were saying.

And yet, the pull of his eyes was too strong for you to not look. As expected, when you made eye-contact, his expression shifted to one of understanding. He was the first to look away.

“I should go, it’s getting late,” you stood, clearing your throat and placing your cup in the sink.

When you turned back around, Spencer was there.

“Why would someone you love not know that they’re loved?”

He was closer than he’d been before, the air between you charged with the many outcomes the next few minutes held for you. When you spoke, it was barely audible but you knew he heard you.

“Because I haven’t told him.”

His hand moved to your cheek so, so slowly it felt like an hour passed. Once his skin met yours, you couldn’t help but lean into the feeling, eyes fluttering shut and pushing your face against his calloused palm.

Two little words was all it took to make you lose all sense of resolve. Two words that shattered the glass barrier between you that you hadn’t even known was there.

“He knows.”

Letting out the breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding, you slid your hands slowly up the front of his suit jacket, resting on his shoulders. He was so tall.

“How do you know?”

He hesitated for a split second, glancing down at your lips and then back up at your eyes. But suddenly, he pulled back, a wince ghosting over his face and shifting on his feet.

“Sorry,” he muttered, glancing down at his cane reluctantly.

Your finger moved to his lips, silently telling him to be quiet as you walked forward, slowly backing him up until his legs hit the seat of his chair and he sat down in it, staring up at you. Now that he was sitting, you moved to stand between his legs, holding the eye-contact with every ounce of energy you could spare.

“Does it hurt?” you repeated, fingers danced lightly over his left knee, touching just softly enough to tickle but not nearly hard enough to hurt. He kept watching you the whole time.

“No.”

“Can I see?”

He clearly had not been expecting that. It took a bit of stuttering before he was able to form a coherent sentence.

“How-how would you…? I’m-I can’t-I’m not supposed to roll up my pant legs.”

His eyes followed your hands as they slowly made their way up his leg to his belt, hooking underneath it.

“Like this?” it was more a question than an answer. He looked at you like he couldn’t quite figure out what you were planning. There was a wariness he was trying to cover up. As if you’d pull down his pants and start laughing at him. Then, he seemed to realize your intentions were— for the most part— pure.

He nodded curtly and you got to work unbuckling his belt, slowly popping open the button and sliding his zipper down. He lifted his hips so you could pull his pants down his legs.

You had to stop yourself from gasping at the sight of his thick thighs. He was much more muscular than you’d been expecting. Normally, he looked so skinny under his tight work shirts, you’d thought there wouldn’t be a trace of muscle beneath.

Pulling the fabric down, you let it fall to the floor, exposing his bandaged knee. Your hand was drawn to the wrap like a magnet, hesitating before making any contact, eyeing him questioningly.

He nodded again, watching you intently the whole time.

Gently, oh, so gently, you stroked the soft skin of his knee, running your fingers everywhere but where you knew the bullet had gone.

The tension in the room had risen considerably and you felt the urge to break it.

“Must be a hassle, huh?” you laughed softly, resting your hand just above his knee at the end of his thigh.

“Yeah,” he chuckled back, “makes it really hard to do lots of stuff.”

You crooked an eyebrow, intrigued.

“Oh? Like what?”

He seemed shocked by the question like he hadn’t actually thought about it.

“Just simple stuff. Mostly standing. Actually, it’s made it harder to use my right arm as well. Since I use it to hold my cane all day, it gets really tiring.”

“So you can’t really use your right arm? Aren’t you right-handed?”

He smiled sadly.

“I said it makes things harder.”

“Harder to brush your teeth and stuff?”

He raised his eyebrows slightly, looking away and muttering, “and stuff, for sure.”

“What?”

“I have trouble…. Nothing, nevermind.” He shifted in his chair but his leg stayed still like he didn’t want to disturb your hand.

“Spencer, you can tell me! What, you can’t masturbate?” you joked, punching him playfully in the arm.

But his face went blank and his gaze snapped away from yours, cheeks turning a soft pink in the darkness.

Oh?

Ohhhhh.

You were suddenly painfully aware of how close your hand was to his….

Hmm.

Maybe?

No.

Well, it’s worth a shot.

“Spencer?” he reluctantly looked at you again, an embarrassed expression on his face. It didn’t stay that way for long, though, as your hand slowly inched its way further up his thigh and his eyes went wide, snapping to where your hand was.

“Do you want some help?”

He looked at you again, eyes slightly glazed over and you swore you could feel him shiver where your hand was placed on his inner thigh, inches from his underwear. When he realized what you meant, he softly gasped, looking around the room quickly.

“W-what did you say?”

Your fingers danced across the bottom hem of his boxers, coaxing a gasp from him as you trailed up to the waistband, hooking your fingers underneath and gently tugging. 

“Do you. Want. Some help?” with each word you slid your fingers deeper in his boxers. You weren’t going to touch him, though. Not yet. You needed permission.

“Spencer?”

All too quickly, his hand wove through your hair and yanked your face up to meet his lips, crashing together in a mix of teeth and tongues. He tasted like bitter chocolate and sugary coffee. It took you a moment to comprehend that this was even happening. Your hand was still halfway inside of his underwear, so close to touching his….

He pulled back and instantly began to apologize and backtrack but you weren’t having that.

“Shut up,” and you climbed into his lap, straddling his thighs, making sure to avoid his injury, dedication all of your energy towards pulling his long locks and placing his arms on your hips, gently urging him to move you. His boxers were so thin and your skirt had ridden up so your panties were pressed firmly against something hard. You didn’t think too much about that, more focused on deepening the tender kiss into something more.

But you had to pull back to look at him, lips plump, red, and thoroughly kissed, a glaze over his eyes and a dopey smile on his face.

“I’ve wanted this for so long, Spencer,” you admitted, breath ghosting over his neck, a spattering of goosebumps appearing in the wake.

“Me too,” he mumbled against your lips, hands carefully roaming up and down your back as you arched into him. The movement jostled his leg and he sucked in air through his teeth.

You froze atop him, pulling back to ask, “Are you okay?”

He nodded tightly, eyes clenched shut and you smiled softly at him.

“I hate that it took you getting shot for this to happen,” you joked, sliding your hands across his stomach under his shirt, reveling in the way he shuddered.

“I don’t mind,” he chirped happily, clasping his hands behind your back and giving you a dazzling smile. 

“Listen, I know it’s late but… Do you maybe want to get a coffee? A proper one,” you added, nodding towards his discarded cup.

Clearly excited at the idea, he perked up a bit in his seat, wincing at the way your butt bumped his knee.

“I’d like that. One condition?”

You nodded.

“Help me up?”

Smiling, you stood up, pulled up his pants, slowly redid his belt, and held out a hand to help him stand. He picked up his cane from where it rested against the table.

“So long as you’re buying.”

He laughed, leaning on his cane and taking your hand in his, gently limping toward the elevator, you at his side.

“When don’t I?”

“Come on, moneybags,” you gently moved his arm so it was around your shoulders so that he could lean more of his weight onto you rather than the cane. “I think we’re gonna need lots of caffeine for the night I’ve got planned.”

“I can’t wait.”

~

TAGLIST

~

@whollytaciturn​ @101donuts​ @thegingerfairchild @safertokiss @happyiidiot @cielo1984 @thupidalethea @darkacademiacherry @matthewreid @aloha-ashley-taylor @justchiara-02 @spnobsessedmemes @sweet-darlin @matthewreid​ @brokenanxiety​ @thatsonezesty13​ @psychedellic-phase @beautifulalmondstudentduck @awhollandx @baddreamsandbrokenhearts @simp-for-mgg @swagdaddycam @gejatume @url-under-construction @radkryptonitepeanut @idontneedalltheseemotions @krymson182 @addie5264  @pinkdiamond1016 @gublergirls @georgia4287 @thineeminnie @untainted-memories @cm-is-kinda-cool

what the stars know (d.malfoy)

description: fem!reader and draco have been dating since their fifth year at hogwarts, but were unexpectedly torn about after the battle of hogwarts. the two lovers have spent nearly a year apart now, and all draco can do is wish on the stars that she’ll come back

pairing: draco malfoy x fem!reader

warnings: none just FLUFFY

requested: yes / no

taglist: @jud3cardan​ @potatothingsz​ 

a/n: kinda sad but super fluffy draco imagine because i simp for this man on the daily

draco’s pov:

181 days ago, the school i called home was attacked and disintegrated into nothing more than rubble and ruins. 181 days ago, i watched the people i grew up with lose their lives and wills to live as my family members wreaked havoc on the school grounds. 181 days ago, the love of my life was ripped from my arms, and i could only sit here 4,344 hours later and blame myself for not holding onto her tight enough.

it felt close to pointless holding on so tight to someone who probably hated the sound of my very name. she never knew i was a death eater, she never could. i cared for her safety much more than my own, even now, even 181 days later. part of me wished for her return back into my arms; i wanted nothing more than to have her in my arms when the lonely nights left me with nothing but cold sheets and a pang in my heart.

after the war ended and both my mother and father were pardoned from being sent to azkaban, they decided it was best for me to live on my own to avoid the rather traumatic restraints the manor enveloped me in. luckily for me, blaise and pansy were also looking for a place to live in attempt to forget the memories of our young adulthood at hogwarts. 

now, we resided in a lonesome house close to the sea that was much too large for the three of us. we made it work between us, but most often i would retreat to my bedroom before and after meals, only ever coming out for small talk with the two of them. 

although they didn’t bring up the situation, i could tell they were concerned about me. i looked almost worse than i did when i was fixing up the vanishing cabinet in the room of requirement. they never questioned my well-being, however, as it usually just ended up with me storming off mid-conversation back to the haven of my bedroom. while i appreciated their company, it meant little to nothing anymore when i was just dwelling in my world without her. 

the world was rather lonely without her. most nights, i would sit at my bedroom window staring at the speckled stars in the night sky thinking of her. as absolutely dreadful as it sounds, the night sky reminded me of her eyes. they always had a sort of sparkle in them when she caught a glimpse of me. merlin, i thought about her eyes every night.

some nights, i would even pick my favorite star in the sea of light and wish for her. mother used to tell me when i was younger that if you wish on the brightest star in the night sky, your wish would come true. i have never believed in a ball of dust and matter more until i was without her; i desperately hoped that one day, the star would hear me and allow my wish to come true. 

this night was much like the others. 

i sat just below the window of my bedroom, the curtain blinds swaying lightly in the fall breeze and the sounds of waves crashing filling my ears. i leaned with my elbow on my knee, my hand propping my chin up as my eyes darted from star to star in search of the brightest one in the vastness. 

at last, my eyes landed upon the biggest, brightest star in the night sky as it pulsed rapidly against its black background. i sighed outwardly in attempt to soothe my rapid breathing and sore heart before letting my eyes flutter shut.

i could only manage to choke out a small “please” to the star as thoughts of her flooded my mind. i thought of her in our first moments, and i reminisced on her in our final ones. i thought of when we first met in our first year, how pure and innocent she looked when we were eleven; the way her y/h/c hair framed her smiling face as she sat next to me in the dining hall post-sorting. i thought of her laugh and her wide smile when she spotted me in our first class of the day. i thought of the way her eyes widened when i first told her i liked her. i thought of her reddened cheeks the first time i kissed her when we were only 15. i thought of every gift she gave me for our anniversaries, all accompanied with a heartfelt, handwritten note about something beautiful and poetic. i thought of the tears in her eyes when i followed my mother out of the hogwarts grounds. 

tears leaked from the corners of my eyes as i thought about every moment i had with her, and how many more i would have if i chose to stay. i cursed myself for leaving without saying goodbye, without kissing her one last time, without telling her how much i love her. 

“please. please bring her back,” i whispered to the star with my eyes still closed and tears falling freely from my closed eyelids. for a moment, i swore i could hear her laughter again.

-

the next morning, i awoke to a beam of sunlight dancing upon my pale features. i squinted as i attempted to pry my eyes open, my hand coming up to shield my eyes from the burning daylight. i groaned outwardly from the rude awakening, turning over in my cold sheets to face the small clock that resided on my nightstand. 8:08.

i haphazardly shoved the sheets off of my body, shivering as the cold replaced the warmth of the spread. there was no use in trying to go back to sleep now, i would only be tossing and turning for another hour. 

i shrugged an old sweater over my body before padding over to my bedroom door, yanking it open with no regard for my sleeping roommates. as soon as i opened the door however, i was met with faint high-pitched chattering from what sounded like the kitchen. i furrowed my eyebrows, wondering why in the world blaise and pansy were up so early; they were most definitely not morning people in the slightest. 

i trudged down the stairs towards the kitchen, running my hands over my face and through my hair in attempt to rub the sleep out of my eyes. 

i swung the door to the kitchen open, padding inside and towards the cupboards for a mug.

“morning,” i muttered to blaise and pansy, not bothering to look up at them. i grabbed a mug from the shelf, beginning to fill it with water already boiled from the kettle when i heard pansy let out a small laugh. i furrowed my brows once more, wondering why her attitude was so chipper for it being 8 in the morning. 

“what’s got you in such a good mood?” i asked with a tinge of annoyance in my voice, my eyes still trained on my mug and the tea bag that now resided in it. 

“if you used your eyes for once, draco, maybe it would put you in a good mood as well,” pansy stated cooly, soft laughter still spilling from her lips. i snapped my head towards her, ready to go off on her for her remark and attitude before my heart nearly stopped. 

there she was. sitting with a mug in her hands at my kitchen table, a soft smile spread across her features with her eyes crinkled in suppressed laughter. i blinked rapidly a few times, wondering if this was all some vile, desired-filled dream, or if she was really there. really, really there. 

she stood up from the chair, pacing over to me with a wide smile and bright, slightly teary eyes. i couldn’t bring myself to move, i felt frozen in place with pure shock as she stood before me. my heart raced rapidly, my mouth going dry as my mind scratched for something, anything to say.

“hi, draco,” she spoke, a single tear falling from her eyes as she smiled up at me. my mind faltered on any coherent sentence as i took in her presence. her hair was longer than it was when i last saw her, and the wounds she sustained from the battle were long gone. she looked just as beautiful as i remembered, even more beautiful if it was possible. 

i suddenly remembered my ability to move, and my arms immediately wound around her, nearly toppling her over with my embrace. she giggled in my arms, letting her small frame envelop into mine as she wrapped her arms around my torso, resting her head against my chest. 

a few tears slipped from my eyes as i pulled her closer into me, feeling entirely overwhelmed from the situation. 

“merlin, y/n. i thought i’d never see you again,” i muttered against her hair, squeezing her so tight i was fearful that i was going to crush her. i couldn’t help myself; after 181 days without the love of my life, i couldn’t bare the thought of letting her go again. i felt her smile against my chest as she rubbed soft, soothing circles in the small of my back. 

“i’d always come back to you dray. always,” she whispered, tilting her head up towards mine. i softened my tight grip on her, staring down at her with both of our ears teary but wide smiles plastered on both of our faces. 

i leaned down towards her, locking our lips in a soft, but desperate kiss. our lips met in a salty, smiling mess as i melted entirely into her. for the first time in 6 months, i felt whole again. 

i pulled away from her slightly, my eyes not daring to leave hers. i brushed a few strands of her long hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear as i gently ran my fingertips across her soft features. 

i tore my eyes away from hers for only a moment only to eye blaise and pansy who were still seated at the table, smiles grazing their features. it had been such a long time since any of us have smiled like this; of course, y/n was the only one who could bring light like this out of any of us. 

“did you guys do this?” i asked, my smile unfaltering as i glanced between my two friends.

“took a bloody long time, but we were able to track her down. she’s a sly one,” pansy stated, a smile lingering on her own face. i couldn’t help but feel my heart swell at the thought of my friends doing something so grand for me.

“don’t i know it,” i teased, pressing another kiss to the top of y/n’s head. she smiled lovingly up at me, unable to hold back a soft giggle that escaped her lips. 

-

y/n’s head rested on my chest as i wrapped her in my arms, our backs pressed into the soft warm sheets as she traced circled onto the fabric of my shirt. a song played softly from the radio on the table, y/n softly humming along as i ran my fingers through her hair. 

“i asked the stars every night to bring you back. after a while, i thought they stopped listening,” i admitted softly to her. y/n shifted her body, tilting her head up to look at me with a soft smile glazing her features. oh, how i missed her smile.

“funnily enough, i asked the stars for the same thing. seems like they were listening after all.” she leaned up to press a soft kiss to my cheek, her lips lingering for a moment before she buried her head in the crook of my neck. i relished in her soft exhales and warm breath that fluttered across the skin of my neck.

funny what the stars know, i suppose.

An Adventure in Getting a Drink

I wrote a little interlude between the YOB pieces I am writing. This one is set between the Fear piece and the Joy piece (that i am currently writing).

I wanted to include this in the fear piece but I felt that it would make it too  long. I wanted to emphasise the length of time between the events though, and this came to me XD

Once again, huge shoutout to @shark8-my-leg​ for their help in answering all my prosthetic questions :D also to @cirianne​ for her idea on how this could go!

I hope you enjoy!

POV: Zofia

I need a drink.

Talk about bad timing though.

Mum said that she was going to do the food shop and wouldn’t be back for another hour, traffic dependent. Dad is busy in the garden changing the gate so that it’s more accessible for me. I can hear him drilling into the wall outside. It’s drowning out the noise from the TV that my parents had left on for me.

Besides, why should I wait to ask my parents to do something that I could just do myself?

A month ago, I would never have dreamed of asking my parents for something whilst I am sat here watching TV. ”You have two perfectly good legs there that you can use, young lady. Your programme will still be there when you come back.”

Oh, that sentence certainly didn’t age well.

What I wouldn’t give to have “two perfectly good legs”.

But one is good enough, right? At least to get me some juice.

Releasing the brakes on my wheelchair, I swirl around on the spot, slowly pushing myself between the two comfortable, navy coloured sofas in the living room. There’s a spot on the ground where you can tell that the seat had been placed for years. It’s dipped into the blue carpet, in the shape of the foot of the sofa, a large round circle. My right arm brushes against the fabric of the right-hand seat because I started to turn towards the door a split second too soon. It’s going to take some practice. I have only been using this wheelchair for two days.

The hallway has ample room for me, thankfully, even with the cabinet by the wall, the one that holds all the family pictures behind the glass windows. My latest school picture is front and centre - taken almost a year ago now. The wheels of my chair make a funny noise as they track along the wooden floor. A small noise, yet one that I have grown very accustomed to in the last few days.

The way the wheels bzzzzt ever so slightly on the wood, but then - silence - on the rug just before the kitchen door.

The door was closed, but it doesn’t have a latch. It never has - something Dad had intended to sort out, but I suppose now he does not have to. A gentle push with my functional leg and it swings open.

Getting around the house is so slow now, with my chair. I’m sure I’ll get faster eventually, but for now, it takes me much longer than it used to if I wanted to go from one room to the next. At least I can move around by myself in it. I can’t imagine what it would be like if I was supposed to stay in one spot without moving at all, like if I was still in the hospital and having to stay in bed.

The thought of not being able to move myself… compounded with everything else, I don’t think I would like that at all. Even now, going to the bathroom is a humiliating struggle - my mother has to help me in and out of the bath when I need to clean myself, like I am a toddler again. It’s irritating, but I know she’s only making sure I’m okay. I’m very grateful that I have a mother that does care so much.

I roll to a stop in front of the kitchen counter, looking at the spot where the plastic beakers are kept. This is a problem.

The beakers are kept right against the wall, out of my reach from where I am sitting. Honestly, I don’t know if I will even manage to get the beaker if I stand up. The only thing stopping me is that I am not sure I will be able to sit back down if I do get up.

I look around the kitchen, trying to see what I can reach. There’s the towels hanging off the hooks just on the edge of the counter but I doubt they will be much use. It would be helpful if I had something that I could use to just pull them away from the wall ever so slightly…

My eyes catch sight of the dustpan and brush leaned against the wall by the back door. The handle for the brush is almost like a closed loop. I bet I could use that to pull the beaker towards me! And even if I knock them over, they’re plastic, they’re designed to withstand some rough treatment, I think. At least they aren’t made of glass.

I put the brush on my lap, holding it between my upper legs, as I wheel my way back over to the beakers in question, stopping right up against the counter. I apply the breaks, just to make sure that I don’t move too far away, and carefully use the handle of the brush - the bristles tickling at the inside of my arm - to gently tug one of the beakers my way. The one I picked has a vibrant orange base that gradually gets clearer until it’s at the very top, where it is colourless. It takes me a few seconds, but eventually the cup is close enough to the edge of the counter that I can reach it from my chair without much effort.

Yes!

I prop the brush up against the counter as carefully as I can - I have no idea if I will need it again just yet - but place the cup between my legs.

Next, I need the blackcurrant cordial.

The drinks cupboard is just in front of me, under the counter. I wheel a little closer and reach to open it. It’s there, in front of me, among the bottles of lemonade and orange juice, the flavoured waters, and the other sugary drinks that are reserved for mealtimes only. The dark purple bottle is closest to me, and I reach in and grab it. It’s a lot heavier than I thought it would be, and I almost lost my grip, before resting it on my leg.

This is fine. This is something I have done dozens of times before. Well… before this. I used to grab the cordial, then climb on to the counter, pour the drink and dilute with water, all by myself, crawling around on the counter before jumping down and taking my drink away.

But this is already proving awkward.

The bottle is heavy, but the armrest is making it difficult to pour my drink. There is an unfortunate distance between the bottle and my cup. I don’t want to spill it, I don’t want to end up with a sticky, purple mess on my clothes.

Nevertheless, I manage it, slowly and carefully pouring it into my cup. I probably put a little bit too much in, but I prefer it stronger than weaker anyway. I replace the cap on the bottle and leave it on the floor for now. I’ll put it back in the cupboard in a moment.

But here is where I’m running into a problem.

I don’t think I can reach the sink whilst sat here in my chair. The taps are at the very back of the sink, and I can barely reach them if I am sat down.

I used to be able to reach the taps if I was stood on my tiptoes, but I’m not sure if I would be able to at all like this.

Well. I suppose there is no time like the present to find out.

I gently place my cup down on the counter beside the sink. I move my chair as close as possible to the counter, apply the brakes, and take a deep breath.

Gripping the armrests on either side of me, I tried to push myself up. I felt my leg tremble as I put all that pressure on it. I feel strangely lob-sided - well. Of course I do. I am missing an entire leg!

Once I have some semblance of balance, I quickly move my left hand from the rest and grab the edge of the marble counter, the lip is small, but it’s enough for me to grip and get my balance from. It doesn’t take much for me to move my other hand to join my other hand on the counter. Using my left hand to keep me steady, I move the cup over to the back of the sink, as far as I can reach it. Using the same hand to move the tap around until it is just over my cup.

Technically it’s on the surface rather than the sink, and I would rather avoid making a mess I cannot clean up. Turning on the cold water, I watch the liquid fill the glass all the way to the top, and quickly turn it off before it ends up everywhere. Yes! Another success!

I take a quick sip out of the cup, absolutely treasuring the sweet taste of the cordial as it slips down my throat. Oh, it’s lovely and cool. Just like we used to have during summer days spent in the garden.

I move the cup back to the edge of the counter, before trying to tackle the task of sitting myself back in my wheelchair. Slow and steady, that’s all I need to do. Carefully. I got up here just fine, so I know I can get down again.

I look over my shoulders, trying to see just where my chair is. I try to shuffle back a little, almost like a weird game of hopscotch, except all I can do is skip on the single  squares every time. I can do this. It’s perfectly simple. All I have to do, is let myself go, and I will land perfectly -

The feeling of falling sends my arm sweeping off the counter to reach behind me, except something was caught on its way around. Something that flew off the counter and clattered to the ground, the sound of liquid sloshing as it escapes the container.

My drink.

For a moment, I just sit there staring at it. The mess of purple liquid on the wooden floor, the beaker helplessly on its side. There’s a trail of juice sliding down the cupboard door that it managed to splash on to.

All that. I did all that, only to lose my balance at the very end, and ruin everything.

I can’t even think of a decent way for me to clean this without getting on the floor, and I’m worried that if I get down I won’t be able to get back up. Crawling around when you’re missing a leg is something I am still not used to.

That taste of cordial that lingers on my lips is taunting me.

I wheel around the puddle and reach for the brush once more, also making sure to grab a tea towel from the rack.

Fishing up the cup from the floor is a lot easier than I thought it was going to be. I push the cup towards the cupboards, just about forcing the bristles under the beaker. All I have to do is roll it up the side and on to the counter. It makes some small noises as it rolls around, coming to a stop on its own before it falls of the counter again.

The problem now is cleaning up the mess.

I throw the towel down, before using my new tool to try and push it around. I can’t properly get the juice that’s on the counter drawers, and I know that’s going to set and be all sticky soon.

This isn’t very efficient. The towel keeps pushing slight bits of juice out of my reach, making my attempts at soaking it up very difficult to keep on top of.

“Oh, Zosia, what are you -?”

I turn around and Dad is there, still holding his toolbox. I didn’t hear him come in, and it sounds like he’s just walked in. He takes in the scene. Me, holding the wrong side of a brush handle, a towel on the floor cleaning up a sticky mess, the cup I knocked over probably dripping on the counter.

Without me saying anything, he drops the tools and comes over. “I knew it wouldn’t be long before you started creating chaos, Princess. Making messes all over the kitchen? I should have known.” He says with a smile, taking the brush from me and picking up the purple-stained towel from the floor, taking it over to the washing machine over in the corner.

“I’m sorry, I wanted a drink…”

“Don’t worry, Princess. It was an accident, right?” he grabs some paper towels from the counter and finishes cleaning up the mess I made, “Honestly, I’m very impressed you managed all that by yourself. It’s just a shame you fell at the last hurdle.”

He picked up the cordial from the floor and grabbed a clean beaker from the collection, pouring some into the cup, before looking over at me.

“Do you want to try again? Without the spill this time? I’ll sweeten the deal for you - if you manage to not spill it, you can have a biscuit, just don’t tell your mother.”

I can feel the smile rise on my face at his offer. It’s made the entire house feel so much warmer than it’s felt in days.

The Five Times Greg Made Breakfast- Chapter one- Coffee.

 Greg opened his eyes to an unfamiliar living room and found himself on a sofa that was far more comfortable than his own. He could hardly remember the evening before other than the fact that he had dinner with Mycroft and there was alcohol involved.  

 Lots of scotch if Greg could remember correctly. It was the only drink other than posh wines that he drank when he was with Mycroft. He had bought Mycroft a pint one time in Dartmoor after the case had been wrapped up and Mycroft had ‘happened to be in the area,’ and upon receiving the pint, Mycroft wrinkled his nose in disgust and ordered a bottle of wine with an eyewatering price.

 Greg kicked off the duvet that was draped over him and stretched out on the plush sofa, it was a world’s difference from the one in his own flat and it didn’t have a spring that threatened to break away from the thinning material.  

 He soon realised that he was in Mycroft’s livingroom. It didn’t take his abilities as a Detective Inspector to figure that out as he caught a glimpse of several family photos.  A Christmas photo of some sort with a younger Sherlock and Mycroft with faces as if they had sucked a lemon and wearing matching horribly knitted jumpers.  A picture of a somewhat smug and proud looking Mycroft in a university gown and bearing a certificate with his parents was placed on the fireplace.

 Greg found himself smiling to himself, he never expected that Mycroft would be sentimental enough to keep family pictures in his home.

 Greg slipped off the sofa and quietly make his way to the kitchen. He started to search for cupboards and the fridge for anything that he could use to make breakfast.

         Mycroft’s cupboards were empty apart from several mugs, biscuits, and some posh coffees and loose leaf tea. His fridge wasn’t much better and there were more leaflets and menus for takeaway than actual food in the fridge.  There was a half a pint of milk that smelt somewhat off, a bottle of soy sauce, and packets of tomato and barbecue sauce from a  takeaway. The freezer had several tubs of expensive ice cream stashed away.

 Greg had decided that it was the most depressing fridge, kitchen actually, that he had seen in his life. He decided that he would have to buy at least a loaf of bread to thank Mycroft for putting him up for the night.

 Mycroft walked into the kitchen in his dressing gown and his hair slightly ruffled as Greg poured out two mugs of coffee from the cafetiere.  He gave Greg a tired smile as a large mug of black coffee was handed to him.            

 Greg suddenly had become very aware of the fact that it was the most undressed that he had seen Mycroft Holmes. Mycroft was usually in a three-piece suit at all times, occasionally, he would be in his shirtsleeves and tie undone when they lazed around on the sofa after a few glasses of wine or scotch after dinner.  

 There was something almost endearing about seeing Mycroft in his pyjamas and dressing gown. It was somewhat intimate seeing him in a state like this. Greg knew that he would have been one of the few people who saw that sight. It almost felt as if Mycroft trusted him enough to allow him to see him in such a state of undress. He had always consdierd Mycroft to be a friend, he didn’t think that Mycroft thought of him in the same way. It made Greg wonder if Mycroft possibly thought of him in a similar manner.

 The thought of Mycroft considering him to be his friend warmed Greg’s heart more than it should have done. He forced himself to stop staring and started to look for the sugar bowl.

 He noticed that Mycroft was looking at him with an expression of curiosity on his ruffled features. He didn’t say anything for several long moments and seemed awfully intrigued by him. Greg wasn’t too sure if he liked it or not.

 “How are you this morning?” Mycroft asked tentatively.

 “I’m fine,” Greg said with a shrug. “Hungover.”

 Mycroft stirred his coffee, the only noise in the kitchen was the teaspoon occasionally clattering against the side of the mug.   “There is paracetamol in the bathroom cabinet if you need some,” Mycroft said.

 Mycroft opened up his mouth to say something and closed it again, unsure if he was going to speak.  He seemed to be debating with himself about if he was going to say something or not and what words he was going to use. Greg could practically see the cogs turn in his head.  

 He had the feeling that Mycroft would have wanted to talk about last night. Greg couldn’t blame him, especially with how guilty he looked throughout dinner and how many times he had suggested that they leave.

 “Dinner was great last night,” Greg forced himself to say. “That seabass that I had was wonderful. The wine was....good.”

 Mycroft placed his mug down on the table and steepled his hands under his chin. “I did offer for us to go somewhere else countless times. I would have gone to a kebab shop if you wanted to go to one. I have little idea why or how you managed to sit through dinner.”

 Greg had the feeling that Mycroft had never eaten a kebab in his life and Greg could not picture him in a kebab shop for the life of him. It was easier to conjure up the image of Mycroft with a flying umbrella than eating a kebab.

 “The wine helped a good bit,” Greg said with a shrug. “The scotch we had after helped as well. I do apologise for getting drunk.”

 Mycroft raised an eyebrow and the top of his lip curled upwards. “I’m surprised that your reaction to your ex-wife getting engaged was to have most of a bottle of wine. I was fully expecting something more dramatic.”            

 “What did you expect me to do? Start sobbing over the breadbasket?” Greg snorted.  “Chuck myself into the Thames after pudding?”

 “I do wish that we did leave,” Mycroft said quietly. “Or at least moved to another table. I can only imagine how difficult was to see.”

 “She would have noticed if we did suddenly leave,” Greg said with a sigh. “It’s not very mature to run away when we see certain people. She’s moved on and so have I.”

 Mycroft reached over the table and placed a hand on his wrist and gave it a comforting squeeze. He looked rather uncertain when doing it, almost as if he was not sure if it was appropriate to do so or not.

 “Your fridge is absolutely depressing,” Greg said in the attempt to change the subject. “This is the saddest kitchen that I’ve ever seen in my entire life,”

 “What on earth do you mean?” Mycroft asked with a raised eyebrow.

 Greg leaned back on his chair and gestured to the wall. “First of all,  that wallpaper is just horrid and  it makes the place look like a bloody dungeon.”

 “What if I like the wallpaper?” Mycroft challenged.

 “Then I’m convinced that you’ve been replaced by an alien or a cyborg with poor taste, mate,” Greg chuckled.

 Mycroft laughed quietly and Greg felt rather pleased with himself. It was probably illegal somewhere to laugh before eight in the morning. Greg couldn’t remember even being somewhat cheerful during the morning, normally he wasn’t even sociable until he had three coffees in him.

 “I would have made you breakfast if you had food in your kitchen,” Greg said.

 “Why would you want to do that?” Mycroft asked.

 “I always do when I’ve spent the night with someone,” Greg shrugged. “You did allow me to sleep on your sofa...I know that I was a proper mess last night.”

 Mycroft shook his head. “It was understandable that you were upset. I was just so surprised that you even managed to speak to Karen and wish her the best when you left. I would act terribly if I was in your situation.”

 “Did you have anyone like that in your life, Mycroft? “Greg asked. “It was awful enough seeing Karen with someone else at times. I doubt that anyone would be so stupid to let you go.”

 Mycroft hesitated for a moment and quickly shook his head. The pause felt a bit too long and Greg knew that there was someone at one point. He seemed fascinated with the table cloth and Mycroft seemed to be counting the individual threads.

 “Do you eat when you are at home?” Greg asked after several long minutes. “You have a bottle of soy sauce and biscuits.  I can’t imagine that you pop to Tesco after work.”

 Mycroft rolled his eyes. “I hardly have the time to go shop-”

 Greg cut him off before he finished. “I’m wrong about Tesco,  it is probably M&S and Waitrose you would go to.”

 He pulled out his phone and tried to find the nearest posh supermarket was. “What do you fancy for breakfast? I’ll get some proper food for you.”

 Mycroft looked at him as if he had grown a second head. “You do not need to do this.”

 “I’m convinced that you are going to starve to death in this dungeon of yours,” Greg replied. “It is the least that I can do. It’s what friends do for another.”

 “Let me get my-”

 “Don’t do anything of the sort,” Greg said.   “We are mates and you were kind enough to put me up for the night after dinner...I’m so sorry for being rather drunk. Making breakfast and getting a few bits and pieces  is the least I can do.”

 He started to look for his wallet in Mycroft’s dungeon-like kitchen and found it in the empty fruit bowl, “What are you waiting for breakfast?”

  “Coffee is just fine,” Mycroft said.  “I shouldn’t indulge.”

         “I’ll go to that bakery that you like,”  Greg replied. “I’m needing something indulgent to recover from last night. It’s the weekend as well.”

 Mycroft put on a long-suffering sigh and wrapped his dressing gown around himself tightly. “Perhaps one of those almond croissants, you are twisting my arm.”

 Greg grinned. “Almond croissants and some proper food for your house. There is something that I found funny.”      

 Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “What did you find funny?”

 “The fact that you have this fancy job where you control the country,”  Greg said as he cleaned out the cafetiere, “you are this posh bloke and I just find it funny that you have an ice cream ad biscuit stash. No one would have even thought about it.”

 Greg didn’t need to look around his shoulder to know that Mycroft’s ears had gone pink.

 “I won’t say anything,” Greg chuckled. “We are friends, there is no need to worry about your secret being revealed to the world. You might need to buy my silence with some of that posh salted caramel and honeycomb ice cream though.”

Blessed are the Vagrant

It’s not unheard of, someone getting lost on a heist. It doesn’t even necessarily denote a heist gone wrong, though it is usually one that’s gone somewhat sideways. Someone gets injured, or separated, or temporarily caught by some non-police entity, or else they just miss their transport and have to take the long way around the cops in order to get home.

In this case it was an injury, though only a light concussion and minor head blood. Ryan woke up in a vineyard, though how he got there, he couldn’t remember. He could remember everything else, his name, his crew, he even remembered the better part of the heist. They were targeting a rich estate out just northwest of Vinewood Hills, small crew, low cops, mostly just personal security to watch out for. He remembered all that fine, just not how he ended up with a head wound out in the grapes. 

Ryan took off his jacket and mask and threw them over the fence where they wouldn’t be found immediately by seasonal workers checking on the vines. It was still spring and the vines had been recently pruned, though the leaves were starting to bud and spread out again. The farmhouse was close, on the bottom of the hill separate from the winery that looked down on it from above. Ryan brushed off the dirt on his jeans, but there was no way to really get clean under the circumstances. His head hurt, and his eyes felt blurry like he wasn’t wearing his contacts, though he knew he must be based on how dry his eyes were after having slept with them in.

It was maybe six in the morning, from what Ryan could tell. The sun had just come up and the sky was a pale, cool blue. It was slightly chilly with the morning but it was clearly on track to becoming a nice day. He knocked on the door of the farmhouse. The sound of metal clanging and the slight smell of natural gas suggested that someone was cooking inside. The noise stopped for a second and the front door opened, revealing an old woman, slightly hunched over, wearing a hand-knit sweater and a long skirt. She moved slowly but was alert, and she took in the sight in front of her quickly. 

“I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am, but I can’t seem to get any service around here, and was wondering if I could use your phone,” Ryan said.��

“Oh my goodness!” The woman replied. “You’re bleeding! Come in, come in, we should get that looked at right away.” 

She motioned him in, and walked urgently as she could to a cupboard to retrieve a bin full of bandaids and creams. Ryan stepped in very slightly before taking a quick look around, looking for people, danger, weapons. The farmhouse was small, and ancient. It opened into the kitchen, and had an awkward layout that had a single wall separate the kitchen from the living room that was complete with the kind of old easy-chairs that you might expect to see in an older home. There didn’t seem to be any indication of anyone else living there, and no immediate danger, so he walked in to the landing and kicked off his shoes.

“You must have had quite the night,” the woman said. Ryan cringed slightly and started to speak, before she cut him off. “Uh uh uh, I don’t want to hear it. Whatever brought you here is none of my business. I’d rather not ask at all then hear some half-baked excuse.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” 

“Now now, none of that ‘ma’am’ business, I know I’m old. Call me Gran, it’s what the kids at the wineshop call me,” Said Gran. “Come, sit here, make yourself comfortable, let me take a look at your forehead.”

She tended to his wound and Ryan, somewhat out of it from the concussion, let her. She had been getting ready to cook pancakes on the stove when he arrived, and so and offered him some, which he hungrily accepted. Gran also offered him a shower, which Ryan was much more hesitant to accept. 

“Oh, of course, that must be strange, taking a shower in some stranger’s home. You really should get cleaned up though, I’ll give you a washcloth and I’ll throw your clothes into the wash. You should fit into my husband’s old clothes, rest his soul, and then I can give you a drive back into the city when they’re ready.” Gran explained that she didn’t have a landline or a phone of her own, and the winery was closed and locked for the day. “I haven’t had a key to that place since that big corporation bought us out and did all these renovations a few years back. They kept me on as an official owner, but it’s just a figurehead position.”

“It must be tough to not have a part in it anymore,” Ryan said.

“It is, it is, but they are paying me well enough, so I can live out my retirement in comfort. It gives me more time for my hobbies.”

In exchange for the pancakes, Gran put Ryan to work around the house. She said that one of the neighbours liked to check in on her that normally helped out, but it had been a few days and some work needed to be done. She had Ryan doing some cleaning, mostly dusting the lights and ceiling fans as well as the baseboards, places up high and low that were difficult for her with her low mobility. She had him gardening as well, weeding her front garden bed, which was slightly overgrown but still well cared for, and chopping down a few branches off of trees that hung over her gravel driveway so that cars wouldn’t drive into them. The compost pile was out behind the house and a ways away, and along the way were a few grape vines growing wildly along a freestanding wire fence. These plants were further along than the ones in the vineyard; the vines that had been pruned away were almost completely grown back, and they hung down far enough that they almost touched the ground. There was a slight smell of rotting, and the ground was dark and soft from where fresh compost had recently been added on top of the roots. 

Ryan spent a few minutes tucking the long vines into the fence so that they looked less wild. It was pretty different from the kind of work he was used to. Cleaning, sure, he had been cleaning things his entire life, from vacuuming the penthouse to cleaning up crime scenes, he was familiar with being thorough. But gardening, or farming, that was new. It was a nice feeling, nurturing something that was alive, being outside in the fresh air away from the city noise. 

“You did a lovely job there, and I didn’t even ask you to do it,” Gran appeared behind him. “You didn’t rip a single leaf.”

“I don’t think it’s for me, in the long run.” 

“No, I suppose not.” Gran said. “In any case, it’s time for lunch. I’ve made tea and sandwiches.”

Ryan sat down at the breakfast nook, and Gran put out a large serving plate with a number of sandwiches cut into neat triangles onto the table for them to take from, along with two mugs of black tea and some plates. 

“This looks great thanks,” Ryan said and took a sip of his tea. “I’d be happy to clean the dishes afterwords.”

“Thank you dear, I think I’ll manage on my own. You worry about lunch.”

The two ate mostly in silence, far more interested in the food than the conversation. Ryan was normally a fast eater, but he started to slow down as time went on. His movements in general were slower and slower, and his eyes became less focused, far worse than what the concussion did to him. He tried to stand up, but ended up on the floor instead. 

“Well, it’s about time now isn’t it?” Gran said. “Dreadfully sorry about this dear, but at my age, I just can’t afford to pick up someone from the city. At least I doubt anyone will miss you.”

“What did you do to me?”

“Just a little poison in the tea, not enough to kill you just yet. I just so rarely get to do this anymore, I’ve found myself spending more and more time with my guests lately.”

“You sound like you’re talking about bridge night, not serial murder,” Ryan said. He smiled, almost proud. “Forgive me if this sounds rude, but how are you moving the bodies around? You don’t seem like you could do it on your own.”

“My dear husband used to help me with these things, but he introduced me to a friend of his before he died that helps me from time to time.”

“Ah, I thought as much,” Ryan said, and neatly stood up. Gran gasped in surprise. “I should get going quickly then, before he gets here. I’m in no condition for a fight.”

“How is it not affecting you?” Gran moved her chair back from the table, but didn’t stand up.

“The poison wasn’t in the tea, it was in the sandwiches. You might have risked a nervous visitor like me not drinking strange liquids, but the sandwich pile would have been seen as safe to eat, since you were eating from the same pile,” Ryan said. “If you had only poisoned some, you would have risked me eating the wrong ones, as well as forgetting which were safe for yourself. The better bet is to just poison them all and take the antitoxin while I was still out in the yard. So I just took the antitoxin myself while I was dusting the bathroom.”

“How did you know?”

“Well I couldn’t find the antitoxin for the longest time, until I stumbled across your medicine cabinet,” Ryan said. “Pill bottles are a great way to hide something like that, and it would be easy for you to remember that way. Take this pill before bed, this pill before dinner, this pill before killing. I wasn’t completely sure which was the antitoxin, so I just took one of everything. I’m prooobably going to have an interesting night tonight. Oh, and then I switched around all the pill bottles so all your drugs are labeled wrong. In other words, chances are decent that you just took some kind of heart medication instead of the anti.” Sure enough, Gran was looking pale and was moving slow.

“Oh, sorry, did you mean how did I know that I was in danger?” Ryan continued, starting to enjoy it more. “You have spots of old blood inbetween your floorboards, you adapted way too quickly to a large man covered in blood at your door, and my cellphone had service not a ten minute walk from here last night. Probably the most damning, of course was your compost pile, though I wouldn’t have had enough time to notice before lunch if that’s all I was going off of. I know the smell of rotting human, and it’s different from the smell of rotting leaves. Dreadfully sorry Gran, but you made just one mistake. I’m not just some vagrant like the ones you and your husband used to pick up. You don’t have a TV or computer so you probably wouldn’t know. 

“I’m THE vagrant. The Vagabond”

swanky fortune - part nine | t.h.

Summary: Tom almost made you forget the downsides of spending time with a famous movie star, but then again, it wasn’t really his job to remind you of them

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Song I listened to while writing: Mad Love by Mabel

Author’s Note: helloooo I literally was procrastinating writing this chapter even tho I wrote a third of it right after I posted part eight I’m a desaster

Warnings: a lot of cursing and slightly steamy scene I guess? lol idk

Word Count: 4,3k

Masterlist

Teaser | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten 

Tom pressed on the call button before he put his phone to his ear, patiently waiting as it rang. It was still fairly early in the morning and he was sure that you were still asleep, so he climbed back in bed after having brushed his teeth not wanting to wake you too soon.

The same couldn’t be said about his best mate, though.

“You better have a good reason for calling me this early,” Harrison groaned when he picked up the phone and Tom grinned.

“Good morning to you too, Haz. Late night?”

“Harry and Tuwaine dragged me out clubbing again and we didn’t come home until three, so yeah,” he sighed through the phone. “Don’t tell me you’re just calling me to ask me what we were up to last night.”

Tom turned in his bed and looked at the different framed photos you had on your desk. You had insisted on sleeping in Luisa’s bedroom and let him have yours the night before. It was odd to see your room without you in it, but he felt like he got to know you even more with every detail he discovered in your bedroom. It wasn’t like he was snooping around, but the way you decorated your walls or what kind of things you had on your desk really said a lot about a person.

“Uh no, I was actually calling to tell you about my own night.”

“OH!” Harrison sounded much more awake now and Tom could picture him sitting up in his bed to be fully aware.

“Definitely tell me about your night. How’s Y/N? Did she like your surprise?”

“She’s great,” Tom answered with a smile on his face and Harrison hummed. It was a brief answer and definitely not enough details, but Harrison knew his best friend to know what this meant.

“I see. Anything else you want to tell me?”

“Uh we went out for drinks and I met her friends, who were really nice by the way and uh, yeah. Oh, and we kissed.” He mentioned nonchalantly and with a grin he heard Harrison splutter.

“You did?! You div, why didn’t you lead with that? That’s so great to hear! How was it?”

Tom laid back on his back and stared at the ceiling, his cheeks pink when he thought of the kiss from last night.

“It was really good Haz. I just couldn’t help myself- she was wearing my leather jacket and her cheeks were red from all the beer we’ve had and then, ugh. There’s just something about her.”

“You really like her a lot, huh?”

“I do, yeah.”

“Does that mean you’re together now? You know, officially?”

Tom hesitated, biting on his lip.

“I don’t really know, to be honest. We haven’t really spoken about it.”

Harrison groaned and Tom winced.

“Mate, this is basically just the same that happened the last time you two kissed. You have to talk to her about this. I mean, what even are the two of you?”

Tom sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I know, Harrison. I’ll talk to her today, I swear.”

“You should. It’ll help,” Harrison promised, before he let out a loud yawn.

“Alright I’ll let you get back to sleep. I think Y/N’s up now, so I have to get up,” Tom said into his phone and pushed the blanket to the side as he sat up.

“Okay then. Let me know how that talk goes, okay?”

“I will. Thanks, Haz. Love you, mate.”

“Love you too Tommy,” Harrison said before he hung up.

Tom shut his phone off before he ran a hand over his face with a groan, stilling when he heard a knock on the door.

“Tom you up?” you asked, your voice muffled through the closed door.

He swung his legs out of the bed and opened the door with a breathless smile.

“Morning love!” he greeted you brightly and he could tell that you needed a second to avert your eyes from his naked chest, a hint of pink on your cheeks.

“Morning.”

Tom smirked and reached out to stroke over your cheek gently. “Take a picture, it lasts longer.”

Scoffing, you flipped him off and headed to the kitchen, with Tom trudging behind you, tugging a t shirt over his head.

“Do you want coffee or tea?” you asked as you headed over to your coffee machine to get it started, glancing at his direction when he grabbed two mugs out of the cabinet.

What the fuck was he doing feeling so comfortable in your kitchen already? Then again, he did spend god knows how long in your kitchen cooking for you. It made sense that he got familiar with all your cupboards and shelves.

“Coffee,” he replied, with a teasing grin. “I only drink English tea, darling.”

You rolled your eyes and turned the coffee machine on, turning around to reply to him, when he caged you in with his arms, placing the mugs on the counter on either side of you. The goosebumps on your neck started spreading to your arms when he swooped down to kiss you, his hands holding your cheek gently.

Though caught by surprise, you reciprocated the kiss with a soft sigh, your hands snaking around his neck to pull him closer. Tom quickly got the hint and it wasn’t long until he hoisted you up on the counter, his mouth still working yours eagerly as he licked into your mouth with his tongue, pressing his body closer against yours.

Your toes curled at all the sensations you were feeling at the same time and you felt a shudder run down your spine, before you pulled away from him, your mouths separating with a smacking sound. Turning to the side to push the mugs towards the coffee machine, you knew he was staring at you because you could feel the blush creeping up your neck.

Regaining your composure, you turned back to face him and Tom was grinning fondly at you.

Dork.

“Stop staring at me,” you demanded and he poked your nose with his finger before he moved to pour your coffee mugs, a smug grin still clearly visible on his face.

“So,” he started, handing you your coffee while preparing his own. “What’s on the agenda today?”

You pursed your lips, stirring milk and sugar into your coffee. “I was thinking of going to lunch at a lovely Italian restaurant I know and then I really hope that you brought some sunglasses because I’m going to show you around the city, because the weather is amazing.”

Tom glanced out the window with his coffee mug on his lips, humming in agreement. “Sounds like a good plan. Do you think you can show me your university?”

“Why would you want to see my university?”

“I just want to see how you spend your days and I guess I like how different it is compared to my life,” he shrugged and you eyed him in amusement before nodding, thrumming your fingertips on the counter.

“Yeah okay, why not. It’s probably not going to be that crowded either.”

You suddenly were reminded of the last time you almost got crushed by screaming fans and paparazzi and shook your head out before jumping down from the counter.

“Breakfast?”

“Breakfast.”

The two of you didn’t fumble long with breakfast, eager to spend the sunny day outside and with stomachs filled with some scrambled eggs and toast, you walked out in the warm summer air, the sun shining brightly on your naked skin.

Even though it hasn’t been 24 hours since your last (admittedly very awkward) outing, it still felt like a lot has changed between the two of you even without having to talk about it. That was why it was almost an instinct for you to reach out to lace your hand with Tom’s and the smile that resulted from that made it even better.

Your first stop was campus and taking the subway, which was slightly more crowded than you thought it would be, had Tom hide his face in the crook of your neck, with his cap backwards on his head and your hand resting lazily over his shoulder.

A few looks from passing people were shot in your direction but it was more of a disapproving of the PDA you were showcasing than a sign of recognizing a famous actor walking among them. But you couldn’t say that you cared, honestly. You were too busy giggling at his behavior, your skin warm from the sun and from his warm breath that was fanning out on your collarbone.

Campus was luckily not that busy. There was the occasional student rushing through campus but you knew from your own experience that they were far too preoccupied with their own thoughts and worries to notice their surroundings.

“So the library is over there and the cafeteria is in the building next to it,” you told Tom, walking backwards so you could look at him while you talked.

“I mostly spend my time in the library to do research or to study, like basically every other student and yeah. Lecture halls are over there and this is our beautiful campus,” you concluded with a dramatic flourish of your arms.

“Have you ever thought about a career in tour guiding?”

Tom was wearing a teasing smile and you tsked when you fell back into step with him. “You think you’re really funny, don’t you?”

“I do actually, yeah. Didn’t you know that my dad is a comedian?”

Lunch was equally amazing. For the first time since you’ve known Tom, he was taking advantage of his stardom and asked for a private little corner table at the restaurant, which the staff were happy to give to you.

“Oh my god I’m so full,” Tom groaned, looking down at his half-eaten pizza. You shrugged with your shoulders, putting your napkin down on your empty plate.

“I told you not to order a whole pizza. Their whole concept is huge pizzas, what made you think you’re any different from the rest of their customers?” you chastised him and his eyes darkened, the crease between his eyes deepening.

“I always finish my food, how was I supposed to know that their pizzas are huge?”

“Because I told you and so did the waitress, Tom.”

“Whatever,” he grumbled and flagged down the waitress to wrap up the pizza to take home. You and the waitress exchanged knowing looks when she picked up your plates, with Tom narrowing his eyes at you while he put his wallet on the table.

“Nuh-uh!” you protested and snatched his wallet off the table before he had time to react. “You’re not paying for lunch.”

Tom whined, holding his hand out to demand his wallet back from you. “Y/N! Give me back my wallet!” You shook your head and dropped his wallet into your purse, smiling at the waitress when she handed you the bill.

“Just let me pay for god’s sake, Tom and stop whining about it.”

“Thank you and have a nice day!” the waitress said when you paid the bill, clearing the rest of the table while you and Tom bid your good byes, leaving the restaurant.

“That was so rude of you,” he told you and you frowned, glancing at him.

“Why was that rude? 20% tip was more than enough.”

He rolled his eyes and wrapped an arm around your shoulder to pull you closer as you walked on the sidewalk with no particular destination in mind.

“I was talking about you taking my wallet when I was offering to pay for lunch, dummy.”

Pleased, you shrugged with your shoulders and glanced up at him with a smile. “Just because you’re loaded doesn’t mean I’m going to let you pay for everything, we’re in the 21st century.”

You could see him smirk out of the corner of your eye and smiled to yourself, leaning your head on his arm. The rest of the day was spent with showing Tom around the city you’ve grown to love since you’ve moved here for university. It wasn’t the biggest city, but it had some beautiful spots and was definitely charming. The good weather made a lot of people spend their days in the park or getting ice cream, but nevertheless you two managed to keep yourselves on the down-low.

After stopping at food truck for a quick dinner, you made your way back to your apartment. It wasn’t that late yet, but all the walking and the sun constantly shining down on your made you weary and tired.

“How was that petty of me?”

“I literally saw you grinning so hard when the old man told that woman off for standing directly in front of the subway door when it opened.”

Laughing, you pushed open the door of your apartment building, looking back at him, your eyes crinkling. “I hate it when people do that, so the woman had that coming.”

“That is literally the definition of petty, love.”

Heading up the stairs, you two continued squabbling and it felt good to be so carefree and light, especially because Tom made you feel like you were the only person left on the world. Throughout the day he had kept all his attention on you. You were pretty sure that he never even glanced at his phone for more than the five seconds he needed to take a picture. You wished for every day to be like this one.

But unfortunately, it couldn’t be.

And you were reminded of that fact in form of a well-dressed man standing in front of your apartment door, the sound of your laughter pulling his attention away from his phone to the two of you. Puzzled, you looked at him and Tom stopped in his tracks when he came up the stairs behind you.

“Jeff, what are you doing here?”

Jeff, you’ve heard that name before.

“You weren’t picking up your phone.”

“Yeah, because I’m not working right now,” Tom ground out and it dawned on you. Jeff, his agent. The same agent who he had an argument with before you left Los Angeles.

The man who was standing front of your door because Tom wasn’t answering his phone.

“Doesn’t mean you can ignore my calls Tom.”

Both men seemed annoyed and you eyed them carefully, pulling the key out of your purse. “Uhm, do you maybe want to come inside? I don’t think you want to talk about this where my neighbors could hear you, do you?”

“No, it’s fine, Y/N-“

“That would be perfect, thank you.” Jeff interrupted Tom and you pressed your lips together before unlocking the door, letting the two men step inside before closing the door.

“Uh, you can go into the living room,” you offered awkwardly and Jeff nodded curtly, waltzing through the doorway like he owned it.

Tom furrowed his brows when he looked at you, reaching out to squeeze your arm gently. “I am really sorry about this Y/N, I didn’t know that he was going to come here, honestly I don’t even know how he knew that I was here in the first place. But he’ll leave shortly, okay?”

You gave him a tight smile and nodded, following him to the living room where Jeff was sitting at the living room.

“Alright Jeff, get it out with,” Tom sighed, motioning for you to sit before he sat down next to you.

Jeff raised an eyebrow at you. “You think it’s appropriate for her to stay for the conversation?”

Wow.

“I can leave,” you said, standing up but Tom grabbed your hand, looking at you with pleading eyes, so you sat back down, folding your hands on the table.

“Her name is Y/N. And I’m not letting you scare her off in her own home,” he told his manager and Jeff leaned back in his chair, shrugging.

“Fine with me. I think Y/N is distracting you from your work and it’s not good.”

You blanched at his words and even though Jeff didn’t seem to like having you here for the conversation, it was certainly looking he was taking advantage of your presence.

“How is she distracting me when I’m not even working right now?” Tom asked, taking the cap off his head and tossing it on the table. There was an edge to his voice and you already knew at this point that this conversation was not going to be pleasant.

“You know that you’re always working, Tom. Right now you should be promoting Far From Home and urging your fans to be going to the theater to watch the film instead of strolling around the city,” Jeff spoke sharply, sending an icy look in your direction.

Holding your gaze as he stared you down, you didn’t even blink until he averted his eyes back to Tom. It wasn’t hard to tell that Jeff wasn’t overly fond of you.

“I did everything SONY has told me to do and more. You know I like staying close to my friends, have you even seen my Instagram posts?”

Jeff scoffed and opened the folder he was keeping under his arm. “I mean more like interviews and photoshoots with magazines. Do you even know how many people want you on their cover? This is your prime and you should take advantage of that.” He pointed at different high fashion brand names that were listed in his folder, seeming excited, but Tom only pinched the bridge of his nose.

“We already talked about this,” he groaned in annoyance. “Why do you keep bringing this up when you know that it’s my decision to make and that I don’t want to do it?”

Snapping the folder shut again, Jeff’s jaw ticked when he lifted his gaze to look at Tom before glancing at you. “You working another promotional method then?”

You felt uneasy, not liking the direction the conversation was taking.

“I am not sure if it’s working, though.”

“What are you talking about?” Tom asked, confusion written across his face.  

Jeff pointed at you. “I think fans like Zendaya better than Y/N so maybe you should get back to your colleague.”

“Excuse me?” You were appalled at the accusation and your cheeks tinted red, embarrassed, while Tom sported a similar redness to his face, though he wasn’t exactly flustered.

“Are you fucking serious right now Jeff?”

Even though you knew that Tom’s anger wasn’t directed at you, you still flinched his tone, but he quickly reached out to take your hand in his to calm you, and probably also yourself down, while his eyes were trained on his agent.

“Not only did you come here unannounced but now you’re also insulting Y/N, Zendaya and me at the same time? Even though she was so nice to invite you into her home instead of turning you away like she should have?”

“Tom-“ Jeff started, but Tom shook his head, cutting him off.

“No, Jeff, now it’s time for you to listen. You know how thankful I am for everything you’ve done for me but I am an adult and I can make my own decisions. And just because I owe a lot to you doesn’t mean you can go around acting like I’m working for you when it’s actually the other way around. The only reason why I’m not firing you right this second is that my mum actually went through a lot to hire you as my agent, so we’ll talk about this after my break,” Tom finished, standing up so quickly the chair almost toppled over hadn’t you grabbed it just in time.

Jeff was staring at Tom with wide eyes and even though he was quivering a bit, he got up as well, leaving without another word while Tom held the door open for him. Too bad Jeff didn’t take the tension with him when he left, because you didn’t dare to say a word when Tom returned to the living room, looking exhausted and tired.

“I’ll just head to bed if you don’t mind,” he said timidly and you nodded quickly.

“Yeah, of course, uh, you can go ahead and use the bathroom first.”

Tom gave you a small smile and trudged into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Taking a few deep breaths to compose yourself, you went to get changed. As you pulled your pajamas over your head, you heard the bathroom door open followed by footsteps, before another door shut close faintly. You peeked into the dark hallway and you could see a strip of light coming out below the door of your bedroom, before it flickered out.

Your heart was heavy at the sight, and after a quick visit to the bathroom, you climbed into Luisa’s bed, still shaken up about what just happened. Admittedly, Jeff was out of line coming at Tom and you like this, but you couldn’t help but wonder if you were really distracting Tom from his work, because that was the least thing you wanted to do. You tried to fall asleep, but your mind kept wandering back to Jeff and all the thing’s he’s said.

Minutes, maybe even hours passed.

Tossing around in the bed, unable to sleep, you glanced at the clock, sighing at the time it was showing. The blankets pushed back and legs swung of bed, you got up. Maybe a glass of milk would help.

Tiptoeing into the kitchen with the light from your phone guiding you, you poured yourself a glass of milk before drinking it quickly, sighing with the empty glass in your hand. Putting the milk back into the fridge, you returned to Luisa’s bedroom when you heard a clatter from within your own bedroom.

With narrowed eyebrows, you stopped in front of the door and knocked lightly, waiting for a few seconds before Tom opened the door for you.

He looked tired and his hair was messy, but he didn’t look like you had just pulled him out of a good night’s sleep.

“You okay?”

Tom nodded and ran his hand through his hair with a sigh. “Yeah, I just can’t sleep. Sorry if I woke you.”

You could tell that he was still aggravated and it didn’t take mind reading for you to know that it was about Jeff.

“You didn’t wake me. Can’t sleep either,” you told him and gave him a small smile, before rocking back and forth on the heels of your feet.

“Uhm, I’ll let you get back to bed. I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?”

You gave him a small wave and walked back to your bedroom.

“Y/N, wait,” Tom called out and you turned to him. “Do you, uh- Would you maybe like to sleep with me?”

He cringed, his cheeks pinking.

“I mean, in your bed. Share, I mean.”

Smiling dumbly, you nodded a yes and brushed past him into your bedroom, while he closed the door behind you. You quickly climbed into the bed and under the covers, leaving plenty of space on the other side of the bed for Tom.

Laying pin-straight on the mattress, a far cry from the usual starfish you usually did, and you let out a breath when he slipped beneath the blankets on the other side of the bed. A couple of minutes passed while you stared at the ceiling and you weren’t sure if Tom had already fallen asleep, but you inched your hand in his direction anyway.

It slowly crept across the mattress until your fingers grazed his hand and you stilled, holding your breath. You finally exhaled when he intertwined his fingers with yours and a smile spread on your face, before you rolled over to your side, just to see him mere inches away from your nose.

“Hi,” you whispered and he smiled at you, reaching out to stroke the hair out of your face.

“Hi,” he mumbled back, staring at you with soft eyes before he spoke up again.

“I am sorry about Jeff. He was out of line and he never should have come here. I’ll deal with him as soon as I get back to work, I promise.”

Frowning, you squeezed his hand tightly.

“You don’t have to apologize on his behalf, Tom.”

The crinkles in his forehead were deep and it was clear to you that he might be even more upset about his agent’s behavior towards you than you were.

“Yes I do, he’s my agent and if it weren’t for me, he never would have been so rude to you.” He said quietly and scooted closer to him, leaning your forehead against his.

“Jeff is his own person and he makes his own decisions, just like you are your own person, remember? He made his decision to be rude so it’s him who should apologize to me, not you. You didn’t do anything wrong, you have to understand that,” you told him and he smiled at you, placing a soft kiss on your nose.

His voice was quiet, but still gentle when he said: “Thank you Y/N.”

“’course,” you whispered, snuggling closer to him and he wrapped his arms around you, as the two of you slowly fell into a deep slumber in each other’s arms.

There was a certain weight around your shoulders when you woke up slowly, your nose pressed against something warm. Your eyes fluttered open when you realized your face was smushed into Tom’s chest and with a dopey smile, you closed your eyes again. You weren’t sure what it was that woke you, when a phone pinged again and then again and again. It sounded like it was coming from both sides of the room.

“Tom it’s your phone,” you grumbled and he groaned, rolling over to check his phone while you checked yours.

It was a bunch of messages from all of your friends and a few from the twins and Harrison, and what seemed like a thousand of new instagram followers, and as you opened Luisa’s text, you heard Tom mutter a quiet:

“Oh fuck.”

Luisa: GIRL YOU’RE IN THE TABLOIDS????

Luisa: [picture attached] MASKS OFF! Tom Holland swings out of London to meet his real-life Mary Jane and it’s not Zendaya! Swipe up to read more!

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Homesick (Entry #14)

(cw: drug withdrawal, vomiting) <-Previous ----------

01/02/88  1:34 PM

Hey.

Can’t believe I’m still going to all the effort of writing this dramatic, emotional crap down while you’re not even here to be uncomfortable about it with me. This is so unnatural. But I keep coming back to it, so…

Showering felt good. I wasn’t too happy about smelling like Fix-it’s bath products, but clearing away the grime was therapeutic in its own small way, especially since my skin was smooth and intact again. No dirt, no blood, no wounds, no outward evidence that anything had happened to me at all. 

The feeling of cleanliness was tragically short-lived, however. I’d barely finished drying off before my skin clammed up and my body felt wrapped up in a hot, wet blanket. Boost withdrawal had snuck up on me, hiding behind other, much bigger stressors. Fix-it would soon regret lending me his disturbingly comfortable, silky, immaculately free-of-his-cousin’s-sweat pajamas.

I was in for a long night.

When I left the bathroom, I found Fix-it sitting on the couch next to a folded-up blanket and some pillows, looking thoughtful or troubled or something inexplicably annoying. He straightened up the second he saw me, and gave a wobbly sort of smile. “Did it do ya good to get clean?” he asked, painfully awkwardly.

I just grimaced, waist-deep in withdrawal, not loving the irony in his question.

I sat next to him, leaned my head back, and put a cold, wet hand towel that I’d nicked from the bathroom over my face. It relaxed me a bit, but relaxing wasn’t much of an improvement. My idle mind had no safe path to wander, no distraction other than my climbing fever. So I resorted to focusing on that, and let myself sink like a rock into that post-Boost depression. I needed a hit so badly. I just imagined that sweet electric rush dissolving the withdrawal, blowing away the fog over my senses, charging me back up with fierce courage so I could get back out there and face the arcade. Thinking about a remedy only made me feel sicker, but I didn’t care. More sickness meant more distractions from… other things. 

I was in for a really long night.

It wasn’t until Fix-it said “Mavy..?” that I realized he had been talking. Silently asking the Devs why he was still trying to have a conversation with me, I replied with a grunt.

Assumedly repeating himself, he said carefully, “I just wanted to say thank you… You know, for… trusting me.”

I figured he was kind of putting words in my mouth, but whatever. I was willingly staying in his home, so he wasn’t completely wrong. But I knew he really meant trusting him with… well, everything written on my body. To that, I did not know what to say. I lifted the corner of the cloth on my face to peer at him. He was giving me those earnest eyes again, the ones that his binary may as well tumble out of. I could almost feel the bags under my eyes getting heavier. It felt like anything I could have said would only have made me worse off.

After a sufficiently weird pause, I figured out what to say.

“Do you have a bucket?”

“...Beg pardon?”

“So I don’t puke on your floor.”

“Oh!”

He sprung up like a popcorn kernel, disappeared for a second, and returned with a gross-looking utility bucket, probably the only dirty thing I’d seen in his apartment thus far. It had definitely been used for paint at some point, of all things. Then, seemingly trying to top his personal best record for stupid questions, he asked if I was nauseous. I didn’t dignify it with a response. After that, he just insisted on brewing me some tea that I can’t remember the name of, because it would, as he put it, soothe my “tummy” and help me sleep.

I told him that if he said “tummy” again, I might miss the bucket.

While the tea steeped, we had some minor disagreements about the sleeping arrangement. He wanted to take the couch while I slept in his bed, but I was having none of that. The final verdict was that he’d take the bed, I’d take the couch, and if I somehow needed something that I couldn’t get myself, I could wake him up.

The tea was counterproductive. When I went to drink it, the mug didn’t even make it to my lips. I took one whiff of the scent -- not a bad one, but a scent nonetheless -- and my stomach lurched. I retched into the bucket not a moment later. Fix-it sprung up and practically started whining like an anxious dog. At the same time, though, he looked like he was fighting the urge to sympathy vomit. We had agreed on lights out just a moment ago, but he insisted that he must stay up with me for just a little while longer.

I groaned into the bucket in my lap, “To do what, read me a bedtime story?”

“...Well--”

“No.”

He gave up after that. At long last, he turned in for the night. He got me a glass of water, turned off the lights, and pretended to close the door behind him when he went into his room -- he left it cracked, for some reason I’d no doubt disagree with.

Once the lights were off, it really stood out to me just how wrong it felt spending the night inside Niceland again, after all these years. It was obscenely quiet, the only thing close to white noise being Wreck-it’s distant snoring. The windows didn’t need any blackout shutters like they would in your game, what with our game’s permanent night setting, but the cold, dim light from the cabinet’s screen around the corner was just enough to cast faint window-shaped squares on the floor. For most, it all probably would have been ideal for sleeping. But for me, it was too rigid. Too manufactured, sterile, too clean-cut. I needed mess. I needed a raw, wild, pass-out-drunk mess. Old pilled blankets, misshapen cushions, stained pillows, creaky springs in a mattress way too small for two sprites. If nothing else, I needed the stars. But you can’t see them from the windows of Niceland.

I thought of the places I wished I could be, threw up again, and began my really, really long night.

Most of the night felt like some kind of time loop, just the same awful crap for Devs know how many hours. Throwing up, washing out the bucket, sipping water, refilling water, refreshing the cold towel, burning up, shivering, throwing the blanket, bundling up in the blanket, throwing up again. Startling flashes of memory still kept me from drifting off, but it wasn’t just the fireworks anymore. There was also barking. There was that freak’s grating, screeching abuse. There was the garbled, distorted sound of metal splitting. Worst of all, the feeling of fading into sleep almost felt like fading into near-death again, kicking up that terrified, tooth-and-claw refusal to die. In those cases, I’d wake up screaming.

Freaked the hell out of Fix-it every time.

Something else happened that night. I have no idea what time it was. There was nothing left in me to throw up anymore. My teeth were chattering, but my sweat had still soaked well into the couch. I’d tossed away the warm and damp pillows in favor of resting my burning cheek against the cool cushion beneath. I was just trying desperately to creep past the obstacles between me and anything resembling rest. That’s when things got a little… let’s say “creative.”

I tried to fool myself into thinking I was somewhere more conducive to a good night’s sleep, and it worked. If I really thought about it, I could smell chips, popcorn, and Burger Time grease in the cushion under my head. I could make the upholstery feel frayed and slack. In my feverish delirium, I could even change the room around me. I could picture the walls pulled closer, and an impressive amount of junk for such a small space, all of which I knew by heart. There would be a stereo across from me, a kitchen counter down past my feet, half-full soda cans close to my head, empty six-pack rings hanging on the door handle, a jumpsuit thrown over the corner of the couch, and above me, a rack of meticulously polished trophies. As long as I kept my eyes closed, I was in your trailer. 

For those fleeting moments, everything felt normal again. It was as if nothing ever changed.

I heard your bed creak, and your footsteps shortly after. You paused close to me for a second before continuing into the kitchen. Jars rattled when you opened the fridge, a cupboard creaked as you looked for a glass that was actually clean, and I heard you pour something -- could only have been soda, in the middle of the night, you spectacular trainwreck. Then you crossed back to me, set your glass on a surface that shouldn’t have been there, and stopped moving. You just went quiet. So much that I thought you must have been plotting a way to mess with me in my sleep. I welcomed it, too. I couldn’t wait to catch you in the act and tackle you to the floor.

Then I heard, soft as a mouse, “Mavy?”

The illusion dissipated the moment Fix-it spoke. Reality struck again, landing a critical hit on that miserable withdrawal depression. It wasn’t you. It was just Fix-it, who had apparently come to get me a new glass of water. Part of me wanted to spring up and deck him, but I stayed perfectly still and silent. I didn’t want to encourage him to keep talking to me. In all honesty, I felt too heavy and lifeless to do anything at all.

“Mavy?” he said again. “Are you awake?”

Another stupid question. I just imagined that he wasn’t there, in hopes that it would come true. But, much to my regret, I heard him sit on the coffee table again. I could feel him looking at me. He was silent long enough for me to think that he had come out just to watch me sleep, like an absolute creepazoid. But just as I was bucking up the moxie to tell him to buzz off, he spoke again.

“Mavy… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, or-- or tried to pressure you, or…” 

The first of many long pauses. 

“...I never should have doubted you. You’re worth so… so much more than anyone gives you credit for, and… I’ve known that since day one. Somewhere in this mayhem, I… just... lost sight of that. I know you won’t listen to how sorry I am… but I promise you, Mavy, it won’t happen again. Families support each other… and… this little family of two is all we’ve got. And I know…”

A long pause.

“...I know that you don’t… want a family. But, darn it, Mavy, you need a family, now more than ever. It… It hurts so much watching all this happen to someone I care about. I’m trying so hard to help you, but I just…”

Another pause, exceptionally long this time. For a minute, I wondered if he had left without me noticing, but sure enough, he spoke again. This time, his voice trembled. He’d started crying.

“I… don’t know… how to be the family you need. It... seems like everything I try just… pushes you away even more. I’m not asking you to forgive me, even after all these years, I just… I wish… I wish we could just talk about it. I wish we could just start over and… be better.”

He sniffed, and fell silent again for a minute. When he spoke again, his voice was even quieter.

“You know, for all the trouble you two got into, I… I just loved seeing how happy he made you. I may not know how to be what you need, but… sure seemed like he did. No one else could make you laugh quite like him. ...I miss that laugh.”

Pause.

Then, by some miracle, I managed not to jump when he squeezed my hand. It was disgusting. He wasn’t wearing his gloves, so it was full skin-on-skin contact, and my hand was slimy with sweat, and for the Devs’ sake, Fix-it, I was asleep, as far as he knew. What kind of creep touches someone while they’re sleeping? Yeah, it was just my hand, but it’s the principle of the matter. I did not consent to that contact, and I would not have, even if he asked me. The whole idea of it pissed me off so much.

It didn’t make sense to me, then, why I didn’t pull away.

Maybe I was paralyzed with subconscious rage. Maybe I was too sick and depressed to move. Maybe I really, really didn’t want him to know I’d heard all that. Or, maybe pulling away would have conveyed a message that I didn’t want to send, one I didn’t think he fully deserved at the time.

Probably the rage.

Whatever my reason, he held my hand long enough to test me. Not even my gross, soggy palms deterred him. The binary in my hand was starting to really ache by the time he went on.

“You don’t deserve a broken heart, Mavy. I wish I could do more. I wish I could just… wave my hammer and bring him back for you. I’m so--... I’m so sorry I can’t give you that. There are some things I just… can’t fix.”

I heard him take a deep, slow breath, and it sounded like he rubbed his face with his free hand. For another few moments, I felt him watching me.

“Dream of something nice for me,” he finally muttered, and gave my hand one final squeeze before letting go. He stood, and, despite the fact that I was burning up, draped the blanket over my shoulders like some sappy cliché. Then he went the whole nine yards.

“Love you, cuz. Hope you know that.”

With that, he left me be. I waited until I heard his door creak and his duvet rustle to throw the blanket off and wipe my hand all over the couch. There was barely any mind power left in me to process what had just happened, but I suppose I ought to have thanked him for it -- it took my mind off of the things keeping me awake, and I eventually fell asleep, lost in uncomfortable thought.

I wasn’t angry, really, or even annoyed. I didn’t want to run away or chew him out. I just took bets with myself over how much longer it would be ‘til he realized he was wasting his time on me.

So, tumblr, by popular demand, (Hah! Get me!), here’s a loooong post on my living room display cabinet.

I started collecting 1930s ceramics when I was 17, shortly after my grandfather died. My dad, as his only child, was given the job of sorting through the contents of his flat, which is how I first came into possession of a couple of Art Deco nicknacks - a plastic jewellery box, which sadly fell to pieces, a chrome and enamel powder bowl, and an electric clock with a peach mirror glass face. Also this amazing uplighter seen, along with the clock and few pieces from the china collection, in the living room of my previous flat. 

But back to my mid teens. At around this time I saw Cabaret on the big screen for the second time, and resolved shortly afterwards to reinvent myself as a Sally Bowles/Louise Brooks hybrid. 

Thus the 30s became my thing. For life it turns out. Since I was still living in my childhood home in my tiny childhood bedroom, it started with beads and earrings as I didn’t have room to collect much else. The necklace I’m wearing here was one of the first things I ever bought – from the long gone Twentieth Century Box in the King’s Road – and the dress belonged to my great grandmother. 

At some point though I bought this little Art Deco jug, which proved to be the thin end of the wedge. I knew it was a piece of cheap tat – it didn’t have a stamp on the base and cost a mere £1.75 from Camden Market – but I loved it then and I still do, crazing, cheap lustre finish, indelible stains and all 

Before long it had found a friend in a Shelley jug and they’ve been together ever since. I acquired a few small pieces of Carlton Ware here and there, as it was cheap and commonplace, but the china collection didn’t really get going in earnest till I came face to face with these ...

... and these...

... Paragon cups, saucers, and tea plates. It was the delicate flower handles that did for me. My heart literally stopped when I spotted the whole lot filling a display case on a stall in the Barrett Street Antiques Market in St Christopher’s Place. I’d never heard of Paragon, which is comparable in quality to Shelley, before; and I’ve only ever met one other person who avidly collected it. The colour work here is a combination of basic transfer and hand painting, and I’d never seen anything so beautiful, nor coveted anything quite so desperately, in all my puff. Back then were three trios in each design, and they would have cost entry-level graphic designer me two weeks wages so it was a no go. I chatted to the dealer for ages, heaved a sigh of resignation, and left. Then fate stepped in in the form of some freaky, life-changing events: 1) My paternal grandmother died and left me five grand, and 2) The company I was working for decided on a radical restructure and I was one of those made redundant. I decided to use the money to start my own business – an illustration agency – and marked this momentous decision by returning to Barrett Street to buy the Paragon. I didn’t have the space to display it all until I moved into my own place a couple of years later but there was no looking back once I did.

Most of these pieces are made by Paragon too, the exception being the Royal Doulton cup and saucer on the right, which was a gift.  The un-lidded sugar bowl on the left cost me two quid in a car boot sale while the lidded one in the front cost me under a fiver from another late King’s Road haunt called Eat Your Heart Out. With two notable exceptions, I’ve never parted with serious money for any of this stuff. I also rarely buy to sell, so not all of my collection is in perfect condition. Obviously it’s great when it is, but the cumulative effect of seeing it altogether is way more important. And the cumulative effect is pure joy. Which puts me in mind of the book I mentioned a couple of posts ago, which posits the idea that liking colourful stuff is not a mark of shallow, unsophisticated character, and that joy is not something innate without stimulus, but rather a reaction to the objects and environments that surround us. This resonated deeply with me.

I used to write in an alcove in the L-shaped hallway of my previous flat. It was a nicely decorated hall. Yellow-gold marbled wallpaper with paintwork a shade lighter and a yellow gold carpet to match. The light was good too. But I didn’t have many pictures in those days so the walls were blank apart from my grandmothers mirror; nor were there any shelves on which to house books or display tchotchkes. One day I started writing in my living room instead, which contained all of these things including my trusty display cabinet, and I realised I felt creatively stimulated; galvanised even. From then on I’ve always worked surrounded by colour, pictures, objects and books.

So, on with the show.

This adorable little person is a powder bowl from Germany. I don’t often go for figurative ceramics but I completely fell in love with her. She came from a junk shop and cost me about  quarter of what she was worth at the time I bought her. Behind her is a Parrot Ware biscuit barrel, a gift from my potter friend Steve, who is also an avid collector of ceramics, and has contributed many pieces to my collection over the years. Behind that is a Parrot Ware plate I found in a junk shop in Lye in the West Midlands. To the left of her is a Paragon chintz ware trio, another gift from Steve. 

The coffee cup and saucer is the only piece of Clarice Cliff I own. It was a present from a family friend back when I first started collecting. Then, as now, Cliff, Susie Cooper and Charlotte Rhead were the big names and overpriced accordingly, so I decided to concentrate on the more affordable end of the market. The hand painted Poole vase is, I think, from the 60s, as is the Royal Winton plate behind it, but I think they blend in well enough. The same can be said about this Brentleigh Ware breakfast for one set...

It came from a car boot sale many years ago. The rain was chucking it down and the sellers were so desperate to go home they practically gave it to me. How could I refuse? 

This is the only glass piece in the cabinet. I’ve occasionally seen these swizzle sticks for sale individually but this is the only set I’ve seen with the matching base. Behind it is a pair of hand painted Czechoslovakian vases of the type that Cliff clearly ripped off. For that reason alone I feel they should be worth a whole lot more than they are. Russian folk art, as reinterpreted by the likes of Natalia Goncharova for Diaghilev’s Ballet Russes, was also a huge influence on the Art Deco movement. The majority of my pieces are simply 30s as opposed to full on Deco but the colour palette is often in keeping.

The green cheese dish is a Royal Winton piece I bought in the 80s, while the yellow one, a more recent acquisition from a charity shop, is Crown Ducal. Which brings me to something else. Video may not have killed the radio star but eBay definitely murdered the antique market. Some time in the mid 90s I consciously stopped adding to the collection. It was harder to find at a reasonable price and I also felt I’d reached Peak Thirties so to speak. Contributor No 1: Knowing how much I loved the period, my stepgrandmother had promised me a pair of French bronze book ends when she died. And although my mum and stepfather were divorced by the time she did, he honoured her promise on the understanding that I’d never sell them.

(AS IF!! These are the balls-out Art Deco bookends of my wildest dreams. I will never, ever sell them. Excuse the dust, by the way. These live, along with a lot more china, in my hall book case, and are lucky if they see a duster once a year.)  

Contributor No 2: Prior to working in the World’s Loveliest Gift Shop® RIP, I worked for Steve for the six years he had one. But whereas Lynne restored and upcycled vintage furniture as a sideline, Steve's was vintage ceramics. His brother, who is also an antique dealer, occasionally sold stuff through the shop too. One day I came into work and had an instantaneous repetition of my Paragon experience. 

This immaculate, unused Deco-tastic tea for two set is the reason I painted my living room purple. It’s most likely Czechoslovakian too, as indicated by the tiny plate. Too small to be a plate for cake or sandwiches, it was most likely for lemon slices, lemon tea being the norm in that part of the world. The moment I clapped eyes on it I was a gibbering wreck. I didn’t care how many days pay it would take me to work off the debt; it was indisputably Meant To Be. 

Having thus snapped up the tea set and inherited the bookends, I decided I actually had sufficient on the 30s front, much to the consternation of my friends. But a handful of years later things began to change. eBay had stuck the boot in so hard that the vintage china dealers, who had previously pushed up the prices to you’re-’avin’-a-laugh-mate heights, started to throw in the towel on their businesses. And vintage ceramics started to show up in charity shops and car boot sales again – at it-would-be-churlish-not-to prices. 

I started to find pieces like this...

...and this...

...and this...

...and this...

...and this...

...and this...

...going cheap as chips in the chazzas. 

And those dealers who had somehow managed to weather the storm, were no longer charging stratospheric prices. (Unless they were flogging Cliff or Cooper or Rhead), so I was able to add things like this...

...and this...

...to the mix without feeling the pinch.

Should I emerge from this period of history with body and soul intact and raise the collateral I’m hoping to, one of the cosmetic changes I’d like to bring about in my home is to replace the built in hi-fi cupboard in the corner of the living room with another display cabinet, so I can move some of the china that’s languishing elsewhere in the flat into the living room too. Yes, I know it’ll end up looking like the ceramics wing of the V&A, but, frankly, what’s wrong with that?

Poor abandoned things. 

Can’t you see they’re gagging to come and join their friends?

I imagine you’re losing the will to live now so I’ll sign off with my two Beswick fish, which are from the late 60s/early 70s and, despite having no connection with my other treasures, have lived on top of my display cabinet for aeons.  Group similar colours together and you can get away with murder. Toodles!

If Only Someone Looked At Me Like They Look At Guns 3

I kept my promise to myself. As soon as the clock turned six o’clock, I was closing down. I’d taken care of the coffee and espresso machines, washing and wiping everything down, and then made sure the trash had been tossed in the alley dumpster. Checking the store to make sure I didn’t miss any stragglers and that the aisles and bookshelves were clear and neat, I finally locked the front door behind me after turning the sign to CLOSED.

A part of me wanted to look around, to see if I could catch anyone watching me, but I didn’t. Maybe I didn’t want to know. Maybe I was scared I’d see nothing and not know if that meant they weren’t watching me, or if I just had no ability to sense it. Better to just not check at all, I decided. I walked carefully back to my apartment, thinking longingly of a hot bubble bath and something warm to eat with a nice glass of iced tea.

Walking into my building, I felt a shiver run down my spine. I looked around, but again saw nothing. I shook it off and took the elevator, feeling like the stairs would be too much with my current mood. When the bell dinged my arrival at my floor, I stepped out and felt the chill again. Damn it, what the hell. I glanced around and again saw nothing. Squinting at the stairway door, I stalked to it. I jerked it open and there they stood, staring at me like I’d dropped down from the moon.

“What the hell?” I asked, careful not to raise my voice. Even with two stalkers, two stalkers who were admitted killers, I didn’t want to rouse the neighbors.

Murphy had the decency to look embarrassed at having been caught, but Connor’s eyes stared straight into mine. He was looking at me like he had all the right in the world to be standing on the stairs leading to my apartment. “Wanted ter make sure yer made it ‘ome.” He said, stepping out of the stairway into the hallway. Murphy followed him and I was about to object.

“Ain’t yer gonna invite us in?” Murphy asked, as they hovered over me.

I rolled my eyes and stomped to my door. Pushing the key into the double locks with more force than necessary, I pushed the door open and stood back. “Come on in.” I said, sweeping my hand to allow them to go first. “If you’re my bodyguards, I suspect you want to case the place to make sure no one is inside to hack me to pieces.”

“Yer ‘dorable when yer pissed.” Connor said, walking past me and reaching out as if to pat my head.

I growled in irritation. “If you want to keep the hand, don’t pat my head. I’m not a fucking dog.”

Murphy chucked, knocking away Connor’s hand. “Wonder if ye’d bite.” He pushed Connor inside and grabbed my hand to tug me in with him. “Come on, give us de gran’ tour.”

I bit my lip and closed the door behind me, locking it because my dad had always insisted. They turned at the locking and I shrugged. “My dad always said there wasn’t any use to have locks if you don’t use them.” I moved to stand in front of them. “Grand tour? Ok,” I pointed in front of us. “Living room. Over here,” A point to the left, “Kitchen and dining area. “The three doors down that small hallway are, “ I walked a little further into my living room and pointed at each in turn. “Guest room, bathroom, master bedroom. My bedroom has its own bathroom. Now if you want, you may go inspect them all for mass murderers. Wait, I found them.” I pointed at the two of them.

Connor rolled his eyes at me. “We ain’t mass murderers.”

“Yeah, we only kill dos dat deserve it.” Murphy agreed with his brother.

I smirked at them. “Actually the definition of mass murder is the act of murdering a number of people, typically simultaneously or over a relatively short period of time and in close geographic proximity. You guys fit that description, correct?”

That gobsmacked them. “What kind of woman can rattle off de definishun of mass murder like it’s a recipe for chicken?” Connor asked, looking like I’d just thrown a baby out a window.

“I own a bookstore,” I answered with a glare. “Did you boys imagine I didn’t like to read?”

Murphy got over his shock reasonably faster than Connor. “Full av surprises ain’t ya?”

I shrugged. “Anyway, if you want to take a look, go ahead. I’m going to fix dinner. For three, I guess.” I held back a sigh. There goes my relaxing evening to process the day.

I kicked off my sneakers and hung up my bag on the coat rack by the door. Walking to the kitchen, I was hoping I had enough beef to make spaghetti for the three of us. Finding all the ingredients I needed, I started dinner as I heard them opening and shutting doors in the bedrooms and bathrooms. Satisfied that I wouldn’t be killed in my secure apartment, I guess, they joined me in the kitchen.

“If you want something to drink,” I said, putting the pasta in water on the stove. “There’s stuff in the fridge.” I stirred the sauce I’d already started. The beef and italian sausage were browning in another pan. “Oh and whichever one of you goes for a drink, could you hand me the loaf of bread out of the cabinet beside the fridge?”

I heard the fridge open and a bit of a groan. “Minerals and cold tea? Do ya not ‘av any real drinks?” Murphy asked. Minerals? Must be soda.

“If you were hoping for alcohol, you should have stayed at Doc’s.” I said, turning around and marching to the cupboard to get my bread down. “That’s what I have, so drink it or have water.”

I moved back to the counter by the stove to slice the bread and butter it with fresh made garlic butter. The oven was already on and ready to go once the pasta and sauce was finished. I layered the bread on a sheet and set it aside. While I was working I heard them take glasses out of the strainer by the sink and pour something.

“Ugh, tis sweet!” Connor spat, clearly having picked my tea. I chuckled. Murphy was silent, so I had to turn to see what his face must look like.

“It’s sweet iced tea, Connor, I’m southern for fuck’s sake. What did you expect?” I laughed at his grimace and saw Murphy’s glass was still completely full. “Scared, Murphy?”

He glared at me and took a small sip. His face contorted, but he swallowed. “‘Tis not dat brutal, Connor.” I giggled at the two of them. Dear God, they both look like they’d been poisoned.

“Give me the glasses.” I rolled my eyes, and poured the offending liquid into a large lidded cup for me to sip on while I worked. I rinsed the glasses out and opened the fridge to dig for a minute. Dad hadn’t been to visit much, but I’d gotten him some beer when he had, moving food around I found two bottles. Guiness, because I wanted him to broaden his horizons. There were two more left after I filled their glasses, Dad hadn’t been a fan. “Here, better?” I asked, holding up the bottles to show that there wouldn’t be any more surprises.

“Aye, ‘tis better.” Connor said, taking a long draw from his glass, clearly trying to get rid of the taste of my tea.

Murphy didn’t speak, just mirrored his brother.

I strained the browned meat and added it to my simmering sauce. Then I strained the pasta and put it back into the pot. Baked spaghetti and nearly homemade garlic bread sounded like heaven. Opening back up the fridge, I grabbed fresh mozzarella and parmesan and began layering my pasta, sauce, and cheese into a casserole dish. I could feel them watching, but I was too in my happy place to care. Once everything was ready, in the oven it went. I turned back to them after I put the dirty pots and pans in the sink.

“What?” I asked, seeing that they were eyeing me. “I’m sure you’ve seen a woman cook dinner before.”

“What are ya makin’?” Murphy asked, glancing at the pots and pans, as I moved to put away the leftover ingredients.

I tossed my answer over my shoulder. “Baked spaghetti and garlic bread.” I stood up and took my adult sippy cup to the table. “Let me grab the plates and silverware and I’ll have a seat until it’s done.” Connor stood up and Murphy followed suit. “Naw, yer cooked, let us set de table.”

Sitting down, I smiled and pointed at the cabinet and drawer they’d need. Soon three plates and all the silverware necessary for dinner were on the table. “So, are you going to tell me why you followed me home?” I asked, when they sat back down with their glasses. “Or do I have to assume the worst of you two?”

They grinned at me. “Tink yer already tink de worst.” Murphy said, taking a drink, but not taking his eyes off me.

“An’ nathin’ we say wud change dat.” Connor agreed, taking his own sip and staring as well.

I rolled my eyes as the timer dinged. “You’re not getting away without answering.” I stood and grabbed two oven mitts. I pulled out the bread and pasta dish. “Can one of you grab that heavy towel hooked on the sink?” Murphy did, and I gestured for him to lay it in the middle of the table. I placed the casserole dish down on it. “Don’t want to ruin my tabletop, do I?” I tossed the bread into a lined basket and carried it over to put down as well. “Connor, the drawer under the one you got the silverware out of has the serving spoons, can you grab one?” He did and soon we were dishing out dinner.

We ate in almost silence. I say almost because every now and then, I could swear they were talking animatedly in their heads. I’d heard of twins being able to do it, but sitting in front of them and witnessing it was plain weird. “You know you’re being rude, right?” I asked, putting down my fork and taking a sip of my tea. They both looked at me startled. “You’re having a really long conversation that I can’t hear, much less be a part of, that’s rude.” I picked up my fork and went back to my food.

“Didn’t mean ter be rude,” Connor said, looking at me with renewed interest.

Murphy nodded. “Don’t even realize we’re doin’ it ‘alf de time.”

I grinned, thinking it was rude, but made sense. “Well, you are, and it’s just as rude as speaking Russian or Italian in front of me.” Now they looked uncomfortable. “Don’t worry, I didn’t understand a word. I just think it’s rude.”

They both sighed, and I was taken in by the fact that they were mirrors. Connor was left handed. Murphy right. Their hand tattoos were on their dominant hand and that’s the hand they held their forks in. Their other tattoos, which now that their pea coats were off, having been hung on the coat rack with my bag, weren’t mirrors, but they were identical. Celtic crosses on their arms, Mother Mary on their necks, only Murphy had one that Connor didn’t. A star on his hand above the ‘e’ in Aequitas. They ate and drank like mirrors, but looked so different otherwise.

I waited while I studied them, knowing they were having another internal conversation. Rude, but understandable. Their eyes, I realized, both so blue they felt like I could touch the ocean if I held their gaze. That was almost the same. Oh and the fact that they both clearly had a blind barber.

“Yer right.” Connor said, repinning me with his eyes.

“We shouldn’t blather in front of ya in a languages yer don’t understan’.” Murphy agreed, also staring me down.

I nodded, “I understand the need for it this morning. I do,” I tried assuring them. “But now, I know who you are, could we keep it to a minimum?” I sighed, wondering why I was inviting this mess into my clearly sane life. “If it’s about your plans, fine, I don’t want to know. If it’s about ME, could you please just say it? OUT LOUD.”

I received two sets of nods. “Good.” I said, moving to put my plate in the sink. “I need to take a bath,” I closed my eyes, hoping I wasn’t going to regret what I was about to offer. “If you want, the guest bedroom and couch are available. For tonight at least.” I looked out the window and could see that darkness had fallen while we ate. “I’d hate for you two to get picked up after following me home.”

“That’d be awesum.” Murphy said, a smile growing.

Connor smiled, too. “”Preciate it.”

I nodded again. Feeling a bit like a bobble head doll tonight, I thought. “OK, I’ll be out in awhile.” I moved to my bedroom, feeling their eyes watch me the whole way.

I was happy to see that while they’d apparently opened the doors and looked around my bedroom and bathroom, they weren’t complete lurkers and didn’t paw through my drawers. I grabbed fresh clothes and sighed with the understanding that I’d only be braless for the bath. Half the joy of womanhood, I thought, crossing to my bathroom and starting the water, was coming home after a long day and whipping my bra off. Ugh, boys.

With that thought, I tossed off my clothes and settled into my warm bubble bath. The water was high enough to cover me to my armpits and for awhile I just sat soaking. Long day didn’t really cover it. Between my dad’s call of warning about the very men sitting in my apartment, and the very men in my apartment themselves, it had been a long month it seemed. I chuckled thinking of my dad finding out they were here, then sobered immediately. He’d call the authorities. He’d have them arrested in front of me. My heart clutched at the mere thought of it. Why? I wondered, why did I care?

I considered the fear I felt for them. The reason I was letting them stay with me, instead of insisting they go back to Doc’s. I didn’t want them to be hurt. I didn’t think they should be taken in by the police. I knew murder was wrong. Hell, even though I wasn’t much for church, even I knew the Ten Commandments. “Thou shall not kill.” It’s a big one. Of course, so was adultery, and for the life of me I couldn’t quite reconcile don’t fuck the married ones, with don’t smother people. Shaking my head, I tried to relax.

How could I? I thought, thinking of the two of them out in my kitchen or living room, sitting around like they belonged here, and I’m up to my armpits in warm, bubbly water. Naked. My head fell back against the tiled wall. Ugh. The two of them, those accents, those damn eyes. This had been a really bad idea. Having them here, nearby, close enough to touch. I tried to form a mantra to keep my sanity. “They’ve killed people. They’re killers.” And damn it if a sneaky part of my subconscious didn’t chime in with “only the ones that deserved it.”

Practically growling at my own damn traitorous mind, I started scrubbing myself with a vengenous. Scouring away the want wasn’t easy, but I worked hard to try to. My skin was a bright pink by the time I decided I was finished. Washing my hair just as hard, my scalp was tingling from the scrape of my nails. Unplugging the tub, I stood letting the water roll off my body and down the drain. Grabbing a towel to wrap my hair in, I took another to wrap around my body. The best part about being tiny was not having to buy enormous bath sheets to cover myself.

The mirror over my double sinks was steamed up, so I turned on the overhead fan. Stretching and cracking my neck, I felt the stress being relieved from the warmth of the bath and from just relaxing period. I dried off and pulled on my pajama bottoms over my panties. I glared at the sports bra, constrictive, but required with present company. Sighing I pulled it over my head and adjusted myself until my breasts were perfect. Then, I tugged on a loose t-shirt. Comfort, thy name is Tessa.

I exited the bathroom and grabbed the book I’d left on my bedside table. I could hear them talking, but I thought I heard more voices. When I walked out to the living room I had to smile. They were watching television, an action movie of some sort and were doing their own commentary.

Checking the television, I realized it wasn’t some action movie. “Con Air?” I giggled, throwing myself onto the sofa between the bickering boys. “What fault could the two of you possibly have with Nick Cage’s masterpiece?”

This truly got them going. “Neck Cage is it?” Connor asked, eyes shooting daggers at the screen.

“He’s a sissy.” Murphy agreed. Shooting his own glare at the movie.

Connor gritted. “Luk at ‘is ‘air!”

“an' 'alf de shoite yer man does ain’t believable,” Murphy added, pointing at something happening on the screen.

Looking between them, I had to laugh. Then Connor’s eyes gave the first hint of approval. “Though yer man does know de importance av rope.”

That broke me. I started laughing so hard that tears formed. They were watching me now, curious and possibly a little worried. “My man?” I snorted. “Dear lord, the two of you watching this damn movie like you’re filing it away for later. Please don’t tell me this is where your ideas come from.” They were quiet, far too quiet, and not in the internal dialog way. Shit, is this really where their inspiration came from, MOVIES?

They both looked down at me almost sheepishly. My laughter died away. “Seriously?” I asked, looking between the two of them. “Action movies?” They were still focused on me processing their muse. “Which stars are you trying to emulate?” What the hell? If they were crazy, I was in too deep.

“Duke Wayne is a gran’ wan.” Murphy whispered, seeing a bit embarrassed.

Connor nodded. “Charlie Bronson as well.”

“How have you two managed to survive?” I asked, confused by their complete idiocy. “You've been taking on TRAINED killers using moves you learned in MOVIES?” I sat stymied by the mere thought of how much luck went into them not being gunned down by now. “How many times?” I asked, and realized I may need them to explain what I was asking. “Have you been shot, how many times?”

This time I knew they were discussing within themselves what to tell me. “The truth, please.” I begged. If I was going to let them in my life, I had to know.

They nodded to one another. I nearly crawled out of my skin when they stood up and started disrobing. “Wait!” I raised my voice just enough to get their attention. “What the fuck are you doing?”

They each raised a shoulder, and kept pulling up their shirts. “Yer wan ter know.” Connor said, pulling his head free from his t-shirt.

“Tart it bes to jus show ya.” Murphy said, once his was free from his own. When their hands came to their belts, I jumped up.

“Jesus!” I said, stopping their hands with a hard gesture.

“Lord’s name.” They both admonished. I rolled my eyes, sure ok, taking the Lord’s name in vain is bad, but stripping in front of someone you barely knew isn’t. Just to show their battle scars. For fuck’s sake.

“Sure, ok.” I said, happy they had stayed their hands. Was it really this warm in my apartment or was I just that freaking turned on. Looking between the two of them I couldn’t make my mind work. Shit. What was the damn question again?

Help Wanted || Tom Holland

Warnings: prostitute character, mentions of sex, dickbag Harrison (or logical), talk of theft, talk of drugs, talk of STDs, talk of loaning money, language. 

Word Count: 4,816 

Author’s Note: So I wrote this to where it’s not reader insert, just because I feel that the story goes better without it being sort of personal and insertable, so the main character’s name is Skyler. This is the prostitute fic that I wrote, but don’t worry, it’s not super descriptive into the profession. Enjoy!

Italicized text means a flashback. 

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"Tom you can't help her. She'll take you for everything you have. She only acts like she wants you to help her because she knows you're worth something." Harrison had rambled in the middle of Tom's living room. "This is why I didn't tell you." "Why because you knew I'd give you an intellectual insight?" "She's not like that. When I come in she's in the shower. She wears my clothes and she definitely doesn't steal anything. She's a good person." "She's a prostitute Tom. You met her on a street corner. She's a whore." 

That conversation resounded in Tom's mind everytime he glanced up at his apartment building and counted the floors to find his living room light on. He never panicked. He gave her a key for a reason. Even if he was hesitant at first because of her... profession, he still trusted her. Riding the elevator up, he slowly walked down the hall to his door, sliding the key in the lock and waiting for it to click open. When it did, he walked inside, dropping his keys in the bowl and hanging his coat up. Walking just a few steps forward, the bathroom light clicked off and Skyler stepped out in a button up of Tom's, stopping in her tracks when she saw him at the end of the hall. "Hey." He smiled, "Hey." Swallowing, he walked towards her, "What was it this time?" She sighed and shrugged, "I didn't have enough money for rent. I knew that if I walked in that building, my landlord would have my ass." Tom nodded, leaning against the wall beside her, "If you need money-" "No. That'd just prove your friend's point." "He doesn't have to know." "But I know... I don't want you to give me money. You do more than enough." Smiling wider, Tom took his tongue between his teeth, "Offering you a shower and the oppurtunity to wear my clothes is enough?" Standing confused for just a moment, Skyler gave a shy smirk, "Yeah. I was uhh... I was actually going to make you dinner. I saw you had chicken and I was gonna try and make an asian dish for you." Tom nodded, "Sounds good." She nodded, playing with the ends of her hair, "I thought you might like it. I could... still make it if you want." Tom nodded, "Yeah, you can go start it while I take a shower. I'll be there in just a minute to help you." She nodded, "Yeah, okay. I'll uhh... I'll go start it. Do you know if you have honey?" Tom nodded, "Yeah I use it in my tea. It's in the cupboard." She nodded before they parted and Tom walked into the bathroom while Skyler walked off to the kitchen. Scowering through his cabinets, Skyler found what she was looking for before turning the burner on and adding the raw chicken, adding lemon juice and honey to the pan and then sugar, salt, and chicken broth. Standing at the counter, she sighed, crossing her arms. Deciding to leave the mixture on the stove, Skyler trails down the hall, finding Tom a pair of boxers and sweats before walking towards the bathroom, "I uhh... I'm not looking. I just thought I'd bring you some clothes." Tom hums, water hitting the shower floor, "Thanks." She nods, avoiding the glass door as she sets his clothes on the sink's counter. "I didn't know if you wanted a shirt. I didn't bring you one. I can if you want to." "No that's okay. I don't need a shirt. Although... it sounded like you were coming onto me just then." Smiling, she turned her back to him, "Definitely not. I'll be in the kitchen." Her heart pounded in her ears as she wrapped her mind around his statement. She'd never made a move in Tom's direction. She didn't view herself as worthy even if he put her on a pedestal. He'd met her just as Harrison reminded him, on a street corner. She'd been selling herself to make extra cash and Tom had eyes on her. Of course he thought she was beautiful. Most of the hookers in New York were before they sold themselves to businessmen cheating on their wives for drug money. But Tom could see that Skyler wasn't like that. Sure she'd sold herself for cash but it wasn't for drug money. She wasn't some sleazy whore that flaunted her body to anyone who pulled up against the curb. She'd been someone before. She'd been a student before, Tom knew that much. She was just trying to make ends meet and the only way to do it quick enough was give someone a good time for an hour. "Do that many men actually pay to have sex with you?" "What are you trying to say Tom, I'm not attractive enough for men to pay to have sex with me?" "No, no, no, that's not what I was saying. I just... you know how in those movies sometimes men pay just to have someone to talk to or... they pay and when the girl gets in the car, they like hack her up and bury her body in the desert? I was just wondering if it was like that. I was wondering if you've ever been paid to be a therapist." She shrugged, dipping a fry into the ketchup on her plate, "Yeah. But most guys are selfish and wanna get off. I've had... well ya know... everywhere." Tom smiled, but his cheeks turned a dark shade of pink at the mention of her sexual encounters. "But I'm... I'm clean. If that's... what you're thinking." "No, no, that's not what I was thinking. Even if you weren't, I don't... I don't plan on doing that sort of... stuff with you. You don't have to justify yourself to me. I just... I wanna offer you a place to stay. If you ever feel threatened or you just need some company that isn't using you for your... services, you're always welcome. You can have whatever's in my kitchen and you can wear stuff from my closet if you'd like. Use the shower, I just," sliding the spare key to his apartment across the table, Skyler glanced down at his hand, "I want you to have a second option no matter what. You're... there's just something about you that I can't... I can't wrap my mind around it but I like you. I wanna help you." "It smells good in here." Tom spoke up quietly as he entered the kitchen, still drying his hair. Skyler jumped, being broken from her thoughts. He paused, looking her over, "Sorry. Did I scare you?" She nodded, "Uh yeah. That's okay though. I just... I was just thinking." Taking a few steps forward, he stood beside her, "What were you thinkin about?" She swallowed, "Just... that first time you offered your help." He nodded, "Ahh... I see. Those were uhh... those were pretty awkward times." "Its still awkward Tom. I don't live here but I'm always here when you come home. It's ridiculous. I'm ridiculous." "Hey," stepping forward, Tom guided Skyler's eyes back to his with a finger under her chin, "hey you. You're not ridiculous darling. I gave you that key for this purpose. When I gave you that key, I told you you could take a shower and raid my closet. I told you you could have food. I did it because I know. I know that you felt this was your only other option. It was a dangerous decision, but you made it work. I gave you that key because I want you here." Staring up into his chocolate colored eyes, she nodded, looking away before she did anything reckless, "I know. I just don't want to overextend my stay." "You never will." Tom couldn't help but remember the feelings he felt the first time she called for help. She was sobbing and his heart broke and raced at the same time. The idea that she might be in danger scared the living hell out of him. The moment she ducked into his car, all he do could do as she rambled apologies was drag her into him, the rain water on her clothes sticking his clothes to him. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I scared you." "Don't apologize to me." He scolded, taking her face in his hands, "Don't ever do that. Okay?" She nodded and for once in her life, she was grateful for being yelled at. She'd never been told not to do something. She'd never been put in her place before. Especially by a man. And now, here Tom was, holding her eyes in his so intently, she thought she might explode. Or cry. Or both. "Let's get you home love. Let's get you in some warm clothes." "This is good. What is it?" Tom spoke up, his eyes wandering Skyler's spaced out face. She blinked before glancing over at him, "Its sticky chinese lemon chicken. Its normally served with rice. If you want I could-" "I got it. It's the least I could do. You're already doing the chicken." Pulling the box from his cupboard, he started on the rice, turning to her while it cooked. His eyebrows knit together, "What's that look for?" She shook her head, looking at the floor, "Nothing. You're just... you're just really amazing. I can't believe I was blessed with someone like you." Stepping forward, he reached up to tuck hair behind her ear, running his fingers down to her chin, "I'm nothing special love. I'm human and I have a little bit of sympathy." "You don't have to though. Your friend doesn't." "And I know that. He fuels the fire." "But he's right. You don't owe me anything. You literally met me when I was whoreing myself out on a street corner." "Yeah, but look at you now. You don't feel comfortable with it. It was a way to make extra cash and you are an absolutely beautiful girl with an amazing ability and... you... dare I say screwed up. But you're trying. I know you are." Taking her hand, Tom held it in his own. Skyler could feel her heart skip a beat. She'd wanted, so badly. since the moment they first met, to be his. To be his forever. But he'd never asked and she'd never pushed. "I am trying. Its just... it's hard." "And I know that." "And look at me Tom. I'm pitiful. I'm wearing your fucking button up God dammit. I'm just-" "Skyler stop." Dragging her into his arms, tears slowly slipped down her cheeks as she laid her head against his bare shoulder. He rubbed his hands up and down her back, "You're not just anything. You're an amazing girl and anyone, no matter how close I am to them, not willing to see you for who you are on the inside versus a definition based on your profession isn't worth anyone's of our time. Do you understand me?" Leaning back, he collected her face in his hands. She nodded, feeling her heart swell more as he scolded her. Reaching up, she held his hands over his face, closing her eyes. Sighing, she opened her eyes, a tear running down her cheek. Tom reached up and swiped it away with his thumb, caressing her cheek. She swallowed as he pulled away. "Hell... you should just move in. I could get you a job. We could share-" "No. I'm not doing that to you. I'm not gonna sit here and tell you that I'm gonna move in with you because your friend doesn't trust me. You're still not completely convinced that you trust me. And playing the sympathy card, saying that you want me to move in, you're not... you're not thinking straight." Leaning on her hands on the counter, she sighed. She dropped to her elbows, tucking hair behind both of her ears, "I'm not worth all this. I'm not worth the time or the patience or the money, or this key." Pulling it from the pocket of his shirt, she sighed and set it on the counter, "I'm not worth the trouble of all of this. I'm not worth the friendships sacrificed or the time put into this relationship. I mean, I'll never be with you. I'm not worthy of that. I'm not worthy of the feeling of-" "What do you mean you'll never be with me?" Looking up from the pan of chicken, Tom's eyebrows knit together. Glancing up at him, Skyler paused mid sentence, her mouth closing, "I just mean.... we- we'll never..." "Hook up? I don't hook up with you because of your profession. I don't-" "No Tom, not hook up. That's not what I meant. I just meant... I'm not worthy of girlfriend material for you. You don't even like me. You're creeped out by the mention of sex. You think I'm gross and I-" "STOP! Skyler." She looked down at the floor as he scoffed, "Skyler, the entire reason you're allowed in my house is because I'm in love with you." Looking up with wide eyes, she pursed her lips, "What?" Tom smiled, nodding. "I've been into you the second you climbed in my car that first night. The second you looked at me I knew I wanted nothing more. All I've ever wanted was you and that's why I have such a hard time listening to you bag on yourself. I don't come onto you... I don't ask or offer sex because I know you hate it. You made that a profession and the thought of it disgusts you. I know that. I'm not disgusted by you. I really don't care. If you wanna show me bloodwork that tells me you're clean, by all means, you go out and you do it, but that doesn't determine how strong my feelings are for you. I've been in love with you for months now." Staring at each other for a moment, Skyler's heart pounded in her ears. She could feel the tears stinging her eyes again. "Really?" Tom didn't hesitate to nod, "Of course." She stood, frozen where she stood for a moment longer before throwing herself at him. Binding her arms around his neck, he wrapped his around her waist, "I don't care if we never have sex. It's not about that. I love you for what's on the inside." Holding his neck, she pulled back, staring into his genuine, vibrant eyes, "Why haven't you said anything?" He scoffed again, "Right, because you totally wanna be mine. Obviously now I know you do, but... all those times you and I passed in the hall it was kinda awkward. I figured you just... I dunno, needed a place to stay and you just saw me as a friend." "No. No. God Tom, I thought... I thought you'd never be into me. I'm so... I'm grateful for you and I can't imagine life without you. I want to be your forever. God I'd want nothing more." He smiled, "I want that too. I've wanted that for a long time." Smiling, Tom glanced down at her lips, holding her off of her feet. Taking hold of his cheeks, she nodded. He leaned in, her doing the same and in moments, their lips touched in a passionate, every nerve ending on fire, kiss. She held him close, her legs binding around his waist as he worked his lips against hers. Setting her on the counter, she whimpered, tangling her fingers in his hair. He trailed kisses down her neck, her breath coming out in pants and short puffs, her heart pounding out against his chest. He brushed her hair aside, kissing a goosebumped patch of hollowed skin just beside the column of her throat. He could smell his shampoo in her hair. He could smell his body wash across her torso as his nose ran up the underside of her jaw. "So this new girl. She cute?" "God, she's gorgeous Haz. She... she's brunette and she's got the softest hazel eyes and she just... she's perfect. She's what I want in life." Harrison smiled, "That's great man. She sounds good." "Yeah, she is mate." Clapping Tom on the shoulder, Harrison smiled, sipping his drink, "So what does she do? She have a job?" Tom was quick to nod, "Uhh yeah... yeah, she's got a job. Well... kinda." "What do you mean?" Glancing at his best friend over the rim of his tumbler, Harrison furrowed his brows. Tom sighed, running the tip of his index finger over his own glass, "She uhh," glancing around the nearly empty bar, he leaned back against the back of their booth, "she's a... she's a prostitute." If Harrison had anything in his mouth, he would've choked. "Come again?" Swallowing, Tom inhaled and slowly nodded, "I was driving around the night I met her. I parked on a curb. Needed to clear my head and I saw her on a corner across from me. She looked scared. And she was even more so when I approached her. She was like a little abused puppy. But I asked her if she'd like me to take her to get some coffee or some food and with a little bit of reasoning she agreed. So... I took her to a diner, paid for some food, talked to her for a couple hours and I took her home. Saw her a few days later and I... I slipped her my key. The spare. And I hope she uses it." "You gave her your spare key? You gave a PROSTITUTE your spare key?" Tom nodded, "Yeah. She's a real sweet girl and-" "Tom, you do realize the first chance she gets, she'll rob you blind." "She's not like that." "How do you know? She's a whore who sells her body for money. She's probably been with more men than you have fans." "Harrison, shut up. She's a sweet girl and she doesn't deserve this shit. If you ever are in the same room as her and you spout off with this bullshit, I'll kill you myself. I do what I want. You're not gonna tell me how to live my life and you're not gonna tell me who and who not to trust. I trust her. If I get fucked over, it's on me, but I trust her." Tom could feel his blood boil. He could feel his heart pump molten lava through his veins. Glancing up at his best friend, Harrison's eyes had gone dark. He raised his eyebrows and sighed, glancing up at the bar, "Whatever mate. I'll just kick back and tell you I told you so when she takes you for everything you're worth. Maybe then you'll take a look at one of these fine ladies in this bar just waiting to be claimed. But you do you. Your life. As is." "Hey... you okay?" Skyler's soft, hazel eyes careened Tom back to reality. He blinked the image of Harrison away, standing back, "Uhh yeah. Yeah, I'm alright. Just... just thinking about something." "Yeah, what's that?" "Its nothing," waving a hand between them as he turned the burner under the rice out, Tom glanced up at her, "it's nothing. It was just the first time I told Harrison about you. When I told him about approaching you. I remember being so enamoured by you and I couldn't wait to tell him, and I figured he'd be happy and he'd let it slide, and then he asked me what you did for a living. I let it slip and..." Skyler glanced at the floor as Tom shook his head, pulling the lid off the rice and stirring it, "He called me a whore." Tom scoffed in his nose, his eyebrows furrowing in distaste, "He had so much to say about a girl he'd never met that night. He thought I was a fool and he told me I could have anyone in that bar that I wanted and I was making a mistake but I knew..." looking back to Skyler, Tom nodded, "I knew I was making the right decision." "And you still think that?" Skyler cocked her head and smoothed his shirt down over her knees. Tom smiled down at the pot of rice. Nodding slowly, he looked up at her after a moment, "Yeah. Yeah I still think that." She giggled, something he didn't hear often after a moment when he took a step towards her. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Tom slid Skyler across the counter, leaning in on his hands, "I will never, ever regret you. When I met you that first night, I saw how scared you were. I saw how you wanted out and when I offered you dinner, I could see how scared you were of me. I'm not even in the profession and I knew how dangerous it was getting in my car. I knew the second I offered I sounded like a serial killer, but..." letting Skyler run her fingers through his hair, he sighed, "I wanted you. As... creepy as that sounds ya know? I wanted you to be someone that I could confide in and vice versa. I knew I wanted to help someone and you were presented at the right moment. I wanted to help." "And you did. I was terrified. I'm always terrified when a new guy comes in. You never know what they're capable of and I could go missing. No one would care." "I would." She giggled again when he leaned in, her chin in his fingers and gently kissed her lips. She sighed, "You really... don't think you're... outta your depth at all?" She quizzed between kisses. Tom shook his head, drawing her lip back between his teeth, "Nope." Leaning back, she ran her thumb across his cheekbone. Cocking her head, she hummed in her throat, "I don't deserve you." Tilting his own head, he kissed the hill of her hand, his eyes locked in hers, "You don't know how much you're worth my sweet girl." She smiled, draping her wrists over Tom's shoulders. Stroking his hair back, she licked her lips and sat straight up, "Ask me out. I wanna actually be asked out by someone in my lifetime." Tom smiled, laughing through his nose, "Alright. Skyler, would you like to go on a date with me?" Her smile widened. She nodded, hair falling in her eyes, "Yes. Yeah Tom, I'll go out with you." Leaning in again, he pressed a quick kiss to her lips before pulling back completely, "So dinner." Hopping from the counter, she helped Tom plate the food before sitting across from him. Picking up his fork, he glanced up, "What?" She shook her head, "Nothing. I was just thinking that... I kinds wanna meet your friend." Tom took her hand when she held it out, "If you want him to burst into flames then yeah, sure. If you wanna meet him, I can set something up. I'm not telling you no. The idea scares me a little though." "Then you don't have to introduce us. I just... I want him to meet the whore that's stealing his best friend." Tom's smile widened, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles, "No one's stealing me from anyone. I want the both of you to get along. It'll make things a lot easier." She nodded, leaning on her other hand, "I want to get along with him to. I don't like the idea of your longtime best friend not liking me." "Me neither love." Squeezing her hand, Skyler leaned back, flashing him a smile that reminded him of the way she sat across from him in the diner the first night they met. Back then it was shy though. Reserved. Scared. "Hi darling." When she glanced up at Tom through curly brown locks, he could see the fear swimming in her beautiful hazel eyes. She took a hesitant step back and Tom held his hand out. "Sorry. Sorry, I- I didn't mean to spook you. I didn't mean to sneak up on you like that. I uhh... i was sitting in my car over there and i saw that you looked... hesitant. I saw you looked scared. I thought I'd come ask you if you were okay. Talk you up a little bit." That same hesitancy swam in her dark eyes. Her mouth hung open just the slightest. She closed it as she swallowed and nodded, pulling the small bag at her hip, higher onto her shoulder, "M'fine." Tom tucked his hands in his pockets and nodded, "Okay. Okay, yeah. I uhh... I just wanted to make sure. Are you... lost? I could help you find your way." She was weary to shake her head again. What would this pretty boy think of her if he knew she was a hooker? She shook her head firmly, "No I'm not lost." Tom cocked his head just the slightest, confusion written across his features. He hmphed in his throat, "Then why are you out here in the cold wearing a skirt and tank top. I mean... its the middle of winter and you must be cold. I-" The look on Tom's face was like a lightbulb when off in his head. His dark eyes met hers and his mouth hung open, his cheeks seemingly growing more pink in embarrassment, "I-I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were a uhh... I didn't know you were a prostitute. I mean... I don't mean that in a derogatory way I just, I didn't-" "No it's okay. It's okay, I am. I'm a... I am a prostitute." Skyler glanced down at her feet and Tom felt terrible. He didn't take a step forward, afraid of scaring her, "Hey, it's okay. I'm sorry okay? I didn't mean that. You can tell me to fuck off now. I deserve it, I don't blame you." Reaching up, she tucked hair behind her ear, "No it's okay. Seriously. I brought it on myself. I don't have a right to get upset about it. You're a nice guy. I'm not upset." Tom nodded, licking his lips and wondering how she wasn't freezing. Glancing up and down the street he cleared his throat, "Listen I uhh... I know this is sudden and uncalled for and now I don't deserve the company of a pretty girl like yourself, but I uhh... can I offer you some coffee or dinner? There's a diner down the road. They've got really got chicken tenders if you're interested. My treat." She quickly shook her head, "No I couldn't. I couldn't ask you to do that I-" "Please, it's the least I could do. I've snuck up on you, I've insulted you, hell, you probably deserve a lot more than what I'm offering for the way I've treated you the past two minutes we've somewhat known each other." His bright, exuberant smile made her heart race in her chest. He tucked his hands in his pockets, "Look, if I leave you out here I'll feel guilty as hell. Just... an hour with me, in public, I just don't want you to freeze to death out here. You can have whatever you want." The idea tugged at her brain, unravelling the ribbon around her heart that protected her from human emotions like her clients didn't like. Each time a breeze picked up, her knees threatened to give out. She was cold and the fear of climbing in his car, never to be heard from again was strong but he was offering a chance many people didn't. And she liked the idea of it. Tom was patient, looking her over as she glanced around them for a moment before she licked her lips and slowly nodded. Tom smiled, "There ya go. Come on. I've got my mind set on cherry pie and coffee now." Turning his back to her, he started towards his car, turning to make sure she followed. When he opened the passenger side door, she climbed in and waited for him, looking over as he climbed in beside her and turned the heater on. Pausing movement for just a moment, Tom reached in his pocket and pulled out money, counting a hundred dollars out and holding it over the center console, "I'm not paying you for sex or anything. I uhh... I want you to have it. It's probably not much but something." When she opened her mouth, Tom shook his head, "Its alright. You can take it. A hundred... isn't much, ya know? Just uhh... pretend it didn't happen." Taking it after a few moments, she nodded and tucked it into her clutch. Tom swallowed and pulled his car into drive,

"Oh uhh... by the way," looking to her, he smiled again, "I'm Tom. Tom Holland."

Taglist: @embrace-themagic @delicioustommy @spiderman-n @winters-beauty @smexylemony @lolabean1998

Soothe

At the request of @aeriamamaduck: Fenris is sick (and grumpy), but Eden takes care of him anyways.  Featuring Ezra Hawke (Eden’s twin) and his sometimes-successful home remedies.

Eden woke up to a blast of cold air.

She shivered and reached out for the covers only to find them pulled to the other side of the bed.

“Fenris?” she murmured as she lifted herself off the pillow.  “You’ve taken all the covers.”

A low groan came from the cocoon of blankets beside her.  Eden furrowed her brow as she nudged down the blankets, trying to see just where the blankets ended and Fenris began.  “Are you all right?” she asked.

“No,” he said.  “I feel terrible.”

“Aww,” Eden said as she pulled the covers away from Fenris’saeri face.  “What’s wrong?”

Fenris sneezed.  “Cold,” he muttered.  “The sickness and the feeling.”

“Just wait here, love,” Eden said before leaning over to kiss him on the forehead.  “I’ll get you something to make you feel better.”

“Don’t bother,” he said.  “I’m sure I just need some rest.”

“Of course you need rest,” Eden said as she got out of bed and wrapped her robe around her.  “But you also need something to help you feel better.”

Fenris sat up and slowly turned towards her.  “Hawke, just forget it,” he replied.  “I’ll be fine.”

“I know you will, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stand by and do nothing.”

She heard Fenris groan as she left the room and hurried downstairs and smiled to herself.  Despite his protests, she knew that Fenris would benefit from someone taking care of him today.

“Morning, E,” Ezra said as Eden entered the kitchen.

“Good morning yourself,” Eden said.  “Do you have anything that might help with a cold?”

“Feeling under the weather?”

“No—it’s Fenris,” she said.  “Do you mind if I take the day off?  I want to make sure he actually rests up.”

Ezra arched an eyebrow at her.  “Do I mind?” he asked.  “Eden, I’ve been telling you to take a break for weeks now.”

Eden had a vague memory of Ezra telling her to take a day off, but it was a comment that she’d pushed aside in favor of the more important things she had to do.  “And now you finally get your wish,” she said.

“If I knew that Fenris getting sick would get you to finally rest, I would’ve told him to fake a cold ages ago.”

“Fortunately for you, he has a real one,” Eden said drily.  “Do we have anything that could help with that?”

“Hmm,” Ezra mused as he opened the cupboards.  “I have a few things that might work—give me a minute.”

Ezra had always had an interest in medicine. Since Bethany had been taken to the Circle, he had learned how to treat common and non-serious ailments: a relief, since he and Eden had enough chronic conditions between them to make any healer sigh in exasperation.  His cough syrup and calming tea had helped Eden through more than one rough spot over the past several years and even though Anders’s clinic wasn’t far away, she was glad to have a healer at home again.  Besides, going to Darktown on the cusp of an anxiety attack wasn’t a sustainable idea.

“Ah, here we go,” he said.  He took a bottle from one of the cabinets and handed it to her.  “Heat some water and add a few spoonfuls,” he said.  “Add some honey for good measure—it’s pretty disgusting, but it’ll help his throat and his nose and give his immune system a gentle kick in the ass.  Give him more in the afternoon if he still feels shitty.”

“You’re the best,” Eden said as she wrapped her brother in a one-armed hug.  “Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”

“Just take care of Fenris and enjoy your time off,” Ezra replied.  “That’s more than enough.”

“Thank you,” Eden said, setting the bottle down on the counter before reaching for the kettle.  “I suppose you’re going to see Sebastian first?” she asked.

“Naturally,” Ezra replied.  “He lives closest.  It wouldn’t make sense to head down to Lowtown only to come all the way back to get him.”

“Of course,” Eden said as she filled the kettle with water.  “And this has nothing to do with the two of you getting to spend some time alone together, right?”

Ezra flushed.  “That’s certainly an upside of it,” he admitted.

“Well, I’m sure he’ll be just as excited for that time alone as you are,” Eden said.  “I know you want to give him time, but with the way he’s been looking at you, I doubt he’ll need much more of it.”

“I hope you’re right, E,” Ezra replied.  “I just hope I don’t embarrass myself.”

“If you do, there’s no one better to do it in front of,” Eden said.  “It might be a little awkward at first, but he won’t ever tease you about it.”

“Is this about the time you answered the door in a bedsheet and it was Sebastian instead of me or Amaryllis?”

Eden flushed.  “It might be,” she said.  “At least he didn’t mention it to anyone else.  I’m not sure Varric would’ve ever let me hear the end of it, but Sebastian hasn’t breathed a word.”

“True,” Ezra said.  “Speaking of attire, should I change my shirt?  I think I wore this one the last time I saw Sebastian.”

“Ezra, please tell me you’re not about to go out fighting in nothing but this,” she said, gently tugging at the sleeve of his thin shirt.

“Ah fuck, that’s right—stabbing is a thing that could happen,” he muttered.  “He’ll see the sleeves, though, and he might know it’s the same one.”

Eden sighed.  Her brother was overanalyzing the situation, but she knew better than to talk him out of changing his shirt.  If that was what he needed to feel a little less nervous, then so be it.  “Wear a blue one,” she said.  “It brings out your eyes.”

“Perfect,” Ezra said, already removing his shirt as he ran upstairs.  “Thanks, E!”

Eden shook her head and smiled as she took a mug out of the cupboard.  Her brother might be the more organized and rational of the two of them, but having a crush always made him a little frazzled.  She could only hope that today would ease his anxiety around Sebastian instead of increasing it.

~~

A while later, Eden carried the diluted medicine into hers and Fenris’s room.

Fenris’s brow furrowed as she entered.  “You’re staying home today?” he asked.

Eden nodded.  “Ezra’s handling things,” she said as she sat beside him on the bed, cradling the mug between her hands.  “Now drink this.”

Fenris peered suspiciously at the mug.  “What is it?”

“Medicine,” she said.  “It might not taste good, but it’ll help.”

Fenris took the cup from her and sipped cautiously at the beverage.  As soon as it passed his lips, he shoved the mug back into Eden’s hands.

“Hawke,” he said, “that is disgusting.”

“You don’t have to drink it all at once,” Eden said.  “Just take it a little at a time and it won’t be so bad.”

“Did your brother tell you what he put in it?” Fenris asked.

Eden shook her head.  

“Taste it,” Fenris said.  “I’m not going to drink any more until you know what you just made me put in my mouth.”

Eden took a sip, expecting a bit of unpleasantness, but she was not prepared for the acidic sourness that assaulted her mouth.  “Oh sweet Maker,” she sighed once she’d recovered from the taste.  “He must’ve used apple cider vinegar as the base.  It is good for you, but it tastes awful.”

“Perhaps because it’s so disgusting that it makes everything less disgusting by comparison.”

Eden smiled.  “You’re supposed to dilute it a lot,” she said.  “The taste doesn’t bother Ezra, so he must’ve gotten the amounts wrong.”

“How does it not bother him?”

“Sensory issues,” Eden said.  “Believe me, you’re not the one who’s been unpleasantly surprised like this.  Just think of it as initiation into the family.”

“I’d prefer something less painful,” Fenris replied.

“I don’t blame you,” she said, leaning forward to kiss Fenris on the forehead.  “I’ll try adding this to some tea.  Hopefully then it won’t taste quite so bad.”

Fenris chuckled darkly.  “If it does, I’ll just stay sick.”

~~

Half an hour later, Fenris had finished the drink and was swaddled under no fewer than six blankets.  He’d initially protested, but Eden had felt how cold his extremities were and immediately dragged three more blankets out of the linen closet.  He was sending halfhearted glares in her direction every so often, but Eden hadn’t heard him complain about being cold.

“Do you need anything else?” she asked.

“Yes.  For you to stop asking me that.”

“Anything besides that,” she said.  “And don’t tell me to go away either.  You’re stuck with me for the day.”

A smile flicked across Fenris’s face.  “Shame.”

“I know,” Eden replied, sighing in mock exasperation.  “How terrible.”

Fenris chuckled.  “I can think of worse punishments.”

Eden arched an eyebrow.  “Like what?”

Before Fenris could answer, Ezra strode through the door, clad in the blue shirt that Eden had suggested.

“Like him,” Fenris said.

“What?” Ezra asked as he spread his arms in surrender.  “What did I do?”

“Apple cider vinegar,” Fenris spat.

Ezra’s brow furrowed for a moment before his face lit up with realization.  “Ah fuck, I didn’t tell Eden to dilute it enough.”

“Yes, we figured that out,” Eden said drily.  “I fixed it, though—or at least I managed to give Fenris something drinkable.”

“Good,” Ezra said.  “Try giving him two more doses—that should do the trick.”

Eden nodded.  “Anything else that could help?”

“Ah, I nearly forgot,” Ezra said, turning his attention to Fenris as he placed a small tin on the nightstand.  “I have some salve for you too—not for your cold, but for your pain.  I’ve been working on it for a while now, but I think I’ve finally got it right.  Let me know if it works and if it doesn’t, I’ll try tweaking it.”

Fenris picked up the tin, rolling it between his hands before tossing it back onto the nightstand with a sigh.  “Now you’re both fussing over me,” he muttered.

Ezra chuckled.  “You signed up for it when you moved in with us,” he said.  “We’re good at taking care of people, even when those people act like they don’t need help.”

“I don’t,” insisted Fenris.

“I know,” Ezra replied.  “But it’s easier to have someone help you than to struggle along by yourself.”

Fenris’s mouth quirked up into a brief smile.  “Thank you, Hawke,” he said.  “You didn’t need to go to all this trouble.”

Ezra waved away the comment.  “It was nothing—just something I’ve been working on here or there.”

“Ezra,” Eden chided, “you’ve been working on that salve for months.”

“Only because I had to wait until I was sore to test it.”

“Don’t believe him,” she murmured to Fenris.  “I know exactly how much time he spent on this.”

“Well, thank you for tarnishing that image of me as a medical genius,” Ezra teased.  “I’d better be going now before you make me look any worse.”

“Be safe,” she said as she pulled him into an embrace.

“Of course,” he replied, giving Eden a final squeeze before he headed for the door.  “See you later, E.”

Eden waved to him one last time before shutting the door and sitting down on the bed beside Fenris.  “So, should we try out the salve?”

“I’m honestly not sure,” Fenris said as he eyed the tin.  “At least I don’t have to worry about the taste, but after that...I don’t exactly have full confidence in your brother’s medical skills.”

“You know,” Eden said, “I don’t blame you.”

Hearth- a Naruto Fanfic (CH 2)

Hi, I don’t own Naruto or any of the characters in this story.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13035782/2/Hearth

Two

SASU

“Strip down here.” Sakura ordered. From my place just inside her household door, I could not help but immediately halt. I could feel my jaw drop. Sighing and quickly looking away, she elaborated. “Sasuke. You look like shit. You are a mess. You’re full of mud, stinky, and to top it all off, I just cleaned my house last night. So please. Take off those filthy rags, and I’ll show you to your room.” The tips of her ears were dusted in a light rose, as were her cheeks. Was it because she was upset, or because of the implications that her telling me to strip could provoke, had she not elaborated? “I’m sure all your clothes are dirty, I think I might have something sitting around that’ll fit you…” she trailed off, or I stopped listening. “Hn.” was all I could manage to say. If I opened my mouth further, I could not guarantee that I wouldn't be harsh with her. Who’s clothing would I be wearing what man would she-, no, what man would DARE to stay in her home? Her home is off limits. Sakura is off limits. I would have to have a little chat with whoever decided to stay here. I’ll have to somehow get her to tell me who was here last. Almost as if she was reading my mind, the next words out of her mouth answered my questions.

“...Naruto was here about a week or so ago” she smiled slightly, and my previous rage and determination to beat the man who stayed in her home to a pulp was slightly forgotten. The dobe was in for a beating. Didn’t he have his own place to stay?? More importantly, I was stuck wondering about the fact that her small, wistful smile affected me so much. Gods, what is happening to me? Tuning back in from my inner ramblings, she continued on with her little anecdote. “Hinata had just left for a diplomatic mission to Suna, and he claimed the “house was too empty without her warmth”, and he didn’t want to stay there alone...he was soo mopey. It was kind of cute, actually.” She giggled, and with that, it was back to Serious Sakura. “Leave your pack by the door, I’ll get your laundry started. You know where the bathroom is. There should be towels and washcloths in the cabinet next to the sink. Your room is the first left in the hallway, there’s fresh linens and everything. I’ll leave Naruto’s clothes outside of the door, for when you’re done. After that, we’re having tea. Did you eat already? Well...we don’t have to have tea, I’m sure you’re tired and all, since you’ve been travelling so long…” She trailed off, looking slightly unsure. The entire time she was talking, I was just staring. It was quite amusing, how quick she could go from rambling about Naruto, to bossing me around like a wife would to her husband, to being shy and unsure. I didn’t like that Sakura, the one without confidence. It reminded me of the times in which I had made her think she was anything less than strong and important. I didn’t understand what she could be unsure about, though. Of course I want to spend time with her.

Without a thought, I found myself raising my hand to poke her forehead. “Sakura...thank you”. As I walked away, I wasn’t sure if i could hear a slight gasp, or if it was just my imagination hoping so. On my way down the hall to the bathroom, I stopped in front of the room that was to be mine for the next couple of days/weeks/months. How many men has she helped? Does she boss them around like she did with me? Does she demand that they have tea together, and then become shy after? Does she was their laundry as well?  I hoped these small little things were only for me, but I could not be mad at her if they werent. Sakura is a caring and affectionate person by nature, and she would never turn down a comrade in need of help.

SAKU

It was hard to believe that Sasuke was here in the flesh, I mean, he had been gone only for 5-ish months, but he never told me when he would be back, or really if he planned on coming back. It crushed me. When he left, he did say he would take me with him next time he came to the village, however, he was extremely vague on when that would be. Knowing him, it could have been years before he returned. Then again, he proved me wrong by returning here. On top of that he returned to me before seeing anyone else. Why did he come to my house rather than seeing Kakashi sensei? Perhaps he needed healing of some form.

 “Sakura.” a deep voice broke my internal musings, making me drop the mug I was grabbing from the cupboard.

“OH! Sasuke, I didn’t realize you were already out of the shower, what kind of tea would you like? I have camomile with lavender, irish breakfast tea, or jasmine. I can run out and get a different kind if none of these are to your liking…” UGH why does this always happen to me around him? I am always a nervous blubbering fool and it drives me crazy. He must think I’m insane.

“Tch, you’re a kunoichi, you should be more aware of your surroundings, Sakura. Camomile is fine.” Sasuke reprimanded as he walked further into my tiny little alcove of a kitchen.

“Are you sure? I know you like matcha the best. I’m fresh out, actually….” Nervously I began rummaging through my fridge. “As for food, I have some rice, some fruits, and I know for a fact that I have some dried cuttlefish somewhere. Are you hungry, Sasuke-kun? I don’t have much- today is my grocery day.”

“...Sakura, how can such a renowned healer only have leftover rice and dried fish in her house? We’ll go shopping. At the very least, I can cook in return for your letting me stay here.”  

I couldn't help but stop dead in my tracks. Not only was he teasingly reprimanding me, but he also was offering to cook for me, too? Run my errands with me? Before I even had time to respond, I felt Sasuke’s presence right behind me. “Annoying girl, do you even eat?” Leaning over my crouched form into my fridge he picked up an old soggy looking stalk of celery and tossed it on the kitchen counter. “Lets go, we’ll go shopping now.”

In a sudden bit of clarity, I could only see two issues with our little outing. “Sasuke-kun, what about letting Kakashi know you’re here? And Naruto? If he finds out from someone that you’re here, he won’t shut up for daaaays. I mean it! When I left for a mission without saying goodbye he cold shouldered me for two weeks after I got back. Of course, he came burling into my house the moment I returned. I suspect he just wanted to know I was okay.” I said with a light giggle. “He then turned up his nose and stormed out of the door he just threw open. Didn’t even say a word!!”

“Hn. The dobe can come to me if he has an issue with my being here. I’m not his boyfriend. I don’t have to come to him right away any time I step foot in this village. As for the old man, I suppose we’ll stop on the way to the market. The guards probably told him I’m back the thirty seconds after I stepped through the gates.”

In the short hour and a half that Sasuke has been back, I’ve noticed a change in him. What happened in those months he was gone? I can almost feel the lighter aura coming from him, when once, in his presence, all I could feel was his self loathing and bitterness towards the world. Maybe he found love on his travels? Oh my god...maybe he has a girlfriend and she’s helping him restore the clan? Or maybe he found out he is terminally ill and decided to live his life to the fullest??? One thing I know for certain, I would not take this new, lighter Sasuke for granted. I mean, for the most part he has always been more open with me, but today, it’s like he has let down all of his walls with me. A slight poke on my arm snapped me out of my ramblings. “Sakura, what’s going on with you today? You’re out of it. You should see Tsunade.”

“I’m fine, Sasuke-kun. I guess I’m still processing the fact that you’re, well, here. I expected you to be away much longer than this...I missed you.” I said, gathering my cardigan, wallet, and my keys. We should get a move on, the market will be getting busier this time of day, and we want the best options. Tally-ho!!” And with that, I grabbed his wrist and dragged him out of my little slice of heaven and into the bright midday sun of a calm Spring day. Instead of taking his hand out of my grasp like I expected him to, he grabbed my own and gave it a light squeeze before dropping it to my side. The blush that adorned my face was out of my control. Why is it that the simplest gestures caused me to spiral into a mess of emotions? We walked lazily to the Hokage tower, soaking in the first real day of sunshine and temperatures above 45° that Konoha has seen in about three months. Sasuke’s shoulder would occasionally brush mine as we avoided the bustling citizens wandering the streets. It might have been because Sasuke was here at my side,walking close enough that our hands were touching, but I felt as though everyone and their mother was out today, and they were all staring at us.

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The trip to see Kakashi-sensei wasn’t as momentous as I had thought it would be. As Sasuke said, Kakashi already knew of his return.

“Ah Sakura! My favorite student! To what do I owe this visit?! And Sasuke too?” His eyes crinkled up above his ever present face mask. “Is there some love advice you two are in need of? I can lend you a copy of my Icha Icha books!”

With a glint in my eye I was about ready to throw one of the many stacks of papers on his desk to the ground. “Actually, Sensei,” I said with a sarcastic sneer, “Sasuke just stopped by to let you know he has returned to the village for the time being.”

“Ah yes, I knew the minute he walked past the gates. As you know, we just got new and improved security systems that can help detect chakra signatures from 5 miles away!! Although I am happy to see you two...I was getting a bit bored with all the paperwork here. Heh. Are you sure you don’t need those books? Could you maybe tell Shizune that you need them anyway? If you don’t I can take them off your hands...please? Sakura, my favorite! I need just a tiny tiny break from all of this dreadful Hokage business, and she’s taken that one escape away from me! She trusts you! She’d tell you where she’s hidden them in a heartbeat!”

“Sasuke,” I whispered, “We need to leave. Now. It’ll only get worse from here…”

“Some Hokage you are, old man. Lets go, Sakura.”

“No! Don’t go! Unless...are you going to get my books?!?!”

As we quickly made our way out of the Hokage Tower I made sure to stop by Shizune’s office.

“He’s getting worse, Shizune. He’s up to his neck in paperwork. Maybe offer Icha Icha Paradise as a reward for getting some of his work done?”

“Sakura! Sasuke-san! Was it that bad? When I left him about twenty minutes ago he was doing alright….” The poor girl...she got stuck with two Hokages who hated paperwork. One who had a drinking problem, and the newest one who had an addiction to his porn books. I could see the wrinkles from stress forming on her forehead. I sure dodged a bullet with that one, as Kakashi asked me to be his assistant when he first got elected into office.

“Yeah, Shizune, it was that bad. Anyway, we’re off. Lots of things to do, places to be, horny Hokages to avoid….you know, the usual!” with that I dragged a stunned Sasuke out of the doors and into the crowded streets. Sasuke stopped in his tracks, and stared at me with wide onyx eyes.

“What the fuck just happened?”

“Honestly Sasuke, I’m not too sure myself. He’s usually not this bad. Shizune always takes his books away for a little bit to try to goad him into working. He sets up elaborate schemes to get them from her. It kinda feels like we stepped into an alternate dimension for a bit, right?” I said, tiredly. “Let’s get to the market. I could really use a quick cup of coffee and maybe a light snack while we shop. And to forget about whatever that was.

SASU

As we walked through the village together, I couldn’t help but glance at the pink haired girl--no, woman, next to me. The years have been kind to her, and although we are still young, we have all been through so much. The young woman next to me is far different from the girl I knew before I left. Once upon a time, she was a tall, gangly little thing with bright green eyes, and a forehead too big for her face. Now, at almost 20, she’s grown into that forehead, her eyes still that bright, spring green despite all that she has seen.

“Sakura, you’re short.” I stated. She used to be taller than me. Now, she only comes up to my neck.

With widened eyes and a flustered expression, Sakura responded a little too quickly to hide her shock at my observation.  “Wha?! No I’m not! I’m average height, thank you very much! You-you’re too tall!”

“Hn.” I said, looking away. “It’s cute though..” I muttered into the breeze without a thought. I could feel the tips of my ears burning. Why is it that these thoughts come so easily to my brain? With a sigh, I couldn't help but wish that I was able to suppress them more.

“HUH? What was that Sasuke-kun? Do you care to repeat it? I am not short! Hey! Are you listening to me?”

“Sakura. Shut up.” I said, ruffling her hair, a slight smirk forming at the corners of my mouth. With a pout, she stomped off in the direction of the coffee shop closest to the market. “Annoying” I muttered to myself more than anyone. With a headstart to the little cafe ahead of us, I had to jog a bit to catch up. The place must have been newly built after Pein’s invasion. As the old Konoha had hardly any cafes. The only one being an old teahouse that hardly had any visitors. This place, however, had a new, yet homey feel to it, with large glass windows allowing the bright sun in, little tables inside of a delicate white fence surrounding the small patio, and green plants hanging everywhere. I could see Sakura spending her time here when she wasn’t working at the hospital, training, or reining in Naruto’s crazy antics.

I just got to her in time for us to order our drinks. Sakura ordering a chai tea with extra cinnamon, and a raspberry danish was no surprise to me. The girl had an insatiable sweet tooth, which was one thing that never changed throughout our childhood.

“Sasuke-kun, did you want anything? My treat!” Her previous annoyance with me seemed to be forgotten.

“I’ll take an iced coffee, no sugar, and room for cream. I’ll find us somewhere to sit.”

“Hm, okay! Somewhere by a window, please!”

For some reason, I felt light today. The biggest part due to Sakura’s presence. She made me feel calm, despite all of the worries floating in my head. I knew the moment I decided to come back to the village that I would ask her to leave with me, but I didn’t know how she would answer. Perhaps she has decided that she’s needed in the village, working at the hospital. She mentioned, one brisque fall evening before I left, that she wanted to open up a mental health ward for orphaned children. It was one of those nights where I found myself unable to leave her presence, although I couldn’t place why. Now, after months of being away I could finally realize it. Her presence was something I could no longer be without for more than necessary. Her smile was something I wished to see every day. The way she blushed and looked away smiling when she caught me staring, like just now, was something that comforted me on my travels. Sakura Haruno had loved me for a long time. I came to realize I’ve loved her just as long. The avenger in me shoved those feelings so far into the recesses of my soul for most of my life. The darkness shrouded so much love from my precious people, and I was blinded. Sakura deserves better than me, but I made an unspoken promise to her, and to myself that day five months ago. I promised to be a man worthy of the love she has curated for years. To be worthy of her. However, that didn't stop me from wondering, did she still want to travel with me? Did she still love me the way she did, all those years ago? My mind was heavy with the thoughts that she may not want that, or me, any longer. After all, I have left her behind so many times before.

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“Sasuke-kun!! What should we make for lunch? I was thinking some sukiyaki? Or we could keep it simple and do miso soup and rice?”

“Sukiyaki sounds nice, lets go check Mr. Yuashi’s stand for the vegetables. He always has the best selection.”

  “Ah, Sasuke, he’s in the hospital currently...nothing to serious! Just a simple case of pneumonia...but I don’t think his wife was able to run the stand alone. Mrs. Uzuko however, has a nice stand as well. She grows all of her vegetables in a little garden outside of the village! That’s where I usually get your tomatoes from. She actually gave me a small cherry tomato plant since I was constantly buying them.”

“Hn, let’s go there then. It seems as though more is changing in the village since i’ve been gone. What else is new, besides the coffee shop?”

“Well, since the war ended, we were able to hire contractors from other villages to help us get back on our feet after the invasion. Beforehand, we didn’t have the manpower to spare anyone for those projects, and we couldn't ask anyone from other smaller villages for help, since they were all trying to stay safe from Madara and all that was happening. There has been an influx of small shops opening up now since we have more space. It’s been really cool, actually. Civilians from other villages have been moving here to try and expand their businesses, and it’s greatly improved our trade with different nations. Just recently, I found a new plant shop that opened up near the old Uchiha district. His name is Sechi and he’s from Suna. Oh my gods, Sasuke! He has some amazing herbs and plants that can only grow in the hot desert environment! I made a really cool salve that can help with sunstroke. The leafs can also be used to cure vomiting and heartburn. He also-sorry, am I rambling? I’m rambling. Anyway, the village always seems to be growing these days. It makes me happy.”

Sakura could talk for hours, and when that used to annoy me, I now found myself being pulled in by every word she said. I realized I hadn’t said anything since she stopped talking 45 seconds ago. She would probably take that as me not wanting to talk, solidifying her thought that I would presumably be annoyed by her ramblings. “The relationships between Hidden Villages and smaller ones alike seem to be strengthening. Change within the shinobi world is changing. That gives me hope. Thank you, Sakura, for telling me.I would like to see that shop sometime, but for now... Let’s get our ingredients and go home, I’m getting hungry.” With that, I grabbed her hand, pulling her towards the small line in front of the produce stand so we could finally get back to the solace of her small apartment.

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SAKU

Never in my life did I expect Sasuke to be such a proficient chef. The minute we arrived back to my house, he was a tornado of efficiency in the kitchen. Somehow, he managed to find everything he needed without any help.

“Is there anything I can help with?”

“No.”

“Not even cutting the vegetables?”

“No, Sakura, just go do whatever. I’ll call you when the food is ready.”

. . .

“Actually, do you have any sake? I didn’t see any in your cabinets. That would go well with this dish.”

“Hah! You’re really asking me, the Fifth Hokage's apprentice, if I have any sake? Of course I do! You don’t train under Tsunade-shishou and not learn to have sake on deck, just in case. That woman would tear my house apart looking for some if Shizune even took it away from her for more than two days.”

“Off you go, then.”

With that, I was dismissed from the kitchen. Sasuke really seemed different, like there was a burden lifted off his chest. My earlier thought of him having a woman outside of the village floated through my mind, but I decided that he wouldn’t have held my hand earlier if he had someone else. I know with my heart that Sasuke is loyal to those he considers his precious people through and through. Although his past actions may contradict that, he isn’t leading a path of redemption for no reason. While Sasuke was busy cooking our lunch, I got to organizing a box of old pictures that my mother had dropped of the day before. As I was shuffling through them, I came across a picture of Team Seven in the Land of Waves. A picture I completely forgot taking. It was our first big mission, and we didn’t even know it at that point. It’s crazy how time has passed, how each of us has persevered against all odds. Although we don’t always get to see each other at the same time, what with Sasuke traveling, Naruto being with Hinata, and Kakashi being the Hokage, that family tie will forever be there. Those are my boys and they always will be. Lost in my reminiscing, I didn't hear Sasuke come up behind me until he was crouched down behind me, looking at the picture in my hand, his breath warm on my ear.

“We were such spring babies then. We had no clue how big of an opponent we would be facing with Zabuza and Haku. We didn’t know of the trails we would all have to face in the coming years.”

Gasping, I dropped the picture. “Geeze, Sasuke-kun, can’t you make some noise when you’re walking around?? But yeah, we had no clue then...I remember you being so unwilling to take that picture. Actually, this is the first time I’ve seen it. After that mission, I didn’t even bring my camera with me anymore. I completely forgot about it. My mom must have developed the pictures for me...I would have liked to have this when you were gone.”

“Why’s that?

“So I could look back on times that were simpler. Times when you were still here. I now understand why you left, however I still don’t think it was the right choice. Part of me is greatful, still. Without your leaving, I think I would have stayed stuck in my old ways. Relying on you and Naruto to protect me…”

“I’m sorry Sakura. You deserved better than that. But I’m glad you’re stronger because of it.The food is ready. Let’s go eat.” he said as he pulled on a lock of my hair. “It’s grown out a bit, I like it at this length. It suits you well.”

With a slight blush, I made to get up, but not before Sasuke held out his sole hand to help me up from my position on the floor.

“Thank you. For being here, and for making lunch. Sasuke...if you don’t mind me asking...how’d you cut the vegetables and tofu with one hand?”

“Simple, I summoned a hand made from my susanoo.”

“Sasuke-kun, you’re ridiculous. I would have helped, you know.”

“Hn. Too bad.” he said with the slight smile he’s only shown in my presence.

--

The food was better than I expected. Not only was he confident in the battle field, but he was in the kitchen as well. Was this man skilled in every aspect of life? My imagination got the best of me as I imagined coming home from a long day to a shirtless Sasuke, adorned with the lemon printed apron I keep hanging up in the kitchen, inviting me to the bedroom...in this fantasy, he cooked me a lavish breakfast in bed, and he was the dessert. The blush that covered my face was impossible to hide.

“Sakura, is everything alright? You’re flushed.”

“Ha! Haa..yeah, I’m fine! Must be the sake getting to me. Although I know how to handle my alcohol, it doesn’t stop me from getting blushed really easily!!!!!!” I lied through a sip of said sake. “This is amazing, Sasuke. Is there anything you can’t do?” I let my inner thought slip out, despite my wish to keep those thoughts strictly to myself. Perhaps the alcohol was getting to me more than usual.

“Hn, you’ll just have to find out.” Voiced the smirking Uchiha from behind his own cup of sake, the somehow deeper vibrato of his voice cascading across the table. What exactly that meant, I wasn’t sure of, and I couldn’t help the shiver of a n t i c i p a t i o n that went down my spine.

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AUTHORS NOTE:

Helllooo lovely readers! I hope you like the newest installment of Hearth. I’m sorry I’ve been inactive for so long! I am hoping to update more frequently, however I am a super busy person and this is more of a passtime for me. I’m trying to keep this as cannon as possible, so pleeeease let me know if the characters seem too OOC (especially Sasuke). I want to show that through his short time on his travels, he has begun to change. That doesn’t mean his demons are gone and he is no longer the brooding Sasuke we all know. ANYWHO, please review/like etc. Thank you all so much! ***Pls see the authors note on my ff.web page for more in depth info about when this takes place and such.***