#//and did the wind manage to get me to fall over?…. that’s another story for another time//

[richardxoliverxmayhew]

//To all my mutuals who have experience with the cold— how tf do you not get knocked over by strong af winter wind when walking around ty ✌🏽 Sincerely, your friendly neighborhood gremlin//

[lucid-loves]

simon slowly falling in love with reader after hating her for a long time⁉️

Sorry this took so long! I hope you enjoy it! ❤

Nuclear Date Night

Pairing: Ghost x 141!reader (fem!reader, weaponsengineer!reader, codename: Byte)

Word Count: 12.8k, One-Shot

CW: strong language, mention of violence, hate to love relationship, rivals, competitive, competence, realized feelings, smut, body praise, deep kissing, licking, fingering, biting, p in v

Let me know if I missed any CWs.

Story Synopsis: Ghost hates your guts. Even since you joined the team as their new weapons engineer two years ago, he’s hated you with his whole chest. With your high and mighty attitude, bewildering intellect, and unwavering confidence, he can’t stand you. You hate him too with his unreadable face, demeaning protection, and lack of grace. When an undercover mission requires the two of you to get closer, though, the both of you realize your hate for one another has turned into something else entirely. 

You ignored the icy cold glare the lieutenant kept on your figure as you explained how the new sniper-focus worked. Your comrades stared at your invention in wonderment, once again reminded just why you were part of the team. Thanks to your countless all-nighters and delicate hands, you managed to invent a focus that can attach to any sniper, calculate notches and wind speed, recommend the gun-adjust accordingly, and hit a target perfectly with over 98% accuracy. No matter the distance, no matter the weather, your focus powered with A.I. calculated assistance can kill any target. 

Everyone was impressed. Save for Ghost. 

“Aim at the target, give it a second to calculate, and then listen to the adjustment with the earpiece. After that, just adjust the aim and fire. Pretty simple stuff, really.” You demonstrated, large sniper in hand. 

The wind blew through your hair, dust coating your strands like moth to a flame. From a distance, a whipping dust devil was forming across the golden sands of the desert. It was dry, it was hot, and it was windy as hell. It was the perfect place to demonstrate your brilliance. 

When you joined the team two years ago, you knew that you had to put your heart and soul into this job in order to be taken seriously. You weren’t especially muscular or tall. As a soldier, you did train for instances of defense in case it was needed, but your true power relied on your smarts. A rather overlooked sign of an excellent soldier that often invited ridicule from the more traditional soldier. 

That’s exactly what Ghost did when he first met you. 

“You sure this shrimp can handle herself? Be one of us? She looks like she can barely lift a spoon without straining her wrist.”

You bit the inside of your cheek at the memory, muscles tensing as if you were in that moment once again. The memory of your response quickly took over. 

“Are you sure this meat-head can handle my science? He looks like he can barely use a blender without getting confused by all the buttons.”

You both left a bitter taste in each other’s mouths that day. The taste has lingered ever since, tainting nearly every interaction you had. It was a wonder how you haven’t killed each other yet. 

Setting up the sniper, you prepped for the real demonstration. While you did final adjustments to the focus, you called over your rival. “Ghost, test this for us.”

“Why do I have to be the guinea pig? I don’t need a fucking robot to focus my aim anyway.” He protested, every cold tone in his words deliberate. 

The team shifted uncomfortably, even after all this time still not used to the spats the two of you got into. Attempts to resolve the bad blood have always failed. It was easier to just let the two of you spit your fire until you ran out of fuel. 

“Alright then, tough guy, you can aim without it. Go ahead, hit the target.” You nonchalantly agreed, confident that things were going to go your way this round. Ghost noticed that easy acceptance you gave, his eyes narrowing at you as he tried to figure you out. What was your game this time?

Not one to back down, he approached the sniper and aimed it normally, your focus set to default. No robots, no artificial intelligence. Just plain-Jane markers for distance. Looking through the scope, Ghost looked for the little red flag that indicates the location of the fake target used for practice. After a while of looking at nothing but sand, he spotted the target just past the dust devil. 

He would have to account for that. You planned for this. No wonder you insisted on dragging them all out to this dry wasteland. He clenched his teeth, blood simmering as you tried to make him look like a fool in front of his team. Backing away, though, would make him lose this game. Shooting and missing would also give you the victory point. Either way, both scenarios made him look incompetent.

God, he fucking hated you. 

Suppressing a malicious smile, you antagonize him. The feeling of beating him made your heart race in excitement. “Any day now, Ghost.”

He hated the way you drew his name out like that. The way you so easily said it like it was nothing but air to you. Like bubblegum being blown and popped at your will. His name should’ve struck fear and intimidation. Instead, you chewed on it. Popped bubbles with it. 

Aiming the scope, he lined up his shot, and fired. Watching the bullet carefully, he saw it shoot forth with speed right on the dead center of the target, whip back from the dust devil, and hit sand with an explosion of grain. 

It took everything in him not to fucking leave right then and there. 

“Good shot if you planned on missing. Now, use my focus.” You continued to tease, twisting the knife further into his already wounded pride. There was little snickering coming from his men, Gaz and Soap not being able to contain themselves. They would admit that sometimes your fights were funny. It was a way to cope with the discomfort it brought. 

Silently, Ghost switched on your focus. Out of the side, a small earpiece ejected out. He took it and fitted it into his ear under the mask. Of course, you programmed the artificial instruction with your own voice. Serious, stoic, and purposeful. “Awaiting aim to calculate.”

He aimed once more at the metal target using the scope, the dust devil blowing the sand around violently to protect it at all costs. The scope projected its calculations as if he was staring at a screen. Within a few seconds, it completed its estimations. A green dot appeared way over to the left and bottom of the notches, marking the shooting point. Your voice rang in his ears. “Target confirmed. Aim and fire.”

This seemed way off. There was no way this could be right. Was he really meant to aim so far off? The green dot stayed perfectly in place as he adjusted the aim, his center notch in line with your tech’s mark. He hoped that it would miss.

He fired and watched the bullet sail through the air, ride with the dust devil like a wave, and hit the target with perfection. He became slack-jawed bewildered at the precision. The fact that it could calculate aim with even an extreme factor such as swirling winds was undoubtedly impressive. 

This was your clear victory. And he hated it. 

You relished in his fiery disdain of your genius. A small smirk played at your lips as you saw just how the rage froze his muscles. He looked like he wanted to punch something. 

“God damn, Byte! That was phenomenal!” Soap loudly praised, his eyes wide in true marvel. The others agreed, all wanted a turn to use that focus of yours like it was a new toy. Every invention that you gave them has felt like a new toy. It made those days feel like Christmas morning. You were great at your job and they couldn’t be happier to have you on the team. 

Of course, except for Ghost. Even if your engineering prowess was the best in the world. 

“Really great work, Byte! Are the blueprints all ready to copy?” Kate smiled appreciatively while tapping on her smartpad.

“All ready for production.” You simply answered, proud of the work that you had accomplished. Another one for the books. 

While the boys played with their new toy, Ghost stepped back and crossed his arms angrily. 

He hated everything about you. Your unmatched intellect, your confident plays, your arrogant personality. He hated that his team was wasting money on technology for weapons when a true soldier shouldn’t need the handicap. Real skill was earned by yourself. Not with the assistance of technology. It should be a tool, not a crutch. 

Ghost believed that people who couldn’t aim a sniper on their own and hit a target didn’t deserve to be snipers. And you just made him unworthy of being a sniper when against your tech. 

You looked up at him, taking note of how hard he threw daggers at you. You made him look stupid, and that was your goal. It felt like you had the world in your palm when you did. Someone as respectable as Ghost being bested by a brainiac was always the best. You proved that you didn’t need muscles or height or even intimidation to be better. You just needed your smarts. 

A huff of a laugh escaped you as you turned away from him, knowing that that would just make him even more angry at you. Good. 

You hated everything about him too. 

~

“What you do really is modern magic. Seriously, Byte, how does your brain come up with such things?” Gaz inquired, raising a bottle of beer to his lips. The team decided to celebrate your new invention at the usual bar. Of course, your drinks were on them as a reward. They knew that you put a lot of work into what you did. The least they could do was pay for your rum and cokes. 

You raised the cold glass to your lips, the sweet and spicy cocktail hitting your tastebuds. “The pros of being a genius. Thank you for the praise. It feels nice to be appreciated for my work around here.”

That last past was said a little louder, loud enough to make sure that Ghost could hear it on the other side of the bar. He bit his tongue and rolled his eyes at you, not willing to open himself to any more of your antagonizing today.

The victory was as sweet as the drink you were nursing. Addictive too. You couldn’t get enough of the feeling of success. When you finished an invention, when you helped your team complete a mission, or when you bested Ghost, they all gave you that sweet sense of accomplishment. 

Soap slung his arm around your shoulder, nearly causing you to spill. He was already a couple drinks in. “Yeah yeah yeah, good work! But all we ever talk about is work. Been two years, Byte. Tell us what that genius does outside of work, huh?”

You shifted in your seat, becoming a little uncomfortable with the sudden questions about your personal life. They knew tidbits here and there about you. Some failed relationships, favorite songs, distaste for certain foods. But your answer to all of that was usually straight-forward. “We broke up.” “I like this song.” “I’m not going to eat that.”

Something that the team noticed early on was that you were a workaholic. You hung out with them on rare occasions, you were usually confined working in your lab while they had offices, and you usually departed events early to be in said lab. Besides minor details, they really didn’t know much about you outside of your work personality. They have been trying to pull you more out of your shell over time, but it was a slow process. 

Gaz frowned at Soap’s bluntness. “Come on, Johnny, leave her alone tonight.”

“It’s fine, Gaz.” You put your glass down roughly, the clink of the glass on polished wood sobering Soap up pretty quick. It made Gaz look away in shame. That was at least one thing they knew about you most intimately. You hated being treated like you can’t take care of yourself. When they stepped in on your behalf, answering a question that was meant for you, it made you want to hit them. You knew they only did it to protect you. That you were one of them and this is how they treated one of them, but you could never let it be. 

You didn’t need anybody to stand up for you. You will make that a point for forever if you had to. 

The air grew thick with tension as you silently scolded them for hitting one of your pet peeves. With a sigh, you caved in, wanting to restore some of that fun from before. “What do you wanna know? Anything is on the table.”

Soap’s face lit up like a match to a gas station. “Seriously?! Anything?”

You gave a little nod and braced yourself for the worse. Soap’s lack of personal boundaries was quite well known. It was coming from a place of genuine curiosity and ease, never ill-intent. It was just one of the quirks of Soap that you were still coming to terms with even after all this time. 

“Well. . . what’s your sex life like?” 

Gaz began to choke, coughing on beer stuck in his throat. Price tapped his back to help him out, his sharp gaze falling on Soap for such a personal question. Yet, he didn’t say anything. He knew that if he did, you would get angry at him. He has been pretty good about avoiding your pet peeve and he didn’t want to break his streak.

Clearing your throat, you composed yourself. You weren’t expecting such a blatant question either, despite inviting this kind of open question. It didn’t mean that you weren’t going to be honest, though. That just wasn’t the kind of person you were. You never stepped away from a challenge. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

Soap grinned widely, happy to talk with you finally like you were just like one of the guys. “Body count? Preferences? All of it. I wanna know what a genius views sex as.”

Slowly, you drank the rest of your rum and coke before signaling for another one. While you hailed the bartender, you noticed that Ghost was staring intensely at you. He hated you, but even he was curious on how anyone could tolerate you enough to sleep with you. 

Once you were halfway through your second drink for some liquid courage, you began to talk about one of the most personal details of your life. “Body count of five. All men. Most were one-night stands or sex-friends.”

You liked sex. There was no question about it. At least, you were interested in it. Despite the amount of people you’ve been with, they always left you wanting more. It was always a little unsatisfying when they were finished. It always felt like there was a black hole inside of you that needed the right meal to be satisfied. 

The exact reason why was no mystery either. Unless you were masturbating alone, you never came. No matter how much time and effort went into foreplay, none of your partners have ever made you orgasm. 

Just because your sex life was active didn’t mean it was great. 

“Wow, that’s a little surprising.” Gaz admitted, finally over his coughing fit. Price shook his head, a little embarrassed to hear about his men talking about sex so freely with you. As a captain to a group of mostly boys, he has shared details with them to bring the group together. It felt a little strange to have you participate in this. Even Kate wasn’t pressured into sharing such details. 

“Our little genius gets some then! How is it? Any experience noteworthy?” Soap persisted as he ordered another round.

“Not especially? Average, I suppose.” You shrugged, answering the questions becoming much easier the more you poured rum and coke into your system. Warmth crept along your cheeks, blossomed in your ribs. You felt yourself opening up like a dormant flower. 

You ordered another drink. Soap continued to pry. “Average? What does that even mean?”

“I never came before.” You suddenly blurted out, the blending of your naturally blunt personality and alcohol turning into a pretty dangerous combination. It seemed like the rum in you was getting to your brain faster than you thought. 

This time, it was Soap’s turn to choke. Gaz was torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to comfort your plight. Ghost just stared as if he was watching the news. However, his mind was thinking all sorts of things. He wanted to mock you. Say that that was what you deserved for being so arrogant about your intelligence. He felt the instinct to trash talk you to recover some of the pride he lost today. 

Yet, he couldn’t. In fact, he began to feel a foreign pity for you. If you knew that he was pitying you over something like this, you would absolutely rip him a new one. That didn’t stop his eyes from softening for just a moment, though. A moment that you noticed with those sharp eyes of yours. 

Finishing your drink, you slammed the glass on the counter, nearly shattering it. How dare Ghost look at you like some tragic whore! So what you never orgasmed from sex! You were doing just fine when it came to solo-sex escapades. You didn’t need anyone to satisfy you. You only needed yourself. “I do perfectly fine when I masturbate. Don’t get it twisted. Other people just don’t satisfy me. It’s whatever.”

In a simmering fire, you got up from your chair and left the bar for the night, leaving your teammates wondering what the hell got you so worked up all of a sudden. 

Only Ghost knew the answer to that. 

~

Arriving back on base on your motorcycle, you headed straight to your lab. It was quiet. The dead of night. Everyone else was either back home, sleeping in the barracks, or partying it up downtown. You had an apartment to go back to, but you always found yourself coming here instead. 

Settling your helmet and jacket on the coat-rack, you made yourself at home. Dim-emergency lights softly illuminated unfinished projects on tables. Pieces of wires, circuits, and bolts littered every corner of the room. The place looked small and cramped during the day, scientists and engineers squished together in a lab that was second priority compared to the more athletic-based facilities. In the night when no one was here, the place looked like a tech graveyard. Vast, dark, and cold. 

You headed towards your usual workstation, a large workshop desk that was overflowing with unfinished blueprints of inventions that haven’t panned out just yet. A lot of the struggle came from lack of funding. Some of it came from unrealistic expectations. Science was an investment, something that most military dogs failed to realize. It’s why you always pushed yourself to work constantly and prove what the proper time and resources could bring. 

You were essentially killing yourself in order to make them see the worth of your department. 

Looking through the blueprints, you settled on one that was worth revisiting. A Russian Doll bullet that would save ammunition and materials to build said ammunition. The idea was to invent a bullet that would be compatible with most firearms, shoot an outer layer of bullet without shooting out the inner layer, and repeat until the last of the bullet is gone only to be replaced by another Russian Doll bullet. 

It would effectively turn a six-shooter into a twenty-four. It would save so much ammo and save many soldiers the reload time. 

The only problem you haven’t solved yet was the instability of gunpowder. 

That’s what you decided to work on tonight. Taking a seat in your worn out swivel chair, you opened your drawers and pulled out your materials. Bringing a magnifying glass close to you, you began to disassemble a few bullets. It was always a good idea to build things by first taking things apart. 

As you worked, you heard the sound of the lab door open. It was still much too early for the morning crew to come in, so you wondered who it could’ve been. Maybe Price had come to lecture you about how you left things at the bar. It wouldn’t be the first time he had to talk to you about your temper. 

Turning around, you were surprised to meet your rival, peering over all of the electronic corpses on the tables. He didn’t come here very often. You were always here after all. He knew you were always here. He shivered, noticing just how chilly it was inside the lab. The air conditioning was running on full blast. “Feels like a meat-locker in here. How can you work like this?”

“What do you want?” You sharply retorted, nerves already on edge at his presence. The lab was supposed to be your refuge. Your paradise. And here came the snake. 

“Relax. I’m not here to fight. I just wanted to talk to you about the focus.” He treaded carefully, his own instincts waiting to fire off like they were used to when he was with you. A lightbulb in his head just went off just then. He realized just how bad the relationship between the two of you was since his first real instinct was to yell at you. Ghost knew you felt it too. 

He was supposed to be the 141’s Lieutenant. He was supposed to bring the team together for his captain. And here he has been for two years, trying to push you out. 

Ghost has never even approached you without the intention to fight or yell or demand since the first day he met you.

Christ, was there any recovery from this? Ghost took a deep breath, trying to choose his words carefully for once. “The focus is great. You did a good job.”

“Don’t fucking pity me.” You snapped, turning back to your desk and igniting sparks as you bonded metal with heat. A hurricane brewed in your chest. Did he seriously come all this way to pity you? The gaze in his eyes should have been enough. It made you leave the bar!

Ghost felt that fire rising in his throat, wanting to say something back that would hurt you. Old habits die hard. It was a tough pill to swallow. “I’m not trying to pity you. The focus is going to help a lot of soldiers. It’s going to save a lot of people.”

You paused, unsure if his words were genuine or misleading. You’ve fallen into that trap before, hearing what seemed like a compliment only for it to be backhanded. It was unfortunate that you didn’t trust a word that came out of his mouth. “Why did you look at me like that at the bar?”

He knew exactly what you were talking about, but he wished he didn’t. He didn’t really want to talk about your sex life when it was just the two of you. Especially not when the two of you haven’t even had one decent interaction with each other. Goosebumps prickled all of his skin, his teeth nearly chattering. How could you keep it so fucking cold in here?

“I felt sorry for you.” He admitted, finding himself unable to lie to you or change topics. At least from the beginning, he has always been honest with you. 

As you heard the words you loathed to hear, you put down your tools, hands becoming too shaky to handle them with all the rage storming inside you. “I-”

“I felt sorry that no one has liked you enough to satisfy you.” 

Well, that didn’t exactly sound right.

Your mouth opened in shock at his dig. His eyes widened as he heard the words coming out of his mouth, realizing that it sounded completely fucking wrong. He held his hands up in defense, scrambling to explain himself before it was too late. 

The hurricane was in full swing, though. But instead of bringing thunder, it only brought rain. The corners of your eyes prickled with tears before streaming down your flushed cheeks. A lump choked in your throat choked the air out of you. You thought you could say something hurtful back. You always did before. But this time, his words cut a little too deep.

None of your relationships have lasted long. Not even with people you agreed to just be sex-friends with. They always ended up leaving. Whenever you asked what went wrong, they always blamed it on your demeanor. Your personality was too particular. Your interests were too complex. Your high expectations were too much. 

It was one of the reasons you kept a distance from the 141. They loved your company as far as you knew. But only in small doses. Who knew what would happen if they really spent time with you? They would probably get sick of you over time too. Ghost hated you since day one after all. 

No one liked you. You thought that you were fine with that at this point, but clearly you weren’t.

Ghost stood frozen in time, completely taken aback by your sudden tears. He expected screaming. He expected hitting. He expected icy retorts. That’s all he has ever known you as. He never in a million years expected tears. 

It made him feel like he was the biggest piece of shit on the planet. And the worst part was that he didn’t even know what to do about it. 

All of his years of hatred for you melted away as he watched you crumble, your distrust for him putting up more walls between the two of you. Jesus, how does he fix this now?!

“Byte, I-”

“Don’t you think I already know that no one likes me? You think you’re the first person to hate my guts?!” You spat, some of the lightning finally coming out. The tears kept coming, but it was somehow better for Ghost. He felt more used to that dangerous spark you had. It made you easier to approach now. 

“I didn’t mean it like that. Poor choice of words. Honest. I just meant that. . . I . . . Everyone deserves to be loved enough to the point of satisfaction. You work hard and give us countless advancements to use. You deserved to be satisfied. You deserve to have someone that will put the work into you too.” He finally managed to find the right words, nearly running out of breath with all the effort he had to find them. He was never really good at heart-to-hearts. 

You looked at him in shock once more as he attempted to salvage the hurt he caused you. This was beyond confusing for you. Your brain that worked so hard everyday, that could think up a million things at any given time, was at a loss for words. 

In your uncertainty, you followed your instincts. And that was to turn back around to your desk, wipe your eyes, and get back to work. It was the only constant in your life that you could rely on. The best way to think. 

Ghost didn’t blame you for returning to work. He probably wouldn’t know what to say either if it was him. Instead of pushing it any further, he decided that it was probably best to leave. Before he headed out of the lab, he turned back and looked at you. 

You did the same, the moment of work gracing your senses. In the end, he did try to pay you a genuine compliment. You were always the type to reciprocate fairly. “Thanks, Ghost.”

There was a certain way you said your thanks that made Ghost’s heart skip a beat. A sense of gentleness that he’s never heard from you before. The way your eyes shone bright from leftover tears had him stunned. Were your eyes always that pretty?

He turned quickly and left, the back of his neck heating from the intrusive thought he just had. As he walked back to the barracks, he sighed. The air outside was much warmer than the environment of your lab. So much easier to breathe. It felt suffocating being in there. Out here, he could let his mind relax.

And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking of you. 

~

The two of you didn’t fight as much anymore. Sharp words slipped out every now and then, but neither of you kept feeding the fire once they were said. Most of the time, you two were just back to avoiding each other. Though, the both of you had your own reasons. 

You found yourself just at a loss of words when he was civil. It was that distrust that still lingered that made it hard for you to interact with him. It was especially difficult to be around him when he was actively being polite. Praises for your work, helping you carry heavy boxes across base, or prioritizing processing your submitted paperwork was always done either curtly or in silence. It was foreign to you.

And the energy you saved now that it wasn’t spent on fighting was now put to use by noticing him a little more. You always couldn’t help but stop and stare as he helped carry equipment with you from the lab to the armory. The way his biceps flexed with ease at the heavier load. The way his eyes remained stoic even as he embraced your inventions. Ghost was now more on your mind than ever, and you didn’t know how to feel about it. 

Ghost, on the other hand, was now always thinking about you. He felt the urge to get closer to you. To get to know you better. To help you out in a way that didn’t look down on you like he’s always done. He couldn’t stop thinking about your eyes too. How bright they were under the sun or moon. How they watched him under such careful supervision, trying to decipher if his good will was real or not. 

Even in moments where he didn’t want to think about you, he found his mind wandering anyway. Ever since that night in the lab, he felt his feelings change. Two years of anger and resentment for you have nearly melted all away only to be replaced by something else. And he didn’t know how to explain it. 

All he could do was try to keep cool. Remain civil. Avoid too close of interactions with you. 

It was working for the both of you for months until you were assigned to a mission together.

The team had noticed that the both of you were getting along in the loosest sense of the term. They wondered what caused such a shift, but they never asked out of fear of resetting the apparent progress. Instead, Price tried to push more progress by assigning the both of you to work an undercover mission. 

A wealthy investor of nuclear weaponry was suddenly pouring a lot more money than usual into a country with a rising dictator. The investments coincided with less threatening ideas such as climate change prevention and DNA study in order to balance out interest. The goal was to detain this investor, question him about his relationship with this dictator, and then hopefully stop a dangerous man from getting his hands on advanced nuclear power. 

The way in was at a formal event promoted by the science community. Conservationists, biologists, engineers, and more were going to be present to try to win over some other wealthy investors that would be there including celebrities, CEOs, and politicians. It was a high brow event which made the need for scientific knowledge apparent. 

And who knew more about such science than you?

Intimidation invitations in hand, Ghost waited in a hotel lobby, a crisp, black tuxedo hugging his form as if tailored to him. The skull balaclava was swapped with a simple black face mask, covering enough of his identity which made him feel better about all of this. Looking at a nearby mirror, he checked his blonde hair. He’s never dressed so formally in his life. 

He suddenly wondered if you would like it. 

You still need a moment to get ready, always one to check twice to make sure you had everything you need. Your heart raced in your chest, your nerves tingling with adrenaline as you prepared to see this mission through. You’ve been on the field a couple of times. Never under-cover. The fact that you would probably have to do most of the talking made you nervous. 

People didn’t like you. That weakness of yours was clouding your confidence. Being a woman in science was already a tough world. Would you be able to keep your personality in check if you faced such a conflict?

Nervously, you headed down to the lobby, adjusting every dress each step of the way down. When you spotted Ghost from a distance, you froze. You have never seen him so cleaned up before. When you were coming down, you half expected him to appear like he always has. Military uniform, skull mask, strapped with obvious weapons. 

You didn’t know that his hair was so. . . 

Finding yourself at a loss for words again, you steeled yourself. As you got closer, you realized that your heart was racing for an entirely new reason. Your lieutenant was much more attractive than you thought. 

And he was technically your date for tonight.

Ghost caught your figuring in the corner of the mirror, making him turn around. Time stood still for you once again as you appeared before him looking like someone straight out of a romance movie. Your dress hugged your curves in all the right places, every strand of hair was styled beautifully to frame your face, makeup only highlighted just how beautiful you naturally were. 

How could he never see just how beautiful you were before?

You walked closer and cleared your throat, that voice he thought was so annoying before now sounding like the sweetest violin. “Lieutenant, you look good this evening.”

This was the first compliment he’s ever received from you. It made his stomach do flips. What was happening to him? Pull it together!

“Thanks. You look great tonight. Ready?” He offered his arm, waiting for you to take it. 

Your heart could barely take it as you looped your arm around his, touching him so intimately for the first time. Heat radiated from his body. The biceps you found yourself staring at before felt solid under your touch. You looked up into his eyes, the glacier blues melting into a deep ocean. Looking away suddenly, you attempted to hide your blush. He was looking at you so intensely that it startled you.

“Do you have to stare?” You questioned a little too sharply than you intended. You braced yourself for him to say something equally sharp, something Ghost felt in your arm that was hooked around his. 

He averted his gaze, now conscious of the way his eyes naturally followed you. His mind searched for an explanation for his lack of discretion. The unexplainable pull that you had on him. Jesus, it was like he was. . . 

Oh. Oh no.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, trying to keep his feelings in check. How could he spend two years praying for your downfall to all of a sudden being-

He didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t even want to entertain the likely possibility. Even if he wanted to act on his feelings, did he really deserve to after all the fighting for two years? You would probably never truly accept him after all the things he’s said and done. You weren’t completely innocent either, but Ghost had to face the fact that he was the one that started it all. Before even knowing your name, he insulted you, unable to keep his opinion on tech in weapons in check. A matter that wasn’t even your fault to begin with. 

What the hell was wrong with him back then? What the hell is even wrong with him now?

“Hey, Earth to Ghost. You okay?” You asked, noticing how he seemed to be just staring into space as they waited for the car to pick them up. There was a brightness in the night, a rain having just finished its pour. Puddles on the ground reflected the city’s lampposts, cars flashed their lights, and much to Ghost’s dismay and pleasure, your eyes shined replaced the stars. 

His voice was deep and agitated, more so upset with himself than with you. “I’m fine. Just nerves.”

At that you smirked that devilish smile that he hasn’t seen in a while. It pissed him off to no end before, but now it made his heart flutter. “Wow. The great Lieutenant Ghost has nerves. Never thought I’d hear that. Makes me feel a lot better, though.”

“And why is that?” He inquired carefully, almost afraid to hear the answer. 

You shrugged, actually starting to feel at ease for the first time in his presence. The butterflies were still there. They were just much more manageable now. “I am nervous as well.”

Before he could question you further, the designated car pulled up in front of the hotel. Gaz, parading as the chauffeur for tonight, got out of the car and held open the passenger door for the both of you to get in. Soap wanted to do this job, but Price refused. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to shut his mouth if he saw the two of you together like this. Gaz at least had a filter.

He played the role to a tee, onlookers staring as he took off his hat and bowed. “Good evening. You both look dashing tonight. Especially our lady.”

The cover was working smoothly. Together, they really looked like A-list people. The civilians would have never guessed that they were all just soldiers. Drinking in their looks, you let it replenish your confidence. You got into the car followed by Ghost, Gaz shutting the door once everyone was settled. As he drove to the venue, he went over the mission details. 

“We’ll be keeping an eye on you the entire time. We have access to all the venue’s cameras and we have mics hidden throughout the building. Some security is our own too to keep an eye on things. This place will be packed full of civilians, so violence must be kept to a minimum. Non-existent preferably. If anything does go wrong that we don’t notice, use the codeword.”

You nodded at all of the information that will keep you safe, reading the mission file to brush up on before the big show started. Ghost looked over your shoulder, also reading the file once again. Mostly though, he noticed how intensely you studied. You didn’t want to be the reason why this mission failed. You couldn’t afford that. 

When the car slowed in front of the venue, you looked out. At least a hundred people were outside, dressed to the nines, ready to spend their money or ask for money. Your blood suddenly became cold as you looked at all the people. There must have been hundreds more inside.

Gaz parked the car and stepped out, getting ready to open the door for you. However, you were a statue. Unmoving. There was panic in your eyes. You looked the part for this. Could you talk the part too?

A warm, large hand landed on your shoulder, gaining your attention. Ghost looked at you with steady eyes, his tone slow and soft as honey. “You got this, Byte. You’re probably smarter than everyone here. I’m right by your side too.”

It was relieving hearing those words come from him. He was encouraging you like he was your lieutenant. Like you were part of his team. Your heart swelled as you looked into the eyes you’ve been trying to avoid. It looked like he was finally seeing you after all this time. 

With a deep breath and a new steely expression, you nodded to Gaz through the window. He opened the door and Ghost stepped out first. You took the hand he offered you and came out, the buzz of intellectual conversation in the air. 

Gaz drove off, leaving the mission to the two of you. Ghost led the way up, your arm in his like it was always meant to be there. Miraculously, the two of you looked like the ideal date. It made getting into the venue easy as Ghost handed over the invitations to the guard at the entrance. “Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Riley. Have a fun night!”

The both of you couldn’t help but blush at the shared name. To be referred to as Mrs. Riley gave you ideas that you never thought you would think about. It strangely had a nice ring to it that made your senses prick up. 

Ghost thought the same thing as he guided you in. Tonight, you were Mrs. Riley, his beautiful and intelligent wife. 

The two years of hating each other seemed to feel farther away as the night stretched on. 

The marble floors were packed with esteemed guests. Large, crystal chandeliers reflected off gold jewelry and champagne glasses. A live orchestra played with precise rhythm. Everyone mingled, trying to see where the best place to put their money was. Likewise, scientists tried to advocate for their foundations. All of the talk made Ghost’s head swirl. He was used to undercover missions, however, this was truly out of his realm. 

You were better at picking up the jargon. They spoke a language you understood. The language that only the people in the lab on base understood. It was like hearing your native tongue after years of speaking foreignly. Military culture and science culture was so different, that you often missed this. 

A couple approached the two of you, led by a middle-aged woman with a large, diamond necklace and fake lilies in her hair. “Aren’t you two the most adorable couple! I must compliment you on your gown too!”

This was it. This was their test to look like a real couple out as each other’s dates. You put on a fake smile and held out your hand. “Thank you for the compliment. I’m Mrs. (Y/n) Riley. This is my husband.”

The name slid easily off your tongue, yet it sent electricity through you. There was no way you were going to get used to that name tonight. It made you feel lightheaded when you said it. How could you get so embarrassed by a fake name?

Ghost was having trouble getting used to it too, a part of him wishing that the name was real against his will. Clenching his jaw, he looked out at the crowd, trying to spot the target. His large height helped, but there were too many people around. They all crowded around each other. Talking, laughing, flaunting. A slight tug on his arm brought his attention back to you. You were just sending the lady on her way after a simple, pleasant conversation. Through that, you were able to figure out if the target has shown up yet. 

“Let’s go to the main ballroom. According to the recent intel, our target would be there if he’s shown up. Something about him not being able to resist a shrimp cocktail.” You directed, your confidence becoming stronger as you weaved through the crowd. Ghost couldn’t help but take in your courage, finding it hard to believe that you were once nervous. Then again, this was your crowd.

The ballroom floor was also filled with people, but also now with clear advertisements from scientists. Small signs indicated programs with their representatives, helping investors find the right place to put their money in. You read the signs carefully, recognizing a few of them along with who was supposed to be running it. At some of the names, you grimaced. 

“You alright?” Ghost asked, trying to keep his own expression solid as if he was playing poker. He found himself worrying about you now that you looked so pained. 

You shook your head, trying to clear unpleasant memories as best as you can. “I’m fine. I just. . . I hope I don’t run into any ex-colleagues.”

As if the devil was listening himself, you heard your name being called from afar, a surprised tone countering the determined piano filling the room. “Y/n? Is that really you?!”

Putting on your game face, you smiled and turned towards your former colleague and, unfortunately, ex-lover. Of course, this was going to happen. Almost always one thing goes wrong during a mission. A part of you wished you didn’t accept this mission now that you were face-to-face with someone you tried to leave in the past. 

“Dr. Emmanuel. It has been a long time.” You greeted politely, taking extra time to keep your tone in check. The last time you spoke to him was during the breakup. He dumped you after a quarrel about a missing blueprint. You were working on a project together when you were both interns at a scientific space-engineering facility. The blueprint was supposed to help the both of you land permanent positions, but it was made clear that there was only room for one. 

When you heard the news, you both agreed that neither of you would take credit until you talked to the head of the facility. That was, until the blueprint went missing. From there, you fought and accused him of taking the blueprint for himself to get the job. Your hunch was right when you saw the new employee ID card he hid in his wallet. 

You called him a traitor. He called you deplorable. You claimed that most of the blueprint was your design. He reasoned that if you had the job, you would neglect him anyways with your workaholic nature. He then dropped the bomb that he hated working with you, that you made him feel insecure in bed with your inability to orgasm with him, and that you were just becoming into someone he loathed with your particular personality. He accused you of not loving him enough.

So he took the credit and ran, leaving you to figure out what the hell you were going to do about a job. That’s when you decided to join the military as a weapons engineer. Some time after, you joined the 141. 

“It has been some time, hasn’t it? I’m surprised to see you here? Are you here as a scientist or an investor?” Your ex inquired, sizing you up as someone to take advantage of or as competition for investors. You knew his game and you knew it well. You only had to learn the hard way once before you learned your lesson. You never made the same mistake twice. 

Ghost noticed how your expression hardened, yet you maintained that fake, pearly smile. What was this man to you? How did you know each other? 

Why did he care so much?

“He is the investor and I am the scientist. This is my husband, Mr. Riley.” You announced, now saying the word “husband” with your full chest. Your ex’s eyes widened briefly before twisting into a smile that showed hints of disgust. 

Nonetheless, he held out his hand for a handshake. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Riley. It is an honor meeting a man that could tame such a work-driven woman.”

Before you could shoot back some venomous words that were bubbling up on your tongue, Ghost took his hand and gripped it tight with that soldier strength of his. Your ex seemed distraught as pain shot through his hand that was being crushed. Ghost didn’t let up. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t look down at my wife, doctor. I love her just the way she is. I’m sure she has accomplished much more than you as well.”

“Now, if you will excuse us, we have better things to talk about with other people.” Ghost finally let go, bruises already starting to form on the crushed hand of your ex. While you normally would pop off at him for standing up for you when you could’ve done so yourself, you were too busy thinking about his words. The L-bomb he dropped seemed to flow so naturally from him. It made you feel flustered. 

As Ghost led you away, he leaned down to whisper in your ear. He took your flustered expression as you being upset. He wouldn’t be surprised if you were upset with him or your ex-colleague. He knew he triggered your pet-peeve and he wanted to apologize. For now, though, he had to settle with a raincheck. “We’ll talk about that later. Do you see our target yet?”

You snapped back into action, being reminded that you have a mission to accomplish above all else. Looking around, you tried to spot the target. As predicted, there he was, gorging himself on shrimp and champagne. “10 o’clock.”

He looked over and confirmed. “Target spotted. Good eye. Ready?”

Taking a few deep breaths to reset your brain, you nodded. Swiftly, the both of you approach the target just as he was taking another flute from a silver tray. You changed your serious demeanor into a more graceful one. Someone worth giving money to. Someone that the target will like. “Mr. Marston. I was hoping to finally meet you tonight. I am Y/n Riley. This is my husband. You are such an inspiration to both scientists and investors.”

“Ha! A couple of fans with good taste! A pleasure to meet such a handsome couple! I’ve been in the business for a long time though, so I know you must want something. Can’t pull the wool over these eyes, even if they are old.” He laughed cheerfully as he raised more alcohol to his lips. 

It seemed that this would be easier than you thought. People like Mr. Marston made you sick. People with way too much time and money on their hands to shape the world as they saw fit, regardless of the good of the people. Nuclear war would be a disaster. And yet, this man treated it as lightly as the glass in his hand. Careless. Spilling over with each movement. Such a fragile thing away from one wrong move before shattering into a hundred pieces. 

“With age comes experience and wisdom. I am a scientist looking for an investor. Though my studies tend to be a little. . . unconventional.” You buttered him up before casting your line. All he had to do was take the bait.

And that he did. His eyebrows rose with interest at your choice of words. He felt his wallet burning a hole in his pocket. “Unconventional, you say? Well, I am all for out-of-the-box solutions to our world’s problems. Care to elaborate on your odd studies?”

You looked up at Ghost, awaiting some sort of signal that you may proceed with luring the target to where you needed him to be. He gave a single nod, disguising it as full support for his lovely wife. You were handling this much better than he expected. Or perhaps, this is how you always were under pressure. His judgment was always just too clouded with contempt to see it. 

“We would love to talk about our project, but such a thing is rather sensitive in nature. I would hate to upset some over-hearers. Perhaps we shall meet later once the formal is over?” You played cautiously, not yet reeling in such a loose bite. 

“Oh my, now you really have my interest! There are a few study spaces at this venue reserved for investors and scientist contract negotiations. I haven’t committed to any facility yet, so why don’t I start with reviewing you? What do you say?”

Hook, line, and sinker. “That would be most ideal, Mr. Marston. Just lead the way.”

Grabbing a few shrimps to go, the target led the way to a more private area of the venue. Everything was smooth, all according to plan. The crowd parted away for the richest investor here, making the exit quite swift. Once the three of you separated from the main event down to a much quieter room, Ghost detained him with cuffs. A button on his watch was pressed, signaling to the team that the target was in custody. 

“Wh-What?! What is all this now?!” Mr. Marston protested, hoping that someone would come to his rescue. 

“Lieutenant Ghost and Sargent Byte. You are being taken into military custody for involvement with nuclear investments. We just need to ask you some questions.” You explained carefully, trying to keep the target calm so you didn’t attract unwanted attention. Cool, calm, and collected. Ghost thought it was a good look on you. You weren’t normally involved like this, so he couldn’t help but think so. 

He had it worse than he thought. Seriously, what was with him?

While Ghost took his hands off the target for a moment to reach for his phone, feeling an incoming message, the target swirled around and tried to bolt. Not in the direction of an exit, though. Instead, he was running straight to you, binded fists raised to strike you. Thanks to your self-defense classes through the military, you acted on pure instinct. You dodged his fists and struck his jugular with a sharp strike of the side of your hand. He gasped for air and collapsed, tears streaming down his face as if he would die from the loss of oxygen. 

Ghost’s attraction to you increased tenfold as you nonchalantly fixed your dress like a meager wind just caused only slight agitation. He forgot just how capable you could be physically, not just intellectually.

Right on time, Price waltzed in wearing his common military uniform. He didn’t even bat an eye at the struggling target. “Transportation is outside. Well done, you two! It was about time you worked together on something. I hope to see more of this in the future!” 

You made some distance between you and Ghost, not wanting anyone to get the wrong idea. For some reason, it pained Ghost to see you put up that wall again so soon after the mission. Was this the first and last time you would get along so well with him?

No, he decided. He told you that he would speak to you later about the interaction with Emmanuel. Then, he would knock your walls down. Finally get to know the real you.

From there, we can really determine if his feelings were just a fluke or not. 

~

You were back at the hotel, wiping your makeup off and stripping yourself out of the formal dress. Your muscles ache at the new freedom, having been fed up with such a fitted dress and heels. After showering and putting on some pajamas, you got into bed and began to read. You were rewarded for your work with a one-night’s stay at the luxury hotel, and you were taking full advantage of it. 

After reading, you were going to order hotel service and then go to bed. The life of luxury that was more than enough for you. As you began reading the next chapter of your book, you heard a knock at the door. Sighing, you bookmarked your page, and answered it. You were surprised to see Ghost standing there, smelling like fresh maplewood and citrus soap. A plain shirt clung to his torso and pajama pants made him look like a new man altogether. He had his black facemask on still, but once he let himself in, he took it off. 

This was the first time you have ever seen his full face uncovered. You noticed the small scar on his upper lip that matched the one on his right brow. His jaw was strong as if chiseled from marble. You couldn’t deny it. Ghost was a very attractive man.

“Sorry to barge in like this. I said we were going to talk, so here I am.” He explained, taking a seat on the edge of your king bed. He was drinking you in too. The pajama shorts that showed off your thighs, the cami that exposed your delicate shoulders. Your hair was still damp and scented with lavender and vanilla. His heart picked up speed as he felt a pull of attraction to you. 

How could he have ever hated a beautiful thing like you?

You found it a little rude that he just barged in, but you let it slide for once. From his tone, he didn’t seem like he wanted to fight. Besides, those deep blues were starting to melt your icy heart little by little. Just for tonight.

You took a seat on the bed next to him and looked up. “What is there to talk about? He’s just a man from my past.”

At that, he felt his muscles tense. He knew that there was more to the story. Ghost detected your evasion of the subject as clear as day. It was something he experienced nearly every day before this. He knew your tell. “I know it wasn’t just that. What he said, how you looked. What happened?”

Out of all people, you least expected Ghost to hound you about this. He has never been interested in your personal life before. Then again, your relationship has changed dramatically since the night in the lab. Before you knew it, you started to feel yourself open up to him a little. 

You stared down into your lap. “He’s an ex. We were interns together, he took all the credit for a project we did, he got a job, and I didn’t. He insulted me, dumped me, and then left. I left to work in the military. That’s really all there is to it.”

While your tone tried to keep it casual, Ghost knew it was really a tragedy. No wonder you didn’t trust easily. Now he wished he broke that guy’s hand when he had the chance. 

Did he really have room to talk though? He made you distrust people even more easily when he first met you. It was about time he apologized for it all. “Listen, Y/n. I’m sorry. About everything. For the two years of fighting. All the insults, all the exclusion. Everything. I should have been a better teammate, lieutenant, and even friend to you. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t know what to say, a new trick of his that seemed to have worked time and time again. The tick of a classic clock filled the silence as you thought about his apology. The sound of him using your real name echoed in your ears. You blamed him for everything that transpired. And now he was sorry about it. Yet, the way he looked at you didn’t indicate the need for forgiveness. He wasn’t entitled to it, and he knew that. Instead, his gaze was filled with certainty. The certainty to do much better by you from now on. 

Two years to lead up to this moment. You never thought you would live to see the day. Just like him, you slowly found your rage for him melt down to almost nothing, instead to be replaced by something soft, warm, and electric. 

You gave an awkward laugh. “I’m sorry too. I know I can be pretty unlikable.”

“You’re not unlikable.” He reassured, his hand naturally taking your cheek like he’s been doing it all his life. Ghost didn’t even realize that he did it at first. And before he knew it, he was going in for a kiss, unable to resist those pretty lips of yours for a moment longer. 

Your cheeks began to burn as he kissed you so suddenly, yet you didn’t fight it. You couldn’t. Something was pulling you deeper into him. A passion that was always there from the beginning. Hate or love, you have always been passionate about Ghost. Maybe that was why you truly hated him in the first place. 

Ghost couldn’t stop himself, deepening the kiss with each second that passed, reveling in how sweet you tasted on his lips. He’s been obsessed with you since the beginning. A fire within him had always burned for you. He just wished he realized that it was actually love much sooner. Perhaps if he did, you really would’ve been Mrs. Riley tonight. 

All the things he hated about you before were things he loved about you now. Your soft lips, your silky hair, your amazing intellect. All of the things that he could never match. You were better than him. However, he didn’t care anymore. He actually appreciated it now. 

“I’m sorry, Y/n. I really am.” He whispered as he pulled you closer, wrapping you in his embrace. You felt his firm muscles against you so much better now than before, the shirt he was wearing leaving little to the imagination with how fitted it was. 

It honestly turned you on. 

You took the initiative to reconnect your lips, your mouth opening to invite his tongue. Nerves fired off in every inch of your skin as his slick tongue met yours. Your toes curled as he felt you up, groping your thighs and waist like they would disappear any moment. His hands felt so good on you that you shivered, yearning for more. 

Things were getting out of control, but Ghost didn’t care. Tonight, he wanted you more than he has ever wanted anything from you. To appreciate all the things he was too stupid to notice before. You were sexy beyond belief. Always have been. When you were working over your desk with such a focused look, when you were gloating about your new invention, when you demonstrated a new gun so naturally in perfect stance. 

His pants tightened as his erection grew strong with each taste of your tongue. His hands roamed into your hair, gripping slightly to pull you closer. The both of you moaned when you ended up grinding against his hard cock. Once you got a taste for that, you couldn’t stop. Your hips grinded into his, sending earthquakes of pleasure through you. You could feel your panties get damper each minute as the makeout became even hotter and heavier. It wasn’t helping that it has been a while since the last time you had sex. It made you feel more sensitive than usual.

Finally, Ghost flipped you around and settled you back on the bed. He has never been so turned on in his life and you were the one doing this to him. 

There was something he needed to make clear first, though.

“I’m going to make you cum.” He promised, flashing you a determined look that had you weak. 

You blushed and averted your gaze, your voice low. “You shouldn’t get your hopes up.”

“I’ll do it. No matter how long it takes. I’m going to be the first man to make you cum tonight.” He reassured, gladly ignoring your warnings as he leaned down to kiss your lips again. As he took control of your tongue, his hands began to explore your skin under the shirt. You were unbelievably soft under his fingertips, delicate from your lack of experience on a battlefield. He now loved that about you. You didn’t need to be in the throws of battle to be part of the team. 

“You’re so soft, you know that?” He praised, deep rumbles of his voice making your brain turn into mush as it entered your ears. His kisses traveled to them, making you shiver uncontrollably as he softly bit down. 

He chuckled, a sound that was once always reserved for his male teammates unless he was making fun of you. Now, they teased you so pleasantly that your breath hitched. “Someone’s ears are sensitive. You like having them played with?”

Just as you were about to answer, he slid his hand up to touch your breasts, pinching your nipples and making you jump. “Ahh~! Ghost!”

“Call me Simon.” He demanded, yearning for the sound of his real name coming from you. It would be the first time you would call him by his real name. 

You played with it in your head, noting how foreign it felt just sitting on your tongue. Nonetheless, you gave him what he wanted. “S-Simon. . .”

“Again.” He encouraged, suppressing a shiver that traveled down his spine. It was like getting a dose of the sweetest drug. Fireworks exploding in his chest. He loved how his name sounded on your lips. 

“Simon. . .” You sighed as he peppered kisses all over your neck. Your cami was now raised up to reveal your chest, kisses traveling further and further down to taste all of you. As much as Simon wanted to fuck you already right then and there, he had a promise to keep. He had to take it slow and let it build up. He had to make you cum first.

He took a stiff nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around before taking it between his teeth in a gentle bite. His other hand twisted your other nub between his fingers. The way he tweaked them hard sent waves of pleasure through you, all the way down to your cunt that was still soaking your panties. It felt so good to have him touch you like this. You wanted more. 

Arching your back, you took your top off completely. Simon followed suit, stripping off his shirt and trailing his kisses down your stomach. As he felt your stomach on his lips, he buried his face deep into it. To think that he could’ve had this so much sooner if he was just nice to you from the beginning. “So soft. . .”

You squirmed a little under his slow, deep kisses to your body. No one has ever taken this much time on you before. All foreplay was pretty exclusive to your breasts or cunt with your previous partners. Simon was taking the time to appreciate your whole body. It felt so intimate. “Simon. . ?”

God, he loved it when you said his name. “Y/n?”

You were starting to like the sound of your name coming from him too. A blush swept across your cheeks. “You can be a little rougher.”

He smirked, this time making you tremble in excitement rather than rage. “Is that what you like? You like it a little rough?”

“I like the firmer sensation. Nothing too crazy.” You elaborated, always one to speak your mind even in a moment like this. If you were going to have sex with Simon Riley, if he wanted to make you cum, information like this was important.

Simon hummed against your skin, his hands working to pull off your pants. The vibrations made you sigh. Once your shorts and panties were off, he settled himself between your legs. Your dripping cunt was such a pretty sight. Pink, wet, and sweet. He bit the inside of your thigh, making you gasp in pleasure. “Like that? Is this what your previous partners did to you?” 

“N-No. . .” You admitted. Your previous partners never really listened to what you liked even if you told them straight-forwardly. At least not enough to get you to tremble like Simon did. It seemed like the man you hated before was really the best so far in bed. 

“Good. Their loss.” He murmured, biting down on your thighs soon after and leaving a deep love-bite. You bit your lower lip and whimpered, the sensation sending shockwaves. Simon kept going further and further down on you, relishing each time you moaned and quivered. He wanted more. He wanted to make you scream.

His lips latched onto your swollen clit, biting it between his teeth and flicking it with his tongue. He tasted your nectar on his tongue, a taste that instantly made him addicted to it. You arched your back and grabbed his hair suddenly, silky soft strands feeling nice between your fingers. 

Just like he wanted, you moaned his name over and over again. His tongue kept lathering your clit firmly and with even strokes. Fingers prodded at your opening, spreading your wetness all over you until he was able to put two of his fingers inside. God, you were tight. 

“Ahh~! Right there, Simon!” You encouraged, your ability to speak your mind unwavering. Simone found that insanely attractive as he pushed his fingers in further and curled right at that spongy spot that was driving you crazy. His teeth pulled at your folds before being soothed with his tongue. Your clit twitched as he pressed his tongue up against it once more, all the while pumping his fingers into your soaked pussy. 

Your grip on his hair got tighter as he kept pushing you to the edge. The sensation made his own cock twitch under his clothes, making him press it up against the mattress to grind into. He wished it was your pussy he was grinding into already, but you were so close. He could feel it. You could feel it. 

He didn’t stop his pace. Strong, even, and slow. You tightened around his fingers each second, feeling the wave approach closer and closer. You could already tell that this was going to be a big one. Your first orgasm with a partner ever. 

Tilting your head back, you moaned louder and louder. You begged for more and more, praying to a god that Simon wasn’t just going to leave you hanging. Now that would be pure evil. The worst thing he could ever do to you. But he didn’t. He just kept nipping, sucking, biting, and licking to the point that your head was spinning. 

Before you could warn him, your vision saw white and you screamed. Simon could feel you suck in his fingers so tight that he smiled as he still landed kisses on your clit. Your legs trembled, aching to close or kick out the electricity that coarse through you. Your cum was spilling everywhere. All over his fingers down to his wrist, coating your thighs in a sweet glaze. 

While you tried to catch your breath, Simon licked up every drop. “How was that? Everything you thought it would be?

You looked down to see his eyes ablaze with victory and a sexy smirk on his lips. You sighed and nodded. “Credit where credit is due. That was really good.”

“Good. Because you’re not done yet.” He decided, already stripping off his pajama pants to reveal his rock hard erection. He was bigger than you expected, all that shit talk for two years making you believe that he was making up for something. But he was blessed with the girth, the length, and the look that you knew would be amazing.

He positioned himself between your legs, coating his length with your slick. Shivers started again as the tip rubbed against your clit. The both of you sighed, enjoying each other’s bodies to the fullest extent.

Suddenly, Simon pushed all of his cock into you, bottoming out within a second. You gripped the sheets tight in your fist as you cried out. He stretched you out so pleasurably, so fully. You’ve never felt so full in your sex life. 

Simon hissed as you clenched around him. “Fucking hell, you’re so tight. . .”

Slowly, he began to move. Long even strokes that rubbed every inch of you and him. As he looked down at you, face twisting into such a pleasurable expression, eyes only on him, he heard his heart beat in his ears. God damn, you were gorgeous. 

Your eyes widened as he came down for a kiss, his tongue taking full control while his hips remained steady. The sudden rush of the kiss and his cock reaching deeper made you scratch at his shoulders. He was eating up all of your moans like candy. 

“F-Fuck~! Simon, wait!” You begged, the sensation getting overwhelming with each deep thrust. He could feel you getting tighter. Wetter. He knew that you were getting close to another orgasm, and he wasn’t going to stop for a second.

He sat up and pushed your legs down by your thighs, spreading you wide open and making you take all of him as deep as you can. You clawed his hands as your climax approached even faster, Simon ignoring all of your cries for him to wait. The sounds of your wet sex echoed in the room along with your sensual moans, causing you to get even more aroused. Christ, his cock was so good!

You were plunged into an orgasm, your whole body quaking as you arched and screamed it out. Simon felt your pussy wrap tightly around him, trying to take everything from him before he was ready. It was dizzying how good your insides felt coiling around him. He loved how you soaked his dick and crotch full with your hot cum. 

Simon grabbed your thighs tight, squeezing hard and clenching his teeth while he tried to stop himself from climaxing too soon. He wanted to stretch this night out for as long as he could.

While you settled down from your second orgasm, you gazed up at Simon who was struggling to keep himself together. You lifted your arms and touched his strong, muscular chest that was shimmering in sweat. You could feel how hard his heart was beating under your fingertips. You could feel him twitch hard inside you, aching to fuck you again. Your body was weak, though. You didn’t know if you could last for much longer. Every nerve in your body felt like it was melting. “Si-”

“I know. Your body won’t stop shaking. Just until I cum, yeah?” He observed, fingers tracing your trembling curves.

At the idea of Simon cumming, your body regained new energy that you didn’t know you had. You wanted to see it. Feel it. You wanted to see your lieutenant crumble from the power of your body. “Fuck me then, Simon.”

He didn’t have to be told twice. His hips went into overdrive, thrusting in and out of you with ease from all of your slick. You felt him hit that wonderful spot of yours that made you see stars over and over again, your body already on the edge once again. 

Simon picked you up off the bed and turned, settling you on his lap while he laid back. He didn’t relinquish any control, however. He just wanted to grope your delicious ass while he thrusted up inside you, hitting nice and deep. With the new view and new places to touch, he was losing his mind. 

You weren’t expecting this new position, but you didn’t reject it either. In fact, it felt heavenly. He hit that g-spot at just the right angle and you loved how he manhandled your butt so roughly. You liked how his eyes never looked away from your body, drinking it all in like the finest wine. From this position, you could feel his solid cock twitch inside of you.

Struggling yourself up, limbs feeling like jelly, you fell onto his chest, your tits pressing firmly into him. That sent him over the edge, his grip on your ass making his nails dig into your skin. Once you felt that first rope of cum enter you, you came for the last time.

Hot cum mixed together, making a mess out of the both of you. His chest fell and rose with heavy breaths, groans coming out with each rope he couldn’t hold back. Your tightening pussy wasn’t helping, milking him of everything to the point where he even felt tingles travel through him. Once he was finally done, he felt exhausted. 

You were exhausted too, your lungs struggling to regulate air flow. Your heart was beating so loud that it drained all other noises. Your body felt slightly numb from it all, your head getting fuzzy with each second. Simon wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to his chest as you both calmed yourselves. 

“That was. . .” He began, losing the right words to describe just how amazing that was. He’s had his fair share of sexual encounters, but never like this. No one could quite compare to you.

“Yeah. . .” You agreed, your eyes closing as you felt the afterglow take over. You felt the covers pull up over you, Simon still holding you on top of him, not willing to let go just yet. 

He could never imagine letting you go now. 

[yuons]

ᯓ 50 first dates — heeseung

“cursed with the gift of memories”

syn well-known for his charm and charisma, lee heeseung’s name travels through well with tourists. giving them the best dates and nights of their life. heeseung’s strictly only into one nights stands, running away from commitment even before it was there to chase him. however, his life changed completely when his eyes fell upon a woman. a woman who he knows he could never get. but that has never stopped him, hasn’t it?

feat. hyung line yeji (itzy) hyunjin (skz) | wc 5901 words

pairs fuckboy!heeseung + reader | cw s2l one sided pining? fuckboy turned sweet angst fluff smoking drinking mentions of hook ups mentions of an accident memory loss profanity — mlist navi

note entry for @cupidhoons ’s 1k event >< i tweaked a few things here and there, but i hope you all enjoy it nonetheless

“he’s incredible” she says, grabbing her mojito from the bartender. looking back to her friend, “he’s got these eyes that just hold a mischievous look, you know?”

“so? what else happened that night?” another guy asked his friend as she was running on the treadmill.

“we had dinner at this small restaurant and we talked about our lives. it was just like a movie” a woman said as she recalled the night, chatting off while writing her thesis.

“was that all?” a girl’s sister asks while both of them were getting ready for a party.

“we had the best night, he’s so sweet and caring and everything i ever want in a man” a woman said to the worker who was massaging her.

“did you get his number?” her friend asked while handing her a cup of coffee.

“thats the thing” she said, eating lunch at a restaurant. “when i asked for his number he told me he had a girlfriend”

“what’s his name?” her manager asks handing her the new papers.

“lee heeseung”

all over, dozens of women have the same story to tell of the same man. lee heeseung. his charm goes around that has tons of tourists falling head over heels for him.

although really, the charm only consists of the same things with each women; talking to them at whatever place he lands in, telling them about his life stories he’s crafted perfectly, and in the end giving them a good night.

he really had no problem with this routine, figuring they’d all leave soon anyway. dismissing any of their attempts to stay in contact with him by making up on the spot excuses.

“seung” jake exasperates, calling him for the nth time. “you in or not?”

puffing out the smoke, he hummed agreeing to whatever they were talking about.

“we’re diving tomorrow, be at the docks at 5 AM” jay says, grabbing the cigarette pack and throwing it on to the table. “sharp.”

“can’t, i have to take care of the dolphins” heeseung sighs.

“can’t you tell your cousin to do it?” sunghoon asks, taking a swig of the whiskey.

“haven’t you seen him?” he says, referring to his coward of a cousin. as the four continue to talk around the slowly dissipating fire.

heeseung woke up the next day tending to his dolphins. feeding them food and watching them as they swim and did tricks. he sat on the docks, letting his feet hang over the edge, patting the dolphins every once in a while if they snuggled his legs.

he got up about half an hour later and headed to one of the local diners in town. a small, dingy house close to where he works. he sat on the bar stool and a girl who looked around his age took the order.

“i’ll just have coffee, thanks”

“seriously? you look like you’d get blown off by the wind” the girl says, “i’ll fix you up a sandwich”

heeseung smiled profusely, confused whether he should be offended or grateful. he skims through the men looking over the unique variety of choices, when the reflection of the sun seems to be hitting him. he looked up to the direction with squinted eyes and he was so glad the sun shined perfectly at him.

to say he was captivated was an understatement. your hair sat down perfectly on your back as you smiled at the menu like it was an interesting book. you set down the spoon you were playing with and the barista walked up to you to take your order.

heeseung’s eyes never left you, entirely too enthralled just by your presence. he decides to make a move, getting up from his spot and sitting across from your seat that’s conveniently vacant. he watched as the barista placed your plate of pancakes in front of you.

“thanks, yeji” you smiled up at her. he can’t tell which was more angelic; your voice or your smile.

you picked up your pancakes and started stacking them, heeseung watched with curiosity. you started off making a mini volcano as the steam from the heat drove up. minutes later, when heeseung’s eyes left you for a while, your volcano had transformed to a house. you continued stacking the bread carefully.

picking up a small piece, you intended for it to be the door to the supposed house. when suddenly, a toothpick drove through them from the top.

“it creates a hinge” someone says. you look up, which appeared to be a wrong move because the man that stood in front of you might’ve just been carved by the gods.

his hair roused messily atop his head and a grin that you swore had your heart clenched. you momentarily freeze up, scanning over your words for a decent reply.

“oh, thanks” you trail off, showing a small smile.

heeseung was about to sit back down at his spot until you braved yourself.

“hey” you pause awkwardly as he turns back to you “i see you’re alone as well, why don’t you sit with me”

heeseung’s grin doubled and he sat down across from you. from then on, heeseung didn’t know what he got himself into all he knows is that your voice was addicting and your smile held the world.

you both had a long conversation about your lives. he told you about his work in wildlife as a marine veterinarian, tending to the dolphins mostly. and you told him about your work as an art teacher in a school nearby.

you listened intently, thoroughly interested in his job, “my dad works as a fisherman”

“oh really? so you know how to fish” heeseung perked up.

“no, i’ve never really been interested in it” you replied, “but i’m used to the smell of the sea, you reek of it”

heeseung scoffed playfully, “i know, i just went back from feeding the dolphins. probably should have cleaned myself up before”

“no!” you exclaimed trying to fix your tone, “i didn’t mean it in a bad way. you smell nice, like the scent of the sea, it’s kind of nostalgic”

“really?” heeseung looks at you, eyes widened in that adorable way. god, he looks so good. you nodded with a smile that stretched perfectly on your lips. “you should come and meet the dolphins some time”

your eyes lit up, “oh i would love to, how many do you tend to?”

before heeseung could answer, yeji stopped him by telling you both off as they’d have to pack up for lunch.

you both walked out of the diner leisurely when heeseung turned to you, “hey, do you want to continue this somewhere else? i have a nice place we can go to”

“oh” you let out, whilst scrunching your face “i'm so sorry but today’s my dad’s birthday and we usually drive out to the field. it’s our tradition”

“well then how about next time?” he asked, tilting his head.

“how about tomorrow? meet me here for breakfast?” you offered.

“tomorrow then”

rain poured teardrops in a continuous rythmn, the wind blowing harshly. a figure disrupted the pattern as heeseung went in the diner and dropped himself on the bar stool, greeting yeji. and waving at the guy in the back, who’s face always looked sour whenever he looked at heeseung.

“the bar’s closed” hyunjin, who he now knows as yeji’s brother said blatantly. heeseung shrugged at the customer that was sitting on one of the sofas and shined a sly grin at him, receiving an eye roll back.

the door opened once more and you walked in, heeseung watched as you sat down and dropped your jacket beside you.

he stood up and walked to your seat, “hey pretty, missed me yet?”

you looked up at him with furrowed eyebrows, “no?” you said, before going back to read the menu.

heeseung stared at you dumbfounded, “hey, are you okay? you said you wanted to meet up again yesterday”

“yesterday? i’ve never even met you” you scrunched your nose as heeseung stood still in confusion, his mind reeling.

in a spur, heeseung got dragged by his collar and out of the diner. the door behind him slammed shut, he turned to see yeji stared at him menacingly.

“what’s wrong? why’s she..” he trailed off.

yeji clicked her tongue, sighing, “she isn’t what you think she is” heeseung waited, breathing heavily, the humid air made it difficult to breathe.

“about a year ago, y/n got into a terrible car accident. she and her father went up North Shore to grab fruits as tradition” yeji continued, “her father broke some ribs, but she had a serious head injury”

yeji looked away and stared off into the rain “she’s suffering short-term memory loss” yeji concluded. heeseung apparently had a hard time understanding all of this, none of the information thrown at him clicking right yet.

“wait, so she can’t remember anything?”

“no you dumbass, she remembers everything up until the night before the accident”

both of them stayed silent.

“so what? she thinks everyday is the day of her dad’s birthday?”

“exactly” yeji states, “she wakes up everyday thinking it’s the same day, her father’s provided her with a special paper that he’s printed over a hundred times for her to read”

“he’s been keeping her in the dark?”

“it’s not like that. she’s been through a lot already and her father doesn’t want her to suffer anymore” yeji scolds. “so if you don’t mind, i need you to stop bothering her. find another person to bother”

“how long’s it gonna take for her to gain back her memory?” jake asks, laying on his back staring up at the night sky.

“her doctors say it may never come back” heeseung says, throwing in food for the dolphins.

“so, basically” jake starts looking down at his friend, “she’s perfect for you”

“what?”

“you’ve never been into commitment” jake shrugs, “there’s practically no attachment there”

heeseung stays silent. jake raised his eyebrows, “don’t tell me you’re falling for her”

he slapped his friend’s leg, “i’m not” he says, “it’s just evil”

“you meet her, hang out, flirt, no commitment, nobody gets hurt”

“she has brain damage, you douche”

“you sure that’s the only reason?”

once again, heeseung stays silent. he can’t lie. he knows that he felt, if anything, the tiniest bit of care for you. spending too much time awake thinking about you more than he should’ve.

“i mean, either way, i think this’ll be good for you” jake starts, his eyes scanned the stars one by one, “you haven’t really let yourself connect with a girl”

“oh so now you care?” heeseung asks, rather jokingly.

“i want the best for you, seung. you’re leaving soon for university, the choice is really yours in the end” jake says, finally sitting up and looking at his friend with sincerity.

“thanks” hee mumbled as jake stood up to get off the ship, patting him on the back while doing so.

“you should get some sleep, you’d need energy to get her back”

heeseung stared at the back of jake’s retreating figure. they’ve been friends for years now, being the closest out of the four. always being a helping hand for the other whenever any of them were in need.

“you again?” hyunjin rolled his eyes about to grab a stick.

“relax, i just want to say hi to her” heeseung says, holding a hand out in defence.

“what did yeji say?”

“that you’d kill me with an axe” heeseung trailed off. “but, hey, look i really just want to talk to her again”

“she doesn’t want guys hitting on her during breakfast” hyunjin said, plainly.

“want to bet on that? 20 bucks” apparently the world was on his favor when hyunjin decides to shake his hand.

“deal”

heeseung spots you on your usual seat, building a house out of your pancakes. he decides its better to play safe, picking up a toothpick, walking to your seat.

“it acts as a hinge” he says, smiling.

“are you from a country where you think it’s okay to stick your fingers all over someone’s food?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“uhm, no, i’m from this country” he starts and after seeing your expression, all of the lines he’d planned out got caught on his tongue, “well, have a good meal”

hyunjin cackled at his attempts and heeseung doubled the price for the next day, determined to get you to have breakfast with him again. that’s how it went on for days, heeseung kept doubling the price at his failed attempts. yeji not really helping as she scowled at him everyday while hyunjin doubled over in laughter.

one of those days, heeseung realizes he really has nothing else to loose, except for his dignity. so that is exactly what he did. heeseung started sobbing in the middle of the diner, weird looks thrown at him.

when you suddenly sat beside him and spoke in the softest voice, he almost melted right then and there. but he pushed through with the acting, still sobbing nonetheless of you trying to calm him down. finally, he got succeeded in getting you to have breakfast with him once again. under the excuse that he couldn’t read.

you both talked all throughout the day, teaching him how to pronounce certain words, reading off the menu and enunciating each syllable. he found it quite endearing that you were so patient given the ridiculous situation.

“i had a great time” you said as you both walked out of the diner.

“yeah, so did i” heeseung smiles. he was about to say something else, but stopped. figuring it was better to go one step at a time, he turned to go get in his car when you scoffed.

“seriously? thats all? you know i thought that if someone would embarrass themselves just to talk to me they would at least ask for my number” you say, turning on the engine and start to pull out of the park.

heeseung, panicked, quickly got in his car to drive after you and apologise. afraid that he would cause problems. and that is how he led himself to this moment; getting told off by your father and almost getting beaten up by your brother.

your father had told him to lose contact with you. that he was to not go to the diner anymore and leave you alone.

now if there’s anything to know about heeseung, it’s that he takes an advice and let it go out the other ear — with the exception of his own grandma, he’s terrified of her — and second, he will never give up on anything. so, he left no time for sulking as the next day he had a brand new conception.

he knew there was no way he could ever talk to you in the diner under the watchful eyes of both yeji and hyunjin. so, learning your daily schedule, heeseung decides to stop at a part of your drive and pretended as if his truck broke down.

“hey, i’m so sorry. can you give me a lift?” heeseung awkwardly smiled as you slowly stopped right in front of his car. a concerned look on your face.

“yeah, of course” you say, getting out of your car to help attach his to yours.

with that, he’s made up a variety of reasons to stop you on your way. most days interacting with you than not. he was so determined to talk to you, his excuses ranged from being kidnapped to getting beaten by who you assumed was a random man.

the plans were carefully thought of, daily. he spent much time creating up random scenarios that were severe enough for you to spare him some time and talk to him.

he really should’ve seen it coming. because one day, your car wasn’t the one approaching, rather, another car. as it came closer he realized your father and brother were sat on the front seats and he sat up from the position he took on the ground.

“once you stop pretending to look dead, come by the house”

now he’s once again stood in the lawns of your house. he expected your dad to tell him to stop meeting you or restrict him further, but all he did was just talk to him.

your dad hesitantly told him how happy you were going about your day and how it only ever happens whenever you had an interaction with him.

“i can stop you from seeing my daughter” your father pauses, “but i can’t stop her from seeing you if that’s what makes her happy”

the weight of his words flowed through the air as your voice tunes in from the garage. painting away your garage whilst singing a song you know so well.

“let me get this straight” jake says, “you’ve been trying to talk to her everyday, making up dozens of excuses, doing random things just so she would talk to you?”

“well if you word it like that, it sounds sad”

“so you’re basically trying to get her to fall in love with you, every single day”

“not always” heeseung trails off, “it’s complicated”

“sure” jake says, taking out his pack of cigarettes. “want one?”

heeseung shook his head, back in thought.

“you haven’t been smoking lately” jake ponders. “is it because of that girl?”

jake said it as a joke, fully expecting his friend to slap him or dismiss it all. but he was proved wrong when heeseung stared right at him and nodded.

“she’s been through enough, i don’t want her to have lung problems just because i can’t leave her alone”

jake whistled low at the statement.

“besides, it’s bad for your lungs, you should stop too”

“i don’t smoke as much as you did” jake retorts, putting back the blunt in the pack. figuring it was boring to smoke alone.

“i never expected you’d do things like this”

“you think i’m heartless”

“not when you used to shit your pants from a ghost story” jake laughs and so did heeseung, hitting his friend on the back. jake looked to his friend, curious.

“do you like her?”

“what do you think?”

“personally?” jake stops, “i think you’re in love with her”

a part of him wanted to deny that, he used to be afraid of commitment after all. but now the prospect of not having any commitment with you kind of scares him. he can’t have commitment with you, literally and figuratively. how could he when you can’t remember who he is everytime you wake up.

like jake said; no strings attached. except, this time he was the at the receiving end and he couldn’t do anything about it.

attempting for the last time to talk to you at the diner, heeseung knew he would fail. he thought he’d done terribly at flirting with you when you screamed a loud ‘no’.

but when you quickly grabbed your jacket and walked out, he followed suit. yeji and hyunjin alarmed as well, walking out of the diner.

the police was about to place a ticket on your car, it was overdue.

“the tags don’t expire until next year”

“it expires May of this year, maam” the police officer said.

“no! it expires may of next-“ you stop after looking at the date of a newspaper that someone was holding.

in a rush, you look around for your car and got in. driving back home confused and aggravated, you have no idea what’s happening.

in the end, you’ve spiraled into this deep hole of reality after your father, quite hesitantly, revealed everything. he told you the whole story; the car accident, what your dad has done, and — to heeseung’s surprise — what heeseung has been doing for the past few months.

sitting on the front steps of your house, flipping through the book filled with newspapers and clippings from your accident, everyone waited around you. your father ready with answers if you if you had any questions or needed any support.

what no one expected was for you to say you wanted to talk to heeseung, alone. heeseung himself was quite shocked, and scared to be faie. he thought out of anyone, you wouldn’t want to talk to him anymore. rather hesitant, your father and brother walked in the house to give you space.

the silence was unbearable, for heeseung anyway. you stared front out to the grassy field. it was a beautiful afternoon if not for the situation you were in right now.

“so, um” heeseung cleared his throat rather awkwardly.

“i’m sorry”

he waits for you to continue, but alas you never did. heeseung looks at you, his brows furrowed.

“what for?”

“you’re the only person i can never remember when i wake up” you say, stretching out your legs and observing them instead.

heeseung looked at you — or rather admired you. he can’t believe even in a situation as this, he still find it in himself to fawn over you. you looked so ethereal under the small rays of the sun.

“it’s alright” hee said, slowly smiling as he looked away from you and off to the wide land. “not like you can help it”

“how are you fine with all this?” this time, you were the one facing him, gosh how could he still keep on that god awful, handsome smile on when he’s practically been rejected multiple times?

“just because” he replies, his smile widening. heeseung feels as if he’s gone mad, absolutely batshit insane. he can’t tell why he’s smiling so brightly right now, maybe it’s because of the fact that he’s having a conversation with you again, or maybe it’s because of how cute you sounded like when you’re concerned for him.

“you’re okay with” you pause, carefully choosing the right words “trying to make me fall in love with you every single day?” you say this slowly, enunciating each syllable hoping you’d say it in a way that didn’t seem weird or self-centered.

“what if i say i am?” you were caught off guard when heeseung’s face turned to you. you hadn’t really noticed your proximity until now. his nose was barely grazing yours and you could see his eyes up close, has it always been that pretty?

you gulp. because how can you not? lee heeseung is inches away from your face and he has the most adorable expression anyone could’ve ever seen. an expression no one’s ever seen except for you. his pupils dilated, hair messy from the wind, cheeks a rosy color and a small grin to top it all off.

“why?”

“want me to show you why?” he says. your heart pounded too loud and out of the sheer fear of him being able to hear it, you looked away. heeseung chuckled and blinked, his eyes wandering back to the field.

“i have to get back” heeseung says standing up, “tell me if you ever need anything” you finally dared yourself to look up at him. it didn’t matter anyway as heeseung walked off and got into his car. flashing that smile of his once more before pulling out of the driveway.

you went in your house after watching his car get further and further, lost in your own thought. when you walk up to your room, a small box covered with wrapping paper is placed on top of your bed.

opening it carefully, you opened the box to see a disc titled “to y/n”. out of curiosity, you ran down to the living room’s television and insert it into the dvd player.

sitting down on the sofa, you waited as the video started to play. the tunes of your favorite song hummed in as heeseung came into view.

“hi, heeseung here” he starts saying, the camera pans to two people in the background that was making heart poses and kissy faces. “yo guys stop”

the guys in the back laughed silently and the camera focused back on heeseung, his smile back on display.

“if you’re watching this, y/n. i want to tell you a bit of a background story first” heeseung stops, and grabs something from below “you got into a car accident about a year ago”

the camera focused on the newspaper clipping of her accident, “and now you can’t remember me, even if i try to talk to you everyday”

the person behind the camera snorted and heeseung threw a dirty look to whoever.

“but it’s okay, because now i’ll show you what’s been happening so you can watch this everyday” hee stands up from the sofa and sits down on his living room chair. the camera zooms out and across him sat one of his friends, you assumed. “this is sunghoon, he’s going to act as you”

the guy named sunghoon waved at the camera, smiling politely. the recording continued on for minutes as heeseung acts out the encounters he’s had with you. sunghoon and his other friend, jay, making faces every once in a while to piss off their friend. your laughs and giggles reverberated through the house walls that has your dad coming in to check on you.

as he watches you from the doorway, listening to your laughs and seeing your big smile, he can’t help but have one of his own. ever since the accident, he really has felt emptiness all over. guilt and so much more emotions plaguing him by day. all he wants is just to watch you be happy all the time and if that’s what heeseung makes you, he couldn’t stop you.

the past few months after that were filled with heeseung getting closer and closer to you as more recordings of you and him were added to the tape.

heeseung told you everything about his life, what and why he works as what he does and how he ended up in hawaii.

in turn, you told him more about the years you’ve had without him and telling him about your late mom. you told him about how she still brings you comfort until today from picking up all the tiny quirks she used to do.

eventually, heeseung grew on you. watching the tape daily and seeing how well he treats you, you really can’t help but fall more and more in love with him.

“no, i love tulips, but i love dandelions as well” you say at the pouting guy in front of you. “these are beautiful, hee”

“you know if you want me to get you another one, i can do it right now” he says, ready to make a run for the shop if you say the word.

“i told you” you took another whiff of the dandelions in exaggeration, “i love dandelions, they’re really pretty”

“okay” he sighs, and the moment you yawn for the nth time of the day, heeseung had you nursed back to bed.

“i’m fine”

“yeah, sure” he says, dismissing your words and grabbing a blanket to cover you. “get some rest, i’ll wake you up this time. i swear”

you squint your eyes at him in warning, “i will!” he says in faux sincerity, letting out a small laugh.

“fine”

heeseung gets up and walks out the door the moment you stopped mumbling. he went down to be greeted by your doctor along with your father and brother in the living room.

they all talked about your health and well-being. and if there was any way your memory would ever be healed — mostly heeseung asked about this. and as much as he hoped, there was close to no chance you would. your head injury was so severe it permanently damaged those parts of your brain.

“are you planning to continue all of this?” your father suddenly asked him, “you have no plans for the future?”

“i’m going to university soon, abroad” heeseung starts. “to continue work as a biologist in alaska”

“ah, well, it’s great you have plans” the doctor replies, patting his back, “i thought you were going to devote your whole life to helping her regain her memories”

heeseung wasn’t the only one silent at this. you were too, although a room away. you couldn’t sleep for long and was about to walk outside when you overheard their conversation about you and didn’t want to make it awkward.

but now, you just realized how dumb you were. you realized how you were basically holding him back from everything. you were being selfish of his time. you blindly liked all of the time he’s spent with you, but you didn’t realize that he too should have a life outside of you.

walking back into your room, you pull out your journal that held all the memories you’ve had with him. you’ve written all of it down. most pages dedicated to him.

“hey” you say walking up to him the next day, as he was feeding the dolphins. journal clutched tightly in one hand.

“hi” heeseung said, pure affection on his voice. you sat down beside him on the docks as he went back to throwing in the food. “i just realized i haven’t introduced you to them. this one’s named lorry”

heeseung says patting the head of the closest dolphin. you closed off your heart, preparing yourself for the worse today. set on one goal. but how can he just sit there and look adorable and somehow all the things you planned to say are down the drains.

“don’t worry, lorry’s one of the nicest ones. compared to the others” heeseung assures, you slowly inched your hands forward to pat the dolphin and it felt soft. lorry snuggled its snout to your palm and dived in the water again to play with its friends.

“heeseung” you say, staring out at the sea, avoiding his eyes at all costs. he hummed, closing up the bag of food before looking at you.

“we should stop seeing each other”

heeseung blinked. once. twice. thrice. he thought people were exaggerating when they said ‘their heart dropped’, but now he understands. he could feel his heart starting to beat uncomfortably, every inch of his body conscious, his mouth felt dry.

“what?”

“i’m not going to hold you back. you can’t just make me fall in love with you everyday, thinking there would be a future for us”

“but what if there is?”

“theres no future with me, seung”

not that nickname. please. you can’t just ask him to stop talking to you and use that nickname on him. it’s not fair. you aren’t being fair. why are you being so weird right now?

“there is!” heeseung exclaims, “i’ll make sure there is. you can watch the tape everyday-“

“it won’t work, hee“

“or i’ll tell you our story-“

“you’ll get bored of it“

“i’ll remind you every morning-“

“that’s impractical“

“or i can stop by your house all the time-“

“stop”

“no, you stop.” heeseung stressed, “i have no problem waking up everyday to talk to you— or, or to remind you of our relationship. i don’t want this to end”

“seung” you sigh, “we can’t make it work and you know that” you picked up the journal beside you and showed it to him.

“i started writing in this journal ever since the day i found out about the accident. and i want to start a new chapter” you look down, “without you in it”

he stayed silent. the waves rippled under the dawning sun. hues of orange contrasted with the sea, reflecting off the colors.

“okay” heeseung says barely above a whisper. you look at him, pretending you didn’t hear him say anything. heeseung stared ahead and cleared his throat. “okay. it was nice knowing you, y/n”

he turned to you with a smile. you don’t know what kind of answer you wanted from him. maybe you half expected for him to continue screaming at you or hell even push you in the water. but for some reason, seeing his strained smile hurt you even more. you were the one who had the idea so why were you the one to slowly regret it?

“glad for you, son” heeseung looked back to see your father walking towards him, your brother following behind.

“sir” heeseung greets, he nodded at your brother. “i’m finally off your back now” he jokes.

your father smiles, “ahh well you weren’t all bad” he says patting heeseung on the back.

heeseung smiles politely. he hesitates to say something, but ultimately thought there was nothing else to loose anyway. “how’s y/n?”

your father looks at him with raised eyebrows, “she’s moved in to the clinic now, teaches people art”

“code 110, flight A30 has opened for boarding, please get in line. i repeat, code 110, flight A30 has opened for boarding, please get in line” the speaker announced.

“that’s my cue” heeseung says, taking his suitcase. “it’s been nice knowing you sir. wished we had more time to talk, you too” heeseung nods at your father and brother. he was about to turn to the gate before a hand landed on his shoulder, stopping him.

“before you go, i want you to have this. a parting gift if you will” your father hands him an ipod. your father nods one last time and walks off. leaving heeseung quite confused.

he got in the plane and the moment he sat down, he connected the wires of his earphones in and as the familiar melody whistled in his ears he knows he fucked up.

heeseung hadn’t ever gotten up and left the plane so quick, a few people shouting at him after he bumped into them but he paid no mind. he ran out the airport and called for a cab.

he was jittery the whole ride. he realized how dumb he had been this whole time. he went through all the things you said that day and he didn’t understand why he just let you leave like that. why didn’t he put up more of a fight?

the moment he got down off the cab he ran in to the hospital searching everywhere for you until he found you back in the gardens. watering some flowers and tending to them.

“y/n” heeseung pants, you turn back a bit startled and see him. heeseung slowly walks towards you, taking careful steps one by another. “do you remember me?” he whipers.

he breathes in, your sweet scent filling him up. his face an inch away from yours. he watched as you stared up at him, admiring how the glow of your eyes shifted at every minor movement.

your lips break out into a pretty smile, “how couldn’t i?” and in a spur, your lips were on his. the longing and time that has passed all fused into a moment. heeseung grabs you by your waist to deepen the kiss and giggles from both you and him elicits against each other.

as you break apart for a moment, heeseung mumbles out something that you definitely heard but want to hear him say again.

“i love you” he whispers, “and i’ll continue to for a very long time”

even memories can never erase that feeling. the feeling of being so painfully in love with someone. the feeling of loving lee heeseung.

© junislqve 2024. liking, rebloging, and commenting are appreciated.

[menlove]

one thing that adds to credibility of Paul being closeted imo, is that often he is thought of as having this internalised homophobia, if not homophobia itself, because he always mentions how un-gay he is whenever some gay subject comes up in interviews

but like, there are so many things that disprove him being homophobic, it's not even funny. going to Paris alone with gay men? Paul did that two times (three if we count John lol) and that Peter Brown story is incrediblyy suspect. what homophobic man, scared of gay, sits on the bed of his male employee and his male fling that casually late at night in his hotel room and chats them up?

most likely reason, combined with his incredibly suspect lyrics, is that he is so defensive about his sexuality because he has something to hide

THATS WHAT IIIIIM SAYING!!!! like he is so comfortable w gay people and gay culture which on its own isn't suspect but it Is when people insist he's homophobic as a Reason He's Repressed Not Closeted. and once again I must remind everyone that john nearly beat a man to death for calling him gay and was still undeniably queer.

it's just like. imagine for a moment. with me. everyone hold my hand. not claiming this is true but walk w me along this path to get to current paul that isn't "he's just repressed and stupid and doesn't even know he's bi" but is instead MY speculative timeline (somehow this turned into a mini fic or something god help me but I'M SO SERIOUS IM SO SERIOUS THIS WOULD MAKE THE MOST SENSE TO ME WALK WITH ME HOLD MY HAND)

you are born in the 1940s. you are raised by a strict man who was physically abusive & in a culture that hates gay people. you grow up watching people get killed for being queer and being bullied over your feminine features that people think make you queer. you hit puberty and Shit Gets Harder because you start finding other men hot. elvis, for one! when you're 15 you start seeing a boy around that you think is hot and it turns out he's in a band and you fall in love with his looks and his voice and then him. and he's just as insane about you. you start doing increasingly sexual things together. eventually, you're having a full blown sexual affair. while writing love songs together and growing up together. and then he gets his girlfriend pregnant. and marries her. and you lose him, a little bit. he goes off and has an affair with your gay manager & when he gets home he ruins your birthday party by nearly beating a man to death for bringing it up. you wonder what he'd do if anyone found out about the two of you too.

and then the insane happens and you end up The Most Famous Band In The World. the ENTIRE world is watching your every move. the entire world loves you. they wouldn't love you if they knew. you get a girlfriend and it's convenient because she's always gone and you're always alone. but you still have him. and other girls. through everything, you have each other. even when he says something stupid and the world wants all of your heads on a platter and he starts to fall into a depression, you still have each other. even if now you Know how bad it could be if they ever found out. and then your manager, your father figure, an openly gay man, dies. and it's not a suicide, but a lot of people think it is, and sometimes you wonder, and fuck it's terrifying, isn't it? the reality of your life, the reality of loving Him, the reality of being queer. what if that winds up being You? you start to lose Him a little bit more as you throw yourself into your work and push everyone way too hard. you propose to your girlfriend. and then you do lose Him. to a woman. which was sort of unthinkable because he was already married and never cared about her, just you. never cared about any women, just you. but he cares about Her. and you fucking lose your mind. lose yourself in drugs. blow up your engagement. propose to another girl and many more "jokingly". your one girlfriend says you had to try again or you would have gone "raving queer" and killed yourself. the whole time you're losing Him more and more. suddenly he's looking at Her like he used to look at you. you're no longer his world and what the fuck do you have? a bunch of girls you don't care about and a drug problem? and then you meet a woman who, according to you, is more woman than anyone else. she's a mother already, a family ready made when you've always wanted one. she's smart and she's funny and she's quick and you let yourself cling to her because you don't have Him and he has Her so you've got to have someone, don't you? and she winds up pregnant and that's great, that's wonderful, you're no longer in danger of dying alone and queer and sad. you've lost Him by now completely, even though you have about a month where things feel a little less awful again and you perform together one last time. you marry her and you ASK people, flat out, if they expected you to be a 26 year old unmarried queer. you fight the night before you're married for some unknown reason, so badly she almost leaves you. and then He marries Her, and everything is fine. and then it all falls apart completely. you at least had Him as your friend, your writing partner, the other half of you legally. and then he asks for a divorce. and the world ends. you don't have the band, you don't have Him, you don't have anything. you stay in bed all day, drinking, miserable. like a breakup, not just of the band.

eventually, your wife pulls you out of it. you survive. you start writing again. you write to him. you put two beetles fucking on the cover of your second album and he thinks a song you wrote about your wife's ex is about him (and maybe it is, a little) and he shoots right back. and you keep that up for a decade. writing to each other. seeing each other only in the news and in snatched moments together where nothing is the same as it was. you plead with him through your music: why do you hurt me so bad? call me, pretty baby. I'm waking up screaming over you. I can't tell you how I feel. you try and make things like they were, even a little, showing up to his house with your guitar like you're 15 again, but he sends you away. in all that time, he's basically gone to conversion therapy. he's with someone who makes disparaging remarks about his sexuality. for you, you've let yourself embrace being a bit campy, but you still can't bring yourself to be open about any of it. not with anyone but your wife.

and then you start talking again. you make up. things seem hopeful. it seems like he might still love you and he writes you a song about starting over with you. and then he's murdered. and it's senseless. it's so so senseless. and it's unfair. you lock yourself away for days listening to that song he wrote you. the media tears you apart for grieving wrong. they wish you died instead. they think you're cold. you never loved him, not like he loved you. you write a song, with tear marks on the page, telling him how much you DID love him. all the things you'd say to him if he were there with you. you write more songs about that, all centered around that theme. some of them you say are about him. others you don't. once, you say if anyone catches on you can just deny it. but he wrote you love songs too, apparently, for you, and you eventually record them with your old band

and the thing is, You are one of his widows. his name follows yours every time it leaves someone's mouth. he's all anyone ever talks about with you. he's all you want to talk about too. his legacy is your legacy. he's no longer here to tell people about his sexuality, he's no longer here to consent to everything that you were being told. he's not here. and how can you even begin to mention Your Own sexuality without bringing him up? you owe him more than outing him in death. you owe Her more than that too, because you were already cruel to her and so was the world. she's grieving just like you, you can't do that. your wife dies, and now you're her legacy too and you being queer would seem like a betrayal to her. your best friend dies, and now he's your legacy too. you aren't just you- you're Him, you're 1/2 of the living members of the most famous band to ever exist, you're Her, you're your dead wife

so when someone asks you about him. when someone asks you about being gay or calls him the love of your life. What Exactly Are You Supposed To Say?

I wouldn't say shit either

[earthnashes]

Melon didn't stand a chance.

One moment he's staring the end of their journey over the horizon, and the next he's sent plummeting into the awaiting maw of the trench he stood over by a hearty smack of a claw.

He yelps as he tumbles, twisting in the air for a heartstopping moment before his back meets a crag. Mario's cries are muted by rushing wind as he slips again, falling falling falling--

A heavy thud echoes as he collides--bounces-- off another rock face. His ears rings with the rattling in his skull---

A sharp thwack of his head hitting a jutting ledge, and suddenly Melon doesn't hear-- or feel-- much of anything the rest of the way down.

A metal tang coats his tongue red, and the sting of the air bites against his bruises.

 No weight on his back anymore-- 

Everything hurts. 

--the boy...Mario. Where's Mario? D-did he fall too--

Can't move.

--he needs to get up. His human cub, he could be hurt o-or--- get up--

Stay down.

--get up get up GET UP-- 

Melon stays down, can't muster the strength to listen to the mantra in his head. Instead, all he hears is the desperate wails of Mario, and it's enough to force his eyes open just a sliver. He blearily looks up.

At the edge of the cliff he tumbled from stands the silhouettes he can only barely make out; three huge, three smaller, all laughing and pointing and grinning toothily at the heap of him. The leader- and he must be, with how he leers cockily over the ledge-- sneers down at him.

"Thank ye for the delivery, lad! We've been lookin' all over for this little bastard," he says, and without a care he swings a hollering Mario over the ledge by the scruff. The boy twists precariously in his grip --one slip from falling-- and reaches out for Melon with terrified tears in his eyes. He wails some semblance of his name, and Melon feels his gut twist.

no

"Come now, lad, I see that long face from here; ye nothin' to worry about! Brat may've been a pain in the arse to get, but it'll be worth it in the end. Pirate's Honor: we'll take real good care of 'em," The leader gloats, ugly grin stretching wider as he flicks the boy's nose with a sharp claw. "Just like we have his snivellin' flake of a brother. They'll fetch a fine cut yet."

No no no give him back

"I reckon ye wanna say g'bye at least, aye? I could grant that much, bein' a frog of honor and wot-not." The captain holds Mario high above his head, like an angler would his prized catch, and grins down at Melon from his spot above.

"Go on then. Tell 'em 'afore I change me mind."

Something twisted and ugly clogs Melon's throat with bile and copper. He bares his teeth and tries tries tries to bark, to roar, anything to demand his human cub back to him.

GIVE HIM BACK, his mind screetches. But all that crawls out of his mouth is a rattling, broken whimper. It drags his strength with it by the scruff, spilling in a tiny puddle of spittle and grime and blood as his vision begins to waver. His eyes glaze over and fall closed against his will.

And within the canopy of booming laughs and grating cackles, the last thing Melon hear is Mario's cries.

--------------------------------------------

AND HERE IT IS.

Part 10 of Melon's Adventure, FINALLY COMPLETE, and with it Arc 1 of this story has come to a close!

I'm glad I managed to finish this arc even with it being forced into a hiatus alongside my burnout months back; I had an absolute blast revisiting my childhood and telling the story in a way I've always imagined it as a kid.

Now, given that it's been a while since the last part, I've taken the liberty to compile all of Melon's Adventure into the #melon's adventure tag for ease of access if you'd like to read it back from the beginning!

Despite this marking the end of Arc 1, I'm hoping to make this the start of me delving back into my Super Mario AU, albeit in a slightly different way. There's still plenty of stories there I'd love to share with ya'll. :>

In fact, in related news: I'm actually planning on opening an online store, and my first planned launch will be themed on Melon's Adventure! More information to come on that relatively soon as more work is done.

At any rate, I hope ya'll enjoyed this story! More to come soon! owo

[strawwritesfic]

Male!Loki x Female!Light Elf!Reader: With Dying Colors

Summary: Not everyone gets the chance to change their fate. Loki Odinson does so by accident, and finds the place he has been searching for all his life.

Rating/Tags: G (Canon Divergence - Avengers: Infinity War; Not Canon Compliant with Loki; References to Loki's Gender Fluidity; Mild Hurt/Comfort; Mild Language; Florence Nightingale Syndrome; Homesteading; Depressed Thor; Background Platonic Relationships)

Word Count: 11,465

Requester: Anonymous

Request: "Hey could I plz request a Loki fem reader? Loki somehow manages to escape Thanos (cause we’re all still in denial of his death) but gets separated from the rest of the Asgardians on the way to Earth. Severely injured he chances it and uses magic to escape and lands in the forest somewhere. He wakes up in a warm cozy cabin all healed but remembers bits of his time here…being fed, washed and nursed back to healthy [sic] by a woman. Reader is an earth witch/half light elf who was banished for her human side and takes care of him but now he doesn’t want to leave cause he starts falling for her. Coincidentally her forest meets up with the forest near the Avengers Compound so she sends them updates on his health, but she also protects him cause Ross wants him locked away in the Raft. She’s more powerful so no one really dares trespass on her land."

Tag List: @imaginesfire

Notes: Wow, it sure has been, like, half a minute, right? This took me a long, long time to write. I had to add scenes; I had to research homesteading; I had to do some adjustments after discovering I was writing a completely different theme towards the end...I've been working on it so long that my own mother started throwing shade at me for it. I don't know for sure if I'm back-back, but I am making an concerted effort to get back to doing things I love. I did my best to complete every aspect of this request, and I think I managed it in a reasonable fashion, save for not telling the story via flashbacks. As the author, I do have some veto power, and I just didn't think the story warranted that.

Ao3 Version Here

With Dying Colors

Lights. Ever-swirling, ever-flashing, ever-sparkling lights. An array of dancing colors surrounded Loki Odinson. He could see the endless shifting of them even with his eyes squeezed tightly shut. The lights danced around him—no. A more apt description would be that the lights rushed around him. He could feel them all moving so rapidly past him that his long, dark hair blew out behind his head, though there ought not be any wind in space.

If this was dying, death was not so nearly as horrible as he'd feared.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Upon further rumination, dying was plenty painful. Thanos must have decided crushing Loki's windpipe had not been punishment enough. Now the Mad Titan sought to crack Loki's skull open with Mjölnir. For Odin's sake, Thanos had already cast Loki to the floor like refuse! Must he suffer further indignities before being allowed to pass?

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Evidently so. The lights having faded into a void of black, Loki pressed his eyelids still tighter as the pain lanced through his head.

"Would you—"

—just get it over with already, you overgrown prune, is what Loki intended to say. But he didn't even get the first two words out in understandable form. Trying to do so made him feel as though someone had stuffed his throat with shards of broken glass. A metallic taste filled his mouth, accompanied by some sort of warm liquid. He coughed the molten stuff out from within his burning chest.

"Shhhhhh," someone nearby murmured.

Whoever they were, they weren't Thor. That the voice belonged to a woman made that obvious; Thor had never shared Loki's predilection for swapping genders like clothing. Another of Thanos's monstrous children, perhaps?

Something wet prodded Loki's pounding forehead, and he lurched away—or attempted to. Once again, he found himself with little control over his own body. His shoulders whacked against a hard object that similarly could not be Thor. Even his brother wasn't that flat and unyielding.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

"Oh, for the love of—" the same voice said crossly.

The cool, damp thing near Loki's face vanished. He heard a squelching sound, then rapid footsteps crossing a floor—a distinctly not metal floor.

Bang! Bang! Ba—

A door opened.

"Miss [Name]," barked a new voice—not an Asgardian accent, Loki noted, and belonging to someone wholly unfamiliar to him, "if you don't—"

"I would request that you keep your voice down, Mr. Secretary," said the woman from before, albeit in a much cooler tone than the one she'd used with Loki.

A thump. Boots on wood, if Loki was not mistaken. His head hurt so badly even the softest noise felt like another blow, but he thought he could identify that much. Whoever this man was, he was now in the...room? Home? Escape pod? Loki finally had to know.

Though his eyelids felt welded shut, he pried them open to find himself somehow miraculously no longer aboard either the Statesman or Sanctuary II. Instead, the sight that greeted him was that of a small room. Night dark as pitch pressed against the windows, leaving only a multitude of candles burning on seemingly every surface to light the place. Their trail his eyes followed all the way to a doorway where two figures stood: a pale-skinned biped with a mustache towering over another biped entirely swallowed in shadows.

"And I," said the mustached one, "request that when I summon you, you come to see me. And if I have to come retrieve you, I request that you open the door at once."

"Mr. Secretary, I would remind you that I am under no obligation to follow your 'summons' at all."

"The Accords clearly state—"

"I may have signed your Accords, but I am not one your chess pieces to be moved at your whim. There were provisions put in place for people like me."

"People like you. Not people like him."

The man pointed in Loki's direction without taking his eyes off the woman. Had Loki been able to speak, he might have had a snide response prepared. But he couldn't, and he didn't, and the smaller figure stepped in front of the finger to shove the man's arm down.

"Please try to remember whose territory you are on, Mr. Secretary. Those provisions do allow me to act in self-defense," she said.

"Self-defense! Aiding and abetting more like." The man let out a scornful laugh. "That man is an intergalactically wanted war criminal!"

"Some might say the same of you in the near future, Mr. Secretary." The woman made to step away, but the man reached out to grab her shoulder before she could get very far.

"I have every right to take him into custody," he said.

The woman wrenched her bare, [color]-skinned shoulder out the man's grasp. "He is in no condition to be moved, especially not to your godsforsaken rock. Do you also have the right to watch him die?"

Though the man said nothing in response, Loki could see a mutinous glitter in his eyes despite the flickering candlelight surrounding all three actors in this little drama.

"He won't receive proper medical care at the Raft. We both know you taking him would be as good as a death sentence."

"I couldn't care less if the little bastard dies!" the man burst out. "How many of our good men and women have died because of him? And you think he ought to be allowed to make a full recovery and murder more?"

"How many more might die without him?" The woman's voice had dropped, and yet she sounded so firm that there could be no question that she meant what she asked. The man stared down at her, speechless once more, but this time his eyes had gone wide. "They're already here, aren't they, Mr. Secretary?" she went on in an innocent tone. "The monsters looking for the Stones? How many of your precious Avengers have already gone missing?"

A shock of ice-cold lightning flashed through Loki's very core. Stones? Avengers? Could he really be so cursed? Whatever stroke of luck had seen him use enough dark magic to escape Thanos with his injuries had been no luck at all. He'd only gotten away as far as Midgard, where at least two damned Infinity Stones waited for their master to claim them. Worse, by the sound of things, Thanos's children had already arrived and already won.

As his heart and mind raced, a burst of white light filled the room. The glare of it burned Loki's already aching head and left a smear of purplish blue across his vision. Terrified, able to breathe only shallowly without bringing more blood into his mouth, he blinked as fast as he could to recover his vision. He could do nothing but accept his fate now, whether that be at Thanos's hands or those of the angry man's, but he preferred to retain some semblance of dignity either way this go-round.

When at last he could see clearly again, however, Thanos did not stand in the wreckage of the building. Nor did any of his children, Loki realized, nor the man from before. Only one person remained, and that was the woman. She had her back toward him as another white light surrounded the door she stood in front of.

Then she turned her face to him. Their eyes met across the dark room. Her angry expression melted at once.

“Oh,” she said, “you’re awake.”

Loki didn’t even manage to open his mouth to answer before his eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out from pain and fear.

******

Next Loki woke, he found himself in an airy, well-lit room. Day had broken, and clear sunshine beamed through the many windows on the walls. It was the same place he had woken in previously. The extinguished candles clustered across every visible flat surface were proof enough of that. He could also see the same door from before. Only one other shut door led away from where he lie. Nothing moved around him. Birds chirped outside at such a decibel that he could hardly believe he'd slept through their incessant racket.

Except that he still hurt. Bor, he hurt. But Loki had not lived this long without knowing, generally, what sort of situation he had gotten caught in. Throbbing, stabbing, straining, burning, he pushed himself into a seated position against the stack of pillows behind his head. His gasp for air when he made it felt like a knife lodged deep inside his throat. There would be time to catalog his injuries later, perhaps, and less of a chance of that if he didn't seize this opportunity to take note of where he was.

What he saw surprised him somewhat. Though tidy, the one-room structure held a lot of clutter. In between all the candles sat hunks of rocks and crystals, some polished, others rough. Many were Midgardian in nature, but others Loki could tell at a glance weren't local at all. Piles of books in varying conditions littered the polished wood floor. Every window held at least one plant, each different, each in obviously robust health. Perhaps strangest of all was the mound of pillows and knitted blankets a few feet away from his resting place—the only messy thing in the entire place.

Not that it mattered. This homey little cottage would not last long with Thanos on the way, if he had not arrived during Loki's second bout of unconsciousness. Rather than sitting around and admiring the cleaning job, he needed to be finding a way out. His leg screamed in pain as he forced it out from underneath the sheet and put his foot on the floor. He ignored it. What was a little pain now compared to what he would feel when Thanos got ahold of him again?

"You're not strong enough yet for that sort of nonsense," someone said.

He sucked in a breath so swiftly that it triggered another coughing fit. The taste of blood flooded his mouth once more. His head spun with pain. Something rustled softly over by the door. Then Loki heard footsteps for a second or two before he felt a hard object against his mouth. Before he could gather his wits about him enough to shove the object away, a cold, bitter liquid flowed across his tongue and into his waiting throat. Loki spluttered as much of it entered his lungs, and yet even as he did the pain in his chest subsided somewhat.

Once his breathing evened out, the concoction stopped pouring into his mouth. The hard object vanished. Loki inhaled tremulously.

"I told you that you weren't strong enough," said the same voice from before. Now that he thought about it, Loki recognized the voice as belonging to the woman who had kept him safe the last time he'd been awake.

It was she that sat beside him now. His eyes met hers consciously for the first time—beautiful, sparkling, [color], and indignant. Definitely indignant. How women across so many realms and cultures could master the same look was a mystery for the ages. She didn't give him a chance to ask. With a snort, she stood and bustled over to the door through which the mustached man had burst before. After she'd gathered a weaved basket into her arms, she stepped over to a nearby kitchen hung with shining copper pots and bouquets of drying herbs.

"That was hardly my fault," Loki said into the silence. "You startled me. I didn't realize I had company."

The woman smiled at him over her still-bare shoulder. "You don't. You're company. And from the stories I've heard, Loki of Asgard ought to be a little more difficult to catch unawares."

"You'll forgive me if my near-death experience put me a little off my game."

Again, she said nothing. The sink turned on without a touch as you unloaded dirt-encrusted vegetables from the basket. Interesting. Though the room held many trappings of the bog-standard Midgardian witch, Loki had never seen a Midgardian perform any sort of magic, mundane or not.

"And to whom should I direct my thanks for saving my life?" he asked pointedly.

"Me. Mostly."

"Yes, and who is me?"

She paused in unloading her foodstuffs to give him a pursed-lipped look. Then her head whipped back away from him again she replied, "[Name]."

"[Name]." The sound of it tasted interesting on his tongue. "Thank you, [Name]."

"Don't thank me. I wouldn't say you're out of the woods yet."

Loki lifted a hand to his ruined throat. "So I've noticed. And may I ask..."

Well, now that he thought about it, he had a plethora of questions. A given name hardly got him anywhere. But before he could select a single query from the dizzying array crowding his mind, you supplied an answer him:

"I don't know."

"Excuse me?"

"I don't know what happened. The cards have been cryptic." Was that a note of annoyance he heard in your voice? "All I've got from them is something about Thanos and the Infinity Stones. I don't even think you’re supposed to be here."

He hardly registered that last sentence. The mere mention of the Mad Titan made Loki feel very cold even underneath the considerable bulk of his blanket. His voice sounded even raspier when he spluttered, "Are they—has he—"

"He's not here."

              "How would you know?"

"I'd know." You dropped your now-empty basket onto the gleaming wood countertop. Perhaps you spotted the horror in Loki's eyes as you turned to him, because you went on, "And if I didn't, my next-door neighbors would let me know."

"Neighbors?" Loki squeaked. Clearing his throat only made his vocal cords throb.

You didn't remark on that, just nodded slowly. "They're the ones that brought you to me a few days ago."

At last, something that Loki could latch on to! Even the vaguest of clues as to his location would aid him in working out a spell. He'd escaped from Thanos once; he could do it again.

"And where, exactly, might your neighbors have found me?" he asked.

You opened your mouth. Loki leaned forward in anticipation. Before you could utter a single word, however, someone knocked on the door. The noise was a far cry from the incessant, head-rending banging of earlier. Still, he noticed that your normally [color] skin paled several shades at the sound.

"That's probably them now," you said.

That didn't quite explain your change in color or the jittery way you rushed over to the door. Loki's eyes followed you there. Too late did he think to pull the blanket over his head to hide himself. In his current condition, it would have been a struggle to do so before you opened it to reveal —

"Steve? Natasha?"

At least you sounded as horrified as he felt by the sudden appearance of two Avengers on your doorstep. They could be no other, though they didn't look quite right. The former had dark hair now, as well as a beard, and the latter had turned blonde. But who else could it be? Who else would show up at Loki's weakest point?

His alarm increased as you threw your arms briefly around Natasha. The alarm swiftly turned into suspicion when he noticed she made no move to throw you off.

"I don’t understand," you said, as you released her and allowed the two to enter your home. "Why are you back? Where's Tony?"

"We're not sure," Steve answered.

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than did his and Loki's eyes meet across the room. Loki noticed that Steve's gaze had changed just as drastically as his appearance in the intervening years. Much of the sadness was gone. Now there was just some blazing hardness dampened not at all as he took in Loki's injuries. Loki knew that Natasha was looking at him, too, but he was too busy with his staring contest with Steve to pay her much mind.

Oddly, he felt no satisfaction whatsoever when Steve broke their stare off to return his attention to you:

"How's your patient?"

You didn't miss a beat. "Not well."

"Can you leave him?"

"No."

"Is moving him an option?"

"Absolutely not."

"Better question." Loki started painfully at the sound of Natasha's voice right next to him. She'd come to stand beside his bed, arms crossed, the look in her eyes even colder than Steve's had been. "Do we care what happens to him?"

Of course. Of course Loki had escaped the greatest threat the universe had ever seen—for a given value of "escape," he had to admit—only to die at the hands of the so-called heroes his brother had considered his friends. At least Steve's presence was likely to ensure Loki's death came swiftly. If Thanos's children were already scouting out the planet, perhaps Natasha would even be doing him a favor.

"Rhodey wouldn't have told us he was here if what happens to him didn't matter," Steve said.

"If he can't help us, I fail to see what benefit there is in keeping him alive."

"Help you with what?" you cut in, voice as sharp as steel.

Natasha stepped away from Loki. He let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. Relaxing his muscles made the blood rush through his body so hard it made him dizzy—but it did not distract him from hearing Steve's answer to your question:

"We're going to Wakanda. They can remove Vision's Stone there without killing him."

"We hope," said Natasha.

"It will work."

"Sounds great." You didn't sound like you agreed with your own sentiment. "What do you need either of us for to do that?"

"They'll come, [Name]. We'll have the last of the Stones with us. They'll all come. Maybe even Thanos himself."

"You'd be a huge asset," Natasha added.

"We could use all the help we can get. And that includes Loki."

Suddenly, all eyes were on Loki. He licked his lips. "And why should I bother to help you all?" he rasped at last.

No one looked surprised by this question. Steve's eyebrows lifted slightly before he said, "It's your universe at risk, too. And from the sound of it, you wouldn't have made it very long if Tony and Rhodey hadn’t brought you here."

"Oh, yes, thank you.” His lip curled; he hoped that Steve could not hear his wildly beating heart. "Thank you so much for the rescue. And just in time to be obliterated along with the rest of reality! You shouldn't have."

"We're going to do our best not to let that happen. What about you, [Name]?" he asked as he turned back to you.

Loki felt rather than saw your gaze on him, searching and gentle. He found that he could not lift his head to meet your eyes. Then, in a soft tone full of regret, you said:

"I can't."

"If we lose this, there's a good chance he'll die anyway," said Natasha.

"He'll die for sure without anyone here to look after him."

She opened her mouth, but whatever nasty remark she planned to make next, Steve silenced her with a hand on her shoulder.

"We understand," he told you.

You nodded.

Without another word, the two Avengers left the cabin. You watched them go until Natasha pulled the door shut behind them. Silence buzzed through the room like electricity. You did not move. So long did you stare at the door that Loki half-expected it to burst into flame; the same could be said about the length of time he spent staring at the back of your head. He opened his mouth, found it dry, licked his lips, and tried to speak evenly:

"If you hurry, you could still catch up with them."

You shook your head, turning to head back to his bedside.

"Truly," he said. "I can make it on my own. Why, I only feel mostly like dying now instead of completely like dying."

"And you only feel that good because I've been here to take care of you." From the silver pitcher on the bedside table, you poured some smoking, purple concoction into the nearby cup. Then you sat down on the edge of the bed and held it out to him. "Speaking of, drink this."

A delicate sniff of the cup thrust toward him indicated that this was the same bitter brew you'd forced down his throat earlier. He did not take it. "I am a god. I can take care of myself."

"If I leave, you won't make it until tomorrow. This stuff doesn't keep, and you can't make it yourself." When Loki made no move to take the cup from you, you rolled your eyes. "Same thing if you won't drink your medicine."

He wrinkled his nose, but accepted the glass. Instead of swallowing the foul-smelling stuff, he cradled it in his hands. "Why are you doing this for me?"

"I don't think even one life should be given up if I have the power to save it. That's all," you said.

"Even if they could die anyway?"

"Even if they could die anyway." You cocked your head to one side, regarding him quietly for a few moments. Then you stood again. "Drink up, and get some rest. Hopefully the rest of the world will still be here the next time you're awake."

A sudden surge in pain obliterated Loki's desire to retort. Steeling himself, he lifted the potion to his lips and gulped it down as quickly as he could. The relief came over him almost at once, so heady that it made his head spin. Darkness crept into the edges of his vision. Before he could wonder if this was Thanos's victory, natural sleep overtook him. Perhaps dying this way would be easier, he thought, than what might face him later in that tiny cabin.

******

The potion’s effects only did so much for him after that dose. Loki slept fitfully, plagued by a leaden weight in his stomach that even sleep could not dispel. His dreams ended in exploding planets, in melting cities, in scorching pain. All the magic sedative coursing through his system did was drag him along from one cataclysm to the next. Try as he might, he could not tear himself into the hellscape of his reality—not until a loud clang issued from somewhere nearby.

“Owwww!” Loki snapped as he forced his eyelids open. At least this awakening did not hurt as badly as the last two had. The clear, watery light of morning only worsened his headache a little as opposed to a tremendous degree.

And he knew where he was. That helped. Though the panic searing the inside of his rib cage did not abate, he doubted that anyone observing him would be able to tell that at a glance. At least he managed to refrain from throwing himself out of the bed this time. This allowed him to maintain some dignity as he searched for the source of the noise.

And there you stood in the kitchen. One of those copper pots sat steaming on the island. As though you could sense his eyes on you, you looked up from your stirring.

“Congratulations. The rest of the world is still here,” you said.

How little he cared about this backwater rock when Thanos could set the entire known universe on fire should he succeed in wresting the last Infinity Stone from Steve's all-too-human fingers. Biting back this retort, Loki struggled into a seated position. He was pleased to find himself recovered enough to do so on his own.

“So I see,” he said at last, once he noticed you watching him. “So did your friends…” he didn’t quite know how to finish that sentence. He didn’t quite know which question he wanted answered, or what answer he wanted to hear either.

You shook your head. “I won’t hear back from them unless they get back.”

“Not even your precious cards could tell you?”

“Even if they could, I wouldn’t ask. All I can tell you is that you and I are still standing.”

‘In a manner of speaking.’ Loki took a moment to glower at his weak legs. “Yes. How much longer will that be the case, I wonder.”

“There’s no use fatalizing about it. Would you like some porridge?”

The gears in Loki’s mind took several seconds to adjust to the abrupt change of subject. Unfortunately, the moment he gave any real thought to the sweet aroma wafting from the pot, his stomach rolled so badly he couldn’t open his mouth to reply. Who knew what sort of muck might pour out of it, given all the strange things you’d forced down his throat during your short acquaintance?

“I’ll add something to your medicine to help with nausea.” A note of sympathy had crept into your voice. “We need to get something solid in your stomach before too much longer.”

Making breakfast, gathering food, healing him—what good would all of this effort do in the end? Probably you just wanted a distraction from the inevitable doom you both faced. Thor’s ragtag bunch of misfits had defeated Loki, but he was in no condition to consider himself a threat the same level as Thanos. The Avengers didn’t even have Thor anymore.

Loki’s eyes suddenly burned, and his throat felt all over again the pressure of Thanos’s enormous fingers. The thought of what might have happened to his brother in the aftermath of Loki’s escape would not bear thinking about. Time to focus on other things.

There wasn’t much else to focus on but you, however. He watched as you doled out a serving a mush into a waiting wooden bowl. You ate it quickly. Then you took your pot and carefully spooned the rest of the food into a line of glass jars sitting on the countertop.

Loki noticed that you moved differently than other Midgardians, now that he could stop and take the time to observe you at length—more graceful, more intentional, with no wasted movements whatsoever. Mortals could be taught to replicate such movement, but they could never achieve the same kind of ability as beings superior to them.

Only when you’d easily hefted the heavy object over to the sink did he finally say, “You’re not human, are you?”

You looked over your shoulder at him, expression guarded. “Half,” you said at last, then shifted some hair away from one of your ears. Doing so revealed that ear to end in a perfect, delicate point.

“You’re a light elf,” Loki said wonderingly.

“Half,” you said again, before returning to the chore of cleaning your dishes.

“What are you doing so far from Alfheim?”

“The whole half-human thing? Yeah, it didn’t exactly endear me to my family there.”

“But why here? There are light-elf communes in the realm.”

“Those jackasses at the North Pole declined to house me as well. One human per pole, apparently. And half-humans count.”

“There’s an entire galaxy out there. You could have gone anywhere.”

“By then, I’d figured out I was better off on my own.” Water continued to run over your hands and bare forearms, but these had stilled. Your gaze was fixed on some distant point in time. Then it snapped back to his face. “It was a long time ago. I went to SHIELD, traded a few goods and services for secrecy. And Howard Stark let me build a place near where he was stationed. I’ve been here ever since.”

“That sounds…lonely.” Lonely in a way that Loki understood; lonely in a way he’d always felt growing up, although he hadn’t understood why—lonely in the way he’d been after he had discovered his true heritage.

You shrugged flippantly. “It worked pretty well up until the Accords. Now I’ve always got Ross breathing down my neck.”

“The Accords?”

“It’s an Avengers thing, or at least Ross wants it to be.”

“So you—”

“Are not an Avenger.” Finished with cleaning, you tipped the pot onto the counter upside down, dried your hands on the waiting towel, then turned to face him. “I’ve never been one, and I’ll never be one.”

Loki found his body loosening somewhat after this revelation. Strange. He hadn’t noticed he’d been so taut to begin with. “And yet they came to you for aid,” he pointed out.

“I do aid them, sometimes. But not because some Midgardian law says I have to. Like I said before, if I have the power to save one life I’ll do it, whether or not my neighbors believe that life is worth saving. If anyone can get rid of Thanos, it’s them. But they couldn’t save you.”

“Is a single life worth saving if they can’t?”

“I guess that’s up to the person whose life it is.”

“And the life Thanos leaves them with.”

He noticed then you had gone very still. You cocked your head to one side and regarded him down your nose. “Do you regret it? Being saved?”

Loki inhaled sharply. How could he answer that question? For all the aggravation and fear he felt about his present circumstances, to reply in the negative would be terribly rude. Your bedside manner left much to be desired. Your skill in healing, on the other hand…

The sudden disintegration of half the plants in the room saved him from having to voice his thoughts. Your eyes locked onto his. Neither of you breathed a word. Somehow Loki still knew your thoughts to be the same: The Avengers had at last done the unthinkable. They had failed.

******

Some things Loki grew accustomed to over the years following what came to be called "The Snap." He grew accustomed to the new, permanent roughness of his voice. He grew accustomed to the slight limp from his injuries becoming more pronounced when the wind turned cold. He grew accustomed to eating food only available seasonally, to working for that food, to sharing a smaller space than he'd ever lived in before. He grew used to braiding his lengthening hair each day. He even grew accustomed to the smell of the chicken coop.

That day, the stench was worse than most others. An unexpected rainstorm had blown in overnight, and left everything damp or dripping, from the branches overhead to the edges of the roof. Loki shook his hood back as he made to the door, scuffed his worn boots on the welcome mat, and entered the cabin.

"Breakfast," he announced, somewhat breathless after his run for cover.

You stood already working at the stove. He placed the basket he carried in an empty space near your elbow. After a quick glance at his sodden figure, you reached under the piece of cloth he'd placed over the eggs, pulled two out, and cracked them over the skillet. Only once the food was sizzling did you offer him a warm smile.

Instead of saying anything, Loki swallowed and did his best to avoid your gaze.

"Thanks," you said into the silence.

"I had no issues with gathering eggs for you this morning. I wanted to check on Gunnhild myself."

"How is she?"

Loki hummed noncommittally as he went to a drawer for cutlery to set the table. He couldn't quite put words to the worry he felt nowadays over so much as Midgardian hens of all things. Perhaps he felt obligated to keep alive as many beings as he could after Thanos had taken so much. After finding one of his ladies so lethargic the evening prior, he'd spent a long, sleepless night fretting over her condition until he could trek to the pen under the pretense of helping with the morning meal. Truth be told, Gunnhild had seemed livelier then, but still, his thoughts continued to linger over her when he sat down in one of the two heavy wooden chairs.

The sound of a plate being placed in front of him snapped Loki from his musings. He did not know if he liked the understanding look you shot him as you slid into your own seat across from him. His stomach twisted painfully until he looked away from your face again.

Add that to the somewhat shorter list of things Loki had not grown accustomed to since the Snap.

"I'll put a little something extra in the feed today. She'll hardly know she had a respiratory infection."

More and more often lately, Loki found himself unable to meet your eyes, and when he did force himself to do so, his insides would suddenly feel hot. Had he been a younger or more ignorant being, he might have been inclined to blame the numerous concoctions you forced him to drink (some days with more arm-twisting than others) even this much time after his near-fatal injuries. You seemed to have magic for every aliment known, for chicken and Jotun alike. Why not a philter as well?

But he had been alive long enough—been in love often enough—to know the truth. These physical sensations had nothing to do with your talents, and everything to do with his...isolation? Rescue? Maturing?

He had never believed himself to be one of those fools capable of falling head over heels for someone for no greater reason than that they had nursed him back to health. What a pathetic way to return the kindness you had shown him—all the panaceas grudgingly swallowed; all the staggering walks contemptuously taken; all the nights you'd slept in a makeshift nest of quilts when Loki disdainfully refused to leave your bed.

The sudden lack of people in the world had not put the responsibility of his rehabilitation on your shoulders. You had taken that on willingly well before the Snap. But he did believe that, had Thanos not succeeded, you might have happily ended up without such of a chore of a lingering houseguest. Every morning he woke began anew a day you could decide Loki had overstayed his welcome. His only consolation was that, surely, these feelings would fallow once he no longer came in contact with you.

But then surely, too, his body would fall apart without your aid. So Loki kept his mouth shut. Cohabitating with you while keeping his growing romanticism a secret was difficult; he shuddered to think of the alternatives left to him in this half-empty universe.

Once again, you interrupted his thoughts, this time with a wry observation of: "You're overthinking something again."

His rough gulp hardly helped his case any more than the following, "I am not."

"You are."

I should think I know my own thoughts better than you do."

"Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but Loki of Asgard isn't nearly as difficult to read as he thinks he is. Your mouth gets these deep wrinkles at the corners, and..." Trailing off, you frowned before you leaned forward to grasp the hand he had resting on the table. "Is that what this is about?"

You must have seen his split-second grimace when you'd referred to him in that mocking way of yours. If you'd noticed that, he had no doubt you'd spotted the way he stiffened when you touched him like that as well. Be that as it may, you kept your fingers lightly resting against his as you went on:

"We need to talk about it."

“I don't have the faintest idea what it is there is to discuss," he answered firmly.

You laughed. The sound made Loki's chest ache. "You do."

"I assure you I do not. And if you're going to insist on this level of condescension, I'd much prefer to get some work done than sit around listening to your riddles. Now, if you'll excuse me—"

"Why don't you go ahead and admit that you were eavesdropping when Natasha visited last night?"

If your iron grip hadn't been enough to keep Loki rooted to his chair, your question would. He felt blood rush to his face, try as he might to fight the urge to blush. "I beg your pardon?" he asked, knowing all the while that he would not hit quite the right note to express his feigned incredulity.

You did not answer. Neither did your hand loosen. A staring contest ensued, though it did not last long. Loki knew better than to argue when he spotted the familiar gleam there. What would be the point in lying anyway, when this Borforesaken rasp had so ruined his famous silver tongue? After another moment or two of internal debate, he finally wilted.

"If you already knew I knew, why not say something sooner?" he asked.

"You'll need to learn someday that those who eavesdrop often hear things they don't like."

"And those who refuse to eavesdrop often hear nothing worth hearing at all."

"You could simply quit lurking around and speak with us face-to-face."

"And risk the conversation turning to naught but insults targeting me? You'll have to forgive me for preferring to 'lurk' for what morsels of information your friends deign to offer you in secret."

"There was no secret."

"Oh?" Trapped as he was with his hands bound to the table, Loki's only escape was to avert his eyes to the rain-streaked window near the table. "If it was common knowledge, why not bring it up yourself without having to pry it out of me?"

You let go of him and held your hands up in a galactic sign of surrender that he could only see out of the corner of his eye. "I did not wish to upset you unduly."

"Upset me? Is that what you think? You think that I'm upset that my people have established a settlement in this Realm and are attempting to move on?"

"Aren't you?"

"Obviously not!"

Once more, Loki felt instead of saw your probing look. He folded his arms across his chest and carefully avoided so much as turning his head in your direction. This seemed to succeed in getting you to drop the subject; you said nothing else. Then you pushed your chair away from the table with an almighty screech and a firm, "Let's get you packed, then."

He couldn't help rising to his feet after you in his panic. "What?"

"Let's get you packed," you repeated. "New Asgard awaits the coronation of its king."

"Let it wait! Forever, if it must!"

"Why should it? Natasha's told me all about how badly you want to rule."

"Wanted. Wanted. That was a different time. A different me!"

Loki's heart had not hammered so hard since the moment of the Snap. Distantly, he realized that the exertion did not cause him as much pain as it used to. But would it be enough?

You did appear to notice his desperation, for you paused in some gesture that seemed to have caused his toothbrush to float out of its cup. Silence fell. He realized you were waiting for him to explain himself. Of all the cruelties you had enacted upon him, this perhaps might have been the cruelest of them all.

"New Asgard—" His breath hitched. Loki licked his lips and tried again, "New Asgard little needs yet another descendant of Odin on the throne. Let Brunnhilde keep the crown. I want it not."

Though admitting as much made him in ache in a way Thanos's assault had not, Loki knew the years since that assault had changed him. Between his inglorious defeat on this very planet, the series of humiliations leading up to Ragnarök, and his near-death among the Asgardian refugees, he had learned to see himself more clearly. Leadership did not suit him as he'd once convinced himself it had. And besides, what good would it do for what remained of the spirit of his childhood home? Being among his people again would only remind him more sharply of what he'd lost—their true ruler amongst the most grievous of those losses.

"Then what do you want, Loki?" you asked softly.

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Thought hard about his answer to your question.

It came without as much thought as he'd expected. So few of his responses were even possible anymore. But those that were surprised even himself. He wanted to learn the subtle ways of Midgardian magic. He wanted to memorize the patterns of the stars in this Realm. He wanted to eat vegetables and fruits and grains grown by the power of his own hands. He wanted to look after his chickens until they died at venerable ages. And to do all of that, any of that, there could be only one reply:

"I want to stay here," he whispered, so quietly he did not even know if he wanted you hear him.

But hear him you did. A dazzling smile the likes of which he'd never seen before spread across your face. Then, without giving Loki a chance to grasp the meaning of such an expression, you rushed forward and threw your arms around him in a suffocating embrace.

"Then stay," you breathed in his ear.

The surprise he felt at your sudden closeness dissipated rapidly. Soon, Loki wrapped his own arms around you in turn. He did not know how long the two of you stayed tangled up like that before you finally released him. But when you did, you looked so smug that he couldn't help but add:

"It's not as though I have any choice in the matter. I'd die in a week without your care."

"Oh, that." The smug smile transformed into a smirk. "I've been giving you placebos for months now. You're as mended as you'll ever be."

His jaw dropped nearly to the floor, causing a glorious peal of laughter to tumble from your mouth.

"You whined so much. What else could I do?" you asked by way of explanation.

"You fox!" he said, though he couldn't find it himself to be truly enraged. It was the sort of thing he'd have done to his brother, after all. Who would have thought he'd have found a kindred spirit in the middle of nowhere on Midgard of all places?

You neared again, now gazing directly into his eyes. "But you love me."

"That," Loki said as he cupped your cheek and brushed his thumb over the [color] skin there, "I believe to be unequivocally true."

******

More time passed, on the Podunk little rock Loki had once schemed to make his own just as slowly as it did in the greater, emptier galaxy. Seasons passed. The half-obliterated woods around the cabin grew thicker and greener every summer. Native creatures once sparse in the area returned in larger numbers.

There were no servants to lay out his clothes, nor banquets with food-laden tables as far as the eye could see. But there were fruits and vegetables brought forth by his own hands, homespun tunics created with care, and fresh eggs in abundance from his ever-increasing brood of chickens. There was bright sunlight by day and warm candlelight by night. But best of all, there was you.

Well, most of the time you kept close to the cabin you both called home. Nearly five years to the day since the Snap, Loki stood alone in the kitchen. He hardly ever wandered far afield those days. What reason had he to do so? Surely Ross had not been the only Midgardian eager to see Loki pay for his crimes, and Loki was hardly a welcome visitor at the Avengers headquarters on the other side of the forest—which was the second most common place to find you, and where you'd traipsed off to during the still-dark hours that morning.

Loki found himself worrying over his pot of stew more than he'd have liked to admit now that it had grown dark once again. Not about the stew, not this time; he felt he had accomplished making a perfectly edible, if not very exciting, stew with produce from the garden you and he had canned that fall. Given that he'd hardly been offered much opportunity to create purposefully edible meals as Asgardian royalty, no one could deny this to be a culinary accomplishment on his part.

You hardly ever kept him waiting this long for you to return from the large, ugly compound. He could not begrudge you going to see friends. On the other hand, he knew how the remaining Avengers still felt about him. It was the same way he felt about them. If any of them had the silver tongue he had had once...

Before he could spiral into the possessive behavior he inclined toward despite your frequent admonishments, he heard the sound of footsteps—barely. Light elves moved so lightly he would not have heard your approach had he not been listening so closely for it. The door swung open shortly after this noise, and you stepped inside the room already filled with lit candles.

"I'm home," you said cheerily, and unnecessarily.

"So I see." Loki gave the pot below him a pointed stir. "Did you enjoy your time with your...friends?"

"If you're going to be a sourpuss, I won't give you your surprise."

"I hardly want whatever gift the lovely Natasha might have sent along with you."

"It's from me. Do you want it? Yes or no?"

He knew better what you meant by the appraising look you shot him: Play along, or pay the price. "Please," he said as flatly as he could. Though you never used your considerable powers to hurt, he knew that an outright refusal on his part would probably wind up with him sprouting a pair of donkey ears for the foreseeable future, or something equally annoying and hard to explain when your neighbors inevitably came by to mock him.

You grinned despite his obvious lack of enthusiasm. One of your fingers made a series of shapes in the air. Then, out of seemingly nowhere, your familiar basket appeared next to Loki's elbow. A simple blue-and-white checked towel covered its contents.

"Open it," you said when all he did was squint at you.

It wasn't moving, so Loki took that to mean lifting the fabric would not be dangerous. Nestled underneath sat a pile of off-white mushrooms with brain-like knobs atop the stems.

"We went a little over during the meeting. I knew you'd have already started dinner. When I stumbled on these little guys on my way home, I picked them up for you as a treat."

All fear of Natasha finally convincing you to give him up died away for the moment. Loki pressed his lips together in a smile. "They're the perfect addition," he said, pulling the recently-cleaned cutting board toward him and starting to chop.

Your smile grew as you walked around him to gather bowls. "You're welcome."

"So what went on that took so long? Rewatching footage of Captain America's glory days?"

Instead of chastising him for his snide tone, you simply answered: "I thought you said you didn't want to be involved in anything we got up to."

"I don't."

"Then let's not talk about it anymore."

Loki spilled the sliced fungi into the pot with something of a startled expression. You would normally find something of note to tell him after a two-hour conversation with the Avengers, and yet you had nothing to relay after being with them all day?

"[Name], what are you hiding?"

"Is the stew ready yet?"

"You're trying to distract me."

"No," you drew the word out as you sat the last utensil on the table. He caught a flash of mischief in your [color] eyes. You bared your teeth in a wicked grin. Then you sauntered forward and looked him up and down before you slid your hands up his shoulders to interlock them behind his neck. "This is me trying to distract you."

You pressed your mouth to his without sparing him a moment to retort. Loki did not forget the thread of the conversation, per se, but kissing you back seemed of greater importance than pursuing the matter. Who cared about the inconsequential scheming of those who had already lost everything? Certainly not him, not when, egged on by his enthusiastic response, you smiled against his lips and surged forward. He had no choice but to let you push him onto the nearby counter to allow you space to work.

"Still curious about what I got up to this afternoon?" you asked during a brief pause.

"Not in the slightest," Loki said honestly. He cupped your face to pull you closer to him again.

By all rights, it ought to have turned out to be a very good day: a stew with fresh mushrooms; your eagerness to touch him, even simply as a distractoin. Loki might have been perfectly content to remain distracted had something not slammed open the door just as something besides dinner began to heat up.

You whirled to face the intrusion—but you moved no further, frozen, it appeared, by the massive shape moving through the doorway.

"Thor?" you asked.

"Thor?" Loki echoed, bewildered.

The shape crossed into what little light the multitude of lit candles allowed, and still Loki could not believe it. Whoever had burst in could not be his brother. His brother was dead, not to mention Thor would never let himself go to such a degree. This being looked thicker and flabbier than Volstagg on his worst days. They also had stringy hair and a scraggly beard that obviously had not been washed in some time.

"You followed me?" You sounded outraged, which typically spelled trouble for the offending party.

Thor—or whoever the shape was—did not spare you a glance, terrified or otherwise. Their eyes remained fixated on Loki's face, and as Loki met their gaze, he felt a spark of recognizing flare hot and painful somewhere deep inside his stomach.

"I had to see it for myself," the apparent stranger rumbled.

And that was all it took. Loki slid off the counter and stepped around you. A torrent of emotions constricted his chest. The room around him spun. After a minute or so of thick swallowing and struggled, he managed to open wide his arms and step in Thor's direction.

"Brother, you're alive!"

Thor did not meet Loki's cheer with any of his own. "So this is where you ran off to hide."

Loki felt his smile slide off his face. "Pardon me?"

"I thought you were dead. I mourned you."

"As I did for you. I thought surely Thanos—"

"I should have known your vanishing was nothing more than yet another trick!"

"Well, I confess to using a smidgen of magic to get me here, but—"

"We needed you. The galaxy needed you. I needed you!"

With every statement, Thor's voice grew louder and louder. Rarely since his brother's exile had Loki seen him so enraged. He stared as the noise washed over him, and allowed his arms to drop to his sides. These stayed there when Thor took another step in Loki's direction.

"Perhaps it was a lie. Perhaps you always intended to aid Thanos in achieving his wicked goal."

You stepped forward to put yourself between the two men. "Hey. He was in no condition to fight. If he'd gone to Wakanda, he would have died for sure."

"As he had me believe he already had for five years. My brother chose his own life over half the galaxy." Thor's eyes flicked disdainfully between you and Loki, a gesture at odds with the bright red of his face. "But I should not be so surprised. Loki has always been a coward."

"Don't you—"

"[Name]."

Loki spoke the word softly, but his tone must have gotten through to you. Now you spun to gape at him. He merely held his hand out in a quelling gesture and told Thor:

"You're right."

It had taken a long time—eons, really—for Loki to accept the truth about himself—a long time and nearly dying more than once. If he could go back and change things, he would. How different would things be for everyone if Loki had never spent that time being coddled by the Grand Master, or masqueraded as Odin for so long, or agreed to invade Asgard, or even led Laufey through the secret passages to the palace? Always he had served himself. What argument had he that a different choice would not have saved untold lives just as Thor claimed?

But as things stood, Loki could not even change Thor's thunderous expression with his admission.

"You have changed, Brother, and not for the better."

"Perhaps I have changed," Loki conceded. "But is this not what you have always wanted for me? Living quietly, not causing trouble? Happy?"

"Happy at what expense, Loki? At least I am still trying. I am still fighting!"

"Are you? Judging by the state of your facial hair, I'd hazard a guess that's a more recent development."

"Loki," Thor growled through clenched teeth.

"You say I've changed for the worst? Fine. No one is inviting you stay for dinner and to get to know the new me or the person I've chosen to stay with."

Silence rang audibly through the dark cabin, punctuated only by the bubbling stew. Thor inhaled slowly. His shoulders migrated to up around his ears. Loki braced himself for a tirade that would have made their father proud. Instead, Thor's voice was flat and emotionless as he said:

"As usual, I will clean up your mess, Brother. And if in doing so, you are the one lost, perhaps this time I will not feel the grief of it."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than did Thor leave. He slammed the door behind him with such might that the whole cabin shook and several candles blew out. The sound of Thor's heavy footsteps faded quickly into the dark woods beyond.

"Loki?"

He had not realized he'd been staring at the place Thor had stood until you spoke his name. All he did in response was blink. Your warm hand enveloped his own, though this did nothing to quell his sudden tremors.

"Loki."

Words failed him. For the first time in his memory, Loki could think of nothing appropriate to say. Pain did not hold his tongue, nor injury, simply the fact that nothing would come to mind; nothing seemed to matter. But speak he must, or he risked standing there in the dark forever.

"How long?" he asked.

"What?"

"How long, [Name]?"

The fingers around his tightened.

"How long have you known my brother was alive?"

At last, he wrenched his hand free and turned to look at you. Tears sparkled in those eyes that had only a little while ago been gleaming with affection. That told Loki enough. He no longer needed you to answer.

"All this time," his mouth felt thick and clumsy, so he tried again with little improvement: "All this time, you knew. You knew Thor lived, and yet you allowed me to go on assuming otherwise!"

"If you'd just let me explain—"

"What is there to explain? I've spoken to you of the guilt I've felt over his death. You, of all people, knew what he meant to me. You could have freed me from all of that, yet you did not! What, did you believe I'd choose him over you? That I would flee to New Asgard the moment I realized my last remaining family member lived?"

The words were not as sharp as they once could have been. The tone itself was no longer smooth as velvet. They rose and fell like an overused axe. But the blow landed. You flinched.

Loki found he did not much care whether you did so because his words were true or his hysteria had been laid plain his voice. His throat throbbed where Thanos's fingers had once crushed it. Perhaps Loki should have let him. Dying that way would have hurt less than now, here, by the phantoms of everyone he had ever hurt.

You said his name again. He shook his head. Almost blindly, he stumbled through the shadows to the door, yanked it open, and stepped outside. Loki stood there on the step for a moment or two, breathing in the acrid smell of burning stew behind him before he pulled the door shut. Then he staggered off toward the quiet trees with little idea of where he was actually going.

The cold quickly leached beneath his tunic, but that he could handle. What he was not so sure of was his ability to handle any more heartbreak that night or, indeed, for the rest of his life.

******

Loki returned, for where else had he to go? The idea of turning to the Avengers for shelter he found laughable, and surely Thor wouldn't want him anywhere near New Asgard. Besides, Loki would miss his chickens—and he'd been in enough relationships during his life to know that an occasional nighttime walk did wonders to cool his head.

Wonders, yes; miracles, no. Although each sunrise since the Snap had felt like a miracle to him, the days following Thor's sudden reappearance twisted into a discomfiting slog. Each day followed the same routine: Loki would wake in an empty cabin with a neatly folded pile of quilts on the floor near the bed; he would eat the single roll on the counter; and he would gather his things and move mechanically through the chores that needed done even when he felt as though he were limping through a void. These would fill his time until he returned to the vacant bed to start again.

Two days he followed this routine before it grew too tiresome to ponder continuing for the rest of his life. What if his path led nowhere but to day after day after Borforsaken day of banal work and loneliness? Loki might have been prepared to accede to Thor's claims of his cravenness; he had not been so prepared to consider death at Thanos's hands may have been the better option for him.

And so he turned to the one activity that could stop him from thinking about the end of life: The beginning of it.

The cool spring midmorning appeared perfect for transplanting the pea seedlings he had picked up from their growing space on a windowsill back in the cottage. He knelt on a flat cushion of sorts in the midst of the mostly-bare garden to get to work. All he could hear was the chilly breeze blowing through the surrounding trees, their new leaves still too young to provide any noise of their own. His pale fingers worked the freshly-tilled dirt as he mentally measured the distance between plants.

Perhaps if Thor had had occasion to see Loki like this, elbow-deep in homemade chicken compost, he might have understood things a little better.

"Loki."

He did not turn away from his work at the sound of the familiar voice.

"Can we talk?"

"About what?" he asked evenly.

This was the first time you'd approached him since the argument. Obviously, you'd returned home a number of times, but only after he'd fallen asleep, and only to disappear again before he awoke. Loki half-expected you to leave again. A long pause followed his question before you surprised him by asking:

"Are you really going to make me say it?"

"I think that's the best way to open up negotiations, yes."

"Negotiations?"

Loki carefully piled a small mound of dirt around a recently-planted sprout. It waved back and forth as if to say thank you.

"I'm sorry," you said.

He adjusted the bamboo trellis embedded in the dirt behind his peas.

"I should have told you as soon as I found out about Thor. I didn't know for long. Natasha only told me when she knew he'd be coming to help them out, but it wasn't fair to you to keep it a secret."

Slowly, without moving his head at all, Loki sat up. His filthy fingers curled around his knees.

"I didn't want you to leave. I knew how much Thor meant to you, and I knew you'd go to New Asgard to see him. And what then? Would you ever come back?"

"That's hard to say when I was never given a choice in the matter."

Another length bout of silence. This time, however, Loki could hear something else over the wind: A soft sniffling that nearly had him moving to comfort you—nearly.

"You were right, Loki. I was scared."

"Scared of what?" he asked.

How could you be scared of anything? He himself had witnessed the power at your fingertips more than once, and Steve and Natasha certainly had tales to tell of your prowess. Surely nothing on Midgard existed to threaten the likes of you after all this time.

Now he risked a glance at you out of the corner of his eye. Never before had he seen you distraught. Flustered, yes. Angry, absolutely. Undone, perhaps fewer times than he'd have liked. But he could tell even from a distance that you hadn't slept since your fight a few days ago. Pronounced bags clung the bottoms of your eyelids, and you rubbed your hands together in obvious agitation. The urge to go to you grew stronger still.

"I've never belonged anywhere before you came along," you said in a rough whisper.

All his willpower shattered at the moment your voice broke. He half-rose, twisting toward you, unable to feign absolute disinterest any longer. Perhaps he might have drawn closer to you, had you allowed him. But you held out your hands with the fingers wide to indicate you needed him to keep his distance. Loki did, although he said softly:

"[Name], that's not true."

"I kept trying to find a place, but no one wanted me."

"You have the Avengers."

"They aren't—" You gripped your elbow tightly in the opposite hand as you turned your face away. "They aren't home."

Before he could speak—whether to dissuade you, or ask for more details, or even to put an abrupt end to this tête-à-tête, he had no idea himself—you barreled onward, apparently under the impression that if he did not let you say all this now, Loki never would.

"I've been here for a long time, a very long time. People move into that building. People move out. Sometimes they bother to get to know me. Most of the time they don't. It doesn't matter either way, because they all leave in the end. Steve, Natasha, Rhodey...they'll all leave permanently someday, too."

So intent on listening had he been that he flinched when you looked directly into his eyes.

"You're the only one who's ever stayed.

He could think of nothing more to say than, weakly, "If you're so desperate for company that someone too injured and cowardly to leave is appealing—"

"You are not a coward, Loki."

"This is not about me," he said, then added, "unusual though that may be. For now, we are talking about you."

"I don't know what else it is you need me to say."

Truthfully, he needed nothing. An apology had been all he desired, and you'd returned with that and an admission that he'd been in the right. So slowly, as though he were trying to sneak up on a snoozing Thane Regin with a pair of shears, he stepped in your direction.

"Pretending for one moment that your attachment to me is anything other than imprinting on an admittedly very charismatic invalid—"

You snorted.

"—why not tell me? Why not come to New Asgard with me?"

The hand on your elbow went pale with the force of your grasp. "I am not as Asgardian."

"Neither am I, as you well know."

"I am tired of trying to figure out where I belong. I tried just about everywhere. I will not be cast out again." You blinked at him fiercely. "If you want to go, you should go. Be with your people. Reconcile with your brother. I only wanted to let you know that you are precious to me, even if I acted poorly because of that."

The spell your gaze cast on him snapped. You both averted your eyes. It did not take Loki so long to recover. He found himself drawing in a deep breath of remarkably fresh air before closing the remaining gap between you. When he took the hand dangling your side, you inhaled sharply as you looked up at him. Encouraged, he squeezed your fingers.

"I will reconcile with my brother, when he is ready. But you're my people, [Name]. You ought to know that by now. Maybe I will desire to visit New Asgard someday. Know this, however: As long as you want me, I shall always return to you."

After another pause, you returned the squeeze. "I think it's safe to say I'll always want you. But I might be glad for an occasional break, now I think of it. It would be nice having my bed to myself from time to time."

"Without me to warm it, you won't sleep a wink."

Rather than reply, you broke into a smile as dazzling as the sun hanging over the forest. He felt the familiar warm hook of your palm at the back of his neck, then you pulled his lips down to yours for a long, lingering kiss.

"I love you, you realize," he murmured once you parted.

"Oh, my gods," you said breathlessly through a half-open mouth.

"Yes, I am rather impressive. It comes from centuries of practice. Why, my last partner—"

You cuffed him lightly on the back of his head. "No, Loki. Look!"

So he pulled away and did as you instructed—and what he saw took his breath away as well.

Where his sparse rows of tender pea shoots had been only minutes ago, now a multitude of plants threatened to crowd one another out. Extra trees and their roots intruded on the edges of the garden. Bees, butterflies, and birdsong filled the clearing in which you and Loki stood.

He felt his throat contract, but no words left his mouth.

You, meanwhile, lifted shaking hands to your mouth. "They did it."

"Who?"

"The Avengers."

"Did what?"

"They did it!" Now you shrieked, practically dancing in place. "They figured it out! They got the Infinity Stones! It worked!"

"The Infinity—is that what you were all doing that day?"

"Tony and Bruce made a time machine. We weren't sure that it would work, but..."

"It did," Loki finished for you, somewhat dazed himself.

It was back. It was all back. He did not have to leave this place to know that not only had Thor and his friends done the impossible to bring plant life back to this planet, but that beings of all natures would be returning across the entire universe.

But, of course, the galaxy never had been willing to give Loki Odinson a lingering period of peace and happiness. Every time he felt he stood once more on solid ground, the realms tilted on their axes. This occasion would be no different. No sooner had he realized the sparkling tears of joy in your eyes were reflected in his own than did a shadow fall—literally—across the entire woods.

Above, soaring through the once-radiant blue sky, winged a great, dark ship.

Thanos had returned.

In the span of a breath, you bounded in the direction of the Avengers' home. Loki felt all the blood rush from his face. That he remained standing was itself a miracle. He felt suddenly dizzy. His heart rushed. Black crept into the edges of his vision.

Just before you disappeared into the newly-thickened forest, he managed to croak, "Where are you going?"

You stopped to look over your shoulder at him. "You don't need me this time around. I'm going to go help them fight."

Loki pressed his shaking lips together. He could stay. He could stay, and be as safe as anyone could be when Thanos and his children arrived. With a shake of his head, he crossed to you.

"I'll always need you. We'll go together."

You smiled again. Then you both ran, hand in hand, towards the clangor of battle erupting from not too far away. What would come of this whole affair, Loki did not know. What he did know was that if this was dying, death was not so nearly as horrible as he'd feared.

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

I am gonna give it to you gay buuut a Story where Sebastian falls in love with a Male MC who is a dragoncaretaker. And Sebastian has Bi panic to the max. Cause this dude is all muscle and Sebastian doesn't know why he is so attracted to it? I am curious to see what you will do with this.

Fire Hazard | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Hogwarts Legacy Pride Week

Anon, I'm sorry it took me so long to finish this ask, but I was motivated to finally get it done since after all, it's June and it's HL Pride Week!

Happy Pride 🐉🏳️‍🌈

Words: ~1,900

Tags: Bi-Panic, Fluff, Longing and Pining, Post-Hogwarts

The dragon sanctuary was nestled deep in the Welsh valleys, hidden behind enchantments and enough fireproofing charms to make Gringotts look flammable. They were here on Ministry business—some dispute about a dragon egg that had been smuggled into Knockturn Alley. Sebastian and Ominis had tracked the original source to the sanctuary.

The dragons, Sebastian could handle. The dragon caretaker, Rhys, on the other hand—

He looked like he'd been carved out of stone. Broad shoulders, roped muscle, hands calloused from wrangling creatures most people ran from. His shirt was halfway unbuttoned, damp with sweat, and his accent rolled like thunder over hills.

It didn't make any sense why Sebastian's heart was racing. He was into women, girls with sharp eyes and sharper laughs. Pretty smiles and wicked senses of humor. That was his type. That had always been his type.

So there was absolutely no reason his gaze should be lingering on the open collar of a sweat-damp shirt. No reason his throat should be dry or his pulse should be skipping or why he was wondering what it would feel like to have those calloused, dragon-wrangling hands rest on his waist.

But here he was.

“Hope you don’t mind the walk,” Rhys said, glancing over his shoulder with an easy smile. “The girls don’t like it when I bring strangers in all at once.”

Sebastian managed a smirk. “I don’t mind at all.”

Merlin’s balls, he thought immediately. Why did I say it like that?

Ominis turned his head slightly, face unreadable. “Why are you flushed?" he asked under his breath.

“I’m warm,” Sebastian replied, casually wiping his palm on his trousers when the dragonkeeper wasn’t looking.

"It's fifteen degrees."

Sebastian ignored him.

They reached the enclosure, where a Ridgeback the size of a carriage was curled among scorched rocks. Rhys crouched beside her, murmuring something low and affectionate. The creature rumbled, relaxed, and blinked slowly.

“You’re good with them,” Sebastian said.

The man glanced up, grinning. “You’ve got to be. They’ll smell fear—or arrogance—a mile off."

Sebastian chuckled. “Then it’s a miracle I'm still standing here.”

“You don’t seem afraid,” Rhys said, standing fully and eyeing him with a grin. “Arrogant, though? Maybe.”

Sebastian held his ground, lips twitching. “Guilty.”

The other man laughed a deep, warm sound that cracked something open in Sebastian’s chest.

The dragon shifted, emitting a low huff of steam as she rested her head near the man’s boots. Rhys absently scratched behind her jaw.

Sebastian watched the gesture and tried very, very hard not to imagine those same hands anywhere near him.

“She’s gorgeous,” Sebastian said, more to distract himself than anything else.

“She is,” Rhys agreed, eyes still on the Ridgeback. “But temperamental. Lost her mate last year, and now that her egg had been taken, she’s been extra skittish."

“That’s rough,” Sebastian said softly.

Rhys looked at him again, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “Yeah. They get attached. More than people think.”

There was a quiet moment, just the wind rustling over the ridge and the distant roar of another dragon echoing through the valley. Then Rhys tilted his head slightly and added, “You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“The look of someone who wants to ask too many questions.”

Sebastian grinned. “Ministry habit. Comes with the badge.”

Rhys stepped closer, too close. Like he had no idea the effect he was having. Or maybe he did, and that was worse.

“Well,” he said, voice low and slow like the slide of molasses, “ask.”

Sebastian opened his mouth. Closed it again. Because what was he supposed to ask? Have you always been this ridiculously fit? Are your arms always that tan? Do you make straight men question their life choices often?

He cleared his throat. “...How did you get into this line of work?”

Rhys smiled. “Inherited the sanctuary from my uncle. Been raising dragons since I could walk. Got burned my first week, fell in love the second.”

Sebastian swallowed hard. “With the work?”

Rhys’s grin widened, sharp and a little wicked. “Among other things.”

Beside him, Ominis made a noise somewhere between a cough and a snort.

Sebastian didn’t look at him because Rhys had turned back toward the dragon pen, crouching low again, and the stretch of his back beneath that worn shirt was unholy.

Sebastian exhaled slowly through his nose. He needed to get it together.

But it was like his brain had short-circuited somewhere between Rhys’s voice and Rhys’s forearms, and now all that was left was static and the faint background hum of oh no.

Fortunately Ominis stepped in. “Mind if I take a look at her?” he asked, voice smooth and professional.

Rhys nodded, rising to his feet again. “Be my guest. Just don’t touch her tail. She won’t like that.”

Ominis crouched beside the nest. He asked questions—good ones, smart ones. About magical exposure, incubation timelines. Rhys answered them all with ease, one arm braced on the pen’s rail, smile sharp and tongue sharper.

Sebastian said nothing.

He just stood there, arms crossed tightly like that would keep his insides from sloshing out onto the grass. His thoughts were a tangle of panic and questions he didn’t want to ask out loud.

Because this wasn’t like past attraction. This wasn’t idle appreciation or the kind of admiration he might have had for a good-looking bloke on the street. This felt personal. Physical. Undeniable.

And if Rhys had pressed him any further—one more wink, one more hand on his arm—Sebastian was genuinely unsure whether he would’ve apparated away in a panic or just melted on the spot.

So he let Ominis talk.

Sebastian nodded occasionally, made vague hums of agreement when necessary, but said absolutely nothing useful until the conversation wrapped and Rhys escorted them back through the sanctuary with a lazy, parting grin and an offer to "come by anytime."

Sebastian barely remembered saying goodbye.

______________________________________

They didn’t speak on the return trip.

Ominis was mercifully quiet, though Sebastian could feel the way his gaze kept sliding toward him.

The silence stretched until they were back in the office, the door clicking shut behind them, the sanctuary paperwork sitting forgotten on their desks.

Sebastian dropped into his chair with a soft grunt and scrubbed a hand down his face.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there before Ominis finally said, “So.”

Sebastian winced. “Don’t.”

“I’m going to.”

Sebastian didn’t respond. Just leaned back and stared at the ceiling like it might offer him a lifeline.

“I’m assuming this is the part where you pretend you didn’t just have a sexual awakening in the middle of a dragon pen.”

Sebastian groaned. “Ominis.”

“What?” Ominis asked innocently. “It’s not like it wasn’t obvious."

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t. You just hate that I’m right.” Ominis sat down across from him, hands folded, face maddeningly composed. “So. You want to talk about it?”

Sebastian hesitated. For a long time.

“...I don’t know what the hell that was.”

Ominis blinked. “It was lust, Sebastian.”

“No, I know what lust is,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “This felt like, like being hit with a bludger. In the soul. It was a man. A man with—” He cut himself off, horrified. “I don’t—that’s not me.”

“It was today.”

Sebastian let out a strangled sound and slumped forward onto the desk. “Not that there’s anything wrong with it,” he muttered into the crook of his elbow, “but Merlin, I didn’t plan on having a sexuality crisis before lunch.”

“Would you have preferred after?” Ominis deadpanned.

Sebastian shot him a glare. “You are so unhelpful.”

“I’m being incredibly supportive, actually."

Sebastian groaned again. “This is so stupid. Why now? Why him?”

Ominis leaned back, shrugging like he wasn’t absolutely enjoying himself. “Because he looked like the cover of a romance novel?"

Sebastian didn’t move. “He touched my arm, Ominis.”

“Oh, I saw. And the way you froze like he’d just proposed marriage was truly remarkable.”

Sebastian exhaled a shaky laugh, half mortified, half exasperated. “I need to get my head on straight.”

“I think you mean bi.”

“You know what I mean.”

Ominis let him sulk for a moment before adding, more gently this time, “You don’t have to decide everything today, you know.”

Sebastian glared at him. “I’m not scared of being queer, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“I just… I’ve never looked at a bloke and wanted like that. And then he shows up with dragons and forearms and that bloody smile, and now I’m—” He waved his hands, helpless. “—this.”

Ominis hummed thoughtfully. “Well. He was objectively hot. If it helps, I nearly blushed, and I’m immune to charm.”

Sebastian snorted despite himself. “Thanks.”

There was a pause.

Then Ominis said, like he hadn’t been waiting to say it all along, “You know you could go back.”

Sebastian lifted his head. “To the sanctuary?”

“Under the pretense of checking on the other eggs,” Ominis said smoothly.

Sebastian slouched back in his chair, eyes trailing up to the Ministry-issue ceiling like it might open and swallow him whole.

“I can’t,” he muttered. “It would be weird.”

Ominis didn’t even blink. “What, following up on a case?”

“No, showing up again like, like I’m interested.”

“You are interested.”

“That’s not the point,” Sebastian snapped, sitting up straighter, cheeks pink.

“It’s entirely the point.”

Sebastian groaned again and scrubbed at his face. "Ominis, he might not even be gay! Or bi! Or, or into Ministry men having identity crises!"

Ominis just gave him a look. “And?”

Sebastian stared. “And that would be humiliating.”

“Ah, yes,” Ominis said dryly, “God forbid someone not be madly in love with you at first sight. How ever will you survive?”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “You’re not helping.”

“You’re just allergic to anything that sounds like personal growth.” Ominis said, unfazed.

“I am not—” Sebastian paused. Deflated a little. “Okay. But this is different.”

“Because it’s new?”

Sebastian hesitated. “Because it’s me. I’m used to knowing things about myself. What I want. Who I want.” He dragged a hand through his hair, still flushed. “This feels like being sixteen again."

Ominis didn’t respond right away. Just watched him quietly, the way only Ominis could, like he could see things Sebastian hadn’t put words to yet.

“It’s not a bad thing,” he said at last. “It means you're figuring yourself out.”

Sebastian huffed a half-laugh. “Figuring myself out at twenty-three. Brilliant.”

"Some people never do," Ominis said, shrugging. “They just keep marching along, pretending the shape of their heart was something they decided at seventeen. You’re doing better than most.”

Sebastian didn’t answer right away. Just let that settle over him like fresh air. Ominis was right. It wasn’t a bad thing. Just… new.

“…I might go back,” Sebastian said finally, voice quiet. “To check on the eggs.”

Ominis raised a brow. “Of course.”

“See if the Ridgeback’s doing any better.”

“Entirely professional.”

Sebastian exhaled through a smile. “Maybe ask if Rhys wants to get a drink.”

“Well, I for one am shocked,” Ominis said dryly. “Who could’ve seen this coming?”

“I’m leaving,” Sebastian said, standing abruptly. “You’re the worst.”

But he was smiling now as he made his way out the door with something lighter in his step. Still uncertain. Still a little terrified. But maybe… ready. Curious. And maybe a little bit hopeful, too.

Banner Credit 1

Banner Credit 2

[brighttears]

Stranger Chapter 2

Joel Miller x f!reader

No physical description

Summary: After your argument, Tommy finds Joel, and they talk at the bar. Joel learns more about what has happened to you since he left, and is once again left reeling, and has to reconsider his attitude. As it turns out, you’re neighbors, and he catches sight of you that night.

Word count: 4.8k

Warnings: Talk of violence, reader is traumatized, Joel hates himself.

A/n: May have pushed it a little far with character building here but stay with me. Also a brief moment of lightheartedness between the boys

series masterlist

—

A cold and desolate breeze and Joel’s huffed breaths are the only sound as he stands there on your porch, staring at the door. His legs feel numb, preventing him from retreating as he's struck with an overwhelming feeling of helplessness and loss. 

Eventually, he takes a deep breath, letting it out in a heavy, shaky sigh, as if he’s gotten the breath knocked out of him and is just now getting it back. He’s still tense, body like a coiled spring. 

Finally, he turns and steps off of your porch, shoes crunching in the thin blanket of snow covering the dirt road, and is utterly lost. 

Hands shoved in his pockets and shoulders hunched against the winter wind, he walks, trying to process what just went down, as well as the unfamiliar world around him. Despite the general friendly air of Jackson, he feels just as alone as he has for the last few months. Out of place, alien, dazed, the memory of your snarl, the raging fire in your eyes, etched into the forefront of his brain. 

You’ve changed into someone almost unrecognizable, and it’s just as disconcerting as it is depressing.  What happened to that kind girl he used to know? The one that took the time to sit with a deer after she’d killed it, that never gave up her soft spot for children, who would sing softly in the night when she knew he wasn’t really sleeping? 

He doesn’t know where you’ve gone, or if he’ll ever get you back, and the realization gives him a horrified kind of goosebumps, sucking a sharp breath out of him. 

Lost in thought, he doesn’t register the footsteps behind him, not realizing Tommy’s there until he speaks, “So, how’d it go?” There’s a hopeful grimace on his face when Joel turns to him, but it only gives him a surge of frustration, suddenly feeling like Tommy knowingly set him up for failure. 

“Poorly.” Joel states flatly, shooting him a look before turning back to walk aimlessly down the road. Tommy jogs to fall in step beside him, eyes flicking over the near scowl on his brother's face. 

“I was hoping you wouldn’t say that.” He says, but Joel doesn’t reply. “Wanna get a drink?” Tommy tries, and after only a short pause, Joel nods curtly. “Yeah. A drink sounds great right now.”

It’s a silent walk to the Tipsy Bison, Joel’s thoughts still churning, his brother glancing at him from time to time, a concerned pinch between his brows, all the way until they’re sat down at the empty bar, a couple shots of whiskey in each of their glasses. 

“So,” Tommy starts, still watching him as he traces the thick ribbing on the side of his glass, eyes locked on the golden liquid. “…How bad was it?”

“Pretty fuckin’ bad.” Joel grumbles. “I think she would’ve ripped my god damn throat out if I’d said one more word.”

Tommy pauses, holding his breath for a moment. Joel flicks his eyes up, seeing that look, and he suddenly feels his stomach drop. “What?” 

“She uh…” Tommy looks down at the table, holding his breath for another short moment before he bluntly answers, “she did that once, ripped someone’s throat out.”

Chills run through Joel’s entire body at that, shocked into silence for a moment, staring at the grave look on his brother's face. 

“She what?” He finally manages to speak, voice tight. 

Slowly, Tommy nods, looking down at his glass as he fiddles with it. “She told me the story about a month after she got here. Just last year, some big guy… you know, tried to do what guys sometimes try to do to a woman they find alone. Came pretty damn close, apparently, too. Had her all, uh, tied up, but… she still had her teeth. So, she bit. And pulled. Ripped his jugular open, I guess—not his throat, exactly, but…” Tommy trails off, swallowing, brow knit as he stares down at the bar. 

Joel gawks at him, unable to find a way to respond.

He can’t imagine you doing that. At least, not the you that he knows. But then Tommy responds to that thought itself, voice almost hoarse as he looks back at him, grief in his eyes, “She’s not the girl we used to know.”

After a moment, Joel nods. He knew that. He understood it the second your eyes changed, by the way you had bared your teeth—and when he thinks of that, he can imagine you sinking them into a human being. One that deserved it, but a human being all the same. 

The days of mild annoyance over your inclination for mercy are over, but it only makes him feel sick to his stomach. 

With a deep sigh, Joel rubs his hand over his face, trying to collect himself, not show just how disturbed he is by the image of you being that violent, by the confirmation of that thought, that you’re gone— “I don’t know what I was thinking.” He grumbles. “I knew she’d be mad, but, fuck. I thought she might be a little happy to see me.” He sighs through his hands before dropping them to the bar, shaking his bowed head. “It was stupid.” He mumbles.

“You had no way of knowing what she’d been through.” Tommy says, the dripping sympathy only irking an already sensitive Joel. “I didn’t either.” He continues, “And, I thought that… the way she was when she got here would go away, but… well it did a little bit, but…” he shakes his head slowly, “Not much.” 

Joel nods back, a sense of resignation in the gesture. He takes a sip of whiskey, wanting the burn down his throat to drown out that wave of nausea in his stomach. Memories of the way you used to be play in his mind, mixed with the image of that feral gleam in your eye, right before the door slammed shut in his face. 

After a moment, he speaks quietly, “She was so angry. …I’ve never seen her like that.” 

In vain hopes of somehow scrubbing the images off of the backs of his eyelids, Joel rubs his hands over his face with another deep sigh.

“I know.” Tommy replies, pausing, his eyes flicking over the bar. “I get glimpses of her.” He nods softly, “here and there. She’s… she’s not gone, just… different.”

Despite his words, Joel is suddenly hit with a screaming sense of grief, as if it only just sunk in now that he has to mourn you. The one that he knows. Someone that he may never, ever see again. 

He swings his glass back against his lips, taking a gulp of liquor, welcoming the burn. He wants to drown it out. Memories. Reality. 

He just got here, finally, the place he’d been aiming for for months—harsh, bleak, soul sucking months, the place he shed buckets of blood, sweat, and tears for, finally, sitting here having a whiskey with his brother, and he wants to drown. 

Because it’s his fault. 

He’s silent for a while as he ruminates, a heavy, grim air between the two. There’s an empty sort of feeling in Joel’s gut, and it suddenly makes him chuckle—a bitter, sour huff of a laugh. “Feels wrong.” He says, cutting the silence. 

“What does?” Tommy asks, giving him a puzzled look, clearly caught off guard by the laugh. 

“It feels wrong, knowing she’s… she’s right there, but… she’s not.” He explains, tone grim. He sighs, thoughts still swirling, but there's one thing that he knows for certain. “I shouldn’t’ve left her.”

Tommy shakes his head softly, unable to help but offer, “You just did what you thought was right.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that it was wrong.” Joel retorts, looking at him. Anger again starts to bubble up, a familiar one towards himself, an intense irritation at his own stupidity, his own short-sightedness, and, he realizes, his own selfishness. 

After a beat, Tommy sighs, sounding defeated as he replies, “No, it doesn’t.” He takes a sip of his drink, letting a silent moment go by before he speaks again, “Just don’t give up on her, Joel.”

The gentleness of his tone is sudden and unexpected, and Joel pauses, staring at him. But then he just shakes his head. “What am I supposed to do, Tommy? She wants nothing to do with me. I try anything and she’s gonna bite my fuckin’ head off. Maybe literally.” 

Pursing his lips, Tommy shakes his head, tone soft and earnest, “She ain’t got no one else, Joel. We’re it. She needs us, even if she says she doesn’t, even if she doesn't believe it herself.” Joel lets out a weary sigh at that, suddenly feeling a familiar and unwelcomed weight. 

He never wanted to feel responsible for you, because it comes paired with a foreboding dread, because he’s going to fail. And he did. 

But regardless, he didn’t have a choice then, the need he felt to do anything he could to protect you. And now, with things so dire, of course, he still can’t help it. 

“I don’t even know where to start.” He replies dimly. “She’s like a wild animal.”

“Yeah.” Tommy nods. “You kinda gotta…” he shrugs, words almost measured, “treat her like one. Like she’s… some, feral stray, around people for the first time.” 

At the notion of you actually being comparable to some wild animal, Joel’s heart drops. But then he gets another flash of that look in your eye, and, regretfully, he accepts the sentiment. Gruffly, he then asks, “How the hell do I do that?” 

“Let her come to you.” Tommy tells him, leaning his arms over the bar. “Let her… sniff your hand, y’know? Expect pushback. But don’t give up.” He pauses. “She ain’t that vicious all the time. I’ve had some good times with her since she got here. She likes to help out at the stables, and, garden, you know, help grow vegetables and fruit and all that. She’s calm then.”

It's relieving to know that you do have your moments of peace, both for your own sake and for his own faint yet pressing sense of hope; that maybe he’ll see you again. With another gulp of whiskey, he looks at his brother, “You been spending a lot of time with her?”

Tommy shrugs. “A bit, yeah. She doesn't really talk much to anyone else. A few people, here and there. I guess I’m just the only person she trusts.”

That pushes a huff of a chuckle out of Joel, the sound tinged with a sudden irritation that he finds is a seed of jealousy. He tries to shove it down, not wanting to give any weight to such a childish, immature feeling, not wanting to direct it onto his brother. But still, the jab falls out of his mouth, “Lucky you.”

Tommy pauses, eyeing him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He looks away, unable to meet Tommy’s questioning gaze. His shoulders are tensed, defensive, and he feels yet another wave of irritation, mostly towards himself, but there's also that nagging bit of jealousy. 

It used to be him. It’s supposed to be him. Him and you, against the world. He’s the one you should trust, the one you always did—looked to, relied on, he’s your shoulder to cry on. But at the same time, the opposite is why he left you. Because you shouldn't rely on him, you shouldn’t trust him, because he’ll let you down, and get you killed, and he doesn’t deserve you. And it’s been proven right—just look at you now. You’re right: he fucks up everything, hurts everyone he loves, he’s a failure. It’s all he ever does. He’s poison. No matter how hard he tries, no matter what he does, everything he thinks he’s doing right, he’s done wrong. 

He hurts everyone. 

Everything hurts. 

It’s his fault. 

Failure. 

“Nothin’. Nevermind.” He mumbles.

“I want her to make friends, Joel.” Tommy replies quickly, “I don’t want her to just trust me, I want her to be a part of a community again.” With a huff, he pauses, reading Joel’s implication, tone firm but gentle. “She trusts me because I’m the only person she knew when she got here, and we don’t… have a history, any bad blood. But that don’t mean she’ll hate you forever.” 

Still staring down at the bar, Joel nods along to Tommy’s words, running his tongue over his teeth. He knows he’s right, he understands why you’ve lost all of it in him—of course you have. And he wants that too, for you to have a community, support, some semblance of peace, safety.It’s all just so much to take in, so much confliction, so many heavy emotions, hitting him like a Mack truck, and he’s just been a deer in the headlights. 

But there he remains, staring it down. Because god damn it, he loves you, and he doesn’t know how to stop. 

He has no real choice in the matter. He knows he has a long, uphill battle ahead of him if he wants any chance to fix things between you and him, to be able to be in your life again, to be able to do something to help you. And then there's that tiny seed of hope, stemming from a sense of need. 

You may have told him you don’t need him, and never did, and he may never admit it out loud, but he needs you. He couldn’t even explain why. But he feels it, that pull in his chest, stronger than ever before, now that he knows where you are, could retrace his steps right back to your door. He needs you. So, he’ll do whatever it takes. To make it right. To be there for you. If there’s any softness left in you for him, anything salvageable, he’ll work himself to the bone for it. It doesn’t matter what it takes, if he needs to strip himself bare and flay himself, if he needs to rework is fucking life for it, if he has to face himself, he will.

Because he owes you that. And he needs you. Not just to know you’re alive, safe. He needs to love you.

“Just… don’t give up on her.” Tommy says again, voice soft, expression almost pleading, not knowing that Joel has already made up his mind, responding with a firm shake of his head, set and determined. “I won’t.” 

Tommy looks at him for a moment before the edge of his lip tugs up, a small, hopeful smile crossing his face. Then he sighs, looking down at the bar. “I’m sorry your introduction to Jackson had to be so… rough. Uh, you hungry? Tired? I can show you where you’ll be stayin’ if you wanna sleep.”

Joel shakes his head, sighing as he leans off of the bar, “Don’t really have much of an appetite right now. Sleep sounds nice, though.”

Tommy nods, smile pulling, the weight of the conversation sliding off of him much easier than it does for Joel, “Alright. Come on, then. I’ll show you the way.” He cocks his head towards the door, getting off of his stool. “We’ve got a few vacant houses. All come pre-furnished—when’s the last time you slept in a real bed?”

Having to really think about that, Joel lets out a low whistle as he stands and follows Tommy out of the bar. “Almost half a year ago now, give or take.”

“Damn,” Tommy chuckles, shaking his head as he pushes open the door and steps back out into the cold winter air. “Well, you’re about to have the best damn sleep in probably longer than that.”

Joel sighs, shoving his hands into his pockets and squinting against a harsh wind, watching the dusk starting to settle down over the sky. Part of him is a little apprehensive nervous about his ability to actually sleep, having a feeling that his brain will refuse to shut the fuck up, but there’s also a good chance that he’ll pass out within a minute of finally setting his head down on a pillow; he barely sleep a wink last night, the last couple days before he finally stumbling into Jackson’s territory happening to be particularly rough. “I hope so.” He mumbles. 

“Well… the bed ain’t going anywhere. You’ll have plenty of chances.” His brother gives him a small smile, eyes flicking over his face for a moment. There’s a hesitance before he speaks again, sounding almost nervous, “Right?”

Joel pauses, caught off guard by the fact that Tommy would even think that he wouldn’t be staying. He really doesn’t have an idea of how hard he worked to get here, does he? How he fought his way across the country to get to him. “Yeah.” He nods curtly. “Hell, this isn’t just some wellness check, Tommy. I’m stayin’.”

Tommy breaks into a larger smile, patting his shoulder and letting it rest there for a moment before putting his hands in his pockets. “Good.” 

Joel smiles back at him, pausing to admire the way his brother's eyes crinkle like that, before turning to glance around the town, actually taking in his surroundings for the first time since he got here. There’s not many people around, which makes sense with the falling sun and biting air, but it still feels strange, with the streets of Boston being so constantly overrun, even in the harsh winters. What’s stranger than that, is the peacefulness about it, the relative normalcy. Hell, almost some holiday cheer. It feels alien, and despite it all, he feels a drip of dread in his gut. 

“We got about 300 people here in Jackson, including children.” Tommy begins to inform him, noticing his gaze. “We got electricity, obviously. Running water, sewer, the works, all powered by a hydroelectric dam. Greenhouses—we grow and slaughter all of our own food. Clinic, jail, house of worship, we even have movie nights every Friday.” He passes him a proud smile. “Stables with about ten horses. Those people that found you out there, those were our patrol volunteers. We have a patrol every morning, noon, and night. Try to keep this place as safe and quiet as we can. Everybody helps out.”

Joel nods along as Tommy speaks, making a mental list of the information about his new ‘home’. It sounds pretty solid, he likes the self sufficiency, the seclusion, despite it being the reason it was so goddamn hard to find him. 

“Movie nights, huh?” Joel inquires, that one bit of information sticking out in its oddity. 

“Yeah.” Tommy nods, flashing another smile. “The kids love it.”

The image of a group of children sitting and casually watching a movie, just… being kids, is a strange one, to say the least. He imagines watching them run through the streets, laughing, kicking a ball or throwing snowballs or something normal like that, and feels his brow twitch. Something like that is so far removed from what he’s known for the past, hell, couple decades, the brutal reality of the world. He’s not sure how he feels about it yet, so he grumbles a different question. “Who picks the damn movie?”

Tommy chuckles. “We vote.”

“Vote, huh? You runnin’ a democracy?”

“Well, uh… I’ve been told it’s more like… communism.” Tommy replies, eyes suddenly glued to the snow as they make their way back up the road towards the houses.

Joel raises his brow, amusement making his lips curl. “Tommy Miller, a communist.”

Tommy sighs, an embarrassed smirk pulling his lips. “I’ve made my peace with it.”

Joel chuckles. “Yeah? And how long did that take?”

Tommy shrugs, turning his head to him again with an almost cheeky smile. “A few solid meals and a shower.”

This makes Joel laugh, the feeling almost startling him, but it's extremely refreshing, the smile sticking to his lips for a few more moments. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

There’s a beat, the only sound being the crunch of snow under their shoes, before Tommy speaks again. “You’re gonna like it here. It’s nice. Peaceful. People are nice.” 

Joel hums. He’s never been a fan of optimism, and seeing it in his brother normally makes him both nervous and annoyed, but he’s tired of fighting. So he changes the subject, mind still stuck on the idea of watching a movie. “You remember when we used to watch those old, shitty Schwarzenegger movies every Saturday?”

Tommy breaks out into a laugh, and the sound raises another smile to Joel’s lips. “Yeah, yeah, I do… by the way, the second Terminator movie is still better than the first one.” 

Joel’s smile widens into a grin, the familiar debate a welcome interruption. “Hell no. The first Terminator is way better. T2 was good, but there’s no topping the original.”

“Nu-uh.” Tommy shakes his head, still smiling. “Special effects got way better, better storyline. Huge improvement.”

Joel scoffs, looking at his brother with feigned offense. “Special effects don’t make a movie good. It’s just flash and bullshit. Judgment Day was just a cash-grab sequel.”

Tommy snickers, shaking his head. “You’re never gonna admit I’m right, are you?”

“Nope. Just like I’m never gonna admit you got better aim than me—same story, you’re just wrong.”

Tommy huffs a chuckle through his nose, grinning. “Still a stubborn old bastard, huh?” 

Joel rolls his eyes, though he can’t wipe the smirk off of his face. “Still a pain in my ass.”

“Guess some things never change.”

“Guess so.”

There’s another lull in conversation as they walk down the street of houses before Tommy raises his hand to point, “That’s me, right up there. House across the street is empty, so, I figured we’d post you up right there. That way, if you ever need me, I’m just a hop, skip, and a jump away.” Joel is about to make fun of his brother for using such a goofy phrase, but as looks to where he’s pointing, his eyes flick to the house just next to his—it’s yours. 

Instantly, he shoots Tommy a glare. “Really?” He says in a hushed tone. 

Tommy shrugs, a tight lipped grimace on his face. “Hey, the next open house is a ways away. I wanted to keep you close.”

Joel just huffs, shaking his head as he glances at your house again. “Jesus, Tommy… what if she gets a wild hair up her ass and decides to come murder me?”

“I mean… she could do the same thing if you lived anywhere else. And, at least I’ll be able to come right over if I hear you screaming.” Joel shoots him another sharp glare, and Tommy has to hold back a chuckle. Rolling his eyes, Joel grumbles, “Great. Thanks.”

“Come on,” Tommy begs, grinning. “You’ll be fine. You’ll be good. Just go get some sleep, alright?” He places a comforting hand on Joel’s shoulder, and he nods. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll try.” 

“I’ll come grab you in the morning, alright? We do meals all together. Like, whole town, serve yourself type’a deal. We’ll go together.”

Joel nods. Whatever that is will be a tomorrow problem. “Alright.”

“Good.” Tommy nods, digging into his pocket for a key to hold out to him. “Then I’ll uh… let you settle in, and see you in the morning.”

“Yeah.” He nods back, letting him drop the key into his palm. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

As he hears Tommy’s footsteps recede, Joel stares down at the key, seeing it as a concrete signifier that he lives here now, in a house, in Jackson, this small, peaceful little bubble, where his brother is, and where you are. “Hey, wait,” he croaks out after his brother, tearing his eyes away from the key in his palm. 

“Yeah?” Tommy answers, turning around to face him again. 

He hesitates, shifting on his feet as he feels a pang of anxiety. After a short moment, he swallows his pride and pushes out, “Could I, uh… ask you for a favor?”

“‘Course.” Tommy responds almost instantly, stepping back over to him. 

Joel swallows, a hint of uncertainty about the question pulling him, but, though he looks down at his feet while he does, he can’t help but ask, “I was wondering if you could uh, just… talk to Y/n for me. I just think it might, uh…”

“Yeah.” Tommy nods, giving him a reassuring smile. “Yeah. ‘Course.”

Joel looks up at him, relieved by the painless answer. He swallows again, giving him a small nod back. “Just… try to convince her that I didn’t come all the way out here to make her life miserable. I’m…” he sighs, “I’m trying. To… be better.”

Tommy nods again. “Yeah. I know.”

Joel gives him another short nod, a pang of guilt and unease already starting to settle back into his heart, but all he really wants is to fucking sleep. “Alright, thanks, Tommy. I’ll uh, see you in the morning.”

“See you tomorrow.” He replies, giving him another light smile before turning back to walk back across the street. Joel watches him disappear into his house before turning to his own. Two stories, a dark, muted blue, with a roofed porch. He walks up to the front door, analyzing the state of the wood—sturdy—and seal around the door—secure—before he turns the key in the lock, and pushes the door open.  

It’s dark, silent, but there’s a blow of warm air from inside, and he cautiously lets himself in, slowly closing the door and locking it behind him. He looks around for a light switch, finding one just beside the door, and flicks it on. Looking around, he becomes acutely aware of how unfamiliar the space is to him, despite the homely furnishings. It looks like a real home—a couch, armchair, fireplace with a rug before it, artwork on the walls. 

Slowly, he makes his way through the house, exploring every room. Towels and basic toiletries in the bathroom. Bowls, plates, cups and mugs in the cupboards in the kitchen. An office, a leatherbound journal and pencils in the drawer. A smaller bedroom in the back of the upstairs, a master in the front. A note in the dresser drawer with the address of where they’ll, apparently, “give you” clothes. 

After shutting the drawer, his eyes finally land on the bed. Made, military style, with a clean, white, floral print bedspread. A couple layers of blankets. Mouth basically watering as he stares at it, Joel shrugs off his coat and hangs it on the door, untying his boots and setting them beside it, before he finally sinks down into the mattress. Fuck its comfortable. He has half a mind to stay right there, laying on top, but he decides to crawl under the covers, and laying under the heavy layers is where the exhaustion finally overtakes him. 

He drifts off quickly, sleep coming to him in almost record time. It’s deep, and delightfully dreamless, before it comes to an abrupt end. 

He wakes up with a start, jerking up in bed. Despite his groggy haze, his heart is racing, eyes blinking through the darkness, trying to discern the unfamiliar surroundings. When he remembers where he is, he lets out a sigh, but then everything comes flooding back, and he leans his forehead into his hand with a quiet swear. 

He takes a few more breaths, trying to gauge if he’ll be able to just fall back asleep, before letting out another gruff swear when he realizes the answer is likely no. The digital clock on the nightstand read 3:20am. Not even close to sunrise. 

With an annoyed sigh, he pushes the covers off of himself and swings his legs over the edge of the bed, sighing again. There’s still an unexplained feeling of unease in his gut, but he can’t tell if he should follow it or just wave it off as paranoia. However, he has literally nothing else to do, so, with a soft groan, he pushes himself off the bed and shuffles out into the hallway. 

The moon casts a soft, gray light through the window, floorboards groaning softly under his socked feet, knees cracking as he makes his way downstairs, examining a hung painting of flowers that reminds him too much of a Clicker’s face. With a sigh, he carefully removes it, folding under his arm as he walks the rest of the way down to the first floor and then carefully sets it against the wall. He pauses, hands on his hips as he stares up at the nail left, inclined to take it out now and see if there’s any chance of there being supplies to fix the hole hiding somewhere in the basement, then making a mental note to go on a shopping spree at the general store for the things that will always be in a Miller home, god damn it. Just as the groggy annoyance at this sudden problem starts to set in, his ears perk, head turning to a sound coming from outside. Tilting his head, he shuffles over to the window beside the stairs, squinting as he parts the curtains and looks around, searching for its origin. It’s faint, and soft, but he could recognize it anywhere. 

You’re singing. 

[softpascalito]

Peluda - Javier Peña x Reader

Summary: A snowstorm hits Bogotá and you bring back a surprise visitor. Javi is not amused. But, it leads to a realization about himself- and about you.

Relationships: Javier Peña x F!Reader WC: 1700 Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Emotional, Nicknames, Soft Javier Peña (Narcos), Sweet Javier Peña (Narcos), Healthy Relationships, Fights (blink and youll miss it), Snow, Blizzards & Snowstorms, This kitten is DEA Read on AO3 full advent calendar (updated daily)

notes: okay listen i am AWARE that bogotá does not get snow like this but this is my fanfiction and what i say is law so there is snow now.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

Thick snowflakes swirl around you, the ice crunching under your feet as your gaze flies over the windows of the building down the street. As you get closer, you can see it clearly, light spilling out from the right window on the ground floor. He's home.

You slip twice before you reach the house, hurrying past the parked cars and up the small flight of stairs that is also glazed over with ice, keeping your head down and your coat wrapped tightly around your body. When you reach the front door, you fumble with your keys for a moment, your hands shaking from both the cold and the adrenaline.

A curse escapes your lips as the bundle of keys falls down and you lean forward to grab it before settling for the doorbell instead of giving it another try. It's mere seconds until the door buzzes open and you push yourself into the dimly lit hallway of the apartment building. The wind howls around you, even after the large door has fallen shut, seemingly finding a way through the cracks around it.

“Hermosa?”

His door is slightly ajar, brown hair and a pink shirt poking out at the side of it. You practically storm towards him and you can tell by the way he flexes his arm that he's holding his gun, carefully checking who is showing up on his doorstep this late at night.

“It's me, calm down,” you brush him off as you reach the door and all but push yourself inside. Javier steps back, staring at you for a moment. His voice is a little lower than usual, which in your experience means one of two things. He's horny or he's mad. Occasionally a bit of both.

“Are you crazy, going out in this weather? I was worried sick.”

Mad it is.

You barely look at him as you shake your head, “I just wanted to get some more bread, we were out again and I didn’t know if the stores might close-” His gaze is on your face for a moment, resting on your slightly reddened cheeks, the slowly melting snowflakes that decorate both your hair and your coat. 

But that is what he stumbles over- the coat. Your arms are wrapped around yourself and the thick fabric is drawn over a lump that definitely does not belong to your body.

“What did you get?” Javier tucks the front of the coat down just as you turn away, sending a glare into his direction, “Don't scare it.”

“It?” Javi asks and you can practically see his brain going haywire as he tries to figure out what you’re talking about. The agent is so goddamn smart when it comes to tracking down informants and exposing cartel members but the most normal conclusions sometimes seem like a mystery to him.

His furrowed brows relax slightly when you peel the coat off yourself carefully and he is left staring at a trembling ball of fur in your arms. Very dirty, brown fur.

“Oh hermosa-” He starts but you shake your head before he even has the chance to complain. Bogotá has more than a few stray cats and dogs but so far, he has managed to keep you from taking any of them home.

“She was all alone, Javi, in the snow. She would’ve frozen to death,” you mumble. As if to confirm your story, the kitten gives a small, strangled noise and you hum quietly. Javier follows you into the bathroom, watching with crossed arms as you place the animal in the bathtub and begin to run the water, adjusting the temperature with one hand. The cat trashes around slightly, clearly uncomfortable with the cold porcelain below her and the attention of not one but two humans. Her claws strike your hand, making you curse as a thin trail of blood runs down your fingers.

“What are you doing?” Javier asks in a low voice, clearly exasperated. But you're not exactly calm either, your own hands still cold from the snow and now stinging slightly from where the cat has struck you. 

“I’m taking a bath,” you say with a roll of your eyes, voice dripping with irony. “I’m cleaning the fucking cat, Javi, what does it look like?!”

You don't need to see his face to know you're not the only one in the bathroom who looks like they've been struck. There's a small shuffle next to you as Javi closes the door behind himself and then kneels down beside you with a low groan, “Okay, how do we do this?”

A weak smile spreads over your face as you bring both hands back to the cat that has by now joined in on the conversation, audibly meowing up at both of you as you gently stroke its back, “I'll hold her, you run the water and get some soap.”

He does as told, filling the tub up just a bit so that the small animal can still stand. To your surprise, she doesn't seem to mind the water as much as a cat should. In fact, she almost seems to enjoy the warmth of it around her small paws. 

Javier seems to pick up on it too, “I thought cats don't like baths.”

“I guess not all of them?” You offer as he hands you the bar of soap and you begin to gently run it over the matted fur below your hands.

“Are we sure it's a cat?”

His voice is so serious that you can't help but laugh as you elbow his side, “Javi-”

“I'm just saying, hermosa. It could be a- an oddly shaped, brown raccoon.”

It does not turn out to be an oddly shaped raccoon. As the dirt comes off, layer after layer, staining the once white tub a gentle brown, it doesn't even turn out to be a brown cat.

The orange fur is dripping wet, making the small thing look even more pitiful than it had when you had spotted it hiding from the snow below a bench. At least the attempts to further scratch you have died down, the cat seemingly content to be warmed up and cared for.

“Hold on, I'll get a bigger towel,” you mumble and head to the small cabinet in the hallway. As you grab a well-worn one and pull it out, you hear a low voice coming from the bathroom, one that makes your head turn and hold still as you peek past the door frame.

“You're still shaking, peluda,” Javi whispers, crouched over the tub to gently brush his fingers through the dripping fur, no doubt not realizing you can hear him, “We’ll get you nice and warm, don't you worry.” A tiny meow comes as reply and he tuts softly, “Todavía no estoy seguro si eres un gato. You may fool her but not me. I'm an agent, you know? I can see right-” He punctuates his words with a soft, gentle pat on the cat's head, “- through - you.”

Your heart feels like it's about to jump out of your chest. You've never heard Javi talk to anyone so gently, anyone except yourself. And even then, it's usually reserved for when you're alone, tucked away in bed in the dark, tracing the skin of the person beside you.

A few minutes later you're seated in the living room, the tiny cat wrapped in a big towel on your lap as Javier hands you a baby bottle filled with some milk - both borrowed from the Murphy’s upstairs, who had both been equally confused when Javi had shown up on their doorstep to ask for both.

“Come on, peluda,” you reassure the kitten gently, repeating the nickname Javi used for her earlier, and very carefully, she begins to drink. The taste of the lukewarm milk seems to agree with her because after a few moments, the small sucks on the bottle becomes more eager and silence falls over the apartment, only interrupted by the small noises of the furball on your lap.

Javier is still standing in the open kitchen, watching as you feed the animal, occasionally reassuring her with a gentle pat or a different angle of the bottle.

He swallows, trying to get the realization that his head is producing back down into his stomach, the scenarios running in front of his eyes away from the surface. But there is no un-knowing the things he knows, no way to get rid of them.

He wants children.

It's not a possibility, not in Colombia, not with the cartel so close. Maybe it won't be one for a few years to come, until things are more quiet, until he has fixed everything he needs to fix. Including himself.

But as he watches you, the ever-growing wish settles in his throat, placing itself dangerously close to his mouth. Javi swallows again. He doesn't want it to slip out. Not yet, anyway.

He stands there, content to just watch as the cat eagerly takes one sip after another until the bottle is empty and the ball of orange fur purrs gently as it settles onto your knees, eyes already drooping.

Your voice is quiet as you urge him to come closer and with a small sigh, Javi settles down next to you, his arm automatically wrapping around your shoulder. He doesn't realize how close the picture of the three of you is to what he might have in a few years, minus a round stomach or a non-furry little companion on your lap. It's okay. He can wait.

“Can she stay?” You almost beg, your eyes finally leaving the kitten in front of you to wander to Javi instead. He sighs softly, both of you looking at each other. Then, his gaze leaves your face.

Brown puppy eyes meet green kitten eyes. They look at each other for a moment. Then Javi nods, “Yeah. She can stay.”

notes: shoutout to the person on my discord who said "funny, normally javi is happy to see a pussy" (i love you) also: do not give kittens cow milk (unless theyre starving and theres a snowstorm i guess?) idk this is no vetinary advice, google that shit if you ever bring home a kitten to your dea agent husband.

[ohsohoney]

When it comes to love you're just as blinded.

Part Four

Eminem x Musician

Summary: It starts with a drunk embarrassing video, it spirals into something a whole lot more.

Note: Four is finally here, took ages because I got carried away and so it's almost 9k long but I hope you enjoy it!! Thanks for all the love on this series, means a whole lot x

Set in 2014, just after the release of LP 2 || Em’s daughters are renamed here because it felt weird not to and also have different ages– doesn’t affect the story much but just a warning! Rosie's nickname is also Z:)

Masterlist

“Z, you comin’ or not?” Em shouted up the staircase, practically swinging against it whilst his hand gripped the large ball perched on the very end of the bannister. Somehow it managed to hold most of his weight even as he leaned further back, once more breaking his whole ‘no yelling’ rule. “We gotta move, baby!”

I was pretty content to just let this scene play out, especially after having witnessed the pair's antics firsthand whilst we’d been helping Rosie out with her homework– or rather, whilst I’d been helping, Marshall had been quite happy to just nod along with whatever I’d been saying. As though he understood what the fuck had been going on.

Even so, they’d made it fun, the way they playfully bickered back and forth and how Em seemed hellbent on correcting the girl’s spelling and punctuation even though the majority of it had just been numbers.

It wasn’t long after we’d wrapped up the worksheet that Marshall brought up the topic of food again and in truth, I’d been all for it, suddenly starved at the very mention. So Rosie had run off to stash her school stuff away and use the loo, whilst I’d wandered back out into the hallway where I’d left my shoes, settling down on the wooden bench there to lace them back up. 

Em had followed soon after, seemingly ready and geering to go. He actually let out a hearty sigh when his daughter called back to him that she would just be another minute and I watched on as he glanced up towards the high ceilings in impatience.

I snorted softly to myself at the reaction and let my shoulders relax a little into the wall behind me, my eyes sliding over his slumped form as we waited. “You that anxious to get going?”

Marshall worked his jaw at the question, then pushed away from the stairs to move a little closer. He shook his head at me with a curled lip and then shoved his hands into his pockets, “Just always the same with her, you know? A minute means ten.”

A fond smile crept over my expression, “Ah, the consequences of being a girl dad, Mathers. You now run on female time.”

The brim of his hat barely covered the roll of his eyes when he scoffed, “Don’t I know it.” 

“You love it though.” I shot back, so certain of that particular fact. 

I had only been in the presence of Em and his daughter for barely even half a day and already I could see that. He hummed in retort too, neither confirming nor denying the assumption. 

“Don’t be like that,” I smirked, amused by the tough guy act he liked to front, “She’s probably just grabbing a jumper or something. Looks cold out.”

As I said the words, I let my gaze slip out of one of the long windows by the front door, so I only noticed how his stare had lingered on me for a moment too long once I’d glanced back. I tilted my head in a silent question but before I could say much of anything, Marshall raised a single finger and was already stalking off.

My forehead furrowed into tight lines at the sudden retreat and I was left looking after him, but in the end, I just shook my head and let it go.

“Now look who’s not ready to leave.” I murmured quietly to myself, mostly in jest, whilst my eyes returned to the front drive. 

It did actually look quite chilly out, the skies had a grey overcast to them and the branches of the nearby trees shook in the wind often enough that every third gust another leaf would fall. I watched one cascade slowly, winding its way lower and lower until it hit the grass, orange in colour but its stem still a vibrant green.

It was then, as I was lost in the world outside, focused on distant noise and the flock of birds which flew high, that Marshall returned. I heard the fall of his heavy steps grow nearer before they ultimately stopped by me. I ended up turning to look at him, but was instead met by a bundled ball of black.

Frowning, I peered at the arm holding the material and followed it up until I found his typically stoic face looking back at me. I lifted a brow, “What’s this for?”

His expression somehow managed to flatten further at the ask and so I reached out to take the thing, brow wrinkling even more at the hoodie that suddenly unfolded in my hand. I watched on as it unbundled itself in my hold, sleeves falling into my lap whilst my grip remained stuck on the hood. And yet, I still stared down at it in confusion.

“Uh,” It was a stupid reaction for sure, but I really was utterly baffled by the sudden item I’d been given and with no obvious explanation either. I glanced back up at Marshall, who was already wearing a hoodie of his own beneath his light jacket, so I guessed quite easily that the article of clothing hadn’t been meant for him. “This for me?”

I watched as his eyes slid closed for a second, as though he was taking a mere moment to breathe or some shit– like I was the confusing one here? Before he eventually dropped his head in a short nod, “You slow?”

My eyes were quick to narrow in retort to that response and I felt my tongue press against the sides of my teeth too, before finally, I allowed myself a smile that was nothing short of snarky. “Incredibly so, apparently. Especially without context and when someone’s being a proper prat about the entire thing.”

“Prat?”

I couldn't help it. It just– he sounded so stupid saying it in that Detroit accent of his, even more so when out of everything I’d just gone and said it was that particular word he’d chosen to get stuck on. 

“Yes!” I laughed further, forever amused by the soft scrunch his face had taken on, it was almost enough to have me forgiving him entirely for his stupidity. “I mean, how was I supposed to know, Marshall? You walked off, then came back and said nothing.”

My snickering only continued, even as his cheeks hollowed out, but I’d quickly come to realise that the action was just one of the many he often resorted to when looking to dim down his own reactions. Typically, it was a smile. 

“I gotta spell shit out for you?” He quizzed around a huffy exhale, quirking a brow at me when I widened my eyes in retaliation, “You said it was cold out. You’re sat in a t-shirt. We’re going outside, you’ll freeze. Ergo hoodie.”

“Ergo?” I blanched at him, entirely baffled by the odd phrasing, before I actually started cackling again. “Who the fuck even says that?”

“El.” Marshall warned lowly, but it was already too late. I'd seen the slight twitch the corner of his mouth had made when he’d gone to say my name and there was no use in denying it.

I chose to dampen my grin though, not wanting to push my luck here, and instead stood up to pull the hoodie on, grateful for the sweet sentiment even after the whole ordeal. 

“Thanks for thinking of me.” I smiled over at him whilst I tugged my hair from out of the hood. His eyes slid away once they met mine though and so I put it down to the whole thing not being as big a deal as I’d made it out to be. 

I briefly glanced down at my front, never really having felt anything as soft as the oversized jumper he’d allowed me to wear, but it was easy to see that it was very much him. Screamed Em in a sense, so black that even the slight text running down the side of it was emboldened in the colour. 

I lifted my gaze, “Look okay?”

Marshall’s eyes flickered far left before they found me once more, my hands engulfed in too long sleeves, figure hidden by the thick fabric. He was quiet for a long moment but finally, his head dipped minutely in answer. Barely even a nod and yet I grinned.

“It’s warm as fuck.”

That got a chuckle out of him, or rather a snort. “Better be.” 

His gaze met mine once more but this time it held, “Gonna take you to this diner a little bit away. Used to take Z there when she was a baby, it’s run down as shit now but it sort of became a habitual thing.”

My chest constricted at the notion, at him for wanting me to join them in a tradition that was wholeheartedly their own. I swallowed thickly around the emotion that gathered in my throat and coughed to clear it before my eyes could well. Last thing I wanted to do was cry like some weirdo.

“That sounds amazing.” I said after a breath, flashing him another smile, this one full of appreciation. 

Marshall didn’t know what to do with that though it seemed, because he made this weird face that lasted less than a millisecond before he was shrugging, “I mean, just figured. We can head some place nearer, or get takeout if you’d prefer.”

My eyes must have widened on their own accord because his narrowed in observation. I was quick to shake my head, “No, honest. The diner sounds perfect. I actually could go for some real greasy food right about now.” 

I pushed my hands into the pockets of the hoodie and hoped that he hadn’t retracted the offer just because he felt weird about it or that I’d think less of– I don't even know, him? That in itself made no sense, but I felt more than a little honoured to have been invited and I didn’t want him thinking I was anything but.

Eventually Marshall just nodded and a moment was barely able to pass between us before Rosie came storming down the stairs, a pink rain jacket haphazardly thrown over her shoulders and an exact copy of her dad’s Nike Airs on her feet. “Let’s go!”

She was met with an astonished look from her father when she skipped off the last step and flashed him a giant grin, oblivious to his stress induced wait. At the exchange, my laugh appeared to manifest into a gross sort of snort when I’d attempted to hold it in, earning a look off of Em too. 

I raised my hands up at him in a mock surrender, only the tips of my fingers being seen over the cuff of my sleeves, and pressed my lips together when Rosie swanned on past the man to open the front door, already talking a mile a minute about how she’d spilt her pencils and had to clean them up only to have noticed this hair clip that she thought she had lost hiding down the side of her wardrobe. 

Most would have started to lose their patience by now, what with both Rosie and I having been an apparent handful, but Marshall seemed to take it all in stride, tugging the door open easily enough above my head so that we could all slip on through. Rosie grabbed my hand just as we dropped off the first step and led me out after I smiled my thanks to the man, Marshall following the pair of us, and it was just as we made it back out to the man’s monster-truck that Z asked about my most recent trip to France.

“Dad said you were there a while ago, I can’t remember the last time we visited but he swears we’ve been.” The girl told me just as Em unlocked the car, the vehicle lights flashing a hazy orange. He headed straight on over to the driver's side door but Rosie appeared to falter in her step by the backseat, lips wrinkling as she turned to face me, “Wanna sit in the back together?” 

She’d asked the question almost shyly, which surprised me seeing as it was a total contrast to the person I’d gotten to know, so I was quick to nod along, being more than used to the dynamic whenever I was out with Lottie, and let her tug open the back door for us. Rosie climbed in first just as the engine started up and then I slipped in right after, shaking off the slight chill I’d captured once the door shut behind me. 

“Uh,” Came Marshall’s perplexed splutter from upfront, my head snapped up at the sound to meet his piercing gaze in the rearview mirror. “What am I– your Uber?”

Rosie and I shared a quick look and then giggled, not even having thought about her dad when we’d made the decision. The little girl took the question in stride though as she clicked her seatbelt in place, “Duh.”

Marshall’s eyebrows shot up, “Oh, so it’s like that? Aight, but know imma be expecting a tip.”

His daughter’s narrow-eyed stare really rivalled his own and had me stifling yet another smile. I waved him off though with a roll of my eyes, “It’s just easier to show her pictures from my trip back here. Don’t complain so much, or those old man allegations will stick.”

Em met my gaze briefly as he glanced over his shoulder to reverse back out of the driveway, the property’s steel gates opening at the motion and allowing us to pass through. 

“Besides,” I smiled coyly after having witnessed his slightly curled lip, already pulling my phone out to do exactly that in hopes that Rosie might enjoy them, “It’s custom for a princess to be chauffeured around.” 

The younger girl snickered at that, as well as the expression her dad then pulled, but nodded her agreement. “Yeah, Dad. Listen to the Brit, she knows all about royalty and stuff.” 

Amused, my brow wrinkled in an attempt to bite back my grin and I swiped into my camera roll to pull up the pictures I’d snapped at Paris Fashion Week. Lottie had been fascinated at first, very into the idea of the mania that surrounded the high press event, but her excitement for it had died out as soon as she’d spotted the A-list celebs sitting amongst the first row, having pointed out and asked me which one I’d managed to meet. She was cute at times, but an unimaginable nightmare. 

“Kid, don’t let her brainwash you with all that London crap, she ain’t never even met the Queen.” Marshall was quick to pipe up, drawing me from my scrolling. 

I peered over at Rosie, who was looking at the back of her dad’s head with an unimpressed expression. “You said you liked her accent when I said it was funny.” Z argued around pursed lips, her rapid retort made me blink and shoot another look at the driver.

“So you do like my accent!” I all but gasped, smiling gleefully now, because see, it had become somewhat of a passtime for Marshall to rip the piss out of whatever I would end up saying whenever we’d call. He’d done it enough times now that I truly thought that it was just something he’d grown to put up with.

The roll of his eyes was caught in the rearview mirror before they shot over and captured mine for a split second. “I think it’s safe to let you know now that Z is a pathological liar.”

I snorted at the cheek of him, whilst the girl mentioned called out a miffed, “Hey!”

Marshall merely shrugged in reply, though it seemed that we both could make out his ever growing smirk even as he continued to watch the road.

“Don’t worry, lovely.” I assured the girl around another soft chuckle as I moved to squeeze her hand in a show of support, “I’ve grown used to your Dad’s–” I went to say bullshit, but paused before I actually could, “antics.” I supplied instead, grateful to the way Rosie seemed to be none the wiser to the slight stumble, although Em’s appreciative glance was a tad bit mirthful. I shot him a dark look.

The rest of the ride was spent with me explaining each picture that Rosie asked about; the gardens of my hotel that I’d been utterly taken with, having spent most, if not all, of my free time hiding within them; the Westwood catwalk show I’d had front row seats to, sitting beside Ms Vivienne herself whilst almost dying of heatstroke in the dress I’d worn (the lights had just been a lot, okay?); and even the Parisian markets I’d wandered into, having collected an array of still photos capturing stalls full of prints, fresh food, flowers and clothing. 

It had been a hectic week, but really enjoyable. It was also nice to note that Rosie found some enjoyment in the experience too, gasping and awwing about all of the little details she managed to spot within the frames. Although, there had been one photo in particular that she’d seemed to get stuck on, sliding back and forth between the rest to look at it again and again. I took note and filed the information away for later.

By the time we pulled to a slow stop, I was blinking and peering around in surprise to find that we’d already arrived, having seemingly been caught up in listening to Rosie’s opinions over some of the outfits I’d loved enough to go backstage and capture.

The diner was just as Marshall had explained, rundown. But only by a tad. It was almost as though it had been frozen in time, whilst the rest of the world had continued on around it. Its red paint was rusted and chipped, cracking at the beams that were nothing if not supportive. The glass making up the windows were tinted a sheer yellow, stained from years of direct sunlight beaming through, and a sign hung high above the front entrance, squeaking in the wind.

Stepping out, I was surprised to see the look of anticipation that crossed Marshall’s face once he’d rounded the car to meet us, Rosie slipping into the space beside me after the door slammed shut. I grinned, marvelled by the sight of an authentic American diner, one that seemed to have lasted past the ages, and let my eyes roam over the shop’s exterior before finally looking back at Em who stood beside us.

His hands were stuffed into his pockets alongside the keys he’d just used to lock up the car, eyes taking note of the way his daughter’s hand slipped inside of mine without question to start leading the three of us over.

“They make the best ice cream sundaes.” Rosie mentioned with a bright smile, almost skipping in her giddy excitement whilst her dad trailed a step behind us. “Dad reckons it was all I would eat some days when I was little. I’d scream and throw a fit if he tried to feed me anything else.”

Em’s breathy snort echoed out over my shoulder as the diner’s door rattled to welcome us inside. “Yeah, and why’s that?” He questioned her, holding the handle to keep it from bumping either one of us.

“Because I only ever wanted the cherry and whipped cream a sundae could offer.” Rosie giggled, tiptoeing briefly to look out across the shop. She seemed to know exactly where she was headed after that, hurrying over to a booth sat in the far corner where the window and wall connected. 

I glanced back at Marshall with a quizzical look and was gifted a small smile as he shucked his chin out to gesture me on. “It’s where we’ve always sat.”

Oh.

My feet guided me towards the cushioned booth, its padded seats worn enough to look like a boxing bag after a proper fall out with its fighter, but they were somehow comfier than the car we’d ridden over in– not that I’d ever let that slip. I settled into one side at the beckon of Z, whilst Em slid onto the opposing bench with a practised ease. I looked right up into his eyes after and couldn’t help the excited smile I wore, hoping for him to somehow see how much I was already enjoying myself.

“Why, hello! Been a while, ain’t it?”

I startled at the sound of the unexpected voice, something which in itself caught me off guard because I was usually always so hyper aware of everything going on around me. Blinking off the shock though, I peered over to my left to find an older lady with hair so red it could have only been box dyed, stood there with a couple menus. The colour matched her lipstick too and suited her so well that it was hard not to gift her a small grin.

Her bright eyes appeared to meet mine at that exact moment and a flash of surprise washed through the watery blue before it was gone. She checked her hip against the side of the booth to settle in, “Well, ain’t this a surprise. An’ here I were thinkin’ we’d jus’ have to put up with the pair of you fer the rest of our days.” A hand came to rest on my shoulder, nails also painted a glossy red, “You’re pretty too. How you doin’, honey?”

A tad bit overwhelmed by her welcoming nature and the thick accent that didn’t seem to be from around here, I leaned into the gesture and smiled up at her warmly. “I’m good, thank you. Hope your day hasn’t been too rough either.”

The woman tittered brightly at the reply, her mirthful surprise written plain as day across her features as she squeezed my shoulder gently, “Well, I’ll be damned.” She blew out before she could shoot a glance Marshall’s way, “A looker and a sweet talker. Got yerself a real good one here, sunny.”

Marshall appeared to hide his reaction behind the pair of fisted hands he’d been propping his chin against, but still made the effort to reply to the waitress once it had been stamped out, “Quit being nice. These Brits don’t know nothing about that tip you’re looking for.”

My eyes widened whilst Rosie just squeaked out a laugh, peeking her head out from beside me to grin over at the woman with a happy wave, “Heya, Marcie. How’s Pluto?”

The waitress, or rather, Marcie’s knees gave out a bit at the hello to better see the youngen, the hand which held the menus pressing against the table’s edge in an effort to lean closer. “Hey, baby girl. Pluto’s doin’ jus’ fine, loved those dawg treats you gave him the last time ya came around.”

Rosie’s face lit up at the admission whilst her dad’s appeared to age slightly at her reply, “I’ll make sure to bring a whole boxful next time!”

Marcie lapped it up though, laughing sweetly before she settled the menus in front of each of us. “I’ll mention it ta him.” She replied, then glanced about the rest of the table, “You two known one ‘nother long?” 

That question seemed to be directed towards both Marshall and I, so I chanced a look over at the man to gauge his reaction and was pleasantly surprised to find him already wearing a small but fond smile. It wasn’t until Marcie raised a brow at him though that he moved to hide it again, almost as if he hadn’t even realised he’d been doing it at all.

“A while.” Marshall supplied with a roll of his eyes, not even taking a peep at the menu before he slid it back over to the woman, “That’s all you get too. So go stick your nose in Old Harry’s business for once.” 

It was fucking rude, but the way he said it– Well, it once again had Marcie laughing up a storm. The entire exchange reminded me of the people back home, of the witty and sarcastic retorts most Yanks seemed to lack. It was rude, yeah, but honest and brash enough to show just how close these two supposed strangers actually were. Marshall knew Marcie, had known her for a long while even, that much was easy to see. And the woman had been surprised, really surprised, to see me sat here with him, even through all of her teasing, so that in itself gave me much to think about.

Marcie picked the menu up without looking or saying a thing about it. Then she hummed around another smile, “Most Harry’s got gowin’ on is that gout growin’ outta his foot.”

I had to thin my lips to withhold my snicker at her quick retort but even so the smile still shone through. 

“Lovely, Marc.” Em drawled snarkily, before he slapped on a charming grin to bat his lashes up at the busty woman, “You talk to all your customers like that, or am I just special?”

“Ya know you’re ma only.” Marcie played along, nudging the man’s shoulder as she passed us by. Before she could actually disappear though she called out to us from over her shoulder, “Be back in a flash, jus’ need ma notepad!”

Watching her walk away, I found myself smiling, nose even wrinkling with the motion. She was a right character, one that oddly reminded me of this dinner lady I’d had back in primary school. 

I was soon broken from my reminiscence when Marshall cleared his throat though, “She grows on you.” He murmured, catching my gaze, “Like cancer.”

“Dad!” Came Rosie’s hasty rebuke, one that had me giggling behind my palm as the girl playfully swatted her menu against her father’s arm. 

“Or gout.” Marshall added in afterthought, smirking as he easily batted the girl’s attempts away.

“You know Marcie’s the best!” Rosie argued with him, but the corners of her grin had already begun to reach her eyes.

Marshall hummed lowly and pushed the menu back over towards his daughter, then he looked at me, “Should have gave you a warning though. Looked like you were at a circus when she arrived.”

My eyes narrowed, “She just caught me off guard, is all! Didn’t see her come up behind me.”

Rosie chuckled sweetly as she leant into my side and Em resettled his head against his fisted palms, looking between the two of us. 

“It’s ‘cause she used to be a dancer. Says it’s why she’s so light on her feet.” Z let slip, but Marshall’s slight grimace told me a different story. One I let be for now.

“Seems the sort.” I said to the girl, smiling as I picked up my plastic menu card to toy with an edge, “Know what you’re getting?”

“A milkshake.” Was the confident answer before Rosie’s eyes shyly slipped over towards her dad, who raised an eyebrow, “Please?”

“Actual food, baby.” Marshall coaxed as he moved to rest against the tabletop on his forearms, but Z chewed on her lower lip, expression morphing into something which resembled a puppy quietly begging for treats. He sighed, folding all too quickly, “We can share one, but actual food first.”

The grin he received in turn was nothing short of adoring and Rosie was quick to dip her head in agreement, eyes surveying the menu once more. “The tenders look good.”

Em’s smile was soft and I watched on as he dropped his chin in a silent okay, eventually though his gaze shifted over to me, he waited.

I rolled my eyes, having caught on quickly, “Figured just a hamburger and chips.”

“Fries.” He automatically corrected which had me huffing out an airy laugh as I shook my head at the already argued debate.

Rosie, though, appeared to blink at our short exchange. “I forgot about that.” She giggled to herself before she then turned to her dad, “Why do they call them chips anyway?”

Marshall raised a shoulder in answer, “They’re backwards.”

Scowling, it was my turn to swat the man with the plastic menu and both Z and I laughed when he actually cowered further into the booth to avoid the next swing. “You’re backwards, driving on the wrong side of the road and paying for sodding healthcare.” I scoffed.

The most I was given in return was a long look from the man.

My eyes narrowed, “Bite me.”

Rosie was still giggling away at the pair of us, eyes alight, before she peered over at me, “I think it’s cool that you say things differently.”

My nose scrunched around the pleased little smile that overwhelmed my face and I draped an arm around her to rope her into a side hug. “This is why you’re my favourite.”

Em scoffed and so I widened my smile for him, peering over at the man from across the table.

Soon enough Marcie returned, letting us place an order whilst she told a story about how the cook had almost lost his hand a couple of weeks back when he’d helped this old woman with her car which had stalled outfront. Marshall seemed content to just listen, throwing in a reply or two, whilst Rosie and I glanced between the older woman and the car park with a slight grimace.

The father and daughter duo did actually end up ordering that milkshake to share, chocolate they’d decided, which arrived just before our food, something that Em bit his tongue about after he’d witnessed Rosie’s excited expression. Whilst I just opted for water, wanting to save some room for my food that looked as enticing as a five course meal at the Hilton when it finally came out, what with how hungry I was. 

“Thank you, Marcie.” I murmured softly, gifting the older woman an appreciative smile as she settled my plate down before me. Rosie decided to follow that up with an eager thanks of her own, milkshake already nearing the halfway point.

“Yer most welcome, hunnies.” The waitress acknowledged as she placed Em’s plate between his knife and fork, and it was then that I paused, not having recalled the man even ordering anything after he’d handed her back that menu. It seemed though like he had a usual here. “Can I get ya anythin’ else now?”

I shook my head just as Marshall waved the woman off, giving her his own nod of acknowledgement. 

Marcie left with one final grin and the three of us settled in, Rosie covering half of her plate in ketchup whilst Em and I watched on in faint amusement. 

The girl made a gesture with the bottle shortly after, offering it up to me, and so I opened the bun of my burger to allow her a chance to squeeze a dollop on the patty. We both snickered at the novelty sound the bottle made before she then leaned over the table to do the same to her dad’s.

When I glanced back up from replacing my burger’s top, I was a little surprised to see Marshall observing us once more, before Rosie captured the entirety of his attention, switching out the red sauce bottle to a yellow mustard. He moved to thank the girl in a low register. After which, the rest of the meal was spent sharing odd tidbits; Rosie’s day at school, my flight over from London, before Em then started poking fun at my food.

“What?” He snickered around the mouthful of fries he just tossed back, “No burger is complete without cheese. I said what I said.”

“Why’s it called one then?” I quipped, having picked up my cheeseless burger and taken a bite. I wiped at the corners of my mouth with my tongue and raised a terse brow at the man. “It’s not my fault I can’t stand the stuff.”

Rosie sat there beside me a tad bit baffled, “I can’t believe people like you actually exist.”

I couldn’t quite help the laugh that bubbled from me, “Z! Come on, don’t team up against me now!”

Bless her heart, the girl did look a tad bit sheepish at that. So I bumped her shoulder with my own and winked, it seemed to spur her on. 

“I’m not! Just, I don’t know anyone who hates cheese! Does that mean you don’t like lasagne?” Asking that though only made her gasp whilst her entire face seemed to drain of colour, “Or pizza?”

Snorting, I simply shook my head. “Hate it.”

Rosie’s jaw dropped open.

Surprisingly, it was Marshall that came to my rescue with that one as he shrugged a single shoulder at the topic. “Pizza’s always touch and go. Can count on one hand how many times I’ve actually enjoyed a slice.”

His daughter's frown was prominent and from this angle I could only assume that it looked even more devastating from Marshall’s point of view, “But you always end up finishing my half.”

Em gifted her a smile, but shrugged lightly, “It’s a waste otherwise.” It was then that he leant in a little closer though, speaking before he pulled a face, “Besides, who says no to free pizza?”

Rosie chuckled, content with his answer. Though I could understand the sentiment of its first part. Some kids grew up worrying over food and money, whether mum or dad would have enough to put dinner on the table or keep the lights on, because that was just what they were taught, what they had picked up on. Others, lucky ones like Rosie, were able to just be kids.

By the time the three of us were finished, I was a tad bit fatigued from how quickly I’d managed to scarf down my food and Em had since leaned back in the booth to place a hand over his stomach. Rosie giggled at the sight we must have made whilst she shook her head, “Is this what being old means?”

Both Marshall and I shot her a sharp look at the unexpected muse, my mouth gaping at the sheer cheek, but before either of us could even get a word in to argue, the girl was already scampering underneath the table to slip on out the other side. “Going to the restroom!” She told us brightly, her beaming grin giving way to the humour she’d found in tormenting the pair of us.

Marshall merely clucked his tongue at his daughter’s retreating figure before he eventually rolled his head back over towards me. He huffed, “Don’t have kids. They’re assholes.” 

Grinning, I propped my chin up on my hands and let my eyes slip close. “Yeah, but they’re cute arseholes.”

Em grunted.

I blinked blearily to peer over at him. “Thanks for bringing me.”

A faint line etched itself into the skin between his brows, “Don’t thank me, it’s nothing.”

With a roll of my eyes, I blew out a breath, “It’s not nothing.” I tried, dropping my chin slightly to catch his eye, “It means a lot that you invited me here, I can see how much it means to you guys.”

“It’s a dump.”

I exhaled around a disbelieving smile. “But it’s yours. And it’s Rosie’s. And it doesn’t matter what the fuck it looks like because the people here are warm and the food is fucking amazing.” I laughed then and scooched a little closer to press against the table's edge, “Stop worrying about whether I care or not.”

He scowled minutely at that before the look softened into something other, a half a minute passed between us and his eyes settled on the lot beyond the window. “Just ain’t showy, is it? Don’t want you like thinkin’– I don’t care or some shit. Just ‘cause I didn’–“

I cut him off there to poke fun, “Wine me and dine me?”

But his face said it all. This man truly didn’t realise how wrong he was.

Shaking my head lightly, I sighed and wondered how to word my answer exactly. “Em, I didn’t come here expecting you to put on a show for me. For you to hide behind some facade or flaunt your wealth. ‘Cause if you were looking for something like that then I’d be best pointing you in the direction of the nearest groupie.” 

I let go a chuckle and we both shared a smile, even if his was a little less than anticipated. 

“And I know that you care. In your own odd way. And that’s enough for me because I’ve seen how much you care, in all of our calls and sporadic texts, in the videos you pass on just because you reckon they’ll make me laugh like they did you.”

I looked at him then, I mean really looked, and hoped that he could make out the sincerity which lined my voice. Because I’d felt that, I’d been the person sat there waiting for the other shoe to drop, for somebody to finally ask for something or make demands. But I’d sooner die before I treated someone else like that. Still, I just figured that with all the years he had on me he might have figured that much out about me before I had to go and tell him. 

“I didn’t come here looking for Eminem. Or for the life your money gives you. I like the fact that you’re off the grid. That you keep a jar by the fridge so you don’t swear in front of your daughter. That you plant flowers in your garden and pick up your friends from the airport, just because you can. And that you take said friend to a place that obviously holds such a sentimental spot in that old heart of yours. Because I know that you showing me this is your way of letting me in without having to say a bunch of shit about it, to make me feel welcomed whilst I’m staying with you. ‘Cause that’s just who you are.”

It should have been unnerving, the way his eyes had settled on me since I’d started this whole tangent, but I found myself looking back almost as intensely. 

My words had been honest, I just needed him to see that.

Marshall went to say something but paused before he actually could, gaze skittering down to the tabletop before his eyes flashed back up to meet mine. For all that he could rap and spit a couple rhymes, he truly was a man of few words. Although, they were always paired with a genuine lilt and studying stare, “I appreciate that. And you, for saying it.”

Somehow I managed to muster a sheepish smile. I ended up nodding at him once, fiddling with the sleeve of the hoodie I wore before Marcie came swanning back over with Rosie attached to her hip, a container in the girl’s hands.

Marshall cleared his throat and shifted in his seat to welcome the duo back into the fold, eyes immediately honing in on the box. He shucked his chin out towards it, “What you got?” 

Marcie squeezed the girl in a close hug and then let her go. “A couple treats.” She informed him, and when Em dared to open his mouth in retort, probably to deny the offer, the woman promptly cut him off, “On the house. An’ fer later.” She tittered before she flashed a look at both Marshall and I, “There’s plenty there fer you two as well. Don’tchu worry.”

Laughing softly at the exchange, I beamed at the redhead, “Thanks, I don’t think I’ve eaten this good in ages.”

It was an offhanded comment, one that appeared to make Marcie grin as she leaned in to rub my shoulder in a show of gratitude, whilst Marshall’s eyes lingered.

“The little lady mentioned ya had a penchant fer chocolate,” Marcie mentioned with a conspiratorial smirk, “So I saved ya some of our best cake– jus’ make sure this one here don’t get ta it first.”

Marshall pursed his lips when the waitress nudged her head over in his direction and only blew out a breathy chuckle when the woman added, “Though he could stand to put on a few, a good gust a wind might jus’ come an’ blow ya over, sunshine.”

The man in question rolled his eyes, not unkindly, as he waved Marcie off, probably all too used to it. But my mind had been caught on one word. Sunshine. 

It suited him, I deemed. Almost ironically. 

“I’m fine.” Marshall huffed at her, but he’d paired it with the quirk of his mouth to soften the blow. “Gonna have to waddle over to the car with how good I just ate.”

“Too right!” Marcie applauded him, then swerved around the table’s corner to pick up some of our dishes with a smile. Em grabbed the milkshake just as she reached for it though and slurped up the dregs of the runny chocolate that Rosie had yet to finish. “Animal.” The woman muttered, shaking her head at the man who then helped her to pick up the rest.

Marshall rose from the booth, cups and plates in hand, and motioned Marcie ahead of him without a word. I watched in practical awe as the man meandered his way throughout the diner alongside the older woman to drop off the round of dirtied dishes into the kitchen, neither one of them even second guessing the motion. 

I shook my head to clear the many thoughts which had managed to wrangle my mind into a chokehold. Forever surprised by him.

Rosie slipped into the booth opposite, container perched happily in her hands, and so I leaned in to smile over at her, “What did you get?”

“Cookies and a little red velvet.” She chirped happily, holding the box out for me to peer into. “The chocolate’s yours and the muffins are Dad’s.”

“If they taste as good as they look you guys will never get rid of me.” I laughed softly before I shared a secret grin with the girl.

“You wouldn’t hear me complaining.”

That in itself warmed my heart. “Yeah, just wait until you see me tomorrow morning,” I teased, then gestured towards my face, “It’s scary.”

Rosie snickered and shook her head, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

I grinned and pushed away from the table to raise my hands in jest. “You’ve been warned!”

It was then that Marshall walked back over and my eyes caught the slip he held. “You two ready to go? Figured we could–”

“You paid already?” I asked with a slight frown, eyes jumping from the check up to his confused expression.

“Yeah.” He retorted, raising a brow.

I stuck my hand out and made a grabby motion for it, “Lemme see how much I owe you then, I wanna give Marcie a tip, too.”

Instead of doing exactly that, Em shoved the slip into his pocket and rocked back on his feet, “Already done.”

“Marsh,” I pressed, head tilting with it as I swerved in my seat to let my legs out. “Come on, I’ve got this one. You’re already doing so much for me.”

The fucker just stood there though with an unimpressed stare and gave me a slow blink. Then he gestured his head over to Rosie, motioning for the girl to start moving, and Rosie did so with a small grin that she was quietly attempting to dim. 

I stood too, “Marshall.” It was almost said in warning but the man was already moving, leaving me to catch up. 

I smiled politely at a waitress, who hadn’t served us, holding a tray of coffee cups and then again when we bypassed a group of patrons that were settled further up front. Em just continued on, mind already made up, but I made a point to at least catch Marcie on our way out.

Thankfully the woman was stationed up by the till still and so I paused by a breakfast stool at the bar she was working behind. The redhead glanced up at me and it was then that I saw the strange glint in her eye, she smiled wryly as though she already knew what I was going to say. She even beat me to the punch, “He said ya’d put up a fight.”

We shared a mirthful glance in the direction of the diner’s door where said man stood waiting just beyond, hands in his pockets and staring back at us. 

I huffed out a somewhat humoured chuckle but pressed further against the bartop, the fight was already lost. “He didn't even offer.” I said,feeling the need to throw it in, “And I know it’s stupid and traditional bullshit, but he’s already made me feel so welcomed here. I just don’t want him thinkin’ I’m taking advantage. You know?”

Marcie cackled, bright red nails coming up to clutch at the bar’s edge, “No, I don’t know, missy. If I were ya I’d be takin’ full advantage of the fact that he don’t offer, unlike most men I’ve met throughout ma life, he’s an honest one. A true gentleman.”

I snorted slightly at the picture my mind conjured, Marshall dressed in old-timey clothes and maybe a monocle, but knew that she saw me slump a little, realising how right she was.

She pressed against the counter though to shoot me a wicked grin, arms falling effortlessly one over the other, “‘Tween you an’ me, ‘ve been workin’ on an edge where he’ll come in one day wiv’a set a house keys jus’ fer me.”

The laugh that escaped me caught me by surprise and I ended up shaking my head at her blatant teasing, thankful for the way she’d allowed me to see that him paying wasn’t as big of a deal as I was making it out to be. “I’ll see how I can help then.” I reasoned with her, which earned me a proud look in turn. 

“Knew there were a reason I liked you.” Marcie tittered and her eyes returned to the door just before she tilted her head to look at me once more, “It’s his waya sayin’ thank you, I ‘spose. Fer comin’ here with ‘em, or maybe just fer actin’ the way ya do around his little girl.”

My brow wrinkled and so the woman clucked a faint chuckle, the sound sweet and inviting.

“God girl, you don’t see it, do ya?” Her smile stayed strong even as I frowned further in confusion. “He don’t bring many folks ‘round here. An’ I ain’t stupid, I know who he is but I also know who he was. An’ those two men ain’t all that different. You’ll realise what I mean soon enough.”

I wanted to pester her further, because all she’d really given me was a puzzle to solve. But I couldn’t quite force myself to, not with the way she was smiling as though she knew something I didn’t, her twinkling blue eyes flickering over towards the door just before it rang out again.

“El, daddy says he’s gonna leave your ass behind!”

“Dollar!” I called out without thinking, pointing at the little lady who’d just stuck her head through the opening. 

Rosie gaped at me for a second, probably shocked I said it, before she laughed, “I’m just repeating what he said!”

“Uhuh,” I dragged out, unable to contain the smile which bloomed even as I cocked a hip against the counter and raised my brow. “Should I let him know that then?”

Her eyes grew so wide I was honestly a little concerned. But it was then that Marcie stepped in to save her, “Secrets safe with me, honey.”

My head swivelled over to find the woman already grinning, her eyes alive with the strength of it. I rolled my own in fond amusement and shook my head at the pair, “Two against one.” 

Rosie had since stepped in through the door and was now peering over at me with those doe eyes of hers. I crumbled far too easily, “Fine, me too. But I want a pinky promise to seal the deal.”

The girl nodded hastily enough and so I moved over towards her, offering up a pinky for her to wrap her own around. We grinned and let our hands drop, linked fingers still in place. Z glanced over in Marcie’s direction then and I followed her to find the waitress watching us with a warm smile.

“Take care now. An’ I’ll be hopin’ to see yer face again soon, missy.” Marcie warned me with a finger pointed in my direction. I couldn't find it in me to deny her but still, I shot her an impish grin as I pushed open the door once more, letting Rosie slip through.

“I make no promises but I’ll think about it!” I called out to her over my shoulder, “That chocolate cake had better be the best I’ll ever have!”

Marcie’s brilliant laughter followed us out as she waved goodbye, Rosie leading me across the lot and over to the car Marshall was propped up against. The man pocketed his phone when he saw us approaching and gave me a questioning look, probably to see if we were still good.

With a roll of my eyes and after the conversation I’d just had with Marcie, I couldn’t quite berate him for what he’d done, but still stopped short by the car to shoot him a warning glance, “Next time it’s on me.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, even got as far as to open his giant gob before Rosie had to cut in, “Just let her have this one, Dad.” She giggled, opening up the backseat to climb inside.

“Yeah, let me have this one.” I quipped giddily, the two of us in an odd sort of standoff now.

Surprisingly Marshall relented with just a sigh and the shake of his head, motioning me into the car before muttering, “What have I signed up for?”

I swatted his shoulder in passing and he laughed, opening the door up wider for me to join Z in the backseat. I stopped him just before he could let it fall shut. “Thank you.” I told him, not wanting him to know that I was anything other than grateful.

Em looked at me for a long moment, shadowed eyes flickering back and forth between my own before he dipped his chin slowly, a coy smile playing at the corners of his mouth. It was only when he knew that I’d caught it that he let the door close.

[fairykazu]

sweet to dream with kaeya prompt: red rose - falling head over heels in love petunia - realizing their feelings content: set in canon, teens, mutual pining, lazy ending :( (kaeya) ( requested by @kukikoooo ) event masterlist 𝜗𝜚 genshin masterlist

kaeya

the strongest memory that lingered in kaeya’s mind was when he caught feelings for you. though, by now everyone knows since it’s his favorite story to retell when he’s drunkenly babbling everyone in angel’s share ears off.

he was dumb and you were dumber. you protest otherwise. it’s okay to be in denial. 

in the outskirts of the city, he was knee-deep in a field of windwheel asters begrudgingly. "why did you pick the hottest day of the year to do this?" kaeya grumbled, sweat beading his forehead as he trudged through the asters’ field. 

the air was humid, carrying the faint scent of earth and the distant sweetness of blooming flowers. his boots crunched through the meadow, each step releasing a subtle scent of earthy grass. the midsummer sun blazed down upon him, turning the once vibrant greenery into a dreary sea of orange and terracotta. 

name was just right ahead of him. they were like a little rabbit, hopping throughout the fields. they were picking the "best" flowers one by one, filling up their weaved basket to the brim. while his was barely to the amount compared to theirs or at least, in his standards, he was also picking the best ones.

maybe he was the winner here because his flowers were picked with the utmost delicacy.

"well, the flowers are at their best today. besides, i heard that eula managed to get wind-caressed asters for amber! …" name replied with a bashful grin, their eyes sparkling with excitement. kaeya quirked a brow while they trailed off. "ahem, besides, I want everything to be perfect for the windblume festival."

kaeya chuckled at name's enthusiasm, a hint of mischief dancing in his own eyes. "You and your flower obsession" he teased, poking at name's arm playfully. the two of them had known each other since they were kids. they were like two peas in a pod, sticking together while their friendship had endured countless adventures in mondstadt. "but i guess, it's a good thing, it keeps you from burning down the city with your cooking."

they gasped, nearly dropping their basket on the ground. one thing about name, other than the terrible cooking skills, is that they have the flair for the dramatics. they draped one hand over their face, “but you said you loved my rendition of mint jelly and that everyone in dawn winery liked it too!” 

kaeya’s breath exhaled a laugh, trying to disguise it as cough, as he picked another aster into his basket. “ahaha… i lied.” 

“it was really hard, kaeya.” they whined in response, picking up the basket and continuing on to a different patch of asters. they rested on a nearby tree, sitting down. name pointed their finger at him, “everyone ate it too!” 

kaeya’s eyes grew wide, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards. he leaned against the oak tree, trying to keep his laughter at bay. "no, they didn’t.” he put down their accusing finger down as if it was a weapon pointing at him.

the both of them sat in silence for a moment, the only sound being the gentle rustle of the leaves above them. name paused, pointing another finger at kaeya as he let out a laugh. they poked him in the shoulder, “yes, they did. even adelinde praised me!” 

“i ate them all.” 

“what?” 

kaeya went on a tangent about how even diluc didn’t like the mint jelly even though the redhead convinced you then that you were a baking prodigy. name recalled the moment when they caught kaeya stealing elzer’s jelly, insisting it was the best jelly he’d ever had. but in reality, he was just saving people’s taste buds and their pride. 

“was it really that bad?”  

“not the worst, ive tasted. it was kind of toothpasty.” 

“fine, fine. how many flowers did you collect for the festival?” they dismissed the situation, maybe to shield their own pride. kaeya tried to read their face but it’s clear name wanted to move on from this topic. the eyepatched boy handed them his basket of flowers that were supposedly in the best condition. they brought the basket to their lap, digging their face into the flowers, checking if they’re “perfect” enough. 

 “i got a couple… wait, why did you even want to do this again?” 

they repeated the same reason as before, added, “just want the perfect windblume festival with my favorite pers…”  they looked up from the basket, meeting eye contact with kaeya’s periwinkle eye. but then they paused, swallowing the words. it felt like eternity or at least, the representation of seeing a text bubble appear and disappear in person, in real life. “people. y’know, rosaria, jean, lisa and you…!” 

maybe, kaeya is naive but is he picking up what they’re putting down. “i like you…”  he watched their expression carefully.

they furrowed their brows before realizing what he just said. kaeya watched name mariante what he said on their shoulders before they freaked out a little. well, a little is a stretch. they shrieked, threw hte basket up before frantically catching the basket and landed on their side. “wait, really?” 

“yes.” 

“really?” 

“yes.” 

[seobrangii]

rainy days⏤✰

lee felix x reader | 0.8k✔︎

my notes⎯ I hope you like this one! I personally love when it rains so why not combine my two favorites! lets cross our fingers and hope I can get another story out by tomorrow. also I found that I get a lot of inspo at 4 a.m, something about the peace and quiet!

warnings ⎯ none! just some (failed) light-hearted humor.

genre⎯ fluff

songs⎯ prelude in e minor, op. 28, no. 4

⎯ catalog for skz✰

the forecast on the news had told viewers that there was an expectant rain shower coming in from the south. nothing too heavy where you had to be worried about ringing out your drenched socks and fighting back when the wind upturns your umbrella.

that weather man is a liar.

the downpour that hits your windows drums in a consistent pattern, puddles of rain water pools on the window ledge, the wood begins to warp after countless efforts of stopping the leak from the cracks in the seal, ultimately ending in vain.

you had ditched the soaked towels for a warm cup of tea, wrapped in a wool blanket on your couch as a re-run of some over-rated show plays on the monitor. it had be only 30 minutes since you last heard from felix; he had texted you notifying that practices had ended early due to the unpredictable storm coming in, how chan firmly told them to stay safe on the way home and how 'fatherly like' he was acting.

in return you heart his message and send back a- he's right! no texting while driving! see you soon!

due to the rain clouds hovering over the sun the sky had darken in the short amount of time it took felix to get home, and when he did he did not try to hide it.

from the kitchen, where you were huddled over the kettle on the stove, you heard the front door smack open and seconds later a loud squelching sound.

"babe?" he drawls out, unmoving from where he stands, "can you uh, can you come here?" theres a comical desperation in his voice and you can't help the chuckle that slips from your lips.

you ditch the mug in your hand to cater to your helpless boyfriend, who stands there with his arms eagle spread, hair stuck to his forehead and neck like glue. there was a faint smell to him that started to over power the candle you had light awhile ago.

"phew," you huff, holding your nose walking towards him. a amused smile graces your lips, "you smell bad."

he rolls his eyes and lets you take his jacket off his back and watches you drop it to the floor, "yeah yeah, just hurry please? it's starting to get itchy and I don't know if its me or outside but something isn't right."

"yeah you think?" felix lets out a laugh and attempts to grab you with his wet sleeve but you manage to slip away in due time, though not without a scar. the backside of your sweater has a long wet strip in the middle of it. "look at what you did to me!"

"how about you quit complaining and help me!"

"nobody told you to go out and not bring an umbrella."

"(name)!" he takes his second jacket off and leaves it where the other lays and begins to remove his shoes. he takes a second to look at it, then at you, and then tips it over. a bucket full of water pours from the sole and onto the circle carpet underneath him.

as you stand there you can't help the horrific expression that makes its way onto your face. neither of you say a word as you watch the last couple droplets fall before you sniffle and shake your head blankly, "that's just disgusting."

felix, with the same expression says, "tell me about it, I wore it."

after a second you shake your head to clear the revulsion and go to grab all the discarded clothes. they feel ten times more heavy in your arms due to them being in a bundle so you rush towards the laundry room to leave them there. on your way you shout to felix, "go in the kitchen and finish off the tea! I started it before you came in."

Felix makes a delighted noise and you hear his bare feet smack against the floorboards, "for me?"

you roll your eyes though he can't see it and round the corner to where he stands hovering over the sugar and honey, "duh, but save me some."

"of course." his voice comes out as a soft mumble and you can't help but smile.

both of you stand there in each other company. it was peaceful, the sound of the rainfall against the roof of your apartment, fighting its way inside through the windows. the occasional clink of the spoon to the mug as felix stirs in the sugar. no bright overhead lighting, the only source of lumination was the small table lamp in the next room. you close your eyes to take it in. it made you feel serene.

a light weight is pressed onto your shoulder and you open your eyes to find felix looking at you with a glimmer of concern, "you okay?" he whispers, careful not to rip the ambiance with his voice.

you hum, a gentle smile taking over your face as you lean forward and place your head on his hand, "never felt better."

[itsrubesshawty]

short stories capturing moments between Fred and Bright Eyes before they were turned for my favourite bright and Fred enthusiast @therealbr1gh7ey3s !

Rooftop Conversations

The wind was sharp against their faces, but neither of them cared. Bright Eyes dangled their legs over the edge of the rooftop, lazily tossing bits of gravel into the empty parking lot below. Fred sat beside them, back against the ledge, one knee pulled up to his chest, fingers idly picking at a loose thread in his jeans.

“Do you think we’ll still be friends when we’re old?” Bright Eyes asked suddenly, their breath visible in the cold night air.

Fred snorted. “Define ‘old.’”

“Like… eighty. Wrinkly. Probably complaining about our joints.”

Fred exhaled through his nose, amused. “Yeah. I think so.”

Bright Eyes hummed, satisfied. “Good. I don’t wanna be some sad old person sitting on a porch alone, yelling at kids to get off my lawn.”

Fred glanced at them, head tilted slightly. “Oh, so you just assume I’ll be there? What if I get married and move across the country?”

Bright Eyes scoffed, kicking their legs out. “Yeah, right. You? Mr. ‘I Hate Talking to Strangers’ is gonna meet someone, fall in love, and leave me behind?” They grinned. “Doubt it.”

Fred rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. They weren’t wrong.

Bright Eyes leaned back on their palms, looking up at the sky. “I dunno… It’s weird to think about the future, y’know? Like, I know I wanna do things, but sometimes it’s like… what if I don’t get to?”

Fred frowned. “What do you mean?”

They shrugged. “I dunno. What if I don’t make it to eighty? What if life just… stops early?”

A chill ran down Fred’s spine, but he shook it off. “You will,” he said, firm.

Bright Eyes turned to look at him, studying his face for a moment. Then, they smirked. “You’d be so pissed if I died first.”

Fred made a face. “Don’t say that.”

“No, but you would,” they insisted, grinning. “You’d be brooding as hell. Sitting in a dark room, listening to sad music, probably writing poetry or some shit.”

Fred sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “Why am I even friends with you?”

Bright Eyes bumped their shoulder against his. “Because you love me.”

He didn’t say anything to that.

But they were right.

Midnight Drive-Thru

“Dude, you’re gonna hit the curb.”

“I am not gonna hit the curb.”

“You’re way too close—”

A loud thud rattled the car as Fred misjudged the turn, the front tire bouncing over the curb before settling back onto the pavement.

Bright Eyes burst out laughing, slapping their knee. “I told you! I literally told you!”

Fred groaned, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “Shut up.”

Still laughing, Bright Eyes leaned over to inspect the side mirror. “Oh my God, I think you scraped it.”

Fred threw them a glare before pulling forward to the drive-thru speaker. “If you say one word to the cashier, I’m kicking you out of the car.”

Bright Eyes mimed zipping their lips but their grin was impossible to hide.

The speaker crackled. “Welcome to—”

“We need, like, fifty chicken nuggets,” Bright Eyes blurted before Fred could say anything.

Fred pinched the bridge of his nose. “I—just—can I get a ten-piece meal? And a milkshake?”

The worker repeated the order, Bright Eyes snickering the entire time.

When Fred pulled up to the window, Bright Eyes put on their best innocent expression. “Hey, um, did you guys used to have a manager named Daniel? Tall guy? Kinda mean?”

The worker blinked. “Uh… no?”

Bright Eyes sighed dramatically. “Damn. I really wanted to fight him.”

Fred shoved them back into their seat, mumbling, “I swear to God.”

When they got their food, Bright Eyes immediately stole a fry from Fred’s bag.

“Are you serious?” Fred asked, exasperated.

Bright Eyes grinned, mouth full. “What’re you gonna do? Hit another curb?”

Fred sighed, shaking his head. But when Bright Eyes turned to look out the window, he smirked a little to himself.

The Abandoned House

“This is a terrible idea,” Fred muttered.

Bright Eyes grinned as they pushed open the rusted gate of the old, abandoned house. “Which is why it’s a great idea.”

The house had been empty for years, a local legend wrapped in ghost stories and dares no one actually followed through on. But Bright Eyes? They had no fear. And Fred, despite his better judgment, always followed them.

The door creaked as they stepped inside. Dust coated the floor, thick and undisturbed except for a few scattered footprints from past intruders. The air was stale, carrying the faint scent of mold and old wood.

“This place is definitely haunted,” Bright Eyes whispered dramatically.

Fred sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “If I get possessed, I’m haunting you specifically.”

They made their way through the house, peering into empty rooms, giggling at every floorboard that groaned under their weight.

In what used to be the living room, a single chair sat in the middle of the floor, eerie in its loneliness.

“Okay, that’s creepy,” Bright Eyes admitted.

Fred smirked. “What, now you’re scared?”

Bright Eyes huffed and marched up to the chair, plopping down on it. “Boom. Cursed. I’m haunted now.”

Fred crossed his arms. “Congrats. I’ll tell your ghost story to future generations.”

They laughed, the sound echoing through the empty house.

Then, a noise from upstairs.

A single thump.

They froze.

Bright Eyes’ eyes widened. “Nope. Nope, nope, nope.”

Fred didn’t argue. They bolted out of there so fast that Bright Eyes tripped over the porch steps, landing flat on their stomach. Fred was laughing so hard he could barely help them up.

“I hate you,” Bright Eyes grumbled as they dusted themselves off.

Fred grinned. “No, you don’t.”

They sighed dramatically. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. But next time you go first.”

Fred just shook his head, knowing damn well there’d be a next time.

These moments were them. Carefree, reckless, alive.

They never thought they’d lose that.

But time had other plans.

Let me know if you want more or something similar!

[artificialchaoscola]

At first, I thought Nothing Between Us was, revenge for back when Sonic had to lie about what happened at the party to the crowd of reporters, and then I speculated it might not have been what he said at all, maybe Shadow was Gaslight Gatekeep Girlbossing himself into forgetting what was said??

I ended up doubling back and reading it all over again and honestly, the final verdict I've temporarily landed on is, in an incredibly calamitous way, Sonic might have been earnestly trying to reciprocate the confession, but not in the way Shadow’s interpreted it.

I feel like both the lines "Follow me and the Wind until neither of us ever can” and “...There is no need to 'wake up' when we're already awake, right?” are Sonics own way of confessing??? 

And Shadows out here not mincing words, finally mustering up the courage to say I love you and gets cut off halfway only to be told “Bro, we don't need to wake up, everyone is snoozing but us bc we found love in a hopeless place (Rihanna, 2011) You’re the only one I wanna sync up apple watches forever with to see which of us manages to outpace the wind”

No but I love trying to piece together how everything interconnects!

Idk, it’s all so heart-wrenching!! Like the actions in the scene are what you’d expect from a confession but the words!!! The layers!! The callbacks!

I think, the nothing between us line might be referencing the promise shadow made during the insane (incredibly written!!) beach gun scene, where Shadows says "It all starts... and ends with this. You… the self-proclaimed Faker... Your lies will end today. With you… and with me. That is my promise to you, Faker. If you have something to say, then say it. You won’t get another chance ever again. When it’s over, there will be nothing left between us. So speak...!" 

The nothing, in this case, is indicative of what remains of the lies between the two of them. Maybe??? The lies start and begin between them and so it shall remain?? Honestly, I’m mostly spit-balling, but I do love how they both ended up replicating the event of SA2, only this time Sonic falls with Shadow, instead of powerlessly watching him make his descent alone. 

Man, I don’t know myself but, still! Part of me hopes there’s a happy ending, but then again happy in who’s favor?

What a sublime story written by a terrific writer, I can’t wait to see where this goes! I’ll end this off by saying I have a theory based on absolutely nothing in the earlier chapters Sonic posed a question on whatever the Mobian version of Reddit is going like “AITA for accidentally getting a sinister flu shot administered by a sentient egg?? Now the voices in my (Hedgehog, Blue) head manifesting in the shape of my lemon pop-rocks form benefits with rival (Lifeform, Ultimate) is trying to convince me to hop in the infinity pool??” (I'm so sorry I did not think I'd write this much, I had so much more to say but I fear this would exceed tumblr's character limit thank you again for writing such a terrific tale)

Ahhh reading this all has made me swoon~ It's all so romantic and devastating at once, isn't it? I really wish I could tell you guys what exactly he means, but you're going back and trying to decipher the very things I'm referencing... it makes me smile ❤️❤️❤️

Sonic is a fascinating character. He claims to wear his heart on his sleeve, but at the end of the day, he has his own complexes on the subject and is shy in his own way. In this scene, he silences the confession before it can fully happen, and his words can mean so many things at once. Does he want Shadow to know he feels the same way without saying it? Is he affirming that there is indeed nothing like that between them, so stop having such feelings? Is he saying they're closer than ever so words aren't necessary? Is that closeness comforting or overbearing? Is he saying nothing can stop him from getting closer? Is it about barriers, obstacles, and people? Is it about feelings alone? Is he being metaphorical or literal? It's just evil...

LMFAO that is a very Sonic thing to do. Despite his descent into unsavory behavior he is still him, so doomscrolling for answers on reddit sounds about right ;>

[luvzxr]

Little Pougie

Chapter 5

previous, next chapters.

So I'm going to go ahead and repost because I kinda fucked up my last part of the story and I don't want people to miss it and have all the chapters messed up for them because that's just not fun. HOWEVER, I will post chapter 6 today as well just to catch up.

If you'd like to read ahead you may. My wattpad will be linked here from now on!

Also, when I started this story on wattpad I did make a spotify playlist as well which is public so it will be linked as well if you are the type of person to listen to music while you read!

Summery; In which fem!reader is the little sister to John B Routledge. Sweet, gentle and innocent. The complete opposite to JJ Maybank but he finds himself falling for her and he can't stop himself doing so.

Pairing; Fem!reader x JJ Maybank

Word Count; 3,290

Warnings; Throughout this series there are talks of abuse, drug and alcohol use, trauma, talks of self doubt and wanting to be unalived. Possible smut in the future as well so read at your own risk!

05. Teach Me

(Y/n) was kinda in the mood for death right about now.

Actually no, she didn't necessarily mind the situation she found herself in but she would much rather be at home. She wanted to be curled up next to their busted up AC, book in hand and pure joy with the silence of being the only one home for a few hours.

She didn't want to be here because it was too hot to be here. Sweating, grossing with the slight uncomfortable feeling of sand between each of her toes. Her brother and his friends would consider this a dream come true. (Y/n), however, did not.

It wasn't like (Y/n) hated being out and about to bask in the sun but when it was in the high 90's with little to no wind to cool off, she certainly had a word that came close to hate.

"Yknow, you'd cool off in the water (Y/n/n)," John B hinted, finger extending lazily towards the crashing waves in front of them while he took a seat next to her, "trust me. You'll thank me later,"

They were at the beach. One of the popular surf spots around their town.

The boy surprisingly didn't have to convince her very long to come with, (Y/n) just openly decided to for once to not put up a fight and go out. However, she suddenly wished she had put up a fight because she was highly regretting her decisions now.

"Shut up JB," (Y/n) grumbled, a small eye roll in the process, "you didn't tell me it was suppose to be almost 100,"

"Best day to go surfing!"

(Y/n) wanted to reach over and deck her own brother in the face but that would be mean and she was trying to have a good day with everyone. No need to start with physically assaulting her own sibling. "I hate you,"

"No you don't,"

"Pretty sure I do,"

"You'll get over it," John B snickered, shoulder nudging her own in a playful manner.

(Y/n)'s head shook, suppressing a smile because if her brother saw he'd know he had at least manage to make her smile and she didn't want him to know that.

"You should really just come to hang out with everyone," John B suggested, standing to his feet.

(Y/n) wasn't the type to be very talkative regardless of who it was and she kind of wanted to decline his offer but being a complete and utter introvert to the people John B called family just seemed rude.

Of course she's talked to all of them and even considered herself close with Sarah and Kie but that doesn't take away from the fact that she most of the time preferred to be alone or with her brother and JJ because she felt the most comfortable with the two.

She took a few more seconds to decide before utterly coming to a conclusion. "Okay, I'll come over."

"Great!" John B grinned, making his way towards the group closer towards the water.

(Y/n) pushed herself up using her palms that laid out in the gentle sand, standing to her feet before cautiously following behind her older sibling.

The rest of the Pouges were huddled around one another, staring out towards the crashing waves while passing around a lit blunt and beers in hand.

Sarah actually tried to be close Sophie and it wasn't just because she was dating her older brother. Sarah knew that (Y/n) seemed to have the urge to meet people and make friends but it just seemed like she struggled a bit to do so. Her social anxiety was pretty rough on her at times.

Sarah just wanted to try to help (Y/n) get into the habit of feeling confident in herself and her actions and (Y/n) appreciated the blonde girl more than she was willing to let on.

Watching John B find something to urn for other than the past was a big moment even if Sarah didn't see that quite yet.

(Y/n) could and it was a big deal to her.

(Y/n) remembered a time where Kiara and Sarah couldn't even be left in a room together because everyone thought one of em might end up dead if it happened which was funny to look back on now because they were so close. 

The little scheme that John B and the two other boys pulled works back then and now the two girls seemed to be inseparable.

 "(Y/n)!"

"Hey (Y/n/n)!"

"What's up (Y/n/n)!"

Sarah, Kie and Pope all managed to sync together, attention now on the younger girl who revealed herself behind John B. It wasn't too often she joined in on their shenanigans much less join on her own accord most times but regardless, they tried to include her and make her feel welcomed.

It wasn't that (Y/n) didn't like his friends because if she was honest, they felt like her own flesh and blood too— even if they weren't— No, she just found herself not being able to speak half the time or when she did, all she ended up doing was stuttering and stumbling over her own words just as she does her own feet and it was embarrassing enough when it came to being a genuine klutz.

So most times she tried to keep the clumsiness to a minimum because the less there was, the less moments she had to cringe about remembering how it could of all went so much more smoother if she hadn't done this or that.

"Hi guys," (Y/n)'s hand raised up gently to wave with a small, cheeky smile.

She was hesitant to join the circle because it just usually wasn't her thing but John B was quick to react when he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and gently pulled her in.

"C'mon Pougie."

Once the girl adjusted to her standing position she took notice that rugged blonde was no where in sight which was odd because there is no way in hell that man would miss out on the excuse to sit around in a circle with his closest friends and smoke some weed or drink a beer.

She had expected him to be the one who had even lit the blunt or even instantly getting everyone into the spirit for this, in fact, was a beach day and most of the time that meant nothing was off limits.

"Where's JJ?" (Y/n) questioned, glancing around one last time to make sure her own eyes weren't playing tricks on her.

Pope's head jerked a bit out towards the water, "out there."

Her eyes scanned the shimmering crystal water until they landed on the dirty blonde. He sat afloat on his old foam surfboard that currently was only idle. He was waiting— but it seemed that he previously already was engulfed by the water because he was already drenched from head to toe.

His body synced so well with the movement of the waves and the way they jerked and pulled around him. He made it look so easy to just sit and float upon water that was just waiting to pour right over top of him and take him right off that board.

However, that just wasn't JJ. That wouldn't happen.

(Y/n) couldn't even imagine herself out there even though the girl practically lived off the water and watched her brother over the years surf she just could never get the hang of it.

John B did try to teach her how. He went through all the basics, he showed her the stances she needed to take and even the precautions when the whole thing went south but she just never got the hang of it. He was too nervous to even let her out on the water because he was terrified something might go wrong.

He had every right to be nervous too because even on land (Y/n) had a hard time keeping her balance on the board, even in sand. Her form often made him worrisome because all it took was one inexperienced surfer and one wave that could take her out and drag her under.

He was too scared to take that chance with her.

He felt bad but eventually he tried to find ways to cancel plans to teach her because his anxiety was just too damn high. He truly felt like a parent who tried to teach their kid how to ride a bike for the first time.

Only this one required more caution and he couldn't be with her on that board if something went wrong.

"What's he doing?" Her eyes never left the man out on the water. She kept track of him even when the waves seemed to cover him from afar.

"He's waiting for the perfect wave," John B spoke, his eyes also trained on the male out on the water. His arm still strung around (Y/n)'s shoulder and his other wrapped around Sarah's waist, holding her close.

(Y/n) recalled that wording before, back when John B was trying to teach her how to surf. Perfect waves often meant the water was smooth, almost glassy and the waves weren't folding in different directions. In Sophie's mind it was hard to tell the difference but then again, she didn't get much of a chance to learn that far ahead.

As her eyes trained on JJ they also began to glance out further where they locked onto movement.

A large wave was approaching. And fast.

"Wait.. like that one?" She pointed out, navigating for her brother of what she saw but he'd already seen it.

His head bobbed slightly, "Yup. That's the one."

It was pretty easy for John B to notice the perfect waves because he'd been surfing for as long as he could remember. It was like second nature for him to just know what the right ones were and when to abort if they were too dangerous to take on.

Most of the time though, JJ took them on anyway and John B often wondered how the man himself wasn't dead yet.

(Y/n) watched intently from the shore, eyes glued on the Maybank boy as his body seemed almost relaxed and slowly laid across the board stomach down. His arms began to paddle himself towards the oncoming monster of a wave and Sophie could feel her own heart drop at the sight.

She knew how reckless the boy was and how he often took risks he probably shouldn't being taking in the first place. She hated the fact he'd do it too but everyone else seemed to always have faith he'd come back alive. Even though most had to use that as a mask to hide their own worries and fears for the boy because JJ hated the fact his friends would show worry for him.

JJ seen worry or fear as pity and he couldn't stand it. Seeing that emotion on their face only seemed to irritate him because they had better things to worry about or fear than losing him.

At least that's how he felt.

(Y/n) is the only one out of everyone that the boy ever truly let show that emotion towards him. Not because she was John B's little sister because that excuse expired a long time ago. Where she began to grow up and realize that not everything was rainbows and unicorns and that eventually— when you least expect it— things turn to shit and you are challenged on if you can survive what's thrown at you or you drown trying.

No, that most definitely wasn't it. (Y/n) was just the person who cared for people and their welling being. She liked to be helpful and caring where she could and even if she couldn't, she still found the perfect little ways of being there for the ones who needed her the most.

She was like a piece of gold but she was way more valuable than the real thing and worth more than anyone could ever offer to her.

JJ valued her, even if he didn't show it all that much but he'd slowly became her protector more than her own brother was suppose to be. And he had to admit that he use to hate it.

He hated the idea of it. He use to hate the fact that he made that promise to John B years ago and wished he'd never spoke those two sacred words to him because then maybe he wouldn't have to be looked at like he was some knight in shining armor. That's not who JJ was, he wasn't some rescue pup for some girl who he use to find aggravating and how he wished he could just clamp his palm over her mouth and she'd magically shut up.

But things change and so do people.

So as (Y/n) watched his board inch closer and closer towards the waves she could feel her heart beat almost as fast and all she could do is watch and pray that the stupid blonde wouldn't get dragged under and never come back up.

Her eyes followed his every movement. The way his body jumped up from his laying position as he was almost face to face with the waves. She watched how his body twisted and turned all while keeping his balance, how he gliding across the water with ease and instead of being worried anymore she found herself mesmerized.

(Y/n) took into account how he'd done this his entire life and how he mastered every movement and stance throughout the years up until this point. JJ was just a natural when it came to surfing and he knew he was damned good at it too because when he came off that water and was looking back at the group while he took his seat back on the board, there was nothing on his face but a shit eating smirk.

He really was the best surfer that John B knew and also would never admit to JJ's face because he had enough ego as it is.

"Let's go JayJ!"

"Yeah JJ!"

The whooping and hollering could be heard all throughout the beach from the small group calling out to their friend who was making his way off the water. His entire being glistening as he walked up towards the shore where everyone was.

John B finally let go of his two favorite girls, walking over to slap hands with JJ and pull him in for a short but sweet chest hug. All while a smile was spread across both of their faces. JJ's full of confidence.

"That was fucking amazing JJ," John B beamed, his excited tone could be heard from miles if it hadn't been already. He may never admit to JJ himself that he was an extraordinary surfer but he'd pay respect where it was due. And this was one of those times that it certainly was.

The blonde couldn't hide his ego even if he tried the hardest to do so, it just would be no use. He was pretty surprised himself because deep down he even had doubts.

Of course, he would never show it but he honestly felt like that wave would of knocked his ass right off that board and he'd come up from the water a tad bit embarrassed. However that just couldn't happen to JJ, he wouldn't allow it till the day he dies.

Which is ironic considering the boy often face plants when they were in a haste to get somewhere. Just a small quirk of his.

"That was really good JJ," her voice was heavenly and gentle which caught his attention almost immediately.

"Oh, Pougie came to watch me? I'm flattered," he teased, laying his board down in the sand and beginning to make his way over towards Sophie. His hand place atop her head to ruffle up her hair a bit.

She gently swatted at his hand and gave a well deserved roll of her eyes, "shut up. I'm serious Jay. That was really good."

"Listen to her man, she doesn't even compliment my surfing," John B chimes in, a small but playful pout was across his lips. Sometimes her own brother made her want to slap him just for being her own flesh and blood.

(Y/n) shook her head, already fed up with her own sibling at this current time but tilted her head up towards JJ again, "can you reach me?"

His eyebrows furrowed and his glance back to John B made the nerves in (Y/n)'s stomach turn because she already knew how they'd react to the question but she wanted to try again.

"I don't know Princess.. That'd be up to your brother on if he'd let me or not," his unsure tone stood firm, making it known that it wasn't up to him but up to John B. He knew how John B felt about (Y/n) and surfing and even though it truly broke the man's heart because they grew up on the water, he felt it was safer that she'd stay clear of the sport all together.

"John B, I'm not a kid anymore. I wanna learn and I'm tired of being babied," she sighed and pouted a tad which was hard not to see a child in (Y/n) when she'd do things like that.

John B contemplated a moment, trying to decide between his gut and the fact his own sister had a point of always being babied but it was just because he cared. His lips pursed into a frown the longer he took to answer her.

"You promise me you listen to him? What he says, goes. Okay?" He cracked.

He could feel his own heart rip in two because part of him felt he needed to start giving her opportunities because eventually she'd act like he had as a teen, even though he still was one himself. She'd grow too curious and eventually do things behind his back which he knew he wouldn't be able to handle. He didn't want (Y/n) growing into that.

The other part however, was the unknowing fear he felt deep inside. The type of fear that made your stomach twist and turn even at the thoughts or images of what could happen. He'd felt like the parent ever since (Y/n) was born and he always had the parental intent because somehow— deep down, he knew she would be the only family he had left.

(Y/n) nodded in agreement and trying to also hold back a smile with a little dance of victory but eventually that façade cracked and a little smile shown across her plush lips.

"Pinky promise me Pougie,"

Pinky promises was something the siblings had done to show the seriousness of their matters. To them, it showed trust and understanding but often times never came out unless it was something that needed to be taken more serious than other situations.

And to John B, this was as serious as serious came. He needed to know that his baby sister would be okay and leave learning without a scratch on her. That he wouldn't have to worry like a sick parent about her when it came to learning from his own best friend.

His pinky extended out, lingering and waiting for her much smaller one to wrap around and interlock.

"Pinky promise." She spoke, her pinky interlocking with his and with that he pulled her into a tight hug. His chin laid on the top of her head with his arms wrapped tight around her.

"Then he can teach you."

After the heart felt moment between the two, John B let go of (Y/n) and shifted himself towards JJ, "take care of her man. I need you to,"

"Don't worry bro. Pougie will be safe with me. As long as I'm around, nothing will happen to that girl."

[volklana]

I Could Drown Myself In Someone Like You

Part One

Title Comes From This Song:

You can find my other Biker!Bucky fic here:

Request: Hey girl I literally just found your blog and when I tell you I BINGED your Ride series. Please I beg could we have some more Biker Bucky? Maybe barmaid reader? I really don't mind as long as we get some BikerBuck!

Warnings: Mentions of unwanted physical attention. Future chapters will allude to past domestic abuse. If that isn't for you, please don't read, protect your peace and you can catch me next time xx

Bucky pulled his bike into the parking lot of his bar and grill.

A customer stepped outside to light a cigarette and the light from inside spilled out into the dark, along with the music playing inside. 

Bucky was nothing if not a creature of habit, every night he would ride his bike through winding forest roads, down to the creek, and sometimes he would lay on the riverbank smoking cigarettes like he and Steve used to do when they were teenagers, before they’d gone to war, before he’d been fucked up. Before he became whatever this version of himself was.

And then in the evenings he’d pull up here to his bar and drink nearly not enough whisky to drown out the nightmares in his cabin behind the bar. 

Sighing, he let himself into the bar. Steve as always was pouring drinks and chatting easily in that light hearted way he had, Bucky would have been envious if he hadn’t loved him so much. Steve had managed to hold on to all the best parts of himself, but Bucky’s were buried somewhere in a bunker in the Middle East, and even if he wanted to, he could never get them back. 

Sam was busy flipping steaks at the grill and gave Bucky a wide eyed grin as Bucky passed him by and pushed the swing door into the back office.

He stilled all action at the sight of a girl in his office on top of his chair, on her tiptoes still unable to reach the top shelf as she fumbled to reach something.

“Can I help you?” he said gruffly and god damn if he didn’t startle you half to death and nearly cause you to fall off the chair. 

“I’m looking for the grenadine syrup, Steve said I would find it up here.”

“Oh he did, did he?” Bucky laughed “And did he also tell you it was fine to climb all over my shit in the process?”

“No, Sir,” you offered meekly, stepping gently down off his chair “I’m sorry,” but you couldn’t fight the smile that was threatening to spread across your face. 

Bucky huffed and reached over your head with ease, pressing the bottle of grenadine into your hand.

“Next time Steve sends you on a mission like that, tell him to pull his lazy, tall ass in here and reach the damn top shelf himself,” 

You smiled up at him, and he felt the ghost of a butterfly in his stomach.

“I’m y/n,” you offered with a smile and he couldn’t help but return a lopsided one himself.

“Bucky,” he returned. 

Bucky made your mouth water, his tight black jeans were ripped at the knees, and he wore a well worn leather jacket but it did absolutely nothing to hide his muscular frame, his hair was long and messy and was just begging for you to run your hands through it. You had to shake all thoughts of him from your head as you returned to your shift.

“What’s her story?” Bucky asked Steve, eyeing you as you made your rounds and he sipped on his whisky.

“Why do you assume she has a story?” Steve cocked his head now following you in his line of sight too.

“C’mon Steve, no one ends up here unless they have a story. They’re either running away from something, or someone. Or they’re on their way to somewhere else, and they’re simply stopping off here.” 

“Bucky,” Steve sighed, clapping him on the back “You always assume the worst in people.” 

“And they always prove me right,” Bucky countered while taking another sip.

As you finished mopping the floor, you made your way into the back office, looking shy, wringing your hands, nervously.

“What is it?” Bucky asked.

“Sam said to talk to you about if it would be okay to get this week’s wages upright,” Bucky could see straight away how embarrassed you were “Bucky I wouldn’t ask, but the bnb are asking for payment upright and I’m just 40 bucks short.” 

Bucky was reaching into his wallet straight away and you tried to put out a hand to stop him.

“Please..Please,” Bucky shook his hand and handed you some notes, you scrunched your eyebrow at his kindness.

“Take this for tonight and I’ll get you your full wages for your shift tomorrow.”

“I’ll pay you back Sir,” you said, voice so low it was almost a whisper and he shook his head softly.

“Let me give you a ride back,” he offered and you shook your head profusely.

“You’ve done enough for me tonight,” you reminded him, notes in your hand, “I’ll see you tomorrow for my shift.” 

Bucky watched you go, and again that ghost of a butterfly fluttered in his stomach and he grimaced uncomfortably.

Bucky watched you over the next few nights, always the first to your shift and always the last to leave.

And every night you refused any offer to drive you home from him, Sam or Steve. 

He was filling out papers in his office when he heard a gentle knock and you were before him.

“I wanted to give you this,” you said meekly with some notes in your hand , “I can’t thank you enough Bucky.”

“Doll,” he sighed, surprising even himself with the nickname “Please keep it, consider it a welcome gift.”

“If it’s all the same I would like to give it back to you,” you smiled, placing it on his desk “It was awful kind of you and I’ll never forget it.” 

Before he could even respond you had dipped out of his office and began your shift.

The bar went quiet when a particularly menacing looking gang wandered into the bar, and immediately Steve and Sam stood to attention, you were in the back fetching more pitchers.

They seemed to be scouting the area out before choosing a table at the opposite end of the bar to settle at.

Steve caught your arm as you went to take their orders “Be careful,” he nodded towards them and you went to take their orders gingerly. 

Amid the wolf whistles and cat-calls you finally managed to take their orders, which you promptly relayed to Sam and Steve. 

After you had successfully served their food and first round of drinks, you retreated to behind the bar before they summoned you back again. 

“C’mere baby,” one of them slurred pulling you onto his lap.

You initially tried to laugh off how uncomfortable you were, but when he wouldn’t let you wrangle free, you felt trapped and felt your panic begin to rise. 

“Let me go,” you tried weakly when he began to try kissing your face, trapping your hands in his much stronger ones, you tried to make pleading eye contact with Steve but he was nowhere to be seen.

As he let go of your hands to toy with the waistband of your denim jeans you finally managed to bolt free, but when he grabbed your arm and spun you around you reacted with a swift slap to his face, shocking even yourself, but you were in no way expecting the sharp sting of a returning slap, tears welling in your eyes and hand flying up instinctively to your burning skin. 

Everything else passed by in a blur as you recognised Steve and Bucky kicking into action, you just about managed to get your feet to move before you were collapsing down behind the bar, feeling the all too familiar feeling of a panic attack ripping through your body and the awful sensation of not being able to breath.

It seemed like hours before Bucky was before you where you sat, rocking back and forward, hands covering your ears.

“Doll,” he tried and you cowered away from him, he got down on his hunkers and gingerly reached for you, “it’s me doll, it’s Bucky. Breathe for me. Breathe for me.” 

When you finally felt like you could breathe again Bucky went to fetch a glass of water and leaned up against the counter, arms folded, he examined you over, eyes honing in on the red, swollen skin of your cheek.

“I’m so sorry Bucky,” you finally broke the silence, refusing to meet his eye.

“Hey,” he shushed, dropping down to his hunkers in front of you again “You have nothing to apologise for!” 

You couldn’t help the tears that sprung to your eyes with shame and you wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole. 

You rolled your eyes and sniffed, “This was meant to be a fresh start, and it seems like trouble just follows me wherever I go.”

“What can I do doll?” Bucky said softly reaching out to put a reassuring hand on your knee, it was only then you realised his knuckles were bloody.

You realised with a startle that he had got his knuckles bloody for you.

“Can you take me home Buck,” you asked swiping your thumb over his knuckles, your silent thank you for the trouble they had gone to on your behalf. 

Bucky pulled into the parking space of the bnb, and helped you take your motorcycle helmet off. 

It had been weeks since you first reached town and Bucky was curious.

“What are you still doing here? You don’t want to find somewhere proper?” 

“Nobody will rent to me,” you said sadly “I’ve tried everywhere. Even that shack out by the creek that’s been abandoned since before we were born. Nobody wants to rent to me because I’m an outsider.” 

Bucky was suddenly angry at how the town had been treating you.

“Thank you for taking me home and I’m so sorry about tonight,” you said softly and Bucky turned to examine your face, thumb brushing over your cheekbone, your eyes fluttered closed at the touch and something jolted inside Bucky.

“You sure you’re okay?” he whispered and you nodded softly.

You stood gently on your tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, “I’ll see you tomorrow Buck.” 

Bucky tossed and turned all night. He had briefly fallen asleep only to once again be woken by a nightmare. The same one. That same bunker. That same chair. But then something unexpected, when he tried to close his eyes again, your eyes were staring back at him, and if he was honest that was what was keeping him awake. He knew he was in trouble….

“Keep your coat on y/n,” Bucky ordered as you arrived for your shift.

“What? Why?” you cried, fearing you were being let go, Bucky huffed a laugh at your horrified expression, “Doll, you’re not fired. We’re taking a little road trip.” 

You climbed onto his bike and held on tight to his torso, winding through Californian redwoods, the mountain air all around you.

Bucky finally pulled onto a little dirt track that led up to an opening in the trees and a singular cabin stood against the backdrop of a small lake. 

“Come on,” he motioned, removing your helmet, and leading you inside.

It was cosy, the living room and kitchen were open plan and there was an old cast iron log burner in the middle of the room with logs stacked either side of it.

There was one room off the side which you assumed was the bedroom.

“Well, what do you think?” Bucky asked motioning around.

“It’s beautiful Buck,” you said, still unsure why he had brought you here “It’s a beautiful home.” 

“It’s yours,” Bucky stated simply, back turned to you and  hands on his hips.

“What?” you almost shrieked and he replied in the same nonchalant tone “It’s yours!” 

“Bucky, wait!” you deadpanned, catching his shoulder and forcing him to turn around to look at you, eyes scanning his face until he conceded.

“It was my Mom’s cottage, and seeing as she’s not here anymore and I’ve got my place at the bar, I think you should have it, you can’t stay at that bnb forever. You need a place of your own.Plus it’s about time some life was breathed back into this place ” 

“Buck,” you cried, eyes watering, not letting go of your hold on him “Are you sure?”

“It’s yours doll,” he whispered, eyes flicking briefly down to your lips, “For as long as you choose to stay, and I hope you do stay, it’s yours,” 

You extended your hand out to him “You take the rent out of my wages,” you ordered, waiting for him to shake on your deal.

“Doll,” he sighed “The place was lying empty, I'm not going to charge you rent,” you looked like you were about to argue when he stuck his hand out too, “Counter offer, if you do this place up. Make it somewhere lived in and beautiful. Somewhere my Ma would be proud to look down on, then we’re quits.”

You nodded and shook his hand ferociously, tears threatening to spill.

“Thank you Bucky,” you whispered, pulling him into a hug and relishing in the feel of his strong arms around you, and your heart hammered in your chest when he placed a gentle kiss on your head.

After a month or two of working at the bar you had saved enough to buy a second hand, beaten up old pickup truck, and Sam brought you out to pick it up.

“Are you sure you want this hunk of junk y/n?” he argued but you were enamored and being able to drive it home to your cabin filled you with an enormous amount of peace. 

You had been growing closer and closer with Bucky, sometimes he would stop by on your days off to do some of the diy you pestered him about on your shifts and if you were honest you really enjoyed the company.

The first few nights on your own in the cabin had been nothing short of terrifying. You weren’t used to being alone and on the second night a huge storm knocked all your power out and you shivered in bed all night terrified of the darkness.

Bucky came around the next morning and fixed your generator so that would never happen again. 

“There,” Bucky sighed “All done!” 

You came to join him on the porch and passed him a bottle of beer and he flicked a switch and the fairy lights he had hung all around the cottage flickered to light.

“They’re beautiful Buck,” you smiled, hugging him tightly, eyes lighting up like a child as you looked up at them. 

“Not as beautiful as you,” he said softly, hands coming to rest on your waist, and his breath on your neck made you shiver.

“Bucky,” you tried softly but he cut you off with a kiss. You melted into his touch completely and he gently became more ferocious in the way he clasped your body and kissed your lips. 

He backed you through the open door of the cottage until you collapsed down on the sofa and he climbed on top of you, he was making quick work of your shirt when you finally came to your senses.

“Wait, Wait,” you panted, hands planting on his chest “Maybe we should slow down for a moment.” 

“You want me to slow it down baby doll?” he panted and you nodded gently.

“I’m not ready Buck,” you cried and Bucky suddenly noticed how terrified you looked, feeling guilty that he had pushed you to a place you weren’t ready for yet.

“I can wait babygirl,” he promised, cupping your face in both of his hands “I can wait.” 

“Bucky, no. No.” you cried, pushing him away with your leg and running your hands through your hair, “I can’t do this,” you cried. 

Bucky sat still on your sofa not quite sure what to do for a moment “You don’t want this?”

You shook your head, tears springing to your eyes “It’s not that Buck, it's just I can’t be what you need right now. I can’t be with you like this.”

“What do you think I need?” he rose gently “All I need is you,” he countered

“Hey, hey, why are you crying?” he shushed brushing your hair behind your ears “Don’t cry.”

“Please Buck,” you were pleading, “Please can you just leave, I can't do this. It’s too much for me.”

Bucky was torn between wanting to assure you some more and respecting your request for him to leave. He hesitated just a moment too long for you to take it the wrong way completely, your eyes were wide and ferocious like an animal that had been cornered.

He scratched the back of his neck before he could find his voice “Doll, if I’ve read this wrong-”

“-You have,” you snapped “You’ve read this wrong and I need you to leave now, please,” you paced until you found his leather jacket hanging across the back of a chair and tossed it to him.

He couldn’t help the anger of rejection that rose up in his chest, and the shame for having read the situation so wrong.

“Fine. Fine. I’m going,” he sighed, pulling his jacket on and stomping towards the door.

“You know what..” he started one hand on the handle, but stopping to face you “Forget it,” he deadpanned, pulling the door open and slamming it behind him.

Work the next few days were less awkward than expected, Bucky and his bike were nowhere to be seen. You’d heard Steve mention to Sam that he was worried that Bucky was gone on another whisky fuelled bender and you couldn’t help the pang of guilt that gnawed away at your stomach.

Days turned into a week with no contact from Bucky and the guilt was eating you alive. You had texted him days ago to apologise, and asking if you could talk it out and explain, but he never replied. Not only were you angry with yourself for fucking everything up but now you were really beginning to worry. 

You were closing the bar by yourself tonight, it was a quiet Tuesday night and business was slow. You knew Steve had a date after work so you dismissed him early so he could go buy her some flowers he’d kissed you on the cheek and almost skipped out of the bar.

It gave you the opportunity to pop your headphones in and listen to your music as you mopped and cleaned. 

It was nice to do a deep a clean without Steve or Sam trying to hurry you out. 

And as you made your way into the back office to put away the takings into the safe your heart almost fell out of your chest.

Bucky was laying back in his office chair, eyes squeezed shut while some girl with her skirt hitched up at the sides was grinding her hips on him, her own head thrown back in ecstasy as she rode him. 

You froze on the spot, you couldn't help the way your stomach sank to your toes in a feeling of betrayal, or the way your eyes stung with tears.

Bucky wasn’t yours, you had seen to that with your stupidity the other night so you had no right to feel the way you were right now and when his electric eyes suddenly bore into yours with an expression you honestly couldn’t read you were backing out of his office quicker than lightning. 

He followed you out into the carpark catching you just as you were about to climb into your truck. 

“Doll,” he reached for you exasperated, “Doll wait, please.” 

You turned to face him, tears rolling down your cheeks, and he reached for you gently, relieved when you didn’t bat him away as he cupped your face.

“I have no right to be crying,” you sighed.

“I don’t understand,” He stuttered, somewhere between annoyed and confused,” I thought you didn’t want me?”

“Bucky, of course I-” You were about to answer when Bucky’s name being yelled across the lot caught both of your attention.

“What the fuck is this?”  The girl who had been with Bucky only moments before came storming over and smacked him straight across the face as hard as she could.

“You always fucking do this shit James,” she cried “This is the last fucking time.”

She looked at you genuinely hurt and for a moment you wanted to apologise, until her expression turned to contempt. 

“Seriously, this is who you keep blowing me off for?” she huffed out a laugh, “Good luck with that, you’ll be crawling back to me in no time.” You felt yourself shrink down to half your size under her words.

She took one last seething glare at Bucky before smacking him again and he made no move to stop her, watching guiltily as she stormed away.

“I deserved that,” he said glumly, you made a face to argue when he cut you off, “No doll, I truly deserve it. Hell if you wanted to have a pop too I would understand.” 

 “Buck,I don’t want to slap you” you sighed and he ran a hand through his hair before kicking at the dirt.

“Then what the hell do you want y/n? Goddamn it.”

You were floundering like a fish out of water, trying to grasp at words and coming up short.

“You wouldn’t understand,” you tried and he cut you off with a pointed finger.

“Don’t give me that shit,” he warned “You literally could not throw me out faster the other day and then you turn up crying when I’m clearly fucking trying to get over you so what is it? You don’t want me but you don’t want anyone else to have me?”  

“No,” you scoffed, your own anger rising now too.

“No” he repeated exasperatedly, “So what do you want?”

“I- I don’t know,” you mumbled. 

“You don’t know?” he goaded and goddamn was he intimidating, looking at you like a predator stalks his prey, waiting for an answer to pounce “Well, I sure as shit can’t figure that out for you sweetheart,” he sighed, running the back of his hand across his lips, before spitting on the ground. 

You were not used to this Bucky, this agitated, whiskey drunk version of him. The one most people were used to. But not you.

“Look, just go,” he sighed eventually, the tension between you thick enough to cut with a knife.

“I don’t know what you want, but it sure as shit ain’t me. And I'm done with whatever the fuck this is.”

You could hear your heart pounding in your ears, tears welling in your eyes as you reached for the handle of your truck door and pulled it open, gasping back in fright when Bucky slammed it closed suddenly, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He looked like he was going to yell at you but nothing could have prepared you for what came next.

“Don’t go,” he pleaded. “Please don’t go,” 

Trapped between his body and the door of your truck you melted into his touch, whimpering as he leaned forward to capture your lips with his own demanding ones.

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