#( Are you sick? do you need a doctor? how about a pair of glasses? ) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

morning-star-joy · 1 year ago

Text

bloodshed, crimson clover

Pairing: Joel x Doctor F!Reader

Summary: You run a small practice in the Boston QZ, willing to treat anybody who needs it. After an encounter where you save the life of Joel Miller, you form an unlikely friendship with one of the most notorious, feared men in the QZ, a reputation you didn't realize existed until you come face to face with it yourself.

Warnings: Angst. Slow build. Mutual pining & tension (unresolved). Ambiguous ending. Game!Joel. Canon-typical violence. Reader captured with mentioned physical harm, Feral Joel with descriptions of torture/murder. Vague descriptions of injury treatments (bullet wound with cauterization, cleaning glass/debris from cuts, burn wound). Reader from California & Joel calls her Cali, Reader calls Joel Texas.

Wordcount: 12.1k

A/N: I've had this idea for a while, started it and it sat in drafts, and suddenly I was hit with inspiration again this past week. Also ty @cupofjoel for letting me scream about them to you and all your support, ily!!

In his own ways, Joel Miller was a complete gentleman.

A distinctly Southern one, with a show of selective manners from his upbringing before the world went to hell, paired with a charming ruggedness that pulled your attention to him from the very first time he stumbled through your little clinic’s doors.

You were one of the few legitimately licensed Pre-Outbreak medical professionals left in the QZ, and accepted each and every sick and injured person into your tiny practice. It took a long time and care to get a place out of the view of FEDRA’s ever-looming gaze, but even then you risked the possibility of having a target painted on your back if you treated the “wrong” person.

Somebody always owed somebody else within those tall steel walls surrounding the poor semblances of a society that, in your opinion, should have been left in the dust with the rest of the world. In not discerning who you patched up, you put yourself in danger of getting on the wrong side of someone distinctly more powerful, more violent than you.

But through your diligent work over the years, you’d gained enough of a clientele for your hidden practice to remain largely untouched. There were a few instances with graffiti, but even that wasn’t too terrible—immature Fireflies pissed off that you hadn’t accepted their offer to join them, most likely new recruits trying to earn their place in the rebel ranks.

So when the rickety old doors banged open hard enough to nearly tear them off the top hinge one night, you were up on your feet and running to assist the large body that almost fell to the floor with the momentum of how they had burst in.

There was not an ounce of anxiety in your body other than the familiar adrenaline of assess the damage, stop the bleeding, prevent infection and keep them alive as you wrapped your arms around their waist, using all your strength to pull them up and direct them to one of the two old clinic beds in the dingy old room that you sanitized as best you could between patients.

That was the first thing you noticed about Joel Miller, even though you didn’t know him by name or even face yet—he was heavy. Solid muscle underneath blood-stained fabric that you began to pull away from his torso, hardly paying attention to the low timbre of his pained grunts when the cloth stuck gruesomely to the gunshot wound you finally saw once you got the shirt off.

There were no questions in your mind other than how deep was it, was there an exit wound, did it hit anything vital, not caring how he had gotten it, who had given it to him, or why they had as you paced to your instruments, only taking a moment to make sure they were clean before pulling on a pair of gloves you were running dangerously low on, hoping that they wouldn’t get too blood-soaked in the process of keeping this man alive.

Yes, you would do all you could to save him—but you still knew in the back of your mind that two pairs of gloves spent on him would risk no gloves and losing somebody else further down the line.

It wasn’t a thought you wasted the time to entertain now as you quickly got to work. There was nothing to numb the pain of the man who laid back on the clinic bed, teeth gritted and half-delirious from blood loss, not even bothering to try and say anything to you while you saved his life.

You weren’t offended. In some odd way, it was a breath of fresh air.

Most, if not all patients you treated with this kind of wound, were usually tripping over fast anxiety-fueled words trying to explain to you how they had gotten into this situation. You supposed they were hoping you wouldn’t turn them in for whatever they most likely weren’t supposed to be doing, not knowing that the only thing you truly cared about anymore was keeping as many people as you could alive in this godforsaken dystopia.

This man though, he stayed silent. Not trying to assure you of his goodwill, whether he truly had any or not. He only stared up at the dilapidated ceiling, jaw practically wired shut, maybe to keep in the low grunts and groans that rumbled from his chest, exposed from where you had to remove his denim shirt to treat the wound on his torso.

Unfortunately, you did end up having to switch to a new pair of gloves, the bleeding slowing but stubbornly refusing to stop completely. You were reaching for more of your quickly dwindling supply of gauze to keep pressing against the wound when you heard his voice clearly for the first time.

“Cauterize it.”

You looked back at him with your hand outstretched halfway to the gauze, eyes widening at the simple command that fell from the man’s chapped lips in a low drawl that rasped with pain and dehydration.

Blinking, you looked from his face that was still directed towards the ceiling down towards the wound, a frown pulling onto your lips as you glanced back towards him and began to protest, “I don’t—”

“Cauterize. It.” He repeated firmly, jaw still clenched with the words hissed out through gritted teeth.

You stiffened, not particularly enjoying being ordered to make a medical choice in your own clinic, but then his eyes met yours, filled with an intense determination that had your hand pulling back slightly from its path towards a longer process that would've hopefully let the wound heal naturally.

Then there was a slight shift in the unfathomable depth of that gaze, a fracture in walls even more impenetrable than the ones that had surrounded you for almost half a decade, and his cracked lips parted, tongue darting out to wet them in a desperate attempt for hydration before he gave a quiet murmur of, “Please.”

There was the first hint of those selective manners, emphasized with an underlying sense of unspeakable eagerness, and your face set into your own determination, nodding as you set about preparing for a practice that wasn’t your favorite, but was sometimes necessary.

Maybe this man couldn’t afford the time it would take to stop the bleeding completely, sew it up and let the wound heal on its own. Maybe there was something out there, somebody out to get him.

Or somebody he had to protect, to get home to.

That last thought is what urged you not stop even when the man grabbed the edge of the bed in a large hand, fingers curling so tight around it that you marveled if the rickety old metal would actually break under the strength of that grip. It's what spurred you to keep going even through the sharp shouts of pain muffled around the clean, rolled up washcloth you had gotten him to bite down on through the procedure.

Once the wound was forcibly closed by the red-hot metal of your sterile knife the best you could manage, you found your eyes drawn back to the man’s face, tracing the strength of his features as they relaxed a fraction from relief once the onslaught of pain from the procedure finished.

When you began the process of disinfecting the closed wound, his face had grown so blank that you worried he was on the verge of passing out, but he surprised you by placing his palms flat against the bed, pushing himself up with a loud grunt the moment you were done treating him.

“Sir—”

Any protests towards his movements you were about to make were cut short as he swung his feet over the side of the bed, placing his boots on the ground, heavy-footed and nearly collapsing when he pushed himself up and strode forward anyway, powering through the weakness you would much prefer he would sit in before trying to leave.

“Sir, I really don’t think—”

But he was shaking his head towards your attempts to get him to rest, fingers fumbling with the buttons of where blood was beginning to dry on the faded denim of his shirt, managing to get it most the way fastened back up as he took increasingly more steady steps towards the door.

What flabbergasted you the most, though, was the way he turned his head back towards you, gaze meeting yours for the second time as he muttered a gruff, “Thank you.”

The second show of those bizarre Southern gentlemanly manners, and you still didn’t have a name for him yet.

And then he was gone.

Time passed, and you allowed the mysterious man with the dark gaze and deep drawl to fade into a memory.

Like with all your patients, you spared just enough thought in the days following his treatment to hope he was alive, even though you knew that any hope to ever get confirmation of survival was fruitless. There was no way to know how much longer somebody survived if you managed to save them.

Other than making that wish of wellbeing for yet another soul, you moved on with your life.

So when the door opened one afternoon weeks later, in much worse wear now than it ever had been from the time that patient had charged through it, you were surprised to see the very same man who was the cause of it standing in your doorway when you looked up.

When you saw him, you paused halfway in rising from your squeaky old rolling stool, remembering his face even from the way his head was turned to the side, observing how the top of the door was nearly coming off its rusty hinges before turning to find you.

With a nod, he stepped further into the room, surprising you with how carefully he shut the door behind him, a direct juxtaposition to his whirlwind entrance and exit when you had treated his gunshot wound.

“Doctor,” he greeted in that same low drawl—Southern, maybe Texas, you thought somewhere in the back of your mind—as you finally rose fully from your seat, returning his nod and automatically moving towards your sparse supplies.

“Take a seat,” you said more kindly than firmly over your shoulder, not in a haste to stop him from bleeding out on your floors this time as he seemed to be relatively fine.

“Sorry?”

You paused, glancing from one of the few pairs of gloves that remained back over your shoulder to see the man staring at you with a slight furrow in his brow, a pinch of confusion on an already severe face that pronounced deep lines of age.

He didn’t seem that old—in fact, you guessed he was perhaps around your age. But then, you supposed you were both old considering the world you had survived in, and even so, there was a haunted look to the man’s intensity that spoke of his longer years, one you weren’t even sure he knew that he exuded as his presence seemed to take up the entire room and all your attention.

“Your wound,” you answered simply, gesturing towards where you remembered the gunshot you had treated to be on his torso, and he followed your gaze to look down at himself, the deep lines on his forehead relaxing a bit when you clarified, “You’re here to have it checked on, no?”

“Uh—no,” he replied, giving a slight shake of his head, his head lifting so his eyes could meet yours again. “‘M healing just fine, ma’am.”

There were the manners you had recognized the first time, more distinct this time, and they drew you a step closer towards the man, your body turning away from your small tray of supplies to face him fully for the first time.

“Oh,” you said softly, head tilting as your own brows furrowed, confused as to what had brought him back to your clinic when he had seemed so desperate to get in, get treated as quickly as possible, and get out the last time. “What brings you back, then?”

There was another flicker of something across his face, some emotion you couldn’t name before he shifted the backpack you just now realized he was wearing off of one shoulder. It slipped to his side, where he balanced it on his hip, drawing your attention to how his broad chest and large arms narrowed down to his waist as he began to rifle through it, the quick flare of some feeling in your stomach shifting to trepidation at his actions.

Oddly enough, you didn’t get blaring warning signals of danger from this man. And besides, if he was trying to rob or kill you, he was going about it in a very odd way.

“Here.” His voice was gruff as he pulled something out of his pack, and you blinked rapidly, eyes widening at the same moment your jaw dropped at the sight of what he was holding out to you.

Supplies.

Medical supplies.

Gloves and bandages and—

“Jesus Christ, is that a stethoscope?” you gasped out, reaching forward to take the items before you could stop yourself, too thrilled by the notion of getting your hands on a crucial medical tool that had eluded you for years.

“That it would be,” the man replied, but you weren’t looking at him anymore, instead unrolling the worn leather pouch to see that there was, indeed, a stethoscope inside—one that had seen better days but, oh, the ways you were going to be able to properly diagnose more patients now because of this was—

You finally paused, back stiffening as you looked back up at the stranger who had so easily handed something this precious to you, a sense of unease finally curling uncomfortably in your gut as you took a step back.

“What do you want?” you asked quietly, uncertain as to the terms of whatever arrangement was happening, even as you were now holding the items close to your chest after rolling the stethoscope back up. Unwilling to give them back, even as you were suddenly daunted by the prospect of what he might want in exchange.

He watched you shift, eyes dropping to where you were nearly hugging the supplies to yourself now, and for a moment you worried he was about to try and take them back before his lips parted and he surprised you yet again by mumbling, “To thank you.”

You blinked, taken aback by the shockingly simple sentiment. The desire to repay kindness with more kindness, despite the kind of world you both lived in.

Despite the fact that just one glance at this man—with his hard muscles and intimidating presence, the grim set of his face and the way his muscles tensed not just with the anticipation of something going wrong at any moment, but almost an eagerness that it would happen, that there would be an outlet for that tension ready to snap—would give one the impression that there wasn’t an ounce of kindness in his body.

“That’s…it?” you ask slowly, still wary, hardly able to believe that there were no strings attached. You weren’t a pessimist, but being an optimist wasn’t exactly an option either, not anymore.

But he just nodded, shifting back on the balls of his feet, hands raising with palms turned out towards you, as if to show he had nothing to take, nothing else to give other than this.

“I repay my debts, ma’am,” he uttered with a deadly seriousness in that low drawl, and this time you definitely settled on Texas as being the origin of such a smooth accent.

“Oh,” you said softly, nodding at the explanation, because now this made more sense. Kindness was a rarity, nearly nonexistent, and it wasn’t what he was showing here.

All he wanted was to repay a debt, one that you weren’t even aware existed.

Though you certainly weren’t one to complain when this was the payment.

Clutching the medical supplies tight to your chest, you reel at how saving this man from an untimely death may have just saved even more lives down the line.

You’re opening your mouth to thank him for his own thanks, but then he’s gone once again, leaving the same way he came in, with more tempered control and less chaotic storm than the first time.

You still don’t have a name.

You settle on calling him Texas.

Not that you say it to his face, or that you even see his face.

More time passes now than those few weeks in between your first two meetings with the Southern stranger. One month goes by, then two, and you once again resign him to the confines of your memories, even though the image of him is much more adamant on breaking out since the second visit.

Second and last, you reminded yourself as you disposed of a used pair of gloves after seeing off a patient, seeing his face flash in your mind’s eye as the cause of why you were able to save this life. Why you could save yet another life after this.

And it wasn’t just the gloves, but everything he had given you. There was still quite a bit of the stash left, as you were used to knowing how to make supplies last for as long as possible, dividing them and deducing who needed what the most as you saw to patients throughout your days.

You were thankful for him. Even if this was his way of settling a debt, washing his hands of you and moving on with his life, you still felt immense gratitude.

You also felt unbearable curiosity.

Every now and then, you found yourself wondering how he had gotten the supplies, and that much at that. Surely by no legal means, and none of your business at all, but you still couldn't help but wonder.

And so with the gunshot wound he had first stumbled into your life with, you tried to paint a picture of Texas in your head.

When your hands were idle, you created stories in your mind of the life he’d led that brought him from home—or where you imagined his home to be, if you were even remotely correct in dubbing him Texas—to here.

It was an embarrassing pastime, really, and you had no business entertaining anything more than a passing thought of gratitude about him. But still, you imagined.

Sometimes that imagination was of an exciting life for him, one of travel to far places that you never got to go, pretending that this was a man who had lived through better times and had many tales to tell of them. Tales to tell you, if you were being particularly delusional.

Other times, you pictured him with a life much more humble. Born and raised in the Lone Star State, probably proud to be. A family man who yelled at football, loved barbeques and beers with buddies, working a simple 9-5 until the world went to shit.

You liked that imaginary version of him. You liked thinking that Texas wasn’t too different from you, just trying to get by in the old world and the new.

So used to him staying inside of your mind, you were surprised the next time you actually saw him again.

In hindsight, you supposed you shouldn’t have been. With the scars you had seen just on his torso when you were treating his gunshot wound, you doubted this man lived an easy life now, no matter what it had been before.

It was late, well into curfew hours, but your tiny apartment was just a few streets away from your humble clinic, and you knew the best methods to get back and forth without being seen. You liked to stay as late as you could most nights, just in case somebody needed tending to at the odd hours when nobody else would be able to help.

Your eyes were growing heavy, a few persistent yawns you failed to fight off your body’s way of letting you know you were definitely pushing it, but you held on for a little longer.

And you’d be forever grateful you did, when he was the one needing tending to that night.

The loud, metallic creak of those loose hinges pulled your attention up from where you were staring absentmindedly at your small desk, and you were jumping from your stool the moment you saw him.

There was no stumbling this time, but you saw the streaks of red well, cuts across his face and arms, worn flannel shredded around the skin embedded with glass that glinted in the low, fluorescent light of your lamp that lit up the confined quarters.

“Sit,” you were saying before anything else, and you swore you heard a quiet chuckle under a pained breath as Texas moved to sink down onto a clinic bed.

“Good evening to you too,” he mumbled, and you glanced up at the unexpected humor, unsure if it was for your expense or benefit.

Nevertheless, your eyes narrowed slightly, and his mouth snapped shut then. He settled back as you pulled your tray with you, a neat array of the dwindling supplies from what he had given you waiting underneath your fingertips before you pulled on some gloves and began.

Much like the first time, the ruined shirt was removed so you could work, but the lack of the looming threat of immediate death and ample time to wonder about the man between his visits left you now with eyes that wanted to wander.

You hoped Texas couldn’t see each time your gaze flickered across his broad chest in the low light of the lamp, observing the way it illuminated his scarred skin before quickly moving your careful attention back to picking glass and debris from the series of cuts across his body, doing your best to stop more scars from finding a home there.

“Gotta stop meeting me like this, Texas,” you find the words slipping from your lips as you focused on your work, your mind not even catching up to what you had said, too focused on your work until he spoke.

“Texas?”

You pause, feeling a surge of embarrassment at what you let slip, only used to him existing inside your thoughts and not in front of you, warm flesh beneath your hands, the heat of him radiating even through the latex gloves.

Your fingers flexed from where you were bracing yourself against the center of his chest, swallowing thickly when you suddenly noticed the steady beat of his heart underneath your palm. You refocused your attention on picking another shard of broken glass from just below his collarbone, trying to gather your thoughts enough for a somewhat reasonable answer.

“I just—” You bit your cheek, struggling with what to say, a sigh held deep in your lungs before you exhaled it slowly and mumbled, “You are from Texas, aren’t you?”

Your gaze shifted up to his neck, gently cleaning the dirt from a scrape there, your new focus of attention leaving you with a perfect view of the twitch of his lips from the corner of your eye.

“Guilty.” You can feel the rumble of his voice in his chest as he mumbles the word, and you quickly lift your hand from it, not realizing that your touch had lingered there even when you had moved away from that area of his body. “Just surprised you picked up on it, s’all.”

A little smile turned up on your lips; part pleased that you had gotten it right, part embarrassed that you had even thought of it, thought of him, that much.

Quiet fell between you and Texas for a while, as you made sure the cuts on his neck were clean before finally moving up to his face.

Your eyes met with his for the first time since he had sat down that night, and it was also the first time you noticed their color.

All that time he had plagued your mind, and you realized you hadn’t even really seen the color of his eyes. You had settled on brown, but sitting closer now, you saw the green surrounding the warmer color, creating a stunning hazel that was all you could see for a moment before your gaze snapped away, the heat of embarrassment filling you again as you pulled your focus back to his cuts.

You hesitated then, one hand hovering in the air before gently gripping his chin between a thumb and forefinger, tilting his face to different angles as you treated it, a remarkably easy task when he hardly winced with each piece of glass removed, seemingly unbothered by the pain.

Once again, you were sucked into the familiarity of the focus that came with your work, and it was Texas that broke it this time, your brain taking a moment to register what he had said.

“California.”

You paused, tweezers hovering over his cheekbone, eyes meeting that hazel again to see he was watching you, and you wondered just how long he had been doing so—the whole time? Why did you hope he was?

“How’d you know?”

Texas shrugged one shoulder, and you once again forced your attention back to your work, trying to ignore the weight of his gaze on your face now that you knew it was there.

“Lucky guess,” he said in that low timbre, and you laughed softly, shaking your head as you pulled the last shard of glass from a cut above his eyebrow, eyes lingering on a scar near his temple before dropping the glass into your tin of medical waste, full of all the once painful remnants of whatever had brought him back to you tonight.

You felt like an awful person, being glad that it had brought him back to you.

Once all the cuts were properly taken care of, you leaned back with a sigh, snapping the gloves off your hands and dropping them into the rest of the medical waste. By some old habit, you patted Texas on the knee before standing, wheeling your tray away with you as you declared him free to go once again.

“It was the accent,” he says, and you pause, looking back over your shoulder as he pushes himself to his feet, and you’re reminded once again of how big the man is when he’s not sitting still while you treat him. “Your accent gave it away. Sure as hell don’t sound East Coast.”

Another laugh left your lips, curling up into a smile as you shake your head and look back towards your remaining medical supplies. Dangerously low again after tonight, but in this moment now, you found yourself not caring just yet.

“Guilty,” you repeated his own affirmation from earlier, and one glance back showed the corner of his lips turning up into a small smirk that had much larger consequences on your heart, racing now at the sight of amusement on his stoic face before you quickly looked away again.

“Long way from home, Cali,” he says slowly, and your heart skips a goddamn beat now at that drawled nickname, as if he wasn’t doing enough already.

“Same as you, huh?” you try to sound casual as you kept your gaze focused on shifting through your supplies, reorganizing them just to keep your mind busy, even as it marveled at how he hadn’t left already,

“Not nearly as much as you.”

At the continued conversation, you finally turn, seeing him bent over at the waist and rifling through the beat-up backpack full of duct-taped holes that he had brought in with him.

You see the gun tucked into the back of the waistband of his jeans then, a sight that wasn’t surprising given the injuries he’d come to you with, but your brows still furrow, mind continuing to create different stories to solve the mystery of him before he straightens up and turns back to you.

He holds out a bundle of bandages and gloves to you, and you try to hold back your excitement at the offering as much as you can, as thrilled by the promise they offered for your work as you were by the idea that he’d already had the supplies ready this time.

The idea that he’d been holding onto them for you.

Delusional, an inner voice chides you, but you smile down at the supplies anyway, rubbing a thumb across the box of gloves and sighing quietly as your mind brings forth a time long gone where you never would have thought twice about the availability of what was once such a common thing.

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” you say slowly, pondering how you had recognized his accent, attributed him to a long gone place, as he did you. “How even after all this time, we still remember those little things about a world that doesn’t exist anymore.”

He’s not looking at you anymore when you glance back up. The stoicism you had come to associate with him from just a few meetings was back, and you get the sense you had taken the rare offer of a conversation too far.

You thank him for the supplies, and he nods almost absentmindedly, seemingly half paying attention to you before he moves back towards the door, and you turn back to begin to organize your new supplies, eager to restock your workspace.

The only thing that stops you is—

“What’s your name, Cali?”

Your head lifts, body half-turning around to stare at him in shock.

Nobody has asked for your name in years.

It’s been so long since you’ve said it out loud that the syllables assigned to you at birth feel foreign in your mouth. It taunts you with a time long past, like a bad taste you have to spit out, and when you do, he repeats it back.

The way he says it is…different. He sounds it out just the same as you, but it sounds less wrong leaving his lips. He says it slowly, as if tasting each letter on his tongue, memorizing it before giving a nod and turning to leave.

“Wait.”

He does.

For some reason, he stops when you tell him to, facing the door that he himself was the sole cause of its state hanging off its hinges, something he stares purposefully at when you ask for his own name.

Texas doesn’t look back as his voice wraps around the sounds of his own name, distaste similar to yours when you gave him your own dripping from his mouth as it curves around his syllables.

You start to say it back. The name, his name, Joel leaving your lips quietly, but he’s already back out the door before you can even sound out the M of his last name.

It leaves your lips anyway, his name echoing alone in your clinic, clutching the medical supplies tight to your chest.

Somewhere buried deep in your thoughts, you ponder over the idea that, just from the sheer intensity that radiated from the man the few times you had met him, Joel Miller memorizing somebody’s name feels like irrefutable danger, like you’re in for a very short life span. It’s a feeling you ignore, an instinct you try to forget about as you recall no hostility in his eyes, the hazel sharp as shrapnel you once cleaned from his body with none of the lethality when he repeated your name back to you.

Somewhere, buried even deeper, your heart races instead at the thought that he intends to say it again.

Joel leaves, but he always comes back.

It’s never a social call. The world’s gone to shit; you don’t have the time, and you’re sure Joel doesn’t have the patience.

He shows up in your doorway when he’s injured, and leaves you with enough medical supplies to keep you going until the next time he comes along. At its core, it's a business transaction. He’s just continuing to repay a debt to you so he doesn’t owe you anything. There’s nothing fundamentally personal about it.

That doesn’t stop you from looking forward to those visits. You never know when Joel’s going to show up next, and it does more than keep you on your toes; it holds you in anticipation, keeping those daydreams in the forefront in your mind rather than the back whenever you have time to yourself now.

Because each time he comes through, he leaves you with another snapshot of himself. Another glimpse into the lives he lived once and lives now—usually the former rather than the latter, much to your surprise.

You hold every reveal of the aloof man close; purely off-hand, inconsequential things, like a love for going to the movies now rendered nonexistent, or the time he and his brother rode motorcycles cross country. Those things don’t matter anymore, but you like hearing about them. You like knowing those things about him, fitting the real pieces of him in with your imaginary ones to solve a puzzle that only existed inside your head. It fuels your imagination, spurs on your delusion.

You’re not actually sure if he realizes how much you know about him at this point, while simultaneously knowing nearly nothing about him at all. The important things, like why he keeps showing up with all those injuries, remain unknown.

Joel brings it up, just once, off-hand as you’re wrapping up his shoulder in a spot where you could tell a bullet had grazed him.

“You don’t ask.”

Your hands had paused, eyes lifting from your work to his face, glancing over his side profile before his head turned and he was looking down at you from inches away.

He was waiting for an answer, but your mind was having trouble keeping up with what he had even said, too startled by the swirling of brown and green in his eyes when they were right there. A color as warm and solid as the earth beneath your feet, grounding you to him, pulling you in with that same undeniable magnetism he had first stumbled into your life with.

His facial hair had gotten longer, dark whiskers of hair framing cracked lips, a split down the top one that you had carefully cleaned earlier. You hadn't even thought twice about it when dabbing it clean, but now you couldn’t see anything else, not until—

“Cali?”

You blinked, head snapping up as your back went ramrod straight, and you quickly turned back to where your hands had frozen mid-bandage.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“About what?” you forced the words from your lips, trying not to think about how they ached to have his own pressed to them, split lip and all molding firmly and then gently against yours—

Oh god, no, what were you thinking?

“About any of it,” Joel grumbled, waving a large hand towards his face with a vague gesture, seeming to think you had just been observing his injuries even with the way you’re now staring at thick fingers, long veins, prominent and begging to be traced—

No! Stop!

“You don’t have a policy of asking your patients questions?” he asked, arching a thick brow down at you, and you curse the way your stomach flips at the sight.

“Believe it or not, I actually have a strong one not to,” you finally answered with his shoulder now wrapped firmly, fingers grazing against the gauze before you pushed your stool away from him, gloves snapping off your hands and ignoring the ache to touch him without them. “You do what you have to in order to survive. My job is to make sure you keep surviving. Not to ask questions.”

Joel hummed, and you felt the weight of his gaze on you up until he handed you a new bundle of supplies and left again.

Sometimes, you wonder if he’s picked up anything about you in turn, the way you’ve locked away every small fragment you've learned of him. You wonder if he even cares to listen during those rare moments where you might let something about yourself, past or present, slip.

You dare to dream that he does.

Foolish.

You can almost say with certainty that Joel doesn’t realize the things about himself that you’ve picked up on. Like the movies thing—it had been revealed through slurred words at your last-ditch effort to distract him by asking him questions through a particularly painful procedure, and he had rambled in delirium about popcorn and previews for no more than half a minute before promptly passing out beneath your moving hands.

It had caused bubbling panic in the moment, but when the moment had passed and he had awoken with embarrassment about not being able to tolerate the pain, it seemed all recollection of what he had shared had disappeared.

Or maybe he was just embarrassed about that too.

You would surely never admit that the thought of the large, intimidating man even experiencing an emotion as mundane as embarrassment only endeared you to him more.

And the motorcycle trip—well, that hadn’t even been Joel’s choice in revealing.

A few years into gaining your most returning patient—“we have to get your picture on the wall,” you had jested to him about simultaneously having the best (can somehow survive a plethora of injuries) and worst (has a penchant to keep getting them) luck at one point, much to his silent judgment at your attempted joke—he had entered the clinic the same way he did upon that first meeting, and you winced at the way the door banged against the wall in the same place it'd once left a dent during that first visit from him.

A sharp disapproval at treating your humble place of work like this was on the tip of your tongue, before you saw that Joel wasn’t alone, nor was he the one currently injured.

Any questions other than those pertinent for your new patient’s survival were rapidly dismissed from crowding your fast-moving mind, the same way as always. You helped Joel set the man down, hardly even realizing he was talking, that they were both talking, until after you had snapped on your gloves and assessed the burn wound on the back of the man's forearm.

“It worked out, didn’t it?”

“Hardly,” Joel bit back, voice rough with a harsh disapproval bordering on anger, the sound of which made the hairs raise on the back of your neck as you busied yourself getting cool compresses ready. “It was goddamn stupid, is what it was. Nearly got yourself killed.”

“But it worked.”

“Tommy—”

“Lighten up, big brother,” this Tommy said while you checked his pulse and lifted his arm above his chest, and now you understood the energy filling up the entire space of the room.

There was a blood bond between the bickering men, tested by the fraying of nerves and something deeper, some unnamable tension that came from something you didn’t know, maybe wouldn’t even understand. Some after effect of the transition into this world you now lived in, something that was none of your business.

Even then, the way Tommy’s body was constantly shifting and Joel hovering over your shoulder as they kept arguing while you tried to treat the burn is what made you finally snap.

“Hey!”

The clear echo of your voice layered over the argument, and instantly broke it, both men turning down to see your narrowed gaze shifting between the two of them.

“You need to sit still because I’m not fond of breaking burn blisters, and you won’t be either,” you ordered sternly, not wavering under the attention of the man finally focused on you for the first time since coming in, before you whipped around to Joel still hovering behind you. “And you!”

For a moment, you found a bit of humor in the utterly stupefied look on the man’s face that matched that of his brother’s, before you stood from your stool so you were chest to chest with Joel.

“You need to stop breathing down my goddamn neck and let me work,” you said firmly, pointing towards the far wall, the order clear in your eyes without even having to say it at this point.

You knew Joel saw it, and to his credit all you saw was his jaw ticking, a brief flare to his nostrils before he spun on his heel, marching towards the wall to lean against it heavily. His arms crossed across his broad chest while he watched you sit and go back to cooling Tommy’s burn.

Order was regained in your clinic, and you smiled a little to yourself at having established it, before Tommy shifted forward slightly towards you and muttered conspiratorially, but not at all quietly, “No wonder you got even this hardass to like you.”

A tremor briefly overtook your fingers with the shock of the unexpected words before you flexed them, willing your grip to steady before renewing your focus on his burn injury as Joel snarled from his spot you had assigned him against the wall, “Shut the fuck up, Tommy.”

Your gaze snaps up, making sure Joel hadn’t moved, eyes narrowing when you saw he had pushed off the wall just slightly. When he notices your look, he shifts backwards, back hitting the wall again as his glare shifts off to the side, towards the loose hinges on the door now in even worse condition thanks to both Miller brothers.

There’s a chuckle from Tommy, more bristling from Joel, and the illusive taunt of hope wound tight in your chest, but nobody says anything else until you’re sending them off with the rest of your low supply of lotion that would be adequate for burn treatment, along with instructions on how to take care of the now loosely bandaged burn.

Tommy nods, thanking you when Joel snaps at him to show some manners. The younger brother leaves with a pointed look towards your door and an offhand, not unkind comment on getting it fixed, followed up quickly by an offer of doing the work himself to pay back your kindness.

Not a debt, but kindness, the exact verbiage he used himself in a Southern drawl a bit lighter, more intentionally charming than Joel’s rough allure.

Joel is still irritated, more than you’ve ever seen, but he still nods at you with a mumble of “thanks, Cali,” before following his brother as the younger man is saying “so that’s Cali!”

There's a hard smack to Tommy's shoulder to direct him away, Joel's reprimanding tone saying things you couldn’t hear before they disappear around a corner.

It was then that you decided you liked Tommy.

You like him even more when he stops by a couple weeks later to actually fix the door like he mentioned, filling your head with stories about his older brother you could have only ever dreamed of.

Because of Tommy you have reasons to giggle into your pillow that night at the thought of the two born and raised Texas boys racing across the country on motorcycles, smiling stupidly against the coarse fabric at the image of a younger Joel Miller with wind in his hair and a carefree smile on his face.

You’d only ever seen tiny twitches of those lips into halfway smirks, and so you dreamed of a time where they weren’t chapped from the smog of QZ air or split from punches to the face, but soft and pink and curling up into a real smile.

You dreamed of making him smile again.

Sometimes it takes a while for a visit from Joel.

Weeks turn into months in-between those short moments where you see his face for quick patch-ups and restocks of supplies.

Once there was about a year that passed without so much of a glimpse of him, and you had tried to settle yourself into the likely idea that he may have finally gotten himself hurt so bad he couldn’t even stumble into your clinic, when he proved your hidden, greatest fear wrong by turning up again.

He had limped through the door without a word, letting in a cold burst of snow laden air with him before it shut. A sigh of relief was exhaled from your lips, dry and chapped from the harsh winter months, and you hurried to him, slinging his arm over your shoulder as you helped him through the room to sit.

Peeling the blood caked jeans from his legs with a mumbled apology of the chill permeating your clinic this time of year, you barely got out one word out after of, “You—”

“Gotta stop meeting you like this, I know,” Joel sighed, avoiding your gaze as you settled on your stool with a familiar squeak of the old furniture, pulling on a pair of gloves you had set aside specifically for him months ago, ensuring that you’d have at least one left for him in the hopes that he could still make it back to you in one piece someday.

Even if that meant one less for someone down the line, potentially sacrificing a life for the uncertain possibility of saving somebody else.

It was unlike you.

Selfish, the inner voice of reason chides you again, as it always speaks in his presence.

And as always, you ignore it.

Your eyes flickered up from critically observing the stab wound haphazardly sewn above his knee—his own work, no doubt, and you were surprised at your frustration that he hadn’t come to you instead. You figured it must have not been an option, some reason having kept him from you, but you still fixed him with a hard look that the surly man actually shifted under, wary under the weight of your scrutiny, for whatever that was worth.

Shaking your head, you turned back to set about the process of thoroughly cleaning the wound, checking for any sign of infection and treating his body properly, because somebody had to do it if he wasn’t going to.

It wasn’t like he was reckless. Despite your visits with the man being few and far between—if they could even really be called visits in the first place—you had caught enough of a glimpse of who he was to know he was far from irrational. He wouldn’t have made it this far if he was.

Joel Miller could keep himself alive, of this you had no doubt.

But the repercussions that came with his survival, infection of the body or wounds that went deeper than that of flesh or blood, were things that you learned he merely shouldered as a consequence.

A burden you would lessen, even if all it meant was making sure one wound out of many wouldn’t fester, if he came to you with it.

It wasn’t until this one was treated and redressed, and he was pulling his pants back on while you stared down at the gloves on your hands—a pair that he had given you, that you had saved to save him, now speckled with his blood, a reminder that he was still alive but maybe just barely—and the words you had actually wanted to say when he came in, the ones that you had held back when he interrupted you, echoed through your mind again.

You scared me.

They aren’t spoken, not with words. Instead, your hand pats his knee again after his jeans are zipped up, fingers brushing against where his properly tended wound is now hidden beneath the heavy fabric.

The touch lingers, for just a second, before you’re up and moving away.

To your surprise, Joel follows.

He rifles through his backpack, and you notice a few new holes, more spots where there’s recently applied duct tape. You absentmindedly wonder why he sticks with this one. If he’s able to find and trade other sorts of goods, couldn’t he get a new backpack?

Thanks is given by reflex when he gives you the supplies, even though you know with this trade, you’re even once again. He doesn’t expect your gratitude, maybe doesn’t even want it, but there’s a sure cause for it this time as you shift through the pile to observe the weight of what you felt sitting unassuming at the bottom, but couldn't discern until you saw it.

Gloves.

Not thin latex, but heavy fabric, fitting in the palm of your freezing hand.

Not medical, but practical, even as the promise of warmth had now become a luxury.

Not for patients, but for you.

Joel had gotten this for you.

When you look back up at him, eyes wide with shock, he’s already explaining it away with a dismissive wave of his hand and gruff drawl, “Gotta keep those fingers in proper working condition, right?”

Your brow furrows then, more gratitude trapped inside your mouth as you notice something again that had lingered in your mind since he had shown up that night, something you couldn’t ignore anymore.

That this Joel in front of you now was different.

Joel had never been a beacon of warmth, but he’s never been colder.

He won’t meet your eye, doesn’t even seem bothered by his lack of ability to keep eye contact now. He’s rigid and tense, something pent-up deep inside of him, worse than ever before, and that’s when you know that whatever had happened since you saw him last had taken another piece of whatever he was. Another part of whoever you dreamed about once existing, gone.

“Hey,” you mumble, and he glances back at you, surely seeing the way your brows are knitted above eyes that put your concern on full display, just judging by the way he stiffened.

He waves another dismissive hand, looks away with arms crossed over his chest in a way that you’d seen before. It was like he was physically containing whatever emotions he was experiencing to his own body, holding them in with the flex of his muscles through his beat up winter jacket. A silent show of his strength, trying to protect himself with it, even if it couldn't stop whatever it was he was feeling.

You expect him to leave then, but his weather and time worn boots are glued to the ground, unmoving.

Eventually, he speaks, and the two words with the flat affect shake you to your core.

“Tommy’s gone.”

Fear blankets your body and sets every nerve on fire, pain flashing across your features as Joel sees it and quickly shakes his head, adding simply, nearly without emotion, “Left.”

The daunting grief at the possible death of the younger Miller brother fades, even as an emptiness remains when you softly say, “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Silence fills the space, and tension with it, setting you on edge with Joel in a way you’d never felt with him before.

“Fireflies,” he finally supplies, and you nod, looking down to the winter gloves you still held tight in your grasp, even as you set the rest of your new stock down.

So that was what had happened. The last thread holding the brothers together had snapped, and Tommy had left, taking a part of Joel with him. Maybe the last part of him, of who he had once been.

No wonder the man before you was even more hardened than you had ever seen him before.

“I see,” you whisper, and neither of you says anything more after that.

Not until you look back up at his face, refocus on the familiar features, noticing a few new lines of age in the year that had passed since last seeing him, some white whiskers in the edges of his beard, and—

Your hand is reaching out before you can stop to think, gripping his chin between thumb and forefinger, tilting his face down towards you in a way similar to when you’d treated him in the past.

Maybe by reflex from those moments, he lets you do it, even as the sharp clarity of his hazel eyes meet yours in confusion.

“What’s this?” you ask, fingers hovering over the new red line of scarring across the bridge of his nose, tracing the length of it without touch.

His eyes flash, not with anger, but with an emotion you don’t recognize. He tries to pull away, but your grip tightens, keeping him in place as you wait for an answer.

“Nothin’,” he mumbles, your eyes narrowing at the evasive answer, the way his gaze shifts away.

“Texas, this isn’t—”

Joel’s hand finds yours then, thick fingers wrapping around your smaller ones to pull them away from where you were still holding his chin, and the warmth of his skin seeping into yours hits you with a jolt as you only then realize this was touch.

Skin on skin, the very thing you had been aching for, dreaming of, for years. Those thoughts of him that kept you going on lonely days and cold nights, longing for something you could never have, an impossible reality now on the edge of your fingertips as he enveloped them in a rough palm, in his touch.

Touch.

Touch you had instigated, without the barrier of medical gloves between you. Without the clear lines that defined all you were to each other—doctor and patient, business transactions, a debt repaid again and again. Lines that now blurred when he didn’t drop your hand right away.

Blurring further, obscuring your vision in a rose-tinted blush when his grip tightened, and your breath caught in your throat at the feeling of him holding on to you.

“‘Ts fine,” Joel assures quietly, your fingers finally slipping from his, the clear hazel of those eyes you had spent a year waiting and hoping to see again, not meeting yours even once.

He hasn’t looked at you even once.

Just like that, you snap from a slow motion daze back to true reality. Your fantasies hit the ground hard, leaving you shattered with the empty aches of your heart forever unfulfilled in the dark crevices of your mind.

But even then, you can’t look away.

Again, you hear the admission aching to be revealed, slipping from the back of your mind to the forefront on waves of anxiety and need that grew larger, more disastrous, crashing through all your thoughts as you watched him looking away, but not leaving.

You scared me.

The words fill your mouth, waiting to be spoken.

But they aren’t.

Even though you wanted to tell him how his absence had filled you with fear, terror that only abates whenever he’s with you until he inevitably leaves again, you don’t dare to say it. Not when he doesn’t even look at you, even though you can’t bring yourself to look away.

The only thing you do say is an assurance that you’d make it home safe when he tells you to before he’s finally gone again.

It’s the first time that you notice that each time he leaves you with a new piece of himself, he takes a piece of you with him.

“You’re scaring my patients, Texas.”

“Good.”

“Joel.”

It’s been like this since Tommy left.

Joel visits you now when he’s nothing less than the perfect picture of health.

At first, he brings you things—the usual, necessary items that keep your unsanctioned practice running. You thank him each time, albeit with puzzled looks when there’s no visible harm on his body, confusion that only furthers when he lingers.

Eventually, he drops by without anything at all. Nothing in hand, sometimes no backpack in tow, but always with that gun tucked into the back of his waistband.

For a while, you think nothing of it. You’re glad that he’s showing his face, that you’re not glancing up with baited breath each time your door creaks open, hoping for just a glimpse of the man to assure you that he was alright.

Joel lets you see often enough now that he’s still in one piece, and for a while, you’re foolish enough to think that it’s purely for the benefit of your peace of mind.

Then one day, when he’s walking out, a patient is walking in—a younger man you’ve seen more than once, treating wounds similar to those that Joel’s had, though not quite as severe.

What is severe is the look Joel instantly shoots at him as they pass by each other, your heart sinking when the injured man scurries towards the available clinic bed while the door shuts.

You try to push it out of your mind, try to ignore the way your patient keeps watching the closed door with baited breath, until he breathes out with certain trepidation, “That’s Joel Miller.”

Pausing in the middle of splinting his broken finger, your brow furrows, glancing up at the nervous scrunching of his face as you reply slowly, “Yes, it is.”

His gaze finally shifts from the door towards you, then back again quickly, like he’s afraid the mentioned man will burst through the moment he’s not looking.

“You—” A gulp, and then the shaky question of, “You know him, don’t you?”

You finish bandaging his injury, gently placing his hand back in his lap and replying honestly, even with your uncertainty lingering at his tone, “Of course I do.”

He doesn’t say anything more until he’s leaving, glancing back at you warily, seeming to struggle over what he wants to say before settling for, “He’s…he’s got a reputation, you know. Lots of folks are scared of that Joel Miller.”

With a nervous wringing of your hands behind your back, and a calm smile on your face, you assure him, “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Of course, you don’t know that Joel’s been waiting.

There’s no way to be aware that he’s been in the alley next to the clinic the entire time you treated your patient, no way to know that he trails the man the moment he leaves the safety of your building.

You’ll never know that the man you treated isn’t so good either. Or that he’s not nearly as bad as Joel.

Somebody always owed somebody else, after all. You knew it well, knew that Joel paid you back for this very reason.

But you didn’t know what happened when you owed him.

Or what happened when he went to collect.

And Joel ensured you were never getting anywhere near it.

A sentiment made clear with another broken finger for the lackey of a rival smuggler late on a payment that had sought you out for the last time that day, along with a painful promise made that he and his buddies would never step foot in your clinic again.

There was no way for you to know what happened that day, but you noticed the shift afterwards.

The way Joel takes up residence along the wall of your clinic and doesn’t leave when patients come in. How he watches them, the mere weight of his sole attention setting them on edge.

You tell them it’s fine, shoot him a glare that tells him to back off. And maybe it works for a little, but not for long.

You assure yourself that it’s fine. A reputation means nothing, and you know Joel Miller, don’t you? Or you know all that matters. And you know that there’s nothing to be afraid of.

Until there is.

You’re gone.

It’s the first time since meeting you that Joel stops by the clinic, and you’re not there.

Well into the morning, and you’re not sitting there at your little makeshift desk. At this time, you should be half-rising from your stool he’s been meaning to find a replacement for just at the sound of the door opening.

You're always ready to spring into action, to save a life or make one better. Like you’ve done for him, time and time again.

It’s also the first time since before Tommy left that the door is swinging off its hinges again, and that’s when Joel knows.

You’re gone.

He doesn’t need to see the ransacked clinic, but he looks anyway. Searches frantically through the overturned furniture, your well-organized stock of supplies now a mess, some missing because he knows how much you have of everything, he silently keeps track along with you so he knows what to pick up when he and Tess go on runs.

There’s a panic settling in his gut, a burning ache crawling its way up his throat, and his hands twitch with the need to do something, to make somebody hurt, make them pay, make them talk to bring you back.

Back to the work that is your pride and joy, the four walls that have been your safety for years, a safety you’ve only ever extended to others, one you offered to him.

Joel needs to bring you back to him.

No time is wasted when he gets back to Tess. She knows you by now, having visited the clinic herself with or without Joel, for injuries or for chats. He’s noticed his partner always smiling after, the two of you forming a kinship that warms what fragments remain of his heart like so little else can.

Tess is taking charge in a way that’s familiar, and Joel is grateful for that. He doesn’t know what he’d do if left to his own devices right now, uncertain who’d wind up dead in the streets if let loose to find you on his own terms.

But he takes solace in knowing that Tess will let him do what he does best when it's time.

And when it is time, when they’ve cornered the last person who’s had your name leave their lips, the bone of their arm shatters underneath a brutal stomp and twist of Joel’s heavy boot after a series of ruthless hits that have left them begging for mercy on the ground.

But it gets them what they need—a location, information on a deal gone south for a specific kind of medicine that these smugglers had a monopoly on, medicine you most likely needed to save one patient, and deemed it a risk worth taking just for that.

Smugglers that Joel had very specifically warned to stay the fuck away from you.

The whimpering man under his boot gets a bullet to the head for not heeding his warning, for taking you from him, and they’re on their way without another word.

Fear burns so hot that it singes his veins, making him move faster, hit harder when they get to the warehouse. Red is all he sees and it’s all he feels, running through his fingers as he pulls triggers and chokes windpipes before twisting, snapping. Blood, hot and metallic, staining his skin in splatters up to his forearms as he moves from one to the next.

Joel has lost too much to make it quick, and the thought of losing you too only adds to his rage, making his preemptive vengeance all the more deadly. He lays waste to them all, sparing not a soul of his brutality.

His shiv sinks into a neck, and he leaves it there for too long before pulling it out, leaving a streak of evidence of another life he’s stolen across his face as he turns, more than ready for the next one.

Movement catches the corner of his eye, and he’s lifting his gun towards where he sees legs pushing against the ground, a body scuttling away into a corner out of his sight, cowering behind a tower of boxes.

Joel’s finger is already on the trigger before he sees the shoes peeking out behind the cardboard, the tips of well-worn sneakers that he knows well, having seen them turn and move quickly around one tiny room for years.

Relief doesn’t rush to him yet, not until he’s rounded the boxes, not until he really sees you.

There’s an angry purple bruise forming along your jaw, and fury burns hotter, seeping through the edges of sweet relief that you’re okay, although injured.

You whimper, and his heart breaks, reaching out a hand towards you to help you up, to bring you back to him.

At the movement, you press your back against the wall, cowering away even further as your eyes fix onto his face.

Joel’s brow furrows, anger and relief both ebbing away slowly, and he says your name, holding his palm out further for you to take.

You whimper again.

Eyes wide and clouded with fear, lip quivering as you shrink away from the hand that he had stained with blood again and again to find you, to bring you back.

Above where your back is pressed to the wall, there is a line of windows. They offer a view to the first floor of the warehouse, now littered with bodies he had left, a clear trail of evidence of his path of destruction from the moment he had entered the building.

And that’s when Joel realizes you’re afraid of him.

The worst part is, he’s not surprised, not even in the slightest.

On the contrary, he thinks some part of him had been waiting for this. Waiting for you to finally open your eyes and see him for what he is.

Someone like you, who has spent her whole life patching up the kind of wounds he inflicts, who saves lives and gives while all he does is takes and takes, by his own choice or some kind of curse—of course you’re afraid.

Joel’s bloodstained fingers twitch, remembering the softness of your own the one and only time he had held them that cold winter night. His hand hovers in the air halfway to you, yearning to comfort a hand that heals with one that only knows how to kill.

But then you flinch at the twitch of his fingers, having witnessed their deadliness, and he pulls back.

When Tess arrives a moment later, you turn to her, allowing the other woman to pull you to your feet. You lean heavily on her as she helps you leave, takes you back, but not to him.

Because Joel knows now with certainty that it's a distance that was never meant to be closed.

He knows it's for the better.

Weeks turn into months once again.

Joel doesn’t come back.

As time passes, you reflect on the man you’d known, and the one everybody else knew. You compare the image of those half-smirks that you always hoped would turn into a smile to the face splattered with blood as he ruthlessly murdered any man in his path.

You feel like a fool. For more reason than one, but mostly because you knew.

You had seen the signs of just who Joel Miller was from the first time you met him, signs that you had ignored every time they lit up right in front of your face, blaring signals that you replaced with the naïve images you had created in your mind’s eye. Fantasies of a man that may have existed once, long ago, but not anymore.

It wasn’t the killing that bothered you. You knew what people had to do to survive, and you had always known just from his injuries that this was an indisputable truth heavily ingrained in Joel’s life, no matter who you imagined him to be before.

No, it wasn’t the killing that scared you, but the slaughter.

What you were afraid of was his lack of mercy. His lethality. His intent to make them suffer.

After days of being held at the whims of dangerous men, only to discover that the only man you had come to consider a safe space in years was just as, if not more dangerous than them…

It rattled you.

Changed you.

Left a scar that even you didn’t know how to heal.

In the days that followed, you were glad that Joel kept his distance. You needed time to recover, to process what you had gone through, what you’d seen.

After a few weeks passed, you found yourself staring at the door, waiting once again for him to come back. Waiting to talk to him for once, to say the words that had plagued your mind once again. Even if they had shifted, they still rang true.

You scared me.

Because he did.

Joel Miller himself scared you, and you didn’t want him to.

Because you knew, you knew, that he’d done it for you. He'd done it to save you.

He’d saved you the same way you saved him, in the only way that he knew how.

Maybe it was senseless. Maybe it was wrong, and horrible, and unforgivable.

But he had done it for you.

So you wait for Joel to come back.

Months fade into years; one, and then two, then five and still counting.

Joel Miller never comes back.

At some point, you hear that he’s gone. Left the QZ completely with Tess at his side and never looked back.

You hope that they made it, wherever they were going.

You hope that he doesn’t think of you the way that you think of him. The image of him plaguing your mind every night, broken memories of everything you had memorized about him constantly shifting through your mind, a lonely ache filling in your heart that you knew was your own fault.

He had bloodied his knuckles for you, and you had turned away.

God, you hated yourself for turning away.

You missed him, with every breath, with every moment the door of your clinic opened and you glanced up with the automatic reflex of hoping it was him, even though he was long gone.

You know it's for the better.

Joel is not supposed to be here.

Any form of radio communication is strictly forbidden. He knows this well, knows that if he’s found here, he could be risking everything, even if his brother is married to the woman who keeps Jackson up and running smoothly.

But he’s here anyway, hands trembling with the cold and something else, something that settles deeper into his bones as he holds the microphone in hand.

Waiting.

It’s his second time up here in a week, and though he’d been lucky enough to not be caught the first time, he wasn’t an optimist.

You’re a cynic, a voice echoes in the back of his head, and his eyes flutter shut with the image of you that never seemed to quite leave him, even with the years that have gone by.

But you’re not, his own voice, younger, replies to you in his memories.

I try not to be, you replied honestly, one of your first discussions when you had begun to settle into each other’s presence. Don’t think I could keep doing this if I was.

Joel’s gaze darts down to the small notepad he had brought with him, the pages where he had written one message only to cross it out, rewrite it, and torn pages of it to throw away in frustration.

In front of him was the one left uncrossed, his eyes scanning the words he could only hope had gotten relayed to you, the message he had left for the black market radio specialist in Boston earlier that week.

Found a nice place that could use a doctor, followed by a date and time for a conversation, not wanting to air Jackson’s location without hearing confirmation from you yourself.

Following that sentence, another one, the last thing he had said: they could use you.

And another, crossed out after, the last thing that he would never say: I could use you.

Joel’s head lifts when the static on the old machine clears, a click resounding through the speakers of the radio, and his heart races with the weight of the microphone in his hands.

It’s lifted halfway to his mouth before he hesitates. Your name hangs heavy in his mouth, syllables he had not sounded out in years, but when he finally says it, it feels…natural. Like not a day has passed since the letters of your name were hanging on his lips, the way he always longed for you to be.

There is a pause, long and heavy, and Joel feels his heart sink with every second that passes.

This was stupid. So incredibly stupid.

The last time he had seen you, there was fear in your eyes. Fear of him, well-placed at that, and surely he had taken up no voluntary thoughts of yours ever since other than your worst nightmares.

Surely you were—

“...Hey there, Texas.”

When your voice crackles to life through the speaker, Joel sighs, a sound filled with relief and a rush of longing he thought his mind had forgotten, but his body—no, his soul—had not.

And then a whisper, softly in return, with a smile on his lips.

“Howdy, Cali.”

taglist: @darkroastjoel @thetriumphantpanda @dinsdjrn @cavillscurls @tightjeansjavi @dissentientss @harriedandharassed @ladyfiery47 (tag won't work!)

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel x reader #joel x f!reader #joel x female reader #joel miller angst #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot

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sweatervest-obsessed · 2 months ago

Text

Feeling Unwell

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (she/her pronouns)

WC: 1740

CW: Angst, illness, mentions of hospitals, satirical hatred of children, fluff, spencer being the best

a/n: Some fluff to bring you a brief intermission to your Kinktober readings.

Spencer Masterlist

The worst feeling in the world is waking up with a headache.

Your head felt like a dance floor where ballerinas were doing their petit allegro warm ups, and there was no mercy. Every single sound filled your unopened eyes with fluff from a stuffed animal.

The second worst feeling in the world was realizing that you couldn’t breathe through your nose, almost suffocating yourself from trying.

“Maybe a tissue would help.”

Not even opening your eyes, you use your hand to shove some part of your husband, playful, but grumpily.

“Thanks, genius.” You grumbled, and curled further into yourself, yanking the blanket over with you.

The man next to you let out a small, unserious, exclamation as the blanket that was once covering him was single-handedly yanked from his body.

“Well good morning to you too.”

You felt as he sat up, and properly woke up; most likely running his hands through his hair and putting on his glasses.

Spencer then placed a hand on your hip, leaning over and kissing your head. “Morning baby.”

But before he could pull away, the heat coming off of your forehead was alarming, even to him.

The feeling of his lips on your head was momentary bliss, even if it was psychosomatic. Anything Spencer did for you (or to you, if you know what I mean…) always felt good. Being cared for in a genuine way was a true testament to how much people can benefit from love: emotionally, spiritually, mentally, and yes, even physically.

Spencer gently brushed aside some of the hair covering your temple, and kissed it again, this time with the full intent of taking your temperature.

“Can I help you?”

“Does your head hurt?”

You snorted, but winced as you did, since you didn’t actually cause any sound. Your sinuses were so blocked up, that you ended up making your headache ten times worse.

And that was when the coughing started.

Not being able to breathe through your nose meant that your chest already ached, but then all of a sudden you couldn’t breathe at all. Your ears both popped, and you could have sworn there was a constant ringing in your right ear. The coughing got worse before it got better, and it only got better because Spencer had jumped out of bed, run into the kitchen in just his briefs, and grabbed a glass of water for you to try and force down your throat.

“Alright. We’re going to the doctors.”

A moan of protest left your lips and as you moved to lay back down in the warmth of your own bed, where you could be unbothered by this random man who was insisting that you needed to get up, and go in public.

“I know, I know baby.” He was now sitting on the edge of your side of the bed, and was running his thumb along your forehead. Your body involuntarily curled itself around his, and you sighed.

“It’s like you hate me, and you want—”

A cough ripped through your sentence and your throat.

If someone was walking by, they might have guessed that you were a chainsmoker of thirty years; a chimney of a woman.

But, unfortunately, you had your guesses about where this mystery illness had come from.

“Spence.” You managed to croak out.

He hadn’t left your side, still rubbing his thumb across your head. “Yeah baby.”

“I think that stupid twerp gave me his illness.”

Spencer chuckled. “Who are you talking about?”

“Remember…” You scooted impossibly closer to him, now able to rest your head on his thigh. “Remember that kid from the last case, the one who ended up having to go into the doctors because he was sick. I’d fucking…”

You paused, trying to catch your breath as you spoke.

If you had to bet money, you’d place your entire net worth–plus your home and all your earthly possessions– that Spencer Reid was some sort of god from beyond comprehension since he was just sitting here, patiently waiting for you to finish your thought, even though it was taking you minutes to spit out one sentence.

“He must’ve had some sort of stupid…stupid sickness. And I blame Hotch for making me be the one to sit with the kid.”

Spencer hummed, a sign of support for your theory.

“If that fucking kid gave me pneumonia or some shit—I’m gonna find him—”

“Alright there trigger happy.” He cut you off and kissed your head again. “I know it’s going to suck so much ass, but we need to go to urgent care because your cough and fever are really starting to worry me.”

“Who the hell even gets pneumonia in the summer anyways.” You grumbled to yourself, and you rolled onto your back, and slowly sat up; Spencer’s hand on your thigh the entire time.

An anchor as your head sloshed around with illness.

“I bet I look like a biblical depiction of famine.”

That made Spencer crack a smile.

“Glad you feel good enough to joke around about it.”

“I actually feel like death. That kid’s made worms’ meat of me.”

Spencer stood up, face filled with amusement. “Alright Shakespeare.”

You took his hand and slowly stood up. Eyes closed as the slight change in altitude made your eardrums pulse, and your head starts to spin.

“Tomorrow you’ll find me a grave man.” You grumbled, leaning up against Spencer as the world decided to speed up its rotation by about a million.

“I cannot believe you’re quoting Shakespeare at me while you can’t even stand up right now.”

You cracked a smile, eyes still closed. “I’ve always liked Mercutio—a man making puns even as he’s dying—that’s my kinda guys.”

After standing still, in silence, for the next two minutes, you were able to open your eyes and look over at Spencer. “I love you.”

It was soft, but earnest.

How lucky were you to have someone who just spent the past fifteen minutes patiently waiting by your side, to get you out of bed so he could take you to the doctors office because you weren’t feeling well. He could have just let you stew in bed, and take the day to be ill at your home. But instead, he sat with you, got you water when you almost died first thing in the morning, and now is your literal crutch as you move to the bathroom, so you could at least brush your teeth.

You’ll be damned if you don’t at least brush your teeth before going out in public.

The thought of it almost made you feel worse than what you were feeling now.

You were awake enough that your body was starting to fight the illness in real time, meaning Spencer had left your side to quickly get dressed.

He was back by your side a few minutes later, letting you take your time in the bathroom with your morning routine. In his hands was one of your favorite crewnecks to lounge around the house in, and the matching sweatpants. Snoopy around the ankle, and Snoopy and Woodstock across your chest. Something about the Peanuts characters being there made them a little bit comfier.

“You’re going to deck me out in Snoopy to go to Urgent Care?”

Spencer nodded and placed them on the counter. “If we end up being there for a while, you’d die in a pair of jeans. Don’t even try to pretend like you were going to put a bra on either”

“How did a girl get so lucky?” You hummed, and leaned against him again. His arms wrapping around you as your body relaxed every so slightly.

“I have several degrees, including three Phds. That makes me a doctor, and as such, I’m educated well enough to know the perfect woman when I see her. Anyone who doesn’t agree with me, clearly doesn’t have the degree to back up their points.”

You squeezed him briefly, before pulling away slightly, still encircled in his arms. “We;; Doctor Reid, I can’t argue with a professional. But I must say, your professional opinion is skewed.”

Spencer kissed your head and shrugged. He went to say some sort of snarky rebuttal, but you interrupted him with yet another coughing fit.

You had never been to the Sahara desert before, but you could assume this is what it felt like if you were in the middle of it and had accidentally swallowed gallons of sand while the driest wind passed through you.

Spence just rubbed his hand along your back, waiting for the fit to end.

Once it had, your body had started to lose some of the initial fervor you had managed to gain from waking up. “Spence, I think I need to just lay down for a while…”

“No.” He shook his head. “You have to put those clothes on and then we’re going to the doctor. I know you want to lay down babygirl, but the sooner we get you medicated, the better.”

Then he started to talk about breakfast, and your stomach lurched. “The thought of food makes me want to die. It’s not happening right now.”

Spencer went to speak but you cut him off. “Babe. I will get dressed, and we can go to the hospital, but I’m not hungry. I’m not going to eat, and you’re not going to force me because the thought makes me feel even worse. Deal?”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Deal Spence?”

Spencer just looked at you, and his resolve crumbled a bit. This was your best effort as a compromise. Every single atom you were comprised of made you want to collapse to the ground and enjoy the feeling of no longer being upright. But you were trying for him. He just had to compromise.

“Deal.” He sighed. “We’re leaving in five okay?”

“Aye Aye captain.” You placed a kiss on his cheek, not wanting to spread whatever you had to his lungs, and grabbed your clothes.

Eventually, when you later found out that the kid witness from the previous case had given you viral pneumonia, your resentment for the little twerp grew even more, even resulting in a statement that you were

“Never going to fucking have kids ever.”

The statement made Spencer laugh as the two of you drove back home, meds in hand, and fresh hatred of ‘snot nosed children’ in the air.

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zepskies · 2 months ago

Text

Lost on You - Part 10

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

AN: And we’re back! In today’s episode, we have a very special guest. 😉

Also, just so you guys know, my podcast interview with the Idling in the Impala podcast is now live! For all the timestamps of key moments, fic recs, and SPN writer shoutouts, see this post (you'll find the link to the video there too).

Song Inspo: “Wicked Game” by Chris Isaak

Word Count: 6.5K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, angst, drug use, PTSD, violence, and another big reveal…

🎵 YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

🎙️ Series Masterlist

Part 10: I Need a Hero

Revenge could wait for one more day.

It all can wait, Ben thought. Despite how vehement he was yesterday, today, he was reminded of how good it felt to sleep in a warm bed with a beautiful woman.

He laid there behind you, on his side. He’d woken up to the sound of music somewhere downstairs, maybe in the dining room.

What time is it? It was hard to remember to keep track of that now, even with the digital clock on the nightstand. It was only midnight, but to his body, it felt like morning.

You were dead asleep. Occasionally you let out soft hums, and other semi-arousing sounds. His lips tugged upward.

Still moans in her sleep.

He drew down the comforter and sheets slowly from your back. He was greeted by smooth skin, except where some marks had been made permanent. His fingers traced carefully over a rough, scarred patch of skin above your hip, as if you had been tased there repeatedly.

His jaw clenched. He could still remember the sounds he used to hear—your screams through the walls of the compound. He remembered when you eventually stopped begging for it all to stop.

“You’re saying this is my fucking fault?!” he said. “Yes! It is your fault. Because you’re too much of a mean, callous, arrogant, entitled, selfish, fucking asshole to see that everybody hates you!” you spat.

For so long after that day, he hated you. He told himself that he didn’t give a shit about whatever was happening to you, because you clearly didn’t give a shit about him.

But the long months wore on to longer years, alone in the dark. Too often, your words would rattle through his head, reach through his chest with ragged claws. No matter how much he fought it, all he had time to do when he was alone, was think.

He vacillated between stubborn, angry indignation, and rethinking every interaction he had with you, with Countess, the rest of the team, and beyond. Slowly, he allowed himself to retrace his steps. If only in his mind, he began to regret certain things…at least where it came to you.

Ignoring you was both harder and easier, since he couldn’t see you.

That all changed a few days ago.

Eisenstein returned to his cell, but this time he wasn’t alone. Two guards held you bound and gagged. You were just as shocked to see him as he was you.

It felt like he was suspended in time.

He saw the signs of aging in your face, but it didn’t matter. Even now, you were beautiful.

The spell of it broke when they threw you down onto the metal table usually reserved for him. He saw now that they had you in a straitjacket to keep your hands covered. The anger built inside him, almost incandescent in his veins.

“What the fuck is this?”

The doctor held a glass syringe in his gloved hand. He drew closer to you with slow, measured steps.

A realization soon dawned on Ben, no matter how much he didn’t want to admit it. He saw your terror, the way you wordlessly pleaded with him, asking for help with your eyes.

Part of him still hated you, but he couldn’t take it. He wouldn’t allow this sick bastard to hurt you again. Not right the fuck in front of him.

You were still his.

His hand traveled down your bare shoulder, over the gentle slope of your side, and down the curve of your hip under the covers. You shifted and hummed, edging toward wakefulness. Ben settled in from behind, protectively embracing his body around yours in a perfect fit. He began kissing along your neck, slowly.

“Hmmm I’m sleeping,” you said, keeping your eyes closed. He smirked. His lips became more insistent, along with his hand spanning your thigh.

“Wake up, then,” he said. He teased the shell of your ear with his tongue, dragged your earlobe between his teeth. You shivered.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you retorted, smiling.

Ben huffed. “Yeah, keep being a fucking brat. That’ll get me to stop.”

His beard rasped against your skin as his lips found a path down the column of your throat. Acquiescing to open your eyes, you sighed, tilting your head back to give him more room. Meanwhile, his cock pressed insistently against your ass.

You smirked and shifted your hips, grinding back against him. “Maybe I like working you up.”

“Oh yeah?” He moved your thigh over his to spread your legs for him. There the warm, blunt tip of his cock pressed at your entrance, nudging you open with shallow thrusts. You moaned in response, reaching back to slip a hand in his hair.

You were a wanton little thing, he thought, even as he reached around to bury his fingers in your pussy. Already finding wetness between your folds, he gathered some of it and rolled your clit smoothly between his fingers. You gasped his name, your hips bearing down against him.

He took the opportunity to sheathe himself all the way inside you, until his hips were snug against your ass. You made a sound of pleasure that had his balls clenching on reflex. Your voice was a curse, even without your powers.

For once, he fucked into you slowly, with long, unhurried strokes that still managed to rock the bed. Ben was surprised the frame and springs hadn’t given up yet.

“You’re fucking mine, you hear me?” he said, close to your ear. He punctuated his words with deeper thrusts. “Say you understand.”

“Yes,” you agreed on a gasp.

“Yes, what?” He laid more tantalizing kisses along your neck and jawline. “Tell me.”

“I’m yours,” you said, in a coarse whisper. Ben claimed your lips in a kiss, before he kept moving inside you in languid strokes.

You were a moaning mess, your eyes squeezed shut. You grabbed at your breasts and kneaded them yourself, rolling and pinching your nipples. He strummed more insistently on your clit, until he felt your inner walls finally start to throb around him.

Your orgasm hit you in a slow, long wave as you pressed your face into your pillow. And you clenched so impossibly tight on his cock, it triggered his release as well. His arm curled around your middle and pressed you tight against him as he uttered a sharp grunt. He finished hot inside you, panting heavily into your neck afterward.

“Well, good morning,” you quipped, despite trying to catch your breath as well.

Ben’s hazy reverie broke into a chuckle. He dropped a lingering kiss onto your shoulder.

“It’s the middle of the night,” he corrected.

You shrugged. “Whatever.”

When he pulled out of you, you shivered a little. He rolled onto his back, and regardless of the mess in the sheets, you turned over to rest your elbow on his pillow, leaning over him.

“I should probably tell you something,” you said.

He eyed you in suspicion. “What now?”

You smiled and laid a hand on his chest, dragging your nails through the fuzz there.

“My family’s from Brooklyn, not a small town in Indiana,” you confessed. "Made it up to make me seem more...down to earth. Doe-eyed and likeable."

Ben’s brows shot up. He took a moment to process that information, then he shook his head.

“Fucking figures.” His arm lowered to curl around your lower back, caging you against him.

“I grew up in a brownstone that we had to share with two other families,” you said.

“So you were broke.”

“Yep. When I was born, my family spent all their savings to contract with Vought, to give me Compound V,” you explained. “Their plan was something like, if I became a famous superhero one day, I’d bring us out of our shitty life.”

Ben sighed, shaking his head. “So they pimped you out to Vought.”

“Essentially,” you said. You paused. He could see it was difficult for you, but you talked more about your life—the expectations from your parents, the training, the grueling schedules and the robbing of your childhood.

“When my mom died, I…I realized just how much they took from me,” you said, gazing up at him. “Isn’t that horrible?”

Again, Ben shook his head. His hand had been caressing up and down your back, but it stopped now. Part of him was still reluctant, but he told you about the biggest lie of his life. That he hadn’t grown up poor or struggling. That his father practically owned half of Pennsylvania, and Ben had been a spoiled rich kid. He’d also gotten kicked out of boarding school after starting a fight.

“My father said I wasn’t worthy of his name,” he said, with a wry turn of his lips. “So I went out, talked to some of his golf buddies in the War department, and got myself into the Vought program. I became Soldier Boy.”

You listened with rapt attention. Not interrupting him, just giving him the time he needed to find his words.

“When I came home after the war, my mother was just as proud as she’d ever been,” he recounted. But he didn’t smile. “My father took a good look at me, maybe for the first time in my life. And you know what he said?”

You gave him a questioning look, silently prodding.

“He said I took a short cut. ‘A real man wouldn’t have cheated,’” he said.

When he eventually met your gaze, you at least didn’t look pitying. Just understanding.

“I guess we both have daddy issues, huh?” you said.

Ben shook his head. Then he eyed you. “You don’t look that surprised by all this.”

You smiled, a little sheepish. You stroked your thumb across his chin.

“I can sense when a man is lying to me, remember?” you said pointedly. “I clocked you a long time ago, pal. Mostly any time you told some fake war story... You didn't fight in the war, did you?”

He frowned in offence, even though you both knew he couldn’t deny it.

"I was there," he said.

You gave him a knowing look. "Ben."

"I fucking would've, all right, but by the time I got there it was pretty much..." He waved a dismissive hand. His brows were crunched along with his worsening frown. You felt his embarrassment, and as a result, his agitation. You were glad to finally get the truth in his own words, but you didn't want to work him up in that way either.

You tried softening him with a kiss to his cheek. You rubbed a soothing hand over his arm.

“So what do you want to do when we get our lives back?” you asked, purposefully changing the subject. “After the whole payback thing.”

Ben sat up with you against the headboard. His upset slowly faded away with your ministrations, your gentle touch, and his expression fell into contemplation.

“I always thought I had time, but uh…I thought I’d eventually settle down. Have a couple of rugrats of my own. Raise a family,” he said. “Thought I could do it better than my old man.”

You tilted your head at him with a certain measure of surprise. Out of everything he might’ve said, that one didn’t occur to you. Although, with his upbringing, you supposed it made sense. You smiled.

“You might have a few of those out there somewhere,” you said.

He chuckled. “I've always thought so.”

He looked at you in a way he hadn’t before, a bit gentler, with something else you couldn’t name. Your face warmed as something fluttered in your lower belly.

“So tell me then. What do you want?” he asked.

Once you worked through that bit of nerves, you thought about his question. It took you longer than you thought it would to come up with an answer, but when you did, it was the most honest thing you could think of.

“I want to be happy.”

He paused, not expecting that answer. Then he nodded, with a short hum.

You sighed. “Okay, if you really want to go after Vought, I think I have an idea of where we should start.”

I can’t believe it. This thing still fits me pretty well, you thought. You twisted in the mirror to examine yourself in your old black and violet supe suit, though you didn't bother with the mask.

Meanwhile, Ben was already with your generous host, sat with widespread legs on the couch while he smoked a large blunt. His smoke coiled out lazily.

“You gotta believe me, I didn’t know what they were planning,” said Arthur Cohen. AKA: The Legend. He had been forced into a chair, though Ben hadn’t bothered tying him up. The man knew better than to make a false move. He was a decade older, and lucky for him, even wiser.

His penthouse apartment in New York looked more or less the same. Hit records and old successful movie posters adorned the walls, like a true has-been.

“Yeah, you said that fifty fucking times already,” Ben snarked. “What you haven’t said, is why.”

“To be honest, I never asked,” Arthur said. His expression soured. “Stillwell and Stan Edgar shivved me out of that decision, those uppity fucks. Then they got me fired on some technicality.”

“Allegations of embezzlement, or so I heard,” you said, reentering the room.

Arthur raised a finger. “Not true. That money was well earned backpay.”

You rolled your eyes.

“You know I know you’re lying, right?” You approached the men and crossed your arms. “What’s the lay of the land now?”

“Well, Stillwell’s the new me. Stan’s the new CEO. They disbanded Payback after you disappeared. The others are either working new gigs or are in early retirement. But I heard Vought’s working up to creating a new team.”

You nodded and shared a glance with Ben. He looked a little too chilled out right now. Apparently, Arthur had the good stuff.

“Before we jump into the frying pan with this, I want to go see my family,” you said. “Would you…want to go with me?”

Ben blew out more smoke, gesturing at Arthur. “I’ll keep this one company until he finds our old team. Make sure he doesn’t fuck off to Rio.”

You felt the sting of disappointment, but you sighed and agreed.

“Just…wait for me to get back before you go anywhere,” you said. You saw Ben prickle a little at being “told” what to do. You lowered down to his lips.

“Please?” you said, plying him with a kiss, and a gentle squeeze of his hand. “I’ll be back soon.”

He tightened his hand on yours. His gaze drew over you, briefly with more clarity through his high.

“Fine,” he said. “Be careful.”

You nodded with a smile, giving him one more kiss goodbye.

Your father was the longer drive north than your brother’s house in Queens, so you headed up to find the former first after borrowing a car from Arthur. According to him, your father had moved upstate to Albany after your “death.”

Now, you understood why.

He lived in a two-story house on a whole acre of land, complete with three cars, a pool, and oh yeah, his new girlfriend. She looked good hanging off his arm in Atlantic City, as you saw from a picture on the wall—after you broke into the house, that is. To be fair, they’d left the sliding glass door open in the backyard.

Your dad was dressed like he just got home from the golf course, walking over from the kitchen to the living room. He dropped his glass of wine in shock when he saw you standing there, admiring the only framed picture of you, your mother, and Chris on one of the display shelves. Glass shattered across the hardwood floor.

“Hey, Dad,” you said. You turned to him, not bothering to hide your disdain.

He gaped for a few seconds as he tried and failed to make his mouth work. He pointed at you with a shaking hand, your name finally falling from his lips.

“It’s a beautiful place,” you said. You gestured widely at your surroundings. “It’s nice to see that you finally got what you wanted.”

He tried to go to you, to embrace you, but you held out a hand. Your lips trembled as you fought the onslaught of your emotions. If he touched you, you might not have been able to control your actions.

“Did you give any of the settlement money to Chris and his family? Or did my death just make you rich,” you asked.

Your father’s eyes closed. He released a heavy sigh before he was able to meet your gaze again.

“He wouldn’t take any of it,” he admitted.

Your tears stung in your eyes as you smiled a little. “Sounds like him.”

“Where have you been?” he asked. “Are you okay? Do you need help?”

Again, he tried to get closer to you, and again, you held him off.

“The only thing I need from you is to keep doing what you’re doing,” you said. “Keep living your life like you no longer have a daughter.”

With that, you stalked out of the house and shot out the door, back to your car, no matter how much he called out after you. You got into the driver’s seat and beat the wheel once, twice, venting your frustrations. But you forced yourself to take in deep breaths to calm yourself. You wiped the tears from your eyes.

He wasn’t worth it.

You wondered if you should go see Chris though. Would it be safe for him and his family? Was Vought watching them as a contingency, if you ever escaped?

You weren’t sure. You rucked through your purse lying in the passenger seat for the weird “cell” phone Arthur had lent you. You wanted to check in with Ben first, before you went anywhere else.

You started to dial, but a gloved hand shot out and injected a needle into your neck. You startled at the sharpness and the feeling of a chemicals rushing through your body. Your eyes darted to the rearview mirror.

All you saw was a blurry, black mask.

Meanwhile, Ben was fucking plastered.

He had been ever since you left yesterday morning. In his unrest, he’d moved on to a handful of whatever opiates Arthur kept in his medicine cabinet.

Christ I’m fucking bored.

He glanced down at the phone in his lap. The one Arthur gave him, along with a list of numbers that had been taped to the fridge. The first number on the list was the cell phone you were carrying. Ben read the rest of them.

Pizza place. Chinese. Swedish massage—hmm, there’s an idea. Handy man. BEST escort service…

Ben rose a brow. An inebriated smile curved his lips.

“What makes it the best escort service?” he asked, and loudly. Enough that Arthur came over from where he’d been making calls in his office, trying to find the rest of his former teammates’ whereabouts.

Arthur raised a brow at him. “You sure that’s a good idea right now?”

Ben shot him a terse warning look. The other man raised his hands.

“Eh, I’m three times divorced. What do I know?” he said, but he sighed and gave Ben a long look. “It just seems to me that you and Sirena got a good thing goin’, that’s all.”

The thought of you managed to cut through the haze of drugs clouding Ben’s mind. He frowned.

“That’s how Missus #1 caught me, with one of my ex-assistants in the jacuzzi,” Arthur said, with a mild grimace on his face. “She got that house in the divorce. Well, that and the kids.”

Ben looked over at him blankly.

Heaving a sigh, Arthur went back to his office.

Ben glanced down at the list of numbers in his hand, and the cell phone in the other. What the fuck was taking you so long then?

He dialed the first number on the list—your number. It rang several times, but you never answered. He called you again, waited a few minutes, then called you a third time. You weren’t answering.

His frown worsened, along with a suspicious prickling up his spine. Fuck...

He'd felt it the moment he let go of your hand, but he'd been too out of his mind to actually listen to his instincts; the same ones that warned him not to let you out of his sight. And more importantly, not to let you go.

He got up from the couch and stormed into Arthur’s office, shoving the door open. Arthur jumped in his seat.

“What? What’s the matter?”

“She’s not picking up the fucking phone,” Ben said. He paused. “Something’s wrong.”

Arthur didn’t ask him the predictable question: how do you know? He just took in the look on the supe’s face and knew it wouldn’t be wise arguing. He tried calling your father's home, but all the man would say was, "She left. She's gone."

Arthur hung up with the man, and for a long moment, he sat pensively while Ben angrily paced the small office, like a tiger confined in its enclosure.

“It’s possible that Vought knows you guys made it back,” Arthur said. At the dark look on Ben’s face, the other man rubbed his chin with a sigh. “Okay. I’ll try to track her down for ya. In the meantime, I’ve got Countess’s address. Maybe she'll even have an idea of where to look for Sirena.”

He slid a piece of paper toward Ben across his desk. He grabbed it, pointing a threatening finger at Arthur.

“Find her.”

You woke with a groan. You knew a drugging when you felt one, and this was it. Someone had given you a powerful sedative.

You were alone in a white padded cell, lying on a cot. It was all too familiar.

Except for the tall figure in black standing in the middle of the room, watching you. You gasped with a jolt, pressing your back against the wall after you sat up. You almost couldn’t believe your eyes.

“Irving?”

Black Noir stepped closer until he was sitting beside you on the cot. Tentatively, he raised a hand up to touch your cheek with gentle, gloved fingers.

Your shock gave way to anger. You slapped his hand away.

“What are you doing?!” you said sharply.

Noir backed off at once, as if you’d struck him a real blow. He got up, went over and grabbed a dry erase board that had been lying against the far wall, along with a marker off the floor. He wrote something down on it, then he showed you.

You shouldn’t have come back to NY.

You frowned, both at what he “said,” and in confusion. Why wouldn’t he just talk to you?

“What did you expect?” you asked incredulously. “For me and Ben just to disappear forever? To let you keep ruining our lives?”

Noir paused at that. He tilted his head with a long look at you. With your abilities, you were able to sense that he was disheartened, and even angry. He erased the board with his arm and wrote something else.

Do you love him?

You blinked at the question.

“Who?” you asked, even though you knew.

Soldier Boy

Emotion rose high in your throat, but you worked past it with a swallow, and a deep breath.

“That’s none of your business,” you said.

Noir just stared at you, his head tilting forward. The longer he stood there, watching you, waiting for an answer, the longer you prickled with unease.

He erased the board and wrote the same question again. He held it out for you to see, shaking it once in emphasis.

Do you love him?

You hesitated, but you didn’t want to lie anymore, even to yourself.

“Yes, I do,” you said. “I know what he’s done, believe me, but he isn’t a monster.”

Noir’s head twitched. You felt his anger intensify. He dropped the board onto the floor, startling you, but all he did next was slowly raise his hands to take off his helmet. He showed you what was left of his mottled, disfigured face—the burnt skin and the divot in his skull that had never fully healed.

Your mouth parted in shock as tears sprung in your eyes. You tried to avert them, but Noir stepped forward and grabbed your jaw, turning your face up to his and forcing you to look. Your lips trembled, but you met his gaze unflinchingly.

When he seemed to be satisfied, he released you and stepped back. He placed his helmet back on.

“I understand why you hate him,” you said at last. “But you made your choice when you let them take me too. You…you changed everything for me.”

You were satisfied to feel a lance of Noir’s guilt. You had scars too, and most of them weren’t physical.

“I’m not going to apologize for my choices now,” you said, with a firm glare. “So unless you’re going to kill me, you can fuck off, before I scramble what’s left of your head.”

Your eyes glowed with your power. You opened your mouth to begin your siren’s song, but Noir turned on his heel and exited the door, leaving you alone in the cell.

A fucking chimp sanctuary. Really? Ben thought as he broke into the boundary of the reserve. About a quarter mile into the tall grass, he found a large, if rundown country style house in the middle of the woods.

“Yes, Big Daddy. I’m almost ready for you. Just let me heat these up…”

Ben raised a brow, but he gritted his teeth and kicked through the front door. There she was, Crimson Countess in all her glory, holding a set of anal beads.

She gasped at the sight of him, but she ignored the “client” on speaker on her landline phone, and dropped the beads so she could aim a fiery blast at the intruder.

Ben jumped out of the way and tossed his shield. It hit her square in the chest and sent her flying back into the wall, destroying a bookshelf and the dining table. He walked over to it with slow, heavy steps.

She raised her head with a groan, but then, her eyes watered with disbelief…and fear, when she looked up at him.

“Ben?” she said. “My God…it’s really you, isn’t it? You... you look the same.”

“You don't,” he remarked. He lowered down to grab her by the collar of her suit and raise her out of the rubble.

“How much did the Russians pay you, Donna?” he asked calmly.

She struggled to escape, her nails scraping at his gloved hand. He tightened his hold.

“They didn’t,” she admitted. Tears leaked from her eyes under her mask.

“They didn’t pay you anything?” he said through clenched teeth. “Then why?”

You know why, came sneaking voice in his mind. He tried to pay it no heed, but Donna sneered at him.

“Because,” she spat. “I fucking hated you. We all did.”

Ben’s lips pulled at a humorless smirk. His chest prickled with heat. “I should’ve known you were a bunch of sniveling, backstabbing, fucking cowards.”

“Kill me then,” she taunted. “Is that gonna make you feel better? Going to make you feel less empty inside?”

Ben’s chest began to get that nuclear glow, but he managed to fight it down, back into embers.

“Not yet,” he said. He drew her in closer. She held onto his wrist, her feet scrambling over the debris on the floor.

“I need to find someone,” he said. “And you’re going to help me.”

Ben and Donna sat across from each other on her living room couch, with the landline sat between them. The phone was on speaker as it rang. The longer it took, the more annoyed he became.

“This better work,” he said. She gave him a flat look.

Finally, a woman answered the phone.

“Good afternoon. Stan Edgar’s office. How may I assist you?”

“Hi Gloria, it’s me, Donna,” she said. “I need to speak with Stan as soon as possible, please.”

“Ooh, I’m afraid he’s in a meeting.”

“Trust me, he’s going to want to take this call.”

“Hmm, I’m afraid his next availability isn’t until next week. And next month if you want an in-person meeting.”

“Just tell him to call me back asap!” She said, hanging up the phone in a huff. Ben gave her an unimpressed look.

“That was your big fucking plan?” he said.

She huffed. “You think breaking into Vought is going to be easy? Let alone finding that weasel. He’s got the best security money can buy, and by the way, finding where they’re keeping your little girlfriend isn’t going to be any easier. They could’ve stashed her literally anywhere by now.”

You think I don’t fucking know that? Ben got up from the couch with an angry breath. He turned away from her and rubbed at his beard in contemplation. He shouldn’t have let you go anywhere alone.

I should’ve been there. The thought gripped him, deep in his gut. Guilt was an unfamiliar, uncomfortable feeling.

“We’re going to need help,” Donna said.

His bad mood took a turn for the worst. He glanced back at her.

“What, the rest of the fucking Scooby gang?” he snarked.

“Or you can try going in alone, guns blazing,” she shrugged. Her sharpened gaze met his. “How fast do you think they’ll kill her, just to spite you?”

Ben’s jaw clenched. Donna leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms.

“Or worse. They’ll put you back in a box and ship you back to the Russians,” she said. Her snide smile had him clenching his teeth. “Either way, you’ll never see her again.”

With everything in his being, Ben wanted to fry this bitch to Kingdom Come.

“Get up,” he ordered. “Pack a bag. We’re leaving.”

Donna’s expression fell. “What?"

"You heard me!" he barked, grabbing her arm to pull Donna to her feet. "Get the fuck up."

She struggled against his grip. "Where’re we going?”

“To find those fucking Twins.”

They took her car, a tiny sedan. Evidently, the end of Payback hadn’t been good for Donna’s career. Arthur had told him that, irony of ironies, she now sang at a Soldier Boy tribute act at Voughtland to pay her bills. And as he’d seen earlier, she needed to pad her income in other ways.

She was driving them up to Vermont. It was going to take days, and Ben was already sick of her.

It was a small blessing when they stopped at a gas station in the nighttime. She gave him her credit card to buy some snacks for the road while she filled up the tank. (He took the keys with him as insurance that she wouldn't bolt with the car.)

He returned with a far bigger bag than she expected. She forgot what a human garbage disposal he could be. He tossed the card back at her.

“Your card’s maxed out, by the way,” he said.

She glared at him, but she endeavored to let it go with a sigh, raising a hand to her temple. How the fuck had this become her life?

To minimize being overheard, she stepped closer to him while the gas pump kept going on her car.

“Gunpowder is the easiest one to find next. Mindstorm’s probably hiding in a hole in the middle of the woods some-goddamn-where,” she said, keeping her voice down. She gave her unwanted companion a sly look. “Though I’m thinking you want Mindstorm to stay wherever he retired.”

It brought up an unsavory memory.

After the team turned on him, Mindstorm had been the one to lock his gaze on Ben. For a moment, his feet had been rooted to the ground while Mindstorm tried to shove him deep into his mind. It had given someone the opening to slip a mask of Novichok over his face. He suspected it had been Countess.

Now, Ben turned to her with a glare at her audacity.

“You know, for a massive cunt, you’ve got some brass balls,” he said dangerously. “How the fuck didn’t I see what a vindictive little snake you were from the beginning?”

Donna scoffed in derision.

“I’m vindictive? Says the cheating, lying, bastard,” she snapped.

“Oh, shut your hole. You knew what I was doing, and you didn’t give a shit,” he said with a glare. He leveled a finger at her. “You used me to get exactly what you fucking wanted. Fame, money, and all the perks that come with it.”

Her lips pursed, like she didn’t want to admit it. But if they were airing out dirty laundry, then she wasn’t pulling any more punches.

“Well, I wasn’t the only one. Was I?” she said. “Anyone who ever smiled at you, fawned over you, or sucked your dick was trying to get something from you. Or, they were scared of you. Because you’re a bully. A fucking monster. And sooner or later, Sirena won’t be able to stomach you anymore.”

The thin leash on his temper finally snapped. He reacted, reaching out to grab her by the throat. He was truly thinking about breaking her neck.

Donna choked for air and gripped his wrist. “Without me, you’ll have no one. Good…fucking…luck finding her.”

Ben was furious, but he battled it down, expelling a breath of frustration.

He released her. She coughed and gasped and stumbled a few feet away from him, glaring at him all the while through her fear.

When she was eventually able to stand again, she and Ben shared a look of mutual loathing, but also, of understanding.

It was an uneasy truce. For now.

You were quickly unraveling alone in the dark.

You felt the phantom cold of your old cell. No matter how you rubbed your arms through the leather of your supe suit, you couldn’t get warm. You released a shaky breath and swiped at your tears.

You missed Ben. He had to know by now that you were in trouble, but you didn’t know if he’d know how to find you. Or worse, if they found him first.

You steeled yourself and tried to calm your panic. You counted to thirty. Your eyes flit to every small detail of your cell that you could name: the small crack in the gray linoleum tile, the line of ants slowly creeping along the corner, the brittle wool blanket you were sitting on, laid over your cot.

When your breathing was steady, you tried to think. You didn’t know where you were, of course, but you could try to sense how big the building was.

You did something you rarely did. You cast your awareness outward as far as you could reach.

There were very few male energies, and you only picked up on a few scattered thoughts.

Until you found one. It felt…strong, but young. A kid?

Jesus Christ, what’re they doing in this place? you thought.

What…who’s there?

You heard the voice in your mind, small and afraid and lonely. Before you could answer him, the door of your cell opened to a few familiar faces.

There was an older man in a lab coat that you recognized, but you couldn’t place his name until you read his monogram. Vogelbaum. Followed by Stan Edgar and Black Noir, who came to stand behind you. You knew that if you made any wrong moves, Noir would kill you this time.

Quickly you read their energies as you observed them.

Vogelbaum gave off mild interest in you, but it felt clinical. Stan felt resigned and calculating as he took you in.

“For what it’s worth, I do wish it hadn’t come to this, Sirena,” Stan said. “We didn’t intend for you to get caught up our deal with Russia.”

He may have been telling the truth, but that didn’t mean you cared.

“You’re in the most secure lab we have,” he said, gesturing to your wall-to-wall cell without windows. “No one knows you’re here, and no one will find you.”

You smiled dryly. “So what do you want from me?”

“I want to know how you and Soldier Boy escaped the facility in Russia,” he said, gathering his hands behind his back.

What he really meant was, How did you escape? So we can make the next cell even more effective.

You leaned forward and spat at his shoes.

Black Noir grabbed you by the back of your neck and yanked you back. Your jaw clenched in anger, but you didn’t struggle. Even if you opened your mouth to sing, Noir would snap your neck before your powers had time to affect him.

Stan remained unaffected by your outburst, though he glanced down at his shoes.

“These are handmade Italian leather,” he remarked.

“Even if you find Ben, you’ll never be able to kill him,” you said tersely.

“We don’t need to kill him. Nor will we need to find him,” Stan said. “He’s already looking for you.”

Your eyes widened. Your heart swelled with both hope and dread, though you tried to hide it.

“We have a plan to neutralize him. Several, in fact,” he added, and spread his hands wide. “Until then…welcome home.”

Smug bastard. You glared back at him.

He left, along with Vogelbaum. Black Noir glanced back at you once, then he was gone.

The lights in your cell turned off, leaving you in darkness. You heaved a breath and couldn’t help the tears that found hot paths down your cheeks. You curled your knees up on the cot and held them to your chest.

You squeezed your eyes shut, as if you could pretend the room wasn’t pitch black. You focused your breathing, in and out, until your heartbeat began to slow down from its panic.

The kid, you remembered.

You licked your dry lips and tried casting your awareness out again. When you found the familiar energy from before, you reached out to him.

Hey, are you there? you prodded.

Who the hell are you?

It’s okay. Don’t be scared, you said, and you gave him your name. Are you locked up here?

Y-Yeah.

I’m sorry to hear that. I am too.

How can you be talking to me…in my head?

Well, it’s complicated, you admitted. It’s a new power I’m trying out, thanks to my time as a human test subject.

Something told you this kid knew the feeling.

What’s your name? you asked.

Um…John. I’m John.

AN: 🤭 Oh, yeah, we're going there.

How did you like getting Ben's perspective on things? And his "forced" team up with Countess to find the rest of the cast of Payback. 😬 What could possibly go wrong?

Next Time:

Ben hated to admit it (so he wouldn’t), but she had a point. It took him a minute to wrangle in his ire, taking deep breaths to try and calm the power inside him. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t.

This time, it actually did.

His hand fell back to his side, letting the younger man breathe freely.

“Let’s go.” Ben turned on his heel and headed out.

“Where, uh…where’re we going?” Charlie asked, rubbing his sore neck.

“Looks like we’re getting the team back together,” Ben said grimly.

He tilted his head.

“Well. What’s left of it.”

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 11

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roosterforme · 10 months ago

Text

Always Ever Only You Part 28 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: As parents-to-be, you and Bradley start to get used to a new kind of routine. You've somehow replaced nights out at the bar with nausea, exhaustion, and a seemingly never ending ache for your husband. And he's showing you with his words and actions how ready he is for whatever comes next.

Warnings: Swearing, smut, pregnancy, vomiting, angst, fluff

Length: 5000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Always Ever Only You masterlist. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32

On Monday morning, you woke up to Bradley in his uniform making coffee and toast when you wandered into the kitchen in nothing but his old UVA shirt. "You're up early," you mumbled with a smile, and he dropped the teaspoon he was holding onto the counter.

"Hey," he crooned, rushing over to you and touching your belly like you were made out of porcelain. "How did you sleep?" he asked, kissing your forehead. He was fresh out of the shower, his skin still warm and his hair damp.

"Okay," you whispered. "I'm starving."

"Yeah? You think you can eat?" he asked, already pulling you toward the toaster. But you were burying your nose in his neck and inhaling deeply before kissing his scars, making your glasses go crooked on your face.

"You smell so good."

He chuckled. "I just used your body wash like I always do."

"Mmm," you hummed, still holding onto him as he buttered a piece of toast for you. After a good sleep, you were feeling great, and a smile found your face as you thought about the reminder you set on your phone to call your doctor at lunchtime. "Hey, Daddy?"

Bradley's eyes practically rolled back as he looked at the ceiling and groaned. "The fact that it means two different things now when you call me that is going to drive me insane."

You laughed as you turned so your back was pressed to his front, and you took a bite of toast. Your stomach gurgled and lurched, but you didn't feel like you were going to be sick, so you took another bite. "Do you want to join me at lunchtime today when I call my doctor?"

His hands kept finding their way to your belly, this time slipping up inside the shirt. "I'm not flying today, so yes. Absolutely. You calling from your office?"

"Yeah. I'll probably stop in the cafeteria and get something to eat and take it back up with me."

"I'll meet you there with a burrito bowl in my hand," he promised, gently stroking your tattoo with his fingertips.

Bradley drove both of you to work, and you found that you were having a pretty good day. Your toast stayed down. Bickel complimented your work. Cat was making headway on your presentation for Annapolis. But then you froze in place in the lab. In all of the excitement of the pregnancy test, you completely forgot you were going to have to go to Annapolis next month.

You groaned softly, and then you wanted to scream, because tears started to fill your eyes. The lack of control over your emotions was already a lot to handle, and you were only two days into this thing. You took a few deep breaths and tried to calm down, but the idea of leaving Bradley right now had you panicking. And then you thought about what another deployment would mean for the two of you.

"Are you okay?" Cat asked softly, and you tried to turn your face further away from her as you nodded.

"Yeah. Just fine," you managed. "Can you change the font on the slides to something a little bolder? Make it easier to read from the back of the presentation room?"

"Sure," she replied. "You know what else I can do?"

"What?"

"Sit here quietly and listen if you need to talk about something."

You wiped at your tears before turning toward her. "Thanks, but I'm fine."

She raised one eyebrow before returning to typing. "Jake did say you were stubborn..."

You laughed in spite of yourself. "I don't even know why I'm friends with him," you replied, but you did know. He took care of you when Bradley was away, when you couldn't take care of yourself. In an effort to change the subject from you crying over your raging hormones and early pregnancy, you asked, "How are things going with Lieutenant Seresin anyway?"

"Excellent," she whispered. "Jeremiah got accepted into the daycare on base," she added. You knew she didn't talk about her son with too many people at work, but you weren't sure what this had to do with Jake.

"Hey, that's great. Now you don't have to drive across town if he gets sick. Especially since I don't even have a car for you to borrow at the moment," you muttered. But you could tell she wanted to say something else. You knew that giving her a few seconds of quiet would make her feel like she could talk about it, and soon she was telling you more.

"Jake prepaid for six months at the new daycare."

Okay. So things were getting quite serious. Then the idea that your own child might one day be enrolled in the same daycare as Jeremiah made you smile. "I told you Jake was a good one."

Cat rolled her eyes and went back to typing, but her smirk was soft, and you knew she wasn't disagreeing with you.

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

"I'm just saying, we should do an old school style keg party on the beach for Mickey's birthday." Nat was talking Bradley's ear off on the way to the cafeteria, but his head was in the clouds. All he could think about was the baby. Baby, baby, baby. He kept adding things to his Amazon cart, and he only found out you were pregnant two days ago.

"Kegger? Yeah, that sounds fun," he muttered, walking a little faster to get to you sooner.

"Listen, if your wife starts doing a keg stand, I'm not going to stop her," she replied with a laugh. "She's hilarious when she's drunk."

Bradley stumbled. You weren't going to be able to drink alcohol now. Nights out at the Hard Deck drinking out of matching beer bottles were a thing of the past, at least until approximately the end of next March. He had no idea what to say, because he didn't know how long he was supposed to wait before he told his best friend that he was going to be a dad. "Yeah, she's a fucking delight," he said, making her laugh harder.

He was going to need to have a conversation with you about all of this and figure out how to proceed. Right now he had more important things to do. Like collect his wife, call the doctor, and make sure you ate lunch. When he walked into the cafeteria, he saw you from behind, and he groaned softly. The way you filled out your khakis was always something he loved to see, but then he considered that your hips might get a little wider in a few months, and he stumbled again.

"What's wrong with you today, Soul Sister?" Nat asked, but she noticed where he was looking, and she rolled her eyes. "Two years ago, I would have never bet a single cent on you ever settling down. And now look at you. Pathetic. In the best kind of way."

Bradley shook his head. You were turning to look at him now, and the way you bit your lip was giving him ideas. You waved to Nat as they approached, and Bradley picked up a burrito bowl for you. "Not today," you told him, wrapping your arms around his waist and looking up at him. "I'm not hungry for that."

"You want a sandwich instead?" he asked, kissing the top of your head as you pressed your body against his.

"I want my Daddy," you whispered softly, and he could see it in your eyes.

"Jesus Christ," Nat complained. "Not right in front of my lunch. The two of you are repulsive. Don't forget to tell her about Mickey's party."

Bradley watched his best friend storm off with her lunch tray as you asked, "What about Mickey's party?"

"I'll tell you later. You really don't want a burrito bowl?"

"No. I don't want hot sauce."

Bradley sputtered. "I'm sorry, what? You don't want hot sauce?"

You grinned as he grabbed two sandwiches instead. "The baby is saying no."

He let your words wash over him, and the fact that you were still holding onto him with that needy look in your eyes had him kissing you a little rough. "You want me? Right now?"

When you nodded and whispered, "I need you," he practically hauled you and the food to the bank of elevators out in the hallway. "I'm really horny," you whined when he pushed the up arrow. "Like so fucking horny, Roo. Earlier I was crying about something, but I can't even remember what. And all I want right now is your cock in-"

Bradley smothered your lips with his as the elevator opened, revealing an admiral. It would be better to get a dirty look for kissing his wife than a reprimand for talking about how the two of you were about to get down in your office. Once the elevator was empty, he guided you inside where you just continued to kiss him. Then you led him down the hallway with a visible erection in his pants, and he hid behind you as you unlocked your door.

"You know, there once was a time when you told me I wasn't allowed to fuck you at work."

You closed and locked the door as he set down the sandwiches, and you looked at him with a predatory glint in your eye. "Shut up and pull your pants down, or I'll name the baby Honda Civic Bradshaw."

Bradley tried not to laugh as he worked at his belt, button and zipper. "Come on, Baby Girl. You can't even prove that's where I knocked you up. And if we're naming the baby after a vehicle, it's the Bronco for sure. Bronco Bradshaw, the coolest fucking kid in town."

And now you were laughing as you shimmied your pants down to your knees and treated Bradley to the view of you bent over with your arms folded on your desk. "Just fuck me, Daddy."

He palmed your ass in both hands and whispered, "My pleasure." Your head came to rest on your arms just as he lined himself up, and you sighed in relief when he started to thrust. You seemed instantly more relaxed, the tension melting away from your face. "You needed it that bad?" he murmured, reaching around to gently stroke your clit.

"Mmhmm," you hummed, tilting your head to look back at him. "So bad. I told you I was horny."

"Does this feel good?" he asked, keeping it to a slow and steady pace for now. You'd been like this when you stopped taking your birth control last year, and he vividly remembered coming home one day to find you riding the arm of the couch and begging for him. His fingers tightened on your hip as he tapped a pattern against your clit, making you buck back against him.

"So good," you whined loudly, bucking back again. This was probably just because your hormones were all over the place right now, but he had no qualms about fucking you at work. Every time he did it, he thought about you sitting in the lab all afternoon with a tight, cum filled pussy. But then he remembered what else you and he were supposed to do today, so he pinched your clit until you moaned, and he fucked you harder. "Roo!"

"Yeah?" he asked, grinning as his hips slapped your ass with each stroke. Your pussy was so wet, his hand felt slick as he rubbed your clit in tight circles that had your legs shaking as you started a high pitched little whine. You sounded like a spoiled brat right now, his name all over your lips as you asked for more and more.

You were about to come. He could tell. When he rammed himself deep and pressed on your clit, your pussy squeezed him tight, and you grabbed at the edge of your desk. "Bradley!" you gasped, wiggling your ass as you pulsed and moaned. He rolled his hips gently as he came, enjoying the sensation of added wetness and the knowledge that this was all just for fun since you were already pregnant.

He had a smile on his face as he watched his cum drip onto your underwear before helping you pull it up. Your eyes were dreamy as Bradley tucked your shirt in for you. "All better?"

You nodded and wrapped your arms around him. "Yes, and I'm starving. I hope I can eat."

"Let's give it a try," he whispered, kissing your temple and guiding you to sit on his lap on the desk chair. "Just take it slow." After you took a few tentative nibbles of your sandwich, he asked, "Can we call your doctor before I have to go back out?"

"Oh," you gasped as you started to fumble with your phone. "I set a reminder, but I already forgot! I'm having a bit of a hard time focusing," you muttered. You pulled up the contact information and kissed his cheek, and Bradley listened to you tell the nurse your full name on speakerphone. He'd never tire of hearing his last name tacked on after yours, and instead of digging into his own sandwich, he wrapped you up in his arms.

You snuggled against him as you told the nurse, "I'm pregnant! I took some tests this past weekend, and they were all positive. I think I'm between five and six weeks along." Bradley rubbed your belly with his big hand while you scheduled an appointment for an evening when he could go with you.

When you ended the call, he handed you his phone. "Enter your appointment into my calendar? I need to have a very important conversation." You took his phone as he pulled you closer until you were straddling his lap, and then he teased your belly with his knuckles through your shirt and leaned a little closer. "Hey, kiddo. I know you think it's fun in there, but can you give Mommy a little break? Maybe let her go the rest of the day without yacking?"

You giggled as you typed away on his phone. "Yes, please listen to Daddy."

When you met his gaze, he buried his face against your neck. "I'm obsessed with both meanings of that word now, Sweetheart."

With a kiss to the corner of his mustache, you said, "The appointment is all set. Hopefully we can see an ultrasound. And I don't even mind the barfing as long as the baby is healthy."

Bradley ran his hand along your hair. An ultrasound. A little photo of the baby. His baby. He squeezed you so tight, you squeaked. "I can't wait. I can't wait for all of this."

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

Bradley was serious about everything. He found crib bedding and paint swatches online, and you had to keep reminding him that it wasn't a good idea to get ahead of yourselves too early on. Every time you brought it up as gently as you could, you ended up with his lips on yours, effectively silencing you.

"Okay," he murmured against your lips on Thursday morning while he rubbed your back. You were standing in his arms in the kitchen, practically in tears because you spent twenty minutes throwing up as soon as you got out of bed. You started carrying a toothbrush to work with you, because it seemed to be happening more and more now. You were so hungry, you just wanted to be able to eat even a small meal. But now he was talking about cribs again.

"We can't buy furniture yet, Roo. We just can't."

"I know, Sweetheart. I'm trying to reel it in."

"We don't even have the new Bronco yet," you reminded him, which would probably just get him thinking about car seats.

"Soon," he whispered, reaching for the discarded piece of dry toast on the plate next to him. "Take another little bite."

You nodded as your mouth watered, and tears sprang to your eyes as you nibbled on it. When you swallowed it down, you said, "If you're this patient with me, I might actually die watching you feed a baby."

Your husband buried his nose in your hair and kissed you there. "I'll take care of both of you."

And then, you felt that thrum of desire that was always just below the surface right now. You swore you could smell Bradley everywhere, all day long, even when you were working in your lab. His mustache skimmed the shell of your ear, and your pussy clenched. A soft moan escaped your lips, and his deep laughter gave you goosebumps. "Baby Girl. We do not have time for that right now. And I'm flying all day today."

You pouted up at him. "Not even a really quick fuck?"

"No," he replied as he patted your rear end. "You need to get in the Bronco so we can get on base before we're late. Then later we have to help Bob move into your old place with Maria. Then I'm going to make sure you eat something. Then, and only then, can we have sex before bed."

"You're so mean."

He cocked his head and gave you side eye. "You liked me when I got you pregnant in your shit mobile."

Your eyes lit up. "So you're admitting I'm right? About the backseat?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied, grabbing the sandwich he made himself so he wouldn't have to leave the tarmac later. "Let's get going."

Bradley buckled you in, and you made it halfway to work before you started to feel nauseous. In an effort to distract yourself, you asked, "What was the excuse you gave about missing out on the Hard Deck last night?"

He winced and looked at you briefly. "I said Tramp got into something and threw up everywhere. I fucking hate lying."

"I know, but it's too early to tell them," you groaned. "And now we need to keep thinking of excuses? I hate this."

"Yeah... about that... Mickey's birthday party is a beach kegger. It was Nat's idea."

You let your forehead rest against the window. "Okay. I mean, maybe I can offer to be the designated driver that night? Or maybe you and I can just keep switching cups while you drink all the beer?"

"We'll figure it out," he murmured. "I'm not worried about that so much as keeping you healthy right now. I'll lie to them about this if I have to."

You nodded as a wave of saliva filled your mouth and made you gag. "Pull over!"

"What?" Bradley asked, already flipping on the hazard lights and stopping in front of a random driveway.

"Oh god," you groaned as you unbuckled, opened the door, and stumbled as you threw up into a storm grate. You heard his door slam as he ran around the back of the Bronco to help you stand there as you continued to vomit next to someone's mailbox and lilac bush.

Then you heard a man's voice, and when you looked up, there was the homeowner, watering his flowers. "Is everything okay?" he asked cautiously as you heaved.

"Just great," Bradley replied in an upbeat tone that made you want to kick him. "My wife's pregnant."

"Oh... well, congratulations," he replied as you finally stood up straight and gave him a little wave.

Bradley helped you buckle in again and forfeited the water thermos from his lunch as you groaned, "That was embarrassing. Did you really have to tell him that?"

He kissed your forehead. "It was nice to be able to tell someone. It's not like he even knows us."

"That's true," you whispered, taking a sip of cold water. "This is miserable."

Bradley leaned down and kissed your belly before he said, "What did I tell you about being chill? Mommy needs a break."

You ran your fingers through his soft curls. "Let's just go to work so you don't get reprimanded, Lieutenant Commander."

"Whatever you say, Lieutenant Commander."

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

It was kind of surreal for Bradley, being back at your apartment again. "I haven't been here since I moved your old bed frame out," he mused as you and he walked inside holding hands. The back of the Bronco was filled with stuff from Bob's old place, but he wanted to know where to put things before he started moving boxes in.

"The bed frame that you broke?" you asked, and then both of your eyebrows shot up. "Just like my car? I'm sensing a theme here when it comes to you and me fucking."

Bradley blushed. He wasn't even going to mention the patio chair or handful of articles of your clothing he'd also wrecked in the process. "Keep it down, Sweetheart. Bob doesn't need to know about that."

"He's not that innocent," you whispered, and Bradley watched his friend blush as Maria patted him on the shoulder. "Or maybe he is."

"Hey, Bob, where do you want all the boxes?" Bradley asked as you walked over to Maria and then disappeared down the hallway. His mind wandered to that first night he spent here with you. The first time you slept together. The first time you made him Marry Me Rooster. The first time he thought he could fall in love with someone who could love him back. He already knew he had deep feelings that night, and now someday you'd be cooking that dinner for three of you.

"Did you hear me?" Bob asked cautiously as Bradley stood staring into the kitchen. "You can take everything into my room, and I'll sort it later."

"Sure," Bradley replied, nodding at him as he snapped out of his daydream. He ran back down the familiar stairs, grabbed some boxes, and took them back up. He smiled to himself as he recalled carrying you up the same stairs when you'd been drunk enough to scare away any other woman within a five mile radius who even dared to look at him.

When he strolled back inside, he went to your old bedroom where you were standing with Maria and laughing about something in the walk-in closet. He set the boxes down, went directly to you and kissed you. "Hi," you sputtered, clearly caught off guard but smiling nonetheless. "Everything okay?"

"Yep." He cupped your cheek and kissed you one more time. "Very good. Perfect."

"I'll help you carry up some more boxes," you told him, your voice sounding a little breathy. He gave you an unamused look as the three of you exited the closet, but he waited until you and he were walking out of the apartment together.

"You're not carrying jack shit, Sweetheart," he informed you. "I looked online, and you shouldn't lift more than twenty pounds."

You waved your hand in the air and said, "That's not until the second and third trimesters." He watched you walk down the stairs, and then he had to rush to catch up with you in the parking lot.

"Absolutely not," he practically growled when you reached for a cardboard box. He had you pinned between his body and the open tailgate. "It's not happening." You slowly set the box down and turned to face him, and he squeezed your hip. "What's the point of having a husband who works out all the time if he's not going to carry everything for his pregnant wife?"

You moaned. You fucking moaned his name. "Bradley." Then you were sitting on the tailgate with your legs spread wide and his tongue in your mouth. Your hands were tucked up inside his tee shirt, gripping at his abs and the fly of his jeans. "You turn me on," you whined, wrapping your legs around his waist and rubbing yourself against him.

"God damn it," he cursed, big fingers gripping the back of your neck as you kissed along his chin and licked his Adam's apple. It was so tempting, taking you in the parking lot like a horny teenager. But it wasn't even dark out yet, and Maria would know exactly what was going on. He wrenched his body back a few inches and shook his head while you pouted at him. "I'll give it to you any way you want it when we get home, but you need to wait."

You let your legs fall away from his body before sliding down from the tailgate. He kissed your little frown, reached inside one of the boxes, and removed three plastic hangers. "You may carry these." You looked up at him and sighed. He stacked up three boxes and carried them up the stairs behind you.

"I still think you're being a little ridiculous," you told him as he watched your ass sway.

"About what, Sweetheart? Not fucking you in the middle of a parking lot where someone was walking a chihuaha? Or about the hangers?"

You snorted as you walked into the apartment once again. "Both."

"You need to behave."

Once the Bronco was unloaded, you and Bradley hung out for a few minutes. Maria offered up some beer and said she could order a pizza, but the firm but barely perceptible shake of your head had Bradley saying, "We need to get home and let Tramp out, but thank you."

"Is he feeling better?" Bob asked. "I know you said he got sick yesterday, and that's why you had to skip the Hard Deck."

"No," you replied quickly. "That's why we have to get back to let him out. He's been making such a mess. I think he ate something in the yard that he really shouldn't have."

"That's a bummer," Maria said, and Bradley couldn't help but notice the way Bob was looking at her with his cheeks tinged pink. "We skipping brunch this Sunday since Cam's flying to Pittsburgh for his sister's wedding? Or do you want to make it a girls day?"

You rolled your eyes. "He will bitch incessantly if we go without him. It's not even worth it."

"You're right," she replied, shrugging and letting her arms drop to her sides. Bradley watched you hug your friend and then kiss Bob on the cheek which made him blush even more.

"Enjoy your new room, Bob. And enjoy the best roommate in the world while you're at it," you told him.

"Wow," Bradley said, hands on his hips. "That stings a little bit."

"I'm sure she's making a valid point," Maria told him with a smirk.

"Yeah, but I'm standing right here," he said with a laugh as he shook Bob's hand. "See you at work tomorrow."

"Thank you!" Bob called after Bradley as he followed you back out and down the stairs.

You were laughing as he scooped you up and placed you on the front seat. "You won't even let me carry myself!"

"Do not test me," he warned as he pulled the seatbelt across your body. "Especially since you said I'm not the best roommate you've ever had."

"You're not a roommate, Roo! You were a sexy boyfriend and then a sexy fiancé and now you're a sexy husband." You kissed him and whispered, "And soon you'll be a sexy Daddy. And I just so happen to live with you."

He placed his hand on your belly and murmured, "I can't wait to be a Daddy. Can't wait for your belly to get big. I'm so excited to meet the little bun when we go to the ultrasound."

You were moaning his name again, so he closed the door and made quick work of driving home. The route was so familiar from him doing it so many times when you and he were just starting out dating, and your hand rested heavy on his thigh. When he reached down, he could feel your engagement ring and wedding band under his palm. He would take care of you. He was already getting used to how much and when you needed to eat to avoid the horrible nausea. He was already thinking about hiring a contractor to work on the rooms upstairs. It didn't matter what it was, he'd make sure it was perfect for you.

And that included fucking you into the mattress if you wanted him to. But when he pulled into the driveway, you were sound asleep next to him. He laughed. "Seriously?" He knew you needed to sleep, so he carefully carried you inside after he let Tramp out in the backyard.

"What happened?" you asked, still half asleep as he set you down in bed.

"We're home," he whispered, removing your glasses, shoes, socks and jeans. "Do you think you should eat some crackers?" You just shook your head and rolled toward his usual spot like you were searching for him there. He chuckled as you snuggled against the pillow. "I'll be in shortly."

He took Tramp for a walk and made himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He ate the sandwich while he spread some peanut butter on a few unsalted crackers just in case you woke up hungry in the middle of the night. Then he took a shower and got you to sit up and take a sip of water before he climbed in bed.

And that's when he checked his phone for the first time in hours. He tapped the icon for the new voicemail from 6:02 pm and listened to a voice tell him something so delightful, he almost woke you up to share it with you.

"Hi, Bradley, this is Terry from the Ford dealership. I'm just calling to let you know your new Bronco is here."

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

He's ready to go. As soon as he's allowed to talk about the pregnancy, he's going to be hanging a banner up in front of the house about it. The new Bronco arrives soon. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 29

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railingsofsorrow · 7 months ago

Text

an apple doesn't fall far from the tree (until it does)

[spencer reid x reader]

summary: reader takes care of her daughter while she's sick and some memories of her childhood resurface.

pairing: s.reid x f!bau!reader

w.c: 2.2K

warnings/content: being neglected by a parent; reader has mommy issues & spencer has daddy issues; crying; discussions about a difficult childhood; insecurities; mentions of v*mit and fever (the flu symptoms); Eden Reid being everyone's source of joy; Spencer in glasses always; hurt/comfort; very brief (implied) suggestive content; spiders; I proofread this at 2am.

A/N: here's my entry for @imagining-in-the-margins kid fic challenge i was so sad that I didn't see this until after May 1 :( but here it is! absolutely love writing about dad!spencer. it's legit a source of inspiration.

navi

masterpost

cm masterlist

want to read more works about this au?

→ [recharging] - [day off]

━━━━━━━━━

“No, it's the other way around.” You laugh when Eden places the egg shells inside the cake batter instead of the egg yolk.

“Oh,” she mumbles with parted lips. Then squirms away and giggles when you tickle her sides. You do manage to get most of the egg shells out of the batter. “Sorry, mamma.”

“It's okay, baby. Now what's next?”

She studies every material in the counter thoroughly, her fingers moving as she thinks it over. That's the moment you stop and stare fondly because of how much she resembles her father. Her hair had grown longer in the past few months, it's nearly past her shoulders and the honey brown curls are exactly like Spencer's.

“Sugar!” She raises her pointer finger, giving you an eager look, anxious to know if she's correct or wrong. You take a few seconds to build suspense and reveals the veredic. Eden jumps in the chair in excitement and you gasp, holding her in place so she wouldn't fall.

One of your favourite sounds in the whole word is Eden's laughter. It's contagious and childish and unforgettable. And a bit healing, if you're being honest. In case you're feeling a little down, making Eden giggle is the cure.

When you were called at the school by her teacher today because your daughter had threw up during class, you were finishing up the pile of paperwork in your desk. It took some convincing for Spencer not to immediately run to the school, but when he heard she had asked for you in the phonecall, he caved in. Giving you one condition: to send updates of Eden's wellbeing every hour so he could know how she was.

Your husband listed at least a thousand medications and natural medicine to help with the symptoms before you were able to leave the office.

Eden had the flu, that's what the doctor said. She needed rest, the strawberry flavoured syrup, the medication to avoid nausea and cuddles to heal faster.

Thankfully, she was laughing again by the afternoon, which meant she was feeling slightly better. You noticed her paleness diminished after taking the medication and having a good four-hour nap, her fever had also went down.

“Good girl,” you praise after she takes a spoon of her medication not hiding her grimace. “Now we wait for the cake to be ready so we can have a big bite.”

She nods dutifully, rubbing her eyes with her small hands. You recognise the sign of a sleepy child, so you scoop her up and take her to her bedroom.

Although, before you place her in bed with her stuffed friends, you decide to keep her in your arms for a while longer, mumbling a lullaby softly while rocking her to sleep. Almost like when she was a baby, the difference now is that she's bigger and not bald.

It doesn't take ten minutes for her soft snores to be heard. You put her to bed and leave the door ajar in case she needs you during the night. You would come check in on her every hour anyway, to make sure her fever wouldn't rise again.

There's this weird thing about being a parent: you never quit worrying. It's not exactly weird, it is, in your case, the maternal instinct that you can't avoid. It was there ever since Eden was born.

The reason why you find that odd is because you never had that. Not when you were a child, not when you were a rebel teenager, not as an adult. In fact, you were pretty convinced your mother's maternal instinct was nonexistent.

The only time you remember being held by your mom was when you cut your head when you fell down the stairs and you had to spend an entire night for observation. She held your hand as you slept the entire time, kissed your temple and then told you she loved you. She never did it again. Eden's grandmother wasn't maternal, she wasn't a fan of bedtime stories or mother and daughter times.

But she takes Eden to school and insists on staying with her on some weekends so they can bake Eden's favourite biscuits and decorate it.

She wasn't your mother when you needed, but she is a good grandmother to your daughter.

You don't understand it. You are thankful, of course. It's not like you expected that she would treat Eden bad or anything, but you can't help but wonder if that coldness and distance was just reserved for you as a child? And what did you do to deserve that. You must have done something. Still, she never told you what.

“Why are you sitting in the middle of the hallway in the dark?”

You let out a gasp, quickly covering your mouth. You take a glimpse inside Eden's room through the small space left and notice her sleeping frame tucked in with Mr. Greenie.

You had been sitting on the floor, staring at nothing in the dark in the middle of the hall, which is why Spencer is questioning you, rightfully so. But he startled you.

“I'm monitoring,” you say rather dumbly but out of excuses. “... her fever.”

He lifts his glasses up his nose — he recently went back to wearing because his eyes got too sensitive for contacts — while squinting doubtfully at you, then he turns on the light to sit down crisscrossed by your side after also taking a look inside Eden's bedroom. He would give her a goodnight kiss in a minute.

You don't even realize you're crying until his thumb travels across your cheeks to gently wipe your tearstained cheeks. His mouth tugging downwards at your puffy eyes.

“You told me her fever went down an hour ago.”

“It did.”

“Then what's wrong, angel?”

She's fine, you're not. He thinks.

You sniffle, shaking your head. You feel like a child all over again. This is so stupid. You are an adult, why are you still feeling like this? You have your family now, there is no need to dig into the past and suffer. You cannot change anything about it.

He scoots into your personal space, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to bring you closer to him. You rest your head on his chest, hearing the thump thump of his heartbeat against your ear. For a moment, that's all you thought about. Spencer's hands drawing invisible patterns on your arms and back, muttering softly about his day as to not disturb the peaceful silence and kissing the crown of your head occasionally.

“She's perfect.”

His hands halt on their way up and down your arm. “Yes, she is.” He knows who you were talking about, he always does, like he read your mind.

“I'm scared I might ruin her.”

This sentence alone terrifies you to no end. It's so much deeper than feeling unloved as a child because it isn't about you anymore, it's about the life you created, the life you are raising and watching grow up. The life who carries your DNA, the same one you share with you mother, who is the person that made you question every single encounter with a human being and if you really deserves to be loved.

Every day, you wonder if you were cold or short with Eden at any moment. If, maybe, a comment slipped last your lips and it would define how her day would be. Or if you gave her a look of disapproval that would make her question her way of speaking or her way of being.

You are scared of ending up like her and to have your daughter regret being raised by you.

“That's just not possible.” Spencer says firmly, squeezing you as reassurance. “You're a wonderful person and a wonderful mother, there is just absolutely no way you would ruin her or do anything remotely close.”

“If I'm so wonderful, then why didn't she love me?”

Parents can impact your life in a good way or catastrophically bad. There's the line in between, the gray line. From what Spencer heard you talk about your mother, she leans a little towards the catastrophically bad. It isn't that she doesn't love you. It is about the way she didn't show it.

“It wasn't your fault.”

Spencer finds your mother a sweet woman who took care of Eden when both of you are away on cases, or just because she wants to be with her granddaughter that day. And that's fine, he likes her. She's okay. What isn't okay is how she left you to drown in doubt in your childhood as you questioned every action you did in your entire life afterwards.

That was cruel and cold and unfair. You might forgive her for how she treated you one day, but he wouldn't.

You scoff, harshly drying your tears as they kept coming. “I must have done something.”

“You were a child.” Spencer insists, caressing your cheek. He understands where the blame comes from, he used to carry that burden, sometimes he still does. Did he make his dad leave? Could he have done something to stop it? The answer is no. A child cannot blame themselves for their parents mistakes.

And that's easier said than done.

“So?”

He sighs, lifting your chin so he can look into your eyes and stick what he is about to say into your brain for good.

“Is there anything Eden could do that would make you treat her with indifference?”

Your brows raise in disbelief, “God, no. She's my everything.”

He gives you a pointed look at your quick answer. You didn't even think twice, you didn't have to. She is your everything. The best part of you. And you would do anything to put a smile on her face. Because that's what parents are supposed to do.

“You know that you're her first source of comfort?”

You tilt your head to show you're listening, focusing on playing with his calloused knuckles. “What do you mean.”

“You're the first person she wants after a nightmare, when she has a bad day at school or even when there's a bug in the room that you're also terrified of.”

You can't hold back the snort that comes out of your mouth.

“You're not talking about spiders, certainly. Remember that night you saw one in our bedroom and screamed so loud our neighbours made fun of us on the weekend?” Spencer rolls his eyes and you carry on, too amused to stop. “They thought we were going at it. like rabbits.”

“Okay,” Spencer huffs, pretending to be annoyed. He can't actually be annoyed at you. “It was huge and what if it had walked all over our bed before we found it? Where was it before? When did it get there? Did you know that the bite of the false widow spider Steatoda nobilis can develop infections that are unresponsive to antibiotics?”

“Baby.” You peck his lips until he stops rambling. You do love when he goes off on a rant but he will just spiral out of control if he thinks anymore about spiders and decide to clean-up the entire house to be convinced there is no spider lurking in the corner. “I killed it, okay? You're safe.”

He hums, leaning forward for another kiss. “My hero,” he mumbles into your lips.

Both of you check Eden's temperature and kiss the mini version of you goodnight before going back to the living room.

“So you do understand, right?” He wraps both arms around you when you sit on the couch, kissing the back of your head. “You're wonderful and kind and lovely and you. Our girl and I couldn't have been more lucky.”

“If you want to make me cry again just say the word, Spencer.” He chuckles, spreading little kisses down your neck, lips wavering closer to your ear.

“Never, but I do want to make you smile, so I got ice cream.”

That makes you turn around fast, an excitement glint on your eyes. “Which flavor?”

His lips twitches into that smug grin when he knows he is right about something. He shrugs pretending to be nonchalant. “Cotton candy, I guess.”

You shoot up from the couch before he can utter another word and run towards the fridge, whispering-yelling I love you so as to not wake up your daughter. Spencer nods with a fond smile, leaning against the kitchen counter to watch you moan over your favorite ice cream and remember the part of your childhood that you enjoyed. Cotton candy, afternoon walks in the park and friends sleepovers.

“I love you,” you confess as your mouth splits into a wide smile while you're kissing him. His tongues travelled through his lips after you split apart and he tastes the sweet flavor of cotton-candy provided by you.

Spencer presses his lips to both of your cheeks and the tip of your nose, gazing down at you lovingly. “I know, and I love you too.”

━━━━━━━━━

taglist: @lilyviolets ; @whore-for-spencer-reid ; @yeonalie ; @ninkieminjaj ; @hoeshissworld ; @r-3dlips ; @pleasantwitchgarden

#spencer reid fanfiction #reader insert #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #writing challenge

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doitforbangchan · 29 days ago

Text

Ever Lovely - 4

Pairing ~ Faeprince!Bangchan x reader (afab/fem) x Faeprince!Lee Know

Warnings~ Cursing, angst, oral, light mxm smut, crying, teasing

WC~ 6.8k

masterlist // series masterlist

previous ~ next

Your head was pounding and you felt groggy as you opened your eyes. Muffled voices were the first thing you noticed as you came too. The second thing you noticed was that somehow you were back in your bed, with the knitted quilts pulled up to your chin and it was now dark out.

Your bleary eyes scanned your bed chamber and saw that you were alone, but there was a glass of water next to your bed that must have been left for you. As if you were dying of thirst (you felt like it from how dry your mouth felt) you hastily grabbed the glass and drank down the cool water.

Feeling much better after having that water you sat up and stretched your limbs. You were still in your going out dress from this morning but all the ties have been loosened and your heavy layers were removed, leaving you only in your base dress. You were thankful for whoever derobed you but also extremely embarrassed.

How could you have fainted like that in front of not only your judgmental mother but also the Queen of the Southern Isle?! You just knew you would never hear the end of this from your mother- and that’s to say if you haven’t been utterly disgraced by Jeon family, if that happened you might just be exiled by her.

The intense stress and exhaustion must have finally caught up with you in that moment, and as unfortunate as it is that it happened when it did you were at least grateful to be back in your own space currently. You then remembered the voices and your ears picked up the sound of your fathers voice and another man outside your closed door. It sounded like your father was upset but you couldn’t make out his words.

Swinging your legs over the side of your bed you went to stand up, but a flash of movement to the right of you sent you back in shock. You were not as alone as you had thought.

A figure was crouched on the seal of your open window, his catlike eyes zeroed in on you and his posture rigid. He was unblinking as he took you in silently, a tinge of worry etched on his features.

“Minho..” You breathed, looking at him in shock. Is this real? Or am I hallucinating once again?

Minho slowly raised a finger to his lips, “Shhhh,” then he nudged his head in the direction of your door.

Just after he did so your door opened to reveal your father and the royal physician coming in to check on you. Your head swiveled from them and back to Minho but when you looked at your window he was gone.

Father was the first to notice you were conscious and he rushed to your side. “Y/n, my lovebug, how are you feeling? You had us all worried sick.”

“I am fine now, Father.” You answered, your tone timid and you did not want to meet his eye. “I apologize for worrying you.”

“Your highness really needs to be more careful.” The physician, Wonwoo, wagged his finger at you. He was still relatively new to your castle but he was very knowledgeable. “I was informed you did not eat much for breakfast this morning nor did you receive much sleep. This along with the added stress of wedding planning must have sent your highness into a fainting spell.”

“Forgive me, I had not even thought of my own health lately. All the..wedding jitters and what not.” You offered a tight lipped smile. “I will do better about it from now on, I assure you.”

“I am going to speak with the cooks to have you on a strict vitamin rich diet from now on, and I am going to put together a serum to help with your sleep.” The physician nodded thoughtfully as he prattled off your new regiment.

‘Great, another diet to make me even more miserable.’ You thought bitterly.

“Thank you, Wonwoo. We appreciate your help. And also your sensitivity about this matter.” Father tilted his head at the doctor and in return Wonwoo nodded in understanding- Tell no one of this.

“Of course, your majesty. It is my pleasure to serve the royal family.” He bowed quickly to your father then to you. “I will check on you tomorrow, your highness. For now I shall bid you both goodnight.”

Father nodded and sent a small smile to the doctor and you both watched as he left the room. Then your father turned to you. “How are you really feeling, sweetheart? It is so unlike you to be this unwell.”

With a sigh you ran your hand over your face and leaned back against your head board.Your eyes looked to the window quickly, still seeing nothing there. “I do not know. This is all very overwhelming and so sudden, I just feel so exhausted and the planning has only just begun.”

Your father took a seat beside you on the edge of your bed and took your hand in his, “Dear, I know this is not what you wanted nor expected, and I myself never wanted this life for you, but arranged marriages are not all that bad. Look at your mother and I for instance.” You gave him a look that said ‘are you kidding?’ and he offered a humorless chuckle, “Yeah bad example I suppose. Though I will say there is one wonderful thing to come from it.”

“And what would that be?”

“You. My greatest achievement was making and raising an incredibly caring and talented young woman.” He squeezed your hand to emphasize his point. “I could not think of a better person to lead this kingdom one day. And Jungkook has a wonderful reputation. His people seem to think highly of him. It is a good match.”

“Father..” You wanted to cry. He was always the softer of your two parents but he usually was not so open with his feelings. But even with his sentiment you still felt uneasy. “No matter how good the match is, I do not love him. I still cannot stomach the thought of marrying a man I do not love. I cannot be stuck in a loveless marriage.”

“It does not have to be loveless. Love can grow if you nurture it.” He urged, trying to make you see reason.

“And did love grow for you? Can you really say that mother is the person you love?”

He hesitated for a moment, “There are certain aspects of your mother that I do love. She has an incredible singing voice, when we first married she would sing all over the castle. And her smile.. One could die a happy man after seeing that dazzling smile.” You noticed the distant look in his eyes and the shadow of a grin that graced his lips. He shook his head as if coming out of a daydream. “Not everything is bad, I mean to say. There is pleasantness in company.”

You had not thought of it that way, nor had you ever heard your mother described as ‘pleasant’ in any way, but even so your fathers words did little to quell your fretfulness. Though you supposed you could see it the way that he does, that sometimes feelings can grow. Maybe giving Jungkook a chance would not be the absolute worst thing in the world. Perhaps you could find that pleasantness. Even still, the notion alone makes you incredibly uneasy.

“Do you think he will be kind to me?” The break in your voice was involuntary but you could see how heartbreaking it was for your father.

The elder man pulled you into a crushing hug, “I certainly hope so, my dear. I only ever wish for you to be happy.”

“I want to be happy, more than anything I want it.” Should I tell him how I feel like I’m on the verge of losing my sanity? Like I’m a hair away from a mental break? No, he wouldn’t understand. It is not like I can tell him I was possibly whisked away to an otherworldly land. It is better to let him remain blissfully unaware, no matter how badly I need to vent about it. “Thank you Father. I do feel much better.”

The king gave your hair an affectionate pet and a gentle kiss to your forehead as he stood up, “I am glad. You must be getting your rest now, doctor's orders. I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too, father.”

He gave you a smile then he left your chambers, softly closing the door behind him. With a deep sigh you fell back into your pillows, running a hand down your face as you gathered your thoughts. He meant well- he always did- but still it was not what you wished to hear. Suddenly you remembered the figure that had been crouched upon your window.

With a swivel you looked over to the window and once more there he was. Minho looked how you remembered him to be when you first met him, more human looking than when he’s in his own world. The fae man's head was tilted slightly as he took you in, his unnerving eyes burning holes into you as they scanned your form.

It was silent for a second, but your heart was beating so wildly in your chest that you were sure he could hear it. After another moment Minho broke the silence. “Are you alright, Y/n?” A response would not find its way out of you, your tongue feeling like it was tied in knots as you nodded instead. As quickly as a blink he was instantly crouching directly in front of you, making you gasp at the sudden movement. Minho narrowed his eyes as he searched for injury on you, but after seeing nothing physical he relaxed a little, giving you a touch of breathing room.

Before he could fully lean away your hand shot out and touched his arm, making him freeze in his place. You hadn’t meant to, but you just needed to know if he was real. That he was not just a figment of your imagination. “Y-your real.” You whispered.

Minho cocked his head to the side in confusion, “Of course I’m real. I am just as real as you are.” His arm burned where you were touching him; like an electric current that funneled through his skin and into his bloodstream. He could see how addictive it could be. “Now tell me, are you alright? And do not lie to me. I have seen you faint.”

“Wait, what do you mean you have seen it? Were you there?”

A slight pink tint appeared on his cheeks as he cleared his throat, looking away from your awaiting eyes. “I uh, I saw it in a vision right after I brought you home. I have been worried about you.. So I have been checking in on you every few weeks.”

It was starting to click in your brain; how you saw him in your glass at breakfast and in the street in town. You remembered how he had said time worked differently in his world- that every hour here was a week for him.

“That was you this morning.” He nodded. “And in the street this afternoon.” He nodded again, still feeling sheepish. “Minho, I thought I was losing my mind.” You admitted to him. “I thought I had made you up and that everything was a figment of my imagination.”

He shook his head this time, “No, it was real. I am real.” Minho rested his hand upon your covered leg.

Your shock turned quickly into anger, “Then I see that this is some kind of game for you.” You ripped his hand off of you. “It must be, since you keep toying with me.”

The fae scrunched his face in confusion, “Princess, I am not playing with you. I was merely worried.”

“Worried?” You scoffed, “Your kind do not care one lick for mine, Minho, do not lie to me. If this is not a game then why didn’t you come to me? Why skulk around like a phantom and make me feel utterly insane?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, “I was not sure you wanted to see me after how everything ended that night. It was never my intention to screw with your mind so heavily. I am not one to do that, not anymore. All I wanted was to ensure you were ok.” He touched you again, this time laying his hand upon yours. “After I had a premonition of your fall, I have been keeping tabs on you. I never meant to cause any harm.”

You picked up on his wording, “When you say premonition, do you mean you have visions?”

Minho gave a curt nod, “After assuming a royalty position at the Court of Stars I was granted one of the powers of the court. I sometimes get glimpses into the future. It is how I knew you were going to faint, I just did not know when.”

“You knew.. Have you had visions of me before?” Your head was beginning to hurt again, the new information that is ability allowed him to see your future.. It was a whirlwind.

He shook his head, then tossed it back and forth in contemplation. “Only one other time, back when you visited us, I saw you in the ballroom with Seungmin. I couldn’t save you then and I guess I couldn’t save you today either.” His gaze hardened as he mentally chastised himself. You could see the internal battle that dwelled within him. “For that I apologize.”

Your heart swelled with an appreciation that you couldn’t place. Why was he apologizing? Does he feel guilty for your potential harm? You thought fae did not care for human lives at all?

“Minho, it is not your fault-”

“Yes, it is.” He cut you off, still not making eye contact. “ You never should have been left alone in the first place, and now because of us you aren’t even taking care of yourself.”

An incredulous look glazed across your face, “I am taking care of myself just fine. Today was just an accident.” Now it was his turn to give you a look that said he did not believe you. “It is true! I am completely fine, you do not need to worry about me.”

“We both know that’s not true. Knowing about the fae wild- seeing its luster and mischief first hand can be overwhelming for mortals. I should have known it would be too much for a fragile mind to handle.”

A scoff left you involuntarily, “There is nothing fragile about me! I am capable of maintaining myself just fine. And anything that life throws at me.”

The faes lips curled up ever so slightly into a smirk, “then come back with me.”

Silence

You stared at him in what could only be described as derision; he was making a mockery of you once again but this time you knew better. “Do not jest with me, Minho. We both know I cannot return to the wilds, I cannot face those.. Boys once again.”

“Seungmin and Jeongin have learned better than to terrorize you, I can assure you. And I would protect you, I have also learned my lesson about leaving you alone.” He assured, a seriousness to his features, no hint of a lie anywhere.

There was a pull in your chest- more like a deep calling within you that yearns to return with him. You didn’t understand it and frankly it scared you. A lot of things about the fae scared you.

With a slow shake of your head you declined, “I cannot. It would be unwise of me. I have duties I cannot run from.”

“Hmpf.” He rolled his eyes, “You seemed pretty keen on escape last night. What has changed since then?”

“My father was right, I need to look for pleasantness in the company I must keep.” You recounted your fathers previous words, a tightness within you even as you utter the words. “It is for the good of the kingdom.”

“Spoken like a true royal,” Minho was about to say more, then he paused, his head perking up and tilting. “Lay back down.”

“What?”

Before you could demand his explanation your door burst open, hitting the wall with a bang. “You insolent little brat!” Your mother had come stomping into your room screeching. You gasped at her entry and for that split second your attention was taken away from Minho, and when you looked back he was once again gone, disappearing in an instant. “How dare you embarrass me like that!”

“Mother, I -”

“Do you know the kind of groveling I had to do today after that little stunt you pulled?” She screamed, “Now the King and Queen of the Southern Isle think you to be damaged goods! An invalid! All because you're throwing a temper tantrum at having to do your one job- what you were born to do!”

“Mother, I had no intention of-”

“It took me hours to convince them not to rescind their proposal! How could you do this to me? To your kingdom?”

“How could YOU do this to ME, Mother?” You screamed back, finally hitting a breaking point. You had never, ever, talked back to her before and the shock on her face would have made you laugh if this was any other circumstance. “How could you, my own mother, force me into a life I do not want- that I have never wanted? I have never wanted to be a ruler! I have never wanted to be Queen!”

“You do not know what you want, Y/n. You are just being dramatic like you always are.” She scoffed, rolling her eyes.

You shook your head, angry tears welling up on your lash line and threatening to fall, “Even now, after I have fainted you cannot find it within yourself to care about me at all. Have you even worried about me at all this whole time? Have you thought to ask the doctor if I am well even once?”

“Do you even hear yourself? You sound like a child. It is time to grow up, you’re too old to make a scene like this.”

There she was deflecting again instead of addressing the real problem. Was this really the woman that your father told you about? How could he find any resemblance of happiness with such a rotten person? Sensing exactly how this conversation was going to remain you began to shut down, deciding the fight isn’t even worth the effort. She’ll never see you, only who she wants you to be.

“Okay, mother.” You relented, visibly deflating back into your bed.

She huffed, “Okay? Now you have nothing to say?”

“I concede. You win. I’ll grow up.” The hurt was evident in your voice but of course the Queen chose to ignore it.

“That is good. Nice of you to finally see it my way.” She leaned forward and patted your face, not affectionately but more like as if she was petting a dog. “Now I expect you up bright and early tomorrow morning with a smile on your face, ready to take on the preparations. Jungkook will be joining us for meal planning and you need to fix your bad impression.”

With that the Queen walked out of your room without another word. A pained sigh of defeat left your lips as you sunk into your pillows and dried your eyes with your hands. That situation felt way more intense than it had to be. She was way more intense than she had to be. Usually you would be able to brush off her harsh words and abrasive attitude but not this time. No, you were not just going to sit here like a wounded dog and take her abuse.

Without truly thinking your mouth opened, “Minho.”

The faerie was quick to appear next to you once again. “Yes, Y/n?” Minho had silently observed that whole confrontation, and while it was pretty tame for fae standards he still felt incredibly bad for you.

Giving him a serious stare you grabbed his hand with both of yours. He could almost feel your fury that burned within you.

“Minho.. Take me to the wilds with you.”

Now he was slightly taken aback, but even so a grin quirked up on his face, “ What happened to having ‘duties you cannot run from’, hmm?”

A snide grimace appeared on lips, “I’ve changed my mind. I no longer want to remain here, I wish to go with you.”

Minho found himself nodding before he could mentally compartmentalize your request. He stood up to full length, hauling you up with him as he held onto your hands. “You don’t have to wish with me, Princess. I’m not Chris, a please will do just fine.” He sent you a cheeky wink.

Your face began to burn and you cleared your throat, “Please, take me away from here Minho.”

You squealed when you were suddenly lifted into his arms. Honestly at this point you should be used to it, seeing as this was the second time in twenty four hours. He let out a deep chuckle, his bunny teeth making him look extra youthful and making your heart beat faster. “Anything for you, Princess. Hang on tight.”

Minho held you in his arms as he sprinted faster than humanly possible to the portal of the fae wilds. So fast you could barely blink before you found yourself back at that mystical tree. Your nerves were on fire as he set you down by the tree and you found yourself doubting your decision. Was this the right call? Running away? Would you even be safe there?

You steeled your nerves when you remembered Minho's presence with you. That’s right, you were safe. Minho promised he would be here for you. For some reason you can’t explain you trusted the fae man. A deep settled longing told you he was trustworthy. You only prayed your instincts didn’t let you down.

“Ready, Princess?”

“Yes. Let’s go.”

The sharp tingle had returned as well as the blinding array of colors that you had seen last time. Minho held onto you tightly as you were both transported into the next world. This time instead of landing on the path leading to the castle, you were now standing in the gardens beyond the castle.

It was as dark and dazzling as you remembered it to be. The vibrant swirls of pinks, purples and blues lit up the otherwise black sky as billions of stars twinkled above. Now you knew this was not a dream. There is no possible way you can conceive something so spectacular and beautiful within your own mind alone.

Peeling your eyes away from the splendor you looked back at Minho. He was also back to his more natural- more feral- form. The slitted pupils glowing and illuminating his features. Seeing him like this once again you’re beginning to think you prefer him like this.

The fae had never looked away from you during all of this and caught the way you raked your gaze over him, smirking at the wonder that dazzled in your stare as you looked at him. “Something caught your eyes, Princess?”

The embarrassment at having been noticed made your face feel inflamed and you turned away from him. “Of course, the sky is quite beautiful.”

“Hmpf.” He chuckled, willing himself to not reach out and touch the heat in your cheeks. “It is, I suppose.” Instead he offered his arm and you accepted. “Would you care to see the gardens?”

You nodded at his suggestion and he led you further into the grounds. Though it was dark here- naturally, of course, due to the court practically being a void in space- it was lit beautifully by not only the constellations but also little twinkling lights that floated above the path, illuminating the many topiaries that littered the gardens. You remember getting a glance at a few of them from afar last time you were here but seeing them up close was a whole different experience.

Each bush and tree were shaped and carved into magnificent creatures. Some you were familiar with; such as an elephant and a large wolf. Others not so much. These other animals were fierce looking, some even seeming like crossbreeds of different species, and other ones being completely new to you.

Minho gave you small facts about some of the sculptures as you passed, telling you about the creatures they were modeled after and which court they hailed from. A few of your favorites were the Owlbear from the Spring Court and the Dragon from the Court of Flint and Flame- both being larger than life animals that you were fascinated by.

A chill ran down your body due to the cold and you mentally cursed yourself for not bringing a cloak. You were only wearing the base layer of your dress, the material being thin and not suitable for the coldness of this court. Even though you were cold you chose not to bring it up, not wanting to appear weak or stupid to the fae.

Minho noticed how you began to shiver almost immediately. His senses were able to pick up on the subtle shaking, the vibrations in the air making his own hair stand up. He wanted to help you- to warm you- but he couldn’t place why. He has never given a shit about a human before, only seeing them as blundering fools and heathens. So why does he care now? Why did he bring you back here? Why did he promise to protect you?

For the man it was unexplainable; the pull he felt towards you was incomprehensible. And while it bothered him to no end… he also kind of liked it. He would definitely need to unpack this inner turmoil later, but for now he had something else to occupy him.

Silently the fae un-clipped the front of his dark cloak, swiftly throwing it over your shoulders. You were surprised by his sudden display, “Oh uh, why..?”

Minho shrugged in nonchalance, putting his hands behind his head as he walked. “You were cold, were you not?”

“Well, yes, but I canno-”

“It is no trouble. My blood is naturally on the warmer side; a perk of being from the Summer Court. I am fine without the cloak.” When you opened your mouth to protest once again he put a finger to your lips and leaned in a little closer, making your heartbeat quicken substantially. “Hush now, just be grateful, yeah? I believe the words you're looking for are ‘Thank you Minho’,”

His lazy grin and slightly condescending words were contradictory of each other and it made your head spin. A part of you wanted to snap back at him but the other part of you wanted to go along with him in spite of yourself.

You found yourself nodding, “Thank you, Minho.” A flicker of embarrassment on your face.

He gave your cheek a teasing pat, “You’re welcome.” Then he continued walking through the grounds. You glared slightly at the back of his head then scurried to keep up with him, not wanting to be left out here by yourself.

“May I ask you a question, Minho?” You inquired, now keeping step with him.

“You may.” He permitted.

A reminder of Mara’s previous warnings rang through your mind, remembering how she said they may not be completely truthful. Even though ignoring the advice was most likely a mistake, you did not think Minho would twist his words with you. For some reason you trusted him. And you knew that would inevitably be your downfall.

“I was told you all hail from different courts. I know Chris and Felix are from this court, Jisung is from the Court of Storms, and now you’ve said you are from the Summer Court. What about the other four princes?”

Minho nodded, “Yes you remember correctly. Other than the crown princes we are all different. Hyunjin is from the Court of Flint and Flame. Don’t let his cool playfulness fool you, he can be quite hot headed when he wants to be. Seungmin is from the Autumn Court, a nosey bunch of fae that have an act for tricks.” He poked your nose playfully to prove his point, chuckling when you scrunched up your face. “Jeongin comes from the Sea foam court.” You recalled the shimmering scales that laid upon his cheeks and his serpent like pupils. “And Changbin is from the Spring Court. I don’t think you’ve met him yet. You’d like him, he's incredibly easy going. Spring fae usually are though. Sometimes to an annoying degree.”

It was a lot to wrap your head around. Seven courts all coming to rule under one together. “How did so many of you come together to rule? If you're not from this court why are you now princes of it and no King?”

“Chris and Felix did quite a bit of traveling back in the day. A few millennia ago they stumbled into our courts on their search for adventure. I met Chris when I was a part of a pirate crew created by the Crown Prince of the Summer court, the idiot almost caught the sharp end of my sword.” He snorted as he remembered it like it was yesterday. “After the death of the previous Queen, Chris was desperate to share the load that came with ruling. So he summoned his very best friends from across the wilds to come help him. It has only been a couple hundred years since then, though it seems like it was much longer.”

Minho stopped to gaze upon a large sculpted bush that again looked like nothing you had back in the mortal world. He looked deep in thought, a pensiveness gracing his features as he brushed the leaves slowly. From what you could see in his face, he looked kind of somber, like a well hidden sorrow was cracking though his hard shell ever so slightly. You looked up at the bush, understanding from context clues that this one had to be from the Summer Court.

“This beast seems very formidable.” Your voice broke him of his daze, making him drop his hand.

“Yes, it is.” He smiles fondly at the sculpture. “Chimeras are one of the most fearsome creatures in all of the Summer Court. The deserts where I grew up were crawling with them.”

“That seems like it would be terrifying, if I’m honest.” You replied, twisting your dress in your hands.

Minho clicked his tongue and shrugged, “They can be. Head of a lion, body of a goat and tail of a snake- quite a monstrous combination, hmm?” You nodded when he peered at you cheekily. “Every faerie dreads the day they come across the Chimera. Though being around them so much as a child I learned how to respect them. And how to tame one.” He winked, making you avert your eyes. He laughed at your reaction then reached for your arm again. “Let us continue.”

You looped with him once more, “How would one go about taming a beast such as that? I cannot imagine it would be an easy feet.”

“It certainly is not easy,” He began to explain while we turned a corner, “ It requires much patience and a shit ton of-”

“Nggghhh, fuck.”

Minho was cut off when you both had unknowingly walked into the most salacious situation. Your eyes grew wide as you took in the scene in front of you. Leaning against the hedges was a fae you had never seen. He had light fluffy pink hair and rosy cheeks, and his tunic was pulled up and the hem was held between his teeth. Kneeling before him was Hyunjin,the red haired fae’s face was buried into the pelvis of the pink haired man, drool dripping down his chin as he engulfed the man's member. The pink man was moaning and thrusting into Hyunjins mouth as he fisted the bright red locks.

What the hell is he doing?

At first you didn’t quite understand what you were seeing. Though by the lewd sounds emanating from them both you were beginning to. With a loud gasp you spun around quickly and your hands shot to cover your eyes. “Oh my god.”

Minho gave the two an unimpressed look, a hand on his hip and his head cocked. “Thrice in a day is crazy, even for you two.”

Hyunjin popped off of Changbin, wiping his face with the back of his hand, the other coming up to keep stroking the elder. “Hi Min,” He giggled then saw you standing there, albeit turned around. “Ooooo, hi pretty human! Welcome back.”

“The human is here?” Changbin looked over at you and dropped his shirt.

“Mmhmm,” Hyunjin hummed, “Isn’t she a cutie pie, Binnie?”

“Can’t tell, she’s turned around.” He huffed, a light moan escaping him.

You kept your front hidden, much too ashamed at what you had witnessed to turn around. You felt hands on your shoulders spin you around but you still hid your face.

“Princess, what’s wrong? Are you ill?” Minho asked. He did not know the reasoning for your sudden shock.

You shook your head violently, still refusing to meet anyone's gaze. “N-no I am not ill. Though I think I might be after witnessing that.” You mumbled that last part.

Minho took your hands and almost forcibly brought them down, his stare scrutinizing and the glow getting brighter. He didn’t know what was wrong with you, why you were behaving so strangely all of a sudden. The fae racked his brain trying to determine what the issue was when it finally occurred to him; humans are shy when it comes to sex.

“Oh I see,” He cooed, finding you more adorable than ever before. He cupped your cheeks making your head tilt up to look at him, “It’s ok, Princess. The boys were just messing around.” He snapped his head over to look at the two younger boys, “Bin, pull your pants back up, have some fucking decency.”

The two rolled their eyes but did as Minho requested. Hyunjin stood up and dusted his knees off, then sauntered over to you, pulling you from Minho and into his embrace. You yelped at how hot his touch was, the heat burning your skin slightly. “Come here! Meet Bin!”

You didn’t have a choice as you were tugged along by Hyunjin, your whole body a flame now. If you were cold before that was long gone.

“Channngbinnn, this is Y/n. Now isn’t she cute?!” He pushed you into Changbin, who caught you with a laugh.

“She sure is! Hi dear, I’m Changbin. I’ve heard soooo much about you.” You did not miss the sly smirk he sent towards Minho.

Minho felt a delicate fury begin to form within him as he observed the other princes handle you and tug you along, their hands on you making his own ball up. He did not like the idea of anyone else touching you or making you uncomfortable. Another thing he needed to work through mentally.

Small shakes were wracking you still, as you could not get over your embarrassment at walking into something so intimate. “I am so sorry.” You couldn’t help but apologize, bowing your head deeply in shame.

Hyunjin and Changbin exchanged confused looks, “Uhh, for what?”

You balked at them, “ For witnessing your private intimacy and for seeing your..”

“My dick?” Changbin finished for you, making you wince at his crude language but nod nonetheless. All three of the men laughed at your expression, making you feel incredibly self conscious under their scrutiny. Thankfully Changbin had at least put his trousers back on. He bopped you on the nose. “You’re a funny little thing, acting like you’ve never seen a dick before.”

“Well I-” You stammered, unable to meet his warm brown eyes, “Of course I have not. That would be most improper for a woman to bear witness to a mans.. Genitals. That is saved for a marriage bed exclusively.”

Hyunjin snorted from beside you, “What does marriage have to do with sex?”

“Everything. It is sinful and immoral to engage in such activities before marriage. What would your future spouse think when they find out you are tainted?” It certainly had not occurred to you how harsh and judgmental you were being but the slight narrow of Hyunjins eyes at you had you rethinking it all.

“Sinful and immoral, huh?” The red head slinked closer to you and leaned in close to your face, making you lean back into the muscle-y fae behind you. “If that is what you boring little mortals think then I must just be the devil to you huh?” The magenta hue of his irises were shining with mischief.

“No, that is not what I meant.” You tried to protest, being sincere with him but it did nothing to quell the small touch of fright. You were starting to remember how scary these beings could be, your heart picking up in speed and thumping in your chest quickly.

Changbin tsked and ran his fingers along your spine, “Ease up, Jinnie. She didn’t mean any harm, right lovely?”

“Of course not.” You agreed with him but Hyunjin was not deterred.

“Mm, I don’t knooooooow,” He dragged on, “I think she’s being a little fucking rude, a little too bold for a measly little human.” Hyunjin acted like he was going to nip at your nose, making you shriek.

Before he actually could though, Minho had had enough of your turmoil, swooping in and effectively pulling you away from the two boys, “And I think you need to cool off, Hyune.” Minho flicked him on the forehead. Minho held you to his chest, away from the other two. You clutched his shirt tightly in your fists.

“Ouch!” Steam blew out of the red heads' nostrils in anger.

Changbin could see how worked up his fellow prince was becoming and as a lover and not a fighter he used one of his gifts from his court to produce a flower from behind Hyunjins ear- a dainty orange poppy. “Here Hyunnie, for youuuu.”

You watched in awe as the fury melted off of Hyunjin instantly, his bright smile coming back as if it had never left in the first place. “Aww Binnie, thank you!” He then smothered the pink haired man in heated kisses.

“See what I mean about Jinnie being a little hot headed?” Minho whispered to you, already leading you away from the obscenity that was starting again. You were grateful for Minho, saving you from another unsavory situation. His presence was comforting to you.

You nodded, refusing to look back as you heard the slick sounds and groaning pick up again. “Do they do that a lot?”

“Sexual intercourse is not frowned upon here like it is where you are from. Princess.” Minho shrugged, you noticed he did that a lot. “The fae take great pride in their sexual prowess. It is not as serious as you make it out to be.”

That is what you could not wrap your head around. “How is giving yourself wholly to another person not serious?”

“It can be, if you’re in love with the being your fucking.” There was that crude language again, though from Minho it didn’t make you feel gross like it had from Changbin. No, it made a slight tingle alight within you.

“And are they? In love, I mean.”

“More than they let on.” He hummed. “Those two love each other with their whole being yet I do not believe either has said it explicitly. Instead they show it by dirting every part of this castle.”

“Just out in the open like that?” The cringe on your face made him chuckle and pat your head.

“Faeries usually do not care where they are or who’s around, if the urge strikes they give in to their temptations. And that does not just apply to sex, I’m sure you can assume some of the other ways.”

You knew he was referring to the human torture, a shudder making you pull your cloak closer. Your mind went to Seungmin and Jeongin, how they laughed at your fear. Your mind also went to Chris and how he said human lives are unimportant. A part of you wished to see him again, another did not.

Minho led you out of the gardens and to a back entrance to the castle. As if hearing your thoughts, there was a figure standing at the top of the stairway leading into the building. His face was soft and he looked like he was starstruck as he saw you here, in his court.

“Princess.” He breathed.

as always comments and reblogs are encouraged and appreciated 💖 please share your thoughts i love to hear them

beta read by my loves @jehhskz and @athforskz 💜

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haee-elia · 1 year ago

Text

spence-tober: day 12 - nurse

pairing: nurse!spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: in which your nurse husband panics when you're admitted to the emergency department

word count: 1457

warnings: lead up to pregnancy announcement, talk of hospitals and doctors and nurses, not a very accurate hospital environment

spence-tober masterlist

This was just an entirely embarrassing situation for you, you thought as you laid your head back on the gurney pillow. Not only did you manage to faint in front of your coworkers and boss, now you were being seen by your husband’s coworkers and bosses.

Now, you don’t blame your coworkers for calling 911 for an ambulance for you. After all, you did faint and were unresponsive until the parademics arrived.

And you don’t exactly blame your husband’s coworkers either. They were just following hospital protocol, doing everything in their power to make sure you’re okay.

You just wish that things hadn’t escalated so much because you know its only some time until your worrywart husband finds out you’ve been admitted into the ED, his place of work.

He must be at lunch, you think. His coworkers, the doctors in the ED and his fellow nurses, would have already tattled on you and told him that you’ve been admitted in any other situation, so he must be busy.

Being in the medical profession, Spencer was a worrywart. What with his big brain and his capacity to store knowledge easily, it was hard for him not to jump to every possible other conclusion for a fever and cough other than a simple cold.

Luckily, you didn’t have the propension of getting sick or injured, so it Spencer didn’t have much to worry about to worry about in that department.

But that’s what’s going to make this situation a whole lot worse, you think to yourself, sitting up on the edge of the gurney now, legs hanging off the side. After a few assurances to the nurses, most of whom you’ve met before, you were allowed to remain in your own clothes and could forgo the gown.

Your boss, once you called and explained the situation to him, had allowed you the rest of the day off so all you were waiting for is for your husband to barge in and to be discharged.

“Where is she?!”

You heard the panicked voice of your husband from across the Emergency Department of the hospital. In the room you’ve been assigned, there are glass doors with some curtains as an option, an option you’ve decided to pass on as you thought it would add not needed worry for your husband.

In three large pounding steps against the linoleum floor, Spencer appeared from the hallway and rounded the corner, barging into the room.

“Oh my god,” Spencer says, finally being able to look at you. You see tears, welling in the corner of his eyes.

You reach out to him, comfortingly, “I’m okay, Spence,” Spencer dashes into your arms, carefully, “This was just all one big misunderstanding.” You try to explain.

Spencer then holds you at arm’s length, doing a once over and searching for any signs of injury on you.

“You fainted?” He asks, his tone frantic and worried.

You nod, running your fingers through his hair. It’s comforting to him and something that Diana used to do when he was a child. “Yes, but I am okay.”

In the doorway of your room, you see Emily, one of the emergency department doctors, standing there with a small tablet used for records and patient information.

“How could you know that? Have they run tests yet? What did they say? Did you hit your head? Do you remember when you fainted? Did you blackout? Were you drinking enough water? Was it something at work?” Spencer rambles off, asking you everything his mind could be thinking of, to answer for why his wife was in the hospital.

“Reid,” Dr. Prentiss calls out from behind him, getting his attention, “Why don’t you sit down?” She offers, kindly.

She sends a smile to both you and your husband.

Even though you’ve never been admitted to the emergency department or the hospital in general, you have met all of your husband’s colleagues. Some of them became closer to you than others. It started as simple as bringing Spencer his forgotten lunch or perhaps take out to share in the hospital cafeteria. Then, once you got to know them, they would invite you along for girl’s night, baby showers, weddings, and birthday parties.

There was the Chief of Patient Services, David Rossi. Chief of the Emergency Department, Aaron Hotchner. Emergency Department doctors, Emily Prentiss and Derek Morgan. Spencer’s fellow nurse, Jennifer Jareau, and the darling ED receptionist, Penelope Garcia.

These people had seen you and Spencer get engaged and then married. Jennifer even helped Spencer pick out your ring!

And now, they were also here to see your first admittance into the hospital and how much of a worrier, Spencer can be.

Your husband listens to Emily, but also his eyes zone in on the tablet in her hand, “Are those lab results?” He asks.

With the look in his eye and if you didn’t know any better, you would think Spencer was about to snatch that tablet out of her hand. Not willing to leave anything to chance, you take his hand in yours and squeeze it tightly, giving him a smile.

You laugh at your husband’s expression, “If you had just let me explain, I would’ve told you that they took blood tests to make sure everything was fine. And it is.”

His head whips back towards you, “How would you know that? The blood tests just came back.” Spencer asks, confused.

Dr. Prentiss looks at you with a knowing smile, you two exchange grins. You know it’s driving Spencer insane that he’s the one on the outs.

“Would you like to tell him?” She asks, a sly grin on her face.

You shake your head and look at Spencer, who’s looking at the pair of you like you’re insane, “Go ahead and show him.”

Emily walks closer to the two of you and offers the tablet to Spencer who greedily takes it. His eyes scan all the data and information, his fingers scrolling quickly as he speed reads the results.

After a few moments, Spencer looks back at you confused. “I don’t understand.” He says.

His tone is getting a little more frustrated and you pity him a little bit. You weren’t planning on telling him like this and now that you were, you didn’t want him to worry himself to death before understanding what is going on.

“Check the hCG levels,” You inform him. Emily stands off to the side, giving you two a more private moment. Out in the lobby of the ED, you can see Jennifer and Penelope peeking in to see what’s happening. Even Derek has passed your room several times more than needed in the past few minutes.

“The hCG?” Spencer questions for a moment before you can see the wheels and cogs in his brain finally land on the right solution.

His eyes widen and he looks at your face and then glances down at your stomach, hidden by your blouse.

“Really?” He whispers softly. You nod and laugh at his shocked expression, laughing even more when he turns his attention back to the tablet and frantically tries to find where your hCG levels would be recorded.

His finger stops scrolling when he finally finds it. Spencer looks at the level indicator and then back at you which is when you finally see the tears in his eyes. The biggest smile on his face breaks out and he looks at you with adoring eyes.

“Oh my god, you’re pregnant?” Spencer finally says, confirming the diagnosis.

You can’t help when tears of happiness start falling down your face as well, “I took two tests yesterday,” You tell him.

His hands come up to hold your face as you continue, “I had a doctor’s appointment scheduled for later today, but I got pretty dizzy at work and fainted and that’s how I ended up here. I had a sneaking suspicion why I fainted though.”

You both share a laugh. “I swear, I was gonna tell you as soon as the doctor confirmed it.”

“Guilty.” Emily pipes in, her own eyes have some tears hidden in the corners.

Spencer laughs and kisses your temple, then again at your cheek, nose, and then finally a sweet kiss full of joy and happiness and excitement.

“You’re pregnant.” Spencer repeats softly as he pulls back from the kiss, still his attention is fully on you.

“We’re pregnant.” You correct, soft eyes looking at the love of your life. Spencer nods in agreement and kisses you again.

“Congratulations, you two.” Emily comments before leaving the room.

Little did you know, she would be one of the first people to tell you that in another hospital room as Spencer held your daughter, nine months later.

a/n: this might not be for people who don't like pregnancy or mention of children. that's why i put in the warnings that it does talk and lead up to the grand announcement of a pregnancy, for anyone who that might be a sensitive subject for.

#criminal minds #criminalminds #spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fic #dr. spencer reid x reader #spencer reid au #spencer reid fanfic #dr. spencer reid #dr. spencer reid x fem!reader #dr. spencer reid x you #dr. spencer reid

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tortillamastersblog · 6 months ago

Text

ⴵ My Best Friend’s Little Sister - Part 2 | Yelena Belova ⴵ

Pairing: Yelena Belova x reader

Warnings: none

Summary: You get a second chance to tell Yelena how you feel about her. . .

Part 1

________________________________________________

Pain.

It’s the first thing I feel when I start to come around. I thought dying was supposed to be peaceful.

I groan and force my eyes open. Everything is bright. Too bright even, but I force myself to keep my eyes open.

That’s when I take in my surroundings. I’m in bed in a small, white room. The wall to my left is made entirely of glass, which allows me to see all the people that walk by without paying any attention to me.

They’re all dressed in white and as more time goes by and my brain starts to catch up, I realize where I am; The medical ward of the Avengers Compound.

This has to be some sick joke, I think. I died! How am I here? Unless this is what the afterlife looks like… No, that can’t be it.

My eyes travel around the room some more and that’s when I notice all the machines next to my bed. They have colorful wires attached to them that disappear under my blanket and are attached to me.

The heart rate monitor above my head beeps quietly, almost inaudibly, and indicates that I am, in fact, still alive.

A wave of pain rushes through me when I try to sit up, and I fall back into my pillows with a cry.

That’s when several alarms start to go off and I’m afraid I’ve done something wrong. However when one of the doctors rushes into my room to check what happened, she freezes at the sight of me staring back at her.

“You’re awake,” she says in disbelief and before I can reply she rushes out of the room only to return a second later with Dr. Cho in tow.

She looks surprised as well, but smiles when she sees me. “Welcome back, Y/N. I must admit, that was a close one.”

“H-how am I still here?” I rasp, my throat feeling like sandpaper. I cough slightly and let Dr. Cho shine her penlight into my eyes before the nurse from before hands me a cup of water. I thank her with a nod and drink slowly, the cold liquid easing my overwhelming thirst instantly.

“Well,” Dr. Cho slips the light back into her coat pocket and smiles softly. “What happened is nothing short of a miracle, but I guess you have to thank Wanda.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Wanda?“

Dr. Cho nods and mumbles something to the nurse before turning her attention back to me as the nurse swiftly leaves the room. “Yes. She got to you just in time and used her magic to stop your bleeding.”

I huff in astonishment and lean back against the now elevated part of my bed. My mind is still somewhat foggy so I don’t ask any more questions and let Dr. Cho do some more tests.

It’s quiet for a couple minutes before the door bursts open.

I slowly turn my head in the direction of the commotion to find a familiar redhead staring at me with tears in her eyes. “You’re awake…”

My heart swells at the sight and I manage a tired smile in response. “Hey, Nat.”

That’s all it takes for her to rush forward and pull me into a bone-crushing hug. I wince but don’t say anything because I need this just as much as she does.

“You’re such an asshole,�� she says when she pulls back to sit on the edge of the bed. “You died, Y/N! Right in my arms. Who does that?”

I chuckle sadly and take one of her hands, watching as she wipes away her tears with the other. “I’m sorry, Nat.”

Nat shakes her head and squeezes my hand tightly, her eyes fixed on me as though I could disappear any second. “I know. . .I know. It’s just— No one could tell if you were ever going to wake up again a-and I just missed you so much.”

“I’m really sorry,” I say again. “H-how long was I out?”

The uneasy silence that settles between us makes my stomach churn. It can’t have been that long, can it?

“How long?” I whisper, now suddenly afraid of the answer.

Nat bites her bottom lip and averts her eyes. “Almost a year.”

“What?!“ I cough and take another sip of water. “A whole year?”

“Nine months,” Nat clarifies and I close my eyes in disbelief.

How can it have been that long? The mission flashes through my mind as though it only happened yesterday and then I remember those green eyes that watched me fall. Those beautiful, green eyes…

“Yelena,” I gasp and my eyes dart around the room. “Is she okay? Where is she?”

My eyes meet Nat’s and she frowns. “She’s alright, but—“

“But what?” I interrupt, groaning in pain as I move to get up. A hand on my shoulder pushed me back down and I don’t fight it because I’m exhausted.

Nat watches me with pity and takes her hand back to place it on my knee over the blanket. “She’s gone AWOL a month ago. . . She couldn’t handle you like, well, this.”

“Oh.”

My heart breaks at the thought of Yelena crying over my unconscious body for months. Where could she have gone if even Nat can’t find her? How is she now? Is she sad? Angry, maybe? I have to find her. I have to tell her I love her now that I’ve gotten a second chance. But first I have to find her.

Seeing how dejected I am, Nat nudges me with a small, teasing smile. “Hey, I still have to talk to you about that, by the way… I can’t believe the two of you have been going out all this time without telling me.“

I will find her, I think. For now, I have to recover though, just enough so I can get out of here. The thought of finding her lifts my spirits and I feel my cheeks heat up under Nat’s watchful eyes. “I know, I’m sorry. We were going to tell you after the mission,” I defend weakly.

Nat raises an eyebrow. “Uh huh. That doesn’t change the fact that you went behind my back to date my sister though.”

I cringe and don’t dare to look up. It’s silent for a moment but then Nat laughs quietly.

“I’m just kidding,” she says honestly. “I trust you more than anyone and I know you could never hurt her.”

I shake my head with wide eyes. “Never. I swear. She’s my everything.”

Nat beams at me and squeezes my knee. “I know, I can see it in the way you go all mushy when you think about her.”

I feel my cheeks heat up again and try to play it cool by scoffing. “What are you taking about? I’m a super soldier. There’s literally nothing mushy about me.”

“Sure, honey. Keep telling yourself that.” Nat laughs and it does nothing to tame my growing embarrassment.

I chuckle too and scratch the back of my neck. “Oh, shut up.”

After that we continue to catch up and Nat fills me in on everything I’ve missed which isn’t much. The rest of the team also stops by at some point and I almost crush Wanda in a hug when I thank her for saving my life.

She just laughs and squeezes my hand, saying I would have done the same for her if the roles were reversed.

I still can’t believe I’m alive and even though I’m happy to have everyone around me, I can’t help but think of Yelena being all alone, not knowing I pulled through.

It’s been two weeks since I woke up and I’ve slowly but surely gotten back on my feet. The rehabilitation exercises Dr. Cho showed me are helping me get around on my own and Nat being by my side every step of the way is also a big help.

She’s tried to contact Yelena several times, however like the times before, her efforts have been in vein. It’s not surprising though because if Yelena doesn’t want to be found, she won’t be found.

There is however one place she could be at that only I know about, so that’s where I’m headed now.

It’s pouring and I’m exhausted from the effort it took to get into the city unnoticed by the public. I took the subway and am now walking the rest of the way with my hood up against the weather.

When I finally get to the apartment building, I pull out my keys and unlock the front door. I’m just about to pull my hood down when a bunch of teenagers come my way, so I leave it up and look down in hopes of not being recognized.

They pass without saying a word, so I slip inside, keeping my hood up just to be safe.

I take the elevator up to the right floor and get off, my wet shoes squeaking on the ground as I make my way to the familiar apartment door.

I look around to make sure nobody’s in sight and unlock the door. I go inside and don’t turn on the light, letting the door close behind me with a soft click.

The place is just as I remember it, even in the dark, small, warm, inviting and filled with a bunch of memories. The person who’s part of all these memories though is nowhere to be found, so I slip off my shoes with a sigh.

I’m too tired to go back to the compound now, so I’ll just stay here for the night and return in the morning.

I limp through the dark, my scars hurting from moving around so much, and make my way to the bedroom to get a dry set of clothes.

The bed looks untouched, confirming my conclusion that no one’s here. When I reach for the closet though, I freeze when a gun is pressed to the back of my neck.

I still haven’t taken down my hood, so I can’t glimpse over my shoulder at whoever it is. I don’t have to though because when the person speaks, my heart swells.

“You have one chance to tell me who you are and what you are doing here before I shoot you.”

I find myself smiling and slowly raise my hands to lower my hood. “Well, I better make it count then…”

The gun drops from my back and I turn around slowly to find Yelena staring at me with wide, glistening eyes. She’s wearing shorts and an oversized black hoodie which I recognize as one of mine.

“What— How—?” she stutters, her bottom lip trembling. I reach for the gun and take it from her hands, placing it on the dresser beside us.

Yelena is frozen in place but when I slowly take her hand in mine, she crumbles. Tears spill from her eyes and her knees buckle and I’m quick to wrap my arms around her waist. Her hands claw at my jacket to pull me closer as she sobs into my chest. “You’re here,” she whimpers. “You’re here…”

Feeling my own tears rolling down the side of my face, I squeeze my eyes shut and kiss the crown of her head. “I am, baby. I’m right here.”

Yelena keeps clinging to me as if I’m about to disappear the second she lets go. “W-when did y-you—? she sobs against me and I know what she wants to know so I kiss the top of her head again and lean back a little to see her eyes.

“When did I wake up?” I unravel one arm from around her waist to brush some hair behind her ear. “Two weeks ago. We tried contacting you, but you’d gone off the grid.”

Yelena leans into my touch and closes her eyes with furrowed eyebrows. “I’m sorry, I should have been there. I just. . . I couldn’t. Y-you died, Y/N. I saw you d-die right in front of me and—“ she lets out another sob and buries her face back in the crook of my neck.

I just hold her close and whisper reassurances in her ear. “Shhh, it’s okay. I’m okay. I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.”

It takes a couple of minutes for Yelena to finally calm down and pull away again to look at me. She raises a hand and traces her finger over my brows and down the bridge of my nose as if she’s trying to commit every little detail about me to memory.

I let her do her thing and stay silent, watching as the last of her tears escape her eyes. She is breathtaking, even now in the moonlit room. Yes, her eyes are sunken in and it feels like she’s lost some weight, but she’s still the girl I fell in love with all those months ago.

“You’re really here,” she finally whispers one more time before her eyes meet mine. I nod and kiss the pad of her finger which has landed on my lips.

Yelena sighs and slides her hand over my cheek to the back of my neck to pull me in for a kiss. It’s soft and our lips are barely even moving, but it’s enough to make me forget about everything other than this moment, right here, right now.

She really is my everything, so when we both part for some air, I’m finally ready to reveal my true feelings, but then she beats me to it.

“I love you, Y/N,” she whispers, her breath fanning my lips.

“You do?” It takes me by surprise. So much so that I pull back with wide eyes. Of course I knew that she liked me, otherwise we wouldn’t be in a relationship, but up until now I thought my feelings for her outweighed the feelings she had for me.

Yelena doesn’t seem fazed by my reaction and simply nods with a watery smile. “I do. I’ve loved you ever since you snuck into my room the first time to hold me after I’ve had a nightmare.”

I smile at the memory. That was right before we started dating. I knew about her nightmares because her room was right next to mine and my super soldier hearing always picked up on her jolting awake.

Closing the distance between us, I press another soft kiss to Yelena’s lips. She sinks into it, but starts smiling eventually which breaks the kiss.

I rest my forehead against hers and close my eyes, nudging my nose against hers playfully, whispering, “I love you, too.”

Yelena chuckles and runs her fingers through the baby hairs at the back of my neck. “I know. I can feel it.”

She pecks my lips a couple of times and I keep my eyes closed, savoring this moment as long as I can before I start shivering.

Yelena and I pull apart and it’s then that we realize that I’m still wearing my soaked clothes. It’s so bad that even the front of Yelena’s clothes are wet now.

“Sorry about that,” I whisper sheepishly, gesturing at her clothes.

“Don’t be.” Yelena unzips my jacket and helps me slip it off my shoulders. It lands on the carpet with a wet thud and I shiver again, so Yelena takes my hand and leads me to the bathroom. “Come on, let’s get you warmed up.”

I follow without complaint and turn on a small light as Yelena gets to work on preparing a bath. She adds some of my favorite oils and soaps to the water and checks the temperature several times before turning back to me.

She wordlessly unzips my pants after looking at me for approval and helps me out of the rest of my clothes.

“Y/N. . .” She whispers with horrified eyes when her eyes land on my new scars. Tentatively, she lifts her hand and traces a finger over the one on close to my shoulder.

It’s still a little sore and red, and Dr. Cho said it would take some more time to fade, but it doesn’t bother me.

“I’m okay, my love,” I say quietly, placing a hand over Yelena’s. Her worried eyes meet mine and I take her hand and place a reassuring kiss to her palm. “I promise, I’m alright.”

She bites her bottom lip with furrowed eyebrows before eventually relaxing visibly.

I press another kiss to her palm and brush a strand of hair behind her ear. “Now, how about that bath?”

Nodding, she steps back and takes off her own clothes, taking my hand to lead me to the tub. She turns off the water and steps in first, sitting forward until I sink in behind her.

I wrap my arms around her middle and pull her closer, pressing a kiss to the top of her head once she’s relaxed against my chest.

Her hands find mine around her stomach and she interlaces our fingers with a sigh.

The rain outside pelts against the window and I turn my head to watch the twinkling lights of the busy city. Yelena does the same and by the look in her eyes I can tell she’s deep in thought.

After a couple of minutes she shifts and whispers, “Y/N?”

I tear my eyes away from the city and look at her. “Yes, my love?”

Her green eyes look soft in the low light and I can’t help but press a kiss to her forehead. “What happens now? I mean, what are we going to do?”

I squeeze her hands and run my thumbs over her stomach. I’ve been giving that question a lot of thought myself and I’ve come to the conclusion that I want to take a break from saving the world every other day. “I don’t know. What do you want?”

Yelena’s eyes flicker between my own and she frowns in thought. “I don’t know. Can we just stay here for a while?”

I smile and crane my neck to peck her lips. It makes her smile and when I pull back her eyes are glittering with happiness. “Of course. We can do whatever you want.”

________________________________________________

Here ya go, people. This is for everyone who wanted a part 2.

#fluff #x reader #yelena belova x reader #yelena x reader #yelena belova #marvel #mcu #angst with a happy ending

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starillusion13 · 9 months ago

Text

FRIENDS!? Chapter 8

🔳🔳🔳🔳🔳🔳🔳🔳🔳🔳🔳🔳🔳🔳🔳🔳

Series ML

Pairing: poly!ateez × f!reader (An ATEEZ Office AU)

Genre: Mature, Angst, Yandere, SMUT

Warning: none

W.C: 3k

For my beloved: @oreharuuu

Network: @cultofdionysusnet @k-vanity

[Reblogs and Reviews are always appreciated. Thank you for reading and have a nice day ahead. Please always take care of yourself everyone.]

Hello, Can we be friends please?

"You didn't have to cut the call like that."

Hearing your whining voice, the boy in front of you laughs out aloud earning a glare from you. He leans forward to ruffle your hairs, making you more annoyed.

"But I'm really sorry for that...I was half awake and didn't know what I was speaking so don't mind me if I had said anything weird." He pouts in the end.

"It's okay. I was asking why you told me that I have studied in that school since middle school but actually I have studied there only high-school. Do you know if something happened during the time when I was sick?"

"not really...I was a transfer student and I heard from you that you studied there since middle school. We used to sit together and gradually we became friends but why are you asking these all of a sudden?" He creases his brows.

"just asking." You sigh and look down to your smoothie.

"Y/n..."

"Gyu...I thing those CEOs are hiding something from me." You haven't look up but you can feel his stare on you.

"What makes you think like that?" he places his chin on the fist.

You pause and think of all the previous months, "Gyu...I started to get along with some of them who seem pretty friendly and they told me about our friendship a lot but every time their words felt like as if they were hiding some part of the story. And also..." you look around and leans forward to whisper, "I am remembering everything...and it's not like those dreams anymore. I can totally remember how I have spent my times with them. I can now see their faces and remember their voices and everything."

You are taking medicines for last one month and it's really helping too fast to regain your memories. The doctor told you that it's only because you are surrounded by the people who are part of the memories. Their presence, their voices and their images are colliding with the barrier and making your past vision getting cleared.

"Like...everything?"

"not really...all the happy and fun times are there but still something is missing."

"Maybe there is something...bad and if anything triggers your mind then you can remember the rest." He raises his brows and you nod, "maybe possible."

"Do you want to remember them?"

"I don't know..."

"Hey Star!" your cheering voice startles the girl who was earlier busy talking to the receptionist and it looked as if it was pretty much important. She waves the woman away and run towards you to engulf you in a hug. You smile, "you are here? You didn't inform me about your coming."

She laughs, "Actually, I was here to deliver some of my father's document on my way to studio so basically there was no point in informing you." She glances at her wrist watch and sighs, "also I'm running late so gotta go y/n. Fighting for the day."

Nodding to her, you watch her almost running towards the glass door, her heels were about to slip at some point but still she is a person who will fall a thousand times but will not be on time anywhere. Shaking your head, you remember that Yeosang had called you earlier because he needs some help with his assigned paper works and well you as his secretary oh-no bestfriend should help him.

He asked you to help him as his dear friend not as an office worker-secretary.

You push open the glass door to his cabin only to be greeted by a silent room with no one inside it. You crease your brows and stepped inside, approaching the bulletin board to see if he has left any sticky notes about his whereabouts but nothing is there. You glance at all the previous notes still sticking and the various little characters drawn by him in the corner of various colour small papers -he refers those drawings of tiny characters as hehetmon. A little smile appears on your face but you were yet to notice that someone is standing behind you, very close to you that he himself is surprised.

The corner of the person's lip curls up too when his gaze falls on the same thing.

"He never wants to hurt you."

You get startle to the voice and quickly turns around, placing your clutched fist above your heart and wide eyes staring back at him, "when did you enter?" as much as you are gathering courage to ask him a question, deep down you are more freaking out with the fact that it's him who is standing so close to you and alone in this room.

"why do you ask?" he asks in a low voice, one hand fished his pant pocket. His white shirt perfectly hugging his body and your eyes really not leaving any corner of his body to appreciate them. Blinking away the thoughts, you look back at him.

He is smirking at you and you fight the urge to roll your eyes, "I must believe that you all are some kinds of vampires at this point because I don't hear a sound when you all sneak behind me. you all have same behaviours at this point."

"we are brothers though."

"what? Brothers?"

He rolls his eyes, "well sort of." He walks to the chair opposite to the main chair behind the table and swivels to your direction. "living together for so many years and getting adopted by the same man. yes we are brothers. But to tell you one thing, Jongho is my real brother though."

"Do you have fever?" your feet are still glued to the exact same place and he smirks when he heard your question, "why?"

You gulp and avert your eyes towards the door and hope to Yeosang come but no one comes across.

"what happened? I asked you a question."

"you...you are talking normally to me. this doesn't feel right. I mean like it's nice that you are being good to me but still..." you look down at your shoes and cursing in your mind for blabbering nonsense.

He chuckles, "y/n, look at me. are you scared of me?"

You shake your head but he is moving his head in every direction to get a glimpse of your face, "then why are you not looking at me?"

"Um...I need to find Yeosang..."

As you stepped forward, he blocks your view with his frame and smiling down at you. Your every movement is restricted by him. nervousness visible on your face, his finger curls your locks and tugs them behind your ears. Heart beating in your ears, blood pumping to your face due to the close proximity. "San..."

He leans forwards, humming in your ears "say my name again, pretty girl."

Should I say that I remember this name? Pretty girl...

"San...I need to go."

He holds you close, embracing you in a warm hug. Why is he acting like this suddenly? What happened to him? you slightly push him and step towards the door. His eyes go wide with the sudden action but he smirks while fishing his palms inside the pocket of his denims.

You look back at him for once before exiting the door and heaving a sigh. But to your dismay, he exits the door just behind you.

"do you need something?"

"yes...you."

You stare at him for a second before making your way towards Hongjoong's office. Yeah, that's the only safe option for you. No one would dare to do anything if he is around but why this person is acting like someone has possessed him. even when he is acting nice towards you, his actions are creeping you out.

The steps quicken but you can feel him trailing just closely behind you. A wide smile visible on his face, eyes following your each panic and nervous steps and turn towards the Hongjoong's cabin. You are now confused because you thought him to go away when knowing the known path but he is still in his way, following you.

Reaching near the red door, you pause and stare at it, questioning whether to enter or go anywhere else. He stops in his track and leans against the railing behind him, he is just a few feet away from you. You nervously glance between the door and him. when you are about to knock, his voice interrupts you.

"Enter the room...he knows you will be here."

Is he fooling with you?

"why are you following me?"

He starts laughing and brushed his hair back, "I can do anything in my office and you are my personal assistance so the boss can be with his assistant anywhere. Maybe doing anything. Also-"

You couldn't take any more from him, so without knocking you push open the door and are greeted with three persons already inside the room, staring at your direction. You send a smile towards them and awkwardly move forward but they are curiously watching your form.

Yeosang is smiling at you from the sofa and pats the place beside him and you approach him. Hongjoong standing behind his desk, is still in a serious mask but when he catches your eyes at him, he smiles back and Seonghwa across from him—well his expression is unpredictable. You don't actually know what he is feeling or why he is staring at you like this but you are sure about one thing that you are definitely freaking out inside because of his presence. Earlier, San was not enough that you have to face this man as well.

There is a really something about Seonghwa that is making you nervous.

"what happened, y/n?"

Hongjoong breaks the awkward the moment between you all and you shake your head, "ah..it's nothing." You turn to your side, "I was searching for Yeosang but he was not there in his cabin."

"oh! Yeah, I have given those papers to Jongho. No need to worry for that."

You nod with a smile.

Entering the room, you felt a tensed atmosphere inside the cabin and with you here, it's seemed to be more heavy air for breathing. The door opens slowly and enters the uninvited one. As if you are invited. Well, the first thing he did, winking to your direction and going towards the bookshelf near the wide glass view of the city. You glare at him but he is enjoying your silly expression and smiles at you again.

What is literally wrong with him?

Is he planning something to get rid of you?

Of course not. Right?

Hongjoong notices the interaction between you two when he suddenly said, "what is going on between you two?"

"Nothing!" you said too loud earning chuckles from two, Hongjoong raised his brow and having an amusing look and the last one enjoying the situation a lot.

"Joong, there's a lot going on in your office."

"what do you mean?"

"My pretty girl is being a curious one these days and asking about the childhood stories from others. Why?" he said and flips the page of the book in his hand.

Your ears perk upon the words coming out his mouth. Why is he saying it like he is suspecting you for something? Seonghwa smiles and stands up, he takes off his coat and walks towards you. You are attentive to his actions. He nears your form and kneels down in front of you, placing his palms over your knees. You awkwardly smiles towards him and glance at Hongjoong. Why is he not stopping him?

"do you remember our past?" he asks you softly. You lick your lips and bit the lower lips. Yeosang caress your head with a smile on his face, urging you to speak.

"I...no...nothing..."

You lied. Even if you can remember a lot of things but yet you are confused and don't feel like sharing anything with them.

"but you were asking about us." He tilts his head to the side.

"I was just trying to be friends...again."

Yes. That's true, even if you started to get to know them out of curiosity but gradually, you are feeling close with them. They are really making you feel like the most important part of their life. It's not good to hide from them. It's been days, oh wait it's been months that you are staying here with them. You have become some of their best friends all over again. There are some things you remembered. And also, Some things you need to get clarified.

"that's good."

You nod to Yeosang.

"Hongjoong...you asked me if I remembered something from my past right?"

"Yeah..."

"I can." You look at four of them preciously and gulp, "I can remember our friendship."

You add,"not everything...but a lot."

Hongjoong has a mixed expression on his face. You search for a particular emotion over his features but all you get is a tension visible.

Is he scared of something?

Seonghwa's grip on your palm above your thigh tightens to your words and Yeosang is shocked to hear the confession. But there is one person whose expression is unexpected, San. He is blankly staring at you but when he caught your eyes, he smiled at you. Now, it's your time to get shock. Why is he smiling?

"As far as I can remember, we were good friends...really good friends." You stare at Seonghwa, "more than just...friends."

"Y/n..."

"Can someone please explain me how come this happened?"

Seonghwa quickly asks, "what happened?"

You remain silent. You don't know how to say it. Previously, you didn't want to say anything about this to them. You were unsure of the facts being true but when you got to remember them, their memories, their every touch, their smiles, their laughs and their confessions. You are sure that all those are not just some dreams anymore but some realities that you had to forget for some reasons.

"y/n...please tell me."

You place your hand above his with a smile, "Hwa..." his breath hitches with you calling him with the nickname, "I was in relationship with you...all."

"love..." Hongjoong's voice is heavy and low but it's audible to all of you. You stare at him and lick your lips. He slowly steps forward and stands behind Seonghwa, "you remember us?"

You nod and cast a glance towards San. His gaze is fixed on you. Yeosang scoots closer to you and side hugs you with a smile. "we are together again. Now no one can separate us again, right?"

"but I want to ask you all one thing."

Hongjongs folds his hand above his chest and nods his head but a little smile visible on his face.

"what are you all hiding from me?"

"no-"

"Joong, you are. Even if there's these nice memories of ours but still there are these blur scenes which are itching inside me. Please tell me."

Seonghwa cups your one cheek, "it's better not to remember those things. Please, we are relieved that you remember us again but we are more than happy that you can't remember those parts."

"Is it that bad?"

He hesitates to reply but smiles, "yes. Please don't force yourself to remember it."

"I won't." you pat Yeosang's hand around you, "But if I remember them naturally, then?"

They are silent.

You suddenly laugh at them and they stare at you confusedly.

"what happened?"

"why are you laughing?" Hongjoong asked and furrowed his eyebrows.

"lets forget about this topic." You remove the arms from around you and also, remove Seonghwa's hands from your lap to step towards Hongjoong. Standing just in front of Hongjoong, you extend a hard towards him, "friends?"

He stares at your hand and blinks at you, "friends..." He holds your hand with a wide smile across his face. "but why are you asking this suddenly?"

"I want to start our bond again. We should start our relationship again from the first step of friendship. So, we are now friends."

He smiles at you but when you turn around, you come face to face with someone whom you were trying to ignore these days. Your heart ache to see him after confessing the truth to them. Tears welling up in your eyes. His every word, every affection, the love you shared, the times you spent, holding hands with each other, the smile you shared, the affection which is still lingering on your skin is burning all over your body and inside of your heart.

"Yunho..."

[I might be ending this series soon coz I have few other series going on and I have ideas for plots for them but Idk how to continue this one. this series might seemed a bit of rush though.]

Taglist :

@mymoodwriting @justhere4kpop @vvshere @anyamaris @yeoobin @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @brrrkdslek-personal @icchyi @jwnghyuns @piratequeen-queenofgames @luhwaine @ilove-taeyong @dinonuguaegi @endeav0rsb1tch @loveforred @hwanring @sanwifesstuff @kiwiisnthereoops @kiwiraccoon @sousydive @aliona124754 @tunaasan

(open! dm me/ send ask/reply here)

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resowrites · 2 years ago

Text

A Day In May - oneshot.

Summary: It proves to be a birthday to remember for Henry and his wife…

Pairings: AU!Henry Cavill x Wife!OC

Warnings: fluff, banter/British humour, language, dialogue heavy, a couple of sensitive topics mentioned but no detail, nondescript OC body type/appearance, hastily written/lightly proofread.

WC: 2992

A/N: Remember, this is pure fiction (as in completely made up) and not in any way meant to reflect reality. My work must not be copied, reposted, or translated elsewhere. Likes, follows, reblogs and comments are thoroughly welcome and appreciated! Gifs/pics not my own. I hope you all enjoy and thanks for visiting!

A Day In May - oneshot.

"Good morning birthday boy!" Henry rolled onto his back, his eyes adjusting slowly to the early morning light.

"Mmm, g'morning… you're up early."

"Well, who was gunna make breakfast if we both slept in? I made you your favourites; pancakes, Belgian waffles, and pan aux raisin. There's even a little bowl of fruit for you to ignore…" He chuckled as he sat up and helped her guide the tray over his lap.

"Aren't you having any?" Her eyes quickly darted to the floor.

"Er, maybe later—"

"Oh no, don't tell me you're still not feeling the best?" She had in fact been sick all morning and had even used the downstairs toilet so as not to wake Henry up.

"I'm fine! I felt a little peaky when I first woke up but it's passed. Anyway, when you're finished, have a quick shower and come downstairs, there might be a gift or two waiting for you in the kitchen…" She shot him a wink while he guiltily sipped his coffee. Henry knew she'd already gone to great lengths to make his fortieth birthday a success. For weeks she'd been planning a huge party at their favourite private member's club in London. Everyone they knew was going to be there and it promised to be a night to remember.

"Are you sure you're alright though? I mean I know you've worked hard on today but we can always cancel and just spend the day together if you're not feeling the best?" She scoffed and waved a hand in the air.

"Nonsense, I'll be alright. There's no way I'm missing my old man's birthday! Tell me, seeing as I'm still the better part of a decade away from it, how does forty feel so far?" He responded to her smirk with one of his own.

"Why? Do I look forty?!" She pursed her lips, remaining silent as she plucked a couple of blueberries off the tray. "Oh my God, you cheeky cow!"

"What?! You're as handsome now as the day I met you…" Henry pulled her into a headlock.

"Hey! Let go, you're messing up my hair!" Suddenly her stomach churned and she felt her mouth moisten. Clearly, the fruit and the headlock had proved a mistake. She dashed to their ensuite bathroom with him throwing back the covers so he could run after her.

"Darling! Oh God… I'm so sorry. There we are, oh sweetheart…" She continued retching into the toilet bowl as Henry held her gathered hair on top of her head. When she was finished, he hoisted her up and sat her down carefully on the edge of the bath. "I think I'd better ring the doctor's, don't you?" She looked into Henry's panic-stricken eyes as he carefully rubbed the sides of her thighs.

"Darling, I'm really alright, it's just a virus. So long as I'm careful about what I eat and don't go too crazy tonight, I'm sure I'll be okay."

"Well, we'll see. For now, I want you to get back into bed. Come on…" He tried to take her by the hand.

"Henry, I don't need to be babied! Honestly, stop being such a fusspot." But she started to sway unsteadily on her feet. Henry caught her before she fell and swiftly put her back in their bed.

"Right, that's it. I'm calling the doctor. You're so pale you look like a ghost!"

"Wait, Henry… don't. There's no need to call them." He looked up from searching through the contact list on his phone.

"What, why? Darling, you're not at all well. Hang on let me get you some water…" Henry wedged the phone in the crook of his neck while he refilled her glass in the bathroom.

"Henry, you won't get through at this time. Besides all they'll tell me to do is rest and drink plenty of fluids."

"How do you know that? Have you already spoken to the doctor?" She took the glass of water from him, carefully avoiding eye contact.

"Yes, and he said I'll be fine so stop please stop worrying. I just want you to enjoy your birthday." She sipped the water slowly and rested her head against the headboard so she could close her eyes. Henry took a seat on the edge of the bed and caressed her hand.

"Are you feeling any better, love?" He spoke tenderly which only made her feel worse. Today was supposed to be about him and already things were getting off track.

"Mmm, though I'm sorry I've ruined your birthday breakfast…" Henry scoffed and got back in bed beside her.

"Rubbish, you know nothing comes between me and food. But I'll take the tray downstairs if the smell's making you feel worse?" She shook her head and he cautiously began chomping his way through a pastry. She attempted to change the subject, more to keep her mind off the food than anything else.

"So, are you looking forward to tonight?"

"You're damn right I am! It'll be nice to have everyone gathered together again. I've not seen most of them since the wedding."

"I know, I can't believe that was only last month."

"Me either. What can I say, time flies when you're married to a stud…" Henry leaned in and peppered her cheek with crumb-filled kisses. She breathed hard. "Are you sure you're alright? I feel awful sitting here stuffing my face when you're not well." She looked into his pale blue eyes and sighed. She then eased herself off the bed and walked slowly around it. Henry pushed the tray aside and stood to face her. "What is it?" He took her face gingerly into his hands. For a while, he could see the wheels turn in her head. Clearly, she was struggling to find the right words.

"Henry, I…" She faltered and instead pulled his hands down to rest on her stomach. Henry's eyes went wide.

"You're… you're pregnant?" She nodded weakly, her eyes filling with tears when she could see the ones in his. Eventually, he choked out a laugh. "Oh my God… Oh my God!" She took a few steps back while Henry ran backward and forward whooping and cheering. He then lifted her into the air, quickly dropping her back down when he remembered she was still feeling queasy. Instead, he settled for holding her tight. "You're pregnant… you're pregnant!" Henry broke down in tears once again and they stood, swaying and crying together until the noise caused both Copper and Kal to nose their way into the bedroom to inspect the commotion. "Guess what, guys? Mummy's having a baby!" He danced around excitedly, whipping the dogs into a similar if rather confused, frenzy. When she could get Henry to stand still again, he dotted her face with more kisses.

"Henry… Henry stop!"

"Oh, sorry, are you still feeling sick? Here let's sit you down…" A sinking feeling washed through her as she was plonked onto the edge of the bed. "Darling, what's the matter? You're going to be a mum! Aren't you thrilled?" She brushed the tears from her cheeks.

"Of course, I am! I want this just as much as you, it's just that…"

"What?" Then it dawned on him. Henry mentally kicked himself for not realising how bittersweet that moment must have been for her. He softly stroked her back. "Oh darling… what happened last time won't necessarily happen again—"

"But I'm only four weeks! I didn't want to tell you so soon but then I started getting morning sickness and… and…" Her voice trailed off. "Oh Henry, what if we lose it?! I can't go through that agony again…" Her head fell into her hands as she sobbed. Henry swivelled off the bed and kneeled in front of her.

"Ollie, listen very carefully to me, sweetheart. I want you to know that no matter what happens, either now or in the future, I'm right by your side and always will be. Nothing is going to change that, okay? Darling, look at me…" But her eyes were still awash with fear.

"… I'm so scared Henry. This is such a big change, are you sure we're really ready? It's not like having another dog, it'll be really hard work at first. God, the responsibility of it all…" His heart ached for her.

"I know sweetheart, but remember things are very different this time. We have each other and I'm also going to make sure you get the best possible care. If anything does go wrong, we're going to figure it out and work together, alright? We can even get a nanny if that'll help at first?" She flung her arms around Henry and went to kiss him before stopping herself. "What? What is it?"

"Well… my mouth still tastes awful!"

"Don't be silly. You're perfect!" He pulled her up off the bed and kissed her hard. For a while, they just stood holding each other steadily.

"And don't worry about a nanny, I'm sure we'll manage. I'm not a great sleeper anyway and I've looked after my sister's kids when they were newborns. Once you get into a routine things settle down eventually… Henry? Are you listening?"

"Yeah, sorry. It's just, wow… we're gunna be parents!" She beamed up at Henry. "I just can't believe it… when did you find out? Do you still have the test? When are you due?!" She smiled as he fired off each excited question, and reached into her bedside cabinet. She pulled out a thin, blue, and white stick. When she handed it to Henry, he blinked a couple of times at the two pink lines before his eyes swelled with tears once again. He then kissed the stick and let out another excited cheer. She felt so happy - not to mention relieved.

"I'm not sure it's very hygienic to kiss that you know," she teased. "I took it a few days ago when I started feeling off. I don't know what made me do it, something just felt… different. The baby should be due no later than December. To be honest I'm surprised it happened so quickly, I thought we'd have more difficulty—"

"So I shot and scored on the first try?! Wait a minute, if you're four weeks… that means you must have conceived on our wedding night!"

"… Oh my God, you're right. Are we really that tacky?!" Henry chuckled.

"Aww, I'm so thrilled though! Honestly, you've made me the happiest man alive. And don't worry, I'm gunna be here to get everything sorted—"

"But Henry you've got to go away again in June—"

"No bloody fear! I'm not leaving now that you're pregnant!"

"Why not?! Henry you've got to go back to work!"

"You must be joking, I'm not missing you being pregnant!"

"Well, once I'm out of the first trimester things should hopefully go a lot smoother anyway. Honestly, you won't be missing much—"

"I don't care, I'm not missing any of it—"

"But Henry I'll need you here when the baby's born, it's better that you're away now and here later, trust me."

"Well, we'll see how things go, I have no problem taking another year out if I have to, you and the baby are far more important to me." He gently cradled the lower half of her stomach. "So, when can we tell everyone?"

"Not yet, we need to wait until I'm at least twelve weeks."

"God, it's going to be hard keeping it a secret…"

"I know, but it's for the best. I don't want it announced by your publicist either."

"That's okay, I completely agree. We will have to tell her at some point. After all, we don't want her catching wind of it further down the line. She's very good though, she'll make sure it's kept under wraps."

"Well, I certainly hope so. I mean, it's not like it's some dirty secret, but I don't want the stress of the media trying to release the story—"

"Don't worry sweetheart, I'll make sure everything goes as smoothly as possible. Now, when do we have to arrange to see the doctor?"

"I've already booked to see the midwife next week. It's only an hour-long appointment, you don't need to go with me…"

"Are you joking? I want to be involved every step of the way!'

"Well, I appreciate that but you must promise not to start becoming a fusspot over me?"

"But this is our first baby, you can't blame me if get a little bit protective!"

"I know but remember, until the later stages I can carry on pretty much as normal. I want to continue working for as long as I can, as well." Henry bit his lip.

"Darling your job can be very stressful, I don't want you juggling contract negotiations with being sick and tired all the time."

"The morning sickness should go away by the time I'm four to five months gone. To be honest, I've had it earlier than normal. Usually, it doesn't start until you're at least six weeks—"

"But maybe that's a good sign? Last time you said you had no symptoms so maybe everything will go smoother this time around?" She smiled at him sadly, always in awe of his eternal optimism.

"Well, I certainly hope so, God there's so much to do…"

"Don't worry, we've got eight months to get everything sorted. But what do we do about the party later? Do you think you'll still be up to going?"

"Yeah, I'll feel better as the day wears on. But I won't be able to drink so I'm going to have to fake it somehow. I hope no one cottons on…"

"You'll be fine, just make sure you stick close to me so that if you want to leave we can call a cab. God, I'm going to be a Daddy! I'm so excited! Aren't you?"

"Of course! My head's swimming though. We'll have to figure out what room we want to use as the nursery."

"Well don't worry, I can paint it in a day, just tell me what colours and furnishings you want—"

"Well that's the thing, is it okay if we don't find out whether it's a boy or a girl?"

"Oh, are you sure?"

"Yeah, I mean I don't think I'm going to have another, so it's tough shit if it's a girl, cos we won't be trying again—" Henry cackled.

"I'd love a little girl! Our family's full of boys so it'll be wonderful to have a daughter. Especially if she looks like you…"

"Oh God, what if she gets your arse chin?" He snorted.

"Well, that's just charming! There's nothing like a mother's love is there?!" Her face turned serious for a moment.

"Will you promise to look after them though? I mean whatever happens between us in the future, do you promise to always be there for them?" Henry felt his heart sink. The poor relationship she'd had with her own father was obviously weighing heavily on her mind.

"Darling, I've already promised that I will love and protect you both until I take my dying breath. Nothing will ever stand in the way of that, okay?" Her face still looked clouded with worry.

"… God I'm going to get so fat."

"Oh stop it, as long as you're both healthy and happy that's all that matters. And besides, I can always get you one of those electric scooters…" She swatted him on the arm.

"Oh Lord help me, it's gunna be a bloody long eight months…"

"Yeah, but it'll be a laugh too. And there are lots of positives. Just imagine how big those are gunna get…" Henry pointed at her chest, a look of pride on his face. "And this!" He gave her backside a determined pinch. She couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Think of all the baby classes we'll have to attend as well—"

"Oh no we're bloody not! We can do virtual ones, there's absolutely no sodding way I'm attending any of those with you!"

"What? Why not? How else am I going to learn about everything?!"

"Henry, you will just play up and then every week afterward I'll be too embarrassed to show my face! Besides, you're famous. I'm not having people come up and ask for autographs while I'm trying to practise breathing techniques!"

"Okay, you've got a point. But please don't worry, alright? I promise I'm going to be hands-on and do as much as I can to educate myself. I want to be involved as much as possible."

"Is that right? So you're going to get up in the middle of the night to do a feed? And change shitty nappies?!"

"Well, we can draw straws on that last one…" She smiled, realising that there was no one else with whom she'd rather embark upon the journey to parenthood. "So, do you think we'll have a girl then? What about names? Personally, I've always liked Henrietta," she scoffed.

"Henry, if you think I'm naming my daughter after you, you’ve got another thing coming!"

"What? Henrietta's a lovely name! Better than Ollie at any rate!" She thwacked Henry on the arm again.

"Don't be so bloody cheeky, or I'll take all your birthday presents back! Come on, enough about the baby for the moment, we can talk more about it later. Now let's go downstairs Daddy so you can open all your gifts—"

"Well don't worry, you've already given me the best gift I could have asked for! Thank you so, so much darling. I didn't even know I could feel this happy. Look, I know it won't always be easy, but there's no one else I'd rather do any of this with. You're going to be an amazing mother. I love you, sweetheart… best birthday ever!" They grinned widely at each other, shared another kiss, and went down to the kitchen holding each other's hand.

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