#Are You Sure You Know What Tomorrow Bring III

[notjustjavierpena]

Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia: Chapter III

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: I'm excited to bring to you the next chapter! Happy reading!

Chapter Summary: In which you experience your wedding night and an uncomfortable conversation takes place.

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Chapter warnings: +18, arranged marriage, historical sexism, probably historical inaccuracies, large age gap, religion in the form of Roman Gods, shitty parents, anxieties over wedding night, virginity loss, female masturbation, handjobs, piv sex, praise kink, dirty talk, painful sex but also not painful sex, creampie, politics, Marcus gets angry

Word count: 9k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57443332/chapters/154904269

Chapter III: You're a woman and a wife now

After you enter the room, Marcus closes the door to his night chambers with a soft click. He secures it to give the two of you an illusion of privacy despite the many servants walking up and down the halls that now belong to you as well, cleaning the rooms of any signs of guests so that new people can relish in festivities tomorrow too. 

“I noticed you regained your appetite. Did you like the feast?” He asks as he starts undoing his sandals with steadier hands than you can muster right now in your anxiety-riddled body, untying them where they stop just underneath his knees until he can step out of them completely. 

“Your cook is better than ours,” you compliment with a little smile, your arms crossed over your chest until you can hug yourself with your palms on your back. You try to self-soothe like when you had first met but the thought of the wifely duties that lie ahead makes your heartbeat pound in your chest in a dizzying fashion. 

“He is your cook now too,” he delves into small talk, trying to make a mundane situation out of something that so evidently weighs heavily on you. He is just about to continue when you hold up your hand to stop him, reluctantly having let go of yourself to signal that you wish to speak.

“Marcus,” you start in a soft voice without knowing where the sentence will go, doing the utmost to make sure that you are not sounding as if you are going to refuse to share a bed with him in case of evoking anger in him. He watches you curiously, graciously allowing you to interrupt him all the while you swallow the lump in your throat, “I must confess that I am nervous.”

You can barely get the sentence out before tears start to well up in your eyes, your throat constricting as you find yourself on the verge of crying. You reach for some of the fabric of your tunic, clutching it desperately as you hold a sob at bay. 

Marcus looks at you with sympathy that shouldn’t surprise you but still does despite the moment you shared the last time you were alone with each other.  

“What bothers you?” He asks despite knowing the answer already. 

“Is it not obvious?” You ask with a whimper, “I am dreading the thing that all wives so desperately long for on their wedding night. I have been told stories of blood and cries, of men being cruel in their passion, and— I know that it is my duty, that this is as important as the ceremony itself but it scares me. What if my body simply isn’t made for this act?“

It is odd to confess something so personal to a near-stranger but you suppose that there is no point in tiptoeing around the fact that you are united in marriage which demands the deepest form of vulnerability towards each other. A tear manages to escape your eye and it rolls down until it drips off your chin. 

“Carissima,” Marcus soothes gently. He dares walk to stand in front of you, his bare feet quiet on the cold floor and even though he can potentially reach out to put his hands on you, he does not, “Goddess Nox has given us plenty of time to take things slowly before dawn. These stories you have heard… I wish you would not think of me as such a brutal man. Our chambers are not a battlefield.” 

You reach up with the back of your hand to swipe away the tears that have started to continuously fall from your chin, catching some on your cheeks before they even manage to go so far. You feel a pang of guilt at your assumptions because Marcus is right and the proof is in the way he kissed you so carefully yesterday when you had asked. 

“I’m sorry,” you cry unhappily and stare down at your feet again, hating the way you come off as a scared child. You are married to a general of the great Roman Empire, meant to exude grace and strength even when the two of you are alone in your home. Your home. These chambers will forever be yours too.

“I know this is difficult but this is something we must do to start our lives together as man and wife,” Marcus coos back at you. He dares to put a hand underneath your damp chin to tilt your head up again, looking into your eyes with his own that seems to be miles deep with their brown color. You whimper but he shakes his head, “No more of that. I will not have you remember your first night in these halls with remorse and terror.”

His hand moves up to cup your whole cheek with how large his palm is, and as you feel his warm and gentle fingers on your skin, you close your eyes and lean into the same kind of touch that had made you explore yourself in bed last night. He smiles as you melt a little, “Very good, that’s it.”

Your eyes shoot open again as he praises you so effortlessly, a warmth spreading through your lower body at hearing words you have never heard from any man before. A tiny drop of need pools in your belly, making you bold enough to make a request, “Will you kiss me like yesterday? Perhaps then I might relax more.”

Marcus nods. You move to remove the crown of flowers that secures the veil covering your hair. You place it on one of the many marble surfaces in the room, handling it with the care that comes from your superstition as to what would happen if you were to tear it. You do the same with the veil, draping it across a chair while Marcus waits patiently. No tears fall from your eyes anymore.

You signal to him that you are ready and you don’t flinch as he leans close, the tip of his thumb resting underneath your chin while the rest of his hand is spread across your face. He pokes his nose into your cheek, pecking you there with featherlight touches of his lips before gently going inward to capture your mouth. 

The kiss is even better than yesterday. It makes you release the fabric of your dress in an instant, your arms coming up instinctively to wrap around your husband’s shoulders. You kiss him back with a desire that must have been asleep in your body because it wakes up as fiercely as linen catching fire. 

“What do I do?” You pant when he gives you a moment to breathe, your faces barely an inch apart. You might drown in his eyes. 

“You trust me,” he replies without hesitation and you can do nothing but nod slightly, so eager to follow orders that it terrifies you a little. You feel his strong hands bunch up the fabric of your tunic that’s draping over your hips as he captures your mouth once more, a soft moan leaving you as his tongue slips past your lips. 

He leads you towards the bed without pulling away. You can taste the honey and fruit from the dessert on his tongue, smell him when he forces you to breathe through your nose when his mouth does not leave yours. He smells faintly of scented oil that a servant probably recommended after a shave along his neck, of sweat and of himself, which you will fall asleep and wake up to for many days to come. He has you not worrying about yourself for even a second, not even when one of his hands reaches for the woven belt around your waist to undo it with utmost care. 

It sways in the air as it falls to the floor, lying forgotten for the maids to clean up tomorrow. He allows you a breath when he breaks the kiss but he takes the air from your lungs once more when his hands touch your shoulders. You feel lightheaded as he slips the tunic off of them, the soft fabric slipping down your arms and chest until it catches on your hips. You have never been this exposed to anyone before, the slightly cooler air outside of your clothes making your nipples harden and catch Marcus’ attention. He admires your bare chest without words at first but it makes you hesitate, knowing how effortlessly he had complimented your appearance when you had first met. However, when you reach up to cover yourself, he shakes his head. 

“You are radiant,” he praises and warmth goes to your face, eyes dropping to the floor at the idea that he might mean it wholly. You gain a shred of courage, pretending that you haven’t looked at the floor again by fixing your gaze on your skirt. You work the draping fabric over the swell of your hips, ripe for bearing children if that is what he should want, and let it pool around your feet. You have already had your blood this month, so you have no garments covering your sex. Suddenly, you are more exposed than you have ever even seen the depictions of Venus. Does he find you just as beautiful now that you are in nothing but the golden jewelry that your mother said he had sent?

Without word, your instincts guide you to sit down on the large bed and Marcus waits patiently while you crawl back on the linen sheets. You move your arms back to support yourself, bending your knees slightly but not daring to let your legs fall open like you know you probably should. You consider the pose of a siren, legs together like a tail and laying to one side to show off the curve of your body. 

“Seems like Venus has favored you. I shall wonder how your father has kept you in his house for so long,” Marcus finally breaks the silence but only to make you smile shyly, stirring up a little laughter and shortness of breath in your chest. Cupid seems to have hit you square in the chest with his golden-tipped arrow, filling you up with desire for your new husband when he says praise so effortlessly. 

“Are you going to join me now?” You ask, finding that nervousness is best fought by being direct. You gaze at his face to read him but you have no clue how these situations unfold, so you are unable to read his mind and foresee his next move. 

“You will not be ready,” he shakes his head. You narrow your eyes as you ponder what he means, watching him undo the knot of red fabric on his shoulder to slip off the top layer of his toga. He hangs it on the chair next to your matching veil. 

“Ready? But I am in your bed,” you let him know of your confusion. When he turns around to face you once more, you gasp at the sight of his sex, the length of it. He is visible through the toga now that the top layer isn’t covering him up anymore. His cock is outlined by it from the way he has gotten hard in response to seeing you naked, a thing you knew was going to happen but never could have imagined what looked like. 

“Come closer,” he says as he stands by the end of your bed. His tone has changed a little but you cannot confirm whether it has to do with him being aroused underneath the remnants of his clothes. It seems like a command now, so you follow through with a pounding heartbeat until your heels are pressing into the mattress right at the edge of the bed. 

“What did you mean?” You ask. 

“When you are alone,” he begins but the tone of his voice is still to the gentler side, his hand reaching out and hovering above your knee. He makes you gasp as he grabs it, carefully pulling it outwards until the most private part of your body exposes itself to him. His eyes only look down briefly, “Do you touch yourself here? Between your legs?” 

You glance away quickly as your heart leaps into your throat. The images of last night flood through your mind and you feel embarrassed, so you shake your head in response, “No, of course not.”

“I don’t believe your words for a second, Carissima,” he chuckles, his dominant hand going up your thigh until he removes it altogether to catch your wrist. He moves your hand to rest between your thighs, “Show me what you do.”

You release a breath you didn’t know you have been holding, feeling the warmth of your cunt against your fingers and how it aches for you to caress the spots you like the most. Your pulse is everywhere now but mostly centered around your clit, the pearl-shaped nub that you have explored just the night before. 

“I don’t do it long,” you babble nervously as you start to touch gently between your legs, two fingers rubbing in gentle circles over your clit. It makes you gasp a little, the sensations in your lower body heightened by being in another person’s proximity as you touch yourself, “I always stop right before… before something happens.”

“There’s no need to stop. Something beautiful happens when you keep going and get to that pinnacle,” Marcus teaches you with a kind expression, moving his hand to push your other leg out to the side. You are opened up to him like a lotus flower but he still doesn’t seem like he will move on top of you yet, crush you with his weight, and fall asleep afterward with horrible snoring that your sisters have joked about. 

You start to feel familiar wetness increase between your legs, your fingers gliding over your cunt easier and making you speed up your touches as the pressure increases. Marcus sees it from the way your slit glistens in the dim light of the oil lamp on the nightstand. He encourages you, his cock even more prominent underneath his clothes, “If you have touched between your thighs, you will know of what I speak. I see it now, the signs of your body welcoming intrusion by making itself warm and wet for me. It will feel like you are missing something… I assure you that I will give it.”

You furrow your brow at those words while you stroke yourself and feel a flutter of pleasure intense enough to make you moan, Marcus’ eyes dropping to his own lap where his length twitches. He readjusts himself with a soft groan and then something clicks. You do feel exactly like he said, perplexed by why you have not noticed the gaping emptiness all the other times you have done this. 

Experimentally, you reach lower to prod a finger at your entrance and you groan at the way it slips effortlessly inside yourself. You aren’t sure what to do next, letting the finger stay still inside of you as you get used to the unusual pressure, but the heel of your hand starts grinding down onto your clit in earnest. 

Marcus steps a little closer at the temptation you bring him with your growing pleasure. He squeezes your thigh and you nearly laugh in surprise when you can feel your walls squeezing your finger, “Will I not hurt you if I… grip you with my…”

You cannot say any of the words you know. Cunt, heat, sex. It somehow feels more exposing, more intimate in a way than the physical gestures you are performing for him. You hear him laugh but his eyes are not cheerful when you find them, instead, they’re dark with lust and you squeeze your digit again. 

“On the contrary,” he touches himself on top of his toga, his stomach rising and falling faster than just a moment ago when he didn’t have a hand on himself, “It’ll feel like I was made for nothing else.”

There’s the familiar gathering inside of your belly. Sweat prickles at your skin, pleasure steadily blossoming from inside of you as you reach a point of no return. This would be where you would stop back home, leaving you sensitive and emotional as you forced sleep onto yourself. This time, you chase the feelings that terrify you.

You feel like the most fragile person ever; like you are made of clay that might shatter at any moment. You clutch at the sheets with your free hand, Marcus’ eyes sure to make you succumb to how brittle you are as he watches intensely. You bite your bottom lip, a small whimper escaping you as you teeter on what you have always shied away from. 

“Don’t stop,” he urges when you hesitate for less than a second. His breathing is ragged now, synchronized with your own as you suddenly realize that you are doing the same thing. He seems better at controlling it than you, “Let it come, so we can enjoy each other.” 

You cannot breathe, snapping for air as you press a little harder on your hard clit. You want to squeeze your eyes shut but then you’ll miss the look on Marcus’ face as he sees you come undone, so you power through and, and… and—

A cry of surprise and pleasure leaps from your chest as you find release. You lift your hips to meet your hand, your index finger slipping out of you as you instinctively know to focus on your pulsing clit. It is like nothing you have ever felt before, going on for several maddening seconds where you don’t know whether to chase more or stop when you can do nothing but tremble from the sensation. 

The linen on the bed is wet underneath you and a cockiness within you tells you that you could handle him tenfold if you wanted. You are disoriented by the heat ebbing out of your body, leaving you in a state of daze and a mix of emotions that you cannot fathom has nothing to do with the wine during the feast. You let your hand rest on your stomach, feeling your panting underneath it and suppressing a giggle that bubbles up all the way from your belly. 

“Will it be like that every time?” You ask and stretch your legs to let your feet hang out over the edge. 

“It can be,” he replies with slight amusement, hiding a lopsided grin. He is standing with his knees brushing against the bed, having itched to get as close as possible without overwhelming you and perhaps scaring you off. He lets your foot brush his toga, “However it might get better with time and practice.” 

You stare at him in disbelief, not sure if you believe that there’s something even better awaiting you somewhere in your future. You stare down between his legs where he must be aching like you’ve been several times in the past. You are already aware that you are wrong in the assumptions you have about pleasure because you’ve learned so much in less than ten minutes. How will it feel when he gives it to you?

“Can I touch you?” You boldly ask and slowly find the confidence to sit up, feet planted on the floor. You are so close to his lap, “When you are undressed?”

“You can,” he nods, not able to hide the surprise on his face as you look curious above all else. He undoes the belt around his waist and lets it clatter to the floor, and you watch with nervous breath how he lets his own garments slip from his body until the whole of him is revealed. It is fascinating to see a man like this, much different from the statues around Rome and particularly where you sometimes have felt scared to look. 

He steps between your knees, looking down at you and the height difference should be intimidating but is not. Instead, there’s the calming reassurance of being watched and guided as you lift your hand to rest your palm on the softness of his stomach. He has muscles there, just a little less toned than what the working men back at the village sport. His arms are what hold his tremendous strength, the effects of carrying a sword or spear on the battlefield. He is gorgeous, you think to yourself while curiosity and unexpected heat stir in your loins. 

Your eyes wander while your palm skims lower. They follow the sculpt of his torso, a long scar weaving itself around his hip distracting you until your gaze settles on the sight of his erect cock. It is much larger than you expected - thick, long, and intimidating but somehow also beautiful - and the thought of it entering you brings new anxiety to your body and mind. 

“You are nervous,” he points out, chest rising and falling slowly as you explore the fine hair on his skin which becomes thicker the further down on his abdomen they are. You run your nails through the trail just below his navel, looking up as his cock jumps at the contact. 

“I try not to be. I’d rather be curious,” you tell him, finally bold enough to touch him where he is hard and straining. You wrap your fingers around his generous girth. He is warm in your hand as you stroke him lightly to simply feel the weight of him and it takes little else before he lets out a low, appreciative groan. The confidence his response gives you makes your mouth water but despite what your brain tells you to do, that seems over the line right now. 

Instead, you look up at him with big eyes as you continue in a rhythm that he seems to like because you can hear the catch of his breath. You think he might stop you when he covers your hand with his own but instead, he adds slight pressure to guide you in how he likes to be touched. 

You hadn’t thought this was how everything would go down. There’s a strange form of equality between the two of you when you are naked together, a comfortable feeling in your chest at the idea of a whole night of giving and taking pleasure from each other being before you. What you had gathered from what Cassius so disgustingly had tried to explain to you whenever you were by the river alone, it was supposed to be a cruel act for the woman. This is not cruel. 

Eventually, Marcus’ breathing has become labored and you know that he is within reach of his own pleasure. However, he tightens his grip on your hand to slow down your movements much to your confusion. 

“You’re a quick learner, almost too quick,” he says with a warm chuckle, removing your hand from his cock. There’s a bead of clear liquid at the tip, threatening to drip down onto your thigh. The room somehow smells sweeter when the both of you have been so close to experiencing a peak together. 

“Why did you stop me?” You ask curiously and let your hand drop to your lap. You can still feel his warmth radiating from his heated skin, it glowing with a sheen of sweat already. 

“I don’t want this to be over yet,” he explains with a few controlled breaths that seem to calm him. His jaw clenches as if he is in pain but he doesn’t sound like you have done anything wrong, “And it will be if I lose myself.” 

“Am I… are we ready now?” You question once more. 

“Lie back,” he orders with a nod. You do as you are told and he joins you on the bed with confident grace, as if he has done this a million times before, the mattress dipping underneath him. Gently, he pushes on your chest to make you lie down on your back. When you are comfortable, he lies down next to you with his body turned towards you. 

You see him come closer and meet him halfway, pressing your lips to his in a kiss even deeper than the first you’ve shared with him. He makes a noise of approval at your eagerness, cupping your face with a single giant hand while you cup the back of his head with both of your own. You try to initiate more kisses but suddenly his lips descend to your throat, leaving goosebumps in their wake as he pecks along the sensitive skin of your collarbone too. You start to feel impatient for another high with him, another peak of pleasure to dance its way through your veins. 

“Marcus,” you say with your fingers in his hair, “I’m ready.”

“Let me make sure,” he says while the hand on your face settles on your thigh instead. He rakes his fingernails across your skin when he goes inwards, causing you to gasp at the idea of what he means. Are you wet for him? Yes, you are. You know you are. 

Two fingers slide between your legs. He parts your thighs slightly to gain more access and then simply feels the slick that has been dripping from your cunt since you kissed him fully clothed. A gasp leaves you at the feeling of being touched by a man in a place that you’ve been told is your most private. In return, a smile spreads across his face and a satisfied hum escapes him. 

“You’re ready,” he whispers with his gaze fixed on you. Teasingly, he holds his fingers up before you and turns his wrist so you can see your wetness shine in the light. He then puts his digits in his mouth and licks them clean, to which you want to hide your face with a squeak. He describes you as ripe and sweet, juicy like the peaches in the Summer, all the while he shifts his weight and positions himself between your thighs. 

Feeling him like this - the skin of his rough thighs, the coarse hairs that feel nothing like yours as they grace your softness - makes a fresh wave of nerves wash over you. It feels like there’s suddenly a very short time to prepare for what you have come to understand will be a transformative experience. You start to tremble, looking down between Marcus’ legs and wondering how on Earth you are supposed to allow him into your body. Above you, you hear him say your name but it sounds like you’ve been trapped inside a bell jar. 

“We will go slow,” he promises when you look like a hunted doe. He has placed his hands on your thighs to soothe you, letting his calloused palms skim up and down your skin, but you tense up even more since he has barely touched you before. You swallow as he goes on, “You will guide me with your comfort. If anything hurts, I promise it’ll only be for a moment.”

“You will stop if I tell you to?” You ask with uncertainty. A part of you already knows that you will try to power through no matter the pain. 

“Yes,” he promises and removes his hand again when he realizes its effect on you. He places it on your chest instead, feeling your unsteady breaths underneath it, “But I need you to relax, Carissima. Take a deep breath and tell me what you fear.”

You do as he says, heaving for a large mouthful of air that makes your heartbeat settle down slightly as it fills your lungs. For once, you don’t shy away from his gaze as you talk about lying with him in such explicit terms. You chew your bottom lip after a few breaths, “What if it doesn’t fit?”

Marcus laughs and you feel embarrassed. He shakes his head as he notices, leaning over you to hover just above your lips. You hold onto the arm on your chest as he reassures you, “It’ll fit, I promise on the Gods. Your body and mine were made for this; for the act of making beautiful children.”

You decide to be brave and kiss him now that he is so close, and slowly, as you taste his mouth again, you tangle together in a way that makes sense for what you are about to do. Marcus is close enough to map out every detail of your face, one hand on your hip and the other resting just above your head. You, on the other hand, have grabbed both his bare shoulders, holding onto him tight enough for your fingertips to dent his skin. He has promised that it will be okay if you scratch him with your nails, that he, if he is completely honest, likes that sort of thing. 

“Okay, I’m ready,” you say with determination, feeling the way Marcus lets go of your hip to run his fingers through your folds again. You moan softly as he lets his hand gather wetness, your eyes going down to watch him take his cock in hand and smear it with slick. 

“Don’t look down there, look at me,” he guides you gently as he prods against your slit. You force yourself to meet his eyes again, a gaze in them that holds a mix of desire and restraint. He takes a deep breath that is followed by him starting to push forward, the feeling so intense that you whimper while keeping eye contact. 

“Shh,” he soothes during the initial sensation. There's a painful sting as the head stretches your walls that have never known such intrusion. It makes you breathe rapidly and shudder from discomfort until a cry leaves you when you are breached. Tears form at the corners of your eyes as it burns. It’s a feeling that you can’t describe, a fullness that feels unnatural and natural at the same time. He pushes beyond the thick head and it makes you tighten around him, so much he has to still completely. He looks angry but he isn’t, his teeth gritted as he continues to push despite the danger of finishing, “You’re tight around me, try to relax.”

“S-sorry,” you attempt to follow his instruction, try focusing on the exciting intensity of his gaze, the delicious way he looks at you because he wants you. His weight on you is so heavenly, his skin is warm against yours that is riddled with goosebumps despite not being cold, and the sound of his breathing reminds you of the way your own breath is rapid when you pleasure yourself. 

Yet when you seem to think that the worst is over, he goes a little faster with feeding you his cock and the pain intensifies by blooming into something more sharp. The air inside your lungs feels trapped as your breath hitches but you force it out until it releases into a pained cry. Mostly, you just want to stop but you’re reminded that this has to happen if the marriage is to be successful and legitimate. So instead, you clutch at Marcus’ shoulders and whine. 

“Am I hurting you?” He asks, resting his forehead against yours and stilling his hips. You nod at first but then shake your head quickly afterward, unable to speak in case you’ll sob. He doesn’t seem convinced, “I’ll try moving. I won’t go further in before you can handle it.”

You nod in approval, your heart beating so fast it is making your mind feel clouded. He begins to move with gentle, shallow thrusts of his hips, his eyes glued to you in search of anything that might tell him that it’s too much. The first few moments have you thinking that you might split in half but you find that the repeated fill of your cunt makes everything turn into a dull ache as you get used to it. Your noises are pained yet soft, soon switching to quiet moaning as he moves inside of you. 

“Doing so well,” he praises as you welcome him further without thinking. A sensation that you had thought would only be painful has kickstarted a different kind of feeling. It’s a warmth that spreads through your lower body, pleasure that mixes in with the rest in an almost insistent way. Marcus makes a noise that makes you clench around his cock, and he finds your mouth in a messy kiss, “I’m almost all the way in. It’s supposed to feel good. Does it feel good?” 

You nod repeatedly as you feel connected to him in a way that you never thought you would with another person. He is so deep inside of you and the discomfort that you thought would persist is fading away fast, leaving only a tug of pleasure that tightens more and more. You close your eyes and squeeze them shut as you moan a little louder for the first time. 

Without control of your body, your hips rise up to meet his and he fucks you a little harder. The friction is significantly more intense than what you have felt alone, but you can feel its effects mixing with your previous orgasm’s warmth. The room fills with the lewd sounds of your shared breaths and the scent of sex. 

Marcus’ hand settles on your hip, his incredible strength hauling your leg over his own hip so he can switch up the angle. Meanwhile, his other hand reaches down and pushes hard down on the back of your thigh to open you up even further to him. He stretches so his upper body towers over you and rolls his hips with controlled desire, mouth hanging open a little in his breathless state as he concentrates on making the pain disappear completely. 

It does a moment later. An involuntary moan leaves you when the head of his cock slides over a spot that seems different from every other place inside of you. Your eyes fly open after having been squeezed shut for so many seconds, fireworks going off in your peripheral vision. Your gaze moves down between your bodies to see a faint trace of red on his cock, setting your heartbeat into overdrive. You should be shoving him off now that you are bleeding but what the hell felt so good? He hits the same spot once again to make you cry out and crane your neck. 

“You like that? Was that all I had to do?” He asks with a satisfied smirk, breathing raggedly on top of you as he treats you to even more of the same pleasure. You want to come again, your hips rising to meet his thrusts more insistently if it means him giving you pleasure like that over and over again without fail. As your pleasure starts building into another peak, a shocked laugh leaves you. 

“How do you… How did you—?“ You start. 

“I knew where I wanted to reach. Feel that? That spot is made for feeling good,” he explains with a voice rough with his own pleasure before you manage to finish your inexperienced question, “I wanna hit that over and over, fill you up so you can feel it there for days when I’m done.” 

“Don’t stop,” you groan. 

“I’m not going to,” he promises but instincts tell you to make sure, that if he even falters a little, you’ll feel the frustration of no release like you have since you discovered what is between your legs. You tighten your thighs around his hips, locking your ankles around the small of his back and the move makes Marcus growl. 

He, who you are ready to call a master in the art of love, leans down over you and drives into you like a wild animal. You whimper but it isn’t of pain, the familiar feeling of ecstasy building rapidly between your legs again. He feels huge inside of you, the whole length of him throbbing against your overstretched walls. 

And he kisses you, seemingly not in control of himself anymore when he feels the same pressure in his lower abdomen. It is messy and sweet and rough at the same time, your hands cupping his face until they automatically slide up into his hair. You can feel his chest rub against your breasts, your nipples more sensitive than they ever have been and you moan as a fact runs through your head. No man has ever been this close to you before. Only the sun’s rays or the clouds’ rain has been this close to you.

You come once more with this thought in your mind, the intense and warm feeling hitting you as suddenly as the snapping of a dry twig found in the sun. You arch your back with a groan, feeling it even deeper inside of you than before because it seems to be the spot inside of you that has triggered it. 

“Oh! Oh Gods,” you moan into the air, Marcus’ lips having descended to your now-exposed neck and kissing with the same fervor as he had your mouth. His own noises have grown in volume, his cock seeming to respond to how your heat clenches around it. You have tears coming down your face without knowing why; you aren’t upset but rather quite the opposite. Everything below your navel is sensitive, slick, and used up. 

You feel it as he goes rigid as you have just done, a rough growl leaving him as he has his own orgasm. However, you instantly realize that Cassius forgot to mention something in his horrible renditions of love-making; the sticky, warm waves that come along with a man’s ultimate pleasure. You gasp in shock, looking down between the two of you as Marcus fills you up with his seed.

You cling to him, your hands grabbing at whatever they can while you whimper, and you stare at the milky white ring that forms around his length. He keeps going for a few thrusts more, and the noises coming from your connected bodies are on the verge of making you embarrassed. It’s squeaky and wet, but it’s not making you want to pull away. Instead, it makes you reach up to cup Marcus’ face so you drag his lips to your mouth and kiss him, the sensation of his seed inside of you making you feel more connected than ever.

You kiss for a moment before your husband buries his face in your neck. He leaves you empty when he softens, eliciting a weak gasp from you when you become aware of the sticky wetness smearing your inner thighs. Marcus pants against your already burning skin and chuckles without any particular reason. You are in awe of what has just happened, seeming to somehow know that this was the completion of the act. 

This act, once so unfamiliar and feared, now feels like a revelation to you. The new dimension of pleasure, so uniquely intense and intimate, makes you wonder how anyone gets anything done when they can do this all the time. You are sticky with sweat, dizzy with tears and pleasure, and by the Gods, you want to do it again and again with him. He will not leave this bed until you get tired of feeling this way between your legs. You think of commanding him this but you are already aware that it is an impossibility. He would probably laugh at you but given the way he lifts his head and looks at you now, he might also follow through on your order by sinking back into the mess between your legs.

You miss his weight on you when he rolls off, the both of you staring towards the ceiling. The room becomes very quiet in the aftermath, torches and candlelight flickering around you. You have a hand on your chest, trying to calm your racing heartbeat to no avail and breathing rapidly to catch your breath. Your whole body buzzes, feeling like it is aglow and warm, and you dare sometimes look at your husband out of the corner of your eye. He looks the same but less surprised by the state he is in, clearly experienced and you find it all enticing when everything inside you has shifted.

You let your back and legs relax fully into the bed. Marcus watches as you stretch your body, and there is some kind of tension between you that you cannot put into words. You know it stems from the silence that is also between you, an unspoken game of who breaks it first, and when you dare peek at him, you find him staring right back at you. Your heart rate spikes once more but Marcus holds your gaze in a way that makes you unable to look away. 

“Are you alright?” He asks after a beat. You see him look at you with a softness that reflects how vulnerable you must look right now. He reaches out to take your hand, brushing your knuckles with his thumb, “You are not in pain?”

“No. I– I’m fine,” you shake your head. You say the words and realize that they are true even despite your uncertainty at first. For now, your body feels afloat but you have a gnawing feeling that it won’t last. A thought enters your mind, “What do we do now? I mean, what does one do after being together like this?”

“Well, given our roles and the expectations placed upon our union, there’s a thing that I would like to do. I’d like to help you arrange yourself comfortably if you’ll allow me,” he gently releases your hand and shifts to sit upright beside you. 

You give him a puzzled look, not sure what he is talking about but you nod. It’s natural to trust him, you find, and his proposition intrigues you, “Yes, of course.”

Marcus reaches for the pillow against the headboard on his side of the bed. He fluffs it with care before patting your thigh, causing you to follow your instincts and automatically lift your pelvis towards the ceiling. When you have given him the room for it, he slips the soft pillow underneath your hips to elevate them, resulting in them laying comfortably at a gentle angle. 

Afterwards, he lies back down beside you but this time with his body facing yours. You try to smile at him but there’s embarrassment in your chest as the intention behind his act becomes clear. However, even as he senses your vulnerability, your new husband simply reaches for your hand again to kiss your knuckles. It is soft and intimate, it is kind reassurance in your time of transition. 

A moment after, he guides you to rest your palm just below your navel and places his own on top of it, caressing where new life may spring after tonight if Goddess Juno has the both of you in her favor.

"The pillow will help," he says quietly as he gently feels the soft skin on your stomach, the skin made to carry a child, "To ensure that our union bears fruit. Our alliance is only strong if I put a baby in your belly."

The words remind you of how your partnership is a part of something much bigger than yourselves, something to do with your father’s power and greed that you aren’t sure if Marcus feels too. Yet despite the impersonal nature of your union, the General’s tone is gentle and speaks of more than just mere duty. 

“And while we wait? What then?” You question, daring to entwine your fingers and feeling your chest flutter when he doesn’t protest. 

“We may rest…” He suggests with a smile, “Or, if you prefer, we may talk. It is different in every marriage.” 

There’s something about the way he words it that makes you feel more secure in your situation, that even if this is new territory, he is giving you permission to join in on shaping your relationship. 

You nod, “I think I would like to talk.”

“Then talk we shall,” he agrees without question, “Tell me something about yourself.”

You let go of his hand to place both palms on your stomach, looking to the ceiling as you reminisce about the life you have left behind back home. You tell him about the river all over again, about the sparkles the sun leaves on the surface of it, so beautiful it makes it seem like you can pick them with your bare hands. You tell him about wine and bread from the market, about a secret orange tree that you think only you and your sisters know of, and then you tell him about your sisters who all married for love. 

The latter makes Marcus shift slightly. A fleeting expression crosses his face before he gently clears his throat and gives you a small, hesitant smile to reassure you, “Do you think you’ll be happy here?” 

You take a moment to mull it over. You don’t want to lie to him but he looks so hopeful and sad at the same time, “I suppose that there’s always going to be a part of me that is going to wonder what would have happened if I had followed my own path and married someone I was deeply in love with, but I hope I will find happiness here. Perhaps it would have been you anyway, you never know. I would be as lucky as my sisters then.”

You say the last sentence with a twinkle in your eye, a soft and playful smile on your face, and Marcus looks almost shy, the importance and duty that he usually carries crumbling. You take the opportunity to see further under the surface, “And what about you? Do you have family that you are close to? I couldn’t help but notice that there were no formal introductions at the festivities.”

He hesitates briefly before answering, “My parents passed when I was merely a child. Thus the military became my family in many ways. I’ve always admired their dedication to each other. The responsibilities for the men I command seem like the next closest thing.”

“I’m sorry about your parents,” you say sincerely, touching his wrist gently, “I suppose it explains your dedication.”

He looks modest as he smiles, “I suppose it does.”

There’s a comfortable silence in the large chamber. Marcus looks down at your hand, opening his palm to invite you to place your own in it. You take his hand without hesitation and it feels natural, a thing so calming and warm, which invites you to venture further into his world. 

“May I ask you something?” You ask. 

“Of course,” he replies.

“Our conversation was interrupted earlier by one of your men, and I wanted to ask what was whispered in your ear. I hope I am not intruding—“ You tiptoe into the conversation, hoping your curiosity doesn’t come off too strong. 

He interrupts you, waving a hand dismissively, “We are husband and wife. I support the idea that we shouldn’t keep secrets from each other.”

“Yes. Yes, I quite agree with that,” you say with relief in your voice, “So you’ll tell me?”

“There was some unrest in the city today. The man was one of my men telling me that there’d been an incident - a confrontation - in one of the town squares. It led to the death of two of my soldiers.”

You gasp, “Gods! That’s terrible!” 

“The loss is shameful and upsetting, yes, but the people are hungry,” he explains simply, “Even the smallest of disputes can escalate when tensions are high. When one feels unheard by leaders, one can be driven to acts one might never have considered before.”

“But surely Rome’s subjects know better than to challenge Roman authorities?” You note with your brows furrowed, suddenly finding yourself speaking words that you have heard too many times around the dinner table at your childhood home, "A firm hand might be necessary to keep the peace. If the people are allowed this kind of behavior towards the empire - and thus the emperors - they might sometimes need to be reminded of their place."

There’s a shift so small that you could almost miss it in Marcus’ expression but disappointment clouds his eyes. You notice it because he follows it by subtly slipping his hand out of yours. He measures you with his gaze for a moment, “You don’t truly believe that instilling fear with unyielding force is the right way to rule?”

You sense his disapproval and feel embarrassed flood your system. With warm cheeks, you sit up and stutter a reply, "I... I suppose that's what I've been taught. My father always says that strength and control keep the empire strong and unwavering."

“And if I ask you to look past your upbringing?” He says it casually but there’s a command in his voice. Suddenly, the security you had felt moments ago is washed away by the feeling of being a mere little girl.

You look down at your hands, not able to keep eye contact despite how close you have just been, "I didn't mean to offend. I don’t— I don’t think I have ever taken the time to consider other perspectives. My father has given little room for such discussion."

“Is that so?” He raises a brow, “And does he seek influence in Rome’s leadership?”

"Yes," you reply hesitantly, still yet unaware of the implications of your words, "He hopes that our marriage might help him gain favor, perhaps even become an advisor to the emperors."

“It seems like your father was unaware of the fact that I served under Maximus Decimus Meridius, a man who believed in ruling with honor instead of fear. He would have done himself a favor by seeking alliances elsewhere if he aligns himself with ruling through oppression. Perhaps he should have married you off to the emperors themselves,” he says firmly, jaw tight and words filled with frustration, tingeing on angry. They come out a lot more venomous than you think are his intentions yet they sting nonetheless and you have to bite your lip to keep tears at bay. 

“I didn’t— I’m sorry, I was just repeating what I have always heard,” you stammer, swallowing around a lump in your throat. The vulnerability of your situation suddenly crashes over you like a wave trying to drown you, making you choke on a sob as his hard gaze scrutinizes you. You are young, barely out of childhood, and thrust into the role of a wife. You have never been expected to relay your views to anyone let alone a commanding general of the highest order in Rome. 

For a moment, an uncomfortable silence fills up the growing distance between you. You try to shift away on the bed but there’s a sudden ache between your legs from the previous activities of your wedding night. It’s shameful to look back at him but you have no one else to turn to right now. A tear escapes your eye but you find the courage to say what you need to say even if it is with a dizzying heartbeat, “My whole life, I have been taught to be obedient, to serve along with my sisters. My mother even. I don’t know who I am outside of that.”

Marcus suddenly mirrors your expression of shame, evidently grappling with his own emotions behind his eyes. He gently lifts his hand to catch the tear running down your face until it threatens to drip down from your chin. 

“Forgive me, I should not have raised my voice at you,” he says sincerely. He cups your cheek with a softening demeanor and you allow him, needing the affection and this is where you can receive it, “I know you have your concerns but I hope you can entertain the idea that this union might not just be a different cage.”

You nod, leaning your cheek into his gentle touch and earning a smile. There’s a promise beneath his words and despite everything, you allow yourself to feel hopeful. This man is not your father, actually far from it, and he is offering you something you are not used to; partnership and respect. 

Instead of answering him, you chew on your bottom lip and try to find the same courage that made him apologize so you can address the ache in your lower body. The pillow under your legs is all askew. You try to busy yourself by straightening it, “It has started to hurt where you…— Is that normal?”

"It can be," he says gently, and the hand on your cheek goes to skim over your bare thigh in an attempt to soothe,  "Your body needs time to adjust and recover.”

You pout as you automatically lie down again. You look like a child not getting their way, “Time to recover? Does this mean we can’t do it again?” 

Marcus’ expression flashes with amusement at your eagerness. He raises a brow, “Eager, aren't we? I admire your enthusiasm, but it's important that you give yourself time to heal. Rest might help.”

“Surely there's something else we can do?” You only just abstain from pleading him, tilting your head.

“This, my dear wife, was your husband's subtle way of saying goodnight,” Marcus chuckles quietly and you find that all tension has slipped from the room once more. He dips down to kiss your forehead, the tip of his nose skimming down the length of yours. He stares into your eyes, only an inch from you, “Say it.”

You smile and kiss him softly, “Goodnight, Marcus.”

“Goodnight, Carissima,” he whispers.You go to sleep next to your general, the man who is slowly becoming the commander of your heartbeat, unaware that your conversation has changed the course of your father’s future gains from your powerful marriage.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[woso-dreamzzz]

Sick III

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Magda gets sick

"Momma," You say, hopping down the last step," Morsa's throwing up in the bathroom again."

Pernille looks up from the stove and sighs. "I thought I told you that you weren't meant to go looking for Morsa?"

You shrug. "I didn't go looking for her."

Pernille doesn't believe you in the slightest.

Magda had come down with some sickness, likely the flu, a few days ago. It had started off as just an inconvenience, a stuffy nose and a few headaches. Then came the throwing up and Magda being forced to lean over the toilet bowl for a few hours in the night when she was meant to be sleeping.

Pernille knew it was wishful thinking to hope that the sickness remained with Magda only but you were a bit of a nightmare when it came to getting sick so she wanted to limit the chance of you catching it as much as possible.

If only you understood that because since Magda's sudden illness, you seem to have gotten incredibly clingy towards her like you don't want to stray out of her sight for whatever reason.

Pernille purses her lips as she looks at you, stirring the soup in the pot as she ponders what to do next.

"Why don't you have tv time?" She asks, finally settling on something to keep you occupied.

You don't get a lot of tv time, at least not where you're in control of the tv. You've never really craved it when you could play with girl-swan and girl-moose or kick a football around the garden.

But still, you're a little kid and kids love tv.

"I think Scooby Doo is on."

You think for a moment before your face twists into something akin to annoyance. "I don't like German Scooby Doo," You say," Can I watch Ben 10 instead?"

"Yeah, we can do that."

Pernille sets you up with an episode of Ben 10 in German and you settle on the sofa to watch it. With you now occupied, she sneaks up with a bowl of chicken soup just as Magda makes her way back to bed.

"You look...better."

"Don't lie." It's nice to see that Magda's humour is still there. "Is this for me?"

"Chicken soup." Pernille hands the bowl over. "You should probably wait for it to start cooling down."

"I'll be fine," Magda says," It's not like I can taste it so the heat might be the only enjoyable thing about it."

"How are you feeling? Do you need more medicine?"

"Can't take any yet. Hasn't been four hours but I'll be fine. I spoke to Linda. She said the throwing up only lasts a day. I'll be alright by tomorrow."

"Still," Pernille says," Eat your soup and drink lots of water. We're meant to be setting a good example to Princesse."

The corners of Magda's mouth quirks up a little. "Where is she? You know, I'd feel a lot better if she's here?"

Pernille rolls her eyes, scoffing. "Oh, I see. When I'm sick, I can't see her so she doesn't get infected but when you're sick, you can see her all you want? How is that fair?"

Her tone is teasing and Magda flashes a wolfish grin.

"Swedes don't infect Swedes. It's a rule."

"Well, it's great that she's Danish too, huh? No Princesse time for you until-"

"Hey, Princesse. What have you got there?"

Pernille whips her head around to see you standing by the door, clutching the little first aid kit that's usually hidden in the bathroom cabinet.

"I thought you were watching Ben 10?" She says as you come in, clambering up onto the bed and sitting on Magda's outstretched legs.

"Got bored," You reply, forcing the zip open and rummaging through it," I'm gonna make Morsa better though."

"She's sick, Princesse," Pernille says," Are you sure? You can get sick too."

You give Pernille the biggest judgemental look you can manage. "I know, Momma. I'm not silly. But I'm still going to make Morsa better."

In all honesty, Pernille is a little intrigued about how you're going to make Magda feel better with the first aid kit so she doesn't push anymore for you to leave the room.

"Does your head hurt?"

"Yes."

You bring out one of the bandages, winding it around Magda's head and tucking the end into itself.

"There you go!" You say," Now your head won't hurt. Does your throat hurt too?"

Magda nods.

You whip out one of the big plasters that's meant for big cuts and grazes on the knee and place it over Magda's mouth, making sure it's completely secure.

"You need to stop talking," You tell her sternly," Because that makes your throat hurt." You turn to Pernille. "Momma, I fixed her!"

Pernille has to force down her laughter at the bewildered expression on Magda's face.

"I can see that," Pernille says," We should leave Morsa alone now so she can recover. You did a good job."

You nod. "I know." You blow Magda a kiss. "I can't kiss you because then I'll get sick," You tell her," So have air kisses!"

You blow more kisses at Magda and shuffle off the bed, taking Pernille's hand.

"Can we finish watching Ben 10, Momma? It's a really good episode!"

[calcifiedunderland]

Part I (here), Part II, Part III (COMPLETED)

Trey Clover vs. Azul Ashengrotto vs. Jamil Viper x GN! Reader

In which the way to the Prefect’s heart is through their stomach! At least, according to three of NRC’s students…

I got the idea from @recreyomakesdoodles , from this post! Thank you so much, hope you liked it!!💕

Tagging people I think would be interested: @aruis4nosleep , @tinseltina

Warnings: food/eating

Notes: I decided to split this into multiple parts because I never have any restraint while writing and this ended up being long. Enjoy :D

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“Well, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Azul pushed his glasses up, balancing a stack of takeout boxes emblazoned with the Mostro Lounge logo on them. Cold blue eyes met Trey’s golden irises. Trey cleared his throat, shifting a heavy picnic basket from one hand to the other. “What brings you here, Azul? I thought you’d be busy at Mostro Lounge…”

Azul snorted, “the Prefect knows to expect me today. Clearly, you are the one intruding.” Earlier that week, he overheard you wailing to your friends about your upcoming History of Magic exam. Apparently, this unit was on Atlantica’s magical history - a topic that was, unfortunately, giving you trouble.

Fortunately, Azul was a mer who grew up learning the history by heart. Naturally he offered you assistance in exchange for having you taste-test some dishes. And how could he not help a poor, unfortunate fellow student like yourself?

Besides, if he wanted to bring along some personally cooked meals to Ramshackle, under the claim that you both would be there ‘for hours, so you may as well try some foods (that I made!) for the upcoming Lounge menu (that I run)!’, that was nobody’s business. And certainly not Clover’s business.

Trey crossed his arms, easily holding the heavy picnic basket like it weighed nothing. Azul could smell the buttery pastries and powdered sugar through the closed basket lid where he stood. “Riddle sent me to give the Prefect an invitation to the next Unbirthday Party. I thought I’d give them some treats to… sweeten the deal.” Though Trey had a disarmingly pleasant smile with the pun, his eyes bored into Azul’s.

Azul frowned. “That couldn’t have been more than a simple text. Aren’t they friends with your first years, as well?” He asked, remembering your first year friends that he’d turned into anemones.

Trey adjusted his glasses and averted his gaze, a telltale deflection sign that Azul didn’t miss. “Well, it’s more official coming from the Vice Housewarden.” “And I suppose the baked goods are complimentary?” Azul sniffed disdainfully at the basket, “Surely, the prefect needs more than pastries. A proper meal,” he emphasized.

Trey’s eyes narrowed, “a basket of baked goods is better than whatever deal you’d have for them,” he nodded to the boxes Azul carried. “Everyone loves a good old fashioned pastry. Can’t say the same for seafood.” Azul opened his mouth to retort, when suddenly both of their ringtones went off.

IM SO SORRY AZUL!!!!! I got caught up with something, can I come over tomorrow?? I likely won’t be done until later, the headmage has me doing stuff 😭

TREY!!! Tysm for the invite, you didn’t have to go out of ur way to give it in person!! ill definitely be there at the party! 😄 sry I’m not there atm, Crowley wanted me to do something for him

Trey frowned, reading your text. Azul huffed, shouldering the stack of food boxes, muttering “looks like today was a loss.” Trey sighed, “well, it can’t be helped…” he made a mental note to put the pastries in the Heartslabyul fridge and just deliver it to you tomorrow, under the guise of ‘checking up on you’ after working for Crowley. The two of them trudged down the path to the Hall of Mirrors, heading back to their dorms.

The two of them walked in silence until Trey abruptly said, “I don’t know what you want with the Prefect, but I hope you have their best intentions at heart.” Azul turned to give Trey a withering look, “I assure you, when it comes to the Prefect, I have nothing but good intentions.” As he stepped into Octavinelle, Azul smirked and muttered, “especially regarding their heart.” Trey lingered for a bit, staring at the Octavinelle mirror with an unreadable expression. “We’ll see about that,” he said aloud in the empty Hall, then headed back to Heartslabyul.

—•—♣️🐙🐍—•—

Meanwhile, you sighed heavily, collapsing onto the chair. The cafeteria was pretty much empty, save for the random student or two. It was already darkening outside, and you were hungry. Crowley wanted you to do something for him just before lunch, and soon half your Saturday was gone running around NRC. You’d even lost track of time, and missed Azul’s study session and Trey dropping in! You groaned, hearing your stomach growl loudly.

“Prefect? What are you doing here?”

You glanced up, seeing Jamil with a large container of tupperware and other small containers. The delicious scent of curries, labneh yogurt cheese, and freshly made pita made your mouth water. Despite yourself, Jamil caught you looking at the boxed-up food more than once.

“…Crowley had me running errands, and I may have skipped lunch…” your voice grew quiet near the end. Jamil raised an eyebrow, then smiled. “I actually ended up making too much food for Kalim,” he said, moving around the table to sit next to you. “There’s enough for an extra person, and I’ve have already eaten.”

Your eyes widened, and Jamil started dishing out some curry and flatbread for you. Bright-colored curry sauce and chickpeas flooded the platter, wafting a delicious scent. As Jamil ripped a piece of pita, your stomach growl loudly. Your face felt warm. Jamil only chuckled, pushing the plate he’d conjured towards you. “What about Kalim?” You asked, feeling bad. Jamil smiled, “Please, go ahead. There’s enough for Kalim and you.” A warm smile grew on your face, and you gave Jamil a one-sided hug before digging in. “Thank you! You’re my savior!”

As he watched you eat, a tender look grew on Jamil’s face. He shifted the food containers so he could watch you while nibbling on some flatbread. It wasn’t difficult to determine that you were off on Crowley’s whims again - with you running around the school and being gone for several hours. With that in mind, it wouldn’t be anyone’s fault if he accidentally made too much food, so he thought he’d drop it off at Ramshackle later. It was sheer luck that you’d dropped by the cafeteria!

You hummed, soaking up some of the leftover curry sauce with your flatbread, “this was delicious, Jamil. Thank you so much.”

Jamil smiled genuinely, but a devious look came into his eyes when you looked back at your plate. “Please, Prefect, allow me. Wait here.” He took the plate, going to the kitchens to box up some food for you to take back. Walking back to you, he handed you the container, “It’s getting late, I can walk you back to Ramshackle.”

The two of you set off, with you holding some of Jamil’s boxes. “This was… really sweet of you, Jamil,” you smiled. You knew Jamil always had his hands full, whether it was taking care of Kalim or managing literally everything else. Maybe the food was making you gush, but you were definitely grateful for the impromptu meal. As you opened the door to Ramshackle, you gingerly handed the boxes back to him.

“Ah, wait,” he shuffled them and held a large one out to you. “This one is yours.” Your eyes widened, “Jamil, this is a lot-“ “Please.” Your eyes met his dark grey irises, and warm gratitude filled your chest. “Jamil, I… I really don’t know what to say. I have to repay you somehow-“ Now that was what he wanted to hear.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to try making some new dishes,” he glanced at you. “I’ve been needing someone to taste test them, and Kalim won’t be available…” You nodded eagerly, “Of course! I’d love to help you!” You said your goodbyes, and as the door shut behind you, Jamil had a calculating smirk on his face. Oh yeah, it’s all coming together.

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Thanks for being patient everyone!! Hope you enjoyed this part, reblogs and comments are forever appreciated 💕

lmk if anyone wants to be added to the taglist! Take care shrimpies~ 😘

[nhaaauyen]

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨ The Ghost of You ୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

"This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong // To love that well which thou must leave ere long." -William Shakespeare (Sonnet 73)

PART II: MY HEART DREAMS

zombie apocalypse sevika x reader au!: sevika was the super soldier; a killing machine driven solely by survival. you were nomadic, constantly searching for something in whatever was left of the world—till you met her.

series masterpost: part I // part III // part IV // part V // part V

wc: 7.1k author's note: ahhh tysm to everyone reading!!! your comments literally make my day and the taglist DAMN!! seriously I'm so grateful <3 also i apologize for this chapter being so long, i tried to stfu but it still ended up being 7k

One thing you should've realized sooner was that nothing escapes Sevika's notice in Zaun. 

You were barely a week into your new routine, legs burning as you struggled through your morning run. The only sound you could hear was of blood pounding in your ear—and the addition of a rumbling engine approaching from behind.  

You whip your head back, unsure if your ears were deceiving you but there it was, a truck filled with Sevika's scavenging team catching up, with Sevika herself leaning out the passenger window.

"Pick up the pace, pantry girl!" she shouted, her voice laden with amusement. "At this rate, you'll be old and gray before you join my team!"

Her crew howled with laughter as they sped by, leaving you red-faced and fuming in a cloud of dust.

Now, weeks later, you collapse onto the grass beside Caitlyn, both of you panting heavily after finishing your lap around the neighborhood. The memory of Sevika's taunts still burns, spurring you to push yourself harder during training.

Just as you're about to ask if you should do another lap, something ice-cold presses against your neck. You yelp, jerking upright in surprise.

A dark-haired woman hovers over you, a familiar smirk playing on her lips and a frosty water bottle in her hand. "Still jumping at shadows, I see," she teases. "I'm not sure I can use someone so easily startled on my team."

You glare up at her. "That's rich, coming from you," you retort. "Your late-night victory parties make it impossible to get a good night's sleep around here."

"Feeling left out? The invitations open, you know. Just bring your own drink."

"How about an invitation to join your team instead?"  You counter.

Sevika laughs, the sound was simultaneously frustrating and oddly captivating. "Maybe focus on not tripping over your own feet first, pantry girl."

After you finish your training for the day, you take a quick shower and make your way to the pantry for your shift. But as you approach, you notice something odd - your name isn't on the schedule. Again.

"That's the third time this week," you mutter.

Caitlyn notices your confusion. "Maybe they're cutting back on hours?" she suggests, but her tone is uncertain.

With your unexpected free time, you find yourself spending more time with your makeshift family. Family dinners were something you always had, but for the first time you didn’t have to worry about where or what your next meal would be.

Powder chatters animatedly about her latest inventions, while Caitlyn asks questions that make the kid’s eyes go wild with excitement. Vi listens with a mix of amusement and pride, occasionally ruffling her sister's hair.

Vander sits at the head of the table and he interjects with the occasional piece of wisdom that makes Vi interrupt to remind him that they were too old for lectures or dad jokes, drawing laughter from the group.

As plates are cleared and the conversation winds down, Powder asks to star gaze again, which Vander wants to say no to when everyone has work tomorrow. But then he looks outside and he’s reminded that things weren’t the same, you could afford the leisure to enjoy the skies now.

So you all move to the roof, continuing your evening under the stars. Powder points out constellations, making up stories for each one. Vi playfully argues with her interpretations, while Caitlyn offers more scientific explanations. You lean back, taking in the moment, feeling truly at peace for the first time in a long while.

As the night deepens, drowsiness sets in. One by one, you bid each other goodnight and retreat to your beds.

Morning arrives sooner than you'd like and you meet Caitlyn early, both of you squinting against the bright sunlight as you make your way to the training grounds. The morning sun warms your face as you and Caitlyn wait on the grass for Grayson to arrive with your sparring partner. You're chatting idly, speculating about who it might be when you hear approaching footsteps.

Your eyes widen as you see Grayson walking towards you, but it's the figure beside her that makes your breath catch. Sevika strides across the field, her presence somehow always able to steal your attention. She's wearing dark wash jeans that hug her legs and a sleeveless, tight black tee that shows off her toned arms with her usual red shawl draping over her left side.

Grayson offers an apologetic smile as they reach you. "Sorry we're late. There was a situation to handle."

Sevika merely grunts, barely acknowledging you and Caitlyn. Your heart races—if she was here to watch you were so screwed, there was no way Sevika would let you have a match without her snarky comments. 

"Marcus was supposed to be here today," Grayson explains, "but it seems he's... incapacitated."

You and Caitlyn exchange knowing looks. It's not the first time Marcus has been too drunk to show up, and frankly, you're relieved. Even when sober, he's a total ass.

"So... who are we sparring with?" you ask, though you have a sinking feeling you already know the answer.

Grayson gestures to Sevika. "Someone owes me a favor."

Sevika rubs her head, clearly annoyed. "Can we get this over with?" she grumbles.

Grayson chuckles. "She's just grumpy because she's hungover," she explains to you, then turns to Sevika with a raised eyebrow. "Which you wouldn't be if you didn't drink like it's water."

Sevika scowls, softly as she crosses her arms. "It's my day off," she retorts. "You never come to my parties."

"I drink on my own time," Grayson replies primly, adjusting her stance.

"You're too much of a goody two shoes," Sevika snorts, rolling her eyes.

You and Caitlyn look at each other in shock, from the fact that the two captains are bickering like siblings and they’re going to be sparring with Sevika. 

"Sevika?" Caitlyn sputters. "You want us to spar Sevika?"

"It's better practice for you two - Sevika has years of fighting experience. You can learn some new techniques today,"  She reassures. "So, who's first?"

"I'll get it over with," Caitlyn acquiesced, her voice steady despite the nerves you can see in her eyes.

As Caitlyn approaches the sparring area, Sevika reaches for her shawl. In one swift motion, she removes it, and your eyes widen in shock. Where you expected to see flesh and bone, there's instead a gleaming bionic arm. 

Intricate gears and pistons are visible beneath panels of transparent material, offering glimpses of the arm's inner workings. As Sevika flexes her fingers, you can see these components whirring and sliding with precision, each movement accompanied by a soft, almost musical hum.

Sevika doesn't react to the stares, her face stony as if this reveal is inconsequential. You feel a pang of guilt for gawking, but you can't help wondering - was this a war injury, or a result of the walkers? 

Caitlyn recovers from her shock like you do, now both of you feeling more intimidated by the strength and skills of the woman before you.  You watch as Sevika easily deflects Caitlyn's first attack, countering with a move so fast you barely see it. Caitlyn hits the ground hard, she barely has any time to react when Sevika strikes again.

"Come on, cupcake," Sevika taunts, using Vi's nickname for Caitlyn. 

The use of the nickname catches both you and Caitlyn off guard and she narrowly dodges a punch.  You had no idea how much Sevika had been paying attention to your group.

"Is that all you've got?" The captain says smugly.

As the sparring continues, you find yourself studying Sevika's every move. The way she anticipates Caitlyn's attacks, the efficiency of her counterstrikes, the subtle shifts in her stance.  

But it's more than just her fighting skills that captivate you. It's the fierce concentration in her eyes, the slight smirk that plays on her lips when she lands a particularly good hit. It's the way her muscles flex as she moves, the sheen of sweat that forms on her skin under the hot sun.

You're so lost in your observations that you almost miss when Grayson calls an end to the match. Caitlyn is panting, bruised but not beaten, while Sevika looks barely winded.

"Your turn, rookie," Sevika calls out, her eyes locking with yours.

Sevika takes a menacing stance, her bionic arm whirring softly as she flexes her fingers. You try to quell your nerves, reminding yourself of all your training.

The match begins, and Sevika doesn't hold back. She lunges forward with a quick jab that you barely dodge. Her follow-up kick catches you in the side, and you stumble back.

"With those sparring skills, you'll be dead by now," Sevika taunts, circling you like a predator.

You regain your footing, countering with a series of quick strikes that force Sevika to step back. "As far as I'm concerned, I don't think any walkers would be punching me back anytime soon," you retort.

Sevika smirks, effortlessly blocking your attacks. "There are still survivors out there, some who might not be as merciful as me." she says, suddenly dropping low and sweeping your legs out from under you.

You hit the ground hard but roll quickly, narrowly avoiding Sevika's follow-up strike. "I’m only alive because you needed the meds.”

“But you’re alive regardless?” She counters.

“Urgh, you're the worst, you know that? You just like watching me suffer-"

Your words are cut off as Sevika charges forward. You manage to sidestep, grabbing her arm and using her momentum to throw her off balance. For a moment, you have the upper hand, landing a solid hit to her midsection.

Sevika grunts, a flash of surprise in her eyes. "Well, it's not a bad view," she quips, her voice slightly breathless.

You're holding your own better than you expected, your training with Grayson evident in your improved technique. You even manage to land a few solid hits, each one making you more hopeful that you could finally prove yourself to the captain.

But Sevika is still Sevika. Just when you think you might have a chance, she changes tactics. As she unleashes a flurry of lightning-fast strikes, you are able to block the first few, but the last one catches you off guard, sending you stumbling back.

Before you can recover, Sevika is on you. With a move so smooth it seems almost effortless, she sweeps your legs again and follows you down. You’re on the ground immediately, the air knocked from your lungs, and suddenly Sevika is on top of you, pinning you down.

Her face is inches from yours, her breath hot on your cheek. "There's always next time, pantry girl," she says, her voice laced with arrogance.

Fury and frustration surge through you—at the nickname, at losing, but most of all at yourself for the way your heart races at her proximity. You struggle against her hold, but it's futile—you lost and couldn’t prove you were ready. 

The days blur into a haze of relentless training after the match, your body pushed to its limits.  Yet despite your efforts, something feels off. Each time you miss a target or fumble a move, Sevika's face flashes in your mind. Your focus wavers, distracted by unnameable thoughts that surface whenever you recall her challenging gaze or the smugness in her voice. 

The sharp crack of gunfire echoes across the makeshift shooting range. You squeeze the trigger, watching as your shot goes wide, missing the target by a good margin. Expaseration bubbles up inside you for missing yet again.

Next to you, Caitlyn's sniper barks and the center of her target explodes. Again. You can't help but feel a twinge of envy at her precision.

"Excellent shot, Caitlyn," Grayson praises, her eyes gleaming with approval. "I think I’m looking at my newest sniper."

Caitlyn beams at the compliment.

Grayson turns to you, her expression apprehensive. "Something on your mind? You seem distracted today."

"No, I'm fine," you mutter, trying to focus on the target in front of you.

Grayson raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Well, if you keep shooting like you did today, you can expect another month before Sevika would even consider accepting you on her team."

At the mention of Sevika's name, you can't help but frown. Grayson catches it immediately.

"What's wrong?" she probes, her voice a mix of curiosity and concern.

You hesitate, then the words tumble out. "I just... I don't get her. I don't know how to convince her I deserve that spot on the team when she's so infuriating and stubborn."

To your surprise, Grayson laughs, a warm, rich sound. "She hasn't changed since we were deployed together, then."

Your ears perk up at this. "You were deployed with Sevika? Can you tell me about it?"

Grayson shrugs. "What is there to tell? We were in the military together for 10 years and she's a brilliant soldier."

"That's all to her?" you press, not satisfied with such a simple answer.

Grayson gives you a long, appraising look. "What is it that you really want to know about her?"

The question catches you off guard. You open your mouth to respond, then close it again. What do you want to know? But more importantly, why do you want to know? You realize you don't have an answer, and the realization unsettles you.

Seeing your confusion, Grayson's expression softens. "Sevika is not the best fighter," she says quietly.

"What?"

Grayson chuckles at your expression. "Don't get me wrong, she's an advanced and skilled fighter. But she's not unbeatable." She pauses, her eyes distant as if recalling memories from long ago. "What makes her different... She is loyal and fierce. That woman fights till her very last breath. If she's going to hell, she'll drag you down with her."

Your mind whirs at this information. Who is Sevika beyond the soldier everyone knows her as? You find yourself hungry for more details, more glimpses into the woman behind the tough exterior.

Then you catch yourself, anger flaring up. Why do you care? Why does it matter who Sevika really is? She's just the leader of the scavenging team, nothing more.

You shake your head, trying to clear these thoughts. "Thanks, Grayson," you mutter, turning back to the target.

As you raise your gun again, you can feel Grayson's knowing gaze on you. You take a deep breath, trying to focus on the target. But in your mind's eye, all you can see is Sevika—her cocky grin, her ruthless determination, the mystery that surrounds her.

You squeeze the trigger, and this time, your shot flies true, hitting just off-center. Progress, but not perfection. Much like your understanding of Sevika, you realize. You're getting closer, but there's still so much more to uncover.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

A slight breeze rustles the leaves as you wait by the usual tree, checking your watch. Caitlyn's late, which isn't like her.   You’ve been waiting for 20 minutes already and this was the Caitlyn, the one who’s never even been late to a shift at the pantry.  

You’re about to turn back to the house when suddenly you hear shouting from the road a few blocks away. Without thinking, you immediately sprint towards the commotion.

When you arrived, the scene before you was the last thing you would expect—Caitlyn and Vi were in each other's faces, their voices rising with each exchange. A burly guy from Sevika's crew is half-heartedly trying to separate them.

"You fucking liar!" Caitlyn screams, her face flushed with anger. "Why would you join without telling me?"  

You momentarily pause from trying to pull the fighting couple apart, in all the years you knew Caitlyn she had hardly cursed; Vi must’ve fucked up, bad.

Vi's stance is defensive, her hands raised. "It's safer for you this way!"

"Safer?" Caitlyn's laugh is bitter. "I didn't ask for a white knight, I asked for a partner that's honest!"

The guy from Sevika's crew steps between them. "Come on, ladies, this ain't the place-"

Caitlyn whirls on him. "How could you let her in Sevika’s group like this?"

He backs up, hands raised. “Listen, I had no part in this. Vi was the one who asked, and Sevika accepted her."

Caitlyn's face contorts with anger, and she lunges forward. You jump in, grabbing her arms. "Cait, stop!"

But as you hold her back, his words sink in. "Wait, WHAT?" You turn to Vi, shock evident on your face. "She accepted you to join her scavenging and not me?"

Vi looks away, guilt written across her features. Your blood boils. You release Caitlyn and round on the guy. "Where the HELL is she?"

He crosses his arms, defiant. "I don't have to answer to you."

You step closer, your voice low and dangerous. "Oh, trust me. You want to tell me."

He hesitates, then sighs. "Fine, but it's your funeral. She's in her garage."

Without another word, you turn on your heel and march away, leaving Caitlyn and Vi to their argument. You had your own annoying, lying woman to deal with.

The garage comes into view, its large door open. As you approach, you catch sight of Sevika bent over a motorcycle. Her back muscles flex as she works, visible beneath a black sports bra. Her jeans hang low on her hips, revealing the band of her boxers. For a moment, you were unable to comprehend the sight of Sevika in clothes that weren't military green. 

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself before addressing her. "Vi and Caitlyn are out there fighting. I thought you should know."

She turns, surprise briefly flickering across her features before her trademark nonchalance slides back into place. "And that concerns me... how exactly?" she questions, wiping her hand with a rag. "Last I checked, I wasn't running a relationship counseling service."

"Because of all the bullshit you gave about me not being ready? Why won't you let me on the team?" you demand, your voice cracking with desperation. "You let Vi join. What makes her so special?"

"You don't know what you're asking for."

"Then tell me!" you shout, stepping closer. "I'm sick of your cryptic bullshit, Sevika. I deserve to know!"

Something in Sevika snaps—Her composure shatters, replaced by a raw, barely contained fury. "Fine? You want to know why?" She grabs your arm, her grip tight enough to bruise. "Let's go."

She drags you out of the garage, marching through the community with large strides. You struggle to keep up, confused and a little scared by this sudden change in her demeanor.

As you reach the outskirts of the settlement, Sevika slows down. You follow her gaze and feel your blood run cold. Wooden crosses stretch out before you, maybe 20 to 25 of them, each marking a grave.

"This is why," Sevika grits.

You stand there, frozen, as Sevika turns to face you. Her eyes are blazing, but there's something else there too - something melancholic you've never seen before.

"Do you know how many empty graves we have?" she asks, gesturing to the crosses. "It's a fortune if you're able to bring a body home, or if you can spend someone's last moments together."

She walks among the graves, her fingers trailing over the rough wood of a cross. "This is the type of thing we have to deal with. Every time we go out there, we risk not coming back. And if we don't come back, this is what's left of us. A wooden cross and a memory."

"I've had to bury too many people. I've had to tell too many families that their loved ones aren't coming home. And sometimes, I couldn't even give them that closure."

She turns back to you, her eyes now hard, and gone was the brief moment of vulnerability you saw before. "This is why I won't let you on the team. Because I can't... I won't add another cross to this field."

The weight of her words hits you like a physical blow. But instead of understanding, you feel a surge of anger.

"So what?" you snap, surprising both yourself and Sevika. "You keep me locked away like I'm Rapunzel in a tower? Look around, Sevika!" You gesture wildly at the desolate landscape beyond the settlement. "There is nothing left to lose. The world is gone!"

For a moment, she's silent, and you think you might have finally gotten through to her. But then her expression hardens, a bitter smile twisting her lips.

"You can say that," she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper, "until you have the world in your hand and it's ripped away from you."

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You see a flash of something in Sevika's eyes - a deep, soul-crushing resignation that makes your anger falter.

"There is always something to lose," she continues. "And every time you think you have nothing left to lose, life finds a way to prove you wrong."

She steps closer to you. "You think you're ready to face what's out there? You think you have nothing to lose? Trust me, pantry girl, you have no idea what loss really is."

"What are you living for if you're constantly scared of losing?" you challenge, your voice rising. "This isn't living, Sevika. It's just... existing."

Sevika's eyes flash dangerously. "You don't understand-"

"No, you don't understand!" you interrupted, shoving her back. "We're all going to die—But I'd rather die out there, trying to do something I wanted, rather than rot away in here!"

You’re angry and you know you just provoked her but you can’t help but shove her back again, frustrated at her but, even more so at yourself.  You were terrified, of fucking course you were—but who wasn’t in the world you were living in? 

With a growl, she lunges forward, shoving you hard. You stumble back, shock and anger coursing through you. Without thinking, you retaliate, pushing Sevika with all your might.

The two of you grapple, a tangle of limbs and fury. Grass and dirt kick up around you as you roll on the ground, each trying to gain the upper hand. Sevika's bionic arm hisses as she tries to pin you down, but you're quicker, fueled by frustration and pent-up emotion.

With a burst of strength, you manage to flip Sevika onto her back. You straddle her waist, pinning her arms to her sides, which fall limp immediately. Both of you are panting heavily, faces flushed and hair disheveled.

"I won," you gasp out, your chest heaving. "You promised. If I could beat you, you'd let me join."

Sevika looks up at you, her expression unreadable. "When will you learn patience?" 

The proximity is intoxicating, and for a moment, you're distracted by the feeling of Sevika beneath you, the rise and fall of her chest, the intensity in her eyes. 

"You can't expect me to live like this," you insist, your voice softer now but no less passionate. "What are you living for if you're constantly scared of losing?"

Something flickers in Sevika's eyes—pain, fear, or something else entirely. Without warning, she bucks her hips, throwing you off balance. In one smooth motion, she shoves you away and stands up.

You scramble to your feet, ready to continue the fight, but Sevika's next move stops you cold. 

"Sevika!" you call out, your voice cracking. "Don't you walk away from me!"

But she doesn't stop, doesn't even look back. 

You're left standing there, alone among silent tombstones and empty graves, watching her retreating figure disappear into the gathering dusk.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

The weight of defeat settles heavily on your shoulders as you stumble into your room. You collapse onto your bed, fully clothed, as the scene replays in your mind. Sevika's face haunts you - not her usual cocky smirk or searching gaze, but that fleeting expression of raw pain you glimpsed just before she walked away.

There's something deeper, a hollowness in your chest you can't quite name. It's more than just the sting of losing an argument or watching her retreat. 

There was something else in her eyes that truly unsettled you—that flash of fear when she looked at you, as if dreading you might become another one of those wooden crosses she would have to mark.

Just as you're about to drift off, a sudden burst of loud music jolts you awake. Shouts and laughter follow, unmistakably coming from a few blocks down—right where Sevika's house is located.

You groan, pressing your pillow over your head. Of course, another one of her infamous parties. But as you lie there, listening to the distant sounds of celebration, a part of you can't help but wonder what Sevika looks like when she's relaxed, surrounded by her team. 

After an hour of futile attempts to sleep, frustration wins out.  You sit up, running a hand through your hair in annoyance. You throw on a hoodie and stomp towards the door, grabbing the nearest pair of slippers without looking.  

The cool night air does little to calm your irritation as you march down the street. You pound on the door, ready to give her a piece of your mind.

To your surprise, it's Sevika herself who answers. Her usual scowl morphs into a grimace as she recognizes you, a lit cigarette dangling from her lips. The sight of her throws you off balance—her gray wife beater clings to her frame, and her cargo pants are smeared with what you hope is just mud. Despite the mess, she looks... good. Annoyingly so.

"Do you know what time it is?" you demand, trying to focus on your anger.

Sevika takes a long drag of her cigarette and then blows the smoke out slowly. Her eyes drift downward. "I like your slippers," she remarks.

You glance down, mortification washing over you as you realize you're wearing Powder's pink bunny slippers. "Shit," you mutter, but quickly shake it off. "Why do you have to be so loud? This might come as a surprise but some people are trying to sleep!"

"Worried you won't get enough sleep to organize properly tomorrow?" Sevika taunts, leaning against the doorframe. "Make sure you don't mix up the soup and fruit cocktail cans."

Her dismissive attitude ignites your temper. "Fine, whatever. You're acting like a complete ass," you spit out.

Sevika's eyebrow raises slightly. "Is that all? Because if so, I've got a party to get back to."

You're about to retort when you catch a glimpse of the interior of her house. It's a mess—empty bottles strewn about, gear haphazardly tossed in corners. 

"What?" Sevika's voice snaps you back to reality.

"I... nothing," you stammer, taking a step back. "Just turn the music down, okay?"

Sevika studies you for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, without a word, she turns and disappears into the house. A few seconds later, the volume of the music noticeably decreases.  Sevika.. Was being obedient? 

She reappears at the door, taking another drag of her cigarette. "Anything else?" 

You open your mouth, then close it again. What else is there to say? That her apparent disregard for what you want infuriates you? That her words about from earlier today won’t leave your mind? That despite everything, you find yourself drawn to her in a way you can't explain?

Instead, you just shake your head. "No. That's... that's all. Thanks."

As you turn to leave, Sevika's voice stops you. "Wait."

You pause, looking back at her expectantly.  You notice that there is a hesitancy to her this time, like you were fragile and if she got too close you might shatter.

"Wear proper attire tomorrow, okay?" she says, her tone businesslike. "And check in at the armory with Vi."

You blink, confused. "Vi? What does she-"

Sevika cuts you off with an exasperated sigh. "Do I really have to explain it to you, rookie?"

"Yeah, cause I don't get it," you retort.

"You're on the team."

For a moment, you just stare at her, unable to process what you've heard. Sevika refuses to meet your gaze, suddenly finding the wall very interesting.

As realization dawns, a wide grin breaks out across your face. Sevika immediately cuts in, "Don't think I'm going soft on you and giving you anything you want. This is an easy spot, but-"

You can't help the shit-eating grin that spreads even wider. "Thank you," you say, your voice sincere despite your obvious excitement.

Sevika just nods, her expression carefully neutral. "Yeah, okay. Now get out of here before I change my mind."

You nod enthusiastically. "Right. Yes. Thank you again. Good night!"

You turn and walk away, trying desperately to keep your cool. But as soon as you think Sevika has fully closed her door, you can't contain yourself anymore. You do a little excited jump right there in the street, pumping your fist in the air. Then, grinning like a fool, you take off running towards home.

What you don't see is Sevika, still standing in her doorway. She watches your celebratory dance with a mixture of disbelief and something akin to fondness. Shaking her head, she finally closes the door, a small, bemused smile playing at the corners of her lips.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

The early morning sun casts a golden glow over the farm as your team arrives. The dilapidated barn looms ahead, its red paint peeling and faded. Overgrown fields stretch out to your right, while a rickety fence encloses what must have once been a thriving chicken coop.

Sevika's voice rings out across the coop.  "Alright, gather the chickens."

You blink, certain you've misheard. "Wait, what?"  

You weren’t expecting your first mission to be on a farm, much less to gather the animals. But your confusion is quickly overwhelmed by the sight of your teammates scattering, chasing after a flock of very startled, very loud chickens.  

"How do you expect us to get food?" Sevika asks, her tone matter-of-fact.

You turn to her, eyebrow raised. "Why aren't you helping?"

The air seems to still as everyone freezes, shocked by your boldness. Sevika's eyes narrow dangerously.

"I'm your captain," she states, as if that explains everything.

A reckless grin spreads across your face. "What? Afraid you can't catch a single chicken in front of your people?"

Sevika's jaw clenches, and for a moment, you wonder if you've pushed too far. Then, to everyone's surprise, she vaults over the fence and into the coop.

"You have a mouth on you," she growls, eyeing a particularly plump hen. "That's going to get you in trouble one day."

You hop in after her, heart racing at how she easily accepted your challenge. "Only if I'm caught," you quip back.

The two of you circle the hen, which clucks nervously. You lunge forward, but the bird darts away.

"You're scaring it!" Sevika snaps.

"Me?!" you retort. "You're practically harassing the thing!"

As you both scan the coop for a chicken that wasn’t running like it had its head chopped off, a voice pipes up from outside the fence. "They’re bickering like an old couple!"

In perfect unison, you and Sevika whip around, shouting, "Don't you dare say that!"

The moment the words leave your mouth, you freeze, looking at each other in shock, and then it’s replaced quickly with a scowl as the determination to capture the chicken sets back in.

Okay, so barreling at full force towards the animal was not the way to go considering everyone was already filling their cages.  You mentally devise a plan to corner the chicken, gesturing for Sevika to move to the right while you go left. But as you both rush forward, the hen squawks indignantly and darts between you in a perfect straight line.

Unable to stop your momentum, you and Sevika collide, tumbling to the ground in a tangle of limbs. You find yourself pinned beneath her, acutely aware of her weight, her warmth, the scent of her body wash and gunpowder that clings to her skin.

Sevika pushes herself up slightly, her face inches from yours. "This is dumb," she mutters. "I don't need to prove anything."

"Mhmm," you manage, your brain short-circuiting from the proximity.

She grunts, rolling off you and standing up. "There's one last chicken," she says, brushing dirt from her clothes. "We better get it."

You turn your attention back to the task at hand, scanning the coop for that last elusive hen. The last hen clucks nervously, darting between the wooden beams of the coop. You and Sevika exchange a quick nod, wordlessly agreeing on a strategy.

Sevika crouches low, her movements slow and deliberate as she inches towards the left side of the coop. You mirror her actions on the right, creating a human barrier. The hen's beady eyes dart between you, sensing the trap.  

"Easy now," Sevika murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. 

The hen makes a break for it, but you're ready. You lunge forward, herding it back towards Sevika. She reaches out, her fingers just brushing the chicken's feathers—

A deep rumble suddenly echoes across the farm, stopping you both in your tracks. You both freeze, exchanging a brief, confused glance. In that instant, the barn door explodes outward with a deafening crash. Splinters of wood fly through the air, unleashing a horde of walkers that stumble and lurch towards you.

"Fuck! Run!" someone screams, and chaos erupts.

Your teammates scramble to grab their chicken cages, but you're transfixed by the sight of Sevika, who's inexplicably clutching the chicken she just caught to her chest with her left arm. Without thinking, you grab her right hand and bolt, pulling her along.

As you run, weaving between broken fences and overgrown crops, the absurdity of the situation hits you. Here you are, fleeing from a walkers horde, hand-in-hand with your usually stoic captain who was so dead set on capturing a single chicken she risked a few minutes just to get it. Suddenly, Sevika bursts out laughing, a rich, genuine sound you've never heard before.

"This is so fucking stupid," she gasps between chuckles.

Her laughter is infectious, and soon you're both giggling like maniacs as you sprint towards the getaway car. The wind whips through your hair, you look over at her and see her tiny ponytail bouncing, her eyes sparkling with unadulterated joy.

As you approach the car, you see one of your teammates dancing in the driver's seat, bobbing their head to music that was loud enough you could hear it from a distance.

Sevika's eyes widened in disbelief. "What is that moron doing?"

"Start the car!" you yell in unison with Sevika.

"Start the fucking car!" echoes from all directions as your team converges on the vehicle.

In a mad scramble, you and Sevika end up diving into the trunk together, barely missing from crashing into each other. The car peels out, tires kicking up dust as you make your escape. You twist around to look back, seeing the walkers crest the hill behind you, their grotesque forms looking like ants as you get further away from the farm.

As the adrenaline starts to fade, you become acutely aware that you're still clutching Sevika's hand. You both look down at your intertwined fingers and quickly release a faint blush coloring your cheeks. 

You glance at Sevika and are struck by the sight of her wide grin, revealing the charming tooth gap from the first time you met her. She looks lighter somehow, the usual weight of responsibility temporarily lifted from her shoulders.

"Maybe you should put the chicken in the cage," you suggest, nodding towards the bird still tucked under her arm.

"Right," Sevika says, quickly stuffing the bewildered chicken into a nearby cage.

Free of your feathered companion, you lean out of the trunk slightly, letting the wind rush through your hair. The music from the car's speakers drifts back to you, and you close your eyes for a moment, savoring the smell of the woods and the high from the adrenaline rush.

When you open your eyes and turn back, you catch Sevika staring at you. She's not looking at the receding farmland or checking for pursuing walkers. Her eyes are fixed solely on you, an unreadable expression on her face. In this moment, bathed in sunlight and the afterglow of survival, she looks different. Softer. There was no reminiscent of the super soldier you knew her as.

As your eyes meet, Sevika doesn't look away. Instead, her grin softens into something more intimate, more real. You feel a warmth bloom in your chest, a feeling you can't quite name but don't want to let go of.

The car hits a bump, jolting you both and breaking the moment. Sevika clears her throat and turns to secure the chicken cage, you weren’t sure if had imagined the smile or not.

As you return to Zaun, the adrenaline from your narrow escape fades into a collective sense of relief and camaraderie. The team works together to unload the chickens, and despite the close call, everyone seems to be in high spirits.

"Hey, how about another bonfire party?" someone suggests, and a chorus of agreement follows.

To your surprise, Sevika turns to you. "You should come," she says gruffly. "You’re part of the team now."

"Yeah, sure," you reply, fighting to keep the eagerness out of your voice.

As the team disperses to prepare, you notice Vi sprinting towards a certain someone waiting for her at the entrance. "Caitlyn!" Vi shouts, throwing herself into Caitlyn's arms and kissing her passionately.

You raise an eyebrow. "Well, those two made up fast," you mutter to yourself.

Later that evening, you find yourself seated on the cool ground in front of a roaring bonfire. The flames dance hypnotically, casting flickering shadows across the faces of your teammates. The air is filled with laughter, the clink of bottles, and the rich aroma of smoke and grilled food.

You're nursing a beer, listening intently as the others regale you with stories from previous hunts. Sevika sits not far from you, perched regally on a lawn chair. She's quieter than the others, but you notice her lips quirk up occasionally at particularly funny or outrageous parts of the stories.

As the night wears on, a cool breeze picks up. You shiver involuntarily, the chill seeping through your thin shirt. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Sevika glance your way. Without a word, she shrugs off her shawl and leans forward, draping it over your shoulders.

The gesture catches you off guard. You want to thank her, but something in her posture tells you she'd rather not draw attention to the act of kindness. No one else seems to have noticed, and you wonder if this is just how Sevika takes care of her team—quietly, without fuss or expectation of gratitude.

You pull the shawl tighter around you, inhaling the faint scent of cigarettes and gunpowder that clings to it. 

The conversation lulls for a moment, and then someone pipes up, "Hey, remember that time at the hospital in Piltover when we-"

"Uh," another teammate interrupts, glancing nervously at Sevika. "Sevika’s here."

All eyes turn to your captain. Sevika just grunts, taking a long swig from her bottle. You can't tell if it's approval or indifference, but the storyteller takes it as permission to continue.

The crackling fire seems to dim as the storyteller begins, his voice low and reverent. "It was before Zaun was established. Sevika, Silco, Grayson, and some of us old veterans had been cooped up in the hospital for weeks. But it was time we got out, find new people and a place to stay."

You lean in, curious, sneaking glances at Sevika, whose face remains impassive.

"The hospital was completely surrounded," the storyteller continues. "But we had weapons and vehicles. Silco had this completely badass idea to add extra defenses to the ambulance in the garage."

A chorus of whoops erupts from the group, and you see a flicker of pride in Sevika's eyes.

"The plan was to pile as many people as possible into the ambulance. But in the garage," The storyteller's voice drops. "There must've been an opening or something. Somehow, those bastards found their way in."

You find yourself holding your breath while Sevika's face is impassive, but you notice her grip tightening on her bottle.

"It happened so fast. One second Silco was up, the next he was down, a walker lunging for his throat. And Sevika," He shakes his head in awe. "She didn't hesitate. She threw herself between them."

All eyes turn to Sevika. You glance at Sevika, trying to imagine her and the emotions in that moment. 

"Go on," she says. "Finish it."

The storyteller hesitates, unsure. "We had to go back in. We cleared the area, but the walker's teeth sank into her arm instead of Silco's neck." the storyteller says softly. "Even then, she didn't stop fighting. She bashed its skull in with her free hand, then turned and took out two more, saving a few more of us.  But the bite meant she was infected…"

There's a collective intake of breath around the fire. You feel a chill that has nothing to do with the night air.

His voice trails off, and Sevika finishes for him. "So Silco ended up amputating my arm," she states.

"When I die, I'll die on my own accord.  Not because some mindless corpse decided it was my time."

The silence that follows is profound. You see a mix of awe, respect, and a hint of fear on the faces around you as Sevika's words hang in the air.

Then, as if a spell is broken, cheers erupt. "Fuck yeah, boss!" someone shouts, and others join in.

Sevika just grins as she stubs out her cigarette and stands.  “I’m calling it a night, try not to have too much fun."

You remain rooted to the spot even though you know you should go give the shawl that's still draped around your shoulders back.  

As you’re watching Sevika’s retreating form, you're struck once again by how little you truly understand her. Just when you think you've got her figured out, she does something that shatters your assumptions. Her rare, genuine smile from moments ago was like a crack in her armor, offering a glimpse of something you're not sure you were meant to see.

You recall Grayson's comment; If she's going to hell, she'll drag you down with her. But Sevika isn’t just dragging anyone down—she's fighting, clawing her way up. She’ll endure whatever comes, as long as she’s the one who gets to forge her own path.

Sevika faced death itself, and she emerged victorious.

taglist:

@mirconreadzztuff22 @lils-1979 @veoomvroom @schmoni @theacedragon0w0

@poxismind @kittykatz1227 @archangeldyke-all @abbyssgf @ivorydevil

@lez-zuha @iamastar @jellyfishrnice @anemoxlys @l0vel3tterl0ver

@lavendersgirl @h0pe-scotch @lia-winther @kittykatz1227 @dontknowwhenispawned

@sevikitty @sarahduke @raphaellearp

[ssweeterthanfiction]

Glimpse of Us

summary: routine became something finnick cherished. but course, the capitol must ruin everything, including his love. but he will still find a way to get her back.

finnick odair x fem!reader

content warnings for the whole story: descriptions of death, torture, starvation, and everything described in The Hunger Games, mentions of suicidal thoughts, implications of S/A

mood board + playlist

previous part | masterlist | next part

Chapter III

You couldn't sleep and Finnick was trying his hardest to get you to sleep, even if it was for a little while.

"Come on angel...you've gotta sleep, you need energy for tomorrow" he says as he strokes your hair.

You've always had trouble sleeping, ever since you won your games. Nightmares were something that came with winning, but Finnick was always there to console you. No matter how long it took, he was always there.

When he finally got you to sleep, he held you for a little while longer before slowly pulling away.

He went to the living room and sat in the dark. His mind was racing. What if you get hurt in the arena? What if you die? His thoughts were interrupted when he heard the soft swish of the door open.

He thought you had woken up, but when he turned his head he saw Haymitch.

"Haymitch. What brings you by?"

"Just came to drop this off.." he says as he holds up a gold bangle.

Haymitch tosses it to Finnick and he catches it with ease. "Put it on before you go in tomorrow, then show it to Katniss, she'll know that you guys are allies."

Finnick quirks an eyebrow, "Are you sure?"

Haymitch shrugs, "We'll only be able to see tomorrow"

"About tomorrow..." he says, spinning the bangle around his finger, "This whole plan. Are you sure it's gonna work?"

"About 90% sure it'll work"

"Can you promise me something?"

Haymitch nods, "Sure"

"If anything goes wrong, you save her. Get Katniss, get Peeta, get whoever else you need to and save her. Leave me if it comes down to it."

Finnick watches as Haymitch hesitates, "Promise me Haymitch or I won't protect Katniss and Peeta." he says in a low threatening tone.

Haymitch puts his hands up in mock surrender, "Alright, alright. I promise."

After Haymitch leaves, Finnick returns to you, wrapping his arms around you in a protective embrace.

              🌊 .·:*¨🌊🐚🌊¨*:·. 🌊

The next morning, you both woke up at the same time and decided to stay in eachothers arms for as long as possible.

Neither of you wanted to get up, you both knew what it meant if you did.

Finnick kisses the top of your forehead. He could feel the heat of your skin against his, the soft thrum of your heartbeat. For a brief second, he allowed himself to pretend that everything was normal, that this wasn’t the last morning he might spend with you. He knew it wasn’t possible, but he wanted to hold onto that feeling of peace for just a little longer.

It was only when the silence grew unbearable, when the weight of what was coming came crashing down.

Finnick pulled away just enough to look at you. Your eyes were wide, searching his face as if to find an answer, a reassurance he wasn’t sure he had.

"Finnick... I..." you started, but the words faltered on your lips. He could see the fear in your eyes. The same fear that he saw in your eyes when he mentored you.

"Don’t," he whispered, gently cupping your face in his hands. "You don’t have to say it. I know."

You swallowed hard, but your gaze never left his. Finnick felt his heart crack a little more as he saw the vulnerability in your eyes. He planted his lips on yours, "We’re going to make it through this," he said firmly, more to himself than to you. He didn’t know if he believed it, but he had to say it. For you. For both of you.

You nodded slowly, he could tell you didn’t believe it either, but you were trying for his sake.

He kissed you gently again, as if trying to imprint that feeling of safety into you for the storm that would come. "I’ll never leave you. Not now. Not ever."

For a long moment, neither of you moved. You just held each other, that was until you heard the high pitched voice of Lyssandra call out for both of you.

"Guess it's time.." he says in an annoyed tone.

You both get up from the bed. Finnick pulls you close, cups you face and gazes into your eyes, kissing you one last time before letting you go. "I'll see you soon." ***

"I'll see you soon tadpole."

Finnick watched as Kael gave you a big bear hug before being ushered onto the hovercraft with the other boys. He could see that you were nervous, well of course you were, you were basically being sent to your death. But Finnick knew that Kael would protect you in the arena.

Your voice trembled as you spoke, pulling him from his thoughts. "Any last advice?"

Finnick takes a step close and give you a tight hug, "Stick with Kael and stay alive."

He pulled away from you reluctantly, his hands lingering on your arms for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. "Stay alive," he repeated, his voice breaking slightly.

You nodded, though Finnick could see the uncertainty in your eyes. He wanted to say more, but the hovercraft’s engines roared louder, drowning out everything else.

As he watched you board the hovercraft, he wanted nothing more than to pull you back into his arms where you would be safe.

But he couldn't.

He could only hope that you would survive and make it back to him.

***

Finnick blinks a few times as he adjusts to the light of the arena. Looking around him he noticed that the cornucopia was in the middle of a lake and so was everyone's starting podiums.

"Let the 75th Hunger Games begins. May the odds be ever in your favor."

He looks around frantically for you but can't figure out where you are. Wherever you were, he needed to find you, Katniss, and Peeta fast.

"Ten."

Finnick’s heart pounded as the countdown began. He scanned the expanse desperately, his eyes darting from one podium to the next.

"Nine."

Where were you? Were you close by or on the opposite side? His chest tightened at the thought of you being too far away, out of reach before the bloodbath began. He had to find you. You had to survive. He wouldn’t forgive himself if you didn't.

"Eight."

Finnick’s hands tightened balled into fists. He felt the anxiety again. The same anxiety he felt when he was fourteen.

"Seven."

His gaze landed on Katniss, a few podiums to his left. Her face was set in determination, her body tense like a coiled spring. He knew it would be easy to get to her

"Six."

Where were you? His jaw clenched as frustration and panic built in his chest. He should’ve been able to spot you by now, to gauge how far you were and what he needed to do to get to you. The lake wasn’t large, but it felt infinite when you weren’t within his sight.

"Five."

His mind raced with possibilities. Would you run for the Cornucopia? No, that wasn’t your style. You’d likely stay back, wait for the chaos to thin out before making a move. But this was different. What was smart in your first games wouldn't be as smart now.

"Four."

Finnick reminded himself that you're strong. Stronger than you gave yourself credit for.

"Three."

His muscles tensed. He could already hear the splashes of water, the frantic scrambles of tributes who’d dive in as soon as the cannon sounded. He could picture the chaos, the blood, the screams. It was always the same, no matter the arena.

"Two."

Finnick took a deep breath and locked his eyes on a trident. If he couldn’t see you now, he’d find you once he got to the center. He had to. He’d promised himself that much. He’d protect you, no matter what it cost him.

"One."

The cannon sounded, and Finnick leaped into the water, the world exploding into chaos around him. His only thought, his only focus, was finding you before it was too late.

It wasn't long before he reached the center. He grabed his trident and after a quick encounter with Katniss that would establish the alliance, he was quick to make the first kill of the District 5 male that tried to run up on him and Katniss and after that was taken care of he went to the other side to look for you and Peeta.

He calls out your name and then sees you standing on the strip of rocks with a spear in hand as you look into the water. He calls out your name again.

Your head snaps up, "Finnick! It's Peeta!"

Finnick holds up his hand, "Just wait there! I'm gonna go get Katniss!"

He doesn't take long to come back with Katniss.

"He's there!" you say as you point to Peeta fighting a tribute in the water.

Finnick hands you his trident and immediately dives into the water. As he swims to Peeta, he panics when a cannon goes off and a body floats up to the surface.

But once he sees Peeat pop his head out he lets out a sigh of relief, one that he's sure everyone shared.

Once he has Peeta, you all start making your way to the jungle, the one place you all think you'll be safe.

Finnick takes your hand, holding it with a firm grip and runs behind Katniss and Peeta.

The four of you pushed deeper into the jungle, the thick canopy above shielding you from the blistering sun. Finnick’s mind raced as he scanned your surroundings.

"Okay, hold up. Hold up!"

Now in the middle of the jungle you all stop and crouch down, trying to desperatelt cath your breaths.

Finnick puts his hand over yours and squeezes it, a silent way of asking if you're okay, when you nod Finnick relaxes a bit.

"God it's hot. We gotta find fresh water." Peeta says, panting slightly.

Before anyone can respond, the cannon fires three times. Three more tributes are gone.

"Well I guess we're not holding hands anymore." Finnick says as he laughs.

He watches as you shoot him a 'shut up' look, silently scolding him for what he said.

Katniss glares at him. “You think that's funny?” she snaps, her voice icy and accusatory.

“Every time that cannon goes off, it’s like music to my ears,” he says smoothly. “I don’t care about any of them.”

He feels you nudge his shoulder and watches as you shake your head.

“Good to hear,” Katniss bites back, her expression hardening as she draws her machete with a metallic scrape.

"Wanna face the Career Pack alone? What would Haymitch say?"

"Haymitch isn't here."

You and Peeta exchange a look and Finnick watches as you both start to get up.

"Let's keep moving." Peeta says as he gets up.

You get up as well, but Finnick and Katniss don't. They stay crouched on the ground, glaring at eachother.

"Finnick." you say in a firm, yet soft tone.

Finnick finally stops glaring at Katniss, "Right...okay."

As you all start to traverse through the jungle, Finnick could feel the tension between the two of you.

"Did you have to say something earlier?" you say in a hushed tone.

Finnick scoffs under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “Oh, come on. I’m the one who kept everyone alive so far. I grabbed the trident, took out a tribute, and got Peeta out of the water, didn’t I? Forgive me for cracking a joke.”

You stop walking for a split second before catching up to him again. “It’s not about the joke,” you mutter, your voice quiet but firm. “It’s about the way you said it. You sounded like you didn’t care.”

Finnick’s steps falter, and he glances at you, his expression softening just slightly. “I care,” he murmurs, his tone barely audible. “You know I do.”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, your annoyance fading but not entirely gone. “Then show it. Because if she thinks she can’t trust you, this whole thing isn't gonna last long and then the plan will be out the window."

Before he could even think of responding, the sound of Katniss screaming cuts through the air, and before anyone could even react, Peeta goes flying off the force field and crashes into everyone.

Finnick groans, "Are you okay?"

You nod but then start hitting his shoulder and pointing to Katniss.

"He's not breathing. He's not breathing! He's not breathing- Peeta!"

Finnick dashes towards the two and pushes Katniss off of Peeta to start CPR.

You see Katniss go to reach for her machete, her movements quick and defensive, but before she can strike, you call out sharply, “Katniss, stop!”

Her hand freezes in mid-air, fingers gripping the hilt of her machete, eyes wild with confusion and fear. The tension in the air is suffocating, and for a moment, everything stands still.

"Come on Peeta. Come on."

A painful silence hangs in the air as Finnick continues, his heart hammering in his chest. The seconds stretch out like an eternity, every beat of his pulse ringing in his ears.

Then, finally, finally a shudder runs through Peeta’s body. Finnick’s breath hitches, and he shifts, leaning in closer as Peeta coughs, sputters, and gasps for air, his chest heaving as life returns to him.

"Peeta?" Katniss breathes, her voice soft with disbelief as she touches his shoulder gently. "Peeta oh my god”

Finnick takes a step back and you take a step closer to him.

You both watch as Katniss kisses and as she pulls Peeta into a tight embrace.

"It's real." you whisper.

Finnick looks down at you for a spilt second and then back at Katniss and Peeta.

It defineitely is real.

        🌊 .·:*¨🌊🐚🌊¨*:·. 🌊

After walking for a bit longer, the group stops as Katniss climbs up a tree.

You step closer to Finnick and reach out for his hand.

You look flushed, the heat and dehydration was catching up to you.

"You okay angel?" he says in a gentle tone.

"Yeah... just had a little déjà vu back there.”

Finnick tilts his head, brows furrowing as he watches you, “Déjà vu? What do you mean?”

You stay quiet for a moment, "When you were giving Peeta CPR...it reminded me of what happened in my games." you whisper, looking down at the ground.

Finnick frowns, he knows exactly what you're talking about.

***

He was sitting in a lavish Capitol viewing party, surrounded by jeering, laughing citizens who are oblivious to the weight of the lives being traded for their amusement. His eyes were glued to the screen, watching as the Games unfold in front of him.

You and Kael were safe, you were both deep in the forest, away from all the other tributes. The cameras were constantly following the two of you, you were both already deemed Capitol favorites.

“Oh, aren’t they just adorable together?” one woman gushed, her hair a shock of neon pink feathers. “Kael is such a protector. Did you see how he looked at her when she almost tripped over that root?”

The party goers continued to comment and make remarks while the cameras continued to follow you both as you forged for something to eat.

He was already thinking of how if neither of you found anything, he could just persude one of these partygoers to send you bread, soup, anything to keep you alive.

He watched as you picked a few berries and examined them, he could tell that you weren't sure if they were safe to eat, but you still set them down onto a small leaf ontop of a rock.

He watched as you turned your back to try to find some more...but then he saw a tribute. He felt his heart stop. Kael was no where near you, so if this tribute attacked, you would have to fight on your own.

But instead of going after you, he watched as they lunged for the berries and as they ate all of them.

The tribute had collapsed almost immediately. The camera zoomed in on their lifeless body, the effects of the poison quick and deadly.

He watched as you turned around and froze. Your face twisted in horror, your hands were shaking violently. You realized what had happened. You hadn’t meant for this.

Without hesitation, you dropped to you knees beside the fallen tribute, desperately pressing your hands to their chest, trying to revive them, trying to save them.

But it was too late.

He wanted to turn away, to block out the sight of you cradling the body in your arms, your face streaked with tears as you whispered frantic apologies.

“Oh, she’s so sweet,” one Capitol woman remarked, her hand pressed to her chest, her voice high with faux sympathy. “She never meant to do that. She was just trying to help. Poor thing.”

The women around him murmur in agreement, calling you “sweet” and “innocent". “She doesn’t belong here,” one woman says, tsking as she crosses her legs. “Such a delicate thing. She’ll never survive, not with that soft heart of hers.”

He wanted to tell them to shut up as they all continued to make comments. But he couldn't. All he could do was hope that you come out of this alive.

***

"The force field. It's a dome, we're at the edge of the arena." Katniss says as she adjusts her bow. "I couldn't find any signs of fresh water."

Everyone shares a look of disappointment. It was now hotter than before, almost too unbarable.

"It's gonna get dark soon." Finnick says, "We'll be safe with our backs protected. We should set up camp."

"We can take turns sleeping" you say.

Finnick nods, "I'll take first watch."

"Not a chance." Katniss scoffs.

He scoffs and stands up.

"Honey. That thing I did for Peeta back there? It's called saving his life."

"If I wanted to kill either of you, I would've done it by now."

"Finnick.." you say as a warning.

He starts walking away but you tug on his arm.

"Finn. Come on. Stop acting like this."

"Like what?

"Like you don't care!"

He gazes at you as you put your hand on his cheek.

"Finn. I know you care. More than anyone I know you care." you whisper. "But they don't." you say as you motion to Katniss and Peeta.

"I know.." he whispers, "But you know I can't just break this whole act."

You nod, "I know...I just- I don't want Katniss to not trust us."

He puts his hand on you cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin as he gazes into you eyes. “I’ll try,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible. “For you. But it’s not gonna be easy.”

“I’m not asking for perfect,” you whisper back, your voice soft yet firm. “Just… don’t make them think you’re the enemy. We need them as much as they need us.”

His lips twitch into a faint smile, “Alright, angel. I’ll behave. For now.”

You let out a small, relieved sigh and drop your hand from his arm, giving him a nod. Finnick straightens, his gaze briefly flickering to Katniss and Peeta, who are both watching the two of you from a distance. Katniss still looks wary, her hand resting on her bow, while Peeta’s expression is one of observation, as if he’s trying to piece together what's going on between you and Finnick.

        🌊 .·:*¨🌊🐚🌊¨*:·. 🌊

It's not long before nightfall hits. Finnick and Katniss are the only two awake as you and Peeta try to rest.

He keeps his gaze locked on you as you sleep next to him, admiring how pretty you look under the moonlight of the arena. Then he looks over at Katniss.

"How's Peeta?"

"He's okay I think. Dehydrated like the rest of us." Katniss says as she looks over to you, "How's she?"

Finnick sighs, "She's fine, just like you said, dehydrated. I just hope she doesn't get sick." he says as he runs his hand through your hair.

"You really care about her, don't you?"

Finnick look at Katniss, who has a look of skepticism on her face. He nods, "Course I do."

Before Katniss can say anything back, the anthem starts playing causing you and Peeta to wake up.

You all look up and watch as the holograms of the fallen tributes appear on the screen. You and Finnick share a sigh of relief when you don't see anyone that's apart of the plan up on the screen.

Except for Seeder and Cecelia.

Finnick watches as you tear up when you see Cecelia up on the screen.

"Her kids Finny..." you say as your voice breaks, "Her kids...they’re all alone…"

He's quick to put his hand against your cheek to console you, "I know angel. I know." he pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you. Your forehead rests against his shoulder, your quiet sobs muffled by the crook of his neck.

“It’s not fair,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

“I know,” he says, his own eyes shining with unshed tears. “It’s never been fair. But that’s why we have the plan, angel. To make sure it ends.” he says so quietly that only you can hear, letting you go from his arms.

Once the holograms finish, Katniss says she counted eight. Sixteen tributes are still out there.

The familar sound of the chiming of a sponsor gift fills the air.

Katniss walks over to it and Finnick follows her.

When Katniss realizes its a spile, she goes over to a tree and using a rock she taps it into the tree. The minute water starts trickling out of the tube, everyone starts to drink from it.

Before you can even move, Finnick comes up to your side with a leaf full of water.

"Finn..I could've gotten it myself.."

He smiles, "But I wanted to get it for you. Here, drink" he says as he brings up the leaf to your lips.

He watches as you drink from it, "Better? Do you want more?"

"I'm fine, I don't need anymore, this is enough."

He nods and places a hand on your cheek, "Come on, let's get you back to sleep."

A few minutes pass and you're sound asleep next to Finnick again, he idly runs his fingers through your hair in a soothing motion.

Only when you hear the banging of what sounds like a gong do you wake up.

"What's going on?" you say sleepily.

"I don't know.." Finnick says, looking around.

"I counted 12." Katniss says.

"For midnight?" Finnick says, continuing to stroke your hair.

"Or for the number of Districts"

You then all hear and see a huge strike of lighting hit a tree in the distance multiple times.

You all look at it puzzled by what it meant.

Finnick sighs, "Well..if you're not gonna sleep, I will" he says to Katniss as he moves to lay down with you.

      🌊 .·:*¨🌊🐚🌊¨*:·. 🌊

You were lying on Finnick's chest as he holds you close. Both of you were fast asleep. Hearing the distance sounds of the waves coming from the beach made it feel like you were both back home.

That you were both back in four in the comfort of your house.

But the ugly reality came crashing down when you were both awoken by Katniss' screams of pain.

A/N: AND THAT ENDS DAY ONE OF THE GAMES!!!!!! i hope u guys enjoyed! next chapter will be filled with more finnick and angel moments I PROMISE. also if u guys have any questions or just wanna like chat my asks/requests are open! i don't have school AT ALL this week so i will be able to respond to a lot more than usual!

Taglist: @jacaeryslover @sundawn1990 @redama @noodleisodd **if you'd like to be included in this taglist lmk in the replies!

[ameenvie]

Treacherous, Pt. 2 - Jim Halpert x fem!reader

masterlist | ao3 | fic recs

“Out of focus, eye to eye, ‘Til the gravity’s too much”

Part 1 Word count: 6.1k Warnings: NSFW, fingering, dry humping, p in v sex, brief oral (m!receiving) Tags: idiots in love, pining, I'm a sucker for confessions during sex, consent is sexy, responsible Jim ❤ beta reading? I don't know 'er! Prompt/Summary: You started working at Dunder Mifflin around 6 months ago, and since then you developed a massive crush on one of your colleagues - Jim Halpert. Things happen. A/N: Here it iiis, the NSFW Second part of this fic! I hope you'll like it ❤

The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up and his hair was a bit messier than usual as he was leaning on his elbow, his hand in his hair. He was looking at a piece of paper on his desk, not realizing you entered the room. You slowly made your way towards the printer next to him, and he finally looked up at you.

“Hey, I didn’t realize you were still here.” He leaned back in his chair and put one of his hands on the table. You tried not to stare at his every move, but it was hard to resist, you were drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

“Oh yeah, I’m still working on the report due by tomorrow morning. Having a hard time focusing today” you replied and pressed the print button on the machine. It started buzzing and the smell of ink and warm paper filled the air. A moment of silence wrapped around the two of you before he spoke again.

“Look, I wanted to apologize about earlier, I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that.”

“Oh no, I’m fine,” you said with a fake chuckle. “It wasn’t too bad.”

“I’m still sorry. It was a douchey move” he smiled and pointed at the papers now in your hand. “Can I make it up to you? Do you need help with your report?”

You contemplated his offer for a second, but you weren’t sure what to say. You didn’t want to seem like someone who couldn’t handle things on their own, but you really could’ve used the help to get out of there as soon as possible.

“If it’s not a problem to you, that would be great, yeah.”

“If it was, I wouldn’t have offered. Now tell me what to do!” He said with a grin spreading on his face and you caught your gaze lingering at his lips longer than it should've. You hoped he didn’t notice. You quickly averted your gaze before you grabbed the rest of the sheets from the printer and settled at his desk together with him.

You explained to him how you planned your spreadsheet and what data he’d need to input, and where to find them, and you agreed on a method of how to split the task. He was very attentive the whole time, and sometimes you thought you saw his gaze linger on you but chased that thought away.

“Thank you, I really appreciate it. I’ll be in the back if you need anything.”

“Sure thing, I’ll come by,” he answered and smiled at you. His damn smile made your heart melt every time. He made you feel such a teenager, and you were kind of mad at him because of that.

You sat down at your desk and continued your work. Another hour passed before you heard the door open, and you turned towards him. He held a few papers in his hand, waving them with pride.

“I’m done with these; I thought I’d bring them here and we could run through them if you’d like.” He stepped next to you and pulled a chair closer for himself. The same chair that Kelly sat on this morning, when she said Jim liked you. The memory made you flustered as you looked up at him.

“You sure? I don’t want to keep you longer than I need, I already feel bad because you stayed overtime for me.”

“Shhh,” he shushed you. “You’re not keeping me from anything. I like your company.” He laughed then put the papers on the desk. You both leaned over them and started to look through the rows one by one.

You were leaning on your elbow with your body turned towards him as he talked, and you listened. You watched as he moved his hand on the paper, explaining things why he did what and asking you questions. You imagined his hands roaming on your body instead of the numbers on the paper. His lips singing you praises between ragged breaths instead of explaining sales metrics. You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander, up his arms, to where his neck peeked out from under his shirt, his lips. You scolded yourself every time you caught yourself.

“Are you all right?” His voice brought you back to reality. His gaze on you only fanned the flames inside, which already felt like wildfire. You felt your insides twist with need.

“Yes, I’m just a bit tired. That’s all,” you replied and straightened your back. Now you were sitting so close that your shoulders were touching — bad idea.

“I think we can wrap this up, finish the rest in the morning. I hope this won’t scare you away from this job.” He shuffled around on his chair, so his shoulder didn’t touch yours anymore as he leaned on one of his elbows, turning his body towards you. You were both grateful and sad for the absence of the warmth of his touch.

“No, of course not. I kind of like it here. Some people are nice.”

“Yes,” he smiled, “some people are really nice.” He started to fiddle with a pen on your desk.

There was a moment of heavy silence between the two of you, which was enough for you to get overwhelmed with how close he was. His touch and sweet scent made you drunk. You never wanted this moment to end but at the same time, you couldn’t wait to get out of there. You heard him call your name which snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Yes?”

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze was darting between your eyes and lips, and you could swear he was a little flustered.

You felt like your brain was malfunctioning, a short circuit in your nerves. Was this really happening? You felt your heart drop into your stomach, and all you could muster up as an answer was a shaky nod as you reached for him.

He didn’t hesitate, he put his hands on both sides of your face as he pulled you closer into a kiss. You felt your heart explode into thousands of little butterflies that stole your breath away. His lips were soft against your own as he took his time exploring you, kissing the corner of your mouth before nibbling on your lower lip. You whimpered and opened your mouth, which gave him the perfect opportunity to press his tongue against yours, starting to dance in perfect harmony.  

He filled all your senses – the taste of his favourite tea on your tongue, the scent of his aftershave, the feeling of his touches on your skin. You felt lightheaded, like you were not on this planet anymore as he moved one of his hands from your cheek to the small of your back and pulled you into his lap. His other hand has moved from your cheek to your neck and into your hair as he pulled you closer into the kiss.

You straddled him in the wobbly office chair and ran your hand through his hair which made him smile into the kiss. The little gesture made your heart swell, and you bit his lower lip playfully.

His touches moved slowly towards your hips, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His long fingers pushed under the hem of your shirt and started to draw hot circles against your skin. You wanted him so much that you absent-mindedly moaned into the kiss, which caused him to stop for a second. Your eyes shot open. Shit, was that too much?

“Is this okay?” he whispered against your lips, leaning his forehead against yours. His breathing was heavy as he scanned your face for answers with such a loving look in his eyes, it turned your insides into Jello. You nodded as you moved your hand to rest against his neck and drew circles on his skin with your thumb. He let out a breathy chuckle before he spoke again. “I need you to say it.”

Your mind raced a mile a second. Should you really do this? You wanted to - more than anything, but shouldn’t you at least try to keep your dignity? Try to act like you didn’t dream about him for months? That he didn’t make your heart race every time he looked at you?

And then you decided not to care.

“Yes, it’s okay, I-,“ you started, trying to form the words. “I want this.” He pulled you closer by your waist before you continued with newfound confidence. “I want you, Jim” you whispered into his ear.

“Fuck-“ he breathed, and pulled you into another kiss. “Tell me if you want me to stop.” You nodded in response, but he shook his head lightly and smiled. “I need you to say it.”

“I’ll tell you if I want you to stop. I promise,” you breathed on his lips.

“Good girl.” You moaned into his mouth, and you felt his bulge grow against you. You tried to rock your hips against him for the slightest of friction. He dropped his head back from the sensation, giving you the perfect opportunity to place a wet kiss on his throat, licking against his hammering pulse and slightly biting him.

He dug his fingers into your ass as he kissed you once again. Your skirt was ridden up all the way to your thighs, and he made sure to lift them even higher until your underwear was revealed, together with a very prominent wet patch on it. You started to unbutton his shirt with quivering fingers while he drew lazy patterns into your thighs, only inches away from your aching core.

You leaned down to kiss the crook of his neck as you pushed his shirt down from his shoulders, the fabric slipping from his back and getting caught on the chair before falling to the ground. Your insides twisted with anticipation as you looked at his body, trying to commit every inch into your memory. He sat up straighter and wrapped his arms around you, tangling one hand into your hair as he used the other to push your blouse above your head and toss it to the floor, leaving you in your bra.

The sudden cold air sent shivers down your spine and your hardened nipples pushed against the thin fabric of your underwear. He bit his lip as he looked down on you, his gaze dark with lust. Suddenly you felt flustered but had no time to overthink before he spoke.

“You are so beautiful” he whispered as he leaned down to press a kiss on your breast, just above the hemline of the bra before he unclasped it and guided it down your arms. He brushed his thumb over your nipple while he rested his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asked and enveloped your breast in his hand.

“Never” you whimpered which earned you a crooked grin and another kiss. He removed his hand from your chest and replaced it with his lips, kissing and sucking on your sensitive skin.

With every passing second the outside world shrank around you, your senses all focused on his touch - or the lack of - more like. The feeling of emptiness, of wanting to be whole started to eat away at you as the words tumbled out of your mouth.

“Jim, please…” you squeezed your eyes shut and slightly tugged on his hair, releasing a shaky breath. He moved his free hand from your hair to your chin, making you look into his eyes. His pupils were blown wide and stray strands of hair stuck to his forehead.

“You want this?” he teased, hovering his finger above your throbbing core, barely not touching. You nodded lightly with his hand still holding your chin in place before the words started pouring out of you.

“Yes, Jim – you breathed - I want you. Please, touch me. Fuck me,” you begged, and you saw a glint of amusement in his eyes before he pulled you into a kiss and pressed his thumb against your clothed clit before he pulled your panties aside with his other fingers. Your hips began to move on their own, grinding against his finger, craving more and more.

He brought a finger to your entrance and slowly slid it inside without any resistance. He bit his lip as he examined the spot where his finger disappeared in you.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered and bit the soft skin under your clavicle. He dictated a steady rhythm with his long fingers, and you were more than happy to follow. You gripped his shoulder for deal life as he slid another finger in you, curling them slightly so he reached your sweet spot. You cried out and looked at him through half-lidded eyes.

He was beautiful. His hair was damp from sweat and messy from your hand running through it, his lean muscles were showing as he held you in place and fucked you with his fingers, and the increasingly hardening bulge in his pants told you that you were in for an even better treat if you were lucky enough. You rolled your hips harder against his fingers as you felt your insides tighten with every movement of his. He was so beautiful. So hot. And he was yours.

“Jim,” you moaned his name and that seemed to ignite something in him because he pressed his hand on the back of your neck and pulled you into a passionate kiss, tongue and teeth clashing while he moved his thumb back to your clit, drawing tight circles on it.

Pleasure took over your body as you felt your muscles tighten, the world around you completely gone and in the center of your universe was him and his fingers in you. You rolled your hips as he slid in and out of you, never letting go of you.

You were a moaning mess and felt your stomach tighten, nerves lighting up in your body one by one and pleasure trickling down your spine.

“I’m here, love. Let me take care of you, come for me,” he whispered in your ear, his lips grazing your earlobe and with one, two roll of your hips you were crying out, your walls tightening around his fingers as your vision turned white.

He held you against him as his fingers slowed inside you, guiding you through your orgasm before stopping completely. He prepped your forehead with soft kisses before he removed his fingers from you. In your post-orgasm haze, you barely caught how he raised his fingers to his mouth and licked them clean with a moan.

The motion caught you off guard and you felt yourself tighten around nothing – a painful reminder. You slowly sat up and started to unbutton his pants, impatient to feel him in you. He silently watched as you pulled his pants and underwear down just enough so his hard member could spring free. You bit your lips as you took in the view.

You slowly slid your hand down on it, testing the feeling of its weight in your hand. It was already leaking with precum, and you were sure you were so wet you could easily just sink down onto him without any resistance. Nevertheless, you moved and slid down to your knees in front of him. For a split second he wanted to resist but you were already kneeling in front of him just in your skirt as you kissed the tip of his cock before taking him into your mouth as far as you could, which still left plenty for your hands to take care of. The rough office carpet was harsh against your bare knees, but you didn’t care. You slid your tongue against him and bobbed your head. He threw his head back with a moan, his hand finding its way to your hair.

He didn’t let you enjoy yourself too much, because he gently pulled you away and up to your feet as he also stood up, guiding you towards your desk. You made space for yourself as you sat down on it, spreading your legs so he could stand between them. You reached for him again and started to slowly stroke him while he was digging through his back pocket, pulling out his wallet, then a condom. You couldn't help but chuckle, although you were grateful for such turn of events.

“Didn’t think you were such a player.” He scoffed and grinned at you.

“I knew you couldn't keep your hands off me for too long,” he said with a cocky smile which made you laugh and kissed you while he put the condom on. He lined himself up against your entrance and slowly pushed in.

The stretch was out of this world, and you savoured every inch as he pressed into you deeper and deeper until he bottomed out. He stilled for a few seconds, his forehead against yours.

“Don’t forget your promise,” he said, and you nodded. He slowly pulled out of you before bottoming out again, causing the office desk to shake lightly, the pens rattling against each other in the Dunder Mifflin mug.

“I’ll never be able to focus at work anymore. I hope you’re happy,” you said jokingly, his thrusts stealing the air from your lungs between every word. He chuckled before he kissed you.

His hands held your thighs firmly so he could pull you against him with every move, as he pulled out and slammed back in with a steady rhythm. You held onto him, one hand on his biceps and one tangled in his hair. His pace increased as filthy sounds filled the room mixed with your joint panting and moaning, his name on your lips like a sacred prayer, like a promise to something larger than life.

His moves became a bit less calculated, a bit sloppy, when he moved his thumb against your clit once more. You knew he was getting closer, and you also felt the familiar tension build in you, but you never wanted it to end. You didn’t want to think about what came after. The awkwardness. The guilt.

You pressed your lips against him, tongues clashing in a sloppy, messy dance as his dick pressed against your sweet spot with every thrust, his thumb caressing your clit with perfect pressure. He grabbed your hair and tilted your head back as he rutted into you, kissing your neck and mumbling sweet nothings against your skin.

“You’re so fucking good,” he said, panting. The curse felt alien on his tongue which boiled your blood even more. “I love you so much, my good girl,” he whispered against your skin, and you weren’t even sure you heard that right, but your heart skipped a beat, your brain numb as flames washed over your body, sparks lighting up your nerves as you came, all thoughts leaving your mind and being replaced with bliss. He came not long after you and wrapped you against his chest while you both caught your breath. He caressed your hair and planted soft kisses on the top of your head before pulling out.

“I’ll be back in a second,” he said, giving a squeeze to your hand as he disappeared. You didn’t really comprehend what was happening, where he went, or how long he was away, but when he came back, he brought a damp paper towel and helped to clean you up.

“That’s better.” He pressed a kiss on your lips and his eyes searched your face. “Are you okay?” When you didn’t reply, his expression turned worried, and he swiped his hand across his face.

“Shit,” he said. “I’m sorry. You think you made a mistake, right?” He ran his hand through his hair as he looked at you. You snapped out of your thoughts.

“What? No!” You objected. “No, Jim. It was amazing, hell… Even more than that. I’m sorry, it’s just,” you hesitated and looked him in the eye. “You said you loved me.” The realization settled on his face as he looked at you.

“I’m sorry,” he replied, and you scoffed, raising your eyebrow at him.

“I love you too,” you said, and a shy smile spread across your face as you reached for his hand. A sigh of relief escaped his lungs as he enveloped you in his arms, kissing you once again.

Maybe overtime wasn’t that bad, after all.

[crappymixtape]

tangled • part one

PART II • PART III • PART IV • PART V • PART VI ❝ all you’ve known your entire life is in the inside of your tower – the brick walls covered in your murals skating around you in a semi-perfect circle, the view from the very top one that would take anyone’s breath away, but how could it be beautiful when you could never leave? that is, until an unexpected someone happens upon your hidden tower and offers you a chance to escape | (  3.2k, tangled AU • fluff, angst, strangers to lovers, steve x you, steve x reader )

S E T M E F R E E, O H I P R A Y 🎶 cowboy take me away, fireswimmer

You were up with the birds, awake as fingers of sunlight slipped through your window and fanned out over the quilt you’d stitched together during the winter months. Spring was coming to an end and the days were growing warmer, enough to probably not need your quilt any longer, and when you stepped out of bed onto the cobblestone floor you felt a buzz of inspiration zip through you.

Maybe it was the way the sun crept through your window or maybe it was the sound of the waterfall rushing just outside the tower, but you wanted so badly to run your fingers through the grass. Hear the way the breeze blew through the trees. Dip your toes in the water and look at the details of a petal up close and–

“Rapunzel! Let down your hair!”

Mother’s voice drifted up from the bottom of the tower and you felt your heart hammer in your chest. You’d never asked her to leave the tower before, hadn’t asked her for much honestly, but with your birthday coming up maybe she would make an exception.

Every year, on the eve of your birthday, lights would illuminate the sky. Dancing and swirling among the stars and drifting beneath the moon. Beautiful and sparkling and it happened every single year. Why? You were dying to find out. They weren’t far from the tower, surely she would entertain your request. After all, it was your birthday.

“Rapunzel! I’m not getting any younger down here!”

“Coming, Mother!” you called back and tossed your long, shiny locks up over the hook spun into the roof of the tower. They cascaded down the wall and landed in a spun pile at her feet.

Pulling and pulling and pulling, Mother ascended up to the window inch by inch until she stepped up onto the ledge and into your circular room, “Good morning, dear.”

“Morning, Mother.”

“It’s time to brush your hair dear. I saw on the way up, you’ve got twigs tangled up in the ends. Hardly a way to treat such beautiful locks, my goodness. What do you do all day? Tsk. Just another reason for me to keep you here, you can’t even manage to properly care for yourself.”

A pang of shame hit you square in the chest and you wrapped your arms around your torso, making yourself smaller. Unseen. Unheard.

“Sit,” Mother said pulling up a stool and you did as you were told, sitting on the small surface as she took the chair behind you, brush in hand. “Now sing me our song. You know how much I love it,” she demanded, not asked, and you did as you always did…

Flower, gleam and glow, Let your power shine, Make the clock reverse, Bring back what once was mine.

Heal what has been hurt, Change the fates' design, Save what has been lost, Bring back what once was mine. What once was mine.

“That’s my girl,” Mother appraised, running the brush through the ends of your hair and pulling too hard at the end, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“Mother…” you started, hesitant, reluctant. Should you ask? She seemed in as good a mood as ever.

“What is it?” she snapped, short. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea, but something in you pushed. Please, please ask. If you don’t ask we won’t ever know. And you had to know.

“I was thinking–”

“Never a good thing,” Mother teased meanly and you bit your bottom lip between your teeth. Nerves swelling in your chest.

“I was just thinking...tomorrow is my birthday and well–well, there’s something I was hoping we might be able to do.”

Mother hummed in her throat, a sharp thing that held irritation, like you were a pest she couldn’t rid herself of. “And? Rapunzel come now, speak up!”

“And–and I was wondering if you might take me to see the lights at the castle. They’re there every year on my birthday! They can’t be stars…I’ve charted them all and I just…I want to see what they are–”

“The lights?” Mother started to laugh. “The lights? Rapunzel you must be joking.”

“No, I’m not…I’m not joking, Mother I really do want–”

“Truly, how could you think I would just take you–”

“Mother, it’s what I really want! I just want to see the lights!” you shouted, but as soon as the words left your lips you clamped your hands over your mouth. Afraid of what you’d just done.

Mother narrowed her eyes at you, lips firmed into a twisted line, angry and her patience evaporated as she took a step toward you and you shrank again.

“You will never raise your voice at me like that again, is that clear?”

“Yes, Mother.”

Her voice notched up in volume as she stepped closer to you.

“And I don’t ever want to hear about those lights again, is that clear!”

She was closer still, breath heated and harsh against your cheek.

“Yes, Mother.”

Towering over you, Mother took you by the wrist and roughly pulled you up to her face so that you were inches away, the heat of her words spilling and burning and wicked, “And you will absolutely NEVER, EVER be leaving this tower! Is that clear??”

When you spoke for the final time your voice cracked, tears streaming down your cheeks, chest burning with embarrassment and shame and regret. “Yes, Mother.”

Letting go of your wrist, Mother sighed and sank back into her chair, eyes closed and fingers pinching her the bridge of her nose.

“Ugh, now I’m the bad guy.”

You sniffed, wiping your eyes hastily with the backs of your hands, trying and scrambling to regain your composure. Afraid to push her even the tiniest bit further. You wished you’d never asked, wished you kept your thoughts to yourself. The lights, your birthday, all of it. Wished you could take it all back.

Clearing your throat you sat back on your stool, curled into yourself as you peered up at Mother sitting her in chair. Impatient. Bothered. Exasperated.

“Mother…” you started tentatively, “I know what I want for my birthday now.”

“And what’s that?” she sighed.

“New paint? The kind made from the shells you once brought me.”

She fixed you with a look, the way you might regard a dog begging for scraps, “Well, now that is a long journey, Rapunzel.”

“Please? I promise not to ask about the lights again,” pressing your hands together you tried to look sorry, thankful, grateful, please.

Mother sighed again, but you held onto hope. “Oh, alright,” she conceded, standing from her chair to gather her things. Surely you couldn't do much damage over a few days. “I’ll be back in three days time. Are you sure you’ll be able to manage without me?” she asked.

You gave her a small smile, “Yes, mother. I’ll be fine.”

“You know I love you,” your mother said, a tight smile pulling at her lips.

“Yes, mother. I love you too,” you murmured.

“I’ll see you a bit, my flower!”

And with that you watched as she descended the tower, your hair in her hands sliding down, down, down to the grass below and off into the open, free, world you wanted so badly to explore, only to stand at your window while Mother disappeared into the vines draped at the edge of the meadow and into…well, unlike you, where ever she wished to go.

I SAID I WANNA TOUCH THE EARTH, I WANNA BREAK IT IN MY HANDS, I WANNA GROW SOMETHING WILD AND UNRULY.

Unbeknownst to you, the path to your freedom lay in the hands of a man just on the other side of the very vines Mother had just stepped through. Well…technically he was a man, but really more boy in the way he held himself. And carried conversation. And continually found himself in trouble because of his inflated ego, but a man nonetheless, holding your freedom.

Flynn Rider, a rogue, a thief, a ruffian. Just over six feet tall with sweeps of dark brown hair, skin like it held all of summer and the sun beneath it, eyes like burnt sugar and dotted in freckles and apparently much faster than he looked.

“RIDER!”

“Sorry, boys, gotta go!”

Flynn crashed through the line of shrubs he’d just hurled himself into and fell out the other side, scrambling to find his footing. He was probably going to regret the decision he’d just made, but that would be a problem for future Flynn Rider.

Patting the satchel at his side he peeked into make sure the contents were still intact and at the sound of thundering hooves picked his pace back up, sprinting through the woods.

It was a beautiful day, not a cloud in sight, rays of sun shining through canopy and dappling the forest floor with warm sunlight. It would have been even more beautiful if Flynn wasn’t being chased by the King’s guard, but he supposed it was the only option when you’d stolen the crown of the missing princess.

Chest heaving with the effort, he pushed his legs to go faster. Sprinting over fallen logs and thick brambles, wincing but not stopping as they pulled and slashed at the thin fabric of his tunic. He had to find cover before he ran out of breath or else he’d face the gallows.

Again.

It wasn’t that he was a bad guy. He wasn’t murderous or wanted for treason or anything. In fact, he wanted to be done with this life on the run and so he hoped this might be his ticket out. Hawk the lost princess’ tiara and hop a boat to somewhere far, far away.

His lungs started to burn as he sucked in air, sidestepping a particularly nasty blackberry bush and earning a scratch across his cheek. “Damn,” he hissed, wincing at the pinch of pain. He could hear the guards closing in behind him, the captain giving orders to his men to split up and Flynn knew his time grew short.

An arrow grazed past his ear as his slammed into a tree, the tip sinking into the bark just inches from his hands.

Too close.

“A promotion to which ever of you idiots catches, Rider!” the captain shouted and it pushed Flynn into another sprint.

Step over step over step, out of the thick stand of trees and into a wide field of wheat. The shhh shhh shhh of the grass against his trousers hissing as he stumbled once on a dirt clod and again on a molehill until the third time he wasn’t so lucky.

The toe of his boot caught on a rock dug into the dirt, sending him flying forward and over the edge of an embankment. Tumbling head over heels down, down, down and hitting the bottom with a heavy THUD!

“Sir! We’ve lost him!”

“What d’you mean you’ve lost him??”

“I–I’m not sure, sir. We–we’ve lost visual.”

“Bloody useless–if you lot can’t find him, then I’ll do it myself!!”

Groaning, Flynn pushed himself up from where he’d landed and blinked away the knock to the head he’d just earned for running through a damn field. Voices carried down the embankment and he could hear the King’s guard scuttling about back up the hill – they didn’t know where he was.

Scrambling back up onto his feet, Flynn quickly checked to make sure the tiara was still in place before frantically looking for an out. He had a moment’s cover while they tried to find him back up at the top, but surely they’d see the bent wheat stalks at some point. The bottom of the gully was more of the same, thick brush and brambles and trees and…vines? All drooping down just above the ground at the same angle and blowing just ever so in the breeze.

Brows knitted together he pushed a hand to them and stumbled forward a bit when his hand fell through them, not solid. So he pushed further still, watching as his arm disappeared further and further until he was completely concealed.

“Sir! We found something!”

Sucking in a gasp, Flynn pressed himself against the rock of the tunnel he’d just discovered and held his breath. The King’s guard tramped down the hill and trotted right past his hiding spot, their shadows dancing across the vines as they concealed him out of sight.

“He’s here somewhere, keep looking!”

The sound of hooves slowly disappeared and when quiet flooded back in, Flynn could hear the sound of a…river? A waterfall? Birds and a soft breeze across his skin…taking a few steps toward the bright light at the other end of the tunnel Flynn shielded his eyes in the crook of his arm and walked out into the most beautiful place he’d ever seen.

A waterfall cascaded down a cliff at the far edge of the little valley he’d wandered into, crashing into the rocks below and fanning out into a river that wound its way through the ground and past his feet. All manner of birds chirped and sang as they flew through the cloudless sky, landing peacefully in the trees. And there, just in the very center, a tower made of brick and cobblestones with a thatched roof, a chimney and windows all around but…no way up?

He knew he couldn’t stay idle, even if he was out of sight for now, surely the King’s guard would find him. Taking one quick loop around the tower, there was still no door in sight, so snatching the pair of daggers from the belt at his waist he stabbed one between the bricks high above his head and pulled to test his weight. When it held he found his footing and drove the second dagger in and arm over arm began to climb up to the largest window.

His biceps were burning, his shoulders on fire. There were a few times Flynn even thought he would surely fall to his death, but slowly he made it up, up, up and when he finally fell through the window gasping for breath, he prayed to whatever gods there may be that he might find a bed at the top of the bloody tower. Stealing a crown, outsmarting two idiot thugs and then running from the King’s guard was no easy feat and he could feel exhaustion in his very bones.

Heaving himself up off the cobblestone floor he loosed a heavy sigh of relief and pushed his hair from his eyes.

“Gods, finally. Alone at last.”

And then with a very loud CLANG! everything went black.

IN THE COMFORT OF YOUR ARMS, ON A PILLOW OF BLUE BONNETS, IN A BLANKET MADE OF STARS, OH, IT SOUNDS GOOD TO ME.

There was a man.

In your tower.

In your room.

AT YOUR FEET.

How he’d made it all the way to the top of the tower without the aide of your hair was beyond you, but as you peeked out at him from behind your mannequin you couldn’t help the tiny pang of guilt in your chest. Maybe you didn’t have to hit him with your frying pan, but it was too late for that now.

You’d never seen one before, only knew what Mother told you: dark, beady eyes and sharp fangs, gnarled hands to snatch you with and kidnap you away into the night.

Stepping out from your hiding place you took a tiny step forward, the smallest step, and poked him with the handle of your pan.

“HEY!” you shouted, but he didn’t move. “Oh, gods…” Did you kill him?

Another few steps and your bare toes nearly brushed his arm. Slowly extending the pan again you turned his head with the handle and nudged his lip, but in place of scary fangs were teeth. Just like yours. Bending down carefully you lifted a hand to his face and hesitated, waiting for something to happen, but his steady breaths continued to fall and his eyes remained shut.

A cut chased across his cheek, the tiniest streak of blood along with it, and your brow furrowed with worry. Did it hurt?

You ghosted your hand over his, just as normal as ever though a bit rough and maybe a little dirty, but wide and warm. Not gnarled. Not scary. You wondered at what it would feel like to hold it, yours so small and his so big.

Slowly, gently, your fingers trailed through the sweep of brown hair covering his face and brushed it aside to reveal mole dotted skin, warm and golden like summer and he’s beautiful. The most wonderful thing you’ve ever laid eyes on and you want to see more and–

“Unghh…”

CLANG!

You instantly regretted hitting him again, but what were you supposed to do? He opened his eyes and began to stir and what if he’d jumped up to grab you?

A groan escapes your lips and you rough your hands over your face, you still have a man in your tower. What to do, what to do. As you took stock of your modest surroundings there wasn't much to work with. Your mannequin, a small stove, things for baking and sewing and painting, your bed, your closet–

Your closet!

Blowing a puff of air between your lips, you bent down and grabbed hold of his feet and pulled a little. When he didn't stir you pulled again. A little more, a little further, a little further and further and straining, struggling almost dropping him, you shoved him into the wardrobe and slammed the doors shut, propping the handles closed with a chair.

“Oh! Oh! I did it!” you squealed, sweat clinging to your brow, giving a little jump of excitement. “I did it!! I’ve got a person in my closet. I’ve got a person in my closet…I’ve got a person in my closet! Mother thinks I’m too weak to handle myself, huh? Well, we’ll just see about that!”

And as you took a victory lap around the room your eyes caught something on the floor. A bag you hadn’t seen before and as it fell open, the contents inside flickered in the light as it came through the cracks in the roof.

Picking up the satchel you pulled back the flap and found something even more beautiful than the man you’d just shoved into your closet.

Gold. Purples and pinks and turquoises and glittering in the sunlight and as you carefully picked it up, you were surprised at how heavy it was. Eyes narrowing, you hold it closer to look at the intricate way the gold pieces twist around the jewels and gems, securing them in place and creating little flowers along the sides.

A smile flickers at the corners of your lips. It looks just like the pictures from your fairytale books. The kind of thing only a princess would wear. Laughing softly you step in front of your mirror and hesitantly hold it up over your head. Just for a moment. Just to see what it would look like…

Slowly, softly you lowered it and let it settle upon your head and a flash of light strikes you. A memory, bright and sharp and vivid. A spinning sun hanging overhead. The most lovely laughter, like music, like a song. A warm embrace. A lullaby.

BANG!

Sounds from the closet and you nearly fling the crown to the ground. How foolish of you to let you guard down. How could you forget? You could hear Mother scolding you, telling you how stupid you were, how you could have been kidnapped or killed.

Heart hammering against your ribs your eyes settle back on the closet as it bangs again.

Your guest was awake.

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist ♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Hi love, I was wondering if I could have HC or comfort fic with the sleep token boys ❤️ I’m going through a breakup and would love to read something sweet

Know that you are so loved! Sending you the biggest hug🫂

Vessel

He’s a king of little talking but big gestures. Words are overrated as it is. You can speak them but don’t mean them. Plus, he doesn’t need to hear you say it, he can see that you’re not feeling the best. That something is bothering you so to little things he turns. “Hey”, a little knock on the bedroom door makes you turn towards the sound. And there stands Vessel. Flowers beneath his arm, balancing a tray with grilled cheese and canned tomato soup.

He carefully places everything on the nightstand before turning to you. “I didn’t burn the house down making that”, Vess nods patting his own shoulder, “So you got to try it, let me know if I improved”. You know that his grilled cheese has always been amazing but it’s his way of making sure you eat. So you try to not fight it even if it’s hard.

He’s so fucking patient too. You could be stirring that soup around for a hot minute and he would not rush you. Encourage a spoonful or two along the way but let you take your own time.

He also talks so much in moments like this. It’s his way of drowning out the noises in your head. “You know I saw this sign today that said five bucks to cuddle a baby cow”, he shakes his head, “I had to talk myself out of it but we could always go back there together”.

And then because he loves physical touch - that’s how he shows love. He would wrap you up in a blanket and then cuddle you the whole night. Softly humming random bits from the albums or new tunes he’s been working on. Letting you slowly run your fingers up and down his lower stomach. Kissing your forehead every time you sigh.

iii

He is all fun and games until his baby is not feeling well. Then all shit is packed up. Unless of course, he can see that he could slowly crack away the clouds with his stupid jokes.

“Tell me”, there’s no what’s wrong questions with him. As he reaches for you. “Just… I don’t know how to even describe it”, you huff, slowly pulling at the roots of your hair. “Then don’t”, iii is quick to pull your hands closer to his lips kissing them each. “How does a bath with those bath bombs we got yesterday sound like?”, he carefully brushes strands of hair away from your face, watching you nod.

And that’s how you end up pressing against his chest, sitting in between his legs, slowly running your fingers up and down his thighs. He’s playing with your hair, twisting strands around his fingers. “Your fingers are turning into prunes”, he chuckles lifting your palms, “Should we get out?”. But you shake your head and so he doesn’t make a move. Only wrap an arm across your chest, knowing that the pressure and weight of it will slowly let the anxiety ease.

“I feel like eating chilly oil noodles”, you mutter after a while. “Eggs and lots of cheese?”, he asks with a hum. You turn to him slightly with a nod. Iii simply smiles at you, leaning in to kiss you, “Say no more baby, I got you”.

ii

I think the roles are rarely reversed. It’s mostly you weathering his storms but man when shit hits your fan and he needs to watch you crumble, that messes him up. Because watching the main source of light in his life slowly fading. That’s terrifying. So ridden in pure panic he tries to do his best to make it better.

So he’s waking up early, carefully slipping out of bed to hit the shops. Buying fresh fruits and pastries. Grabbing you your favorite drink from the coffee shop you told him about. Fuck it man even stands in a book section reading the backs of silly romances and whatnot, because hey if that might bring a smile to your face - he’s doing it.

He tries to appear as calm as possible not wanting this to turn into you worrying about him instead. But he watches your every move like there is no tomorrow. “Are we putting on another film or do you want to read?”, he asks after a while of you both just rotting beneath the blankets downstairs. You don’t answer him but snuggle deeper into his chest.

He lets you run your fingers through his tattoos. If you want he would run you through all the back stories of them even if you know them by heart by now. “Is your fave still this one?”, ii point to his lower stomach and hips, and you give him a lazy nod, “Nothing beats that”, you mutter. “Should put it on full display then”, he quickly yanks his hoodie over his head giving you a glorious view of his bare chest making you chuckle slightly and his heart ease along the way.

iv

I think he would also love to just remind you of the things you love and the things that make you feel better. You like morning/evening walks? Even if you don’t feel like going he would find a way to drag you out of the house. “I promise to buy you ice cream as a reward”, he flicks your nose, “and I promise you, you will feel so much better”. So he drives to a nice park. Holds your hand the entire time you walk. Watching you slowly start to enjoy the activity. You stop by to watch a sunset or a sunrise depending on the time you walk. And it’s one of those yeah I am alive moments. Ivy has an arm warped around you. Watching you watch the nature surrounding you both.

He would offer to take you to little places you love. You love clothes shopping? He would take you. You like browsing random stores? Say no more. He would come with you and smell all the candles. “Get that too, that in the living room”, he mutters adding yet another candle into the cart.

“I remember you said that you wanted to try pottery painting so I got us a kit”, he mutters, walking in with boxes of stuff. You can’t believe that he would remember something so random. And it’s just take-out boxes, and a bottle of nice wine as you both paint and doodle on the plates Iv picked out. It’s quality time over anything and with every stolen glance he can see the way you slowly start to flicker with happiness again.

[majorbuckyegan]

don't you break my faded heart

stalag luft III, friends to lovers, first kiss, frottage. (17.2k)

this is my hbo war secret santa gift for @ineededacentralblog hope you enjoy <3

🎄 also on ao3 🎄

Sixty-eight days.

That was how long he'd been trapped at Stalag Luft III, although John could admit that he was already beginning to lose track of the days.

He'd thought that he was doing an okay job of keeping track, but as he laid in his bunk now, counting the marks that he had scratched into the wooden wall of the combine, the number only came to sixty-four. Usually he wouldn't have questioned it, but sixty-four days would only bring them up to the twentieth of December, and he knew that it was Christmas Eve. He couldn't help but wonder where he had lost those four days.

He supposed it didn't really matter, though. Every single day felt the same as the last; each of them blurring into a web of frustration, boredom, and misery. If he hadn't already known that tomorrow was Christmas, he never would have guessed.

The worst part about being stuck here was that there didn't seem to be any end in sight. Who knew just how much longer they'd end up being trapped here. Until the war ended? That could be years away, and the thought of being stuck here for that long made him feel sick to his stomach.

He knew that nobody particularly liked being here, but it sometimes felt as if he was the only one who truly despised it. For the most part, the rest of the guys seemed content to simply wait it out. He couldn't understand it. They were all waiting for something to happen, but he was pretty sure that they needed to make something happen; and he seemed to be the only one who felt that way.

Still, as much as he hated to admit it, he knew that any plans of escape would probably have to wait until the weather turned a little better. It was December, and they were God knows where in the middle of Germany. The temperatures at night dropped to a cold that he'd never felt before, the kind of cold that he could feel in his bones. So, with no solid plan, and with very little idea of their surroundings, he knew that it would be suicide to try and escape right now. Unfortunately, that meant resigning himself to the fact that they'd be trapped here until the Spring, at least.

Besides, every half-assed plan that he had come up with so far seemed less likely to work than the last one. Day and night, the fences were watched by eagle-eyed guards, who he knew were only itching to pull the trigger on somebody for acting out of line, and so he knew that a mad dash for the fence wouldn't result in anything other than a bullet in the head.

Over the last week or so, he had taken to going on walks around the block; looping around their combine and down as far as the end of the block, before coming back up along the side of the fence. He hadn't pushed his luck just yet, but he'd been inching closer and closer to the fence with each walk that he'd gone on, and he was pretty sure that he'd figured out the furthest point he could get before the guards in the watchtower started to get a little uneasy.

He wasn't quite desperate enough to make a run for the fence, but sometimes, he couldn't help but let himself wonder if it would really be so bad if he did? He didn't have anybody waiting for him at home, and so what did it matter, really?

Sometimes, he felt as if it would be a kinder fate than being trapped here for God knows how long.

Still, he knew that he'd never actually do it. He still had a responsibility to take care of his men, and he couldn't do that if he was buried in a shallow grave. As much as he sometimes wanted to just.. give up and let himself die, he knew that he had to stay strong for his boys; Brady, DeMarco, Crank, Murph, Hambone.

Gale. Always Gale.

Honestly, most of it was for Gale.

His boys were tough, and he knew that if they had to keep going without him, then they'd find a way to make it happen. When it came to Gale, though, he wasn't so sure, and that was maybe the main reason that he was determined to make it through this. He didn't like to place too much importance on himself, but he and Gale were.. well, honestly, he just knew that he wouldn't survive in here without Gale, and he was pretty sure that the sentiment was returned.

He tried his best not to consider the possibility that his dependency on Gale was completely one sided, because he was pretty sure it would kill him to find out that Gale didn't need him just as badly as he needed him.

He didn't think that was the case, though. When he had first been brought to the prison camp; he had staggered in on unsteady legs, his vision swimming from the pain in his head, as well as his broken ribs. He didn't remember a whole lot from that day, but one thing he did remember with startling clarity was seeing Gale at the fence, and feeling like life had been breathed back into him.

By then, he had convinced himself that Gale was dead, and so seeing Gale’s smile again was the sweetest thing he could have imagined.

He vaguely remembered Gale bringing him to the combine and fussing over him; carefully cleaning the wounds on his face, and patching him up as well as he could with their limited supplies. He hadn't spoken much, but his face had been closed off, and his touch had been careful and gentle as he had cleaned him up.

Once Gale had done all that he could do for him in that moment, they had sat in silence, until Gale had quietly admitted that he'd thought he was dead, that he'd been so scared to think that he was dead. He hadn't known what to say in return, because he wasn't used to that sort of emotion from Gale. So, he had simply taken Gale's hand to give his fingers a gentle squeeze, doing his best to convey everything he couldn't say with what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

So, as awful a situation as it had been, he tried to hold onto that memory whenever he felt that Gale didn't need him, or that he'd be fine without him. They hadn't spoken much more about it, but they didn't need to. He knew exactly how Gale had felt when he'd thought that he was dead, and the last thing he wanted was to bring that on him again.

His last few days at Thorpe Abbotts, when he'd thought that Gale was dead, they'd been.. God, he didn't even want to think of it. He didn't want to let himself dwell on how empty he'd felt without Gale; how hopeless, how heartbroken.

He had always known that his feelings for Gale ran deeper than simply friendship, or admiration, or respect. He barely had words to describe just how much Gale meant to him, or how deeply he felt for him, and even though he knew it was wrong, that didn't change anything.

He was a man, he was a Major. He knew that he shouldn't have these kinds of feelings for his best friend, and yet, falling for Gale had felt like the most natural thing in the world. Realizing that he was in love with Gale hadn't felt as terrifying as he'd imagined it would, because he really couldn't pretend that it felt anything other than right.

Still, he wasn't naive enough to believe that there was a chance of his feelings being returned. Gale had Marge waiting for him at home, and he had never been shy about his plans to marry her once the war was over and they finally got to go home. He was happy for him, he really was, and so he had resigned himself to the idea of keeping his feelings to himself forever. It was fine. It was.

Gale was the closest friend he'd ever had, and so while he knew that his romantic feelings for Gale weren't returned, he did know that Gale felt their friendship just as deeply. That was enough for him, and so that was one of the main reasons that he was so determined to get through this. It was the main reason he hadn't made a run for the fence just yet.

Like he'd said earlier, today had been just another day in a long string of days that were all starting to run together. The only reason he even knew what day it was, was because it was Christmas Eve, and he knew that the idea of being stuck here over Christmas had put a lot of the guys in a bit of a sour mood. They'd always known that they wouldn't be home for Christmas, but he'd at least thought that they'd get to celebrate it in England; where it felt like an occasion worth celebrating.

It wasn't quite time for lights out yet, but he had to admit that he was feeling a little bit mopey over the whole situation. He hadn't slept great last night either, and so he was cold, he was tired, and honestly just feeling a little bit sorry for himself, and so what was the point in staying up?

Some of the other guys were still up, sat around the tiny table in the middle of the room and talking quietly amongst themselves as they played cards, and so he knew that he probably wouldn't actually get to sleep until it was lights out. He didn't mind, he knew he wouldn't actually sleep until Gale crawled into the bunk anyway, and so he didn't mind staying awake for a little while longer.

It had been a couple of weeks since they'd made the decision to start doubling up in their bunks at night. It was just too cold to sleep otherwise, and especially since the blankets they'd been given were little more than a thin, raggedy sheet. There was no point in even trying to rely on them to keep warm at night, and so the easiest thing to do was just double up with another guy and attempt to share body heat.

Any reservations that any of the other guys might have had about sharing a bunk with another man had long since faded with the freezing cold temperatures that they had to endure at night. He knew that some of them might be uncomfortable with the idea of it, but he certainly wasn't about to freeze his ass off in the middle of the night, for the sake of preserving his masculinity.

Even now, it was cold, although it wasn't quite as freezing as he knew it would be later. That kind of cold didn't usually set in until the middle of the night, and he was glad of the fact that there was usually a warmish body in his bunk to seek heat from by the time the temperature dropped.

He sighed, pulling the neck of his sweater up a little more securely around his chin to try and keep the warmth in, although he knew that it wouldn't do much good. Even the warm clothes they'd been given were thin and threadbare, and he knew that they were probably the bare minimum that they'd had to be given. Still, it was better than nothing, and so he'd take it.

He could feel the stubble on his jaw and his chin as he pulled up the neck of his sweater, and he knew that he was probably due a shave, but he couldn't find it in himself to want to bother. What was the point in trying to keep himself tidy and presentable, when he'd been wearing the same shirt for almost a week by now?

Even with the hygiene facilities in the camp, there was really only so much they could do when it came to keeping themselves clean. The water was icy cold at the best of times, and brown and muddy at the worst of times. The soap consisted of whatever they could scrape out of the trough that they used as a sink, and their razors were blunt enough that they were almost always guaranteed to cut themselves while shaving.

Of course it bothered him, how could it not? But he knew just how much Gale despised it.

The other man had always prided himself on his appearance; on looking neat, and tidy, and well put together. It broke his heart to watch Gale scratching at dirt stuck underneath his nails, or scraping his fingers through his hair in an attempt to keep it looking tidy.

He'd given Gale his last scrap of soap the other day, just so the other man would stop fussing and trying to wipe dirt off his hands that he wasn't sure was even there. It wasn't much, but Gale had smiled gratefully at him, and so he'd at least felt like he'd done something useful.

That was all he wanted, just to keep being useful to Gale, so that the other man would want to keep him around. He knew their friendship ran deeper than that, but it made him feel just a little bit better to give Gale a reason to want to keep him. He'd do whatever it took to continue being useful to Gale, even if that meant simply staying alive and not leaving Gale alone in here.

As if his thoughts were being read, he felt the thin mattress dip just behind him as Gale climbed into the bunk, and he glanced back over his shoulder at him, “Lights out already?” He asked. He hadn't taken much notice of the sounds of footsteps filling the room, too busy counting his scratches on the wall again.

Gale made a soft, affirmative noise, “Yeah, in a minute. They've started herding everyone inside.”

He just hummed quietly in response, before turning over so that he was facing Gale instead as the other man settled down.

Sleeping pressed up against Gale obviously didn't bother him, but he was relieved that it didn't seem to bother Gale either, because really, it was just about keeping warm during the night. He'd seen the way some of the other guys slept; Glen and Hambone usually slept with their backs to each other, the blanket shoved down between them, and as far apart as they could physically get. That didn't seem to be the most efficient way of sleeping in order to share body heat, but he wasn't about to start telling the other guys how they should sleep with their bunkmate.

He and Gale managed to make it work for the most part. It certainly wasn't warm, but it didn't feel quite so icy cold sometimes, and so that was enough for him. Besides, if he had his own selfish reasons for wanting to curl up close to Gale at night, then that was his own business, and Gale never needed to know about it.

Sometimes, on the really cold nights, Gale would press up close against him during the night, unconsciously seeking out warmth from him, and so he didn't feel bad about doing the same. On those nights, it was easier to pretend that they weren't trapped in this awful place. He could pretend that he was at home, in his own bed, and that Gale was with him; sharing a bed with him simply because he wanted to, not because he had to. It was a nice image to hold onto; one to get him through the worst parts of being here.

Once Gale had gotten as comfortable as he was probably going to get, he reached back over his shoulder to let down the thin sheet that they'd been using as a makeshift curtain. It wasn't much, but it kept at least some of the cold out, and it gave them some semblance of privacy. Not that there was anything that they needed privacy for, but he still appreciated it.

“You doin’ alright?” Gale asked once he'd settled back down, sliding a hand underneath the pillow, “You've been pretty quiet today.”

He just shrugged, “What's there to say?”

He knew that it was unusual for him to be as quiet as he'd been today, but like he'd just said, what was there to actually say? He was already in a bad mood because of the idea of being stuck here for Christmas, and so he didn't need to further that by sitting around talking about it.

Day in and day out, nothing had really changed since they'd gotten here, and so he didn't see the point in commenting on how cold it was, or how meagre their food rations had been, or how uneasy the guards seemed to be getting. They were conversations that they'd all had a thousand times by now, and he was actually sick of talking about it by now. He knew that Gale didn't want to hear any of his harebrained schemes for getting out of here, or any of his more morbid thoughts on their whole situation, and so he'd figured that he'd just keep his mouth shut and get on with it.

Gale nodded, and while it seemed as if he wanted to continue talking about it, he thankfully didn't push any further. He was glad, because he didn't particularly want to talk about any of it.

“Feels like it's gonna get colder tonight.” He said after a moment, biting his lip gently as he looked across at Gale.

For all of his insisting that he didn't see the point in talking about it, he hated simply laying here in silence. He obviously didn't mind it when they were actually settling down to sleep, but when he was laying here with Gale looking at him; he couldn't stand the silence. Besides, he could hear the rest of the guys still quietly talking to their bunkmates as they settled down, and so he didn't worry that they were keeping anybody awake.

“It does, yeah. Wouldn't be surprised if it freezes over.” Gale agreed quietly.

He was about to speak again, although he was cut off when there was a harsh bang at the door, followed by the sound of a guard yelling in broken English that it was time for lights out.

It didn't frighten him. The guards yelled, and they pushed them around, and they could be vicious when they wanted to be, but he wasn't intimidated by it. He knew that, if it came down to it, he could go toe-to-toe with any of them and would probably come out on top. Really, the only thing keeping him in line was the fact that they had guns and dogs. That obviously left him at a disadvantage.

He hated to see the way that Gale would flinch whenever a guard yelled, though, and the way he would always try to hide it. He didn't really understand the reason for it, because Gale was one of the toughest, strongest people he'd ever known, and so he'd been surprised to find that a bit of yelling made him so uneasy.

He did know that he'd had a rough childhood, though, and so he couldn't help but wonder if it had anything to do with that; if it dragged up memories of having to just stand there and take it while his father yelled at him.

It was just another thing that he wanted to protect Gale from, although he knew just how ridiculous a sentiment that was. Gale was a Major, just like he was. He was experienced, qualified, competent, and he was more than capable of taking care of himself. He didn't need him trying to protect him from the world. Besides, he was pretty sure that it wouldn't end well for either of them if the guards were to pick up on it. They might see Gale as a weak link, as someone to target when they wanted to make a point. That was the last thing he wanted to happen.

So, all he could do was try to protect Gale as well as he could, without making it too obvious.

He sighed as he watched Gale chewing anxiously at his lower lip as the guards outside slammed the shutters on the windows shut, “They're not coming in here, Buck.” He whispered. He couldn't promise that, but the guards had no reason to come in here when they had already herded everybody inside, and so he just hoped that he was right.

Gale just shot him a look, before dropping his gaze again, “I know that.” He muttered.

“Sorry.” He whispered.

He didn't mean to draw attention to it, but he just.. he hated seeing Gale like this. He hated seeing him anxious and uneasy, and so he only wanted to do whatever he could to make him feel a little bit better. He just wanted to help. Still, he could see that Gale was embarrassed that he'd noticed, and so he wouldn't say anything more about it.

He just wished that Gale wouldn't feel like that, though, because as far as he was concerned; there was nothing to be embarrassed about. The guards could be nasty when they felt like it, and so it was only natural that Gale would feel uneasy around them. Still, if Gale would rather he just turned a blind eye towards the whole thing, then he'd just have to do his best.

“Sweet dreams, fellas.” DeMarco said from his own bunk, over the other side of the room, “If you're all good, maybe Santa will come.” He teased, before switching off the light.

He huffed softly, before turning his attention back to Gale as the room was plunged into darkness, letting himself simply watch the other man as he finally settled down.

The guards had closed the window shutters, but there was just enough of a crack that the light from one of the watchtowers outside just about shone through into the room, and so he could still slightly make out Gale's features.

It was just enough for him to see that the other man looked tired, dark shadows underneath his eyes that he was just about to make out, even in the light of day. He knew they were there, though, even if he couldn't see them all too well.

He couldn't say he was surprised. He'd been here a little over two months, and he hadn't seen Gale let his guard down at all in that time. He knew how exhausting that had to be, and that was without the added pressure of being the person that everybody looked to.

He knew that Gale felt responsible for the rest of the guys; much like himself. He knew that he felt as if he had to be Major Cleven all of the time, and that he felt a responsibility to make sure that everybody was safe, and well, and looked after. It was a pretty big burden to shoulder, and he knew that Gale tended to put himself last a lot of the time. That was where he came in, to make sure that Gale was safe, and well, and looked after.

He knew that, lately, it had been taking its toll on him, though. As he looked at Gale, he couldn't help but wonder if he was coming down with something. They'd obviously all lost weight over the last two months, but Gale had always been slim, and so the way he had dropped the weight seemed almost unhealthy. He just hoped that wasn't the case, because they had enough to deal with without Gale being sick too. Still, he knew he couldn't do anything about it if that was the case; all he could do was try and deal with it.

“Are you doin’ alright?” He asked softly, lowering his voice to a whisper so that he wouldn't disturb the rest of the guys who were trying to sleep, “You don't look so hot.”

Gale just shrugged, a tiny, barely there lift of his shoulders, “Just tired, I guess. Been a long day.”

“Yeah.” He agreed.

He really didn't know what more there was to say about it. Gale was right, it had been a long day, and so had yesterday, and so had the day before that. Every day felt more mind-numbingly draining than the last, and he wasn't sure how much more of it he could take; how much more of it any of them could take. Even on a good day, it was hard enough to slap on a smile and try to be strong for the rest of the guys, but on a bad day; he barely wanted to get out of his bunk. On those days, he wanted to keep Gale here with him; he wanted to simply pull the sheets up over their heads and pretend that everything was different.

They lapsed back into silence then, and he was almost sure that Gale had finally settled down to sleep, until the other man sighed again, shifting slightly where he was laying, “John?”

“Mm?”

“D'you-” Gale started, before sighing again, “Does it bother you that it's Christmas tomorrow, and we're stuck here?”

He swallowed thickly, trying his best not to focus too hard on how Gale's words made him feel. Of course he hated it, but what was he supposed to do about it? So, he simply nodded, shrugging his shoulders, “Yeah, of course it does.” He admitted softly, “Never thought it was gonna be like this. I thought we were gonna spend Christmas at Thorpe Abbotts.”

“Yeah, so did I.” Gale admitted softly.

“Guess I just got cocky.” He whispered, huffing out a soft breath of laughter, “Last two B-17s in the air, and all that.”

He remembered saying that to Gale over their breakfast one morning, and when Gale had told him not to count on it, he had simply smiled, because to think otherwise seemed like such a ridiculous prospect. He had genuinely thought that he and Gale would be the last two left, and he hated with every fiber of his being that he'd been wrong about that.

Gale just smiled back at him, something soft and devastating in the tiny gesture. It made him feel like his heart was breaking, and he didn't even know why.

He really did feel for Gale, though, because as much as he hated the fact that they were going to be stuck here for Christmas, it also meant that they were going to be stuck here for Gale's birthday, two days later.

Had they still been in England, he would have made a fuss; he would have tried to get him something nice, maybe even tried to get him a birthday cake. As it stood, all he'd been able to scrounge up for him so far had been a bar of chocolate, and he was planning on giving him that for Christmas tomorrow. It wasn't much, but it was something. He had tried.

“It'll be different next Christmas.” He said softly, although he wasn't sure if he even believed that. What if they were still here? What if things just continued to get worse and worse? What if either he or Gale didn’t make it to next Christmas? He refused to let himself consider that possibility, because it was the worst thing he could imagine.

Gale nodded, although he didn't look all that convinced, “You think so?” He asked quietly.

“I know so.” He said, forcing a small smile, “You'll be back home to Marge by then, I guarantee it.”

Talking about Marge was pretty much the last thing he wanted to do right now, but Gale just looked so.. miserable. He looked tired, and cold, and sad, and all he wanted to do was make him smile. Marge was the one thing that was always guaranteed to make Gale smile, and while the reality of that broke his heart a little bit, there wasn't a whole lot he could do about it.

“Yeah, maybe.” Gale said softly.

He sighed, only just resisting the urge to reach across and touch Gale. He wasn't even sure what he wanted to do; gently brush his fingers against his cheek, cup his jaw, comb his hair back from his forehead. All he knew was that he wanted to do something to comfort Gale, and he'd always known how to do that best with his touch.

“Try and get some sleep, can't have you sleeping in on Christmas Day.” He whispered, rather than letting himself touch Gale at all. He did let himself shuffle slightly closer, though, because there was no point in Gale even being here if they weren't going to attempt to share body heat.

“Yeah, you too.” Gale said softly, “‘Night, Bucky.”

“‘Night.” He said with a small smile.

He closed his eyes as he pressed his face in against the pillow, willing himself to drop off to sleep. He was tired, but he could still feel his mind prickling with worry over Gale and how he was doing. It was silly, because he knew that, right at this moment, there was nothing to worry about. Gale was next to him, he was in one piece. Maybe he wasn't doing as well as he would have liked, but there was nothing he could do about that right now. They could talk again tomorrow.

The room was quiet, the rest of the guys slowly starting to fall asleep. He could already hear somebody snoring over in the opposite corner, although he couldn't tell if it was DeMarco or Brady. It was coming from that side of the room, anyway. He could hear the wind whistling icy cold just outside the window, and it made him want to burrow himself in against Gale's side in an attempt to keep them both warm.

Even at the best of times, it wasn't exactly easy to sleep in this place. The mattress and pillow were lumpy and uncomfortable, and like he'd said before, the thin sheet wasn't anywhere near enough to keep them warm at night. Even though doubling up to keep warm was really the only option, the bunks weren't exactly made for two full grown men, and so he was glad that he was sharing with somebody that he really didn't mind being pressed up against.

Still, in saying that, there were some nights that Gale was fidgety and restless, and that didn't help with the whole sleeping situation either.

It seemed that tonight was one of those nights. In the quiet and stillness of the room, he could hear the way Gale was fussing next to him. As much as he understood that he just couldn't let himself settle sometimes, he had to admit that it was frustrating, and he immediately felt selfish for even thinking that.

He opened his eyes again, sighing as he watched Gale scrubbing at his hands with his sleeve again, obviously trying to wipe away dirt that probably wasn't even there. He hated when he did this. It was a nervous habit that the other man had picked up whenever he was feeling stressed or anxious, and it made his heart twist painfully in his chest every time he noticed Gale doing it.

Honestly, he wasn't sure how he hadn't scrubbed his hands raw by now, because of his inability to leave them alone.

“Would you stop?” He murmured, taking Gale's hands to keep him from fidgeting, although he frowned when he noticed just how cold Gale's hands were, “Jesus, Buck. You're freezing.”

“I'm fine.” Gale mumbled, attempting to pull his hands back.

He didn't let go, though, holding both of Gale's hands between his own, “What happened to your gloves?” He asked. He was sure Gale had had a pair, although in thinking about it now, he hadn't seen them in a while.

Gale swallowed thickly, seemingly doing his best to avoid his gaze, “Traded ‘em.”

“You- Buck..” He sighed. He couldn't say he was surprised, though. Gale had always been too selfless for his own good, he'd probably traded them away for something that would help one of the other guys out; an extra ration, medicine. Hell, he wouldn't be surprised if he found out that Buck had just given them away to someone that he thought had needed them more.

Gale still wasn't looking at him, though, and so he just sighed, shaking his head, “Come here.” He murmured, taking Gale's hands to slide them underneath his own sweater, pressing them to the skin of his waist. It wasn't much, but it was better than letting Gale freeze to death.

“John-” Gale started, attempting to pull his hands back from him.

“Relax, I'm just trying to warm you up a little.” He insisted. The whole reason they'd decided to share bunks in the first place was to benefit from the shared body heat. There was no point in Gale being here at all if he wasn't going to try and get some warmth from him.

He curled in slightly closer to Gale, dropping his own arm over the other man's waist to pull him in close. He and Gale had become accustomed to sharing a bunk by now, but it had never been like this. They had always settled for sharing body heat by simply being next to each other; they had never wrapped each other in any sort of embrace, they had never pressed right up against each other like this. If he was being honest, it felt a little too much like cuddling.

He had no issues with wrapping himself around Gale to keep him warm, but Gale obviously did take issue with it, if the way he tried to hold him at arm's length was anything to go by, “I'm fine, John.” He insisted.

He rolled his eyes, “You're shivering.” He pointed out, before reaching across to take his hands again, “And your hands are fucking freezing, so don't try and tell me that you're fine.”

He hated to think of Gale just laying there for the rest of the night, unable to sleep because of how cold he was. He certainly wasn't warm, but he wasn't quite as icy cold as Gale was, and so pulling Gale in tight against him was the least he could do in order to try and warm himself up. He just wasn't sure why Gale seemed to be dead set on insisting that he was fine.

Gale just sighed, turning his head away so that he wouldn't have to look at him, “You don't get it.” He murmured, sighing again, “Just.. stay over there.”

“What's goin’ on?” He asked softly.

He wasn't sure what was going on with Gale, but he really couldn't deny the prickling of hurt that ran through him at the way that Gale was trying so desperately not to be close to him.

It had never been like that between them. Right from the beginning, he and Gale had always been very physical with each other; an arm thrown around Gale's shoulder, sitting close enough that their thighs pressed together, letting himself touch Gale's jaw, his thigh, his waist. He remembered even kissing Gale on the cheek one time; when they'd been in the pub near Thorpe Abbotts and he'd been three sheets to the wind. He'd always been a very tactile person when it came to Gale, and Gale had never seemed to have a problem with it before now.

Maybe it was because of the circumstances, and where they were. Maybe Gale just didn't feel comfortable with him touching him when they were technically in a bed together. It had never crossed his mind that that might be the case, just because Gale had never seemed this uneasy with him before. It made him feel a little bit deflated.

Gale shook his head, although it was impossible to miss the way his cheeks had flushed, “Nothing. I told you, I'm fine.” He insisted.

He sighed, letting himself simply watch Gale. He had no idea what was going on, but he did know that he hated it. He knew that he wouldn't get anywhere if he were to push the issue, though. Trying to force Gale to explain what was going on would probably only have the opposite effect, and the last thing he wanted was for Gale to feel as though he had no choice but to go back to his own bunk.

“Fine.” He said softly. He didn't like it, but he wasn't sure what there was to do other than just leave it. Maybe he could try and get Gale to talk about it tomorrow; it might be easier when they weren't pressed up against each other in his bunk like this, “Just.. come here, at least. I won't touch you.” He promised.

Gale just looked at him for a moment, before dropping his gaze again as he shuffled slightly closer to him. He still wasn't touching him, but at least he wasn't trying to hold him at arm's length anymore. He was relieved, because Gale wanting so desperately to pull away from him like that had stung; as little as he liked to admit that. This still wasn't much, but hopefully Gale wouldn't be quite as cold.

“Get some sleep, Buck.” He whispered.

Gale just nodded, “Yeah, you too.”

He gave Gale a tight smile, before turning over onto his other side to face the wall. He couldn't ignore the fact that it was still bitterly cold, though, and so he simply sighed as he pressed back against Gale in an attempt to seek some warmth from him. He had promised him that he wouldn't touch him, but he'd meant that he'd keep his hands to himself, rather than trying to wrap him in his embrace. This was hardly the same thing.

He had obviously caught Gale off guard by doing so, as their bodies came into contact before Gale had a chance to move back from him. He hadn't thought much of it, because the whole reason they were sharing a bunk in the first place was to keep warm, but as he pressed back against Gale, he froze when he felt something press against his lower back, quickly realizing that Gale was hard and straining against the front of his pants.

“Wait, John, don't-” Gale hissed, putting his hands on the back of his shoulders to push him away.

He almost didn't know what he was supposed to say. As far as he was concerned, it wasn't a big deal. Gale was a man, he obviously had needs. It was nothing to be embarrassed about.

“Buck, it's.. it's okay.” He whispered.

“It's not. It's.. I shouldn't-” Gale cut himself off with a sigh, a short, frustrated noise.

He swallowed thickly as he contemplated how he was supposed to handle this, wetting his lips with his tongue before turning back over to face Gale. It was still dark in the room, but it was impossible to miss how mortified Gale looked; his cheeks flushed, and doing everything he could to avoid his gaze, “Is that why you didn't want me touching you? So I wouldn't feel that?” He asked.

“I'm not some kind of pervert, John.” Gale hissed, finally glancing back up at him, “I don't lay here every night, waiting for you to fall asleep, just so I can..” He trailed off, dropping his gaze again.

He swallowed again, trying with everything he had to not let himself think of Gale quietly jerking himself off next to him while he slept. He didn't think he'd ever get that image out of his head if he let himself think about it, and the last thing they needed here was him popping a hard-on too and making everything worse.

He suddenly understood what Gale's problem had been, though. It wasn't that he was uncomfortable with the idea of him touching him, it was that he hadn't wanted him to come too close and realize what was going on. It was that he hadn't wanted to make him uncomfortable.

That was a notion that he couldn't quite wrap his head around, though, because the idea that Gale could ever make him feel uncomfortable was just ridiculous. Especially not with something like this.

Still, he had to remind himself that he had always kept his feelings for Gale strictly to himself. Gale probably thought that he would take issue with it, and that he'd be horrified upon realizing that he was hard while they were sharing a bunk.

That really couldn't have been further from the truth, though.

“It's nothing to be embarrassed about.” He said softly, shrugging his shoulders, “It just.. it happens sometimes. We've all been there.”

It wasn't as if it was completely heard of. Even he struggled with it sometimes, and he hadn't been completely celibate since leaving the States; not like he knew Gale had been. There'd been plenty of women around when they'd been stationed at Thorpe Abbotts, and so he'd managed to get it out of his system from time to time. He knew that Gale had been nothing but faithful to Marge since they'd left home, though, and so it was no wonder really that he was feeling a little worked up.

Gale just scoffed, shaking his head, “Right.”

“It's not.” He insisted, ducking his head to try and catch Gale's eye, “I don't mind.”

“How could you not mind?” Gale asked, finally looking at him, “It's.. it's wrong, and I-”

“Gale.” He whispered, cutting him off. He didn't want to hear it, he didn't want to hear Gale insist that it was bad, or that it was dirty, or that there was something wrong with him for it; not when that couldn't be further from how he felt about the whole situation. So, heart hammering in his chest, he pressed his leg forward to let his knee gently slide against Gale's crotch, “I said I don't mind.”

He certainly hadn't planned this, but Gale seemed to be on the verge of freaking out and just going back to his own bunk, so that he wouldn't have to deal with this. Like he'd just said, though, he didn't mind. Not in the slightest.

He really had no idea how this was going to go. Gale hadn't pushed him away yet, but that didn't mean that he wasn't about to. For maybe the first time in his life, he found himself completely unable to decipher the expression on Gale's face, and it was slightly terrifying, because he had no idea if he had just ruined this whole thing.

“John..” Gale eventually whispered, his gaze dropping to where his knee was still pressed against him, before looking back up at him.

“Tell me to stop, and I'll stop.” He breathed, letting his leg press forward a little more until he could slide his thigh against Gale's hard cock. It wasn't much, but he knew that even the slight friction would feel good.

Still, he wasn't about to do anything that Gale really didn't want him to do. The last thing he wanted was to end up feeling like he had taken advantage of Gale, or worse; for Gale to feel like he'd taken advantage of him. He didn't think he'd be able to live with himself afterwards, and while Gale hadn't pushed him away just yet, he still looked vaguely terrified, and so he tilted his head slightly to catch Gale's eye, raising his eyebrows at him, “Buck?”

“Don't stop.” Gale eventually whispered, reaching out to lightly touch his waist with shaky fingers.

That was enough for him, and so he let his thigh press a little more firmly against Gale's cock, his own breath catching in his throat as he did. This was literally the last thing that he'd imagined would happen tonight, and he still wasn't totally convinced that he wasn't dreaming.

How long had he wanted Gale like this? How long had he wanted some sort of excuse to touch Gale like this? For all that he'd imagined it, and had dreamt up hundreds of different scenarios in his head, he'd never imagined that it would happen here of all places. Still, he certainly wasn't naive enough to let himself believe that this was happening because Gale actually wanted him. It was convenient, was all. He was just helping Gale out, rather than leaving him to deal with it himself.

Gale exhaled a shaky breath as he tentatively rocked against his thigh, his fingers inching just underneath his sweater to press against the bare skin of his waist again, “I.. John, I-”

“I know, I know.” He whispered, winding his own arm around Gale's waist to pull him slightly closer, “Helping you out, is all.”

It was easy to let the words spill out, to reassure Gale that he was just giving him a helping hand. It wasn't hard to see that Gale hadn't quite let himself relax into this yet, and the last thing he wanted to do was frighten him off.

He didn't have the words to describe how long and how badly he'd wanted this, but he knew that giving that away wasn't a good idea. This wasn't about him or what he wanted; it was just about giving Gale some sort of relief so that he'd be able to sleep. That's all this was.

Gale nodded, seemingly satisfied with his words, although a soft gasp caught in his throat as they moved at the same time; as he pressed his thigh up between Gale's legs again just as Gale rocked down against him.

God, that was.. he couldn't even describe how he felt right now. Gale's cheeks were still flushed, although he couldn't tell if it was still purely from embarrassment, or if it was simply from arousal now. Either way, he looked so goddamn beautiful, and he knew there was no point in even trying to pretend that he wasn't hard by now too. He didn't see the point in trying to hide it, either.

“That feel good?” He asked, lowering his voice to a hushed whisper. They couldn't risk waking any of the other guys, and so he knew that they had to keep quiet. That only added to the thrill, though, to know that they were doing this in a room full of other people, who were oblivious as to what was happening in their bunk.

Gale nodded, sighing softly again, “Yeah, feels..” He trailed off, rocking his hips down against his thigh again.

“Tell me.” He whispered.

“Feels so good.” Gale sighed, pressing his fingers in a little harder where he was still holding onto his waist, “Please, John.. I need-”

“I know what you need, I got you.” He whispered.

He refused to let himself think too hard about it as he pulled Gale closer, sliding his thigh between both of Gale's to slot their hips together properly. Like this, they could grind against each other, and while that might have been pushing it a little far; he found it hard to think about that when it felt this good. He could insist all he wanted that this was simply about helping Gale out, but he didn't feel bad about letting himself have this.

“This alright?” He asked softly, his arm still around Gale's waist as he rolled their hips together.

Gale just nodded, a soft whimper slipping from his throat, “Yeah.. don't stop.”

He almost didn't know where he was supposed to look as he and Gale rocked against each other, their bodies moving together in a slow grind that had that heat and arousal pulling tight in his stomach. Gale was right there, his face barely inches from his own, although it felt almost too intimate to let himself look into Gale's eyes.

He was under no impressions; he knew that this wasn't him and Gale simply sleeping with each other because they'd given into their feelings for each other. It was just.. taking what they both needed from somebody who was willing to give it. Still, even though he knew that, the way he felt about Gale was.. well, he knew just how deeply he felt for Gale, how deeply he'd always felt for him. It would have been so easy to close his eyes and pretend that it was different; that Gale was doing this simply because he wanted him.

Still, he knew that this probably wouldn't ever happen again, and so he didn't want to end up missing a single second of it. To close his eyes meant that it could have been anybody pressed up against him like this, and he didn't want that. He wanted to commit every last detail to memory, rather than simply giving himself over to how good it felt.

He wanted to remember the hot and heavy look in Gale's eyes as they moved together, he wanted to remember every tiny sound that he made. He wanted to be able to remember this for the rest of his life; however long or short that might be.

He slid a hand down the length of Gale's thigh so that he could pull his leg up over his hip, pressing his own thigh a little more firmly between Gale's legs. It felt so goddamn good to be pressed up against each other like this, and he couldn't help the quiet moan that spilled from his throat as they moved against each other.

“Shh.. gotta stay quiet.” Gale whispered, wrapping his leg a little more securely around his hip.

He huffed softly, closing his eyes as he leaned in to press his forehead against Gale's, “Easy for you to say.” He murmured.

“You think?”

He bit back a soft huff of laughter, letting his forehead roll against Gale's as he shifted slightly in an attempt to press in even closer.

With how their hips were pressed tight together, he could feel Gale's hard cock pressed against his own as they moved together, and it took every ounce of his restraint to keep his hands where they were; one on Gale's thigh to keep his leg up around his hip, the other one trapped between the thin mattress and Gale's shoulder.

He couldn't even describe how badly he wanted to touch Gale properly. If they'd been anywhere other than here, he would have slowly stripped Gale out of his clothes to leave them both naked. He would have used his hands, and his mouth, and his own cock to make Gale feel good; in a way that he was sure nobody had made him feel before. He knew that he couldn't, though. He knew that to even touch Gale's cock right now would probably make it feel a little too real for the other man, and he was still afraid of doing anything that might frighten him off. So, this was more than enough.

“God, Buck, that's..” He trailed off, a soft moan catching in his throat again as he let his gaze trail back up to Gale's face.

Gale was already looking at him, his blue eyes dark with arousal and something that looked suspiciously like want. He'd never imagined that he'd get to experience Gale looking at him like that; like they were the only two people in the world, like he was the only thing that mattered to him. He was almost sure that he was interpreting it wrong, though, because the idea of Gale actually wanting him like that was, well.. he knew that that wasn't the case.

He couldn't help but wish that they weren't in almost complete darkness, though, because he wanted to really look at Gale. He needed to be able to remember every single detail of this, down to the way that Gale's gaze flicked down to his lips for a brief moment, before looking back up at him. In saying that, though, if he let himself focus on that detail for too long, then he knew he'd only end up doing something that they couldn't come back from. It was best he didn't dwell on it.

“Please, Bucky.. I need..” Gale whispered, sliding his hands along his waist underneath his sweater, as though he was trying to pull him closer, even though they were already pressed right up against each other.

“I know, baby. I know. I got you.”

He used his weight to roll them over, his hand still cupped around the back of Gale's knee to keep his leg up around his hip as he pressed Gale back against the mattress, before settling on top of him. He braced his other forearm on the pillow next to Gale's head, a soft gasp spilling from his throat as he started to move again.

Jesus Christ, that was.. he didn't think it could feel any better than it already had, but like this, it felt like he and Gale were pressed even impossibly closer together, and he really didn't know how he was supposed to handle that.

He was between Gale's legs now; one of Gale's legs still hitched up around his hips, the other pressed up against the side of his body. It felt even more intense than it had before, though; and pressed up against each other like this, he could feel Gale's hard cock pressed right up against his own as he rolled their hips together. It felt so goddamn good to be able to feel just how turned on Gale was, and while he knew that it wasn't because of him; he was still the one who got to do something about it.

Like this, it was easy to pretend that everything was different. It was easy to pretend that he was actually fucking Gale, despite the fact that they were both still fully clothed.

Gale scraped his fingers down the length of his back as they moved together, his fingers pressing in hard enough to his bare skin that he almost hoped it would leave scratches. He wanted some sort of physical evidence to prove that this had happened, and that it wasn't something that his mind had simply dreamt up while he was asleep.

Still, he knew that there was only so much that he could dream up himself. For as much and as often as he'd imagined this happening, it didn't even begin to compare to the real thing. Like this, Gale was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen; the soft sounds that he was making, the way that he was trembling underneath him as they moved against each other. His own fantasies didn't even come close to the real thing.

“You feel so goddamn good.” He sighed, leaning down close so that he could whisper the words in Gale's ear.

He felt completely enveloped in Gale, and it really was everything that he had ever wanted. His mind was completely blank, filled with nothing but the thoughts of Gale, Gale, Gale. The feeling of Gale's legs around his hips, his fingers on his bare skin, the way that he gasped softly as they rolled their hips together. He didn't think anything had ever felt as good.

With how close they were pressed together, he could smell the rich, heady scent of Gale's sweat, and he couldn't help but press his face in against the hollow of Gale's neck, inhaling deeply. It made him never want to move from here, honestly. It made him want to burrow into the crook of Gale's neck and stay there for the rest of his life.

The only word that he could use to describe how this felt was intense. Gale was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and the way he looked, the way he sounded, even the way he smelled; it made his head swim with lust, and desire, and hunger for the other man.

Gale moaned softly, the quiet sound slipping out despite his obvious best efforts to keep quiet. It was such a turn on to know that he was making Gale feel this good; that it was his touch, and his body pressed against Gale's that had the other man moaning and trembling like this.

“Gotta keep quiet, doll.” He teased, the pet name slipping out as he gently scraped his teeth along the taut tendon of Gale's neck. He knew he couldn't leave marks, and so it took every bit of his restraint not to suck at the warm, salty skin of Gale's neck, to taste him the way he wanted to.

As much as he knew they had to stay quiet, it felt almost intoxicating to know that Gale didn't seem to be capable of it by now. He wasn't worrying too hard about it, though. He just hoped that, if they had woken anybody else, that they assumed it was just one of them jerking off while the other slept. The makeshift curtain was down, and so it wasn't as if anybody could see them. Nobody had to know that they were doing this together.

Gale moaned softly again at the pet name, his back arching up off the bunk to press even closer to him, “Please, John.. that's.. you feel so good.”

“You like that? You like when I call you doll?” He asked, leaning up to whisper the words in Gale's ear again, “What about baby? You'd let me call you my baby?” He barely realized what he was saying, too caught up in the sensation of it all, and how good it all felt.

Waking up this morning, he never could have imagined that he would end up here; moaning softly against Gale's neck as he humped against the other man like a dog in heat. If he'd been in any frame of mind to share his inner monologue right now, Gale would have laughed at that, because it wasn't the first time that he'd been compared to a dog, to Gale's dog.

He always came when Gale called, and did whatever it was that Gale asked of him. Come, heel, sit, stay, bite. Anything Gale asked, he’d do without question, and he knew that he and Gale weren't the only two people who knew that. It was no secret that he was hopelessly devoted to Gale, although he was almost sure that he'd done a good job of keeping quiet about just how devoted he was to him, how deeply he felt for him.

At this point, Gale seemed to be past the point of doing anything other than panting as he rolled his hips up again, their bodies moving together in that rhythm that had flames of pleasure licking up his spine every time that he rocked his own hips down against Gale's body.

“Say it again.” Gale sighed, shivering against him as he pressed his head back into the pillow, still clutching at his back to hold him close.

“Say what?”

“That.. just, fuck.” Gale gasped.

“What, doll?” He asked, letting the tip of his nose trail feather light up the length of Gale's neck.

The only response from Gale was a quiet whine, his hips rolling up to meet his again, and so he grinned as he grazed Gale's neck with his teeth, slowing the rhythm of his hips until they were grinding each other almost painfully slowly.

“Knew you liked it.” He teased, his breath warm against the side of Gale's neck as he pressed slow, open mouthed kisses to his skin, “You are a doll, though, you're my doll. My babydoll.”

Gale moaned softly again at his words, sliding his calf against his ass to keep them pressed close together, to keep them entwined as he rolled his own hips up again, “Just like that.. God, good boy.” He sighed.

Without taking a moment to think about what he was doing, he leaned back up to press his lips to Gale's in a hard kiss, cupping his jaw in his hand.

He knew that actually kissing Gale was crossing a line, that it was turning this into something that it wasn't; something it was never going to be. He couldn't help it, though. It was hard enough to keep a level head with how good this felt, but hearing Gale call him a good boy, hearing how much Gale liked it when he called him babydoll; it made him feel as though his brain was backfiring.

Thankfully, Gale didn't seem to be phased by the kiss. He simply moaned into his mouth as he leaned up into it, letting a hand slide up to cup around the nape of his neck.

That was.. God, if he thought that it was good before, then he didn't have the words now to describe just how good it felt now, with Gale's lips pressed against his own. He'd been dreaming of this for as long as he could remember, and so despite the fact that Gale hadn't even touched his cock, it still felt like the best sex he'd ever had.

Still, he knew that whatever hope he'd had before of telling himself that this didn't mean anything, or that he was just giving Gale a helping hand, there was no point in even trying to pretend now that this wasn't everything he'd ever wanted. He was having sex with Gale, and while he knew deep down that it didn't mean anything to Gale, it was easy to pretend otherwise. It was easy to let himself be selfish, and take what he wanted; purely because he loved Gale, and he wanted this with him.

He couldn't help the soft noise that spilled from his throat as the kiss deepened, his tongue sliding against Gale's in a way that had the heat pulling tight in his stomach. He knew he shouldn't have let it get this far, he knew that they should rein it back a little, but he couldn't find it in himself to want to stop. If this was his one opportunity to have this, then he was going to push it as far as he could.

He let the pace slow down again, grinding his hips against Gale's as he delved his tongue into Gale's mouth. He couldn't ignore how intimate this felt; to be wrapped in each other like this as they moved together, with Gale gently stroking his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. Honestly, he could have stayed here forever, letting himself become familiar with the taste and texture of Gale's mouth as their lips and tongues slowly slid together.

He knew that he didn't have long left in him. It just felt too damn good, and he knew that it was only heightened because of who he was with. He was sure that, after this long, sex with anybody would have felt pretty damn good, but knowing that it was Gale underneath him just made it feel so much better. He could tell that Gale was getting close too; it was obvious in the way that he was trembling and whimpering underneath him, still clutching at his body to pull him closer.

He would have liked to drag this out for as long as possible, but he knew that that wasn't an option. Honestly, he was surprised he hadn't come in his skivvies almost as soon as he and Gale had first pressed against each other.

So, after one last slow, intense kiss, he let his teeth catch Gale's lower lip for a moment, before pulling away from him so that he could lean down and whisper into his ear again, “I'm so close, doll.” He breathed, rolling his hips again, “Can you feel how hard I am for you? God, the things I'd do to you if I had you in a proper bed right now.”

He knew he was veering into dangerous territory here, but he really couldn't have cared less right now. Gale could pretend all he liked that this didn't mean anything, and that it was simply about getting off, but how was he supposed to act as if that was still the case for him? He wasn't sure how he was supposed to pretend that this didn't mean everything to him.

Thankfully, Gale was either too far gone to realize what he'd said, or he was just choosing to ignore it, but he simply moaned softly as he dropped his head back against the pillow, “Me too, I'm‐ God, I'm gonna come.”

“Come on, you can let go.” He whispered, leaning back down to press another open mouthed kiss to the hollow of Gale's neck, “I want you to come for me, baby.”

That was evidently all it took to push Gale over the edge, and he gasped again as he arched his back up off the bed, his fingers digging into his skin where he was still holding onto his back. He looked.. God, he looked so beautiful. His eyes were closed, his cheeks flushed as he gave himself over to the pleasure of his orgasm.

He was right behind him; the sight of Gale as he finished just enough to push him over the edge. He moaned softly against the warm, sweat-slick skin of Gale's neck, clutching at the other man as he finally spilled into his own skivvies. That was.. Jesus Christ, he couldn't remember the last time that anything had felt that good.

They were both silent for a moment after they'd finished, still trembling against each other as they slowly came down from their high.

He could feel Gale's fingers still in his hair, gently scratching at the nape of his neck, and it made him want to just melt into the other man's touch. It made him want to fall asleep like this; still on top of Gale, with Gale's legs still wrapped loosely around his hips, breathing in the deep, heady scent that couldn't be anything other than Gale.

He knew that they couldn't, though. It wasn't unusual for the guards to drag them out of their bunks in the middle of the night in order to do a headcount and search the bunkrooms, and he didn't even want to think about what the consequences might be if they were caught like this. He knew they had to just consider themselves lucky that they hadn't already been caught out tonight.

He eventually made himself pull away from Gale, laying just next to him again. Their legs were still entwined further down the bed, though, and he was almost sure that Gale would be able to feel his breath against his cheek, with how close they were laying.

His mind was still feeling a little fuzzy from the intensity of his orgasm, and he could see that Gale was obviously feeling the same way, and so he let himself simply look for a moment; let himself really look at Gale, in a way that he'd never let himself do before.

Gale looked like a fucking dream, honestly. His hair was in disarray, and that flush was still high on his cheeks. His chest was still heaving slightly as he attempted to catch his breath, and he still couldn't quite wrap his head around the fact that it was because of him; that it was his touch and his body that had Gale looking so thoroughly worn-out.

“Should probably clean up a little.” He eventually whispered, just because he didn't know what else he was supposed to say. Gale wasn't freaking out yet, but that didn't mean that it wasn't about to happen. He knew how Gale's mind worked, and that didn't bode too well for him right now.

Gale turned his head to look at him, blinking lazily at him, “Yeah.” He said softly, before seeming to realize what he'd said, “Uh.. how-”

“Here.” He murmured, sitting up as well as he could in the confined space of the bunk. They weren't allowed to leave the combine during lights out, and so going down to the shower facilities to wash up was out of the question. They'd have to just make do with what they had.

So, he grabbed one of his spare shirts from the end of the bunk, handing it over to Gale so that he could give himself a quick, perfunctory clean up. It wasn't much, and it certainly wouldn't do a good enough job, but the alternative was to just do nothing until the morning, and he knew that having to go to sleep while feeling even more unclean than he had before would be just asking for Gale to freak out about what they'd done.

Gale didn't say anything as he took the shirt, and so he simply turned over onto his back, doing his best to give Gale some sort of privacy as he cleaned himself up.

He could feel his heart hammering in his chest as he stared up at the bottom of the bunk above him, although he wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

He had finally gotten everything that he had ever wanted, but it had left him not really knowing where he and Gale stood. What if Gale came to his senses while he was sleeping, and he woke up to find himself alone in the bunk, with Gale doing his best to avoid him?

He had finally gotten everything he'd ever wanted, but what if it came at the cost of his and Gale's friendship? The worst possible outcome of this was that he'd end up losing Gale over it, and he had a horrible feeling that that might not be such an unlikely scenario.

He just didn't know what he was supposed to say in order to make sure that everything was still okay, which he could admit was a first for him. He was usually an expert on filling silences with empty words, and talking simply for the sake of talking, but this was different. It felt fragile, as though he was going to ruin everything if he said anything at all.

He was dragged back to the present moment by Gale gently nudging his elbow with his own, and he glanced over to find Gale holding the shirt out to him, “Thanks.” He murmured.

He took the shirt, refusing to let himself think about Gale's presence next to him as he unbuttoned his pants so that he could shove the shirt down into his skivvies, cleaning himself up as well as he could. It really wasn't enough, and he knew that he'd probably still wake up tomorrow morning feeling sticky and uncomfortable, but that was a problem to deal with in the morning.

If nothing else, cleaning himself up like this was an excuse to not have to look at Gale for a little longer, just because he was almost afraid of what he'd find when he did.

Once he'd done as good a job as he was going to do, he tossed the shirt down the end of the bunk to be dealt with tomorrow, before swallowing thickly as he finally turned back onto his side to face Gale, “You good?” He asked softly.

Gale just nodded, although there was something in his eyes that he didn't like, something that looked a little guarded, “Yeah.” He whispered.

“Yeah.” He echoed, fighting to keep his gaze from dropping to Gale's lips as the other man chewed nervously at the lower one.

He couldn't help but think of how those lips had felt pressed against his own, and he couldn't help but want to do it again. He knew that was out of the question, though, and so he simply shuffled a little closer on the pillow. He knew that he was pushing his luck, but he ducked down slightly to lightly flick the tip of his nose against Gale's shoulder, “Should try and get some sleep, Santa won't come if you're up all night.” He whispered, attempting to lighten the mood.

Gale nodded again, although he thankfully gave him a small smile as he tucked himself in slightly closer to his side, before turning over onto his own side, facing away from him.

He still wasn't quite sure what to make of the situation between himself and Gale right now. The other man didn’t seem to be particularly perturbed by what they'd done, but that didn't really mean anything. He knew that Gale was good at hiding his feelings and covering up how he really felt, and so he knew that there was no guarantee that Gale wasn't freaking out on the inside.

Still, at least Gale hadn't insisted that he should go back to his own bunk. They might have been sitting on slightly rocky territory, but Gale was still here. He wasn't facing him, but he was still pressed against his side, and so he'd take that as a good sign.

He turned over onto his own side, curling up close behind Gale. He didn't chance wrapping Gale in his arms, the way he really wanted to, but he was close enough to him that he could feel Gale's hair tickling his nose, and his knees were pressed to the back of Gale's knees, their bodies curled close together. They weren't quite spooning, but it was something. It was nice.

He knew that they'd probably have to face what they'd done tomorrow, but he didn't want to think about that right now. The only thing that mattered to him right now was the fact that Gale was still here, and that he was happy to curl up with his back pressed against his front.

So, he did his best to push any thoughts of tomorrow from his mind as he pressed his face in against Gale's hair, willing sleep to come to him.

The next morning, he couldn't say he was all too surprised when he woke up to find himself alone in the bunk.

It took him a moment to recall the events from the night before, but once he did, his stomach turned uncomfortably when he turned back over to find that Gale was nowhere to be seen.

Checking his watch, he found that it was still early enough, but not so early that they weren't allowed to leave the combine yet, and so he tried his best not to panic about the fact that Gale had already gotten up. He had probably just gone down to the shower facilities to clean himself up a little better, he wasn't necessarily panicking over what they had done and deliberately made himself scarce.

He hoped so anyway, because he couldn't stand the thought of Gale doing his best to avoid him.

He and Gale had left things on relatively good terms last night, though. They hadn't exactly spoken about what they'd done, but Gale had still pressed back against his body in order to seek warmth from him during the night, and he hadn't pulled away when he had curled in close to press his face in against the back of his neck.

He just hoped that, in the time since Gale had woken up and had left the bunk, that he hadn't done too much thinking about what they'd done, and that he hadn't managed to convince himself that it was wrong, and bad, and dirty. It wasn't, and so he just hoped that Gale hadn't told himself that it was.

Honestly, as far as he was concerned, last night had been everything that he'd ever dreamt of. Sure, like he'd said, he and Gale had still been fully clothed, and the most they had done was grind against each other, but he just.. that didn't matter to him. Getting to be with Gale at all made it all worth it, and he knew that he'd never regret a single thing that they'd done last night.

“Hey, Bucky.”

He looked over at the sound of his name, finding Brady half sat up in his own bunk, and the younger man waved over in his direction, “Hey.” He said softly, scratching a hand through his hair as he pushed himself up onto an elbow.

“Merry Christmas.” Brady said, tossing a folded piece of paper over in his direction.

He picked up the paper from where it had landed next to him on the bunk, opening it up to find that it was an attempt at a handmade Christmas card. It wasn't much; a piece of paper folded over with a Christmas tree drawn in pencil on the front, and a short To Bucky. Merry Christmas, from Johnny written on the inside, but it was nice that Brady had thought to do it, especially when there wasn't going to be much celebrating this year.

“Thanks, Johnny. Merry Christmas.” He said with a small smile. Brady had always been a good friend to him, and even though he'd never said as much; he'd forever be grateful for the fact that he'd made him jump first when their fort was going down. Otherwise, he couldn't say for sure that he would have jumped at all. Still, he didn't like to think about it.

“Hey, you seen Buck this morning?” He asked.

There weren't many places that they could go, but he figured he'd ask anyway. He just hoped that, wherever Gale had gone, that it was somewhere they might be able to talk. Maybe bringing it up was a bad idea, but he wanted to at least clear the air, and make sure that Gale wasn't completely freaking out on him.

Brady glanced back over at him, before shrugging his shoulders, “He got up a little while ago, think he went down to the showers.”

“Alright.” He said with a nod, “If he comes back while I'm gone, tell him I was looking for him?”

Brady nodded, “Yeah, will do.”

He clambered down off his bunk then as Brady went back to his own devices, although he tried his best not to grimace at the dried mess in his skivvies. He knew that only just cleaning themselves up with his shirt last night hadn't been the best idea, but it wasn't as if they'd had much of a choice. It was either that, or go to sleep without cleaning themselves up at all.

Speaking of which, the shirt that they'd used was nowhere to be seen, even though he'd left it down the end of the bunk. He guessed that Gale had probably taken it with him when he'd gone to the shower, in order to give it a wash.

He quickly got his things together, grabbing his last somewhat clean shirt, as well as a change of skivvies. His pants would last another couple of days before really needing to be washed, and so he'd just make do. As well as the change of clothes, he grabbed his gloves, and the chocolate bar that he'd been keeping for Gale. He had a feeling that he knew where Gale might be, and so he'd head straight there after he'd cleaned up.

As he made his way from the combine to the washroom, though, he couldn't say that he was particularly looking forward to having to clean up. He knew that he probably wouldn't feel overly clean unless he managed a proper shower, and while there were showers here; the water was always icy cold, and it dribbled out of the faucet. Still, it was better than nothing.

It seemed Gale had already finished up and left before he'd gotten there, and he actually found himself pretty relieved for that. He knew that he and Gale had to talk at some point today, but he didn't want it to be while they were both naked and attempting to clean themselves of the mess they'd made last night. They could talk after.

He quickly stripped off, before stepping under the shower. Like he'd known it would be, the water was freezing cold, and so he didn't bother wasting time, just rinsed himself down as well as he could.

He didn't regret giving Gale the last of his soap the other day, but he could admit that it made for a less than pleasant experience now. If he never had to clean dried come off of himself with nothing more than cold water, then he was more than fine with that.

He quickly dried off and dressed again once he'd cleaned himself up as well as he was going to, although he found himself wishing not for the first time that their winter clothes were a little heavier. His sweater was a little better than just a shirt, but it still wasn't a whole lot to keep warm.

Once he'd finished dressing, he figured that he'd head straight for the library. He had a feeling that Gale might be there, and he hoped that he was right. This early, he knew that the library would be pretty abandoned, and so he hoped that he might get lucky, and find Gale there by himself.

Still, as he walked there, he couldn't ignore the nerves twisting in his stomach. What if Gale didn't want to talk to him? He knew that it was a pretty likely possibility, but it was one that he didn't want to consider. They'd be fine, they had to be. He and Gale had gotten through worse than this, and so all he could do was try and tell himself that they'd be fine.

Letting himself into the library, he breathed a sigh of relief when he found Gale sat at the small table in the middle of the room, his cheek propped in his hand as he read whatever book he'd settled on. He was relieved to find that he was alone, too.

Gale hadn't noticed him yet, too caught up in his book, and he couldn't help the faint smile that pulled at his lips as he watched him. Gale's hair was still slightly damp from his own shower, and his cheeks and nose were flushed slightly pink with the cold. He looked beautiful, though, and he tried his best not to get too distracted by the thoughts of how Gale's lips had felt pressed against his own last night, or the way he had scraped his fingers down his back, or the soft sounds that he'd made as he came. He couldn't let himself think about any of that right now.

So, he simply knocked at the door frame, giving Gale a small smile when he looked up at the sound, “Hey.”

Gale smiled back, although it looked a little bit tight, a little bit nervous, “Hey, you survived.”

“Survived what?” He asked.

“Brady.” Gale said with a shrug, “He said earlier that he was gonna smother you with your pillow if you didn't quit snoring.”

He couldn't help but laugh, stepping a little further into the room, “And here I thought he was being nice, giving me a Christmas card.”

Gale nodded, “Yeah, I got one too. Think he was up all morning making ‘em.”

He just smiled, letting himself lean against the edge of the table. He wasn't really sure what he was supposed to think here. Gale didn't seem too uneasy, but he knew that he was good at masking how he felt. He'd just never expected to be on the receiving end of that. Still, maybe everything was okay, maybe Gale wasn't actually freaking out.

So, he held out the pair of gloves, as well as the chocolate bar that he'd brought with him, “Merry Christmas, Buck.” He said softly, “Didn't have a bow or anything, so.. sorry they're not wrapped.”

Gale just looked at the gift for a moment, before looking back up at him, “What's this?” He asked.

“Your Christmas present.” He said, biting his lip gently, “I know it's not much, but I.. wanted to give you something, y’know? Since it's your birthday in two days too, and all that.”

Gale didn't say anything for a moment, although he eventually shook his head, a frown crossing his face, “I can't take these, John. They're your gloves.” He said softly.

“Yeah, but you need ‘em more than me. Did you forget how cold your hands were last night?” He asked, raising his eyebrows.

He had only planned on giving Gale the chocolate bar, but after feeling how cold Gale's hands had been last night, and especially after finding out that he had traded his own gloves away, he figured that this was the least he could do for him.

Gale looked back down at his book, his cheeks flushing slightly at the mention of last night. He shook his head again after a moment, though, glancing back up at him, “I can't, John.”

“What, ‘cause of last night?” He asked.

He hadn't planned on just diving straight into it, but he couldn't let Gale use that as an excuse to not take the gifts. They could sweep it under the rug and pretend that it hadn't happened if that was what Gale really wanted, but he refused to let it change anything between them. Before, he knew that, aside from a perfunctory complaint about how he didn't have to do this, Gale would have just taken the gifts. He would have thanked him for the gloves, and he would have shared the chocolate bar with him, and that would be that.

Gale's cheeks flushed again, his jaw working as he tried to figure out what to say, “Last night was.. it was a mistake. It didn't mean anything, and it should never have happened.”

He sighed, his stomach dropping at the conviction with which Gale claimed that last night had been a mistake, and that it hadn't meant anything.

Sure, he'd known that it wasn't a good idea, and he had tried telling himself all along that it didn't actually mean a thing, but how was he supposed to pretend that that was the case? Last night had felt like probably the most important sex he'd ever had in his life, and so he couldn't stand here and pretend that it hadn't meant anything to him.

“That's really what you think? That it just.. didn't mean a thing?” He asked.

“It didn't.” Gale insisted, looking up at him. His cheeks were still flushed with embarrassment, but he had the steely set to his jaw that he didn't like; the one that said that he wasn't going to budge.

He scoffed, shaking his head, “How can you say that?” He asked, “How can you sit there and act as if it didn't mean anything?”

“John-”

“No, I-” He cut himself off, sighing again. He didn't even know what he was supposed to say, how he was supposed to tell Gale that it had meant something to him, “Is it because of Marge?” He asked, “Is that it? You feel guilty?”

He hated to bring her up right now, but he just needed to know. Sure, he'd been expecting Gale to freak out this morning, but he had seemed so into it last night, and so he wasn't sure how he could sit here and claim that it hadn't meant anything. The only thing he could think of was that Gale was feeling guilty over being unfaithful to Marge, and he was trying to lessen that.

“It's not because of Marge.” Gale said, “It's..”

“Then what? ‘Cause you can say it was a mistake all you want, but don't tell me that it didn't mean anything, because it-”

“Because you shouldn't have had to.. do that.” Gale snapped, before shaking his head again as he slumped back into his seat, “I took advantage of you. I should've.. I should have just gone back to my own bunk, so you wouldn't have felt as though you had to do that.”

For a moment, he simply looked at Gale, because he almost couldn't believe what he was hearing. Did Gale really think that he'd taken advantage of him, and that last night hadn't been everything that he'd ever wanted? It was such a ridiculous idea that he almost couldn't take it seriously, but Gale's features were still twisted into an unhappy frown, and it seemed that he could barely even make himself look at him.

“You're serious? That's what you actually think?” He asked, before a huff of laughter bubbled out of his throat, “Buck, I- I didn't do anything last night that I didn't want to do, that I haven't wanted to do for.. I can't even remember how long.”

He hadn't planned on admitting that to Gale any time soon, but he couldn't leave it like this. He couldn't just walk out of here and leave Gale thinking that he'd taken advantage of him last night. If anything, he had worried about it being the other way around, and so he couldn't just stand here and say nothing.

Gale looked up at him, a frown crossing his face, “You.. what?” He asked.

“It meant something to me.” He said softly, trying to ignore the nerves twisting in his stomach again, “Ever since I met you, I've..” He trailed off, huffing softly, “I don't know, Buck. I wanted it, I've always wanted it.”

“Come on, John.” Gale sighed, and it looked as if he didn't know what he wanted to do with himself; whether he wanted to continue this conversation, or whether he wanted to be literally anywhere other than here.

“Why'd you think I kissed you, huh? Why'd you think I did any of that if it wasn't what I wanted?”

“That's just this place talking, John.” Gale said softly, “It's been a long time, for both of us, and we got caught up doing something we shouldn't have done, and y-”

“I love you.”

He felt as if he could have been sick once the words were out, but he couldn't do this. He couldn't stand here and let Gale try and talk him out of something that he knew he wanted. If Gale didn't feel the same way, then that was something he'd just have to deal with, but he needed to give him the whole story.

Gale just looked at him, and it was impossible to even try and decipher the expression on his face.

“I've been in love with you since we were in flight school.” He admitted, a huff of laughter spilling from him, even as he swallowed around the lump in his throat, “So don't try and tell me that it didn't mean anything, ‘cause I know how I feel, and I know what I want. Maybe it didn't mean anything to you, but I-”

He was cut off when Gale stood up from his seat and crossed the distance between them to pull him into a hard kiss, the force of it enough to have him staggering back a couple of steps, his back colliding with the bookshelf behind him.

For a moment, he simply froze, caught off guard by what was happening. It didn't take him long to catch up, though, and he dropped his hands to Gale's hips to pull him closer as he kissed him back.

This was.. he couldn't quite believe that this was actually happening. He'd been so afraid of what the outcome of this conversation would be; he'd been so afraid of Gale feeling like he couldn't be around him anymore, of Gale being disgusted by what they'd done last night. For some reason, this outcome hadn't been on his radar, and he barely had the words to describe how grateful he was.

He lifted one hand to fit it around the curve of Gale's jaw as they kissed, before stepping away from the bookshelf so that he could turn them around, pressing Gale back against the shelf.

Like this, he had a slight height advantage on the other man, and it felt so good to crowd up against Gale like this, to feel the way that he had to raise up slightly onto his toes in order to reach him. They were very nearly the same height, though, and that was something he wasn't used to.

Gale's lips were soft but slightly chapped against his own as their mouths moved together, and he couldn't help the soft noise that spilled from his throat as he parted his lips to Gale's tongue, meeting it with his own.

Last night, he'd been too caught up in the pleasure of what they were doing to really take in just how good it was to kiss Gale like this. Now, all he wanted was to sink into it. He could feel Gale's fingers shaking where he was still holding onto the front of his sweater, but he understood that this was all just a little bit overwhelming. He felt it too, and so he didn't see a reason to stop.

Dropping both of his hands back down, he slid them underneath the end of Gale's sweater, pressing his fingers to the bare skin of Gale's waist. He hadn't really gotten a chance to touch him last night, and now, he never wanted to stop. He wanted to press his thigh between both of Gale's again and see what other noises he could get him to make that he hadn't heard last night. He wanted to sink to his knees between Gale's legs and taste him. He wanted everything.

As if he could read his mind, Gale pulled back from the kiss, exhaling a shaky breath as he leaned his forehead against his, “Wait, John, I.. we can't do this here.” He whispered.

He pulled back just far enough to look at Gale, biting his lip gently, “We can't do it here, or we can't do it at all?” He asked. He didn't want to consider the possibility that Gale was already backtracking here, but he knew that it wasn't impossible. Maybe Gale had been just as caught off by that kiss as he'd been.

Gale just looked up at him, before lifting a hand to gently brush his fingers against his cheek, “We can't do it here.” He said softly, “Anyone could walk by and see, and I..”

“I know.” He murmured, leaning into Gale's touch.

He got it, he knew that they were fucked if anyone walked by and saw them all over each other. The best case scenario was that it was one of their guys, but if it was anybody else? If it was one of the guards? He didn't even want to think of what the consequences might be.

Still, it almost felt like there was a weight lifted off his chest at the fact that Gale had said that they just couldn't do it here, and not that they couldn't do it at all. It gave him a bit of hope that maybe it would all be okay.

So, he glanced back to make sure that there was nobody out in the corridor, before taking the front of Gale's sweater and walking him back to the other corner of the room, so that they were next to the doorway, rather than in front of it. At least here, nobody would see them if they were simply walking by.

He cupped Gale's face in between his hands, leaning in to press their lips together again. This kiss was softer, sweeter, and it wasn't much more than the simple press of Gale's mouth against his own. It was the kind of kiss that he had always imagined sharing with Gale.

He pulled back after a moment, lightly flicking his nose against Gale's, “It meant something to me.” He whispered, letting his thumb gently trace the silvery scar on Gale's cheek, “It's always meant something to me.”

“I didn't know.” Gale said softly, his hands on his hips to hold him close, “I thought.. I don't know, I thought I'd cornered you into it last night. I didn't know how I was supposed to face you this morning.” He admitted.

He smiled, closing his eyes as he leaned in to press his forehead against Gale's again, “I mean this with all the love in the world, but that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard.” He teased.

Gale just huffed softly in response, sliding his arms around his waist again.

For a moment, they simply stood in silence, their eyes closed, their foreheads pressed together. He could feel Gale's hands pressed just underneath the end of his sweater, his fingers touching the bare skin of his waist. Honestly, he could have stayed here for the rest of his life, with he and Gale breathing the same air, and touching each other with gentle fingers.

“I love you too, by the way.” Gale murmured after a moment, “Just in case that wasn't clear.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, of course I do.” Gale said with a tiny smile.

He smiled back, although it dropped slightly after a moment, “What about Marge?” He asked.

It was no secret that Gale was planning on marrying her once they got home from the war, and he didn't think he'd ever forgive himself if he got in the way of that. Marge had always been a good friend to him, and so even though he'd never loved anybody the way he loved Gale, he didn't want to end up hurting her in the process.

In saying that, though, he didn't know how he was supposed to just let this go, now that he'd had a taste of what it was like to be with Gale. This was everything he'd ever wanted, and so he wasn't sure how he could just pretend that none of this had ever happened.

Gale frowned, although he didn't pull away from him, his fingers still lightly tracing patterns against the bare skin of his waist, “I don't know.” He said softly, “She's.. I'm going to marry her, John. I can't just leave her.”

“I know, I wouldn't want you to.” He admitted. He couldn't live with that on his conscience, and so he was relieved that Gale hadn't promised him that he'd leave Marge for him. He just wasn't sure where that left them.

Thankfully, though, Gale smiled again, even though it still looked a little bit unsure, “We'll figure it out, alright? We'll figure something out.”

“Yeah?”

“I'm tired of pretending I don't feel anything for you.” Gale admitted softly, “I don't want to give this up.”

He just smiled, closing his eyes as he leaned in to press his forehead against Gale's again. That was enough for him, to know that Gale felt the same way for him, and that he was willing to try.

He cupped Gale's chin in his hand, giving him one last soft kiss before pulling back just far enough to look at him again, “So will you please just take the gifts now?” He asked, a faint smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Gale huffed softly, rolling his eyes, “I'll take the chocolate.” He conceded, “And I want you to share it with me.”

“And the gloves?”

“They're your gloves, John. You'll need ‘em just as much as I would.” Gale said softly.

“I won't need them. I've got you to keep me warm.” He teased.

Gale rolled his eyes again, although it was impossible to miss the faint flush that coloured his cheeks, “Fine, but I'm making you take them back if you get cold.”

“I can live with that.” He huffed.

He knew that it would be weeks before the weather started to turn warm again, and that there probably would be the odd night here and there where he wished that he still had his gloves, but he meant what he'd said.

Gale could keep him warm on the particularly cold nights, and he was glad that they could use that as an excuse for when he simply wanted to be close to him. He knew that, on the freezing cold nights, that nobody would think twice about it if they found he and Gale curled up together.

He was glad that he wouldn't have to hide it from Gale either. Sure, he had never shied away from tucking himself in against his side when it was cold, but he'd always been afraid of crossing a line, of doing something that Gale wouldn't be comfortable with. Now, he was glad that it didn't have to be like that, that he could be open with Gale when it came to his feelings for him.

“What's wrong?” He asked, upon noticing the slightly downturned tilt to Gale's expression.

Gale just shrugged, before glancing back up at him, “I didn't get you a gift.”

It hadn't crossed his mind to even expect anything in return, mainly because the gifts he'd gotten Gale weren't anything to write home about. He'd just never considered the idea of not getting Gale anything, and especially because, as well as Christmas, it was his birthday in two days.

So, he just smiled, reaching up to brush a strand of stringy hair out of Gale's face, “Kiss me.”

“What?”

“Kiss me.” He said again.

Gale did what he was told, leaning up to press their lips together in a soft kiss. It wasn't anything more than that, just the gentle press of Gale's lips against his own, although he could feel the smile pulling at Gale's lips.

“There.” He said once he'd pulled back, lightly flicking the tip of his nose against Gale's, “That's my gift.”

Gale huffed, rolling his eyes. He was smiling, though, and that was all he could have asked for, “You're sweet.”

He smiled, pulling Gale in again as he wrapped his arms around his shoulders in a hug, Gale's arms coming up to wrap around his waist again in return, “Merry Christmas, Buck.” He whispered, leaning his chin on Gale's shoulder.

He could have stayed here forever; reveling in the weight of Gale's arms around him, the warmth of his body pressed close against his own, the feeling of his breath against his cheek as Gale turned his face in towards the embrace. He and Gale had hugged a thousand times before, but this was different. It was more, and he found himself never wanting to let this go.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.” Gale whispered, gently nudging his nose against his cheek.

He had no idea how much longer they'd be here for, but he was pretty sure that getting to have this with Gale would make it a little bit more bearable. It would give him something to fight for, something to actually make it through this for. He could. If it was for Gale, then he knew he could.

It wasn't much, but he could work with it.

[drsbutmakeitspicy]

Maybe on the "Am I a human chair?" AU

PART I - PART II - PART III

Carlos Sr. Found out about their relationship in a funny way

(I'm sorry for grammar mistakes, and also I didn't write the dialog between Carlos and Cenamor in spanish cause as much as I can understand everything I'm horrible at writing and speaking Spanish (it always turn into a weird portunhol by accident 🤭🫣) so imagine that whole last scene is in spanish please.)

Also, quick reminder, this is more of a brain vomit than a real structured fic

Carlos calls Oscar on video, asking how he is doing after the DNF

"Amorcito, how are you feeling? What did the doctors say?"

"I'm high as fuck, got cracked ribs and a concussion" Oscar is blinking slowly and Carlos finds it adorable.

"I just finished media, the team meeting was rescheduled for tomorrow, I'll see you soon Amor."

"Kim said I can't shower alone so hurry up."

"Tell Kim I 100% agree with him."

Oscar can see him moving around grabbing some stuff from his driver's room to bring back to his hotel room.

"He's not here right now" Carlos stops.

"He left you alone?"

" 'm not alone" Oscar is giggling and messing with his own hair with his free hand.

"You're so high baby, it's funny. Who is with you then?" He watches Oscar's phone be grabbed, as it turns Carlos feels his blood run cold.

"He needs to sleep now." Carlos Sainz Cenamor, his father, who Carlos completely forgot he gave a spare key of his hotel room a day before.

"Uh, yea. I'll finish getting my stuff and uh yea bye."

His dad will be pissed at him for hanging up like that.

Oh god.

Things are not as bad as he imagined, Oscar as his Dad are talking about racing, the McLaren driver is lying down on the bed with a towel put on his eyes, wearing Carlos Ferrari Jacket.

His dad is sitting on the sofa, he looks at him, amused to see the lack of color on his son's face.

"He refuses to sleep, says he wants to see you first. Is it a McLaren requirement to be stubborn?"

"Papa Yo-" He whispers in an apologetic tone

"Eres mi hijo, no creas que eso cambia mi amor por ti." - Cenamor says as he gets up and pat his son's back. - "He is here now Oscar, you can finally sleep, no?"

They hear Oscar make an agreeing sound, his right arm out of the bed, hand grabbing the air, calling Carlos over.

Cenamor tells him he will wait outside, something about having calls to make. Carlos sits down by Oscar's side as the door clicks.

"How are you feeling Cariño?"

"I want a kiss. My lips aren’t bruised, the doctor didn't say anything about kissing."

“I'll give you one and you will rest okay? When you wake up again to take your meds I'll help you shower."

Carlos says against Oscar's lips before closing the gap between them. It's slow but sweet, Oscar's hand goes to his hair and as Carlos breaks their kiss the other pulls him back in, whispering "One more."

After three kisses Oscar is out like a light.

—-

Talking with his father goes well, he is not disappointed in him, he doesn't understand how they got involved, with the amount of times they fought in and out of track but doesn't ask.

"I knew one day you would end up with a McLaren driver, I just guessed the wrong one."

"Papa!"

“Reyes and I adopted Lando since your McLaren days because of that y'know? We both were sure one day you would come over with him and tell us."

"I never had romantic feelings for Lando! And it may not look like it but he is straight, Papa."

"Hmm, I'll have to call your mom back, we thought you broke up with Lando last year, we thought he didn't spend new years with us because of that."

“When? Wait, when did you give mom a call??"

"I left you and Oscar alone so I could call her. She asked if now you will stop with those PR relationships contracts. You know she hates those. She said she read early today some good things about your boy."

His face is all warm and red, he feels like a teenager, embarrassed about having a crush, but also he feels glad to have such a wonderful family by his side.

His dad's phone rings, Reyes’ picture shows up.

"Here, talk to her, she wants to see when we all could have dinner together so she could meet Oscar”

[realm-of-rosie]

💭 how can i disagree? !!!

i. genshin impact [ diluc, alhaitham, kaveh, and when they try to deny you something (spoiler: they fail horribly) ]

ii. fluffy fluff fluff only + short scenarios

iii. blog rules | masterlist

iv. love them sm

[ diluc ]

"it is far too warm for cuddles, sweetheart,"

"but i'm lonely,"

"and i'm right here, next to you," diluc argues back quietly with his voice heavy with sleep, eyes closed as he brings your interlocked fingers to his lips and kissing your fingertips.

"it's not the same, 'luc,"

"it isn't?" his lips curl up in a small smile, peeking at you through barely hooded eyes and his warm hand moves to cup your cheek before stroking it gently.

"of course it isn't," you insist, pouting, "you aren't close enough to me,"

a laugh escapes his lips, "not close enough to you, hmm?"

"plus, what if it suddenly gets super cold later? what if we both freeze to death?"

the chances of that happening was close to zero, of course, summer in mondstadt was characterized by a cool, refreshing morning breeze under the beating sun and warm air fit for parties and festivals that last well into the night, but he didn't have the heart to tell you that - diluc was pretty sure you knew that anyway - so he indulges you instead.

"only if you promise not to whine about the heat in the morning," he mumbles, opening his arms so you could curl up against his chest, kissing the top of your head, "no complaining about how i feel like a furnace, how you're sweating so much from it..."

"shh..." you lean up to press your lips against his jawline affectionately, "that is a problem for tomorrow, so we willl deal with it tomorrow,"

diluc's chest rumbles with the chuckle he lets out, "of course, my love, if you say so,"

[ alhaitham ]

"...haitham?"

"yes dearest?" he glances up slightly from the pile of papers he was looking through to flash a small smile at you - rendered unable to move and confined to the couch, "what do you need?"

"a kiss,"

alhaitham's hand stills for a split second and there's a hint of a smirk playing on his lips, and logically, you panic a little - as attractive as that smirk may be, it still signaled trouble. your eyebrows furrow together as he turns his seat to face you, completely abandoning the paperwork, crossing his arms.

"what was that?"

"a kiss," you repeat, bringing out the puppy eyes.

he chuckles, wagging his index finger in a 'come hither' motion, "if you want a kiss, you'll have to come get it yourself,"

"don't be an ass," you whine, throwing a pillow at him, "i'm not in the right state to be walking!"

"alright, alright," he concedes, dodging the pillows you threw at him, "i'll give you a - hey, put the pillow down,"

you lay the pillow on your lap with a huff, still pouting even when he settled down beside you on the couch, pecking your pouting lips.

"don't be upset darling, i'm sorry for teasing you," alhaitham says softly, as if trying to keep whatever he said a secret from curious ears, brushing his finger against your cheek, "i'll give you another kiss if you forgive me,"

[ kaveh ]

"kaveh..." i call out in a soft, curious, singsong voice, peeking into every room in the house until i spot him, hunched over his desk in his work room.

"kaveh?" i lean against the door frame, swaying back and forth on my heels, "kaveh,"

for a while, the only sounds in the house are the scratching of his pencil on paper and my persistent calls of his name until he groans and turns in his seat to face me before standing up to stretch his back.

"i have a small question -"

"angel, i am still not buying you a bunny, not when neither of us know how to take care of it," kaveh sighs, turning back to his work and i let out a squeak of protest.

"that's not what i wanted to say! but we will talk about that later, i'll have you know i am doing my own research on how to take care of bunnies - but that's besides the point," i huff, crossing my arms over my chest, "you didn't let me finish what i wanted to say,"

"well, what did my angel want to say?" he glances over his shoulder to check on me.

"can i stay here while you work? just this once,"

"darling -" kaveh sighs, turning in his seat again.

"i'll behave and be quiet while you work, promise!"

"i don't know," he leans back against his chair as he watches me, rubbing his chin in faux contemplation, "you're just so distracting angel, i don't know if i can finish my work,"

i pout, lower lip jutted out in exaggeration and kaveh chuckles.

"just this once, huh?"

i nod eagerly, "just this once,"

"i will hold you to that," he chuckles, patting his lap.

i stare at him in confusion with my head tilted to the side, eyes flickering to the couch in the corner of the office (where i originally planned on camping out temporarily) before going back to him.

"come sit," kaveh pats his lap again.

"but then you won't be able to work properly, i'll be blocking your view and reach of the model you're building,"

"it's alright," he says reassuringly, "i can just read over the files again instead, i need a break from being hunched over so much," kaveh's eyes stare at me knowingly, "besides, didn't you come here to spend time with me?"

"if you're sure," i shrug in a pretend nonchalant voice, slowly walking to him and settling comfortably on his lap, "i guess i can't say no,"

"exactly," he muses, rubbing my back while i tuck my face into the crook of his neck while his free hand picks up a piece of paper with words i couldn't begin to understand scrawled all over it - talking abou ceramic walls and wood patterns.

we (he) work(s) in comfortable silence until i hear him murmur, "clingy," against my hair before pressing a kiss to my temple.

"it's called having quality time and physical touch as a love language kaveh, don't act like you don' do the same to me when i'm working too," i pinch his side lightly, placing an apologetic kiss against his jawline when he whines at my pinch.

"well, something tells me this - cuddling in my office - is going to become a regular thing,"

[oliviablancmom]

"Enemies - Pablo Gavi (Part III)"

Pairing: Pablo Gavi x OC! character

A/N: These two decided to talk to me tonight. As I said before, it is challenging to write them, but fun. I loved writing this chapter because they begin to have realizations about each other's presence while the enemy side is screaming lol. Anyway, for obvious reasons, some game events will have to be changed for the sake of the plot. I hope you enjoy it!!"

2021

Florence was attentively reading the papers her grandfather had given her, marking them as he had taught her, completely focused on the task, so she didn’t hear her father entering her room. The man watched her closely and then approached, gently touching her shoulder to avoid startling her.

“What’s all this?” he asked curiously, trying to get a glimpse of the documents. Florence looked at him, finally noticing the older man’s presence, who smiled and placed a kiss on her head. Florence smiled at the gesture.

“Hi, Dad. These are just some club reports that Grandpa wanted me to review before starting college...” Florence replied with a smile, trying to ease the concern she saw in her father’s eyes. She knew that he was still uneasy about her involvement in the business, but there was nothing he could say to change her mind.

"Don't you think this is too much? By the way, I don't think we've ever talked about this directly, but are you sure this is what you want? Your grandfather can't force you to follow this path." The man said in a firmer tone, and Florence suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. The relationship between them wasn't great, and she often felt like a pawn caught between the two, a means for one to get back at the other, even if it wasn't intentional—that's how she felt.

"Of course, this is what I want. And it's not like I'm taking on anything tomorrow. I have a long way to go before I'm considered capable, and not just someone receiving an inheritance," Florence said firmly. "I'm just learning; it's no big deal." Her father let out a nasal chuckle, looking at her with pride.

"I know, but your grandfather can be quite harsh when he wants to. I...I just don't want you to push yourself too hard." He crossed his arms with concern, and Florence felt a tightness in her chest. She understood her father's worries; she never quite understood what had happened between the two of them, but they both carried wounds that were completely visible to her. Florence smiled once more, hoping to soothe her father's heart, got up from the bed, and walked over to hug him.

"You guys are being so dramatic about this. It's no big deal, and I'm fine, I promise." Florence assured him, and the man breathed a sigh of relief.

"You're right, and you can count on me. But don't tell your grandfather I said that," he added, laughing, and Florence joined in. The older man gave her one last kiss on the head and soon left the room, leaving her alone.

She understood her father's insecurities. Many of his were her own, but she also didn't want to disappoint her grandfather, who had already invested so much time and effort in her. She just wanted to make the older man proud for having seen something in her.

**********************************************

Gavi bitterly regretted accepting the invitation to that party. Not that he didn't like it, but he just wasn't in the mood to enjoy himself that day. So, he limited himself to sitting on the couch outside the house, fiddling with his phone.

"Wow, Gavira, you're so welcoming and friendly," said Cris, his friend, laughing as he approached the couch where the player was lying. Gavi looked up at him, shrugging, himself didn't understand his lack of enthusiasm for being there.

"You should be celebrating your call-up to the national team," Cris continued, trying to cheer him up.

"I am, internally... Who are all these people by the way?" Gavi asked, referring to the others present in the house. "I thought I was your only friend."

"Ha! Well, friends and friends who bring other friends. At this point, I have no idea who they are either," Cris said, looking around making Gavi laugh. "I'm going back inside. Please go enjoy the party, there are plenty of girls around wanting your attention.

Gavi just nodded, rolling his eyes at the last comment.

After his friend disappeared again inside the house, Gavi took a few more minutes to mentally prepare himself to muster the courage to interact with other people. He got up, heading inside the house, greeting some familiar faces, and others he had no idea who were. But despite his efforts, he was bored.

The girl incessantly talking in front of him only heightened his desire to leave, and he was seriously considering running away, especially as every two seconds he saw a phone camera pointed at him. He sighed internally, frustrated. He didn’t want to look like an idiot; his friend would kill him if he mistreated any guest.

His attention on the girl in front of him completely vanish when he noticed someone in the distance.

"This has to be a joke..." he murmured to himself, his eyes focused on the woman quickly running to the stairs. It couldn’t be; his mind was probably playing tricks on him. He blinked a few times, but the person didn’t disappear. He looked at the girl in front of him, who was watching him with confusion, trying to figure out what had caught his attention.

"Excuse me, I need to check something..." Gavi apologized and headed up the stairs.

The upstairs was silent compared to the downstairs. He walked cautiously down the hallway as if a monster could appear at any moment to attack him. And well, technically, it was a monster he was following. The door at the end of the hallway was open, and he could hear the voice coming from inside. He was sure it wasn’t a hallucination; he would recognize that damn voice anywhere—it was imprinted in his mind.

He approached slowly and leaned against the doorframe, seeing the girl on the phone, her voice tearful as she paced back and forth, completely unaware of his presence.

"But I finished everything and left it all ready..." she cried. The sight caught him off guard. Gavi swallowed, embarrassed and regretting following her. He commanded his legs to turn around, but they ignored him, preventing him from moving.

'Great,' he thought.

The girl ended the call, after many tearful agreements, hung up the phone, and threw it on the bed.

"Tough day?" Gavi said before he could even think, mentally chiding himself for drawing the girl’s attention. She turned around startled as she look at him, and Gavi wished she hadn’t, as her red, tear-streaked face caused him some discomfort, an effect he couldn’t understand and decided to ignore. Whatever the reason for her crying, she deserved it. God, if his mom or sister heard him, he’d be in trouble.

"What... Are you following me?" she asked, confusion crossing her face. As if realizing whose presence she was in, she quickly crossed her arms in front of her body and raised her chin in pride. Gavi chuckled; but at the moment no matter how much she tried to appear indifferent, he was seeing right through her.

"In your dreams, querida. You’d be the last person in the world I’d stalk. You’re not that interesting," Gavi retorted, using the same words she had used against him. God, why did every word she said stick in his mind?

"Then leave me alone," she said, irritated. Gavi laughed. What was this? Didn’t she have any words of offense for him? It was somehow disappointing.

She grunted and walked over to the bed, picking up her phone. Her firm steps headed toward the door to leave the room, but he, impulsively, blocked her way. Fury gleamed in the girl's eyes, and she hit the player’s chest, shoving him. The action caught Gavi off guard, and he immediately grabbed her arms, feeling that little shock again from the contact with her skin.

"You can curse and insult me, but you can’t handle it when it’s the other way around?" Gavi grumbled, his face inches from hers. He could see every detail of her face with precision—the bright, swollen eyes, the discreet freckles hidden under a layer of makeup he was sure she didn’t need.

"Oh, did I really hurt you, didn’t I?" And there it was, the challenge in her eyes, the arrogance, and something he couldn’t quite explain, but it shine intensely in the girl's gaze. Unconsciously, Gavi decided he would push her to her limits to see that reaction again. The tension between them was so intense it could be cut with a knife. "Let me go. I could end your career," she snarled, and Gavi couldn’t help but laugh.

"What, are you going to ask your fan friends to ramp up the insults? Nothing I can’t handle. And don’t play innocent; you started this," she narrowed her eyes.

"You have no idea..." she whispered, a victorious little smile appearing at the corner of her lips. Gavi furrowed his brows, confused. But before he could say anything, they were interrupted.

"Florence," someone called from the hallway. Gavi turned, seeing another girl watching the situation in shock. He turned back to the girl in front of him, still holding her arms.

"Florence," he whispered, realizing as if he had just put together a puzzle. He had the voice, the image, and now the name. As if she understood what he was thinking, she rolled her eyes and, with a sudden motion, pulled her arm away and shoved him out of her way. She tossed her hair over her shoulders and confidently walked towards the girl who had called her.

"Are you out of your mind?" He heard the friend whisper, looking over her shoulder at the player observing the sly interaction between the two.

"It’s nothing," the girl said in a nonchalant tone as she pulled her friend down the hallway, disappearing from his view. Gavi stood stunned, still trying to process the encounter and suddenly he couldn't wait for the next el classico.

**********************************************

March 20, 2022

Florence took a deep breath, soaking in the energy of the field, the stadium filling up with fans—God, she missed this so much. Since she started college and studying with her grandfather, her trips to the stadium had been drastically reduced. Now, almost all her time was devoted to her grandfather's office and the administrative sector of Ciudad Real Madrid.

She had almost forgotten the feeling of being inside a stadium. Okay, maybe she was being a bit dramatic, but it felt like years had passed since her last visit. Now, as she could no longer watch the games from the stands with the fans, being on the field with some staff was the closest she could get to the excitement she loved. Even though she had to act professionally now and couldn't shout or curse at the players, especially the rivals, so she would have to do it mentally.

And she had used that trick a lot, since the end of the last year, especially during the games of the club that shall not be named. She cursed and sent all possible negative energy, hoping to satisfy her need to do it personally, particularly regarding a certain player. She even hoped he could hear that she was still rooting against him. Even during the national team games at the end of the year, she had to resort to mental curses, as the moment she cursed the blaugrana player, she received several angry looks from the fans of the national team who had adopted him.

So as soon as she saw him entering the tunnel leading to the field, all her excitement about being back faded, replaced by irritability. And as if he knew exactly that, the moment his eyes fell on her, a mocking smile spread across his face, his eyebrows coming together in surprise and recognition.

"You know, I was sure we’d win today’s game, but now that I see you’re finally here, I’m absolutely certain," he said in a lower tone, so only she could hear.

Florence took a deep breath, trying to contain the ironic response that came to her mind, and fixed her eyes on the tablet in her hand, her fingers gripping the edge tightly.

"Nothing for me?" He insisted, and she finally looked at him, feeling her face heat up and an uncomfortable feeling near her temples, he was definitely a pain in the ass. The player’s eyes scanned her face as if he had noticed her reaction, and the smirk grew.

Florence wanted to shout and curse him, but she had to settle for an eye roll that seemed to amuse the player, who ran onto the field for warm-up. He was lucky she had to behave, or she would have used up all the curses she had been saving.

The match was a disaster for Real Madrid. Florence had to leave her position next to the club reporter on the sidelines as her fan side started to take over during the game, and now she was watching the rest in the tunnel entrance that led from the locker rooms to the field.

And she couldn’t believe it, simply couldn’t. Anger burned inside her, not just from witnessing the defeat and the embarrassing game her team was playing, but because the midfielder’s words burned in her brain. The implication that she was a good luck charm for him gave her a cold shiver and a rage that heated her face. Her mind even searched for the results of the matches she had attended and which were good for him.

The dissatisfaction in the stands grew with each passing minute of the match. Furious, some people were even leaving before the game ended—it was a disaster.

Florence huffed again as she heard the fans near the tunnel cursing each staff member who passed by, as if the blame for the defeat was on them rather than the players on the field. She understood the frustration because she shared many of the same feelings.

However, the comments began to get heavier. Looking up, she saw a group of men cursing her grandfather. She frowned, not understanding why, and they noticed her attention, laughing and commenting among themselves.

The young woman gritted her teeth. She knew the reason well enough without needing to look; she had developed a sixth sense for sensing the player before seeing him. She wondered what sin she had committed in another life to deserve such karma.

"You can’t stay here," she said without looking at him. "This could result in penalties for your club, and well, I’ll make sure that happens," she said with false confidence. Gavi laughed, a deep and genuine laugh that made Florence turn to him, their eyes meeting. She furrowed her eyebrows, her eyes scanning the player’s face, and Florence felt something strange besides irritation at him mocking her.

"I was just getting my shorts from the locker room, and I’m heading back to the bench. There’s no prohibition on that. But fine, i know that you can’t win on the field, so your team need to interfere with the referees and all other means..." he replied, looking around. Florence narrowed her eyes at him.

"That’s a serious accusation..." Florence tried to stay indifferent, turning her attention back to the field. And great, another goal. The stadium roared with boos, not at the blaugrana team but at their own. Florence watched everything, perplexed and a bit nauseous.

"See? I told you that you’d bring us luck today..." Gavi commented right next to her. Florence turned, pushing him away. He laughed. Before she could say anything, she was surprised by a cup being thrown in her direction. Florence looked up at the stands, the group of men from before had an angry look for her.

"You’re fraternizing with the enemy. That’s why we’re losing." Florence decided to ignore it, but the curses only increased.

"You’re losing because you’re awful." Florence widened her eyes at the player who was laughing at the group, and it was done. It was as if he had poked a swarm of bees. Boos, curses, drinks being thrown at them, security started approaching, noticing the escalating anger. She really was determined to ignore the situation, not even fighting with the hand pulling her into the tunnel. But when her grandfather was mentioned, it was the breaking point for her.

"Your grandfather is ruining our club," the fan yelled.

"Florentino made this club what it is,"

Florence shouted back, her blood boiling as she exchanged insults with the Madrid fan who cursed her with every possible name. Security approach to try to calm things down, especially when the fan threatened to jump from the stands. Florence heard the referee’s whistle from afar, and by the time she realized it, chaos had erupted in every corner of the stadium. When a cup hit her head, she felt arms around her waist pulling her away.

She was so immersed in her anger that she felt as if the world around her was spinning out of control. The drink thrown on her clung to her clothes, and the sensation of being completely soaked only added to her frustration. When the sound of the boos became deafening, she finally snapped out of her angry trance.

'shit...' The player’s low murmur brought her back to reality. She wriggled free from his grip and pushed him away with a force that surprised her. A member of Barcelona’s staff approached, pulling the player away. Florence then looked at the TV screen, seeing the final minutes of that disastrous match. Her phone vibrated incessantly, but she had no energy to care. The realization of her actions and their consequences began to weigh on her, and the sense of shame and regret was almost overwhelming.

"What were you thinking?" Her grandfather’s harsh voice sent shivers down her spine. It wasn’t fear—Florence had never feared her grandfather in any way—but the tone he used was that of a businessman, not her grandfather, and honestly, she didn’t feel prepared to face that version of him. "Has everyone lost their minds today?" he shouted, and Florence finally looked at him. "What were you thinking?" he repeated. "You should be setting an example. How can I trust you if when you should be working you’re talking to opposing players and fighting with our own fans?"

"I was defending myself..." Florence questioned.

"You were immature, it’s disappointing..." The older man said, and silence cut through the air. Florence could feel tears in her eyes, and she knew they were there by the quickness with which the older man averted his gaze from her face. "Your father was right. Go home, Florence, you’re done for today."

The younger woman looked at him confused. She didn’t know that the two men talked; they did their best to ignore each other whenever possible. Florence opened her mouth to question him, but the man gave no space, just walking past her with a look of disappointment. Florence watched him head to the locker rooms, but before he left, he stopped and took a good look at Gavi. If he was intimidated by the older man, he didn’t show it; his face remained impassive as he stared back at the man, while the staff member from his team was dying beside him.

Florence’s heart was beating so hard she could hear it in her ears. The look of pity from the communications head was enough to break her. She turned and walked away from the situation before anyone saw her break down.

Florence had a mix of feelings—still angry about her confrontation with the fans but anxious about the disappointed look she received from her grandfather. She understood his side, and she was genuinely dedicated and took her duties seriously, so her own reaction had been a surprise to her as well.

But then realization hit her. The reason she lost her composure in the first place was because of him... She was fine until he showed up and provoked her with his taunts. Just his presence was enough to irritate her, and if he hadn’t provoked her minutes before, she wouldn’t have exploded at the fans... And with perfect timing, Florence felt a tight grip on her arm.

"What the fuck... What’s with you constantly holding me?" Florence asked angrily, turning to face him. The action took him by surprise, but he quickly masked it with a smirking.

"In the end, it was really your club..." He said, referring to their conversation when they met at the event last year.

"As the part of ruining your career, so leave me alone," Florence felt her voice breaking, and this made tears come back to her eyes. She mentally cursed herself for breaking down right in front of the player. "This is your fault," Florence accused, shoving him.

"Mine? You asked for it, remember? Every time you insulted me..." Florence rolled her eyes but couldn’t help a small smile on her lips.

"You’re so affected by this; is it that easy to get into your head?" Florence asked with humor. "If it is, then what they say about you isn’t true..." The player furrowed his brows, and Florence caught a glimpse of confusion on his face.

"Pablo!" The Barcelona staff member called the player, looking furious. "What’s so hard about staying where you’re supposed to be?" The man asked seriously. "Come on, before you get a warning." The player didn’t even question it and just followed the older man, but not before glancing once more at Florence, his expression twisted in confusion.

**********************************************

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I revised it several times, but there's always something that slips through. Ah, I needed to introduce Flo's life as an heiress because it was necessary lol. I'm excited for the next chapter. Idk if you guys understand, but when there are asterisks dividing the chapter, it automatically signifies a passage of time, days, and a change in point of view.

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

We will protect you. Part III

Self-Aware! Armed Detective Agency x GN! Reader

Description: First Day of the Charity Fair. Armed Detective Agency is on their duty.

Warning: OOC. Stalking. English is my second language.

Part II

Part IV

________

You read the list of recipes again. Your shift will start in ten minutes, so, you decide to refresh your memory.

Mii-chan was sitting on your shoulders, looking at the recipes with you. You scratch him behind the ears.

"Sorry, Soseki, I knew, that is not the most interesting thing to read. Tomorrow I will bring a book."

Natsume only purred and rubbed his head against yours.

You heard noises coming from the next room. Merlyn were arguing with Mr. Burke.

"With all due respect, Mr. Burke, but letting a cat be here is a poor businesses decision"

You rolled your eyes. Merlyn could talk to a wall and get better results, then trying to convince Mr. Burkle to change his mind and tell you to bring Mii-chan outside.

Because Mr. Burkle liked animals and knew, that Mii-chan will attract more customers. Yes, most of the café income will be donated, but, next month café employees will have a chance to get a big prize. All businesses, that participated in a fair will get bonuses, but, the biggest bonus will be given to a business, that earned more money than others.

So, Mii-chan's place in this café for the next eight days is safe. As long as you don't bring him to the kitchen and not to the part of counter where you put orders.

Sounds of argument disappeared, and Marlyn left the manager's office. They glared at you and Mii-chan.

"Just make sure that flea bad won't cause trouble."

Soseki hissed and you rolled your eyes.

"Hello to you too."

Merlyn Bourke grumble something and left to the other room, where they will spend the rest of the shift, doing manager's job.

Mii-chan hiss again and look at you. Then at Mr. Burkle's office door. Then, at Merlyn's 'office' door.

You whispered.

"As long as I know, they aren't related, despite their family names sounding similar. As for Merlyn... Imagine, that Kunikida tried to replace Fukuzawa and start doing twice the work as usual. And talking with others ADA members as harsh as he can, even being borderline rude to them to make them work better. That's the description of Merlyn."

Mii-chan mewed. You finished with re-reading recipes and moved to the main part of the café. Right now, the café was on a short break, so previous shift can leave peacefully, and current shift can prepare for work peacefully.

Mii-chan jumped on the counter and sit in loaf position. His collar with a little bow looked cute.

You chuckled, remembering one of the times Natsume Soseki helped you.

_________

You feel absolutely exhausted. You need to finish two more essays until next week. But you feel so burned out, you feel, that you can't write correct words. In your mind, your thoughts were beautiful and clear. In reality...

You looked at the paper sheet before you.

"Evil is not good"

Genius thought, right?

You hear the knock on your door. In a second, Natsume Soseki walked in, holding a cup of tea in his hand. He walked closer to you and gave you the cup.

"Here, [Y/N], take a little break."

You looked at Natsume with gratitude and took the cup. Tea was tasty and hot. Meanwhile, Natsume was rereading everything you wrote.

"Writer's block?"

You hum.

"Mhm. Can't write anything right. Soseki, do you have any tips?"

Natsume looked at you with the corner of his eyes.

"You are overthinking too much. When you are that stressed, you can make mistakes."

Suddenly, he perked up. He took his phone from his pocket and open the recorder app.

"You need a different way of working. Please, lay down on your bed."

You looked at Natsume with a puzzled look, but he only encourages you to lay down. You shrug and lay on your bed on your stomach.

Natsume put his phone near your head.

"Okay, start talking about what you want to write. I will guide you and show, what to write in an essay."

Before you can ask why you need to lay on your bed for that, Natsume Soseki transformed into a cat.

Calico cat jumped on your back and start kneading your back.

Natsume Soseki, the man, who created The Tripartite Framework, who was a teacher of Fukuzawa Yukichi, Mori Ougai and, perhaps, Santouka Taneda, were giving you a cat massage.

You giggle. It felt so nice.

Mii-chan meowed, asking for you to start talking.

"Okay... So, First, I need to list my opinion on the matter."

Mii-chan purred.

"Then... I will list my reasoning behind my opinion."

More purring.

"First argument, short review, the second... Ow!"

Mii-chan hissed and carefully bit your ear.

"Okay, explain first argument in a detail..."

Mii-chan licked the place he bit and purred again.

After more kneading, purring and some biting, you had a clear plan for both essays.

___________

In reality, you pet Mii-chan's head.

"Thank you, Soseki..."

Mii-chan meowed.

You glance at the clock. It was almost time for your shift.

You hoped, that others won't be hurt.

__________

Armed Detective Agency were on a lookout. Today, they will be the ones, who will stay in a café protecting you. Others will patrol the rest of the Charity Fair just in case.

They saw, that café start working again. Their mission begins.

__________

Fukuzawa Yukichi and Ranpo Edogawa were already in the café.

They occupy one of the tables. Ranpo was enjoying soda and cake, while Fukuzawa was drinking green tea.

You approach them.

"Hello, Ranpo, Hello, Yukichi!"

Ranpo grinned and waved at you. Fukuzawa smiled warmly at you and greeted you with a nod.

"Hey, my favorite assistant! Do not worry about today, the Greatest Detective in the world won't let anything happen to you." proclaimed Ranpo.

Fukuzawa sighs and looks at you.

"[Y/N], please, do not worry. Ranpo and I will stay here and protect you, meanwhile the rest of the ADA will patrol near the café and scare Stalker off."

"Understand. But... I am worried about the others..."

Ranpo laughed and boop your nose.

"Do not worry, [Y/N], they will be okay. Besides, I knew, that Stalker can't do anything against them."

"I hope, you are right. Call me, if you need anything. I will be behind the counter."

_______

Fukuzawa finished his tea.

On the outside, he looked like a calm person.

On the inside, he was furious.

His desire to protect you were akin to a dragon fire.

You are so precious. So perfect.

Fukuzawa hide his smile, recalling, what happened one summer morning.

_______

Fukuzawa was drinking tea and reading the newspaper. When, suddenly, he got a notification. Someone texted him. Fukuzawa looked at his phone's display and saw a message from you.

Must resist the urge to pet: Yukichi! Help, I’m being kidnapped!

Fukuzawa feel a chill running down his spine. What? You were supposed to be with Gen'ichirou! Did someone attack you two and defeated Fukuchi? Fukuzawa start tapping message as fast as he can.

Fukuzawa : Where are you?

Three dots appeared. The wait was torturous.

Must resist the urge to pet: I’m with some strange person. In a car. Help.

It was bad. He needs to do something.

Fukuzawa decide to call Fukuchi. Maybe, you were kidnapped, while he was distracted?

Fukuzawa dial the number. A few moments later, he heard the voice.

"Hello, Fukuzawa. Do you need anything?"

Fukuchi sounds calm. Not worried or angry. He doesn't know, you were in danger. Fukuzawa spoke.

"Where’s [Y/N]? They texted me that they were being kidnapped."

Fukuchi was silent. Then he answered.

"[Y/N]? Fukuzawa, what do you mean? They're right next to me in the car...

Then there was silence. Then Fukuchi spoke again.

"We will return home in five minutes. Please, wait for us."

Fukuchi hand up. Fukuzawa breath in and out. You were with Fukuchi? Then why did you text him about kidnapping?

Perhaps, he should wait for Fukuchi's return.

Five minutes later, Fukuzawa saw Fukuchi's car stopping outside the house. Fukuzawa decided to greet you outside.

The moment he stepped from the house, you jolted from the car and hide behind Fukuzawa.

"Yukichi, save me from this man" you point at the second person, who stepped outside the car.

Fukuchi slowly approach you two. Fukuzawa blinked and chuckled quietly.

Fukuchi didn't have his mustache anymore.

Meanwhile, Fukuchi was looking at you. He spoke to Fukuzawa.

"I decided to freshen up my looks a little. Got new haircut and barber offer me a shave. I agreed."

You grab Fukuzawa's sleeve, trying to hide your face behind it.

Fukuchi glare at you.

"THE NEW HAIRCUT AND SHAVE AREN’T THAT BAD!"

You trembled behind Fukuzawa'a back.

"WHO ARE YOU?!"

Fukuzawa start laughing. He placed his hand on top of your head and ruffle your hair.

"Okay, calm down, you two."

You close your eyes, accepting the pats.

At the end, you finally accept, that strange man really was Fukuchi.

But Fukuchi decide not to shave his mustache again, when they grew back.

___________

Kirako Haruno was one of your first clients today. She waved, when she came closer to the counter.

"Hi, [Y/N]! Hi, Mii-chan!" Kirako carefully scratch Mii-chan's chin.

Kirako knew who Mii-chan truly was. You were told, that back in their world, Natsume was taking care of Kirako, while she was in 'stasis' and had a strange form of self-awareness. And, after Kirako finally became truly self-aware, she and Natsume talked. They didn't have any bad blood between them and managed to became good friends. Natsume wasn't against posing as Mii-chan for Kirako, and Kirako assist Natsume while he was writing.

You smiled and Mii-chan meowed.

"Hi, Kirako. How can I help you?"

Kirako stopped petting Mii-chan and looked at the menu.

"Can you recommend something? Everything look fantastic, I can't decide what to get"

You thought for a moment.

"Well, everything here is tasty. But, I must say, that all milk in the café are sweet, so, keep in mind, if you want to order a dessert."

Kirako carefully read the menu again.

"I will have an apple tart and black tea, please. Will eat it here."

"Will be right up."

You stepped in the kitchen and start preparing tea. Meanwhile, Kirako sat on one of the tables in the café, not far away from Fukuzawa's table.

Soon you put a tray with a black tea, chocolate biscuits and apple tart before Kirako.

"Enjoy"

Before Kirako can ask about biscuits, you answered.

"Biscuits are from me... Thank you, Kirako..."

Kirako smiles.

On your way to the counter, you remembered one of the little moments you shared with Kirako.

_______

"They are so cute and fluffy" cooed Kirako, watching the cat video you were showing her. You nodded in agreement.

You two were having a lazy hour full of snacks and cat videos. Kirako practically forced you into it, after she noticed that you were stressing about university again.

Kirako rubbed her chin. Her eyes sparkled.

"Hey, [Y/N] let's go for a walk. The weather is nice. Let's take a breath of a fresh air."

You wanted to refuse, but, you must admit, that you still feel tired. You still need some time away from the university and study.

"Let me grab my jacket, and we will be on our way."

_______

You smile at the memory. But, you couldn't enjoy the trip down memory lane for too long. You have new customers at the counter.

_______

Kirako take a good look around the café. It wasn't the biggest café, and it doesn't have many places to hide.

Kirako wasn't the detective, but she has a good memory and was quite observant.

She remembered Fukuzawa's instructions for her.

"After Natsume's-sensei and Karl's attack on the Stalker, they won't be really active tonight. It will be a good chance to take a first look at the café. Plus, we might find, if someone from [Y/N]'s fellow students are observing them. You and Naomi will be first to go to the café. Report, if you see something suspicious."

Kirako looked around again.

And she noticed them in the window.

The same person in black that Ango saw in walls' memories and Natsume-sensei attacked.

Kirako sent a quick message.

"They are here. Third window from the entrance. Want to do something."

The answer was delivered almost immediately.

"Naomi is on her way. Be careful."

The moment Naomi walked inside the café, Kirako finished her tea, and tart and left the café.

________

[Y/N], my dear [Y/N]...

Oh, my sweet treasure...

Why are you talking to this woman?

Why are you still dirtying yourself?

Didn't you get the message...

You are mine...

AHHHHHHH! IT BURN!

_____

Kirako looked with disgust at the scratched Stalker, who still slightly reeks of rotten durians and was laying on the ground and howling with pain.

Kirako was holding an empty water bottle. Just a few moments ago, it was full of salted water. Kirako prepared this bottle before she came to

Stalker were so absorbed in their thoughts, they didn't notice Kirako walking behind them and pouring salt water at them.

At their fresh scratches.

Kirako rolled her eyes.

"There is more where it came from. Stay away from [Y/N].

Kirako turned around and left the sobbing person behind.

_______

Naomi Tanizaki greeted you with a hug.

"[Y/N], you looked so good in this uniform! During our next shopping trip, we should find similar clothes for you."

You chuckled.

"Okay, no problems. What can I get for you?"

Naomi took a quick glance at the menu.

"Big Capuchino to go. That's all"

You take her order and start making her coffee. You remembered your first coffee time together.

______

"So... What do you want to discuss, Naomi?" you tilt your head, looking at Naomi. It has been two weeks since BSD Gang appeared in your apartment, and you still feel a little bit shy around them. She turned around, holding a book in her hands.

"Flowers."

You blinked.

"Flowers?"

Naomi nodded.

"Yes! I want to learn about this world's flowers."

You chew your lip.

"What do you want to know?"

Naomi looked from side to side.

"Everything... Anything. I just want to spend time with you."

You stay silent. You remember, how you promised Naomi, back when you received the first note from her in the app, to have some tea together.

"Let's brew some coffee and tea. And... Let's talk about anything we want."

Naomi looked happier than before.

You two went to the kitchen.

_________

You finish preparations and drew some flowers on Naomi's plastic cup. You also included a bad of candies from your own stock.

When you gave it to her, she smiled.

Naomi left the café. You turned towards Mii-chan.

"Was it me, or she had spikes on her shoes?"

Mii-chan murped.

______

Naomi stayed at the café entrance, waiting for Katai to take over. Back in a café she noticed, that Stalker was on their knees, but still observing [Y/N].

Naomi tapped her feet impatiently. Where is Katai, she wants to finally get her hands on the pathetic Stalker.

Katai, without his futon, finally appeared. He looked confident.

"Surveillance are under my control. Do whatever you want with them, Naomi."

Naomi nodded and moved to the Stalker's spot.

Behind her, Katai walked in the café.

______

[Y/N].. ow ow ow

Why are you ow ow ow

Hugging... Ow

Will punish... ow

SMACK

______

Naomi looked at the beaten up Stalker. She spent three minutes kicking them with her special spiked shoes.

Naomi put her feet on Stalker's head.

"Another warning for you. Go away and never return. Leave [Y/N] alone."

After another small kick, Naomi picks up Stalker's phone and left.

______

You greet Katai with a little smile. He waved at you and looked around. There were multiple people here.

"The place is becoming more and more crowded, am I right?" asked Katai, looking at you with pity. "Isn't it too much work for one employee?"

You shrug.

"Even if it is, there is nothing I can do. I am not even an official employee, I am a free labor student... I am fine, to be honest. Charity Fair is important."

Katai rub his neck.

"Well, yes, it is... Can I have simple black coffee? Here."

Katai turn around and sat at the farthest table. He took his laptop from his bag and start typing something.

You start making his order. With the corner of your eye, you noticed, that Kirako and Naomi returned and now were sitting at the same table as Katai.

Another memory, this time with Katai, appeared before your eyes.

______

You were laying on Katai's mattress, while Katai was checking your laptop. He wanted to make sure, that you don't have any viruses or trojan in your laptop.

Thankfully, nothing bad was discovered. You yawn. A little idea came to your mind.

"Hey, Katai, want to watch a movie together?"

"What movie?" asked Katai, glancing at you.

"Matrix"

For the next two and a half hours, you and Katai were snuggled under one blanket, watching the movie.

_________

You brought Katai's order to him. You also add some red bean buns you brought from home.

Katai took a bun.

"Thank you, [Y/N]."

"No problems. Girls, do you...?"

Naomi interrupted you.

"No, don't worry, we will just sit here."

You nodded and return to the other customers.

__________

Katai was monitoring the surveillance cameras. He turned them on and off, all for ADA not being caught while teaching Stalker a lesson.

Naomi gave Katai Stalker's phone. In a matter of seconds, it was hacked and Katai start working on his part of the punishment.

Before that, he sent a text to an ADA chat with Stalker's current whereabouts.

_________

I... I will return...

These girls... Will pay... Ow...

For taking [Y/N]... Away...

For beating me...

I... will get you, [Y/N]... You need to be..

Kept away from this people... I knew where the back door is... I soon will be there...

Where... did the snow came from...

*SMACK* *TWHAK*

________

Junchirou Tanizaki was looking at the Stalker, whose nose he just broke. Stalker was covering his nose with both hands. Blood dripped on the ground.

Junchirou grabbed Stalker's jacket and shook them.

"You will never come near [Y/N]. You will leave this city. You will leave this country. And you won't even breath in their detention. Or else... You will be dead."

Junchirou kicked Stalker in the stomach, picked them up, threw in the nearest garbage container and left the dark alley.

Now he needs to go to the café and guard you over here.

According to Ranpo, the Stalker will be persistent.

Well, he is also persistent. And he cherished you.

He remembered this one time, you two cooked together.

_____

"Okay, just add some spice, and ramen will be ready" instructed Junchirou, cutting fried meat for dinner.

You nodded and start slowly adding the last ingredient.

The aroma of cooked food was fantastic.

You turned off the stove and put the pot of ramen on the table. Junchirou cast a quick glance at you and smiles.

"I am so glad that we are finally here, near you." confessed Junchirou.

You let out a quiet laugh and gave Junchirou a side hug.

"And I am glad that I have so many new, wonderful friends."

_________

Again in the dumpster!

My hit list is getting bigger and this people say! [Y/N] are mine and only mine!

I will destroy all enemies of our love!

Will start with this blonde boy! He was on one of the pictures I destroyed.

Come here you...

________

Kenji Miyazawa was looking at the dumpster, he threw on the nearest roof.

He thought about talking with Stalker, but they tried to attack him, screaming threats and promises of what they will do with [Y/N].

And Kenji can't let them make their threats a reality.

Because you are important. Because you are his friend.

Kenji hurries to the café. You need all of them to protect you.

Kenji remembered, how you two went to a farm market.

______

"[Y/N], I tell you, this meat will be perfect for a pie" grinned Kenji, pointing at the small stand near you.

"Kenji, I do believe you, but I don't want to use your power too much." You explained. You already have your hands full. And Kenji was holding a few bags with fresh cheese, cotton cheese, at least a few dozen kilos of vegetables and fruits. Kenji smiles and assures you. "Don't worry, [Y/N], I can carry much more than that. Let's buy some meat"

Kenji looked at you with pleading eyes. You can't say no to these eyes. That evening, all of you enjoyed some meat pie.

_________

Stalker literally rolled from the dumpster. They curled on the ground, trying to make sense of what just happened.

With no success.

After a few minutes of laying on the roof, Stalker finally stand up. They finally spoke.

"I only need to avoid the kid... [Y/N] still will be mine..."

They took a photo of you, that they stole three days ago.

Then they heard a crackling sound.

"You truly are despicable. The waste of good bandages isn't that shameless in romantic questions."

Someone's hand grabbed their shoulder.

"Well, I will teach you manners. Lesson number 1. Don't go near [Y/N]"

*ZAP*

_________

Doppo Kunikida rolled his eyes, looking at the twitching Stalker, who he zapped a few moments ago.

"I hope, you learned your lesson. But, if not, all of us will be glad to repeat the lesson."

Doppo turned around and marched to the roof exit.

You are such a good person. A little bit chaotic, but perfect in your way.

Doppo smile, remembering one of many moments you shared together.

______

You and Doppo were putting books in the library on their respectful places.

"Pay attention, we need to pay attention to full book titles. Alphabetical order may be the most common one, but, nevertheless, it is the easiest to use in the libraries." explain Doppo, checking the order of the books he put in.

You chuckled and re-check the books you were organizing.

"Okay, if you say so..."

Doppo looked satisfied with your answer. Everything was nice.

Until Kunikida saw the section with Dazai Osamu's works.

Books were not only standing in non-alphabetic order, but some of them were upside down, or laying on the side. You even made a little house with five books.

"[Y/N]! What happened with these books?"

You laugh.

"Well... I thought it would be nice, to arrange at least one section in a way it mirrors someone of you. So, Chaotic Dazai get... Chaotic section."

Kunikida huffs and start reorganizing Dazai's section.

"It's not something you or him should be proud of. This waste of a good bandages are like a rock that was thrown in the bag of flour."

You chuckled quietly and continue help Doppo, this time, for real.

_________

Atsushi and Kyouka were keeping an eye on Stalker. They were still laying on the roof, after beating and zapping from Kunikida.

They twitch and slowly get up.

On weak legs, they walked towards the roof exit.

When they finally left the roof, Atsushi and Kyouka slowly followed them.

___________

I... I... Won't... Give up...

They... Were the one... Who decide to attack me...

[Y/N] didn't ask them to do it...

They... Love me... Will love me...

WH-WHAT IS THIS THING?!

_______

Stalker hopped, that girl with the knife, that creepy thing with katana and half-tiger, half-human were their hallucination.

Pain was real.

_______

"They are unconscious" Kyouka stated, slightly kicking Stalker. They were alive. But even more damaged.

Snow demon was holding Stalker's small bag that they were hiding in their inner pocket.

Bag, full of pictures of you, that were taken secretly from the distance.

Atsushi, who transformed back into human, grabbed the bag.

"While I want to destroy them, I think we should save them as an evidence. Just in case."

Kyouka nodded. Atsushi cast a last glance at Stalker, after disappearing in the dark alley. Kyouka kicked Stalker one more time and follow Atsushi.

You became an important part of their lives.

There is no way they will let anyone hurt you. Or let someone, who made you cry, pay.

________

You three finished swimming in the pool and now were relaxing in the picnic area.

The ice cream was perfect for that hot summer day. You, Atsushi and Kyouka enjoy cold treat, while sitting under the tree on your backyard.

Demon Show was sitting not far from you. It finished brushing Kyouka's hair and now was brushing yours.

The day was perfect.

________

Stalker heard a metallic noise. They opened their eyes.

Yosano, who was holding her cleaver, smiled. Her smile was crazy.

"Poor thing, you need a doctor, right? Don't worry, I will help you. After my treatment, you will never ever mess with [Y/N].

________

Exhausted, Stalker was laying on the ground.

All their wounds were gone, but, they would prefer to have their wounds back instead of receiving the treatment from Yosano.

Doctor huffs and, after stepping on Stalker, left the alley.

She smiled again. This time, the smile was real.

_______

You two were visiting a botanical garden. They have an area with real butterflies.

Butterflies were beautiful and colorful.

Yosano manage to take many photos that day. On one of them, you were staring at the butterfly, that decide to land on your nose.

You looked so adorable, trying not to sneeze and scare the butterfly.

______

Stalker managed to stand up only half and hour later. They were disoriented, terrified and dizzy.

And they were stubborn as hell.

Even after everything they went through, they were adamant on making you theirs.

And tried to make one last attempt to get to the café to observe you.

But they couldn't make it past the alley.

Because they crashed into someone's chest.

Stalker looked up and looked right into Dazai's brown eyes.

For one moment, Stalker thought, that he was looking death in the eyes.

Dazai Osamu whispered.

"So... You were the one, who made My Dear Guiding Light cry..."

_______

It's been few hours, since they appeared in your world. All of them want to talk to you. To make sure, that you are real.

To make things easier, they decide to approach you one by one.

It was Dazai's turn.

Dazai was sitting before you. You were holding his hands.

"Dazai... I am sorry. I am sorry for unknowingly pocking my nose into your past. And into your thoughts. I will accept your disgust and hate, but, I assure you, if I knew, that you were self-aware, I would stop reading and watching."

Dazai felt tears in his eyes. He embraced you. For the first time in his life he hugged someone.

"I could never hate you... Someone so human and kind... Thank you, [Y/N]... For being near me during all this time."

You hugged him in return.

"You are welcome, Dazai."

Dazai whispered.

"Please... You can call me Osamu."

________

Dazai left the beaten up Stalker in the alley.

He started walking at the café.

Your shift will end soon.

___________

Your shift was almost over. And almost whole ADA gathered in a café.

Junchirou and Atsushi were helping you by the counter, Mii-chan entertained clients by simply being there and letting pet himself, Doppo, Kenji, Osamu and Yukichi were making sure, that customers wasn't trying to cause trouble, Akiko, Naomi, Kirako and Kyouka were helping you with carrying trays. Katai was helping Ranpo with uncovering last bits of information, so Ranpo could investigate.

_______

Ranpo was slightly worried.

He knew, that he will uncover everything, he is The Greatest Detective in the World.

But he was worried, if he uncovers something, that will make you upset.

He didn't want to make you upset.

He prefers, when you were happy.

_________

You and Ranpo were visiting a small candy shop.

Both of you were happy, like two kids at a birthday party.

With hands full of snacks, you returned home and had a True-Crime podcast marathon.

With Ranpo commenting every single actions detectives and police do.

_________

The moment your shift finished, Katai obtained the last file from Stalker's phone.

ADA and you gather around Ranpo.

Ranpo drank the rest of his soda (fifth one).

"Well, time for me to uncover, who is our Stalker's accomplice. Super Deduction"

It took Ranpo one minute to form a list of accomplices.

You looked at the list, slightly worried.

"It's... A lot of people..."

Ranpo nodded solemnly.

"Yes. But, I am sure, that they won't like what will happen tomorrow. We will patrol the rest of the Fair. And here... Well, They will see, how protective Port Mafia can be."

All of you nodded.

ADA help you with cleaning up. You left café with all of them. Together.

The day ended.

First day of the Charity Fair was a success.

You wonder what would happen tomorrow.

[danibee33]

Part III of undercover!Ghost 🩶

ghost x reader (callsign: Hela)

word count : 4.7k

>>> [PT 1] [PT2]

You aren’t avoiding Ghost. Not really..

Ok, maybe you are.

The week since the undercover mission had been busier than usual, so it’s not like you don’t have an excuse for your absence- you did have other duties and responsibilities to attend to collaterally to the one-four-one. But were you using said collaterals to possibly steer clear of a certain person..? Well, that’s not important.

“Been awhile, lil’ LT..”

You return Soap’s grin, looking up at him as you both take tentative steps- him reaching out first, and you deflecting,

“D’ya miss me that much, sergeant?” You say, eyes skimming his form, looking for any weakness in it, waiting for the right opening.

It wasn’t a planned meet up, you just needed something to do- you’ve been so restless lately, like no matter what you do, it’s never quite enough to stem the relentless flow of thoughts. Which is how you found yourself on the sparring mats opposite the equally restless man at such an ungodly hour.

“Always miss ye, hen..” Soap grunts just before lunging for you, attempting to swipe your leg but inadvertently opening himself up for you to get your arms and legs wrapped around torso- using your body weight to bring him to his knees,

“Steamin’ Jesus, lil LT- worse than a fuckin’-”

Whatever insults he might’ve tried to spew are cut off when you suddenly readjust, but he recovers quicker than you expect- lifting up and bringing you along with him,

“If ye wanted to cuddle, ye could’a just said so..” Soap says, that flirty little lilt at the edge of his words, the same one you’ve heard him use at the bar a hundred times now. And the lopsided smirk on his lips is all too familiar as he tightens his grip around your waist–

God, he’s such a fuckboy…

With a breathless groan, you switch your hold again, crossing your arm over his face in order to put distance between you while still keeping him mostly trapped,

“Shut it, MacTavish. I’m still winning, aren’t I?”

You go back and forth like this until you’re both struggling to breathe and your muscles begin to quiver with fatigue- throwing jokes and jabs easily. It had always been effortless to talk with Soap, banter with him came naturally, but you think it’s only because you two are alike in that way. Never at a loss for words to fill a silence.

And by the time you’re both thoroughly exhausted, all sweat and panting breaths as you stick uncomfortably to the mat, does he roll to his feet, brushing his hair back in the same motion,

“Always a pleasure, ma’am.” He grins, dwarfing your hand in his own as he tugs you up, “And we’re, uh, we’re goin’ out tomorrow night- or well, tonight, I s’pose.” he fumbles over his words in that adorable way he does sometimes, like a schoolboy with a crush on his teacher, “If ye’d like to come.. I can have LT text ye the details.”

At the mention of Simon, you feel the very tips of your ears begin to burn. The sergeant’s prompt too quickly bringing back all the thoughts and memories you had been trying to purge yourself of by coming here,

“Um.. Sure. No promises, though. It’s been busy, ya know..” You say, fighting to keep your tone flippant and casual- but John MacTavish is more keen than you might have given him credit for.

He walks by your side out of the gym, obviously searching for the right way to bring it up, until finally it’s almost like you can feel his own curiosity win over his better judgment,

“Ma’am.. Did somethin’ happen? On the last mission?” The next few seconds are filled with him trying, and somewhat failing but it’s amusing nonetheless, to explain why he’s asking- mostly due to your unusual absences since returning that night. The way you’ve been avoiding the entire team in favor of doing paperwork in your office-

Which you never did because you said you hated being back there on your own.

No, you always preferred to take care of those things in the common spaces, where the chances of having company were always high.

“Was it seein’ LT’s mug? I ken that’s always a bit of a shock for first timers, but-”

“What?” You interject, eyebrows raised in surprise, “No.. no, it has nothing to do with that..”

Well, that’s also not entirely true, is it? But you don’t think it’s for the reasons Soap’s imagining.. It’s more about the fact that everytime you even catch a glimpse of the giant man, you’re reminded of how handsome he was on his knees in front of you, how big his hands felt over your thighs, how his tongue-

“Well, just think ‘bout joinin’ us, won’t ye?”

The sheer amount of hope in Johnny’s voice pulls you out of your reverie, replacing the memory of amber eyes with bright cerulean ones, and that signature fucking smirk,

“Fine! Just chill out with the puppy dog eyes, MacTavish.. Begging like a damn dog.” You concede, waving him away and turning toward your hall without waiting for his reaction. But he doesn’t let you get far before you hear his chuckle, husky and chocked full of guile, bounce off the concrete walls,

“Woof, woof, lil LT..”

Ghost doesn’t like new places.

He doesn’t like being unfamiliar with his surroundings, because he spends too much fucking time being unfamiliar in nearly every surrounding he’s sent to. He doesn’t like leaving things up to chance, doesn’t like how much more stress accumulates around his shoulders and neck- it annoys him, the ache.

But Johnny and Gaz had just been so damn adamant about trying out a new pub. One on the opposite end of town, and he can admit it’s nicer than their usual hole in the wall, but still.

Ghost doesn’t like new places.

Well, that was until he caught sight of you. And then he found himself slightly more drawn to the low lighting that danced over your skin, the way it glowed in your eyes as your survey the bar-

“Hel’s ‘ere?” He asks, downing the last nip of bourbon in his cup.

Johnny’s head whips up then, spotting you in an instant- and there’s something about his response that causes Simon’s gaze to narrow at the shorter man. It’s too… giddy, too reverent for his liking.

“Aye! Invited her the other night.”

That ache in his neck returns but somehow significantly worse.

The other night? You had been with Johnny the other night? When this entire fucking week he hadn’t been able to get three fucking seconds alone with you-

Ok, no, he hadn’t worked up to trying to just call or text, that felt too impersonal. He was shit at all that anyway, he needs to see your body language, needs to analyze all the little expressions that give away so much more than words do. But you had somehow found a way to beat him at his own game. You turned into a ghost, only ever catching your silhouette from the corner of his eye, hearing your voice but never being quick enough to be within a few meters of you.

And possibly the worst was when he would enter a room you had been recently in, the smell of you permeating the air, causing his heart to stutter just so with every deep breath.

Fucking hell..

But here you are. And at Johnny’s request, no less.

Ghost despises new places.

Yet, he does think he could learn to like the overly enthusiastic beat of the music when he sees your hips sway to the rhythm as you wait for your drink. You’re in tight jeans and a black leather jacket that fits your figure like a goddamn glove- and he swears he can feel the silk of your skin by just memory alone, the curves of your body already etched into his mind.

“Gonna get a refill.” He grunts, already walking away from the table with the empty glass in hand.

The sound of a cup being sat on the bartop snaps you back to the present, followed by a heady rush of chills when you hear the baritone of Simon’s voice far closer to your ear than you expect,

“So, she lives.”

You let out a small breath, turning to find the burly breadth of his chest taking up nearly your entire field of view- clad in black from head to toe, which doesn’t surprise you one bit, but it’s not his usual hoodie and jacket. No, this time he’s in a black henley that fits more like a second skin, the fabric deliciously stretched over his pecs and shoulders, the top button left open to give you just a peek at the silver chain glinting underneath and… is that a tattoo?

“She does..” You say, meeting his eyes.

And you really should know better, with too many of your nights haunted by the deep amber of his irises- but the instant it happens, it’s like you’re back in that damned office all over again. The music grows faint, and the people around you turn into little more than blurs at the edge of your vision. He’s all you can feel, the heat of him, the intensity behind his gaze, the way his head tilts softly to the side, studying you as if he might be recommitting your features to memory- not that he needs to.

Because you’ve haunted him just as much. You’ve been the bane of his existence this last week, and somehow the only thing he can see when he shuts his eyes. The sole focus of his loathing and his desire-

“Ma’am, your whiskey sour-” The bartender announces from behind you, effectively breaking the spell you’ve been so wrapped up in right before you hear another small clink, “and a bourbon, neat.”

Without hesitation, Simon leans closer, big arm reaching around you to pull his glass from the bartop and the black surgical mask covering his mouth and nose down in the same motion. He keeps that same heavy gaze on you, your own eyes growing wider at the sight of his face, his crooked nose and scarred lip. You watch him take a short sip, but just as quick as it happened, his mask is back in place, and he’s stepping back,

“C’mon. Table’s over ‘ere.”

You’re not sure you’ve ever felt whiplash quite like seeing Ghost turn his back on you, easily carving a path through the patrons that fill the space-

But you are damn sure the infuriating Brit isn’t going to get the last word in this.

Ghost can feel your stare, feel how it’s directed right at the back of his skull. A perfect kill shot if he were a betting man. But he can also hear the quiet click of your boots following after him, the tightness in his jeans growing more noticeable with every step-

Fuck.

“Lil’ LT! Glad ye’ could make it out!” Johnny shouts over the crowd, blue eyes cast in mischief and that open sort of admiration that Ghost is sure the man couldn’t hide even if he tried.

You round the table, looking up at the Scot with a devastating smile on your lips before nudging his shoulder with your own,

“Yeah, I just wanted to make sure your ego wasn’t too damaged after kicking your ass this morning, sergeant.”

“Ach! -”

Ghost can hear Johnny sputtering on and on in that terrible mashup of English and Scottish slang that’s always grated on the lieutenant’s ears- but whatever he’s saying doesn’t quite register. Instead, he can only really hear the way your laugh brightens the dim room, see the way your head tips back as you take another sip of your drink.

And it’s only then he realizes that he just wishes you would look at him like that. Wishes that he could draw the melodious sound from you, that he could be the reason you smile so brightly-

“Well, well, well-” the group looks over to see Gaz and Price meandering through the throng of bodies, the younger man with outstretched arms, “Hela! Thought you’d up and left our sorry arses!”

All Simon can do is grit his teeth as Gaz embraces you in a quick side hug, Price close behind with a warm grin even on his bearded face,

“And miss out on all the fun? You know me better than that, Garrick.” You say, raising your glass to the Captain in greeting.

So, no, Ghost doesn’t like new places.

But he can’t deny that as the next hour passes he’s smiled more than a few times at his team’s antics. And he certainly can’t say that he hasn’t missed the way you bring them all a little closer, your bubbly brand of forwardness allowing them to each get out of their heads, even if just for a little while.

“What’s this about you handin’ MacTavish's arse to him?” Price’s voice booms over the music, which has only seemed to get louder the later it gets-

Ghost watches you down the rest of your whiskey sour without so much as a flinch, your cheeks flushed such a pretty pink from the alcohol,

“I mean, is that really a surprise?” You shoot back, the man in question all but slamming his glass down on the table in rebuttal-

“Ooh- yer arse is oot the windae! I want a rematch!” Johnny’s words slur together just enough to give away how good he’s really feeling, throwing an arm over your shoulder, “Watcha say, lil LT? And this time we’ll have a proper judge, right Cap? No cheatin’-”

It really isn’t fair how you lean into him as you chuckle, that ache in Simon’s neck creeping up again at the sight.

Christ alive, why can’t he just get it together? Why does he care? You’ve never been one to shy away from physical touch… but fuck all if it doesn’t eat at him.

“Oi, who wants another round?” Gaz, thankfully interjects, drawing everyone’s attention with a collective and resounding sound off.

The others waltz away through the crowd in the direction of the bar, everyone but you- standing across from Ghost at the table, toying with the toothpick in your glass,

"Late night spar, huh?" You don't miss the added gruffness in his tone, or the fact that he refuses to look at you now, staring somewhere over your head.

And if you were a better woman, you wouldn't feel the need to play into his offputting display of jealousy- but you're you after all.. and he's Ghost. So, you give a little hum before plucking the tiny skewer from your cup,

"Couldn't sleep.." You shrug, looking up at him under you lashes, his eyes already on the maraschino cherry that drips down your fingers, "Figured I'd do something a little more productive since I was up anyway-"

Simon tracks your hand, falling right into your terrible little game as you bring the fruit to your lips- it's tooth achingly sweet when you finally bite into it, mixed with the burn of whiskey. And it's when the juice runs down your chin that you meet his gaze, swiping up the liquid on your thumb, he watches with a severity that sends a dangerous chill up your spine- not even daring to blink as you suck the digit clean.

You know he's keenly aware of exactly what you're doing, but that doesn't stop the lust and satisfaction from rushing through you at his deep growl- those coppery eyes darker than you've ever seen.

All too innocently, you flash him a smile, "I think I'll have one more.. you want anything, sir?"

Ghost thinks he can feel the crystal glass in his hand begin to splinter under his grip, unable to tear his eyes away from the red stain on your lips- it's enough to drive him mad.

He gives you a curt shake of his head, knowing that if he had another drink, he might lose whatever vague sense of self-control he's clinging onto so precariously.

And instead of watching you walk away, he turns toward the pool tables, needing something to do with his hands- because if he clenched them any fucking tighter he think he might draw blood with the way his blunt nails dig into his calloused palm.

Without waiting for the others, he racks the balls before picking up a cue stick and breaking the formation- moving around the table just as Johnny sidles up to him,

"Did’nae take ye for a billiards guy, LT.." He says, quickly working to chalk up his own cue.

Gaz and Price follow soon after, eager to join in on teams- and it works, for a short time anyway to distract him. If he can just stay focused on making each shot, then he won't have time to think about you. But, that's a rather silly notion, isn't it? Because sure enough, just as he leans in to take a shot, he spots you bump elbows with his Scottish counterpart.

"Here to give me some good luck, lil LT?" Johnny looks down at you with a lopsided grin, both hands wrapped around the cue stick as he leans on it.

You take a slow sip of your drink, just enough time to glance at Simon- sleeves now pulled up to expose the thickly corded muscles of his forearms and the faded black ball cap on his head turned backwards. He's calculated in his shot, efficiently knocking a striped ball into the nearest pocket-

"I don't think you want any of my luck, sergeant.." You drawl, eyes flitting up to see his deep blue ones already on you, "Can't say I have the best track record when it comes to that."

Soap's chuckle is warm and laced with silk in your ears, watching him copy his superior's movements, finessing his own cue to score a bankshot. Gaz is next, followed by Price, and you follow them ardently, moving around the table as they go until it's back to Ghost-

"Aye, LT-" Johnny calls, "Why don't you show Hela how to do a jump.."

You've managed to get close enough to the towering man now that he has to look down at you before glaring back at his sergeant,

"'m sure she can figure it out on 'er own, Johnny."

"I've actually never really played." You say before your better judgment can stop your mouth from moving- maybe you have had a little much to drink.

And the way Simon's jaw clenches, having taken off his mask as the other patrons slowly dispersed, makes your core tighten- biting the fleshy inside of your cheek between your teeth. You shouldn't push it. You’ve done enough of that already, haven’t you?

Yet, in one swift motion, Simon's hand is on your hip, the other taking the half-empty cup from your grasp before positioning your body in front of his. It isn't exactly gentle, there's a roughness to his movements that put you on edge, a stiffness in his voice that only stokes the the fire in your belly,

"Hold it 'ere.." You take the stick in your hand, the wood still hot from his touch, "and 'ere."

When you grab it this time, he covers your hand, easily repositioning it further down- "Like that."

Very suddenly, you're regretting putting yourself in this situation, so swept up in the feeling of Simon all but dwarfing you, his proximity far more intoxicating than any of the alcohol you've consumed tonight, that you don't notice the sly smirk on Gaz's face- nor the knowing looks shared between your teammates.

In your defense, Simon makes it hard to concentrate on much of anything with the way he slowly leans into you, urging you to bend forward- his hold light but still strong enough to make the slightest adjustments to your stance,

"Lift your elbow now." He mutters, his breath tickling over your exposed shoulder, your jacket left slung over the nearest chair. But it's his hand that catches you off guard, because unlike every other movement he's made with purpose and intention, a man simply doing a job; when he moves now, it's slow, his fingers grazing up your side before softly caressing the skin of your arm,

"Good."

You shift on your feet, your body feeling like it might combust at any moment, the one word spoken in his brassy accent threatening to unravel you on the spot.

The next few moments seem to pass in a blur, you feel him lean in just a bit closer, his left arm bracing over you on the edge of the table as his right hand lands right behind yours on the stick. Whatever he does after is more like a magic trick than logic, rushing the tip downward on the ball with enough force to nearly jerk you forward, but with enough finesse that the little sphere hops off the table- knocking what you assume was the intended target into its pocket.

It takes longer than you're proud of to recover, scrambling to put a bright smile on your face, moving when he does and hoping to whatever deities might exist that it's dark enough to hide the red hue of your cheeks,

"Look at that, a natural, ma'am!" Gaz shouts, clapping a wide palm over your back- and you try to force out a laugh, try to keep your eyes away from the dark form that's moved back towards the table now.

Away from you.

And you wish it didn't make your stomach twist, seeing him pull his mask back on and fixing his ballcap again so that the bill sits low over his eyes-

"Headin' out, Simon?" Price speaks up, an unlit cigar propped lazily between his lips now.

Simon gives his signature nod, which barely a perceptible gesture, but you're all used to it enough by now. The captain, already out past his bedtime, is happy to begin rounding up his own belongings as well, urging the sergeants to get it together and get to the truck,

"I call shotgun!" Soap calls over his shoulder, already barreling towards the exit, Garrick hot on his heels,

"Fuckin' hell.." Price grumbles, looking back at you, "Need a lift, love?"

"No, I'm good. See you tomorrow, Cap." You say, a tired smile reassuring him enough that you would get home-

And just like that, the once bustling pub is more like a ghost town when you step out into the crisp night air, watching the tail lights flicker away. You had gotten a taxi here, but you feel too wired to call for one now- your body felt like it was vibrating, still so lost in the fading memory of what happened inside. But maybe you were just imagining it.. maybe you had let those lines between reality and fantasy blur a little too close for comfort.

Simon climbed into the driver's seat, his hands hitting the steering wheel before ripping the hat and mask off and throwing them onto the dash-

"Fuck."

What was he thinking? He should have never given into it, never touched you the way he did, held you, gotten close enough to feel you against him again. Should have never fed the monster.

God-fucking-damn MacTavish and his annoying fucking antics, never knowing when to quit. Ever since the undercover mission, the man had been a hound with a scent. Testing and prodding and sticking his damned nose in places it didn't belong-

Simon loathes new places.

But there you are. Standing under the milky glow of the street lamp, your hands tangled in your hair and your cheeks puffed in frustration. And so fucking beautiful he can't stand it.

He should leave. He needs to go back to base, needs to take a shower so cold it hurts, needs to bury himself in work just like you did. He needs, he needs, he needs.

Yet, he doesn't do any of those things.

No, like the awful, depraved man he is, he steps out of the truck and makes a beeline right for you- which, looking back on it, might not have been the best course of action because the instant you see his hulking frame he watches how you go on the defensive. Your posture stiffening and your hand reaching for one of your many concealed weapons if he knows you like he thinks he does.

That's ok though, he imagines you could stab him right here in the parking lot and he wouldn't mind one bit. Hell, you could slit his throat and he would smile as he bled out at your feet.

Thankfully, you do neither of those things.

And as soon as you're within reach, he's got those big hands framing your face, crushing his lips to yours.

Shock is all you can register at first. Your mind and body flooded by adrenaline, ready for a fight when you initially saw the shadowed figure coming for you. But in those same few seconds, you recognized him, recognized every purpose driven stride, the steady sway of his shoulders-

Though him kissing you hadn't necessarily been on the list of things you had expected.

You're pulled to your tiptoes, and for a moment you think it might be a dream, the way he audibly groans when your lips begin to move against his. But he doesn't relent, and you don't want him to. So you lean up, wrapping your arms around his neck as soon as your muscles can catch up to your thoughts.

You feel his tongue gently glide over your bottom lip, a gentle urging for you to reciprocate- which you're more than happy to oblige. The kiss turning somehow more heated, sloppy even, something you had never experienced yet something that you never want to end.

But all too soon, he does pull away, his fingers threading through your hair, "I'm sorry-"

Again, hearing Simon Riley apologise was just not on the bingo card for tonight.

He presses his forehead to yours, your heavy breaths mingling with his, remnants of whiskey and bourbon filling your nostrils,

"Sorry?" You look up at him, eyebrows tightly knitted, "For what?"

"The mission.. I shouldn't have- I didn't-" --he stumbles over his words, scarred lips finally pulling into a grimace, "Hel, is it true?"

The way his gaze bores into you feels intimate, like he's trying to peel you apart, "Gonna have to be a little less vague there.. I'm smart, but I can't read minds."

Your breathy chuckle helps to ease the tension, if such a thing were possible with how close he still holds you,

"That you've never been with anyone, like that.."

Oh. GOD FUCKING DAMN YOU, MACTAVISH.

When you take a step back, he reluctantly lets you go, his expression faltering for a moment- and you hate it. Hate that you had possibly hurt him- but you just needed space to put it all together, to try to explain.

"Yes.." his face falls even more, and it's like you can feel the shame that radiates from him, your hands reaching for him on their own, fingers tangling into the fabric of his shirt, "But I wanted it.. I wanted.. you. I want you- jesus, fuck- I'm so bad at this."

"You didn't say anythin'.."

You shake your head, a laugh huffing through you as you look to the inky sky above, "Would it have changed anything?"

"I wouldn't have-"

"You wouldn't have done what you did? Why?"

That seems to stump him, his mouth opening and then closing, opening again, "You deserved more."

"Simon, just because I've never had sex doesn't mean I'm completely naive.." You initiate the kiss this time, mimicking the way he had held your face, pulling him closer, "I'm under no illusion that it's suppose to be this magical moment-"

He eagerly returns your kiss, an arm wrapping around your waist as you continue, "And, let's be honest, having 'The Ghost' on his knees was waaayy better than sex."

You feel his smile right before he bends down and hoists over his shoulder,

"Simon!"

But, your shrieks and giggles fall on deaf ears, hands smacking at his back in a lame attempt to wiggle free, "Mm.. no, no, keep screamin' my name, sweet girl. I like the way it sounds."

a/n: this one got away from me… but your honor, they’re down so bad for each other 😭 thank you for reading!!

[PT 4] (coming soon)

[faketrex]

We have reached the end of these cakegate bodyswap shenanigans. I hope you enjoy this final part! The whole thing will be up on my AO3 page... eventually.

Thank you kindly for reading and liking and reblogging and making me smile in the tags!

...

SHARING A SLICE... part 6

RWRB, rated T, 1000 words (this part).

(click here for part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5)

...

After brunch, they visit Tower Bridge.

“Over there is the Tower of London.”

“That’s where they locked women up when they didn't pop out babies fast enough for the king, right?”

“Exactly right. Did you know they kept an elephant there, too?”

“What?”

“They fed it bread and wine. I'm sure you’ll be shocked to learn that it died.”

“Y’know, I almost feel like I should cut you some slack. All that inbreeding obviously messed up your brains.”

Henry smiles. It probably looks great to the paparazzi.

After Tower Bridge, it's the Tate Modern, followed by St Paul's Cathedral, Hyde Park, dinner, and then Kensington Palace again for the night.

Yeah, it's a stunt, and yeah, Alex doesn't really get to look at the art or visit the sites, and yeah, he has zero say about the itinerary, but it's not terrible. Henry's not awful company.

By the end of the day, Alex is exhausted. Henry seems just as tired. On the one hand, they’ve convinced the public they're best friends and maybe reached a personal truce. On the other hand, it's twenty-four hours post-caketastrophe and they're still in the wrong fucking bodies.

“We can't stall any longer.” He's watching Henry pace back and forth in front of the windows with the ugly-ass curtains. “I have to go back tomorrow. Well, I mean, you do. You as me.”

Henry doesn't respond.

“How long do you think it’ll take one of us to get arrested for spying? My money's on less than forty-eight hours.”

“I need ice cream,” Henry announces.

“Music to my ears. Lead the way.”

They settle on opposite sides of the kitchen island and eat their ice cream in a half-peaceful, half-melancholic silence.

“Despite the uncanny aspect of it all, I have to admit this hasn't been horrible,” Henry says eventually. “They don't often let me play tourist... and I never get to fabricate pseudo-historical nonsense for a mouthy American.”

Alex nearly fumbles his cone. “Wait, you made stuff up? When?”

Henry shrugs.

“Come on. It was the elephant, wasn't it? I knew there was no way–”

“I assure you, the elephant was real.” Henry taps on his phone and spins it so Alex can see. “He even has his own Wikipedia entry.”

“Elephant of Henry III,” Alex reads, bending closer. “What the fuck.”

The smug expression on Henry's face – Alex's face – and the way he licks his ice cream makes Alex's stomach flip over strangely. His neck feels hot. There's melted ice cream dripping onto his hand.

Without breaking eye contact, Alex slides his free hand over the countertop and rests it on top of Henry's.

“Hey, don't spook, okay?”

His words have the opposite effect. Henry's eyes widen and his shoulders tense like he's getting ready to bolt, but Alex just tightens his grip.

“Maybe... close your eyes?”

“Alex–”

“Suit yourself,” Alex murmurs. As he leans in, Henry takes a deep breath, then closes his eyes. There's a nervous crease between his brows. "Okay. Here goes nothing.”

He mashes what's left of his ice cream against Henry’s face.

“What the hell, Alex?”

So much for that idea.

“Shit. I was thinking maybe the ice cream... after the cake... and I was touching your skin, so...” It doesn't make as much sense out loud as it did in Alex's head.

“You don't–” Henry sputters.

“Listen, I honestly wasn't trying to get back at you for the tour guide shit, I hoped it would fix–”

“No, no, I was wrong, I thought you–”

“What?”

“Alex, don't...” Henry laughs under his breath and reaches out to flatten a sticky palm against Alex's cheek. “Don't spook, alright?”

Before Alex can complain about the mess, Henry brings their lips together in a soft, vanilla-flavored kiss. Alex's stomach flips over again. He closes his eyes. Like this, it's easy to forget he’s kissing himself – and it’s still Henry, isn’t it? It's Henry, kissing him. Henry, kissing Alex.

The kiss is cautious, like Henry's expecting rejection; Alex leans into it anyway. Henry's hand smears ice cream onto his face and the edge of the counter presses into his ribcage, painful, but he wants it. It's shocking how powerful the want is when he hadn't even noticed it before.

Alex slides one hand up Henry's cheek, into his soft hair, and feels – he opens his eyes.

“Well, fuck.” Have Henry's eyes always been so blue? They hadn't seemed that blue in the mirror. They're kind of beautiful.

“Hello,” Henry says. “I'm back? You're back. Are you?”

“I guess. When did you come up with that plan?”

“I – plan?”

“You figured it out? Curse-breaking kisses or something? Wasn't that–” Alex stops. Henry hasn't pulled back from his awkward lean across the counter. From bizarre-but-true personal experience of less than sixty seconds ago, Alex knows for a fact that it's an uncomfortable position.

“If you'd like, I could pretend that it was part of a plan,” Henry offers quietly. “I've got plenty of experience pretending.”

If it's not the truth, though, Alex doesn’t want it. “Nah, no need. Don't get me wrong, it's weird if you don't want any credit for getting us back to normal again, but whatever.”

Henry's incredulous laugh makes Alex feel like kissing him again. “Covered in ice cream is normal for you?”

“Hey, chill. We're having a fucking moment.”

“A fucking moment, truly,” Henry echoes, mocking, but his smile is wide and happy.

“I'm not used to being covered in cake, trading bodies, being covered in ice cream, or kissing princes.”

“No?”

“But I've been branching out lately. Expanding my horizons, y’know.”

“I see. And now you know what to do if any one of those things happens again, I suppose?” Henry squeezes Alex's hand where they're still twined together.

“Yeah,” Alex agrees, squeezing back and leaning in. They've got more to figure out here, but right now it's his turn. Henry kissed him, so now he needs to try it for himself. Simple. “Let me show you. It's a piece of cake.”

...

[1d1195]

Neighbors III

Sorry for the delay, thank you for waiting. Read Part I and Part II

Harry wondered if he kept the defeat off his face as she brushed him off. “Oh, sure, kitten. Sorry, t’bother you—”

“It’s okay,” she said quickly. “I have to go help Rory with his shoes, see you later, Harry,” she rushed and turned for the kitchen. All Harry wanted was to spend time soaking in everything she was: pure sunlight and kindness.

But when Harry doesn’t watch Rory that following Thursday, he wondered where it all went wrong.

Somehow Rory’s questions set her off. Everything was fine. No not fine, practically perfect—if only they were together. If there had even been an inkling of an idea that they could date. That there could be more than friendship and neighbors. So, she did what she knew best: she protected Rory.

And herself.

There was only a single road between their home and Harry’s house. But it felt like an entire universe stretched from doorstep to doorstep. After being so intertwined since the moment he moved in, to not see Harry nearly killed her. Everything made her want to see him. She wanted to tell him about her day and ask him about his. When she went to the grocery store, she wanted to see if he needed anything, but she couldn’t bring herself to carry on the shreds of hope that they would be something.

Rory was wondering about their relationship which meant she let it get too far.

It took Harry five whole days to realize he was being ignored. He didn’t notice at first because the two neighbors were busy the first few days. Rory still waved from the driveway, and she offered a smile as he did. But Harry was too far away to realize it wasn’t reaching her eyes.

Even that first Thursday he didn’t think much of it. Her text made sense and was inconspicuous. Harry didn’t feel suspicious about anything.

You don’t need to watch Rory today. My mom’s having a sleepover for him. Read his phone. Harry smiled because that sounded like fun for the little one.

That’s nice, beautiful. Sounds good. See you tomorrow xx Have a good shift

When Harry finished working on that Friday evening and saw that her car wasn’t in the driveway he frowned at the prospect of no pizza. But more importantly, no company. Still, he didn’t think of anything about it because it was weird that she didn’t mention not being around for pizza, but she didn’t have to tell Harry about it.

So it wasn’t until Saturday that Harry realized he was being ignored. Saturday when the two of them didn’t leave their house. Everything okay? He sent her a message.

We’re fine. Having a lazy day.

Enjoy :) xx

It made him uneasy before he realized why. The twist in his stomach twinged but he figured it was just because he was hungry or something. It took until he was about to fall asleep for him to notice his anxiety over not being around them for the whole week.

Certainly, he would address it tomorrow.

She wasn’t sure what the full plan was. Surely she couldn’t keep busy for the rest of her life. Barring moving, she needed to figure out a way to ignore Harry without being obvious. For the first five days, it went okay. There was very little time to see Harry and the little traditions they had built up over the last two years were suddenly gone. It broke her heart.

There was a knock on her door. She bit her lip knowing exactly who it was. “Is that Harry?” Rory asked excitedly.

She wasn’t looking at Rory when he asked. She closed her eyes, hand on the doorknob and swallowed all the worry and fear in her body down. “Put your shoes on baby, let’s go to the bookstore,” she said.

Rory liked the bookstore so he didn’t question it. It was random, but he didn’t mind. Hurriedly he ran to his room to get his shoes.

“Hi,” she said gently.

“Hey, beautiful,” he smiled so sweetly it melted her veins. Every organ turned to soup at the two words directed to her. “Brought some pops over,” he said holding a box of popsicles in his hand.

She smiled gratefully, and now Harry was up close. He could see how it didn’t touch the beautiful eyes he adored staring in since he met her. “Thank you,” she said simply. “We’re just about to head out though, can I throw them in the freezer?” She wondered. Harry placed the box in her hands and could feel the frown forming on his lips.

Harry wondered if he kept the defeat off his face as she brushed him off. “Oh, sure, kitten. Sorry, t’bother you—”

“It’s okay,” she said quickly. “I have to go help Rory with his shoes, see you later, Harry,” she rushed and turned for the kitchen. Harry showed himself out and he blinked in surprise at the abruptness of the situation. Surely, he was imagining her off-putting demeanor. She was an angel. All Harry wanted was to spend time soaking in everything she was: pure sunlight and kindness.

But when Harry doesn’t watch Rory that following Thursday, he wondered where it all went wrong.

*

The hardest thing she ever did was tell her baby daddy that she was pregnant. It wasn’t supposed to happen. She hadn’t even graduated from college at the time and was anxiously applying for real jobs and studying for finals when she realized it had been too long since she remembered buying a box of tampons. She thought about how scared she was (and how in hindsight she had every right to be scared).

But she had been with Rory’s dad for two years and while the timing was piss-poor she was certain they would work and figure it out just as they always promised. Again, in hindsight, knowing how cute Rory was, it was a blessing he was around...even if he backed out of his promise.

With her positive test in her coat pocket and a hand on her stomach briefly, she knocked on his apartment door. He answered with a giant smile, a toe-curling kiss, and a hello so sweet the anxiety dissipated almost instantly. They would be fine—they couldn’t be anything but fine.

They had dinner that he cooked, a simple pasta dish and they laughed and smiled. When they moved to his living room and put on a show they had both seen several times she fidgeted with the ends of her shirt sleeves so much he asked her if everything was alright.

In that moment it was now or never.

“Um...” she said. “I...missed my period,” she said and pulled the test from her coat pocket. He blinked before looking at the test and then at her.

“What?” He asked incredulously. “Are you pregnant?”

She nodded and the nerves started to creep up from her stomach and into her fingertips as they numbly held the test in her hand. She could sense something was wrong. It wasn’t the reaction she had hoped for and she didn’t know what to make of it. “Yes,” she whispered.

There was a beat of silence of him staring at the stick with the plus sign on it. He snorted and shook his head. “I don’t want a baby,” he told her and looked at her eyes finally.

She wondered if her face paled in that moment because truly, she never felt so sick in her entire life and Rory gave her a bad case of nausea in her second trimester and this was easily ten times worse. “Well...uh...I don’t really have a choice,” she said. “And... I want this baby.”

He stared at her as if he didn’t recognize her. They sat there in silence again for several moments. “Then you don’t want us,” he said simply and stood from the couch and headed to his bedroom.

Closing her eyes, she swallowed. This was not what she wanted. This would be much worse on her own. Much, much worse. She spiraled into all the what-could-go-wrongs. How badly she could mess up a child that didn’t have a father figure. The cost, the job she would need, the loneliness that crept into her body.

All of it hit her as she sat on that couch. After she realized he wouldn’t be coming back out, she stood up, took the last of her dignity and the positive test, and left the apartment. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of begging. She was determined in that moment to do anything and everything for the little being growing inside of her at that second.

But she cried the entire way to her sister’s house to break all the news she had gotten in such a short span of time.

*

The second hardest thing she ever had to do was ignore Harry for weeks on end.

*

Harry was settling into the fact that he would never see her or Rory in the capacity he was used to ever again. He was saddened by the fact and wished with everything in him it would just go back to normal.

Fortunately, he lucked out on one small minor missed detail on a Monday afternoon where there was no daycare (once a month she took a week day off just to have Rory to herself). As he was about to get in his car as quickly as possible—so he wouldn’t find himself walking across the street to inquire what the problem was—Rory came pedaling over on his bike, furiously. He looked both ways but only barely. “Hey Rory!” Harry smiled brightly. “Don’t forget to look both ways, lad,” he reminded him.

He ignored it already making his way up Harry’s drive. He thrusted an envelope (it was junk mail) into Harry’s hands. “Mumma had me get the mail and I know how to read your name so I brought this to you,” he said quickly. “Can you come to my game? Mumma has to work so she can’t come,” he said. “So, you won’t see her. My friend is going to drive me,” he told Harry.

Harry wasn’t stupid. He knew Rory wasn’t supposed to ask him. This was obviously a secret. Harry shouldn’t have allowed Rory to keep a secret from his mum. But he couldn’t deny this little one what he wanted. Harry also hated the way Rory said Harry wouldn’t see her. He knew something was wrong just like Harry did. It made Harry feel so sad inside. He couldn’t imagine skipping his invite.

Plus, Harry really missed being in Rory’s life. “I’d like that, Rory. When is it? At the park?” He asked. Surely there would be no harm in Harry going to the game if she wasn’t going to be there. She wouldn’t be any the wiser. Maybe Harry was running in the park and Rory just happened to be playing.

Rory nodded. “On Thursday night,” he told Harry. “I...I miss playing with you,” he admitted looking at him briefly before he turned his bike around to head down the driveway.

Harry smiled sadly. “Same here, lad.”

“Bye, Harry,” he said softly and waved at him so softly and fleetingly, it broke Harry’s heart all over again.

“Bye, Rory.”

*

Harry stood in the middle of the field watching Rory run in a jersey that is much too big for him up and down the field. There wasn’t anything Harry could compare to a game of little five-year-old boys playing football. There wasn’t much fancy footwork, not a lot of spreading out and it was overall a big clinic for the kids. But Harry was happy to watch and cheer on Rory each time his foot touched the ball.

The only issue Harry had with coming was the women watching their children spend most of the time watching and fawning over Harry. He ignored the whispers that were clearly focused on Rory, his mother, and the ‘very cute guy that was here for Rory.’

Harry was clapping for Rory when he kicked the ball hard and it accidentally bumped into one of his teammates—making it look like Rory had passed it...even if it was an accident.

“Nice pass!” Harry called. Rory smiled delightedly and one of his friends whispered something to him and Rory shrugged back. Harry wished he could ask Rory about it but he planned on waving from a distance and leaving before making too much of a scene at the end of Rory’s scrimmage.

At the same time, she was rushing out of her car in the parking lot having taken her break early on to catch a glimpse of Rory playing his little heart out. It took a lot to do it all, but she would do anything for that sweet boy.

“Rory said he is his neighbor. I wonder if she’s sleeping with him.”

No.

“I’d sleep with him.”

“You’re terrible.”

She ignored the voices that didn’t realize she was coming onto the field at that moment.

“Harry.”

Harry could have picked her voice out of a crowd of ten thousand voices. The sound of his name on her lips was like a song. He turned to her, an apron still around her waist, her hair pulled back and she still looked stunning as ever.

“Hey beautiful, long time no see. Rory invited me here,” he said quickly. He was caught. No way around it. He had to own it.

She stared at him, and Harry swore he saw a flash of anger. Maybe it was bitterness. Harry had never seen her features sour like that before. Perhaps it was a betrayal knowing Rory was around him without her knowing and that Harry listened to him.

“Mumma!” He cheered at seeing her. Her frustration disappeared instantly.

“Hey cutie pie,” she smiled sweetly and ruffled his hair. “You winning?” She asked.

He nodded. By Harry’s estimates it was tied at least 8 to 8 goals, half of which were scored in the wrong net, but they were having lots of fun. “Mumma, can I have another sweatshirt, it’s cold!” He said.

Without thinking she took the sweatshirt off her body and wrapped it around him, zipping the front and rolling the sleeves so he would be warm. “M’gonna have to go back to work, baby, but I love you and I’m so proud of you,” she said genuinely kissing him on the forehead. “I’ll see you at grandma’s tonight, okay?”

He nodded. “Okay, bye Mumma,” he smiled excitedly. “Bye Harry,” he said quietly glancing at him out of the corner of his eye before heading back to his team.

“Bye, lad.”

They both stood there silently listening to the little ones cheer and kick and yell happily while running back and forth across the little field. Still, their shared silence was louder than all of it. In his peripheral, he saw her shivering, her arms wrapped around her torso tightly squeezing her arms close for warmth.

“Are you cold?” He asked.

“M’only staying another minute or so,” she said staring ahead. “I’m fine.”

Of course, she was. But Harry couldn’t accept it in good conscience. Even if she was only staying another minute. His coat was off in an instant and he wrapped it around her shoulders rubbing one of her arms for some added friction.

“This is unnecessary,” she murmured.

“Kitten,” he said softly. “Is...is something wrong? Are you actually avoiding me?” He asked.

She shook her head. “I have to leave Harry, just let me enjoy my son’s game,” she muttered quietly not wanting to add fuel to the gossip train.

Harry felt an uneasiness in his stomach that hurt so much. He was silent. When she went to leave she started to shrug off Harry’s jacket. “Keep it,” he mumbled. “I’ll grab it another time.”

“Thank you,” she said kindly. “Thank you for coming to see him.”

“Of course, beautiful,” he said quietly. Still avoiding eye contact and focusing on the little ones running their hearts out.

She was gone again.

*

Harry was waiting at the window to see her pull into the drive. She watched her pull the sleeping boy out of the backseat and she carried him into the house. Harry waited ten minutes before he headed across the street and knocked.

After a moment she pulled the door out of the way. Harry gazed at her with his eyebrows raised inquisitively. She had to start. Surely the change in their lives, so abruptly and suddenly, was also at the forefront of her mind. “I was going to bring your jacket back in the morning—”

“You can keep it,” he said shaking his head. It wasn’t the reason he came over. She had to have known that. “Kitten, what’s going on?” He asked. His heart was breaking. “I...I miss you both,” he started. She closed her eyes and shook her head.

She couldn’t look at him. If she looked at him all the resolve would crumble. She couldn’t stay away from him. He was so good. The best thing that has happened to her since Rory. “Harry,” she began.

She had already broken Rory’s heart about not seeing Harry, and her own. All that was left was to tell Harry. “Did I do something?” Harry asked and put his hand on the back of his head, scratching at his hair absentmindedly. “I’ll fix it...I’m...m’really lost without you both, love,” he murmured. “Miss you both a lot,” he said. “You didn’t give any warning and...” he shook his head. “All of a sudden...jus’...nothing.”

She stared at her feet. She had hard conversations before. Harry deserved eye contact and he most certainly didn’t deserve this. But she couldn’t look at him. Harry was too lovely, too beautiful, and she would feel so much anguish if she saw the pain on his face that was evident in his voice. The idea he did anything subpar or less than perfect or anything "wrong" made her heart truly break. Especially knowing she was the cause of it.

“You didn’t do anything,” she shook her head.

“I don’t understand,” Harry frowned. “Kitten—”

“Harry,” she sighed and put her fingers on her temples. She felt a headache forming. This was going to hurt so much. “I can’t...I let Rory get too attached.”

He frowned. “So what? I don’t plan on going anywhere,” he said simply. Surely this could be remedied.

She couldn’t very well say she was getting too attached so she dug a deeper hole. “Harry...Harry it’s too much,” she said quietly. “You with Rory...you’re so good with him and I’m...I’m too much.”

Harry didn’t understand what that meant. “Love you’re not—”

“No,” she shook her head interrupting him. “Harry, I can’t...I can’t be...I can’t have Rory getting attached to someone I’m not...” she trailed off and for a moment she felt so utterly embarrassed it made her want to fall through the threshold of the doorway. It was cold outside and she should have invited Harry in—he didn’t even have a coat after all.

But he was flooded with anger and sadness that it kept him warm enough. “You’re not what?” His voice sounded agitated. She had never heard him agitated before—especially not at her.

Swallowing what appeared to be a rock in her throat, she kept her eyes at her feet. “I don’t regret one second of being Rory’s mom but I didn’t have a choice. You do. It was too much for his dad and I don’t want you to feel obligated to be something you’re not or something you don’t want to be,” she started. “I’m sorry,” she said and before Harry could process anything she said, the door was closing in his face.

Harry was cold.

And alone on her porch.

It was several moments before he walked back across the street and sat in his living room. He gazed out the window looking at the quiet little house with the people he adored so much with no way of seeing in or worming his way back in.

Harry doesn’t remember falling asleep on the couch hoping that he imagined their conversation. But when he woke up with a kink in his neck, he knew it wasn’t a nightmare.

Well, it was. But it was also reality.

*

Over the coming weeks of separation, Rory periodically waved from the driveway when he spotted Harry leaving his home.

When on his run, Harry tossed a ball from the middle of the street back into the yard. She mumbled a quiet thank you in response and Harry went to his house without engaging any further.

Rory delivered incorrectly sorted mail back to his porch saying hi and bye as quickly as possible.

Harry mowed her lawn while they weren’t home.

He didn’t babysit anymore.

Rory didn’t have pizza and s’mores with Harry.

When Rory went to bed, the dreaded loneliness that she only felt the one time she sat on a couch in apartment of a man who didn’t want her crept through her body and made its way to her bones and through her soul.

Harry was there to make her feel anything but alone...but she couldn’t bring herself to let him in completely.

She wondered if Harry looked at her house ever wondering what was happening inside the way she did with him. She wondered if Harry would ever forgive her if she could ever figure out what to do.

Harry stared across the street at the same time and wondered if he could ever get over her even if he wasn't with her from the start.

--

@reveriehs