#Hot Tree Publishing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

norrisjpg · 1 month ago

Text

── ☆ tea talks & torn paper

════════════════════════

series: my kind of woman, LN⁴

content: swearing, max & pietra being adorable, soft lando, relationship advice, torn pages, unspoken feelings and a little bit of tension

pairing: lando norris x fem!oc

rora's thoughts: hi everyone, ever so sorry i went quiet on you all! i was having a bit of an unmotivated era and literally gave up on life itself! but, i've had a mental reset and i'm ready to get back at writing again. so, i really hope you enjoy this one, and welcome to the world of my kind of woman!

════════════════════════

LILY’S FRIDAY AFTERNOON wasn’t supposed to look like this.

her small suitcase had been packed, outfits meticulously chosen, and nervous system prepared for a full-on media blitz at the book launch she’d been anticipating for weeks. but, when the publishing company had abruptly postponed the event due to some sort of logistical complication, lily had found herself with an unclaimed weekend and a non-refundable train ticket to oxford.

“so, you’re sure you don’t want to reschedule this book launch thing?” the brit piped up from the couch.

“it’s not reschedulable, you knob.” lily rolled her eyes as she placed her once-packed shoes back on the rack. “the whole thing was canned.”

“what a shame,” pietra teased, walking over to the couch and flopping down next to her boyfriend. “i was really looking forward to my saturday night voice notes about how some sweaty guy grabbed your ass.”

“thankyou p.” the younger fewtrell gave her a deadpan look.

“so welcome.” the girl grinned.

“the offer to come with me and p is still there,” max said breezily. “if you want it, of course. it’ll be fun, he has like ten spare rooms, and you haven’t seen him in ages.”

“you’re not giving me much time to think about this.” she frowned, zipping the suitcase back up.

“because i know you, el.” her brother replied. “you’ll just be in your flat all weekend, reading something sappy and avoiding socialisation – or god forbid, you spend it with harry.”

“hey, leave harry out of this – and maybe i like being a recluse.”

“oh, we’re going golfing too, so pack some golf-friendly clothes.” he pointed out, trying to think of any other things she should know. “and lando has a hot-tub, and a sauna, and a gym… actually just pack for everything.”

“does he even know i’m coming?” she asked, still contemplating whether she should just bale on her not-certain plans already.

“he’s lando, he’d probably forget even if i did tell him.” max shrugged casually, earning a hand to the shoulder from pietra.

“lily, it’ll be fine. lando likes you, you like lando. it’s not like he’s going to make you sleep on the driveway – so you’re not uninvited, just a… nice surprise.”

“okay, i’ll come, when are we leaving?” lily sighed, wheeling her case toward her bedroom.

max checked his watch, “in thirty.”

• • • •

THE BACKSEATS of max’s audi were surprisingly spacious, allowing lily to stretch her legs out across the seats, and lean on the pillow she’d brought with her. the spine of her latest read was pressed against her knee, a good girl’s guide to murder printed neatly in black and red on a white background. she’d been meaning to read it for years now, but she’d never quite gotten around to opening the front page – so this was a good excuse, an hours drive to get stuck in.

invested in the teenager’s journey, she had neglected to notice that max had indicated down a tree-lined driveway, and that lando’s surrey pad had come into view – sleek, modern lines softened by ivy-covered walls and warm yellow lights pouring from the interior.

lando and lily had known each other since they were fifteen, meeting at one of max’s karting races. he’d been awkward and geeky, gushing over engine types and tyre wear, but always sweet and polite with her, if a little nervous sometimes. but the last time she’d seen him was almost a year ago. he’d filled out (obviously, formula 1 drivers aren’t exactly stick-like), and he was charming, making her laugh with well-polished wit and the same immature humour she’d grown to love in their childhood. he’d been effortlessly kind, gentle, sweet in an undemanding way that didn’t make her feel like she had to perform.

“i still feel weird showing up unannounced.” lily mumbled as she closed her book and carefully placed it into her bag.

“as my wonderful girlfriend said, just a delightful surprise.” max quoted pietra, shutting the driver’s side door.

she grumbled something in response, walking around toward the boot of the audi, intending on hauling her suitcase out of the vehicle – but it was short-lived, because the subject of her worries stepped out of the front door with a wide grin on his face.

“hey lovebirds.” lando chimed, skipping down the front steps like the child he was – and not quite noticing the other girl stood behind the car.

the driver gave the pair a quick hug, “how was your drive?”

“lily wouldn’t stop stressing out about the fact that you didn’t know she was coming.” max blurted, making his sister poke her head out from the rear of the audi.

“hi lando.” she waved with a small, sheepish smile.

if he wasn’t already smiling, he was practically beaming now. lando’s features softened and lit up at the same time, and he laughed softly, quickly heading toward her.

“hi lala.” the mclaren driver said quietly, casually embracing the girl as if he’d been waiting for this day – his hoodie smelled like cedarwood and lemon, and it assaulted her senses like a homely candle. “how’ve you been?”

“i’ve been good, thankyou.” she smiled. “you?”

“never better,” lando nodded, gaze flitting over her features as he spoke. “let me get your stuff.”

“it’s okay–” she was cut off by lando easily picking her bag up. “thankyou. you’re sure you don’t mind me crashing here for the weekend?”

“are you kidding?” the brit laughed, “you’ve just improved the guestlist.”

pietra looked at max, raising her eyebrows in that same way she always did, earning an eye roll from her boyfriend. the couple (code for max) grabbed their bags, and then the two of them headed into the house.

“come on, you can pick your room.” lando nodded, reaching up and closing the boot, before gesturing for her to follow him into the large building.

inside, the house was as chaotic as she’d remembered, but in a more, subtle, i’m an adult now, way. the shoe-shelf by the door was dishevelled to say the least – all of his most-used shoes were on there, just randomised and not in pairs at all. her shoes actually looked out of place, paired neatly and placed next to the strangely organised rack. there were a few pillows on the bottom of the staircase, with an untouched basket of clean washing next to the bannister.

pietra was flopped on the couch like it was her own, with max complaining about having no space and trying to find something to watch on the ridiculously large tv.

“so why’d you end up coming?” lando asked as he carried lily’s suitcase up the stairs. “not that i’m unhappy you’re here.”

“the book launch i was going to got cancelled.” she explained with a shrug of her shoulders. “i wasn’t really looking forward to it anyway. they sent me an early release, didn’t bother to read it.”

“brutal.” the driver laughed, glancing back at her briefly.

“honestly?” lily continued. “i wasn’t in the mood to be charming to strangers.”

“and you are now?” lando queried as they entered the spare room next to his.

“you’re not a stranger, and define charming.” she laughed.

“exactly what you’re doing now.” he replied coolly, his gaze trained on her for a little too long.

“lando, why do you have four tubs of peanut butter and no bread?” max yelled up the stairs.

“they substituted my nutella and i forgot about bread.” lando groaned, turning to shout.

“still the same.” she chuckled.

“i’m evolving, slowly.”

“i noticed,” she teased. “you used to live on toast and protein bars.”

“bagels and protein shakes now, i’ve upgraded. very adult.”

“impressive.”

their eyes locked again, and for a second, the faint noise of max and pietra chatting downstairs faded to silence. it was the kind of moment lily had always brushed past before – innocent enough to ignore, but heavy enough to remember. she looked away first, thanking him for carrying her bags and letting her stay.

“you’re always welcome here, lala.”

• • • •

BY TEN O’CLOCK, max was flat out on the sofa after a debate about which premier league team had the best looking players, and pietra had rolled her eyes at her boyfriend so many times she was sure they were going to get stuck there. pietra retired to the other guest bedroom, and lando bidded the younger fewtrell goodnight, before she herself slipped away to her room, the soft click of the door punctuating the quietness of the house.

she wasn’t tired.

restless was a better way to describe her demeanour, the kind of restlessness that came from a long day of travel, too many not quite finished thoughts, and the underlying buzz of something unspoken. maybe it was lando’s nostalgic warmth, maybe it was the glance she caught between max and pietra when lando greeted her, as if they knew something lily didn’t.

she wouldn’t call what happened sleep, moreso closing her eyes for a couple hours and pretending too. so, at five o’clock in the morning, the pull of alertness won, dragging her out of bed and quietly downstairs to the kitchen.

she padded down the stairs in her hoodie and shorts, expecting silence – but the kitchen light was on, but dimmed.

pietra sat at the counter, sipping from a ceramic mug, her body angled toward the sliding glass doors. outside, the early morning sky stretched wide and pale, clouds tinged with gold and papaya.

“oh, morning.” lily grumbled, not sure if she was pleasantly surprised by the lack of solitude or not. “how come you’re up?”

“not really that tired.” pietra shrugged, sighing softly as she sipped more of her coffee. “how are you and harry doing?”

“yeah, we’re okay, i guess.” lily said, sounding slightly unamused. “we’re just casual, you know?”

“you deserve something that isn’t casual.” she responded. “and look i know it might be a bit random to you, but have you considered lando?”

she laughed, quiet and a little shook. “lando? no way, he’s max’s best mate.”

“but he’s so sweet to you, not like he is with anyone else.”

“he’s nice to everyone.” she brushed it off, like she always did.

“you’re allowed to like someone who’s good for you, you know? no matter who they are.”

she was about to reply, consider pietra’s suggestion, when the pad of heavier footsteps interrupted her train of thought. “oh, good morning.” lando yawned.

“morning lan.” lily smiled, the nickname slipping off of her tongue.

“morning lando.” pietra replied, glancing at the man.

he was in the navy quadrant hoodie, looking too soft to be real, hood pulled up and curls sticking out everywhere. on his legs were a light grey pair of shorts, with some matching navy socks on his feet. he looked pliant, adorable even.

the three of them sat in comfortable silence, lando knowingly sliding a hot cup of tea, with two sugars and a splash of milk, over to lily wordlessly, earning an appreciative smile from her. he hopped up onto the counter next to her, watching the sunrise with the two girls. lily watched a bird land on the balcony fence, wings sharp against the morning blush – admiring the way it could freely come and go whenever it wanted.

“you remembered,” lily smiled after swallowing a mouthful of the warm beverage. “my tea, that is.”

“i have a good memory.” the driver smiled, gently nudging her shoulder with his own. “two sugars with an obscenely small amount of milk.”

she laughed, quiet and real, glancing at him and noticing the faint traces of sleep on his face, in the forms of shallow lines and dishevelled eyelashes. his curls looked ridiculously soft, and when he ruffled them after taking his hood down, she briefly appreciated the beauty of his new hair.

the way he leaned a little closer to her when she smiled didn’t go unnoticed, instead reluctantly swept away from her mind like the rest of the thoughts he brought with him.

• • • •

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, lily was sat on a deck chair on the patio, nearing the end of the first book in the trilogy. she was so deep into the plotline that she didn’t notice lando creeping up behind her until it was too late.

when his hands squeezed her shoulders abruptly, she slammed the book shut and pulled on one of the pages near the end – tearing the paper almost clean out. she quietly noticed, he didn’t.

“lando!” she groaned, gently thumping him on the head with the paperback.

“you ready for my cooking, miss fewtrell?” he asked, hands still on her shoulders, softly holding and rubbing his thumbs over them now.

“call the fire brigade now.”

“hey! that was one time.” he laughed, resting his chin on top of her head and looking down at her book. “what’cha reading?”

“something you’re clearly too illiterate to read the title of.” she deadpanned, putting the book under her chair and going to get up.

he laughed, genuine and real, for the first time in a while. “so rude – i’ll make you sleep on the drive.”

“who would keep your ego in check then?” lily shook her head, furrowing her eyebrows with a teasing laugh.

a couple hours later, the group were full and max was pretty sure he had chronic indigestion from trying to see how many chips he could eat in thirty seconds.

lando was out on the deck, making sure he hadn’t left anything out there, when he spotted the white and red book underneath a patio chair. en-route back to the house, the driver flicked through a few pages, his gaze immediately landing on the ripped page near the back – and he quickly realised that he was at fault for it. he didn’t say anything when he handed the book back to her, not yet.

• • • •

MONDAY MORNING came around too quickly, and lando left before the other three did, having to head out early to japan early for some media stuff. he’d hugged her, longer than he did the other two, even whispered a sweet ‘see you soon, lala’ in her ear as he’d pulled away.

she wasn’t actually sure when he’d done it, she’d been with him practically the entire weekend. but when she’d returned to the room she was staying in, with the intention of packing up her stuff – there was a neatly wrapped and strangely-shaped package on the foot of the double bed, clad in brown paper with a small white bow on the top left corner.

‘sorry about the book. and sorry i didn’t scare max instead. had some help from p too - L’

lily stood there for a few minutes after unwrapping the entire holly jackson series, heart swelling, and the scent of the perfume she’d been wanting but couldn't get curling around her like a spritzed embrace.

outside the window, the wind brushed the trees.

and somewhere deep in her soul, something had begun to change.

════════════════════════

taglist: @verogonewild @tvdtw4ever @shawnscurlz @f1fantasys @hescrush @stonesylove @irisesinthegarden @unfuckwitabella @mayax2o07 @curlylando

i do not give permission for my works to be re-written, re-published, or published on any other platform.

#formula 1 #formula one #f1 fanfic #fanfiction #f1 2024 #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris smut #lando norris one shot #lando norris #lando x reader #ln4 #mclaren #max fewtrell #quadrant

217 notes · View notes

halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

Text

CAT-EYES

PAIRING: Runaway Groom!John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Thief!Reader

SYNOPSIS: What begins as a normal day of stalking the back road for wealthy carriages, turns into a walking nightmare spanning three days. Who is this finely-dressed man stumbling about your woods?

WORDCOUNT: 13.3k

WARNINGS: Blood, injury, light gore, pining, intense banter, sarcasm, insults, kind of enemies-to-lovers but eh, angst, protective!John, light hurt/comfort, bittersweet?, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You were sitting in the branches again.

Lightly swinging your legs from over the sides, the rough bark at your spine shifted as you let out a tiny sigh into the chilled air. In your ears, you’re hearing the bugs fly past, and the large hart about fifteen feet away pushing through the undergrowth—built body just barely there as the puff of his hot breath wafts upwards.

Twirling the arrow between your fingers, your bow sitting carefully in your lap, you close your eyes and listen.

The years had come and gone and yet you remained here in this small corner of nowhere—resting in this old gnarled oak tree with its branches and leaves giving protection from the elements when nothing else would. Sure, you had a small home to call your own in these very woods, but your windows didn’t give a view of the back road to the East. Barely anyone took it now, and you think you’re partially to blame for it, but, well, perhaps those pesky nobles shouldn’t have been too prone to flashing their coin.

So it was their fault, and on your failing honor, the money always went to a good cause anyway. Who wouldn’t want a poor woman to eat?

But, no. There are rules that every thief follows, no matter how unsavory. You never killed anyone; you never harmed them, either. Just the money—a brandished dagger or an arrow to the side of a carriage wouldn’t hurt anything besides pride, and many of those you stole from had enough to last them multiple lifetimes.

“Greedy fellows,” you sigh under your breath before you stretch like a cat, arching your spine and spreading your arms high above your head. The few rays of sun you get through the leaves dance across your face, but still, the thick layer of cold air is present all around.

Shuffling a bit in your shoulder-wrapping, you yawn and fall back once more—licking your lips and thinking of warm stew and fresh bread from the inn down in the town. Shivering, your fingers move to play with your bow, tapping along the bend of wood as the trees are brushed by a soft breeze. The hart below huffs louder still—hooves crushing across the fallen twigs, and you think it’s a bit strange the thing is still here despite your scent clearly in the air, but your eyes are more focused on the road than an animal.

Until it speaks.

“Hells fuckin’ bells, this damn get-up is going to be the death of me,” the words are barked out quickly—laced with heated anger as a branch is slapped by heavy hands.

Startling, your head snaps below you rapidly; heart jerking inside of your chest so suddenly that you nearly send yourself off the side of your perch. Scrambling for your bow to make sure it doesn’t clatter to the dirt of the Earth, you force down a loud gasp at what you see.

“Bastard things,” meets your ears as you stare open-eyed at a bulky man as he stumbles out into the small clearing below your tree, looking behind him as he pants. Your jaw goes slack at the extravagant apparel clothing this sudden stranger—a red, black, and blue tartan thrown over his shoulder, pinned with the silver image of a great boar head, and the kilt has more than one bramble stuck into it as it swishes with his turn.

He has a sporran as well, made of dark furs with three tassels hanging, the metal also silver, as your experienced eyes can tell as they narrow in confusion.

“What in the hell…” You breathe quietly, leaning just a bit more over the edge of your branch slowly.

There were black belts and buckles, rich shoes of leather, and your gaze slowly drags to the hanging body of a sword strapped to his waist, swinging as the man rests his feet and looks down at himself with a deep annoyance. There wasn’t an inch of him not coated in dirt, mud, or sweat—all that deer-ish panting and huffing escaping his mouth in condensed clouds.

“Fuckin’,” he stops himself from continuing the curse, holding up his hands as he glares down at his form. “Jesus, this’ll never come out at this rate.”

This comment made your lips twitch, eyebrow-raising as your sharp vision filtered from one detail to the next—learning the brown shade of his cut hair and the strange way it’s kept long down the center, and short along the sides. He had a strong build to him, and the boar broach, while it may be something to distinguish a family line as he seemed wealthy, perfectly reflected the individual.

He was a being of muscle and stubborn willpower. All tusk and bristled fur.

Your eyes linger a bit longer on the silver of that broach—the thing that glints in the light alluringly. You hum under your breath, tilting your head softly. Yet, your impression was made, and your wits are about you as sharply as they always had been.

This was a formal outfit, for a formal occasion. So, why was this important man trampling through the woods where you were set to ambush the next unassuming noble on the road? Why was he looking over his shoulder so tense-like? Your curiosity had piqued the second you’d figured out the rabid crunching from the bushes wasn’t a deer but instead, a wealthy-looking man who wasn’t, you admitted, too hard on the eyes.

Blinking, you smile, fingers twitching over your bow as the stranger brushes his vest rapidly, growling down at the large mud stains.

“Lost, then?” Your voice makes him startle, skull whipping forward to the tree trunk until you whistle and lean forward; moving your bow to push away the cover of leaves. “Up here, now,” blue eyes immediately lock with yours and you hum, chuckling, at the moment of shock that shines through. “Poor bastard, look at you and all that mud. You’ve been through hell, mate, eh? By the state of you, I’d say you fought a bear and found yourself at the end of an unfortunate outcome.”

Your words are smooth—nearly sly just as they always are. There’s intent leaking out of every one of them until all that remains is a layered purpose, like that of a butcher peeling away flesh from a hide. You have to process that skin: lay it to a rack to let it dry before it can be stretched to the desired firmness, and, finally, softened.

You took as much pleasure in the mental hunt as you did the payoff. Where there’s money to be earned, there’s also knowledge—you were a thief of all.

The man watches you with wide eyes, those blues glinting as they blink, glancing around rapidly to check for any others like you that may be hiding. He steps back, a hand brushing his sword, and you think to yourself slowly, he’s smart.

You breathe down chilled air. Before he responds he checks to make sure it’s not an ambush—the man understands he’s out of his element here. He’s on edge.

The both of you stare at one another, before your face shifts, brow-raising up on your forehead.

“What, did I startle you?” Legs looping to hang off the same side, your body feels lighter than a feather as you send yourself over the edge, knees taking the brunt of the force as your head catches up to your stomach—grunting as you hold your bow heavily in one hand. The jostle moves the limbs of your arrows, kept in a quiver at the small of your back.

Standing fully, you huff and set an easy smile to your lips, all teeth.

“My apologies, Lord.” Your free hand finds your heart, and you bend your spine forward. “I couldn’t help but see you down here below my tree.”

“Best to stay where you are,” the stranger grunts, only giving you enough of a glance to deem you unthreatening, apparently. Your form straightened. He watches you warily on the next go-around, attention always drifting to every snap of a twig off into the trees or the breeze shifting the leaves. “No need to apologize,” is the hurried reply, caught on a rough accent and a hissed gravel huff. “I’ll be on my way once I get my bearings. I don’t have time for conversation—and you should find your way home before long.” Eyes dart. “It isn’t good to be out today...or tonight, I’d say.”

If possible, your intrigue gains strength like a saint in Heaven.

The man’s square face raves in a clench of his jaw, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Are you sure you’re not lost, Lord?” You continue, undeterred, and shift your bow to sling it over your shoulder. “I live in these woods, I’d have no trouble directing you to the road. It isn’t far.”

“It’s John,” he grunts, glancing over, out of sorts. He was tired—his limbs were shaking with exertion even if he didn’t realize it yet. You think that perhaps if he were more focused, he’d ask why a woman had just landed in front of him from the branch of an Oak; dressed in trousers and a tunic, with just a woolen wrap to keep out the chill. Dirt over her face and a cunning edge to her words. Or, maybe he did know, you wondered, and simply didn’t care at the moment.

“Just call me Johnny. And,” he shakes his head firmly. “No. Go home to your husband, Bonnie, this doesn’t involve you.” He blinks, staring with a line across his forehead, stubble pulling along his cheeks. “I know this place—there’s a road just to the…” he turns his head to the direction of your trail, blinking at the coverage of thick foliage. “Fuck,” the dark-haired stranger growls, blues sparking up in a feral display of desperate weight.

You can only see the winding bends if you have a vantage point—that was why you chose your tree in the first place. Your smile grows.

“It’s that way, Lord,” you breathe, pointing in the opposite direction of the road, back to the small path of brambles and bushes that leads closer to your home instead. “We pass my property on the way, I can offer you some drink for your troubles.” A chuckle wafts the air. “You look like you need it.”

There’s a large moment of hesitation, in which you begin to wonder if this prize might be too big to catch, but, then, as there’s a flash of something over John’s face, he grits his teeth and sighs.

“Aye, fine,” he nods, looking to the side as he lowers his tense shoulders and clears his throat. You’re offered a sincere expression that borders on strained guilt. “Thank you, Dearie. I…” John pauses, frowning. “I hope I didn’t scare you too much when I burst through the trees like that—I’m in a bit of a rush if you can’t tell. I need to make for the shore.”

“My,” you huff, shifting your body and motioning him to follow—he does, setting his feet carefully ahead of him with experienced movements; keeping a respectable distance away. Johnny wasn’t new to the woods, then. He knew where to place his feet, at the very least. “The shore? That sounds exciting.” You conclude, hiding your creased brows as you stare forward. “Making for the South? I’ve heard handfuls are leaving for the weather.”

Looking over your shoulder, you make sure he keeps on your trail as you push through the bushes. “More agreeable, they say. Less rain.”

John chuckles, though he’s still visibly aware of everything around him. He spares you a look, a small smirk taking over his slightly chapped lips. “Keep talkin’ like that, and I just might.”

You’re surprised by the genuine laugh that fights in the back of your throat. Humming under your breath, you shrug it off as simply as a dog does a fly. It was painfully obvious neither of you trusted the other.

John’s eyes were stuck on the back of your head, and yours were eager to slide back to his form on the off-chance you had to use the dagger strapped to the meat of your thigh, carefully hidden under your trousers and accessible via a cut in your pocket. He was all muscle, and already you know that any attack coming to you would be unwise to try and retaliate—slash and retreat was a much better escape plan.

You could outrun him.

“So,” your words bleed curiosity, eyes imploring as you glance over your shoulder. “Why are you out in the woods, Johnny? In such a nice outfit as well. Is there something going on around here?”

The dark-haired man tilts his head your way, sighing long. “A wedding, actually. Horrible thing, if I have to comment on it.”

Your lips twitch.

“Oh, aye. I’d heard about it in town not two days ago—something about a marriage of advantage? Who was the unlucky pair, then?”

John clenched his jaw, hand coming up to push at the smear of dried blood on his cheek, which you’d just noticed wasn’t dirt and instead the result of a branch slap. Pale cheeks were wind-bitten. Lungs heavy. You narrow your gaze before stopping the surge of questions in your mouth.

“Some poor bastard, that’s who,” he responds slowly, mostly under his breath, before blinking. “How much further is the road, Dearie? No offense,” he grunts, staring seriously at you “but I'd rather not be here for much longer.”

The boar broach winks at you.

“Not far,” you smile coyly. “Forgive me, Lord John—”

“Just Johnny—”

“—But I do hope you’re not a fugitive.”

Blue eyes widen, sure feet faltering.

“.... Negative, Bonnie, no, I’m not running from the law. You don’t have to worry about any of that with me,” he breathes, and not once does he look away from you. You have to commend the man, he seemed an honest fellow, and those, you knew, were very rare indeed in your time. “I just need to get out of these woods. You’ll never hear from me again after I’m gone.” He takes a breath, looking past you. “You have my word.”

“Is it worth believing?” You push, smirking. “There’s few dressed like you that I can say it is.”

John licks his lips as you both pass a fallen tree, standing more side by side than previously now that the density of bushes had dispersed. He huffs, sending you a side-eye before he seems to study your face, brows pulling jokingly.

“I don’t think my answer would make much of a difference, would it?”

You pause, enjoying this man’s company more by the second. “No, it wouldn’t.” The both of you stare, before you grin and pull your sharp gaze away, chuckling. “Follow me,” you motion a hand. “Before you fall into a mud pit and completely ruin what little is left of your outfit that’s sellable—” You fumble, faking a cough as you clear your throat and finish off with tension now in your spine, “Salvageable.”

“If I’m bein’ honest, Bonnie,” Johnny grumbles, either not noticing the mistake or simply not registering it. “I wouldn’t fuckin’ care if it got covered in horse shit.”

—

You open the door to your home, shifting out of your bow and setting it against the wall with your quiver following to rest beside it as two siblings should.

“You’re lucky,” you hum, “I just went to the well this morning—freshwater is in the basin, cups on the table.”

John’s eyes give a firm once-over, fingers fidgeting above his sword’s hilt. He nods once, moving into the doorway, and immediately goes to where you describe and grabs onto a carved cup, tilting it in his hands.

“Thank you,” he mutters sincerely, hand dipping into the collection of water. “Eh,” John puffs a laugh, “I’d imagine I would still be stumbling along if it wasn’t for you, little Lady. These woods are larger than I remember them.”

“You come from around here?” You ask, brushing down your wool wrapping as you pull at the burs in the fiber. “Don’t recall your face in the town, though I’m not there often.”

“Hm,” he takes down the water, and you watch his Adam’s Apple bob as droplets slip from his lips to drop off his chin. Once he had drunk the entire cup, he removed it and wiped at his mouth with his forearm, blue eyes peeking above it. “I…wasn’t in town usually. Not really my place—the forests outside of my property took most of my attention.” He confesses, head tilting as the strange cut of his hair flops along with his skull. “Those, I could run blind.”

“I’m sure,” you puff a laugh.

While the air was somewhat calm, there was still an underlying hesitancy: Johnny didn’t know who you were, and you didn’t know what he was running from. Both were important questions that needed to be answered. Yet, John seemed the casual type.

“Doubt me?” His eyes narrow, a smile brewing.

“I never said that,” you walk past him, also grabbing a cup before dipping it into the basin. Your finger points. “But it would be interesting to test.”

“Unfortunately,” John breathes, setting down his cup, “I’m occupied at the moment.”

“A groom would be,” you tilt your head, casually sipping at your drink. “Your wife must be fucking fuming right now.”

The room flips on itself, and the man is instantly frozen.

Johnny stares, shocked, and you see his feet instinctually ready a stance to either blot to the door, or to take up his sword. His expression is layered with secrecy.

“...What was that?”

“I said your wife must be fucking fuming,” you say louder, slipping your hand into your pocket and shrugging to make it seem meaningless—your dagger’s hilt is smooth under your flesh. “Or did you not finish the ceremony? Betrothed, then, Johnny Boy?” Your eyes glint. “Hell, the event must have been absolutely laced with wealth. Did you have wine imported? New fabrics for your wedding clothes? I’d almost be disappointed if you didn’t.”

“That’s none of your business, Dearie,” he levels, glare heavy and firm while his face is stoic. You can clearly see his body wound up like a wild dog. “I think we’re done here.”

He backs up quickly, legs taking him to the exit until you’re suddenly right behind him, and the man feels the sharp press of a blade into the back of his spine.

Your lips are at his ear, and you chuckle. “Sorry, but we’re not done until anything valuable is in my hands and not on your body.”

“If you wanted me naked,” he growls, glaring from over his shoulder, as his form is rod-straight. “You could have just asked, Little Thief.”

“I’d call it heavy persuasion,” you chuff. “Sounds better, don’t you think.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Johnny barks, teeth gnashing. “Put the knife down before this gets ugly.”

“I’m not entirely sure I want to,” your answer meets the air. “There’s enough silver and fine fabric on you to feed me for an entire winter, even when the deer move to better grounds.”

John grits his molars, his neck bent as his fingers twitch at his sides, slipping along to his sword slowly.

“Money? That’s why you’ve got a bloody blade on me? Christ, my day just keeps getting better and better.” You glare, anger moving behind your eyes.

“Some people have to work for what they want, you—” Your hand is slapped to the side as John spins, and your dagger is sent along the floor in a loud clatter; a hand finding your upper arm as you gasp, and, suddenly, there’s the chilled edge of a blade at your throat.

Wide-eyed, you gape at John as the man smirks at you, yet his orbs are infected with annoyance.

“When you draw a knife on someone, you best know how to use it.” The edge is slightly pressed deeper and your body refuses to move. “You put it at the neck, Cat-Eyes.” John frowns, glaring. “Knew there was something about you—down to the bow and arrows.”

“What,” you growl out, a low embarrassment stemming in your gut as John’s puffs of breath move along your face. Your face burns, and your fingers jerk with anger. “A woman can’t have hobbies?”

“Not when I find ‘em up trees waiting to ambush any bastard that comes by wearing silver.”

“Mate,” you sneer, eyes glimmering. “At this point, you can keep your damn silver. It’s more of a reward to watch you stumble like a fool through the woods five feet from the road.” Johnny’s face tightens, yet there’s little time to fight like children anymore when the sound of breaking branches is echoing off the windows of the house.

Both of your necks whip to the door, yours a great deal more carefully as you’re slightly nicked by the sword's edge, but the drip of blood is voided. High voices carry over the air.

“Find him!”

“His tracks lead through here—get the hounds on it!”

“Here!”

Your brow raises, smirk getting larger as you chuckle under your breath. “Better get on your way quickly, then.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Johnny snarls, all at once ripping his sword from your neck yet keeping his ruthless grip on your upper arm. He looks nervous now—his eyes jumping from one place to another, thinking. “Where’s the damn road, you minx.”

You shrug, eyes sharp. “What road, Lord?”

The strong man rages, eyes burning with a thousand suns as the sword is taken from your neck and re-sheathed in one motion—a second hand staples itself to your waist, gripping tightly. You blink, saliva swallowed down thickly at the dig of heavy fingers into flesh as your heart stutters.

“You’re going to tell me,” John levels, shifting the both of you back as the sounds of fast footsteps are echoed by the bay of dogs. “As much as I would enjoy being away from you in any capacity at all,” you smile humorously to him through his dead-tone monologue, “I need a guide out of these woods and across the land. If you won’t help willingly, I’ll just have to make do.”

You blink, confused.

“Make do?” Your body is taken up, and you shout as you’re ruthlessly flung over the man’s shoulder with a hiked toss.

Johnny’s smirk is lost to you, but his chuckle is not as he dashes to the door and slams it open, taking a quick left and looping the house—diving into the foliage as if a fish to water. “Unhand me, you brute!” You scream, clawing and hitting at the man’s back—kicking even, as your knee speedily finds his ribcage. “Ow!” John laughs, his grin highly amused as he turns back to look at you. The shouts from the trees get larger, but that doesn’t help you much as you’re both soon going deeper and deeper into the woods. “Jesus, you have a pair of legs, don’t you?”

“If I were marrying you,” you bark down at him, struggling with all of your might as your home disappears from view. “I’d be running instead of the other way around!”

“Well,” Johnny calls, his sword bouncing off of his hip. “It’s a good thing you’re not, then, isn’t it, you bonnie little thief? Your husband would be dead and all of his coin in your dirty pockets!”

“Stop calling me a thief!” You send a closed-fisted slap to the top of his head, and he grunts, balking to the side. “Learn how to handle a fucking lady!”

“Lady?” He breathes heavily, shoving into another bush as leaves get tangled in his hair—twigs stuck in yours as you scowl rabidly. “If you’re a lady, Bonnie, then I’ve got a beast waiting for me back at my ceremony.”

—

He stopped when the light of the sun was low, and your constant attack of his spine left an array of large, fist-shaped bruises on his skin.

“Easy,” John grunts, dropping you with a huff to a down-turned stump.

It isn’t long before you shoot back up, hands clawing for his throat. “Hells Bells!” The man ducks, boyish glint in his eyes as he darts to the side, stepping out of the way as you stumble on tingly legs.

“I’m going to skin you alive,” you yell. “Piece of utter dog shite!”

“Now that’s a bit strong,” John breathes, panting from his mad run for his single life. “Don’t you think?”

You take one step forward, and he takes two back—stuck in a game of cat and mouse. Your eyes are like tiny fires, illuminated with only anger and hatred.

“Give me one reason why I should even attempt to help you,” your screams rise above the trees, hands splayed as John puts his hands to his knees, taking down breaths as sweat dribbles down his neck into his vest. “You-you,” your tongue fumbles, “kidnapper!”

“Technically, it would be an abduction, Dearie.” You slap him across the face and see the man’s cheeks go red from the blow. Shoving your nose nearly right into his, you sneer.

“Correct me again, and it’ll be your balls I hit next.”

He swallows, blinking, before he smirks and pairs it with a chuckle as his eyes spark. “Yes, Ma’am.”

You growl as he holds up his hands, moving one to rub at the back of his neck and itch at the shaved portion of his scalp. That damned smirk—you despised it.

“Get me to the closest port,” John settles, getting to business as his expression mellows out. “And I’ll make it worth your while, I give you my word.”

“What?” You laugh, shaking your head in exasperation the longer the silence falls; realizing how serious the man is. “Oh God in Heaven, this has to be a joke.”

“Anything you ask for, you can have from me when this is over,” he sighs, crossing his arms over his chest and shifting his mud-caked shoes. “I don’t need more than the fee to secure a spot on a good ship sailing away from here, and whatever is left I’ll give to you if you want it. You win in this situation, and I’m not trying to hide it from you.”

Your sharp eyes hone in, unwavering in its heat.

“Christ,” Johnny breathes, “I’d even give you my damn socks if that’s what it takes—I need to get out of here. Quickly.”

You stare, sneering. “Is your betrothed a damn witch or what?”

Blue eyes blink, and his words are firm as they meet air. “Are you taking up my offer or not, Cat-Eyes?”

“Of course, I’m taking the offer!” You bark ruthlessly, rolling your eyes as you kick at the dirt. Rocks and grass fly as darkness settles heavier. “I’m not a fool.”

“Well,” he sighs in relief, looking to the shadows along the ground. “I can’t say you’re that, either, but you are certainly something.”

You narrow your eyes at Johnny but don’t waste your time any longer as you turn and study what you can see.

You had grown up here—in this land. The woods knew you just as much as you knew them. Already you could pinpoint a general map of this section based on the large cracked boulder to your right, and the tiny cluster of trees across the way. You knew the way to town, and from there, the port.

“It’s a three-day walk,” you grumble, side-eyeing the man as he moves to lean against a trunk. He wouldn’t be moving through the night—you didn’t complain on that front either. “You grab at me like that again, and I’ll—”

“Let me guess,” Johnny raises a brow. “You’ll hit me in the balls.”

Your thin lips tell him all he needs to know.

Shuffling past him, you frown and pull your wrapping closer, shuffling your chin into it. No fires for warmth, you know—not with people on your trail.

“I want an explanation,” you turn and dig into him, walking closer as John looks to the side. “If I’m sticking my neck out, I want answers as well as coin.” Poking him in his chest, you force your neck to find his gaze. “Why are you running?”

Johnny sighs, licking his lips as he nods with a low, “Fine.”

You tilt your head, and John moves back to sit against the stump, moving out his hands in an honest display.

“I was told I needed to marry and produce heirs if my house was going to survive, aye?” He states, and you know the story well. “My parents are gone, and my sisters are all married, but my estate is barren of anyone besides myself and the staff. To keep the peace, I gave my word that I would join into a union to secure my assets for my bloodline.”

It was all so formal, the talk of a wife and children—you never understood it. Why couldn’t people simply marry who they love and leave it at that? All this bloodline and assets. Don’t they ever get sick of it?

“What’s your last name, then,” you ask. “McDuff? Mackenzie?”

“MacTavish,” John shakes his head, rubbing his hand up and down the back of his neck. Blue eyes stay with yours. “John MacTavish, I have lands to the North.”

Your brows tighten, arms going to cross themselves. “You’re running from your home because of a union you can freely exit?”

“It isn’t free,” he grumbles, shaking his head firmly and setting his jaw. “My father’s wishes for his children were written down and sealed. I was to marry a daughter of Arthur Campbell when I came of age.” John chuckles face going a bit pink. “As you can see, I’m a good few years past that.”

You tilt your head, and while Johnny was certainly passed the normal age of a male in his position to be wed, it struck you as odd as to why he didn’t want to be in the first place. In marriage during these times, a man has little to lose when joined. Almost nothing else changes for them except another title is added to their long line of others already living under him.

John continues, and you stay your snake-like tongue for now. “Wasn’t until I learned that by now, Mr. Campbell’s second born daughter, who was the only one near my age, had passed nearly an entire year ago—leaving only the oldest behind.”

“And?” You hum, intrigued to see where this goes. Johnny itches at his chin, scratching the stubble that lives there along with the dirt and grime. “What, I’d imagine the head of the Campbell family wanted to uphold the arrangement?”

“Aye, they did,” John grunts, nodding. “Fiona Campbell was the woman I was set to marry today.” He pauses, sighing heavily before looking to the side. Darkness had set, and there was little light by way to see the expression of guilt growing on his face. “I’m not lyin’ when I say I didn’t want to make such a mess of it, but there’s only so much a man can do when he learns his bride is not only twice his age,” John breathes, grunting, “but also just…” He stops himself, sighing.

You frown, gut swirling.

“She was blank, do you understand?” Johnny asks, motioning a hand in a display of unknowing explanation. “All she seemed to care about was children and wealth. A slate waiting to be filled with someone else’s thoughts and ideas. I didn’t want to be the one to fill it—I’ll not be some husband that runs a wife around like a dog. That isn’t right to me; it wasn’t how I was raised.”

Your mind twists on itself with an indefinable feeling—skin tight to your bones as if taken and tied by ropes. Your heart pumps blood a little harder, but just because this man seems less of a bastard doesn’t mean you like him. He’d dragged you into this hunting party of his grand problem, and the sooner you got your payment, the better and easier it would be to disappear.

“How noble,” you huff, rolling your eyes. Yet, your voice is hiding an under-the-breath shock. “So you bolted into the woods?”

Johnny rubs at his nose bridge, growling in annoyance. “Yes—it was the best cover I had. Been going through the trails since sunrise.” He slaps his hands to his knees and stands back up with a grunt and an ache in his thighs. His sarcastic voice peels the shadows. “Are we satisfied, now, Bonnie?”

“I won’t be until you’re out of my sight,” you level, moving forward. “So are you going to bed so I can drag you to the port or not?”

John’s body is heard shifting as you slip down the trunk of a tree, backside hitting grass as you settle in for a restless sleep—pulling your wrap tighter over your shoulders. Here you were: weaponless and in the company of a runaway groom still in all of his finery.

You wanted that damn boar broach.

“Sleep’ll be smart, we need to be up early,” John says seriously, his shoes shifting the leaves. Letting the chill seep in, you burrow into your fabrics and glare ahead. Johnny’s sly voice is so reminiscent of yours, that you have to wonder if the two of you were cut of the same cloth. “I won’t be opposed to a cuddle if you get chilly, Little Lady—”

“I should have stabbed you when I had the chance.”

Johnny’s low chuckles waft over the air, and then the silence settles fully.

Yet, you’re up far later than you anticipated…and you find this honest man’s confession to be bouncing inside of your skull like an enraged bird.

—

“Christ, did I do that?” A finger is pressed under your chin, tilting your head up as you strangle a gasp at the sudden motion.

Johnny looks at the tiny cut along your neck from the edge of his sword—the barely-there irritation of the skin that you’d been itching at as you walked forward through the trees.

He frowns, glancing into your eyes as your body stills at the feeling of warm flesh.

It was the first day of walking, and the silence between the two of you had stayed. Not only were you annoyed at the situation, but also John’s story—you’d been mulling it over since last night.

But below that anger, you might have even felt a little wrong.

“Who else?” You sigh sarcastically to the man, trying to hide the rising flood of heated shock. Thick digits drag along your esophagus slowly in study, and John’s face creases the longer he looks. He’s hunched near you, too—and you can smell the low scent of leather and earth.

Johnny pulls back with a huff and slips a hand into his sporran. Your eyes watch with blatant distrust until a relatively clean rag is taken out by a steady hand.

He motions with it. “Come ‘ere. Let me get the dirt out of it before it gets infected, eh?”

You sigh lowly but decide it’s a good idea at the very least before nodding—John’s fingers return as the light from above leaks through the branches. The morning was cold, but not unreasonable; the woods gave shelter from the otherwise abusive wind of the open country.

“Look at that,” you breathe, “The first nice thing you’ve done for me.”

“Ah,” John lightly glares. “Not quite right—I carried you away instead of making you run with me.”

Your eyes roll, and Johnny’s chuckle echoes off the surroundings.

“Such a gentleman,” you grumble, feeling the rag press into your throat and the soft scrape of it across your scratch.

“So,” the man hums, blue eyes stuck to your flesh as he takes care of it far more nicely than you’d imagined someone to be. “Seeing as I’ve shared my sob story, Cat-Eyes, I think I’d like to ask after yours.” His voice is full of amusement. “As we’ll be keeping one another company.”

“It’s less as in-depth than yours,” your fingers twitch as Johnny moves back after the cleaning is done—returning the rag to his sporran as he blinks.

“I don’t believe that,” he raises a brow, as you ignore the remembrance of his touch and continue, paving the trail as the dark-haired man follows a close distance behind. “Can’t say there’s many times I’ve seen an unwed woman wielding a bow and thieving someone out of their money. I’ve seen a lot of things, Bonnie,” he laughs, “but never that. Scared the hell out of me when you dropped down.”

“You can add me to the top of the list, I suppose,” you puff a teasing breath. After an expecting pause in the conversation, you grow bored of the nothingness.

“I’ve lived out here my entire life—I do what I have to. That’s all there is to it.”

John’s face gradually pulls into itself, only looking away from you to glance at the path to make sure he won’t fall.

“No family?”

“None,” you tilt your head, shimmying under a low branch and pushing leaves off your shoulders. They sway to the ground softly as you brush an arm over your forehead, sensing Johnny’s attention.

The man grunts. “M’sorry.”

Your feet stumble for a moment, pace faltering, until you cover it up easily. You turn to stare, narrowing your eyelids as open blues watch silently. John’s shoulder brushes yours.

“It’s life,” you blankly answer. “Least I wasn’t married off. Where you had to worry about a blank slate, I had to worry about becoming a broodmare for a man who most likely would never love me.”

Johnny licks his lips, eyes darting to the ground. “Can’t imagine you like that,” he mutters, but it isn’t some joke—he’s truthful.

“Perfect,” is what his ears twitch to. “Because I’d sooner act like you and bolt from my wedding as well.”

“Would that make me the thief in your story, then?” Johnny asks, chuffing as he smiles towards you, reaching a hand above him to push another branch out of the way—separating it from your form as you bend under. “I’m tellin’ you, I wouldn’t be very good at it. All that dropping down from trees would have my knees screamin’. Not that they don’t already.”

Your laugh pierces his chest, and the man sends a kind if not a bit startled, show of interest to you. It sounded like a bowstring slapping a wrist—harsh and telling all at once: something to be known and understood even if heard only once.

John blinks at you, and his heart patters along in his chest.

“I think it would be more fun to think about you with a dagger,” you narrow your gaze at him, smiling. “A small thing like that would disappear in your hands, Johnny Boy.”

“Disappear?” He tilts his head, raising his hands to hover in front of him. “Ah, they’re not that big, are they?”

You shift, and, nearly without thinking, you slip your hand to sit above his. Johnny makes a noise in the back of his throat, eyes going wide as you reference the size of his grip under yours, but allows you to regardless. A blue gaze slides to your face, openly imploring, before they dart back down to your shared hands as the roughness of his callouses scraped against your flesh.

“Care to compare?” You smirk, lifting a brow.

Johnny’s lips parted quickly, blinking a few times as he tried to find the words to accompany his running mind. He clears his throat, but the small sheen of red pigment on his cheeks is undeniable.

Laughing, you detach the connection and pull ahead, leaving the man behind as he stutters with a fast pulse.

“You’re the strangest woman I’ve ever met,” is what he decides minutes later, a large grin on his face—he was enjoying this, for whatever twisted and flawed reason, he was. John’s adrenaline was pumping, his heart was pounding, and his feet were passing over the earth, yet, even better, his brain was sparking at a mile a minute for the woman who walked only three feet ahead of him. He watches you take these trails like an expert, not having to look down at your feet as stone and wood are passed as if you were water above them, whispering and nearly silent.

“At least I’m not boring.” Your eyes meet him, and in them, they create some horribly beautiful amalgamation of twin flames—two sparking fires that feed from the same ember. “You would never catch me becoming a housewife, Johnny Boy.” Your gazes never break. “There are far too many things to steal in this country, and so very few men who can keep up.”

John’s chest moves in the beat of his pulse—his attention wholly transfixed upon the sight of this wild-born woman whom he’d only met yesterday. There were leaves in your wrap, and brown-black mud coated up to your ankles, even sweat sitting at your temple, yet you moved with grace befitting a Lady: never seeming to tire of jokes or firm surety. Yet…you weren’t cruel—you weren’t without purpose.

Any accomplished thief would have just stabbed him and taken what they needed in your house. You offered John water, however, you chose to give him a chance to comply. It was such a small thing in the grand scheme, but Johnny was always one to analyze how one feather on a bird can affect the flight pattern, so to speak. One action that speaks volumes.

You liked creating games, and, lucky for him, John loved to solve them.

And that glint in your sharp-slitted eyes was becoming more and more enjoyable every second, he found.

Pushing back the strands of his wayward hair, John keeps up with you for every step, not unfamiliar with how to traverse unsteady terrain. He wasn’t lying in what he told you—he had spent most of his life in the forest beside his home: hunting, fishing, riding. There wasn’t an activity he didn’t enjoy when he was outside, though his mother was always heavy on him about the mess he brought back.

Blue eyes drop back down to your dirt-laced pants, and the man can’t help but give his best, lip-pulling smile.

Hell, if he didn’t know any better, he would say that you were something that made so little, and at the same time so much, sense to him.

“Well, maybe they just aren’t accustomed to hiking, Little Cat-Eyed Thief.”

There was something special in the glances you two would throw one another.

—

Your hands dip into the clear water, fingers open to feel the current drag through them gently.

“If you want a sip,” you say, cupping the liquid and bringing it up to your lips, “it’s safe. This river flows down from the hills—not perfect, but there’s only a small chance it’ll make you sick.”

John comes up and hums as he sits down beside you, folding his legs under him and leaning forward to submerge his arms up to his elbows in water. He sighs, and you hear the river gurgling as the man begins to rub up his flesh, getting rid of all the grime.

“Good to know.” Blue eyes spare you a look as he continues. “What’s this one called?”

“Woodney river,” you answer. “Old Man Jack Woodney ran a water wheel on this river a long walk West. If this place had a name before that, it won’t tell.”

Johnny washes his face, scrubbing at his stubble as the scratch of it plays in the side of your ear. You watch along the opposite shore, eyes going from trees to birds—even to the shadows of fish that quickly swim past. Sighing, you have to admit the beauty of this adventure. There were few times you could say you’d gone this far into the woods with no wealth to trade in with the townspeople.

You side-eye John and study him just as heavily as you do a wild animal.

He wasn’t unattractive, you admitted. Strong—sturdy. Johnny was capable in a way that most Lords wouldn’t be, some, you guessed, would already be complaining about the uncomfortableness of their clothes or the flesh of their blistered feet. But John was bright-eyed; more than once you’d seen him actively watching the stretch of the trees for any sign of his pursuers. He never complained. Not once.

“You’re not as insufferable as I thought you’d be,” you say. Frowning, your hands push back into the water and cup some of the chilled liquid. You let it drip before you extend your hand to your neck and feel your eyes droop in relaxation.

Johnny laughs, staring at you for a minute as he slowly raises a brow. His face shows amusement.

“Am I supposed to be insulted or not?”

“I leave that for you to decide.”

John cracks his knuckles and shakes his head as he stands. “C’mon,” he drags, but the smile in his voice is clear. A hand is set in front of yours. “Sooner I get out the port, the sooner I’m out of your hair.”

Your face softens slightly.

“Am I ever going to get an apology for being tossed like a sack of potatoes?” Skin meets skin as you slip your hand into his, and the man pulls you to your feet as you smile. Calluses brush yours, and yet again, you find you enjoy this game—perhaps more than any other you’d played before.

And you don’t understand why.

Johnny’s fingers are firm over yours, curling as water drips to the ground below in reflective droplets, and you think back to the first time you’d met him—panting breath and rapid eyes. Your eyes glance to that boar broach, and find it attached to a man that is suddenly more of a mystery than a closed book.

“Easy,” John mutters, steadying you by your shoulders as you remember where you are. The dark-haired man squeezes your flesh and looks into you.

Blue eyes glint, and that smirk, you find, is always followed by a tiny tint of his head. “And what’s that look for, Cat-Eyes?”

“You called me strange.”

John’s brows furrow. “Aye. I did.” He looks you up and down slowly. “You are.”

You do the same to him, not wasting more than a moment. “And I find it funny that you haven’t said the same thing about yourself. You’re far more strange than I’ll ever be.”

“Guilty,” Johnny smiles, nodding slightly. His hands are still on you, and he doesn’t seem to even notice. “I don’t think a normal one would fuck off from his own wedding, would he?”

“Or kidnap a woman as a guide,” you state, pulling out of his warm hold even as your stomach flips as you brush past

“Again,” John’s hand motions through the air. “Abduct.”

“You’re just saying that because it sounds slightly better,” you grimace over your shoulder. “Like comparing a dog to a wolf.”

Johnny is hot on your heels, and when the river-eroded stepping stones to the other side of the water are the clear path to take, he’s already on the first and holding out his arm for you as a true gentleman would. You glance at him and hop to the first stone, liquid sloshing at your shoes.

Your smirk is stuck with his like two pieces of a quilt, and neither of you realizes it.

“You put a knife to my back first, Dearie.” John puffs and his face is right next to your ear as you both cross the stones—you lean into him and elbow his side before your arm slips into his. The man grunts, blinking as he chuckles above the slosh of water.

“So? Maybe I only point knives at the men I like.”

“Then I’d say you have every right to put one right at my throat.”

Feet move carefully over rocks and the spray of the water that coats them—a dance of wit in their own right. It was like animals circling one another, all sharp eyes and pulled lips trying to find weaknesses. Deadly flirting and addictive banter.

Where annoyance was such a common emotion, now there was a near expectation of jabs; of tantalizing quips for the glimpse of another's mind.

Neither of you could understand the other, which was exactly why you both reveled in the brush of warm flesh.

“Careful,” your feet meet the hard ground once more on the other side, and John only lets go when he knows that you don’t need him to steady you. “You’re engaged, Johnny Boy.”

Your tease slips in one ear and out the other, and the man watches you turn and begin walking again with sly eyes. John’s wide gaze stays stuck there for a moment—mouth eager to continue any conversation given. Watching you walk, his heart beats speedily.

“I think my, ah, reputation has all but ruined my chances on that front—”

There’s something unique about the sound of an arrow sinking into flesh that can’t really be forgotten. John had heard it many times—even been behind the bow that shot it; the slap of the string across his forearm, the set of his shoulder blades widening until the arrow disappeared.

But there’s something worse knowing that the sudden expulsion of air from lungs, in fact, belongs to you and not some wild animal.

You’re hit in a fraction of a second, down on the ground in less than that—your mind not even understanding above the immediate pressure and the slam of earth. You gasp loudly, and then the pain hits.

Hand snapping to your left bicep, your eyes slash down to stare as grass and mud fly into the air, rabid sounds escaping the back of your throat at the image that strikes you. An arrow was stuck deep into your skin—sticking out as blacked feathers flutter at the end of the shaft. The adrenaline hits rapidly, but the expression of horror still remains.

“Cat-Eyes!” Johnny yells, rushing forward, and unsheathing his sword, the sound of metal on metal harsh, but not as harsh as the sound of blood in the man’s ears.

You see the swelling of crimson, and, from under your fingers, the red of blood slips as your breathing gets hoarse. Biting into your lip, the quick sound of an under-the-breath groan of agony ripples.

But you’re not stupid.

Scrambling to your feet with the arrow still poking out of you, Johnny gets to you and pushes you behind him just as your shaking legs straighten—-your eyes slashing the woods in panic. Pain can wait.

The runaway groom spares you quick glances, pushing you further behind as his raging gaze darts this way and that. He yells into the trees, anger and order infecting his voice, “Show yourself!”

Just as suddenly, there’s a relieved call and a moving shadow. You clench your eyes tight and grit your teeth as a wave of pain rockets through you.

“Fuck,” you grind out, lost under the louder voice. Blood drips to the ground.

“My Lord!” Men burst through the leaves, bows, and swords aloft. “Quickly—to us!”

Johnny’s face is stiff; there isn’t an ounce of care, but the flash of recognition is swift, and in his chest, his heart, once beating so quickly, drops to his stomach.

Knights. His knights. Christ, the two of you hadn’t been fast enough.

“Stand down!” John spits, and cares little now for the thought of robbery or assault on his person—these men wouldn’t hurt him, but they were tasked to bring him back. “Fucking bawbags, the lot of you.”

His sword is sheathed by twitching fingers, and no sooner were those digits around you instead.

You pant hoarsely, face tight as your vibrating body tells you to run—eyes locked onto Johnny’s, the man in front of you ushers you over to the trunk of a tree hurriedly, uttering, “Just breathe now, Dearie—listen to me. It’s alright, aye?”

“What is this?” You raggedly push out, flinching as your spine meeting the bark jostles your arm painfully.

Your teeth grit, tears collecting in the corner of your vision.

“Knights,” John mutters as if his words are chased by wolves. “They’re after me—probably thought you were either holding me hostage or trying to lead me into an ambush.” The colorful fabric of his pinned tartan is dragged off from over his shoulder and shoved into your weeping flesh, and you lightly moan in agony, head falling back to the tree.

Tears slip from over your cheeks.

“Easy.” John’s concern is palpable. Worried eyes dart from your face to your wound. “Jesus,” he utters under his breath, anger flashing.

“Who is this?” One of the knights asks, taking a step forward as Johnny holds the fabric to your wound and speaks to you lowly, utterly ignoring the people behind him.

“I need to break the shaft off, okay?” Blue eyes try to keep even, and John’s other hand captures your cheek. He levels your face right in front of his, breathing lowly. The man clears his throat as your tight gaze flutters, tightening his grip. “Hey,” Johnny breathes. You grunt, voice a low grind.

“Just make it quick.”

John’s lips thin. “Yes, Ma’am.”

His large hand swiftly moves to the arrow, gripping around it just where flesh meets wood, you hiss loudly, spitting and raging as your vision partially blackens. Pain sparks up and down your spine, racing like a cat after a mouse.

“Lord,” one knight tries again, coming closer and reaching out for Johnny’s shoulder. “We need to get you back to Castle Campbell—we’ve been hoping to find you unharmed for your future wife’s comfort. Everyone is in a panic!”

“I’ll count down to three,” Johnny whispers to you, breathing heavily as he swallows and steady himself, hand lightly clammy. He wished he had his hunting gloves with him, but this was the best he could do. “Eh,” the man grunts, eyes steady, “You listening, Bonnie?”

“I don’t care what you count to,” you nearly bark, orbs flashing. “Just break the damn thing off—!”

The wood snaps with a defining splinter, and your scream afterward has the man having to hold you up with his arms around your waist, muttering into your ear with his lips against the shell.

“It’s alright, you’re alright,” John hears the clatter of the shaft to the grass just as the knight’s hand is heavily placed on his shoulder. “Breathe. M’right ‘ere.”

You sag into Johnny taking in the scent of sweat, blood, and dirt—the musk that stays even as your ears start ringing and the voices start getting louder.

“Best get your hands off o’ me before I break ‘em, Mate” Johnny grunts from deep in his chest, shifting your body to the side and effectively ripping his flesh out of the knight’s hold.

All the others shift nervously—hands on their swords and looking back and forth between the strange scene.

Who were you? A mistress? A bandit luring their Lord away? Why was he with you out here; going in the opposite direction of where the ceremony was supposed to take place? They’d been given orders, and a knight is no good unless he can follow them.

John MacTavish was needed, and their duty was to see it through.

Johnny’s tartan had fallen to the ground behind the two of you, getting kicked by feet as they shuffle and as your blood slips off of your limp fingers. Mind failing, your pain-addled form shakes even as the knowledge of imminent danger is present.

You needed to figure out a way to get out of here.

Pushing your head up from Johnny’s shoulder, your eyes flutter but manage to analyze what little you can see clearly—adrenaline can take care of most of your agony, only leaving a dull ache as your heart continues to rage.

A group of four knights have their hands on their swords, and all of their eyes are on John.

Run, a deep part of you urges. Your legs are still good. Take off—none of them know the terrain like you do. You’ll be free.

You pant, your nostrils flaring with every breath as your sweat trickles off your jawline. Johnny’s grip on you tightens, head shifting back and forth, unknowing where to anchor itself, not understanding which is more important—your state, or your safety.

Free, free, free.

Your mind flashes to an empty house: silent woods. How you would go months without seeing another human face, but that was your own choice.

Wasn’t it?

Your eyes slip to Johnny.

“We’ve been tasked with bringing you back, My Lord,” the first knight says, looking heavily upon the runaway. “We have our orders. Please understand.”

“And I’m telling you your orders are utter shite,” John spits. “So back the fuck up and drag yourself out of this place. Now.” He glares, teeth snapping. “Those are my orders.”

Your arm is numb, and your chest expands as it sits on John’s own. And you think.

You knew you were a selfish person.

There was no debate about it—even when you’d stolen enough coin to feed you for weeks, there was still a part of you that longed for some chase; some challenge to your senses. You liked stealing. You liked the looks on people's faces when they realized they were being swindled for every valuable item they had in their possession. But there was something you liked even more than all of that—a challenge.

Johnny, to you, was that challenge. He was the largest challenge you’d ever faced. A Lord who was running from a bride, a man who held his beliefs higher than praise or standing…a blue-eyed stranger who matches your poking jabs word for word.

“Damn,” your growl, and John takes it as an exclamation of pain.

He grits his teeth and studies you, opening his mouth as his concern grows at the smell of blood.

“We need to tie it off,” he utters. “Bastards made me drop the tartan—I’m sorry, Dearie.”

Your lips are near his ear.

“When I say ‘go,’ run to the left.”

Johnny halts, attention snapping down. His fingers flinch around you, face open until the mask of sudden knowledge flies over it like a curtain. But it’s gone just as quickly—hidden by intelligent eyes that glint.

He doesn’t question you, and, in the crux of your shoulder, you get a near-infinitesimal nod from Johnny’s head.

The guards grow suspicious, all mulling closer by the second the longer you two remain so close—on opposite ends, you feel your heart mirroring John’s in a rapid and ravaging pulse: Thump-thump, thump-pump, thump-pump-thump.

Your attention is split three ways.

One: the rising numbness of your limbs and the heat of your brain. Two: the spread of Johnny’s panting breath across your sweat-slick skin and his hands tightening. Three: knights and the clatter of their armor. How they slide their hands across their weapons like intimate partners—the tension building in a hemp bowstring and the sound of arrows hitting off one another; one taken and played with between fingers so similarly to how you would act.

Your tear-stained eyes glare at the knight who’d shot you, your expression building into an act of hatred.

They take a step forward.

“Cat-Eyes—” Johnny begins to warn slowly.

“Go.” Your words are no shout. They don’t echo off the trees, which all hold their breeze in expectation, they don’t ring in ears except the ones of the man holding you. But they’re like the personification of a sword strike—like the release of an arrow and the impending thump of it hitting home.

The knights dash forward with calls for their Lord to stand down, but John’s already flinched away with a heavy grunt.

You do the same, your plan already formed—you would run the opposite way as Johnny, only slipping off when the cover of bushes had enshrouded the both of you to create two sets of tracks. With any luck, the guards would break off into two groups and pursue the both of you, and you could easily lose yours.

From there, circle back and find John: get your bearings before—

Arms never detach from your waist, and you’re once more tossed into a strong grip.

Eyes bugging, your focus breaks as gravity leaves and your head goes light. Johnny dashes away, and, just as the last time, you’re in his boar-like hold.

“You idiot!” You bark, the only difference to your predicament now is that you’re held in a bridal grip and not slung over his sweaty shoulder. There was only a small sliver of relief before the annoyance overtook you.

Johnny’s body crashes through the leaves, the shouts of the knights following as he gruffly raises his voice to the wind. The trees shake with amusement.

“Thinking you could hand over some directions, Dearie?!”

“Thinking you could put me down?!” You shout back, your arm sparking with pain as your opposite wraps the man’s neck firmly. “Damn.” Your lips twist in response. “My legs work just fine, you know—I wasn’t shot in the arse!”

“Acting like you were,” John grumbles, a branch slapping his cheek before you can. Despite it all, he chuckles wholeheartedly at his own joke.

An arrow whizzes through the air, and you yelp, ducking behind his body even more as your skull fits under his jaw. Your eyes snap to the visible terrain as Johnny’s legs push from one side to the other, running in a zig-zag pattern to avoid any more injuries.

“There,” your brows rise, fighting past the pain to find the familiar slash of a gnarled willow tree that whizzes by in brown and dark green.

Your head rises to see more of the woods, only to be pushed back down by an all-expansive hand as John utters a fast-breathed and firm, “Not the best idea.”

He shoves through brambles, and the sounds of rampaging knights are gaining. The second John sloshes through a low pool with a loud curse, you know instantly where you two are.

“Take a left near the overhang with vines coming down!”

“That one?”

“Yes!”

And so this game continued long after the knights had been lost to the woods, stumbling about without any sense of where they were, and the two of you came to a panting halt an hour later. Deep night was setting in on the second day, and, as your shaky feet hit the ground, John kept a heavy eye on you.

“Steady,” he mutters, sweat pouring off his face; saturating his clothes. He worriedly stares, looking you up and down.

Your vision swirls, the glade around you the exact place you both needed to be. There were hills here—surrounded by thick trenches carved by rivers long dried. The stars were out, and the moon was shining down; one thin trickle of a river was feet away, the sound of water on rocks addictive to your pounding ears.

All of it was null to the way your gut flipped at the humming agony of your arm.

Your hand snaps to the puncture and the flood of blood is enough to leave your fingers dripping with crimson glinting in moonlight.

There’s a heavy ripping sound, and then you find yourself sitting down in the grass as Johnny shoves the torn fabric of his suit into the small river. You hear the splashing as you glance down at your arm before rapidly looking away, biting at your lip as your spine hunches.

“Christ almighty,” you growl, glaring to the side as your fingers quiver. Tears well.

“The arrowhead is keeping pressure,” John hurries to speak, trying to distract you just as his own exhaustion is bare to see. The rung-out fabric is looped around your arm, tying off until you have to strangle down a scream at the tightness on your flesh. “We have to keep it there until there’s enough sterile material to fix it up.”

“Your knights are pieces of work,” you hiss, more from the wound than anything.

John gives a little look, blue eyes darting up until falling.

“Aye, they are.” His strong jaw clenches. “This shouldn’t have happened, Dearie.”

You stare as he finishes up, and you feel his fingertips slipping along your arm. Your eyelids droop, closing as your nostrils suck in shaky air. You take a moment to take in the silence that follows, John’s eyes not straying as your face is illuminated.

He watches the streaks of dirt along your skin, and, in a soft attempt to fix this, he stands and moves to the river once more—cleaning his hands. Johnny takes the rag out of his sporran and wets it, coming back to your body as the grass waves back and forth.

“Let me…” the man says slowly, and your eyes open back up as the chilled item is pushed to your cheek.

Wide orbs staring forward, you swallow as John concentrates on cleaning your skin carefully.

“Infection is my immediate concern,” the man says with a sigh, yet continues as your tongue stays tied; face growing more heated by the second. “But you mentioned it takes three days to the town, aye? That’s not unmanageable with two already under our feet.”

Blood, dirt, and sweat slip away with every drag of the fabric, and, stuck into his suit, that boar broach still sits—crooked now, but still there.

Your attention is momentarily taken by it, and your fingers twitch before you notice how very close John’s face is to yours.

The man focuses, relaying a plan as you’re stuck mute; your arm holding its own heartbeat as the grass shifts.

“I’ll use what I have to get you into a doctor. Make sure there’ll be no problems before I get going.” John blinks, tilting his head. “‘Course, that��ll decrease the amount you’ll get in turn.”

“Fortunately for you,” you breathe, voice strained, and blue eyes stick to yours. John pauses, brows slightly pulling up on his face. “I value my own life too much to complain about a man paying for my care.”

John’s rag stays where he placed it, right on the swell of your cheek as, this close to one another, you can see the scar on his chin—one that curves to the muscle and bone.

He was handsome, make no mistake about it. You knew it; you understood it. A lord with morals and the smarts to go along with the strength—now that was utterly unheard of. You liked that, truthfully. Someone who could think, and plan.

And, of course, follow directions.

“You’ll be fine,” John mutters, glancing to the side, yet his head doesn’t move back. He clears his throat with a sigh.

You roll your eyes, moving out and grabbing his hand with the rag. Johnny’s expression startles, arm tensing as you steal the dripping fabric from him. Water runs down your neck.

“I know I am.” You huff, smiling.

You push the rag onto his own face, and begin your cat-like approval of his character, washing away the grime just as he had your own. A blue gaze stays firmly on your flesh, the man’s shoulders loosening until he’s sitting just in front of you. Verident grass whispers in a language like a soft breeze, and you study Johnny’s skin until everything becomes a mosaic of scars and blemishes—stories woven into sinews holding as much history as the tines on an elk or the chipped tusks of a boar.

Two days and he’d become even more of a mystery than he had been before. Or maybe he always had been, and now your previous contentment had grown into an addictive curiosity.

He’d called you Cat-Eyes.

You couldn’t love a title more—not even if Lady were on the table.

“I settle my scores,” you grunt, tilting your head as you push back mud from his forehead, leaning in. “You wash my face, I wash yours.”

“Literally, then?” A sarcastic eyebrow makes you huff.

“Is that not what I’m doing, Johnny Boy?”

“Seems so, Cat-Eyes.”

Your matching glares hold no venom.

Smirking, you lean back after the last swipe at his forehead, pushing Johnny’s skull back as he chuckles, moon-lit visage something you would see scrawled on the parchment of an old story-teller's sketches. A man not made for this age.

Your face softens slowly, and it is a strange thing sitting atop the sharpness of your eyes.

John’s chuckles fade, and his breath catches in his throat.

“You’re an odd fellow, John MacTavish,” you say, here, with blood from an arrow wound drying to crack along your skin.

Your head tilts, eyes narrowing.

John’s lips slowly pull upwards, and the water on both of your faces drips to the listening earth. This place is alive with possibilities, and all of them stem from the growing draw of twisted human souls.

A just Lord and a cunning thief.

A sharp-eyed cat and a strong-bodied boar.

A future and a past—riddled with arrow marks; long sword slashes.

“Well…then I’m thinking we make quite the pair, Bonnie.”

—

The third day was spent on the latter half of the journey. Re-correcting the course and giving the best directions you could with the numb ache of your arm spreading up your shoulder.

But the town came easily as the midday sun rose to crest your heads.

“Want to lean on me?” Johnny asks, standing close by, but you’re already shaking your head.

“Feels better to keep myself focused,” you mutter, grimacing. You look at the entrance to the town, and as you both walk it, the stares are immediate—shocked residents looking at the haggard appearance of two individuals.

“Alright,” John sighs, side-eyeing you. “Just let me know if you’re goin’ to keel over, yeah?”

“Duly noted,” you tilt your head his way. Your lips smirk like a smug child. “You’ll catch me, won’t you?”

Johnny chuckles, shrugging his wide shoulders as his tattered finery is chock-full of brambles and leaves.

“Can’t say no to that.”

The Lord kept his promise—the doctor took the arrowhead, cleaned, cauterized the wound, and sutured you back up. For payment, as you lightly touch the bandaged section of your arm, you find your eyes freezing as a silver glinting reflects off the light through the window.

Johnny hands over his boar broach to the doctor.

Widely staring at the prize being pawned off for your health, your heart stutters in heavy greed.

No, you rapidly think. No, that was the one thing that I—

Your eyes inexplicably snap to Johnny.

The immediate thought is that he looks angry, but, the next and more accurate one, is that he looks sad.

John’s blues continue to follow the broach as it disappears into the doctor's pocket, and you see the weight fall back to his chest and arms—sitting heavy like a stone. The man’s feet shift along the ground for a moment, and he looks like he’s about to say something before he grits his teeth and shakes his head to himself. John grunts, fixing his nose.

You blink, and then your heart twists in on itself for no reason at all.

Or maybe there was a reason.

“C’mon, Cat-Eyes,” Johnny sighs heavily, tilting his head as his arms cross. “Time to see me off, then.”

He walks out the door, and your eyes follow like a loyal dog.

Standing there for a moment, your lips contort your face into a deep frown, sharp eyes gaining a sheen of light anxiety. Yet, there was no mistaking it—it had been said a million times—if there was one thing you could do, it was play a game.

Maybe you weren’t so bad after all.

“Oh my,” you mutter, putting a hand to your head and stumbling.

The doctor starts forward quickly, grasping at your un-injured arm. “Careful now, Woman. Don’t rip my sutures.”

He tells you, getting you fully up as you chuckle, placing your hands above his thigh, fingers twitching on the fabric.

“Apologies, apologies,” you mutter, retracting your hand and cupping it against your abdomen with a meek smile. “Just a little lightheaded. Thank you, Doctor.”

“Best be off, now,” the man grumbles, and you’re out the door swiftly.

Your shoes meet the cobble as you shift your hands into your pockets, shifting your body to look along after the large form that leans against the home waiting for you.

“Ready?” Johnny asks, though his attention is firmly planted on the ground five feet away, lost in thought.

“Aye,” you sigh, nodding your head to the East. “Port’s that way—let’s get this nightmare over with.”

“Hm,” Johnny agrees, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Quite the adventure for a runaway.”

“You can’t have thought it would be easy?” Your brows furrow. “You’re heir to the MacTavish lands.”

“I never said I thought it would be easy,” John moves at your side, a great hulk of honesty. He hands over his attention at last as you fiddle with the smooth item in your pocket. He huffs. “Just that it was an…experience, to say the least. One I’m not sure I’d want to go through again.”

“You’ll miss me,” you say confidently, meeting eyes with a smirk and a cocky shift to your form despite the lessening pain.

Johnny watches. He smiles, eyes crinkling. “Aye. I will.” You pause, expression stilling. The man hums, and you swear there’s something special in the way you can describe his look as delicate.

“You were the one part that I don’t regret,” he says lastly to you as if the words aren’t spears laced with poison.

Your breath gets caught in a way it never has, and John seems not to notice as he pulls ahead, muttering about him seeing the docks. The smell of salt water slaps your nostrils.

The legs under you slow until they’re stopped, and you look after the man as he begins speaking to workers along the port, asking for a spot on the large ships that sit in the water, rocking with the winds.

Your eyes trail, seeing the way he talks with such confidence—openly offering physical labor as his payment for even the dark quarters with the other laborers.

After what seems like hours of watching, you see him shake another man’s hand, and, just like that, passage is earned. He jogs back over, smiling.

You open your mouth to say something, but find the words null and void. You don’t know what to express. For once in your life, everything seems to be moving horrifically fast.

“Well,” John’s expression slowly sombers. “I suppose this is it then. I said you could ask for anything, and, I suppose,” he shifts the sword on his belt off after a moment, looking down at it. He holds the item, testing its weight. “I suppose this is all I have left.” Blue eyes slowly meet yours. “If you’ll take it.”

Always a thief, never a saint.

“I suppose it’ll have to do, Johnny Boy,” you sigh, the pain in your heart outweighing the one on your arm. “Hand it over.”

The sword is transferred and slipped to your waist. Many a man on the docks gives you strange looks, and, you find you welcome it—none could compare to the admiration in Johnny’s.

You lick your lips.

“Do one thing for me, hm?”

“Anything,” John mutters, not blinking.

You move forward, and place a firm kiss to his lips.

The man freezes, fingers twitching at his sides, before he sags and bends into you—his great hand capturing your cheek until all that remains in the sear of his heat and the scent of the earth.

You softly pull away, though not far enough as to where you can’t feel his breath on yours. Gazing into his eyes, you smile the widest you can remember.

“Don’t go running away from another wedding anytime soon. I can only save so many Lords until my reputation gets slandered.”

“You’re ruthless,” John growls, smirking as his eyes glint, looking you up and down. “Little Thief.”

He leans in for another kiss, but your hands only shift above his sporran before you dart back, chuckling.

“Always,” your hands brush his sword on your hip as you walk backward, grinning behind the strange pressure in your heart. If someone asked, you wouldn’t even know how to describe it.

John takes a step after you, face open and raw—an emotion you feel like mirroring if not for your excellent control.

Not yet.

“I’ll take care of this,” you call, patting the weapon.

“Good,” Johnny calls, taking one more step forward before stopping himself. One of the shipmates calls from the dock, and his eyes snap there with a jaw tense. He looks back at you and blinks, brows pulling in. In the heat of the moment, he exclaimed, “I’ll be back for it one day, Cat-Eyes!”

“Lovely!” You yell, back turning. “I’ll be waiting for you then. I do hope you’ll be able to get through the woods, and, please, don’t keep a woman waiting! You’re much too handsome for any of that.”

And then you’re gone.

Johnny stares at where you were, his smile large and his face heated, and after a louder call from the dock, he’s forced to turn and jog to the ship, hurrying up the board until he can stand on the swaying deck with his two feet.

He looks around, chuckling to himself, and still, his eyes shift back to land without fail; hoping for a glimpse—a small shadow.

Shaking his head at his own foolishness, the man reaches into his sporran for his rag, intent to clean and set it to dry when he’s able to get the chance to settle in. It’s one of the last items to his name no matter how pathetic.

Yet, his hands touch something far more precious.

Johnny’s body goes as straight as a tree when his fingers caress smooth metal, and, slowly, his grip pulls out the silver of his broach.

It glints in his palm as he sets it there, and his breath is stolen in one great bound of shock and confusion.

“What in the…” He already knows.

Johnny’s feet take him to the railing gently, and his body stands there—torn wedding clothes and all looking over a town that begins to move as the ship sets sail. He holds the broach carefully, not intending to let it go for an age. He just needs to lay low for a while. He needs time.

John smiles.

“I won’t keep you waiting,” he mutters to the moving homes, and he swears he sees the glint of a sword from between the buildings, and two sharp eyes digging into him.

You’re there, of course. Hidden as always.

You want your trees back, and you think that a day of sitting in your Oak is a good idea.

There’s dirt on your face again—your lips are chapped and your face is bitten by the wind; scars and blemishes that time won't heal but make all the more visible as the ages pass by on bird’s wings and cat purrs. Yet here is an action held immemorial.

A gift given freely by a thief is one to be treasured like pure gold, and the man on the ship knows that more intimately than any other as he clips the broach to himself with a hum.

You both watch the other from opposite, distant points until there’s no sun in the sky left to see with. Just a faint hope lights the way: the hope that your eyes will grace each other's visage, at the very least, just one more time in your life.

There was never a story so willing to be experienced than that of a runaway groom and his cat-eyed Thief.

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

1K notes · View notes

n0cturnalflesh · 4 months ago

Text

Dr.Zayne's Guide to Treating a Hunter

Synopsis: Greyson asks for advice on how to deal with his hunter crush. Zayne gives him a very thorough lesson, with you as the test subject obviously.

Tags: Smut, established relationship, threesome, F/M/M, dom!Zayne, sub!Greyson, p in v, oral, warming, worshipping, roleplay, grinding, Greyson goes into subspace? idk it just came to me as i was writing WC: 6.1k

a/n: That took wayyy longer than it shouldve, I say for the third time as i publish my third fic. Thanks to yall who helped with deciding Greyson's crush! Disclaimer, I am nowhere near being in the medical field!!

————————————————————————

The hardwood door is cold beneath your knuckles, a subtle indicator of whom this office belongs to. Holding your breath, you wait for a reply.

“Yes? Come in.” Zayne’s voice draws from within. He’s not expecting you; a week-long mission ending a few days early thanks to your efforts, and not even a single bruise to show for it. With the extra time off given by Captain Jenna as a reward, what better to do with your time than to surprise your favourite doctor?

Creaking the door open slowly, you push it closed with your heel and spin in a circle, holding the small box of macarons out front as an offering.

“Doctor Zayne!” you hum in a sing-song voice, “Your favourite hunter is back! Did you miss me?”

His eyes widen at your voice, hand slowing from the rigorous notes being scribbled as he looks up from his desk. “You’re back early. Are you alright? Why wasn’t I notified about your mission ending early?”. Caution laces his tone, unable to get excited at your sudden return until he knows you’re safe.

“Of course!” You chirp, pointing a finger gun out the window as you pretend to aim at a tree outside, “When am I ever not alright? I’m a professional.” He gives you an unamused look. “Anyway, I convinced Jenna to delay my mission report status so I could surprise you. Got dropped off right outside the hospital.”

“Hmm.” Zayne hums, standing from his desk as he takes a step towards you, “Professional misconduct with not just the Hunters Association but also Akso Hospital?”

“Yup! Only cost a week’s worth of lunches for the team on me.”

Zayne stops in front of you, pulling you into a warm hug. “And a box of macarons, apparently.” He gladly takes the offering you present, eying down the flavours you chose.

“Whatever.” You huff. “My reports should be in your inbox any second now, I just got them delayed long enough to surprise you. Mission ended early due to uncovered intel. Didn’t even get a scrape!”

Zayne raises an eyebrow at your words, pausing halfway into biting a macaron. “Shocking. Are you sure about that? How do I know you haven’t been replaced by a wanderer? I’ve witnessed you get injured stepping out of a car.”

“Uncalled for!” you pout before a mischievous idea pops into your head. “But, if you’d like to do a full body inspection, I have no objections, doc-tor.”

Popping your hips, you lock your hands behind your back and tilt your head to look up at the surgeon, challenging him. His eyes linger on your body as he takes you in before settling on your face.

“I guess a thorough inspection is in order for such a… wreckless patient.” He leans forward and pushes you back slowly. “If you’ll have a seat, we can begin.”

Unable to hold back your smirk, his hands guide you around his desk until you're sitting on the ledge in front of his chair. Taking a knee in each hand, the cold of his fingertips lingers as he drags them along your thighs before spreading them to stand between.

Fingers gripping the hem of your hunters’ skirt, he leans down to whisper in your ear. “This new uniform seems… breathable. I didn’t realize skirts were efficient for fighting in.” He presses a kiss to your neck, breath hot against your ear.

“It’s for undercover missions.” He takes a small bite at your earlobe, “Not,” you gasp, “not the standard uniform.” With shuddering breaths, Zayne’s cool hands slide up your waist, tracing each curve and arch of your body until they rest, gently cupping your face. Pulling back, he leans his forehead against yours.

“I missed you, my love. I’m glad you’re safe.” He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I missed you too.”

He slowly begins to devour you, lips pulling at your own as he tries to consume every inch of you like a starved man. Grabbing at his tie, you pull it from within his grey vest and yank him closer to you. The firmness of his body begins to melt against your own, hips moulding in ebb and flow as he grinds against you in waves.

“Zayne.” He kisses you. “Should I,” Again. “Should I lock the door?”

Pushing his lips heavy against yours one last time, he pulls away with a rugged breath. “No, I’m expecting Dr. Greyson shortly. Any minute. We won’t have time.” His words come with a wince, as if it pains him to decline the offer.

You gaze up into his eyes, a shared longing for desperation pleading silently for each other. Zayne takes a step back, eyes closing with focus as he visibly wills himself to calm down. As he sits down in his chair, you can’t help but notice the fat tent in his pants.

Sighing under your breath, you hop off Zayne’s desk. “Well, I need to sign off on a few final mission reports. It shouldn't take long. Would I be able to finish them here with you, and then we can grab food once you’ve finished your work? Unless your matters with Greyson are confidential, then I can just…”

“No, you’re welcome to work with me, please. He was requesting some advice, although on what, I’m not sure. At most, likely something related to his current medical research.”

“Yay!” You bounce, grabbing your laptop from your standard hunter bag and propping it next to his on the desk. “Watcha working on?”

“I’m preparing presentation material for a speech I’m giving later next month to our new resident doctors. I’ve already caught up on my post-operative documentation and patient progress monitoring for the day.”

“Mmm, I love it when you talk all medical. So sexy.” You wink. A small smile flashes across his face, ears flushing a light red. “Glad it’s nothing too pressing then. Mind if you scooch a bit so I can sit down?”

Zayne gives you a slightly puzzled look, his eyes flickering to the empty chair beside you, one that he definitely does not need to move over for you to access, but still abides by your wishes. With a comforting confidence, you lean over and sit on his lap, skirt bunching up your thighs as you do. A small gasp comes from behind you, but Zayne remains quiet other than that.

“Darling,” he whispers, “Dr. Greyson?”

“Hmm? It’ll be fine. I’m just trying to get some work done. That extra chair of yours hurts my back, this is much more comfortable.” You reply, eyes not moving from your laptop. “Besides, this is hardly compromising. Greyson knows how much we miss each other after long missions.”

Zayne wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face in your shoulder. The silence tells you he disagrees, but his tight grip around you says he doesn’t care enough to fight back. And so you begin your work.

Ten minutes in, your report is almost halfway done. Zayne has not touched his work. His arms loosen and tighten every few minutes around your waist as he watches your type.

“My love,” he breathes, “can you please stop bouncing your foot.”

The movement is brought to your attention, and you slow it to a stop, unaware that you were even doing so in the first place. “Oops, sorry.” You smile, “Didn’t mean to distract, doc.”

He stiffens at the nickname, fingers digging into your sides as he steadies you against him. It’s then that you feel the newly hardened bulge beneath you.

“I’m sure you did, actually .” He pulls your back flush against his chest. “You know your effect on me. I can’t keep my composure with you like this.” As Zayne grinds you down onto his lap, your back arches into him. “Thinking I have the strength to withhold from your teasing.” He places a kiss on your neck. “You break down all of me.”

Hands groping at your body, you rock with him as he bucks lightly against you. “ Zayne .” you moan.

He groans into your neck, wanton and dripping with lust, “I need you. Sit on it, please darling.”

Blinded by desperation, you nod and push his hands up your skirt. His finger prods at your sopping panties, pushing them to the side to smear your slick around.

“You’re already so wet. I barely need to stretch you out.” He gasps, fingers pushing into your clenching cunt as he scissors you open wide. “Pardon my rushing, a true medical professional should know not to rush these things.”

“ Mmph , well,” you pant, “my boyfriend should know how well he fits in me and put it in before it's too late.”

He withdraws his fingers in an instant, nodding to himself as he undoes the zipper of his pants. The warm weight of his cock springs out and hits your lower back. Pausing your movements, he lifts you with ease to hover you above him before slowly sliding you down onto his full length. The pressure is immediately dizzying, feeling his tip push deeper in as your body stretches to take him.

“Zayne!” you cry out.

“I know, darling.” He whispers from behind, placing gentle kisses on the nape of your neck until you're fully sitting on him, ass flush against his pelvis. “Even if we don’t have time to finish, to be in you is a gift in itself.”

Zayne rubs at your hips, shifting his hands until they rest on your lower belly, holding you where you hold him within you. “You drive me to madness in the best way possible, I can’t control myself around you. I need you, always and forever.”

“And you have me.”

Like your words are his kryptonite, he leans his forehead against your shoulder, panting at the feeling of your warm, gummy insides squeezing him.

The sudden turn of the doorknob disturbs the moment, a new voice entering the room.

“Hey, Dr.Zayne, thanks for agreeing to help! It’s nothing serious, more of a… personal matter you could say.”

Greyson enters the office, head turned towards the door as he closes it behind him. He hasn’t seen you yet, nor does he notice the brief scramble at the desk as Zayne hurriedly pulls and smooths out the bottom of your skirt. Still nestled within you, it looks nothing more than you sitting on his lap to do work.

“Oh! Miss Hunter!” Greyson’s ears flush. “I didn’t realize you were back from your mission. I’m glad to see you made it back safe and early. And to see you lovebirds are happy together.”

“Yep,” you muster up, voice shaky from nervousness. “I’m sorry to disturb you, I was just working on some reports. I can… leave if you need.”

Zayne squeezes your thighs beneath the desk tightly, a precautionary questioning at how you would even remove yourself from the situation.

“Oh! Actually, this might be a matter you can help me with too.” Greyson replies, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly. “If you can promise to keep a secret.”

You nod along shakily, too distracted by the weight of Zayne’s cock nestled deep within you. Were you not being split open, your brain would absolutely clock into whatever secrets Greyson is about to spill.

“Of course!” Your voice comes out nervously high-pitched. Zayne’s hands begin to rub gently against your thighs at the hem of your skirt, hidden from sight beneath his desk. From within you, his cock twitches against your walls. He’s enjoying this.

“Yes,” Zayne answers from behind you, “if this is regarding what I think it is, she would absolutely be able to provide some insight on the matter.” His tone is calm, practiced, but just a little bit deeper than normal, hiding the carnal desire beneath it. He looks over your shoulder to Greyson, a smile on his lips as he nods in encouragement.

Greyson’s blush spreads from his ears to his cheeks as he begins to stutter over his words, clearly nervous to voice his thoughts. “Well, hunters are such a highly regarded profession.”

As he talks on, Zayne raises his hand higher, slowly up your thigh with such a stillness that could only be done by a surgeon's hands.

“And obviously hunters should be treated with the utmost respect.”

“ Mmhmm .” You nod, head spinning as Zayne slowly gets closer to your heat.

“Dr.Zayne would clearly know from experience.”

Maintaining eye contact with the cardiac surgeon’s assistant begins to be a struggle as Zayne uses the slick from where you two meet to rub at your clit gently.

“So I wanna make sure I do it right.”

You’re entirely gone, staring right through poor Dr.Greyson as he talks. Zayne’s fingers slide from your clit, circling around the base of his cock that kiss your lower lips.

“I just don’t know how to confess. I want to make sure I can show I’d be a good boyfriend for a hunter, that I could treat her right.”

“Wait, what?” You pause, suddenly tuned in to his mild confession. “You have a crush on a hunter?” Leaning forward to lean on Zayne’s desk, inadvertently sliding his cock a few inches out as you do. His hands retract at your movement, resting on the armrests of his chair.

Greyson looks away and out the window in embarrassment at the idea being laid out so bluntly. “Yes.”

“Oh my-” You gasp, bouncing slightly in excitement before cutting yourself off at the feeling of Zayne’s dick pushing up into you as you move. Behind you, he lets out a desperate gasp, knuckles turning white as he grips tightly at his armrests.

Greyson, oblivious to the incident, continues to stare out the window, deep in thought. “I’m not gonna name names, yet , at least.”

Before you can reply, Zayne wraps his arms around your waist and yanks you back down fully onto his length. The cry of pleasure escapes your lips before you can stop it, face reddening in embarrassment and lust as he fills you entirely again.

“Miss?” Greyson turns suddenly at your outcry. “Are you alright?” He takes a few steps towards the desk, Zayne tightening and tensing his hold on you as he does. The pleasure is blinding, intensified by the absolute control Zayne exerts over the situation- you’re a goner.

The room is silent as Greyson leans toward you, examining your features. His eyes rake over your body, slowing as he reaches your once again bunched-up skirt in Zayne’s hands by his pelvis. By the way that his blush deepens, he’s figured out exactly what’s going on.

If the room was silent before, it must be lost in the deepspace tunnel now with how quiet and still it is. Zayne’s laboured breath is hot and heavy against the back of your neck, while Greyson’s chest rises rapidly in front of you. With a beet-red blush, his eyes dart between you and Zayne. Disbelief flashes across his face through his furrowed eyebrows, embarrassment visible in his quivering lip.

But there’s something else, too. Something in his eyes, the way he maintains strong eye contact between both you and Zayne, in the way he doesn’t back away but, if anything, leans a bit closer with curiosity.

And in the way his pants begin to tighten around his front.

The situation has you clenching tighter around Zayne, pushing back slightly into his hips. The way he holds you, claims you , in front of his colleague like you’re his prized possession has you wanting more of this side to him. He must feel the way you clamp down on him as he returns in kind by pushing up against your hips just enough for his tip to kiss your cervix. A silent validation through this rocky situation.

“Dr. Greyson,” Zayne huffs, voice rich with dominance and authority, “why don’t you lock the door? As my assistant, we can give you a thorough explanation on how to properly treat a hunter.”

Greyson looks behind you, maintaining eye contact with Zayne for a few seconds before scrambling to lock the door. He returns to the desk, standing about 5 feet in front of you. With tense shoulders, he looks to Zayne for further instructions, his undone lab coat doing nothing to hide his clothed erection.

“You can start with a prescreening review. What do you think a hunter should want in a partner? I will leave the expert to judge your answers.” As Zayne directs his assistant, he kisses the back of your neck and allows his hands to gently caress your hips. Riling you up but not going where you need them most.

“ Ahem , well,” The normally witty surgeon begins, “A hunter should want someone that can respect their independence.”

Zayne nods, hands sliding up your shirt. You arch your back, leaning into his touch.

“Someone that can treat them well and take care of them after a long day.”

He slides his hands over your clothed breasts, not quite squeezing them but still gently fondling them. “Pay attention, darling,” he whispers in your ear, “you are the subject matter expert.”

As a whirl of pleasure and electricity surges through your nerves, you force your mind to focus back on the young man in front of you. Through foggy eyes, you rake your vision up to make eye contact with him.

“Someone that, fuck , someone that can be patient and understand the risks of their job.” He whispers, shifting from foot to foot as his hands fidget in his pockets.

A gentle nudge from behind reminds you that he’s awaiting your response. “ Yes ,” you gasp through deep breaths, “mmhmm. And. Need someone to,” you sigh as Zayne gropes you lightly, “someone to keep them grounded, make them feel like a person, reassure them, please them .”

The subtle touches mixed with Greyson’s eye contact are becoming too much as you begin to grind your hips back on Zayne. Squeezing your legs down around his, if you lean just a bit, you can catch your clit on the hilt of his jeans. It’s not nearly enough, the room is spinning, head foggy with pleasure. Has Greyson always looked so submissive?

“Very good. I think you have an appropriate understanding of the matter.” Zayne groans, his hands stopping their previous ministrations. He holds you still on his lap, slowing your grinding. “Lesson two: bedside training. In line with Akso Hospital’s Office of Faculty Development, what are the three stages of effective bedside teaching?”

Astra have mercy on your cunt because as Zayne speaks to Greyson, he begins to show the side of him you don’t often get to witness. His voice deepens and hardens- amongst other parts of him. Looking up over your shoulder, you can see the assertive stare he gives his assistant. Despite his professionalism, he still manages to slowly unbutton your shirt, spreading it slowly to reveal your bra.

Greyson coughs to himself, hand grasping at his belt before smoothing over his erection, pushing it down through his pants as he chases some relief. “Preparation, teaching, evaluation!” He all but spits out like the words will grant him some kind of prize.

“Good. Now I want you to get on your knees, Dr. Greyson.”

Greyson does exactly as he’s told, clambering onto the ground as he knees before the desk. Zayne slowly wheels his chair back until it hits the back wall. From this position, your entire body is on display for Greyson to watch, from the way your thighs rest on Zayne’s to the dampened stain on his pants where your bodies meet.

“Come closer.” Zayne beckons. Greyson crawls on all fours towards you, under the desk until he’s sitting pathetically on his knees before you. He looks up at you with hazy eyes filled with curiosity and lust.

Before you can feel any form of shame, Zayne presses a kiss to the back of your neck. “We will begin by reviewing patient information. Greyson?”

“Uh,” He stammers, eyes lifting from you to Zayne. “Female patient, returning from deepspace hunter mission with a history of Protocore Syndrome. Presenting for a post-mission evaluation and follow-up care.”

“Diagnosis?”

Greyson shifts on his knees, confused and distracted by the sight in front of him.

“Sexual arousal.” Zayne answers for him, raking his hand beneath your skirt to gather your wetness between his fingers. “Explain what this diagnosis entails.”

With heavy eyes, Greyson speaks without taking his eyes off Zayne’s hands at your core. “Female tumescence, increased heart rate, flushing of the skin and elevated blood pressure. Heightened sensitivity in erogenous zones and increased desire are expected.”

“Treatment plan?”

“Orgasm.”

As Greyson gives his answer, Zayne begins to curl your skirt up higher. The coolness of the office air hits your upper thighs, cooling down your heated body. “Do I have consent from the patient to involve medical teaching in your examination today?”

Without skipping a beat, you nod your head. “Yes! Please!” You whimper, desperate to end the teasing.

“Excellent.” Zayne pushes his fingers against your clit, reigniting the coil of pleasure within you. With a jerk, your hips begin to move on their own as he massages the bundle of nerves. Arching your back to rest your head against his shoulder, he uses his free hand to spread your legs and hook your ankles around his calves, displaying you for Greyson to see.

“A hunter’s mission is always a serious matter. Whether it is a direct assault or recon mission, it’s important that you pay the utmost attention to their bodily needs. Especially after a long mission away from home.” Zayne turns his head to press a kiss to your cheek, voice softening from his stern, medical tone. “Where do you need me, my love?”

“Everywhere, fuck , touch me please, faster .” Your whole body twitches with desire, hips bucking forward as you hump his cock. From the ground, Greyson can see how Zayne plays with your clit, how he runs his fingers down to where his length enters you and back to your clit. Zayne’s free hand leaves your thighs and moves to unclip your bra with ease, helping to slide it off your body.

Bouncing against him lightly, Zayne begins to match your hips with gentle thrusts, not enough to pound you but enough to shake your whole body. He presses his lips against your neck, biting down as he gathers your breasts in his hand and squeezes.

Lost to pleasure, a quiet whimper pulls you back to Zayne’s office. Greyson kneels beneath you, having crawled closer, looking like a mess. His hair is askew, strands sticking out from their normal styled positioning as a result of him desperately running his fingers through it. His shirt lays untucked from his pants, a few buttons undone, while his glasses are smudged with fog and sweat. And yet, his pants remain done up, ever the obedient assistant to Zayne.

The whimpering continues and it's not until you really focus that you realize he’s begging, over and over. “Please, please , Dr. Zayne, please may I have your permission to touch something, anything .” Greyson’s cheeks are impossibly flushed, his whole body entranced by you and Zayne, like he’s floating through a hypnotic trance, ready to do whatever Zayne asks of him.

“ Mmmm ,” Zayne growls, releasing your body to once again wrap his arms around your waist. As he begins to focus on thrusting into you, he groans out. “I think we can,” he gasps, “begin with procedural training.”

Zayne taps lightly on your inner thigh, enticing the other doctor to come closer. With his face between your legs, Greyson’s heavy breaths tickle your soaked panties. He looks up obediently, chest heaving up and down desperately as he awaits the next order.

“I want you to walk me through the treatment. Outline the key steps of this diagnosis and procedure, Dr. Greyson.”

With laboured breaths, Greyson’s entire body heaves as he makes eye contact with your filled cunt. “R-resolve female tumescence and sexual arousal through, fuck , physical stimulation of the clitoris and nipples, mmmph , and internal stimulation with penile penetration.” He bucks his hips into the air, nearly losing his balance as he tries to catch himself from touching you.

“Keep going.” Zayne holds you spread for Greyson to see.

“ Mmmmm , the p-parasympathetic nervous system via the pelvic nerve, plays a key role in initiating arousal, w-while the autonomic nervous system coordinates the physiological responses involved.” He pants, brain short-circuiting between the medical knowledge engraved into his mind versus the image of you spread and filled that he’s trying to burn into his memory.

“W-with the clitoral corpus cavernosum filling with blood due to vasodilation, leading to tumescence. Increased blood flow causes the labia minora to swell and enhances vaginal lubrication.”

“And can you point out where on the patient you can find this lubrication?”

“F-fuck. On your fingers, on her thighs, on your cock.” He manages to choke out.

“Tsk. I don’t recall ‘cock’ being a medical term.”

“On your penis .”

“Good. It’s important to maintain professionalism with your patients. Now, how do I treat her?”

“Stimulation to the pudendal, pelvic, and hypogastric nerve. Rhythmic penetration, manual stimulation of the clitoral glands, alongside sexual verbal stimulation seems to be the b-best course of action for this patient.”

“I think we’re ready to begin hands-on training, Dr. Greyson.”

Zayne taps your clit lightly with his finger, before sliding his hands up to caress your breasts. Greyson looks up at the both of you wantonly, crawling closer until he’s a blink away from your cunt.

There’s a moment of pause, not necessarily hesitation but rather expectancy. Zayne’s face hovers behind your head as he stares down to watch his assistant wait. The stillness is torture as his cock resides within you, clit pulsing with every beat of your heart. He keeps your ankles hooked around his calves, holding you open for Greyson. The soft squelching of your slick echoes out as you shift impatiently in Zayne’s lap.

“Don’t keep the patient waiting, doctor.” Zayne speaks, reaching his hand out and grabbing Greyson by the hair, shoving his face into your pussy. The immediate pleasure is like the light at the end of a never-ending tunnel; your whole body igniting with heat as Greyson laps your clit.

It’s sloppy, loud even, as his nose pushes against you, sinking into your drenched panties that’ve been impatiently shoved to the side. Zayne’s hand returns to holding your waist as he begins to grind you onto his lap. With every thrust back, his cock teases your silken heat, with every hump forward, Greyson laps on your clit with a heavy tongue.

The assistant doctor picks up on the rhythm, his whole body rocking back and forth to chase your clit as you bounce lightly on Zayne’s lap. “ Mmmm .” He moans, voice sending ripples of pleasure to your sharp point, “ More, more, more .” He chants like a desperate man. A low laugh-turned moan escapes from behind you. Tilting your head, you see Zayne’s flushed cheeks beside you.

His half-lidded eyes turn to look at you, chest heaving behind your back with laboured breaths. “ My love ,” he pants. Digging his fingers into your bouncing breasts, he kisses behind your ear and begins to start thrusting up into you.

“Fuck” you hear from between your legs, looking down just in time to see Greyson pull back. His face is dripping with sweat and your wetness, hair ruffled and messy from his ministrations. With wet hands, he pulls his glasses off and tosses them on the ground beside you. He pauses for a moment, leaning back on his hands as he watches Zayne fuck into you.

His chest rises and falls with each breath, his wrinkled, half-buttoned shirt tightening as he pants. His leaned-back position only accentuates his neglected boner. Zayne grabs your chin, arm crossing in front of your bare chest as he presses your cheek to his and forces your gaze down onto his assistant.

“I think our doctor-in-training could use some help from the expert again. Care to show him how a hunter can also care for their partner, darling?”

“ Mmhm .” You whimper out. Between bouncing thrusts, you unhook your leg from Zayne’s and place it on the inner side of his thigh. On an inviting angle, you beckon Greyson forward again. He crawls towards you on all fours until he straddles your leg, chin resting on your knee. Greyson looks up at you with clouded eyes, pouting and yearning for any kind of touch. With a nudge from a particularly harsh thrust behind you, you step down on his boner.

“ Ahh , fuck!” he crumbles forward, panting cheek resting against your thigh. “Mmm, sorry-” Before you can finish your apology, Greyson leans heavier into you, thrusting his bulge against your leg. As he humps you, his hands cradle your hips with reverence. He inches his face forward until it’s once again smushed against your crotch. With every thrust, he humps his erection onto you, chasing release as he licks at your clit. Zayne’s heavy balls squish against Greyson’s face, but neither seems to care.

Reaching out, you burrow your hands into them, grabbing each by the hair and pulling them closer. “ Oh my god! Z- ” You throw your head back, the combination of Zayne’s cock hitting your g-spot and Greyson’s tongue at your clit drawing you closer to the release you’ve been seeking since you first sat on Zayne’s lap.

“Yes, my love!” Zayne grunts out, “Say my name!”

“Zayne!”

“ Fuck , good girl.” He gasps, hips stuttering and losing their pace for a moment. Kissing the side of your neck, his fingers lower from your chest to your hips, brushing over Greyson’s hands for a moment.

“This,” Zayne thrusts, “is the proper way to treat a hunter. On your knees for them, having been allowed the privilege to treat them. Understand, doctor ?”

Pulling back slightly from your pussy, Greyson keels forward hard, humping your leg like a dog in heat. Pathetic whimpers of agreement and nods of his head escape him as he uses both hands to pull your leg closer against him. A wetness down your calf exposes his drooling mouth. He closes his eyes in bliss, letting out a loud whimper as he leans his entire torso against your leg one last time, holding it firm as his body twitches with pleasure.

“Eyes on me, darling.” Zayne coerces you, “you’re my hunter.” With that, Zayne fucks into you faster and harder than before. His hands rope down your body and begin rubbing at your clit as he pulls you to kiss him.

“Mmhm, ‘m your hunter.” You moan back between sloppy kisses. His tongue licks at your lips, teasing with little bites. True to his title as a surgeon, his delicate fingers expertly tease and please your pussy, sparking tingles within you as you begin to clench tighten around him.

“ Mmph , cum for me!” He chants in your ear, rocking into you with desperation. It finally becomes too much, surges of white shooting throughout your body as you tighten and twist and clamp down on him. A sharp coolness chases your skin as he holds you tight against him, whispers of his evol losing control. It’s the only sensation that reaches you beyond the explosion of pleasure that courses through you. Like an electrical charge, it travels through you and unwinds within him.

“ Ah , you take me so good. Perfect,” He pants, hips picking up the pace. The pressure of your orgasm mixed with his insistent thrusting is too much, making you spaz lightly in his arms, whimpering pleas for a break.

“Was made for you. ‘m sorry, almost there. You can hold on, right good girl?” He begs, resting his forehead against your shoulder, damp hair smudging across your skin. He drills into you a few more times feverishly, and finally with a deep groan, he bursts within you- floods of his cum filling your twitching walls.

Through clouded thoughts and fuzzy vision, it feels like you’re floating above your body. The release of tension has tingles spreading throughout your limbs. You sit, sweaty and chilled on his lap, stuffed to the brim and unable to tell whether it's been minutes or hours.

Finally, as your mind and body reconnect with themselves, sharp tinges of coolness pierce your skin. Through squinting eyes, you look down to see Zayne’s hands frosted to your hips. Weakly, you extend your fingers and interlock them over his. Evol power pushes through you weakly as you resonate with him, removing the light sheet of ice from his shivering and steaming body.

As the ringing of pleasure in your ears dies down, it's replaced by a slow panting. Very slowly, your senses come back to you: the blinding LEDs shining from above, the smell of sweat and cologne surrounding you, the moist mop of hair resting against your shoulder, and the limp weight resting on your thigh.

Greyson! Having nearly forgotten about Zayne’s assistant, you slowly shift your eyes down to peek at him. Warm flushes of embarrassment heat up your body as he still rests against your nearly naked body, but his eyes are still closed as he rests.

Zayne must notice your gaze on the other man as you peer down. Subtly, he shifts his leg, nudging Greyson back into a kneeling position at your feet. From this angle, it’s not hard to miss the wet patch on his pants right over where his boner was. Head bowed down, eyes still closed, and with a vibrant rosy blush covering from his ears to his neck, he looks utterly pitiful and submissive.

“Zayne!” You whisper-yell, “You didn’t have to push him.”

“Training's over.” He pants back, “Students are no longer involved in this case; care will continue under Dr. Zayne only.”

Before you can reply, he’s pulling you in for a hug, pressing himself tightly against you’re back. “You are mine, as I am yours. One and only.”

Reaching back to rub his hair, you smile. “Always and forever. I love you.”

“And I, you.”

Getting dressed is easier than expected. Greyson remains partially aware of his surroundings but still not entirely present, allowing you to fix your attire quickly while Zayne picks him up to rest on the couch in his office. By the time he wakes up, you and Zayne are enjoying takeout at the desk.

“Welcome back, Dr.Greyson.” Zayne addresses him without looking up from his food as his assistant rises to a seated position. The poor man is redder than an apple as he notices the wipes and damp towel left for him to clean up, along with a larger lab coat to better cover himself.

“Ahem,” he clears his throat, clearly unsure of what to make of the situation.

“You do not have to make this any more uncomfortable than it has to be. You asked for advice, and I believe we provided it, no?” Zayne asks, pausing from taking a bite of his sandwich.

“Right!” Greyson stammers out, voice cracking slightly as his face flushes even deeper.

“You are making it more uncomfortable.”

Laughing inwardly to yourself, you speak up to ease the tension. “Hey, it’s ok. We had a good time, did you?” He nods. “Good. Don’t worry, we won’t tell anyone.” With a wink, you use a finger to draw a line across your lips, twisting and locking away the key. “I’m sure you’ll impress whatever hunter you have the hots for, especially now that you know what it's like to…properly handle one.”

Your casual approach to the situation seems to have calmed him down, as he nods in agreement, seeming to have a better grasp of the situation.

“Thank you, Doctor Zayne. And Miss Hunter! For the opportunity. I won’t forget it.” Despite the slight shakiness in his voice, his tone is much more relaxed. With that, he picks up the supplies left for him and begins to head towards the door.

“Wait!” You call out as his hand reaches for the knob, “You never told me who you’re crush was!”

“Nope!”

“I could help set you up!”

His ears flush impossibly red once more as he continues to reach for the door. With haste steps, he nearly rushes directly into Yvonne.

“Dr.Greyson, what’s got you so flush?” Her voice rings out from the hall, popping her head in to see you and Zayne eating together. “Oh my gosh! No way you finally told them about Tara!”

—--

“I have to say, I’m shocked at how… submissive Greyson was. He totally got into some sub-space or something, y’know?”

Zayne pauses, staring at his sandwich for a moment before lifting his gaze to you “I’m not. After all,” he deadpans, “he is my sub -ordinate.”

#love and deepspace #lads #l&ds zayne x reader #zayne x mc #lads zayne #lnds zayne #zayne smut #lads smut #zayne x reader #love and deepspace smut

174 notes · View notes

justacynicalromantic · 4 months ago

Text

Borys Humenyuk🇺🇦 Ukrainian writer, poet, soldier. Member of the National Writers' Union of Ukraine since 2006. His works are not in the Project Nedopysani because he has been MIA since Dec. 2022.

Read his "Zapovit" ("Last Will") that I translated into English:

Today, we dig the earth again,

This hateful Donetsk earth,

This hardened, unyielding earth.

We press against it,

We hide inside it,

Still alive.

We shelter behind the earth,

Sit quietly in it,

Like little children behind their mother’s back.

We hear its heart beating,

Its weary breath.

We are warm and safe,

Still alive.

Tomorrow, we will be dead.

Many of us, maybe all.

Do not take us from the earth,

Do not tear us from our mother.

Do not collect our remains from the battlefield,

Do not try to piece us back together.

And—please—we beg you,

No crosses, no memorials, no stone plaques.

We do not need them.

They are not for us—they are for you,

The grand monuments you build in our name.

Do not carve our names anywhere.

Simply remember:

On this field,

In this earth,

Lie Ukrainian soldiers—

And that is all.

Do not return us to our parents.

We do not want them to see us like this.

Let them remember us as children,

As mischievous boys

With slingshots and bruised knees,

With bad grades in school,

With pockets full of apples from a neighbor’s tree.

Let them hope we will come home one day,

That somewhere, somehow, we still exist.

Do not return us to our wives.

Let them remember us as handsome men,

The ones many girls liked,

But who belonged to them alone.

Let them remember our burning lips,

Our hot breath,

Our passionate embraces.

Let them not touch our cold foreheads,

Our frozen lips.

Do not return us to our children.

Let them remember our warm eyes,

Our warm smiles,

Our warm hands.

Let their trembling lips never touch

Our lifeless fingers.

Here, in these trenches,

Which today are our shelter

And tomorrow will be our graves—

Bury us.

No farewell speeches.

In the silence after battle,

They always seem misplaced,

Like shaking a fallen soldier

And begging him to rise.

No requiems.

We already know where our resting place will be.

Just cover us with earth,

And—go.

It would be good if a field grew there,

If the rye swayed in the wind,

If a lark sang in the sky,

And the sky—

So much sky—

Can you imagine what kind of bread will grow

On a field where soldiers lie?!

(In our memory, eat the bread from the fields

Where we fell.)

It would be good if there were meadows,

With many, many flowers,

A bee over every bloom.

If in the evening, lovers came,

Weaving flower crowns,

Making love until dawn.

If during the day, young parents

Came with their children.

(Do not stop the children from coming to us.)

But that will be tomorrow.

Today, we are still digging the earth,

This dear Ukrainian earth,

This sweet, gentle earth,

Writing together, with our entrenching tools,

On its body—

The last poem of Ukrainian literature.

Still alive.

(Project Nedopysani - i.e. Project Unfinished Writing Works - is a volunteer project that collects works of Ukrainian writers and poets that died in Russia's war against Ukraine. Most of those writers have not yet been recognized or even published anything yet. So they become known only after they are KIA - when their relatives or comrades pass their writing notes to volunteers who run the Project Nedopysani. The Project was created to forestall something that has been happening for centuries when Russians attacked Ukrainian lands before, murdering the indigenous population and burning and destroying all works in Ukrainian language - thousands of Ukrainian artists and writers and their works lost to history)

Listen to the work in Ukrainian, read by Borys Humenyuk:

#ukraine #russia is a terrorist state #russian invasion of ukraine #україна #укртумбочка #укртумба #укртамблер #ukrainian culture #ukrainian literature #borys humenyuk #literature #poem #translation

203 notes · View notes

deliciousangelfestival · 4 months ago

Text

Let's Play Pretend - 7 | bodyguard!Bucky

Character: Bucky Barnes x singer! Female reader

Summary: You just wanted to hide here and find peace from the mess that wasn’t caused by you. But then, your hot neighbor bothered you. As if that wasn’t enough, the enemies you hated found you too.

PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6 , PART 7 , PART 8 , PART 9 , END.

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I published my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

You stared at the photo in front of you.

It looked… intimate. Too intimate.

The way you and Bucky were captured—faces close, eyes locked, his smirk lingering—it almost looked like you were about to kiss. Was this really what it looked like through the camera’s lens?

Because in reality…

Last night,

The moment had been peaceful—just two people enjoying a quiet night in the park. The earlier tension had faded, replaced by a rare sense of ease. City lights shimmered in the distance, and a soft breeze rustled through the trees.

Then, out of nowhere, Bucky spoke.

“There’s another way to relieve stress,” he said casually, stretching his arms behind his head. “Works for both the body and the mind. I’ve never tried it myself, but I’ve heard it’s 100% effective.”

You turned to him, intrigued. “What is it?”

Bucky smirked. “Sex.”

Your eyes widened.

Then— SLAP.

His head snapped slightly to the side, his cheek instantly stinging. He blinked, bringing a hand to his face. “Yup. I deserved that. That was way out of line.”

You shook your head, exhaling sharply. “Why did you have to ruin the moment?”

He grinned, rubbing his cheek. “But… this is the first time you’ve said ‘no’ today.” His eyes twinkled with amusement. “Even though it cost me my perfect cheeks.”

You let out a small pfft before shaking your head again. He was impossible.

Standing up, you dusted off your clothes. “Let’s go back.”

Bucky stretched before standing as well. “Yup.”

The two of you had walked side by side toward the car, the comfortable silence settling between you again. Neither of you noticed the faint click of a camera from the shadows.

So that’s what really happened.

But now, looking at the printed image in front of you, it told a completely different story. From an outsider’s point of view, it wasn’t just a lighthearted moment between two people—it looked like a couple teasing each other, laughing, touching. Even the slap appeared more like a playful caress. No wonder Selena had stormed in like she had caught you doing something illegal.

Still, her dramatic entrance was a bit much.

“You’re overreacting,” you said, crossing your arms.

Selena blinked, momentarily thrown off by your calmness.

“I was just worried,” she admitted, lowering her voice. “I don’t want you getting dragged into another scandal.”

You sighed, appreciating her concern but knowing there wasn’t much to worry about. “Thanks, Selena. But I think…” You glanced at Bucky, who had been leaning back against the counter, arms crossed, watching the exchange with an amused smirk. “I can manage.”

Selena hesitated, then let out a small breath. “I’m sorry. I overreacted. I’ll make sure this picture is wiped off the face of the Earth.”

Before you could respond, Bucky casually picked up the newspaper and studied the photo. “Why bury it? Your boss did hire me to be her boyfriend and protector, right?”

“NO!” Selena snapped, her eyes narrowing.

Selena’s voice rang through the apartment, sharp and full of conviction, making both you and Bucky flinch. She took a step closer to you, her gaze locked onto Bucky with pure disdain.

“She deserves someone so much better than you!” she snapped. “An A+ actor, a politician, a CEO—that is the kind of man on her level.”

Bucky simply raised his brows and made an exaggerated ‘O’ with his mouth, nodding like she had just given him the most profound revelation of his life. He didn’t bother rebuking her, which somehow made the whole exchange even more ridiculous.

You sighed. “Selena.”

“Yes?” she answered sweetly, her entire demeanor shifting as she looked at you, suddenly acting like a docile kitten.

“Be quiet.”

She clamped her lips shut immediately.

You crossed your arms. “Is there anything else you wanted to say? Besides barging into my apartment unannounced?”

Selena straightened, as if remembering why she was there in the first place. “Oh, right. I came to discuss your first live performance tomorrow.” She pulled out her tablet, her voice turning professional.

Bucky, who had been watching silently, noticed something different about you today. Your posture, the way you handled Selena—there was a newfound firmness in your tone, a quiet authority. He smirked to himself. Looks like you’re finally growing a backbone.

Selena continued, “So today, you’ll be heading to the studio for practice…”

As she spoke, you realized something strange—Bucky had been unusually quiet. For someone who always had a snarky comment, his silence was out of character. You glanced at him and found him lounging on the couch, headphones on, eyes closed as if he wasn’t even in the room.

When you finished discussing the details, he finally spoke without even looking at you. “I know you’ll break a leg tomorrow. Like always.”

You nodded in acknowledgment.

Selena, sensing that you weren’t going to say much else, checked the time and stood up. “I think I’ll head back to the company.”

“Alright,” you said simply, already leading her toward the door. You didn’t try to stop her, didn’t offer unnecessary pleasantries.

Just as you were about to close the door behind her, she suddenly stopped it with her hand.

“I’m sorry for overstepping today,” she said, her voice softer now. “It’s just… I only want the best for you.”

You studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Thank you, Selena. I know you mean well.”

Her expression brightened slightly, as if she was relieved to hear that.

“But,” you added, your voice firm, “remember, there are boundaries.”

Selena’s smile faltered, her fingers tightening on the doorframe for a fraction of a second. Then she forced a small, polite smile. “I see. See you tomorrow.”

“Be careful on your way home,” you said before finally closing the door.

Without your knowledge, Selena walked to the elevator, but just before the doors shut, she cast one last lingering glance at your door, her eyes unreadable.

The moment she was gone, Bucky removed his headphones with a dramatic sigh. “Wow. The air suddenly feels so much fresher.”

You rolled your eyes. “She’s not that bad.”

“She’s just…”

“A controlling freak?” he finished for you.

“Hey,” you protested. “She’s my new manager. I’ll give her time.”

Bucky scoffed, leaning back. “Yeah, sounds like my former handler. Kept an eagle eye on me 24/7, but when I was getting tortured, he conveniently looked the other way.”

You blinked. “Hold up. You keep dropping these absurd stories like they’re casual conversation.”

Bucky shrugged. “Everyone has a different life. Something about her does feel… off. I can see it.”

“I know her story,” you admitted. “She was bullied when she was younger. Then she saw me as an inspiration, someone to look up to. That’s why she worked so hard to get to where she is.”

Bucky let out a dry laugh. “Don’t be fooled by a sad backstory.” His eyes darkened slightly, memories flashing through his mind. “I’ve dealt with ‘tragic pasts’ before. Nearly got me killed a few times.”

You frowned, taking in his serious expression. Unlike before, when he always had a teasing remark ready, this time he meant every word.

And that made you hesitate. So you choose to end the conversations.

⭐⭐⭐⭐

You arrived at the studio hours before the show started. Rehearsals went smoothly—nothing out of the ordinary. The lighting crew adjusted their setups, the band warmed up, and the producers made sure everything was in place. You ran through your performance multiple times, fine-tuning every detail.

Now, the real show was about to begin.

Before your performance, you were invited for a brief interview with the show's two female hosts. You sat comfortably on the plush couch, your hands resting on your lap as they smiled warmly at you.

“So,” one of them started with a playful glint in her eyes, “before we get to your much-anticipated performance, let’s talk about these.”

A large screen behind you lit up, showing several photos—paparazzi shots of you and Bucky. In some, he was walking closely beside you. In others, he had his hand on your back, guiding you through a crowd. The last photo showed the two of you sitting at a park, deep in conversation.

The audience reacted instantly with curious murmurs and excited gasps. The other host smirked, leaning forward.

“So… should we start calling him your new boyfriend?” she teased, wiggling her eyebrows.

You blinked, caught off guard for a second, but then chuckled. “Well, we’re close.” Because it’s true. The two of you live together, and he stays close to protect you.

The moment the words left your lips, the hosts exchanged knowing glances before breaking into a fit of giggles. The audience followed, their excitement growing.

The hosts exchanged looks and giggled. “Ooooh,” one of them teased.

“Very close,” the other added, winking at the camera.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Not like that.”

Bucky, who had been standing off to the side, watching from behind the cameras, let out a low chuckle at your response. But as his gaze drifted, he noticed Selena standing in front of him.

Something was off.

Her body was rigid, her shoulders squared too tightly, and her fists—clenched at her sides. She was trying to control it, but Bucky saw the slight tremor in her fingers. A flinch, a tension that had nothing to do with stage nerves.

His expression darkened slightly. She’s not just controlling, he realized. She’s obsessed.

Bucky’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Instead, he kept his focus on you, keeping a mental note of Selena’s reaction.

Back on stage, one of the hosts grinned, clearly enjoying the moment. “Alright, we won’t push you too much about that,” she said, winking at you. “But now, it’s time for what we’ve all been waiting for—your live performance!”

The audience clapped enthusiastically as you stood up, giving them a polite smile. You walked to the center of the stage, ready to sing—only to notice something was… off.

Your band was already in position, but—where was your guitarist?

Your stomach twisted slightly. He was here during rehearsals. Why was he missing now?

The murmurs behind the scenes grew louder as the production crew scrambled. You caught snippets of their frantic conversation.

“Where is he?”

“He was just here—what the hell happened?”

“Are we switching to playback?”

“We can, but it’ll look weird if the rest of the band is still standing there!”

You turned to Selena, expecting some kind of explanation, but she wasn’t even reacting. Unlike everyone else, who was in a state of panic, she stood off to the side, perfectly calm. Almost too calm.

Your brows furrowed. What the hell?

Then your eyes searched for Bucky. He had been watching earlier—where was he now?

Just as your pulse started to race, a sudden sound filled the air.

The familiar strum of a guitar.

You spun around, eyes widening.

Bucky was sitting on a stool, an electric guitar in his lap. His fingers moved effortlessly over the strings, playing the opening chords of your song. His expression was unreadable, but there was the slightest smirk tugging at his lips.

The entire room fell silent for a split second before the producer let out a relieved, “Go, go, go! Start now!”

You were still in shock. “Bucky…?”

Bucky tilted his head slightly and mouthed the word.

Sing.

You exhaled sharply, pushing aside the lingering shock, and gave a firm nod. Then, without missing a beat, you lifted your hand and signaled the band to start.

The drummer tapped his sticks together—one, two, three—and the music filled the studio.

It was flawless.

The band fell into rhythm effortlessly, as if you’d all rehearsed together a hundred times before. And Bucky? He played as though he had always been part of the band. His fingers moved seamlessly over the strings, his posture relaxed yet precise. Every chord, every transition—perfect.

You stepped toward the mic, the weight of the moment melting away as you sang.

The audience swayed, captivated. The hosts exchanged impressed glances. Even the production crew, who had been panicking moments ago, now stood in awe.

And through it all, Bucky played.

Like he belonged.

As the final note echoed through the studio, the audience erupted into applause. You lowered the mic, catching your breath, feeling the adrenaline pulse through your veins.

The two female hosts practically bounced toward you, their faces lit up with excitement.

“That was amazing!” one of them gushed, gripping your arm. “You absolutely killed it out there!”

The other nodded eagerly before her gaze flicked toward Bucky. She squinted, then suddenly gasped.

“Wait a second… isn’t he the guy from the photos?”

The first host’s eyes widened. “Oh my god, he is!”

You parted your lips to respond but hesitated.

Before you could say a word, Bucky simply smirked and winked at them.

The two women let out a dramatic squeal, laughing as they exchanged knowing glances. The audience chuckled, clearly entertained by the exchange.

You sighed, shaking your head, but you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

After the show, you made your way back to the dressing room, still buzzing from the performance. Bucky followed, his usual calm demeanor in place.

As you reached for your water bottle, you turned to him, raising an eyebrow.

“I didn’t know you could play the guitar,” you said, genuinely surprised.

He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “You never asked.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Wait a minute… you were listening to my song earlier, weren’t you? When you had your headphones on?”

“To learn more about the client,” he replied smoothly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. “Well, thank you. You were a great help.”

There was a brief moment of silence between you—one that felt different from before. A shift.

A newfound trust.

Bucky tilted his head slightly. “I did you a favor.”

You frowned. “Oh? So that’s how it is?”

“Ssh…” He pressed a finger to his lips, his tone playful but serious. “It’s for your own good.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine. What is it?”

He met your gaze, his expression turning unreadable. Then, after a pause, he said it.

“Fire your manager.”

Join the tag list 💖💖💖

@thezombieprostitute

@scott-loki-barnes

@mostlymarvelgirl

@dexter99

@missvelvetsstuff

@kjah97

@barnesxstan

@jeremyrennermakesmesmile

@mrs-maximoff-kenner

@lostinspace33

@read-just-cant

@hzdhrtss

@globetrotter28

@bubblegumbeautyqueen

@mrsnikstan

@maryssong23

@pklol

@daughteroftheforestwitch

@cjand10

@bucky-baby-barnes

@beclovescatz

@ruexj283

@vxllys

@mcira

My book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing is FREE on Kindle for a few days. Check it out!

Link for Arrogant Ex-Husband

Amazon.com

Link for Dad I Can't Let You Go

Amazon.com: Dad, I Can't Let You Go eBook : Bing, Alina C.: Kindle Store

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky barnes au #james bucky buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #buckybarnes #bodyguard!bucky barnes #bodyguard romance #drama #tragedy #romance #love

179 notes · View notes

noswordinourlake · 6 months ago

Text

I was just going through my WIP folder and found a Jiuyuan pre-canon AU I started and then totally forgot about. Since I doubt I'll be able to work on this for a hot minute, posting the bit I do have here.

The premise is "Shen Yuan, transmigrator and rogue cultivator, with the righteous fury of an internet gremlin who never let anyone get away with being inaccurate in his lives, becomes Shen Jiu’s reviewer #2.

[Everyone disliked that]"

—

A-Jiu, his shizun had said, a scholar must build their name.

A-Jiu, his shizun had said, a scholar must share their knowledge.

A-Jiu, his shizun had said, a scholar must publish.

Well. Fuck his shizun anyway.

—

Shen Jiu had been developing his thesis on the effect of strong spiritual and demonic fields on the development of spiritual beasts for several years (only partially influenced by the Incident with the luminescent bat beetles in the Ling Xi Caves and how close one had come to eating the disgusting Liu brat’s leg. Such a near miss. A tragedy) when his shizun cornered him at his favorite reading table in the Qing Jing peak library.

His master was holding the latest draft of his work with a look on his face that boded no good to anyone, but particularly Shen Jiu. He had the smile of a Bodhisattva and the eyes of a two-tailed eagle shark that had scented blood in the water.

“A-Jiu,” he said, rolling over the moment where Shen Jiu failed to rise or greet him, “This master was looking over the latest copy of your work and I really do think it's time—”

“This disciple disagrees!” Shen Jiu snapped. Like hell was he sending out his treatise to get picked at by idiots who couldn't tell a yao from a feral cat. Not that he could say that. “Shizun, it surely needs further revision.”

His teacher's smile grew wider and more serene. “The pine tree grows because of the wind and the rain, not despite them.”

Shen Jiu was silent for a moment to see if this would be followed by words that made sense to anyone not his shizun—sometimes these statements were. Not today though.

His shizun didn't seem to need a response anyway. He flapped the stack of papers in his hand in Shen Jiu’s face in farewell and left the library with that infuriating smile unbudged.

—

Shen Jiu only realized his shizun had circulated his treatise among his network of old students and acquainted scholars when the first absolutely infuriating letter made its way into his hands.

#i just think having sy and sj do an academic enemies to lovers is the funniest arc for them #anyway #svsss #scum villain #svsss fanfiction #shen jiu #original shen qingqiu #jiuyuan #debated that tag but it is the essence of the fic #my fic #wip

186 notes · View notes

traveler-at-heart · 7 months ago

Text

Doctor's In - Holiday Special

Summary: You get ready for your first Christmas with the Maximoffs, but not everything goes according to plan.

Part 2 of 3 of the Holiday Special

A/N: Can you spot the major character we're introducing?

Wanda Maximoff x F!R

Wanda wakes up, alone and confused. The light outside tells her it’s later than usual, and she suddenly remembers it’s a school day.

The woman hurries down the stairs, finding you in the kitchen.

“Hey, chatty patty” you say with a smile, loving her disheveled state. “Hungry?”

“What time is it?”

“Almost 11” you look at your wrist watch, pushing a plate towards her.

“School! The kids!”

“I already drove them to school, and yes they had breakfast that wasn’t just cereal” you explain. Wanda finally sits, and looks at the french toast you’re offering.

“This is really good” she praises as she takes a bite.

“I know I call you cute when you’re cooking, but that’s not the only reason I watch you do it, baby” you smile, kissing her temple as you stand up to pour her some coffee. “In Medicine you learn by watching and doing. I’m trying to learn cooking as if it was the same”

“You’re on the right track. Thank you” she comments as you hand the mug. “I’m just a little lost, why did I not wake up?”

“You really don’t remember?” you say, amused.

“No. Did we…?” she says, suddenly afraid that she fell asleep in the middle of sex.

“Oh, no. If we did, you’d remember. Trust me” you say in a low voice, moving closer. Wanda’s eyes drift to your lips and you smile, pleased with her reaction. “No, we didn’t have sex, baby. You woke up at two in the morning talking about a book idea and I wrote it all down until you went back to sleep”

Wanda notices the notebook on the counter, and she takes it. The story is about a girl that makes a drawing of her perfect pet. Her brother sees it and adds things like dragon wings and fangs. By night, the drawing comes to life, and it follows the girl everywhere she goes.

“This is a full story”

“Mhm”

“This is like three months work”

“Glad to hear we were productive” you nod, not understanding her issue with saving months of work.

“This never happens!”

“Counterpoint, you never had a light sleeper that woke up to your mumbling” you point out, stealing some of her toast.

“Yeah… that’s a good point” Wanda says, frowning. You miss the way she looks at you, as you lean forward to read over everything she said while asleep. Honestly, the story is sweet and very original. To think it was something she came up while asleep is bonkers.

“Wow” you laugh as Wanda lunges forward, kissing every inch of your face.

“You’re so hot right now” she says against your neck and you sigh, pleased.

“Well, let me show you what other stuff we could do to lose some sleep” you propose, carrying her to the couch.

—

For the next day, while you’re at work, Wanda is focused on meeting with Laura and her publisher. You get a few texts here and there, but you know she’s in the middle of a creative storm and you’re happy she finally found the inspiration needed for her next book.

Still, it’s a tough shift as you lost sleep on your day off.

“Wild night?” Darcy says as you’re sprawled across the break room couch.

“Jealous?”

“Meh” she shrugs her shoulders. “I hear Fury is going to be lighting up the Christmas tree in the foyer. Wanna come see?”

“Oh, yeah!” you stand up, eager to check if it will go down the same as every year. Without fail, someone forgets to test the lights and as he plugs it in, nothing happens.

Darcy and you are leaning against the railway, chuckling while Fury screams.

“Every damn year! We run a hospital. Why can’t anyone check the lights?”

“It never gets old” you smile, feeling like the holidays are finally here. You’re about to suggest a trip to the cafeteria when Carol comes right behind you, borderline hysterical.

“Where the hell have you been?”

“Uh… is there an emergency? Did you page me?” you check your device, Darcy frowning at Carol’s outburst.

“Yes, there’s an emergency! Come here, the both of you”

With surprising strenght, she pulls you to one of the meeting rooms, a couple of sample cakes in display.

“We’re tied”

“Who is?” you say, reading the flavors written in the small cards.

“Maria wants one flavor and I want another one. We need a tiebreak. You are my maid of honor. So, help me!”

“Ok, we’ll try them out. Jeez”

“I’ll be right back” Carol says, leaving the room in a hurry.

Grabbing a fork, you begin to take little bites of every cake, nodding approvingly.

“Chocolate ganache is to die for” you moan, feeling so happy that Carol is in the middle of this predicament.

“You should have red velvet for your wedding” Darcy points at the one she’s tasting.

“I’m not getting married”

“Yet”

“Darcy, come on” you roll your eyes.

“Oh, like you don’t have an idea on how to propose to Wanda already” she mocks, which shuts you up real fast. “I know you better than anyone. And I better be your maid of honor”

“I’m not getting married” you insist, this time with less conviction.

You keep discussing the flavors and come to the conclusion that chocolate ganache is the winner.

“That’s the wrong answer! Carrot cake!” Carol huffs when you tell her your decision.

“Not everyone likes it. It’s just a weird choice” you say, while Darcy nods.

“Everyone likes chocolate” she points out.

“Fine, whatever! You win, Willy Wonka” Carol storms out of the room.

“Wow, you dodged a bullet there” Darcy says and you nudge her side.

“Don’t be mean. She wants her wedding to be perfect. That’s nice” in that precise moment, you get paged and you decide to take the rest of the chocolate cake to eat on the way. “See ya!”

“Thief!”

A couple of emergencies take your attention, making you go into the OR. Your phone is forgotten and by the time you check, there’s a single text from Wanda.

W: Are you coming for lunch? I want to tell you something important.

Your heart begins to race, and you remember a few days ago during the snow storm. She mentioned something but you distracted Wanda and you figured it wasn’t that important.

Y/N: Is everything ok?

Coming out of nowhere, Carol once agains blindsides you.

“Are you ready to go?”

“Go…”

“Dress fitting. Your bridesmaid dress”

“Now?” you look at your phone. Wanda hasn’t replied. But Carol looks ready to kill you and you won’t take your chances. “Sure, let’s go”

Y/N: Gotta take care of something, will try to be back for lunch. Love you.

There’s no reply and during the entire car ride, you look out the window, wondering if you messed up in any way.

“I’m sorry” Carol says, mistaking your silence with annoyance. “For snapping at you”

“Oh, that’s… well, not cool, but I don’t take offense. I just never thought you’d be the Bridezilla type, Danvers” you joke.

“It’s more about the holidays. Maria’s family and mine are coming over. They’ve met each other a few times, but you know… it just feels like whatever happens during Christmas will set the tone for the wedding. And marriage”

“Sounds like a lot of pressure” you agree.

“I admire you for setting boundaries with your mother”

“It’s not a boundary, it’s more like thousands of miles and avoidance” you reluctantly admit, which makes her laugh. “It’s all gonna be fine. You’re marrying the girl of your dreams, and I will be there as well, in a cool, not at all pink bridesmaid gown to help with whatever happens”

“Actually…”

“It’s pink?” you say, mouth wide open. Carol nods, avoiding your eyes and you huff. “You’re lucky I’m such a good friend”

—

Wanda’s buzzing with excitement as she stops by the cafeteria, ready for her second meeting of the week with Laura.

It seems as if this new book will be out fast, and if it’s as successful as her past stories, Wanda could finally have some free time to focus on a whole different thing: a trilogy for young adults.

Wanda leaves the cafeteria carrying a tray with two cups and scones, knowing that you’d be the first one to support her if it all works out.

She’s surprised to find you walking across the street, as your last message gave her the impression you still had work to do. Wanda is about to call for you, when someone else joins you in the sidewalk.

Carol says something that makes you smile, linking her arm with yours. Both of you walk in the opposite direction of Wanda, getting inside a store.

Wanda replays the moment where Carol opened the door for you over and over again.

“Ready for day two?” Laura says as soon as her friend walks to her office. “Wanda?”

It doesn’t take much for Wanda to tell her what she saw. Beyond that, she goes over your strange attitude recently, smoking compulsively and having trouble sleeping.

“Maybe she’s rethinking our relationship, maybe Carol is trying to win her back…”

“Wow, slow down. You said they were going inside a bridal shop?”

“Yes, I think it was”

“Well, what if… she’s thinking about… ya know” Laura says, wiggling her eyebrows excitedly.

“No, I don’t. What do you mean?” Wanda says, resisting the urge to drive back and get answers straight from you.

“Ok, so she’s been nervous, she visits a shop with all kinds of things for a wedding. Could it be that she’s working up the courage to propose?”

“No… I don’t think so. Do you think that could be it?” Wanda says.

“I think based on everything I’ve seen and heard about Y/N, that makes a lot more sense than her cheating on you” Laura shrugs her shoulders. “Look, just tell her you saw her. I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation”

“But what if she is proposing and I ruin the surprise?” Wanda pouts, torn between what to do.

“Let’s get to work, I’m sure you’ll figure out what to do” Laura tries to divert the conversation, which works for a little while.

Except, she’s typing and Wanda is just doodling instead of creating sketches.

“Would you say yes?” Laura asks, amused at Wanda’s enamoured look.

The woman shrugs her shoulders, biting her lip as she imagines what it would be like to be married to you.

Needless to say, she doesn’t get much work done after that.

—

The flowers might be too much, but you rather be on the safe side. Wanda never replied to your text, so you drove straight home as soon as you came back from the dress fitting.

“Honey, I’m home” you joke, leaving your winter jacket and scarf at the coathanger. To your surprise, Wanda is sitting at the kitchen counter, looking conflicted.

“Hey” she says, letting you kiss her cheek. “What is this?”

“My favorite girl’s favorite flowers” you sit next to her, worried. “Is something wrong? I know you wanted to talk”

“Yes. I…” she takes a deep breath and turns to look at you. “Is something going on between you and Carol?”

“What? Is that what you wanted to talk about?” you say, confused. Where is this coming from?

“No. I was at the cafeteria around Bleeker Street and saw you with her” she admits, sighing.

“Wanda, I’m sorry. No, nothing’s going on. Carol and Maria are getting married and she asked me to be her bridesmaid. I said yes, before even thinking about consulting you. I guess I didn’t even know how to bring it up. I know our past… makes things weird”

You hesitate about reaching out for her hand, but then she lets out a laugh.

“I was about to ran over Danvers’ bike” she says, bringing her hand to her chest. “I’m sorry for not trusting you”

“No, I’m the only one who should be apoligizing. I should have told you. Can you please forgive me, love of my life?”

“There’s nothing to forgive”

“You know, you should play hard to get” you point out, your arms around her middle, placing a kiss against her temple. “Don’t forgive me so easily, I was planning on taking you out to a fancy place to earn it”

“Mmm, you’re right. I’m too forgiving” she jokes.

“Wait, you sent me the text before I left with Carol. So that wasn’t what you wanted to talk about” you suddenly remember.

Going back to face her, you lift Wanda’s chin with your hand, making her look at you. She seems suddenly nervous.

“I was thinking… you don’t have to answer right now. And also, with this new book, I might be too busy and the house will be a mess for a while and you don’t wanna be around for it, you want your own space… forget I even asked”

She’s rambling, so you craddle her face in your hands, making her stop with your lips on hers.

“You haven’t even asked anything” you nudge your nose against her, smiling lovingly at the way she melts against your touch.

“Move in with me. Us”

“What?”

Never in a million years would you have guessed this was coming.

“This is your home as much as it is ours. I want you here all the time, I want to make room for your stuff, look for my clothes in the closet and stumble upon your scrubs” Wanda says. “Either way, you spend more time here than at your own place. You could also save some rent money”

“You had me at this is your home, my love” you laugh, kissing her again. “And no worries, no wet towels in the bathroom, I promise”

“We have a deal” she smiles against your lips, heart beating faster at this new step you’re taking together.

—

You should have listened to that Kondo lady when she was all the rage. Your house is full of crap, and none of it brings joy. Only dust and boxes that get in the way of packing.

Good news, it’s gonna be an easy move. All you have are clothes, books, some records and pictures.

“Are you sure you wanna throw this stuff?” Wanda says, holding a couple of trophies from Science Fairs and other stuff.

“Yes, baby” you nod, handing over a box. “I don’t think that has any value to my career as a surgeon”

“I think they’re cute. You were a nerd”

“Yeah, that I was” you smile. You keep digging through old boxes, until you get to one you hadn’t seen in a long time.

“What is this?” Wanda kneels next to you. She sees the picture you’re holding. “Is that your dad? Oh my God, you look exactly like him”

“Yeah, two peas in a pod” you laugh, admiring your matching Halloween outfits. Ghostbusters, obviously. You flip through the album, grateful that you had the sense to take it with you after you left for college. You know your mother would have thrown it in the trash.

“Why isn’t this in a frame?” Wanda takes a lose photo of you two during Christmas.

“I guess I never got around to doing it” you shrug your shoulders. There’s a tin box, and you kinda wished you hadn’t opened it. A broken wrist watch is the only thing inside it. “He loved this watch. Was wearing it on the day of the accident” you mutter, suddenly feeling small.

Wanda let’s you sit in silence for a few minutes and then places her hand on your shoulder.

“We can take a break from all the packing, yes?”

“Yeah, ok” you nod, standing up. Wanda takes your hand and leads you back to her -and now your- place. There are already several boxes in the living room of your new home.

Home, that word fits so well with how you feel here.

The only other time where you felt like you belonged was in college, in the dorm you shared with Darcy and then at the hospital, which wasn’t strictly a home.

Without saying anything, Wanda pulls you to the couch, and you let her rest her head against your chest as you watch “Golden Girls”. She had you to thank for introducing her to a whole new obsession.

“Shouldn’t we go pick up the kids now?” you say after a while, looking at the hour.

“Sharon is driving them here”

“Now she’s your best friend”

“I’m sure she only offered to see you again and annoy me” Wanda chuckles, looking up at you. “Unfortunately for her, I don’t share”

“Mmhm” you smile against her lips, enjoying her possesiveness.

By the time Sharon drops off the kids, Wanda’s shown you how she really feels about sharing, making sure there’s a visible mark on your neck as you walk out of the house to greet Tommy and Billy.

“Hey, Y/N” Sharon says, playing with her sunglasses.

“H-hi, Sharon. How are you doing?”

“Oh, you know. Enjoying the cold days, wishing I had someone to warm me up”

“Yeah, it’s cold. Outside, and inside too if you don’t have any heating” you mumble, trying to end the conversation. “Stay hot. I mean, warm. And thanks for dropping off the kids”

“My pleasure”

Sprinting back home, you lock the door and lean against it, hoping you won’t have to talk to the woman in a very long time.

“I see that little mark on your collarbone wasn’t enough. Maybe I should leave more on your neck” Wanda taunts.

“Baby, I could tattoo your name across my forehead and that woman would still try to get in my pants” you sigh, hands resting on Wanda’s hips. “Are we telling the kids about me moving in?”

“Yeah, come on”

Billy and Tommy are in the backyard, throwing a ball that Sparky chases around. They both approach you as Wanda calls for them, and she kneels to be at eye level with them.

“Boys, we have news. Y/N is moving”

“What? Where? You’re not gonna have your house across the street?”

“Mama, we should all live together” Tommy says, pleading to his mother.

“Oh, my darling boys, Y/N is gonna move with us! We’ll all live here. What do you think about it?”

“Yaaay” they run towards you, talking as fast as they can.

“I’ll make room in my drawers for you!”

“You can take one of my shelves”

Each kid takes turns on ideas to make room for you, and you hug them closer.

“I’m sure we’ll find a place for all my stuff. Don’t worry about it, I’m just happy you want me to live here”

“We do” Billy says, and then he turns to his mother. “Can we please get pizza to celebrate, pleaaase?”

“Yes, can we?” you join, pouting.

Wanda rolls her eyes, laughing.

“I can’t believe I set myself up. Now it’s three children against one of me”

“You love us” you say, standing up and pulling her in for a kiss.

Wanda smiles against your lips.

“I do”

—

You’re buzzing with excitement to tell everyone the news, but you want Darcy to be the first to know.

While you sit in the cafeteria, the perfect oportunity presents itself.

“Ugh, one of your presents will arrive too late for me to wrap it up. I’ll send it but you have to promise you won’t open it”

“Yeah, yeah. Just send it home”

“No. I’ll send it to Wanda instead. She’ll keep it away from you”

“Same thing. Home for me, her. But I won’t open it” you smile as you take a bite of your sandwich, waiting for Darcy to understand what you mean.

“You? And her? Moving in together?” this is the first time that you see Darcy so excited over your relationship, and she hugs you. “You’re not gonna die alone”

“Oh, shut it”

“What are we celebrating?” Carol says, taking a seat next to you.

“Y/N and Wanda are moving in together” Darcy says, practically singing. “And now I have to rethink my second present”

“Why do you give her two Christmas presents?” Carol looks between you two and Darcy gasps.

“She saw you naked but didn’t tell her about your birthday?”

“Eh, what can I say? I have intimacy issues” you shrug your shoulders, laughing as Carol catches up with everything.

“Your birthday is on Christmas Eve”

“That’s correct” you nod. Eager to change the subject, you ask about the wedding. Lunch is cut short as they’re both paged and you walk back to the front desk, dropping off some paperwork about discharges and patient forms.

You’ve been talking for a bit with the nurses when you feel someone stand behind you.

A beautiful redhead with striking green eyes smiles at you, and it takes you a moment to notice you’re staring.

“Hi. How can we help you?” you say, pulling the charts close to your chest, pretending to be casual.

“I’m looking for an old friend”

“Sure thing, do you know his room number?”

“I know his name. Nick Fury” she says with a smirk and you laugh.

“Oh, the Chief. He should be in his office reviewing schedules right about now. Just go upstairs and turn rigt” you point behind her.

“Thank you, Doctor…” she leans forward to read the name on your badge. “Y/L/N”

You’re about to ask her name when you’re paged.

911.

“My pleasure. Enjoy your reunion with the Chief” you excuse yourself, going back to the ER.

As a group of people involved in a car crash arrive, everything that just happened becomes irrelevant.

You have no idea how crazy your day is about to get.

—

“Let me see if I understand” Fury says, the tips of his fingers aligning as Natasha looks from the other side of her desk, impassive.

She’s got a poker face that no one can break, not even someone as respected as Nicholas Fury.

“You want to teach us the new surgical method your mother invented"

Natasha nods.

“Why the sudden interest in sharing with us?”

“You’re a teaching hospital. Stark is on this quest to make everything accessible for everyone. It gives us good press, and will draw attention to your program”

“No ulterior motive?”

“The world is getting more complicated. The Starks and Romanoffs are the families with the greater research capabilities, I think it’s time to stop competing with each other and work together” Natasha says.

“Just like that?”

“Well…”

Natasha doesn’t get to complete her sentence, as Tony walks in the room without knocking.

“Chief” he says, a bit distressed. It takes him a minute to process the other presence in the room. “Romanoff?”

“Hey, Tony”

“What are you…? Ok, that’s for later. There was an avalanche in Silverton Mountain, several people are trapped and injured. They’re requesting aid”

“Let’s page Y/N and prepare the ER to receive them”

“Sorry for cutting your meeting short, I’m sure it wasn’t important” Tony winks at Natasha.

“I’ll be back later” she says. “Don’t be such a sore loser, Tony, not everyone can have a Nobel Prize”

“Your mother won that, not you” he says, trying to keep his cool.

“Well, let’s see if another Romanoff can beat you to it again” the woman says, smiling while Fury stands up.

“Children, not now. Call me tomorrow, Romanoff”

The two men leave his office, walking to the ER to find the head of Trauma.

“Is it a good idea to leave her alone there?”

“She’s not a spy, Stark”

“Her mother sent her for some nefarious purpose, I’m sure”

“That’s a talk for later. Y/L/N” Fury finally spots you.

“Chief, what’s up?”

“Avalanche in Silverton Mountain. I’m sending the chopper with you, Barton and another doctor of your choice”

“We’re only transporting critically injured patients, the rest will be taken by ambulance to local hospitals” Tony adds, while you walk back to prepare.

“Ok, I’m taking Bishop with me. Anything else I should know about?”

“Expect a long day” Tony pats your shoulder and you sigh.

Looking for the storage room, you find a three layered rescue suit, preparing for the cold and relentless weather of the mountains. Next are medical supplies, rope, thermic blankets, comms and avalanche probes.

Once you check everything’s set up, you change your sneakers for hiking boots and carry everything in a waterproof backpack. Just as you’re about to leave, Kate comes in. You show her the clothes she should change into, and what to put in her own backpack.

“I’ll meet you at the rooftop”

Wanda doesn’t pick up the phone when you call her, so you leave a voicemail explaining you won’t be reachable for a couple of hours.

As you walk to the elevator, you meet the mysterious woman again.

“Up or down?” you ask as you both reach for the button.

“Down. You?”

“All the way up”

“Going somewhere?” she teases.

“Just a helicopter ride. Care to join me?” you say, not knowing what makes you joke with a stranger.

“Perhaps next time. Take this one. I’ll wait for the other elevator” the woman says when the doors open. You nod your thanks and your eyes meet as you press the button. “I do hope we’ll see each other again, Y/N”

“I didn’t get your name”

“Natasha” the woman smiles, doors closing. The last thing you see is that cryptic smile as the elevator starts to go up.

The cold wind hits your face as soon as the doors open, Stark’s helicopter ready for the 15 minute flight to Silverton.

“Hey, Barton. Wilson?” you say, surprised. “Didn’t know you could fly these things”

“Hell, yeah. This is Redwing” he says, pointing at the helicopter.

“Stop calling it that” Stark grumbles.

Clint and you check for everything to be in its place and you nod as Kate joins you.

“I’m having everyone on standby, we’ll start preparing as soon as you call with more information on number of patients and status” Fury says. Then he turns to look at everyone else. “Stay safe and good luck”

The building becomes smaller as you fly away, and Barton chats with Sam for a bit about the weather and the rescue plan. You follow the conversation here and there, but instead look out the window and then to Kate, who seems to be deep in thought.

“Everything ok?”

“Yeah, just nervous” she admits and you nudge her knee with your hand.

“It’ll be fine, you’re gonna fly back with patients that need to be at Stark hospital. I’ll show you what to do”

“Ok”

As soon as you land on the area, a group of first responders run to greet you.

“Lee Jones” the team leader introduces himself. “There are six people still missing, we secured the area and will be starting a second round of search” he says, pointing at a nearby hill.

“Doctor Bishop, head to where the rescued people are to evaluate them” you say, and she walks back to an operations center with several stretchers. “Do we have a list of the people missing?”

“Here”

You take the paper, inspecting it. Two women, one children, four men. Your stomach drops as you get to the last name.

“Barton” you pull him to get his attention. He reads over your shoulder, alarmed as well.

“Is this accurate? Have you doble checked these people are not back in their hotel?” he says, knowing that information could get lost during rescue.

“Yes, sir”

“Crap” he says, looking at the hill.

The name at the bottom of the list is Pietro Maximoff.

“Come on, no time to waste” you say, sprinting. A couple of people follow you, and you have to remember the training you got.

The first 15 minutes are crucial. And now, the people who didn’t die instantly, will pass from asphyxia, hypothermia or critical injuries.

Except Pietro. He knows what to do to stay alive. You just gotta find him.

“We gotta let Wanda know” Clint shouts next to you, the cold wind hitting you straight in the face.

“There is nothing to tell her now”

“Y/N”

“Go back and call her if you want. I can’t waste time right now, Clint”

It looks like there’s a storm forming. If you’re lucky, you’ll get an hour of not so bad weather and then, it will be too risky for them to continue.

Not you, though. You’re not leaving until you find Pietro.

“Here!” two people shout at the same time. You turn to run where they are. One of the rescuers is digging through the snow, and a woman’s face is visible. You want to keep looking for Pietro, but you came here to help everyone.

“I’ll keep searching” Clint nods your way.

The second person they find is the woman’s child.

“Hypothermic, hard to say if they have other injuries. I’d recommend you take them back to Stark Hospital, call and ask for doctor Lewis and Rambeau. Wilson will fly them there” you instruct the rescuers.

“I found one, he’s dead” you hear through the radio and your heart drops. You race to where the rescuer is, praying that it’s not Pietro. “Male, approximately 50”

You take a minute, holding your side as the cold air makes it hard to breathe.

“Mark the spot so we can recover the body and alert his family” Lee instructs.

They keep using the avalanche probes, to no avail.

“You’re walking too far away and the wind is getting worse” Clint warns you, but you ignore him. Pietro has to be here.

“Come on, come on” you walk faster, the wind almost knocking you down.

“Y/L/N, come back” Clint says, this time through the radio so everyone can hear him. “Now”

You ignore him, looking around. Everything is white… except.

A spot of color. Bright yellow and green. Just like the gloves you gave Pietro.

“Pietro” you run towards it, heart beating out of your chest. There he is, you can see his face, and part of his hands, as he managed to dig through the snow to be able to breathe. “Clint, I found him”

Pietro’s vitals are weak, but he whines when you call his name. Everyone comes running to help you, digging him out.

“Can you hear me? Frosty, come on” you insist, inspecting every inch of his body. “He’s going back to Stark Hospital with us, now”

“As soon as Wilson comes back”

You nod, stabilizing his neck as the men carry him to the operation center. You hear through the comms that they found the last man, unfortunately deceased as well.

“It’s a miracle we found him alive” Clint comments.

You stay quiet, going over statistics and the list of injuries that could be life threatening and you won’t know about until you do imaging.

“I’m calling Laura, so Wanda’s not alone” Clint says. You should have brought your phone. He greets his wife, and a moment later his face falls. “Wanda’s there with you? Can you put her on the phone?”

Now it’s your turn to feel dread, taking the phone with shaky hands.

“Sweetheart” you say, feeling awful when you hear Wanda’s voice, knowing what you’re about to say will destroy her. “You might want to sit down”

—

“Male with helmet and airbag, was conscious during rescue and prior to boarding the helicopter. Heart rate weak, slow, irregular due to hypothermia; passive warming techniques started on the way to the hospital. No visible trauma, do a complete body scan” you say as soon as you land, Carol and Stark the first to greet you at the rooftop.

Wanda’s not here yet and you’re not ready to face her, especially since you have no idea on the extent of his internal injuries.

“Are you ok? You’re shivering” Darcy comments when you change into your scrubs, and all you can do is nod.

“Fine”

Thoracic spine fracture, comminuted knee fracture and intracranial hemorrhage. The room is silent as you look at the images, knowing it’s gonna be a long and challenging intervention.

“Wanda’s here” Kate says as soon as you take the elevator to the OR.

“Not now, Kate. Tell her we’ll keep her updated and then scrub in”

Carol gives you a curious glance, but keeps her comments to herself.

There’s silence in the OR as you work with Carol and Kate, while Stark and Parker deal with the hemorrhage.

“Doctor Y/L/N” Fury steps in.

“Not now”

“Miss Maximoff would like an update”

“I don’t have one for her” you let out an exasperated sigh when Fury insists, turning to look at Stark. “Do you have an update? How about you, Danvers? Alright then, when we know something other than his body is all kinds of fucked, we will give Miss Maximoff an update”

“You’re too close to this”

“No, I’m stabilizing his spine so he can teach his nephews how to ride a fucking bike and all you are is a distraction. Leave my OR, now”

You can feel Fury’s angry stare in the back of your head, but ignore it and keep working.

Stark is the first to break the silence, if only to ask for more suction.

“I’m done with the knee. If you want to update her” Carol says after a while.

“You heard her, Bishop”

“You should go. I’m sure Wanda will want to hear it from you”

“No” is all you say, voice shaking.

No, you can’t face Wanda now. You don’t know if Pietro is gonna make it and you won’t lie to her.

Beyond that, you can’t imagine what she’ll say to you if you can’t save him.

Why didn’t you find him faster? Why didn’t you help him?

This is your fault.

“BP’s dropping” the nurse alerts you.

“One minute” Tony says, eyes glued to his work.

“Stark, he’s crashing” you insist. He ignores you and you’re about to throw your scalpel and start CPR when Pietro’s vitals stabilize.

“You gotta let me work too” Tony says. “Peter, close here. Let’s see that spine now”

After three more hours of work, there’s nothing left to do but wait. While Pietro’s transferred to the ICU, you stay back, removing your facemask and surgical cap.

Carol stands next to you, without saying a word.

“If he doesn’t make it, Wanda’s never going to forgive me” you say, looking at the ground.

“You don’t believe that” Carol says.

“I don’t know. But I guess I’ll find out”

“It’s gonna be fine” she says, giving your arm a squeeze and you nod, leaving the scrub room.

Your hands shake as you press the elevator button that will take you to Wanda. The adrenaline is slowly leaving your body, but your muscles can’t relax, still waiting for an even bigger disaster to come.

Forcing yourself to step into the hallway, your eyes meet Wanda’s across the room. They are reddened by the tears, her hair a bit disheveled and all over the place.

Whatever you were about to say dies in your throat. She stands up, walking towards you, and you brace yourself for a myriad of insults and bitter words.

Instead, she throws herself in your arms, crying.

“You’re ok” she keeps saying. “I was so scared. I’m so sorry”

“It’s fine. I’m here” you hold her closer, kissing her head and shedding a couple of tears. “We did everything we could, Wanda, please believe me. Now we have to wait for him to recover. Please, please don’t hate me”

“You saved him. He’s alive because of you” she says, her arms still on your back. “I don’t know what I’d do without you”

“I’m here” you sigh against her temple. “It’s all going to be fine”

But you don’t know if that’s true.

—

Natasha answers the call as soon as she’s in her suite, knowing her mother only had a few minutes to chat.

“Hello, dear. How did it go?”

“It was cut short. An emergency” the redhead sighs, sitting in the bed and taking off her heels. “They used Tony’s helicopter and everything”

“The Stark boy, always wanting to be the center of attention” Melina tsks. “Did you get to see their ER?”

“Not yet. I did meet their Head of Trauma”

Natasha’s mind goes back to you. She was honestly surprised when she saw you waiting for the elevator in the rescue gear. You weren’t like any other of the Trauma surgeons she had met before.

“What did you think of them?”

“Very heroic. Jumped straight into the danger, no questions asked. And she yelled at Fury when he tried to keep her out of the OR”

Another pleasant surprise. It was hard to tell you had that fire in you, with those kind eyes and gentle smile.

“Do you want to hire her or date her?” Melina picks up on her daughter’s tone.

“Can’t I do both?”

“My darling girl, of course you can. When was the last time you didn’t get what you wanted?”

—

It’s cold and you can’t reach for whatever it is you’re looking for.

What were you trying to find in the middle of nowhere?

It’s dark, except for a circle around you, and there’s no way to tell up from down.

Except when you see something next to your feet, and you kneel down. As you pull from it, the snow moves and you can see Pietro’s face. You dig deeper, and then you see Wanda. Every time you remove snow, there’s another face, until you find your father, staring at you.

You try to reach for him, but the watch on your wrist reaches zero on its countdown, the beeping sound mocking you as you run out of time.

“Wait” you jump up, looking around.

On call room. You’re in the hospital. There’s solid ground beneath you, not layers and layers of snow.

The sound comes from your pager.

911.

Everything feels like an emergency these days. You’ve lost track of time, alternating between your shifts and the ICU, where Pietro is still recovering.

It’s been four days and he hasn’t woken up yet.

“What do we have?” you ask Kate, who begins to give you the overview.

It’s not something that requires surgery, which makes you sigh with relief. This is the end of your shift and you need to eat something before heading back to the ICU.

“When was the last time you left the hospital?” Darcy says and you shrug your shoulders, eating your sandwich and feeling ill the second you swallow.

You have to force yourself to eat lately.

“I don’t know”

“The day of the accident. Five days ago. You can’t keep going like this” your friend says, but you avoid her stare.

“Wanda is not allowed in the ICU and Pietro shouldn’t be alone in there”

“Pietro is unconscious. Wanda is the one that’s at home, alone and scared. I think her brother would appreciate you keeping her company” Darcy reasons with you.

You rub your temples, trying to not throw up.

Truth is, you’re scared that the other shoe will drop. That things between you and Wanda could turn sour if her brother doesn’t show any signs of improvement.

“You are carrying an immense responsibility and burden, that it’s not yours. Nor anyone’s. It was an accident. It’s life” your friend insists, knowing very well the meaning behind your silence.

You keep looking down, chin resting on your hand as a couple of tears run down your cheeks.

Darcy’s expression softens at that.

“I’ll stay with Pietro for a bit. Wanda is in the foyer, ready to take you home. Please, go with her”

You try to say something, but the words get stuck in your throat. It’s been like this for days. When it comes to work, you function even better than usual, accostumed to chaos and uncertainty. The minute the conversation pivots, your throat closes, making it hard to utter a single word.

In the end, you nod, throwing away your barely touched food to go meet your girlfriend.

Guilt overwhelms you as you notice the bags under Wanda’s eyes. It’s impossible to be everywhere and be everything to all the people that matter to you, but you still feel like a failure.

“He…” you prepare the update, but Wanda kisses you, stopping the words from leaving your mouth.

“I’m here to take care of you. I already know everything there is to know. Let’s go home”

Taking a breath, you nod and walk behind her towards the exit. The light hurts your eyes, and you have to look down, frowning. Wanda’s hand is on yours, leading you to the car.

The ride home is silent. There are still some boxes in the living room, pushed to the wall to make room for walking. It gives an eerie vibe, another reminder that your entire world stopped almost a week ago.

“Are you hungry?”

“Just tired” you say in a low voice. “I smell like hospital”

Wanda nods, closing the door and walking you upstairs. All you’ve done for the past days is take quick showers, with cheap shampoo that is in the hospital and leaves your hair dry.

For the first time, you don’t have to hurry and jump into a spray of cold water, rinsing as fast as you can. The warm temperature and pressure on your muscles feels like a luxury.

“Feels good?” Wanda whispers against your ear and you nod. She places a kiss on your shoulder’s scar. You step back, trying to chase after her touch, and she laughs.

That sound is enough to make you feel ten times lighter.

As you step out of the shower, you admire the way Wanda places a towel around her, and without thinking you meet her in a slow and tender kiss.

“Missed you” you say against her lips.

“I missed you too, sweetheart”

There’s no rush as you change into comfortable clothes, and rest your head on Wanda’s lap while she reads a draft for Laura to review.

“How’s the book coming along?”

“Good, very fast thanks to your help”

“So, do I get credited on the cover or something?” you joke, looking up.

“I can pay you in other ways for your very valuable contribution”

“I’ll hold you to that” you joke, feeling sleepy as Wanda runs her hand through your hair.

The next time you open your eyes, it’s past noon. You turn in bed, Wanda looking at you.

“Were you watching me sleep?”

“No” she answers way too fast. “Maybe. I… you looked upset. Like you were having a nightmare. I just wanted to make sure you were ok, that’s all”

“I’m ok” you promise, pulling her so she’s resting against your chest. “How are Billy and Tommy?”

“Quiet. I know they’re worried and they’ve been missing you too”

“We could go out to the movies today” you suggest.

“Actually, they have a surprise for you” she looks up and you smile.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. And I promised them you are wearing an ugly Christmas sweater”

“Is that so?” you turn her in your arms, tickling her sides. “I don’t have any”

“I got you one” Wanda says between giggles and you pull her closer as she tries to get away from you. “Stop, please”

“Not until you show me that ugly sweater”

“Nu-uh, you’ll find a way to get rid of it”

“Then, you shall pay the consequences” you declare, laughing as she distracts you with a kiss.

—

“Is this absolutely necessary?” you say, walking towards the school auditorium. The sweater is not exactly ugly, it only has some paper figures hanging along the arms, which makes it uncomfortable to move around.

The biggest issue is that Wanda and everyone else is wearing normal clothes, which earns you a couple of funny looks.

“Babe, let me get changed, I have some scrubs in the car” you turn around, but Wanda catches you and pulls you back.

“I promise you, I’ll make it worth it” she says in a low voice against your ear. The little kiss Wanda gives behind your ear seals the deal.

“Are you gonna wear something slutty?” you whisper against her temple and she laughs.

“You’ll have to find out, detka”

“Detka?” you repeat, your pronunciation awful. “What does that mean?”

“I’ll tell you later. It’s part of your Christmas present” your girlfriend says, biting her lip.

She’s such a tease.

“Show’s starting, come on”

“Show?” you say, following her all the way to the front row. The lights go out but to your horror, your sweater glows in the dark. You struggle to take it off, but Wanda takes you by the wrists, laughing while you look around, embarrassed.

The first number is of really small children, who try to follow their teacher as they sing and dance, but looking adorably confused is enough to have all the parents clapping and cheering. After two or three more songs, you finally know why you’re there. Billy and Tommy are in the front of their class, singing Holly Jolly Christmas.

“Those are our boys!” you shout excitedly, looking around so everyone knows they’re your kids.

“Baby, I think they got it” Wanda smiles lovingly as you take out your phone and record, zooming in on the twins.

Once the song ends, you give them a standing ovation, and the only thing most people can see is a floating figure that glows in the dark.

The show goes on for another forty minutes, but you’re the first to go find the kids backstage. As soon as they see you, they jump into your arms.

“You were amazing! Next stop, Broadway!”

“Did you like the sweater we picked out for you?”

“Yes, it’s so original!” you say, hearing Wanda laugh behind you. “Come on, let’s get some pizza. Or burgers and milkshakes, whatever you want”

“Can we go to Burger Galaxy?" Billy says and you nod.

"Sure, let me check if it's open" you say, pulling out your phone. You frown at the missed calls from Darcy. She's still at the hospital and there's only one reason why she'd call. "Give me a second"

Walking away, you dial her number.

"He's awake"

"How is he...?"

"Just come to the hospital" she insists. Wanda is talking to the boys as you return, her face dropping when you lock eyes.

"We need to go to the hospital"

You take the keys from her shaking hands, smiling as she tries to control her breathing. The ride feels like an eternity, but it's only ten minutes. You're about to head to the ICU, when Darcy sees you.

"Over here"

"How is he...?" you catch up, aware that Wanda and the kids are right behind you.

"Awake and annoying. A bit confused as well, but all things considered, he'll be fine. Congrats, pal. You worked a Christmas miracle"

You stand by the door as Wanda walks past you, speaking in Sokovian and holding her brother's face between her hands. Tommy and Billy stand next to his bed, waiting for a chance to greet their uncle. Between all the fuss, Pietro looks at you, mouthing a thank you.

You can't help the tears from clouding your vision. After taking a breath to calm yourself, you wipe the corner of your eyes and smile at him.

"Welcome back, Frosty"

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x you

399 notes · View notes

qls-hostsevents · 7 days ago

Text

Introducing the QPR August 2025 prompts!

(plain text underneath for all pictures under the read more)

Starting from now you can plan, outline or pre-write as many fics as you want! We just ask that you do not publish anything until August 4th.

The master week repeats each week (so we will cycle through it 4 times) and assigns an extra challenge to those who want it! It is not necessary to do this, and you can ignore it if wanted.

We've provided 10 Alt prompts to use in place of the main prompts, so feel free to mix and match if something isn't quite your fancy!

Good luck writing, and we hope to see you in August!

Main prompts:

The prompts are set out in the following order: Quote, three word prompts, and a song.

Spring (week 1):

Aug 4: "Did you just trip?", Snow on the beach | Flower crowns | Easter, Wildflowers by Tom Petty

Aug 5: "Are you okay?", Healing | Painting | Weekend get-away, Ultimately by Khai Dreams

Aug 6: "Can I stay here for a while?", Flood | Death | Hospital, You smell of dead flowers by Vslush

Aug 7: "Do you think we're friends in every universe?", Bruises | Magic | Allergies, Honeybee by Steam Powered Giraffe

Aug 8: "Not all of us are what we seem.", Exhaustion | Hiking | Bird watching, FUNGUS by The Narcissist Cookbook

Aug 9: "Can we talk?", Blood | Sacrifice | Chronic Illness, It gets better by Bears in Trees

Aug 10: "You're allowed to make mistakes.", DnD | First Meeting | Concert, Je te laisserai des mots by Patrick Watson

Summer (week 2):

Aug 11: "You remembered.", Beach | Sunset | Volleyball, The nights by Avicii

Aug 12: "You're a liar.", Hope | Sunrise | Stars, Stubborn love by The Lumineers

Aug 13: "People will do a lot of things to survive.", Sunburn | Thunderstorm | Dehydration, Next of kin by Alvvays

Aug 14: "Would you even care if I died?", Hyperthermia | Trip gone wrong | Drowning, Half return by Adrianne Lenker

Aug 15: "What's wrong?", Car rides | Salt water | Wine, Orange sky by Alex Murdoch

Aug 16: "They're an idiot but they're my idiot.", Summer rain | Hot | Movie night, Mice on Venus by C418

Aug 17: "Who did this?", Friendship bracelets | Summer solstice | Jealousy, Burial blessing by Johnny Flynn

Autumn (week 3):

Aug 18: "I don't even know how to swim.", Harvest | Halloween | Rain, Home by Edith Whiskers

Aug 19: "You're overthinking it.", Cozy | Pumpkin | School, We fell in love in October by Girl in Red

Aug 20: "I can still see your ghost.", Overwhelmed | Spooky | Party, Candy by The Blasting Company

Aug 21: "I'm scared.", Cobwebs | Graveyard | Haunted, The woods by San Fermin

Aug 22: "Can you come pick me up?", Flu | Baking | Carnival, Flesh and bone by Madilyn Mei

Aug 23: Are you sick of me?", Nightmare | Library | Maze, Stars will fall by Duster

Aug 24: "I hope I never lose you.", Birthday | Thanksgiving | New neighborhood, Millie, warm the kettle by Rabbitology

Winter (week 4):

Aug 25: "You're horrible.", Fever | Skiing | Cat, The universe by Gregory Alan Isakov

Aug 26: "You need sleep.", Gifts | Jumper | Snow, Comfort chain by Instupendo

Aug 27: "Who are you when nobody's watching?", Hypothermia | Hibernate | Burns, Juliet by Cavetown

Aug 28: "I'm not sick.", Fire | Cold as ice | Wind, Sleeping by Gigi Perez

Aug 29: "How do I know you're not lying?", Blizzard | Hot chocolate | Buried, Northern attitude by Noah Kahan

Aug 30: "It's okay. I'm here.", Blankets | Snowman | Christmas, First love/Late spring by Mitski

Aug 31: "It hurts.", Shadows | Festival | Cuddling, Ivory tower by Philip Ayers

---

Master week:

Each day has 3 different genres/tropes to chose from

Day 1: Comedy | Fluff | Crack treated seriously

Day 2: Contemporary | Fluff | Domestic Fluff

Day 3: Dystopian | Angst | (Character) needs a hug

Day 4: Horror | Angst | Hurt no comfort

Day 5: Mystery | Hurt/Comfort | Academic rivals

Day 6: Sci-fi | Hurt/Comfort | Platonic soulmates

Day 7: Fantasy | Wild card | Enemies to qpps

---

Alt prompts:

The prompts are set out in the following order: Quote, an au, and a song.

Alt 1: “Sorry, I can't hang out today. I have to study for exams.”, High School AU, F.M.I.D by Pigeon Pit

Alt 2: “I know our kingdoms are enemies, but why does that mean we can't be friends?”, Royalty AU, Joan by Madilyn Mei

Alt 3: “Wait, you two know each other?”, Crossover AU, Alice by PEGGY

Alt 4: “I don't want to be a hero.”, Superpowers/Superheroes AU, Lion by Saint Mesa

Alt 5: “You didn't have to save me.”, Pirates AU, Sailor's boots by Frank Turner

Alt 6: “Hey, do we know each other?”, Coffee Shop AU, Happiness will ruin this place by San Fermin

Alt 7: “It's not my blood.”, Criminals AU, A bank robber's nursery rhyme by Goodnight, Texas

Alt 8: “I don't work for criminals. Not without the right price.”, Cyberpunk AU, Radioactive by Imagine dragons

Alt 9: “Did we just get attacked by a mythical creature?”, Mythology AU, Run boy run by WOODKID

Alt 10: “I'm barely tolerating you as it is.”, Pop Star, Meant for you by OMFG

83 notes · View notes

mindblowingscience · 19 days ago

Text

In a recent study published in New Phytologist, researchers at Michigan State University have uncovered how Amazon rainforest canopy trees manage the intense sunlight they absorb—revealing resilience to hot and dry conditions in the forest canopy while also offering a way to greatly improve the monitoring of canopy health under increasing extreme conditions.

#Science #Environment #Plants #Biology #Ecology #Trees #Amazon Rainforest #Climate Change

73 notes · View notes

i2sunric · 7 months ago

Text

𝗪𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗙𝗟𝗢𝗪𝗘𝗥 (k.sn)

PAIRING: sunoo x reader (f)

SUMMARY: they say christmas makes everyone feel emotional, but none of the members had ever seen sunoo treat someone the way he treats you.

WARNINGS: fluff, crack, lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.

PUBLISHED: 3rd December 2024

WC: 1.1k

TAGLIST: (permanent) @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @jwnghyuns @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle @jooniesbears-blog @skzenhalove @ro-diaries @onlyhyunjin @xcosmi @strawberrhypen @heeheeswifey @jakeflvrz @astratlantis @tunafishyfishylike @branchrkive @insommni4 @kirinaa08 @leiclerc @nxzz-skz @laurradoesloveu @beomluvrr @heeshlove @17ericas @riribelle @cloud-lyy @who-tf-soddhi

a/n: based on this ask from anon! i changed it a little bit i still hope you like it 🩷

The living room sparkled with the glow of string lights wrapped around the tree, the golden star perched on top glittering as if it were the crown jewel of the night. It was Christmas Eve, and the dorm of the group was abuzz with holiday energy.

The members were scattered across the room, some lounging indolently on the couch, others sprawled on the floor with a mountain of colorfully wrapped presents. Laughter bounced off the walls, fueled by Riki’s dramatic reenactment of accidentally burning cookies earlier in the day.

You were seated comfortably on the plush rug, sandwiched between Sunoo and Jake, while the others passed around mugs of steaming hot chocolate.

You were so glad they decided to include you in their holly jolly Christmas day, despite not being too close with everyone.

Despite the warmth of the room and the festive chatter, you just couldn't ignore how close Sunoo was sitting to you— his shoulder lightly brushing yours every time he shifted, his warmth unmistakable.

“Alright, who’s next?” Jungwon’s voice cut through the noise, his leaderly tone commanding just enough authority to keep everyone somewhat focused. “We’re not going to be here all night, people.”

Jay smirked, holding up his present dramatically. “Relax, Jungwon, it’s Christmas, not a board meeting.”

The group burst into a fit of laughter, but Sunoo was unusually quiet beside you, fidgeting with a small box wrapped in silver paper. You looked at him curiously, noting the unusual pink tint on his cheeks.

"Hey man, are you nervous or something?" Heeseung teased, noticing the same thing. "You've been holding that gift like it's a newborn baby.”

“Me? Nervous? Never," Sunoo said hastily, though the way his hand closed much tighter around the present belied his words. "I just… it’s a special gift."

Jake leaned forward, that mischievous grin spreading on his lips. "Oooh, this is juicy. Who's it for?"

Sunoo shot him a mock glare; his lips twisted wryly. "Why don't you mind your own business?

Before Jake could say anything back, Jungwon clapped his hands again. "Let's keep this moving. Sunoo, if you don't open something soon, we're skipping you."

Sunoo let out a melodramatic sigh, but instead of opening his own gift, he turned to you. "Actually… this one isn't for me." He held out the small silver-wrapped box, his voice soft yet clear. "It's for you."

The room fell silent.

“For me?" you asked, the sound of your voice barely above the crinkling of wrapping paper in the background.

Sunoo nodded, his face growing redder as he placed the box in your hands. "Yeah, I— uhm… Go on, open it.”

You hesitated for a moment, aware of the eyes on you, but the genuine anticipation in Sunoo's gaze urged you forward.

You carefully peeled back the wrapping paper, revealing a small wooden box etched with delicate patterns of stars and moons. Inside, nestled on a bed of soft velvet, was a bracelet unlike anything you'd ever seen.

It wasn't just jewelry, but a story. Delicate charms dangled from the chain, each one different. A sun, a music note, a book, a snowflake, and even a small heart-all symbols of moments you and Sunoo had shared.

Your breath caught in your throat, "Sunoo…” you murmured, your eyes swelling with unshed and happy tears.

He leaned closer, his voice almost at a whisper. "Each charm is meant for something. Like the sun because well, you are my sunshine, and the musical note because you always hum even though you think nobody hears you.”

Sunoo continued “The book because for the first time we stayed in a book shop for hours, and the snowflake because well, for today."

You stared at him with your mouth agape; it seemed that the whole rest of the room was erupting.

"Hold on a second!" Jake practically shouted, with his mug of hot chocolate just about to spill. "Did I just hear 'you're my sunshine'?”

Jay tossed his head back and let out a laugh. "This is better than expected. “Hey, are you trying to make us all look bad?"

"Right? Where's my custom jewelry?" Riki said, faking outrage. "This is just favoritism, and I'm not going to stand for it."

Sunoo, to his credit, took the teasing in stride, though his cheeks stayed pink. "This is only for her.”

Meanwhile, you were still in your processing, your fingers tracing the charms on the bracelet lightly. "Sunoo, this is… I don't even know what to say."

He leaned his head to one side, softening his expression. "Say you like it."

"I love it," you said, your voice shaking with emotion. "It's perfect."

A warm smile spread across his face, and for a moment, it felt like it was just the two of you in the room. But of course, that peace didn't last long.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Jake’s voice broke through the moment. "Did Sunoo just lean in closer?” Sunghoon continued, “Are we witnessing the beginning of a love confession?

“Stop it, you two,” Heeseung said, though he was clearly holding back laughter. “Let them have their moment.”

Sunoo rolled his eyes, finally leaning back with a sigh. “You’re all impossible.” Then, with a playful grin, he turned back to you. “Merry Christmas.”

And because it was Sunoo, he didn't just leave it at that. He leaned in and lightly touched his forehead against yours in an action so sweet and intimate that sent the room into another frenzy.

Riki dramatically pretended to faint onto the couch. "I can't handle this. It's too cute.”

Jay nodded, crossing his arms in a stern manner. "I didn’t even realise Sunoo liked Y/n this whole time.”

He smirked at last, finally folding into his usual mischievous self. "I’m just a good actor.”

The night was a continuation of laughter and teasing, but the bracelet on your wrist kept going back to that quiet, meaningful moment you'd shared with Sunoo.

Even in the midst of chaos, you couldn't help but steal glances at him, and every time you did, you caught him looking back—his eyes sparkling like the stars on the tree.

But the best was when, by the end of the night, it was time for you to go back home, Riki placed a mistletoe on the door as Sunoo was seeing you out.

And well, the fireworks set as his lips met yours, more tender than the cake you had earlier.

161 notes · View notes

berrywvs · 7 days ago

Text

let me be your fool ఇ jean kirschtein x fem!reader!

summary: one summer, jean learns that some love stories are meant to be painted, even if they can't last forever.

words: 11k

tags: fluff!!, strangers to lovers, mutual pinning!, summer romance, historical au, painter!jean, the notebook inspired! (without the toxicity).

warnings: suggestive content (implied intimacy), brief nudity (for artistic purposes), period-typical gender roles, overbearing parents, arranged marriage, no use of y/n.

note: hiii :3 this is my first time publishing my work on tumblr and i'm really excited!!, english is not my first language (sorry for my mistakes, please be kind). I know this is pretty long and i'm apologize for that :( i didn't think it would end up that long, sorry jejeje.

The summer of 1943 was an unforgettable experience.

At least for Jean Kirschtein, it was.

The season started calm. Hot wind kissed the leaves of the trees every second it passed.

The sun burned his face while he was painting the outside walls of a new house his family's company had built.

He wanted to paint the house another color. Given the location, which was near the countryside next to a lake, he thought of a baby blue color, so it could contrast with the vibe. But the client specifically asked for it to be painted yellow, so… what the client asks.

At least he was getting a good pay out of this.

He started thinking of what he would do with the new income he was going to receive.

God, he could even buy new pastels or a set of watercolors for his new paintings.

Then he suddenly heard the motor of a car stopping nearby.

It was a family.

Maybe they were interested in the house. But sadly, it was already sold.

“Good morning, sir. Can I help you?” Jean asked, dropping his paintbrush on the paint can.

“Good morning. We just wanted to see the house,” an older man replied politely.

He was stoic at first glance, but very elegant.

He seemed like an upper-class man from a big city, perhaps he wanted a country house like that one to stay on vacation.

Many people liked to visit Trost in the summertime, especially to distract their minds from big cities like Stohess, which was described as beautiful, but nothing could compare to the beauty of his hometown.

“Sorry, sir, but the house is already sold,” Jean announced, a little harsh.

“I know. It was me who bought it, young man,” the man revealed.

Jean’s face suddenly changed a bit. He was embarrassed by the simple thought of the man being anyone but the owner.

“Sorry, sir, I should not have made assumptions so quickly.” He walked up to him. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Jean Kirschtein.”

He stretched his hand for a handshake, which was accepted by the man in front of him.

The older man introduced himself too. “You must be the son of the landlord.”

“Yes, sir,” Jean nodded. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise, Kirschtein,” he said. “Do you mind if we take a look inside the house? We need to see it first so that when we start decorating it we make sure everything it's in place.”

“No, sir. Let me open the door for you.” Jean walked to the porch and unlocked the door.

When he turned around, he swore he felt his heart flutter.

He saw the most majestic and beautiful girl his eyes had ever seen.

Her vibe was classy, of course, she must be the daughter of the owner. But her face still conveyed the cheeky attitude she might possess.

He abruptly locked eyes with her, and for a moment, he could feel the world stop.

She had just caught him staring, which made him look in another direction.

The whole tour around the house, he continued to subtly stare at her.

He got caught on the way her brows frowned when her father told her about the color of the inside of the house.

“It has to be light blue… and white,” she said. “It suits the vibe.”

“I think yellow suits the interior best,” the man expressed. “Your mother agrees with me as well.”

She crossed her arms around her chest. “I don’t think that would look nice. You need to extend the color palette of the house. It would look boring with just one plain color.”

She faced Jean, who was trying not to look like a snitch. “Sir, what do you think?”

Jean looked like a deer in headlights. He felt like he got caught (again) by her. But he quickly composed himself and tried to look nonchalant.

“I think your idea sounds nice, ma’am. It would really make the interior look more elegant,” he said with honesty.

She smiled at him. “Finally! Someone with good taste. I guess that’s why you’re the painter, you get to catch it at first glance.”

“Thanks, ma’am.” Jean’s ears got a little red just from seeing her smile in his direction.

He thought she had a really beautiful smile.

“Sweetie, we already decided the color,” her mother pointed out. “Yellow it will be, Mr. Kirschtein,” the woman said to Jean.

He nodded, taking her order in mind.

While the couple’s daughter just attempted to roll her eyes and continued to ignore the chatting of her parents, considering it useless.

Jean noticed it.

She had an attitude. And he really liked that.

When it was time for the family to leave, they all said their goodbyes to him.

“Thank you for the tour, Mr. Kirschtein. I hope this is not the last time we see each other,” the old man said to him.

“I really hope that too…” Jean said to him.

He wasn’t really focusing on the man in front of him, when behind the man he could see the brief image of his daughter getting back into the car.

The man went back to the car and returned to wherever he was from, taking his family with him too.

Since that day, Jean couldn’t get his head off the image of her. Not even if he tried (he tried, but failed. He was relieved by the falling, actually).

He tried to recall the way her voice sounded when she spoke to him, or the way her smile shone in his direction.

She was utterly beautiful. Not a common beauty at all, more like a woman you see currently in paintings.

The type of girl you only see one time in your life, and never again.

He was saddened by the fact that he might not see her again, but he truly prayed that the day he'd met her wasn’t the last time he’d have the opportunity to see her.

He couldn’t sleep either that night, overthinking the whole interaction, which was very short but enough for him to memorize her face.

He sat down on his bed and grabbed his sketchbook from his nightstand. And with shaky hands (from all the adrenaline), he started to draw her, trying to remember exquisite tiny details of her face she might have had.

That was the first day that Jean drew her.

And not the last time he did.

…

The country fair in Trost was a big event. Everybody in town came to it to spend some time with family, on the machine games or to gamble on contests like which fruit was bigger or which pie was more delicious.

Jean was helping her mother by carrying a pot of her famous stew that she was planning to sell when he spotted her.

Walking arm intertwined with the daughter of the town mayor: Historia Reiss.

His face brightened up at the sight of her.

She was wearing a gorgeous dress that suited her so well, it made her skin color stand out against the contrasting color of the fabric.

She looked genuinely happy to be there, he could see it in her eyes.

He quickly finished the assignment his mother gave him and went straight to one of his friends.

“Connie,”Jean called out.

“Hey man! what’s up?" Connie greeted him with a smile.

Jean leaned closer to him. “Do you see that girl next to Historia?”

“Yeah, she’s a cutie, what about her?” his friend asked.

“She’s the girl I told you about,” Jean revealed, a little excited to be honest. “The daughter of one of my father’s clients”.

“The one who bought the country house you’re painting?” Jean nodded in response.

“Well she’s totally a bae, she seems like she got some expensive taste.”

“I want to ask her out on a date,” Jean said firmly.

His friend nearly choked on his own saliva when he said that so disposed.

“You? The ladies man? The guy who rejects every single girl who has intentions on seeing you again? The ‘I have more important things to do than rather go out with a chick'?” he asked incredulously and scoffed “Are we talking about the same Jean we all know?”.

Jean’s jaw clenched at the teasing of his friend. “Connie, seriously, stop. You’re saying out loud, she can hear you!”.

“Since when do you care about being loud, man?”

“Shut up” he snapped out.

Connie continued to laugh at him and his clearly flustered sigh. “Grow some balls and go talk to her, horseface. She seems to be alone watching the pies of the contest”

Jean got angry at the nickname but Connie was right, she was alone on the pie stand, carefully admiring the works of the contestants.

“I’ll catch you later man” Jean patted his friend's shoulder and he nodded.

“Good luck loverboy!, you might need it” Connie yelled at him.

Jean ignored his friend's recall and as a nervous act he started to flick his hands, so he preferred to use them to arrange his hair.

He tried so hard to comb it, but a little rebel strand of hair didn’t want to stay in place.

He quickly got up to her spot and as an attempt to act “cool” he leaned his arm up to one of the wood pillars next to him, flexing his bicep a little.

She felt a strange presence interrupting her peaceful view of the pastries.

A little annoyed, she turned around her head to face it. Only to catch the image of the same guy who was painting her future house staring at her (again).

“Can I help you with something?” she spoke, raising one of her eyebrows, clearly uncomfortable at him staring so hard at her as if he wanted to see her soul or something.

Jean suddenly felt like a loss of words at having her so near to him. All the words he rehearsed in his mind a minute before were completely gone.

“Depends… does admiring you count as needing help?” he tried to say it in a nonchalant way, and he succeeded.

“Wow. That was… smooth. But next time, maybe, start with a ‘hi’ instead” she answered him with a fake smile, to later continue to walk and see the rest of the pies.

Jean stayed frozen for a moment, seeing how she was getting away, later he shaked his head as if he wanted to tell himself “I'm not going to look like an idiot, not in front of her” and went after her.

He reached her near one of the cherry pie tables.

“Okay, hi. Starting with that this time like you said” he tried to sound as calm and smooth as possible but his voice shaked a little.

She raised her sight shortly after he spoke, taken aback that he didn’t surrender easily.

“So… do you come here often?” he asked.

“Do I look like I come here often?” she gave him a confused look.

Jean wanted to hit himself, he was embarrassing himself in front of her.

“Look, I know I’m not exactly killin’ it in the smooth department today, but… would you maybe…wanna go out sometime?” he smiled.

“No thanks, I'll pass,” she replied, focusing again on the sweets.

His smile faded at her response, he wasn’t expecting that. Well actually he was, it was a clear probability, but it was one in a hundred.

A moment later he could spot the mayor's daughter calling her name and waving at her to catch her attention to go with her and her friends.

She gave her a sign that she was on her way to her. She turned around again to leave, but Jean spoke again.

“Guess I'll have to earn that ‘yes’ huh?”

She looked back over her shoulder and remarked. “In your wildest dreams” to later scoff a little laugh.

Jean smirked watching her go away.

That girl was going to be the death of him.

…

Jean continued to paint the house for her family until the day they moved in. They decorated the house interior in a pretty elegant and minimalistic style.

He had learned from his mother that the family came from Mitras, a big city like he supposed, and that they planned to spend the summer in Trost while the patriarch of the family did business with Mayor Reiss.

She was a city girl, rich and way out of his league. But that thought didn’t stop him at night when he tried to capture her portrait in one of his many canvases, but fell at the attempts.

He was frustrated at the fact that no matter what he draws or paints, nothing could come close to the beauty his eyes saw when he looked at her

Jean sadly stopped trying.

He was taking a break from it, he said to himself.

Until one day he had the opportunity to catch her view again.

She was laughing and blushing at something another of Historia’s friends joked about.

He didn’t remember Hitch Dreyse being so funny at some point. But that didn’t matter at all. Not when her joke got the most beautiful girl that had ever crossed his sight got all shy by it.

The way she looked in that moment was so endearing that everyone who saw her could tell she was posing, but in reality she was not.

With her head shyly hiding in her arm, hair caressing her skin gently, flushed cheeks and a cheeky grin her face kept. It was impossible for Jean to not sketch that beautiful image in his notebook.

He liked that sketch, and days later, he turned it into a full painting.

It was beautiful, but it couldn't compare to the divinity itself of the muse in real life.

…

The farmer’s Market was a tradition in the town. Every Friday, the market took place downtown.

People could sell whatever they wanted on it, from fresh vegetables and juicy fruits to home decor or even clothes.

It was like a huge opportunity every week for the merchants to sell or even buy goods for their personal or professional needs.

And there she was, walking, arm intertwined with one of Historia’s rich friends.

Reiner Braun.

They had met a few days ago. He was a foreign young man from a nearby country named Marley. She had heard about it before but never really visited it.

They were pleasantly talking while eyeing the beautiful decorations the merchants were selling.

Reiner was showing off his abilities on football and his dreams of getting to college.

“What about you?” he asked her.

Her smile faded a little but she returned it.

“Don’t judge me, but I don't really know," she expressed shyly. “It’s not my choice anyway”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t have a voice in my decision of my own future. My parents actually do” she sighed. “I bet they are going to make me end up as a trophy wife or something like that.”

The conversation turned uncomfortable after she spoke about her point of view. Neither Reiner nor her wanted to speak anymore, in a matter of seconds their arms loosen.

She thought that perhaps that’s what he saw on her the first time they met.

A Trophy ready to be won.

What a shame.

She could recognize Hitch calling her name while walking up to her quickly, like she was in a hurry.

“I need you to come with me" Hitch grabbed her hand gently and pulled her out of Reiner’s side.

“Where are we going?" she asked, confused.

Her friend didn’t tell her, they just continued walking until they reached an art stand near the park.

Many people were gathering around something, she couldn’t see with clarity, awakening her confusion.

Hitch guided her up til the front row of the bunch of people. She saw Historia with wide eyes admiring a painting.

“Oh my, it looks just like you,” the blonde girl said, placing her hand on her heart, as if it could touch it.

In a few seconds she saw the painting. And what she saw left her mouth open, flabbergasted.

It was a portrait of what she could tell was herself, but it was different, very different.

She looked dazzling in it, nearly angelic.

That was impossible, she could not look that wonderful in a painting when she was not even like that in person.

The painter was a total liar. And she needed to find out who he was.

Angrily she went to the merchant to ask him.

"Good afternoon, did you paint this?" she pointed at the portrait on exhibition.

The black haired guy denied. “Sadly no, ma’am. I’m only the distributor” he revealed, seeing her face drop a little. “But a dear friend of mine actually did”.

“Do you know where I can find him?”.

“He must be helping her mother in her stand, it’s a few blocks from here" he indicated. “His name is Jean Kirschtein”.

Wait.

She had heard that name before… but where?

She tried to remember where she recognized that name, it sounded so familiar.

Wait a minute.

Jean Kirschtein… The house painter.

OH MY GOD JEAN THE HOUSE PAINTER.

She nearly freaked out at that moment.

Why in the name of god was Jean Kirschtein painting her a portrait?

Oh, he definitely was going to hear her.

“I want to buy the portrait" she exclaimed suddenly searching for some money in her bag.

“It’s on the house ma’am” he smiled, “He actually would kill me, if he knew his muse paid for her own portrait”.

His muse? This must be wrong.

“Thank you” she fake grinned at him and took the canvas out of the display.

The bunch of people sighed by the early departure of it but she didn’t care. Her top priority was to confront the liar of Jean Kirschtein.

She followed the black-haired guy’s instructions of where the pastry stand was. She was furious to be honest, gripping with all her strength the portrait of herself with anger.

Jean was calmly helping her mother, recommending some customers the best pie flavors in existence in the stand. When he saw her coming, quickly, short heels clicking the concrete with desperation.

He smiled, remembering her love for pastries just as pies back then at the fair. But when his eyes saw the object she had in her hand, he knew it was over to him.

He didn’t remember putting that on sale or even putting it on Connie's truck.

Then what was she doing with it? It was not even ready to be shown to the world.

He recalled the night before.

He was at his house helping Connie and Marco to load the canvas to the truck, being so careful with them and scolding Connie about not being gentle enough.

And Marco?

Marco was nowhere to be seen, he literally disappeared from the face of earth for a while.

Jean was too zoomed on to notice his departure, he was arguing with Connie when his freckled friend came back with another canvas he didn’t even know what it had painted on it and loaded in the truck.

He was definitely going to kill Marco.

He rushed to get outside the stand and walked up to explain himself. He was embarrassed and ashamed by it, most of its guilt came by the look on her face… she was furious.

“Ma’am, I apologize sincerely, I didn't know they were putting it on display. If I had known before I wouldn't let them” he explained, surrounded by all the shame it could possibly exist in the world.

“You are a liar” she exclaimed, gaining a more hurt look on Jean's face.

“I apologize deeply ma’am, the last thing i wanted to do to you was to make you uncomforta–” she interrupted his apology.

“Is this how you really view me?” she asked, looking directly in his light brown eyes. As if it was searching for the answer in them.

“No” he replied, watching how the eyebrows of the girl in front of him frowned. “Not even a portrait can compare to the actual sight of the true beauty you emanate”.

His chest was about to explode, just by pronouncing those words his head was getting hazy and his cheeks tinted pink.

She blushed too, deeply red.

She turned her head to the side and looked away shyly, avoiding his sight.

Both of them were embarrassed and ashamed now.

He was, for making her that kind of confession without any type of warning and for the portrait incident.

She was, for believing he was a liar when the only thing he had ever done is telling her the truth.

Very foolish of both.

Suddenly all her anger and her doubt transformed into amusement.

This man was crazy. And he was totally going to drive her crazy too.

This accident of his might be the first attempt to really catch her attention completely. Neither his first impression, nor the time he asked her out.

This one was different.

Her heart pounded really fast when she looked at the portrait again and when she looked back at him, finding him blushing.

She recognized him for the first time. Noticing his brownish eyes, the sharp features he maintained, his ashy brown hair with that cute haircut.

He looked… really cute.

He was really cute.

And the way he spoke about her? she was on cloud nine nearly.

"I wanna go out with you" she muttered, still avoiding his gaze.

"What?”

"I said that I wanna go out with you!” she insisted, louder this time.

Jean smiled, truly smiled this time.

He got nervous instantly, his hands started trembling slightly and he preferred to pass them through his hair.

"So… where do you want to go?” he asked.

"You don’t ask a girl that!” she gasped, offended.

He laughed at her reaction and apologized.

"Then I'll see you tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at 6 pm”.

…

He stood up in front of her house attempting to comb his hair by pure instinct. With a bouquet of flowers his mother helped him to choose in one of his hands, he tried to remember the conversation he had planned in front of the mirror to say during the date.

He was five minutes early; he was really invested in making a good impression on her.

He knocked on the door and waited “patiently” until one of the servants opened it for him.

“Good afternoon young man, can I help you?” the maid asked him.

“Good afternoon, i’m actually here looking f–”

“If it’s the famous Jean Kirschtein” her father came to talk to him, excitedly almost. “How are you son? How’s your family?”

“We are doing good sir, thanks for asking. My father has been busy with some more upcoming projects and I'm helping him with them, so we are doing pretty well” he explained.

“Why are you still outside son? come in” the old man invited him and patted his shoulder in a homecoming way.

Jean thanked him, and got inside the house.

His hands were shaking now, from nerves and anxiety.

He was never like that with a girl before. She was the first girl who had such a strong effect on him to the point he actually desired to see her again every day.

It was as if she got him trapped on a spell, a lovely and strongish spell.

“I assume you must be looking for my daughter?” he sat on an armchair in the living room, and pointed with his hand to the couch for Jean to take a seat.

“Yes sir. I promise I’ll have her back home by nine o'clock. No kissing, no touching, sir. I have good intentions with her” he explained, showing her father he was a good catch for her daughter.

Her father laughed a little. “You seem like a good man son, you even remind me a little bit of me”

“Really?”

“Yes. When I was your age, I was just exactly like you. A hardworking man that one summer fell deeply in love with a girl. She was breathtaking… every single cent i received was spent on her, and it was worth it… so worth it” the man sighed at the thought .

“The girl… perhaps is your wife?” Jean questioned.

The man smirked and shook his head. “I wish. The girl I told you was promised to marry back home. So when she came back to her city, I never got to see her again anymore.”

Jean could see how the initial stoic vibe of the man was melting, revealing his true self.

A melancholic, full of nostalgia man.

“That is why I am glad you decided to ask my daughter out. You had the bravery to do it, because she can be a little… eccentric.”

Jean chuckled, nodding. “She’s really something else.”

Steps were heard coming closer to the living room where they were talking comfortably.

“Who’s something?” She got into the conversation. “What are you talking about?”

Jean faced her, she looked dazzling. Suddenly he felt a loss of words, this girl was gonna drive him insane, in a good way.

He cleared his throat and handed her the bouquet of flowers. “For you”

She took them and eyed them in awe. She loved lilies, more if they were more of a reddish color.

“How did you know that I liked lilies?” her eyelashes fluttered.

“I just… had a feeling you would like them,” he smiled. “My mother helped me choose them. She thought you would like burgundy one’s”.

“Well then send your mother my congratulations because she nailed it with the bouquet” she said excitedly.

“I’ll make sure she receives them,” he added.

The eye contact they made was sacred, it felt right, how both of them connected their eyes like they were the only one in the room.

“Time’s wasting and you both must be eager to go on your date” her father recalled. Interrupting the moment.

He took the bouquet of flowers out of his daughter's hands and grabbed it on his own.

“I’ll place this on the dining table”.

She nodded in response, eyes never leaving jean’s.

He was smitten, completely. Her eyes could melt him on the spot if she continued to stare like that. So sweet, but so enchanting at the same time.

He cleared his throat. Again.

“Ready ma’am?”

“Yes” she smirked before walking up to the entrance door to finally leave the house with him.

…

Both of them were sitting in a café near the downtown park.

He thought that maybe she would like the cozy and refined vibe of the place. And she totally did, but sadly she didn’t like coffee, but after Jean wished to smack himself, she ordered a cup of tea.

Peppermint tea specifically.

He ordered a latte for himself, with a pinch of cinnamon.

The silence between them was pretty awkward. Both of them didn’t even know how to start a conversation without sounding foolish. They were such a nervous wreck.

When the waitress brought them their order. She sighed out loud.

“Is there something wrong?” Jean asked her.

“Oh, no. Not at all, don’t worry” she took two sugar cubes with the sugar tong that was near the container. “It just that, I don’t really like sugar in my tea”

“You prefer honey then?" she nodded in response to his question.

“Niche, but I really like tea with honey instead of sugar. It makes it so light to drink and not too sweet, it balances the flavor”.

She giggled a bit after.

“What else do you like?” he asked, interested.

“Huh?” she raised an eyebrow. “You mean like, my preferences?”

Jean nodded. He wanted to know everything.

“Well…” she stopped, thinking for a moment. “I like pastries, cherry pie, especially. I have a huge sweet tooth. What else…" she started to ramble about her likings, literally for fifteen minutes without stopping.

He was completely mesmerized. And when she started to talk about her liking of gardening, all he could see was the way her eyes lit up with excitement.

He nodded at every piece of information she gave to him. Even if he did not understand it.

He wasn't into gardening. But god, he swore he could even become a gardener just to get her smiling at some lovely plants.

She cleared her throat, ashamed by all her talking. “Sorry, i got caught too deep in my rambling”.

“I don’t mind. I wanna know more about orchids” he said softly, winning a slight blush from her cheeks.

“You don’t find it a bit… annoying?”

“Am I supposed to be annoyed by the beautiful, intelligent botanist who talks about flowers like they’re little people?” he shrugged, his eyes softened. “Cause I’m not. I’m just trying to keep up.”

She got quiet, feeling the warm blood rushing through her cheeks. She hated how obvious it must be, her gaze flickering away from his for just a second.

“Your flirting isn’t exactly subtle, you know”

Jean chuckled under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck in that boyish, guilty way of his.

“Yeah, well… you don’t exactly make it easy to be subtle” He paused. “You talk about flowers and it’s like… everything else fades out. I’d be an idiot not to look at you.”

She swallowed hard, blinking down at her cup of tea.

And just like that, the air between them shifts. It became quiet, delicate, and full of something she wasn't even ready to name yet.

The date continued perfectly. Better than both of them expected to be.

They were walking side by side near the benches, the light of the lanterns flickered in their faces.

“What do you like to paint the most?” she asked him, both of them were eager to get to know the little thing about each other.

“It depends on my mood,” he shrugged. “But I really enjoy painting houses”

She rolled her eyes, scoffing at the dumb joke, even though it made the corner of her mouth twitch upward.

“I'm being serious Jean!”

“I mean it. I could be serious if you want”. he offered. “I could be whatever you want. I could be fun, if you want.”.

She furrowed her brows, a little confused.

What is this guy talking about?

“Pensive… uh, smart” he chuckled.

Her confusion turned into a shy smile at his flirting. She was having a good time.

She kept her eyes on the pavement, trying to hide her smile.

“Superstitious” he continued. “Brave. I can be light on my feet” he started to tap his feet on the ground in an attempt to dance. He had a strange technique but just enough to make her giggle at him.

“I could be whatever you want” he repeated “You just tell me what you want and i'll be that for you”

“You're a fool” she smiled.

“I could be that too”

Her smile widened and she just continued walking, trying to calm the way her heart was beating so fast that she could hear it rumble in her head.

Jean wasn’t the exception.

Poor boy, he was so nervous that his hands were dripping in sweat. That was literally the first time a girl has gotten that way.

“I bet you are this way with all the girls” she stated.

He denied with his head. “No. No ma’am. I can swear by my mother’s secret omelet recipe that I'm not.” and chuckled. “You could even ask my friends and they would tell you that i'm never like this”.

“Really?” she asked incredulously, squinting her eyes a little bit in a sense to find a lie on his face.

But nothing came through it.

“Yes ma’am”

Suddenly they passed near a bunch of people.

They were dancing along, guiding their bodies to the sound of the sweet melodies of the street band. It was a current activity there in Trost, to dance all the way along in the middle of the park.

The atmosphere right there was beautiful.

Nighttime with a thin breeze of cold air but not too much to make you shake. Lanterns illuminating the place and the sound of the music mixed with the crickets was a marvelous combination.

“It’s beautiful…” she murmured, totally enchanted.

He looked back to her, gazing at her softly. “It is”.

There was a little silence between them. She, admiring the whole scenario, meanwhile, he was just admiring her.

“Would you… want to dance?” she suddenly asked, taking him aback.

“I’m not really good at it…” he revealed, embarrassed.

She grabbed his hand, making him jump a bit for the unexpected contact.

“Just follow me” and she pulled him to where the band and the people were.

She guided his hand; one to her waist and the other one intertwined with her hand. She found one of her hands taking place on his shoulder.

“Your hands are sweating” she looked at him.

Jean’s cheeks blushed with embarrassment.

“Sorry ma’am”.

“Don’t apologize… it’s kinda cute, actually.” she expressed. “Let’s just follow the rhythm. Try to focus on my movements the whole time, if you don’t, you could end up stepping on me”

He nodded and followed her instructions.

He was a bit rigid at first but with the passing of the minutes and by hearing the soft music, he finally let himself go.

“Don’t call me ‘ma’am’ anymore, please” she said, taking him by surprise. “We don’t need formalities. Not when we are in this type of position”

He nodded again. Too lost in her eyes, her lovely and doed eyes.

They swayed all along. Not batting an eye on the people around them. Both of them caught on deep in the way their eyes connected.

But sadly the night was coming to an end.

The whole trajectory to her house was full field with laughter and inevitable blushes.

And when they finally arrived at the hour Jean promised her father to bring her back home, they said goodbye to each other.

“I had fun…I hope we can see each other again sometime… if you want that”

“Y-yeah!” he stuttered. “I’d love to take you out again. Are you free next tuesday?”

She nodded “Tuesday sounds good”.

She gave him a last smile. But right after she could open his car door, she quickly planted a sweet tender kiss on his cheek.

“Sweet dreams… Jean”.

He was too stunned to speak. His brain was malfunctioning and his vision was getting blurry.

He definitely had good dreams that night.

“Goodnight…” was the only word he could pronounce when she stepped out the vehicle.

That night he drove back to his house, smiling like a complete idiot.

He was totally going to thank Marco for his “accidental slip”.

…

The dates continued. And instead of seeing each other every week, they opted that wasn’t enough, so they saw each other every day.

She came out to look for him at his workplace only because she couldn’t bear the thought of not having his arms wrapped all around her.

So when he saw her running up to him, he greeted her with a tight embrace, lifting her up in the air and turling around as they kissed.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he murmured, breaking the kiss. They pressed their foreheads together, not wanting to tear apart.

“Me too,” she admitted. “I know we saw each other yesterday, but I needed to see you, Jean…” she kissed him again, “Father let me use the car to come here”

“You drove? But you don’t even know how to,” he asked confusedly.

“It was an emergency…”

He smiled and gently set her back down to the ground.

“Are you alone?” she asked.

“Yeah, my father had some things to do, so he just let me stay in charge of this whole place” his arms signalled the house he was painting.

“Well…I’m glad I came here to bring you some company”

“You’re the best company a man could ever wish for” he whispered in her ear.

“easy… boy, easy” she warned him, taking her distance between them. He laughed in response.

“I don't like this house,” she confessed. “It just feels so… bland”

“My father built this house for some accountants from Mitras that came from vacation. Just like you”

“Well, they really have bad taste in houses” she giggled.

“I don’t think it’s that bad…” he lied.

It was obviously pretty bad.

“Really?” she arched her eyebrows “just look at the color palette they gave you to paint. Who in the name of god combines white walls with a white roof? it’s too much white.”

He chuckled and crossed his arms, “Then what do you want? What is your dream house?”

“Why? Are you gonna build it for me or something?”

“If that's what you want, I'll do it for you.”

“I want a light blue house, with white shutters. And a big porch so we can drink tea or coffee while we watch the sunset” she expressed without hesitation.

“Anything else?” he smiled.

“Yes” she giggled, “I want a room overlooking the river, so you can have it as a studio and paint in there”.

His eyes softened while hearing her. She was considering him in this project for her dream house.

But something was missing.

“Aren’t you missing something?” he leaned closer to her.

“Not that I remember” she got that confused look on her face.

“It’s the most important part of it, come on,” he continued.

After not hearing any answer from her and by her expressions, he finally revealed the answer.

“The garden” he grabbed her hands in his. “I’ll build you a big one, so you can grow everything you desire in it”

Her eyes glimmered by the idea.

Her own personal garden… she liked how it sounds pretty much.

“Even orchids?” she asked.

“Especially the orchids” he kissed her knuckles with adoration.

God, they were so in love.

The next few weeks they continued spending it together, living each day as if it were the last.

They had an official relationship, finally.

Jean asked her if she would like to be his girlfriend under the pale moonlight, with a picnic, of course featuring her favorite pie.

She accepted it immediately, mostly because she wanted a piece of that cherry pie Jean’s mother had baked for the occasion. That statement, of course, was a lie…because she prayed every night for Jean to ask her that question.

They met their families in a formal sense, days later, announcing that they were officially dating.

Jean’s family nearly burst into tears at the notice, they welcomed her in the warmest way possible as if she had always been part of the family.

His father congratulated him for bringing a girl for the first time to their house, because he knew his son had a little bit of a “don juan” attitude around the girls in town.

He was really proud of his son.

Meanwhile his mother was the sweetest ever, telling her how happy she was that his “Jeanboy” found love with a lovely girl like she was.

His mother adored her daughter-in-law.

She told her stories of Jean when he was a baby, even mentioned the “embarrassing” parts, and revealed her infamous pie crust recipe to her.

She was on cloud nine the whole evening, feeling like part of something she’d always dreamed of.

However, when they visited her parents, they received different opinions from them. Plus, the dinner was a complete mess.

To start, the food wasn’t what her mother had specifically requested. The chef served lasagna instead of steak with mashed potatoes.

Later, the woman saw how her precious and well-mannered daughter acted around Jean, and when they announced they were dating, she nearly passed out at that table.

Her mother did not wanted to accept it.

But when her father gave them his approval. The young couple knew they already had won the lottery.

That evening after dinner finished, the couple went for a peaceful walk, both of them needed to clear their minds and ease their nerves after that encounter.

They walked hand in hand through the sidewalks, giggling.

“Is it me or your mother didn’t like me at all?” Jean asked her, trying to sound calm when he really was not.

“She doesn’t like anything if it’s not designer clothes” she scoffed and gazed at him. “Don’t worry about her. My father liked you, that’s the important part”

She cupped his cheek, caressing it gently.

“I love you… Jean”

He kissed the palm of her hand.

“I love you too…”

…

Summer was slipping through their fingers. They didn’t even realize at that time.

They just continued to enjoy the hot summer nights they spent in each other’s arms in the middle of July.

Jean was cuddling her, his big hard-working arms embracing her softly. She was just reading out loud a book, of many, he gifted her about different plants and herbs.

He did not protest on spending every single dime he got from work on her, he just wanted to spoil her as much as he could. Seeing her sweet smile over and over again because of the books he got her was his favorite part of the day.

“Listen to this! They say orchids can live up to 100 years!” she pointed excitedly. “Isn’t that amazing?”

“Impressive i would say” he kissed the top of her head. “They are similar to the cockroaches in lifetime”.

“Hey! don't disrespect orchids like that, comparing them with those dirty and awful insects” she replied offended.

“I was joking,” he laughed, trying to act all innocent.

She narrowed her eyes at him, but her smile betrayed her.

They stayed quiet for a while after that, comfortable in the silence, the kind of silence that only happens when two people are completely at ease with each other.

The book rested open on her lap. Jean absentmindedly traced shapes on her arm with his fingers.

After a moment, he spoke.

“Wanna go somewhere?” he asked, against her temple.

“Right now?” she replied, tilting her head.

He nodded.

“It’s a bit of a secret. I haven’t shown it to anyone. But… I think you’ll like it.”

Her eyes lit up with curiosity. “Lead the way then”.

Jean grabbed his bicycle and she already knew she had to sit down on the front part of it. It was a habit, a pretty dangerous one, of both of them.

The first time it happened, she hesitated, obviously worried by the thought that he might not see the way he was following, but at the end, Jean managed to convince her, reassuring her that he would be fine.

It was a short way from his house, a valley nearby. Fifteen minutes of the pure sound of the crickets chirping and how the air was getting colder every time the sun set down.

They ended up in front of an old house, a hidden one in all of the trees around them. It had dusty windows and ivy gathering in the walls.

It looked abandoned, but not at all.

Once you stepped inside, it just felt different…

The inside was filled with scattered canvases, sketchbooks, paint stains on the floor, old coffee cups still holding dry brushes and others filled with water.

It wasn’t tidy, but it wasn’t messy either.

It was lived in.

“This… is yours?” she asked, walking in slowly, eyes wide.

“Yeah,” he said, suddenly shy. “It used to be my grandfather’s. Now it’s kinda… my spot. My studio, I guess.”

She smiled. Her fingers grazed the edge of a canvas. One of the orchids he had drawn from memory, because she wouldn’t stop talking about them.

“This is beautiful…” she muttered in awe. “You’re so talented Jean”

“Thank you, dear”

She continued to explore the place, very curious about what he had drawn in every single sketchbook on his desk.

He lit some candles, because the dark of the night was nearly catching them up.

In mere curiosity and definitely not trying to be nosy, she opened one of his sketchbooks. It was the reddish brown one with beige paper.

What she found out made her breath caught.

It was her.

Multiple drawings of her filled every single page. And every single one of them had a messy handwritten note with it.

‘She doesn’t know it but she looks so beautiful when she speaks’

‘I wish i knew what she was thinking in this one’

‘Her hands are always moving, i like that’

‘Tried to capture her laugh. Failed again’

‘God, i’m so gone for her’

She blinked, biting her lip.

Every little moment was captured in that sketchbook without her even realizing it.

She flipped the pages but stopped on one.

It was the first sketch of the portrait he made of her. Lines of graphite blended by fingers were everything she could find.

How could he do all of this? she hadn’t even posed for him to draw, not a single time.

Did he… draw her from memory?

“You weren’t supposed to see that” Jean’s voice captured her attention. He was a few meters behind her, ashamed by the whole situation.

“Jean…” she whispered, “Did you draw this from memory?”

“Yeah… I know. It’s too much” He rubbed the back of his neck avoiding looking her in the eyes.

“No,” she answered. “This is everything…”

Her fingertips traced the corners of the book nervously.

She wanted to cry out of happiness. Nobody never had ever done anything like that before for her, not until Jean came up to her life.

She never felt relevant enough to be seen as more of the “superficial city girl” people saw her like.

But Jean was different, he saw her as a genuine person. One that deserved to be cared for and loved. He showed her how her wishes and dreams mattered and encouraged her to follow them.

Ever since she was a little girl, she had to mentalize herself that the idea of love was like her parents' marriage, which wasn’t the best example at all.

Jean really changed her world, he showed her how real and pure love felt.

She walked up to him to kiss him, taking him by surprise. He later grabbed her by the waist to bring her closer to him.

The kiss started slowly, lips melting into one another, feeling like they alway meant to be connected with each other. Her hands were on his neck, caressing the back of it.

The soft touches of their hands. The sound of the clicks of their lips. Low moans and whimpers. The lights of the candles.

Everything set their bodies on fire, making them grow hotter and needier.

The kiss obviously scaletted, his hands were dangerously moving down to her bottom. On other occasions he would try to contain himself, but that night he couldn’t.

And for shortness of breath, she had to break the kiss. Pulling up Jean from his daydream state. He gave her that puppy eye look, he was pleading her for more.

“Jean” she smiled and kissed the corner of his mouth, teasing him.

He froze at the contact, hands still on her. Her lips lingered on there, and then slowly moved back to his.

And this time, the kiss wasn’t shy. This time, it was full of everything they hadn’t spoken out loud.

She pressed her body closer to him and her fingers started to play with the top buttons of his not-so white shirt.

He didn’t stop her when she finally got them successfully undone, he wouldn’t even if the world was ending outside of that house.

“Are you sure?” he whispered.

He needed to ask her first, because he wouldn’t do anything she didn’t want to.

She nodded, heat rushing through all her body.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my whole life”.

He gasped in response, and his trembling hands climbed up to the zipper of her dress in her back, he pulled it down slowly while he started to attack her neck with sloppy kisses.

She panted by the sudden contact of his lips.

She was definitely not as vocal as she thought she would be, she only trembled beneath his touch.

Their clothes ended up discarded on the floor, and Jean stopped to bring out some blankets he already had in store, because sometimes time caught him and he preferred to stay and sleep in there.

The rest happened between passionate and slow kisses, in the way their fingers traced each other's bodies like paint brushes painting on a canva. And the sound of them enjoying each other's embrace while the candlelight illuminated their skins.

They didn’t want to let each other go, they wanted that moment to last forever. But like everything in life, it was ephemeral.

Their bodies ended up tangled with one another, cuddling while trying to catch a breath.

Her head was on his chest listening to the soft rhythm of his heart trying to slow down. Jean’s hand moved up and down her back, caressing her like waves on a shore.

“You okay?” he whispered, looking down at her.

She lifted her head just enough to meet his eyes.

“More than okay, I would say” he chuckled and removed a lock of her hair behind her ear to have a better look at her face.

She kissed his shoulder, in a grateful act.

They stayed glued to each other for a few minutes in silence, until she sat up a little, the blanket slit down slightly, revealing just enough skin to make him froze again. But she didn’t even seem to notice.

Or maybe she did.

Her eyes gazed up to the canvas, from the empty pieces of paper he already got on his desk to the charcoal pencils he stored on a cup.

“Jean, I want you to draw me,” she looked back at him.

He blinked, taken aback from her request. “What?”

“I’ll pose for you like this” she added, “Draw me, the way you see me right now”

He let out a breathy laugh in disbelief thinking it might be a joke, but he could see on her face it clearly wasn’t.

“Wait. Y-you’re serious?”

“Completely” she leaned to plant a short peck on his lips. “I want to know how i look in your eyes in this state”

“You look beautiful. You always look so beautiful” he grabbed her chin gently guiding her to his mouth.

Later he got up to grab his sketchbook and a pencil to start on the drawing.

He indicated how she had to pose, laying on her side with her arm crossing her torso, slightly wrapped around the blanket.

He took the book with trembling hands and sat down in front of her.

His eyes narrowed her whole figure, his eyes had that serious look in them, because for him it was not only the task to draw her, if not the fact of remembering that moment forever.

He wanted to remember her flushed cheeks, her messy hair, every mole, every freckle.

He sketched her slowly, melting in the silence, too afraid of tracing a single wrong line that could ruin the whole drawing.

He was too focused on not trying to mess it up. But nothing could.

She was his favorite drawing, long before he ever captured her on paper.

Even if he’d drawn her a hundred times, none of those sketches came close to the way he felt looking at her that night.

…

Hours later she got back to her house, trying to calm down her bliss from what she had done with Jean.

With her hands she tried to smooth out the wrinkles on her dress as a nervous tic. And tried to comb her messy hair to make it appear normal.

She got inside and the first thing she saw was her mother’s face full of anger.

“You are late,” the woman said, “Where were you?”

“I was with Jean.” she replied, “Sorry… we got caught in time”

“All you ever talk about is about that filthy boy. Jean this, Jean that. I’m tired of listening to you!”

“Don’t you dare to call him that way in front of me!” she got closer to her mother. She was pretty angry too.

“You know very well that boy is a waste of your time. But you still wanted to go after him” she pointed. “Your little charity work is over young lady, because i have news for you. We’re heading back to Mitras in a few days, and when we get back you would get married to Doctor Jaeger’s son, you hear me!”

Her face dropped immediately. “What!? ¡No! you cannot do that to me. I don’t want to get married to Eren. ¡He's my friend!”

“Well you have to. Your father and I already talked to Mrs Jaeger and she agreed with this plan”

“What about Eren? What did he say about this?” she tried to find an escape from that situation.

“It doesn’t matter what you or Eren think about this. We already arranged this, so you better end whatever you got with that Jean boy and prepare to be the new Mrs Jaeger”.

“What the hell?!” she cried. “I won’t do that! I don’t want it. He’s the love of my life!”

“Watch your tone young lady! We are doing this for you! to have a better future”

“I won’t have a better future if i’m married to someone i don’t love” she pointed “Where's dad? He has to disagree with this”

“He is not home yet”

She sighed in between cries and exited the house quickly, taking with her the keys of the family car.

She was frustrated and hurt. Now everything she had built in the town, all her memories with her friends, with Jean. Everything would be thrown away just because she had to come back to her city.

And she knew once she got back, she would never put her feet on Trost again.

“Come back!” She could hear her mother screaming at her, but instead of obeying her, she opened the car door to get inside and start the engine.

She drove her way to Jean’s house and cried disconsolately the whole trajectory.

Jean was on his porch helping her father carry some vegetables for her mother, when he recognized the car parking on his lot.

He dropped the bag of vegetables when he saw her getting out of the car crying, he apologized to his father and hurried to check on her.

“Hey, what is it?” he asked, grabbing her face gently, “What's wrong?”

“Everything Jean” she whispered. “I’m getting married.”

His face dropped. “W-what? What do you mean?”

“When I get back to Mitras, I'll have to marry one of the family friends.” she sobbed “I’m so sorry Jean… I’m sorry…”

He stared at her, fingers trying to wipe away her tears. He stepped forward and pulled her right into his arms.

She didn’t resist, her fingers clung to the fabric of his shirt, wetting it with her tears.

He held her tighter. But she couldn’t stop crying and murmuring apologizes through her breaths.

His finger ran through her hair gently, and tried telling her she didn’t have the fault of this situation, in a way to soothe her from her breakdown.

Minutes later she pulled away just slightly, her eyes were puffy and red from all the crying.

“They are taking me away, Jean…” her voice was trembling. “And, I-I don’t want to go. I want to say here. With you.”

He looked at her for a long second. His heart was crumbling by seeing her this sad.

Then his jaw clenched, he got an idea.

“Then let me marry you”

She froze. “What?”

He took a step back just enough to make some distance to grab her face again in his hands. His thumbs brushed her cheeks, wiping away the tears, as if she were the most delicate thing he had ever held.

"I know I don't have money. I don't have a fancy title in society or some degree hanging on my wall. But I'd work every day of my life if it means giving you a future that's actually yours."

He swallowed, “‘Marry me”.

She shook her head, stepping back from him.

“Jean, stop, don’t say things you don’t mean”

“I do mean them. Every single one of them” he replied, his voice was soft but steady at the same time.

“This isn’t fair to you. None of what i did this whole summer was fair to you” her voice cracked.

“Don’t say that” he said.

She looked away ashamed.

“You were never a mistake. Even if i had to do it all again knowing how it would end, i would still choose you”

He pressed his palm to his chest

“Everything I have? it’s yours. Every hour I work, every sketch I make, every breath I've taken this whole damn summer has been for you. And only you”.

“Jean…”

“I know you are scared, and I am too. But you don’t have to fight this alone. Let me fight with you, for us”

She stood in silence, the sound of her shaky breath was the only thing that resonated.

“I don’t want to marry you to fix anything. I want to marry you because I can't imagine a life where I don't have you by my side” he added. “I know it’s not gonna be easy. It’s going to be really hard. And we’re gonna have to work at this everyday, but I want to do that because I want you.”

She bit her lip trying to retain her eyes from watering again.

“I want all of you, forever. You and me, everyday.” he took a step closer to her.

For a moment, she just pictured her life married to him.

She would continue to study plants, and have her own garden like he promised her. Meanwhile, Jean tried hard everyday to afford their life, and she perhaps could help him with the bills by selling pies in the farmer’s market.

It sounded like a hard life, but she would be happier.

Waking every day in the sweet embrace of the man she truly loves. Living in the little dream house he built for her with his two hands. Them surrounded by the smell of pie crust and old paint...

She looked up to him, cheeks wet from all the tears and eyes wide open.

“Okay, let’s do it then” she whispered, with a trembling smile. “Let’s get married”.

He didn’t wait another second before pulling her into a tight desperate hug. He kissed her forehead, her hair, her cheeks, her lips, like she couldn’t believe she was real.

They stood there for a while.

“I’ll ask your father for your hand, right now” he muttered. …

“What is the reason for your visit, son?” her father asked him.

Jean's hands were shaking from the nerves. Poor boy, he wanted to throw up right away in that man’s office.

The old man was sitting in front of him, smoking a pipe which he already offered Jean a puff, but he politely declined.

He was not a smoker.

“I came here to ask for your daughter's hand, sir” he stated.

There was a long silence.

The man leaned against his leather chair, blowing a slow cloud of smoke. “Is that so?”

He swallowed.

“Yes, sir. I know that I don't have much. I don’t come from a family with status or money. But the only thing I know is that I love her. I love her more than anything, and I want to build a life with her. One she chooses, not the one that’s already been chosen for her.”

The man didn’t speak for a moment.

Instead he looked at the boy sitting in front of him, noticing the way his leg bounced under the table, his jaw tensed and the conviction in his eyes.

He took another drag of the pipe, then smiled, not cruelly, but almost… knowingly.

“You remind me of myself,” he finally said. “Do you remember the girl I mentioned to you before?”

“Yes, sir,” Jean nodded.

“I remember how I asked her father the same question” he started, “He hated me. Though I was reckless, trashy, and not nearly good enough for his little girl” he let out a bittersweet chuckle.

“Loving someone is the easiest part, son. It’s the rest of it that would test you. Marriage is not easy.” he took another puff from the pipe and let out the smoke.

“I know sir, but I swear I'll do more than my best to have your daughter happy. Even if we start from nothing, we’ll make it something”.

Her father watched him for a second, and then he stood up.

“If she's truly chosen you… then you better take care of her like your life depends on it, because in many ways it will”

Jean stood too. His heart was pounding in his chest.

“You have my blessing”

Jean’s eyes widened with disbelief. “Really?”

“You think I would let anyone sit on that chair and ask me that?” he pointed his pipe at him. “I’ve always knew you were a good catch, son”

The man walked around the desk and placed his hand on Jean’s shoulders patting it.

“Just don’t waste this opportunity, son. Girls like her don’t come around twice in your life”

Jean smiled through his surprise, and offered his hand.

“Thank you, sir. I promise, I’ll protect her with everything I’ve got.”

The old man shook his hand firmly.

“You better. And if you ever hurt her…”

“Sir, I won't,” he replied quickly.

“Good. Now go tell her the news, she must be stressing out in the living room” the man chuckled, taking another puff out of his pipe.

And in fact, she was.

She was pacing in the living room, wringing her hands anxiously. Trying to ignore every single word that was coming from her mother’s mouth about how her father wouldn’t accept Jean.

The silence of the office was driving her crazy.

She definitely imagined the worst scenarios; yelling, harsh rejection, her father lecturing him about only a “boy with paint stained hands and no future”.

But she did not find any of that.

When she heard the doors creak open, she turned around quickly. And her mother did too.

Jean stepped out, looking a little pale.

His chest was rising and falling from all the adrenaline and the nerves he got before and during the whole conversation with her father.

“Well?” she asked, barely breathing.

He took a second to respond. It was too much to process, even for himself.

“He said yes,” he finally said.

She gasped.

Her mother let out a loud cry and angrily went to her husband's office, to storm out at him for his “stupid decisions”.

“He gave us his blessing”

She ran to him without thinking, throwing her arms to his neck. He caught her instantly, holding her tight with his hands on her waist.

“You did it…” she whispered into his shoulder.

“We did it” he grabbed her by the cheeks gently, making her face him. Her eyes wanted to tear out of happiness.

Then he kissed her, tenderly.

Their lips connected with the pure love and adoration, they could feel the devotion they had for each other in it.

Right there, in the middle of the living room, beneath the glow of an expensive chandelier, they knew, without a single doubt, that they were meant to spend the rest of their lives together.

ᝰ

“And I could paint a landscape of a valley on the walls. Or maybe a pattern of flowers…” Jean started to ramble, looking up to their light blue walls.

Three years had passed since they said “I do” on the altar.

Three years of pure bliss and love.

“Darling, don’t you think it’s too sudden for planning the nursery?” she said from the couch where she was sitting, holding a plate of cherry pie she baked earlier that morning.

“Huh? it’s never too early when we have a baby on board, dear” he pointed. “We should start saving for their college tuition. We would definitely send them to college”

“Jean, I'm only seven weeks pregnant! they’re only the size of a blueberry, or at least that’s what Doctor Jaeger said.” she put the plate aside and held his hand on hers. “Relax… you’re literally more anxious than I am”.

He let out a nervous laugh and he plopped down next to her on the couch, putting his arm behind her lower back making her closer to him.

“Okay, okay, maybe I’m overthinking it” he excused, his hands rubbing her newly grown belly.

“Maybe?” she raised an eyebrow.

“Fine. I’m definitely overthinking it” he admitted, kissing her cheek. “But I can't help it… I want everything to go perfect because I love you. I love both of you”

She smiled, putting her hand above his “Me too”.

The air smelled like vanilla, from the vanilla orchids he helped her to plant months ago.

“What would you do if the baby is allergic to pollen?” he suddenly asked, taking her by surprise.

There was a smirk on his face.

That damn smirk he always had when he wanted to tease her.

“Don’t say that!” she smacked him on the chest. “Don’t wish such a bad thing like an allergy to our baby!”.

Jean laughed.

“Sorry” he pecked her cheek again. And then he lowered her head to her belly. “I can’t wait to meet you soon,” he said to the baby.

And so, with orchids on the porch and paint on the walls… They lived the life they promised each other one summer night.

with love... ana <3

#attack on titan #jean kirstein #jean kirschstein #jean x you #jean x reader #attack on titan fanfiction #aot x reader #aot jean #shingeki no kyoujin #fem reader #x reader

63 notes · View notes

rivwritesiguess · 1 month ago

Text

Focus

Word Count: 3.9k Hurt/Comfort Zayne x Xavier x gn!reader Summary: You and Xavier go on a mission together to take care of an area that is a hot spot for wanderers. It seems to be going well, until you get hurt and Xavier has to rush you to the hospital where the other person in your relationship is taking the night shift. Warnings: Injuries, surgery (probably a lot of surgical and medical inaccuracies) Notes: I'm trying a bit of a new format of things in general for my fic, adding dividers and yapping too much at the beginning like I'm doing rn. This is also my first time writing in 2nd person and publishing it, and I think I prefer it for reader fanfic. This is the fic I was referring to in this post. Zayne and Xavier are probably ooc in this, I struggled trying to portray their part of the relationship, but I tried my best since the fic is mainly them interacting. The fic focuses on Xavier and Zayne, the reader literally doesn't say a word throughout the entire thing and is unconscious for nearly all of it 💀 Photos from Pinterest (Xavier and Zayne) and little divider thing made by me with Photopea :) Navigation

It all happened so quickly. One second you were next to him, the next you were thrown to the other side of the field by the force of the wanderer’s hit. You hit a tree with a loud thud. You fell to the ground. Xavier continued fighting, horror overtaking him when he realized you weren’t getting up. You were completely still.

Xavier had to stay focused. He had to get rid of the wanderer. The wanderer was eyeing your collapsed form against the tree. Xavier couldn’t let the wanderer get the chance. He couldn’t risk it. He had to protect you.

When the wanderer fell, Xavier didn’t even look at the protocore it dropped before running to your side. He kneeled next to you, carefully putting his hand on the side of your face. His thumb ran over your cheek a few times as if you were sleeping, and doing this would wake you up. However, you didn’t move, still lying still aside from the rise and fall of your chest.

Xavier glanced over your body, not knowing if he felt relieved or not upon not seeing any blood. Sure, there was no blood on the outside. But what does the inside look like? What injuries are hiding beneath your skin? How much pain will you be in when you wake up? If you wake up?

When the thought crossed his mind that you might not wake up, Xavier jumped into action. He couldn’t call for help, not with this area being an active wanderer hotspot. Sure, there were none here right now, but that doesn’t mean they might not pop back up. He had to move you himself.

He carefully rolled you onto your back. He checked your breathing, making sure it wasn’t too shallow or fading. He untucked your shirt, lifting it enough to see the area around your ribs to check for any weird bumps. If you’ve broken a rib and it’s positioned against your skin, that will make this ten times harder.

The only thing he found was some intense bruises forming. Sure, it was bad, but it wasn’t your bones sticking out of your skin bad. He put your shirt back down and carefully proceeded to roll you onto your stomach. He lifted your shirt once more, feeling along your spine, checking for any deformities or misaligned vertebrae.

Nothing.

He moved to your hips. He wanted to move your pants down to check for bruising near your pelvis, but it felt wrong. Instead, he pressed gently with his hands on each side of your pelvis bone.

He was relieved when you didn’t give a reaction to the light pressure he was applying. Sure, it reminded him that you were passed out, but it also meant the pain wasn’t enough for you to make any noise in your current state.

Unless you physically couldn’t make any noise. Just how unconscious were you? Should you be reacting? Should he be doing this? Is he doing it right? Is he even fast enough to get you to a hospital in time? Is there any time? Were you going to stay asleep? Was he going to lose you?

He shook his head slightly, snapping himself out of it. Now was not the time for panic. He had to stay focused. You needed him to get you out of here.

You needed him.

With the small reassurance that there was nothing wrong with your spine, he took the risk of moving you around once more. Carefully, he sat you up, one hand on your back and the other keeping your head aligned with your neck. Then, he moved next to you, wrapping your arm around his shoulder and then slowly standing. He leaned down enough so he was able to lift you over his shoulders once he stood up properly.

He put one hand over your legs, holding them to his chest. The other held your hand that swayed in front of him. Your head lulled a bit too much for his liking. He wondered if he should’ve figured out a different way to move you. Maybe he could’ve laid you down on his jacket and pulled. Maybe he should’ve.

He doesn’t have time for this. He moves as quickly as he can without jostling you too much. He gets through the trees and after about two minutes, he makes it out of the woods, seeing the car you two had taken waiting just a couple yards away.

He suddenly felt incredibly grateful about Zayne’s insistence that the two of you drive in a car. You and him had been talking about taking two of the Association’s motorcycles. Zayne overheard the conversation and mentioned it would be raining around the time the two of you left. You and Xavier had brushed it off, saying you could both handle a bit of rain. Zayne, however, wasn’t having it, insisting that you take a car instead, claiming the roads would be too wet and a car has better traction and motorcycles are dangerous enough anyway and listen to him or else he won’t cuddle with the two of you tonight.

Xavier walked over, opening the back door. He bent down as best as he could while carrying you on his shoulders. He let go of your hand, leaning slightly to the side where your hand had been to keep you on him and not falling off. With his free hand, he moved the back seat to lay down flat.

He nearly flinched when he heard the soft groan leave you as your body twitched slightly. He froze for a moment, wondering if you were waking up, but you didn’t make any more movements.

He continued, carefully maneuvering you on his shoulders so he could lay you flat in the backseat. Then, he took off his jacket, placing it to support your head and neck through the ride to the hospital. He put his backpack and your backpack on either side of you, hoping it would limit the amount of jostling.

He checked your breathing one last time to make sure he wasn’t losing you. When he didn’t hear any abnormalities, he quickly moved, getting into the front seat and starting the car. The car navigation was saying that the ride to the hospital would be twenty minutes using the legal speed limit.

It was late at night. He would mostly be on the highway. No one else would be on the road. The rain would’ve mostly dried.

He was not going to be following the legal speed limit.

His hands were trembling on the wheel. He thanked whatever God or gods there were for the lack of red lights. When he got off the highway, he mainly slowed down to make sure the turns he was taking weren’t too sharp. He started slowing down when he was about thirty seconds from the hospital, making sure he wouldn’t be stopping too fast with you unbuckled in the back seat.

He got to the hospital in 13 minutes. He immediately felt regret over not calling ahead, but he didn’t let himself dwell on that as he stopped the car near the sidewalk and got out, running into the ER.

The next few minutes went by in flashes. Xavier didn’t remember the in-betweens. He remembered moments.

There were his words when he went in. He partly understood what he was saying, but a lot of it was also from Zayne’s lectures on different types of injuries. The doctor had wanted you and him to know what to say to any emergency responders in a situation like this. Judging by the way the people seemed to drop everything to get to work, Xavier assumes what he said means a lot.

“My part- coworker is in the car, they're a hunter, they’re unconscious. They got thrown against a tree. Blunt force trauma, possible head injury. They’re breathing is stable but they aren’t responsive. I checked their body but I didn’t see anything abnormal for a spinal injury but I don’t know for sure, I carried them to the car and drove them here, I-”

The hospital workers had interrupted him. Three had already come over to him when he came running into the room. He heard someone ask for the keys. He handed them over, seeing the keychain that you and Zayne had gifted him for his birthday swinging as the three people rushed outside, one wheeling a stretcher out with them. He went to follow when another person stopped him.

The next thing he remembers was when you were being wheeled in. The nurse who had stopped him had been saying words, asking him more questions. He doesn’t remember answering. He barely remembers the face of the nurse.

He remembered seeing you. The stretcher rolled along the floor smoothly. You had a brace on your neck, keeping your head stable. Your eyes were still closed. He only got a flash of your face before one of the ER workers was moving near you and blocking his view. He tried to follow them as they went into the back, but he was stopped.

The next chunk was when he’d sat down. He was deadly still, staring blankly at the floor. His mind raced, not knowing if he’d done everything right or if he might’ve killed you himself.

You weren’t going to die. He’d seen others recover from circumstances far worse than yours. They were fine, so you would be too. Obviously.

Xavier hadn’t even thought of it when he first went in. He didn’t think about what hospital he was in. He didn’t think about his other partner’s shift schedule.

He didn’t think of it until he saw Zayne walk through the doors, walking over to one of the nurses with a clipboard to ask questions. For a moment, Xavier didn’t know what to do. Would Zayne be upset? Would he freak out?

Zayne didn’t freak out. Not outwardly. He and Xavier were similar in that way. They experienced their emotions internally. Sure, Xavier was definitely panicking. He’d been panicking ever since the wanderer hit you. But it was in his head. Zayne’s panic was normally there as well.

You, on the other hand, were not like that. You were such a contrast to them. You wore your heart on your sleeve. Around them, you never masked your emotions. You were happy to tell them how you felt, even if how you felt was the opposite. They always listened to your expressive rants, whether you were excited or angry.

And yet, when Xavier had seen you just a few minutes ago, you were so… neutral. Like him and Zayne. It isn’t right. He couldn’t even tell himself that you were just sleeping. Not when he had seen you hit the tree. Not when he saw you fall to the ground. Not when you didn’t move, even when he was attempting to rouse you.

Zayne didn’t notice Xavier at first. He asked the nurse at the ER desk to fill out the paperwork he was handing them. As he handed it over, he took a quick glance around the waiting room, getting ready to ask the nurse about the recent admissions.

His gaze immediately froze on Xavier, standing a few feet away from where he’d just been sitting. It wasn’t right. Xavier was supposed to be with you on a mission right now. If he’s here, in this room, and you’re not…

“Where are they?” He said, dropping the clipboard and quickly going over. “Are you alright? What happened to them?”

“We thought we’d gotten rid of all of them, but a wanderer popped up out of nowhere. It got them, hit them with full force. They went flying and hit a tree. They were knocked unconscious.”

“Immediately? Did they wake up before you got here?”

“No, they- they didn’t, I haven’t seen them in a few minutes, so they might’ve by now, but- but I don’t know. The workers took them back about five minutes ago.”

Zayne nodded, more to himself than Xavier. He took a moment, thinking. Then, he reached over, pulling Xavier into a tight hug. It was only for a moment, but it did help Xavier relax slightly. Zayne was here now, and he was the expert. If he was hugging him, then it meant that going to you wasn’t an emergency. You’d be fine.

Zayne was doing it for one of two reasons. He wanted to calm Xavier down, of course, but he also needed the hug. He needed to feel that it wasn’t both of you. That one of you was okay and here with him, not back being examined for the full extent of whatever injuries you have.

He pulled back, looking at Xavier with calm eyes.

“The people working here have their full attention. I’m the only surgeon on call right now. I haven’t been called back, so they’re not in need of any emergency surgeries. It’ll probably be another twenty minutes before someone comes out to talk to you.”

Xavier nodded.

“Will they let me go back to see them?” His voice was quieter than he wanted it to be, but he couldn’t change it. Not when Zayne was now here, telling him you’ll be fine. That’s the reassurance he needs. He’s not going to feel entirely better until he sees you, but seeing Zayne helps. It definitely helps.

“They’re going to allow both of us to go back and see them.” Zayne didn’t elaborate much, but judging by the tone, Xavier got the feeling that it wouldn’t be normal for them to be allowed to go back so quickly and that Zayne might be pulling a few strings with his position here. It definitely wasn’t ethical, but Xavier wasn’t going to call him out on that. He’d do the same thing, maybe worse.

It was going to be fine. It was all going well. You were going to be fine.

At least, that’s what Xavier and Zayne thought. However, right as Zayne was prepared to ask more questions, his pager went off.

Emergency surgery: Patient with internal bleeding in the abdominal area and a hemothorax.

“I have to go.” Zayne pressed a kiss to Xavier’s forehead before quickly turning.

“Is it them?” Xavier said, quickly following as far as he could.

“I think so. Emergency surgery with the description of the injuries they have. Stay out here. I’ll be back out as soon as I can.”

Zayne walked through the same doors you’d been wheeled through less than ten minutes ago.

Xavier was alone once more, only knowing that your injuries were bad enough to warrant emergency surgery.

Only knowing that your injuries were bad enough for Zayne to show a small flicker of fear in his eyes.

Zayne watched as the anesthesiologists placed the mask over your face. You’d woken up for a moment, a bit dazed. He didn’t have much time to explain what was going on to you, but he simply told you to trust him. He told you you’d be fine.

He had no plans for what he said to be a lie.

The surgery was one he’d been prepared to have to do. He had nightmares that went like this every time you and Xavier were out on a mission and couldn’t give him updates. The nightmares were all the same.

You or Xavier being brought into the hospital. Him being the only one able to do the surgery. Him cutting into either of you in an attempt to save your lives. The blood…. So much blood.

And the worst of it?

He never saved you or Xavier. You always ended up dead on the surgical table, either due to his own error or you having been too far gone.

But that wouldn’t happen this time. He knew exactly how to handle your injuries. He had done this hundreds of times before on hundreds of different patients.

He just had to focus.

It was just a bunch of steps he had to follow. Make the incision. Find the source of the bleeding. Stop the bleeding. Clean out the blood. Confirm the bleeding has stopped.

The internal bleeding was handled.

He didn’t want to be the one to put a tube in your chest cavity, but the bleeding there had to be drained somehow. He never felt weird about doing it on others, but this was you. It was different. You weren’t supposed to be in this position.

And he shouldn’t be the one treating you. It was a conflict of interest. But he wasn’t going to wait until they could get another surgeon here. He’ll just need to file some complaints about the lack of help available at this time of night. You’d think with the size of the hospital they’d have more than one surgeon on call at night, but apparently not.

With the bleeding controlled and the organs checked to not be affected, Zayne and the assistant in the room started working on closing you back up. The dressings were applied. You were cleaned up and brought to the ICU.

Zayne wasn’t able to follow immediately. He had to get himself cleaned up and sanitized. He did it as quickly as he could while still being thorough.

Once he was done, he went immediately to find Xavier. The other man was still in the waiting room. He was sitting in one of the chairs, head resting on his hand as he slept. His other hand held his phone loosely.

After a few hours in surgery with you, Zayne was getting a bit tired of seeing his partners passed out in the hospital. He walked over, lightly tapping Xavier’s shoulder.

The hunter let out a soft sigh as he started waking up. He went to rub his eyes with his hands, accidentally dropping his phone. A small smile came to Zayne’s face watching the process of Xavier waking up that he’s seen hundreds of times. He bent down himself, picking up Xavier’s phone.

Xavier quickly remembered where he was when he recognized that Zayne was wearing his doctor’s coat. He muttered a quick thank you before quickly standing up, much to Zayne’s dismay. Zayne never liked when Xavier or you got out of bed so quickly. With the work you two do, you need to allow yourselves time to relax. Of course, every time he tells you two this you both flip it back on him, quickly ending the argument.

“Are they alright?” Xavier asked. Zayne nodded.

“The surgery went well. We were able to get the bleeding under control. They have a chest tube in right now to drain the blood around the lung.”

“They’re still bleeding?”

“Yes, but it’s not what you think. It’s residual bleeding. It’s expected to stop within a day.”

“So they’re going to be fine?”

“Yes. They’re going to be fine.” Despite his reassurances, Zayne could see Xavier was still anxious. He grabbed Xavier’s hand. “You got them here in time. You helped them. If you hadn’t, there would’ve been complications that the team might’ve not been able to handle. You got them here, and now they’re going to be just fine. Our love is going to be fine.”

Xavier gave a small nod along with a squeeze to Zayne’s hand.

“I know, thank you, Zayne.” Though Xavier took in Zayne’s words, he still couldn’t fully grasp you being okay until he saw you. Zayne could see that in Xavier’s eyes.

“Come on. They’re not awake just yet, but they should be settling in the ICU.”

The walk to the ICU was quick. Xavier was ready to get to see you. He knew you wouldn’t be awake yet, but he hadn’t seen you in over five hours. He didn’t care whether you were asleep or running around like some crazed maniac. He just had to see you.

Once they got there, it was hard to see you. You were intubated in order to keep your airways clear. The ventilator hummed steadily next to the bed you laid on. You laid completely still.

Xavier sat down in the chair next to yours. He reached out, holding your hand. Just the simple act of feeling your hand in his filled him with relief. He relaxed into the chair, feeling much better.

Xavier was ready to go back to sleep when he realized something: Zayne wasn’t sitting with him. He looked back and saw Zayne still standing near the door, looking at you with caution. As if you were going to break apart any minute now. Xavier glanced back at you, giving your hand a small squeeze before standing up and walking over to Zayne.

Just like Zayne had done earlier for him, Xavier took his hand.

“You saved them. They’re going to be just fine. You can relax now.”

Zayne stared at you for a moment before looking at Xavier. He looked into the man’s eyes, taking in the sincerity and calmness. He let out a soft sigh before nodding. A slight smile came to Xavier’s face.

“I think you’ve done enough work. Let’s take this-” Xavier let go of Zayne’s hand, reaching for the buttons. “-off. You’re off duty for now.” Zayne didn’t move to help Xavier but didn’t stop him either.

Once the coat was unbuttoned, Xavier grabbed the coat and lightly tugged it off Zayne, who limply lifted his arms to somewhat help with the process. Xavier placed the coat on the hook on the door. He led Zayne to sit next to the bed with him, but not before taking the page out of his front pocket, pressing a button that said Dr. Zayne was unavailable, and putting it in the pocket of the coat.

Xavier let Zayne take the chair he’d just been sitting in, walking around the bed to grab a different chair and bring it over to sit near Zayne. He sat to Zayne’s side while facing you.

“Come on, Zayne,” He said quietly, grabbing Zayne’s hand. Then, he lifted it and placed it on top of yours. He placed his hand on top of Zayne’s. “They’re alright. We’re all going to be alright.”

Falling asleep happened pretty quickly for the hunter and the surgeon. Xavier leaned in his chair towards Zayne while Zayne did the same towards Xavier. Zayne’s head rested precariously on Xavier’s shoulder and Xavier’s head did the same on Zayne’s. Xavier’s hand had fallen off of yours and Zayne’s, ending up resting on Zayne’s knee. Zayne’s hand was still on top of yours, now holding your hand.

Waking up was an experience you didn’t like. Being intubated was the first thing you noticed. You wanted to cough to clear your throat, but you physically couldn’t. Your mouth felt dry. Your breathing felt… wrong. It didn’t feel right. But you couldn’t fix it.

You felt weak. You couldn’t move properly. You wanted to move your arm, figure out exactly what was going on around you, feel the tube you can feel coming out of the side of your chest and the tube in your mouth. But you couldn’t.

For a moment, you almost panicked. You were confused. Scared. Disoriented. But then, you felt another thing.

Zayne’s hand is on top of yours. You tilted your head slightly, looking to the side. There were your two boyfriends, passed out in two chairs next to your bed. The panic you had just started to feel faded as it was replaced with a warm feeling.

You were still uncomfortable. You were still in a bit of pain. But seeing your boyfriends like this made you able to focus on something else.

You were able to focus on them.

#love and deespace #love and deepspace x reader #zayne x reader #lads zayne #lads x reader #lads #lads xavier #xavier x reader #zayne love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #zayne x you #xavier x you #zayne x xavier #snowstar #snowstar x reader #chat i might be a bit gay for these men what can I say #i love them <3 <3 <3

73 notes · View notes