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raysofcrosby · 2 years

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CHRISTMAS WITH YOU – k. kaprizov

warning(s): mentions of death and loss, but otherwise just tons of cute holiday cheer, an embarrassing near fall ice skating and just cute holiday fluff.

word count: 17,897

an: this better late than never, fic is my entry for @antoineroussel's winter fic exchange 2k23!! i had the absolutely pleasure of writing for @callsign-denmark who supplied me a list of players she enjoys reading about and got me broaden my horizons outside of my usual hockey men to write about and got me to write about the happy ray of sunshine that is kirill kaprizov!! as a sucker of friends to lovers, this is a friends to lovers fic, sprinkled with some nice christmas spirit and ofc, as a lover of happy endings– this one's got a good one!! i had fun writing this and i hope you enjoy 🥰💙

Tori Holly never understood when people said that Holidays could be some of the loneliest and saddest times in people’s lives. Growing up, she remembered how lively their house always was– filled with music, laughter and the smell of home cooking spreading throughout the house. Especially around Christmas time– that was always the most magical time of the year.

It was when her parents seemed to pull all of their magic together and turn the holiday into every feel good Christmas movie alive. And while both of her parents were only children and her one set of Grandparents that were still alive lived on the west coast– she and her older sister Jess (Jessica only if she was in trouble) never felt like their family of four celebrations were lacking. They were all each other needed and it was always more than enough.

The teaming up on their parents for the gingerbread house building contest, taking turns going shopping with their parents to be able to pick out gifts to buy using some of their saved up money (and in the younger years, their parents money of course). Watching their mom make her mom’s special hot cocoa recipe that she promised to share the recipe with them once they got older “and you two can do the same with your children one day.” Building snowmen, snowball fights, that horrible time Jess convinced Tori to climb into the igloo they tried to build and having it collapse on her (though thankfully it wasn’t a lot of snow and Jess tearfully pulled her sister out by her gloved hand.) Sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace and snuggled up beside their parents as they watched How the Grinch Stole Christmas after begging their parents to let them open just one present on Christmas Eve like they did every year without fail.

No, Tori Holly could never understand how Christmas time more specifically, could be one of the worst times of someone’s life– not until Christmas 2006, when it was going to be the first Christmas and her first birthday without her mom. She was only seven and Jess eleven when their mom got sick. She couldn’t remember a lot of the specifics, but she remembered her mom never looking or acting any differently even after her parents had sat them down on the couch and said “mommy’s doctors say that I’m very sick, but I’m not going to stop fighting.” Sure, her mom was slower around the house, maybe a little more tired– but there wasn’t anything specific that stuck out to her.

In fact, that last Christmas of ‘05, they still did every tradition they’d done in the years prior and she never once saw her mom falter or complain. And by May of ‘06, two months after Jess had turned twelve and only seven months until Tori would turn nine, she had completely forgotten about the “I’m sick” conversation there on the couch. Until right at the end of the September, when she’d gotten called out of class to go to the front office. And when she got there, she saw her Grandma Carol standing there speaking to the woman at the front desk.

“Your dad sent me here to pick you up and Grandpa Dan is going to grab Jess.” She had said it with a smile that Tori couldn’t pinpoint exactly, but instantly recognized it as a softer than her usual big, sunny smile.

She thought maybe they were going to grab ice cream and spend some more time at home with their mom. Seeing as only almost a month into school, their dad let them stay home on Friday’s just so they could spend a little extra time with her. But there was no ice cream and her Grandma didn’t take her home– they were at the hospital. And when she walked down the halls with her Grandma holding her hand and they saw her Dad, Grandpa Dan and a crying Jess, she remembered getting that sinking feeling in her stomach that something was wrong.

And something was wrong. Because it turned out that they were all there to say their last goodbyes to her mom. While she was there, she swore time dragged on– but looking back on it now, she realized just how fast her life had changed in one hour.

They “celebrated” her ninth birthday and Christmas three months later and while their dad tried his hardest to not let the magic their home always held fade, and he really did try, there would always be a mom shaped hole in her childhood home and she wondered whether Christmas would ever be the same.

Luckily though, their dad was a Godsend. A man who was actively grieving the love of his life while adjusting to being a widower and parenting two girls– one of whom was entering her teenage years– Tori never once saw him waver. He was there at every school or after school event they had, he kept up their traditions, and was the shoulder to lean on and cry on whenever they needed one. He never once complained and after she got older, Tori always wondered how he did it. How he managed to parent them, stay strong and be everything they needed all while he was grieving on his own.

But that was just it– he was the hero their broken hearts needed and he helped heal theirs and his own every day of every month, and every birthday and holiday that came and went…he always managed to keep that magic alive.

To the point where Tori and Jess started to love Christmas once again and not see it as a mourning time for those childhood memories they left behind. And while their mom was a key figure missing at their poignant times– first days of school, first boyfriends, proms, first day of college, graduations, Jess’s wedding day to her high school sweetheart Steven and even the birth of their daughter Clara (their mom’s namesake), their dad, Jess and even she, always made sure that their mom was a part of it.

Especially once Jess and Steven had Clara, and on Tori’s 17th birthday, nonetheless, Jess had told Tori that suddenly she understood the kind of love that their parents had for them and how their dad managed to keep the magic.

Even a week later going on to say, “I would go to the end of the earth to make sure she was happy, and she just tore through my vagina like it was nothing, last week.”

And for the longest time after their mom died, life seemed to slowly return back to what their dad had fondly called their new normal. Eventually, Tori had gone to and graduated from college and moved further into the city not too far away from Jess and Steven or their home to work as a social media intern for the Minnesota Wild. A job that she luckily got with some help from her college mentor who helped her apply and wrote quite the recommendation letter for.

The life she was building for herself felt like a dream. Sure, growing up just south of Saint Paul, she and her family had frequented both Vikings and Wild games. But working behind the scenes in social media for the hockey team whose games she grew up attending was a whole different atmosphere. She met great people within the organization and had even found herself on a first name basis with some of the players.

But it was when she moved into her post-grad apartment the season after commuting from her childhood home to Saint Paul that she became better friends with two players on the team. Jordan Greenway, who was going on his third season with the Wild, and Ryan Hartman who had come from the Philadelphia Flyers. The two weren’t roommates, but both coincidentally lived a few doors down on the very same hall that Tori had. And after bumping into each other a few times and also seeing each other at the rink, it was natural that the three formed a good friendship during her first season working for the team.

Things were going great and Tori had felt like she was on a high after that first season interning for the Wild for the 2019-2020 season. Even when Covid struck and things were in such a limbo. And at the end of what was a wild and unknowing what was ahead time, she felt blessed enough to have been invited back as an intern for the 2020-2021 season, even shadowing more on the producer side of players interviews and getting to see more behind the scenes. And with every day she went to work, she felt more and more confident in her job and herself. Moving away from home was scary, but she was starting to form a life for herself in Saint Paul that she knew her mom would’ve been proud of.

Ryan and Jordan both were amongst the first few people to congratulate her when they found out she got the second producer job within the same department in what would be her third year working for the team that 2021-2022 season.

And it was truly as if things couldn’t go wrong. She loved her apartment, she got to see her sister and her family often, and she had made a nice circle of friends in the job she also loved. And as she celebrated New Years Eve with the Wild at a hotel ballroom the organization had booked out for everyone to celebrate before the Winter Classic the next morning where they would host the St. Louis Blues at Target Field in Minneapolis. She invited Jess and Steven as her plus ones, booking them a room in the hotel so they didn’t have to drive the 30 minutes home the next morning and probably hungover.

Tori woke up early the next morning back in her apartment and went through her whole routine before getting dressed and heading out the door to catch her uber that would be taking her to the stadium where she would be getting everything together before heading over to the field to work the game. And it was just before she and her co-workers were heading out of Xcel Energy Center that she got a call from her dad, answering it like it was just any other old phone call and not one that would ultimately change her entire life.

Just like when she was seven, that sinking feeling in her stomach was back, only this time around it was more poignant and felt like it would knock her legs out from beneath her and sink her down to the floor.

There had been an accident an hour earlier on the same street that the hotel where the Wild New Years Eve party had been hosted– a car accident. Jess and Steven had decided to check out early, walking to the cafe down the block from the hotel to grab some coffee and donuts to take with them before they would drive back to her dad’s to pick up Clara– Tori had the text conversation with Jess in her phone to prove it along with a “not as hungover as we thought, but hungover enough for sugary donuts” selfie of Jess and Steven that Jess had sent with her “good morning, we had a great time and I’ll text you when we get home” text.

Only Tori would never receive that text, because Jess and Steven would never make it home to their dad’s to pick up Clara. They would get hit by a drunk driver who ran a red light while they crossed the street in a crosswalk.

In an instant, she had lost her older sister and brother-in-law, while her niece had lost both of her parents— and it was a pain that Tori never, ever wanted her to feel. To add on top of it, in the flurry of grief and ‘what happens next’ endless scenarios, it was revealed in their will that if anything were to happen to either Jess or Steven…then Tori would become the legal guardian of Clara.

She had made the commitment to accept the position as Clara’s Godmother when they had asked her almost two weeks after Clara was born. And now, she knew the best way she could honor both her older sister and a man who was like a brother to her, by dedicating herself to making the best life possible for Clara.

The last eleven months of seeing grief counselors, balancing work, frequent trips to her dad’s house where Clara was staying for the meantime and her new responsibility of taking care of a soon-to-be eight-year-old as a soon-to-be 25-year-old….all of it had finally come down to now.

It was December. The week leading up to Christmas. Five days until their shared birthday and most importantly, six days until what would be Clara’s first Christmas without her parents.

And Tori had her heart set on making it as great as a Christmas it could be for Clara, just like her dad had done for her and Jess after their mom had died.

“Another month?!” Tori gasped, keeping her voice low as she leaned against the hall of her childhood home. “But Andrew, you said I’d be able to move in by tomorrow. I’ve already got friends to help me move everything up to that floor.”

“I know I did Tori, but they were finishing the inspection today and there was more mold in the apartment than we first thought, plus some issues with the kitchen and bathroom areas,” Andrew, one of the landlords of her apartment building said, actually sounding sincere. “I’m not going to let you and your niece move in there and put both of your healths at risk.”

Tori nodded, rubbing her right temple with her free hand. “I understand, Andrew.”

“Barb asked them to start as soon as possible because we know you need this two bedroom. So they’re going to start cleaning everything up tomorrow. The guy said that there might be a chance they finish before a month, but that’s the at most it’ll take, time that he gave her.”

“Thank you, Andrew. I appreciate it, really.” She replied, peeking around the corner into her Dad’s living room to see Clara still kneeling in front of the Christmas tree. “Thank you both for looking out for us, I really appreciate it.”

“You’ve had a really rough year, Tori and you’ve always been a really good tenant. Anything my wife and I can do to help you out, we’re more than happy to.”

Tori took a deep breath and exhaled, nodding again. “Keep me updated if there’s any changes.”

“Of course. Have a good day.”

Once she hung up the call, Tori let her head lean back against the wall once more as she closed her eyes. The moment that she had found out that she was going to be Clara’s guardian, Tori had put in a request for a two bedroom apartment. At the time, there was a six month waitlist, so her dad had agreed to take care of Clara until Tori could secure a two bedroom apartment for them both. It wasn’t like she had just dropped her niece off with her dad and went on with her life. On weekends when she had them free, she would drive back to her hometown and spend the night there, keeping herself as involved with Clara’s life as possible. She would pick her up from school, sometimes take her out of school and take her to lunch. She was just as involved in her niece’s life as her dad was, only she wasn’t sleeping down the hall every single night.

And three weeks ago, Barb, the other landlord of their complex, had called her to ask if she was still interested in the two bedroom apartment. And once she told Tori it was hers, Tori knew there were some steps to go through and she requested that Barb and Andrew have whoever it was doing the cleaning, be very thorough. Being grandparents themselves to kids around Clara’s age, they both agreed without a problem.

Until there was a problem that the hired cleaner had found and reported. Some mold that he thought might be more than a surface problem. Andrew and Barb had brought someone out to inspect…leading to the phone call that Tori had just hung up on. She knew it wouldn’t be a problem with her dad for Clara to live here for a month longer. He loved having Clara around, plus he knew that Tori was trying her best to get everything set up so that Clara would be comfortable and in a safe environment when it came time to move.

The only problem was that her dad was out west in Washington State, taking care of her Grandma Doris, who had fallen down in her apartment in the assisted living complex, broke her hip and needed to get surgery. He left only this morning when she and Clara dropped him off at the airport and his return was up in the air, but at most he said he could be back before or after New Years Eve. So now Tori was tasked with the problem of figuring out how they were going to spend Christmas and the week leading up to it, when she needed to be at work a few days this week and all of Clara’s belongings were here at her dad’s house.

Initially, she figured she’d just pack up her things and move into her dad’s place until he came back. Dealing with the extra commute wouldn’t be that bad and Clara wouldn’t have to relocate her things, more importantly they wouldn’t have to lug the already wrapped Christmas presents over to her apartment. However, the short trial run she did when her Dad had informed her of his trip out west– left her with leaving five minutes to spare before she would be deemed late to work.

Which is why they were over at her dad’s place– grabbing the presents already wrapped for her and Clara beneath the tree and putting them into an old foldable wagon before putting them into her car and driving back into the city.

“Aunt Tori, are we taking Grandpa’s too?” Clara asked, calling out.

Tori put her phone back into her front pocket and walked out from the hall, over towards the decorated Christmas tree. “We can if you want. That way if he’s able to come home earlier, we can have him come over to the apartment and open his presents there.”

Clara looked at her and then back at the tree. “But then Grandpa will have to drive back here with his presents, right?”

“He could always sleep on the couch,” Tori shrugged.

Clara laughed before scrunching her nose. “He’s old though.” She looked back towards the tree and sighed. “We can just drive over here when he comes home, right? So we can be with him when he opens his presents?’

“I think that sounds like a great plan, Clara.”

“Okay, I’ll leave them then,” she said, putting down the present that she’d been holding. “I think I got all of ours though. I’m ready.”

Tori nodded and grabbed onto the handle of the wagon as she let Clara walk ahead of her and they left her childhood home, tugging the Christmas presents that she and her dad had bought Clara, along with some of the presents Clara and her dad had bought for her. Once she helped Clara carry the wagon down the front porch steps, she walked back to the front door and made sure it was locked before walking towards her car to help Clara put her presents into the trunk.

This wasn’t how she expected to be spending Christmas. If anything, she was planning on spending the week here with her dad and Clara at her childhood home, making new memories and reliving old traditions– the three of them opening their presents together on Christmas morning and watching movies on Christmas Eve.

But life had a crazy way of flipping things upside down a lot of the time, and this was just one more hurdle she had to overcome.

“We don’t need that many groceries, Clara. We’re just here for some quick necessities.”

“You have like, nothing in your fridge, Aunt Tori!” Clara whined, hanging onto the end of the cart. “It’s like you’re trying to starve me.”

Tori laughed, shaking her head as she put a carton of eggs into the cart. “I’m pretty sure you can go a week without the betty crocker cake mix. We’re just here to get some breakfast stuff, cookies for Santa, some carrots for the reindeer and then maybe we can find one of those gingerbread house making kits.”

Clara audibly groaned as she leaned her head back, acting more thirteen than she was near eight. Today was supposed to be the day that the four boys down the hall would help Tori and Clara move into their new two bedroom apartment just a floor above where they were staying now– however, seeing that the apartment wasn’t ready for them to move in just yet, it was instead just an errand day, seeing as Tori had already taken off of work. Leaving her with the responsibility of entertaining Clara for the whole day, especially since groceries was the only errand she could come up with.

It didn’t help that Clara had been spewing off a “what are we gonna do later?” question what felt like every fifteen minutes. What she didn’t want to do was keep Clara inside of the house and sit her in front of the tv all day. She wanted to take her to play in the snow, go sledding, maybe even ice skate– do fun things that she could report back to her second grade class once winter break was over. But aside from the rink and the local spot in her childhood neighborhood, Tori couldn’t think of any place they could go ice skating at, especially seeing as driving to and from her old hometown with holiday traffic wasn’t ideal.

“Aunt Tori, I thought you were fun,” Clara groaned, her tone echoing just the same as they were in the grocery store, only now they were standing in the apartment hall, just in front of her door as she fished for her keys from the depths of her purse.

“I am fun,” Tori huffed, digging her hands and moving around all the non important things she had shoved into the crossbody bag.

“That sounds like something someone boring would say.” Clara replied, leaning her right shoulder against the wall.

“Tori? Boring?” They looked down the hall to see Ryan Hartman walking down the hall. “You must have the wrong Tori, squirt.”

“Hi Ryan, Mason, Jordan and Kirill!” Clara smiled, perking up. “Did you guys do anything fun today?”

“Just practice,” Jordan replied, as the group of four came to a stop. “What about you?”

“Just grocery shopping,” Clara replied, looking at Tori. “Where someone wouldn’t buy the Betty Crocker cake mix.”

“You’ll survive,” Tori replied, moving the plastic bag further onto her arm so she could use two hands. “I just need to find the keys–”

“Here, Tori, let me help,” Kirill said, coming up and grabbing the plastic bags from off of her arm, holding them for her as he smiled and nodded. “Go ahead.”

“Well would you look at that boys,” Mason teased, patting Kirill on the shoulders. “What a gentleman.”

Tori tried not to tuck her chin into her chest too much and hoped that her warm cheeks weren’t turning pink as she nodded at Kirill. “Thanks, Kirill. My arm was killing me.”

She quickly found her keys in her purse and grabbed them, unlocking the front door and motioning for Clara to go inside. “Let them get back to their apartments and nap.”

“Oh great,” Clara sighed dramatically. “Now I get to be more bored and watch tv.”

“No plans?” Jordan asked, as Clara walked into the apartment.

“None that I can think of that aren’t back home. I spend every Christmas back there, I don’t know of anything happening around here.”

Jordan laughed, shaking his head. “Did you completely forget about the family skate they’re doing down at the rink later? The one’s for players and staff?”

Tori blinked, looking at the four of them. “Wasn’t that last week?”

“Try today in about two hours, Tor,” Ryan said. “We’re just grabbing lunch and then heading back.”

“CAN WE GO ICE SKATING AUNT TORI? I WANT TO GO!” Clara said, running back towards the door. “Please, please, please, please–”

“I– do you even know how to skate?”

“I can help!” Kirill chimed in, sheepishly smiling once he realized just how loud his interruption had been. “I don’t mind helping.”

“PLEASE AUNT TORI? PLEASSSEEEEEE–”

“Fine, fine,” Tori laughed, shaking her head as she took the bags from Kirill and playfully pointed at him. “But I’m counting on you not to let her fall if she turns out to be a total bambi.”

“I won’t.”

“Alright, so get ready, we’ll swing by in a few to pick you up and we’ll all head over together,” Ryan said, patting both of Kirill’s shoulders before the four men made their way down the hall to their apartments and Tori walked back into hers.

“This is gonna be so much fun, I can’t wait!” Clara squealed, running back to Tori’s bedroom. “I need to grab some thicker socks!”

Tori just sighed, shaking her head as she locked the door behind her and moved the groceries onto the kitchen island, prepared to unpack them before the boys came back.

It was funny. In all of her time working for the Wild, she’d never actually been to one of the family skates as a participant. Maybe once or twice to fill in and capture some stuff for their social media team– but even that was only just there for a few minutes and then she went back home. But now, now she was actively sitting in the bench surrounded by some of the team and staff’s family who were either choosing not to skate or were caring for little ones who weren’t going onto the ice– while the players and the staff who chose to skate with their family members, were out gliding around on the ice ahead of her.

She was leaning against the edge of the bench arena watching out for Clara as Kirill had stuck to his word and stayed with her to make sure that she wouldn’t fall down and hurt herself. Tori knew that Clara had been skating a few times before, but she wasn’t sure how she would be able to handle being out by herself or her skating abilities at all. And Tori would be lying if she said that watching Kirill holding onto Clara’s hands and skating backwards as he pulled her along, didn’t make her weak in the knees. Being the kindhearted guy she knew he was, he was probably telling her words of encouragement as they moved around the rink and every so often when he would let her hands go, he would be cheering her on to catch up to him.

Kirill has always been the kind, gentle guy he is, since she met him his rookie season. And while she hadn’t originally seen herself falling for the brown eyed boy’s nature…she couldn’t help but do so. Anytime they saw each other at the rink, he’d always make sure to say hi and talk to her. Even if they didn’t cross paths, it seemed like he would actively go out of his way to pass by her and Kaia’s office to say hi. In the interviews she got to run, he was always more than eager to play into whatever she had planned– more so than any of the most playful guys on the team.

Perhaps the one thing that hooked her onto him the most, was when there were home games…he’d always meet her at her office or wait for her in the parking garage to get to her car before driving back to their apartment complex with her– just so he could walk her to her door and say goodnight. He was a gentleman, that was for sure. And Tori has been trying so hard not to let herself fall for him, because he was one of her closest friends.

However, it was proving very, very difficult and the only thing keeping her from totally falling for him, was the realization that he had yet to make a move– the confident, kind, hockey player…hadn’t even done as much as try to hold her hand on their walk out of the elevator and down their hall to their respective apartments.

“Hey Tori,” Kirill said, coming to a stop just next to her on the other side of the ice. “Why not come out and skate, hm?”

“What? Did you lose Clara?” She laughed, trying not to let herself melt into his warm and welcoming eyes.

He laughed, shaking his head before looking out onto the ice for a few seconds and then pointing out across the way. “She left me. She’s a lot better of a skater than she said. Fast learner too.”

“And now you need a skating buddy?”

“Mhhm, so come on, what do you say?” He asked, leaning against the boards and smiling. “What’s Clara do? Oh yeah, please, please, please, please–”

Tori covered his mouth as she laughed and shook her head. “Okay, fine, fine, I’ll skate with you.”

He moved slowly down to the bench gate as Tori awkwardly walked on her rented skates and when she reached the open door, Kirill held out his hand for her to take. The small action actually caused her heart to thump against her chest and she stared at his hand before reaching out and grabbing it, allowing him to take her cold hand into his warm one.

“Do I need to teach you too?” He teased, still holding onto her hand as she balanced on the ice and pushed away from the boards.

“Ha ha, no,” she replied, rolling her eyes and not wanting to drop his hand– but also wanting to prove to him that he was just as good a skater. “You might not know this about me, but I did figure skating growing up.”

His eyes widened as he started to quicken his pace to follow her. “Really?”

“No,” she laughed, looking over her shoulder and smiling at him. “But, we did go ice skating sometimes. So I’ve picked up a few things when I was younger.” She turned herself around, slowly starting to skate backwards as she kept up her pace. “See?”

“You’re the best out here,” he laughed. “How’s Christmas shopping going?”

“I think my dad and I have gotten Clara just about everything she asked for,” she replied, turning herself back around and somehow keeping herself balanced. “The only thing I can’t find is this like, DIY living room tent thing? I don’t know, it’s something she saw on youtube and it’s like a cute tent she can put up with some lights and stuff.”

“Is that what she really wants?” He asked, looking concerned.

Tori nodded, bringing out her phone. “Yeah, she had it highlighted under both her birthday list and Christmas list.” She pulled up safari which opened up the link to the tent, handing him her phone. “I’ve looked at just about every retail store, Amazon, their website…and I guess I keep missing the restocks or something because I’ve had no luck.”

Kirill looked at her phone, and he noticed him scrolling, probably trying to read and look at the product. “Want me to help?”

“No, no that’s okay,” she replied, taking her phone as he handed it back and putting it into her front pocket. “I’m sure they’ll restock it after Christmas and I’ll find a way to grab it then.”

“Hi Aunt Tori, hi Kirill, look at me!” Clara smiled, skating by them at a faster pace.

“Please be careful!” Tori called out, her plea falling on deaf ears as she slowly turned herself back to skating backwards. “She’s so cocky, I don’t know where she gets it from.”

“No?” Kirill laughed, raising his eyebrows.

“Totally a lie, she gets it from Jess and I. We were best friends, but we always used to compete at who was the best,” she smiled, starting to freely move backwards and getting a little more comfortable. “Jess could never really get the whole skating backwards thing, but me? Nailed it easily. You can tell too, can’t you?

“You could be on the team,” he smiled, staying close as he skated by her side.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” she said, brushing off her shoulder. “Wouldn’t want to take your job–oh!”

She felt her skate hit a ridge, knocking her off balance and sending her falling backwards to the ice. She fully expected to make contact with the cold ice, even preparing herself for trying not to hit her head…but her body never met the cold ground. She looked up to see Kirill standing there…no, holding her– he’d caught her from hitting the ground.

“You okay?” He asked, looking down at her as he had her in his firm and secure grasp.

Tori nodded, trying her best to laugh it off as if her heart wasn’t racing inside of her chest. “I guess I’m still a little bit rusty.”

“Not too bad,” he smiled, helping her hand back up and then standing in front of her. “But maybe I should help you like I helped Clara, yeah?”

He held out both of his hands and Tori found herself thanking the cold environment for hiding the fact that her cheeks weren’t red from the cold, but from the blushing she had going on. She nodded and reached out, grabbing onto both of his hands and smiled. “Yeah, I could use a lot of it. You won’t let go, right?”

Her last comment was meant to be a little teasing, but deep down inside, she was asking him not to let go of her hands because she enjoyed holding them– feeling the callouses from years of playing hockey against her soft palms.

Kirill shook his head, still smiling. “I won’t let you go.”

Tori never expected she’d have to go into the office while the team was on a two game roadie, but there she was, trudging into the office during a snowfall while Clara tagged along, practically bouncing her way down the halls as she took in the sights of the stadium. The one thing that Tori always loved about kids and hockey, was that it was always as if they were seeing the stadium and the halls and the decorative wallpaper with players and history past and present…for the first time. It was also just so magical to them, which reminded her to never lose that spark for her job.

Kaia had come in earlier, which is why Tori knew she needed to. There was some files that Kaia couldn’t locate on her work computer that had to do with their upcoming plans for interviews after the holidays and Tori knew they were on hers– the only problem was that her computer was in her office– not home with her. It was a simple fix, all she’d need to do was grab her laptop, check the files were on there and email them to Kaia before taking her laptop home with her.

Clara wanted to see everything though, because she’d never seen what Tori’s office was like. No one was there, so Tori let her look around the office and then as they were leaving, they passed one of the equipment managers who had stayed home on the trip and once Tori told him she was giving Clara a tour, he offered to let them take a look around the locker room.

It was nothing but excitement once they walked into the decorated locker room, Tori having been in there once or twice before, but never realizing just how huge it was when there were twenty some guys lounging around. Clara went on the search for the lockers of the four men from down the hall, sitting in each one and asking Tori to take a picture so she could send it to them. And when she did, she was greeted with lots of laughing emojis and a few “is she trying to take my job?” comments.

But once they were on their way home, Tori knew that they could relax for the rest of the day. Maybe order in some chinese and watch whatever it was on tv that Clara wanted to watch– Christmas movies or not. Once they parked, Tori felt her pocket vibrate and pulled out her phone to see she had a text from Barb saying that she had a package up at the front desk.

“Quick detour, Clara, we’ve got to pick something up at the front desk first,” Tori said, putting her phone back into her pocket and taking a left in the parking garage towards the door that would lead into the lobby of the apartment building versus the elevator to take them to their floor.

Barb was sitting at the computer behind the counter and immediately greeted them with a smile once she saw them. “Perfect timing,” she said, coming around the corner of the desk. “This just got dropped off about five minutes ago with the rest of the amazon deliveries.”

“Amazon?” Tori asked, furrowing her eyebrows. “I don’t remember ordering anything…”

“Maybe it’s from Grandpa!” Clara smiled. “A last minute present!”

“Maybe,” Tori said, taking the long box and realizing it did have her name on it. “Hm, we’ll just go upstairs and I’ll open it in my room to see what it is. Thanks again, Barb.”

“Of course, you two have a good rest of your day. Warm up a bit, your noses are red.”

“Bye Mrs. Barb,” Clara waved, now carrying Tori’s computer bag over her shoulder as they made their way towards the elevator, Tori trying not to struggle carrying the long box.

“Are you sureeee I can’t look at it?” Clara smiled as the elevator started to move.

“I’m sure,” Tori replied, smiling back. “It’s too close to your birthday and Christmas for you to open anything.”

Clara huffed as the elevator doors opened and they walked out into the hallway, making their way to the apartment door. Once Tori unlocked the door and nudged it open with her foot, Clara walked inside, resting the computer bag onto the island counter. “I’ll be right here, not looking at my present.”

“You do that,” Tori laughed, closing and locking the door behind her before making her way down the hall to her bedroom and locking that door behind her as well. She placed the box onto the floor and walked into her bathroom, grabbing a pair of scissors she had to trim the candles along her bathtub and walking back into the room, kneeling onto the ground.

She had stopped a majority of her Christmas shopping last week, anything she bought now was just some small stuff she figured that Clara would like that could go into her stocking, so she couldn’t imagine what was in this box, because as far as she knew, she didn’t have anything out for delivery. When she lifted the open edges of the box, her jaw dropped…it was the tent she’d been searching for for weeks– the only thing is…she didn’t order it.

But who did?

She grabbed the box and opened her bedroom door, walking out into the living room where Clara was on the couch. “Alright, I’ll let you open this one present before your birthday. But just this one, got it?”

Clara smiled, jumping off of the couch and running over as Tori put the box down onto the ground. She squealed in excitement once she saw what was in the box, throwing the sides open and reaching in to grab it. “Oh my God, Aunt Tori!!!! It’s the tent!!!!” She smiled, looking up at her. “Can we please clear some space so we can open it? Pretty please, please, please, please?”

“Of course,” Tori laughed, helping her take the box out of the amazon box and smiling. “Just give me a minute and we’ll clear out a space for it.”

She walked over to the island counter, resting the box against it when she saw her phone lit up with a text from Kirill.

Kirill 🐻: I see you got the amazon delivery. Was that the right one?

Her eyes widened as she looked over her shoulder to see Clara still admiring the box the tent came in. SHe walked further into the kitchen and kept her back to Clara as she clicked on his contact and opened up a facetime call. It only rang a few times before he answered it, his smiling face appearing on the screen. “Hey–”

“You bought it? But how did you– where did you–” Tori was speechless.

“I remembered you showing it to me at family skate,” he said, laying down in the hotel bed he was at. “I looked for it and I must’ve been lucky because they restocked it on Amazon that night, so I ordered it and paid for express shipping.”

“Kirill, I…” she sighed, shaking her head. “I don’t know how to say thank you, but–”

“You don’t need to,” he replied, shaking his head. “I saw you were stressed about it and I wanted to help. I like seeing you happy…Clara too,” he smiled.

Tori smiled, nodding her head. “Thank you so, so much. You just made her birthday I’m sure.” She looked over her shoulder at Clara. “Clara, come say thank you to Kirill for finding the tent.”

Clara ran over and in an instant, appeared right by Tori’s side and into the frame. “Kirill, you’re the best and you’re my favorite person in the whole entire world!” She squealed, jumping up and down.

Kirill laughed, shaking his head. “Can I see the tent when we get back home?”

“Duh!” Clara smiled. “You’ll be the first guest besides Aunt Tori! Unless you guys want to see it together.”

“Go unpack your text,” Tori replied, rolling her eyes and nudging Clara out of the kitchen. “Kirill, I really can’t express how much this means to her…and to me.”

“You don’t need too, just as long as it makes you both happy,” he said, sitting up in the bed. “I need to go now, got to get ready for the bus ride to the arena.”

“Good luck tonight, score a goal or two, hm?” She smiled, wrapping her left around around her waist.

Kirill laughed, nodding his head. “Make it two, one for you one for Clara.” She felt the butterflies liven in her stomach when he said it, still smiling. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye Kirill, good luck.”

“WAIT,” he said, appearing back in the frame. “Before I go, I wanted to know if um…” he cleared his throat, appearing a little nervous. “If you wanted to be my date for the Christmas Party…or we can go as friends–”

She felt her heart pound against her chest at the mention of that one word– date. She smiled, nodding her head. “A date will be nice,” she spoke softly.

Kirill lit up, his smile big as he nodded. “Okay, great, I’ll talk to you later then! Bye.”

She hung up the phone call, biting onto her bottom lip as she brought her phone up beneath her chin and tried to stop herself from smiling so big. She couldn’t wrap her mind around just how he had been searching for the tent after she told him how she was really wanting to buy it for Clara since it was the thing she wanted most. He didn’t have to do that…but he did, because he wanted Clara to be happy just as much as she did.

“Aunt Tori, come on,” Clara said, standing up in the living room. “I’ve got it unpacked!”

Tori laughed, nodding her head. “Alright, we’ve got a tent to build.”

She went to put her phone down onto the counter, seeing it light up one more time with a text from Kirill.

Kirill 🐻: Can’t wait! 😊

If it was up to Tori, she would bring Clara along with her to the Wild Christmas Party tonight. Clara was a social girl, she seemed to love Ryan, Kirill, Mason and Jordan, and she knew there was no doubt in her mind that she would also get along with the rest of the players and staff she’d meet at the party. However, the party would go pretty late into the evening and keeping her up that late, even though she was on Christmas break didn’t exactly scream ‘I’m a responsible guardian.’ Even though she remembered all the times on holidays where her parents let her and Jess stay up late (and she thought they were great parents), this was something she was new at and she was too scared to mess it up– even over something so incredibly small.

So, she called up Maddie, her old childhood best friend and college roommate who Clara knows well, seeing as Maddie was close to Jess too, and asked if maybe she’d be able to babysit Clara for a few hours while Tori was just minutes down the road in one of the ballrooms at the St. Paul Hotel.

Once the two had left the arena after her brief stop into the office to check her emails, they went out to breakfast and then went shopping. Any and every store that Clara had wanted to stop in, Tori never said no. She wanted the day to be a good one. One where they stopped at Starbucks and got Clara a lemon loaf and a hot chocolate while she got herself a cake pop and a hot chocolate as well. Sipping and snacking on their drinks while they went to target and they took turns pointing out what they hoped Santa would bring for them– Tori taking pictures whenever Clara wasn’t looking so she knew what she could send an order out for tomorrow and have someone swing by and pick it up when she had the chance.

And when they came home, they sat down at the small kitchen table with their to-go lunches they grabbed from a panera down the street and sat down together to eat. Tori listened while Clara talked about which Christmas movies they should watch. How she relived telling her the play-by-play of the day she, Tori and the boys went ice skating three days prior. And when lunch was over, Clara sat in the living room watching Julie and the Phantoms (again) on Netflix while Tori took a quick shower, getting dressed into some light pajamas before walking out and checking on Clara.

“Everything okay here?” She asked, towel drying her hair. “Do you need anything?”

“I’m good,” Clara replied, looking over at her. “What are you doing?”

“I’m gonna do my hair and put on some make-up,” Tori replied, softly squeezing the water out of the ends of her hair.

Clara perked up on the arm of the couch, a small smile on her face. “Can I help?”

Tori smiled, draping her towel over her arm. “You want to?” Clara nodded, pushing herself up onto her knees and Tori just nodded her over. “Alright, let’s go to my bathroom.”

Clara jumped off of the couch and ran over to her brushing by and going down the short hall before making a left into Tori’s bedroom. Tori just laughed as she followed behind, walking into her bedroom and then going into her conjoining bathroom where Clara was leaning against the sink.

“Once I’m done blow drying my hair, what do you think I should do? Curl it or straighten it?” She asked, grabbing her blow dryer and plugging it into an outlet.

“Hm…” Clara squinted as she focused on her. “Straighten! You already have curly hair.”

“I have waves,” Tori laughed, looking down at Clara. “Your mom got the curls from our mom, your Grandma Clara.”

She spoke before she thought about how mentioning Jess might affect Clara. It was just so natural for the words to come out, she couldn’t help it. She felt guilty when she thought she saw a flicker of sadness wash across Clara’s hazel eyes– her father’s eyes– before she just walked over and sat down on the edge of the tub.

“Can I play music on your phone while you dry your hair?” She asked, kicking her feet. Tori nodded and picked up her phone, handing it to Clara after she synced it with her bluetooth speaker that was set up in her bathroom. “Any requests?”

“Whatever your little Christmas loving heart desires,” Tori smiled, getting ready to turn the blow dryer on before turning back towards Clara, pointing the dryer at her. “Except the hippopotamus song, that’s my ultimate crossing the line song.”

“You’re no fun,” Clara replied, rolling her eyes before looking back down at the phone, her small fingers scrolling up the phone screen in search for a song to play.

Tori had to point out that she had a Christmas playlist on Spotify, ultimately finding it for her and then letting Clara pick whatever songs she wanted to play from the list as she blow dried her hair. The two of them sang along to all of the classics even as Tori switched from blow drying her hair to straightening it.

The both of them burst into song with smiles on their faces once Mariah Carey’s classic, ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’ came on, and though the memories of her and Jess doing the very same thing when they were younger flooded her mind, seeing Clara sing her little heart out, belting the notes at the top of her lungs, was enough to wipe away the sad afterthought just long enough for Tori to finish straightening her hair.

“Are you sure about the gold eyeshadow? You don’t think it’s too much?” Tori asked, looking away from her small portable mirror and turning to face the soon to be eight-year-old.

“I think it brings out your eyes,” Clara replied, swinging her sitting besides Tara on the floor, using the small bathtub carpet to place the make-up she had placed just in front of her to ‘help figure out our options.’ “You guys have pretty eyes…” Clara paused and then looked back down at the make-up containers in front of her. “Had, I guess.”

Tori swallowed the knot in her throat, wanting to comfort the sadness that Clara was feeling, but even her correction into a past tense had been so soft, Tori wandered if acknowledging it was going to be the right thing to do. “Well I think you have the prettiest eyes.”

“They’re alright,” Clara shrugged, picking up a lip pencil. “They’re just brown.”

“They’re hazel,” Tori corrected, putting down the liquid golden eyeshadow after closing the tube. “And even if they were just brown, they’re still beautiful. Brown eyes are like…” she paused, trying not to let herself picture the moment at ice skating when she almost embarrassed herself falling down and Kirill caught her fall. “They’re warm and sometimes when they’re really brown, they’ve got this depth in them…like that person’s got all of the secrets in the world hidden behind their eyes. And when the light catches them? Magical. It’s like they can change a multitude of shades and–”

Clara was smiling, catching Tori off guard. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because you have a crussshhhhh,” Clara sang, handing Tori the pencil. “And it’s on Kirilllllll.”

“I do not,” Tori scoffed, taking the pencil and looking at the shade before uncapping it, shaking her head. “I do not, nope.”

“Yes you do,” Clara giggled, sitting up from her butt and onto the backs of her heels. “And you know how I know? Because he has brown eyes and you went all,” she fluttered her eyelashes and smiled, cupping her hands beneath her face as if she was playing a lovesick girl in a movie. “When talking about brown eyes.”

Tori laughed, turning her focus back to the mirror to apply her lip liner. “Just because he has brown eyes and I romanticized them to make YOU feel better, doesn’t mean I have a crush on Kirill. Now find me a shade of lipstick, my little make-up guru.”

Ever like her mother, Clara rolled her eyes at Tori’s playoff of the all too real situation that she’d brought up. But crushing on the guy just down the hall wasn’t really something she wanted her niece to call her out on. It was bad enough that it had been something Jess had picked up on last year when she and Steven had a date night to a game and met her afterwards.

And it didn’t help that Tori had always been the kind of girl who let the smallest of moments and things turn into the biggest when it came to love and things like it. Thoughts always spent a little extra time in her head and her brain would spin them and turn them into special butterfly inducing memories until her feelings were almost as big as the heart her mom always told her she had and one that “anyone would be lucky to have love them.” The absolute last thing that she needed was for her brain to spin the small moments, big moments, and every funny tik tok, simple text or wave from Kirill, into something butterfly inducing. The absolute, very, very, VERY last thing she needed…was to have feelings for the kindhearted, brown-eyed boy down the hall.

Or, you know, that she needed to acknowledge them. Because she knew deep down that there were feelings there for him, small or large she didn’t know. She didn’t want to allow herself to feel those, when she wasn’t even sure about whether or not him having similar feelings for her were possible.

“Aunt Tori,” Clara said, waving the lipstick in front of her face. “How’s this shade?”

Tori cleared her throat, removing herself from her inner thoughts before looking at the perfect match of a shade of red lipstick and smiling. “It’s perfect. I should just have you do my make-up from now on, that way I can sit back and relax while you do all the work.”

“Only if you boost my allowance up to $10,” she said, standing up and brushing off her pants.

“Only if you actually do your chores,” Tori replied, carefully applying her lipstick onto her top lip before blotting it with the bottom.

Clara extended her hand out, nodding. “Deal.”

Tori laughed and shook her hand before returning back to applying her lipstick, Clara coming over with a folded up piece of toilet paper before she even had to ask. “Do you just watch those beauty youtubers all the time?”

“Mainly tiktok, but sometimes I watch youtube. I’m gonna go get a snack.”

“Okay, I’ll be out there in a bit,” she replied, capping her lipstick and blotting using the toilet paper. She collected the makeup from beside her and put it all back into the storage where it belonged before standing up and putting her make-up all back onto her bathroom counter.

She took a step back from the counter, moving her hair off of her shoulders and towards her back as she took in the job that she and Clara had done together. She was still getting used to the way her curtain bangs were framing her face, knowing that Jess would be right over her shoulder and telling her that she knew she’d second guess getting the hairstyle. That was the thing though, she wasn’t sure if she did second guess getting it…she just liked the idea of being able to hear her older sister tease her in the back of her mind.

Besides, Clara, her dad and Kirill said that they liked her hair. Though perhaps Kirill’s approval was right up there with Clara’s– almost a close second.

Tori turned off the bathroom light and walked into her bedroom, going over to her walk-in closet and opening the door, not even needing to turn on the light to know where her dress for tonight was at. She’d hung it just next to the door the moment after she’d washed it…the same day she bought it. She’s been excited to wear it from the moment she saw it on a random shopping trip during her lunch break with Kaia. It wasn’t anything extravagant, but it was a dress that when she jokingly tried it on…she felt different in it.

She imagined, as she stood there in that dressing room with the lights illuminating her closed stall, that this feeling…whatever it was, was what her mom had talked about when she and Jess were growing up. That one day, when they were engaged and wedding dress shopping, that it would be nothing like shopping for homecoming dresses or prom dresses was going to be. That the dress, would make them feel like they were the most beautiful person in the room. Her mom was right, she and Jess never felt that way shopping for their homecoming or prom dresses– but she knew Jess had felt that moment the day she, after trying on what felt like every dress in the bridal shop, tried on the dress she would wear when she walked down the aisle to Steve.

Granted, Tori hadn’t bought her dress while preparing for her wedding, but the way she suddenly saw herself in a different light as the deep green, sparkly velvet material hugged her body as if it were made just for her. Feeling the soft material cut in an A-line on her chest and flare out into a skater dress just at her mid thigh, she stood there so long in that dressing room admiring the way the dress looked, that Kaia had knocked on the door saying “the dress can’t be that bad.”

And it wasn’t, because the moment Tori walked out of the dressing room, Kaia told her to turn right back around and change because, “you are so buying that dress.”

She grabbed the hanger, bringing the dress out of her closet and then walking towards her bed as she laid it down on top of her comforter. She changed out of her sweatpants and tank top and grabbed the dress, sliding the material off of it’s hanger and stepping into the dress, the material hugging against her body, feeling the velvet against the palms of her hands as she rubbed her hands down the stress, flattening out any wrinkles. Also in her closet, were the shoes she was going to wear tonight as well.

“What, Clara?” She called out, swearing she heard Clara’s voice. She bent down and quickly slid on each heel before making her way out of her bedroom and down the short hallway, eventually coming into her shared living and dining rooms.

“I said, Maddie’s here,” Clara replied, walking over towards the couch and sitting down next to Maddie.

“You answered the door?” Tori asked, eyes wide as she walked over to the small island counter where she had set down the purse she was going to use tonight, was. “I know for a fact that you were taught not to answer the door–”

“For strangers,” Clara replied, shrugging. “I got a chair and looked through the peephole to see who it was. Maddie’s not a stranger, so I answered it.”

Tori sighed, shaking her head. “Okay, technically she’s not a stranger, but you should’ve come back and told me that Maddie was here before opening the door. For all you know she could be on one of her crazy trips and rob us blind.”

Maddie rolled her eyes as she sipped on her Starbucks refresher. “Ha ha, very funny. Mind you, I’m here aren’t I?”

“Yes and thank you for that,” Tori replied, grabbing her small clutch and making sure she had transferred everything over that she’d need for tonight.

“Yeah, yeah, what are besties for, now come over here so we can see the final look.” Maddie said, waving her over. “Full on fashion show like the ones we used to do in fifth grade.”

This time, Tori rolled her eyes as she put the clutch back down onto the island and walked into the living room. “Do I really–”

Maddie held her hand up, shaking her head. “I said, fashion show. So strut.”

Clara laughed, sitting up on her knees in excitement as they both had their eyes on Tori, who was giving into the demands and like when she was a kid, put on her best “supermodel” runway walk and walked into the living room, doing a twirl and then playfully flipping her hair over her shoulder before stopping in front of them and sighing, shrugging her arms. “So? Thoughts?”

Maddie looked at Clara and then leaned over, cupping her ear and whispering as Clara shook her head and then nodded, her face going through a whole slew of emotions before finally nodding again. Maddie sat up straight and the two looked at each other before Clara looked back at Tori and smiled.

“We think you look hot.”

Tori laughed, throwing her head back just barely as she shook her head. “Well thank you, but hot should not be in your vocabulary yet. Wait until you’re like��I don’t know, 18.”

“18?! But that’s forever!” Clara whined, falling back against the couch. “14.”

A knock on the door interrupted what Tori was going to say as she pointed at Clara. “We’ll talk about it later.” She walked towards the door, already knowing who was going to be on the other side since this was about the time that they agreed in their group chat to meet up so they could all travel to the party together.

“Hey guy…oh, hi” she expected to see Ryan, Kirill, Mason and Jordan, along with three of their dates she knew were tagging along. But instead…it was only Kirill standing at her front door, dressed very nice in a black suit that had gold trim, along with a dark gray shirt underneath.

And he was wearing the hell out of the suit.

“Hi,” he spoke, clearing his throat soon after as he pointed his thumb down the hall. “The guys sent me here. We’re ready to go, are you?”

“I am,” she nodded, trying not to focus on the way she could see his eyes taking in her dress. “I just um,” she looked over her shoulder. “Need to grab my purse…come on in.”

“Thanks,” he nodded, sucking in his lips as he kept his hands in his pockets and walked into her apartment, closing the door behind him.

“Hi Kirill!” Clara said, standing up from the couch and walking over. “What’s with the funny suit?”

Kirill smiled as he held out his fist for her to bump. “Funny suit?”

Clara giggled as she shook her head. “You’re just really dressed up! I only ever see you wearing jeans and stuff.”

“Oh,” he replied, looking a little embarrassed as Tori turned around. “A Christmas party. I’m picking up Tori.”

“Mhhm and now we’re getting ready to leave, so please be on your best behavior for Maddie,” Tori said, draping the chain of her clutch purse over her shoulder and pointing to Maddie. “And no obscene amount of sugar after eight.”

“No fun,” Maddie replied, waving at Kirill. “Hey Kirill, take care of our girl tonight please. No shenanigans.”

“Shenanigans?” He asked, looking at Tori, his cheeks tinting pink as he looked for a translation.

“No pranks, practical jokes,” Tori replied, shaking her head. “Ignore her.” She turned back towards Clara bending down to her level and holding out her pinky finger. “Promise to be on your best behavior?”

“You’re leaving?” Clara asked, her eyebrows furrowing as she looked between Tori and Kirill.

Tori nodded, adjusting her clutch chain, going to kiss the top of Clara’s head. “Just down the street to the team Christmas party. I promise I’ll be back–”

“No!” Clara yelled, backing herself away from the affectionate moment.

The three adults stood there in shock at the way the personable and bubbly, but often quiet, Clara raised her voice so defiantly.

“No, you can’t go!” Tori could see the way Clara’s face began to crumble and knew she was only moments away from crying. “If you go, you won’t come back! My mommy and daddy didn’t!”

Tori stepped towards Clara, ready to comfort the now crying child. “Clara–” Just as she went to get down to her level, Clara spun around on her heels and ran back towards the only bedroom of the apartment– Tori’s– slamming the door shut behind her.

The silence was loud and heavy as she stared down the hall, the most outrageous part expecting her for Clara to come back out laughing– that it was all a joke. But the big part of her, the one that knew Clara was genuinely upset, scared even…that part tugged at her heart, causing an ache so deep that it didn’t take her a second to turn around to face Kirill.

“I’m sorry,” she spoke, shaking her head as she took her clutch off of her shoulder. “I can’t go tonight. I can’t–” she looked back over her shoulder, shaking her head as she looked back at him. “I can’t leave her like this.

She couldn’t tell what exactly it was that he was feeling– confused at what went down, sad that she was bailing, concerned for Clara or maybe even a little scared at the outburst– but like he always did, he put on that small, comforting smile that always gave her the biggest of butterflies, and nodded his head.

“I’ll let the guys know.” He walked back to her door, opening it as she followed behind him. He turned back around, his eyes looking just past her and over her shoulder. “Tell Clara I hope she’s okay.”

Tori leaned against the door, nodding. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Again, I’m sorry. I know–”

“It’s okay, Tori.” He replied, still smiling as she rocked back on his heels. “See you later.”

She waved as she watched him walk back down the hall towards his room most likely to grab the rest of their group before looking back into her apartment and sighing, nodding at Maddie. “You should probably go too.”

Maddie nodded, getting up off of the couch and collecting her things off of the island counter before coming over to Tori, not hesitating a single moment before wrapping her arms around her and hugging her. “It’s not your fault.”

“I didn’t–” Tori paused, as Maddie pulled back and she looked down the hallway. “I should’ve known she’d get upset and I didn’t think about that.” She took a deep breath, exhaling as she looked back at Maddie, feeling the tears burn in her eyes. “Jess would’ve known what to do. She would’ve known–”

“Hey, don’t get down on yourself, Tor,” Maddie said, holding onto Tori’s arms. “This…all of this is new to you, but you’ve done a hell of a job so far. No one expects you to be perfect, okay? You had one slip up and even then…you’re doing your damndest. You’re canceling your plans to make sure that Clara is okay.”

Maddie reached up and cupped her face, gaining her attention as she looked into her eyes. “You’re trying, Tori. You’re trying and you’re learning…and that’s all Jess and Steven both would have wanted.”

Tori nodded, hugging Maddie again before pulling away. “Thank you.”

“You know I’ll always be here for you,” she smiled, walking out of her apartment door. “And send me that receipt for your Target order, I’ll swing by and pick it up tomorrow. Love you Tor.”

“Love you too, Mads,” Tori replied, waiting until she saw Maddie get into the elevator before closing and locking her apartment door for the night.

She took a few deep breaths as she took off her shoes and placed her purse back onto the counter before making her way back down the hall, coming to a stop in front of her bedroom door. She raised her fist, holding it there for a few spare moments before knocking on the door. “Clara?”

Tori pressed her ear against the door, hearing her fan on the other side of the door blowing, but not a peep from Clara. She knocked again, keeping her ear against the door. “Clara, can you come out please? Or let me in?”

Still silence and Tori was starting to feel defeated as she exhaled and let her body fully lean against the door. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about the party. I…I didn’t even think about,” she paused, unsure of how to say the idea that maybe Clara would have some kind of reservations about Tori going to a party, without making it seem as if she wasn’t considering her feelings. “I’m sorry that I made you upset, that’s the last thing I ever want to do.”

“I sent Maddie and Kirill home, so it’s just gonna be me and you tonight.” She crossed her arms, focusing on the sounds from the other side of the door. “And I don’t know about you, but I’m kind of hungry…so I think I’m gonna order a pizza. If you want some, just let me know.”

The one thing that she learned between her Dad and Clara’s therapist, was that she needed to let Clara come to terms with things on her own time. Not to force her to talk about it before she was ready or ignore it when the time came. If she had questions, then it was okay to answer them until Clara either started to look uncomfortable or stop asking questions altogether. So that’s what she was going to do, she held out her olive branch of a pizza offering and was going to sit in the living room and wait until Clara hopefully would leave the room and join her.

Tori had ordered the pizza on her phone and sat down onto the couch, leaning back into the warm material as she stared at the “are you still watching?” Netflix screen. It was only a few minutes after she placed the order for pizza when she heard her bedroom door open from down the hall, Clara appearing at the end of the hall a couple of seconds later.

“You still want to watch Julie and the Phantoms?” Tori asked, nodding towards the tv screen.

Clara nodded, keeping quiet as she slowly made her way over to the couch and sat down right beside Tori, immediately curling herself up against her side. “Why didn’t you go to the Christmas party?”

Tori shrugged, reaching up and brushing Clara’s hair back as she continued to play the show. “You were upset and I didn’t want to leave you behind,” she replied, looking down at her. “Besides, hanging out with you is a lot more fun than going to a fancy Christmas party.”

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” Clara spoke softly, resting her head against Tori’s chest. “I just–”

“Sh, you don’t have to apologize, Clara,” Tori replied, tucking some of her hair behind her ear. “I know.”

They sat there for a relaxed moment before Clara looked up at Tori, pouting. “But now you’re all dressed up and pretty…”

Tori smiled, sitting up straight. “How about we change over into some pj’s, then I can do your hair and make-up and after that, we’ll clean it all up and have a spa night like your mom and I used to have with our mom?”

Clara perked up and nodded, a smile on her face. “Okay!” She scrambled off of the couch and headed towards the hall. “Face masks too?”

“Of course,” Tori scoffed, standing up off of the couch and following behind her, holding onto the hand Clara had outstretched towards her. “We’ll go all out, I promise.”

And they did.

After changing into some comfortable pajamas, Tori rounded up all of the spa stuff she had available in her bathroom and they walked back out into living room area with spa and make-up stuff in hand. Just like when Clara was helping Tori get ready, she had picked out all of the colors she wanted to wear, and Tori would apply it. She opted for having her hair curled and once it came down to make-up. And to no surprise, Clara had handed Tori the golden eyeshadow she had picked out for her earlier in the evening, when Tori had asked what eyeshadow she wanted.

“With as knowledgeable as you are about make-up, I give it until you’re 12 to be better at it than me,” Tori joked, carefully applying the finishing touches on the eyeshadow. “I was never this good at make-up, I only learned a little in high school and then a little more in college.”

Clara kept her eyes closed as Tori shut the eyeshadow pallet and then grabbed the eyeliner. “I like watching youtube and tik toks,” she said, sitting still as Tori began applying the eyeliner. “Plus I really liked watching my mom do her make-up, she looked really pretty.”

Tori smiled softly, nodding her head even though Clara couldn’t see. “Your mom was always very pretty.”

Silence settled over as Tori carefully applied the eyeliner to Clara’s top lid before having her open her eyes so she could apply it to the waterline. Words were none even as she put the eyeliner down and then grabbed the mascara, even more carefully applying it so she didn’t accidentally poke Clara in the eye.

“All right, you’re all done,” she smiled, putting the mascara tube down and grabbing the make-up mirror that she’d brought out from the bathroom and held it in front of Clara. “What do you think?”

Clara scooted closer to the mirror, turning her face side to side as she even played with the curls of her chestnut colored hair. “Do I look like my mom?” She asked, looking up at Tori with a softened expression.

“I–“ a knock on the door interrupted Tori’s reply, signaling that hopefully the pizza was here. “That must be the pizza.”

Tori got up off of the floor and walked over to the front door, peeping through the peephole and seeing the pizza delivery man. She opened the door, making small conversation as she was handed the receipt to sign before finally wishing the delivery man a good night and taking the pizza, closing the door behind her and walking into the kitchen as Clara walked in. They grabbed some plates and each put two slices of pizza and a cheesy breadstick onto their plate before Clara took their plates into the living room while Tori grabbed them each a cup of water to drink.

When they settled back into the living room and sat on the floor, Tori noticed the small silence that was still there as Clara started to eat her pizza and focus on the Hannah Montana episode that was playing on Disney+. She knew it was most likely because she’d never gotten the answer to her question since the pizza had been delivered and so Tori put her pizza back down onto her plate and turned towards Clara.

“You do look like your mom,” she said, watching as her response took a few seconds before it sunk into Clara’s focus that she had said something.

“I do?” Clara asked, her bite of pizza still in her mouth as she quickly chewed it and swallowed. “Or are you just saying that?”

“No, you do,” Tori smiled, nodding her head. “You have her hair, especially now with the curls–“

“But we curled it…”

“Your mom’s hair didn’t get curlier until she was 14, before that, her hair was straight just like yours. You have her nose and her cheeks,” she smiled, scooting closer to Clara. “You have your dad’s eyes and his dimple, but your smile,” she reached out and gently poked right by the outside corner of Clara’s left eye. “You definitely have your mom’s smile, it reaches up into your eyes.”

Clara smiled and just like she said, for a moment, Tori could see a glimpse of Jess just in her smile alone. “Thanks Aunt Tori.” She sighed, picking her pizza up again. “I’m sorry for ruining your date with Kirill.”

Tori laughed, shaking her head. “It wasn’t really a date…I was just his date to the party is all. And besides,” she nudged Clara, smiling. “I think we’re having more fun doing this than I would at a party.”

“Even if it meant you couldn’t go on your date?” She frowned.

Tori nodded. “Even if it meant missing out on tonight. Besides, if Kirill has a problem with me canceling so I can spend more time with you, then he’s not worth it.” She picked up her pizza and looked at Clara. “Boys will come and go Clara, but family is forever.”

Clara smiled and picked her pizza back up to eat and Tori joined in, sneaking a glimpse at her phone to see that she still didn’t have any messages from Kirill. It’s not like she was expecting him to text her throughout the night, because it was, after all, a team Christmas party…but she was also hoping that her hypothetical ‘if he has a problem’ scenario wasn’t real. Because a big part of her, though she would deny it if asked, did care for Kirill.

And she hoped he felt the same way.

It’d been maybe an hour and a half into their night, the make-up was all washed away and the two of them were lounging on the couch in their face masks, complete with some chopped up cucumbers to snack on as they watched The Polar Express, one of their favorite Christmas movies they watched as kids. If it wasn’t so late, Tori might have suggested the two of them bundle up into a jacket and boots and wander down the street to get some ice cream. But, since tomorrow was their birthday, she figured that could be something she treated Clara to during the day.

Because right now, Clara was close to being ready to fall asleep and a sugar rush would only keep her up for a little bit longer.

“Who’s that?” Clara asked, looking towards the front door following the soft knock they heard. “Is Maddie coming back?”

“I’m not sure,” Tori said, getting up off of the couch and keeping her blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She walked over to the door, looking through the peephole and immediately stepping away. “Shit.”

“What? Who is it?”

“It’s Kirill,” she replied, reaching up and touching her dried clay mask. “And my face is completely purple…”

Clara jumped off of the couch and ran by Tori, nudging her out of the way and unlocking the door locks before swinging the door open. “Hi Kirill! Come in!”

“Hi,” he laughed, going along as Clara grabbed onto his coat jacket and tried to tug him in as best as she could. “What are…” he paused and looked between both girls as Clara shut the door. “What’s on your faces?”

“Face masks to help us look young,” Clara chimed in, pointing at the plastic bags he was carrying. “Whatcha got there?”

He looked down at the plastic bag and then held it up. “I brought ice cream.”

“But,” Tori paused, seeing that he was still dressed up in his suit. “What about the party? It doesn’t end for another two and a half hours.”

Kirill smiled and shrugged. “It wasn’t fun and Ryan said he’d tell everyone I wasn’t feeling good.”

“Does this mean we can have ice cream, Aunt Tori?” Clara gasped, turning towards her and grabbing onto her hand, pouting. “It’d make me feel so much better! Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty pleasseeeeee?”

“Yeah Tori, pretty please?” Kirill laughed, looking at her.

More than anything, she just wanted to wash the clay mask off of her face, even though it was looking like Kirill didn’t care that she was wearing it. “Okay,” she nodded, holding her blanket tighter. “We can have ice cream. We’ll just go wipe this stuff off our faces real quick and then–”

“No need!” Clara ran around the counter into the kitchen and grabbed the small stool Tori had for her, moving it in front of the sink and then turning the water on, vigorously rubbing her face with the water until the face mask was off.

Tori just sighed, grabbing a paper towel and ripping it, handing it to Clara. “Wipe around, you’ve got some flakes leftover.” She looked at Kirill and nodded. “I’ll be back.”

She swiftly made her way down the hall to her bedroom, walking in and going to the bathroom to wash the face mask off her face. She tried not to let her racing heart make her nervous at the fact that Kirill had left his own team’s Christmas party hours earlier, just to come by her apartment to make sure that they were okay. And he even brought ice cream. Those were two wins in her book and if she were to text Maddie and Kaia, no doubt in her mind that they would tease her and say that he’s definitely got feelings for her.

But she didn’t want that disappointment, because maybe he was just a friendly guy.

When she wiped her face dry, she walked back out and down the hall, seeing Kirill still standing at the counter, only now he was holding an ice cream scooper in his hand and looking at Clara for approval as he dropped a second scoop into the bowl. “Good?”

“Mm, one more.”

“No, two is good,” Tori laughed, shaking her head. “You need to sleep at some point tonight, because tomorrow is a big day.”

“Our birthday!” Clara smiled, looking at Kirill. “Are you guys coming to my party? It’s just Aunt Tori, Maddie and me right now.”

Kirill laughed as he handed over the bowl of ice cream. “I would love to come.”

“Sweet,” Clara smiled, grabbing her bowl before giving him a hug. “Thanks Kirill, you’re the best.”

She ran off before he could reply and Tori walked over, taking her place at the end of the island. “This was really nice of you to do,” she said, leaning against the counter. “I thought my spa night and pizza was good, but you really took the cake with this ice cream.”

“Took the cake?” He asked, eyebrows furrowed as he dropped a scoop of ice cream into her bowl.

“It means you won,” she smiled, nodding at the ice cream. “Plus, it’s like you have a radar in your head and knew I was craving something sweet.”

Kirill smiled, shrugging his shoulders. “I know you.”

It was a good day– a day to be celebrated in many ways.

It was Christmas Eve and then it was both Clara and Tori’s birthday. A bittersweet day, but also one that needed much celebration in it’s own right. When she woke up this morning, Clara was still fast asleep in the bed beside her, so Tori took the chance to get up and make a phone call to her dad– hoping it wasn’t too early in the morning for him.

The first thing he’d said when she answered, was wishing her and Clara both a happy birthday. And after the polite conversation and questions about how they were doing had come and gone, Tori had asked him the most important question for the day– “how did you do it?”

“How did I do what, Tori?”

“How did you make that first birthday after mom died, so special?”

There was silence on the phone before her dad sighed. “Well, I didn’t shy away from the topic if you wanted to talk about your mom. We did a lot of talking about her and past birthdays. We kept up with those traditions, and just made sure to include mom as much as we could.”

Tori was biting her long sleeve as she stared at the Christmas tree. “I’m just nervous I’ll ruin it,” she whispered, feeling the tears burn in her eyes. “You made that birthday and every one after that so special, even when deep down I was missing mom so much. I– I want to do that for Clara, I don’t want Jess and Steven’s death to overshadow her and make her hate her birthdays every year.”

“As long as you just talk about Jess and Steven when she wants to and you validate those feelings she has, you won’t ruin it, Tori. She loves you and you’ve got a way of making everyone feel special, especially on their birthdays. Just do things you’ll think she’ll enjoy or if she asks to do something, do that too.”

It was her dad’s advice that made her feel a lot less nervous going into the day. First up on the day, she’d made Clara a special breakfast– chocolate chip pancakes complete with whipped cream and some cut up strawberries– a birthday breakfast that their mom had made Tori and Jess every year on their birthday since they could remember. And it was a tradition that Tori knew Jess had kept up with, because when Clara finally woke up and joined her out in the living room, her eyes lit up when she saw the pancakes on the kitchen island– even if the smile wasn’t there.

Tori didn’t remember much about that first birthday without her mom, part of her thinks she probably blocked it out because it was too sad to think about, but watching Clara go through it, she probably experienced the same thing. The sniffles and tears while eating her breakfast, the smile on her face but one that didn’t reach her eyes as she opened the gift Tori’s dad had gotten her. The apologizing for feeling sad and the “it’s okay,” from Tori when she had apologized.

It felt like uncharted territory, even though she’d been in it before. The only thing that had even boosted her mood just a little bit, was when the four boys from down the hall stopped by to wish them both a happy birthday, even giving her some presents.

Kirill’s was the only one that Clara was actually interested in– maybe it was because it was from him or maybe because it was the only one that wasn’t personally signed Minnesota Wild merchandise. It was a Polly Pocket set, one that Tori wasn’t sure whether or not he just saw in a store and thought that she’d like it or if it was something he knew that she wanted. At least not until before they left, Tori had asked him how he knew what to get her and he said– “we're best friends, duh. She said she liked Polly Pockets, so I just went to the store and asked someone for help.”

Once the boys left, they just hung around the apartment, watching whatever Clara wanted to watch. It wasn’t until she started to feel a little antsy that Tori had asked what was wrong. Clara looked at her, a sad look on her face as she played with her hands and said, “I want to go see mommy and daddy…if that’s okay.”

Visiting the cemetery back in her hometown wasn’t exactly what Tori had on the birthday card for today, but she remembered what her dad said about being open to whatever Clara wanted to do and agreed. They had gotten dressed and left the apartment complex, getting to the garage and getting into her car before setting out for the drive back to Saint Paul. Christmas songs were on the radio, but that was the only sound in the car on their drive, especially once they neared the cemetery where her mom, Jess and Steven were all buried in the same section, but only plots away from each other.

They’d stopped at the store, buying some flowers before reaching the cemetery and once they parked off to the side, they got out and walked through the snow, trying their best to find the headstones. They’d found her mom’s first and Tori bent down and wiped off a few extra whisps of snow before placing the red poinsettias into the flowerpot. It wasn’t the first time since her mom had died that Tori had come to the cemetery, but each time was just as emotional as the first time after the funeral.

“Aunt Tori, can I go find mommy and daddy?” Clara asked, pointing just head. “I think they’re eight up.”

“Okay, just stay in view.” Tori nodded, watching as Clara walked just ahead in front of her. She took a deep breath and sighed, staring down at her mom’s engraved name. “I know you told us that even if you weren’t here anymore that you’d always be around…but I really hope that’s true because I feel like I’m out of my league.”

“I hope you’re with Jess and Steven up there, and I hope you guys are looking down at us and show up in times we need you. Dad’s doing good, Clara’s doing as good as you can expect her to…and I think I’m doing okay,” she replied, wiping her running nose. “You and Jess would be glad to know that I finally might’ve found someone I really like, though I’m not sure if the feelings are mutual. And I think you would’ve liked him, his name’s Kirill and he plays for the Wild. Jess has met him and she liked him, so I’m sure she’s told you all about him. He’s everything you always told us we deserved and needed to find in someone, one day.”

Tori laughed, shaking her head. “And honestly, I wouldn’t be all that surprised if you somehow sent him to me.” She looked up to see that Clara was squatting down towards the ground and knew she’d found where Jess and Steven were. “I miss you a lot, mom and I wish you were here all the time, but I know you are just like you said you would be. I love you and I’ll visit again soon, hug Jess and Steven for me.”

Tori quickly wiped her face and calmed herself down before walking away from her mom’s headstone and taking the short walk up to where Clara was at, not getting to close as to not want to interrupt Clara, wanting to give her privacy. When she stood up, Tori walked over and stood next to her, draping her arm over her shoulder. “You okay, Clara?”

Clara sniffled, wiping at her face and shaking her head. “I miss them,” she sobbed. “It’s not fair.”

Tori squatted down to her level and wrapped her in her arms, hugging her as she tried not to cry herself. “I know, I know,” she whispered, cupping the back of her head before leaning back. “But you know what my mom always told your mommy and I when we were little and she got really sick?”

Clara shook her head, sniffling again as she wiped at her nose. “No.”

“She told us, that even if she wasn’t here physically where we could see her and hug her,” she said, reaching up and wiping away the tear stains on Clara’s cheeks. “That she would always be right here in our hearts,” she reached down and patted Clara’s heart. “And that she would never, ever leave there.”

“Can I talk to her there too?” Clara asked, wiping at her face again.

“Always,” Tori whispered, holding onto Clara’s arms. “I was going to wait until tonight to give you this, but I think now might be better.”

“What is it?”

Tori reached into her jacket pocket, pulling out the small red gift box and lifting the lid and the small tissue paper from over it, revealing a small silver locket. “When you were born, your daddy bought this for your mommy. It says, ‘home is where the heart is’ on the front and on the back, it’s got all three of your guys initials,” Tori smiled, showing Clara both sides before opening the locket. “And then inside, they added this picture of the three of you smiling in the hospital room. See? There you are right there in your mommy’s arms.”

Clara leaned down, looking at the locket before looking up at Tori. “I was so small.”

“You were a few hours old,” Tori smiled, pointing to the empty side. “And then right here, if you want…we can add a picture of the three of you from that family photo session we all did together, yeah?”

“Yes please,” she nodded, wiping at her nose. “Can you put it on me?”

Tori nodded, taking the locket out of the box. “I figured you were old enough to have this now, that way you’ll always have your mommy and daddy to look at when you get a little sad and I’m not there to comfort you.”

Once she put the locket around her neck, Tori let it rest against her chest and Clara reached down and held it into her palm with a small smile before looking up at Tori. “I love it Aunt Tori and I love you.”

“I love you too, kiddo,” she smiled, hugging her again, this time just a little tighter.

It was hard trying to decipher whether or not Clara’s trembling lips and body were from her crying or from the harsh cold winter air. So they said one last goodbye to Jess and Steven, Tori saying her own goodbye in her head before they made their way back to their car, staying close to each other and holding hands. When they got back into the car, Tori turned around to make sure Clara was settled before offering her a small smile.

“How about we got get some hot chocolate from the cafe your grandma Clara used to always take your mom and I to when we were kids and we’ll talk about your mom and dad?” Tori suggested, unsure of how Clara would respond.

She sniffled again, wiping at her nose. “Do they have cake pops? Daddy loved cake pops.”

“They do,” Tori laughed, nodding her head. “We’ll get a cake pop too.”

They spent hours in that cafe, ordering hot chocolates and cake pops, nursing them as Tori told stories of Jess when they were younger and answered any questions about her mom and dad that Clara had. By the time it was time for them to start driving home so they could meet Maddie at the apartment for the small dinner and cake they were going to do for Clara, Clara was smiling for the first time that entire day– genuinely smiling.

It wasn’t until they got in the car that Tori saw she had a missed call from Kirill and a voicemail. And when she listened to it first, she smiled. “Kirill called, did you want to hear what he had to say?” She asked, looking over at Clara.

“Yes please!!!” Clara nodded, sitting eagerly in her car seat.

“Hey Tori, I just realized that I forgot to do something when I swung by earlier. I know it’s Clara’s birthday, so I wanted to wish her a happy birthday again and this time, do it the way we always did growing up.” He said something in his native Russian, probably something along the lines of happy birthday and then, the part that made Tori smile, he started to sing the simple tune of happy birthday– still in his native language.

“THAT WAS SO COOL!” Clara smiled, eyes wide. “Next time I see him I’m gonna ask him to teach me russian!”

Tori laughed, putting her phone down and starting her car. The only thing Clara didn’t know was that Tori had ended the voicemail seconds before he went on to say what he did after.

“I know it’s your birthday too, so I wanted to say happy birthday and I’m very happy I met you. You’re doing a great job, Tor.” And then he said something else in russian before translating it for her. “I am the happiest man on earth because I met you, bye.”

She didn’t need Clara teasing her until she was red in the face, but also, she knew that she would never get his voice out of her head– constantly replaying the compliment on their drive home.

The day had come and gone, the sun was set and all around Minnesota, Tori was sure parents had their kids all tucked into bed. But in their small bedroom apartment, Tori, Maddie and Clara were watching ‘How the Grinch Stole Christmas’ like all the Christmas Eve’s before, snacking on some of the leftover cookies they’d made for Santa and just enjoying each other’s presence.

“Did you have a good birthday, kiddo?” Maddie asked, looking over Tori as Clara sat down on the floor, wrapped up in a blanket Maddie had gotten her that was a picture of Clara, Jess and Steven together from last Christmas.

“Yeah, one of the best,” Clara smiled, looking over her shoulder at them. “Thank you guys a lot.”

“You’re welcome, Clara,” Tori smiled, tucking her legs beneath her on the couch. “I’m glad you had a good day.”

“I feel bad though,” Clara frowned, holding the blanket around her. “It’s your birthday too, Aunt Tori and you didn’t get a cake to make a wish or anything.”

Tori smiled, shrugging her shoulders. “That’s okay, I got what I wanted and that was for you to have a good day. I know how hard those firsts can be when you lose someone important to you and all I wanted was to do for you what Grandpa did for me and your mom when we were younger. To make sure you could still have a good day, even if you were a little sad.”

Clara got up and walked over to the couch, leaning over and giving Tori a hug. “I love you Aunt Tori, you’re the best ever.”

“I love you too, Clara,” Tori replied, rubbing her back as she held onto the hug.

A knock on the door interrupted the hug and Clara jumped back, handing her blanket off to Tori. “I’ll get it!”

“What did we say about answering doors?” Tori laughed, holding the blanket in her lap.

“Yeah, Clara,” Maddie smiled, looking at Tori. “I wonder who that could be.”

Tori folded the blanket the best she could before getting up off of the couch, just as Clara opened the door. “GRANDPA!!!!!” Clara squealed, being lifted up moments after as Tori’s dad walked into the apartment, closing the door behind her.

“Dad?” Tori asked, eyes widening. “What are you doing here? I thought you were back with Grandma?”

“Oh no, she got tired of me hovering,” he laughed, shaking his head. “Her surgery went successful and she maybe lasted two days of me staying with her in her little apartment before she told me I needed to come home and be here with you guys. She’s got some good staff looking after her and I told her I’d be on the first flight out if she ever needed anything.”

Tori walked over with a smile, hugging him with one arm as he held Clara. “It’s good to have you here, we missed you.”

“I missed you guys too,” he said, kissing them each on the temple. “And happy birthday to you both. Hi Maddie.”

“Hi Mr. Holly, I’m glad you’re here,” she smiled, sitting up on the couch. “Though you’re not quite who I was expecting.”

Tori’s dad laughed. “If you’re talking about a certain Wild hockey player, he’s still hanging out in the hall. Looks a bit nervous if you ask me.”

“What?” Tori asked, looking at them as her dad put Clara down and Clara started to drag him over to where she had put her Christmas presents down.

“Oh yeah, he’s out there giving himself a pep talk, open the door if you don’t believe me,” her dad laughed, following behind Clara.

Staring at the closed door, she knew that Clara would’ve announced Kirill’s presence if he was out there. She practically adored him just as much as Tori did. But more of a point…why was he out there pacing in the hall? Tori opened the door and didn’t even need to look out into the hall, because there was Kirill, wearing a Christmas sweater and moving himself right into view of her apartment door.

“Kirill,” she said, still surprised even though she was told he was out here. “What are you doing?”

He brought his hands out from behind his back, holding an all too familiar pink bakery box from Tori’s favorite bakery down the street. “I wanted to give you this, it’s your birthday.”

She was speechless as he handed over the box to her and she lifted the lid, seeing her favorite three layered chocolate mousse cake she would always treat herself to a slice or two whenever she stopped by the bakery. On it, was white icing that was written in script that said– look up. She furrowed her eyebrows and looked up at Kirill to see him holding out a small plastic mistletoe decoration with nervous eyes. “What–”

“I know it’s probably lame,” he sighed, dropping his arm by his side. “But I didn’t know what else to do and it’s your birthday and I didn’t want to overlook that. But you’re one of my best friends out here and you’re beautiful and kind and you always make me laugh. I’ve been too nervous to tell you or do anything which is why the guys like to chirp me about you– but I do. I like you a lot, Tori. I like watching movies with you and Clara and ice skating and I’m not good with stuff like this but–”

Tori smiled, before closing the lid on the box and stepping forward, leaning up onto her toes and cupping the left side of his face with her right hand before leaning in and kissing him. She’d always been afraid of making that first move, too nervous about ruining their friendship. Even after they’d spent most of the family skate days earlier, holding hands– playful manor or not. But now, with the cake and his equally adorable rant…she knew that he had feelings for her too and nothing was going to stop her from doing what her hearts been wanting this entire time.

When she pulled away, he looked at her with wide eyes before smiling, holding up the mistletoe. “So it wasn’t cheesy? Because Ryan said it was cheesy and–”

“I loved it, it was very sweet,” she smiled, nodding her head. “Want to come in? We’re just watching a movie.”

He nodded, stuffing the plastic mistletoe into his pocket before walking into the apartment and then coming to a deadstop. She closed the door and turned around, her eyes going wide to see her dad, Clara and Maddie all standing there with smiles on their faces. “Oh…uh…”

“Really guys?” Tori sighed, feeling her cheeks grow hot.

“Took you a while huh, Kirill?” Maddie said, playfully shaking her head. “

He reached up and rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, I just got nervous. Especially when you walked up, sir.”

“No need to be nervous, I’m a friendly guy,” her dad said, walking over and shaking his hand. “However, why don’t we go sit on the couch and talk about your intentions with my daughter, hm?”

“DAD!” Tori gasped, quickly ushering them away. “All of you go sit in the living room and I’ll cut up the cake.”

“CAKE?” Clara asked, eyes wide as she ran over and lifted the lid to the pink box. “You’ve gotta make your wish first, Aunt Tori!”

“Fine, fine, but you guys go in there and I’ll make my wish in here,” Tori said, as Maddie and her dad went back into the living room while her, Kirill and Clara were in the kitchen. Tori opened a drawer and grabbed the lighter, lighting the two candles.

“Make a wish, Aunt Tori,” Clara smiled, resting her arms on the counter and then her chin on her arms. “Even though I already know what you’re going to wish for.”

“You do?” Kirill asked, playing along.

“You do not,” Tori scoffed.

“Sure I do,” Clara smiled. “For Kirill to be your boyfriend.”

“I guess I did forget something after all,” he laughed, taking the plates from her as she grabbed a knife to cut the cake. “Is that something you want? Because–”

Tori just leaned in, kissing him again before pulling away with a smile, subtly nodding her head. “It’s a yes.”

“Okay, me too,” he nodded, blushing as he motioned towards her cake. “Make another wish.”

Tori blushed, tucking her chin into her chest as she smiled., looking around the room. She had her best friend in the entire world and her dad here, Clara was starting to look more like her old self even after the rough year that she’d been through…and the guy from down the hall she’d been crushing on for almost as long as she’s known him…had finally confirmed what her heart had been telling her all along– that he had liked her too. There wasn’t much more in the world that she could want, but maybe there was, and maybe it was just that she wanted Jess, Steven and her mom to know she was trying her best and she wanted them to be proud of her.

She closed her eyes, making the wish that she hoped all of this would stay– the happiness and the peace that her family had adapted after tragedy, her very new relationship with Kirill…there was nothing more in this world that she wanted than to see Clara’s smile and hear her laugh, or getting to feel Kirill’s hand in hers and experience the fireworks she had when they kissed. After savoring the moment, she blew out the candles and opened her eyes again.

There they were, Clara and Kirill. Clara with her big smile, the one that had the best of both Jess and Steven. And then there was Kirill, smiling just as big and looking at her with a kind of love in his eyes that made her heart patter against her chest.

“Best Christmas Eve and birthday ever.”

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miraclewoozi · 6 months

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FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE. -l.c

pair : dino x fem!reader. prompt : “say you want me, and i’m yours.” SMUT. MINORS DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT. wc : 5k. heads up / smut tags : ex-boyfriend!chan. everyone’s down horrendous. drinking/some alcohol consumption prior to the fucking (they aren’t drunk tho). chan is able to lift reader and carry her a short distance. oral (f rec). backshots. unprotected p-in-v sex. reader has solid arch game. chan calls reader good girl/pretty girl/ baby. it’s all very needy. notes : i had idubilu chan on the brain for a big portion of writing. this was supposed to be a drabble and then ended up longer than some of my actual fics, so. bon appetite i guess?

There’s a list of places you think you’d be okay to run into one of your exes.

In the grocery store, for starters. At the gym. In a bar, at your favourite pizza place, the library… None of them would exactly be fun, but one way or another, you believe that they would all be quite manageable.

Further down are family events. While on a date with someone else. At the beach, or a swimming pool. A doctors office. Considerably more uncomfortable. Would probably warrant a large glass of wine as soon as you got home. You would live, though. No doubt about it.

But at a wedding? Not only is it not on there, it’s quite high up on its own index.

The Crisis List.

Yet this is the position in which you find yourself on this beautiful summer’s evening. You suppose it’s sort of what you get for letting yourself be set up with a friend of a friend while you were in college and mixing your social circles: this is some sort of twisted, universal revenge. But of all the places you’ve pictured running into Chan and succeeding to pace yourself through awkward small-talk before parting ways again… you never imagined that a celebration of eternal love would be the setting.

You recognised the sound of his voice pretty much as soon as you arrived, but you were thankfully seated on opposite sides of the aisle during the ceremony itself. It was therefore pretty easy to keep your eyes off him and instead focus on what was going on at the front of the room. This wasn’t so simple when you only knew one other person at your table during the dinner service and Chan was seated barely ten feet away, and every time you glanced over to him, he was blowing bubbles and entertaining a group of young kids. Every time he laughed, or even every time he made one of them laugh, your head would snap over on instinct. Though you locked eyes with him a few times, mostly you were able to look away again before he had the chance to catch you.

Regardless, seeing that brilliant smile from across the room full of strangers made your stomach twist, so much so that you couldn’t even finish your dessert.

Thus far, the day has passed without any real incident; dinner was three hours ago and you’ve managed to avoid him almost perfectly. You keep telling yourself that if you can just make it a little while longer, you’ll be able to go back upstairs and retire to your hotel room, and maybe even eventually, this will become another one of those memories you can laugh about with your friends.

Just a little while longer.

In the meantime, a stool at the very end of the bar is your sanctuary and it has been for so long that your ass has started to go numb. With more people in attendance at the reception than there were at the ceremony and dinner portions of the day, you’re doing a pretty fantastic job keeping your distance from Chan. His friends, too. Everyone, if you’re being completely honest: with your back to the room at large, you could forgive anyone here for assuming that you peaked early, got wasted and just no longer have the legs to move from your perch.

But the truth is that you’re still nursing the same flute of champagne you were given on your way in. Still drawing your fingertip round and around the rim of the same glass, wiping off the lipstick marks you leave with every tiny new sip. Still watching the same bubbles rise up and burst at the same surface. You’re about as sober as anyone on the planet has ever been.

At least, almost certainly, you’re the most sober adult in the building.

You know it’s not exactly fair to have removed yourself from the fun like this on the happiest day of your friends’ lives. You’re overjoyed for them, you really are, and you sort of wish you could just shake this off and go about your business, pretending he’s not here so that you could enjoy yourself properly. You’ve never claimed to be the life and soul of the party, but you know being so distant is a new look on you.

If only it was as easy as simply caring less.

But you’re surrounded by happy couples and faced with the man who is the definition of ‘right person, wrong time’. How can you possibly think about anything else?

Your spine tingles with the feeling of someone hovering behind you and you pick your glass up into your hand, ready to spin around and tell a concerned bride — for the fifth time — that you promise, you’re okay. To keep up the lie about the bellyache you’ve been pretending to have for an hour now just to get her to go back to her party. You square your shoulders and put a smile onto your face, but you don’t have the chance to turn around and put up a façade. The person — who is decidedly not who you were expecting — appears to your right instead, a solid frame in a black suit swallowing up your periphery. Your excuses fade away to static in your brain.

“Is this seat taken?” Chan asks, fingertips brushing over the leather of the chair adjacent to you. “Are you… waiting for someone?”

You shake your head, taking a deep breath. There’s no running away now. “Nope. All yours.”

He swings one leg over the stool and settles into it, both hands resting up on the bar. He, too, twitches his fingers against his glass. He, too, fails to even glance at you.

“Been a while, huh?” He says after a few seconds. Even though music continues playing behind you both, it’s nowhere near as loud as the thick, uncomfortable silence that had started to settle between you.

A while is sort of a massive understatement. You haven’t seen him in… four? Five years? Not since you left college and he accepted the job offer of a lifetime, pulling him all the way to the other side of the country. Not since, despite your shared willingness to try, you realised that the whole long-distance thing didn’t work for either of you; not since you ended up calling time on your relationship after just four months of being apart.

Ending things meant saying goodbye to amost two and a half years though, in total.

You’d you’d never been broken up with over a video call before. It fucking sucked.

“I didn’t know you were around,” you say instead of answering the obvious. “Are you just here for this, or…?”

Chan takes a long sip from his drink and finishes the glass, pushing it away from himself. He shakes his head, scrunching his nose a little. You were surprised not to see him with some sort of a whiskey in-hand, so his reaction to the chug makes sense: he was never that big into wines. Some things never change.

“I got promoted. Came with a relocation,” he tells you. This time, he turns his head and looks at you properly, a small smile tugging up the corners of his lips.

“Oh, shit. Congratulations,” you offer, tilting your now mostly empty glass in his direction before draining the little bit in the bottom, just like he did. You know it’s probably all in your own head that the fizz gives you a bit of a confidence boost, but you find the nerve to move to face him fully: you’ve never been one to turn your nose up at a positive coincidence, after all. “That’s amazing.”

“Thank you,” he says, bowing his head. “It’s… good to be back.”

A few seconds later, he tags on, “and it’s really good to see you.”

The bartender comes back to see if she can get you anything else to drink now you’ve finally finished your champagne and Chan puts his card down for a round of your choosing. It helps loosen up the tension in your shoulders, stops you bouncing your leg against the rest beneath your seat, makes it a little bit easier to settle into a back and forth with him. Eventually, the conversation starts to flow as if you were never really apart.

You laugh at his bad jokes. Chan shoves you playfully when you make some back. He gets so invested in catching up on what’s been going on in your life that he doesn’t even tell you what the promotion he got is, nor where he’s been relocated to.

As the following few hours tick by, he doesn’t leave your side. Even when people come over to talk to him, even when your friends’ eyes start to find you together and linger, as they attempt to read your lips, pick apart your body language, as they begin whispering behind their hands. He takes exactly one bathroom break, and he finds his way straight back to the chair he left. He even scoots it a little bit closer.

And the longer he stays glued to your left, the more you find yourself starting to hope a little harder that wherever he’s living now, it’s not too far away. That whatever him being ‘back’ means, something happens because of it.

Your something comes in the form of your companion trying to persuade you to get up and dance with him. He fails, numerous times; you have a whole arsenal of excuses, some of which are recycled and things that he heard a very long time ago, but others are new. He raises his eyebrows at a couple of them, though you don’t know if he’s just shocked at your attempts or actually impressed. None of them work on him though. You should have remembered that he wasn’t a quitter.

“My shoes hurt,” you tell him on attempt number five. “You go, I’ll stay here.”

Clearly, this line of defence isn’t good enough either.

“Just one song,” Chan asks again as he stands up from his chair and picks up one of your wrists, this time. You look down at where he’s holding you, but he doesn’t. “Please? Just… for me?”

“When was the last time I did anything ‘just for you’?” You scoff incredulously, shaking your head.

It doesn’t. His eyes soften and he takes a small step closer to you, those perfect lips of his pressing into a pout.

He drops his fingers lower and squeezes your hand lightly. “Too long ago. I miss it.”

Something in his stare looks a little far away and you wonder what exactly it is that he’s thinking about. Is he remembering the times you would bring him his favourite snacks when he was sick, ice his injuries after gruelling dance practices, brush sleep out of his eyes early in the mornings when he stayed up too late and couldn’t get out of bed, but really needed to make it to his 8AM classes? Is he remembering when you’d put band-aids on his papercuts? Make sure his laptop was fully charged when he had long study days? Pick him and his friends up from the bars and let him lean all his weight against you as you dragged him into your apartment?

(Those needy nights where you’d let him call you the prettiest girl in the world as he snuggled into your side and nuzzled his cold nose against your warm cheek? When you’d let him tell you, without even rolling your eyes, that you were his everything, the reason he had any strength, the love of his life, the only person he’d ever need—)

He uses your distractedness to his full advantage; as soon as the muscles in your arm go slack, he pulls you again and this time succeeds in getting you to your feet. You stumble a few steps towards him and he ends up leading you all the way over to the dance floor, grinning proudly the entire time.

“One song,” you stress, hanging your head to try and conceal the fact that you’re definitely blushing hard.

“Just one,” he lies, glancing back at you.

You know he's lying, too. High-flying job aside, he’s always been a dancer at heart: when he turns around to face you, there’s a glint in his eyes that says ‘one... or five.’

Confirming your suspicions, seven songs later, you’re still up there with him. You’ve stopped caring about your dumb shoes, or having too many sets of eyes on you, or whether anyone here is murmuring about it. How could you mind, when he keeps finding little ways to touch you again? When he’s singing his heart out, serenading you with corny 90’s love songs, hand on his heart and everything?

How could you mind, when he so clearly doesn’t care?

And the thing is… no part of you thinks that this is a bad idea. It could never be a bad thing to let somebody make your heart race this way and your brain so fuzzy; just seeing him grin at you as he extends his hand out, waiting for you to take it, feels like being twenty one all over again. And when he spins you and spins you and spins you until you’re dizzy, falling over your own feet and staggering until you land against his solid chest, laughing… when he catches you in both arms, and darts his tongue out over his lips at the exact moment you look at his face…

Perhaps your rare moment of unabashed bravery is spurred on by the way he drinks you up like an elixir. Perhaps it’s spurred on by the way he adjusts himself to hold you tighter against him, perhaps it’s spurred on by the fact that this right here is exactly what you feel like you’ve been missing. Whatever the reason, you hook a finger through one of the belt-loops on his pants and manage to find your voice long enough to speak.

“My room or yours?” You ask, quietly enough only for him to hear, loudly enough that he can’t mistake you.

Letting out a breathy chuckle, he brings his palm up between your shoulder blades. “Don’t care,” he says, ducking lower and brushing the tip of his nose against your own. “Just… pick one. As soon as possible.”

A few people have already started to leave: couples with young families, older relatives who are getting tired, friends who have work in the morning, so you don’t feel too bad about slipping out into the corridor with Chan in tow as soon as you’ve grabbed your things. The elevator door closes behind you and you feel the mechanism start to pull you upwards, away from the hotel’s function room and towards the fourth floor to your own suite. Chan presses kiss after kiss to the back of your neck as soon as you’re alone, hands slipping around your waist and joining together just below your belly-button.

“They have… cameras in these, you know,” you sigh, tilting your head to give him better access anyway.

He chuckles quietly, nosing just behind your ear. “Okay?” He says, kissing you there too, bunching your dress in his hand and pulling it a little higher up your thigh. “So what?”

“So… fucking… public indecency,” you laugh, a little taken aback by his brazenness.

It’s hard to be stern with him when he’s acting as if he never forgot how to press every single one of your buttons. Hell, as if he never stopped pushing them, in the first place. You lay one hand over both of his and squeeze gently, encouraging his teeth to keep grazing over the skin of your shoulder. You’ve never had any resolve when it comes to him. He clearly hasn’t forgotten.

Just as you’re relaxing into it, the elevator pings and you jolt away from him just in time for the door to open. The middle aged woman waiting to get in eyes you both as you rush out into the hallway and Chan grabs hold of your hand: you’re fairly sure she sucks her front teeth just before the door closes, but you don’t care. You’re too busy counting the rooms until you get to yours.

409, 410, 411…

“You look so fucking good right now,” Chan groans as you whip turn a corner and he quickens his pace to catch up, walking so fast he should probably be running instead.

421, 422…

“423,” you breathe, fumbling in your purse for the key-card.

In a flash, you wave it over the sensor and pull down on the handle: before you have the chance to get dizzy from the speed of the turn, Chan has you pressed against the door from the inside. He doesn’t wait to be invited. He barely gives you the chance to catch your breath from your power-walk from the reception. Both his hands press into your hips when he brings his mouth down against yours, lips scorching hot, lifted up at the edges in a grin. Your knees go weak and you hold onto his biceps for stability, which… maybe, with how thick and sturdy they feel beneath your palms, isn’t a great way to help you calm down.

When his tongue presses into your mouth and he tastes you for the first time in what feels like forever, you know the only thing keeping you standing is his strength. His hands, pinning you to the wood behind you. His body, pressing against you everywhere it possibly can. His muscular thigh, slotted between yours, giving you something to relax down against but also, to find a tiny little bit of friction from.

He dips down a little lower, looping his hands around you just below your ass, and with a quick movement he lifts you up off the floor completely. You hook your ankles together behind him, shifting to get higher up on his hips: when he steps away from the door, you drop your head down to his shoulder and a smirk replaces his prior very needy expression, feeling how warm you are at your core now your dress has hiked up around your waist.

“Say you want me,” he says, licking a stripe up the side of your neck. He knows you do.

“Huh?”

Chan repeats, “say you want me.”

You grasp harder at his hair and pull, but he doesn’t move away from your neck, just keeps kissing you at your sweet-spot until he’s walked a few paces to the middle of the room, holding you up over the hotel’s generously sized bed.

“Say you want me, and I’m yours.”

He’s… yours?

It takes you a moment to process it but you don’t have to think twice about how you respond, even though your stomach flips at this very open-hearted confession. The entire way back up here, part of you expected this to be little more than a one-night-only special event, but…

“Shit,” you whine, feeling his fingers slip beneath the thin fabric of your underwear at your hip and tug. He pulls back from you at the sound of your voice, determined to look you in the eyes when you say it.

Faces just inches apart, you admit, “I– I want you, Chan. Please. I want you so much.”

He bounces you up a little bit higher to get you to unhook your ankles and proceeds to basically drop you down onto the mattress, pushing both his shirt sleeves up to his elbows and reaching for his necktie. In a manner you can only describe as obscenely smooth, he grabs the knot and pulls, tugging it side to side to make it looser. The expensive silk comes undone easily. He balls it in his fist. You watch him toss his tie to the side, snap open a few more buttons, and with heavily lidded eyes, he plants one knee on the comforter, before crawling up the length of your body until you’re face-to-face again.

You take care of the remaining buttons on his shirt for him as he trails his lips all over your throat, your chest, your shoulders: even down your arms, to the crooks of your elbows, everywhere he can reach with your clothes still on. When his upper body is bare, he disregards the fact that you’re still wearing anything at all and kisses down your torso anyway.

He lays between your thighs and presses his lips to them, too, pushing your dress up higher until it’s bunched up around your ribcage. One of his hands pushes your panties to the side and the other one reaches up to grab hold of yours, pulling it down to lace your fingers back into his hair. You do as he silently asks, and you swear his eyes roll back into his head at the first little pull.

Chan always liked giving, but he loved it when you used him like a little toy, tugging and moving him around until you couldn’t handle him anymore.

Some things never change.

You’re about to tell him that he doesn’t have to do this. That you could take him now, if he wanted to hurry and get to it, because you’re already feeling yourself flutter at the thought of having him buried inside you. But his lips part and you feel the tip of his tongue drag through your folds, separating them, exposing you; he collects your arousal and swallows it back, pressing his tongue into your hole, swirling it around your clit, sending sparks up and down your spine.

That ridiculous, stupid idea dies magnificently. You let Chan lose himself in you, and in equal parts, you lose yourself in him. In the cold bite of the ring decorating his middle finger as he trails them down your sensitive skin, in the way he grunts and moans and praises you between your legs. You selfish– and selfless–ly let him have his way, right up until you feel so tense you could snap.

Sure, you could let yourself come undone like this. Easily. In seconds, even, because he’s got you right there and you’re battling not to let it wash over you. But there’s something you need even more than the euphoria of your own release.

You scrunch your fist in his strands so hard that it forces him to pull away from you, gasping and cringing at the sting. At this, before he has the chance to ask what’s wrong, why you’ve stopped, if you’re okay, you press up onto one elbow, straps hanging off your shoulders, your own hair a mess. Somehow, Chan still looks up at you with glittering eyes, so shiny you can see their sweet, questioning gaze even in the dark.

“Need you, now,” you tell him, your chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. He wipes over his lips on the back of his hand and nods, pulling himself up onto his knees. You let go of him and tug your dress up over your head while he fiddles with the buckle on his belt.

“Flip over,” he says huskily, tugging it free just as quickly as he did with his tie, and when it thunks to the floor, you hear him start to move his pants down his legs too.

You do as he says, turning onto your front, bracing yourself on your knees with your hands clasped together beneath your head. Your back arches naturally for him, pressing your hips higher into the air; his breath catches at the sight of you, your perfect ass, your dribbling pussy.

It’s his favourite view. Always has been. Shit, nothing since the last time he was with you has ever come close.

“Deep breath for me,” he says, so soft in comparison to the way his fingers on one hand grasp at your hip and you feel the blunt edges of his nails digging into your skin. You inhale through your mouth, loud enough for him to hear. “That’s it. My good girl.”

He’s so fucking hard when he finally drags his tip through your folds, so heavy and thick when he pushes inside you inch by inch. The stretch is more intense than you remember, and despite slowly letting the breath you sucked in leave your lungs, you feel all of your muscles go tense. Your eyes squeeze shut. Your torso goes tight. You know your cunt hugs him because of how he lets go of his length and lays his hand flat in the middle of your back, dragging his thumb back and forth, trying to soothe you through it.

“Easy,” he says to you, slowing but not stopping until he’s buried all the way inside you. He’s so deep, you swear he nudges something he shouldn’t. So far inside you that you don’t know what to do with yourself. “Relax, baby. I’ve got you.”

It’s a little difficult when you feel more full now than you ever have, but slowly, you manage to loosen up and it’s only when you give a small nod of your head and an 'mhm' that he starts to rock his hips back and forth. Shallow, to start with, but with the angle he slides into you at, he might as well be going full depth, full force, full speed with how feverish this already is. You bunch the comforter in your fist, letting those familiar sensations of being fucked by Chan take over, letting the discomfort subside until it's replaced only by pleasure.

By which point, he's stopped treating you like a fragile doll, and has started to handle you like the person he wishes he never lost.

Those dancer hips haven't gone to waste, you realise, as he snaps them fluidly into you, the harsh slap of skin-on-skin punctuating every single sound that escapes you both. Sometimes, he pulls you back, spearing you wholly on his length, letting you do some of the work and control the pace. Sometimes, he holds you completely still so that he can have it all.

At all times, you feel yourself losing your mind piece by piece. Though you've tried to be with other people since that horrendous breakup, it's never managed to stick, and you find yourself thinking that maybe in a way, you were waiting for him. Hoping that one day, he'd waltz his way back into your life and sweep you off your feet and make sure you never forgot just how well he can give it to you. Praying that the universe was going to give you another chance.

One of his hands slips around your waist, now, and you feel him come down lower, pressing his chest against your back. His thrusts stop being so long and instead, he settles for harsh, deep ruts. His fingers find and start strumming over your clit, and you can feel yourself start to break apart with gasps and choked moans and whines of his name.

You're done for, and he knows it, but he still teases you as he kisses up your spine.

"Wanna feel you come, pretty girl," he says. His fingers move so easily that it takes everything you have not to collapse beneath him. “Missed feeling this pretty pussy around me. Wasn’t the same watching you play with it on the phone.”

You hide your face in the comforter and gasp, that beautiful heat starting to rise up inside you again. “Fuck, Chan—”

“That’s it,” he guides you, grunting with every little spasm of your walls. “Missed you so much.”

“I missed— missed—” you try to say, but he finds just the right pattern to make you squeak and you tug harder at the sheets. “Oh my God—”

Your universe explodes as he hits just the right spot inside you and you feel your peak slam through you, hips jerking back to meet his until there’s no room for any air to pass between your bodies. Chan stills, letting you ride yourself through it, easing up a little with the pressure of his fingers but still keeping them moving to milk every ounce of pleasure that he can from you.

With your thighs still shaking, you buckle downwards and he slips out of you unintentionally as you fight to catch your breath. You’re still seeing spots, still trying to put your thoughts in the right order, but when he smooths his hands over your ass and down the backs of your thighs, still up on his knees behind you, you slowly start to come back to Earth.

You slowly move round to lie on your back so you can look up at him, his still hard, now soaked cock sitting heavily against his thigh. He settles his hands on your knees, and you lean over to the side to pass your finger over one of the light switches. The one behind the headboard flickers to life and illuminates him: a sheen of sweat makes his broad frame gleam, his rosy blush makes your chest stutter.

“I missed you too,” you say quietly, unsure now if he was just saying so in the heat of the moment or if it was the truth.

You never needed to worry, though. Not if the way he drops down onto one elbow and kisses your newly regained breath straight back out of your lungs, cupping your cheek with his other hand is anything to go by.

“You meant it, then? You really want me?” He asks, pulling away only to drag his thumb over the corner of your mouth. You nod, turning your head a little and pursing your lips forward, pressing a kiss to his skin.

“I never stopped,” you tell him.

Little celebratory fireworks start to dance in his pretty eyes.

“Yeah?” He breathes, rolling onto his back and pulling you on top of him. “Good. Neither did I.”

thank u so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed it! as always, likes, reblogs, comments & feedback are so so appreciated.<3 thank u so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed it! as always, likes, reblogs, comments & feedback are so so appreciated.<3

#lee chan smut #dino smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #kpop smut #dino x you #dino x reader #dino imagines #j writes.#mw500party!#*

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walkingstackofbooks · 10 months

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Trying to actually write a DS9 fic! I've decided to just post the first bit here, unedited, in an attempt to motivate me to continue on Thursday, when I next have time to come back to it ^_^

5 times Julian watched Miles die (and 1 time he didn't)

DS9's Visionary meets Supernatural's Mystery Spot: This story is set during an alternate Visionary, where Julian was affected by the chronotons instead of Miles, and he was stuck in a time loop where Miles kept dying.

There is very definitely butchery of medical procedures in this first chapter - I know nothing of anything, so please suspend your disbelief.

The call came, as it so often did, when Julian was already in the infirmary, patching an officer up. At this particular time, he was carefully removing shards of glass from an Andorian, who had been pushed to the ground when a brawl had started in Quark’s - unfortunately landing on top of a bottle which had been thrown to the ground seconds before.

“Odo to Bashir.”

Julian motioned for a nurse to take over from him as he acknowledged the comm. “Bashir here”.

“Doctor, Chief O’Brien has been stabbed by a Klingon. You’d better-”

“I’m on my way,” Julian replied, medkit already in hand and halfway out of the door. With Quark’s being directly opposite the infirmary, it was just as quick to run as it was to transport.

He saw the Chief almost immediately after stepping into the bar. It didn’t look good, and as he approached it only seemed worse. He was well aware that a stab to the heart didn’t have to be fatal, but blood was gushing through the fingers of the ensign trying to put pressure on the wound, and his tricorder was showing him that it would take every ounce of skill he had to put the Chief back together.

“Odo, are you able to staunch this wound at all?” he yelled, wondering if the shapeshifter’s abilities would result in a better seal than human hands. His mind was a blur of calculations, computing how long it would take to knit Mile’s heart back together - and how much time he had left to work that miracle.

“Doctor, I’m rather-”

“If you don’t try, Constable, O’Brien doesn’t have a chance. Bashir to infirmary - incoming stab wound, I need a biobed cleared and 20 ccs of heparin at the ready.”

Odo had seemingly realised that this was no time to disobey the doctor’s orders, and swiftly took over the job of keeping O’Brien’s blood inside of him. As Julian had suspected, his efforts were far more successful than the ensign’s had been, and within seconds, Julian had initialised an emergency transport. Rematerialising in the infirmary, the two of them stood either side of a biobed, the Chief’s ever-weakening vitals now fully on display.

Julian took a second to check that the biobed’s readings were in line with his tricorder’s, and cursed - the full data forced his estimation of how long Miles had left to fall from five minutes to barely over two. But that was fine; Deep Space Nine had the technology to cope with that.

“Marin, I need the stasis chamber prepped and ready now. Jabara, where��s that heparin?”

“Sir, the stasis chamber’s still due for repairs.”

No.

Fuck.

How had he forgotten that?

“Dammit, Miles, that was supposed to be at the top of your priority list!” he muttered, picking up a muscular regenerator, and trying to ignore the countdown that had taken residence in his brain. 1 minute 46 seconds.

“What do you need me to do, Doctor?” Odo asked, and Julian had to take another precious second to translate the medical jargon he’d been about to let loose into language Odo would actually understand.

“Simply put, the blade went through part of the Chief’s heart, and I have to mend it by going inside the wound. Keep as much of a seal around the wound and my regenerator as possible - but first I need to get in there.” Tools ready, Julian nodded at Odo to uncover part of the wound. Blood began oozing out immediately, although slower than before, now that the heparin was taking effect. Julian attempted to start his work, only to find that Odo was holding the regenerator fast.

“Constable, I need to be able to move this,” Julian almost growled. 1 minute 22 seconds. He didn’t hear Odo’s apology, but felt the tool released, and hastily, carefully, began his work.

1 minute 10 seconds. He didn’t have enough time. He supposed he could increase the speed - the heart wall would be thinner than it should be to function on its own, but it might be enough to save the Chief, and give him time to rebuild it fully later.

1 minute 0 seconds. Yes. Yes, this was working, 23% of the gap was now filled.

50 seconds. Steady now, careful - you don’t want to trap anything inside the heart that shouldn’t be there. Take five seconds to check the screen; yes, clear.

40 seconds. Call for a nurse to be ready with the defibrillator on a very low setting. The delta inducer’s levels also need to checked - okay, they’re fine. 29% left to go.

37 seconds. No. Nononono. There’s still more time. There’s supposed to be more time.

#ds9 unfinished fanfic #wip #julian bashir #i'm so pleased i actually wrote a thing!#but rather cross it's late on a sunday night with 3 days of writing-stopping work ahead of me!#but fingers crossed - watch this space #concrit absolutely welcome #5+1 Visionary fic #WSB

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lykaonimagines · 2 years

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My One Constant - Supreme!Strange x Reader

I just needed to write some fluff for the man, I killed him last time I wrote him, he deserves this 😶

Paring: Supreme!Strange x F!Reader (childhood best friend)

Word Count: 6,569 (me telling myself I’ll just write a short fluff fic for him 🙃)

Description: Stephen’s known Y/N almost his entire life. The one person from his past he still has. He’s fought off his feelings for her for decades in fear of losing the friendship, but with her now working alongside him for the Illuminati, his feelings are getting harder and harder to hide.

A few slightly altered lyrics from “Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy)” by John Lennon.

Other Things: Best friends to lovers. Childhood friends. Fluff. Two exceedingly smart idiots in love. They’re just silly and fun.

Warnings: Some swearing. Small bit of typical canon violence.

Masterlist

(Gif taken from Google, but credit on it. I didn’t want to use the one scene from MoM, so any clean shaven Stephen is going to be fair game for Supreme for me :P)

“Is it really wise to bring in an unknown scientist to help with something so delicate?” Reed Richards asks the rest of the Illuminati panel. “I’d feel far better if you gave us some information so I can run a proper check on this woman, Strange. At least her name and her qualifications.”

“I agree,” Peggy Carter comments, shifting her shield to sit against her seat. “A complete unknown seems like an unnecessary risk.”

“Just the fate of the Multiverse,” Maria Rambeau adds in.

“I’ve asked that you all just trust me on this,” Doctor Strange responds, checking the phone in his lap for nearly the hundredth time in the last five minutes. His foot taps impatiently on the tile.

“What has you so worked up?” Mordo asks from beside his seat.

“Nothing,” his foot taps faster and his eyes dart to his phone as the screen lights up.

A quick smile crosses his lips as he reads the message, pulling himself from his seat and heading toward the door.

“Where are you going? Isn’t that woman supposed to be here soon?” Richards calls out to him.

Pausing momentarily to look back over his shoulder, “She’s arrived, I’m going to collect her.”

“This woman needs to be greeted at the door by the Sorcerer Supreme?” Mordo asks incredulously.

“Yes, she does,” he shouts over his shoulder, letting the door slam behind him as he speed walks toward the entrance. A portal would have been far quicker and more practical, but he wanted to do this right. Plus the extra time to walk the distance to the entrance was needed to calm his racing heart.

Turning the last corner, his eyes immediately zero in on her. Standing between two bots just inside the doorway. He feels his pace quickening, and her eyes meet his, a smile spreading across her face.

Practically breaking into a sprint, he crosses the last of the distance, putting his arms out as she jumps into them eagerly, “Stephen!”

Hugging her tightly to his chest, he spins her around a couple times, her laugh reminding him why it is, and has always been, his favorite sound.

Setting her back to her feet, he suddenly becomes hyperaware of the eyes on them. Glancing over he sees several scientists from the nearby lab staring at them, “If you have time to stand around gawking, then I expect result reports tonight!” He snaps in annoyance and embarrassment, the tips of his ears reddening.

They quickly scatter to their various work stations as Y/N chuckles at his embarrassment. Quickly opening a portal to his office, he slips his hand in hers and tugs her through it, closing it behind them.

“That’s still always impressive,” she muses, looking at the place the portal once was.

“Suppose it is,” he says softly, reaching his free hand up to brush his fingers across her cheek. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” she smiles back at him, laying her hand over his on her cheek. “Hopefully I’ll be able to be of use.”

“You’re brilliant, you will be. And if I’m being honest, just you being here is already useful to me,” he grins and leans back against his desk. “Been far too long.”

“You just stress yourself out too much Stephen. You’re going to be regretting those words when I’m making you actually go to bed and eat like a functioning human being.”

“And you’ll have to forgive me probably fighting that on a regular basis.”

“You’ve always been a stubborn brat Stephen, I’m used to it.”

“You would know,” he chuckles, reaching back to open a drawer on his desk and pulling out a photo frame that he promptly hands over to her.

She smiles down at the photo, running her fingers wistfully over the three children pictured in it. The two of them not older than ten years, and a younger girl with the same blue eyes as her brother. “I still miss her.”

“Me too,” he admits, clearing his throat abruptly. “You’re all I have left Y/N. From back then.”

“And you keep me shoved in a drawer,” she teases, setting the frame down to wrap her arms around him.

“I don’t like people asking questions…” he admits slowly, wrapping his own arms around her frame. “People try to dig. I don’t like it.”

“You can tell people your past you know, you don’t have to hide everything,” her chin rests against the ornate embellishments on his robe.

“I don’t want pity,” he mutters softly.

“Do you think I pity you?”

“Of course not,” his brows furrow as he looks at her. “You… you’ve always been there. You knew me back then. You knew all of them. You loved them too. You’ve known everything all along. There’s no need to open up and tell you, you just know.”

“I think you do a pretty good job of opening up and telling me things, I’ve not been here this entire time to see everything in person, but I still know about it,” one of her hands drops to grab his and she runs her thumb over one of the scars there.

“You’re just… different,” he insists, the familiar stubborn expression settling on his face.

“I just worry,” she says with a shrug. “About you not letting people in enough. I want you to be happy.”

“I do have other friends,” he assures her, squeezing her hand. “And I’ve got you for the rest, I only need you.”

“You only need me hm?” She asks playfully, a smirk on her lips.

His heart rate immediately spikes, praying she can’t tell as he sticks his jaw out obstinately, “Well like I said you’re the one that’s been there. You’ve known me since we were children, always around at my house and following me around. Then you even followed me to New York for university, lived in the same apartment as me, and have continued to put up with all of my shit I tell you about for the last however many years. It would just be… inconvenient at this point to find someone else.”

“Oh so now I’m the convenient friend?” She teases, letting go of his hand and dropping her arm from his waist. “If that’s the cause…”

Quickly tightening his hold on her, he pulls Y/N back to his chest and growls in annoyance, “You know you’re important to me dammit.”

“I know, I know,” she grins and reaches up stroke his cheek. “And you’re important to me. I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”

“Prospect of a high paying job for an important powerful organization isn’t enough incentive?”

“As nice as all that is, I uprooted my life to move here for you, not because I want to be involved with the rich and powerful.”

“Hm, you could have just asked to see me more, not come all the way here?” He asks with his own grin.

“Hey you’re the one that said you need me Stephen Strange, too late to take that back.”

“Mhm,” he buries his face against her hair. “Truthfully, I’m so happy you’re here. Having you nearby cuts my stress by an indescribable amount. I also think you’re exactly who we need for this position. I’m glad you took me up on the offer.”

“Me too,” she says softly, clutching at his robes. “Im looking forward to the work, and seeing you everyday.”

Sighing heavily, he pulls back from her, “I suppose we should get to the assembly room. They’re all waiting for us.”

“So how bad is this job interview going to be?”

“They know nothing about you, I’ve told them to trust me. So they’re probably going to be annoying. But you have this job. I will override them on it if need be, but they won’t,” he responds before opening a portal outside of the assembly room door.

Pulling the door open for her, he ushers her inside before floating to his own seat on the panel.

“Welcome…?” Richards asks as he looks from Y/N to Strange.

“Doctor Y/L/N,” he responds, flicking his wrist and making her resume appear in all their hands. “Throughly qualified as you’ll see.”

“Good to meet you Doctor Y/L/N,” Carter says with a trace of a smile. “You’ve been a hot topic here, one Doctor Strange refused to share any information about. So forgive any prying that’s about to happen.”

“He does that,” she scoffs and nods her head. “Nice to meet you as well Captain Carter.”

“It says here you went to Columbia University… at the same time as Strange. Is that where you two met?” Richards asks as he scans over the paper in his hand. “Doctorate in Physics? Tell me how it’s relevant to this.”

“Richards,” Strange says harshly, fixing his friend with a stern look.

Y/N chuckles lightly and gives the panel a smile, “Longer than that. Yes bachelors, masters, and doctorate in physics. Specific interest in atomic-molecular, high energy nuclear, and overall astrophysics. All things I know you’re well versed in and know the practical application of multiversal and portal travel in general.”

“What’s your experience with any of that?”

“Aiding Stephen, researching debris from said portals and openings and remains of beasts. I worked with Asgardians for a few years researching their magic and the science behind their technology and their bi-frost form of travel. My focus was never engineering but I have taken several courses in my schooling years and worked with Stark Industries for a period of time. The cross-section of physics, engineering, and magic are my primary interest.”

Richards grunts and runs his eyes over the paper again, “So how do you know Strange then? And why has he been hiding someone with apparent perfect qualifications from us?”

Y/N’s eyes drift to Stephen’s raising a brow at him. He makes a face back at her, she smirks and quirks her eyebrow.

“What are you two doing?” Rambeau asks, watching the exchange between them. “Are you telepathic?”

“No,” Charles Xavier answers before she can, a smile on his face. “They’re both just making faces at one another and thinking very loudly.”

Y/N laughs and grins sheepishly, “I was trying to determine if he wants me sharing that kind of information, seeing as he didn’t offer it freely himself.”

“Well what would you say you are to our Sorcerer Supreme then?” Mordo asks.

“His best friend,” she says simply with a shrug as if it’s obvious.

“You stand before a panel of his friends, who he’s never bothered to introduce you to prior to today, and claim to be his best friend?” Mordo questions, glancing down at Stephen. “Do you have something to say about this, my brother?”

Stephen’s mouth presses together tightly before sighing and slumping into his chair, “We’re here now, might as well. She’s telling the truth. We’ve known each other since we were young children. We did also go to college together yes. And I have stayed in contact with her since then. As for why I never introduced her, she had her own things going on. She always would have been a big asset to the Illuminati, but I wasn’t going to take over her life.”

“Doctor Strange, considerate?” Rambeau asks with a smirk.

“It happens on the odd occasion,” Y/N responds with a wink. “He’s also just embarrassed to bring me into this aspect of his life.”

“He’s worried we’re going to tease him for caring about someone,” Xavier adds, earning a glare from Strange sitting beside him.

“So are there any other specific questions you all have?” Y/N asks.

“Do you have any embarrassing childhood stories I can hold over his head?” Richards asks as he sets down the paper in his hands. “You seem good to go, I just want leverage now.”

Laughing and nodding along she smile, “More than you could ever imagine, but I’m loyal to Stephen. I won’t embarrass him like that.”

“So we’re all done now then yes?” Stephen asks as he hurriedly stands, the faintest blush on his cheeks. “Enough interrogation for one day?”

“I’m satisfied, anyone in disagreement on Doctor Y/L/N taking over as lead researcher of lab A?” Richards asks, nodding when no one says anything. “Welcome to the Illuminati Miss.”

“You sure it’s alright that I stay here?” Y/N asks as Stephen helps her pass the rest of her belongs through a portal into a room at the Sanctum.

“I’m Sorcerer Supreme and Master of the Sanctum. I say it’s ok, so it’s ok,” he assures her, closing the portal behind them and watching as she flops onto the bed.

“Been a long time since we lived together, been kind of looking forward to it,” she says as she turns on her side to look at him.

“A bit fancier than our last place,” he laughs and sits on the edge of the bed, his cloak flying off and out the door.

“That it is, though broke uni students apartment versus mansion of mystical masters is quite the change,” she says as she grabs his arm. “Show me around? Mainly so I don’t wander into an ancient relic that sends me back in time when I get up to get a drink in the middle of the night.”

“Needy needy,” he teases, standing up from the bed and walking to the door. “Let’s get a move on then.”

“Look at me, turning the Sorcerer Supreme into a tour guide,” she jokes, slipping out the door behind him. “I can’t imagine how much your time costs if you were to monetize it. The amount of crap you have to do. To think I wasted your important time with tire swings and picnics.”

“Expensive to others, free to you,” he remarks, offering her his arm. “Come on. With you I’m just Stephen you know that. No Doctor, no Sorcerer Supreme. Let me feel normal for a few minutes.”

Slipping her arm through his she looks at the nearest relic on the wall, “It’s just crazy to think about sometimes ya know? You’re always still going to be the boy I grew up climbing trees with and counting change in college trying to afford a shit pizza. Now I mean… holy shit.”

“I’m still him.”

“I know you are, and I’m insanely proud of you, hell I was crazy proud of you being the best neurosurgeon. You worked really hard to get there. And then you didn’t let your accident stop you. You pushed on and made a new life,” she gestures at the relic by them. “Now you live in a magic house with things like that. Speaking of which… what is that and why does it look like it came from a medieval torture chamber?”

“Crimson Bands of Cyttorak,” he answers, trying to ignore the heat in his cheeks as he pulls her closer. “I would suggest not touching it, it’ll wrap around you and imprison you.”

“So it is basically medieval torture equipment,” she hums and pulls on his arm to go further down the hall when Mordo comes out of a door in front of them. “Oh, hello Mordo!”

“I don’t believe I properly introduced myself,” he jokes, offering her his hand.

“Stephen’s talked about you plenty, oh and thanks still for getting him into Kamar-Taj in the first place,” she shakes his hand happily. “I’m glad he’s had you in his life.”

Mordo’s eyes glance at Strange for a moment with a smirk before looking back at Y/N, “I wish I could say he’s told me as much about you, however he’s been suspiciously quiet. Though it explains why he’s so possessive over his phone and taking calls for hours.”

“I have come to notice he’s kept me as some dirty little secret,” she laughs glancing over at Stephen. “Making me feel like I’ve been doing something indecent.”

“Of course not, I just… don’t prefer to share all aspects of my personal life,” he states firmly.

“So now that she’s here, you’re comfortable to share her with the rest of us?” Mordo teases, a smirk spreading on his face as Strange frowns. “You seem a lovely lady Ms Y/N, I and the others look forward to getting to know you.”

“Likewise,” she grins and places a hand on his arm. “I’m happy to finally get to meet all these people he talks about.”

“Are we continuing this tour or are you just going to stand around exchanging pleasantries with Mordo all evening?” Stephen all but pouts at their interaction.

“Always so impatient,” she tsks and nods a goodbye to the sorcerer beside her. “Maybe we could sit down and talk later?”

“Absolutely, I’m sure we can figure out a good time.”

“Great, great,” Stephen mutters, tugging on Y/N’s arm to lead her down the hallway.

After circling through the many halls of the Sanctum and going over which relics should absolutely not be touched, the pair comes to a stop in a family room of sorts.

Y/N glances around the room for a moment before pulling Stephen toward the large couch in the room.

Raising an eyebrow he glances down at her, “What exactly are you doing?”

“When did you last sleep?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“Stephen, when did you last sleep?”

“Time is relative.”

Releasing his arm, she turns him around and shoves him down onto the couch with a grunt, pressing on his chest so he finally lays back on it.

“Well that means it’s been awhile since you won’t give me a straight answer. And I’m tired.”

“And?” he questions as she climbs on top of him and grips onto his robes.

“We’re napping,” she states firmly, burying her face against his neck. “I’ve missed doing this.”

“Ok,” he manages to choke out, trying to settle himself as he wraps his own arms around her to pull her close. One hand makes a quick gesture to change them both into more comfortable clothes.

“Good call,” she mumbles against him.

As he starts to nod off, he feels her fingertips brushing lightly over his face as she sings softly against his ear, “Close your eyes, have no fear. The monster’s gone. He’s on the run, and I’m here. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy.”

His arms tighten slightly around her at her voice, and a smile tugs at his lips before he finally lets sleep overtake him.

“Sleep well?” Mordo asks as Stephen enters the kitchen clicking his neck with a groan the following morning.

“No,” he mutters walking to the coffee maker.

“Unfortunate. You two looked awfully cozy when I walked through earlier,” Mordo comments, sipping his own coffee.

Stephen gives him a harsh glare, “Not a word. That couch isn’t comfortable for sleep. Especially for an entire night. Hadn’t intended to sleep that long.”

“Or you’re just getting old.”

“Fuck off.”

“Well good morning to you too Stephen,” Y/N says as she enters with a yawn.

“Not you, him,” he grunts, immediately handing her the mug he just poured. “Your neck ok? That couch is probably hundreds of years old.”

“Mhm,” she responds taking a sip and bumping her hip against his. “I crawled on top of you to avoid the couch. So I’m good.”

“You mean put more weight on me so I sunk further into the damn thing,” he teases and makes his own cup.

“Exactly, you know you love me,” she stretches up to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’m going up to shower and get changed, when are you taking off?”

“I’ll wait for you and portal us over,” he sighs and rolls his eyes. “One day you’re going to have to take a taxi or something though. This won’t be an everyday thing.”

“Or you could teach me magical Sorcerer abilities.”

“Not a chance, now get,” he shoos her off before looking back down at his coffee, trying to ignore the eyes on him.

“Friendship,” Mordo scoffs and takes care of his dishes. “I definitely believe you just love her in a platonic friendship fashion.”

“Once again, kindly fuck off.”

“You could just tell her how you feel, you two are clearly very close.”

“And ruin what we already have? One of the most important things in my life, the only stable thing I’ve ever had across my entire life?” he shakes his head vigorously. “I can be content with the way things are.”

“And then what happens once she decides to take a job elsewhere, or finds a partner here? You’ll be fine rarely seeing her once again, or seeing her with someone else?”

“We… have lived apart before plenty. And she’s dated. We both have had partners.”

“Strange, would you actually be happy with either of those things?”

Staring down at his cup silently, he finally sighs, “No.”

“Then say something. Or ask her on a date. If she really doesn’t want more with you, I doubt she will throw away everything you two already have. It’s obvious to anyone that spends more than a moment with the two of you that she cares about you. I doubt she’s put up with you for decades just to throw it all away in a moment because you asked her on a date.”

“Maybe… I’ll think about it, she just got here,” he responds and makes a quick gesture with his hands to change into his robes. “But for now, there’s work to be done.”

“Odd,” Y/N comments, eyes drifting to the clock beside her paperwork.

“What is?” Dr. Robinson, another scientist in the lab asks, leaning over her shoulder to look at the paperwork.

“Oh, no not this,” she says apologetically. “Just, the time. Stephen usually checks in by now if he’s not going to be back.”

She laughs and steps back over to her own work, “You’ve been here nearly half a year, and I’m still not used to hearing him referred to as ‘Stephen.’ Doctor Strange, Strange, Sorcerer Supreme, Leader of the Illuminati, and several unfavorable terms definitely. But Stephen, not so much.”

“It’s still odd to me hearing people address him so formally and seriously, or trip over their feet to bow for him,” she chuckles as she sorts through the papers.

“Well he is a fairly serious man.”

Y/N snorts at the statement and rolls her eyes, “He’s good at focusing in and getting work done. And he wants to be respected, which he thoroughly deserves. But he’s far from serious. He’s rather silly and fun when he’s not in work mode.”

“Yeah, for you. I’ve seen more of him in the last six months than I’ve seen of him the entire three years I’ve been here.”

“He didn’t used to come down to the labs?”

“Rarely while we were here, only if he had questions about the reports or wanted more information. He spent more time here at night after we all left.”

“Hm,” she twists the pen in her fingers. “He’s not been doing that now as far as I know. We have dinner together and hang out, he reads whatever reports he has or spell books, then we both head off to bed.”

“Now he visits here during the day to do whatever he needs to do because he wants to see you,” Robinson responds, giving her a knowing look. “You had to have noticed.”

“Well yeah he comes by to say hi, but he’s working.”

“He does his work, but he keeps circling around wherever you are in the lab. Finding excuses to walk past you, looking up at you while he’s working on something…”

“And…? We are best friends, he’s probably still getting used to me being here.”

“The man went from avoiding having to interact in the labs at all, to being down here whenever he can and looking at you like a lovesick puppy, Y/N,” she thumps a finger against Y/N’s forehead. “You’re a brilliant scientist but take a look of what’s right in front of your face boss.”

“I really doubt that he-” she begins to say before stumbling back as the air sparkles and a portal opens beside her, a blur of blue fabric stumbling through the opening before it quickly closes.

“What the- Stephen?” she asks, stooping down to pull the cloak away from his face. His eyes stare back at her unblinking, blood dripping from several gashes across his face. “Holy shit, Stephen! Robinson get the medical team, now!”

Pulling the cloak from his shoulders, she works to flip him onto his back, finding more gashes on his chest, the fabric shredded in several places. Cursing under her breath she reaches for the scissors in her desk drawer and cuts the remaining fabric away. Pulling her lab coat off she wads it up and presses it firmly against the gashes on his chest.

“Stephen are you here with me?” she asks, bringing one hand down to press to the pulse on his neck, exhaling when she picks it up.

“Barely,” he coughs out after a moment as he stares up at her.

“Just stay with me alright? The medical team will be here in just a minute,” she responds with one hand applying pressure and the other twining in his hair to keep his attention. “What did this? Any poison or magic?”

“Magic,” his eyes flicker open and closed a few times.

“Keep ‘em open Stephen,” she scolds softly. “Keep looking at me, just focus on me.”

“Always… focused on you,” he mumbles, his head lulling back and his eyes drooping.

Gnawing at the inside of her cheek, she cheeks his pulse once again.

Shit. Too slow.

Removing her hand from the jacket to grasp his head, she presses her lips to his. His eyes widen immediately at the contact, and his pulse quickens under her fingers, “Just like that, stay with me Stephen,” she whispers against his lips, his eyes dart to her face.

Finally the lab doors fly open to the medical team who quickly usher her out of the way and get him loaded on their gurney and out the door as she follows behind them.

The ringing in his head pulls Stephen from his sleep, his eyes slowly opening to the too bright room in the Illuminati Headquarters’ medical ward.

He looks around the room, his eyes settling on Y/N currently fast asleep in a chair next to his bed, her hand reached out holding his own.

Running his thumb over her knuckles makes her stir, eyes blinking open and a smile on her face as she sees him looking at her, “Finally you wake up!”

“Did I keep you waiting long?” he chuckles, wincing as he shifts in the bed. “What happened?”

“About nine hours,” she answers and reaches over to brush his hair from his face. “You don’t remember? You opened a portal right in front of me, stumbled through, closed it, and collapsed. You were covered in gashes from… something.”

Frowning as the battle with the beast comes back to him he sucks in a breath, “Apologies for that, I wasn’t thinking, portaling there in that state. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Scare me? It was a fucking surprise for sure, and I was scared you were going to die. But hell yeah portal to me again if you need help,” she says firmly.

“So what’s the diagnosis?”

“You got a lot of stitches for one. Punctured organs. Variety of other things. They brought in two healers from Kamar-Taj that fixed most of the internal stuff. Medical team stitched you up, but they helped your healing along. I don’t even know exactly what was wrong, they were all running around frantically. You were a bit of a mess Doctor Strange.”

Nodding along, he leans back and shuts his eyes briefly before another memory hits him. His eyes fly open and he slightly turns toward Y/N, staring at her intently, “You kissed me. After I came through the portal.”

“You remember that part huh?” She asks, obviously flustered, her eyes avoiding his own.

“I do. Why?”

She clears her throat and shifts in her seat, “Well. You were fading on me, and I wanted you to stay awake and alert.”

“And a kiss was the medically sound way to do that?” he teases with a smirk. “I know you didn’t go to med school, but I think you know better than that.”

“Well I was just going off what had been mentioned to me… and thought maybe it would work to get your attention back on me.”

“What had been mentioned to you? Someone told you that’s a good way? At this lab?” he frowns in thought. “Either I need to go back through our staff and test some people or someone was teasing you.”

“No not like they told me to do that, just something about you and I thought it might work and I mean it did so…” she rambles and her hand twitches in his.

“What are people saying about me?” His brow furrows.

Taking a deep breath she finally meets his eyes, “There just might have been a few people that have mentioned since I’ve been here… that maybe, perhaps. That you may have feelings other than friendship for me.”

Stephen’s eyes immediately widen, the words hitting him like a splash of cold water. His mouth opens and closes several times as he tries to form a reply.

“I mean… I don’t know if it’s true. But I thought if it was maybe you’d… react to the kiss enough to get your attention back on me?”

“M-makes sense,” he stutters, his voice coming out hoarse as his mind races and body tenses.

“Maybe now isn’t the right time… but we’re here and it’s been brought up. If it’s a no we can forget we talked about this and leave it in this room. Is there any truth to that?”

“And if it’s a yes?” he asks quietly, his eyes darting away from hers and tongue quickly wetting his lips.

Y/N stands from her seat at his words, immediately making him regret it. He knew this would happen. This is why he’d always held it back. Now he’s gone and…

She closes the distance between her and the hospital bed, hands reaching down to gently cradle his head in her hands, “If it’s a yes, Stephen Strange, then I’ll let you know the feelings are mutual.”

His breath catches in his throat, turning his cheek into her palm as he stares up at her longingly, “T-they are?”

Leaning in close to him she stops just centimeters from his lips, “They are.” Her lips press to his gently, and he quickly moves his against them. Her tongue swipes across his lips making them immediately part, a strangled groan coming from his throat.

Slowly breaking the kiss, Y/N leans back as Stephen follows her up, sighing at the loss of contact. His eyes stare back at hers hazily, his hand gripping hers tighter.

Chuckling at his reaction, she leans back in and presses her forehead to his, “Let’s not overdo it right now, your face is barely holding together as is.”

“It’ll last,” he whispers breathlessly. “You’ve no clue how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“I think I might have some clue,” her thumbs brush carefully over his cheeks. “Though I would be interested to know when exactly it changed for you.”

“It never ‘changed’ for me,” he admits, turning his head to press a kiss to her palm. “It’s always been there. It’s always been you. I never wanted to lose you, so I buried it.”

Pressing several small kisses on the uninjured skin on his face she gives him a gentle smile, “That’s been a lot of years and relationships we’ve been through Stephen. No wonder you hated all my boyfriends.”

“Why do you think they never worked out for me?” he grumbles. “And they weren’t good enough for you, any of them.”

“Only you’re good enough hm?” she teases.

“Well I have a few things going for me that none of them could ever touch,” he retorts with a smirk. “Sorcerer Supreme and leader of the Illuminati bring some perks.”

“I would say your biggest advantage is the way you’ve always been so attuned to me. Supportive, and caring from the beginning. The way you make me feel like I’m the most important person in the universe when you look at me.”

“You are the most important person in my universe, always have been.”

Finally releasing his head, she lets her hands slip to his shoulders and she presses another soft kiss to his lip, smiling as he relaxes into her touch, “I love you Stephen.”

“I love you too,” he responds, his eyes practically sparkling back at her. The most carefree and happy expression she’s seen on his face in decades. “Can we just make this official now?”

“Impatient?” she laughs as she sits back in her seat but still holds onto his hand.

“Exceedingly. I’ve waited decades Y/N, I don’t want to wait for some other asshole to come swooping in now. I don’t want to waste more time.”

“You have nothing to worry about, I’m reasonably confident about this one.”

“Only reasonably?” His lower lip jets out.

“You’re going to be trouble aren’t you? But I suppose you’re my trouble now,” she smiles and shakes her head at the man.

“If we’re being truly honest, I’ve always been your trouble,” he chuckles and intertwines their fingers.

“That you have,” she nods and lifts their hands to press a kiss to the back of his.

“How long am I supposed to be stuck here for?”

“Sounded like they wanted to watch over you for a few days, then you’ll have to take it easy for another few days once you’re out.”

Groaning loudly he flops dramatically back against his pillow and winces at the movement, “I have far too much to do to take it easy.”

“And here I was thinking you’d like a few uninterrupted days in your bed with me taking care of you,” she says innocently, trying to hold back a laugh as his head turns dramatically back toward her. “I requested the week off to take care of you, Richards and Mordo already agreed and are taking care of your duties and setting up Doctor Robinson to take my place while I’m out.”

“You should have led with that,” he says roughly, a new fire in his eyes. “I have you all to myself, all week?”

“That you do Doctor Strange,” she grins. “And in light of new revelations, I can make sure you are thoroughly cared for. If you agree of course.”

A growl of frustration leaves his lips and he tugs on her hand, trying to pull her closer, “And I thoroughly agree. Yet you tease me knowing I’m stuck in this fucking room for another few days.”

Standing up and going back to his side, she cups his cheek with her free hand and leans down to his ear, “Now, you just have something to look forward to love.”

Her teeth barely graze his ear as he groans and his eyes shut, “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Mm, probably,” she laughs and presses a kiss to his cheek. “I’ve been here this long, I don’t plan on taking off anytime soon.”

“You’re my one constant,” he admits, his eyes opening to look at her lovingly. “You always have been, and I don’t know what I’d do without you in my life. I’d have fallen apart one hundred times over by now.”

“Remember the promise I made you?” she asks him softly, gently running her fingers through his messy hair.

“Which one?”

“When we were 19. It was after your father passed, and you said you were all alone now. I told you I could never fill the hole they left, but that you’d never be alone. That I’ll always be there for you.”

“And you always have, through everything,” he smiles up and her and leans into her touch. “I love you, with all that I am. I’m yours without reservation, forever.”

“Well that was deeply romantic and Hallmark movie sounding, have you been planning that line for awhile?” she teases, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “But I love you too, there’s no place I’d rather be than here with you, and that’ll never change.”

“May have had some time to come up with that one,” he responds as he lifts his hand to her cheek. “I’m just… happy. Didn’t think we’d ever be together. And I was content with what we’ve had.”

“Content but not happy?”

He nods, “You make me happy, I’m happy being around you. I’m happy for you to be here. But I suppose… there’s that part of me that held on to what could have been. “

“Well there’s no more what ifs. We can start figuring out where we go from here now.”

“Bedrooms.”

“What?”

“You can keep things in the other room if you want, but I want you in my bed, with me.”

“And if I refuse?” She grins as he pouts. “I’m just kidding. I’ll happily cling to you like a monkey every night once your body is adequately holding itself together.”

“Or, more sound medical advice, you just do that now and hold it together for me,” he teases. “From the same medical school as kiss someone losing consciousness.”

“Hey you make fun of me for it, but it worked,” she argues.

“Mm that it did, but do me a favor and save that trick for only me?” His hand drifts down her arm.

“Let’s just hope I’m not in that position for a multitude of people. There’s so many people with a medical background in this building, if somehow another person starts bleeding out in front of me I’m just going to quit, because that’s just shit luck and I’m not that kind of doctor.”

“Do I need to make up a rule that no employee bleed to death in front of Doctor Y/L/N?” he grins as she sticks her tongue out at him.

“You’re awful.”

“Yet you still love me,” he says smugly, carefully lifting his arms to put them behind his head.

“Clearly either a chemical malfunction in my brain or some off-shoot version of Stockholm Syndrome.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” he winks.

“For someone who nearly died today then was stuttering trying to tell me your feelings, you’re awfully confident now.”

“Like I said, I’m happy.”

“While I’m happy you’re happy, let’s stop moving so much before you pop a stitch,” she says as she feels for them carefully under his gown. “You’ll probably be stuck here longer if you do.”

Sighing at her words he nods and brings his arms down, reaching out to grasp her wrists and bring her closer to him, “Another kiss to ease the pain?”

“Are you always going to be this needy?” She teases, leaning partially over the bed to bring her face just inches from his.

His lips brush softly over hers as a smile slowly breaks through, “For you? Of course.”

----

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duuhrayliegh · 3 years

Note

Hello, darling! I was wondering if you could right some Bucky x reader, where the reader worked along Sharon during Civil War and she meets Bucky. Then she runs always with Sharon and meets Bucky again in Madripoor and continue their story. I hope that makes sense. Thank yooouuuu✨✨✨

hey babes!! yes i absolutely can! i kind of gave more background than i meant to making it way longer, but i hope you enjoy it anyway! i do want to continue this story and most definitely will be so be on the lookout for the other parts of it lovie <3. i hope you still enjoy it even though it isn’t quite what you asked for yet :)

A Friend of Yours

FATWS SPOILERS

warnings: not much, canon lvl violence, some suggestive stuff closer towards to end, language, i think that’s it

word count: 6140 i went a bit overboard, it’s fine i’m totally fine

a/n: i got this request and then didn’t stop writing all day. i didn’t get anything else done all day. i got home at like seven-ish? and i’ve been sitting on the floor of my bedroom just writing this fic (for context it is now 12:47 pm where i’m at)

check out A Friend of Yours - pt. 2 and A Friend of Yours - pt. 3

p.s.: this is the first fic that i’m writing with an actual ‘x reader’ i’m so proud

xoxo ray

ray’s m.list

******************************

You grew up with Sharon, the two of you were best friends from birth it seemed. Honestly, Peggy raised you more than your own parents did. When Aunt Peggy got Sharon her first thigh holster, she got you one too. You enlisted together, moved up the ranks together, everything. So, it was of no shock to anyone that after the fall of SHIELD, you both moved together into the CIA’s Joint Terrorism Task Force.

You were inside the hotel with Sharon, Steve and Sam when the bombing on the UN took place. The look of unbridled fear that fell over Steve’s face as they announced Barnes as the primary suspect was heart wrenching. You weren’t able to watch it for long because your phone was already ringing off the hook.

“Look, you need to get me more information, and now.” You gritted into your phone speaker before quickly hanging up the phone and turning to a crestfallen Steve who was still watching the news casting. Sharon ended her phone call and turned to you.

“We have to go to work.” A few short hours on a jet later, you and Sharon were coordinating the operation. Close by, Steve and Sam were awaiting new information. Steve had this insane plan to find Barnes before the whole rest of the world did. Like that’s going to happen, it took the world 70 years to find Barnes. Of course, Steve and Sam are going to find him in about half that time.

You followed the blonde woman into a busy coffee shop and up to the counter. She slid a manila folder over to a well disguised Captain America. “Tips have been pouring in since that footage went public. Everyone thinks the Winter Soldier goes to their gym. Most of it’s just noise, except this.” Sharon was talking quietly, trying to not draw attention to the fact that she was committing a serious offense.

“We have to give the briefing, like now Shar, so we have to go.” The two of you pushed off the counter and you turned quickly to say one last thing. “And you better hurry. They’ve given the order to shoot on site.”

You left the shop quickly and made your way back to the white tent, passing the redheaded spy who was watching you like a hawk. A look of understanding crossed her features as you kept a calm facade. She fucking knows, how the hell could she read you that easily?

*********************************

The next time you saw any of them, they were exiting the back of an armored prison van. It was no surprise that his eyes flitted over to his best friend from childhood. You glanced over at Barnes, who was strapped in all different ways, and your heart hurt for him. You tried not to pity him, you know you would’ve gotten a slap on the wrist from Aunt Peggy about it.

Bucky must’ve felt you looking at him because his steel blue eyes locked with your pair. This was the first time that you’ve ever actually seen the man in person. It was startling, in a good way. You grew up going to the Smithsonian and hearing Aunt Peggy’s stories about the great James Buchanan Barnes. You never thought that you’d get the chance to meet the man you did a history report on your freshman year of high school.

“Y/N?” Sharon’s voice cut through your thoughts, recalling you to reality and out of your past. “We have to go. We’ve been assigned to monitor Steve and Sam while they’re here.” Sharon was clearly not a fan of this, which made you laugh loudly.

“Oh, score! We get to babysit Captain America and the Falcon!” You spoke in an unnecessarily upbeat voice and then clapped your hands together. “Our dream job! Let’s go, Shar!” She stared at you for a millisecond before slapping a hand on your shoulder.

“Let’s go, you fucking dork.” You followed her through the office building into the control room where you observed Tony talking to Steve. Apparently, the conversation was not going well because both their faces held angry glares. Eventually, Tony left the room, leaving Steve alone with his thoughts and that can never be good.

“How you doing, Cap?” You asked as you less-than-gracefully plopped yourself into the chair across from him. He looked over at me and released a heavy sigh.

“Honestly, Y/N, not that great at the moment.” He looked at you with his iconic mom Steve stare. Wow, so that’s what it’s like to be on the receiving end of that. Sam walked in and sat next to you. You drowned out their conversation as your gaze focused on screens outside of the glass office.

The video feed of Barnes in his metal cage was displayed on a TV screen. How is this considered humane? Obviously you knew that the CIA had pushed boundaries in the past, but this was just insane. “Are those restraints really necessary?” Sam seemed to be just voicing his thoughts, not expecting a response back.

“Well, he is considered an international terrorist, so yeah, they’re kind of necessary.” You said quickly and then muttered under your breath, “No matter who thinks that it’s excessive.” Steve’s gaze met yours and he was about to speak when Sharon walked in and dropped a paper in front of Sam.

“The receipt for your gear.” A scoff sounded from Sam as he glared at Sharon.

“‘Bird costume’? Come on.” Always quick to defend your best friend.

“Hey, we didn’t write it up.” It came off snappier than you had meant it. Sharon shot you a look, signaling you to back off. You raised a brow at her as she leaned over the table to the intercom buttons.

The audio from Barnes’ evaluation echoed through the glass room. Everyone around you was unsuspecting the four of you listened in. The psychologist was talking to Barnes, who seemed incredibly closed off. Who could blame the guy though?

“I’m not here to judge you. I just want to ask a few questions. Do you know where you are, James?” The psychologist paused for a second, looking down and off to the side. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, James.” The caged man spoke for the first time.

“My name is Bucky.” His voice was rough from not being used. A look crossed Steve’s face and he turned to Sharon.

“Why would the Task Force release that photo to begin with?” Sharon’s body turned to face the man speaking to her. Her brows furrowed while she answered.

“Get the word out, involve as many eyes as we can?” Your head tilted, trying to follow Steve’s train of thought.

“Right. Good way to flush a guy out of hiding. Set off a bomb, get your picture taken. Get seven billion people looking for the Winter Soldier.” Oh shit.

“You’re saying someone framed him?” You wanted to believe it with every fiber in your being.

“Steve, we looked for the guy for two years and found nothing.” Sam reminded in a calm tone.

“Yeah, you didn’t bomb the UN though. That turns quite a few heads. Especially if prominent people like King T’Chaka end up dead because of it.” You made a good point, but there were still pieces missing.

“That doesn’t guarantee that they would find him. It guaranteed that we would.” Sharon and Steve began examining the room around them. Your attention returned to the audio emitting from the intercom.

“You fear that,“ the doctor paused, “if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop. Don’t worry.” He glanced down again and moved his hand to swipe something away.

“Guys?” You pointed to the screen as the doctor held up his pointer finger.

“We only have to talk about one.” All of the sudden, the screens went dark and the lights flickered off. Secretary Ross was yelling at technicians to get his video back. Tony was speaking to his AI, Friday, about locating the source of the outage. Steve and Sam tensed at the thought of what could be going on with Barnes.

“Sub-level five, east wing.” was all Sharon said as the pair ran off. You looked at her and threw your hands in the air.

“What the hell do we do now, Shar?” She glared at you as she started reasoning with you.

“They’re stronger than we are. If they can contain whatever the hell is happening down there then great. In the event that they can’t, we’ll be up here with Natasha and Tony to deal with it.” You nodded quickly as you both ran out of the room.

You quickly followed Natasha, Tony and Sharon to the main level of the building. Clearly Steve and Sam were unsuccessful in containing the situation because Barnes could be seen through the glass, fighting his way to his destination.

Tony stunned Barnes with a previously concealed Iron Man glove. Barnes started towards Tony and quickly attacked. After Barnes bested Tony, it wasn’t long before Natasha rushed the man alongside Sharon. It wasn’t hard for Barnes to throw Sharon across the room. Natasha took the opportunity to launch herself onto his shoulders, which caused Barnes to slam her into a table with his metal hand wrapped around her neck.

She mumbled something to him as you kicked his ribs, releasing his chokehold on her. He stumbled backwards, his hard gaze landed on yours as he approached. Your eyes locked on his as the two of you traded blows.

They weren’t the same eyes as before. Those eyes were soft and remorseful, these were hard and unattached. There was no emotion behind the pair staring at you. The fraction of a second that you were analyzing his eyes in your head was enough for him to catch you off guard. His metal fist landed in your rib cage. The opposite hand jabbed at your face, busting your lip and sending you flying backwards.

You hit your head on the concrete below, making your eyes roll back. The wind left your lungs and you gasped to get it back as Barnes and T’Challa fought in the background. It was a few minutes later that a concerned Sharon made her way over to you.

“Are you okay?” You looked her over as she did you, checking for any severe injuries. You offered a small nod, not wanting to shake your head too much in fear of a concussion. “Let’s go check in with Ross.”

******************

“And how the hell did Rogers and Wilson even know where to find Barnes?” Ross’ voice boomed through the office. No one said anything, not wanting to incur the wrath of Secretary Ross. “I’ve already allowed Stark 36 hours to find them and bring them back here.” Ross turned to you and Sharon standing in the corner of the room. “If they contact any of you, report it immediately.” Rounds of ‘yes, sirs’ bounced around the room, then chaos ensued as everyone got back to trying to clean up this mess.

“Carter. Y/L/N. Elevator now.” He raised two fingers to point toward the elevators before walking into one. It was just the three of you in the enclosed space. He clicked the button for the ground floor. “I know you have some kind of connection to Rogers but do not let that cloud your judgement. The both of you are CIA agents first.”

“We understand, Secretary.” The elevator doors opened again and you went to step out when Ross stopped you again.

“I mean it, girls. This is your job on the line here.” You and Sharon shared a look before continuing walking. Did he just call us girls?

“Do you think that was supposed to be intimidating?” You laughed under your breath as you went out to the parking lot. Sharon sighed and shrugged her shoulders.

“Probably.” She looked at you over the top of her car. “You don’t have to come with me.”

“Where do we start?”

****************************

Getting that fucking shield and bird suit wasn’t easy. They had moved it from the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre to the US Embassy to await transport back to the States. It made it easier but still damn near impossible to get. Thankfully, you and Sharon are good liars. Skills of a misspent youth.

The two of you walked in the front door and displayed your badges. “We’re here to pick up Captain America and the Falcon’s effects.” The man behind the counter didn’t even question it. Man, they need better people at the Embassy.

“You’ll have to sign some paperwork saying you picked it up.” There it is. You both flicked a brow and Sharon held her hand out for the clipboard. Small scratches from the pen in her hand were echoing throughout the empty building.

She handed the clipboard back to the man behind the counter. “Okie dokie, just pull your car around to the side of the building and we’ll get you loaded up.” He shot them a small smile and turned around to file the papers.

“That was easy enough.” You whispered to Sharon as you left, not wanting your voice to carry. You walked to your car that was parked in front of the iron wrought gate. Pulling your car around to the side of the building, you popped the trunk. The gear clad Embassy soldier carelessly tossed Sam’s suit inside before gently placing the shield on top of it.

“Hey, if there’s a scratch on that suit, it’s coming out of your paycheck buddy.” You held your pointer finger up to the man’s unimpressed face.

“Y/N, let’s go. We’ve got to get these to the jet or Ross will have our heads. Remember it’s our job on the line here.” What Sharon said made you laugh big while hauling yourself back into the driver’s seat of the car. As you pulled out into the street, Sharon was typing away on her phone and pushing it to her ear.

“This is a secure line but I don’t know for how long, so don’t talk just listen.” She took a deep breath and then continued. “We want to help. Meet us under the bridge on Route 6. We’ll be there in two hours.” She ended the call quickly and threw the phone outside the car. Glancing over at you, she nodded and sighed again.

“We’ve gotten this far.” You had one question burning in your throat that you were afraid to ask.

“Where do we go after they’ve gone?” She looked at you and she was biting her lip, something she only did when she was incredibly stressed.

“I don’t know yet. Do you have any ideas?” You smiled and thought of the one place that you wouldn’t be followed.

“Yeah, I’ve got one, but it’s rough.”

***************************

The drive to the underpass wasn’t a hard one. You had beat the boys there so you and Sharon were sitting in the car. You had the radio playing softly in the background.

“Who the hell do you know in Madripoor?” You laughed and shrugged.

“I’m supposed to tell you all my secrets for free?” You shook your head and shifted in your seat to face her fully. “I was tasked with tracking some artwork down there. One of my assignments when we went through initiation for the Agency.” You picked at the holes in your jeans. “I thought it was just all fake stuff, but I researched it more and more. Turns out, the underground artwork dealing is really lucrative over there.”

Sharon stared at you in amazement. “What did you do, Y/N?” You smirked.

“I haven’t done anything.” You held her gaze, “Yet.” She released a small laugh and her mouth hung open a bit. “I may have a warehouse out there.” You squinted one of your eyes, and leaned forward. “And the apartment above it.” She was going to say something when an old ass blue Beetle pulled up behind you.

“Now how the fuck did they all fit in that tiny ass car?” You both laughed as you stepped out of the car with big smiles on your faces.

“Not sure you understand the concept of a getaway car.” Steve walked up to Sharon and they began talking as she popped the trunk, revealing their gear. Your attention was on the men in the car behind them. Barnes was stuck in the back away from cameras and Sam was lounging in the passenger seat. Your eyes met Barnes’ again, they were back to the remorseful pair you saw the first time.

“You know he kind of tried to kill us.” You waved your hand in gesture to the man in the car.

“Sorry, I’ll put it on the list too.” He glanced back down at Sharon, who had migrated closer to him. “They’re going to come looking for you.”

She nodded, “I know.” Then the most awkward kiss in all of kissing history took place. Your brows shot up then furrowed quickly, a small wince overtaking your face. They pulled apart and traded more words. Sharon began walking back to the passenger side of the car.

Steve turned around and you looked back at the two men in the car. Both of them were wearing proud, smug grins. Steve threw his head back as if he was berating them.

“About damn time, Cap! She’s been pining over you for God knows how long now.” The windows were down in the Beetle so the other two heard you shouting at their friend.

“Y/N!” Sharon was a bit embarrassed.

“What? It’s the truth, Shar!” The two of you began bickering like an old married couple as you started the car again. Steve got all he needed from the trunk and shut it quickly, slapping it twice. You began driving off with Sharon giving you directions to an airport on the opposite side of the country.

***********************

That was the last time you saw Steve. Last time you saw anyone for a while. You had been dusted in the Blip. Sharon had followed you to your apartment in Madripoor. The two of you were able to figure the city out pretty quickly. Learning the ins and outs of the island, where to go, who to sell to. One afternoon, you and Sharon had been surveying a Van Gogh piece for your gallery when you flew away. In the middle of a fucking deal, what perfect timing.

Five years later, you were reunited with an even more successful Sharon. “I kept your room the way you left it.” She said as she led you through your shared home. “I figured that you’d be back and you’d be pissed off if I fucked with anything.”

You smiled at the woman gratefully and hugged her. Neither of you let go for a while. When you did, she started filling you in on everything. She had continued to split all her profits and had been depositing the money into your account. “Even if you didn’t come back, I could’ve used it if I needed to bug out. Win-win.” She explained with a smile.

The two of you had about six months of getting back into the groove of things. It was quickly cut off by a ping of your phones one day. A look of confusion and anger crossed her face, “Are you fucking kidding me?” She locked eyes with you and told you to get your gear.

“Where are we going?” She threw her phone at you and you looked at the screen. As soon as you read the notification at the top of it you understood. Repeating your question from before, you tied the knots on your Converse. You followed Sharon to the Low Town side of the island.

“Now what the fuck are they doing here, do you think?” The two of you camped outside of the Brass Monkey nightclub, ready for whatever came your way. Deciding that you were too visible to everyone else, you moved to the building across from the club. Something is bound to go wrong and the first place they're going to get ran to is this dead end alley.

Sure enough, not even ten minutes later, Sam, Barnes, and Zemo got cornered in the alleyway. Sharon had decided to stay on the ground floor next to the door. You shot two of the assassins following the group of three and Sharon took out the final one.

You made your way back down to Sharon, who was still holding her gun up. “You cost me everything.” She focused her gun on Zemo.

“Sharon, wait. Someone recreated the super soldier serum and Zemo had a lead.” Sam remarked calmly, trying to diffuse the situation.

“Explains why you guys are here and Selby’s dead.” Your brows shot up at that, must of been new information that she got while you were upstairs.

“Why are you here, Sharon?” Sam questioned.

“She was one of the ones who stole Steve’s shield, remember?” You stepped forward, raising your gun to gesture to the men in front of you. “And the wings, so your ass,” you waved at Sam, “could save his ass,” at Barnes, “from his ass.” You lowered your gun and stepped in front of Zemo, staring the man down. Your fist balled and you launched it at Zemo, landing a solid hit to his cheekbone.

Barnes grabbed your hand, twisting your body to slot against his with your arm bent behind your back. He leaned close to your ear, breath making shivers trickle down your spine. “I only let you do that because I’ve wanted to for a while now, so don’t get any more ideas.” Your breath hitched because of the proximity of the man behind you.

“Alright, give me my Y/N back.” Sharon said, lowering her gun to holster it. Bucky held onto you for a few more seconds than necessary and then pushed you towards Sharon as he released you. You scoffed, then shoved your gun into the waistband of your jeans. Sam and Sharon had already started their own conversation by the time you calmed down enough to face Barnes.

Sharon bobbed her head to you, an unspoken language between the two of you. After bringing them into your home, Sam began admiring the artwork in the first floor gallery. “Looks like breaking the law is treating you two well.”

“Before even graduating into the Agency, I had a place over here. Never had any intention on using it, but here we are.” You started, “Then, after having to flee Berlin, for you,” You shot a look at Bucky, “we figured if we had to hustle, might as well enjoy the good life. Do you know how much we can get for a real Monet?”

“Deactivate your hustle mode. You sell fake Monet’s.” Sharon shot him a look, about to defend us when Zemo cut in.

“No. She means real. This gallery is specialized in stolen artwork. Monet. Van Gogh. All the classics.” Sam made a face of disbelief.

“It’s true. You know, half the artwork in museums like the Louvre is fake. Real stuff sits in places like this.” Bucky gestured to the gallery. Sam pulled his phone out of his suit pocket.

“Okay, guys, I see what you’re doing. You’re more worldly than good old Sam.” He was typing furiously as he spoke. Bucky passed him, soundlessly following you and Sharon to the upstairs apartment.

“Yeah. What’s Google say?” Once the five of you got upstairs, Sharon began walking them into her office, telling them that they needed to change because we were hosting clients. It didn’t take long for the men to switch outfits. It was refreshing to see Barnes in something other than combat gear or a torn Henley. Sharon followed you in the office, making a remark at Sam while he apologised.

“Look, you know the whole hero thing is a joke, right? The way you gave up that shield, deep down, you must know it’s all hypocrisy.” She said as you plopped yourself on one of the plush chairs across from the couch, holding a clear glass full of whiskey.

“He knows. And not so deep down.” Zemo added quietly, since when is Zemo informed? Sharon glazed over his comment, opting for asking about the new Cap while filling a glass for herself.

“Don’t get me started.” Barnes spoke for the first time since being downstairs. You narrowed your eyes at the man.

“Please. You buy into all that stars and stripes bullshit.” You swung your glass to Zemo, “Before you were his pet psychopath, you were Mr. America! Cap’s best friend.” His gaze darted over to you, nose wrinkling at your comment.

“Do you know who I am?” He tried to be intimidating but it was just funny to you. You were taking a drink to moisten your throat to fire back a witty comeback, when Sharon spoke for you.

“Oh trust me, she knows. She did a report on you freshman year of high school.” You started choking on your drink as Sharon smirked from the couch next to Barnes. His brows raised and a smug smile graced his face.

“She did now?” Clearly he was a different man from the last time you saw him. Meeting his eyes for the fourth time ever, you were surprised with what you saw. There was almost a hunger lingering behind his eyes.

“Most definitely. I don’t even know how many times she went to the Smithsonian to see the exhibit about you.” You glared at Sharon, who continued to talk, unbothered by you. She raised her own glass to her lips, speaking into her cup, muffling her words. “Honestly, think she developed a little crush.” Barnes’ eyes never left your face, his mind racing.

“Wait, so the entire time you were helping me and Steve, you had a crush on Tin Man?” Sam interjected, wanting to be included in the conversation. You rolled your eyes and gave a subtle nod to Sam. The action wasn’t missed by Bucky.

“Which is why I think it must’ve been really hard for you to ask him of all people for help. They comin’ down real hard on you out there?” You asked Barnes with a smirk and a head tilt towards Zemo. “I know he fucked you up real good, triggering the Soldier, Barnes.”

Sam laughed beside him. “Dude, that’s basically what you told Walker.” Barnes threw a glare at Sam, who had clapped a hand on his metal shoulder. The conversation dissipated after your comment, guess you killed the vibe.

Sam turned to a relaxed Sharon, “We need your help.” Her body tensed, neither one of you was ready to throw yourself back into enemy territory. “I can get your name cleared.” He dangled a huge bargaining chip in front of her face. You knew Sharon was eager to get back to the States. She misses her dad. It was unfair of Sam to use that as a way to gain her favor.

“Haggling with someone’s life like that isn’t okay, Sam.” You said quietly, focusing your gaze on the glass in your hand.

“It’s not like that, Y/N.”

“Yes, it is, Sam.” You said firmly. “You can’t just say something like that. I know you’re an Avenger. That’s great shit, but you need to realize that if you can’t deliver on your word, we go to jail or worse. You know that.”

“I don’t trust charity, Sam.” Sharon said from beside Barnes.

“All right, a deal then. You help us out, and I get your names cleared.” Your nostrils flared and you shook your head. Sharon agreed, blinded by the possibility of seeing her family again. You don’t doubt that she thought through all the outcomes, it just wasn’t the route you would’ve taken.

“We sell to some pretty connected people. Lay low, blend in, and enjoy the party.” She got up, exiting the office.

“Try to stay outta trouble, boys.” You said placing your glass on Sharon’s desk as you left. “We’ll see what we can find.”

*********************************

You were standing next to Sharon when the three men joined the party. Leaning over to Sharon, you told her you were going to get a drink from the bar. You pushed your way through the crowd, planting yourself on a stool in front of the countertop. Nodding your head at the bartender, they passed you a bottle of club soda.

“Not drinking tonight?” A raspy voice questioned over your shoulder. You turned to face the owner as you shrugged your shoulders.

“Already had my fill. And technically, I’m supposed to be working, Barnes.” Your eyes met with his again. You couldn’t tell if it was the light in the room or if it was just him, but they were a deeper shade of blue than before. He leaned his weight on his elbow that was resting on the bar top next to you. He was so close you could feel his body heat rolling off him in waves.

His eyes roamed your face, stopping on your lips as he spoke. “You know you can call me Bucky, right?” You made a face, bringing your bottle to your mouth. He watched intently as your lips wrapped around the opening.

“We’ve never had a single conversation before today. And the first time you actually met me, you twisted my arm behind my back because I punched the dickwad standing next to you.” You took another sip and his eyes drifted down to your throat. He watched as it bobbed when you swallowed.

“So, yeah. I’m going to call you Barnes.” You leaned closer, “I’ve never been given permission to call you anything else.” You could tell you struck something. Something that he didn’t even possibly know about. His face heated and he had to clear his throat before speaking.

“Um, okay. Well you can call me Bucky or if you want, James.” Your brow quirked and you pulled back to take him in fully.

“How many people have you let call you that since you got your free will back?” Your tone was serious, but your face held a smile.

“None, doll.” His eyes ran over your face again. “I just want to hear how it’ll sound coming from your mouth.” One of his metal fingers came up to rest on your bottom lip as your smile grew.

“James.” You whispered, just for him. What he was giving you was a privilege, one you were going to revel in. One corner of his mouth tugged upwards.

“Again.” He growled as his finger remained on your lip.

“James.”

“Again.”

“James.” The party around the two of you faded away. In your reality, it was just you and the man in front of you. A peaceful place, where nothing could change what was happening right at that moment.

Of course, reality is a bitch. And you never got what you wanted. Your jaw clenched as soon as your phone pinged. James dropped his hand from your face as he read the text with you.

Found Nagel. Meet us outside and if you find Bucky, tell him too.

You scrunched your nose and bit your lip. James’ hand was quick to pull your lip from your front teeth, before resting there for a second as he studied your face. He stepped back quickly, nodding his head for you to follow him.

**************************************

You don’t know how the hell Sharon managed to find him, but she did. You were in a shipping yard for storage cars. “Madripoor could give New York a run for its money.” Sam said as the five of you weaved your way through the containers.

“With a bounty on your head, the longer you’re in Madripoor, the less likely you’re ever leaving.” She glanced down at her phone in her hand. Nodding toward a red container, “Alright, he’s in there. Container 4621.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out five earpieces.

“We’ll keep watch while you guys talk to Nagel. But hurry. We’re on borrowed time.” You said as you watched everyone situate their pieces. Sharon turned around and began walking down an aisle not far from the container Nagel was in. You stopped James before he could go anywhere.

“Hey, be careful.” His eyes met yours and they were back to the normal steel blue. “Don’t forget who you are, James.” Something flashed behind his eyes, but his face showed no change.

“You too, Y/N. Don’t make me come out here and save your ass.” His eyes flicked down quickly and a smile spread quickly. “I mean, not that I would mind.” You rolled your eyes and shoved his shoulder, turning and walking down the aisle Sharon did.

“So,” She was leaned against a rusted container with a smug smile. “You and Bucky, huh?” You groaned and stood next to her.

“I don’t know, Shar. Neither one of us should be in a relationship. Especially since we’re both Enemies of the State, well one of us is, the other one was.” You turned your head to look at her. “What do you think about all of this?” She opened her mouth to speak when you both heard something ricochet off a metal wall.

She raised a finger to her mouth and crouched down before pressing that same finger to her earpiece. “Guys, we have company.” She took off down one end of the aisle and you down the opposite, ready to attack from both sides. There were three men walking towards Nagel’s container, you shot a look down to Sharon and she nodded.

She came from the back with a baton, whacking the last guy once in the knees and once in the head, disarming him. When the front man turned to help his comrade, you did the same move to him with your own baton. You both continued trading blows with the men. You had effectively taken out the first man, using his thigh to latch yourself to the third man’s shoulders. Situating yourself to use your body weight to flip him over, definitely knocking him out.

“Every bounty hunter in the city is here. We gotta go now, boys!” You yelled to your earpiece as you watched Sharon fight off another opponent.

It wasn’t until the gunfire started that Sharon said something else into the piece. “Guys, we’re seriously outta time here.” You both split off, out of each other’s view, battling your own demons. You were currently dealing with two of those said demons, when a third approached from behind. Locking you in a chokehold as the other two continued punching your ribs.

One of the hunters was suddenly ripped away from you. Punches were landing and groans were echoing through the alleyways. You threw all your body weight forward, throwing your assailant over your shoulder. Two gunshots rang out and then a third one, which landed a bullet hole between your aggressors eyes. Your head whipped around to face James, whose arm dropped back to his side.

He walked towards you, putting a hand on your back leading you to where Sharon and Sam were standing. Zemo pulled up in a blue convertible car, “Supercharged.” was all he said. Sam pointed his finger at the man in the driver’s seat.

“You’re going back to jail.”

“Do you want to find Karli or not?” James sighed heavily, his shoulder sinking with the action.

“He’s right. We need him. And there’s two of us, and at least twenty of them.” James got in the front seat, leaving the door open for Sam.

“Fine. But if you try that shit again--”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Zemo raised his hands in surrender. Sam turned to Sharon.

“Well, that was one hell of a reunion.” You leaned over the open door to talk to James. He looked at you with a sad face.

“Why don’t you come back to the States with us?” He tilted his head. “We could clearly use your help, doll.” You smiled at that and licked your lips before responding.

“You know we can’t. Not yet anyway.” He placed his finger back on your bottom lip, maintaining eye contact. “This isn’t the last you’ll see of me, James. That I can promise you.” He smiled and dropped his hand back to his lap.

Sam climbed into the seat behind James. “You’re not going to move your seat up, are you?” James smirked before replying.

“No.” You watched as they drove off, desperately wanting to see James again already.

You turned back to Sharon and the two of you began walking back towards High Town. “I think you should go for it.”

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fan fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky fan fic #bucky fanfic #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes x you #james buchanan barnes x y/n #james barnes x reader #james barnes x you #james barnes x y/n #Sebastian Stan

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dorimena · 3 years

Note

That ask you got about Shoto being soft : an Absolute meal.

Please, could you please write what happens after ? Like, it’s not going to be the first time he watches his reflection with a pout in the mirror. He’s always been lean thanks to training and also his dad overly controlling his diet in the past. So, now that his body is soft?

When you fuck him, his thighs jiggle a bit. His butt bounces if you spank him. It always did, but now even more so. When you have him tied to a chair,naked, his tummy is adorable, the little fold in it is biteable and for some reason, it becomes even more sensitive.

The softness of his body somehow accentuates how more sensitive he is now.

But, he always needs the reassurance that you still think he’s pretty. That’s he’s still your beautiful boy.. Maybe he even asks you if you mind ? Maybe after he recovers and he asks you if you want him back as he used to be. ( because he actually liked how your fingers sank more in him now , the way you praised a little more to ease his worries and the self conscious way he held himself sometimes. But , he would go train more, ask his mum to stop being pastries, if that is what you wanted. He’d do anything for you and to make sure you still want him)

+ (imagine him crying a little when praised)

Of course I could! (✯◡✯)

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔯; Todoroki Shoto

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱; 1.8k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰; Soft!Todoroki, fluff, a sex scene, insecurities, implied praise (sexual and non-sexual), bondage (in the sex scene), proclamation of love (kinda), reassurance, cuddles, cursing, dom!reader, sub!character

𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔰; aged-up character, Todoroki is 20+

𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢; I hope you like it! I kind of kept coming in and out of some weird writer’s block, so the ending might seem a bit rushed. This isn’t proofread yet!

Also! Shoutout to @buckybabyboyzzz for unintentionally helping me with this, because some ideas in this fic come from our conversation about soft!shoto, and by our conversation I mean me receiving their ideas about soft!shoto ヽ(*・ω・)ﾉ

𝕷𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖒𝖊, 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖒𝖊 (𝖘𝖆𝖞 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖒𝖊)

You knew fucking him and kissing him everywhere wouldn’t be enough for him to feel secure. It’s illogical to think he wouldn’t go back to the mirror and stare at himself again, with that mean, insecure gaze set on his tummy, on his hips, on his thighs.

You know he’s struggling to accept his new body, and it’s showing with how he’s suddenly becoming more conscious of his cravings, of the servings (which are one of the few things that haven’t changed), of the food being placed on the table (again, another of the few things that haven’t changed.)

He asked you, in such a small, low tone, about what you think made him put on weight. And you couldn’t even lie, not when he’s staring at you with so much trust, awaiting your honesty, knowing you’re not going to be mean or rude about it.

And with such a smooth voice, you tell him that maybe the amount of times he’s snacking and lack of permission to be able to burn off the calories would have contributed.

And you waited for him to react, to maybe cry, to get angry with himself, to maybe go back to the mirror to check and agree that you’re right.

Instead, he nods and snuggles closer next to you, hugging you close to him as you both continue to watch another one of Midoriya’s movie recommendations, considering how behind Shoto apparently still is with the whole movie culture situation. He just found out where the ‘I am your father’ reference comes from and he’s never felt so happy.

Okay that’s a lie, you fucking him more times after the first has made him feel so much joy and makes him feel so desired and needed.

But, it’s not enough to ease his insecurities and new thoughts away.

You come back from work one day, concerned over how quiet the house is.

The TV isn’t on.

The radio isn’t either.

You don’t even hear the shower.

You thought maybe he’s napping, because poor baby’s still catching up with sleep, but he’s nowhere.

You don’t really panic, but you’re worried.

Maybe he went to the office for something? But he usually texts you when he’s on his way.

Maybe the doctor called for a checkup? But the appointment isn’t until next week.

You can’t really come up for another reason why he wouldn’t be home, but you decide to simply text him to come home soon and safely, telling him you brought some take-away pasta.

About an hour later he returns, all sweaty yet glowing with joy.

Curious, you ask him about the sudden change in personality, as he was gloomy since a few days ago.

He tells you how he called the doctor and asked if it’s possible he could go on long walks and possible morning or evening jogs, to which the doctor gave him the thumbs up and off Shoto went to do some errands, even paying a visit to Midoriya’s house.

He went to take a shower, not before handing you a bag of what appears to be some new workout clothes.

But, his clothes still fit and look fine on him?

Shoto wouldn’t agree, doesn’t, not with how tight his sweatpants feel around his thighs, how you can easily tell where he’s put on weight when even trying to cover up with a hoodie.

And seeing the new clothes in the bag made you upset, if not a bit angry.

You’re trying your best to understand, but he does one thing and then the next does a complete 180°.

And that night when you’re both just kissing each other, you trying to suck up any moan or whine he makes, the moment you begin palming his dick he pulls away. Staring at you with a weird look in his eyes before turning around, mumbling a goodnight.

No, impossible. You’re not going to allow this!

So the next day when he comes home from another job, you call him from the bedroom, seductively lying on the bed as you play with the ropes.

With enough persuasion, seduction and sweet promises, you manage to tie Shoto to a kitchen chair that you brought into the room before he arrived.

And you’re on your knees, your hands slowly massaging up and down on his thighs while you kiss his stomach, nuzzling the skin before leaving some pretty hickies.

Shoto’s shaking, eyes filling with tears but not because of pain or pleasure. He’s not sure why he suddenly feels so emotional, but his sniffling catches your attention.

You look up as your kisses go to the base of his dick, making him whimper as he tries to tell you to stop.

But he doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t want this to stop. He’s not sure why he’s so embarrassed (he does know) or why he’s trying to hide (he also knows). He moans your name, rolling his hips up because he wants you, he really, really wants you.

You're not done yet, but while you stroke him slowly, teasing his tip, biting and kissing his thighs, moaning your praise and singing your compliments, all while not breaking eye contact with him, not wanting any of your words going through one of his ears and out the other.

That night you ride him to oblivion, making him go through countless toe-curling orgasms as he fills you with so much cum, his soft cheeks so red you bite them gently, helping him stay grounded and not go stupid yet.

It helps him think between orgasms about how even with all this attention, with you still desiring him and his body, it still doesn’t feel enough.

Once you’re both cleaned up and snuggled in bed, he has that weird look again, but you know what you have to do now.

You kiss him, so softly, pulling him closer to deepen the kiss, and once he pulls away, you whisper so happily how beautiful he looks, fixing his bangs to show his eyes better, tracing the bridge of his nose and softened jawline.

And in the following mornings until the doctor’s appointment, you compliment how pretty he looks, how well the color of the new gym clothes look on him, how much warmer he feels whenever you hug him.

And once you hug him, it’s so hard for you to let go, to go to work after that.

You just hope your love has oozed out of you and he managed to absorb it. Sounds weird, but you just want him to remember your promise that you’ll always love him no matter what.

The day of the appointment came and went within a blink of an eye, but Shoto’s been torn between worried and delighted. He can finally start going back to the gym! He can also take baby steps through his training, but he can also go on runs, just not for long periods.

He’s still forbidden from going to missions yet, but patrols are okay as long as he has sidekicks with him.

Yet, he’s worried about you. You’ve been silent all day, having accompanied him just in case. You aren’t ignoring him as far as he could tell, but you haven’t been your chirpy self, not even following much of his attempts at small talk.

Is this the moment you tell him you’re breaking up with him?

Okay, that sounds ridiculous, but he just wants to know you’re doing okay! He just wants to know everything you’ve done since he’s been homebound (kinda) until today wasn’t out of pity but genuine love and care.

So he sucks in some breath before asking you..

“Do you mind that I’ll be going back to the gym? Did, um, did you like me like this?”

He braces himself for the next question.

“Do you… Do you want me to stay like this? Would this make you happy?”

“Would it make you happy?”

You ask back softly, opening your arms to invite him for a hug, one he doesn’t hesitate to throw himself into, making you both land onto your bed.

“You’re avoiding my question-” “I’m not! I’m not, Shoto. If working out to get back your body makes you happy, then go for it. I don’t care about your body. Okay, that sounded bad, let me rephrase that.”

You nervously laugh as you shift, making sure he’s comfortable as you try playing with his hair in such an awkward position.

“I love you, Shoto, very, very much. I love you because of your generosity, your kindness, your sometimes too brutal honesty, your unintentional jokes and weird humor, your confusion for such everyday normal things that you weren’t exposed to, your excitement that you fail hiding whenever we pass your favorite donut shop.

And your body during these times has made me live through one of the best experiences of my life! I got to spoil you in so many ways I wasn’t able to do before because of how busy you were. And I got to finally see a side of you no one else was able to see: you’re naturally sensitive, baby. Not in a sexual way, but in such a tender, sweet way that makes me just want to keep you away from every danger in the world.

Shoto, I saw the way your eyes lit up with the doctor’s words, and I’m glad he finally gave you the thumbs up.”

You sigh, frowning as you hold him closer.

“I know how mean you’ve been with yourself, how cruel the change was messing with your mind. I might not understand to a certain extent, but I just want you to know that I’m in no way against you going back to how you were. What I am against is you still being mean with yourself and possibly overworking yourself. Do you understand?”

He takes a while to shake his head, not knowing what you exactly mean but has a pretty good guess.

“What I mean is that you might push yourself too far and hurt yourself again. And if you hurt yourself again, the doctor might make you stay at home for who-knows how much longer and take away this opportunity you’ve probably been waiting for.”

He gasps, never having really thought about that. Yet-

“Do you want me like before?”

“Yes and no, Shoto. Yes, I want you like before because I’ll always want you, no matter what. No, I don’t want you like before because you’ll overwork yourself again and probably hurt yourself even worse next time.”

And with the conversation you both continue to have, many other topics are spoken about, helping Shoto come with his own conclusion that maybe he’ll stay soft like this for a little while longer, until he adapts back into a healthy recovery and workout routine.

Actually, it’s only because he wants to bask in a bit more of your praise, in your reassurance, in your care as you help guide him back to his old lifestyle, all while slowly taking out certain things that you’ve both incorporated into your lives while he stayed at home.

Meaning next time his mother paid a visit, pastries, as much as they’re appreciated, will be politely declined.

#𝔖𝔬𝔣𝔱! 𝔖𝔥𝔬𝔱𝔬 #✿; impurity #todoroki x reader #shoto x reader #bnha fluff #bnha smut #sub todoroki #❀; sfw answers #ლ; blasphemy #𝖙𝖔𝖉𝖔𝖗𝖔𝖐𝖎.𝖘

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theoreticslut · 3 years

Text

The Start of Something New // s.r.

spencer reid x reader

requested: nope! the first of seven (!!!) fics for my 2k writing challenge event!! I used the prompts “weddings” & “did you need something?”

summary: A wedding for a mutual friend might just be the start of something new for you.

word count: 2k

warnings: weddings, fluff

A/N: I LOVED writing this one so much! I’m kind of thinking about writing a second part to it, but i’m not sure yet. I’ve got a handful of other fics I’d rather get out beforehand. But if you want one, definitely let me know! I’d love to write more for spencer and I think it’d be really cute to show the progression of their relationship. Anyways, I hope you like this! & if you’d like to join the challenge, you can join up until this sunday!

“Oh wow, she looks gorgeous.” You whisper to Penelope, smiling when you catch sight of JJ’s smile.

She looks beyond happy to be marrying Will, and you couldn’t be happier for her. After what she’s been through, she deserves every moment of this.

“She does.” Penelope quietly coos, emotion overtaking her voice as she watches your guys’ friend.

“I can’t wait until your wedding day. I just know it’s going to be perfect.”

“My wedding day? Penelope, you’re dreaming.” You scoff, laughing at the idea. You couldn’t be any more single if you tried. Between this job and your deep-seated fear of abandonment, you have little ability to hold a relationship.

Sure, you’d love to have someone to come home to and to share yourself with, but the reality is that it’s not going to happen for a while. At least not until you do some serious work on yourself.

“I wouldn’t be so sure, muffin. I see the way you look at our young doctor.”

“Spencer?! No. You’re delusional now, Garcia.” You whisper-laugh, ignoring the light blush you can feel warming your cheeks.

“Am I though?” She retorts, giving you her knowing look before turning back to your friend as she makes her way down the aisle.

You shake your head, trying to ignore her as you turn your attention back to JJ, but you can’t help yourself from glancing towards Spencer.

You can’t deny that he’s cute in his own adorable way, but you wouldn’t say you're crushing on him or anything. He may fill your daydreams from time to time, but it doesn’t mean anything more than the fact that you spend a lot of time around him due to work and that you find him nice to look at.

Putting it out of your mind, you watch as JJ meets Will at the altar, both of them carrying bright smiles filled with love for the other. She really does deserve to be this happy.

It easily brings tears to your eyes as they say their vows, JJ herself getting watery eyes as Will slides the ring on her finger.

You can’t help but cheer as they’re finally allowed to kiss, both you and Penelope clinging to each other at the cuteness and overwhelming happiness of it all.

“Our girl is married, Penelope.” You sigh, pouting slightly although you couldn’t be happier.

“I know. It’s beautiful.”

“It really is. God, I’m so emotional right now.” You chuckle, carefully wiping at your watery eyes.

“How are you doing, momma?” Derek asks, his words directed at Penelope as he and Spencer join the two of you, his arm wrapping around her shoulders.

“We’re emotional.” She chuckles as she wipes at her eyes as well.

“We can see that.” Derek laughs, squeezing his arm around her, attempting to console her.

“Did you know, biologically the reason you are so emotional right now is due to your parasympathetic system?” Spencer starts, demonstrating his brilliance once again. You’re not complaining, though, as you actually enjoy hearing his random knowledge.

“Psychologically, however, your emotional state could be due to an unconscious perception of helplessness or it could be to show vulnerability, solicit sympathy, advertise trust, or the need for attachment.”

“Alright, mr. smarty-pants. Ladies in this state just want consolation, yeah?” Derek retorts, drawing a laugh from both you and Penelope.

“We’re fine. It’s just such a happy event.” You chuckle, wiping yet another stray tear from your eye.

“That it is, y/l/n. JJ deserves this.”

“She does. I’m actually going to go find her and congratulate her. If you’ll excuse me.” You smile, dipping out of the conversation.

~.~

You can’t help but smile as you look over the small crowd, all of them basking in the happiness of the night.

It’s been a couple hours now and you still can’t believe that one of your best friends is now married to the love of her life. She is definitely one of the lucky ones to have found such a love, and to have such a beautiful kid with him too. You can only hope that you’ll have this one day too.

Thinking about your own special day, you can’t help but recall your earlier conversation with Penelope. Are you really looking at Spencer that differently that others can notice?

Sure, Penelope seems to be more observant than others, but you must be looking at Spencer differently for her to even consider you liking him, right?

Let’s say that you did like him, it’s not like he feels the same back. You are just coworkers, teammates. Sure, you could be considered friends, but it’s not like you spend much time together outside of the office.

“Are you alright, y/n?” You hear Spencer ask, drawing you out of your thoughts.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. Yeah.” You smile, nodding lightly as you take a sip of the champagne that Rossi brought out for the event. It’s honestly amazing how perfectly he put this together. You don’t think it could be better if anyone else did it.

“Are you sure? It’s just, you seem like you’re pretty distracted over here.”

“Yeah, I’m good. Just thinking about a few things. Nothing important, though.”

He nods lightly, clicking his tongue as he gently rocks back on his feet. You can’t help the little quirk of your lips, entranced by the fluffy-haired boy.

“I’m sorry, did you need something? Or were you just, uhm, checking on me?”

He laughs a bit, looking down at the ground as he attempts to hide a smile. Even now you can’t help but find him adorable. It’s just who he is.

“Sort of. I, uh, I was wondering if you’d like to dance? With me?” He questions, blushing lightly as he watches you for a reaction, finding himself relieved when a soft smile finds its place on your lips.

“I’d love to, Spence.”

At his smile, you feel your own lips quirking up more. You set your glass down, letting him lead you out to the makeshift dance floor, joining your teammates as they all dance with each other.

You see Penelope give you a smirk and you just roll your eyes, turning your attention to Spencer as he wraps his arm around you.

“You look really nice tonight, by the way.” He smiles as he spins you around to the music.

“Thank you! You look very nice yourself, Spence.”

At your compliment, you notice him flush, smiling giddily. He doesn’t say anything, however, and you take it as he’s just not sure what to say.

You dance to another song, smiling and laughing occasionally, before Rossi decides to cut in - which you happily let him do as he’s been a father figure for you since you joined the BAU.

“You know, you and Einstein look good together.” He starts, nodding towards Spencer who joined in a dance with Penelope.

“Do we?” You chuckle, smiling as he nods.

“The next wedding I put together better be yours, kid.”

You can’t help the small laugh that leaves your body as you shake your head.

“I’ll make sure to inform you whenever that may happen, Rossi. I think you’re good for another few years, though.”

“You better. Now let me show you how to dance, because watching you was an eyesore.” He jokes, earning a boisterous laugh from you as you slap his arm.

~.~

By the end of the night, you’ve spent far more time dancing than your feet would have liked, but you can’t complain. You managed to snag a dance with each of your teammates, including JJ, who couldn’t stop smiling.

You had indulged on Rossi’s phenomenal cooking, and you even happened to miraculously catch the bouquet - which had earned cheers and more teasing from the girls.

Now, at nearly 1 am, you were beyond ready to get home and go to bed. You had had a wonderful time, having a bunch of fun with everyone, but you were tired and there was no denying it.

“JJ!” You call, spotting her at the refreshments table grabbing a drink.

“Y/n! Hey, how are you?”

“Good. How are you, JJ? God, I can’t believe you’re married now. I’m so happy for you, though.” You smile, grabbing a small glass of water for yourself.

“Amazing. This has been so...perfect. I can’t believe Rossi did all of this for us.” She chuckles.

“I know, it’s been such a wonderful night. I think I’m going to head home though, okay? I’ve danced myself out.”

“Oh, absolutely! Get home and get some sleep. I am so glad you were able to spend the night with us and celebrate.”

“Of course, JJ! I wouldn’t have missed it. You have a good rest of the night, yeah? I’ll see you on Monday.” You beam, pulling her into a hug.

“See you on Monday. Good night, y/n.”

You hug her goodbye before making your way around to the rest of the team. You're wishing Penelope and Derek a good night when Spencer joins the three of you.

“Are you leaving?” He directs to you, noticing how you’re hugging Penelope.

“Yeah, I think so. I’m exhausted. I’ll see you on Monday, alright spence?”

“Wait, I-if you don’t mind, I think I’ll head out with you?” He suggests.

“Oh, sure. I’m just catching a cab, though.” You explain, wanting to make sure he wasn’t planning on just catching a ride with you.

“Perfect, I’ll join you.”

“O-okay . Well, I still need to find hotch and Rossi.”

“No problem. I’ll see you guys on Monday.” Spencer waves, wishing Derek and Penelope a goodnight.

“You too, pretty boy. Behave on the ride home, yeah?” Derek smirks, winking at the two of you.

You silently groan, rolling your eyes as Penelope smacks his arm but is laughing along with him.

Spencer nods awkwardly, looking more than confused, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he follows along behind you as you make your way through the small crowd to find hotch or Rossi.

“Spencer. Y/n. Are you heading out?” You hear hotch ask as you’re still trying to weave through the few guests still celebrating.

Pausing, you turn to find hotch and his guest - beth - smiling happily.

“Hotch. Yeah, We were actually trying to find you to say goodbye.” You smile, looking between him and Beth as she holds onto his arm gently.

“Ah, well I’ll see you both on Monday then. I’m glad you’ve stayed awhile.” He smiles, nodding politely at the both of you.

“Me too. It’s been wonderful, especially seeing JJ so happy. Rossi really did a wonderful job.”

“He certainly knows how to throw a celebration together. Have a good night, both of you.”

“You too, hotch. Beth, it’s been wonderful to meet you.” You smile, nodding politely as Spencer says his goodbyes.

You eventually find Rossi, wishing him a goodnight and talking for a few moments while Spencer finds Emily and JJ. Within a few minutes, though, you’re both making your way down Rossi’s driveway, laughing lightly as you stumble in your heels.

“Do you want to take those off?” Spencer questions, steadying you as you stumble a little more.

“When I get home. A cab should be here soon, Rossi called one for us.”

“Sounds good. Thank you for letting me catch a ride with you.”

“Anytime, Spence. Having you come with actually makes me feel safer taking a cab this late at night.”

“I’m glad?” He chuckles, not really sure what to say to that.

“You really do look nice tonight, y/n.” He compliments after a moment.

“Thank you. I don’t get to dress up often, but it’s kind of fun.”

“You’re good at it.” He mumbles, but you hear him, a shy smile finding its way onto your face.

All this time you thought that he couldn’t possibly like you as anything more than a friend, but here he is saying things like this. You can’t help but wonder if maybe he does like you.

As the cab pulls up, however, and he opens the door for you, helping you in before getting in himself, you don’t mind finding out if there is a possibility that you could be walking down the aisle soon enough. You especially don’t mind as he carefully interlinks your hands in the middle of the backseat, after motioning for you to rest your head on his shoulder upon seeing you yawn.

Maybe, just maybe, the rest of the team knows what they’re seeing between the two of you that you had failed to notice before now.

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

General - @jillys-feral-fandoms @your-hispanichufflepuff @yikesyikesyikes95 @livvysnaps @i-love-scott-mccall

Spencer - @stoopidwithtwohoes @harrysboo28 @roonilwazlibswhore @justfangirlingoverhere

#theweasleyslut's 2k writing challenge #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #cm fanfic #criminal minds fluff #cm fluff #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff

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pastpatientlywaitingforimagines · 3 years

Text

Wormhole | Spencer Reid x Reader Platonic

WC: 10k

A/N: This is a comfort fic disguised as a CM episode. Also, I had a lot of fun writing this.

WARNINGS: Kidnapping, murder, general CM things, hospitals, mentions of blood, psychopaths

You weren’t normally nervous to talk to Agent Aaron Hotchner. Sure, he was your boss, but he had also been leading the BAU for so long that you always trusted his reactions and motives. Still, the reason you had asked him to meet was so far out of left field that you were nervous he would tell you you were insane.

You were the first one in the office for the morning, perching on your desk in the empty bullpen while you waited for Hotch to arrive. You stood up when he entered the office, but waited to move until he made it to his office door and beckoned you to follow him inside.

“Good morning, (y/n).”

“Morning, Hotch,” you stood awkwardly in front of his desk, clutching the file in your hands.

“Please, sit. Is everything ok?” As soon as you made eye contact with him, your nerves settled. Everything about his behavior showed that he was genuinely concerned for you and interested in what you had to say. You took a deep breath, sliding the file onto his desk.

“I was looking into this cold case from the eighties, in Illinois. Mia-Rose Horn, 16, found murdered under a bridge. I have a theory, and I was hoping I could take a couple of days to go check it out.” You bit your lip while he picked up the file, thumbing through it.

“What’s your theory?”

“The only suspects considered were older transients in the area because the town was so biased against migrant workers. My preliminary research shows that the unsub profiles as younger, someone who knew the victim and her family personally. It feels like there’s a piece of the puzzle missing, and I think victimology can really help this case. I’d like to visit the dumpsite and walk the crime scene. I’d also like to go through the evidence to see if I can narrow it down a little more, and possibly do updated DNA analysis. I’ve already contacted the lead detective, he said it would be fine if I went out there.”

Hotch was quiet for a minute, reading the case information from the file. The longer you sat in silence, the more you feared he would say no. Finally, he closed the file and handed it back to you, “the FBI wasn’t invited in on this case when it was active, how did you find it?”

You blushed, hard. “I was watching a cold case documentary and when they talked about this one it just didn’t feel right, so I asked Garcia to pull the file. Once I looked it over more I realized my hunch was correct. They barely built a profile and the one they did make was wrong.”

“Do you work on cold cases often?”

“I’ve only worked on it when we don’t have an active case and I’m caught up on my paperwork, it makes me feel like I’m still making a difference when things are slow here.”

Hotch nodded, “you’re a good agent, (y/n). I trust that you’ll represent the BAU well. I can’t let you take the jet but you’re welcome to an SUV. However, as soon as we get an active case it takes priority. Do you understand?”

You stood up quickly, excitedly gripping at the file, “Yes sir, of course. Thank you so much. I promise I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t think I could do something. I won’t let you down, sir.” Hotch smiled softly at your energy. You had reached for the door handle before he spoke again, calling after you.

“(y/n),” you turned, hand still on the doorknob, “take Reid with you, I assume he knows the details of this case, too?” You nodded quickly, practically bouncing back to your desk with excitement. You checked the clock, Spencer would probably arrive in the next ten minutes or so, giving you time to arrange everything you’d need for the trip.

As soon as he stepped out of the elevator, you were waiting for him, go bag in hand.

“Hotch said you could go?”

“Not only that, he said you could come with me,” you smirked, falling in step next to him as he walked to his desk.

“Really?”

“We’re leaving now, so get your go bag.” You did a little happy dance as he started to gather his things.

“Ooh! Where are you going?” Penelope joined you at Spencer’s desk, hot cup of coffee in her hands.

“(y/n) is solving a cold case, we’re going out to Illinois to get more information.”

“The one I pulled for you? You actually solved it? Is there anything you can’t do?” Penelope asked in disbelief. Just last week she had explained to you why she was convinced you were a superhero.

You laughed brightly, “I don’t know if I can solve it yet, that’s why I need to go check it out for myself. Yes, I’ll call you if I need anything,” you answered when she opened her mouth to speak again. She hugged both you and Spencer before you left, making you promise you’d call her with updates and letting you know she’d call the detective to let him know you were on your way.

In true Spencer fashion, he had brought enough audiobooks to last the whole drive. You didn’t mind, your brain was more focused on driving. You didn’t talk about the case until you were nearing the end of the twelve hour road trip. Spencer was the one to bring it up, turning down the volume knob on the console.

“How are you feeling about this?”

“To be honest, Spence, I haven’t really been listening.”

“I meant about the case,” he chuckled.

“I’m trying not to get my hopes up. It’s been a cold case for over three decades for a reason, you know?”

“We wouldn’t be in Illinois right now if you weren’t on to something. Instincts exist for a reason, and your instincts are usually right.”

You fiddled with the air conditioning vents absentmindedly, “I don’t want to dredge up old wounds for the family and the town unless I’m absolutely certain I can bring some closure to them as well. The detective is the only person who knows we’re coming. I don’t want to start interviewing witnesses until I know I can do something to help.”

Spencer nodded, “I’ll follow your lead, you just tell me what you need.”

You spent the rest of the time discussing the details of the case, Spencer looking over the file again while you navigated to the police office. Having Spencer with you made you feel a lot better. You knew the case front to back, but this was your first time leading an investigation and you didn’t want to accidentally miss something in the file out of nervousness. Spencer’s eidetic memory and genius brain would keep you on track and ask you questions you knew would only help you in the grand scheme of things. Spencer was also your best friend, your biggest supporter. Any considerations he had would always come from a place of love and mutual respect.

When you arrived at the police station it was late in the evening, but the detective was waiting for you. He was an older man, tall and mostly bald.

“Hi, you must be Agent (y/l/n). Nice to finally meet you in person.”

“Detective Reeves, nice to finally meet you, too. This is my partner, Doctor Reid.�� Spencer brought a hand up to wave. “Thanks for letting us take a look at this.”

“Thanks for making the drive out here. This case…” he sighed, “Mia-Rose went missing two months after I started this job and I’ve been hunting her killer ever since. It’s been thirty two years, a fresh pair of eyes will do this case good. It’ll do the whole town good if you can see somethin’ I haven’t.”

“We’ll see what we can do,” you said, not wanting to promise any results to him. “Is there a room we can set up in?”

“I’ve brought all of the evidence to our conference room. Use it for as long as you need.”

“Thanks,” you took off to the door that he had pointed at, Spencer on your heels. He shut the door behind you, dropping his bag on a chair while you picked up examination gloves.

The next few hours were spent meticulously going over the evidence that had been collected. You occasionally made comments to Spencer about where the item had come from and any notes that had already been documented about it.

The clock had just passed midnight when you were ready to move on to the next part of your investigation. You wanted to walk the dumpsite, but it would be useless to go while it was still dark. Instead, you retreated to a small motel at Spencer’s insistence that you needed sleep.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to shut my brain off enough to actually sleep,” you confessed once you were wearing sweatpants and leaning up against the headboard of the bed.

Spencer wandered out of the bathroom, giving you the softest look as he sat down next to you.

“What are you thinking about the most?”

“The evidence told me exactly what I thought it would, but I can’t build a decent mental picture of what happened until I see the dump site. What if I get there and it still doesn’t make sense? What if I’m in too deep on this one, Spence?”

“This case has been cold for thirty years, it can wait one more night. You are an incredible FBI agent. You’re an incredible human, at that. I know you can handle this, and Hotch knows you can handle this, too. If you aren’t able to solve it, you’re not letting anyone down. It’s been a cold case for a reason, I’m sure you’ll solve the next one.”

“Logically I know you’re right, but that isn’t making sleep happen any easier,” you sighed, sinking down onto a pillow. You could tell from Spencer’s expression that he had an idea when he reached up, turning off the lamp beside him and laying down next to you in the dark.

“This is called Image Distraction, all you have to do is close your eyes, try to relax, and listen to my voice.”

“Are you hypnotizing me?” you giggled into the darkness, feeling like a small kid at a sleepover with their best friend.

“No, it’s just a strategy to help you fall asleep. I’m going to describe a scene to you and the idea is that it takes up enough space in your brain to prevent you from re-engaging with other thoughts. Hypnosis doesn’t actually put you to sleep, just in a trance that seems like you’re sleeping. It’s been proven to help change habits and thoughts around sleeping though. There was a study done in 2010-”

“Is that what I’m supposed to be picturing? I’m seeing dudes in lab coats and creepy hospital walls.”

You felt the mattress shake next to you as Spencer laughed.

“No, that wasn’t it. I’m going to start now, picture a waterfall. As you walk closer it gets louder, pounding onto the rocks below it and spraying a mist into the air. The droplets of water stick to your face. You can see a rainbow that touches the pool at the base of the waterfall. The plants growing around the pool of water are greener than emeralds, bright and shining in the sun…”

That was the last thing you remembered him saying before succumbing to sleep. You had a very vivid dream while you were sleeping, not uncommon for someone in your field, but it wasn’t one you had had before.

There was a teenage girl walking in front of you down a long hallway. You instantly recognized her as Mia-Rose. She turned around every so often, beckoning you to come closer, but no matter how fast you tried to move your feet it was impossible for you to catch up. The hallway was familiar, you realized it was one in Quantico that you walked down every day to get to the elevator. It took longer than normal to reach the end, and just when you thought you could catch up to Mia-Rose, Hotch stepped out in front of you, holding Spencer with one arm and holding his gun to your best friend’s temple with the other.

“You have to choose, (y/n).”

“Choose what?”

“One of them has to die. Him or her?” he moved his gun to point the barrel at Mia-Rose.

“I don’t understand, why can’t I save them both?”

“One of them has to die.”

It only took you a moment to consider, “me. Shoot me. Let them live.”

“Brave choice,” Hotch’s gun came to point at you and his finger squeezed the trigger.

You woke up.

Soft morning light was coming in through the window and Spencer was already awake, quietly tying his tie while perched on the edge of the bed.

“Morning,” he grinned when he noticed you watching him.

“Morning,” you panted, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“You were dreaming.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Hotch made me choose between him shooting Mia-Rose or shooting you.”

“What did you choose?”

“I made him shoot me instead.”

You expected Spencer to launch into an analysis of your dream and what it meant, but instead he asked another question, changing the subject.

“Can we stop for coffee before we walk the dumpsite?” he pulled a blue cardigan out from his go bag and stuck his arms through the sleeves.

“Sure,” you said, stretching as you stood up. While you got ready, Spencer found the nearest place to get coffee, and you stopped there before continuing on to the bridge where Mia-Rose’s body had been found thirty years ago.

“I’m too used to walking active crime scenes,” you murmured when you pulled over to the empty dumpsite. Normally dumpsites like this were taped off with officers present, as well as some news reporters and civilian gawkers. You were sure that it had looked like that when the crime had first happened, but now it was just a bridge that nobody thought about.

When you stepped out of the SUV you noticed a small memorial for Mia-Rose nailed to a tree, wilted and weathered flowers around it. You stopped for a minute to look at it, then continued through the brush to the overpass.

Mia-Rose had fallen off of the bridge onto the ground beneath, where you were standing now. Her death was originally ruled a suicide, which had slowed the investigation until her parents insisted she wasn’t suicidal and had her autopsied, revealing ligature marks and evidence of assault. Just from reading the file, you knew that her parents were right. She didn’t profile as suicidal, and if she was she could have jumped from further down the bridge into the flowing river to your right, not onto the ground where she likely would have survived.

“Mia-Rose was found right here,” you pointed, “and her belongings…” you turned to your left, Spencer moving from behind you to stand where the girl’s school backpack and shoes had been found, a handful of yards away.

“They were found next to this rock.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” you said, facing him from where you stood, “the ME found traces of motor oil on her skin, so she must have been transported in a car. That means the unsub was driving on this road, stopped here by the bridge, then tossed her over the side. Why not just toss her stuff after her?” After thinking in silence for a minute, you started moving. “Stay where you are,” you instructed Spencer as you climbed the embankment. Once you reached the bridge, you stood on the edge so you could see both locations of dump sites.

“Spence,” you called to him, “how long is the average car?”

“Anywhere between 10 and 18 feet, depending on the size of the vehicle,” he answered quickly. You positioned yourself in line with where Mia-Rose’s body was found, then paced out roughly fifteen feet, landing you almost squarely in line with where Spencer was standing down the hill.

“What are you thinking?”

“This might sound kind of out there, but what if there was a partner?”

Spencer furrowed his eyebrows, trying to figure out how you had gotten there. He climbed up to where you were standing before asking you about it, “what makes you think that?”

“Eyewitness accounts said they saw Mia-Rose in a car with a man the night she went missing, and they were both sitting in the front of the car, but that’s about all anyone can agree on. What if there was a second unsub sitting in the back? If I’m the unsub getting Mia-Rose out of the front, you’re taking her stuff out of the trunk and tossing it over the side,” you acted out.

“Which means my DNA should be on her belongings,” Spencer concluded, finishing your thought, “I’ll call the lab and start getting things processed.”

“Good idea, I’m going to call Garcia and then we can head back to the station,” you said, pulling out your own phone as Spencer took a step away to make his call.

“Crimefighter! What have you’ve got?” Garcia answered her phone quickly.

“Hey Penelope, can you go through the list of Mia-Rose’s family members and get me some updated contact info?”

“Of course! Did you get a lead? I knew you could solve this,” she rambled. You could hear the clicking of her keyboard as she multitasked.

“Not quite, just a better understanding of the situation. I want to start interviewing family members to really nail down victimology and see if they know of anyone who fits my profile. Spencer’s calling the lab to get some evidence re-examined. When they send you results can you run them through CODIS?”

“Absolutely. Anything else?”

“That’s it for now, thanks Garcia.”

“Anytime, my love. I just sent the updated contacts to your tablet. Garcia out!”

Spencer was waiting for you in the SUV, once you finished your call with Garcia you drove back to the station. Detective Reeves assigned an officer to help you call the family members and invite them in for interviews.

“Mrs. Horn, thank you for coming in to talk with us,” you said gently to the elderly woman sitting across from you.

“Anything to help you find my little girl’s killer. Do you really think you can solve it?”

“We’re trying our best. Any information you can give us will make our job easier. Mia-Rose was walking home from school when she went missing, and was later seen getting into a blue car. Is there anyone she would have willingly accepted a ride home from?”

“No, she always walked, rain or shine so she could say hello to the neighbors on her way home. Except for Tuesdays, my brother Dylan would drive her home from band practice on Tuesdays because it was after dark.”

You exchanged a glance with Spencer, silently acknowledging that Mia-Rose was abducted on a Friday.

“Did she have any enemies? Anyone who would want to hurt her, bullies or friends she might have had a falling out with?”

“No, she was sweet to everyone. That’s why it was such a shock to the town when she was killed. There wasn’t a soul who hadn’t been touched by her kindness.” Mrs. Horn spoke so highly of her daughter, further validating your theory.

“Let’s take a break,” you said, noting the way she was tearing up, “excuse us.” You stepped out of the room with Spencer.

“We should talk to Dylan,” he said once you were out of earshot of Mrs. Horn.

“I agree. He was interrogated by police when Mia-Rose first went missing, but I don’t think he’s a suspect. His alibi was rock solid, but he might know something about what happened.”

You had the detective bring in Mrs. Horn’s brother, Dylan Godfrey. While he agreed to an interview, he was much less cooperative than Mrs. Horn.

“I told the police thirty years ago, I had nothing to do with it,” he drawled, “I was at home with my wife, God rest her soul. I didn’t even have my car to kidnap Mia if I wanted to.”

“Where was your car?” Spencer asked quickly.

“My boy had it, out with his friends. He had just gotten his driver’s license. You know how kids are, impossible to control.”

This was the first you were hearing of his son. Nowhere in the records from the original investigation did it say Dylan Godfrey had a son, let alone a son who’s whereabouts were unknown on the night of the crime.

“Mr. Godfrey, let me ask you this. How old was your son the year Mia-Rose was murdered?”

“Eighteen.”

“Do you know where he was that night?”

“Out, like I said. He didn’t come home until after two o’clock in the morning.”

“Do you know where he is now?”

“Last I knew he was working on a farm just out of town, the McGilroy’s place.”

As soon as Spencer had gotten the information out of him, you were firing off texts to Garcia. She sent you the address of the farm, and you called her once you were en route.

“You’re on speaker, Garcia. What have you found about this guy and why didn’t we know about him before?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same question. He wasn’t included in any of the original witness statements. I’ve barely been able to find information about him online. I know he’s still alive because I don’t have a death certificate, but other than that no home address, no phone number, no nothing. Everything I know about him is from his childhood, before Mia-Rose went missing.”

“Something is better than nothing, what did you find?”

“Daniel Godfrey, born in 1965 to Mary and Dylan Godfrey. He was a decent kid from what I can tell. He got good grades in school, even got a scholarship to a college in Chicago but he turned it down at the last minute. I’ll hit you back if I figure out why.”

“Thanks Garcia,” you chirped before she hung up. You pulled up the long dirt drive of the McGilroy’s farm, putting the SUV in park and getting out. Spencer was by your side in an instant, you noticed the way his hand rested on his revolver.

“My goal is to get him in for a voluntary interview. If we can get him talking, we can figure out what happened that night and why his known locations on that night fit our timeline. Best case, we get a confession and the name of his partner, worst case, he had nothing to do with it and we’re back where we started.”

Spencer nodded, so you reached up to knock on the door. After a moment, a blonde woman opened the door.

You flashed your credentials, “hi, I’m SSA (y/l/n) with the FBI, we’re looking for Daniel Godfrey and we were told he might be here.”

“He’s out back in the barn,” she said, pointing down a gravel path.

“Thanks so much,” Spencer said as you stepped off the porch. You reached the barn and pushed open the large door, revealing a man inside. He was carrying a bucket of water that he poured into a trough for a horse before acknowledging you.

“What can I do ya for?”

“Are you Daniel Godfrey?” you asked.

“Depend’s who’s asking,” he chuffed, wiping his hands on his dirty coveralls. You held up your credentials.

“I’m Agent (y/l/n) and this is Doctor Reid. We’re with the FBI investigating the murder of your cousin, Mia-Rose Horn. We were hoping you’d come in to the station so we could get some more information about her.”

“What kinda information? Mia’s been dead a long time now.”

You had to play this carefully, one wrong word and he wouldn’t voluntarily interview with you, “your father told us you were out with friends the night she disappeared. We were hoping you could tell us what town was like that night and if you saw anything unusual.”

“You talked to my father? I can tell ya right now, it was quiet. Just like any other night in this town.”

“Great, that’s exactly the kind of information we’re looking for. Would you be able to come with us to the station so we can get that statement through the official channels? While we’re there I’d like to ask you a few more questions, if that’s ok.”

“Are ya saying I’m being arrested?”

“No, not at all. This is completely voluntary.”

Daniel fell silent, considering your offer. When he finally spoke again it was gruff and hostile, “will my old man still be there?”

You exchanged a glance with Spencer, hoping he had a better read on what answer would be your best choice. Spencer’s tongue flickered over his lips, then he cautioned a response, “he’s there right now, will that be a problem?”

Daniel looked dejected, scuffing his feet in the hay below his boots, “not unless he makes it a problem.”

“We’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. Our car is out front, is there anything you need to do before we go?”

Daniel shook his head and quietly followed you and Spencer back to the SUV. He didn’t say much while you were driving back to the police station, and neither did you. You escorted Daniel inside the station, walking quickly past where his father was sitting, still talking to the officer Reeves had assigned to your case. Dylan stood up when he noticed his son, but Daniel just kept his head down and quickened his pace. You brought him to an interrogation room, a small space with just a table and a couple of chairs.

“You can wait here, we just have to go collect some materials and then we’ll be back, alright?”

“Whatever,” Daniel said, taking the seat closest to the door. You stepped out, shutting the door behind you.

“Did you see the way Dylan reacted when he saw Daniel?” you asked Spencer quietly. He nodded.

“Did you see the way Daniel reacted when he saw Dylan?”

“Do you think it’s relevant to this case? I don’t want to waste time asking about it if it’s just some squabble they had once. Hotch said I could only work this case until we got an active one back at Quantico, and you and I both know serial killers don’t take extended vacations.”

Spencer considered the situation, you could almost see the gears turning in his mind, “it might be a way we can get him comfortable talking to us, irrelevant or not. This is the best lead we have. Just like you said earlier, you have to get him talking.”

You trusted Spencer’s opinion, not just because he was your best friend, but because he had led his fair share of interrogations during his time in the FBI. He was really good at it, his accelerated mind picking up patterns of words and behaviors that you could only be envious of.

“What do you mean ‘I’ have to get him talking? I thought this was a team effort.”

“It is, but you have to lead this interrogation.”

You weren’t surprised at his statement, but you resented the fact that he was right. Your favorite part of your job was the quick thinking, the on-the-fly deductions you had to make in the field that helped you put all of the clues together. You liked helping people and actively putting bad guys away for the greater good of the country you served. You were good at your job, too, having spent so much time developing your skills with arguably some of the best agents in the Bureau. You couldn’t not be good at your job surrounded by minds like the ones at the BAU.

Like everyone though, there were some aspects of your career that you were better at than others. You usually excelled in the takedown and arrests of suspects and left the mind games to your colleagues that were much better equipped to handle them. Sure, you could talk a suspect into putting their weapon down instead of pointing it at you or a victim, but that was a heat of the moment interaction. Cool, collected interrogation rooms just weren’t your strong suit, and nothing during your time at the BAU so far had changed it.

“You really think I can do this?”

“Absolutely. You have the skills, knowledge, and rapport to conduct this interview,” Spencer showed no hesitation in his answer.

“Promise to let me know if I’m going down the wrong rabbit hole?”

Spencer smiled, “of course. Let’s go solve this case.” He handed you a sheet of paper, a form for Daniel to sign with his Miranda rights on it.

Once you were seated across from Daniel, you handed him the paper and read him his rights.

“If you don’t mind me asking, Daniel, what happened between you and your father?”

Daniel’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked back and forth between you and Spencer, “what kind of FBI agents are you?”

“We’re with the Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico, Virginia. We use psychology to solve crimes. I hope my question wasn’t intrusive, Doctor Reid and I both just noticed the way your behavior changed when you saw your father. He’s been helpful in our investigation and I don’t want any family conflicts to interfere if you’re going to help us too.”

“We had a disagreement.”

“Just a disagreement?” you pressed carefully.

“Just a disagreement.”

“Alright,” you said, deciding to leave it at that and move on. He was giving you too much resistance for the direction you had wanted to take the conversation, so you changed the subject. If his disagreement with his father was relevant to the case, you’d have to get that information out of him another way.

You started off by asking about Mia-Rose and gathering any information Daniel had about her. At first he was reluctant, just explaining that they saw each other during family gatherings and when his father would drive them both home from band practice.

“You went to the same high school then, if you were in band together?”

“Uh huh. It’s a small town, everyone goes to the same school.”

“Can you tell us about who Mia-Rose spent time with? Who were her friends?”

“Everyone was her friend. She was the friendliest kid in school.”

“Who were your friends?” Spencer asked, tilting his head. It wasn’t a question you had thought to ask, but as soon as he did you saw where he was going.

“Does it matter?”

“It does to me,” Spencer answered.

“Alec Krause, Markus Sparrow, Nicolas Rush,” Daniel listed.

“Where are they now?” you asked while Spencer pulled out his phone, presumably to text Garcia for a background check, “are you still in contact with them?”

“They all moved out of town for college. Haven’t seen or talked to ‘em since,” Daniel shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“You were supposed to go to college, in Chicago, right?” you prompted. Daniel’s eyes flickered between you and Spencer, probably wondering how much about him you knew.

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you go?”

“Got a job at the farm,” he shrugged.

“Daniel, I’m going to be real with you,” you squared up, “I’ve seen plenty of small towns in this job. I’ve talked to many people from small towns just like this one, and almost all of them in your position would have taken the out. They would have moved to the city as soon as they got the chance, so why didn’t you? Why did you choose to stay in this town?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Daniel was quick to correct you.

“You didn’t?” Now you were on to something.

“The disagreement I had with my father was about me leaving. He wouldn’t let me leave, so he got me the job at the farm.”

“Alright, let’s take a break,” you said, standing up and stepping out of the room. Spencer exchanged a few words with Daniel, then followed you out.

“That was big,” you panted, trying to shake out the jump of adrenaline that you were feeling.

“You’re doing great,” Spencer confirmed.

“When Dylan was talking about his son earlier, during his interview, it seemed like he didn’t have control over Daniel. What was it he said, ‘you know how kids are’? Something must have changed to make Daniel listen to his father telling him to stay, something that changed after Mia-Rose was murdered.”

Right before you were going to go back into the interrogation room, your phone rang. Hotch’s name lit up the screen.

“Hold on, Spence. (y/l/n),” you answered, praying that Hotch wasn’t going to tell you to abandon the case and get back to Quantico right when you were making strides.

“I’m just checking in to see how things are going.”

“We’re talking to a person of interest right now, it’s just very slow going. We think he had been working with a partner when the murder took place, but he’s not giving up names,” you explained, “please don’t tell me we have a case that we have to come back for, we just got a break that might open this case up for us.”

Hotch chuckled on the other end of the line, “no, we don’t have a case. Garcia told me you had a lead and I was curious.”

“Honestly, I don’t know how you were a prosecutor before joining the BAU. This is exhausting, and every time I say something I feel like he’s going to invoke.”

“You’re doing fine,” Spencer whispered reassuringly.

“Spencer says I’m doing fine,” you relayed to Hotch.

“I’m sure you are. Sometimes unsubs like this take time to crack,” he reminded you.

“It’s already been thirty years, I’d like to close it now,” you decided, squaring your shoulders. “I’m going to go back in there and wrap this up. I’ll call you back when we’re done.” You hung up with Hotch, then turned to Spencer. “Let’s do this.”

Daniel seemed to tense up when you walked back in, sitting down across the table from him once again.

“Thanks for being patient, Daniel. I’d like to know why your father wouldn’t let you leave town. From what he told us, he gave you a lot of freedom in high school. What happened?”

“We had a disagreement, like I said.”

“Right, we’ve covered that. It must have been hard going from being able to do whatever you wanted to working a farm job under your father’s thumb. I was hoping you could tell us exactly what kind of disagreement. Was it because Mia-Rose was murdered?” Daniel nodded, “ok, that’s a start. Was there a specific reason beyond Mia-Rose’s murder?”

Your tactic was deliberate, validating his feelings before pressing harder in hopes that he would give something up.

“He didn’t want me getting into more trouble.”

“More trouble? As in, you got into trouble here first?”

“Correct.”

“We don’t have any police records for you, Mr. Godfrey. Usually that’s the kind of ‘trouble’ that stops kids from going to college,” Spencer chimed in.

“The police don’t know I was there.”

“Where?” Your question was burning hot, and you watched Daniel squirm as he realized he had dug himself into a hole.

“I was in the car.”

“Which car?” you hoped he meant the car you thought he did, but you needed a true confession.

“My father’s car…” you chose not to say anything and instead let him sit in uncomfortable silence, “the night Mia was killed.”

“With her? Was Mia in the car with you?”

“Yes, she was.”

You had to maintain your composure, even though your insides were doing cartwheels out of excitement. This was exactly the kind of lead you were looking for, you couldn’t blow it now.

“Your father said you were out with friends, were any of the people you mentioned earlier with you? Alec, Markus, and Nicholas?”

“No, it wasn’t with them.”

“Who else was in the car then, Daniel? It wasn’t just you and Mia-Rose.”

“I don’t remember,” he started backpedaling, a clear sign that you were closing in.

“We’re going to step out and give you some time to think about it, see if you can try to remember,” Spencer interrupted before you could say anything, nodding towards the door when you made eye contact with him. You followed him out, turning to him abruptly once the door was shut behind you.

“I was getting somewhere with him.” You were fired up, to say the least. Now that you were in the comfortable privacy of Spencer’s company, you could let your emotions come forward.

“I know, I know,” Spencer smirked, “Garcia got a hit with Daniel’s friends, we should call and see what she has so we have more leverage when we go back in there.”

You took a deep breath, pulling out your phone and calling Garcia.

“Boy Wonder got my text!” she answered after the first ring.

“What did you find, Garcia? We’re really making strides here and anything you’ve got could really close this for us.”

“I ran the names of Daniel’s friends, like you asked. Almost all of them checked out, normal guys with normal lives.”

“Almost all of them?” you caught the specificity of her words.

“Right. One of them, Markus, he checks out too… but his brother, oh my his brother has done some stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?” Spencer asked, brows furrowed in thought.

“Kyle Sparrow. When he was 11 he attempted to rob a bank, and not just as a joke. When he was 14 he was suspended from school after locking students in storage closets. He’s been in and out of jail his whole adult life. He got out a year ago and hasn’t been back since.”

“That fits our profile. How old was he when Mia-Rose was killed?” Spencer followed up.

“That’s where things get weird, I was hoping you guys would have a good explanation because this really doesn’t make sense.”

“Garcia,” you called, refocusing her.

“Right. Kyle Sparrow was 10 years old when Mia-Rose was murdered.”

“What?” you whipped around to look at Spencer incredulously, hoping he would have some kind of information about child serial killers that would clarify the situation. Instead, he just frowned and shook his head. You had to decide if it was worth bringing up to Daniel and risk wasting precious time. You considered for a moment, then spoke. “Send us his address, we’re going to ask Daniel about him. If he seems like a viable lead then we’ll head out there. Thanks Garcia.”

“Done and done. You’ve got this, crimefighters!”

“Are you ready to go back in there?” Spencer asked when you reached for the interrogation room door handle.

“Do I have a choice? This case just took a turn that I wasn’t expecting.”

“It’s been four hours and thirty six minutes. We can take another minute to get coffee if you need a longer break,” he suggested.

“I’m too close to cracking this. I can feel it,” you confessed. Spencer nodded, acknowledging that your gut feelings were usually right. You opened the door, sitting back down across from Daniel. Spencer stood in the corner behind you, hands in his pockets.

“Did you remember who was in the car with you the night Mia-Rose was murdered?” Daniel shook his head. “Ok, that’s fine. I have some names that we’ve collected as people of interest for this case. I’m going to read them off and you tell me if one sounds familiar, ok?” Daniel nodded, so you opened your file and pulled out a blank piece of paper, holding it so Daniel couldn’t see the lack of information on your side.

“Emily Prentiss.”

He shook his head.

“Derek Morgan.”

Again, nothing.

“Penelope Garcia.”

Your list was intentional, listing people you were certain Daniel wouldn’t know so you could get a baseline for his behavior. It paid off when you listed the next name, “Kyle Sparrow.”

You could practically see Daniel tense up. Though he shook his head, his leg started bouncing nervously and his eyes were flickering frantically around the room, looking anywhere but at you and Spencer.

“Daniel,” you started, keeping your voice low, “remember when I told you Doctor Reid and I use psychology and behavior to solve crimes? You may not have noticed it, but your behavior shifted when you heard Kyle’s name. You know something about him, don’t you? Was he in the car with you that night?”

Daniel finally looked up at you, eyes watering, “I’m not a criminal.”

“I didn’t say you were. Was Kyle in the car with you the night Mia-Rose was murdered?”

“He was just a kid, my best friend’s little brother. We were out in my dad’s car, I had just gotten my license so I skipped class and took Markus and Alec for a spin around town. When I dropped them off back home Kyle said he was lookin’ to go across town to the library so I offered him a ride. I even made him sit in the back because he was still just a small kid. Then we saw Mia walking home. It always took her longer because she stopped to say hi to everyone she passed. Kyle suggested we offer her a ride too, so I did.

“It all happened so fast, first she was getting into the car and then Kyle had a knife at her throat. He told me he’d kill her if I didn’t do what he wanted. He made me drive out of town to the woods and watch as he tied her up and did horrible, horrible things to her. I didn’t even know a kid was capable of doing those things. When he was done with her he made me help put her back in the car and drive to the bridge. She wasn’t dead when he made me push her over the edge, that’s why I didn’t throw her in the river. I thought she’d survive it without Kyle knowing because he was too busy getting rid of her stuff in the trunk. He still made me drop him off at the library after, even though it was closed on account of it being real late at night, and swear that I’d never tell anyone what we did or he’d kill me too.”

“How did your father find out?” you asked.

“He found blood in the car the next morning. I told him it was from Markus, that he had gotten scratched up while we were messing around in the afternoon. He made me clean it out with bleach, told me I’d have to learn responsibility if I wanted to move out. When my auntie called him later and told him about Mia being missing, he connected the dots. He told me he didn’t want to know what I had been doing the night before, but if I tried to move away it would make me a suspect. He got me the job at the farm and I’ve been there ever since.”

“Thank you for your honesty, Daniel. We’ll tell the court how cooperative you’ve been, they might ease your sentence because of it.”

“The court? What?” Pure fear crossed Daniel’s face. It didn’t sit right with you that he had to be arrested, knowing he had been coerced into helping murder his cousin, but he had still committed a felony. You had to let the court decide his fate.

“Daniel Godfrey, you’re under arrest for accessory to the murder of Mia-Rose Horn,” Spencer moved behind Daniel, taking his hands to cuff them. As soon as he was done Daniel was passed off to an officer and you and Spencer took off, SUV keys in hand.

You sped towards the home address Garcia had sent you for Kyle Sparrow, wishing the rest of the team was there so you could split up in case he was at work. This part of your job was where you felt the most comfortable, the tactical side of an arrest that was more physical than the mind games you had just played in the interrogation room. It was just starting to rain, a light drizzle that darkened the skies as you drove to what you hoped was your final location for this case.

“Is there Kevlar in the back?” you asked, realizing you hadn’t gotten vests from the police station before you had left. Spencer turned around in his seat, checking around the vehicle.

“Nope.”

“Great,” you sighed, “let’s try not to get shot at then, alright?”

“Sounds good to me,” Spencer agreed.

You pulled up to Kyle’s house, which was more of a rundown shack on the outskirts of town. You drew your weapon as soon as your boots were on the ground, approaching the door cautiously.

“Where’s Morgan when you need him,” you mumbled, hoping you wouldn’t have to kick the door down, “Kyle Sparrow, FBI,” you announced, knocking on the door. A gunshot flew through the window next to you, shattering the glass. That was all the invitation you needed to bust open the door, but Kyle wasn’t in the room inside. You moved quickly through the maze of rooms, taking one side while Spencer took the other.

“Clear,” you called every time you ensured a room was empty. You heard Spencer clear a couple of spaces, then fall silent. You worked your way to the kitchen, finding him in a standoff with Kyle.

“I’m not going to jail again. You can’t make me,” Kyle seemed unreasonably calm, grinning slightly to himself while he pointed a pistol at Spencer.

“You’re wanted for the murder of Mia-Rose, Kyle. There’s no way to get out of this one,” you had to keep things simple for him and talk him down as quickly as possible before he shot at you again, “let’s just talk about it.”

“I don’t want to talk about it. I’m not going to jail for a person I killed thirty years ago.”

“There’s no other option. We know it was you, this ends here.”

“If I have to go back, it has to be for something better. You’re right, this ends here, but not because I killed Mia-Rose Horn.”

“How does it end, Kyle?” Spencer asked. You noticed the glint in Kyle’s eye, giving you a split second to push Spencer out of the way and get hit with a searing pain in your side. You heard Spencer’s revolver fire as you hit the floor.

“Get him first,” you grunted, putting a hand on your side to try to stem the bleeding. Spencer crouched next to you, worried eyes looking you over before he pulled your handcuffs out of your pocket. Your ears were ringing, but you could just make out the sounds of Spencer talking before you blacked out.

You woke up in the hospital, an all too familiar experience. Spencer was beside you, nose in a book. You weren’t sure how much he was paying attention to it though, considering the way his brows were furrowed and his fingers were tapping against the cover. He was lost in thought somewhere, you just didn’t know where.

“Spence,” you managed to croak through your dry throat. His eyes shot up from the page, lips turning up in a small smile when his gaze met yours.

“Hi,” he practically whispered.

“Is Kyle dead?”

Spencer hesitated, no doubt weighing the value of telling you the outcome now or waiting until you were better rested. He chose the former, shaking his head.

“I did what you would have done and shot him in the hip. He’s not dead, and once he’s healed he’ll go to trial. You did it, (y/n). You solved the case.”

“We solved the case. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“You also wouldn’t have gotten shot.”

“So?” you shrugged, “I lived. Where’s Garcia? Usually she’s the first one at the hospital.”

Spencer’s smile returned, “she wanted to but a case came in right right after you went into surgery. She sends her love and said she’d make up for not being here when we get back to Quantico.”

“A case? We should get back to help,” though you were exhausted, you brain immediately went into profiling mode.

“No, you’re going to stay here and rest. You should be staying for longer than you’re going to, but I was able to convince your doctor that I was more than capable of making sure you got home safely.”

“I didn’t realize you were a rule-breaker,” you teased, feeling your eyelids droop.

“I’m not, I just thought you would want to go home as soon as possible. You’re not the kind of person who likes being away from their family, and we’ve already been gone three days. Staying here doing nothing, although it would be good for you, would just torment you more.”

“Thanks, Spence,” you murmured, falling back to sleep. You dozed on and off for the better part of the day, Spencer staying by your side the whole time. Towards the end of the afternoon, you woke up to his seat vacant. The immediate panic you felt was squashed by calculated thoughts, he’s probably getting food or in the bathroom. You fought to stay awake while you waited for him to come back. He surprised you by returning with someone behind him.

“Mrs. Horn wanted to talk to you, if you’re feeling up for it,” he said, resuming his position in the chair next to you. You nodded, watching the older woman enter the room from where she had been standing in the doorway.

“I wanted to thank you for finding my daughter’s killer, even though it put you in the line of danger.”

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat,” you reassured her, sitting up a little against your pillows.

“I wish her father could have been here to see it solved. He always told me not to lose faith, that a blessing would come our way. You were our blessing,” she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

“I was just doing my job, I’m sorry it took so long for someone to figure this out.”

Mrs. Horn tutted, telling you she was just glad that her daughter could rest in peace now. Before she left, she made sure to tell you that if you were ever in Illinois you and Spencer were welcome to come over for dinner, and that she hoped you got better quickly so you could go help other victims.

Once she was gone, your doctor came in to follow up with you. You had been shot in the side, the bullet passing through and exiting out of your back without hitting any major organs. Spencer did most of the talking for you, asking questions you couldn’t make sense of and checking over your chart for what was probably the hundredth time that day.

“You seem to be healing well and have a… knowledgable… support system, so I’m going to clear you for discharge. If anything changes you’ll need to go into the nearest hospital, ok?”

“Yes ma’am,” you answered. A nurse came in later with your discharge papers, which you signed before Spencer helped you in a wheelchair and out to where the SUV was parked.

“Are you sure you want to drive in this rain? I can-“ you winced in pain, hand flying to your side, “I can do it if you don’t feel comfortable.” Spencer stifled a laugh, reaching his hands out to give you something to brace yourself against as you moved from the wheelchair the SUV.

“I don’t mind driving,” he said simply.

“Yes you do,” you quipped quickly, exhaling as you settled into the passenger seat.

“Ok, yes. Under normal circumstances, I do mind driving, but I think I can make an exception when my favorite driver has been shot.”

“Don’t let Morgan hear you say that,” you smirked, still struggling to breathe in a way that would make your side hurt less.

“Are you warm enough?” Spencer fiddled with the heating knobs once he was settled behind the wheel. You nodded, but the shiver that ran down your body betrayed you.

“You’re the one driving. I want you to be comfortable,” you mumbled.

“You’re the one who just got shot. Here,” he reached behind him into the back where both of your go bags were stored. He unzipped his own and pulled out a cardigan, then leaned over the console to drape it across you. “The wool will help you retain heat.”

“Thanks,” you sighed, relishing in the comfort of his gesture.

“You didn’t have to take that bullet for me.”

“I did. I pulled you into this mess, I wasn’t going to let you get hurt because of it.”

“Hotch sent me with you so that you wouldn’t get yourself hurt,” he rebutted.

You brushed him off, “I’ve been shot before, I’m going to be fine.”

“I’ve also been shot before, you didn’t have to push me out of the way.”

You were quick to counter, “you didn’t have to push Blake out of the way either.”

It was an unnecessary squabble, a fact you both caught onto quickly once you realized the direction the conversation was going. Instead, Spencer changed the subject to explain the history of the small towns you were passing through on your way to the interstate.

Miraculously, once the car was comfortably cruising on the highway, Spencer fell silent. You suspected it had to do with his intense concentration on driving in the elements as the rain got harder, though he also could have been giving you the space to sleep if you needed to.

It wasn’t until you were over an hour into your journey that he spoke again, after a quick glance at you revealed fresh tear tracks down your cheeks under the passing street lights.

“(Y/n), are you crying?” His question was so soft you almost missed it, “is it the pain? You’re not due to take your meds for another three hours but I know you have ibuprofen in your bag that would be ok to take now. I can pull over-“ his hand was about to move back to the steering wheel from where it had come to rest on the console, but you reached out to grab it instead.

You and Spencer didn’t really ‘do’ physical contact. You both had reasons not to, instead finding comfort just in proximity. As long as he was around, you were happy. This time, though, it was different. Maybe it was because you were touch starved, or because you had just been poked and prodded at all angles while in the hospital. Whatever the reason, the light grip you had on Spencer’s hand to stop him from pulling over was enough to make you feel the tiniest bit better. He was there with you, he was real.

“It’s not the pain,” you managed to hold your composure, knowing that letting any kind of sob escape the confines of your soul would only physically hurt you more.

“Are you tired? I drank enough coffee to get us home by morning but if you really need to sleep we can find a hotel somewhere. There are three off the next exit.”

“Spencer,” you ran your thumb over the prominent vein in his hand, “it isn’t something you can fix.”

“What do you mean?” He was puzzled, and by the way his hands were twitching you could tell he was deciding whether or not to stop the car anyways.

“There are hundreds of thousands of cold cases. Hundreds of thousands of families that don’t have closure. Hundreds of thousands of victims that haven’t gotten justice.”

“There’s one less because of you. You made a difference to Mia-Rose’s family, you got her the justice she deserves.”

“She deserved justice thirty years ago. I feel like the system failed her, the very system I work for. She was just a kid, and the answer was right there the whole time. Why did I have to be the one to figure it out, thirty years too late?”

Spencer’s response was soft and gentle, “because you’re exceptional, (y/n).”

“I didn’t have to be exceptional to solve this case, though. That’s what I’ve learned from all of the cold case documentaries I’ve watched. The ones that get solved are because someone knew what happened and didn’t come forward about it until years later. There was a psychopathic kid on the streets for thirty years because the police didn’t think to talk to Daniel Godfrey.”

“We can’t change what happened in the past, but we can make a difference in our futures.”

“I’m just so tired, Spence. I chose this job, I love this job, but it’s exhausting.”

“Then rest, (y/n). It’s ok if the only person you save some days is yourself.”

He was right, of course. You wanted to keep saving others, but you couldn’t do that if you didn't make time to save yourself too. You finally closed your eyes and pulled his cardigan up to your chin. Though you were still conscious, limiting your sensory input helped calm you down enough that you found yourself flitting in and out of dissociation. Even when Spencer’s hand gently moved out from under yours to answer his phone, you kept your eyes closed.

“Hey JJ,” his voice was quiet, barely audible over the rain pounding against the windshield, “they’re doing ok.” He paused while he listened to JJ’s response. “No, they keep reminding me that it’s not the first time they’ve been shot. I’m worried about them though.” He trailed off.

“They’ve been shouldering this burden of over 185,000 cold cases since we started working on this one, and now that it’s solved they’re finally feeling the weight of it. I don’t want them to drive themselves crazy trying to solve all of them on their own. We deal with enough active cases as it is.”

Though you were barely in a state of mind to process his words, he had hit the nail right on the head.

“How is the case you’re working on?” You presumed JJ was filling him in on what they knew, “have Garcia look into large purchases of triacetone triperoxide… Call me if anything changes. We should be back by morning.”

“Yes,” his change in tone indicated that JJ had asked him a question, “that would be great, JJ. Thank you so much.”

He must have hung up with JJ because his hand found yours again, fingers just barely touching. It was a simple action, loaded with a lot of meaning. Spencer was your best friend, and would always be your best friend. Bullets, cold cases, marriages, there was nothing that could break the bond you had with him.

You didn’t understand why people called their significant others their “better half”. It insinuated that you weren’t a whole person to begin with, a fractured existence that only found completion by the means of someone else. The idea that your life couldn’t be fulfilling until someone else made it whole was a concept that was set up for failure and self-loathing.

Instead, you believed that you were a whole person who could live a fulfilling life without the necessity of another. Instead, you surrounded yourself with people who lifted you up and helped you achieve your goals without being the direct cause of your success. Instead, you followed your dreams and somehow found Spencer Reid along the way.

Spencer was your best friend, your confidant, the one person who you knew you couldn’t live without, but he was not your other half. He was his own whole person, a mirror image of your own being. You found solace in his companionship, safety in the complexities of his brain. When the stress of your job got to be too much, you could reliably turn to each other and exist in the little slice of the world you called yours for a moment.

No, he was not your other half. He wasn’t even yours, for that matter, but he was there. He was there in a capacity that nobody else could achieve.

This is part of my GALAXY universe! If you liked this relationship, check out the MASTERLIST for more content!

Galaxy Taglist: @kermitsaysgayrights @niallthedancingharry @shadyladyperfection @thatsonezesty13 @lexshead @ceeellewrites @howdycharlie @girlycakepops @fantastic-fans @canimarrypizzaornah @daisyflower138 @dyingrexx @taylormobley @bazzleslynn @tj-drinks-tea @willa-wonky @eddiesbifocals @tee-mbrown @reniescarlett @bone-hurty-bitch @messyacademia

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #platonic imagine #platonic soulmates

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heauxplesslydevoted · 3 years

Text

Then & Now (Ethan x MC)

Summary: A particularly difficult case forces Ethan to confront a blast from his past

A/N: This popped into my head and I had too much fun writing it. I will loosely incorporate some of the themes from book 3 and make them better, but this is mostly an AU.

A/N 2: Yes I’m writing another multipart fic while actively ignoring my others. The muses spoke and I had no choice in the matter. Enjoy!

~v~

“Would you like some more coffee, Dr. Ramsey?”

Whatever line he was reading in his textbook blurs as does his vision. Ethan looks up at the face of the newest member of the team, a young resident, Isabelle. He takes the cup, not missing the way her eyes light up as he does so. What is it with residents and their incessant need to kiss-ass and be people pleasers?

“Thank you, Dr. Proctor.”

“Of course! I figured we’d need all the caffeine we could get our hands on with this case.”

Ethan doesn’t respond with words, only offering the young woman a hum in acknowledgement. Instead his eyes land on his coworker, Harper Emery. “Harper, has your team been able to come up with anything new?”

“Nothing,” Harper replies with a resigned sigh.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“I’ve run as many tests, MRIs and CT scans as I could, and none of them came back with anything conclusive. We’re officially back to square one.”

Ethan hasn’t been this stumped in years. A week ago, a patient came to Edenbrook after waking up without being able to feel anything from the waist down. A young, relatively healthy 25 year old with no extraordinary medical history, no recent reports of any TBI, nothing. He assumed with Harper–one of the nation’s greatest neurosurgeons–on the case, that this would be a simple fix.

As painful as it is to admit, he’s wrong.

They’ve gotten nowhere with the case, they’ve made no progress, and to make matters worse, he has Leland Bloom and the board breathing down his neck because it’s been years since the team has spent more than a week on a case, so a week with no news reflects poorly on them—on him, as the team’s leader specifically.

The last member of the team, Tobias, clears his throat. “Did he ever mention getting into a fight? Maybe he took a hit to the head, and just doesn’t want to admit it?”

“Maybe, but like I said, none of the CT scans or MRIs showed me anything out of the norm,” Harper says. “I can always ask him again.”

“That’d be ideal–”

Ethan’s sentence is cut off as the door to their office is thrown open, and in walks Leland. “Hello, team!”

The most senior members of the team stay silent, but Isabelle gives a slight wave. “Hello, Mr. Bloom.”

“Dr. Proctor,” Leland greets in turn. “Nice to know at least one of you has manners.”

Ethan checks the time on his watch. “What are you doing here, Bloom?”

“Last time I checked, I owned this entire building and I didn’t need to ask your permission to be here.”

“We’re nearing midnight,” Ethan adds. “What are you still doing here, and not at home? I’m sure Mrs. Bloom would enjoy seeing you.”

Leland ignores the mention of his wife Caroline, pretending like she wasn’t mentioned at all. “I just stopped by your patient’s room to see how he was doing. And then I decided to drop by to check in with you guys. Are there any updates on the Miller case?”

“I’m not discussing patient information with you,” Ethan says.

“Well, I am your boss.”

“And until you go to medical school, graduate, become a doctor at this hospital, and join in on this case, I don’t have to tell you anything. You may own this hospital, but I do not have to discuss my patients with you.”

“Okay, so you guys have no new information,” Leland concludes.

Ethan pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance, this conversation giving him a headache even though it just started. “We were actually in the middle of a brainstorming session before we were interrupted, so if we could have some privacy again, that would be much appreciated.”

Ethan’s tone causes Leland to drop the veneer of kindness, the smile dropping from his face only for a second before he catches it. He looks away and sniffs haughtily. “Fine. I’ll check in with the patient tomorrow for a status update, since it’s clear I won’t be getting it from my employees. Thankfully, his father and I go way back.”

“I can’t stop the patient from divulging his own information.”

Leland glances around the room one more time, his gaze lingering on Ethan a bit longer than it does on the other occupants. “Goodnight, doctors.”

Once Leland leaves, Harper turns towards Ethan. “You act like it would literally kill you to be nice to him.”

“Be nice for what? Bloom thinks we owe him undying loyalty and infinite ass kissing because he bought the hospital. He’s pulled a lot of nonsense since moving into this position, but he’s not worth breaking any laws over. My patients deserve their privacy.”

“And I agree, but the extra hostility isn’t needed. The last thing we need is World War 3 with you and Bloom tearing down the hospital. Just be nice.”

“Okay, are we getting back to work or calling it a night?”

The rest of the team glances around each other. Pulling an all-nighter with Ethan while he’s in a foul mood sounds like a nightmare.

“We’re calling it a night.”

~v~

Ethan ends up falling asleep in the office, finally dozing off around 5 o'clock in the morning, surrounded by a mountain of books and the harsh light of his computer screen. The sleep is short lived though as the sound of his pager wakes him up.

He jumps up with a start, and checks the time on his watch before checking his pager. He only managed to get two hours of sleep, but he can’t dwell on that. The page is a 911 alert to his patient’s room.

“Shit!”

He takes off to the 4th floor where his patient is housed, thankful that the early morning hour means the hospital is not yet flooded with people.

Isabelle, Harper, and a nurse are already in the room when Ethan finally makes it. “What’s going on?”

“He had a seizure,” Harper explains.

“How long did it last?”

“Around 50 seconds. We administered lorazepam into his IV.”

“Could this be a new symptom?” Valencia asks. “Or something else entirely?”

Harper shrugs. “I don’t know, but I’m going to take him down to radiology for another CT scan. Hopefully this next one can actually yield some results.”

Ethan nods. “That sounds like a plan. In the meantime, Dr. Proctor, add seizures onto the list of symptoms to broaden our search criteria. Maybe that’ll help.”

“Gotcha.”

“We’ll reconvene when Tobias comes in and once we get the new CT scans back.”

There’s a knock at the door and Ethan bristles when Leland’s loud voice calls out to him. “Dr. Ramsey, can I speak to you out in the hallway?”

“With all due respect, I’d rather not.”

“It wasn’t a request, doctor. Hallway, now.”

Ethan shoots Harper a look, and she gives him a quick sympathy smile before he and Leland step out into the hallway.

They move a few feet away from the patient’s door, out of earshot before Leland lays into Ethan. “How in the hell is the patient actually managing to get worse under your care?”

The question actually takes Ethan aback. “You can’t possibly be saying his condition is my fault?”

“I’m saying he’s been here for a week now, and he’s no better off than where he was. You don’t have any information to give him or his family. Do you know how many phone calls my assistant has had to field because they want to get him transferred to a different facility?”

“We are giving him the best care possible, Leland. Just because you and his father belong to the same country club or whatever, does not mean there’ll be some instant diagnosis or treatment that he can buy...or steal. We need to do our due diligence.”

Leland is smart enough to know when a dig is being lobbed in his direction. His eyes narrow. “What are you trying to say, Ethan?”

“Exactly what I just did. Besides, why do you have such a vested interest in my team and what we do? I’m sure you have other businesses and people to micromanage these days.”

“You guys don’t make me any money yet remain my biggest cost. The least you can do is be efficient and answer my questions when I ask.”

“And like I told you last night, I know you own this place. You never let me forget it. But you buying this hospital does not mean I am here at your beck and call, now does it mean I have to be governed under anything that isn’t set forth by the American Medical Association. Now, me team is the best this hospital and this city have to offer, so back up and let us do our jobs.”

“You guys are the best?” Leland chuckles humorlessly. “Act like it. Or I’ll find someone else who can.”

The threat causes Ethan to pause. “What does that mean?”

“You heard me loud and clear, Dr. Ramsey. Loud and clear.”

~v~

“You idiot! Why on earth would you get into a fight with Bloom in the middle of a hallway?”

Ethan doesn’t try to school his bored expression as Tobias paces the entire length of the office, huffing and puffing as he does so.

“I didn’t get into a fight with him,” Ethan amends. “It was an exchange of words.”

“A loud exchange of words,” Harper adds. “In front of our patient’s room, might I add.”

“I had plans for this day to be productive, but the minute that man opens his mouth, I just–”

“We get it, you don’t like him,” Tobias interjects.

“Disliking Leland is an understatement.”

Isabelle stays silent, unable to find a good place to cut in, despite having questions. Ethan’s dislike of Leland Bloom is the hospital’s worst kept secret, but the contention has always been passive aggressive at best. And as a second year resident, she doesn’t have any background knowledge on why the relationship is the way that it is.

“I don’t like him either, but you don’t see me needling him in front of the nurse’s station!”

“Sure Leland is...obnoxious at times, but I don’t understand any of it,” Isabelle says, finally speaking up. Ethan looks at her as if he’s just now remembering that she’s been in the room the entire time. “What happened that caused this much animosity?”

Leland’s kidney disease wasn’t a major secret. Most medical personnel that worked at Edenbrook and the larger Boston area remember the huge media blitz, and all of the pomp and circumstance surrounding his hospitalization early last year. And the official story is Leland got a kidney from a family member who wished to keep their identity a secret from the public, and everyone ate it up.

Only a handful of people know the truth. That a few well placed phone calls and dollars exchanged got Leland to the top of the donor list within a day, stealing a second chance from the true person at the top of the list: a 14 year old girl.

“So long as there is breath in my body, Leland Bloom and his ilk will never get an ounce of respect from me, and I’ll just leave it at that,” Ethan says cooly. “And that’s all you need to know, Dr. Proctor.”

“Okay.”

“I’m just saying man, Bloom is petty,” Tobias adds. “Men like him, who think the rest of us should bow at their feet, don’t take kindly to getting told off, especially in public. Underneath the billions is a tiny ass, fragile ego. Can you just keep a low profile and be quiet for the next day or two, so Bloom doesn’t dismantle this team?”

“I’ll be as cordial as Bloom is,” is what Ethan settles upon. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

The only thing that can rival Ethan’s intelligence is his stubbornness. Tobias knows it’s the best he’s going to get out of Ethan, so he relents. “Okay.”

“Good. Now can we get back to work and stop talking about Bloom?”

His team nods and Ethan sighs in relief.. They still have a chance to turn things around and actually have a good day.

They fall into a productive routine, tossing around different theories, sharing research and narrowing down ideas. Too bad that only lasts for about half an hour before there’s a knock at the office door. A few seconds later, Naveen pokes his head in.

Ethan smiles because part of him was expecting Leland to show up again. “Naveen, this is a nice surprise! Don’t tell me you’re ready to get back in the saddle.”

Naveen laughs good-naturedly at his mentee. “Not quite.”

“Well what brings you down here?”

“I wanted to talk to you for a second, Ethan,” Naveen says.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes. It’s not about me, it’s work related. Team related news, that I wanted to tell you personally,” Naveen explains, fully entering the office. “Is there any way I could steal you for a few minutes?”

“If it involves the team, I think we can have the conversation here. Is this about my...spirited discussion with Leland?”

“No, it’s about the case you’re working on.”

“Now I know we don’t usually work on cases for this long, and we’re working on it.”

“I know. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Leland has some concerns about how long it’s taking you guys to treat this patient, and he told me that he wants to outsource some extra help to speed things along.”

“No thank you.”

“He’s already made phone calls. I’m just here to give you a heads up about who he picked.”

“A heads up?” Ethan scoffs and rolls his eyes. Who on earth could Leland think of reaching out to that Ethan would need a warning about? “Who is he asking for? Mendoza from MK? Catherine Morgan from Stanford? The Boogeyman?”

“I don’t think I’ve reached Boogeyman levels of infamy. Well, at least not yet.”

The voice makes the hair on the back of Ethan’s neck stand up. It’s a voice he hasn’t heard in close to three years, one that he thought he’d never hear again.

His eyes snap up, locking with the large brown ones staring back at him, and all of the breath leaves his lungs at once. The last time he looked into these eyes, they weren’t full of humor like they are now, but pure fire. His chest constricts, inhaling suddenly the most difficult task in the world.

The entire room goes silent, everyone watching as Ethan and the woman stay locked in their staring contest. Isabelle’s eyes dart back and forth, hoping someone can clue her into what’s going on, but Naveen, Harper and Tobias offer zero assistance.

Isabelle takes the quiet time to appraise the stranger. She’s petite, almost a foot shorter than Ethan even with her sky high Jimmy Choos on. The second thing that catches her attention is the mess of dark curly hair spilling over her shoulders, and the amused smirk on her face, like a cat that got the canary.

The woman breaks eye contact with Ethan to look past his shoulder. “Harper, Tobias, hello. Long time no see.”

When he regains the ability to speak, Ethan grits out, “Naomi, what on earth are you doing here?”

“I got an interesting call from Leland Bloom this morning, saying that the diagnostics team was in dire need of some assistance on a particularly difficult case. Within the hour, his private helicopter was picking me up.”

Ethan takes a sterling’s breath and silently counts to 3 before talking again. “I’m not working with you.”

“You don’t have a choice. Not unless you quit.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Naomi rolls her eyes. “Drama was never a good look on you, darling, I was always better suited for it.” She turns her attention to the young resident gawking at her, turning on her megawatt smile. “You’re new. I don’t know you.”

“Um, n-no you don't. I’m Dr. Isabelle Proctor.”

“Isabelle,” Naomi repeats slowly, letting it roll off of her tongue. “What a pretty name.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m Dr. Naomi Ramsey.”

The last name catches her attention. Her eyes flicker over to Ethan’s face, catching the way his jaw ticks as female Dr. Ramsey talks.

“I can see the wheels turning in your head as I talk, so I’ll clear things up for you right quick,” Naomi continues. “No, the last name thing isn’t a coincidence. I’m Ethan’s ex-wife." She sticks out a hand for Isabelle to shake. "Nice to meet you.”

~v~

Tags: @openheartfanfics @mvalentine @choicesaddict5 @professorkingslay @maurine07 @aka-calliope @bluebellot @whimsicallywayward15 @blossomanarchy @takemyopenheart @jamespotterthefirst @fanmantrashcan @whatchique @ao719 @x-kyne-x @paulfwesley @the-pale-goddess @writinghereandthere @ramseyandrys @perriewinklenerdie @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @hatescapsicum @lapisreviewsstuff @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramseyx @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @my-heart-beats-for-ya @adrian-motherfucking-raines @riverrune @edith-eggs1 @cecilecontrera @thatysn @bellcat2010 @blainehellyes @junehiratas @choices-love-affair @openheart12 @desmaranj @nazario-sayeed @aestheticartsx @ruinedbypixels @nooruleman @rookie-ramsey @uneravine @choicest

#playchoices #choices: stories you play #open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc

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unchartedcloud · 3 years

Note

Okay, first off, I am a huge fan. I have absolutely fallen in love with your writing and have read legitimately all of it. I’m not the most interactive fan, but I’m branching out here because, again, I cannot get enough of your work. The serotonin levels I get make my brain go brrrrr.

That said, idk if you guys like to get suggestions/ideas for new chapters, but I have one idea that I would kill to read in your style bc I think you guys write possibly the best domestic Clexa I’ve seen, and I think this would be absolutely mint.

For the modern Clexa AU, a chapter where Lexa isn’t feeling well and Clarke takes care of her while Lexa stresses bc she’s not used to being cared for. You guys seem to have alluded to the fact that she had a rough childhood already, so I think maybe her feeling awful because of her period would be interesting. Maybe she’s extra tense about it bc she was always chided for showing weakness like that? Idk, I’m spitballing. If it’s before the break up, maybe have it so Clarke comes for one of their normal flings and then, when she realizes Lexa is struggling, instead spends the night taking care of her. A little sign that their rules are starting to break about keeping it casual. If it’s after, maybe she notices Lexa struggling in a meeting and Clarke is the only person able to convince Lexa to leave work and take care of herself. In my head I see them arguing over it and Lexa only caving when Clarke calls her “baby” or something similar (maybe for the first time).

I’m sorry for the rant lmao, I’m just obsessed with yalls work and need more vulnerable/flustered Lexa fluff.

Thank you for taking the time out of your day to read this, and to write what you do. You genuinely have fans and I hope this doesn’t make you feel like you have to rush.

When I tell you I could not SLEEP last night because I was too busy brainstorming different versions of this scene. Maybe our fics make your brain go brrrrr but that's precisely what this idea has been doing to mine for the last ohhhhh 48 hours or so.

We don't necessarily take requests, insofar as we're not in a place to guarantee any kind of timely turn around, but suggestions and ideas are always, 100% welcome. Please send them. They're a super quick way to get the creative juices flowing, and interaction from folks who like our stuff is a surefire dose of dopamine - so thank you for reaching out! And please please please don't ever apologize, we live for this shit.

(Tabby edit: we certainly take requests, we just can’t promise we’ll actually do the thing or do the thing in a timely manner — but getting a request from a reader makes the odds of us writing it about 200x better :P)

Brain rot (and spoilers?!? maybe??) under the cut.

EDIT: link to the fic here, fic is rated E.

Full disclosure: I haven’t had a chance to work this out with Tabby yet, which I emphasize because she always finds a way to take my humdrum ideas and add a twist to make them ten times better (cough cough grilled cheese cough cough) BUT I think my favorite version of this so far is a post-break up situation. I like the meeting setting, I like Lexa refusing to slow down until Clarke pulls the Power of the Petname on her. (There are so many things to love about this pairing, but seeing Lexa's world-shaping will bend to Clarke's affection is one of my absolute favorites. I'm sure that doesn't show in any of our fics at all.)

I'm seeing it as a pale, somewhat spacey, just visibly (to Clarke) unwell Lexa sitting in Arkadia's offices for one of their regular meetings, trying to force herself through her day while patently avoiding the Looks Clarke is trying to give her. She gets up to use the restroom and Clarke follows a few minutes later to check in, leading to Lexa stubbornly insisting she's alright to a Clarke who can see through her like wet tissue paper. They bicker, the temperature rising, until Clarke (who always has a Doctor Mode tm, even in a universe where Abby isn't a medical professional) goes to touch her forehead to see if she has a fever, and Lexa - who is a) very unused to touch in most situations, b) very unused to the idea of being taken care of, and c) is now extremely overstimulated - recoils and snaps at her. Enter that fun moment of realization as her overreaction breaks the tension, and though she stubbornly sees out the rest of the Arkadia meeting, Clarke catches her quietly calling Elena to cancel the rest of her appointments for the day.

Of course, Clarke doesn't trust Lexa as far as she can throw her when it comes to stopping work, so she heads to Lexa's apartment after work. she now has a key of her own it's fine. Commence domesticity and hurt/comfort.

I should be doing work, but instead I'm losing it over this idea.

I can make no promises that a version of this will ever see the light of day - and if it does, it'll probably be so far in the future you'll have forgotten you sent this, lmao. (though you will, of course, be credited) But I am positively buzzing about this and am about to go bother Tabby about it again. Might even have just the right title for it...

The idea of having fans is so beyond me, but we remain incredibly grateful for all of y'all who a) read our stuff and b) let us know that you've found it meaningful in some way. That's what makes all the work worth it!

The best domestic clexa. I am cry omg

#clexa #clexa fanfic #modern au #new rules #clarke griffin #lexa woods #commander lexa #my fic #asks #that-asthmatic-queer

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detectivereyes · 3 years

Text

Even If You Stumble A Step, You’re Still Moving Forward

Summary: TK and Carlos move into their new home post-finale and TK doesn't exactly make the best first impression on their new neighbors...

Notes: this was like a fever dream i had a few months ago and then i stopped writing but decided to revive it last night so... here we are. also title creds (and emotional support creds) to jillian @marjansmarwani because this fic wouldn’t exist without her. and also s/o to brit @moviegeek03 for being extra supportive of yet another fic where [spoiler] tk falls down the stairs again :/

read on ao3

TK shuffles through the maze of boxes stacked several feet high throughout their new home. The scene shouldn’t surprise him considering it was only a few months ago he was moving his own boxes into their old home. However it feels different knowing that most of this stuff isn’t actually theirs.

Well, it is theirs now he figures. But the fact remains that most of the stuff filling the space was either given to them by various members of the extended 126 family, or was recently purchased by TK or Carlos on one of their many trips to Bed Bath and Beyond.

They had taken their time searching for a new place to live. Owen had made it clear that they were both welcome to stay with him (and Mateo) for as long as they needed, but TK had known it was time.

So when a townhome popped up on Zillow that met all their criteria, they wasted no time booking an appointment with the realtor. They both had instantly fallen in love with the open floor plan and deck out back. Plus they knew the extra bedrooms upstairs may come in handy someday.

While they knew the vertical layout of the home itself wasn’t the best, having more stairs than either of them were used to, it checked every other box and was right in their price range so they had wasted no time signing the lease.

A few days had passed since settlement and now most of their days were spent trying to unpack and make this new house into a home. It would never replace the one they had lost, but it had been exciting to build this new home together.

Though on this particular day, TK found himself alone in trying to get settled in since Carlos had a shift. With the 126 still out of commission, possibly forever, and the department not having any openings for paramedics, most of the unpacking was left for TK.

After getting a good chunk of the living room done, he checks the time and decides to go out and see if the mail has come yet. Not that he’s expecting anything with their address still being so new, and not getting much physical mail anyway to begin with. But it still provided a good excuse to take a break.

TK opens the front door and starts to make his way down the set of stairs leading down.

He makes it about halfway before his attention is caught by one of his new next door neighbors, Mr. Martin- if he remembers correctly, exiting at the same time. Mr. Martin gives a friendly wave and TK goes to return the gesture.

Except, he’s not paying attention when he takes the next step, and he misses, his heel just barely hitting the edge of the step before he starts to go down. He tumbles until he comes to a hard stop at the bottom, with most of his weight coming down on his right knee, sending shooting pains up and down his leg.

The rest of his body is sore, and by the time his ears stop ringing, he can just barely make out a new female voice asking “Sir, are you okay?”

He opens his eyes, which he had not even realized he had squeezed shut at some point, to see his neighbor, Mrs. Bailey- his brain supplies, from across the street making her way over to check on him, worried lines painting across her forehead.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m fine,” he grimaces while pushing himself up to a seated position. He tries to hide the blush forming on his cheeks. Not the best way to make a good first impression on his neighbors.

“Are you sure, son? We can call for help if you need it. Someone you know, or 9-1-1?” Mr. Martin joins in the conversation.

“No!” TK interjects too quickly, startling both neighbors. He panics for a moment when the weight of the predicament settles in. He meets the gaze of both figures still staring at him, clearly concerned and waiting for him to say something. “I mean, I’m a paramedic. I’m fine. Or I will be fine. Thank you,” he flashes them both a quick smile before pushing himself up off the ground, ignoring the sharp pains that radiate from his knee when he tries to put any weight on it.

Getting back up the stairs is no easy feat, and he doesn’t have to turn around to know that both Mr. Martin and Mrs. Bailey are still watching him, concerned. Fortunately, they don’t know him well enough to try and follow or help. He’s not sure he would feel comfortable enough receiving help from some strangers. Half the time he doesn’t even feel comfortable receiving help from the people he does know.

He leans heavily on the railing, refusing to turn around out of fear of further mortification. Once he’s inside the home, he collapses right inside the hall, unable to go any further since his knee decided to stop cooperating.

A few tears pool in his eyes, and he’s unsure if that’s due to the pain or embarrassment. Not knowing what else to do, he takes out his phone and shoots a quick text to Carlos.

TK: we have to move

It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for the three dots to pop up before being replaced by Carlos’ response.

Carlos: ???

TK sighs and rubs his face, trying to figure out the best way to explain the situation.

TK: i feel down the stairs out front and all the neighbors saw

Carlos: Holy shit, are you okay??

He lets out a puff of air at that.

TK: you mean besides my bruised ego?

TK: no, i hurt my knee but i’m fine. that’s not the issue here.

Carlos: Okay, I’ll be home in an hour and you can let me be the judge of that. If I see any swelling, we’re going to the doctor.”

He rolls his eyes at Carlos’ worry. At worst, it’s a bad sprain, nothing that can’t be fixed with some icing and wrapping. But there are other things they need to worry about.

TK: you’re missing the point, carlos. the entire neighborhood thinks i’m an idiot. we can’t live here anymore.

TK knows he’s being dramatic, but the more he thinks about it, the more embarrassed he gets. The idea that these are people he’s going to have to continue to face everyday for the foreseeable future. And that now all they’ll be able to think about when they do see him. Now he’ll just be known as the guy who can’t walk down stairs.

Carlos: Relax, TK. I’ll be home soon.

TK: you mean our temporary place of residence which we will soon be moving out of

He doesn’t get a response after that.

His mind continues to spiral while he waits for Carlos to arrive. He knows the other man is likely climbing the walls trying to leave his shift early but it would still be awhile before he could be allowed to leave.

Left alone with his thoughts, his mind keeps playing out the series of events that happened minutes ago. He can't help but beat himself up over embarrassing himself like that. Ironically enough, it’s not even the first time he’s fallen down stairs, having taken a tumble down the stairs in Carlos’ place a few months back. And of course he would manage to injure himself that time, and this time as well.

He should at least try to get up so he can find an ice pack to lessen the swelling. Sitting on the floor up against the wall can’t be doing his knee any favors. Yet he can’t bring himself to move, instead resting his head back against the wall and sighing.

TK pulls out his phone again, cycling through the apps until he hears the tell-tale keys jingling in the already unlocked door.

As soon as Carlos steps through the door, he nearly trips over TK in the doorway. “Woah, hey! TK, are you okay?” he crouches down to TK’s level.

TK shrugs. Now that he’s face to face with Carlos, he can’t help but feel suffocated by another person judging him, even if Carlos’ worry comes from a place of concern.

“Can I take a look at your knee?”

TK nods, allowing Carlos to gently inspect his swollen joint. He winces as Carlos traces his hand around his kneecap.

“This doesn’t look good, babe. I think we need to go to the hospital.”

“No, it’s fine,” he quickly shakes his head. The worried look in Carlos’ eyes only makes his heart ache, and he can only try to find ways to make it go away. “Just help me up and we can ice it. It will look better once the swelling goes down a bit.”

Carlos gives him a look that screams I don’t believe you but sighs. “Fine, but if it doesn’t…”

“I know, I know. You’ll drag my ass to the emergency room,” TK gives him a reassuring smile.

Carlos returns the smile, and extends a hand to help TK up. TK accepts, and allows Carlos to take on most of his weight once he’s standing. They slowly make their way over to the living room, with Carlos softly depositing TK onto the sofa. He then disappears into the kitchen before returning with an ice pack in hand.

“Thanks,” TK smiles, trying to mask the wince as Carlos places the pack onto his knee.

“Do you want to watch an episode of The Office?” Carlos asks, picking up the remote and settling in the spot next to TK.

TK shrugs, knowing that Carlos is just trying to appeal to him by offering to put on his favorite show. The other man doesn’t even like the show that much, often finding the humor dry and tasteless, but TK thinks he just doesn’t get it.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?”

There it is.

“I just can’t believe I did that in front of our new neighbors. They probably think I’m an idiot.”

“I’m sure no one thinks you’re an idiot, TK,” Carlos gently reassures him.

“Yeah all the neighbors saw me make an idiot of myself,” TK sighs exasperatedly. “God, how am I supposed to face these people everyday now?”

“Hate to break it to you babe, but this is not a valid reason for us to move.”

“I know,” he sighs again.

“Besides,” Carlos continues. “If your track record has proven anything, it’s that this won’t be the last medical emergency at our new home. It’s good that the neighbors are getting used to it now.”

TK gives him a pointed look.

“I’m pretty sure this is the second time you’ve fallen down the stairs since we’ve started dating,” Carlos says with a light chuckle.

“Whatever,” TK scoffs. “At least the other time it wasn’t in front of total strangers.”

Carlos softens. “That’s true. But I’m sure the neighbors just care about you. I don’t think this is that big of a deal, TK.”

“You weren’t there though. It was mortifying.”

“What did they say, exactly?”

TK nervously looks down. “They asked if I was okay. And if I needed any help.”

Carlos raises his eyebrow, waiting to see if TK continues.

“They offered to call for help but I said no and went back inside.”

“See? They just care about you TK. I haven’t really talked to anyone yet but they seem like nice people.”

“I guess,” TK shrugs.

“I know, you’re still embarrassed. But if nothing else, they’ll probably forget about it by the next time we see them.”

“You don’t think I’ll be known as the ‘clumsy neighbor who can’t walk down stairs’?”

“Maybe the ‘cute clumsy neighbor that can’t walk down stairs,’” Carlos says with a smirk. “But we could always change that.”

TK cocks his head to the side.

“You think our new neighbors might enjoy some peach scones when we go over and have a proper introduction?”

“You really plan to charm our new neighbors with your baking?”

“You think it will work?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then yes, I do,” Carlos grins proudly. He then leans over and gently removes the ice pack from TK’s knee, grimacing at what he sees. “This still looks pretty swollen, babe. I think we need to go to the hospital.”

TK gives him a pained smile. “You sure I can’t talk my way out of this?”

“Nope,” Carlos says, popping the p. He stands up before extending his hand to help TK do the same.

TK accepts, shifting his weight and leaning into Carlos once he’s fully upright.

“You know, I think you may have a paramedic blindspot when it comes to your own health.”

TK lets out a light laugh. “Yeah, I’ve been told.”

A week later, Carlos softly knocks on the door of Mrs. Bailey’s home across the street with one hand and a plate of peach scones in the other. TK had offered to hold the scones but when they went over to Mr. Martin's home earlier in the day, it was quickly discovered it was too difficult for him to manage getting up the stairs and holding the plate.

So he settles for letting Carlos do most of the work while he awkwardly limps up the stairs, leaning heavily on the railing to keep some pressure off his knee.

After their quick trip to the emergency room, it had been determined that TK’s initial assessment was right and it was just a bad sprain. He was given a brace to help reduce the pain and a pair of crutches, which (much to Carlos’ dismay) he abandoned after only two days, citing that they only made it harder to get around their home which he can now say for certain has too many damn stairs.

A problem which seems to follow him as he also has to get up the stairs to greet his neighbors.

“Maybe we should have moved to a neighborhood of single level homes,” he states with a wince as he joins Carlos at the front door.

Carlos snorts. “We can take it into consideration if we ever have to move again.”

“God, please don’t say that. I don’t want to think about moving ever again.”

“Good,” Carlos gives him a soft smile. ��Because I’m planning on staying here for the long run.”

“Me too,” TK returns the smile just as Mrs. Bailey opens the door.

“What a lovely surprise!” she exclaims taking in the sight of the two men.

“Hello ma’am,” Carlos says with a polite smile.

“We brought you some scones,” TK adds, gesturing to the plate in Carlos’ hands.

“Oh how thoughtful of you. Please come in. How are you doing?” she asks, turning to TK. “I’ve been worried.”

He exchanges a look with Carlos, the other man's face clearly saying I told you she cares, before turning back to Mrs. Bailey.

“I’m fine, ma’am. Thank you for asking. It’s just a bad sprain. But I do appreciate your concern, especially the other week.”

“Oh, of course dear,” she says with a warm smile. “Now, you boys aren’t going to make me eat these scones all by myself are you?”

They both let out a light chuckle and exchange another glance before following their new neighbor, and friend inside.

#i've posted too much today #but i need share before i end up deleting it #but actually if it flops i may just delete anyway #whatever at this point #911 lone star #911lonestarfic #tarlosfic #my fic #usersaaya #userbones #reyeslonestartag #pragmaticoptimist34 #tuserpaige

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astarryon · 3 years

Text

Another Lifetime: Shouldn’t Have Gotten Shot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Description of war and battle injuries, mentions of blood, gunshots, language, etc.

Summary: Bucky doesn’t like talking about her, but Dr. Raynor isn’t an easy person to argue with. And now that it’s summer –– now that he’s living through the months they’d shared together all over again, only without her by his side –– fighting the memories becomes all the more difficult.

A/N: Listen, I really don’t know what’s gotten into me but ever since tfatws started I have been INSPIRED! Hoping to update this fic sem regularly, but we’ll see where the new school term takes us. As always, I hope you enjoy, and feel free to let me know what you think!

Bucky Barnes has never been overly fond of the summer.

One aspect was the fact that he could remember what it was like to be a miserable kid living in a cramped Brooklyn apartment with no air conditioning and three baby sisters who never stopped whining about the heat. Of all the jumbled, foggy memories bouncing around the confines of his skull, that one is clearer than most. And though he still finds it difficult to picture the faces of his little sisters –– can’t hardly remember arcs of their noses, much less the colors of each of their eyes –– a nostalgic, brotherly feeling washes over him all the same.

There’s also the little detail that he’d received his draft notice in the summer months. That Bucky remembers perfectly, one of the few memories strong enough to remain unmuddied by all those years of shitbag scientists rooting around his head and picking his brain apart. The heat that year had been sweltering, and once his mother found him in her kitchen with that damned letter clutched between his fingers, he felt it burn right through the strings of his heart.

The first week of July delivered the news. The last saw him shipping out to bootcamp.

He guessed he didn’t mind the sunshine. That part had always been nice, and it helped to calm him on occasion these days, to remember that the golden rays licking comforting heat up his skin were the same ones which had shone down on him back in the 40s, before and during the war.

Before Hydra had condemned him to seventy long years of dark and cold.

To that end, logic said the season he really should hate was winter, but he’d never felt any ill will toward the colder months, and found now, in the present, that he’d only grown fonder of them. When the rain came down from the sky in sheets, or when snow fell so thick it resembled white, puffy clouds blanketing the ground, he took walks. Partly because no other soul would be idiotic enough to trudge through a borderline natural disaster at three in the morning, meaning he wouldn’t have to put up with prying eyes and conspicuously pointing fingers, and partly because experiencing said natural disasters in solitude did wonders for the soul.

Steve thought it was strange. Hated that Bucky did it, kept insisting that he at least take a goddamn jacket, there isn’t any actual proof he can’t get pneumonia. But Bucky always shook his head and declined, rolling his eyes and muttering beneath his breath about how apparently the tables have fucking turned.

But, no. The winter, the rain, the cold –– none of that could ever draw half as much ire from him as did the gentle beginnings of June, the scorching heat of July, the fading light of August. Because those weren’t the things which served as reminders from before.

Reminders of her.

“James. Did you hear me?”

Bucky blinks hard, freeing his gaze from the wall calendar tacked up and viewable just over his doctor’s shoulder. Glancing down, he sees the familiar green of the velvet armchair –– one of three options for patients to choose from in her office, and Bucky’s personal favorite on account of the way its textures did something to sooth him as he gripped its arm anxiously with his flesh hand –– and the worn, fraying knees of his black jeans against it. He doesn’t bother meeting his therapist’s gaze. He already knows which of her expressions he’ll find her leveling at him, if he does.

“Sorry,” Bucky mutters, sucking his teeth. He hopes his voice isn’t quite as strained as it sounds –– though, judging by the way Dr. Raynor clucks her tongue as her fingers twitch toward her pen, it definitely is. “Guess I’m a little scattered today.”

The sardonic hum Raynor gives in response as she knowingly tilts her head nearly makes him open his mouth to finish the silent argument she’d started, but Bucky knows better than that. The moment he starts up, she’ll feign innocence and inquire as to why he feels the need to defend himself when no verbal accusation has been made. God damn, it would be just his luck to end up with the one government assigned therapist actually capable at her job.

“That’s what you said yesterday,” Dr. Raynor offers. “And the two days before, if memory serves me right.”

Bucky shakes his head and tsks, tapping a metal finger against his temple. “Not a funny joke, doc. Remember the audience you’re dealing with here.”

“‘Deflecting.’”

The word drops from Raynor’s mouth with a simpleness that puzzles him.

“‘Scuse me?” he prompts when she only goes on to stare at him owlishly.

“Oh, that’s what I’d be writing in my notebook,” she explains simply, folding her hands together in her lap and leaning back in her chair. “If we were using it right now, that is.”

Again, Bucky rolls his eyes, and has to make an active attempt not to cross his arms like a forlorn child. The threat in her words is easily recognizable, not that she’d really bothered trying to conceal it. She knows that damn notebook irritates him more than any other aspect of their current arrangement, and he knows she’s not bluffing. If he doesn’t start talking, Raynor starts writing –– and if Raynor starts writing, he gets tailed by government watchdogs to ensure there are no imminent incidents lurking in the near future.

He sighs dejectedly and meets her gaze. “What was it you asked me?”

“What it is about the month of June that makes you so uncomfortable.”

Bucky blinks, red alarm bells shrieking in his head. Fuck, he can’t help but think. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Caught red handed.

“June’s fine,” he tries, but even to his own ears the assurance sounds weak. To think, he’d once been the most prolific tool of espionage around –– now he can hardly deliver a lie with a straight face. “Don’t have any feelings toward it one way or the other.”

“Strike two,” Raynor quips, glancing one again toward her pen.

Fuck!

Exhaling sharply through his nose, Bucky sits a little straighter in his seat, searching for any semblance of comfort to be found while already knowing he was bound to come up short. Damn it all. She wasn’t going to let him out of this one.

“Alright, hold your horses,” he sighs, waving a halting hand. Raynor’s expression doesn’t shift. She simply continues peering at him with her dark eyes, waiting patiently for his next few words to come. “Why do you assume I’ve got a problem with June?”

“Because you didn’t start staring at that calendar until it switched over from May,” Raynor supplies. “Like I mentioned, today isn’t the only day you’ve been scattered. Seems like something we should consider talking about.”

“No,” Bucky answers quickly. Too quickly. Shit. If she thought he’d been deflecting before, he didn’t even want to know the words running through her mind in regards to his behavior now. “I mean–– well, no. I don’t think it’s that important.”

Raynor arches a brow. “Funny,” she tells him, “the way your eyes keep drifting back to the word ‘June’ tells me otherwise.”

He sighs, worrying the inside of his cheek with his teeth. Caught between a rock and an even bigger, weightier rock. The universe really wasn’t one to take his side often.

Bucky knows there really isn’t any choice here. Either he does what Raynor asks and elaborates on his suspicious behavior, or he risks facing the repercussions of those notes she’ll be jotting down in her notebook. Which of the two evils is more definitively the lesser, he can’t rightly say, but he knows which of the consequences he’d prefer to suffer through. And they’re certainly not the ones which see him robbed of the ability to walk freely down the street without a detail of armed babysitters.

So he figures that, maybe for once, being honest can’t be the worst decision to make.

“A few years ago, back before the blip,” Bucky tries, “I spent a summer in Wakanda.”

“Housed by the royal family,” Raynor nods, tone soft. “We’ve spoken about that before. You said you found it peaceful there. That you liked it.”

He did, and still does. On the nights when his mind isn’t quiet enough to let him find sleep but his heart feels light enough to forego the slideshow of horrors he’d been made to suffer throughout the years, Bucky’s thoughts often return to the bliss which life in Wakanda had offered him. He’d remember the farm he kept there, the little children who would come to sing and play and dance in trees to keep him company in the afternoons. He’d remember Princess Shuri –– Just Shuri, James, come now –– and the kindness she’d displayed in deactivating the deeper, most concerning parts of his programming. The day she’d told him it was done, turned off, that he’d never be forced to revert back to the Soldier against his will again, he’d rushed her and caught her up in a bearhug so relieved and forceful that her Dora Milaje detail had actually pointed their spears at him. He’d remember the tranquility of it all, the simpleness.

The peace.

There’s no hope of him being able to return to that place any time soon, much as he’d like to, but the memories sit resolutely concrete in his mind. The first of a new set which he’d never have to worry about being stolen away from him by the currents of an electric shock.

“It’s a nice place,” Bucky affirms, sighing wistfully at the thoughts swirling up in his head. “I bring it up because back then, that summer… I started remembering a few things. From before.”

Raynor keeps her face smooth and composed, but Bucky notices the twitch in her cheek that says she’s got a question. “When you say before,” she asks, voice gentle, “do you mean your time as the Winter Soldier?”

He shakes his head, swallowing thickly. Ironically, things would be easier, were that the case. He might not be so miserable in the present, seeing the month of June start all over again. The melancholy might not be so strong. “No, not then. I mean from before. From the 40s, during the war. I don’t know if it was Wakanda’s heat that did it, or that my programming was officially deactivated. But one night I went to sleep in my hut like normal, and then the next morning I woke up, and… and I remembered.”

Raynor clasps her hand together in her lap, the pen, the notebook, the hesitation all forgotten. Bucky sees it in her expression, the shock at the fact that he’s speaking, that she’s actually making progress in getting him to talk about things so painful he often wonders if they aren’t better left in the past. He’s still trying to figure that one out. Miserable as he’s been for the first four days of June, he figures nothing good or relieving or positive can come from retelling this particular tale. It’s all behind him now, and there isn’t anything to be done to change the ending in any significant way.

But… but he figures he owes it to her. As painful as the memories are, they can’t be anything in comparison to what she must have gone through in the aftermath of it all.

Slowly, Raynor crosses one ankle over the other. “What was it that you remembered, James?”

Bucky sighs, closing his eyes and inhaling as deep a breath as he can pull. He lets it loose after counting to six, then opens his eyes again and crosses his arms over his chest. “It started back in June of 1944. I got shot.”

––

June 1st, 1944

It was damn lucky you weren’t sleeping much these days.

A funny thought, really. One which brings a sarcastic, bitter smile to your lips as you bend your neck to get a closer look at your handiwork. Wasn’t it just two nights ago that you’d been laying in your cot, staring up at the moon through the flap of your tent and counting all the reasons it wasn't fair that the bliss of unconsciousness evaded you? Wasn’t it three that you’d considered sneaking into the med tent and downing a few of the sleeping pills meant for the soldiers? You hadn’t, of course –– god only knew the sort of trouble you’d get in if it came to pass that you were caught –– but the consideration had been there all the same.

“Fuckin’ shit!”

The foul language, mixed with the rough jerk of the body beneath your dexterous hands, was enough to steal your attention back from your jaded inner monologue. Nearly two years back, when you’d first signed on to work as a field nurse, the pained outburst would have sent you flinching. Now, the swearing isn’t anything new, and thankfully for the soldier whose leg you were currently stitching up, it was no longer anywhere near enough to give you pause.

“You better hold still unless you want this to scar even worse than it's already going to,” you tell him matter of factly, gently tugging the thread the rest of the way through your current stitch.

The soldier –– Matthews? Moore? You can hardly remember the name he’d gasped at you in pain, but you’re sure it started with an ‘M’ –– rakes his dirty hands over his even dirtier face, brown eyes squeezing themselves shut as his fingers quake with agony. “Sorry,” he rasps, skin paling. “Just… Jesus, shit hurts so bad!”

You cluck your tongue, guilt racking your heart as you push the needle through his skin once more. “Shouldn’t have gotten shot then, genius,” you murmur, shaking your head disapprovingly.

It works. For a moment the soldier’s face twists in disbelief, and in the next, a shuddering, wheezing gasp of laughter expels itself from his throat. The sight is bleak, but it’s enough to twist your heart with warmth as you once again pull the thread through the stitch. You’d learned in the first few months of working as a nurse on the frontlines that the last thing these men wanted or needed was to be coddled along over their injuries, especially by a woman. Vulnerability was more averse to them now than ever before.

Personally, you don’t much understand it –– but your work isn’t, and has never been, about yourself.

“Look, why don’t you tell me something,” you start, glancing up to… Morrison’s…? face in apology before sticking him with the needle yet again. He jerks, but not quite so violently this time. Another one down. Only about a thousand more to go tonight. “How’d all this happen? I thought you boys weren’t meant to scope the new territory until tomorrow afternoon. Y’know, in the daylight? When you can actually see whether or not someone in the distance is pointing a gun at you?”

“Unit leader was gettin’ jumpy,” the soldier coughs out, groaning against the pain. Guilt stabs your heart like a knife. You’d have given him something for the pain if you had it, something to numb the wound. But shipments of med supplies were behind, and it would be at least a week before you got your hands on anything like that again. “Said going at night would be better, that we could get the drop on them before they even knew we were coming.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Never mind the fact that their soldiers know the land better than ours do.”

So, the unit leader had jumped the gun. You’d figured as much, when two of your nurses had run into your tent with messy hair and sleep addled expressions, panicking about the oncoming slew of injured soldiers who needed immediate medical attention. That had been two hours, six patients, and about one hundred and ninety seven stitches ago.

Again. It was lucky you weren’t sleeping much these days.

The soldier whose leg you were currently stitching up opened his mouth to speak –– whether to snark along with you at the poor choice made by the unit’s leadership or to blindly defend his superior’s decision, you couldn’t be altogether sure –– but before he could even fix his mouth to properly shape the words, a sudden roar of someone else’s agony effectively cut him off.

Steadying your hands, you carefully turn to peer over your shoulder, searching for the source of the commotion. All night, you’d been surrounded by a cacophony of screaming soldiers, but that yell of pain is one you’re certain hasn’t yet met your ears. And, as you watch the flap of the med tent swing back before admitting entry to three people –– one of your nurses and two soldiers, one leaning bodily against the other –– you discover that your assumption is correct.

“We got a bad one,” the nurse –– Sally, curly haired, nearing twenty four and a bit more capable than the other girls when met with the sight of blood –– shouts. Her eyes scan the tent, searching and searching until her gaze finally lands on you. She pauses only a moment to turn and direct the uninjured soldier to drag the one he’s supporting over to an empty cot before barrelling in your direction. “Gunshot wound to the abdomen. I haven’t really had the chance to get a good look at it, but he’s–– well, to be frank, that man has lost a shit ton of blood.”

A gutshot. Poor guy would either go through a sickening amount of pain just to die, or he’d survive, and end up having to endure even more pain. Either way, in light of your depleted supply of painkillers, ‘excruciating’ didn’t even begin to describe it.

Oh, damn it all.

“Take over here for me,” you command, gesturing with your chin to the needle perched between your fingers. Sally’s already moving to pluck it from your hand before you’ve even finished speaking. “He’s got about fifteen to go before we even think about sending him back to his tent. Don’t let him convince you otherwise.”

“You don’t think I know better?” Sally remarks drily, but you don’t have the time to come up with a witty comeback. You’re already on your feet and rushing toward the soldier writhing in pain across the tent, reflexively grabbing a collection of gauze, thread, tweezers, and rubbing alcohol along the way.

This isn’t going to be much fun for either of you.

The first thing you do is excuse the uninjured soldier, the one who’d carried him in. For one, there isn’t any need to keep him witness, and for another, you work better when an addition of unnecessary eyes aren’t tracking your every move. Besides. You doubt the poor soul laying on your med cot is at all interested in one of his peers –– one not sick or out of his mind due to his own pain, that is –– see him in this state. So, you simply thank the young man for his assistance and shoo him back in the direction from which he’d come, waiting until he’s passed the tent’s entrance before turning your full, undivided attention to your newest patient.

He’s got his eyes screwed shut tight in pain. You can hardly blame him. Of all the wounds to suffer through, a gutshot has the potential to win least desirable. It’s easy enough to see why, as the young man’s handsome features carve themselves into an expression of despair. A slick sheen of sweat coats his pale forehead, dampening his dark hair and sticking it to his skin. He’s biting down so hard on his bottom lip in effort to swallow his screams that you’re genuinely shocked he hasn’t drawn blood.

Though, part of you wonders if there’s even enough blood left in his body for his lip to bleed. Deep scarlet blooms stain his green shirt, so thoroughly soaked through that the fabric has turned almost black. Swathes of red cover his torso, his pants, the pale skin of his arms. It’s everywhere, already leaking onto the white sheets of the cot.

Sally wasn’t kidding. He really has lost a shit ton of blood.

“Hey there, soldier,” you start up, setting your collection of medical supplies down before taking a closer look at his torso. Shirt sticking to his skin the way it is, you aren’t going to be able to get much done until it’s out of the way. And, given that this man is certainly in no state to shrug it off himself, you’ve got no choice but to cut it. Lucky that you’d thought to grab a pair of scissors too, you suppose. “Don’t suppose you might be able to help a girl out by telling her what year it is?”

His jaw works for a few moments, teeth grinding together so forcefully the sound is audible. You think he might be gearing up to let loose another scream before he shakes his head a single time. “I got–– got shot,” he wheezes, whole body shaking, “not concussed. Don’t–– ah, don’t really… get how the year’s relevant.”

You exhale a bemused scoff through your nose, considering your response as your scissors work their way through the bloody fabric concealing his wound. You’re working as gently as you can, and so far it seems to be doing the trick. The soldier hasn’t flinched once since you started, though it’s hard to tell if that’s more due to the fact that he hadn’t noticed any difference one way or the other, or if it’s because he’s dedicating what strength he has left to keeping his head screwed onto his shoulders.

“Fair point,” you reply, still carefully cutting through his shirt. “How about a name, then? Little more relevant to the conversation, I’d say.”

It takes a few moments of silence for him to respond –– almost as if he’s trying to remember that he’s got a name –– but eventually, it comes.

“James,” he tells you, the single syllable leaving his mouth in a pained grunt.

You nod, cutting away the last of the fabric. “Nice to meet you, James,” you tell him, carefully peeling the tatters of his ruined shirt from his abdomen. “You just hold tight a little longer for me, alright? We’ll fix you up good as new.”

It isn’t a pretty sight, what you find beneath. Under all that red is a nasty wound, jagged and swollen at the edges, punched into the flesh just beneath the southmost edge of his ribcage. Thankfully, no bones have been hit –– a shattered rib would be immediately evident, both in the pitch of his screams and the deformed shape of his chest –– but the wound is more than a little inflated. There’s a puffiness to it that you can’t comprehend, a stiffness to its perimeter that doesn’t click in your mind, until––

Until you see the small, dark center, and suddenly it does.

You swear beneath your breath, a filthy, ugly word that you’d picked up a few weeks back from one of your patients. You don’t even know what it means, not really, but speaking it feels cathartic enough that you don’t altogether care.

Oh, sweet, holy hell.

James cracks an eye open, muttering, “Darlin’, you rea–– you really gotta work on your bedside manner.”

“Alright, listen to me, James,” you tell him, forgoing a witty response. You don’t have the time, not considering what you’re now dealing with, and you figure James will appreciate your working hands more than he’ll appreciate your shitty attempts at banter. “There’s… there’s something I need to do for you, before I can start patching you up. Now, normally I could give you something for the pain, but we’re out of the anesthetic I need. So this isn’t gonna… it’s not gonna feel very good.”

James looses a labored sigh, oddly calm for the clear anguish marring his face. “Shit, well good news,” he mutters, swallowing thickly, “it already doesn’t.”

His lashes flutter in a telltale manner, one which lets you know he’s getting closer to the brink and you’re running short on time. It’s easy enough, not to give in to the panic this incites in your chest. You’ve been doing this job a long time now, know that what James needs is your calm, your level-headedness. Those things have a higher chance of keeping him alive, of seeing to it that he comes out of this on the other side. Scarred up, maybe, and without the ability to breathe as deep as he once could, but still alive.

You shake your head, grabbing the tweezers from where you’d set them down before planting your forearm against an uninjured section of James’ bare chest for leverage. “Alright, big breaths, James. You scream as loud as you want or need to, but just… try and stay as still as you can, okay? I won’t be able to stop until it’s done.”

The only answer he gives in response is a shaky nod, the thick black fringe of his lashes brushing his cheekbones as his lips begin to move at a speed with which your eyes can hardly track. A prayer, you figure, or a plea for a quick end. Whichever it is, it helps him to relax just the tiniest bit more, slightly smooths out the lines of pain and suffering etched into his face.

Until you start digging with the tweezers, that is.

Then it’s all white hot screams of pain.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper beneath his cries, words drowned out by the sheer volume of the howls ripping out of his throat. But you don’t stop working, don’t withdraw the tweezers from his bloody wound. You hadn’t been joking when you told him starting meant you couldn’t stop until you finished. Abandoning the task now meant leaving James to bleed out in a matter of seconds. “I know it hurts, I’m sorry. You’re doing good, though, alright? You’re doing amazing. I’m sorry.”

It takes a moment for the tweezers’ edges to find the metal bullet lodged in his skin. At first, all you can feel is a mess of flesh and muscle, shredded and frayed from the impact of the gunshot. For a few short seconds, you wonder if your eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on you, if it would have been more wise to search for an exit wound on his back than to simply jump straight in without taking the time to stop and think.

But your worries are unfounded –– proven two seconds later when your tweezers make contact with the tiny, foreign object threatening James’ life. Carefully, you maneuver the tweezers into the correct position to properly take hold of the bullet. Then, with one last whispered apology, you slowly and carefully begin to pull.

James’ legs buck hard against the cot, arms straining at his sides where he’s got both his hands fisted into the sheets in an attempt to hold on for dear life. His teeth chatter against each other, knocking and clacking as he tries to get ahold of the screams pouring freely from him, and that thin sheen of sweat coating his skin has turned into a full on tidal wave.

But his torso doesn’t move –– not a single inch.

“We’re almost done,” you assure him, keeping your hand steady as you continue gently easing the bullet up, and up, and up. You can just make out the silver edges of it now, slick with blood and dented. It won’t be long now, before it’s out and you can start working on staunching the blood leaking from his body. Maybe you can lift his spirits with a joke or two then, a witty comment to ease some of the pain. Maybe––

The bullet slips from the tweezers, catching you off guard and jerking your hand to the left. It’s only by a centimeter, not a huge distance, but given that you’ve got edges of metal inserted into this man’s wound, to him, it makes all the difference in the world.

James throws his head back and screams, loud enough that you can instantly hear his vocal cords go raw beneath the strain of the volume. A single word leaves his lips; it sounds like Ma, only it’s warped, strangled. Much as you detest the fact, you know the sound well. A soldier crying out for his mother while under the thrall of delirium and pain isn’t exactly a rarity around these parts.

Guilt twists your heart with the razor sharpness of a cruel knife.

“Stop,” he gasps, voice hoarse. “P-please–– please stop!”

“I can’t,” you tell him, already repositioning your tweezers and going back in. Luckily, the bullet is much closer to the surface of his wound now. It only takes a second before you find another grip on it, instantly deciding to forego gentleness in favor of speed. “But the good news is––” With a slight bend of your wrist and a soft, wet pop, the bullet comes loose from his wound. “––we’re done with the shitty part.”

James’ eyes, glassy with pain and pupils blown wide, fall first to the bullet you hold up for his perusal, set against a backdrop of lowlight and your blood covered hand, before wandering their way up to your face. It’s then that you notice his irises are water blue and clear as crystal. You’re not sure why, but their color fascinates you.

“I wanna keep that,” he mutters weakly.

Then, his lashes flutter rapidly and his head lolls to the side, his lungs expelling a great, big breath before shuddering to a halt.

Your heart lurches at the sight. For one, awful moment, you think you’ve just put the poor man through all of that pain and agony only to end up somehow killing him in the process –– never mind the fact that this isn’t the first time you’ve extracted a bullet from a soldier’s abdomen, and certainly isn’t likely to be the last. But then his chest starts up moving again, at a much less worrisome pace. It’s slow, and his breaths are shallow, but they’re still breaths.

Unconscious –– not dead.

The realization is enough to make you send a mental note of thanks to whichever being was kind enough to have shown James mercy.

You allow yourself the shortest of moments to bask in the relief –– that you’d successfully extracted the bullet, that James hadn’t died during or after your attempts to do so, that you aren’t now left to set in motion the process of another condolence letter being shipped across seas to his family.

And once it passes, once you’ve inhaled and exhaled and wiped your hands on a cloth, you grab a cloth and press it to James’ wound, setting to work on stopping his bleeding –– but not before wrapping the bullet you’d just dislodged from his body in a pad of gauze and tucking it into the breast pocket of your uniform.

––

Chapter Two: Someone Good

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #mcu #tfatws #catws #marvel #fanfiction #marvel fanfic #au #series #angst #hurt #comfort #1940s bucky

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