#also got a hear print scrub top but hear me out i think i could wear it as a normal shirt. or is that illegal

[wetslug]

i got myself to leave the house despite feeling shitty and i hit the goodwill and bought a frilly white shirt that u might see at a baptism or job interview in 1988. but i have a vision in mind....

i can never have all 3 -good weather -time to go out/run errands -a good mood

[shemarmooresfedora]

Rebuilding Family

Summary: Y/N and Spencer were college sweethearts at Cal-Tech but once Spencer got accepted to the FBI Academy, he ended things deciding it was not fair to make Y/N wait for him. When they meet again years later, he discovers something unexpected.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

A/N: hello, my loves! i am a senior in high school so the next two weeks are going to be extremely hectic for me with final exams and other senior stuff. i will try to get out chapters when i can but they may not always be on time!

Masterlist

Chapter 30

You returned home to see Spencer at the kitchen table with his laptop out and a bunch of papers sprawled out in front of him.

“What’s all this?” you asked.

“So you know how we were discussing moving into a slightly bigger house to have room for the twins,” Spencer said, “I found us a realtor and I have been printing out different houses that fit our requirements all day. You can go through them and I’ll send the approved ones over to her so she can schedule us a tour.”

“Alright, let’s see them,” you smiled, taking the seat next to him.

His hand immediately found its way to your belly and began his rubbing motions.

“This one is close to Jo's elementary school but she will only be there for 2 more years but the twins will be going there eventually. It’s just a little bit of a bigger yard than we have here. But, it’s pretty far away from your work,” Spencer stated.

He continued to go through the contenders, thoroughly explaining every pro and con that you wouldn’t even have thought of.

“This last one has the biggest backyard of them all. It’s about 8 minutes closer to your work than here. It’s even got a little sun room we can use as a book nook! It is farther from Jo’s school but it’s about a 3 minute drive to JJ and Will’s so we could start a carpool with them,” Spencer spoke.

“I think that one is my favorite as of now. And, I’m sure Jo wouldn’t have any arguments about being closer to her best friend,” you giggled.

“There’s also one more thing we need to brainstorm,” you began, “Names for the little ones. I honestly spent the better part of the day trying to think of some but I just can’t.”

“I have an idea,” Spencer smiled softly, “Ophelia.”

It was Spencer’s favorite song on your playlist that you played in the car. He even sang along to it sometimes, he actually had a nice voice when he wholeheartedly sang without caring about potentially embarrassing himself.

“Heaven help a fool who falls in love,” you grinned, finishing the lyric.

“I’m stuck on a boy name though,” Spencer huffed.

Jo came strolling into the kitchen to get her afternoon snack.

“Baby J, do you have any name suggestions for your little brother?” you asked.

Her face lit up and she ran back upstairs. She came racing back down with two books in her hand.

“Daddy, remember?” she held up a picture book.

“That’s the story I read you last night,” Spencer nodded.

“Name him ‘Oliver’ like the little baby elephant in the book!” she exclaimed.

“I actually love it,” you grinned.

“Ollie for short,” Spencer added with a smile.

“And for sister, Pinkalicious!” Jo beamed, holding up the other picture book.

“Aw, baby, I’m sorry. I think we already decided on ‘Ophelia’ for sister but we’ll keep that in the back of our minds,” you told her, giving her a pat on the head before she went back upstairs.

“I don’t know Spencer, Pinkalicious Y/L/N-Reid has quite the ring to it,” you giggled.

-

Your maternity leave had officially begun the week before you were due. You were lounging on the couch watching a nature documentary with Jo when you felt the sudden urge to use the bathroom.

As you stood, you felt the rushing of warm water trail down your thighs, effectively soaking your leggings, followed by a searing cramping sensation.

You immediately sat down on the hardwood floor, cringing in pain and exhaling sharply.

“Jo,” you breathed out, “I need you to call Daddy and tell him the twins are coming and get me a towel please.”

“Okay, Mommy,” Jo nodded, hopping off the couch and grabbing your phone.

She pressed Spencer’s contact as she ran upstairs to get you a towel.

Spencer was in the checkout line at the grocery store when his phone started to buzz in his pocket.

He fished it out, seeing your contact pop up, “Hey, love. I’m already in line but if you need something, make it quick so I can go run and get it.”

“Daddy! It’s Jo,” Jo announced from the other side of the phone.

“Hi, Princess. Is everything okay?” Spencer asked.

“Mommy peed a lot,” she started to say.

Spencer then heard your scream of pain in the background.

“And she said the twins are coming,” Jo stated.

“Uh-um-okay Jo, tell Mommy I’ll be there in 10 minutes. And um call Auntie JJ to come pick you up,” Spencer frantically spoke.

“Next,” the cashier called out.

“Um hi, I just got a call that my wife is going into labor so I have to go. I’m so sorry.”

The cashier smiled, “No problem. I think your wife needs you a lot more right now than these groceries.”

“Thank you,” Spencer rushed out of the store, breaking every speed limit on the way home.

JJ was pulling into the driveway at the same time Spencer was.

“Oh good, Jo called you,” Spencer said, exiting his car, “Thank you for taking her.”

“It’s no problem. She can stay with us for as long as you need,” JJ replied as they both rushed into the house.

You were still on the ground, sitting on the towel Jo retrieved for you.

“Spence, it hurts so bad like really really bad. Worse than Jo,” you grabbed his hand with tears running down your face.

“I’m so sorry, love, that I can’t take some of that pain away but we’ve got to get you to the hospital with doctors and nurses who can help,” he spoke softly, wiping the tears from your eyes with his thumbs.

You nodded and Spencer held out his arm for you to grab on to so he could help you up.

“Hospital bag?” you questioned.

“Already in the car, love. You’re doing so good, look we’re almost at the car,” he encouraged you.

“I’m going to ruin your seat,” you huffed out, motioning to your soggy pants.

“Love, that is the furthest of my concerns right now,” he assured you, helping you into the car and buckling you in.

-

“My wife’s in labor!” Spencer announced as he helped you hobble into the ER.

Immediately, a nurse rolled a wheelchair over to you.

“I called in the car. Dr. Collins is supposed to be on call,” Spencer said.

“Yes, right this way,” the nurse guided you to a room in the delivery wing where Dr. Collins was already waiting.

“Ah, the Reids! I guess the babies decided to come out a week early,” she smiled as Spencer and the nurse helped you into the bed.

“I’m going to check to see how many centimeters dilated you are. You can start pushing at 10,” she stated, “...and you are somehow already there. These babies are very eager to meet their parents!”

“I’m going to check the ultrasound real quick,” Dr. Collins rolled the machine over to you and scanned the wand across your belly.

“So unfortunately, we aren’t going to be able to have a vaginal birth today like planned. The baby girl is ready to come out first but she is in breech position meaning she is flipped the opposite way we want her. We’re going to bring you up to the OR for a C-section, okay?”

You looked at Spencer panickedly.

“Scared, Spence” is all you could muster.

“I can be in there with her, right?” Spencer asked.

“That is correct,” Dr. Collins nodded.

“Love, you are the strongest and bravest person I know. You can do this,” Spencer brushed your stray hairs back, “I will be right by your side the whole time and then you can finally have Ophelia and Oliver in your arms.”

“Okay,” you nodded, wincing as another contraction intensified.

“I love you so much,” Spencer kissed the top of your head as they wheeled you up to the OR.

The nurse handed Spencer scrubs to put on over his normal clothes, “Love, I need to let go of your hand for just a second to put these on but then I’ll be right back.”

Spencer continued to give you words of encouragement and promises of all the things you were going to do together as a family with the new babies to distract you from the discomfort throughout the c-section.

When you heard the first cry, you started to get choked up.

“Oh god, she’s so beautiful, Y/N. We made that,” Spencer sobbed.

You squeezed his hand, “Go.”

“Are you sure?” Spencer asked.

“Ophelia is crying for her Daddy,” you smiled through happy tears.

Spencer stood and was out of your line of vision but you could still hear his occasional sobs and him calling out the weight and other things to you from across the room.

You heard the second distinct cry. You could already tell your babies apart from just their wails alone.

“Ollie’s here, love!” Spencer bawled, “He’s just as precious as Ophelia.”

You were stitched up and brought into the recovery room as the babies were measured, tested, and swaddled. Spencer rolled two bassinets into your room with the biggest smile on his face and watery eyes.

“I can’t believe they’re here,” you wept, “How are they so cute?”

Spencer gently lifted up Ollie and placed him into your left arm and then Ophelia in your right.

You held the cooing babies in your arms, looking down at them in complete awe.

“Spence, can you take one of them?” you asked, “I mean I would love to hold them both forever but I’m thoroughly exhausted.”

“Ollie seems to be on the same page,” Spencer smiled at the little boy snoozing in your arms, “I’ll take Ophelia for a little walk and make some phone calls to our families and the team.”

Sleeping didn’t seem to be on Ophelia’s schedule as she was staring around the room with her big wide eyes, trying to take in the whole world.

“Ophelia, that’s your Dada,” you explained to her even though you knew she couldn’t understand.

“Yes, I’m your Dada,” Spencer beamed as he accepted the baby into his arms.

taglist: (just ask to be added or removed!): @samuel-de-champagne-problems @g0lden-cth @spencerreid9 @averyhotchner @coldlilheart @k-k0129 @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @harrystylesandthegoobs @cmily @rem-ariiana

[the-insomniac-emporium]

We Don't Talk (About That) [Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader]

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language Warnings: None Summary: Affection has never been Cassandra's strong point- neither the giving nor the receiving of it. But when it comes to you, she's determined to try, regardless of the obstacles in her path. Notes: Spiritual sequel to Everybody Talks Too Much, but they can be read in any order. Reader is selectively mute, but ends up talking in this one, partially due to being high on a fever, oops. The reader in this one is also a lil bit sassier than some of my other ones, hence why it has tentatively earned my "blunt teeth sharp tongue" tag.

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

“Seriously? You’re wearing white for this?” Cassandra says, eying you with a look of disbelief. All you can really do is shrug in response. After all, your hands are occupied with your current task: Wiping blood off of the corridor floor. That didn’t leave much room for miming, or writing anything down. “You’re going to fuck up your sleeves, you know that, right?” Another shrug, this time with an added humming noise, just for fun. Honestly, you weren’t even sure why Cassandra was hanging out, let alone why she cared if you got your shirt dirty. It’s not like she would be the one to do the laundry. More than that, she was the one who had decided to punish a maiden in the middle of the hallway.

Still, you would never think to voice your questions, or otherwise indicate your feelings. Not that you had feelings about her, or anything, the mere idea of that was ridiculous. For a completely unrelated reason you find yourself glad that she could not see your cheeks from where she stood. Glad I don’t talk, you think, otherwise I’d probably say something really stupid right now. Instead, you focus on your work, scrubbing hard at the floors. Despite your companion’s warning, not even a single drop of blood ends up staining your clothing. That’s why I rolled up my sleeves first, babe!... And that’s why I don’t talk, you think, shaking your head to clear your thoughts.

“That was fast. Sure you didn’t miss a spot?” Cassandra asks, stepping over to where you had cleaned. Before you can protest she’s leaning down to examine the floor. Which would, you know, be fine. If she didn’t have blood (and dirt, and who knows what else) on her gloves, that is. Groaning, you try to slap her wrist, temporarily forgetting your place. Next thing you know she’s pushing you to the ground, on top of you with her hand posed to strike. You flinch, instantly, clamping your eyes shut to prepare for the inevitable. But, just as quickly as she had gotten on you, she climbs right off, refusing to meet your confused gaze, refusing to answer your unspoken questions. “You’re lucky that mother thinks you’re useful,” she spat, leaving you with one last angry huff.

“What the fuck?...” You whisper, as soon as you think she won’t be able to hear you. Of all the things she could have possibly done in response… this was the only one you couldn’t justify. There’s only one thing that could possibly help you cope with your confusion: Cleaning. Thankfully, the same person who had just flipped your mind upside down had also left a few boot prints in her path. Humming softly to yourself, you get right back to work, gleefully ignoring what had just transpired.

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

“Why do they do that?” Cassandra snapped, storming into the library, immediately demanding her older sister’s attention. However, Bela does not respond, merely looking up from her book with an eyebrow raised. Frustrated, Cassandra sits down at the table before slamming her fists onto it. At this, Bela sets her book to the side, realizing that she couldn’t ignore this tantrum. “Oh come on, you know exactly who I’m talking about!”

“Yes, I do, because they’re the only person you’ve given a damn about in a decade, maybe longer,” Bela replies, rolling her eyes. “But that doesn’t mean I have any clue what you’re complaining about this time. What did they do, hmm? Did they brush their hand up against yours? Make a heart with their hands again? Oh, let me guess, they smiled when you walked into the room.” At this point, Cassandra was nothing if not predictable, much to her own frustration. How often had she come to her sister, in confidence, to have this very conversation? Countless times, and never once with a clear goal in mind.

Just a head full of thoughts of you.

“They touched me,” she admits, after a few seconds of agonizing silence. The words feel heavy and wrong on her tongue, like they were coated in syrup, too sweet to be anything other than sickening. “Slapped my hand away like I was a kid sticking a fork in an outlet, for fuck’s sake! Who do they think I am?” Now those words felt better. Angrier- left a worse taste in her mouth, but easier to swallow.

“That depends, were you trying to stick a fork into an outlet? Sounds like the sort of thing you’d do to impress them,” Bela teases, laughing even when her arm gets smacked in retaliation. “Maybe you should just ask them, then, if you can’t fathom why they might touch you. Or you could simply wallow in self pity for another decade, pretending to hate their guts when really you’re desperate to get laid?”

“When did you get so rude?” Cassandra snaps, standing up with a scowl.

“Oh, probably about the eighth time we had this talk?” Bela replies, quick as a whip, smiling all the while. If she was going to have to endure this sort of thing this often, she might as well have some fun with it. But this appeared to be the end of this particular conversation, with a miffed Cassandra making her exit, once more leaving Bela to read in peace… for a while, at least.

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

She can’t find you. She’s looked just about everywhere, asked every maiden she’s come across, and all any of them had to say were nervous apologies. Where were you? Why were you absent, now of all times, when she had finally decided to speak to you? Curse my luck, Cassandra thinks, barely restraining herself from wreaking havoc on her surroundings. Though maybe they’ll show up to take care of my mess, she muses, then thinks better of it when she imagines your exhausted expression. After all, there was only one place left for her to look: Your personal quarters. If you weren’t there, then, well, there’d be a new problem entirely.

“They better have a damn good reason for hiding away,” Cassandra mumbles under her breath. Then she’s opening the door to your room, not bothering to knock. What could you want to hide from her anyway? “Oh shit.” Evidently she hadn’t thought this through. There you were, asleep in bed, shirtless, a washcloth on your forehead. Every muscle in your body seemed to be shivering, and the occasional weak murmur leaves your lips. It doesn’t take more than a moment for Cassandra to act. Clearly you’re cold, hence the shaking, regardless of how warm it feels to her. So she’s grabbing a blanket from your dresser, quickly covering you with it. “Is that better?”

You don’t respond. Not that she truly expected you to. But the way you continue to shake has her even more concerned, and a trace of panic starts to set in. She searches for other blankets, laying them on top of you, confused as to why you aren’t getting better. C’mon, asshole, she thinks, I’m trying to help you! As if summoned by her frustrations, a maiden soon swings the door open, freezing in place when they see her. Instantly she’s whirling around to face them, a cruel remark dying in her throat. Of course it was one of her mother’s favorites. Eventually, she would have to find someone else to take her frustrations out on.

“Lady Cassandra? What are you-” Cynthia, senior staff member of Castle Dimitrescu, veteran of more than five years, starts to ask. But once she spies the pile of blankets on top of you… well, her eyes go wide. “Damn it, my Lady, you’re going to kill them!” With that said she’s rushing forward, setting down a basket of who-knows-what on your nightstand, before quickly removing the extra sheets. Half confused, half furious, Cassandra stands nearby, unable to decide how to react. Perhaps noticing this, Cynthia is quick to explain her actions. “They have a fever, the worst one I’ve seen in all of my years here. They may be shivering, but trust me, their skin might as well be on fire.”

“I was just trying to help,” Cassandra defends, words rushing out before she can stop herself. Fuck, this was embarrassing.

“Clearly, and I don’t blame you. Let’s just be glad that I came to check on them, hmm?” Cynthia suggests, giving an oddly motherly (i.e. reassuring) smile. On one hand, Cassandra doesn’t appreciate being talked to like this, at least not by someone other than her mother. On the other hand, well, she is glad that she hadn’t accidentally killed you. Taking a moment to let her heart rate slow back down, Cassandra moves to lean against the wall closest to you. She can’t help but frown when she sees the way your eyes flurry about beneath their lids. What are you dreaming about? Is it a nightmare, she wonders, or something softer, like you deserve?

“Can… can I help?” She asks, voice hardly more than a whisper. It was too late to save herself from embarrassment, but it wasn’t too late to contribute to your recovery. Or at least that’s what she hoped. There’s relative silence for a few moments, as Cynthia thinks over her words, swapping out the damp washcloth on your forehead all the while. When she finally replies, she does not look up from her task. Always the professional.

“Stay with them. If they get worse, come find me immediately. If they wake up, try to get them to drink some water, and ask if they’ve been injured recently. I couldn’t find any wounds on them, but this mess reeks of an infection,” Cynthia says. Opening the basket she had brought in with her, she removes several bottles from within, examining their labels with a tight-lipped frown. “None of these will do shit- pardon my language, my Lady- if it’s an infection, but it should help them fight off the fever until I can get them some proper antibiotics. Well, until the Duke can, that is. Make sure to ask them if they have any allergies to medicine before you give them anything, and please read the directions. They only need to take one kind of pill, alright? I only brought a few kinds in case they can’t have certain ones. Is that clear, Lady Cassandra?”

“Crystal clear,” she chimes, only briefly looking away from you. It’s enough for Cynthia, however, and she leaves with a simple bow. Once more alone with you, Cassandra approaches, gently taking your hand within her own. “You’d better wake up soon. I don’t want to have to babysit you all day…” Doesn’t want to, but would, if that’s what you needed. Wouldn’t hesitate for even a second. At most, she’d make someone fetch her a book to read while she waited. Except… now that she glanced around your room, she found that there were some things to keep her entertained. Like your beloved notepad.

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

What do you mean? I don’t think she feels that way about me. Don’t be ridiculous, she doesn’t like anyone. Because I pay attention to her! It’s not hard to know what she does and does not appreciate, you just need to observe her. No, not like that, don’t be gross. Keep teasing me and my cheeks won’t be the only thing around here that’s red. Oh fuck off, fine, I’ll go talk to her, but you owe me one. Then the page ends, with the next two having been torn out. A few letters here and there are still legible, on what little remains of the missing pieces. Lov- and want her- and wish. Try as she might, Cassandra cannot find the rest of the pages. What had you possibly written that would make you discard all evidence? It’s not like anyone normally went through your notepad. Had you predicted that one day Cassandra would do this?

“Damn it, damn it, damn it!” She growls, dropping the object with an angry sigh. “Who the hell were you writing about? Who were you fucking talking to? Why won’t you wake up, you goddamn asshole?” Through all of her shouting, you do nothing but shake in place, shivering against a non existent cold. Several hours had passed since Cassandra’s arrival, without you doing so much as batting an eye. Slowly but surely, she was being driven insane, exhausted from worry and jealousy alike. Strange how the most obvious answer eluded her so consistently… Yet hope does not entirely abandon her, as eventually her tantrum manages to pierce the haze around your overheating mind.

“Shhhhhhh. Please,” you mumble, eyes still closed, hardly aware of anything around you. All you really knew was that someone was being insufferable. Hell, your fever was driving you wild, and you didn’t even think about the fact that you hadn’t spoken out loud in front of anyone for over three months. Later, after you recovered, you would be glad that it was Cassandra who finally heard your voice. “Inside voice, mhm? Sleepy time…”

“Did- did you just?” Cassandra asks, stunned, shaking her head as if it might make her realize she was dreaming. But no, this was real, and you really had just spoken to her. It’s enough of a shock to render her speechless for a minute or so.

“Thanks, babe. Need to sleep this off. Or… no, wait, I was supposed to tell someone something?” You ramble, trying to sit up, a hand instinctively going to hold your head. The washcloth falls off of you, and you stare at it in confusion. Before you can start questioning the nature of it’s (or your own) existence, you are distracted by Cassandra, who has traded her own perplexion for determination. Next thing you know, you’re quietly sipping at a glass of water. Exhausted, despite having just been asleep, you eye the nearby medicine with curiosity. “I’m… supposed to tell Cassandra something, maybe? Fuck, why is it so warm in here?”

“You have a fever, dumbass,” Cassandra replies, once more finding her voice, still too overwhelmed to process what’s happening. “Look, you have to take something for your head, okay? Then we can… then we can talk about your feelings all you want, okay?” Maybe she was being a bit presumptuous about what you needed to talk about. Or maybe she was just, for once in her life, being hopeful. Regardless, she presents the medicine to you, getting ready to ask about allergies. Before she can, however, you’ve silently reached for the Ibuprofen and started opening it up.

“This’ll do. For the head, not for talking. We don’t-” you pause to take the pills, gulping down half a glass of water with them- “we don’t talk about that. Feelings. Makes her get mad, and I don’t want her to be mad,” you say, shuddering a little at the thought.

“I won’t get mad this time. Besides, you don’t normally talk at all,” Cassandra replies, rolling her eyes again. Finally, for the first time since waking up, you take a good, long look in her direction. Suddenly you’re putting the pieces together, groaning in protest when you do. How had you not realized? How deep into this fever were you?... “Don’t tell me you just figured it out, ‘babe’? I’m amazed you’re functioning at all right now.”

“Fuck you, Cassie,” you snap, mostly teasing. If she wasn’t freaking out about what you had said, well, then maybe you didn’t need to say much more at all. “You’ll still like me when I’m awake enough to be too scared to talk, right?”

“Honestly?... I was hoping this would be more of a permanent thing,” she admits, refusing to meet your gaze as she puts away the unused medicine. “But I guess I can live with being the only one who knows what your voice sounds like. So don’t you dare fucking talk to anyone else, alright?” She’s joking now, too, sounding more relaxed than she usually was. Even with your body fighting against itself, you can’t help but laugh with her. Then she’s slowly sitting on the edge of your bed, next to you, watching you with adoration clear in her eyes. “You’re going to be fine, right? Because if you die on me, I swear I’m going to kill you.”

“With you as my nurse? I’ll be lucky to last the night,” you joke, pretending to whimper when she gives you a playful slap on the arm. “Nah, nah, I’ll be alright, just as soon as I get some rest. Probably. Maybe you should, uh, stay with me? Just in case.” Next thing you know, Cassandra is pushing you down against the mattress, placing a surprisingly soft kiss to your forehead. Then she puts the washcloth back on you, making sure it’s still somewhat cold. Without another word she settles in, leaning against the backboard of the bed, close enough for you to feel her warmth, but far enough that she wouldn’t risk raising your temperature. “Goodnight, Cass,” you murmur, before letting yourself drift back to sleep...

[morganaspendragonss]

“Why are you wearing my sweater?” “Because it smells like you.” With Carlos’ the one wearing the sweater!

holly's august extravaganza day 19: whatever here that's left of me (is yours)

thank you!

34. “Why are you wearing my sweater?” “Because it smells like you.” (from the fluff section of this list)

ao3 | 1.4k | hurt/comfort, post 2.12, supportive tk, softness

The morning after the fire, it’s TK who wakes up first, and for once it makes perfect sense. Carlos had barely been able to sleep, and though it hadn’t exactly been a picnic for TK either, he’s not the one going through the grief of losing years of his life all at once. Not to the extent that Carlos is, anyway.

TK sighs and rolls his head to look at Carlos’s sleeping face. He runs his thumb softly over the crease on his brow, wishing the simple motion could smooth it away and make everything okay again. Make it so last night never happened, and this is just a normal morning in their own bed, in their own house.

He tries to pretend for a little while, but the illusion is shattered all too quickly by a soft knocking at the bedroom door. Carefully, TK removes Carlos’s arm from where it is loosely slung over his hips and gets out of bed, checking to make sure he hasn’t disturbed him before padding across the room.

He keeps the door only cracked open to prevent too much light from getting into the room. His dad is on the other side, smiling sadly, a large box in his hands and several bags at his feet. TK braces himself for a joke; his dad has always been the type to fall back on humour in difficult situations, but he finds himself pleasantly surprised.

“I meant to give these to you guys last night,” he says, lifting the box slightly, “but things were so crazy that… Anyway. You left some clothes here when you moved out, so I figured you might want them.”

“Thanks, Dad.” TK takes the box from him, glancing down into it. There’s not much—a couple of hoodies, some screwed up t-shirts and button ups, a pair of sweats—but it’s all he has, and more than Carlos does. He sighs softly, then turns back into the bedroom and places the box down by the wardrobe. Carlos is still asleep when he glances at him, and all TK wants to do is curl up beside him again.

But when he goes to close the door, he instead finds himself with an arm full of bags.

“Those are from the crew,” he dad explains. “Paul stopped by with them earlier; he said to tell you that if there was anything you two needed, they all want to help out.”

TK nods. He’d thought the crew might do something like this, though that doesn’t make him any less grateful.

His dad shuffles awkwardly, clearly finding the silence uncomfortable. “Mateo wanted to contribute too, but we told him not to. You know, because—”

“Because he’s only just replaced his own clothes, I know.”

“Yeah.”

Silence again, and TK loves his dad, but he can’t deal with this right now. Guilt lies thick in the air, somehow worse than last night, but TK is in no mood to address it now. Maybe later, when they’ve had time to think about it all, but right now he’s too tired. Besides, there’s no way he’s getting into what he’s sure will become an argument when Carlos is sleeping just feet away.

TK takes a step back. “Carlos is still asleep,” he says. “So I’m just gonna…” He tips his head back, gesturing into the bedroom, and his dad understands, also moving back.

“Right, of course. I, uh, I have my follow-up appointment at the hospital today, but I’ll see you guys later. Maybe then we can talk?”

“Sure.”

Without waiting for an answer, TK gently shuts the door and turns to place the bags on top of the box. Carlos stirs when he climbs back in bed, his eyelids cracking open.

“Did something happen?” he mumbles, trying to push himself upright.

TK shushes him. “It was just my dad dropping some clothes off for us,” he whispers. “Go back to sleep, baby.”

Carlos drops back off within seconds, TK watching the steady rhythm of his chest and listening to his soft breaths. He reaches out and lightly runs his fingers through Carlos’s hair, pushing back a few stray curls. It’s almost like any other morning, so TK closes his eyes and pretends for a little while longer.

*

TK would have been happy to stay in bed with Carlos all day, but eventually the grumbling of his stomach becomes too insistent to ignore. He heaves himself up once more and selects a shirt at random from the box of his old stuff, wrinkling his nose when he sees what it is. He’d left this one behind on purpose, the print too much for him to care what happened to the shirt. The same goes for most of the clothes in the box, but it’s not like he’s spoiled for choice, so it’ll have to do.

There’s a pair of jeans his size in one of the bags, so TK bundles everything up and trudges to the bathroom. He’s been running into fires his entire working life; he’s perfected the art of getting rid of unwanted smells, but this time is different. This time, no matter how many times he washes himself, the smoke and grime still feels like it’s sticking to his skin, a permanent cloud around him.

TK blames his dad’s shampoos, because it’s easier than admitting he’s imagining it.

Once he’s showered and dressed, he heads to the kitchen to make breakfast. Carlos joins him not ten minutes later, still looking exhausted, though he attempts a wan smile when their eyes meet. TK returns it and kisses him on the cheek, passing him a cup of coffee.

He studies his boyfriend as they stand in silence, his heart breaking at what he sees. Carlos is a big guy, but right now he’s never looked smaller, shoulders hunched and his eyes darting around the kitchen, as if taking it all in. They’ve hung out here together before, especially right after TK got shot, but it must feel different now, knowing there’s nowhere else for them to go.

Knowing that, technically, this is now their home.

Carlos sets his mug on the counter and scrubs his hands down his face, then puls at his sleeves like he’s trying to stretch them to fit. Which… Wait.

“Are you…” TK leans closer, peering at the hoodie Carlos is wearing, and—yep. “Why are you wearing my hoodie?”

Carlos flushes and tugs at the neckline—another demonstration of how uncomfortable it must be for him to wear it. The height difference between them is miniscule, but sizing is another matter entirely; TK’s hoodie is obviously pulled tight across Carlos’s chest and it doesn’t sit right on his body, too small for his build.

“Babe,” TK starts worriedly, “was there nothing in your size from the crew? You should have said something. We can fix this, you don’t need to be uncomfortable.”

There’s a beat, and then Carlos, studiously avoiding TK’s gaze, clears his throat. “It smells like you.”

TK blinks. “What?”

“I’m wearing it because it smells like you. I don’t— The only clothes I have left of mine smell of the fire, but this is yours and… I don’t know, I guess it makes me feel safe?” He laughs nervously, pulling at the hem as though he’s going to take the hoodie off. “Pretty stupid, right?”

TK puts a hand out and stops him. “No,” he says softly. He honestly has no idea how that hoodie smells even remotely like him after a month abandoned here, but if it makes Carlos feel safe, then who is TK to argue? “Not stupid at all. You should keep it.”

Carlos raises an eyebrow. “You don’t care that I’m probably stretching it?”

“Why would I?” TK asks. “I left it here for a reason, Carlos. Plus, I’d sacrifice a thousand hoodies if I knew it would make you feel safe; one is nothing.”

It’s far from the most romantic thing TK’s ever said, but the way Carlos hugs him makes it feel like it. He presses kiss after kiss to Carlos’s cheek and the shell of his ear, comforting him like he tried to do last night.

“Besides,” he whispers after a moment, “this just means it’ll be big enough for when I inevitably steal it back from you.”

And, for the first time since the fire, Carlos laughs—really, truly laughs. The sound is muffled against TK’s shoulder, but it’s so goddamn beautiful, and TK would do anything to hear it again.

Even if that involves giving up every hoodie he owns.

[infjsnightmare]

How You Met: Guild Style

A/N: Hello! This one was so much more difficult to write. I think maybe I just don't have as good a grip on the personalities of the guild so much. Lol. So, this might have a bit more OOC than the other two. Also, I flip-flopped for a while and decided not to include Francis since he is canonically married, but if anyone wants me to, I can probably include him on the same one that I include any other extraneous characters on. With that out of the way, I sincerely hope that you like this! Feedback of any kind is always welcomed and appreciated.

John: You were scanning the aisles of the convenience store, looking for any food that was on sale. Your eyes lit up when you found a tuna salad sandwich for only 99 cents. You should have enough change for this at least. All your money went to rent since being laid off and you actually hadn't eaten in two days. This was like a holy grail. Placing the sandwich in front of the large man at the register, you turned your change purse inside out. Meticulously counting each coin, you realized you only had 87 cents, which was 12 cents too short. The man scoffed taking the sandwich away as he chastised you and told you to "get a job". You were on the brink of tears when a hand came up from behind you and dropped the remaining needed change on the table. An angry looking young blond man glared menacingly at the employee as he spat at him, grabbing the sandwich and placing it in your hands.

"Why don't you get a life, jackass?"

Lovecraft: The sun was beaming hot as you lay back in the sand and let the warmth overtake you. The smell of the ocean and the distant cry of seagulls relaxed your body. You sighed, sitting up to watch the waves crash against the shore when you saw something dark begin emerging from the water. At first it looked like seaweed, but slowly a tall lanky man in a suit slowly walked up out of the water, absolutely drenched. Your eyes widened in fear as it looked like something straight out of a horror movie. You watched intently as the man walked up on to the beach aimlessly. Then he turned his head at an unnatural to look straight at you.

"Where can I get some ice cream?... It's too hot."

Lucy: You were at work, scrubbing the floors by the cash register even though your shift ended over an hour ago. You weren't going to get paid for this overtime either, but you knew you needed the job to make ends meet. Your boss also knew this, unfortunately, and took advantage of it. The manager lazily eyed you as they were laughing with a friend of theirs who had stopped by. "Put some more elbow grease into it!" You heard the teasing chirp from the idiot. You felt like a dog. Gritting your teeth, you scrubbed furiously, imagining the spot on the floor to be your manager's face. Until you were interrupted by a the voice of a young girl with a slight blush adorning her face, almost the same shade of red as her hair.

"It's really none of my business....and it's not like I care or anything...but, you shouldn't let your employer treat you like a slave."

Edgar: You were perusing the mystery section of the library and had finally settled on which book you would like to read next. Pulling it of the shelf, you tucked the book under your arm and made your way to the sitting area to give the first few chapters a quick read before deciding to borrow it for the week. When you got to the desk, you noticed that there was a printed manuscript left on the table. You set down the book you were holding in favor of the paper-clipped pages. You were delighted by the writing. It was a magnificent mystery. You were smiling from ear to ear as you read each page with fervor. You were slightly take aback at the light tugging at your clothes, looking down to see a raccoon. Followed closely behind him was an adorable man with tousled dark hair and a crimson blush over his whole face.

"Ah! My manuscript! I must have left it here, I'm so sorry!"

Mark: You were walking through your usual peaceful trail in the woods, following the path of a small creek. The crunch of dead leaves underfoot and the crisp autumn air made the atmosphere serene and enticing. You could've have lost yourself to the sounds of nature if it weren't for the the whooping and hollering that you heard further down the creek. As you drew closer, you could hear the shattering of glass breaking, followed by another victorious yell. You finally came to a small clearing, seeing a vivacious young man with bright orange hair shooting rocks at glass bottles with a sling-shot. He looked at your direction and aimed the sling shot towards you. You opened your mouth to protest when he released the stone. It whirred past your head, hitting a bottle strung up on a tree branch behind you. The man beamed with glee.

"Boom! Nailed it!"

Nathaniel: Looking out your window this morning, you felt giddy at the light dusting of snow you saw. Snow was a rarity in December and here it was, on Christmas no less. Placing your jacket on, you dashed out of your apartment to walk and see all the lights around town and the couples holding hands. It was a joyous atmosphere despite it being a minor holiday. You stopped in your tracks when you saw a tall man dressed in priestly garb, sitting and reading from a book that you could only assume was religious in nature. You'd never seen a priest before and were rather awestruck as you watched his silver hair fall in front of his glasses as he poured over his book. You didn't even look away when he stopped reading to stare back at you. Or when he cleared his throat with his brow lifted in irritation. Or even when he stood up and walked the few steps closing the distance between you. But, once he spoke, you finally felt embarrassment as your cheeks felt hot against the winter air.

"You do realize that it is particularly rude to stare, right?"

Margaret: The vending machine whirred as you selected your drink. It was sweltering out and you definitely needed the cool liquid to combat the heat during your break. You'd been moving containers off the ships all morning, so you were pretty beat by the time your break rolled around. You sat on the edge of the dock listening to the squabble between two passengers on a boat. One passenger was dressed in religious attire and seemed apathetic towards the argument. The other passenger was a tall woman dressed in a large frilly dress with a rather robust petticoat. Her honey-hair was pulled up under a sun-hat like a true southern american belle. In opposition to the man's apathy, she seemed quite fiery, eyes steeled and jaw clenched. In a huff, she marched down off the boat. The ramp led next to where you were sitting, eyeing the woman as you drank your beverage. Her eyes snapped towards you as she noticed your watchful gaze. She relaxed her her face ever so slightly meeting your eyes as she motioned towards the man on the ship.

"Bless his heart, but I swear some men just aren't raised proper."

Herman: The rain was was all you could hear as it pitter-pattered against your umbrella while you made your way back home. Your feet were walking along the slippery cobblestone sidewalk with a practiced gait. You always took this path home. The same scenes, the same faces- nothing to shake you from your daze. However, the faintest glow of white caught your attention. You rubbed your eyes with your free hand to confirm that you were, in fact, seeing a small white whale happily floating through the air and rain. You followed it in wonderment until you came across an older gentleman sitting on a bench smoking from a pipe, umbrella propped against the back of his seat. You watched as the whale twirled around. Compelled, you sat on the wet bench, next to the sun-tanned man drawing him out of his own thoughts. He gave you a wry smile as the whale danced between you.

"Care to sit and chat with a tired, old man?"

Louisa: It was a busy day. You were run ragged as you tried to complete all the errands you had scheduled for yourself today. You had already dropped off a few packages at the post office. Renewed your insurance for the year and now you were in a hurry to pick up your dry-cleaning before the store closed for lunch. You picked up your pace, reaching for the door. Only, when you opened it, an armful of bagged clothing came tumbling on top of you. With it, fell a small-framed young lady with round glasses and the cutest flustered expression you'd ever seen. Her eyes widened in shock as her face turned scarlett.

"Oh n-no! I'm so so so so sorry! Please do-don't be angry!"

[themanip]

yellow roses

⤳ blurb: lee felix and his seven friends are chosen to go to america and attend a private high school. with only three able to speak english fluently, they get assigned another student to help them navigate american high school. they quickly come to realize that the sweet girl who speaks korean is much more than who she shows during school hours.

⤳ pairing: lee felix + willow arroyo ⤳ genre: romance, coming of age, drama, fluff, eventual smut, very angsty ⤳ warnings: chan being super sweet, cursing, mentions of bullying, not much to worry about this chapter ⤳ word count: a little over 3.1k 

"Can you turn that music down, please?"

Ronnie tapped her shoulder softly, which surprised the young girl. Swiveling around and yanking a headphone out of her ear, she crinkled her eyebrows at the balding man. "Sorry?"

"Can you turn it down? It's so loud I can hear it," her manager stared at her with blank eyes, and she nodded gently. Pulling her left hand from the swamp of dishes and dirty water, she dried her hand on her apron, and clicking the volume button to a lower setting. "I get it, Winnie. It's not the greatest job in the world, and you wanna listen to music and your grumpy manager is being an ass," she let out a soft chuckle at his words.

"I'm sorry, Ron. I don't mean to be an ass, I'm just exhausted."

"It's alright, I get it. I worked like you did when I was your age, and I know how much it sucked. It was just better for me because I got paid double what you do," he smiled softly, clapping his hands together.

"Minimum wage is no laughing matter, Ronnie. I eat one-fifth of a lemon bar for lunch everyday," she eyed him fake angrily, and his eyes softened. "Really?"

"No, what the hell," she laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. "Usually it's a bagel or something,"

"Okay," he sighed softly, taking his cap off and running his hands through his hair. "If you wanna close up a bit earlier, I can come in at five instead of seven,"

Her hands halted as she scrubbed a plate, and she smiled gently. "No, it's okay," she finished washing the last dish, and set it on the drying rack. "You have Eliot now, and I'm sure Olivia isn't getting much sleep without you home during the night, so go home, and take care of your son,"

She melted at the thought of his newborn son, and how beautiful he is. She wasn't extremely good with children, but babies made her absolutely swoon. She also knew how hard newborns were to deal with, and having Ron not home to help probably made things hell for his wife, Olivia.

"You sure?"

One solid nod and a tired grin sent Ronnie on his way home, knowing he would recieve a full night's sleep. Despite the intense amount of work, she loved the diner. It was always warm, she always had at least one plate of food if she needed it, and Ronnie cut her a lot of slack.

She dried her hands off on her apron once more, and headed to the front of the restaurant near the island of stools. It was past midnight now, and occasionally there were some older customers who came in drunk, or just got off work. It seemed to be a quiet night, so she figured it wouldn't be too bad if she took a quick pee break.

On the other end of the diner were the restrooms, and she scrambled over there. Her footsteps and the dark shadows in the bathrooms often creeped her out, she went in, did her business, and left. Once she opened the door, she spotted two bewildered teenage boys at the front door, looking around with wide eyes.

"Hey, are you guys open? I saw it said twenty-four hours but—"

He had an Australian accent, and it made Willow purr on the inside. "Yes! Yes we are, I'm sorry," she sighed in embarassment, and rushed to the front of the diner. Her boots, which usually help her feet with the consistent standing, are now a nuisance as she stumbles across the floor.

"Oh no worries, we know it's kind of late,"

As Willow stumbled next to the boy, who she now saw another boy standing next to him with red cheeks. His accent was beautiful, she thought. He was also inhumanely good looking. The one who'd spoken to her had darker brown hair, on the wavier side. He had a larger nose, and his lips were quite full. He was beautiful.

The other one stood silent, and Willow smiled and held menus. "Booth or do you wanna sit at the island?"

"Uh, booth please," the brunette spoke up once more, and she silently led them to a booth that was clean and somewhat in the middle of the restaurant. Gentle background music filled the silence, and all that was heard was soft scuffling as the two boys followed the only girl working.

She sat them down, and the other blonde boy smiled sheepishly. "Here are your menus, can I get you something to drink first?"

"Can I get a coke, please?"

That time, it was the boy who'd she never heard speak. His voice was deeper, almost curiously soft.  The brunette spoke once more, "Do you have tea?"

"Of course, sir. Unsweetened or sweetened?"

"Oh, sweetened please," he nodded thoughtfully, smiling. "I will be right back with your drinks, take a look over the menu and you can let me know what you want at your earliest convenience," Willow smiled genuinely, and she bowed slightly. She didn't even mean to, she just felt odd alone, at midnight, with two teenage boys in her diner.

"She called you sir, Chan," the blonde boy whispered to the one opposite him, this Chan character. "She's really nice, we have to leave a good tip," Chan responded, and that's all Willow managed to hear before she started making their drinks.

The next hour or so dragged on, with Chan, Willow, and the other figure, whom she'd learn is Felix, and her coming back and forth to collect orders, serve seconds, cook said seconds, and giving refills. Each time, Chan would apologize for inconveniencing her as if it wasn't her job, and she would smile softly. She could tell that he would never be rude to fast food workers or people just intending to do their job.

Usually, there would be a chef, or at least someone who can cook, and at least one other person working. The past few weeks had been Willow mostly by herself, picking up extra shifts, and as long as it wasn't busy, she could manage cooking and waittressing. She got paid double time, and she picked up overtime on days where Ron did not want to come in early. He also didn't want to burden Helena, one of his other over-nighters, who'd just gotten back on her feet after a house fire.

She wasn't a bad cook, and she was quick on her feet. She could hold down her own, and Ronnie knew that. Hence he trusted her with his entire diner, on most nights, and to hold the fort down. She would now easily bring home paychecks over a grand, with taxes taken out every week. As her two very cute customers continued eating their seconds, she scribbled messily on her notepad on the counter.

She stood on the inside of the island counter, and was counting expenses. She had a lot of shit to worry about, bills included. Gas, electric, dog food, groceries. She could take maybe three hundred dollars off her bill fund thanks to her mother, but it still didn't help in the scheme of things.

Frustrated, she scribbled out her list. She had to worry about this later, there was no need to worry before she got her paycheck. Her eyes felt heavy, and she tried to rub the sleepiness from them. She had at least five more hours before she could even think about leaving, and she still had to clean this place from top to bottom.

"Do you think we could get the check, please?"

Chan's timid voice broke her from her daze, and her face reddened in embarassment. She had forgotten they were here. Setting her pen down hastily, she shuffled over to grab the printed out receipt, and held it tightly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to zone off like that," she set the check down, and took notice of their neatly stacked plates with silverware crossed on top. Her cleanup would be very easy, and she absolutely loved when she had customers like this. "Oh, no worries," Chan smiled and eyed the check. "Is it okay if I take these?"

Pointing towards the stack of plates, the other boy, Felix, quickly grabbed them and handed them to her. Underneath the plates, their fingers touched briefly. A sheepish smile followed from both, and she quickly scurried to put the plates in the dishwasher. All she had to do was get them checked out, clean the three plates, clean the milkshake cups, the soda cups, and sweep. Some general maintenance, and if nobody else came in, she was in for a decent night.

"Hey, you didn't charge us for the milkshakes," Chan mentioned softly, slight accusatory tone. "They're on the house," Willow smiled back from the bar island, and Chan cocked his head in confusion, "if that's okay,"

"That's really kind, thank you," once again, a gentle, dimple-filled smile from Chan, and a sheepish, red-cheeked one from Felix. She wished to hear the blonde boy speak again, his voice so rich, so deep. He seemed sweet.

Her first thought was that they were boyfriends. It angered her, but only in a way that two of the cutest guys she'd possibly ever seen were together. It was adorable, to say the least. Little did she know, they were definitely not together.

Willow came to collect the money, and Felix stared up at her. "Are you from around here?"

Her eyes widened, and her mind went blank. That was usually how someone asked if she would be missed had she been kidnapped. "That sounded really creepy, I'm sorry," he clarified, and she loosened her shoulders a bit, "We are new to town, and we don't know where Glarien Avenue is. We just moved in, and can't find our way back. The GPS says the street doesn't exist," he finished quickly, and she nodded gently, deciding on whether or not to tell him.

"Oh, uh," she bit her lip, "the street got a new sign on accident, and the GPS or whatever national database that programs the information never got updated, I guess. If you pull out of here, take a left and go forward like three-ish blocks. There's gonna be a bright yellow house, and once you see that turn right, and then take a sharp right again and if you just keep going down you should see Glarien. If you get lost, just come back,"

It took only five minutes for the two Australian boys to clear out, and for Willow to finally take a breath. As she took care of all of the dishes, she went for the check last. Their total was somewhat cheap, twenty-three dollars, for two full meals, two sodas, a sweet tea, and extra sides of fries.

As she counted out the money, she was thoroughly confused. There were two twenties, and two fives. There was fifty dollars here, and their meal was less than thirty. On the check was a small note.

Really good food, really good service. We hope you have an amazing night, and whatever is left after our tab is paid is yours. Thank you!

An exasperated sigh left her mouth, and she sat in the booth where the two boys sat. Staring at the money in front of her, her chest felt heavy. All of her emotions poured out, and the thought that a strangers kindness' brought her to tears was shameful yet elating. That would be three less hours she would have to work, three more hours of sleep, or soccer practice, or studying. More time to not stress over bills.

She sat there for a few minutes, breathing in and out, as deep as she could. Wiping her face of any tear remnants, she stood up, collecting the money in hand. As she eyed the clock, she sighed inwardly. It was only 2 AM.

A little less than five hours later, she was walking into the doors of LaPrine High School, with at least two hundred other students. For seven in the morning, teenagers were pretty damn annoying. Squeals and loud murmurs was everything that she could hear, and it made her turn her headphones up louder.

For a private school full of snobby inbreds, there were some okay kids there. Most of them were the scholarship kids, who'd had their fares paid for, like Willow. If someone found out that you were a scholar student, you'd immediately be laughed at and taunted. She managed to keep hers a secret, though. She excelled, and she made sure to throw in an occasional snicker when needed to prove she was just one among the bunch.

She wasn't popular by any means, but everyone knew her. She was a suck up, that was for sure. Every teacher liked her, her grades were impeccable, and she was an all-star soccer player. She managed to have better stats than Ian Rewns, the past all star soccer legend, and he wasn't even a midfielder.

She also was known to stay pretty quiet, and to herself socially. She had a few casual friends, some classmates she talked to, but nobody really close. She was okay with that, she was pretty busy anyways. She had school from eight in the morning to three, then soccer practice from four to six-thirty, and if there wasn't a game, she'd go home around seven, and at eleven she would go work the graveyard shift at the diner. On average, she'd get four to five hours of sleep. Friends, or a social life, just take away from that time.

As she stopped at her locker to pull out her textbooks, she felt a tap on her shoulder. "Ms. Arroyo," it was her principal, Mrs. Samson. "Can you come with me, please?"

It was only two weeks into the school year, so there wasn't much she could get in trouble for. Maybe it was to rearrange her classes? No, every class she had was only alotted for that specific hour, there was no way. Her tuition? God, she hoped not.

"How are your classes so far?" as they rounded the office hallway, Mrs. Samson was making casual conversation. The clicking of her heels intimidated Willow a bit, but she'd known her for over a year. She wasn't as scary as everyone made her out to be. "They're good, I just finally settled in,"

"I know this year seems like it may be hard, but by the looks of your GPA next year, I think you'll be satisfied with it." Praise made Willow purr like a kitten, and her entire body tingled at the realization that this probably wasn't bad.

"Me too," she replied softly, and Mrs. Samson held the door to her office open for her, and they stepped in. Her office was tidy, shades of light blue and gray, and was a little too cold for Willow's liking. "Come and take a seat, hun,"

Unsure still, she took a seat. Her back didn't touch the seat, her anxiety from not knowing why she was there overtaking her comfortability. "You're not in trouble, don't worry," the older woman smiled at her as she took her own seat opposite her desk.

"So, I know you are a busy girl," she looked at her with eyes of compassion, and a soft smile decorated her face. "I have a proposition for you," she continued.

"Do you happen to remember when you did student tours for the incoming freshman?" Her first year at LaPrine, she was allowed to do student tours as community service hours for NHS. She was actually so good at it, and the organization of it, that she got to do it again this summer, and handled it all by herself without any staff. It was pulled off effortlessly.

"Of course, this year too," Willow nodded in agreement, and she waited for the woman to continue. "Well, if you agree to help me for a while this year, I will make sure all of your community hours are taken care of, and anything else you need help with will be considered done,"

Willow wanted her to get to the point.

"What is it?"

"Remember on your National Honor Society resume, you said you're bilingual and speak more than just English? You weren't lying, right?"

Willow laughed so hard she nearly bust a lung, and quickly covered her mouth with her hand. "Mrs. Samson, my last name is Arroyo. But of course, I can speak more than just Spanish, though,"

"You listed Korean, correct?" she eyed a piece of paper, which was most likely her aforementioned resume.

"Yeah, I can speak it somewhat fluently, and I can read Hangul well, I sometimes have trouble writing it, though. I don't imagine I'll be writing Korean letters, will I?" Willow's Hangul was absolutely preposterous, any native Korean would agree.

"No, that's silly," The elder crossed her hands together, and leaned forward. "Starting tomorrow, we have eight foreign exchange students coming from Korea, and you are an exemplar student who also happens to speak said language. One is a native English speaker, and two others speak it fluently. The rest can manage only a conversation or two, so you can understand our worry. I'm sure it would be nice for them to have a friend as well,"

"For the rest of the year?"

"Yes, but I'm sure that they'll manage to speak more fluently as the year progresses," and Willow shook her head, "I'm not worried about the language, I just don't know how that would work,"

"How so?"

"Well, are they all girls? Are they boys? Is it a mix? And won't their classes be much different than mine?"

"They're all boys, ranging from sophomore to seniors, and they're super sweet. Very respectful boys, from what I hear. I promise you, I will make it worth it if you help me out, and at least be a friend and reliable student to these boys. And no, they will not all have the same classes as you, but it will probably be courses you have taken, save for the seniors."

"I will also put in a good word for you to Mr. Ramirez, and how that head position on the team should be an exemplar student and player," she mentioned the soccer coach, and Willow cringed inwardly. She hadn't spoke Korean, in full length sentences, in over a year. She could remember it, but she'd be rusty.

"Okay, but you owe me one. No, more like eight; you owe me eight, Mrs. Samson."

"Deal. Come in tomorrow early if you can, and you can give them the tour. I will be here as well, so if you want to meet me in the cafeteria, I will bring you coffee."

"I like my coffees with extra creamer and sugar."

"Done."

[sam-and-buck]

At Home With Captain America

Fandom: MCU

Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes

Rating: G

Words: 7.7k

Also on AO3

“What can you tell me about how you got to know the Winter Soldier?”

Wilson chuckles. “The first time I met Buck—Sergeant Barnes—he ripped the steering wheel out of the car I was driving on the freeway. He got on the roof, punched through the windshield, pulled the steering wheel off. Just like that.” He mimes with his hands as he describes it.

This doesn’t sound like an auspicious beginning to me, but Wilson is laughing.

At Home with Captain America

By: Adrien Davis

Published: February 2, 2026, 3:35 PM 

To say I’m intimidated by interviewing Captain America in his own home would be an understatement, and I would never have thought to ask if I could do that if he hadn’t personally invited me. Normally, I’d start one of these articles by describing the location, maybe even throw in an anecdote or two about how I got there, but that’s not going to be possible here.

Sam Wilson lives on [REDACTED] in [REDACTED]. It was a windy day.

Here’s what I can tell you: it’s an apartment. A nice one. Two bedroom, two bath.

“Am I allowed to describe the inside of your house?” is one of the first things I say to him, after getting his permission to turn on my recorder.

“Go right ahead,” he laughs, arms crossed over the worn USAF logo on his gray t-shirt. “Just don’t put the street name in there or anything.”

Wilson gives me a moment to poke around. Whoever decorated this place has good taste; it’s no haphazard bachelor pad. There’s an exposed brick wall in the otherwise slate blue living room, several plants (which I assume are fakes—albeit convincing ones—since Wilson is, by his own admission, not home as often as he’d like to be), a sturdy walnut coffee table, and a magnificently squishy-looking red couch.

It’s unmistakably lived in, though. I don’t get the sense that the place has been scrubbed spotless or particularly arranged for my visit. There are two abandoned mugs on coasters sitting on the coffee table, along with several different remote controls, and a stack of half-finished books with dog-eared corners. A pile of mail has been pushed to the side. Next to the door, a wall-mounted coat rack holds several leather jackets in shades of brown and black, and at least as many sweaters, mostly navy blue, charcoal and maroon. The shoe rack underneath houses multiple pairs of black combat boots, worn running shoes, house slippers. And next to that, on the floor, a large, gleaming silver case with red detail that could only contain Wilson’s Falcon wingpack. The legendary shield is propped up against it, ready to go at a moment’s notice.

I’m trying to imagine how it would be to leave the house for him. Got my keys, wings, phone, shield, wallet?

There are pictures on the walls and the mantle above the fireplace, under the television. People who I can only assume are Wilson’s relatives by their similarly gap-toothed smiles. Veterans. Wilson in full air force gear next to a blond man I don’t recognize. Then Captain Steve Rogers, in the 1940s with the Howling Commandos, and in the twenty-first century by himself. Wilson with Rogers, and Natasha Romanoff. One conspicuously empty nail where a large frame would clearly fit. 

Scattered among these are several very old, dour black and white photographs of a dark-haired family. The first shows a mother, father and two small children, a boy and girl. The second is the mother and children only, taken some time after, judging by their apparent ages. The third is several years later still; the same children with light eyes and dark hair, but they’re teeangers now, and without parents. They look haunting and out-of-place among the glossy prints of Wilson’s big, happy family in matching 80s colorblocked tracksuits, or Wilson and his sisters in front of a Christmas tree, surrounded by wrapping paper and toys.

There’s also a wood-framed painting that stands out: an idyllic watercolor of a little farmhouse with a green roof and shuttered windows in a field. A small pile of lumber and a white mailbox make up the foreground. The most distinctive feature is the signature at the bottom: S.G.R. I know those initials. 

“Captain Rogers painted this?”

“Uh huh,” Wilson nods fondly, hands now in his pockets. “Man of many talents. Maybe every talent. Having a hard time thinking of anything he wasn’t good at.”

I hear the unstated in that. A tough act to follow.

I think, for purposes of journalistic integrity, I should probably insert my bias before we go any further. We had never met before this interview, but I am and have always been enormously supportive of Captain Wilson and the work he’s done, and have written myriad articles and think pieces about him over the past several years. He’s shown himself time and again to be a man of unshakable integrity and endless emotional intelligence, and frankly, I’m more worried about the poor sucker who’s going to have to follow Wilson. Rogers did a lot of great things, but among the best of them was choosing a successor.

I tell him as much and he smiles, looking down at his shoes.

“Yeah, I know that’s how you feel,” he says. “I requested you for this piece, actually, because of that. People are going to accuse me of wanting a softball interview here, and maybe they’re right. For this one, I think that’s what I need.”

I’m not sure what he means by that, but he continues before I can ask.

“We should probably do this in the kitchen.” Wilson indicates behind us with his thumb, after I’ve stood silently in his living room for probably way too long. “That couch is too comfortable. I end up falling asleep every time I sit on it.”

The kitchen is, perhaps, a little cramped. There’s a large, dark marble-topped kitchen island that just fits in the center of the room with four bar stools tucked under it. The cabinets are tall, with glass doors showcasing a massive collection of healthy, but non-perishable food. The shelf nearest us holds several well-used bags of pantry supplies: chickpea flour, arrowroot starch, raw sugar. There’s a pasta shelf above it, but no Kraft Mac in sight; everything is lentil-based, chickpea-based, black bean-based.

“Have a seat,” Wilson says, inclining his head towards one of the barstools. “Can I get you something to drink?” He opens the refrigerator.

“We have…” he pauses. “Water. Sorry, just got back from Ecuador this morning. Sparkling or still?”

I accept a glass of still water from Captain America. He sits down on the stool next to mine.

His house, or what I’ve seen of it, is homey in a way I can’t imagine any of the late Tony Stark’s buildings ever were, and I mention this.

“I lived at the Avengers Tower briefly,” Wilson tells me. “Tony liked everything streamlined, really modern. Kinda sparse for my taste. I needed some real furniture when I got out of there, you know? Like, things that were made by human beings. Stuff with ‘character,’ that’s what Steve would call it.”

“So you decorated this place?”

“I think it’s about fifty-fifty,” Wilson says, indicated with vague hand motion.

This is my in.

This interview, as you may have read on the cover description, is actually intended to be an exposé about the working partnership between Wilson and Sergeant James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, but I didn’t want to be the one who brought him up first. 

All I knew going in is that they’re a package deal in the field, a unit. We’ve all seen the footage.

Also, Barnes lives here too, but evidently, he’s not home.

“What can you tell me about how you got to know the Winter Soldier?”

Wilson chuckles. “The first time I met Buck—Sergeant Barnes—he ripped the steering wheel out of the car I was driving on the freeway. He got on the roof, punched through the windshield, pulled the steering wheel off. Just like that.” He mimes with his hands as he describes it.

This doesn’t sound like an auspicious beginning to me, but Wilson is laughing.

“I hope he apologized to you for that,” I tell him, because I’m not exactly sure how else to respond.

“Oh yeah, of course he did, even though he knows I don’t blame him for it. He doesn’t remember it at all,” says Wilson. “There are a lot of gaps, to be honest. Most of it is gaps.”

What Wilson is likely referring to here is the decades-long period in which Barnes was under the complete mental and physical influence of the Nazi splinter group known as HYDRA. If you’re unfamiliar with the history of Sergeant Barnes, I’ll list a couple of great articles for you to read at the end of this one. I assure you, it’s worth your time. 

Wilson has without a doubt been Barnes’s most ardent supporter. He’s spoken out many times about not judging Barnes based on the actions he couldn’t control, and has masterfully refocused the national conversation towards Barnes’s invaluable contributions in World War II and in the recent war to bring half the universe’s population back into existence. Wilson has been quoted as saying, “The least extraordinary thing about Sergeant Barnes is his vibranium arm.”*

But perhaps Wilson’s most effective act towards building public confidence in Barnes was his decision to designate him as an almost exclusive mission partner. Even if the general populace has been reluctant to trust the Winter Soldier, it is abundantly clear that Captain America does, absolutely. Barnes is a constant in the footage of Wilson’s exploits. The moment he touches down on the ground after a successful arrest or negotiation, Barnes is right there. He’s been sighted treating Wilson’s minor injuries, tightening straps on the Falcon wingsuit before Wilson takes flight, and he stands quietly behind Wilson during almost all of his many public appearances.

Despite his ubiquitous presence in Wilson’s company, Barnes has remained elusive for comment. He has no social media, and the only public statement he’s made to date was in November of 2023, in support of Rogers’s decision to pass on the legacy of Captain America. Barnes expressed his categorical agreement that Wilson is “the best and only choice for this job,” describing him as both “worthy of the honor,” and “equipped for the burden.”**

“Is it fair to say that Sergeant Barnes almost comes with the shield?” I ask.

Wilson makes a face.

“No, it isn’t,” he shakes his head. “The shield is an accessory; my partner is not. I really don’t like it when people lump him in with the shield. It sort of minimizes how Bucky and I have made a series of conscious choices to be the way we are now. Especially because he’s experienced being fully stripped of his personal autonomy—as a veteran, I can say I’ve had a taste of that, but nothing like what he’s been through—and I think it cheapens his choice to do what he does if we imply that he, as a person, is a package deal with my title, you know?”

The therapist in Wilson is showing. In addition to his decorated military history and service as Captain America, he has a background in psychology, and a Masters degree in Social Work with a focus on Veterans’ mental health issues. He’s worked extensively with the VA as a leader in group therapy.

“So Sergeant Barnes is by your side day in and day out because he wants to be?”

This, Wilson has another unequivocal answer for. “Yes. He wants to be there, and I want him there. And here at home.”

“Tell me a little more about that,” I say. “After the...steering-wheel-stealing incident. Once he was more or less himself. Did you two hit it off right away?”

Wilson laughs again. “Not at all,” he says. “I think there was this resentment, kind of, in the beginning. Like I’m Steve’s best friend and no, I’m Steve’s best friend. Real elementary school stuff. He really got on my nerves; just everything about him annoyed me, and the feeling was mutual. Looking back…”

And here Wilson pauses for a moment. He chews on his bottom lip, and I notice all at once how nervous his body language has become. His fingers are drumming on the table, the line of his shoulders is taut, his leg is bouncing. He clears his throat though, and seems determined to continue.

“Looking back, I can see where it was coming from. It wasn’t clear to me at the time, but now I get it. There was this one time, it was during the fight over the Accords. We barely knew each other at this point. Buck and I, we’re fighting Spider-Man—who neither of us had ever even heard of before, like, that afternoon—and he pins us to the floor of this hangar with that goo he shoots out of his wrist. Really gross. I manage to get Redwing [Wilson’s drone] to fling Spider-Man out the window. So we’re just laying there, me and Bucky, stuck. And he goes ‘you couldn’t have done that before?’ And I just turn to him, and I’m like, ‘I hate you.’”

At this, Wilson really starts cracking up. He relaxes visibly, just a little.

“Did you mean it?”

“I sure thought I did,” he says, still chuckling. “Like, I wasn’t about to take it back.”

He continues: “Anyway, so after Steve, you know, passed on the shield to me, that’s when things really changed. Actually, back up a second. After the whole Accords incident, we ended up sending Bucky to Wakanda for like… to hear him describe it, it’s like we sent him for a two-year spa retreat. They unscrambled his brain as best they could—and really, I think it’s a good thing they couldn’t do any more because I wouldn’t wish some of his memories on my worst enemy—and he spent like months meditating in a hut and milking goats and going to therapy every day. When I met up with him again, I barely would’ve recognized him.”

“So that’s kind of when you guys reconciled? The arguing stopped?”

“Oh, it never stopped,” Wilson says with a grin. “We still argue all the time, about all kinds of things. Just ask Rhodey [Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes, aka War Machine] or Scott [Lang, Ant-Man] or anybody. But the dynamic shifted a little, I think. Bucky’s got… Like I can’t imagine some of the stuff he’s been through, but he’s just kind of learned to roll with it. He is hands down the most resilient person I have ever met. Easily. It was real hard to keep hating him when he was so dead set on getting me to like him, too.”

“Can you walk me through the process by which you two decided to live together?”

“Yeah,” he says, and the nervousness is back. He smooths his hands on his thighs over his jeans. “So, basically, once I got the shield, we’d just barely come back. Like everyone else who got… I—I still don’t know if this is like an okay question to ask people. Do you mind me asking if you were dusted?”

I don’t mind. “Yeah, I was.”

“So you get it,” Wilson says. “Might be the most vulnerable I’d ever felt. I got nothing. Nowhere to go, just the clothes on my back. Then Steve hands me this shield and this enormous legacy—and I look back and there’s Bucky, standing a couple of yards behind me, nodding like, yeah, it should be you. He was the first person who knew, and he’s been right by my side ever since.”

“So you decided to stick together?”

“The original conversation about it was pretty logistical,” Wilson says, rubbing his beard. “There was so much going on, it’s hard to remember exactly what was said, but I think it was along the lines of him offering to fetch the shield for me while I learned how to throw it, and stuff like that. Just easier to do when we’re together 24/7.”

“So rooming together didn’t actually grow out of field partnerships?”

“It was definitely the other way around,” says Wilson. “Basically, I’d get a call from the powers that be that there was something I had to go check out, and it was easier to just walk across the hall than to pick someone else, try to wake them up, and then have to rendez-vous and strategize.”

“I’ll bet,” I say.

Wilson nods. “Easier and faster. Bucky can go from dead asleep to fully geared up in under three minutes. The first few times were like that, with me just knocking on his bedroom door like ‘hey, I need—’ and he comes barreling out covered in knives thirty seconds later like, ‘where are we going?’ We just… clicked. And I’ll be honest; I was really surprised. He’s got my six, I’ve got his, and I never question it. I started asking for him specifically on all my assignments after that, and Fury [Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.] and everyone caught on quick that that’s how it was gonna be. I don’t have to ask anymore.”

“Do you see this continuing long term?” I ask.

Wilson doesn’t hesitate. “Definitely.”

“How would you describe your relationship with Sergeant Barnes now?” I ask. “Clearly you’re partners in the field, and roommates, but…”

Wilson takes a deep breath. His hands are shaking, but he clasps them together in front of him and looks me straight in the eye.

“As of last month,” he says slowly, “Bucky and I are married.”

In the spirit of my interview with Captain America, who stands for honesty and justice and integrity, I think you deserve to know the truth. I want to say that I didn’t drop my recorder, but I did. It clatters to the floor, luckily undamaged.

That startles Wilson into a laugh. For the second it takes me to retrieve my recorder from under my seat, I wonder if he’s kidding.

“Come on,” he says. “Say something. I’m getting nervous.” He’s smiling, but not joking.

“Congratulations,” I blurt out. “I...really?”

“Yeah.” The tension leaves his body in a rush. “We, uh, it’s official.”

I’m struggling for questions at this point. The talking points I was planning on hitting in this interview are all suddenly moot, and I decide to throw out my mental to-do list entirely. I finally settle on, “How long have you two been together?”

“A little over two years,” Wilson answers. “About three months after I took up the shield.”

“How did it happen?”

Wilson grins. “Uh, well. I had sort of been…having feelings about him, you know, for awhile. Actually, it’s more like I had noticed that I was having more-than-friendly feelings in the few weeks leading up to that. I think the main reason we had so much trouble getting along in the beginning is that it took some time to process those feelings as attraction. So in a way, I was interested on some level right from the get go.”

“Even if that person wasn’t...behind the wheel of their own brain, so to speak—” I start, but Wilson interjects.

“I see what you did there.”

“—I think it would take a lot for me to be attracted to someone who had previously tried to kill me.”

“Less than I would’ve expected, that’s for sure,” Wilson says. “But it’s not like I was checking him out while he was busy tearing my wings off my back; I’m talking about once he was mentally present in his body. That was like...two years after the whole steering wheel incident, and I hadn’t seen him at all in the interim. I didn’t even know where he was during that time.”

“So it had at least been awhile since he had tried to kill you?”

“Oh yeah. And plenty of other people tried to kill me in those two years, and they weren’t even sorry about it. You gotta adjust your standards, you know?” he says with a laugh.

“Anyway, if you ask him, he says he’s been all in since the moment he saw me back in Wakanda after his little vacation. Now we’re talking about four years since the steering wheel thing. Me, Steve, Nat and everybody; we landed in Wakanda and Bucky’s there. He and I look at each other over Steve’s shoulder, and like, bam, that was it for him. 

“And then there’s five years where neither of us exist. We get back, we fight the monsters, Steve gives me the shield, and while all this is happening, apparently Bucky has come to the conclusion that he’s in love with me. After that, he was just waiting for me to catch up.”

“And he just knew you’d get there? Did you give him any indication that you were interested, or…?”

“I definitely did, but not intentionally,” says Wilson. “He’s very perceptive—like way more than I was giving him credit for—but I think it’s a combination of that and me not being as subtle as I think I am.

“Because, see there’s this invisible line I’ve drawn here—at least that’s how he was thinking about it—and I keep dancing a little closer to that line every day, the line being the no homo line; the point where you can’t take it back. The flirting, I mean. I, of course, think he has no clue and that I’m being slick about it. Actually, lemme ask—how much detail are you looking for here? Like do you want to know the whole story or just—”

“Lay it on me,” I tell him. “Just however you want to tell it.”

“Alright. Where was I? So I’m just there going back and forth on whether or not it’s a good idea to risk this roommate-partner-buddy thing we’ve got going here by trying to make a move that, frankly, I have no clue if he’s gonna be receptive to. You have to remember we’re talking about a guy from the Great Depression here, like that’s the time period he grew up in. I’m no historian, but I think it’s common knowledge that if you were a man who was attracted to men back then, you mostly kept that to yourself. The chances of him bringing up his sexual orientation unprompted are very low. And like, I’m 90% sure I’ve caught him looking before, but that’s never a guarantee, you know?

“So, instead of sitting down and having a mature conversation about my feelings, I keep doing this thing where, for example, say he’s trying something new with his hair, and I’ll say something nice about it. And then I follow up immediately with, ‘Almost makes up for your ugly mug,’ or whatever, which—I mean, he’s such a good-looking guy, like what ugly mug, obviously I don’t mean that. And he’s not stupid, he knows what he looks like. So he picks up on what I’m doing, doesn’t say anything, and lets this go on for months.

“Eventually, there’s one night… We’re on the couch, watching like, I don’t know, Seinfeld or something. Whatever was on. He’s reading a book on my tablet, looking all relaxed and handsome. I can’t have that, so I start egging him on like I usually do, and I guess I got close enough to the line that he just puts the tablet down, turns to me and says, ‘Sam, you know there’s no line, right?’ 

“And I’m going, okay, what does that mean? Like, is this a conversation I was previously a part of and forgot or...? Where is this ‘line’ thing coming from? And so I ask him—I think I just said, ‘What?’ At that point he looks me right in the eye, and he goes, ‘You can kiss me if you want to.’” So I did, and he was ready for it, like no hesitation. Like I said: waiting for me to catch up.”

This, as you can imagine, is far beyond the level of detail I could have ever imagined I’d get about Captain America’s love life in my wildest dreams. I decide to ask a new question, because I feel like I’d be pushing my luck to delve further when he’s already been so open about this experience. 

“Who proposed and when?” 

“Ooh,” says Wilson, “I guess technically I did, but I’m gonna go on record saying that one was a group effort.”

“Well, now you’re gonna have to explain that,” I tell him. “What’s a ‘group effort’ proposal look like?”

“Hmm. I backed myself into that one, didn’t I?” he says. “First, I want the record to show that before I called you guys to set up this interview, I specifically asked Bucky if there were any us-related topics or whatever that were off-limits to discuss and he said ‘No,’ and I said, ‘Are you sure?’ and he said ‘Yes, I’m sure,’ and I said, “You better be sure, because whatever I say is gonna be public knowledge after that,” and he said “I know, I get it, Jesus.” Then I dropped it because he sounded like he was getting kinda irritated. If he didn’t want me to tell you any of this stuff, that would’ve been the time to speak up, so here we go:

“We were at… Well, I can’t tell you exactly where we were, but let’s just say we were working. There was nobody else in the room, but we were getting ready to go out in the field; seemed like it was gonna be a pretty...intense situation out there. I had my whole suit on, he was calibrating his arm, and the conversation ended up at living wills. As you can imagine, that’s an important thing to have when you’re in this line of work. So he proceeded to tell me that the last time he’d updated his was never and that his next-of-kin was nobody. And I was like, ‘So what, your grenade launchers are all gonna go to the state? I don’t even get the red one?’ and I’m just giving him a hard time, you know, and he’s like, ‘Sam.’ 

“And then, my god, he just goes all the way off about how much he loves me and trusts me and I—we don’t usually go there. I mean, we’d been on the same page for a long time as far as, we’ve established that we’re in love, this relationship is going well, but it’s not something that we’d verbalized in any real depth. That’s just a level of like, exposure, vulnerability, I think, that doesn’t come naturally to most people, myself included. 

“So he just keeps talking—and I think it’s fair to say he’s not a very talkative guy most of the time—and I’m standing there with my jaw on the floor because he is not holding back, and this is all clearly unrehearsed. Like, this is just how he really feels about me, apparently. By the time he’s finished, I’m crying, he’s crying, it’s a mess. And so I open my mouth, and I have no idea what I’m gonna say to all that, but what comes out is, “Will you marry me?” I wasn’t planning on it, but suddenly I just knew. Best decision I ever made.”

“And you’ve made some very important decisions in your life.”

“That’s right. I know which ones I’m leaving out by saying this was the best, and I stand by it.”

At that moment, as if on cue, the lock clicks, and Sergeant Barnes walks through the front door carrying two very full bags of groceries on his vibranium arm. He tosses a set of car keys into a little dish and locks the door behind him.

“Hey, babe,” Wilson calls out, catching his eye.

“You did it?” Barnes asks.

“Yeah.” Wilson tilts his head up.

Barnes rounds the corner, pecks Wilson on the lips with all the comfort and familiarity of a couple who have done it a thousand times. I hear him murmur, “Proud of you,” under his breath.

Barnes sets the groceries on the counter in front of me as Wilson introduces us.

“Call me Bucky,” says Barnes, reaching out with his right hand to shake mine. There’s a silver band on the fourth finger, and when I look back over at Wilson, he’s slipping his wedding ring out of the pocket of his jeans and putting it back on his left hand.

“Wasn’t sure if I’d be able to go through with all this,” he says, gesturing to me and my notepad. “I took the wedding pictures down in the living room too, before you got here.”

“I knew he could do it,” Barnes tells me. His voice is low, soft, and so quiet, a hint of an old Brooklyn accent underlying his words even now, despite everything he’s been through and everywhere he’s been. He shrugs out of his nondescript hoodie and tosses it on one of the unused stools, grabbing a kettle and putting it on the stove.

“Hibiscus or chamomile?” he asks me, pulling two boxes of tea bags from one of the grocery bags and letting me choose before turning to Wilson. “Bad news, hon. They were out of your whole wheat pita.”

“Again?” says Wilson, with feeling. “Really?”

“They only had the gluten free. I guess I could check the other store tonight, but it’s supposed to rain later, and I kinda don’t feel like going out again,” Barnes says, head buried in the cupboard as he stacks cans. “I was thinking maybe I could just try making ‘em. How does that sound? How hard can it be, right?”

“‘How does homemade pita sound,’ he says,” Wilson repeats, jabbing a thumb towards Barnes. “Can you believe this guy?”

“I honestly can’t.” It’s the truth. My brain refuses to reconcile this man with the supposed playboy I read about in my 11th grade history textbook, nor the internationally feared assassin.

“Is that a yes or no on the experimental homemade pita?” Barnes asks Wilson, still deep in the cupboard. “No promises on quality.”

“That’s a yes, Buck,” says Wilson, then he turns to me. “Don’t listen to him; he’s a great cook.”

The Winter Soldier is a great cook, I write in my notes. And then I realize this is my moment to shine.

“I actually know a good recipe for homemade pita,” I tell them. “It’s whole wheat.” That gets Barnes’s attention.

“You do?” he says, pulling out his phone. “Can you send it to—hmm.” He frowns. “Sam, it’s not showing the thing.”

“What thing?” Wilson asks, taking Barnes’s phone from his hand. “Oh, yeah, that’s cause it’s set to Contacts Only, Buck, you have to switch it to Allow Everyone.”

Wilson looks at me, smiling. “Bucky here hates technology—”

“—I don’t hate technology—”

“Oh yes you do, you won’t even let me get you an iPad—”

“Yeah, for what? What do I need it for? I wouldn’t even use—”

“You wouldn’t use one, huh? How about I stop letting you borrow mine for a couple of weeks, then we’ll see how you feel.” Wilson turns to me, passing Barnes’s phone back to him. “He should be showing up on your AirDrop now.”

Sure enough, I’m able to send the recipe link to Bucky’s iPhone. He thanks me and starts scrolling right through it, argument apparently totally forgotten.

As Barnes continues to read, periodically checking on the kettle; Wilson excuses himself to help put away the rest of the groceries, which are mostly produce. 

“I hope you have like, immediate plans for these,” Wilson says, inspecting the avocados as he pulls them out of the paper bag. “They are ripe, man. Tomorrow’s gonna be too late for them.”

“Yeah I do, I was gonna make grilled chicken and avocado sandwiches for dinner,” Barnes replies. “I got tomatoes, swiss cheese—”

“What’s all this about pita then if we’re having sandwiches?” Wilson asks.

“No, the pita is the bread here,” Barnes explains. “You stuff everything in the pocket. I’m gonna have to get started pretty soon; probably gonna double the rising time since it’s cold out.” Wilson hums in apparent approval of this course of action.

I lose Wilson to the refrigerator for several minutes. He stands back up after arranging things in the crisper to his liking.

“Any chance I could get a peek at those wedding pictures?” I ask.

“Oh,” says Wilson. “That okay with you?” He turns to Barnes, who nods, carefully steeping bags of tea in three steaming mugs, and then leads me back to the living room. 

Wilson has stashed two silver-framed pictures in a drawer of the coffee table, apparently in anticipation of my visit, and he pulls them out to show to me. Both are taken in front of a familiar-looking farmhouse, which I struggle with for a moment before placing it as the exact one in Captain Rogers’s watercolor painting that’s hanging to my left. Wilson’s suit in the photo is a matte but brilliant shade of cobalt; Barnes wears black.

One is of just the two of them, arms around one another and foreheads together. It’s almost too intimate to look at; I feel as though I’m intruding on something intensely private, even though Wilson is standing right here offering me a glimpse of it.

He puts that one back up onto the mantle.

The next is them in the center of a large group that consists of some people I recognize and others I don’t. Familiar faces include Dr. Bruce Banner [The Hulk], Clint Barton [Hawkeye], and Maria Hill [Deputy Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.]. Also present: King T’Challa of Wakanda and his sister, Princess Shuri. There’s a young girl in a white dress, carrying a flower basket and missing a front tooth, standing in front of [C.E.O. of Stark Industries] Pepper Potts. Next to them is a teenager with floppy brown hair doing an indescribably awkward double thumbs up.

“Who’s that?” I ask, pointing at him.

Wilson snorts. “Some punk. Family friend.”

That picture gets hung on the empty nail next to Captain Rogers’s painting.

Barnes knocks quietly on the doorway behind us. “Tea’s ready.”

An awkward silence settles in with us once we sit back down in the kitchen, Wilson and Barnes next to one another, and me across from them. I flip through my notes, taking a sip from my mug.. My drink is sweeter than I was expecting, because apparently the Winter Soldier has added agave to the hibiscus tea he made me. It’s delicious.

Barnes eventually breaks. “So whatcha go over so far?”

“How we got together, how we got engaged,” Wilson answers him. “In detail too, so if you don’t want that published, you’re gonna have to grovel at the journalist yourself, because you said—”

“Oh my god,” says Barnes, old-school New York sarcasm dripping from every word. “How dare you tell people about the best thing I ever did, huh? Now they’re gonna think I’m like, a sensitive, good guy, and here I’ve been coasting along on this murder cyborg image. What have you done, you dick?”

Wilson rolls his eyes.

“So...you’re okay with it?” I ask them, absolutely ready to scrub the record if he hesitates.

“You kidding me?” says Barnes. “Every other week comes up some new atrocity I committed against my will in like...the 70s, and you think I’m gonna be upset with people knowing that once in a while I say nice shit to someone I love? Write it. Please. Knock yourself out.”

Okay then. Since Barnes seems willing to talk, I ask them if I can throw them a few questions I have for them as a couple. Barnes looks as though he wasn’t anticipating this.

Wilson turns to him. “You wanna be here for this?”

Barnes nods slowly, hesitantly, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“You’re okay?” Wilson asks. “You decide you’re done at any point and I’ll end it. Or you can go hang out in the other room, your call.”

“I’m good for now,” Barnes decides. “I’ll let you know if that changes.”

“You can ask whatever you want,” Wilson says to me. “I can’t promise we’ll answer everything, but go ahead and shoot.”

“I guess the first question I have is: what’s the hardest thing about navigating your jobs as a couple? What bothers you the most about that?”

Wilson exhales loudly. “I mean, the obvious answer is the danger,” he says. “The nature of what we do is fundamentally unsafe. I think it goes without saying—I’ll still say it—that we’re always aware that one of us might not make it back from a mission, which is...” Wilson trails off for a moment, shaking his head. “You don’t get used to that feeling. The fear.”

“Mm hmm,” Barnes agrees, from behind his mug.

“And,” continues Wilson, “I’m also aware that by doing this interview, I’m putting Bucky in additional danger. I’m not naive enough to think that the people working against us won’t try to use my relationship with him as leverage against me.”

“That makes sense,” I say, because he’s absolutely right, and pretending that public knowledge of his marriage doesn’t put them both in a new kind of danger seems disingenuous. I face Barnes. “Your turn.”

“Racist assholes,” says Barnes immediately.

Wilson smirks and cocks his head in agreement. “Sometimes I think I’ve talked that subject to death, other times it’s like I could never hope to address it enough. Today feels like the first one.”

A diplomatic, but clear answer. Time to move on. 

I’m about to ask the next question when he adds: “Another thing that gets under my skin is how it’s like Bucky’s image in the eyes of the general public is totally dependent on me hyping him up all the time. As far as I’m concerned, he’s proven himself a hundred times over, and yet if I’m not on T.V. reminding people of that every day, it’s suddenly like ‘oh, the Winter Soldier, can we ever really trust him?’ 

“I just… It bothers me. I want us to come to a collective understanding that everything that happened happened to Bucky, not because of him. It kinda circles back into another of the things I’m passionate about, which is mental health care and awareness. I think if we as a society were better about recognizing and addressing mental illness, and particularly Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, I wouldn’t have to keep having this conversation about my husband.”

Barnes’s face is getting pinker and he says nothing, but he’s smiling a little at Wilson, who puts an arm around his shoulders.

“Anyway, we can move on,” says Wilson, his expression going easy again. “Just had to get that out there one more time.”

“Hopefully this one’s a little more pleasant,” I say. “What inspired you to come forward about your relationship? I know you guys—” I gesture between them, ”—have been together for a couple years, so why now?”

“I want to go on a date in public,” says Bucky. “I haven’t been on a date since the 40s.”

“That’s right,” says Wilson. “We’re doing all this so I can take him Denny’s and hold his hand over a $6.99 Super Slam.”

When I finish laughing, Wilson continues. “Part of it’s because we realized it’s gonna get out there whether we like it or not. You already knew when you got here that we lived together, and that’s because that information got leaked to the public last week, so it was always just a matter of time before people found out anyway. I’d rather have some control over that narrative; better you hear it from me and Bucky, how we want to tell it, than in some tabloid.”

He’s right about that: they would undoubtedly have been outed one way or another. Their status as “roommates” was reported by TMZ a week and a half ago, and there was a Buzzfeed piece only yesterday, rife with gifs, entitled 15 Times Captain America and The Winter Soldier Made Us Wish We Were Their Third Roommate, that ended on the note of how Wilson and Barnes are “absolute BFF GOALS.” Wilson continues:

“But I think the biggest reason is that we decided, together, that we actually think it’s good for people to  know. I’ve seen firsthand the impact that having a Black Captain America has had on the Black community and on the national topic of race, and we think—we hope—that a Captain America who is a member of the LGBT community will have a similar effect. 

“The people who already hate me aren’t going to like me any better or worse for being bisexual, but some bisexual teenager out there is hopefully gonna read this article and feel a little bit better about themselves than they did before. That’s really the impact I want to have here. Got anything to add, Buck?”

“Actually, yeah,” says Barnes, staring at the counter in front of him and fiddling with his wedding ring. “I grew up gay in thirties. The idea of being able to just...tell people, that’s still amazing to me. The fact that I’m sitting here talking about it with a stranger and you’re not screamin’ in my face right now…”

“You do know I’m not straight either, right?” I ask him. I’m not exactly shy about that, it’s the kind of thing most people can tell just by looking at me.

“Even so,” says Barnes, finally looking me in the eye. “You fool around with a fella back in the day—or worse, you make a pass and he turns you down—then he knows about you, and then it’s like, what if he tells someone? Some of the worst shit I ever saw came from people who found out that way. So, other gay guys. Basically you never felt safe.”

“What about Captain Rogers?” I ask. “Did he know?”

“Oh yeah, Steve knew,” says Barnes with a dismissive wave of his hand, like that ought to be obvious. “He wasn’t gonna tell anyone; I got too much dirt on him.“

“Pfft. He’s messing with you,” Wilson interjects, directed at me. “There’s no dirt on Steve anywhere; believe me, I’d know by now if there was.”

“I want you to guess how many times I’ve had to clean up Steve’s puke,” says Barnes in a total deadpan, leaning forward. “Whatever number you think it is, the real answer is higher. 

“This again,” says Wilson. “I keep telling you Buck, Steve throwing up on you at Coney Island isn’t the big scandalous story you seem to want it to be.”

“Sam wasn’t there, he didn’t see it,” Barnes insists. “We were with these girls and they just left us standing there by the Cyclone, covered in hot dog chunks. Actually, that part was kind of a relief ‘cause one of ‘em was definitely jonesing for me to kiss her before that, and I really didn’t want to. 

“But seriously, after everything we went through together, I knew I could trust Steve with anything. And that made me luckier than most—at least I had one person. Lots of guys had no one. 

“Anyway, my reasons for coming out with all this are probably more selfish than Sam’s. You know some of those Nazis—we’re callin’ ‘em something else these days, like ‘alt-right’ or whatever, but I know a Nazi when I see one—they have this crazy idea of what I was like back in the day. They’ve got this fantasy, like a golem of toxic masculinity with my face on it, and I just want to publicly shit on their dreams. Every date I ever went on with a girl was a total sham, and I was scared down to my bones that someone would figure that out. I fight because someone needs to and I’m good at it, but I hate hurting people and I’d much rather be sitting here cuddling on the couch with a man. This man.”

Barnes is grinning big and wide by the time he finishes—a real, genuine smile that brings out the sparkle in his eyes—and suddenly I feel like I’m catching a glimpse of what Wilson must be seeing in him. Wilson himself is laughing.

“I like how you snuck your little buzzword in there, baby,” he says. “Toxic masculinity. That’s one of Bucky’s things he learned about from his Wakandan therapist. 

“Obviously super important,” Wilson adds, lest I think he’s making light of something serious.

“I think it’s great that we’re talking about it so openly now, especially with respect to the military.”

Barnes tilts his head in agreement, checking the time on his phone. We’re probably approaching the point at which he wants to get started on that pita bread, and I’m definitely in his way.

“So what’s next for you guys?” I ask.

“Isn’t that always the question?” Wilson asks, taking Barnes’s right hand in his left and resting them, intertwined, on the countertop. “Sometimes it’s aliens. Sometimes not. Who even knows anymore?”

“Hopefully, a whole lot more of this,” says Barnes, looking down at their hands.

Wilson smiles. “Well, that’s a given. That’s always.”

This is when Barnes gets up to pull a stand mixer out of one of the cupboards, and I read that as my cue to take my leave. I end my recording, Wilson thanks me for stopping by, I promise to give him an advance copy of my writing to make sure he’s comfortable with what I said, and I find myself standing back on the sidewalk of [REDACTED] moments later.

I’m not typically in the habit of including as many details about the dinner plans of my article subjects as I have here—and I’m certainly testing the limits of my editor’s patience with the word count—but in the spirit of Wilson’s wishes for what his coming out story will mean to the people of America, I wanted to emphasize how human his marriage is. 

Barnes and Wilson have extraordinary jobs that they are undoubtedly uniquely suited for and that most of us will never fully understand, but they are also two people who have been through a lot of hardship and found happiness and peace in one another. And that’s something that most of us do understand: love, the human experience that transcends the divisions we give ourselves.

*From a press conference Wilson gave on May 7, 2025.

**From a statement written by Barnes and issued through a S.H.I.E.L.D. representative on November 1, 2023.

For further reading on Barnes, the author recommends: 

1. Greatest Generation X: The Impossible Life of James Buchanan Barnes, by Ariel Guzman, published in 2025.

2. R.Y. Uhlencott’s column “The Wolf of Brooklyn” in the October 2024 issue of Time covers the basic timeline and trajectory of Barnes’s life.

[skylarmoon71]

Raphael x Parker Reader- Chapter 2 -(TMNT 2014/2016)

"Oww."

You rubbed your head, squinting as you looked over at the clock. You barely remembered falling asleep, much less on the ground. At least you'd woken up in time for your night job. Grabbing your glasses, you rolled your shoulders getting up. Picking up your phone you shoved it into your pocket, hoisting your bag up as you headed downstairs. May was sitting reading the newspaper on the couch. You took an apple from the counter, tucking it into the backpack.

"Honey, I don't like you working these night shifts, they're dangerous." you shrugged off the comment. "I'll be fine Aunt May, besides I'll be graduating in a few years. All of this is going towards my college fund. "

"That doesn't mean you should kill yourself working, what about your GPA."

"My GPA is fine. I'll have to get used to it when I go away. So I'm preparing for it now. " pulling the bag unto your shoulder, you took off your glasses, wiping it slightly before placing it back on your face.

"I don't think Ben would have liked the way you're overworking yourself." That statement made your body stiff.

"He's not here." you replied coldly. Gripping the strap on your bad tighter, you turned, heading for the door.

"Don't wait up." You were out the door before anymore words could be exchanged. Why did she have to bring up his name?

Agitated, and a bit frustrated, you just head for the night job. Most people hated janitorial jobs, but the one you snagged paid pretty well. You guessed it was because of the hours. Night shifts were the worst, but it was the best distraction from all your problems. You needed to say active. Continuously occupied not just at school, but work too, it probably wasn't the healthiest thing, especially since you'd passed out after your school trip at that genetics lab a few weeks ago. Since then you'd been feeling like crap.

You scratched the red bug bite on your hand absentmindedly. You should have gotten it checked out, between the headaches and chills, you just crossed it off as a bug or infection. You really thought it would have passed by now. Constantly working your body maybe wasn't helping either.

"You deserve this, it's your fault."

You grimace, trying to rid your mind of that inner voice.

"Get to work." As soon as you got there, everything would be better.

~~~~~

You clocked in with the security guard, waving at the man as you pushed the bucket.

"It's Friday night, what are you doing, go and do teenage stuff kid." you shook your head.

"No can do Mr. Reese, gotta put the hours in." He shook his head with a smile. "Enjoy life now, trust me. There's nothing wrong with being driven, just don't let it be all that you're about. You feel me?"

"I hear you!!" clicking the elevator, you entered pressing the button for the top floor.

Two hours into your cleaning, and you were actually starting to feel a tinge bit better. You scrubbed and wiped every surface. At one point you'd stopped to watch the view. This particular building was one of those publishing departments. Scandalous articles were usually thought up and printed in this room. You gazed over at the desk.

Journalism was somewhat intriguing to you. But science would forever be your first love.

The clicking of a lock behind your back made you flinch. You spun around.

"J-John?"

Not a sound.

You squinted, eyes zeroing on the door. You were pretty sure no one else but you were scheduled to work on this floor, and John checked the halls every thirty minutes, he'd buzz by not too long ago, so it couldn't have been him. Your brows furrowed when you heard another unfamiliar sound from ahead.

You approached cautiously, looking around the room. There was nothing but computers and monitors in here. The flickering of the lights ahead didn't do much to calm your nerves. As you rounded the corner, your stomach dropped at the sight of John ducked taped and lying on the floor, blood running from his forehead. His eyes caught you, orbs widening as he tried to move upright. He thrashed about, groaning and trying his best to scream over the tape on his lips. The clicking of a gun behind stopped you in your tracks.

"What do we have here, so the old man was lying, I knew there was someone else here." your heart was racing. "Turn around slowly, try anything and I'll blow your head off. " you swallowed, raising your hands slowly as you turned. Now facing the man you could make out his features. Early thirties, dirty blond hair, dark eyes and a malicious smile on his lips.

"L-Listen h-he's got kids, please. Whatever you need I can get it for you, just leave him alone. "

The smile on his face got wider. "I'm impressed, I thought for sure you would beg for your life. You got guts, I'll give you that. " he pointed the gun at John, and you panicked, stepping in front of it. John couldn't do much but watch helplessly. You could hear him sobbing in the background as you blocked his way.

"P-Please."

"Sorry kid, nothing personal. I already got what I came for." He flashed the flash drive in front of your face, tucking it into his pocket.

"Unfortunate for you, I can't have any witnesses. Went through hell to disable all the camera's on the floor. Can't have you both snitching on me." He fires a shot, and you jumped as it broke the glass behind you. You could hear it shattering in the background, and he let out another laugh.

"Bad shot, sorry. Don't worry, I'll make it quick." your eyes hardened. He was enjoying this. He took a step forward, placing it right over your heart, and John closed his eyes, resting his head on the floor in defeat. You however weren't planning to give up that easily. You screamed unexpectedly, throwing him off slightly. The action gives you about a millisecond to direct the gun away from your heart. You slapped his hand sharply, and he gritted his teeth, firing. The bullet went off ahead, and the gun flew out his hands a good distance away, and you shoved him, rushing to grab it before he could get a hold of it.

"BITCH!!"

He sprinted after you, and right as you dove to get the gun, his body collided with yours. The scream that releases from you this time is very real, because of your close proximity to the glass windows, your back hits the flat surface.

The cracking echoes in your ears, and before you know it your free falling, so is your assailant. In your haste to grab something solid, you end up pulling him. Both of you are free falling. Tears build up behind your eyes, and one last attempt to grip something, your hands skid on the edge of the building, except now, you're no longer moving, or falling for that matter. Your eyes are still tightly shut, and you're wondering if maybe you're already dead. If so, that was fairly quick, painless. But that isn't the case. You can still feel the wind.

"Wind?"

You crack an eye open. They both spring open when you look down.

"SHIT!!" your locked unto the side of the building still, how? You have absolutely no idea. Your head turns, and your fingers are stuck to the glass like a suction. You blink a few times, heart still hammering. The vicious male who attacked you is also alive, but he's in a very different situation. Unconscious too from what you can tell.

There's a long metal chain hanging from the top of the building, wrapped around his ankle. You track it to the top, and your eyes meet with a pair of emerald ones. The figure there makes you question a lot of things, and he's staring at you with the same level of shock. Possibly because you're stuck to the side of a twenty story building like it's nothing. He's not human, not even close, but you're starting to wonder if that's maybe your brain trying to make sense of all that's going on.

"Raph!"

The scream catches his attention and he yanks the chain roughly, hoisting the male into the air like he weighs nothing.

You're still partially paralyzed, and it dawns on you that whatever is going on, you should get a move on before the effects wear off and you fall to your death. So very cautiously, you inch up the building. You're moving slowly, calculated.

Making out the broken opening your bodies made, you hoist yourself into it, dropping down back first on the ground with a sigh of relief. You don't even pay mind to the clear cuts on your palms from the glass. Must be the adrenaline.

All you know is, something has definitely changed.

[alia-turin]

As I said I will update that fairly quick...I did edit this chapter probably 30 times so i do apologize. 

Fic Title: Somewhere in Time (Chapter 2) Previous Chapters: 1 Fandom: The Witcher (Aen Elle) Pairing: Caranthir/F/OC Warning: Canon typical violence for this chapter AO3 Link

Aine watched as the man walked out of the room and her body sank all the way down on the floor, her back painfully dragging against the stone wall behind. Her breathing became laboured even if there was nothing obstructing it, she was gasping as if she was drowning. Somehow even the events from today did not seem as terrifying as that encounter. She didn’t dare blink as every time she closed her eyes, even for a second, she could see his face imprinted in her mind. He had not hurt her, not the same way he did in the woods, but the way he had looked at her, as if she was an animal to be sold was even worse in a way. She had to get out of here, one way or another she had to leave.

Just then the door opened and Aine could feel her heart stop, did he change his mind? He forgot he actually meant to kill her and now was coming to finish the job? Fortunately it was just a human servant who brought food, wash basin and clothes. Aine tried to get on her feet but her muscles just refused to listen, her legs barely moved and she fell again, shaking and terrified.

“Wait!” she shouted after the human as loud as she could but the woman just turned around and gave her an annoyed look and then closed the door as she walked out. Aine wasn’t surprised, nothing new in the look she received really, hoping a human would feel any kinship to her was optimistic at best.

She forced herself through the pain and fear and ran toward the door, but the moment she grabbed the handle she couldn’t push it down. No matter how hard she tried even hanging her full weight from it nothing happened it was like the thing was nailed together. She sat on the cold stone next to the door wanting to cry but she couldn’t even force herself to do that anymore.

The events from today just couldn’t stop running through her head. What did she do to get herself into that? Why her? From all the creatures on this earth why hear? She was a...nobody and bothered nobody. Then her mind went to him...he terrified her. The way he looked at her, the cold eyes, his voice, his touch...

She must have fallen asleep without realizing, fear and stress could do that. When she woke up it was already dark. Aine was grateful for a dreamless sleep, maybe she was so exhausted that her brain couldn’t even recreate anything worse than what had happened, but it could have been worse, way worse and she knew that. She pushed herself up, her body screaming in new unknown pains due to the uncomfortable position she had fallen asleep in. She saw a match on the table and lit the candles around the room. The space was bigger than any bedroom she ever had, probably bigger than some rooms in her father’s mansion but considering she was in the castle in Tir na Lia she assumed that was just how things were.

She lit the final candle that was placed on the vanity just across from the bed. Aine could barely recognize the face that looked at her from there, dirt and blood was smudged over her skin, her hair was a mess and her whole neck had turned purple and blue with bruises. She could see the marks of his gauntlet printed clearly on her skin.

Aine turned her back at the mirror not willing to look at her broken reflection. Her eyes fell on the washbasin and the clean clothes neatly placed on one of the chairs. Crippling, she found her way there and started taking her clothes off. Everything hurt, and there were more bruises and friction burns on her arms and legs, touching her back revealed it wasn’t significantly better. She started cleaning the dirt and blood gently but at some point that became frantic scrubbing as if trying to just erase memories from her skin. Once she was as clean as it was possible she put the clean clothes - riding pants, fitted shirt and a sleeveless vest to go on top of all that. It wasn’t what she would wear but it was all nice and comfortable. Fine leather and fabrics, ironically they fit well as if made for her.

She sat on the bed and started thinking. Aine couldn’t open the door and the window was way too high. Also what was that thing he said about her being a mage? That was a game he was playing to throw her off, but why? Wouldn’t she know if she had any power? All her life everything she ever wanted was to be left in peace and for the most part she had managed to do that until now. She needed to leave, preferably alive and not hurt further than she already had been.

Caranthir watched as Imlerith fed the dog food scraps under the table. His mind however was somewhere else, his food and drink were untouched for hours now and he had not spoken a single word. His mind just couldn’t stop thinking about her. He knew the feeling of attraction, he had felt it before and it ended in pain. It was silly to call it attraction now however...to what? Curiosity, she was a puzzle and he wanted to solve it. Pretty little puzzle he can play with and then...he had no idea what then.

“You are Aen Saevherne. I need you to take Crevan’s place in court.” he didn’t even notice when Eredin had walked in or even sat on the chair across.

Caranthir didn’t respond. His mind was too occupied with other things, Eredin would get what Eredin wanted so why even ask him? But he wasn’t asking, was he? It was a statement.

“That is a terrible idea.” He didn’t say no, nobody told no to Eredin and even he wasn’t sure how far he could push the man. The king was his friend, or at least Caranthir considered him as such, he was also his mentor in a sense, he wouldn’t be where he was if it wasn’t for Eredin, in every meaning of that word. “Your nobles won’t be happy.” The king shrugged and that was the end of the discussion. He hated court, but he was going to do it for his king.

Tir na Lia was fragile after Auberon’s death. Eredin had the power, but there were still some who disapproved. Some who thought they could do better than him. Imlerith and Caranthir had both advised for their heads to be taken off and solve that problem, but somewhere Ge’els managed to win the argument against.

“How is your mare doing?” Imlerith asked with a smile.

“I need a new crop.” the king said after he drank from his glass. “Which reminds me...I heard an interesting rumor.” Eredin’s eyes stopped on Cranthir. “You got yourself a trophy from your little escaped humans hunt.”

Caranthir raised an eyebrow. He didn’t want to talk about it. He also did not want to think about it, but it was all that was in his head. The storm of feelings that was just destroying almost every rational thought he could hold right now.

“I will tell you everything about it.” Imlerith was grinning at him. “Pretty face, he must have found it especially pretty because he stopped me from nailing her in the ground.” he laughed so loud Carathir winced. Eredin looked as curious as if someone had just told him he can conquer other worlds.

“It’s not about that.” Caranthir got up, he was not in the mood. “She is half human and she can use magic, that could be dangerous.”

Imlerith and Eredin exchanged looks and they both smiled, he guessed he should be grateful it wasn’t full blow laugh.

“Did I just hear your frozen heart beat, Caranthir?.” Eredin pushed further. They all did that, making fun of each, but he just wasn’t in the mood for it now.

“I’m going to sleep.” Caranthir got up, his drink still not touched. It wasn’t their mockery that bothered him, he was used to it, he had done worse to them and he knew he could receive worse. He didn’t need his emotions to betray him.

In his bed he laid awake for hours. He was trying to arrange his thoughts in a way that was not just floating aimlessly, but more he tried the harder it became.

The logical part of his brain, partially, recognized the problem. The minor physical similarities had made him think about a different person. But this part of his brain could not provide an explanation why he still felt unable to just make a decision about the girl’s future.

His thoughts went to her face, the memory of her, picking the traces from both races. He wondered about the eyes. Was that a defect that happened from mixing the races or it was carried in the family? Was she more like him - just an accident marking or something inherited. But it wasn’t really a defect, was it? His face was a grotesque abomination, while hers was perfect in its imperfection. Maybe that was what got him. In a sense she was like him, just a play of nature, but unlike him, she turned out better.

There was more to that. He could imagine someone half elf half human not having place anywhere. Humans probably despised her because everyone treated her better than them, but knowing his fellow Aen Elle he could imagine they did not accept her either. Explained why they found her where they did. That also reminded him of his own faith. Sure, nobody ever looked down on him, but he was just Avallac’h’s experiment. If it wasn’t for his powers he wouldn’t belong anywhere.

Aine spent the night awake, too afraid to even roll in the bed. Her mind was going to the worse possible scenarios of what would happen to her next. She jumped as she heard the door opening, fearful of what was coming. The man from yesterday walked in again but next to him was a servant girl. The girl looked down, she was terrified, but Aine couldn’t decide if it was of him, or just that was the way she was. Humans had a reason to be scared of the Aen Elle, so in a way she sympathized. The servant left a tray on the table and stopped in front of the man. He waved her off with annoyance. Aine had never seen someone being so happy to leave a room.

It was the two of them now, she was sitting on the bed, her hands digging in the sheets hoping a hole would open and swallow her in the ground. He was just standing by the door, his relaxed posture sharp contrast to hers. He had a book in his hand which she found odd, but kept her thoughts to herself.

Caranthir watched her just being frozen with fear. He was impressed that despite the stress she was under she did not manifest her power even for a moment, more to his little pizzle to solve. He liked challenges. The clothes the servants had brought her yesterday fit perfectly and he caught himself staring for way too long instead of doing what he was supposed to do.

“Food is there.” he pointed at the table, but she looked at him with alarm and confusion. “If I want to kill you, poison is not going to be the way.”

“There are worse things than death.” she jumped off the bed and walked toward the table picking the path that was as far as possible from him. She was right of course, knowing what he was capable of, poison should be the one she hoped for. Carathir just observed. She was limping, he could see she had a hard time bending her knees. Imlerith swiping the floor with her must have done it. His teeth grinded against each other and his jaw clenched at the sight. She slowly sat on the chair, her eyes still fixed on him as if expecting him to attack her any moment.

Caranthir stepped toward the other chair she was still watching him but to her credit she did not run. He sat, the two of them just looking at each other. One thing he had to admit she was not avoiding to look at his face, or whatever she could see from it. Her eyes just reflect fear which could be for a number of reasons including the way he looked. He ran a finger through the strands of hair that usually covered the worst damage - still covered, hidden as much as possible. He liked to pretend he did not care about what people thought when they looked at him, but he always did. For some silly reason, especially now.

“What is your name?” he was going to start small. He also reached for the food just to show her he was not trying to kill her. Caranthir had made his mind that he won’t harm her, unless provoked. He hoped he could keep with that.

“Aine.” she responded quietly as if giving him the name would hurt her in some way. It meant light. Caranthir found something oddly amusing in that considering everything he and Imlerith managed to drag her through yesterday and somehow he still saw beauty.

“Do you have family?” she didn’t respond. “This is going to be way easier for you if you answer my questions.” he knew he sounded threatening but he didn’t really mean it like that. He was curious.

“My father is an elf, my mother is a human. She was a servant in his house.” Caranthir smiled, servant was a nice way to say slave, which most humans here were.

“Where are they now?” Through the years he had learned who his parents were, but he had decided he wanted nothing to do with them. Why should he? Both of them had agreed to be Avallac’h’s test rats and to leave their son. He was the only one who never wanted to be involved in that and there he was. Probably the same could be said about her. Half elven half human child, that couldn’t have been an easy life but nobody had asked her if she wanted to be alive or not. Just like him they were both victims of their parent’s stupidity, different types of stupidity of course, but painful nonetheless.

“I don’t know.” She was lying to him. The way her eyes shifted, the sound of her voice trembling. He let her have that one small victory and he would figure it out later.

“My name is Caranthir Ar-Feiniel.” They were going to spend some time together and might as well be polite. He didn’t get a reaction as he spoke his name. He usually did, people were impressed or scared, her level of fear did not move from what it has been so far, he could have told her he is the castle baker. He couldn’t decide if he was offended or even more amused.

“Would you let me go, Caranthir Ar-Feiniel?” there was innocence and naivety in her voice, but it was honest. Caranthir knew the answer was no, it wasn’t responding that made him think. The complete untainted innocence in her words and the way she spoke surprised him. Reminded him of something he had lost years ago or maybe something he never had, just imagined he did.

Aine’s heart was beating so fast she thought she would just drop dead any moment from the anxiety. She knew the answer of her question, but what choice did she have? Fighting him was impossible, even if in some unimaginable way she could go past him, what then? There were guards probably every ten feet in the castle. Fall on her knees and beg him? Her pride meant very little to her right now compared to her life, but what would be the point if that would get her nowhere. No, if she wanted out she had to be smart about it, and hope that she managed to stay in one piece until she figured it out.

“That is for you.” he didn’t answer the question, he didn’t have to. Caranthir placed the book he was carrying on the table. Slowly she reached for it and took it. It wasn’t thick, the cover was fine white leather. She slowly opened the book almost suspicious of his intentions.

“Foundations of Magic.” she read the tile. “ By Crevan Espane aep Caomhan Macha”

“Dull writing can bore you for sure, but it will help you understand how to use the power within you.” he got up, but didn’t walk away just looking at her as if he had something else to say or was just...studying her. Aine looked down at the book again trying to avoid the intensity of his cold eyes. “Tomorrow, based on all you have learned you will move that.” as he finally spoke he pulled one of the rings from his hand and placed it on the table. “Using magic.”

She looked at the ring and she looked back at him again. Why was he so determined? What was his obsession? She couldn’t use magic and no amount of books was going to change that. She could probably read the whole Tir na Lia library and that won’t change the fact she couldn’t use magic.

“What if I cannot do it?” Caranthir ignored her question and started walking toward the door. “And what if I can do it?” she tried to change the question just to determine which option would be more...painful. His face or actions did not betray anything. He just opened the door, but stopped right before walking out.

“I will see you tomorrow my little canary.” he stepped out and Aine just stared at the door. She knew she couldn’t open the damned thing so why even bother getting up if that was also going to cause more pain than it was worth it.

“Canary” she repeated out loud. It was suitable in the most petrifying way.

[legends-of-apex]

Loba x Reader x Crypto: ‘Something More’ (Part 2/2) SMUT 18+

Summary: A continuation of Part I in which Loba, Crypto and The Reader go back to the Reader's room in the legends compound to decrypt the files taken from Pathfinder's chip. Inevitably, Loba's proposition is brought up and smut ensues. You can also read this on AO3 if you prefer!

A/N:  Hello! Here's the second and final part. This chapter does contain smut after the cut. I've spent the best part of a month on this so I promise there is still a plot as well :D Hope you like it! And I would love to hear your thoughts!  Reader's pronouns aren't specified however they are referred to as having a vagina/breasts etc. so please keep that in mind x Warnings under the cut!

Words: 7, 788

Warnings: This fic contains heavy smut including oral (reader receiving and giving), fingering, penetrative sex and scissoring

The rest of the match went relatively uneventfully, with the three of you finishing fourth after being ambushed by another squad. There hadn’t even been enough time to see who it was before you blacked out. When you awoke, a bright light beaming down upon you made you squeeze your eyes shut again. Forcing yourself to sit up, you felt the familiar rubber of the med bay beds beneath your fingertips. When you dared open your eyes again the lights weren’t so bad and you could actually look around the room. Your head felt heavy, your mind off-centered. A nurse was wrapping your fingers around a glass of water before you could ask for one to soothe your aching throat.

“Hey, can you tell me where you are?” He asked you. Bright eyes brimmed over the top of his surgical mask. He was the same nurse from every other time you were revived after a match and he always had the same questions.

“The med bay back at the compound?” You asked, cautiously lifting the water to your lips.

“Yeah! Well done out there today. You guys were great!” He took the empty glass from you when you were finished and set it down by the sink, his black scrubs rustling as he moved around the room, looking at the various monitors that hung like cobwebs from the walls, “How are you feeling?”

“Just a small headache. The usual.” You answered, knowing if you gave even a slightly different answer you could end up stuck in here for days. The headache you had post-match was always the same, pounding and everywhere all at once. It probably had something to do with the serum they used to revive you after the match but you were more concerned about Loba and Crypto right now. You hadn’t seen them go down.

“Great! Well, you’re all healed, vitals are great. You’re free to head out.” He seemed to sense your eagerness to leave and for that you were thankful.

Loba was waiting for you outside the room when you stepped out, pushing herself off the wall and uncrossing her arms when she saw you. She walked towards you with her arms open, engulfing you in a hug when she reached you. With her six-inch heels and already naturally impressive height, she almost dwarfed you, your chin only just being able to rest atop her shoulder. You knew she was just glad you were okay, but displays of affection were rare for her. Even if the hallway you were in was empty. Usually, she wouldn’t be caught sharing any shred of weakness, but after a match? She always got a little sappy, even if she would never admit it.

“Shall we go wait for the hacker?” She pulled back to look at your face and you nodded before taking her hand, walking towards Crypto’s usual med bay room. His name printed on the outside of the door. Loba peered through a tiny window in the door. “Is he still in there?” You asked. It was unusual for anyone to be kept so long and he knew not to say anything that might prolong his stay. Unless there was some kind of complication? You tried not to think about it.

Loba scoffed. “Oh please, he wouldn’t leave without seeing you alive and well first. He’s still in there alright.” She spared a glance your way and recognised that look on your face. You were worried, even though the chances of any post-match complications were extremely low, nearly non-existent. “I wouldn’t worry, sweetheart. He was downed last so they’ll have had less time with him than us.” She saw that did very little to calm your nerves and decided to change the subject to take your mind off of it. She lowered her voice, knowing for sure that there were cameras and microphones all over this place. “Hey, we might get some promising information out of that chip, huh? Any information we can get on them brings us one step closer, no matter how small the step.” All you did was nod when usually you’d be beaming with excitement at the prospects of new information on the Syndicate and you weren't doing a particularly good job of hiding the fact that you couldn't care less about anything right now except for Crypto still being in that room.

“You really give a shit about him, huh?” she asks and you look to her, confused.

“If it was you in there I’d be just as worried.” Loba sighed and took your hand again, bringing your knuckles to her lips before squeezing your fingers gently, careful not to scratch you with her nails. That meant more to her than you knew.

The door before you opened with a click as Crypto finally emerged, hands already stuffed back in his jacket pockets by the time the door shut behind him. The look of relief on your face was enough to tell him you’d been worrying. You had dropped Loba’s hand in an instant and went to hug him, opening your arms a little first and waiting for his permission. He felt himself sigh into your arms, his own wrapping around you tightly as he could. However brief, he would always treasure each touch you gave him. You made him realise how much he craved being held, being close to people. It made him forevermore thankful that he was lucky to be as close to you as he was, even Loba as well to some extent. You shared a piece of your life with him, your kindness, your time and occasionally: your bed. Whilst you did the same for Loba, he never found himself growing jealous, only more thankful to have you when he did.

“You still got the chip?” Loba asked him over your shoulder. He nodded. “We had better get to it. The decryption might take a while.”

The first thing you did when you got back to your room was kick off your shoes and flop down, face-first, on your bed. All the running and the stress of the games could really take its toll. Meanwhile, Crypto headed straight for your PC, plugging in all kinds of strange contraptions and external hard drives no doubt filled with some kind of dodgy software. Loba asked if she could use your shower to which you told her there were already fresh towels in there ready to be used as you gathered a bundle of clothes for her to wear when she finished.

You looked to your broken arm shield emitter and groaned as you were getting changed into more comfortable clothes than your games gear, the realisation that you actually had to fix it dawned on you. You struggled to your feet and pulled up a chair beside Crypto at your desk and released the shield from your arm with a whirr. Most of it had survived, only a few small grenade fragments lay buried within it. Easy fix.

“Hey, I just wanted to let you know that I overheard some of what you guys were saying earlier. Loba had her communicator still on. And I just want you to know that although I did tell Loba about us sleeping together, I haven’t said a word about… you know, you. Your identity. That’s yours to tell and I would never betray that information to anyone, even Loba.” You were one of two living people with the privilege of referring to him by his real name in private. By telling you about his past, even just by telling you his name, he put so much trust in you. And you wouldn't betray that for anyone.

He stopped typing to look at you, letting you know he was sincere. “I know you wouldn’t. I trust you more than anyone. But thank you for the reassurance. And I’m sorry that you heard that, I don’t wish for you to be treated like an object.”

You knew then that he didn't quite trust Loba’s intentions with her proposition but were quick to reassure him. “Oh, don’t worry. Loba asked if I was down for it beforehand. And it’s sweet that you two want to make me feel good, but I don’t require any payment for what I do for you two, especially in that kinda way. I do it because I care about you.” Tweezers in hand, you carefully began removing the fragments from your device. It was a good excuse to not have to look Taejoon in the eye during the conversation.

“Heh, that’s precisely why Loba thought you to be deserving of such an arrangement. And I have to say, I agree. You need to let us give back to you, though it doesn’t have to be in the form of what Loba was suggesting. In any way that you choose.” You could have laughed. On their own, they were amazing enough, both more than proficient and attentive lovers but together? You couldn't help but groan at the thought. “ Trust me , as long as you two are up for it that arrangement is totally fine by me! I couldn't think of anything better.”

You see Crypto’s head move suddenly in the corner of your eye, you turn to see Loba looking the softest you had ever seen her. Her hair was damp, falling all the way down to her waist. A pair of your baggy sweatpants hung low around her hips. She looked comfortable, her eyes held no sense of impending danger and you swore it was the first time you had seen her so at ease.

“Is that my shirt?” Crypto asks and she shrugs, looking down at the plain black material. “I don’t know, is it? It’s… cute?”, You sheepishly turn back to face Crypto as Loba dives straight onto your bed, stretching out on her back. “Maybe?” you offered, knowing damn well it was his from the last time he had stayed over. He wasn’t going to pry it off of you as you slept, especially since you looked so comfortable. It was his pair of sweatpants too, but he didn't need to know that. A low grumble sounded from your stomach and you took that to be the perfect topic change, “How about take-out?”.

“Lovely idea, I’m starving!”

You phoned up the best pizza company you knew, the woman on the line informed you that it would take a while because of the games. People liked to go for pizza after watching the apex games apparently. “We’re going to have to wait a while.” You said solemnly, hopping onto your bed behind Loba and taking your hairbrush from her hand. Her hair was long and so very soft. Crypto politely excused himself to also take a shower whilst you played with her hair. You combed through it with your fingers first. Loba released a long breath as you dragged the brush from the edge of her forehead, down her scalp and all the way down her back, holding the ends in your other hand. “So Crypto’s down for your idea.” You gently gathered her hair together in a bunch before letting it fan out again over her back, the strands so long they reached the covers below.

Loba leant back a little, resting on her palms. “Oh? I’m not surprised. He seems like he would do anything that involves you. That poor boy looks at you like you’re made of gold.” She chuckled, looking back at you over her shoulder. You pecked her lips, her skin was soft and supple with a subtle hint of cherry lip balm. “Ugh, I can’t wait to devour you.” She groaned, “If he doesn’t get out of that shower in the next two minutes, we’re starting without him.”

“So impatient!” You laughed, “Hair up or down?”

“Eh, leave it down.”

Crypto made his way out the bathroom still towelling off his soggy hair. He set his jacket on the back of your desk chair, along with his waistcoat and every other piece of his games gear apart from his baggy trousers and t-shirt. The pendants on his necklaces jingled together as he moved around, like a cat with a bell.

Far too impatient for subtly it seems, Loba decided now was the best time to initiate things “She looks good enough to eat, don’t you think Crypto?” He stops in his tracks, towel still raised to his head with his mouth hanging open before he cleared his throat and straightened his posture. He hummed in agreement, taking the towel and folding it in half before laying it over the chair behind him. He now leaned his back against the desk so he could face you, bare arms crossed over his chest as he looked at you. You couldn’t help but blush at Loba’s words and the way he was looking at you, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks.

Loba now turned to face you, mischief and wanting in her eyes and leaned in close. “We would love to take care of you if you’ll have us, of course.” She pressed a single kiss to the side of your neck, your skin tingling from the warmth of her lips, “What do you say?” You turned your attention back to Crypto who looked at you in question, his head tilted. Neither of them were moving without your say so.

“Sounds perfect.”

With that pushed you back so your head lay gently on the pillows. Her finger wagged in Crypto’s direction when he took a step forward, telling him to stay put. He gulped and leant back against the desk again. “Well then. Just relax and let us take care of you, hm?” She ended her question with a smile, already sliding downwards onto the bed in front of you. Placing her hands on either side of your sweatpants and giving the outside of your thighs a light squeeze. She looked up at you through her lashes, asking if she could take them off. You nodded and soon she had them tugged off, your socks soon followed.

She leant right down, pressing a kiss to the cloth of your underwear, her lips putting the lightest flutter of pressure on your heat. Your mouth fell open and she laughed quietly, seeing a dark patch on the fabric of your underwear. “Mhmm already dripping for us, Crypto.” she called back to him over her shoulder, “What do you say we take these off as well? No need to be shy. We already know how beautiful you are, sweetheart.” You nodded again, her fingers delicately taking the band of your underwear and making quick work of shimming them off your legs. A string of words, no doubt in Portuguese left her, as she took a moment to look at you. She had spoken far too quickly for you to have any hope of understanding what she was saying.

Her hands were on your sides in an instant, and her lips were back on yours as her hands made their slow descent back down towards your heat. Her kisses a rough contrast to the preciseness of her touch. She kissed with her heart it seems, everything else was calculated. A shiver wracked its way through you when her fingertips reached the hem of your shirt, but she didn’t lift it, only gently massaged the bottom of your stomach and over the tops of your thighs. Circular motions everywhere except the place you wanted them to be.

Her lips left you as you whined softly, “So eager.” she smiled at you again, before leaning in to kiss your neck as her fingers finally touched where you so craved them so much. A moan escaped you as she wasted no time in finding your heat, circling her two fingertips within its wetness before dragging them up and down your slit. Over her shoulder, you could see Crypto standing biting his lip so hard it looked like it would bleed, face flushed.

Sucking gently on the soft skin of your neck, Loba pressed her two fingers right onto your clit. You couldn’t help the noises that escaped you or how you clung to her so desperately. She soon switched back and forth between gently massaging all-around your folds and slowly circling one finger directly to your nub. She was teasing you. The alteration driving you insane, legs beginning to shake. Just as you felt the dam about to burst she drew back away from you entirely, leaning back on her knees as she brought her fingers to her mouth and sucked on them lightly.

“How does she taste?” Crypto asked, his face warm. Loba leaned back from you and you near-whined at the loss.

She brought her fingers back down your heat and gathered some of your wetness onto her fingers again, standing and extending her fingers in his direction. “Like honey. Want to try?” He bypassed her altogether and walked towards you. “Suit yourself, Hacker,” she rolled her eyes.

“May I?” He asked so softly you nearly melted then and there. “Yes, please.” You managed and before you knew it he was sliding one of your legs over his shoulder, shortly followed by the other. He began by pressing the gentlest of kisses to your thighs.

“Ooh nevermind.” Loba went back on her previous statement with an approving nod of her head, “One second.” The glare he sent in her direction could’ve stopped a charging bull but Loba just waved him off and laid down beside you, pulling you into her lap so she could support your body. Crypto tugged you down towards him so the back of your head rested against Loba’s chest. Warmth radiated from Loba’s body beneath you in a constant wave of gentle, comforting heat but your focus wasn’t on her right now.

The moment his mouth made contact with your core, your body went lax. His tongue came right after and your back arched with such ferocity that Loba almost lost her hold on you. When the most desperate noise left you, you felt the vibrations of his laughter roll through you and his hands gripped the tops of your thighs more firmly to keep you in place. His eyes flickered up to you for a moment, soon after your hands found his hair, tugging lightly on the damp ends in an attempt to have him closer.

Loba’s lips ghosted over the shell of your ear “I know you said he was good but you really weren’t kidding,” she whispered before her mouth before she latched her lips back onto your neck.

Tugging his hair seemed to only spur him on more as the groan he emitted was borderline feral, bringing his tongue to circle over your clit at such a pace that the pressure built within you to the point where you were about to burst and likely would have had to not pulled back for a second to quickly catch his breath and get a better look at you.

“I know you want to come on his tongue, beautiful. Go on.” Crypto was back between your legs then, doubling his pace. “Come for us.” She whispered just as Crypto decided to wrap his lips around your clit and suck. You lurched upright, grip tight on his hair as you grind your pussy against his lips. When he slowly coated one of his fingers before slowly pressing it into you and pumping to the rhythm of his mouth, that was it for you.

Your body barely felt like you controlled its movement anymore as pleasure wracked its way through you in gushing waves. A drawn-out moan you’d probably be embarrassed about later escaped you as you went limp in Loba’s arms. Crypto helped you ride it out, wanting to make you feel the best he could. His tongue didn’t leave you until your pussy ceased its tensing then releasing around his finger, pulling it out of you and to his lips immediately. Loba’s arms kept you steady as your body slowly returned to normal, cold air stinging as Crypto left you. You missed his mouth and hands on you immediately but Loba was quick to distract you by helping you rid yourself of your shirt all whilst trying to keep her lips latched on to yours. Her fingers so swift in how they undressed you and herself that you were suddenly reminded that she was a thief, quick hand movements were her speciality. Her hand came to cup your bare breast for a moment, glee in her eyes at the sight. Once you helped her out of most of her clothes, you felt Crypto’s lips on the side of your neck. His mouth leaving marks no doubt right beside the ones Loba had made already. A hand in his hair again had him whimpering. Loba noticed and released you so you turned to face him, your mouth finding his as you stood on shaky legs. His lips were swollen but still soft. He kisses you like it was the last time he would have the chance, one hand gently cupping your face as his other arm wrapped around you.

“I’m going to let you two have this round.” You pulled back from Crypto and looked at her with confusion, she hadn’t even had any kind of pleasure yet and she still insisted you and Crypto go ahead. “I like to watch.” She clarified with a smirk, seating herself in your desk chair, legs folded neatly over one another. Her lacy black bra and panties somehow made her even more attractive but comply with her wishes you would. Plus you wanted the chance to repay Crypto for his services.

Soon enough, Crypto is stripped of all but his boxers, seated upright at the edge of your bed and facing Loba’s general direction. Running your finger over his cheekbone, you look down to notice just how hard he is. “You like eating me out that much, huh?” You asked as you swung one leg over both of his and knelt so you could grind against him, wringing your arms around his neck. You felt just how hard he was then and Crypto looked like he might have came if you weren’t careful, his mouth opened slightly, eyes closed. His hands found the bottom of your back to keep you steady as you slowly grinded onto him, feeling the hard outline of him pressing against your sensitive lips. “예수 그리스도'' He moaned at the feeling, bottom lip now trapped between his teeth.

“Really wanna ride you.” You told him and his eyes snapped open, hand gently cupping your cheek as he brought you in for another kiss.

“Then ride me.”

You sat back from him to run your fingers over his clothed cock, feeling it twitch with your touch. Soft moans fell from his mouth with each drawn-out stroke, he was so terribly sensitive. Tentatively tugging down his boxers, you freed his member from its confines and rubbed along the shaft before thumbing its tip. His throat hitched.

“If you keep touching me like that, this is going to be over a lot quicker than either of us could have hoped,” His hand found your bare pussy again, fingers gliding through your folds to make sure you were still wet enough to take him, “Let me know when you’re ready.”

Leaning further forward so your hips rested against his, bracing against his strong chest for support, you pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’m ready.” You told him. Without a word, Crypto reached down and aligned the two of you before oh-so-slowly lowering you back down onto his lap, feeling his length buried within you to the hilt.

You moaned together when he filled you, Crypto burying his head in your shoulder when you began to move, his hips rocking to meet the rhythm of yours. It felt delicious, his length rubbed your walls in all the right places and you felt a pressure begin to build quickly within your stomach again. His moans were so soft you almost had to strain to hear him but his strong grip on your hips as you swayed atop him telling enough.

Looking over your shoulder for a moment, you saw Loba lazily rubbing herself through her underwear, her eyes utterly transfixed on you and Crypto. One particularly measured thrust on his part hit your most sensitive spot directly and had your attention turned all the way back to him immediately. Gripping his hair as you rode him, you felt the pressure of his teeth on your shoulder as he bit back a moan. You slowed your pace and tilted his face up to see yours.

“Be as loud as you want baby, we wanna hear you,” you assured him and he looked at you through half-lidded eyes, skin flushed and lips bitten. You felt his cock twitch inside of you.

Pulling you back towards him so you were flesh to flesh, his hips snapped up into you with renewed vigour as his lips found your neck. Right next to another small mark Loba had left not a few moments earlier, he tentatively suckled on your skin until it bloomed. He swore he wasn’t a jealous person, he just wanted things to be even. His lips slowly trailed down towards your chest until he found one of your breasts, ready and waiting for him.

You let your head fall back. His consistent pumping up into you, filling you over and over and his tongue on your nipple combined with the knowledge that Loba was watching and enjoying all of this was quickly becoming too much for you to handle. You felt his cock twitch within you again.

You cupped his face in your hands as you brought him away from your nipple to press his swollen lips to yours again. That was when he reached between you and let his fingers trail over you clit. A cry escaped you. You were reaching the point of overstimulation and it felt like heaven.

When his thrusts became distractingly fast, you had to leave his lips but still held his face in your hands. “Come for me baby,” you told him and he felt his mind going numb. A few more thrusts and he was spent, all low moans and mumbles as he buried his face in your chest. His warm release within you felt so good, coating your walls and making you feel so wonderfully full. The coil in your stomach was wound, near the point of breaking now, but it wasn’t enough for you to reach your peak.

You just held each other for a few moments, petting over his hair as you relaxed in his arms. Even though you hadn’t come a second time that didn’t matter all that much when he still managed to make you feel as good as he did. When he caught his breath he looked up at you and frowned, “You didn’t-“

Loba was quick to interrupt him. She was up from her chair and walking towards you the moment you had regulated your breathing, “I’ll take care of that, pretty boy. Go take a minute.” With one last kiss and a groan as he pulled out of you, he reluctantly lifted you off his lap and sat you gently on your bed. He usually held you for hours after sex so this was new for him but just as he was learning to trust, he was also learning to compromise.

Loba bent down beside you as Crypto got up from your bed, tilting your chin upwards with her fingertip. “Ooh what a mess he made, hmm? Guess I had better help you clean up.” You were already oh so sensitive but your release was building again, all worked up from Crypto’s cock but surely going to be finished by Loba’s fingers.

Her touch was so different to Crypto’s, so delicate yet precise. She Plucked your body as if you were a harp, and she was a harpist with the most experienced hands. Her hands trailed over your shoulders and your chest, a nipple pinched and pressed deliciously between her fingers. With a few strange movements of your legs, Loba manoeuvres you by your hips, weaving your legs together. She draws her fingers up the underside of your thigh then down your lower leg, teasingly with a wicked grin plastered across her face as she does.

Loba scoots you closer together, her hands exploring your thighs as she goes, until you’re so close to her that you can feel the heat of her pussy against your own. She pulls you in for a kiss again and you take a handful of her full breasts. Loba rocks forward suddenly, rubbing your dripping cores together. She was most definitely keeping herself busy whilst you were with Crypto because she was soaking. Your pussy was so sensitive, so worked-up again that even the slightest touch had you reeling. Another slow grind and Loba’s eyes flutter closed. A twist of your thighs and you were fully locked together, her core providing yours with a delicious pressure. With a groan, Loba favoured a rougher rolling motion, her nails clawing at your thighs as your clits rub together.

“Shit!” Loba cries and her hips jerk into yours more sloppily. It was rare to see her so needy. The pressure from her clit on yours and the way her face contorted in pure pleasure had your insides twisting until you felt the dam burst for the second time that night. You found her lips again as you felt her too reach her release soon after, panting between kisses and cursing. Her movements slowed, as did your own until you were faced with the task of untangling from one another. “Guess we were pretty worked up, huh?” She asks and you nod in agreement, “You still have another round left in you? Pizza guy won’t be here for another twenty minutes…”

You were exhausted, dripping wet and still trying to catch your breath but you still managed to stifle out another “Yes, please.” You couldn’t get enough of them and you were dying to have them both at once. You felt more than just lust for these two. They made you feel loved, feel safe. All three of you had issues with connecting to people, whether it was simple distrust or even trauma but you were lucky enough to find one another. All the time spent with them trying to take down the Syndicate made Loba and Crypto learn to trust other people again. Not only that, they learned to care for you and in-turn allowed you to care for them. And being cared for wasn’t something either of them imagined would happen any time soon. Your tenderness and love made them feel human again like they were more than just their past.

“What do you think? Up for round three?” You looked to Taejoon and saw him sitting where Loba had been. When he moved one of his hands away from his lap to smooth his hair back from his face, you saw his cock was already erect again.

His chest heaved. “Are you sure you can take any more,애인(lover)?” Sitting up on your elbows now you looked at him and then to Loba who lay beside you, trailing her smooth fingertips up and down your arms. Excitement bubbled within you again.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

They were both beside you in an instant. You weren’t sure who was touching where and frankly you couldn’t care less. Feeling both their bodies on yours at once felt amazing, your skin tingling all over as you knelt sandwiched between them. Despite your oversensitivity, you welcomed the metallic fingertips that found your folds again. You were so, helplessly wet. Your multiple releases, coupled with Loba and Crypto’s had your thighs and sheets a mess. The cold metal of Crypto’s fingers were a wonderful contrast to the warmth of your pussy as he trailed along, up and down your lips, purposely avoiding where you wanted him to touch.

He left your lips in favour of hooking a finger inside you again. The friction was welcome but it wasn’t enough. “Please!” You whimpered and you heard Loba chuckle.

“Oh, baby girl, are you eager for his cock again? It’s a shame we aren’t at my place, you could’ve had mine as well.” Crypto raised a brow at that. You just whined at the thought of Loba’s strap.

He hummed as he found your clit with his thumb as he continued to draw his finger in and out of you. “Crypto, please!”

“I think you should tell him what you want him to do, sweetheart.”

“Please fuck me. I-I need-” You cut yourself off with a moan of his name and Crypto thought he might just die. He leant down to kiss your lips, rougher than usual now but still gentle. When he pulled back from you and gave you a chance to lay back, he had his dick in his hand and took his sweet time coating the tip in your juices, slowly dragging it through your folds.

“Ready for me?” he asked and you nodded. He tugged your knees around his hips and he leant between your legs and slowly entered you, inch by inch until you felt that wonderful fullness again. He let out a shaky breath and a gasp as he entered you. You felt so warm, so soft and so unmistakably you that he had a hard time moving for a moment for fear he might lose composure too soon and leave you disappointed for a second time. When you gave him the okay to move, Loba began teasing your breasts again, but you had other ideas for her.

“Sit-” A particularly drawn-out thrust from Crypto had your words misforming, “-On my face?” you asked her. Seeing as how Loba hadn’t garnered all that much from tonight’s proceedings, you were eager to make her feel good.

Her lips twisted into a smirk as she drew back from your chest, “Oh, sweetheart, I thought you’d never ask.” Crypto slowed his movements to let you two get comfortable. Loba now knelt beside your head, swung one leg over your head as you lay flat upon the bed so she now kneeled directly above you. It was the perfect access point. None of the pressure was on you, only what you wanted there to be.

Pulling her down by the hips until her core ghosted so close to your lips that your exhale made her shiver, you made sure you had a good enough grip on her even if all her weight was on your mattress. Crypto took Loba’s chin aiming for the heavens as his queue that you were comfortable again and started back at a slow pace. He always liked to alternate between almost teasingly slow, slow enough that you got needy when he pulled fully out of you, before you the exact pace that you needed from him.

Loba tried not to grind against your face but your actions did nothing to deter her from it. She was extremely responsive to any stimulation she received and your tongue was right up there as one of her favourite ways to be pleasured. Your strokes were careful, teasing and just how she liked it. Although your body jerked forward with each thrust from Crypto, Loba didn’t seem to mind and simply rocked her hips along your face in time with his movements. Each time he pulled back out of you only to fully sheath himself inside you again, a small gasp or moan escaped you. The vibrations just made Loba’s experience even better, small rhythmic cries falling from her lips.

When you felt Crypto’s fingers on your mound again, you had to lift Loba off you slightly to breathe. He always knew exactly where and how to touch you and even though you couldn’t see him, you could hear his soft laugh at the sound you made when he circled your clit. The feeling of being filled over and over by his thick member was divine in and of itself, his girth allowed him to rub your walls with ease especially at the angle he had you in now. Your legs wrapped around his hips and he kept your lower half-raised slightly off the bed. But combined with his hands? It was difficult to concentrate on anything but.

The more you got distracted by Crypto, the needier Loba became, jerking her hips in tiny thrusts to enable some kind of friction. Your fingers dimpled the backs of her thighs to keep her in place as you tried to make up for your few distracted moments. She was getting close now, you could feel it. The poor woman wasn’t used to actually being on the receiving end of such things until she met you.

“I think I’m going to come,” Crypto said with a sharp intake of breath, followed by a barely spoken curse.

“Me too.” She whined, “Pick up the pace, Hacker.” She leant back on her heels to the point where she was nearly sitting on your chest now, a hand in your hair and the other keeping herself steady. Unable to tear her eyes away from your face as you worked on her, an intense ripple of pleasure rushed through her when your eyes met hers. As you tugged her clit back between your lips and sucked all whilst flicking it with your tongue over and over, she was done for. Her head dropped back and her hands now gripped your head with all her desperate strength as she cried a far louder noise than you had ever heard from her before. Her release fell from her entrance right onto your wait tongue, making sure to keep up the intensity until you felt her body relax within your arms.

“Shit!” Crypto cursed and you felt his cock again twitch within you as Loba rolled off to your side, “Are you close?” He asked, voice strained and breathless.

“Yes!” Now that Loba was off of you, you were free to reach forward and cling to him, nails digging into the back of his shoulders and dragging him back down onto the bed with you. With the new angle, his cock hit right where you needed it, the tip brushing over your g-spot over and over as his hand continued to work on your clit. You were almost there now, he could feel it. You felt so good, clenching and releasing around him as a new rush of moisture left you. Loba decided at that moment that sucking one of your nipples into her mouth was a good idea. Suffice to say: It was and it very nearly finished you off. You looked up at them above you, their focus solely on you as they worked and shaped your flesh to bring you the most pleasure they could.

It was only when Crypto leaned in to kiss you that you finally came for the third time that night. Neither he nor Loba ceased their efforts until your orgasm fully ceased. Wave upon wave of glorious pleasure washed over you. Your release was enough for Crypto to come again too, his face buried in your neck as he whimpered. Your oversensitive walls welcomed the sensation of him filling you again.

Loba collapsed at your side and Crypto basically flattened out on top of you before realising that maybe wasn’t the best idea and rolling off of you. Their hands were still on you. Gentle, loving caresses as you caught your breath and fully came down from your high. Your skin still pleasantly tingled from their touch, small shivers still coursing through from your orgasm. All three of you were spent and thoroughly satisfied.

Your muscles still felt soft but you knew you would be sore in the morning. All you wanted to do right now was to lay with them. Feel their arms around you and them in yours. Have Loba hold you from behind whilst Crypto buried his face in your shoulder and clung to you like a Koala bear. You just wanted to drift off in their arms.

But then the doorbell decided it was going to ring.

Crypto moved to get it but Loba stopped him. “No no no, you go to the bathroom. I’ll get it.” Before pulling Crypto’s shirt over her head again and attempting to fix her hair, she covered you with your sheets, a wad of cash in her hand ready for the delivery driver. She looked adorable in such a long t-shirt, so long it came to her mid-thighs. A plain black t-shirt with no shape and clearly sex-tousled hair yet she still looked like she belonged in a magazine.

“Pizza’s finally here!” She exclaimed, kicking the door shut behind her, a large flat box in her hand. Her other hand was empty and the massive bundle of cash was nowhere to be found.

“How much was the pizza, Loba?”

She shrugged as she set the box down atop your covers, “No idea, you know I like to tip big!” Crypto returned from the bathroom, wearing only his pair of sweatpants you had given Loba earlier, “Off you go, your turn.” She nodded towards the bathroom. She was very responsible when it came to after sex. As much as you wanted to sleep afterwards, she was always adamant you go clean yourself up first. It was one of her rare ways of showing how much she cared.

When you were finished, you toddled out of the bathroom and back towards your bed, feeling decidedly underdressed before Taejoon noticed you rummaging for something comfortable and tossed you the very shirt he was wearing that day, with a smile. That left none for him but he didn’t seem to mind. As you pulled the fabric over your head, you couldn’t help but inhale his scent that lingered.

The three of you sat on your bed in relative silence, eating the lukewarm pizza until your hunger ceased. For once, Crypto was the first to interrupt the silence when he left the bed to check up on the decryption status, “Another nine hours until the decryption is complete”.

Loba yawned, both from tiredness and at the thought of waiting nine hours for anything, “Well, in that case, we had better get comfortable.” She took the empty pizza box from your bed and discarded it by your desk.

After gathering up all the courage your tired brain could muster, “So… what do you say you guys both sleep here tonight?” You asked. Crypto was already stretched out at your back, his arms wrapping around you and his warmth seeping into you when he said, “No, I think we should awkwardly go back to our own rooms and talk in the morning.” You scoffed, knowing he was joking, he took every given opportunity to have you in his arms.

Loba stood at the edge of your bed like she was actually considering what he said to be something other than sarcasm. She rarely stayed with you after sex. Even in her own apartment, she would place a kiss on your temple then leave no doubt to pull some kind of heist. It was almost like she was afraid to get too attached to you like someone might take her from you as well as everyone else she had ever loved. But now, as she looked at you, your eyes all soft all and pleading, she thought back to only a few hours ago in the medbay when you fretted over Crypto and had told her you would do the same for her. She realised she could more than just meaningless material things and vengeance. She finally felt like she deserved more.

She sighed, “Well, alright. Not like I’m doing anything else tonight.” And so she clambered beneath the covers and into your open arms. “Have we done enough to satisfy?” She asked and you couldn’t help but laugh. Your legs were already beginning to ache and your entire body felt like each nerve ending and been caressed.

“Just being able to spend time with you both is already enough,” Her hand came to cup your cheek, thumb tracing over your cheekbone. You felt Crypto place a kiss on the top of your head as he allowed himself to relax a little more, his body near-painted onto the back of yours, “But yes, thoroughly. You’re both so wonderful that I never really thought to stop and wonder what it would be like to have you together and it was better than I ever could have hoped for. Thank you for taking such good care of me.”

“Oh sweetheart, you do so much more for us than we could ever hope to repay.” She pecked your check.

“More than we deserve.”

“That’s not true, Ta-” you cut yourself off, “That’s not true. You shouldn’t have to worry about the Syndicate or Revenant trying to take you out every ten minutes. You deserve to be happy and safe a-and loved. As long as I’m around, I’ll do my best to make sure you feel that way. Because I know that’s not something neither of you have had in a very long time.”

Taejoon tightened his arms around you, holding you closer to his chest. He placed one hand over yours as you rested it on Loba’s side, his fingers interlocking with yours. That meant so much more to him than he would ever let on in front of Loba. Meanwhile, you could see the water pooling in the corners of her eyes as she looked at you so endearingly. She brought her lips to yours for a moment, in the softest kiss you’d ever felt from her before she nuzzled her nose into your cheek.

Sandwiched between them in a mess of warm and tangled limbs, you felt safe and for once,  they did too. Loba was the first to drift off to sleep, her grip on you going lax as her breath evened. You felt Crypto shift behind you slightly, his arm beneath you no doubt beginning to go numb.

“It’s alright, you can rest. We’ll still be here when you wake up.” He whispered, voice as soft as he could make it.

And so you did. With Loba sound asleep in your arms and Taejoon wrapping you up in his, you let your tired limbs melt into the soft mattress below and your heavy eyelids close for the night.

Tagging (Thank you for liking/ rbing that post to be tagged :D ): @kumiakum @dragon-chica @lonelyintheclub @wintergirlsoilder2 @itsthedoctah10 @quinn-lee @askloba @julestheengineer1 @smolminimonnie @peachymochimochi @korean-crypted-trash @speakinjapanese @lilacburned​  @bring-me-the-videogames​ (If you’d like to be untagged, please let me know!)

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Heaven, Hell and You

John Constantine x OFC (Valarie Moore) 

Masterlist  Chapter 1

Warnings- Violence, biblical references (sort of, I think)

Chapter 2

Humming under her breath, Valerie strolled through the little convenience store in the city. She still donned her uniform, light blue scrubs and white shoes, though thankfully, she was only half as tired as usual. Even better was the fact after her shift gone by, Valerie would have the next twenty four hours off and wouldn't have to see the hospital, and by extension, the ICU for the next day or so. It was her one day off for the week and she was determined to make the most of it. The most beginning with unwinding in a warm bath and a glass of wine. 

The shopping basket was hooked in her crooked elbow as she slowly walked to the liquor aisle, slowing down even further as she passed shelves lined with different kinds of pasta on her way. Maybe she could make herself dinner too, instead of ordering takeout. For a minute, Valerie seriously considered it, but then, remembering how long it might take and how much she'd anticipated doing absolutely nothing, she decided that it could be an activity for some other night and that pizza would do just fine. Once again, she began, head down, cast towards the beat up tiled floor, not even noticing that she was walking straight into someone.

"Shit," she swore, coming into contact with a man's chest, consequently stumbling backwards, "Sorry," Valerie huffed a quiet, breathless chuckle upon noticing how strikingly handsome he was; sharp bone structure, pale skin and raven  hair.

"Its my fault," he dismissed, not even bothering with returning her shy smile. Instead, he shoved one hand into the pocket of his black trench and readjusted his hold on his half filled basket, "Sorry about that," he nodded politely, proceeding to furrow his brows in what she perceived to be confusion. "Do I know you?"

Equally confused, Valerie's lips quivered with questions unspoken, and eventually, she found herself tucking a soft brunette lock behind her ear, the little diamond stud on her earlobe twinkling teasingly, “I don’t think so,” she licked her pink, bare lips, “Maybe I just have one of those faces,” Valerie giggled quietly, though, she could tell by the man’s stare that he wasn’t buying it for a second. It was slightly unnerving, the way he was looking at her, like he actually believed that they knew each other.

“Maybe,” he scoffed, apparently only agreeing cause he really couldn’t place her, “Sorry,” he cleared his throat quietly.

He seemed to shake off whatever he was feeling, moving to go around her before she could even dismiss his apology and assure him that it was all good. As Mr. Tall, dark and mysterious, went about his way, Valerie turned around, sparing him one last glance, trying to ignore the disappointment in their conversation being over. She didn’t really get out a lot, discounting work, and her flirting skills were very rusty, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t know a hot guy when she saw one, and she’d just spoken to one, barely. 

When he didn’t look back, either pretending to not see her or just ignoring her completely, Valerie sighed heavily, continuing towards the limited liquor selection without another look back hoping to eventually dust off her disappointment that he hadn’t shown much interest in her.

2 Weeks Later John usually preferred to drink alone, at his loft, sometimes in front of the television, sometimes while he worked. Needless to say, John didn’t ordinarily visit bars and pubs, but alas, Angela had called earlier that day wanting help with a case, and seeing that she was one of his only friends, he didn’t really think it right to refuse her. So there he was, at some no name, low lit place in the city, nursing a glass of whiskey straightening up when he saw her come through the doors of the place. “Hey,” she smiled softly, still in her work clothes, holster peeking out from beneath her blazer, file in hand, “You got started without me,” she nodded to the glass on the table as she sat on the opposing chair. 

“You took too long,” he huffed, bringing the glass to his lips. The air around them stank of cigarettes, which wasn’t exactly ideal considering that, quitting had been hard, and even a year later, the smell alone still tempted him sometimes. Reaching into his pocket, he dug around for the pack of nicotine gum that he had taken to carrying around, shoving a stick into his mouth before talking again. “That the case?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, handing over the manila folder, “Why don’t you look it over while I go get a drink?” 

Wordlessly, John took it, letting it lay open on the table before him, slowly sipping his drink as his weary eyes scanned the pages, looking for anything that would prove inhumanity. There were definitely some things that looked ritualistic, and John could certainly see why Angela had grown some suspicions; the Latin scrawling and the way the bodies had been mutilated pointed to something supernatural. But John could also easily see the human factors, the little details that showed him the killer was actually human; there were slight discrepancies in the incantations printed in blood on the walls and the marks were hardly drawn with fluidity. “Your guy, whoever he is, is human,” John eventually determined, sliding the folder back towards Angela. 

Slumping her shoulders, she took a swing of her beer, running a hand through her hair with a defeated sigh, “Seriously? I just thought….”

“I can see why,” he nodded, “But here,” he hit one of the pictures with the pad of his fingers, “And here,” he tapped another spot, “These translations don’t make sense. It’s definitely Satanic worship, but not by a half breed.”

“Great,” She groaned, “Now its back to the drawing board I guess…” John didn’t really hear the rest of Angela’s sentence, for when he looked up, he was greeted by a familiar face. It was the girl from his dreams again, and of course, the same one he’d met at the convenience store just about two weeks ago.

Since then, he hadn’t been able to get her out of his head, his troubling dreams had only grown more  lucid, and once or twice, he’d even found himself unable to determine if he was actually dreaming until he’d wake up, most times with his heart ready to burst from his chest and his mind a mess. At first, he’d tried to convince himself that meeting her had been a dream too, but now, seeing her walking into the bar, flanked by about four other people, John knew that it was real. She, whoever she was, was real.

And she was absolutely stunning in person, far better than what his mind had managed to conjure up. It wasn’t hard to think that she wasn’t real, John never thought that it was possible for a human to look so……..remarkably flawless. Could humans even be made that perfect? Part of him longed to know her; know who she was, what she was like, why she’d dominated his dreams for months before they’d even crossed paths. But another, though weaker, part urged John to keep his distance, to stay away from her; those dreams had to mean something, and above everything, they meant that she was trouble. 

Still, John found himself, sitting in a wooden chair that didn’t really do anything for his back, staring at the girl he’d been losing sleep over as she stood at the bar, getting drinks while her friends claimed a table. She wasn’t wearing scrubs that night, instead, she’d switched them out for a little black dress that ended above her knees, boasting her very nice legs, with capped sleeves and tiny red polka dots about the entire thing. Though his eyes stayed on her, she didn’t look his way for a second, too busy trying to wave over the buzzing bartender. 

“Are you even listening to me?” Angela snapped her fingers in front of John’s face, rousing his attention. Meeting her frown, John finished off his drink, not really able to lie and say he had been, considering she was very likely to question him on it, knowing full and well that he wouldn’t have an answer. “What are you looking at?” Angela turned in her chair, trying to see what, or rather who, he was seeing. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he huffed gruffly, rolling his whiskey orbs and twirling the empty glass in his hands, “I’m gonna get another drink.”

“Feel free to flirt while you’re at it,” she teased lightly, and he largely ignored her, not even turning Angela’s way as he headed towards the bar. 

He’d had every intention of ignoring her, just like he had when she’d turned around to give him one final glance back at the store, but by some unfortunate coincidence, the only empty spot left at the bar just happened to be right next to where she was standing. Slipping in, John maintained his silence, not even looking at the woman as he leaned on the lip of the varnished, wooden bar top, drumming his fingers impatiently. She didn’t seem to notice him at first, though, all she had to do was turn to the side to  before her eyes lit up in recognition, “It’s you,” she gasped, taking a tentative step back.

Clearing his throat quietly, John didn’t bother to force a smile, smiling wasn’t really his thing anyway, “It is,” he nodded, “Funny seeing you here,” even if he had absolutely no interest in smiling with her, that didn’t mean he was particularly opposed to seeing her smile.

But, alas, she didn’t. John couldn’t blame her though, passing jokes weren’t really his area of expertise, and she just scrunched her face, “Is it though? I mean, its downtown L.A, you probably see the same person three times a week, it’s just, you almost knocked me over, so you actually remember.”

Rolling his eyes again, John shook his head, avoiding her pretty dark gaze. She had nice eyes. No, nice might have been an understatement, she had gorgeous eyes, so dark and bottomless, almost completely black. If given the opportunity, John thought that he wouldn't mind getting lost in them. Maybe that was why he’d been avoiding them so much, because he wanted to mind, because getting lost in her eyes meant he’d have to get to know her, and getting to know her meant letting her in. And his life wasn’t one that allowed for that sort of thing. Besides, he didn’t even know her name. 

“You walked into me,” he argued half heartedly, hoping the bartender would make his way to their end soon. The longer he stayed, the more they’d talked, and the more they talked, the more he’d want to know.

“If I remember correctly, I believe you said that it was your fault,” she quipped, a teasing glimmer in her dark pools, and a smirk up turning her lips.

Huffing a chuckle, John sighed in relief when the bartender drew nearer, “I was being polite, don’t make me regret it.”

“What a gentleman,” the woman taunted sarcastically, no malice in her tone, though, it was laced with subtle intrigue, and before John knew it, she was offering her petite hand, “I’m Valerie, Valerie Moore.”

Reluctantly, John  took her hand, enclosing it in his larger, calloused one, “John Constantine.” As hard as he tried, it was difficult to pretend that her touch didn’t have an effect on him. Her, Valerie’s, hands were so soft, and John felt like just the slightest haste could hurt them. He could see why she was in the medical field though, he could tell by the scrubs she’d been wearing, with the hospital’s name etched on the breast pocket, her hands felt healing. It was hard to describe how, but quickly, John had imagined that anyone graced by Valerie’s touch would feel better about anything in seconds, he knew he did.

Scrunching her face, Valerie giggled as she reclaimed her hand, and by just her relaxed demeanor, so different from how flustered she’d been at the store, it was obvious that she’d probably been drinking even before getting to the bar, “Like the Roman Emperor?”

Snorting, John squinted his eyes, “What?” He fought a smile, caught off guard by the fact.

Glancing down at their feet, her pale cheeks took on a rosy hue, accentuating her thick dark lashes, “It’s nothing,” she mumbled, her giddy giggles softer, “My dad’s a history teacher and sometimes I just-”

“Hey,” a matronly woman, no doubt years older than Valerie interrupted, gently laying a ring adorned hand on her girl’s bare shoulder. Maybe she was her mother, though it didn’t quite seem like it, surely though, she was someone that cared enough to come check in when Valerie was caught in conversation with a lanky stranger, “Everything okay hun?” The short, plump women looked between them, and it was only then that John realized just how close they’d been standing.

“Huh?” Valerie cast her wide innocent eyes towards her friend, “Yeah, I’m fine Martha, I was talking John’s ear off over here,” her blush deepened. She was so, painfully innocent John thought, girls in L.A weren’t usually like that, so blushy and reserved. 

Nodding slowly, Martha gave John a cautious once over, as if determining whether or not he was worth her friend’s company or not, “Okay,” her tone held a skepticism and when the bartender placed a some beers near where they were standing, Martha took a few, only leaving behind one for Valerie, “Well, I’ll leave you two to it, but everyone’s right over there. Right Val?”

“Yeah,” she nodded astutely, “I’ll be right over, thanks Martha.” When the older woman was out of earshot, Valerie turned back to him, offering a shy smile and quick blinks. After, she took a quick, tentative sip of her beer, before speaking again, “Sorry about that, Martha’s just…..protective.”

“It’s okay,” John inhaled deeply, vaguely aware of Angela casting him an intrigued stare from their table. He knew she wasn’t jealous or anything of the sort; they’d tried the whole dating thing for a short stint, after he’d started cleaning himself up and she’d had time to properly grieve for her sister, but in the end, had decided that they were much better off as friends. “I should let you get to it,” he got his drink, another finger of whiskey, “Be careful, okay?” John didn’t know why he’d let himself say it, but the urge might have nagged him otherwise. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that Valerie might be in actual danger. 

“Um,” stunned, Valerie straightened her back, swallowing thickly, “Yeah okay. It was nice to meet you John,” and before he could return her words, just after her smile faltered, she was turning on the flat heel of her black ballet pump and hurrying off towards the group she’d arrived with, and unlike that night in the store, she didn’t look back.

It was late when Valerie and her friends from the hospital had finally decided to leave the bar, nearly stumbling out onto the sidewalk. “You sure you’re good to drive Val?” Damien, one of the other Nurse practitioners, probed before he could start walking in the direction of his own car.

“Yeah,” already, she was rummaging through her little purse for her keys. Of course, she wasn’t exactly sober, but Valerie didn’t live too far away from the place they’d chosen, it was just about a fifteen minute to her place. “I got this,” she laughed giddily, trying to suppress a stumble as she moved away from the group. The rest of goodbyes were exchanged with an air of skepticism, and her friends seemed reluctant to let her leave, but Valerie was a bit past noticing their worry, eventually shaking them off, slowly staggering towards her car, parked all the way at the top of the street. 

Everything was fine, at least for a while until the night chill broke through her thin coat and at some point, the path in front of her started to seem bleary. Worse yet, she was pretty sure that there was someone following her, keeping close the shadows, several feet behind her, their identity shrouded. Unnerved, she sped up, clutching her keys tightly, the metal cool in her palms. Heavy, shallow breaths were hard to contain, and that was when it happened, sending the iciest chill up her spine.

“Precious little Valerie shouldn’t be walking alone. Bad things happen when pretty girls walk alone….” The ragged, hoarse voice seemed closer than it ever had, and then, out from the shadows, merely two or three feet in front of her, was a boy, no older than sixteen, his skin hard and yellow, and his eyes unfocused and glassy. 

Half a panicked scream left her quivering lips and Valerie could feel her heart trying to break through her ribs and leap right out of her chest. In an instant the boy…..or whatever was left of his apparently decaying form lunged for her, barely phased when she swung her bag offensively, hitting him square in the jaw. “What the fuck?” She breathed, too frightened to scream as she stumbled, falling back into the damp sidewalk.

Wildly, she kicked him in the face, not caring if her attempts of fighting back were barely buying her time. It couldn’t end that way; she was too young. “Let go of me!” She violently wiggled her leg out of his grasp, scrambling up and trying to run towards her car, her left shoe slipping off in the process, nearly causing her to slip on the slippery concrete. 

For a split second, Valerie thought that she might have escaped her nasty faith, but nothing was as unforgiving as whatever was after her. Enraged, it’s high pitch, demented shrill rang out ear piercingly, “No!” It reached for the back of her dress, “Valerie comes with me!”

It was over. It had to be, the teenager from hell had caught her. He was stronger than her, or so she thought, and he was about to drag her to whatever hole he’d crawled out from. But then unthinkable happened, all in a blur; a familiar form leaping out of alongside the darkened store fronts, formerly protected by the darkness, was now fighting her battle for her. And much more efficiently too. In what seemed to be an instant, though might have just been minutes sped up by her adrenaline fueled mind, John ‘not the Roman emperor’ Constantine, had the kid pinned down,  splashing what Valerie could only presume to be water, or maybe clear liquor on his face. Really, she didn’t know, but she could tell that it had been enough to weaken him enough, so John could subsequently start reading from a little black book. “Close your eyes,” he growled, taking a minute from his words.

“What?” Confused and scared, it was safe to say that Valerie was having a hard time processing even the simplest instructions.

Taking another quick, very reluctant break, John, more annoyed than ever, simply spat, “Your eyes, close them!”

Without any other reasonable explanation besides not wanting him, or anyone else to viciously attack her, Valerie shut her eyes tight. Her other senses kicked in, working in overdrive, trying to piece together what was going on, though all she could comprehend were John’s continued prayers and then, after a few minutes, a body tackling her, once again knocking to the floor again. It wasn’t the boy though, no, he had smelt disgustingly of sulfur, but this person gave off another aroma; soap, cologne and whiskey. Cracking one eye open, Valerie sighed in relief once her suspicions were confirmed; it was John. 

His face hovered less than an inch over hers, lips so close that it would take barely any effort to lean up and kiss him. Their breaths were shared and Valerie could feel John’s hard chest pressing on her breasts, his weight heavy on hers, though, she didn’t think she wanted him to move anyway. His presence and their proximity was so consuming that she hadn’t even noticed the shattered glass surrounding them, pieces caught in her hair, though his larger body shielding her from the worst of it. “You-”

She didn’t get to finish, for the minute that John realized that he was lingering, holding her down for longer than he needed to, he struggled into a standing position, offering his hand to help Valerie do the same. “You need to come with me,” was all he chucked out when they’d just started grasping their bearings, his fingers enclosed around her upper arm, trying to pull her along.

Though, now sobered by her near heart stopping experience, Valerie fought his grip, almost yelping when she saw the boy laying on the ground, looking far different from how he’d been when he attacked her, and the glass from one of the store fronts completely shattered, “What the fuck is going on?” Her hair was wet from some puddle or the other, her clothes were soaked through too and one side of her shoes was still missing. And that was just the physical damage. What was going on in her head was something entirely different. 

“I can explain this when you’re safe,” he urged her along, not even phased by her fighting.

Trying to yank her arm away, Valerie refused to give in so easily, “And I’m safe with you? I barely know you. And we can’t just leave that kid on the sidewalk.”

“He wasn’t the one that almost died back there,” his low, gruff voice dripped with annoyance, and Valerie could tell that he really just wanted her to shut up. But how could she with all that was going on?

“What was that back there? What the hell was wrong with that kid? Are you a priest, why were you saying Saint Michael’s prayer?” The questions just tumbled out of her mouth, right as she’d finally wrenched herself from John’s grip.

Finally, realizing that she was too stubborn for them to make it to his car, John slumped his shoulders, begrudgingly giving in. Why’d he have to want to save her so bad? “You speak Latin?”

“What?” She scoffed, folding her arms, “I don’t, and if you’re not going to answer my questions, then I’m going back to my car.” 

Turning on her heel, Valerie had just started walking again, when John halted her with a series of brief explanations, “That was a possession, and then an exorcism. That kid was possessed and no, I’m not a priest.” When she turned back to him, he slipped his hands into the pockets of his black slacks, “Now lets try this again, do you speak Latin? And don’t lie to me.”

“I don’t,” now traded places, with Valerie being the annoyed one, she spoke through gritted teeth, “Why’s that so important to you anyway?”

“You ask so many questions,” he rolled his eyes, “And its important because that’s the only way you would have understood a word of that prayer. Unless you’re a really devout Catholic.”

Taken aback, Valerie’s eyes widened, jaw hanging slack, “I’m not,” she gasped, she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d set foot in a church or even prayed. “You…..I….you were…...that was Latin?”

���Well it wasn’t exactly English,” John joked, dry and humorless, only frowning when he noticed her trouble, “But you didn’t know that.” All she managed was a slight shake of her head. “Did you understand what he was saying?”

It couldn’t be. “Yeah,” nothing followed the breathy peep, as Valerie was too busy getting lost in a swirling pool of despair. A demon possessed kid knew her name, tried to kidnap her, and now she could speak dead languages? Maybe she should have just stayed home that night. “What’s…..I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I,” John grabbed her shoulders, probably thinking it would ground her, Valerie knew the little trick well, it was something she did when patients started freaking out, something about having someone’s comforting touch was centering. “But I might be able to help you, I just need you to trust me, okay?”

Trust him? A man she didn’t know? A man who could probably want her dead, just like some apparent demon.

But his eyes were so sincere, and beneath his cynicism and sarcastic quips, it actually seemed like he cared.

It wasn’t something her father would approve of, and Martha would definitely give her a lecture or two on her naivety, but there she was, thinking that maybe John was exactly who he said he was; someone that could help.

“Okay,” Valerie relented, finally letting John urge her to his car, going wherever he’d take her just so she could have some answers.

*****

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi  @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves  @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea  @luxx-aeterna

[hermankopusortizorsumshite]

Walsh

PART TWO

Warning: smut, violence, gore, breaking and entering, sarcasm. So much swearing. Mentions of Shane c*ck.

Kennedie curls up on the couch with a book while Carl watches ‘Finding Nemo’. His favorite move thus far, as he’d already asked to watch it four times. Finding Nemo played once more, before finally it was seven o’clock. “Carl, buddy. It’s bath time.” She calls as she stands up. Looking out the window, she sees a patrol car pass by slowly. Looking out she sees Shane watching intently inside. Flipping him the bird he just chuckles and drives away. Shutting the blinds in the living room, she heads to the bathroom and starts the water for his bath. Tossing in a bucket toys, Carl cheers as he jumps into the tub.

“Wow! Look at that!” He points, writing on the bath tub wall with bath crayons.

“Nice! Write your name.” She points to the wall with her finger and Carl splashes her. He splashes her, and she splashes back. “Tip back. Tip back.” She cheers, dumping water on his head. “Sudsy time!” She laughs, scrubbing his blue soap into his hair. “Tip back!” She dumps another cup over his head.

“Water!” He cheers, scrubbing her arms with his wet hands.

“Yay! You ready to get out?” She asks, holding up his duck towel with a hood temptingly.

“Uh, yeah. Can we watch a movie?” He asks as he climbs out and gets onto the mat, letting her wrap him up with the towel.

“Sure. You can hang with me in the living room.” She smiles, letting him follow her to his room. Pulling out some Cars undies and a tee shirt, she lets him dress himself. “You collect your favorite blanket and pillow and head to the living room.” While he collects his blanket, pillow, and favorite animals, she lays out his clothes for tomorrow on his dresser. Jeans and a tee shirt, some green dino socks and a pair of shoes.

“I got them!” He cheers, running down the wood-floored hall with a blanket and a pillow, stuffed animals falling from his grip.

“Okay, come with me.” She waves him to the basket of blankets under the side tables and hands them to him. “Let’s do this.” She sets up a blanket fort and heads to the couch with her blanket and pillow. As they curl up, she starts a movie on Netflix they both fall asleep. As her alarm goes off at six, she hears bustling in the kitchen and springs from the couch in sleepy stupor, grabbing her phone. Her eyes finally focus on the curly haired, grown man standing in the kitchen making eggs at the stove. The coffee hits her nose and she smiles.

“Morning, chewbacca.” He greets her with a laugh and she hears Carl spring to his feet.

“Uncle Shane!” He cheers, his little feet pattering on the tile floor as he hugs the officer’s legs.

“Christ, Walsh. What did I say? Not a morning person.” She croaks, met with a cup of coffee being handed over.

“And here I am, your savior. I don’t normally do morning breakfast for women so, consider yourself lucky.” He chides, pointing a spatula at her.

“My God, I’m so lucky. Shall I parade around the neighborhood with you on my arm? Are we to be married now? I’m the only woman to ever domesticate a Walsh?” She dramatizes, slapping a hand to her chest.

“You are the most sarcastic woman I’ve ever met.” He grumbles, looking over at her.

“What do you expect Walsh? I don’t like you.” She shrugs, taking the plate from his hands and digging in as he serves Carl a smiling plate of bacon, egg, and toast. “Boo! How come I didn’t get a smiling plate, Walsh?” She calls, pushing the plate back to him.

“You don’t like him.” Carl responds, stuffing a bacon piece into his mouth.

“Ooh, little dude’s got a point, Ken.” He points to Carl with the spatula as he puts it down and puts his own plate down, eating rather quickly.

“Are you eating on the clock?” She asks, looking at him a crooked smile.

“Yes, ma’am. And then I’m gonna take little dude to school. You don’t mind right?” He asks.

“No of course not. He likes the cruiser more.” She shrugs, grabbing the plates away. “And since uncle Shane decided to wake me up early, I think he should dress you.” She raises her brows excitedly at Carl and he flings from his seat, grabbing Shane’s hand and dragging him down the hall.

“You’re evil!” Shane’s voice trails off. She chuckles as she quickly tugs on shorts and yanks off her tee shirt for a tank top. “Me and Carl are headin’ out. Don’t drink too many mimosas, princess.” He calls as he and Carl head out the door.

“Walsh! Backpack!” She shouts, grabbing Carl’s backpack and running out the door. For a moment, Shane smiles. He could almost imagine it; Kennie chasing him out the door with their kid’s backpack. He shakes his head, licking his lips as he snatches the bag from her.

“Thanks.”

She hangs around the house, leaving only to get pepperoni and mozzarella and a few ingredients for pizza. As she finishes the pizza dough, she hears the door open and Shane’s laugh echo through the hall.

“Shoes little dude, aunt Kennie hates muddy tracks.” He hushes, quietly trying to sneak in. When his eyes meet hers, his cheeks flame red.

“Awe Shane, you don’t like me do you?” She digs, giving him her best puppy dog eyes and pouty lip.

“Lori’d be mad if she saw foot prints too. Anyway, what’s with the white powder all over? You feel like Betty Crocker today?” He snorts, slapping his hand into the flour and slapping her ass hard; leaving a flour hand print. Carl comes from his room when he hears her shriek.

“Aunt Kennie, you okay?” He asks. Shane just chuckles under his breath.

“I’m fine. Uncle Shane spanked me.” She huffs, twisting and slapping a floury hand print onto his ass, his uniform pants almost black, leaving a white almost perfect hand print.

“These are my work pants, shit.” Shane barks, jumping back from the confusing feelings welling in his stomach.

“Unit eight-two respond. We’ve got a call for a wellness check at 106 North Athens street, 63 years old, Alice Gratiot.”

“This is unit eight-two responding. Ten-four on a wellness check. Heading over there now.” He responds into the radio at his shoulder. Giving Kennedie a wink, he heads out to the door.

“Walsh? Don’t get shot by Missus Gratiot, also. Pizza will be ready in an hour or I can save you some.” She calls to him. His tongue shoots out across his bottom lip and gives her that half goofy smile.

“I’ll be back for pizza.” He nods, heading out the door and getting into his squad car. She watches a moment longer as he pulls out of the driveway. Shaking her head, she and Carl start working on making homemade pizza from scratch.

As soon as Shane’s out of eyesight of the house, he pulls over and he finds it hard to breathe. When had he found her attractive? And since when was he a breakfast cooker? When was the last time he was excited to eat cold pizza because she’d offered it? He never thought of her like this until now.

After his wellness check and writing a ticket to a speeder, he gets to the station and walks into the locker room.

“Damn Walsh, you gettin’ it in the squad car?” Chuck asks, looking down to Shane’s ass. As he twists to look, he groans, a small minuscule smile cracks across his lips.

“Nah, Kennie’s watching Carl while Rick’s gone. She’s got major hots for me.” He nods, changing into jeans and a tee shirt.

“Wanna get beers?” He asks, looking to Shane with a smile.

“Nah thanks. I’m gonna head home.” But he wasn’t going home first. First, he was going to stop and see her, get himself some cold pizza and possibly break down another wall. Pulling into Rick’s he sees the lights off but the TV flashes across the dark living room. Damning himself, he checks the time.

8:07PM.

Getting out of his Jeep, he heads up to the door. As he reaches up to knock, the door opens and her smiling face greets him as she peeks around the door.

“Geez, good thing we saved some for ya.” She hushes, waving him in.

“Sorry, is Carl already sleeping?” He whispers, looking over the couch to see the little tyke laid out on the floor on a pile of blankets.

“Yeah, but that’s okay. Here.” She offers him a plate of steaming warm pizza.

“Thanks.” He offers. She just nods, heading to the couch and curling up on one end. “You mind?” He asks, pointing to the empty spot on the couch. She just nods, offering popcorn without taking her eyes off the screen. The opening scene rolls and Shane gets comfy. As the movie plays on, she starts to doze, leaning over slowly. Finally resting on his shoulder, he looks down as she sleepily frowns at him before falling asleep.

Gently, he slips his arm behind her, hugging her lazily to him as he watched the movie. He loses track of time as he watches her sleep, his eyes never leaving her face until the movie’s end credits roll and she jerks awake, looking at him confused.

“You couldn’t resist me in your sleep, darlin’. I’m tellin’ ya. Moanin’ my name.” He whispers, picking on her. Her wide green eyes meet his dark, burnt umber orbs and she feels her breath catch. She’d never seen Shane like this. Relaxed on the couch in jeans and a tee, not giving back the snarky comments hard, or throwing insults her way. “Oh Shane, yes. I like it like that.” He squeals gently, raising his voice and making Kennedie laugh, gripping her sides. He chuckles at her, her laugh was brilliant and it rang in his ears like sweet music. Rising to his feet, he stretches back and a sliver of lightly tanned skin peeks through.

“Oh Walsh, yes. There it is! Yes. No. I don’t remember saying that. I was actually dreaming of killing you and then going to a beach.” She retorts, even out of a dead sleep.

“I gotta head out. Thanks for tonight. It was nice to shave your head while you slept.” He calls as he heads out to the front door.

“You are such an ass.” She laughs softly, rolling her eyes.

“Good night, Kennedie.” He smiles, feeling his breath quicken as his hand reaches for the knob.

“Good night, Walsh.” She gives a shy smile back, fists clenched at her sides.

Saturday was already here, and Walsh’s patrol car was parked out front as she got Carl’s breakfast made.

“Morning, kids.” Shane calls as he steps in, seeing her with her back to him. He fights hard against his hands reaching for her waist.

“Gross, Walsh. You can just like, wave from the driveway.” Her insult leaves a bad taste in his mouth as he sits at the counter and scrubs Carl’s head.

“Hey, I have a double today, so I may not get a chance to swing by later. If it isn’t too late I’ll swing by.” He smiles, a small sparkle in her eyes doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Got it. You want some lunch that isn’t fast food? That stuff will kill you.” She states as she makes a sandwich and packs some chips into a bag. “Here. I’ll even let you take my lunchbox. We’ll take the cooler. Where are we going today?” She asks Carl, patting his hands.

“The beach! Aunt Kennie’s taking me to the beach! You should come uncle Shane.” Carl whines, grabbing Shane’s arm.

“As much fun as that sounds, I can’t, bud. I gotta work. You two have a fun day, thanks again.” He chuckles, holding up her lunchbox in his hand. Heading out the door, he waves through the window before getting into the cruiser and driving away, a huge grin on his face. She’d packed him a lunch. He felt so special.

Kennedie spends the next hour packing and getting ready for the beach.

Snacks.

Suits.

Lunch.

Towels.

She nods into her totebag, sure she has every thing as they get into her honda.

They spend the next four hours at the beach, Kennedie taking lots of photos and sending them to Lori. Receiving cute emojis in response, she puts her phone in her bag and heads to the beach with Carl.

They finally get home around eight at night and Carl crawls immediately into bed. Tired, she puts away their things when she hears the front door.

“Shane?” She asks, normally he announces himself. Something didn’t feel right. Peeking into Carl’s room, he’s fast asleep so she pulls the door shut quietly as she heads into the kitchen.

“Hey, bitch. Get on the ground!” The man shouts, jabbing a gun at her.

“Please, I’m just house sitting. Take what you want.” She cries. One holds a gun to her head as the other ransacks the house, Carl’s door being untouched in the process. As they start to leave one turns around and starts talking to the other.

“Kill her, Jake. I told you. You gotta kill her.” He shakily points a gun at her and she starts to sob quietly, biting her hand to keep from waking Carl. The gun goes off and a burning sensation hits her shoulder. She drops to the floor and sobs, looking around to be sure they were gone before she staggers to Carl’s room to see him still asleep. Shakily dialing the emergency line, she hears the sirens wail before she can hit send.

Shane was mid thrust in his cruiser into an old flame when his radio crackles to life. He’d met up with Maylynn in the employee parking lot of the hospital where she worked.

“Walsh. We got a break in at five-nineteen east Gordon street. Walsh, respond. Break in.” The radio crackles. He thrusts a couple more times.

“On my way. Walsh responding.” He calls, ramming his hips into her a couple more times before he finally falls off the edge of euphoria. Buttoning his pants, tosses on his shirt, missing a few buttons here and there. Maylynn jogs away to her car and Shane heads for five-nineteen east Gordon street. His foot steps hard on the gas when he realizes it’s Rick’s address. Squealing into the driveway, he dives out of the car but doesn’t see anything wrong at first.

Stepping inside, he looks around to see things strewn about.

“Kennie?” He coos, gun raised as he finds his way through.

“Shane?” She whispers, looking up to him like a knight in shining armor.

“Kennie are they still here?”

“No. Left five minutes ago.” She whispers, coughing and gasping at the pain that erupts from her shoulder. Shane’s eyes land on the blood and his legs start to sway.

“Where’s Carl?” He chokes.

“In his room. Go check on him, Shane.” She begs, “but don’t wake him up until I leave. I don’t want to scare him.” She whispers, her arm burning.

“Okay, stay there okay. This is Walsh. I ne-need a bus. Five-nineteen ease Gordon street. I got a woman, late twenties, gun shot wound to the shoulder.” He nearly chokes on his words, all of this like a surreal dream. A nightmare. She lay on the floor in a puddle of her own blood, only worried that Shane didn’t wake up Carl.

“Walsh, ca-can you grab me that t-t-towel? Not the white one, the black one.” She points a weak finger at the black towel hanging on the edge of the counter. He grabs it and kneels in the blood, sliding a hand gingerly under her shoulder and pulling her to sit up on his knees. Pressing the black towel into her shoulder, he smooths her bloodied, sticky hair away from her face.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, feeling his heart constrict. He’d been too busy having sex in his cruiser. He wasted those five minutes. He could’ve had those assholes. Though, he decided it was for the best. He’d have killed them. “Dammit Kennie, I’m so fuckin’ sorry. Okay?” He whispers over and over like a mantra until he hears the ambulance wailing getting closer.

“Don’t let Carl see me, okay? I know the ambulance will wake him up, but please Shane. I don’t wanna traumatize him.” She coos, holding his forearm in her pale, bloody hand.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He assures as the EMT’s come in with a stretcher to load her up. He rises with the stretcher, heart slamming in his throat as he follows the stretcher to the ambulance, his hand gripping hers tight.

“Shane, let go. Go help Carl, please.” She whispers, grabbing his hand and trying to throw it. He chuckles and pats her hand, tears almost falling as he lets go.

“I’ll be right behind you, Ken. I’ll be right behind you!” He calls as he heads inside to get Carl. “Hey buddy, you gotta wake up okay? We gotta go, pal. Aunt Kennie got hurt and we gotta go see her, okay?” He asks as he wakes up the little guy. Carl sleepily sits up, confused, but Shane doesn’t have time. He scoops up the little boy and takes him to the cruiser. Grabbing his seat out of her car and buckling it in.

“Walsh! C’mere! We need to talk, man.” Billy calls, waving him over.

“What?”

“So when you got here the burglars were gone, right?”

“Yes. And one civilian injured. Listen, Kennie’s at the hospital okay? I gotta see her.” He stammers, heading for the cruiser.

“Walsh! Why were you so late?” He calls. Shane stops in his tracks and looks over his shoulder. He climbs into the cruiser and heads for the hospital.

“We’re here to see Kennedie Gunner, gun shot wound to the shoulder.” Shane breathes as he gets to the counter carrying Carl.

“Sure, down the hall, room two-fifteen.” She smiles, winking at him. Any other day, he might consider flirting but he didn’t have the time. Jogging down the hall scanning numbers, hers pops up and he clicks open the door, scared of what he might see. There in chairs sit Rick and Lori, talking to her. He puts Carl on his feet and he finds his parents. Rick gives Shane a thankful smile.

“The hero returns.” Kennedie coos softly, reaching for Shane. Holding his breath, he sticks out a hand to her. She tugs him down to hug him. He feels the weight on chest increase and he sucks in for a breath. She thought he was a hero.

“Shane. Thank you.” Rick smiles, patting Shane’s shoulder. He didn’t care. He didn’t hear anything but her breathing. His eyes danced across her finding her nearly perfect, except for that hole in her shoulder.

“Walsh? Why are you staring at me?” She asks, cracking open an eye at him.

“Because I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Stop being nice Walsh. I’m fine. Just painkillers and rest left.”

“I’m sorry, Kennie. I should’a been there sooner.” He coos, looking at his hands.

“Shane, you did the best that anyone could’ve done. You did good, Walsh.” She smiles, patting his hand.

"I’m sorry I didn’t come by at eight. I always come by at eight.” He huffs, chewing on his bottom lip nervously.

“Christ Walsh, I’m still alive. Shut up.” She laughs, earning a laugh from Rick and Lori. Rick stands and leads Shane out into the hallway.

“Why all of a sudden, are you and Kennie buddies?” Rick chuckles, hitching a thumb over his shoulder.

“I don’t know, man. It just kinda happened. She packed me a lunch this morning like she didn’t hate me. She made dinner both nights and invited me to stay, or come back. I don’t know what it is, Rick, but I can’t stay away from her anymore.” He scratches his head, fingers running through his hair.

“Sounds like Shane’s in loooovvee.” Rick chuckles, drawing a sweeping heart with his finger in the air.

“Nah, stop that.” Shane brushes it off and he heads to the door.

“We’re not done talking Shane.”

“We’re not?”

“Nope. Sheriff wants to know what took so long to respond?” Shane’s heart hits the heels of his shoes.

“What took so long? I was--uh--parked here tryin’ to eat some grub and my keys got lost between the seats. It was honest mistake, man.” He stammers, looking to the ground.

“Alright, well. You better tell Chuck because he’s pissed those little asshole got away.” Rick nods before going back into the room. Shane’s phone rings and he sees it’s Maylynn. Holding his breath, his tongue jammed into his cheek as he debates answering.

“Yeah?”

“I left my panties in the cruiser.” She giggles, and he bites his first knuckle.

“Shit, okay. Meet me down there in five.” He hushes, shutting his phone and heading down to the cruiser. It never crosses his mind where he’d parked.

[callboxkat]

Statement of Patton Sanders

Author’s note: Anon, this is probably not what you meant, but, hey! Here you go!

Summary: Statement of Patton Sanders regarding a series of accidents. Statement recorded live from subject, February 7th, 2021, by Logan Sanders—no relation—Head Archivist of The Magnus Institute, London.

(Necessary bg info: The Magnus Institute is an organization that takes and investigates statements about paranormal experiences. Jurgen Leitner is a character who collected books with supernatural powers.)

Warnings: This is a The Magnus Archives AU, so if you’ve listened to that you should know what to expect. Body horror (cut off fingers, broken neck), nondescriptive vomiting, blood mention, food mention. Child abuse, sort of. It's in a story in this story. No character death or villain characters.

Word Count: 3289

Original prompt:

Writing Masterpost!

Ao3 Link

@badthingshappenbingo​

...

“Hey, we have the same glasses.”

“Yes, I suppose we do—Do you need help with the chair? Oh, you’ve got it.”

Patton and the other man sat down on opposite sides of a desk. He was a weary-looking, bespectacled man who couldn’t have been much different in age from himself, although slivers of premature gray were visible in his hair.

The man—an archivist, he’d introduced himself as—leaned forward to turn on a tape recorder. It seemed a little old-fashioned, but it certainly did fit in with the overall vibe of the place (recording on a laptop would have probably felt out of place), and Patton didn’t mind. This would be much easier than hand-writing his entire statement.

The archivist cleared his throat. “Statement of Patton Sanders regarding a series of accidents. Statement recorded live from subject, February 6th, 2021, by Logan Sanders—no relation—Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. Statement begins.”

Patton shifted in his seat. The archivist sat across him, looking at him expectantly. The tape recorder lay innocently on the desk between them, the tape inside slowly turning with a quiet tick. They sat in the basement of the oft-mocked Magnus Institute. They were in an office, but even here the walls were lined with bookcases, stacked with boxes upon boxes, each of them, it appeared, filled to the brim with folders, or with cassette tapes. Other peoples’ statements, presumably. Patton wasn’t sure how he felt about that. His story just being one of hundreds more, maybe thousands, in those boxes.

“Do I just… start?” he asked.

The archivist adjusted his glasses. “Yes, please.”

He nodded, swallowed, and even before he’d fully decided where to begin, he spoke. The words came surprisingly easily.

“I used to work at a library in my home town, back in the US. It’s a little town in Florida, almost at the border with Georgia, pretty near the coast. I don’t… I don’t work there anymore, of course. But at the time—this was about three years ago, back in 2017—I was there most days.

“One day we got this book in the return bin. It was weird. Not one of ours. It didn’t have a title that I could see, but there was a label on the inside cover. It was a bit smudged, but the last name was Leitner. I don’t know if it belonged to them, or if that was the author… I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, I guess.”

He noticed that the archivist suddenly seemed very interested in what he was saying, even leaning forward to hear.

“I was about to move the book over to the donations bin—I figured that’s what it was, you know, just a book somebody didn’t want, and decided to give to us rather than throw away, and got the wrong bin by mistake. But… I don’t know. Something about it just drew me in. I have no idea what; usually I go more for cookbooks, or crafts stuff, or um, lighter fiction. Not… that.”

He tried for a weak smile, but the archivist didn’t seem open to humor. Which Patton have once found awkward, but now it was almost a relief. He wasn’t sure how to make his story funny.

“So I took it out of the return bin, and I put it on my desk, instead. I was busy right then, but when I had a free moment, I sat down to take a look at it. It was old and worn, and like I said, there was no title. But it had this… weird feeling to it. Something off about it. I didn’t like it at all. But it was like I had to open it.

Patton sighed, glancing away. Suddenly, he felt on the edge of tears.

“And I made the biggest mistake of my life, and I opened that book.

“It was a story about a child who keeps refusing to do his chores. His mom would give him things to do, and the kid would say, ‘Yes, I’ll do them!’ but then as soon as the mom leaves, he’d drop the broom or whatever and run off to play with his toys instead. And as time goes on the mom gets more and more tired of this, because she has to do all the chores he doesn’t want to do.

“So, she takes him aside, and tells him sternly that he has to do his chores, or there would be consequences. And of course, he doesn’t listen, because he’s a kid.

“So the next day, takes him aside again, and tells him again to do his chores, and he continues not to. And it continues like that for ten days. But on the tenth day, the mom trips on the broom that the kid left in the middle of the floor, and she hurts herself. Very, um… very badly. She… breaks her neck. But she gets up off the floor, and her neck is all… it’s bent at a 90 degree angle. And there’s blood on the floor. I remember that page very vividly. Most of the book was in black ink, with some—” He made a face, “—illustrations. In the picture on that page, the blood was red.

“So, the mom… she goes to the kid, her neck all wrong, and she tells him, ‘You’re going to clean until your fingers fall off! Which… he does. She makes him clean, and clean, and clean. He has to scrub the floor, and when he finishes, she makes him start all over again, and again, and again. And, one by one, his fingers just… fall off.”

Patton was silent for a moment.

“On the last page of the book, there was a handprint. It wasn’t printed, you know, with ink. It was stuck in with a dark substance. I like to think maybe it was chocolate or something… but I doubt it. The weirdest thing about it, though, was that it had no fingers.

“When I closed that awful thing, I looked up, and it was dark outside. I’d apparently been reading for hours. I want you to understand—this wasn’t a big book. Maybe twenty pages, tops. And I’d found it near the start of my shift. I have no idea where all that time went, or how I didn’t notice it passing. Or why no one came in to disturb me. It’s like no one came to the library that entire day. I lived in a small town, like I said, but it wasn’t that small. We usually had people trickling in and out, even on slow days. Retired people who needed something to do, school kids doing homework, you know. You have a library here, you should understand, even if yours is more, uh… specific. So, it was really strange that no one had come in at all.

“Anyway, it was a horrible, horrible book. It was like someone set out to write a kids’ book about why they should do their chores, but instead of that, it was this nightmare version. I really didn’t want to add it to our library. Where would you even put a book like that? So I didn’t put it in the donation pile like I’d planned. But I also didn’t seem… able to just, like, get rid of it. I couldn’t just throw it away. Not because it was old and weird and maybe worth some money, no, more like… I don’t know. I just couldn’t do it. It’s hard to explain. So I put it in my desk, went home, and tried to forget about it.

“I’ll admit that, at the time, my apartment—my flat, you call ‘em here—wasn’t the cleanest back then. And thinking of that book, I kind of wanted to clean it. But also… I really didn’t. Thinking of that book made me very aware of the mess, but I kept thinking of that kid and the way his fingers just fell off, one by one, with that horrifying mom with her broken neck just watching, and then that handprint in the back of the book.

“I thought maybe whoever owned the book last, that Leitner person or whoever, put the handprint in there as some kind of joke. Just tilted up their fingers so they didn’t touch the page, to make it look like they didn’t have any. But I guess I kinda doubted that, even then.

“I made dinner that night, fed Jim and Pam—they’re my cats—and I left the plates in the sink to clean the next day.

“In the morning, they were stacked on the counter, perfectly clean. I tried to tell myself maybe I’d cleaned them and forgot, or maybe the cats had…. Somehow bumped them, and licked them clean, and it had just coincidentally looked purposeful. I don’t know. Pam liked to jump up on tables.

“I’d almost put it out of my head when the doorbell rang. I wasn’t expecting any visitors, but sometimes a couple of my friends would drop by at random, so I might not have thought much of it, except that my cats suddenly started acting different. Scared. They were hissing, and they ran off to hide. That wasn’t like them at all. …I didn’t answer the door.

“A half hour or so passed, and I figured whoever it was was probably gone, so I went to peek out the front window. Sure enough, whoever it was… if there ever even was anyone out there… was gone. But there was a box sitting on the welcome mat. Plain cardboard, no shipping label or address or anything.

“I should have left it alone. It probably wouldn’t have changed anything, but… who knows.” He let out a heavy sigh. “It doesn’t matter. I didn’t leave it alone. I looked around, I wanted to make sure no one was there. No one was, as far as I could tell, so I opened the door.

“The box was small, maybe 6 inches long, a little less tall and wide than that—err, I’m not sure what that is in metric. Maybe like… 15 centimeters?”

The archivist waved him off. “It’s fine.”

“Sorry. So the box was small, and it was very light when I picked it up, which was honestly a bit of a relief at the time. I could practically hear one of my friends, Virgil, screaming at me about mail bombs. He’s a pretty cautious guy. Now I think maybe he had the right idea.

“I thought maybe the box was empty, even, until I stepped over the threshold and… and I uh, felt something rolling around in there.”

He shuddered at the memory.

“I brought it into the kitchen and opened up the box. Inside was… inside was a single, human finger, cut off just below where the joint would have been on the person’s hand.

“I felt sick. I was sick. I barely made it to the trash can. I remember my cats still didn’t come back to see what was going on, which was unusual for them. Normally they were very nosy little guys. It was like they knew something was very, very wrong. I don’t blame them for staying away.

“I called the cops right away, of course. Or, as soon as I’d calmed down enough to dial the number. I mean, course I did. Someone had dropped off a finger at my door.

“The lady on the phone was very nice, but I don’t think she believed me at first. Or maybe she just couldn’t understand what I was saying. I was a little upset, obviously. Eventually, though, the police did show up. They took the box, asked me some questions, and they left.

“That night, I was in the kitchen, cleaning the dishes, trying to forget the whole thing. I was almost done, but then, somehow… the garbage disposal turned itself on. Something wrong with the wiring, they told maybe. I was so surprised that I dropped the plate I was holding, and the stack of dishes shifted, and somehow, my hand ended up… my finger went down the drain. Into the garbage disposal. It all happened so fast. One second I was just washing a plate, humming the intro to Steven Universe, and the next….

“I scrambled to turn it off, but it was too late. I grabbed a dish towel and drove myself to the hospital in a panic. Only remembered later to send someone to look after the cats.

“They couldn’t save my finger, even if they had tried. There wasn’t anything left to save.

“A week later, I got another package. Left at my door, just like the last one. Identical to the first, but this time it was a different finger. Maybe from the same hand, but it wasn’t like I looked at it long enough to know for sure. And I’m not a doctor. I called the cops again, and they came. They weren’t much help. They poked around a bit, talked to the neighbors, and told me to get a security camera. I did do that.

“I was very careful that day, remembering what had happened last time, even though I knew it was ridiculous. What, some crazy person leaves a severed finger on my doorstep, and that somehow makes me lose my own in a freak accident? …But I was careful, anyway. And nothing happened that day. But the next morning, when I went to go to work… I slammed the car door shut on my finger.

“It kept happening. The same plain cardboard boxes left at my door. The camera always seemed to cut out when they were delivered, although once I swear I caught a glimpse of a silhouette. It looked… wrong, though. Maybe it was a tree casting a shadow or something. No one’s head looks like that.

“I stopped calling the police, eventually. They didn’t help. Just asked the same questions, swore they were doing all they could, and left. I stopped opening the boxes, too. I tried throwing them out, burning them, kicking them into the gutter. I went to stay with my friend Virgil, but the box found me there, too. I moved twice. It didn’t seem to matter. Every week, a box would show up, and within a day or two, even if I never even opened my front door or looked at the box, I’d lose another finger. Until….”

Patton looked down at his lap, where his hands sat. Where each finger should be, they instead ended in neat little stubs just after the knuckle. They were remarkably even, considering that he’d lost each one in different ways, in different weeks. One after the other.

“After that, it finally stopped. My hands healed as much as they ever would, and I went back to work—I still don’t know how I kept that job—and I found that book in my desk. I tried to throw it out, but I couldn’t make myself let go of it. I tried to feed it to the paper shredder, but I couldn’t make myself rip out the pages. Eventually I just threw it across the room, and it landed neatly in the pile of donated books. Apparently, it would have let me just… add it to the collection. But I couldn’t let other people read it—What if the same thing happened to them? So I took it home with me.

“I did try to get rid of it on the way there. I stopped by the river, a dumpster… I tried to set it on fire. Imagine trying to get a lighter to work like this. I couldn’t follow through with any of them, though, and not just because of my hands. The book wouldn’t let me. Or I wouldn’t let myself. I don’t know which it was, really. Maybe I was afraid something worse would happen if I managed to destroy it. I don’t know.

“I locked it away. Buried it where I couldn’t see it. Still, it was like it was calling to me, telling it to hold it, to read it, to place my own hand over that awful handprint. It was driving me crazy. The cats wouldn’t go near the room it was in.

“I tried to ignore it. To forget about it. For a while, I thought it was working. I was still constantly aware of where it was, but it got easier to ignore.

“Then, one day, the doorbell rang. It was another box. Inside was a single, severed toe.”

A silence stretched between them, yawning between Patton and the archivist. The tape recorder ticked on. A tear rolled down Patton’s cheek. When he continued, his voice was choked.

“I will never forgive myself for what I did next, but I couldn’t go through that again. Please don’t judge me. I know it’s unforgiveable. But you can’t understand what it was like, not if you’ve never been through something like that.  I knew it was the book by now, that was doing this to me, and I had to be rid of it. I still couldn’t destroy it, but I could… give it away. So I went and I got the book, and I wrapped it up as best I could, and I wrote ‘DO NOT READ’ on the package in capital letters. And I gave it away. I don’t know who I gave it to, and I don’t want to know. I drove across town, stopped at a random house, and stuffed the book in their mailbox. I can only hope they never read it.”

Patton let out a shaky breath. “It worked.”

The archivist’s face was impassive.

“After that was all finally over, I decided I needed to get out of there. Not just out of the town, but as far as I could get. I had family in the UK, and one of my friends studied abroad here and loved it, plus you guys speak English, so it seemed like as good a place to go as any. So I moved. Nothing else has happened since. I don’t have any fingers, but at least I have all my toes, and I’m rid of that awful book. I’ve tried to forget the whole thing, which as you might imagine, is a little difficult, but I try. Still, when one of my coworkers mentioned this place—I work at a shop now, restocking at night, so I don’t have to see the customers—I decided to come. I just want to be rid of this story. So… if you guys can track down that book, stop it from hurting anyone else, please do.” He clenched his hands, as well as he could. “I don’t want its weight on my mind anymore. It’s done enough to me.”

He fell silent.

“Statement ends,” said Logan. The archivist leaned forward and turned off the tape recorder. “Thank you for coming in. You can leave the way you came. Roman, my assistant, will take down your details. We might contact you if we need further information. Do you, by chance, remember the address of the house where you left the book?”

Patton shook his head. “No, I… I didn’t want to know.”

Logan nodded slowly. “Alright. Well… we appreciate your time.”

“I hope my statement… ah, comes in handy,” Patton joked weakly. He almost smiled at the gobsmacked look on the archivist’s face, the most emotion he’d shown the entire time Patton had been there. And then, he got up, and he left his story behind. He’d given it away to someone else, and he was done with it.

[dreamescapeswriting]

Min Yoongi || His Weakness [MafiaAU]

Summary: Your father sells you to Min Yoongi, the Mafia leader…lmao read it bitches

Genre: angst - fluffy? -

Word count - 6,350 (This was supposed to be short lmaooo)

Warnings: MafiaAU, violence is mentioned a lot, abuse is also mentioned so if you’re not comfortable with it please don’t read as I don’t want to trigger anybody as I know how that feels. Swearing is involved a lot too.

A/N: Credit for the edited Yoongi picture @lovies-kpop-fan-fiction​ love you boo boo

You were a lot of things but stupid wasn’t one of them, your father was addicted to gambling and alcohol which wasn’t a great combination given the line of work he was in, you knew he was involved with bad people, you’d grown up with everything going on around you, it was hard to shelter yourself from it, your mother tried her best until the day she had enough and left you alone with him, that was almost six years ago and ever since you’d been the mother of the household. Looking after your father when he came in from one of his missions or late night drinking binges, you cleaned up the house and looked after anyone that came round with wounds that needed healing, it was your job now seeing as though you were the only woman of the house. You’d grown to expect a few surprised being thrown in from your father, like the time he brought home a man with a bullet wound in his arm, telling you, not to heal him, but to make him worse. Pressuring you about how it’ll make you stronger as a person, once you refused that was it, a smack across the cheek, it was nothing to some other things you had received in the past from him.

What you didn’t expect though on a Sunday at 5 am when your father normally stumbled through the door with his suit a mess, his hair in state and eyes starting to shut from the night he’d had, was the front door being booted open and six men rushing into the home aiming guns in every direction until they found you resting on the kitchen island in your short Pyjama pants and a long-sleeved shirt, a mug of tea in your hand as you’d just woken up to start your day off.

“We’ve found her boss.” One of the taller men out of the six came forward, his face covered back a black hood the only thing you could see was his eyes that were staring into yours, you nervously put down the cup you were holding and held up your hands, no clue if they were police or another one of your dad’s friends, but from the way you were acting you gathered, they weren’t friends at all.

“On your knees, hands where we can see them.” A shorter one demanded in a deep voice, you slowly slid down off the counter top and got down onto your knees, bringing your hands to your head and holding them at the back of your skull, you’d seen your father arrested a countless number of times and knew what to do in this situation.

“Boss said to get her in the car and bring him straight to his, blindfold.” The same taller one from before ordered, taking a blindfold from another hooded member and covering your eyes. You heard the metal before you felt it against your skin, the cold handcuffs making you shiver as they were slotted against your wrists, you wanted to call out and ask what was going on but you knew better than to question someone who was aiming a gun at you.

Being thrown against a carpeted floor was not what you had planned for the morning, your knees burnt as you scraped them along the rug, you heard shuffling around you and muffled speaking, you knew you were in a room in someones home that was around thirty minutes away from your own, having counted in the back of the van you were placed in after being taken from your home, in a secluded area because whoever was driving wasn’t used to coming down back alleyways to get here with a van you were in.

“Be careful with her.” Someone barked, you weren’t used to anyone’s voices and you couldn’t tell anyone apart, you heard a door open and close before a chair was moved and people fell into a completely silent, the only thing that could be heard was people breathing.

“This her?” Someone asked in a thick accent, you frowned under the blindfold still confused as to what was going on around you when you heard another voice speak, a voice you knew all too well in the years of him raising you.

“Yes, that’s her.” The blindfold was ripped away from your eyes, the sudden exposure to bright light caused your eyes to water before tightly shutting, having no time to even adjust to it. Slowly you opened them, the light not bothering so much as before, you glanced around the room, six men and your father were all standing around looking at you, while another was sitting in a giant leather chair behind an oak desk, his hands on the desk in front of him studying you. He was dressed in an all-black suit, thick-rimmed black glasses were on his face, you looked down at his neck to spot a rose and tiger tattoo, then back to his face again taking in his facial features, dark eyes that were boring into yours and bleach blonde hair.

“She cooks, she cleans, she’s real housewife material I promise Yoongi sir,” You blinked at your father, Was he trying to sell you off for more money? Or worse drugs? The man at the desk leaned back in his chair and continued to stare at you before directing his attention to your father, it was now that you took in your dad’s appearance, he was knelt on the floor, hands cuffed behind his back, his face badly bruised and bleeding from his nose, lips and a cut above his eyebrow, you’d seen him in worse states but his hair was a mess, messier than if he’d been on an all-night drinking binge.

“She will do until you pay me what you owe me.” All eyes were back on you, yours meeting the man who was sitting in the chair he looked as though he was contemplating what he was about to say before he slammed his hands onto the desk and stood up.

“Take her to her room Jin, don’t talk to her.” He warned giving someone a warning look behind you, you were yanked up by two different arms and you were staring at your father, tears in your eyes as he was uncuffed and sent out of a separate door while you were still cuffed and being dragged away by a man you didn’t know without any explanation as to what was going on, you were being dragged towards one when Yoongi’s hand went up to signal for the men dragging you to stop, they did instantly and you were able to stand up alone instead of having your feet dragged along the floor and receiving more carpet burn. The blonde got up from behind the desk and made his way over to you, he was shorter than the rest of them but not by much, you were still shorter than him, he took a deep breath frowning a little as he came closer to you, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear that had fallen from your messy bun down into your face.

“Don’t start crying, you’re mine now until he pays back what he owes.” The blonde said with no emotion in his voice or his face, he nodded and you were being turned around to walk with the man who he had called Jin before, you were being taken to a set of metal spiralled stairs.

“Don’t worry too much about him, Yoongi…he’s tough but just do what you’re told and there won’t be a problem.” He whispered to you as you reached the top of the staircase coming onto a hallway that consisted of three doors.

“Like you’re doing as you’re told?” You questioned as he spoke to you after being told not to, he scoffed opening the last white door at the end of the hall and ushering you inside.

“I can do what I want, I’m not his prisoner.” He said before pulling the door closed and locking you inside.

“Don’t you think for one second I like having you around here, you’re here because your father is a filthy scum bag who owes me money,” Yoongi spoke as you were on the floor of the kitchen, you’d come down to clean up as he’d told you to and now you were scrubbing the floor on your hands and knees as if you were Cinderella and not an actual human being with feelings.

“So my father should be the one scrubbing instead.” You spat back not expecting him to hear you as he’d left to go into the living room but he heard and came back into the room, picking you up by the scruff of your Pyjama shirt you were still dressed in.

“Did you say something?” You didn’t even flinch, your father had done worse, you just looked down at the floor in silence, knowing not to talk back to people like that, it would only make their anger worse. You’d been here half a day and you were already worse of then you were at home.

“Your father better hurry up with that money, he neglected to tell me about your smart mouth.” With that you were dropped onto the floor, your knees smacking against the tile, you looked down at the floor, he was still standing in front of you.

“While you’re here, I’ll tell you some ground rules. You can go anywhere in the house except my office, I want this place kept spotless at all times, I’m assuming you cook, if not learn, I want food on the table for certain times.” You nodded, continuing to avoid his gaze.

“Understood?” You looked up and you knew he wanted an answer from you, so you swallowed the lump in your throat.

“Yes, Sir.” You managed to squeak out, he nodded before leaving the room and then up a flight of stairs, you looked around the kitchen. The floor was covered in muddy boot prints and a few dirty dishes so you decided to start with those and then go up to your room, hoping to find something to do or change into instead of being stuck in your Pyjama’s the entire time you were going to be there.

Things weren’t terrible at the house, or at least they were better than they were at your home. As long as you stayed out of his way things were fine, you’d only ran into a few problems since being there, the first was a clothes situation…

It had been two days of sitting in the same clothes and you were growing disgusted with yourself, you made a promise to try and find someone who wasn’t Yoongi to help you, except you only knew Jin the one who brought you up to your room and you had no idea when you could ask him about clothes, the only time you saw him he was with the five other men at the dinner table eating the food you cooked for them so it wasn’t as if you could just go up and ask then, it would be rude.

“Here,” Jin said interrupting you from your thoughts, you were currently sat in the window seat of the bedroom you’d been given and a suitcase was pushed further into the room, you slowly got down from the seat and made your way over to it, picking it up and laying on the bed to open, inside was an array of different clothes, from jeans, skirts, shorts, long-sleeved and short-sleeved shirts and dresses with different shoes all in your size.

“Thanks,” You mumbled to him, not wanting to seem ungrateful for the clothes, he shook his head.

“Not from me, Yoongi sent them. He’s sick of seeing you in the same clothes and your dad won’t send anything to him. You’ll pay him back.” You nodded and with that, he left the room, so you began to unpack the bag and put everything away in the wardrobe that was also in the room. You couldn’t complain about the space, it was a big bedroom with an en-suite, everything you could ever need except something to keep you busy when all of the cleaning and cooking was complete, if you were at home you would just walk to the nearby cafe and read but that was out of the question, especially considering the giant brick wall that ran around the house, stopping anyone getting in or in your case, getting out.

The second issue you ran into with Yoongi was being in his way…

You were cleaning up the living room after one of his parties and he came down the next morning for something, you did your best to stay out of the way but you needed something that was behind him, you were going to wait it out but when he saw you standing there and doing nothing he flipped, it was as if a switch went off in his mind.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned to months and you were still in the same house for 6 months. Things had gotten a little slacker, he was allowing you to go shopping, under the careful watch of one of his men, of course, Jin was taking you at first but all of a sudden that stopped and you were being taken by another man who you’d gotten to know as Hoseok, he was nice. He brightened up your day whenever you went out together, he would take you to the same supermarket for food shopping that had a small charity shop next door that sold books, you stopped yourself from asking to go but he saw you glancing whenever you entered or left the supermarket so he took you over.

“We’ll keep it as our secret, he won’t have to know about it.” He promised you, picking out a book you liked and paying for it. You hid it inside one of the grocery bags for later when you could sneak it up to the bedroom and read over and over again.

More and more time passed and you thought you must have been near the end of your father’s debt or at least he was coming to pay back for you but he never showed up or you’d never heard about it until Yoongi came down the stairs one day pissed about something, you’d just made dinner for his six friends and they were all sitting down to eat, you getting ready to leave because you never ate with them when a sharp slap hit you across the cheek, the blow from it knocking you back onto the floor after you hit the bottom of your back on the kitchen counter.

“What the fuck?!” Jin yelled, both him and Hoseok on their feet while the others all stayed seated, eyes staring at the food in front of them knowing better than to go against Yoongi, but Yoongi never tore his eyes away from you, they were burning into the front of your face while you tried your best to hide the tears that were springing to your eyes.

“Where’s your dad?! Huh?!” He yelled kneeling against the floor and looking at you, but you looked away from him not wanting him to see how much he’d hurt you.

“I asked you a fucking question!” He barked pulling your face forward to face him, your eyes were bloodshot and your cheek was bright red with a slight white mark from his hand print, the rings also leaving indents across your cheek.

“I don’t know, I’ve been here the whole time.” You stuttered out staring back into his eyes, wanting him to believe you but knowing he probably wouldn’t.

“You’re coming with me.” He grumbled pulling you up from the floor by your hair and hauling you through the living room and up the staircase towards his office on the second floor, the only time you’d been in there was the first night you came, you were shoved down onto your knees in front of his desk and the door slammed shut, you flinched a little and he came closer to you.

“Where is your scum bag of a father?” You looked up at him, too afraid to not look at him in case he hit you again, you racked your brain trying to think of all your dad’s hiding spots, places he went when he needed to escape from everything going on around him, when people came looking for him.

“Well!?” You looked down a the floor biting down on your lip before thinking of the one place he would always go.

“If he’s hiding he’s probably in the safe house he owns, it’s just outside of town, looks like a run-down farmhouse…he took me there a few times when he was on the run.” Yoongi stared at you, shocked that you would just give him information so easily without him having to pressure you like he did everyone else.

“He’s nothing but a dirty cheat who runs away when he has no other option…that’s probably why he gave me to you because he doesn’t care about me.” You continued to ramble on nervous as Yoongi hadn’t said anything, he leant back against the oak desk and ran his hand through his bleach blonde locks and you looked at him, his eyes were studying you as you tried desperately not to cry.

“Well you’re a bargaining chip now, if he doesn’t come out of hiding we’ll kill you.” You nodded in agreement with him, you knew not to question people in authority.

“With all due respect Sir…that won’t work, my father he’s never been the loving kind…he’ll keep playing you on saying he’s getting the money but he won’t…You can threaten my life all you want but you would have to threaten something more dear to him than me.” He looked at you dumbfounded for a second, you were just giving him everything he needed to know.

“What’s more dear to him than his daughter?” You resisted the urge to laugh at his question, and you looked at him, he was holding out his hand for you to take, you took it and he helped you stand, allowing you to sit down in one of the leather chairs in front of his desk, him still leaning against it.

“I would start with his men, they mean more to him than I ever could…or maybe the house, he has memories there of my mother before she ran off.” You cleared your throat, the tears that were once threatening to roll down your cheeks gone, the thoughts of being scared of him gone and replaced with the feeling of relief, he walked around to his side of the desk and began taking notes on what you were telling him, the names of your fathers men, the ones you hated most since they all hit you too but not telling him that, then where the address of the farmhouse was.

“You’ll come with me to the farmhouse, to prove something.” He stated, closing his notebook, the door to the office opened and in walked Hoseok who looked rather worried.

“Take her to her room, bring some food for her and make sure those books you’ve been collecting for her keep her entertained.” He said not looking in either of your directions as he turned to look out of the balcony window.

After threatening a lot of your father’s men your dad came out of hiding from the farmhouse, he took one look at you and knew you were to blame for Yoongi finding him. You were standing between Yoongi and two of his men, Namjoon and Jungkook who were both armed heavily, one wrong move and everything would be over, you knew your dad always carried and you’d warned them about it beforehand.

“You’re a little bitch! Couldn’t keep your mouth shut, could you!? Just like your mother!” He screamed in your direction, you didn’t flinch like you would have done before if you were alone with him, instead, you stayed still looking at him as he pleaded to Yoongi not to kill any of his men or the burn the houses down.

“You’d rather save a bunch of men than your daughter?” Yoongi questioned walking closer to your dad and leaving you behind with Namjoon and Jungkook, you watched as Yoongi rolled up his blazer sleeves exposing more tattoos that you didn’t know he had.

“Yes…she’s nothing, just some silly little maid girl. I promised I would get the money but she will do until then right. That was the deal!” He yelled but Yoongi was shaking his head, he cracked his knuckles and you wondered what was about to happen.

“Family is everything.” He told your father walking around the back of him, your father on his knees watching Yoongi walk small circles around him.

“Family is more important than anything else in this world…you should cherish your daughter.” He whispered bending down to your dads’ ear and looking at you, he nodded and Namjoon and Jungkook pushed you to your knees, you screamed as a blade was pushed against your neck.

“Tell me again how she’s nothing to you.” Yoongi egged on, your father looked at you and you stared back at him with pleading eyes, begging for him to say something that would change your mind about what you thought of him all these years.

“She’s nothing.” He spat looking you dead in the eyes, Yoongi sucked on his teeth shaking his head and the blade was removed from your neck, you were yanked back up onto your feet and being moved back into the van.

“I’ll keep her as insurance, but your house and men are all on the line if I don’t get my money soon.” He barked at your dad who was now getting to his feet, you sat in the front of the van in the middle passenger seat in the front and watched as Yoongi climbed in next to you, Jungkook in the driver’s spot and Namjoon in the back.

It had been a month since that day with your father happened and things back at the Yoongi mansion had calmed down, you were allowed to roam freely around the house and gardens as long as you didn’t leave the gates without one of his men accompanying you, and you were allowed more books than before. You were treated less like a slave and more of a family member, it was nice. You finally felt as though you belonged somewhere, but things were getting weirder. Yoongi was accompanying you more and more places with another guard watching you, he’d even taken you to a gallery opening in town which he was funding but the rules were strict, you couldn’t leave his side, not once. Went to meals together out of the house, you had long conversations about your upbringing and your father and it felt as though you were getting along, no more abuse from him, no more forcing you to clean up or cook, you still did those things but it wasn’t forced upon you like it was before. You were even allowed to eat with them at the table, getting to know every single one of his men on a friendly basis.

You awoke one night during the week to a gunshot, you clutched the sheets around your body and looked around the room, you could have sworn blind the shot sounded as though it was right in front of you. You heard another two and you rushed out of the bed throwing the bedroom door open and racing down the stairs, you heard some men talking that you didn’t recognise and then another shot, you squealed holding your hand over your mouth to try and silence it, the voices turning into hushed tones now.

“That would be the maid, sticking her nose in business she doesn’t belong in.” You heard Yoongi snarl, you’d not heard him like that since the night you told him about your fathers’ hideouts, the door swung open a man you didn’t know dragged you inside by your hair dropping you in front of Yoongi who stared at you blankly then back to the man who was still holding your hair.

“She’s a maid? She looks old enough to be a loved one Yoongi…is this the one you’ve had accompanying you everywhere?” You stayed silent and Yoongi was smirking at the men, he looked down at you and shook his head, acting nonchalantly about the fact you were being pulled by your hair, then that’s when you noticed it, blood all over the carpeted floor, your eyes followed the pools and you saw two bodies lying there, one on top of the other. You weren’t scared by it, a little shocked yet but not scared. You’d seen and done worse yourself, remembering back to times when you had to kill someone who came after your dad and you in the process

“Maybe I should keep her seeing as though you took my best men?” Yoongi shrugged his shoulders and you were pulled up and back into the man’s chest, him leaning down so close to your neck you could feel his breath with every word he spoke.

“Make her my little plaything, what do you think Yoongi?” The barrel of a gun was placed against your right temple.

“Maybe I’ll just kill her instead.” Yoongi continued to act as though he wasn’t bothered, or maybe it wasn’t an act. Maybe you’d read too much into the fact he was letting you have all the different types of freedom and taking you out with him.

“Do what you want, she’s nothing. I’ll get another maid in no time.” The man sniggered and the gun was lowered from your head, you stared down at the ground when you were suddenly pulled under the man’s arm and into a side hug.

“You’re coming home with me then doll face, we’ll get you all prettied up and I’ll show you a good time.” The gun was put away and you were being walked out of the office door, you looked back over your shoulder at Yoongi pleadingly but he was avoiding your gaze, staring at the blood puddles and worrying about how he was going to clean it up.

You were on the last step of the staircase when a gunshot rang through the air again the man next to you falling onto the floor with a loud thump, you stayed still too scared to move in case whoever shot him was going to shot, you next, it wasn’t until Jin came running into the hallway to see what was happening you realised Yoongi had shot the guy, you were relieved at first, he wasn’t going to just let you go, maybe you weren’t thinking it was all in your head, maybe he did care. You turned to look at him and he was pissed. Red in the face and staring you, the body by your feet was, being dragged away leaving nothing but a drag mark of blood.

“I told you! Never to come into my office!” He yelled coming down the stairs, you backed away from him hitting the front door and looking at him, he was closer to your now, so close that you could smell the mint chewing gum he had.

“I wasn’t in the office.” You whimpered, as he put the gun away in his pocket.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve just done!? You’ve just left us exposed! Everyone is going to think you’re some kind of weakness to me when you’re nothing but a silly little girl!” He yelled his hand raising and causing you to flinch but it didn’t come into contact with you, it reached into his pocket pulling out his phone.

“You couldn’t just do as you were told, could you?!” He screamed staring at you, you looked down at the ground.

“A weakness! Nothing but a stupid little girl!” He yelled in your face, that was it. You looked behind him and darted up the stairs, the front door heavily guarded but the one door that wasn’t was his office balcony door, you rushed inside climbing out of it and shimming down the drainpipe, you knew you wouldn’t have long to get out of the yard before Hoseok would spot you, you knew their schedule like the back of your hand, he was patrolling the front lawn so you had about three minutes to get out of the back gate and then try and find a way out of surrounding area.

“HOSEOK!” You heard Yoongi yell from the balcony as he watched you sprint towards the back gate, the back door opened and Jin stood there watching as you turned into a faster sprint, making it out of the gate and into the surrounding woods.

You’d been walking for what felt like hours when you heard something behind you, you looked over your shoulder and saw nothing, it was pitch black outside, of course, you saw nothing. You wrapped your arms around your chest, you were dressed in nothing but some thin pyjama’s, why did you do this? You should have just stayed at the house where it was warm. Another noise alerted you and your head snapped around to a light coming from behind you, you darted behind a tree and a car came closer, slowing down, you knew it wasn’t one of Yoongi’s cars or men so you watched as a figure got out of the car.

“You okay miss?” You studied the man for a few seconds, trying to determine if they could be trusted when you couldn’t tell you thought it would be best to leave him.

“Yes…just out for a midnight walk.” You lied, doing your best to sound convincing enough but the man came closer to you, you stepped back, standing on a twig and flinching.

“You don’t seem okay, you lost?” He questioned again, you bit down on your lip, wanting nothing more than to get into his car and be warm but you didn’t know who he was.

“I’m not lost, just walking. Clears my head.” Who would be out in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night if they weren’t up to anything good?

“Come with me, I’ll take you somewhere nice and warm…we’ll get you a nice hot chocolate and you can warm up.” You shook your head, you knew he couldn’t see you but the way he was going on and on made you anxious.

“I should go back to my boyfriends’ house, he’s probably looking for me.” That’s when you heard it, someone calling out your name in the distance, both your head and the other man’s shot up to look in the direction it was coming from.

“Yoongi?!” You screamed out, praying for it to be him, you would gladly go back to him being mad than being stuck with a creepy man.

“Yoongi? The Yoongi? Interesting.” The man lunged for you, and you sprinted in the direction of Yoongi’s voice, he sounded angry still but you didn’t care, you needed out of there.

“Yoongi!” You squealed seeing him between some trees with a flashlight, the light was shone in your direction and you continued running when you heard a gunshot again, you wanted to cry out when you heard it, you were sick of hearing them tonight.

“Y/N?!” He yelled, all sense of anger gone from his mind and concern rushing through him as he saw you rushing towards him, you collapsed onto your knees in front of him, and the man from before came out from behind you.

“Yoongi…We finally meet.” He spoke, Yoongi’s eyes went from you to the man behind you, he stepped in front of you and took out his gun aiming it at the man.

“What do you want? I just killed off three of your men don’t think I won’t kill you as well.” He barked, Jin and Hoseok were running towards you now and you watched Yoongi as he protectively guarded you.

“So she is your weakness? She comes running out in the middle of the night and you come running after her?” Jin helped you to your feet and wrapped a blazer around your shivering body, Hoseok was now aiming his gun as well.

“Get the goons out of here, this is between us.” Jin and Hoseok took the look from Yoongi and left, leaving you behind. You couldn’t even comprehend what was happening when it happened, shots rang out of both guns, the man in front of you hitting the ground and blood flowing from his head and then Yoongi stumbling backwards, you stared at him and then your eyes met hole in his blazer with blood coming from it.

“JIN! HOSEOK!” You screamed as they weren’t that far away, they came rushing over and you nodded at the body.

“Deal with him, I’ll sort Yoongi out.” You cried, throwing his good arm over your shoulder and walking back with him to the house, he stayed in silence the whole walk.

He sat in his office chair while you dragged a stool to his side, you’d taken off his blazer and shirt to find the bullet had entered his arm missing anything major but still bleeding a lot.

“This might hurt.” You whispered taking the tweezers you’d sterilized and reached for the bullet inside his arm, he hissed and bit down onto his fist as you got it out.

“Hold still.” You ordered taking his arm and trying to look at it but he yelled out at you.

“If you hold still it won’t hurt as much!” You yelled at him, he shook his head.

“If you hadn’t have run away this wouldn’t have happened!” He argued back at you, you stood your ground.

“If you hadn’t scared or yelled at me I wouldn’t have run off!” He rolled his eyes and you did the same.

“You shouldn’t have been near the office.” You scoffed wiping the wound with the antiseptic wash and then grabbing and needle and thread.

“You need to learn to control your temper.” He scoffed back at you and you began sewing the small wound back together, he watched as you bit down on your lip to concentrate on what you were doing.

“Where did you learn to do this?” You shrugged your shoulders, he was calmer now more relaxed as you helped him.

“You know my father, he’s an alcoholic… I learnt to patch up myself and others.” You said giving no example as to what had been done to you in the past, only lifting your top to show the scar where your kidney was.

“Stabbed me because dinner wasn’t on time one night.” You answered letting it drop down and continuing your work, finally finishing and washing it with some more antiseptic wash.

“You don’t deserve that kind of treatment.” You took the bloody bandages and threw them into the fireplace, coming back over and wrapping his arm in some new ones.

“Life’s a bitch.” You said putting the stool away and cleaning up the first aid kit you’d been using.

“No.” He said taking hold of your wrist and stopping you from going anywhere, you looked at his hand and then up to his face, he looked genuinely concerned and you bit down on your lip.

“I know I haven’t been the greatest of people to you but…I want you to know I don’t mean to shout and scream…I just, I have anger issues and then watching him hold you like that earlier…it made me worse, seeing someone else touching you the way I want to, the way I’ve been working my way up to with taking you out.” You stared blankly at him, so it was true. You were his weakness.

“It made me-”

“Jealous?” You finished for him, he nodded sheepishly and you swallowed a lump that was forming in your throat from nerves.

“You don’t need to be jealous.” You whispered taking your spare hand and putting it on his cheek, he leaned into your hand and you smiled softly.

“I’m a bad guy…you shouldn’t care for me.” He reminded you, you stared at him, a small laugh wanting to escape your lips.

“I’ve grown up around worse than this…my father introduced me to this lifestyle a long time ago, if I didn’t have this it wouldn’t feel normal.” You whispered, he surprised you by pulling you down onto his lap, you were straddling him now, his left arm around your waist and his right injured one cupping your cheek making you look at him. You moved your head closer to him, he was frozen with both fear and excitement, you leant in and your foreheads rested against one another.

“Thank you.” You whispered to him, he frowned a little and you smiled softly although he couldn’t see you.

“For what?”

“Saving my life.” You leant down and connected your lips, in all the time you’d known him you never imagined how they would feel pressed up against your own, your brain lit on fire and the warmth spread throughout your entire body, you were addicted after just one small kiss, it was nothing like the books you had read described, it was something more, it was more passionate than anything anyone could ever try to describe into words. His hand moved from your cheek to around your waist to meet his other arm and he pulled you closer, hissing as his arm stung to move so much, you both pulled away and studied each other for a moment, you felt a blush deepen on your cheeks as he looked at you, the once rough and scary Yoongi, who was covered in piercings and tattoos, who killed people for fun was gone and sitting in his place was a softer and more gentle Yoongi who didn’t care about anything right now except you in his arms.

[tact-and-impulse]

With These Hands Chapter 11

Look, I say we’re ending 2020 with affection and fluff! Also, now that I know what it’s like working in a hospital, I can write this AU better, and this episode has heavy influence from my first night call shifts. For my fellow healthcare workers, because this was...a year. Here’s to staying safe in 2021!

The rest of this chapter is under the cut or on FF.net and AO3

Chapter 11: Endurance

Admittedly, Kenshin’s stomach dropped when he saw her. She was limp in her chair, arms dangling at her sides and her face turned away.

“Kaoru-dono?!” He rushed to her desk, panic overriding sensibility. But before he could touch her, her eyes snapped open and her right fist lashed out in a glancing blow that brought him to his knees. Acting on instinct, he latched onto the edge of her desk, elbow colliding with the hard surface. “Oro!”

At the contact, she blinked away her drowsiness. “Ken…shin? Oh, no! I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” She sat up, her fingertips brushing his aching cheekbone. The pain was already fading, and he resisted leaning in.

“This one is fine. It was this one’s fault, surprising you.” He managed to answer. Despite how his skin was buzzing, he was not going to behave like a hormonal teenager.

“I still shouldn’t have punched you.” She withdrew, her voice full of concern. “I hope it won’t bruise.”

“There have been worse hits that this one has taken, so don’t worry.” And on that same side as well, he ruefully thought. “Are you still working?” It was already past seven.

“I’m on night call.” Her explanation contained no small amount of misery. “And I had a meeting in the afternoon, so I only got an hour of sleep before I came here. It’s going to be a long Thursday night; at least, I have the weekend off. What about you?”

“This one is also in the same situation, filling in for a colleague who was supposed to work tonight. There was a family emergency, so this one is here instead.”

“Oh, good. Not that you have to work on short notice,” She hastily added. “But we can keep each other company.”

“That’s true. It will be easier to stay awake.” He would have been content to stay at her desk; he had nothing urgent at the moment. But she did, as signaled by her blaring pager. She mouthed an apology, before taking the call. Leaving her to her responsibilities, he drifted back to his spot across the room, to print his list of patients.

***

He was reading the interim notes on his patients when she commented.

“By the way, I forgot to mention earlier. I like your scrubs.”

“Oro?” The faded magenta met his downward gaze. “These are very old.”

“But you look so cheerful! The other male doctors stick to blue or black.”

“So did this one, in the past. However, brighter colors can be comforting or distracting for the children, so that’s something this one can do for them.”

“You also can pull it off, because you’re an attending.” She pointed out, and he laughed.

“There’s nothing wrong with navy either.”

“It’s not navy, it’s indigo.” Grinning, she tugged the front of her scrub top. “But it’s my favorite color.”

“It suits you very well.” Belatedly, he wondered if that was harassment, but she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she blushed. At the sight, his own face warmed.

“Thanks.” For a heartbeat, the only sound was the humming of their computers. Abruptly stretching her arms over her head, she declared. “I need coffee. The cafeteria’s closed, but do you want anything from the vending machine?”

“This one can join you.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to bother you if you’re busy, and you can just text me.” They had already exchanged numbers, thanks to the group chat Misao had started for the workroom.

“No, it will be a long night and this one prefers not to stay in one spot.” He pocketed his pager and stood from his chair.

Her smile widened. “Yeah, I won’t argue with that. And I’m glad! It’s more fun with you.” Her blush had not faded, and his cheek tingled.

He replied honestly. “This one feels the same way.”

Unfortunately, the closest machine had its interior lights off and the glass front bore a paper sign. ‘Out of Order’ was written in large block letters, punctuated by a frowning face. If he had to guess, it appeared to be the handiwork of either Sano or Misao, perhaps even a joint effort.

“That’s a shame.” He said. “Should we search for another?”

“Sounds like a plan! Let’s hope the others are still functioning.”

Their workroom was at the injunction between the main building and the children’s hospital, so they had options. He allowed her to decide, and she headed for the pediatric side. She swiped her badge to access a corridor that was glass on both sides, from ceiling to floor.

“This part is one of the best, in my opinion. Well, at least during the day.” Outside, it was dark, except for the street lamps. Occasionally, a car zipped past on the road below, illuminating the surrounding greenery. But he understood her. When it was sunny, they were provided with a scenic view of the city beyond.

“Yes, it’s the closest we have to stepping out. It’s important to have something to look at, other than the interior of the building.”

“Right? I always feel more rejuvenated when I go through this way. Although, I do love the murals in the children’s hospital.”

“Which do you like best?”

“Hmm. I think the bamboo forest, on the sixth floor. The animals are cute, the pandas and the tanuki.”

“Also, because that is where shinai come from?” He innocently referred to her love for kenjutsu.

“Okay, a little bit.” But she laughed. “Well, which is your favorite?”

He already had an answer. “The fourth floor, with the countryside motif. It reminds this one of his childhood.”

“You were a country boy?”

“In the Kansai region, yes. However, it has been almost twenty years since this one lived there. This one doesn’t even remember the closest town. We did grow rice and vegetables, and there were some chickens.” He pieced together the fragmented memories. “But it was a very long time ago.”

“It must have, I couldn’t tell at all.” She was thoughtful, and he realized he might have shared too much. But she didn’t pry, instead asking. “Did you have any baby chicks?”

“Not that this one can remember.”

“That’s too bad.” Disappointment showed on her face.

He smiled. The image of Kaoru, cradling fluffy chicks in her arms, was sweet.

In a corner near an empty waiting area, they finally found a working vending machine. Kaoru cheered at its presence, peering within to decide on her snacks. She was terribly adorable, depositing her change and punching the buttons. Holding her coffee and a package of chocolate-covered biscuits, she beamed. “Alright, your turn!”

As she walked past, he caught the scent of jasmine flowers. Too subtle to be perfume, it must have been her shampoo. He thought it was pleasant.

“Kenshin? Aren’t you going to buy something?”

He jolted, realizing he hadn’t moved. “A-ah, yes.” Breathing deeply to settle his nerves, he chose a bottle of green tea, and the same cookies she picked. She had already opened her drink and sipped it as they walked back.

“Whew, I feel a lot better.”

“That’s good. You need your strength for the hours ahead.”

“Yeah. I still wish I had more sleep, but I just remind myself that at least, I’m not in one of the hospital beds. That was much harder.”

“And now, you’re here. Your patients are extremely fortunate to have you, because you understand what it must be like.”

Her blush had returned in full force. She nodded, before her brows drew together. “Wait-”

Overhead, the loudspeaker crackled, calling for a medical response team. They both stopped, listening attentively. The alert meant that a patient’s condition was deteriorating. He checked his list as the room number was announced. It did not belong to any of his charges, and judging from how Kaoru exhaled, it wasn’t any of hers either. But elsewhere, someone was struggling and their colleagues were doing everything they could to save them.

As they approached familiar walls, it was his pager’s turn to vibrate, and reluctantly, he excused himself.

***

After midnight, he had one emergency surgery, for a patient that had gone into hemorrhagic shock. Two hours later, he emerged from the operating room, the worst outcome kept at bay. He ordered for two units of blood, to be transfused if the patient was anemic, and headed back to the workroom.

Kaoru had her earbuds in, obviously engrossed. Upon his entrance, she removed them and greeted him. “Hey, Kenshin. How’d it go?”

“Well enough. The patient is stable for now, but this one will keep a close eye. Did you have any new admissions?”

“Just one in the emergency room, who’s waiting to be placed in a room, but it seems like a straightforward case. History of glycogen storage disorder, so I’ve been reading up.”

“This one didn’t realize articles were accessible on CD.” He had noticed the small player next to her keyboard, that had appeared in his absence.

“Oh, no, this is an audiobook. It’s an old one, I already know all the twists. I only replay it because of the narrator.” Her expression became very fond.

“Ah.” Inwardly, he was caught off guard, but he maintained a neutral face. “Is he a good actor?”

“I think she was. This book is one of my mother’s recordings, after all. Would you like to hear her?”

Somewhat embarrassed, he agreed, and she transferred the CD to her computer. Momentarily, a woman’s gentle voice filled the air. Her cadence and intonation were similar to Kaoru’s, and she switched between characters with impressive ease. It seemed to be an anthology of short stories.

“You were not wrong; her performance is wonderful.”

“I’m glad you think so! She’d be happy to hear that, if she were alive.” Kaoru clarified. “She had lupus, and she passed away from kidney failure when I was young. She couldn’t get a transplant in time. The Mirror Wing in the main hospital is named for her.” The dialysis unit was located there.

“You must miss her.”

“I do, but at least, I have Okaa-san in this way. Not many people can say the same.”

He definitely couldn’t. Then, the staccato beeps of her pager interrupted them again. He was beginning to dislike that particular ring.

By three in the morning, Kaoru was starting to falter. She was continuing to type on her computer, but her head nodded and she occasionally jolted, unconsciously trying to stay awake.

“Kaoru-dono.”

“Hmm?” Her gaze lifted, though not quite focusing.

“Please, get some rest. The work can wait.” He gently said. “This one can turn the lights off, if that would help.”

“Would you? That’d be really nice.” She murmured.

He flipped the switches, leaving the glow of his monitor. “If there was a bed, that would be better.”

“It’s okay. Hospital beds aren’t very comfy.” She certainly spoke from experience. She opened one of her desk drawers, taking out a spare surgical mask. “Please don’t tell anyone else in your department.”  Before he could inquire further, she proceeded to wear it over her face, and it was large enough to cover her eyes.

He had to stifle his laughter. “This one promises.”

It was uneventful afterwards, without beeping pagers or loudspeaker announcements. He lasted another hour and a half, before he felt the familiar pull of exhaustion. He logged off and sat back in his chair. He could never fully sleep while on the job. That was especially true now, with Kamiya Kaoru in the same room, softly breathing.

It was Director Kamiya who had offered him a place at Kamiya Kasshin, while he was still working for Katsura. He had been disillusioned and burnt out, entertaining ideas of quitting medicine. He was too ashamed to talk to Hiko, but he caved to the “fates” as his guardian liked to refer to them. Akane, Kasumi, and Sakura had sat him down, persuading him to take the new job before deciding anything further. Akane was particularly fervent, she had never liked Katsura.

So, he had accepted the position and adjusting to the new work environment occupied him. Then, the accident happened. It was on a night not too different from this one, and he had also been on call. He heard there was a group of people, on the phone with the director at the crash site, trying to obtain details. He had run to that desk, preparing to encourage the man who had helped him so far. It was at the other end of the hospital and he was relatively late, everyone else mobilizing for the victims’ arrival. When he picked up the phone, he was out of breath. “Kamiya-dono?”

Instead of Director Kamiya’s voice, there was a young, feminine one. Choked with tears, but still strong. “Hello? Please, can you hear me?”

One fateful conversation, and she reminded him of what he loved about his profession. But she didn’t seem to remember. That was alright, the memory was wrapped up in tragedy, and he didn’t want to hurt her. Getting to know her was enough. Even after six years, she was very much the same woman he had spoken to. Compassionate, brave, honest.

Hiko, being his usual infuriating self, had accused him of having a crush, although Kenshin was disgruntled. Not that Kaoru wasn’t attractive, but it was not the point. It wasn’t a crush, he was immensely grateful to Kaoru as well as her late father, for his current life. Originally, he was trying to repay their kindness, in what little he could manage on his part. So far, he enjoyed spending time with her, even when on call. Around her, and for that matter, their other workroom colleagues, he felt at ease in a way that he hadn’t experienced in decades.

But if she asked about him…? He hadn’t decided what he would do yet.

***

Kenshin slowly emerged from his trance. The blinds had been opened, the sky pink with dawn. He clicked his mouse and the monitor lit with the time. Just past six. Night call was almost over.

Kaoru’s chair was empty, and he drowsily recalled her rummaging about, before the door closed. She must have gone to pre-round on her patients, to check on them before meeting with the rest of her team. He hoped they would let her go before noon.

He relayed the night’s events to the day shift’s surgeon, who insisted that everything would be taken care of and please get some rest, Dr. Himura. But he went to check on his shock patient, who was thankfully stable. Then, the parents arrived in the waiting area, and he took the opportunity to speak to them. By the time he returned to retrieve his things, it was already ten. Kaoru was also there, greeting him as if she hadn’t spent the night at the hospital.

“Morning, Kenshin!”

“Good morning. How were your rounds?” He inquired, clearing his desk.

“Quick, thank goodness.”

“And how are you?”

“I feel fine. Well, I know it’s fake, I’ll probably crash once I get home. I’m just going to submit my notes, and then, I’ll go.” She didn’t sit down, her eyes glued to her screen as she logged in. A few clicks, and then, she grabbed her bag. “Done! Geez, I’m ready to leave.”

“Good work, Kaoru-dono.”

“You too.” Despite how little she must have slept, her smile was as radiant as ever. “But you’re still here? I thought you would have been out by now.”

“This one had a few tasks, but this one was just about to leave as well. After you.” He urged her ahead of him. They shared an elevator down, luckily without any stops.

“Have you already eaten breakfast?” She asked.

“This one had a leftover rice ball. The cafeteria is…” His weary mind searched for a word that would be appropriate.

“I know, I really want Tae to expand her hours, but she can’t while she has her regular job. I think I have cup ramen in my pantry.”

“Next time, this one will bring enough onigiri to share.”

“Next time?” She repeated, emphasizing the implication of another call shift in the near future, but she was laughing. “Would they have caffeine in them?”

He smiled at her. “For you, this one will make an exception.”

Her cheeks grew pink. “Thank you, I’ll look forward to it.” After a pause, she added. “What would even be inside such onigiri? Instant coffee?”

Matcha powder actually, but he needed to perfect that recipe. “It would be a surprise.”

“Geez!”

They passed the lobby, and bright sunshine filled his vision. After spending so long in the hospital, it was a relief to be out in the open again. The cloudless sky was an immaculate blue, the fresh air crisp. Beside him, Kaoru sighed, her lips curving. The wind tossed her ponytail, and she shoved her hands in her pockets, continuing on. Suddenly aware that he was staring again, he picked up his feet. Then, they were already at the garage and had to part ways. Work had truly ended.

“Drive safe and sleep well! I’ll see you on Monday!” She waved and he did the same.

“Take care.”

There was no traffic, and his empty apartment was cool. It was quiet as he meticulously cleaned his belongings. As he walked to his bedroom, he barely made a sound. The shower seemed too loud, and so did the hair dryer. Slipping between his clean sheets, he noticed the lack of scent. After leaving his glasses on his nightstand, he checked his phone again. Nothing new, which was supposed to be good. He hovered over Kaoru’s name in the group chat. Well…it wouldn’t hurt. His thumb pressed down, and he began to type.

This one hopes you returned home without issue and that you have a relaxing weekend.

With the message sent, he locked the screen. She could reply on her own time.

And at last, he closed his eyes.

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt 211

211

Feeling Lance getting out of bed, Keith felt for his lover, Lance’s hand finding his after he’d half slapped him on the lower back

“Babe?”

“Getting a drink”

“Dun’ be too long”

“I won’t”

Coran was a bad loser. Pidge had annihilated him in Mario. Keith and Lance coming downstairs just as Coran started accusing Pidge of cheating. Five rematches later and Matt had taken the controller off Coran who started on a tangent about everything wrong with the game. To soothe the piece, Hunk suggested they do the cake now that Lance was awake to enjoy it.

Hunk had outdone himself with the cake. Keith had no words for how nicely decorated it was, nor did he have words for how big it was. As they were choosing not to know the sex of their twins, Hunk had used soft pastels to bring colour to the cake with fancy twirly things and edging that he didn’t know the name for. Comprised of three tiers, the top tier had two foot pints made from edible chocolate, coloured purple, circled by “Kogane-McClain Twins”. The second layer read congratulations. The third being just cute pastel icing. Had he not been embarrassed over his lack of baking knowledge, he probably would have asked Lance what all the decorations were properly called. The inside of the cake matched the outside. Pink, purple, blue, green, and yellow, comprising the layers with buttercream frosting between them.

Apparently their Sunshine Hunk couldn’t help himself, Lance crying on Hunk’s shoulder as he thanked him. Hunk crying on Lance’s shoulder as he assured him he knew he was grateful. Taking the top tier for themselves, they shared a plate, knowing there was no way there would be anything left once Matt and Rieva started. Having never eaten a “foot” before, Keith was impressed Hunk had managed to mould white chocolate so well. The man had skills. If he were to open a bakery, Keith’s bank balance wouldn’t be staying in the black very long.

After the cake came the presents. Their twins had to have a set a record for the most blankets and onesies. Lance kept saying they didn’t need anything else, everything making him cry... except for Shiro who would forever be the lamest big brother in history. Someone out there made custom onesies. Keith would like to meet them and strangle them. Four bloody onesies. Four bloody supernatural themed onesies that had passed Curtis’s tick of approval. Two vampire print and two werewolf print. Why did everything Shiro touched always have to come back to that? Curtis earned some point back with him by gifting them a box set of documentaries that he and Lance had watched half of when Curtis lived there.

Coran, now over his loss and perked up with sugar, gifted them herbal teas with a long lecture on which teas were best for which moods. Being tea, it all went through one ear and out the other. Allura’s gift of coffee made it clear she knew what a werewolf needed in his life, especially with the sleepless nights to come.

Krolia... Krolia’s gift was a set of tiny little blades for their twins. Keith confiscating them before his mother could get any ideas about training the twins to be hunters. That wasn’t the life they wanted for their kids. They wanted to watch them grow and explore the world, finding their own passions to chase. Lance politely thanked Krolia, but the look on his face said those blades were to disappear somewhere where their twins would never find them.

Shay had found “emo” baby blankets. Lance found them funny, as they reminded him of Keith. Keith couldn’t deny that they weren’t his favourite gift because they were kind of nifty with their black and white skull patterns and the green one had a really cool dragon pattern on it.

From Matt and Rieva, almost entirely most definitely Rieva’s idea, they were gifted a set of second hand Berenstain Bears books. She’d started secretly collecting when she’d found out Lance was pregnant. Mami gave a little help with the gift choice. Matt’s gift to them was taking Pidge home and spending a couple of days in Platt so they could have more alone time before the birth. Keith had a new favourite present.

Pidge drunkenly praising her skills over “suping up” the pram she’d gifted them. The thing now sporting wheels that “would make Lance’s dumb bronco cry in jealous”. Lance wasn’t sure about it all, but Pidge wouldn’t be dissuaded that the pram wasn’t now at its absolute best. Though no one argued with her directly about it, she was mid-rant when she threw up rather violently onto the rug. Krolia taking her to the bathroom, while Lance excused himself to throw up in the kitchen sink. Now there was two vomiting people, it was a mutual decision to start winding things up. Matt and Rieva in charge of getting a drunk Pidge home. Shay and Hunk also deciding maybe it was best to head off before Pidge came out the bathroom again. Their gremlin very loving and loud about it between throwing up and being soothed by Krolia. Coran and Allura were catching a ride back to Platt with Krolia, and with how green Shiro was looking, Keith sending them home.

Keith didn’t realise until everyone had left, that they’d been left with the mammoth task of cleaning everything up. Still, for all it’s ups and downs, it’d been a good party, though the pair of them did breathe a sigh of relief when silence descended over their home. Chores were done. Dishes washed. The rug scrubbed. Everything else outside could wait for another day as they climbed into bed together, both too sleepy for the night of promised passion. Lance still had moisturiser on his nose as kissed Keith goodnight. Keith smearing it out for him, thinking how lucky he was to have Lance... and how their friends had spent way too much money on them. He didn’t think he’d ever be used to such thoughtful gifts without waiting for a catch.

Dozing off, Lance’s spot was still empty when he woke up again. There were some nights was more out of their bed than in, but Keith couldn’t hear him in the bathroom. Trying not to panic, the werewolf climbed out from the mound of blankets on their bed. Most nights he’d find he’d kicked them off, too hot and too sweaty to sleep peacefully, like Lance did. Jogging over to the bathroom, he found it empty. Vaguely he remembered Lance saying he was his thirsty. If his fiancé’s insomnia had kicked in, then Lance was most probably sitting in the living room watching the TV on mute so Keith could get some sleep.

Sleepy and stumbly, Keith missed the bottom step of the stairs, hand flying out and denting the wall as he felt himself fall. Had the overwhelming scent of blood not been in the air, he might have paused to examine the damage he’d just done to the same spot Lance had repaired at least a dozen times since moving into his house

“Lance?! Babe?!”

Getting no answer from his fiancé, Keith’s heart started to race as his mind went to the worst possible situation. Lance could have slipped. He could be bleeding out. There was so much blood in the air, the werewolf’s stomach felt queasy.

Checking the rooms along the way, Kosmo had made himself at home in Matt’s and Rieva’s room, an interesting fact, though useless because Lance was on his mind. Reaching Lance’s office, the door was slightly open, the space illuminated by his computer screen. Flicking the light on, Lance hissed at him. Keith’s eyes widened in shock at the sight in front of him. Lance covered in blood. His fiancé hadn’t been kidding about being thirsty. Blood ran down his chin, and from his hands down his arms, not caring about how much of a mess he’d made feeding on blood bags he’d torn apart rather popping the cap on them. A quick count came to 8 bags scattered around Lance’s feet.

Watching Lance throw down the blood bag he’d just finished, the vampire tore into the next one, literally. His hands trying to push as much blood from the ripped bag down his throat as he could

“Babe? Babe, you feeling okay?”

Raising his head, Lance’s eyes were blank. That warm spark that always seemed to sparkly that just little bit bright for him was dull

“Babe?”

This couldn’t be good. Lance said he was thirsty. Not that he hadn’t fed in a year and was now making up for it. Keith felt revolted, and guilty for being revolted. His ego shocked into shutting up as they stared

“Baby, I think you’ve had enough blood. Here, let’s go back to bed? How does that sound?”

Lance didn’t reply. Keith forcing himself to slowly edge towards Lance. This was his Lance. His Lance wouldn’t savage him as he’d done with the blood bags. Nope. No. He was totally safe. Yep. Just a normal day in a vampire pregnancy. Nothing to see here

“Babe, come on, you’ve had enough for now”

Lance threw away the bag he’d drained, Keith using his speed to grab the bag he’d been going for out of reach. Watching the bag, Lance bared his bloodied fangs

“Baby, please. I know you’re in there. It’s me. It’s Keith. Come on, babe. Don’t let your ego push you aside”

Oh... oh. He was crying now. Keith didn’t know when that started. Had Lance not eating this much contributed to him feeling so ill? Was this how much blood a pregnant vampire needed in their final weeks of pregnancy? Placing the bag on the desk, Keith shifted the bags on the floor away with his foot, making it to crouching in front of Lance safely.

With shaking hands the werewolf reached out. His left hand going to Lance’s forehead as his right hand cupped his fiancé’s face. Blinking at him, Keith’s touch seemed to “wake” his lover. Warmth and confusion filling Lance’s eyes

“K-Keith?”

Looking down at his bloodied front, Lance’s gaze flicked back up, eyes welling with tears

“Wha... what happened?”

“You got a bit thirsty”

“But... h-how? The... party...?”

“The party ended hours ago, baby. You’re okay. You didn’t hurt anyone”

“I... I don’t remember”

The pain in Lance’s eyes was crushing

“Pidge started throwing up. Matt and Rieva took her home. Are you okay? You don’t feel warm”

“I don’t feel very good...”

“Okay. That’s okay. Do you think you can stand up?”

Lance went to look down his chest again, Keith holding his head up so he forced to look him in the eye

“You’re okay. It’s a just a bit of blood”

“I don’t remember”

“That’s okay. We were both exhausted when we went to bed. Just focus on me, baby. You can do that right?”

“I always focus on you”

Moving a stray lock of hair back, Keith gave Lance the best smile he could manage around his internal freak out

“Yeah, you do. You’re so good to me, babe. Let’s get you cleaned up and back into bed”

Lance nuzzled into his palm

“I’m sleepy”

Normally that much blood would turn Lance into an ego driven wanker

“I bet you are. You had a huge day and our friends are idiots. Let’s wash up, then we’ll snuggle”

Lance closed his eyes, sniffing sadly

“I’m sorry... I’m sorry I don’t remember coming down here...”

“That’s okay, baby. That’s okay. You’re okay”

*

Putting Lance to bed, Keith couldn’t sleep. Lance passed right out, but Keith was worried. Once the scent of blood had finally been cleaned away, a strange scent cling to Lance that left him feeling on edge. He didn’t like. The scent had him all muddled up inside, almost as if it’d given him a dose of adrenaline and he simply couldn’t sit still. Leaving his fiancé sleeping, Keith first headed to the bathroom to fetch Lance’s bloodied shirt and underwear, before heading downstairs. The one night he could have done with someone else there to tell him what to do, their house stood uselessly empty. Cleaning. That was about all he could do.

Crying as he scrubbed at the blood split in Lance’s office, he wondered how the heck he was supposed to deal with this. Lance had climbed into bed without prompting, even skipping getting in one last apology before zonking out. His fiancé needed his sleep, but should he have been waking him and taking him to Coran? Was he overreacting? It wasn’t like Lance had had a bleed, he’d checked when he’d towelled him down. Now that he was back to being himself, he’d been affectionate... but he couldn’t get the image of all that blood out of his head.

The torn bags thrown in the trash with Lance’s clothes, and the clothes from cleaning, the bin then dragged out to the road at Lance’s gateway for collection. Coming back to the house, Keith could hear Lance snoring, yet found himself unable to head upstairs with so much in his head. He needed coffee... and he really needed a fucking hug... Coffee at least was home and never failed at settling him, if he didn’t think about the times it had.

Settling himself on the edge of the sofa, Keith didn’t remember grabbing his phone when he’d left Lance sleeping. Kosmo coming quietly padding into the room, dropping himself to sit beside Keith’s legs with a soft whine

“I know. I’m worried about him too. Should I call Coran? Or am I thinking about this too much?”

He was so damn good at that. At his mind jumping to the worst case scenario. He’d always hate that about himself. He needed Shiro. They’d talked a little over lunch, but right now, Shiro was the only one he felt would understand his stupid fears. He loved Garrison, but the house felt so isolated that he felt truly alone. If the world outside had been destroyed, he’d be the last to know. God. He wanted his brother.

Resting his elbows on his knees, his right palm dug into his right eye as he held his phone with his left. The ringing continuing so long that he thought it’d ring out. It must have been the last ring when the call finally connected, Shiro’s voice groggy

“Keith?”

A fresh wave of tears hit. He’d woken his brother up...

“I’m sorry...”

In the background was the rustling of sheets, he picked up on the sound of the switch on Shiro’s lamp flicking on

“Hey, kiddo. What’s going on?”

What wasn’t going on...

“Keith? Hey... What happened? Is it Lance?”

“Shiro... I don’t know what to do”

Kosmo whined softly at his distress. Keith’s right hand moving to hug his best boy close

“I’m sure it’ll be okay. What happened?”

“I... I walked on him feeding... and there was so much blood. He was covered in blood. He wasn’t even... even aware of it. He didn’t remember coming down. I don’t know if he even remembers the party... I put him back to bed, but I don’t know what to do...”

In the background Curtis asked it was Keith, Shiro covering the bottom of his phone as he replied it was. Now he’d gone and disturbed Curtis too

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called...”

“Hey, no. No. You’re my little brother. I want you to rely on me. When you say you walked in on Lance, was he acting differently?”

“It was like he wasn’t even there. No. It was like I wasn’t there... He was so hungry...”

“Did he hurt you?”

“No. The moment he realised I was there he started panicking because he was covered in blood”

“How much blood are we talking about?”

“I threw out 10 bags... well, the remains of 10 bags. He tore into them as if he hadn’t eaten for ages”

In the background he heard Curtis asking for him to put Keith on speaker phone. He wanted to talk to his brother, not so much Curtis

“Hey, Keith. Does Lance have any other symptoms? Any bleeding? Changes in temperature?”

“No. No, I checked...”

“Okay. That’s a really good sign. Let him sleep for now. If his temperature drops or if he develops a fever, then call Coran”

Right. Curtis had originally been Lance’s babysitter. He didn’t doubt Curtis was lying to soothe him, but the curse would have handy right now

“Okay”

“Good. I know you’re worried about him, but he’s honestly better when you’re with him. I’ll let you get back to talking to Shiro, you don’t need me eavesdropping”

Keith instantly felt bad all over again. Shiro the one to the leave the bedroom, instead of Curtis as he told him to go back to sleep. A few moments passed before Keith heard the sounds of Shiro sitting on the sofa

“Sorry, kiddo. You know how much he likes Lance”

“I’m the one who’s sorry... I woke you up”

“Keith, you’re my brother. I’m glad I can here for you. What are you thinking?”

“That I could really use a hug right now”

“Oh, kiddo. This is Lance, he’ll be okay”

“But what if he’s not? He hasn’t been feeling well”

“I’m sure if it was serious he would have gone to Coran...”

“This him, he doesn’t want a fuss...”

Lance was so stupidly pigheaded about his desires not to be fussed over. He’d been so strong... now he was weakened

“Stop letting your head get the better of you”

“I didn’t say anything”

“I know you, kiddo. If he’s not better by the morning, bring him to Garrison. I know you’re going to worry yourself sick, but being there is the best thing you can do for him and your twins”

“Is... am I enough?”

“Keith, you’ll always be enough. He adores you. I might not have approved to begin with, but Lance has proven time and time again that he loves you. I know it’s tough, kiddo, but soon you’ll be father to your twins. You and Lance are going to get through this”

“God, I hope so...”

“You will. Now, get some rest. Lance is going to worry about you if look shitty in the morning”

“Lance always worries”

“Maybe we should get him a trophy for that?”

Keith gave a wet snort. If they were to do that, they’d constantly be trading the damn thing back and forth..

“Let’s not. Shiro... I’m worried for him”

“I know, kiddo. But this is Lance. He’s stronger than he looks. If he’s not better by morning, follow your gut instincts”

“I don’t know what my instincts are saying”

“They’re saying you’ll make the right call. Try to get some sleep”

“Yeah. I will... thanks, Shiro”

“Anytime, kiddo. Let me know it goes?”

“Yeah. I will”

Ending his call with Shiro, Keith tossed his phone to the other end of the sofa. Kosmo patiently sitting, still hugged close

“What do you think I should do?”

Trying to lick at his face, Kosmo wanted pats, not to be giving out life advice

“Yeah. I guess I’ll try get some sleep. The last two days have been a lot”

Training with Lotor. His talk with his mother. Seeing his father again. His talk with Lance. The party. Lance covered in blood. Yeah. He really should go to bed. If anything happened, he’d be there for Lance... hopefully making the right call in waiting until the morning.