#also just realized I might be able to swipe a work laptop to take home over thanksgiving

[gingerwerk]

A tale as old as time 😔 I start making progress on a fic and then my laptop dies 😔

[doublekrecs]

Going Live

Spencer Reid x Reader

Synopsis: You're an intern for the FBI but double as a camgirl in your spare time. You thought you kept things pretty well under wraps but who knew one of your mentors watched you all along. 

Warnings: smut, unprotected p in v action (remember to wrap it), face fucking, use of sex toys, tiny bit of degrading

a/n: writing this in the setting of season 10/11 because spencer looks so damn good and i wanted to include my girl tara

also part 2 of more than physics should be up later today! hope you enjoy -🧞‍♀️

You had been a paid intern for the FBI for about a year, paid being said lightly. But the job was definitely worth it. While being under the wing of the BAU you had not only learned so much about your hopefully future profession, but you had made a family with the team. Especially under the wing of Tara Lewis, she had been there for a little while but you looked up to her work and she was more than happy to offer advice and a good wine night.

The team knew you had a second job on the side but weren’t exactly sure what it was, just that you worked from home. They respected your personal life enough to stay out of it, however that didn’t stop Rossi from offering you a little extra because “that's what uncles are supposed to do”. You would always wave him off and say you could handle yourself, because you could. 

You thoroughly enjoyed working. The money and gifts were obviously a big reward but there was always something so exciting about being on camera. Maybe it was how risque it was, being exposed for thousands to see. Or the fact that many were pleasuring themselves to the sight of you.

It was Friday night and you were getting your setup ready. You already had your outfit and glam on. Someone had sent you a set from your wishlist, lilac lace hugged your body in all the right places, accentuating all your assets and boosting your confidence. In your hair were the same color streaks you did with a tinting spray. You set the camera and laptop up in front of your bed. Silk sheets and plush pillows behind you where you could rest comfortably before your show started. 

Little did you know across town Spencer Reid was getting ready to tune in to said show. He was never one for tech, having Garcia still hand him paper files and would refuse to upgrade his phone. He had gotten a computer just so he could video chat with doctors quickly about new medicine for his mother. However he quickly found out there was so much more the internet had to offer.

_

He had stumbled across your show one lonely night. Spencer couldn’t see himself going out to find a one night stand so the pleasure of his hand it was. He was looking through videos when he saw the thumbnail with a girl wearing glasses similar to the ones you wear when you forget contacts. His curiosity got the best of him and if he was a cat he’d be one life down. He couldn’t believe the sight on the screen in his lap. 

There you were the bubbly intern, body trembling as waves of pleasure washed over you from the pink wand you held over your clit. He was delightfully flustered and the moans spilling from the computer’s speakers weren’t doing much to help.

He was entranced by you writhing in pleasure but was knocked back into reality after hearing you giggle. God he loved when you made that noise in the office, usually after fake flirting with Hotch or hearing about JJ’s boys. But this situation was totally different and if he was honest with himself he was very into it. 

You reached over to grab a large pink dildo. Taking it in your mouth before swiping it through your folds. It easily slipped in and you started rapidly pumping it into you chasing your orgasm. 

Spencer was too enthralled to even think about touching himself. He was using the gift which was his eidetic memory to the best of his ability to make this something he’d never forget. 

You came with a loud moan, hips lifting and grinding against the toy to chase the friction. Quickly you turned off the wand and took the toy out. You sat up and looked into the camera before sucking it off. Spencer's eyes widened as he let out a groan shifting on his bed. 

“Alright guys that was fun for tonight,” you said as you sat criss cross on the bed. “I didn’t think I’d be able to get to five.”

FIVE?? He thought in his head. He felt like he was gonna explode just watching those last few minutes. How was he supposed to last watching you make yourself cum five times. 

“Thank you so much for all the tips and support! My links are all in the description and I’ll see you angels next Friday! Muahh” you signed off blowing the camera a kiss. 

Spencer knew it was wrong of him to view a coworker in such an exposed light but he couldn’t help himself. So he spent the night viewing some of your old videos which brought him to what he swears to be the best orgasm of his life. Of course he sent gracious tips and made sure to buy little items off the wishlist, mentally noting to return every Friday night. Even if it meant hiding in the bathroom from Morgan in their shared hotel room on cases. That was two months ago. 

_

Just as you finished your session the phone rang signaling a case. Quickly you got in the shower and put on comfy business clothes since you usually stayed with Garcia doing extra research and taking notes. You quickly grabbed your bag and keys, making your way straight to the office. 

In the elevator you heard someone calling to keep it open. Spencer made his way in, buttoning his cardigan and adjusting his bag, quickly saying thank you. You pressed the button to the floor as you felt a pair of eyes on you. Looking over Spencer was eyeing you with a confused look on his face. You were about to question him when he spoke up first. 

“I thought you had streaks in your hair”

“I did… Earlier tonight but they washed out.” He looked even more confused, then his brain put two and two together. He just realized what he had said. For a genius this wasn’t one of his brightest moments. 

You looked at him amused as a deep blush spread from his neck to the tips of his ears. There was only one way someone would know about your quick hair change: by watching your show. The door to the elevator opened and you walked out giggling as he started sputtering apologies behind you. You quickly cut him off. 

“Spence, it's alright. If you want we can talk about this later because right now you have a bad guy to catch. But may I suggest making your name something less obvious, not that I don’t love ‘magiclover187’.” He stood there mouth gaping as you patted his shoulder and walked up to the conference room to meet the rest of the team. 

_

The case was one of the easier ones. Very minimal killing and the team was back by Tuesday morning, ready for a week of paperwork. Spencer had been dancing around you the whole time, he could barely keep eye contact with you and would rush to leave the room if you walked in. If he was this flushed around you with clothes on you could just imagine how much of a mess he would be when he watched you perform. Which brought an idea to your head. 

Friday rolled around and you walked over to his desk where he was nose deep in one of his Russian books. You put your hand in it to bring it down. Once he noticed it was you he was about to start with another ramble of apologies when you stopped him.

“Alright I’m tired of the awkwardness and I want my friend back,” you said with a soft smile. “Why don’t you come over tonight and we can have that talk. I’ll even order a pizza and we can watch Doctor Who.”

“Y/n are you sure? I-I mean it is um uh Friday.. And ya know you usually film,” he said as he played with his tie. 

You giggled at how nervous he was. Poor little genius didn’t know he was the only one with tricks up their sleeve. 

“It’s fine I promise. Just a night with my favorite customer,” you said winking at him. He choked and looked around to see if anyone was looking at his outburst.

“I’m kidding.. Sort of,” you trailed off. “But I mean it about you coming over. I’m going home now but I expect you there in an hour with drinks.”

With that you turned around and walked off, adding a little extra sway to your hips. Obviously that did the trick as you heard a small groan behind you. Spencer dropped his head back as he started wracking his brain to figure out how to live through the night without making a bigger fool of himself or cuming in his pants. 

_

You know maybe you were evil, you thought to yourself as you put on the finishing touches to your outfit for the night. Once you got home you sped into the shower to freshen up for him to come over and get your setup ready. You were wearing a cream colored strappy bodysuit. Over it was a large cardigan, almost resembling the maroon one he owned, strange. To top it off you were wearing your glasses and your legs were adorned with your favorite thigh high socks. 

The three knocks on the door instantly made a smirk appear on your face. This might just be one of your best schemes yet. Looking through the peephole you saw Spencer gnawing on his bottom lip holding a few bottles of soda. Taking a deep breath you opened the door greeting him with all the casualty in the world. 

“Hey! I’m glad you came, come in.”

He followed you in and tried to keep his eyes above your neck, trying to act like he wasn’t getting completely hard by just your outfit.  You sat down on your couch and patted it for him to sit next to you. He took the seat and gulped not really sure what you had planned. 

“Um how long for the pizza to get here?” 

“The pizza’s not coming Spence,” you said shaking your head. “But you are.”

You leaned forward to place your hand on his on the couch. “I want you to fuck me on camera Spencer,” you said with sweet confidence, fluttering your lashes. His eyes kept flashing between your cleavage showing through the cardigan and your lips before finally landing on your eyes. He didn’t see a single hint of humor in them, nothing transparent but lust. 

He pulled his hand from under yours to place in your hair, pulling you into a heated kiss. You pushed back on his chest a bit to try and get some air. 

“Save that magic for the show,” you said as you pulled him up to lead to your bedroom. 

The camera was set at a little bit of a lower angle. The audience would just be able to see you and at most Spencer’s chest. You had made sure it was fine and even turned it on as a test so he could see what he looked like. After you got everything out of the way you hit the button to go live and instantly people started flooding in. If the bulge in his pants told you anything, it was that he was excited to be on the other side of the screen this time. 

“Hello my angels!” you said into the camera, Spencer was taken back at what was going on. After months of lusting over the young intern he was finally seeing the show in person. 

“Today I have a special guest with me. My very good friend, the Doctor,” you took his hand to pull him into frame. “He’s very excited to be here,” you said, hand moving down to palm him through his pants. 

His hand reached out and wrapped around your throat, making you look up at him. Huh. This was a new Spencer you wouldn’t mind seeing more often.

“Let's not play games princess. Or else the only thing making you cum tonight are your pathetic little fingers. Am I clear?”

You shivered at the intensity of his voice instantly trying to nod the best you could within his grip. He let go and you went back to task at hand, undoing his pants and pulling them down along with his boxers. He was long and pink. Precum already spilling out of the pretty tip, you couldn’t wait to have him in your mouth, among other places. You wasted no time in licking a broad stripe along a vein under it. His hand went to grab a handful of your hair giving it a testing tug as a warning to stop teasing. 

Your hand went to grip what couldn’t fit in your mouth but you tried your best to take him all in. You could hear the pings of tips and comments being said. Spencer could too and leaned over slightly to read them. 

“Face fuck her,” he murmured. He pulled you off of his cock and looked down into your eyes, “Is that what you want princess? Hm.” His thumb went to clean up the spit dripping down your chin before rubbing your lips. “You want me to fuck your face?”, he said in a condescendingly sweet voice. 

“Yes Doctor please! Fuck my throat.” 

“Good girl.”

Both his hands made their place nested in your hair, guiding you to his cock. He wasted no time in being brutal. Tears were leaking down your cheeks as he kept on hitting the back of your throat. Spencer was enjoying himself to the fullest letting out curses and praises at how good your mouth felt. He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer and you could feel it too as he started to throb in your mouth. He then pulled you off, a trail of spit connected from your lips and his cock. 

“Such a dirty whore for me. Show everyone how messy I make you,” he took your head and made you turn to look in the camera. Comments pinged talking about how pretty you looked with mascara running and smudged lipstick. 

“Thank them and ask if you deserve to cum on my cock,” Who knew Spencer had this in him. But you were loving every second of it and put on your best pair of puppy dog eyes to beg the camera for Spencer to split you in half. And you had no shame in doing so. 

“Please let the Doctor fuck me. I’ve been such a good girl for you guys,” you pleaded into the camera. The audience was pleased with your begging as they said you deserved it for being so good. 

Spencer took his time in unbuttoning the cardigan you had on, teasingly rubbing your arms as he slipped it off. His hands then went to the bodice of it, groping your breasts and teasing your nipples through the fabric. 

“Ah shit doctor, please fuck me already.”

Who was he to deny you of such a thing when you asked so nicely. He pushed you back down on the silk sheets. Pulling you by your thighs to the end of the bed where he moved the thong of the bodysuit to the side and slid his cock up your folds. Lubricating it in your juices before slipping right in. You both gasped at the intrusion, his hands grabbing your hips with a force sure to leave bruises. He used the leverage to set a brutal pace, ramming his cock into you. 

Your ears were ringing from the pleasure but you could hear the constant pings of your tip box and comment section flooding. 

“Shit baby you’re so tight. Perfect little pussy squeezing me so good.” You babled off thank yous and whimpers from being so close to your climax.

 You felt Spencer stop for a second and reach over to grab something. Then you felt it. Your wand set to the highest setting placed on your clit as he started to thrust into you again. Sounds of your moans and skin slapping together filled the room along with the buzzing of the vibrator. You were sure there was going to be a noise complaint notice on your door in the morning. 

You were so close to having the bubble in your stomach burst and so was he. 

“I'm gonna cum Doctor,” you practically yelled. “Please cum inside me!”

“Cmon princess. Let me feel you let go.”

With that the knot broke and you swore you died and went to heaven. Your walls squeezing Spencer led him to his end a little after you. Thrusts faltering and groaning at the feeling of pleasure washing over him. He turned off the wand and put it to the side before slipping out of you. 

Looking into the camera you gasped at your appearance. Hair disheveled and face messy from crying in pleasure multiple times that night. Your mixed release leaking down your thigh and onto the sheets. 

There were non stop pings of people calling Spencer a lucky bastard and asking for him to come back next Friday. Spencer nodded his head over to your bathroom to get you guys something to clean up with and let you do your closing. 

“Thanks for the love tonight angels,” you said with a smile on your face, entirely blissed out. “As always the links are in the description and I’ll see you guys next Friday. Maybe I’ll talk to the Doctor about future appearances. Bye!” 

With that you fell back on your bed and closed your eyes. Your body jolted at a sudden coldness between your thighs. 

“Right sorry,” Spencer whispered.

“So where did that come from?” you looked at him with an eyebrow raised. 

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” he stated seriously. 

You giggled and took his hand, “Thanks for doing this with me.”

“Of course. Now why don’t you shower while I get us a pizza. For real this time.”

“Or we can shower together then call the pizza.”

He contemplated it before smiling at you, “You always have the best ideas.” 

“Don’t I know it.. Doctor.”

[13uswntimagines]

I’m in Love With You Dumbass (Christen x reader)

Request: R are in love with Chris and she’s close with Chris and Tobin so she really think that she wont stand a chance. R is USWNTs videographer/content creator.

Authors Note: Special thanks to @literaryhedgehog​ cause without her this would probably still be trapped in my drafts. Also this turned into something a little silly and a little fluffy, and i really hope you enjoy it!

You blinked at your laptop, squinting as you processed the ten thousand pictures that you had taken during national team practice trying to decide which ones you wanted to put out for the fans. 

It was always a balancing act, giving them little glimpses at training and not giving your major secrets away, but you had mastered it over the years. 

You bit your lip as you swiped past several pictures of your best friend (who you totally didn’t have a crush on). The shot was perfect, well almost. Her green eyes were shining, and her dimples were showing. The only problem you had was that the smile was directed at one Tobin Heath instead of you. 

You were so focused on picking out a picture of Christen that you didn’t notice you were no longer alone in the dining hall. Hell, you didn’t notice anything until two hands landed on your shoulders. 

“Hey,” Emily yelled directly in your ear, you jolted in your seat, nearly falling as Emily and Lindsey cackled. 

You held your hand over your chest, fighting a smile of your own. You might not like being scared, but at least they were having a good time. 

“What are you two up to down here?” 

“Trying to fight the boredom of a lazy day. What are you up to?” Lindsey laughed, settling down into the seat beside you, and leaning over to look at the photos displayed on your laptop. 

“Just editing stuff for tomorrow’s release,” You shrugged, clicking so the photos advanced forward. 

“that last video has the fans going crazy,” Emily mumbled, leaning over the back of the chair to get a better view of the screen, and smirking when she saw a string of pictures focused on a certain forward. 

“Hmm, I’m glad, but it’s you guys who did all the work, I just shot the camera,” You hummed shaking your head. The women were so charismatic and funny that most of it took almost no artistry on your part. You just had to aim and capture. They were the ones giving you golden content. 

“Don’t sell yourself short, you edited like 15 hours of footage into 8 minutes,” Lindsey snorted, and you blushed just a little. Most people didn’t realize how much time a single clip took to put together, so it was kinda nice to have the acknowledgment. 

“But I have a question,” Emily said, her head popping over your shoulder as you began to edit one of the clips from today. It wasn’t anything spectacular, just Tobin threading a ball through for Christen. 

“Yeah Sonnett?” You asked, tilting your head, your tongue trapped between your teeth as you decided where to cut the clip into the one before it. 

“Why does Christen always get more screen time when she’s in those leggings?” 

You froze, the flush moving up your cheeks all the way to your ears. You weren’t that obvious, were you? She just looked so good in those pants, you really couldn’t help yourself. It was for the fans after all… 

“She doesn’t. I just pick the cool shots and stuff,” You grumbled, crossing your arms and slumping in your seat. 

Lindsey’s eyes softened. “If you ever wanna talk about it, you know where to find us,”. 

“There’s nothing to talk about. She’s my best friend and probably dating someone else anyway. I don’t stand a chance,” You mumbled, staring adamantly down at your twiddling fingers in your lap. 

You had known Christen since college, and you had had a crush on her for almost as long. Years ago you had been poised to make your move when one Tobin Heath entered the picture. She had all but swept Christen off her feet, and you knew you didn’t have a chance with the girl. Why would she want the shy camera girl when she could have one of the best players in the league. 

“Yeah, cause she totally doesn’t stare at you as much as you stare at her,” Emily snorted, patting your back. 

“I don’t stare…” You grumbled, pouting. 

“Whatever you say,” Lindsey cackled, a plan beginning to form. 

*****

Christen was not brooding. So she happened to be sitting in a corner, sipping on her beer watching you laugh with someone near the counter across the room from under her eyelashes. But that was not glowering, or even remotely stalkerish. Okay, but who WAS that that you were talking to, and why were they making you laugh so hard you almost choked on your drink?

“Hey Chris, nice view?” Tobin said, sliding into the seat next to Christen. 

“Peachy,” Christen said sarcastically, not looking away from where you were standing. Apparently, that girl you were talking to was interested in cameras, as you were currently showing her yours. Bitch.

“Hm, then why are you glaring at the nice rookie who is buying Y/n drinks?” 

“She’s a lightweight. If Sophia Smith buys her another one of those Long Island Iceteas then Y/n won’t be able to drive home,” Christen grumbled, sipping her beer. If Kelley could get you drunk with three margaritas, they were definitely in for it with the 3 long islands you had consumed. If only the rookie knew what a stupid move it was. 

“So she’ll order an uber.” Tobin shrugged with a smirk. Christen balked at the notion. You were a handful when drunk, and she wasn’t going to leave you alone in the hands of some poor college students. 

“Uber has unethical business practices.” She dismissed Tobin’s suggestion easily. 

“Maybe one of the Riveters will offer to take her then. Are you really going to sit here and pretend this has nothing to do with the fact that you’re head over heels for our favorite photographer?”

Christen rolled her eyes. There was no way in hell she was going to let you get in the car with one of your fans. No matter how supportive they were. 

“Maybe.” She pouted, crossing her arms. 

Tobin rolled her eyes at the reaction. God the two of you moved slower than Sloths. If you kept going at this rate you would be 70 by the time you finally got together. “So are you going to sit here and pout, or are you going to go get your girl?” 

“What if she doesn’t want me?”

“Trust me, she does,” Tobin snorted. Your crush was pretty obvious to anyone with eyes, as was Christen’s on you. The team had bets about how long it would take the two of you to grow the balls to ask each other out (and who would do the asking). 

Christen held Tobin’s eyes for a second. Then she set her drink down on the table and walked over to where you were standing with Smith. You turned to look at her, your eyes taking a second to refocus before you recognized her. 

“PRESSIE!” You screeched, then ducked down and whispered “sorry, too loud.”

“How many of these have you had?” Christen said, casually taking the glass from your hand. 

“Just two- you know that two-drink Y/n has problems with volume control!” You said, laughing at your Brooklyn 99 reference as you stole your drink back and took a big swig. “Don’t worry, I’ll switch to water next.”

“Right. So are you having fun talking to Sophie?” Christen said, not sure how to start the conversation. 

“Oh, sophies nice! Like she’s so funny. She pretended to be interested in photography so I could talk about it since I didn’t know any of the television shows she was talking about. Apparently, I need to watch she-ra or something, but I just don’t have time. And I already promised to watch that thing with you. You know that period drama thing. And you’re nicer. And really pretty. And you give really good cuddles. Even if you always like the villain characters in movies best, like a weirdo.”

“Just because I said Tom Hiddleston was hot one time-”

“It’s Okay, Pressie. I acknowledge that you have a terrible taste in men, you bi disaster you, and that’s okay. I love you anyway. Boop” and with that, you tapped her on the nose. 

Christen rolled her eyes, “Okay, let’s get you home before you profess the rest of your love for the team,” 

“Hmm, don’t love the rest of the team. Just love you, even if you love Tobin more,” You sighed, leaning your head on her shoulder. 

Christen tensed. “What?” She asked. Her and Tobin were strictly friends, and anyone with eyes knew she was hung up on you. 

“I wanna date you, but you’re dating tobito. That makes me sad. She scooped you up before i could profess my undying love, ” You pouted, scrunching your eyebrows together. You meant to tell her after Standford beat North Carolina so many years ago, but they had lost and she had gone to congratulate Tobin. 

Christen shook her head. “I’m in love with you dumbass, not Tobin,” 

You sat up and blinked owlishly at her, suddenly more sober than you had been 20 seconds ago. “You are?”

She rolled her eyes at you, kissing your nose lightly. She wasn’t about to argue with you about who she was in love with while you were drunk off your ass. She would investigate more later, profess her love when you were both sober, and make up for all your lost time “Alright, i think you’ve had enough. Let’s get you home hot stuff,”

[dreamerhideout]

i love you so

summary: after recovering from a messy break-up with your high school sweetheart, you’d never expect to find happiness in someone who bumped into you on the subway. but that’s where jake sim comes in.

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, office!au

characters: jake x reader, mentions of ex-boyfriend!jay

warnings: partially proofread, but besides that, none

word count: 1946

a/n: this was supposed to be an entry for the “and then we met” @enhypenwriters writing event, but i think i lost the muse for this a bit too fast (plus, school swamped me again.) i literally wanted to base it off this song by the walters until it dawned on me that it was a heartbreak song :/ hence i made a few adjustments. i’m not quite sure if i’m fully satisfied with how this turned out, but i hope you still enjoy it~

more under the cut!

your heels clicked on the platform as you weaved your way through the crowd of people. it was a bustling monday morning, and waking up half an hour late was not how you expected to start your week. bingeing on this one political-drama show the night before began to feel like a regrettable choice, but there was no time to dwell on that when you see your train pulling up at the platform.

“oh damn, i’m so sorry.”

maybe it was because of how distracted you were from your surroundings that you hadn’t realized that someone bumped into you. as a result, you barely noticed that your coat had gotten stained from the coffee in their cup.

you gave them an apologetic smile, too rushed to get pissed. “no worries.” pausing for a second, you registered the culprit to be a man with a head of chocolate-brown hair and slightly frantic eyes before jogging towards the open subway cart door. once you got on the nearly-stuffed train, your eyes peered down towards your coat. sighing, you swiped at your coffee-stained coat with your finger; perhaps you’d be able to get it cleaned at the office later on if you weren’t getting your ear chewed off by your manager.

-

“we have a new employee joining us today.”

exiting the bathroom door with a slightly-scrubbed coat in hand, you heard your manager call out, then the chatter in the room subsiding. she was standing beside a man that you wouldn’t have vaguely remembered seeing before if it weren’t for the small smile he gave you.

“hi everyone, i’m jake sim. i’ll be working under the research department starting today. it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

you recognized that voice a little too well, then glancing at your dampened coat. who knew that the man you hastily bumped into this morning would be working at your office?

“jake will be occupying the desk next to (y/n)’s, and he’ll also be under my supervision as he’s still on trial for the next two weeks.” almost instantly, your manager turned towards you, who was still standing in front of the bathroom door.

“oh, yes,” you replied, eyes widening slightly. you went towards your cubicle and motioned to the empty desk beside you for jake to put his things, “over here.”

he walked over and placed a box filled with his belongings on top of the table, then unpacking. “well, i never thought i’d see you here,” he chuckled, “really sorry for what happened earlier, by the way.”

“eh, it’s no big deal.” you draped your coat over your chair for it to dry, “i managed to scrub off most of the stain, so it should be fine.”

“are you sure it isn’t ruined?” he turned to face you, slightly quirking an eyebrow.

you grinned in response, “positive."

jake had placed some stationery into a pencil holder before extending out a hand towards you. “i know i’ve introduced myself earlier.” he smiled rather awkwardly, “but for the sake of us being desk-mates, i’ll do it again. i’m jake.”

your hand met his for a quick shake, a knowing smile on your face. “(y/n). nice to meet you.”

-

if you were sure about one thing, it’d be that time flies by when you’re drowning in deadlines. the sun had already disappeared, yet you still sat hunched over your laptop, fingers typing away at a report due tomorrow assigned a few hours ago. you would have argued with your manager on the matter, but the glare she gave you as you were about to open your mouth was enough to make you shrink back into your seat.

out of habit, you grabbed your phone and unlocked it, expecting to see a message notification from jay, your boyfriend, who’d usually come to pick you up from work. when you didn’t receive one, however, it only dawned on you once again that you weren’t even with him anymore. he was the reason why your routine for the past few months had been working and binge-watching on repeat, with the occasional cry session if you were feeling really out of it. moving on after said breakup had been difficult, especially when it involved the very person who vowed to marry you on the day of your high school graduation.

“working overtime?”

you peered up from your head in your hands to see jake. he had pushed his chair back and was looking at you past the divider. it was way past office hours and you swore that you heard the last of your coworkers’ chatter out the door a few hours ago, but you must have been mistaken.

“yeah.” you gave him a grim smile, “some stupid report i was told to do today.”

“ouch,” he winced, closing his laptop. jake then studied your expression, picking up on how exhausted you looked. “tell you what.” he stood up and began slipping items into his backpack, “what if we went home together? maybe i could grab you something on the way back to make up for earlier.”

you looked up from your screen to see a cheeky smile on his lips. the offer did seem tempting, but you were ways away from actually completing the report. “oh that really isn’t necessary...” you threw him a small smile as you waved a hand rather dismissively, “i might be here for a long while, and i wouldn’t want to hold you back from going home.”

“i insist, (y/n).” jake zipped up his backpack after tossing in a file, “i wouldn’t mind waiting since i have nothing due tomorrow.” he then propped an elbow up on the divider, leaning on it as he carefully took note of the obvious strain on your eyes as well as how you had a slight pout on your lips when you were focused, “and besides... you kinda look like you could use some company.”

a small hum was heard from your mouth until you finally sighed in defeat; he definitely wasn’t wrong about company. “if you say so, then.” you stretched your arms, turning away from your screen, “maybe having you around will make me work faster?”

“how so?”

“you know how sometimes kids won’t work on their homework unless there’s an adult cowering over them like a hawk? yeah, that.” 

jake brought a hand to his mouth in an attempt to stifle a laugh, which ended in him snorting instead. you could feel a smile creep up your lips.

-

the trip home was the most fun you’ve had in months. it didn’t occur to you that jake would be such an avid chatterbox, but you were sorely mistaken. he always had a conversation topic up his sleeve, whether it was about daily adult struggles to his childhood back in australia. you also noticed how he absolutely could not shut up about his beloved dog, layla; it’s a wonder how he had an entire album filled with hundreds of her pictures on his phone. slowly but surely, you also began juggling the conversation; it was as if you had reverted to your bright, happy self pre-breakup. talking with him really felt like reuniting with a long-lost friend, and it was only a matter of minutes until you had reached your apartment's front door.

jake had wanted to use your bathroom for a bit, but it ended with you suggesting for him to stay for dinner which consisted of microwaved pizza and sweet tea. you placed the pizza on the coffee table in front of the tv, then starting up the series you were bingeing on the other night.

“is that designated survivor?” jake sat on your sofa before grabbing a slice of pizza from the plate.

“mhm,” you replied, mouth stuffed. swallowing first, you then replied to him, “the synopsis made me curious.”

your remark was met with silence as you saw jake’s gazed fixed intently upon the screen. it wouldn’t have occurred to you that you’d be having a coworker (who was insanely attractive, nonetheless) over for dinner, but it didn’t bother you at all when jake made offhand comments about the characters and scenes of the series. it also occurred to you quite late that you hadn’t gotten napkins out for the both of you.

“hold on, lemme grab something.” you stood up and went towards your cabinets in search for napkins. jake’s attention broke from the screen to follow your figure before his gaze momentarily landed on a photo frame by the side of your sofa. it was a picture of you and your ex-boyfriend, with his arm wrapped around you as you both smiled brightly for the camera.

“i didn’t know you had a boyfriend?” the man teased as he saw you walk back towards him, napkins in hand. your expression dropped when you realized that throughout the time you’ve been trying to mend your broken heart, you had forgotten to put away that photo.

“we broke up.”

guilt flashed across jake’s face as he realized he had overstepped. “oh wow, i’m sorry... i shouldn’t have brought that up.”

“it’s fine. i guess i must’ve forgotten to put that away.” you smiled at him and placed the napkins on the table before flipping the frame down. taking a seat, you sighed as you tried to focus on the show playing in front of you; you could feel bits of dread wallow in the bottom of your stomach.

there was a moment of awkward pause as neither of you knew what to say. just as you were about to ask jake to leave since you could feel dread clawing at your insides, he suddenly spoke up, “you’re... really strong, though.”

turning to face him, you stared at him quizzically, “really?”

“yeah.” jake could feel your eyes on him, “i mean, if it weren’t for me finding out, i would’ve never guessed that you were going through that.” he grabbed another piece of pizza before meeting your gaze, “you’re a great person, (y/n). i think you should know that. and if you’d need someone to talk to about him... although i don’t really know the guy, i’m all ears.”

the way he gave you a soft smile at the end made your heart slightly flutter. maybe it was because there was this very charming man consoling you on your last breakup, but it was more on the fact that you knew someone had your back in your times of healing. “thanks, jake.” you smiled back, feeling your heart lighten. “i appreciate it. a lot.”

jake felt his heart flip at the sight of your smile. it wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen you smile the entire day; it was a different kind as he could see some weight visibly lifted from you. you were pretty cute when you smiled, the way your eyes crinkled at the sides when you did, and he wondered how he hadn’t realized that sooner.

“uh... jake?” you waved a hand in front of his face to break him away from his stare. he quickly snapped out of his reverie, ears tinting a shade of pink.

“oh, yeah, sorry about that...” he murmured nervously, scratching the back of his head, “guess i got a bit distracted there?”

“i noticed.” you giggled in response, turning your attention back towards the tv. you saw how he stared at you after you spoke, eyes lost in a dream-like trance, and you felt your heart go fuzzy.

perhaps you were still healing, and you might need a little more time before jumping into something new. but rest assured, you knew that jake would be waiting on the other side no matter what.

[sunlightdances]

One Good Reason: (2/5) - Dean x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader Chapter Warnings: Anxious thoughts and feelings, but otherwise no major warnings. Series Summary: Dean never brings women back to the bunker. It figures the one time he breaks his own rule, the state issues a lockdown. Navigating the next month is an exercise in trust, patience, and falling in love. Author’s Note: More setup in this short chapter, but I promise there’s some action (*wiggles eyebrows*) coming soon! Stick with it, friends. Also: my new page divider is by the amazing @writeyourmindaway!

Series Masterlist / Complete Masterlist

You hang up with your boss, a little stunned by how quick he was to tell you to stay where you are. You haven’t really thought this through at all - you have to get your laptop, and figure out how you’re going to basically live with three strangers and manage not to get a potentially deadly virus. Easy.

Dean comes back after a while, freshly showered, and you do your best not to stare at the way his shirt sticks to his damp chest, or how sharp his jaw looks now that he’s shaved.

You’re still berating yourself for being so stupid. You hardly ever go home with people, especially strangers. But after a work conference where you were routinely talked over by your male counterparts, you needed a drink, and headed to the nearest bar, where you met Dean.

You were captivated by him right away. He was obviously attractive, but you think it’s his personality that really did you in - charming and funny, a little self-deprecating - and before you could tell yourself it was a bad idea, you were kissing him against the brick wall outside on the way to his car.

Why you didn’t just go back to your hotel, you have no clue.

And now this.

“Sounds like I’m going to take you up on your offer,” you say, “if it still stands.”

He’s surprised for a second, but covers it well. “Are you sure?”

“Well, I don’t really have any other options. I could fly home right now, but looking online, the lines at the airport and ticket prices to change my flight mean I’d be spending way more than I can afford.” You fiddle with your phone. “If this isn’t too weird, I think staying here would be the best option.” You suddenly feel a swell of anxiety at the entire situation.

Dean must pick up on your mood swing, because he reaches over, taking your hand, surprising you. “Hey, like I said earlier. Probably better you’re not alone, huh?” He gives your hand a squeeze before letting go, getting to his feet with renewed resolve. “Want a tour?”

.

The hallways are never-ending. You have to admit - the cool tile floors and walls and deep wood paneling everywhere is intricate, and you sort of can’t believe this place is real.

“We inherited this place from our grandfather,” Dean tells you, walking slow next to you. “He was-- eccentric.”

You snort. “No kidding.”

“Still - we weren’t going to turn it down.”

You look at Dean questioningly.

“Sam and I-- we were-- army brats.” He seems to stumble over the words, but you’ve known people who grew up like he and his brother, and they never liked to talk about it either. “We moved around a lot. When our Dad died, we just-- felt kind of lost. This place was our first chance to put down some roots.”

He shows you the large bathrooms and a few bedrooms, telling you that you should pick whatever one you like.

“We have to go for a grocery run, so we can stop by the hotel and get the rest of your stuff then.”

You notice he skips past a few doors on his way back to the kitchen, but you don’t ask, not wanting to be rude.

“Sure, that would be good.” You pause, “Uh, any chance you have gloves and a mask? Might want it at the store.”

He frowns. “Shit, you’re right.” He snaps his fingers when he remembers something, “I work on cars, I definitely have gloves and might have a mask or two.”

You both pause for a minute as the reality of the situation sets over you.

“Uh, Dean? Should we--” You stop, anxiety swelling again, “We’ve never met before yesterday, and I traveled here. Are you sure I should stay here? What if I’m sick? What if I give it to you, and you give it to your brother, and your friend--”

“Hey,” Dean’s voice is calm, soothing, as he bends his knees slightly so he can look you in the eye. “If you’re sick, then I’ve got it already. The best thing we can do is just hang out here and wait. Hopefully we’re both good, but we’ll figure it out either way, okay?”

You try to take a few deep breaths. “You’re right. Okay.”

“Come on, a few more places to see, and then we’ll go get your stuff.”

After a few more minutes, the two of you end up back in the kitchen where you started.

Sam is there, and sends you a reassuring smile. He’s scribbling on a piece of paper, and passes it over across the table. “Grocery list,” he says, “add whatever you want.” You start to protest, but he stops you. “You’re stuck here with us; it’s the least we can do.”

Embarrassingly, you feel tears well in your eyes. This is-- well, the situation and circumstances suck. But the way it’s playing out? These guys are being more welcoming to you than most of your friends would be.

You write a few things, not wanting to overstep, and slide it back to Sam.

“We’ll drop you back at the hotel and then we can pick you up after we get groceries. Sound good?” Dean asks, and you nod.

A half hour later, you’re waving at them as they drive into town towards the Kroger, and you head up to your hotel room. The cleaning crew is working overtime, apparently, and you’re grateful that you have a place to get your bearings for a few minutes.

In your room, you pack up whatever you had out of your suitcase and head into the bathroom to take a shower and get your toiletries. At the last minute, you swipe a few extra tiny shampoos and conditioners - you have no idea if Sam and Dean have anything for guests, and who knows if Amazon would even be able to find their place.

Dean texts you after another half hour saying that they’re coming to get you and wanting to know if you need help with your bags. You text him your room number and head over to open the door, leaving it propped open by your backpack.

A few minutes later, a soft knock on the open door alerts you to Dean, standing in the doorway, a soft smile on his face.

“Hey. Need a hand?”

You nod, suddenly unsure of what to say. You feel different now that you’re here, in a hotel room with him. All you can picture is what it would have been like if you had stayed here with him last night.

He clears his throat to get your attention, your gaze having slipped to the bed.

“Having second thoughts?”

Is it just you, or is his voice a little huskier as he looks at you? You remember his eyes being one of the big reasons you were attracted to him the night before. A deep olive green, you find yourself unable to look away now, wondering if he’s feeling even a fraction of what you’re feeling right now.

You jerk yourself out of your thoughts. “Uh-- no. No, let’s go. I’m all packed.” You’ve had your purse since the night before, so you stuff it in your backpack and haul it over your shoulder. Dean takes your larger suitcase, and then you’re following him out, down the stairs, and out to the parking lot where Sam is waiting.

You feel the heat of Dean’s hand at the small of your back, and you wonder if he even realizes he’s doing it.

Back home, the bunker, they affectionately call it, Dean reminds you where the bedrooms are and tells you to pick whichever one you like. You still feel a little awkward about doing it at all, but you choose a pretty bare bedroom and start unpacking the clothes you’ve got with you.

Sam finds you a while later. “Hey,” he says after knocking gently on the door to get your attention. “I just wanted to make sure you were getting settled okay.”

You smile, though you’re sure it’s a little awkward. “As well as I can be,” you shrug. “Thank you, again, for letting me stay. I would have gone crazy at the hotel.”

Sam opens his mouth to say something else, but he’s interrupted by Dean appearing in the doorway. The two seem to have a silent conversation before Sam gives you one more smile and then heads off down the hall.

“Have everything you need?” Dean asks.

You nod, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. Why was this so unbearably awkward? You’ve literally seen each other naked. Feeling heat rise to your cheeks, that’s suddenly all you can think about.

“I think I’m going to do some work - try to get things sorted. If that’s okay.”

Dean shifts his weight. “Of course-- I… don’t feel like you need to tiptoe around this place. Or me,” he adds, meeting your eyes.

“Thanks, Dean.”

Something shifts in the air between you, and you start to think that maybe this won’t be so terrible after all.

[euphoricspidey]

Too long without each other

(Tom Holland x reader)

Warnings: smut, masturbation, fluff

Word count: 1.7k

a/n: Heyy, this is my first fic i’ve written so please be gentle lol. I’m just really bored & had this idea so i just decided to share. And if you have any requests for me to write i’ll try my best and write it. (and ignore any typos that i didn’t catch if any lmao) Enjoy :)

But this obviously doesn’t stop you from missing him, missing his laugh, his smile, his perfect abs that have literally been crafted by gods. You missed the way he would snuggle up into you when he had just gotten back from long meetings. You miss his hair and his strong arms that would wrap around you.

You missed his touch. You missed the way his fingers would linger against your waist when you lazily made out on the couch. You missed the way his lips would scatter kisses all against your jaw and neck.

You get it, you just miss your perfect boyfriend.

You started getting touch-starved and you needed something to relieve all of the pent up frustration you have been feeling for the past three months.

At first, you were in the shower. Imagining Tom being there with you. You imagined him running his hands through your hair and massaging your scalp. You closed your eyes at the thought. You ran your hands down your body feeling every curve, just as Tom would. You started to play with your breasts that were wet with water and body wash, tweaking at your nipples and running your fingers over them which made a chill run down your spine. You reached down and let your fingers run through your clit. The sensation of that alone made you moan out. You continued to rub tight circles on your clit until you couldn’t take it anymore and had to dip your finger into your dripping cunt.

“ohhhh god,” you moaned as you pumped your finger faster and faster inside of you. You could feel your orgasm coming quick, your first orgasm in months. Pleasure hit you hard, you had to hold on to the shower wall to help steady you.

For the next couple of days you have been pleasuring yourself to help ease the constant need for touch, for release.

-

-

On Thursday night you were laying on yours and Tom’s shared bed, watching your favorite movie. It was your comfort movie, you could watch it for laughs, cries and it’s all around just a great movie. Nothing out of the ordinary happened, except for when you saw that your deeply missed boyfriend sent you a photo of him on set. You could see he was working on some sort of stunt scene for his movie, he was shirtless and sweaty and that was more than enough to make you feel a familiar ache in between your thigh.

You set your laptop aside on the nightstand as the movie you were watching became long forgotten. You looked at the picture again and you imagined Tom down between your legs, swiping his fingers through your folds.

You closed your eyes at the thought of Tom working his tongue inside of you, you moaned as you worked yourself through. You gathered your wetness on your fingers and dipped your two fingers inside you just as Tom would. You fingers are obviously not as long and thick as his but yours would get the job done.

You didn’t realize you were being loud and you tried to get yourself to the edge, you didn’t even hear the front door open.

-

-

Tom had been able to luckily finish shooting early, even though he loves work, he was glad he was able to go home and see you. All he wanted to do was lay in bed and watch movies with you all night. Of course he wanted to surprise you so to ensure his plan he decided to send you an old picture of him on set so you thought he wasn’t going to get home anytime soon, but at last that was not the case.

As Tom walked through the doors of his oh so missed home, he was expecting you to be in the living room with Tessa cuddled up on the couch, but he was met with an empty room. He headed to the bedroom and he was surprised to hear you moaning. At first he thought it was just his ears playing tricks on him, but when he walked up to the door, he heard it again. The precious sounds of you getting off. It was a mixture of swearing, panting and Tom’s name which made his cheeks flare red. Slightly turned on he opened the door and he saw a sight he knew he would never forget.

You were laying on your back in only your bra, eyes glued shut as your fingers were buried deep inside you pumping at a rapid pace. You were so lost in pleasure that you didn’t even notice Tom standing at the door watching you.

Darling?” Tom said as he tried to get you attention but you only moaned louder thinking your brain was imagining Tom next to you.

“Ugh, yes, Tom-” you moaned. Tom smirked as he saw the effect his voice alone had on you and in a second attempt he walked up to you and you could hear his footsteps so you shot your eyes open and saw Tom, standing with a hint of a smirk and a slight bulge in his sweats.

“Oh my god Tom! What are you doing here?” You shot up on your knees on the bed as Tom came and hugged you so tightly as if you were doing such a dirty activity moments prior.

“We finished shooting early, I missed you and had to come home to you as soon as possible.” You looked at Tom and kissed him for the first time in three months.

“I missed you too, so much,” you said in between kisses, Tom smiled as he slid his hands from your waist to your bare ass.

“I can see that.” he smirked as you blushed, completely forgetting that you weren’t wearing any bottoms. You continued to kiss as he started to lay you back down on the bed.

“I can’t believe I haven’t touched you in so long darling,” he whispered in your ear as he kissed down your neck. You moaned lowly at the action and you knew he heard it.

“I’ve been dying to get my hands back on you. I miss making you feel good, making you fall apart all because of me.” he said this while taking off your bra, leaving you completely naked under him. You closed your eyes as he started to suck at your breasts, leaving little marks that would be visible in the morning.

Tom please, I need you so bad,” you had your hands at the bottom of his shirt and helped him out of it. You looked at his chiseled torso and admired his body at the same time you were pulling down his sweats and briefs. He kicked off the offensive clothing as you started to stroke him. He moaned as he missed your touch. Being apart was not only hard on you, you both had your needs and Tom really needed this release.

Love, I need to be in you,” Tom grunted out as your hand continued to jerk him off. You let go of him so he could line up with your entrance. He rubbed his tip against your clit and it made your body jolt in shock. He kissed you as he started to push himself inside you. You both moaned together as he bottomed out. He needed to compose himself before continuing or he would’ve come then and there. Tom looked at you and nodded, signaling for him to move. He brought his hips out so just the tip was in you and didn’t push back inside until you whined. He slapped his hips to your and kept a steady pace that had you both going crazy. Your body felt like it was on fire as he continued to thrust in and out of you picking up the pace of his hips a bit more.

Love, you’re so tight, so good. God you feel so good, you always make me feel so good, my pretty girl.” Your moans got higher from hearing Tom praise you in your ear, his voice deep and clouded in lust and desperation. You could tell he was close.

Tom, I’m not gonna last much longer baby,” you said as you dug your nails in the skin of his shoulders, but he didn’t mind. You always felt bad after, thinking you might have hurt him. He always assures you he’s okay but that doesn’t stop you from leaving kisses everywhere you see a nail mark.

“I know pretty girl, I’m right behind you. Come for me darling- ugh, give it to me love.” Tom replied and the speed of his hips rapidly increased. All you could hear in the room was the sound of your skin smacking together and the moans of both of you.

Tom- oh Tommy, I’m gonna come, I-” and that’s all you could say as you felt deep pleasure rush through your entire body, your orgasm taking over making you breathless. Tom wasn’t wrong when he said he was behind you because he came right after you did.

Fuck darling, you so gorgeous, Fuck I’m gonna come-” and with that he came inside of you, filling you up and you both moaned loudly. Tom flopped down on top of you as you ran your hands through his hair in efforts to calm him down.

That was amazing,” you smiled when you heard him say this as his voice was also muffled by your hair. He picked up his head and looked at you with admiration, you looked back up at him.

“I love you so much Tom,” he smiled at you.

“ I love you more pretty girl,” you giggled in response. Tom rolled off of you and got up to clean you up and help you to the bathroom as you’ve both done many times.

After you both were all cleaned up, you crawled into bed with him and cuddled with his head resting above your breasts as Tom played with some of the stands of your hair.

“So, I’m guessing the photo I sent you got you all riled up huh?”

You rolled your eyes as you slightly shoved Tom and that made him laugh at you. He kissed your chest and soon both of you were falling asleep in each other's arms for the first time in what seemed like forever.

-

-

-

[matrixaffiliate]

Endeavor

New Story! FFN and AO3

Teddy Lupin just wants a job that is even remotely related to his shiny new marketing degree. But when Harry helps him find a job with Ron's bakery empire, Ted isn't prepared for his new coworker - the niece of the CEO - to change everything. A Tedoire Muggle AU. 

Starting another long one friends, because I have zero chill right now. I hope you enjoy it! The next chapter will go up on August 1. =)

Endeavor

Chapter 1

Teddy shook his head and shoved his phone back in his pocket.

"Everything alright, love?" His mum passed the potatoes to him.

"No, but I'll figure it out." Teddy took the potatoes before passing them to his dad.

"What was on your phone that has you upset?" His dad set down the bowl and then picked up his fork.

Teddy sighed, "Just another rejection email."

Teddy had been done with university for three months now and been applying for jobs for longer. But with no marketing experience, no one was taking a second look at him. He'd hoped to be able to quit the two jobs he'd been working through school by now and just have one job doing what he enjoyed.

His parents shared a long look and Teddy tried to ignore it.

"What if you put the word out that you're looking for something?" His dad asked. "You could send an email to everyone, your grandparents, James and Lily, Sirius and Marlene, Peter and Bridget, and Harry and Ginny know a lot of people too. Maybe reach out, see what anyone can point you towards."

Teddy looked down at his plate. He hated the idea of broadcasting to everyone what Teddy was hoping was just a run of bad luck. These people were his family and here he'd be coming to them showing how he couldn't even handle finding a job on his own.

"It's worth a try dear," his mum put a hand on his arm.

Teddy looked up at his mum, bubblegum pink hair freshly dyed. He realized he probably needed to touch up his hair. But his mum gave his arm a squeeze and Teddy nodded.

"Alright, I'll email them before I leave, let you two read through it and make sure it's good enough."

His mum leaned over and kissed his cheek, quickly catching his glass of water before she knocked it over. "You'll see, someone will have something that can help."

0o0o0o0o0o0

Teddy woke up the next morning to the sound of his roommate's 'morning music' playlist playing and sighed. He liked Kalil a lot, they'd ended up in this flat together when they were in their second year at university, and Teddy couldn't have asked for a better roommate. But did Kalil really have to play a music playlist for everything? Especially at half six in the morning?

Knowing he wouldn't be falling back asleep until he needed to be up at seven, Ted grabbed his phone and started swiping through the random notifications that had come in the night. He paused at a reply to his 'cry for help' email the night before.

It was from Harry.

Teddy opened it, trying not to hope for too much. His godfather had never failed him before, and Ted really didn't want it to start here.

Hey Ted,

Thought I'd let you know that Gin's brother is hiring at his place, and if you're interested, I'll take you there myself and put in the good word for you. Just let me know what works for you. Here's the link.

Take care,

Harry

Harry's response was the only one, and since Ted was up early anyway, he opened the link.

Ginny's brother Ron was hiring a new salesman, which isn't what Ted was hoping for. His degree was in marketing, not sales, and he didn't like tracking down customers, let alone schmoozing them into buying...industrial kitchen equipment apparently.

Ted closed the listing page and decided he might as well get an early start on his day.

However, Teddy's early start might have been a mistake. While stocking at his first job, one of the pallets he was moving bumped into a pallet stocked with glass bottles of imported maple syrup and broke at least a quarter of them. The cost would be coming out of his next paycheck, which meant most of his paycheck was gone. And he had to spend the majority of his shift cleaning up that mess.

From there he went to his servers' job and spent the night having every grumpy and unhappy person in England show up to simply sit and tell him what a horrible server he was. Ted made it home and collapsed on the sofa next to Kalil.

"Rough day then?" Kalil typed on his laptop.

"Brilliant," Ted huffed, "And yours?"

Kalil grinned over at him. "Got called for a second interview."

"That's fantastic," Ted forced himself to smile, "Really, mate, I'm happy for you."

"You'll get something, Lupin." Kalil shoved his shoulder, "Don't stress it."

Teddy willed his smile to stay in place and nodded. "Thanks, I'm going to go shower, stop smelling like low-grade Italian food."

Kalil nodded him on and went back to his computer. Ted moved to his room and pulled his phone out of his pocket. There was a text from his mum.

Mum: Did anyone respond to your email?

Teddy tossed his phone on his unmade bed. Was he being too picky? Wouldn't any job closer to marketing be an improvement over two jobs that he hated? At least a sales position would give him the "experience" that all these marketing positions he was applying for wanted. The worst that could happen is that he went from two lower-paying jobs that he dreaded to one job that paid a little more and maybe gave him some freedom to do something more than work day in and day out. Maybe he'd have time for a dating life.

Ted fell on his bed and grabbed his phone, opening the email from Harry.

What could it hurt?

Hey Harry,

Thx for getting back to me. Do you think tomorrow at half two would work? I get out of the warehouse at 2.

Ted

He texted his mum back that Harry was going to try and help him, and then he went to shower. When he got back to his room, now smelling less awful, he had a text from Harry.

Harry: I've confirmed with Ron. We're set for tomorrow at 2:30.

Teddy clicked on the address that Harry sent with his response and figured out how he wanted to get there from the warehouse. It would be close, but he'd probably make it in time.

Ted: Should I bring a resume or anything?

Teddy hit send and looked over at his cheap printer. He probably had enough ink in his printer to print one more, maybe.

Harry: Nah, just throw a copy on your phone so you can email it to him if he asks to see it.

Teddy looked over the copy he already had on his phone and decided it would have to be enough. He was exhausted and now he had a job interview tomorrow. He plugged in his phone and climbed into bed, Kalil's "chill playlist" playing quietly down the hall.

0o0o0o0o0o0

He didn't bring clothes to change into. Ted had meant to. He'd set them out so he'd remember. But Ted woke up late, and in his rush to make it to work on time, he'd forgotten to grab his button-up shirt and slacks and loafers. He'd be having this interview in his warehouse jumpsuit.

Brilliant.

"Ted!"

Teddy turned to find Harry waving him over to an open door.

"Hey, Harry," Ted smiled and embraced his godfather. "How are the kids?"

"Jamie and Al are causing trouble, and Lily gets a good laugh out of it all, so they're about the same."

Teddy grinned. "If I can get a job that doesn't require me working the dinner shift, I'll have to take them out for ice cream or something."

Harry opened the door wider and gestured Ted inside, "Let's see if we can't rid you of that dinner shift."

Teddy swallowed and stepped inside in the office building.

He'd met Ron a few times before. He knew that Ron had been at Harry and Ginny's wedding, but that was a long time ago and Ted had been four, or maybe he was five, he didn't remember. And Ron and his family had been at a few of the parties the Potters had hosted. But Teddy had never actually interacted with Ron more than to smile and say hello.

Now Teddy wished he'd taken more interest in his godmother's brother.

Ron stepped out of one of the offices and held out his hand.

"Ted! It's great to see you. I understand we might be able to help each other."

Ted smiled and shook his hand. "I'd like to hope so."

Harry clasped Ted on the shoulder. "Ted's looking to broaden his horizons."

"Come on in," Ron ushered them in.

Ted stepped in and took a look around. It was a small office, there wasn't a reception area, just two desks set up that faced the only, rather large, window, what looked like a supply closet on one end, and a bathroom on the other. There was also a small sink next to a fridge in the far-left corner, where a microwave sat on a card table and two folding chairs were tucked neatly against it.

Maybe this job wouldn't pay more than his current jobs…

"We're a small operation," Ron pulled a desk chair over to the card table and gestured to him and Harry to sit down in the folding chairs. "I don't know if you remember, Ted, but I own Bread & Butter, the cafe and bakery chain."

Ted nodded Ron on, but he honestly didn't remember that at all.

"And I realized a couple of years ago that a lot of the machines I was buying for our locations were expensive and subpar. So, I started looking for something better, and I finally worked with one of my favorite manufacturers to come up with something that worked the way I wanted it to. We saw an immediate improvement in our products at Bread & Butter and I arranged with the manufacturer to sell what we'd developed as the Bread & Butter line of industrial kitchen equipment."

"How is that going?" Teddy looked around again and Ron chuckled.

"It's going well, but it could be going better. I've been our main salesman, but I'm swamped with the bakery itself and coming up with new menu items and honestly, I'm not cut out for sales. I'm too attached to our line, and I need someone who can step in and take over sales. This little operation is simply a department of Bread & Butter but I've rented out this office space for it because we don't have space for it at the main bakery offices."

Teddy's mind started working very fast. "So, if I did well for you, there could be an opportunity to do more with Bread & Butter?"

"You mean like transfer to the marketing department?" Ron grinned, "Harry mentioned your degree is in marketing, but yes, I think that if I needed to expand or replace someone in marketing, I'd be more willing to move you over to the main building than hire someone new."

Teddy grinned back, "Alright, Ron, I think I'm interested.

The interview became a job training on the spot and Ted was almost ready to skive-off his dinner shift in exchange for spending more time working with Ron, but he needed to give his notice and he really should leave those jobs on good terms; they'd supported him through his years at university after all.

Ron clicked a few things on his phone as they finished up. "So, you'll be ready to start in one week then?"

Ted nodded, "Yeah, I'm only required to give the minimum with both of these jobs."

"Think you could stop by the main office in between your shifts this week and fill out the hiring forms?"

Teddy pulled out his phone to see his shift schedules. "Sure thing, boss."

"Great, I'll let you get to your dinner shift. And I'll let my niece know she can expect to have you here next week as well; she's off at a dental appointment this afternoon or you'd have met her today. She handles our website and coordinates deliveries." Ron stood up and shook Teddy's hand. "I'm looking forward to passing this all off to you."

Teddy laughed, "I'm looking forward to having just one job."

Harry followed him out of the building and hugged him. "Are you happy about this?"

"You know, I am," Ted felt a smile on his face. "This feels like the first step forward, you know? Thank you for setting this up for me. I keep forgetting that you never steer me wrong."

"You can take the kids out for ice cream or something to show your gratitude," Harry razzed him. "They miss you."

"The first paycheck I get from Ron will go to taking them out for some fun," Teddy promised.

"Good, now go serve people bad Italian food."

The dinner rush was intense, but after giving his notice, Teddy wasn't bothered by it in the slightest. There was finally a light at the end of the tunnel.

0o0o0o0o0o0

Teddy slung his backpack over his shoulder and stepped into the office building, his new job, maybe a career, lay just down the corridor.

He stood a little straighter and walked down to the door, inserting his key to unlock it, only to have it push open to the most gorgeous woman he'd ever seen. She had blonde hair pinned up off her shoulders, revealing her porcelain skin along her neck and face. Ted thought he was floored at her profile, but then she turned to smile at him and her blue eyes froze him in place; he forgot how to breathe.

"Hi, you must be Ted, I'm Vic. I guess we're sharing the office now."

Ted blinked. He couldn't seem to get his brain to function.

"Er, right, yeah, I'm Ted." He almost grimaced at his response. "It's nice to meet you."

"I got here early to clear up Uncle Ron's desk for you. He left a bunch of things that he thought you'd need but I promise you won't." She closed a word document before standing up and offering her hand.

Teddy remembered how to human and moved into the office, sliding his keys back into his pocket, and shook Vic's hand. Her skin was amazingly soft and Ted immediately wanted to pull her back when she released this hand.

"I like the color." She smiled up at him.

"The color…?" Ted blinked.

Vic laughed, "Your hair, I like the turquoise."

Teddy felt like an idiot. "Oh! Right, er, thanks, my mum has hers pink."

Could he be any lamer right now?

"Wow! My mum would never dye her hair, and she'd probably have a heart attack if I dyed mine." Vic laughed and sat down at her desk.

Teddy followed suit, realizing that he had no idea what to do.

"Uncle Ron is supposed to be here at half eight to help get you set up, then you'll spend the day handing off all our customers, and get back here hopefully in time to clock out at five."

"Do we have a time clock?" Teddy looked around. He'd had to stamp in and out at both his warehouse job and his server job, but he hadn't expected it here.

Vic laughed at him, "You're joking right?"

Ted hoped he wasn't blushing and tried to own it.

"Oh no, I expect an establishment as posh as this one to give me an antique time stamp machine for me to put my time card into every day before having me descend into the coal mines of selling industrial kitchen mixers."

Vic laughed before grabbing a piece of paper from her desk drawer and a black marker.

"Antique Posh Time Stamp Machine," she said as she wrote it out on the paper. "There," she held it up for him. "Where would you like it to be?"

Teddy grinned; this was going to be the best job in the world.

"Oh, it can only be at the far end of the office. It has to be as far away from where the actual work gets done as possible or it isn't posh at all."

Vic snagged a few thumbtacks from her drawer and moved to where the supply closet was in the back corner before pinning the sign up on the wall next to the door.

"How's that?"

Ted smiled. "It's perfect."

Vic smiled and looked down at her hands for a moment before moving back to her desk.

"Ted!"

Teddy turned to see Ron walking into the office.

"Morning, boss," Ted tried to ignore the part of him that resented Ron for barging in on what felt like something special between him and Vic. He'd known the woman for less than five minutes. He had to get a grip.

"Hi, Uncle Ron, I thought you weren't going to be here for another half-hour or so."

"I had my first meeting rescheduled, so I'm here to get a head start with Ted. Vicky, Ted is Harry's godson, you might have met at one of their parties."

"You know Harry?" Teddy turned to look at Vic.

She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Yeah, my dad is Aunt Ginny's oldest brother."

Ted blinked, she looked nothing like a Weasley. When Ron had said that his niece worked here, and then when Ted saw her, he assumed she must be a niece in the same way James, Sirius, and Peter were his Uncles.

"Well now that we know how we're all connected, Ted, I've got most of my clients ready to meet with us so I can pass them off to you this morning. Ready to go?" Ron spun his keys around his fingers.

Teddy looked back at Vic for a brief moment before nodding to Ron, "Let's get this show on the road."

Getting the clients handed off took the majority of the day, but Teddy loved it. Ron made a point of also taking Ted to the main office and introducing him to the teams there. Ted had learned about networking in several classes, but Ron showed him how it was really done. Everyone loved Ron, and Teddy honestly believed that Ron cared about everyone he introduced him to.

With how well the day had gone, as he walked back into his office building with Ron, Ted couldn't wait to see Vic again.

That is until Ron opened the door.

Vic was kissing another man.

"Vicky," Ron sighed, "please remember this is an office. I know you enjoy having Sean come pick you up, but HR would throw a fit if they knew you were snogging him on the clock."

Victoire blushed furiously and the man that stood next to her grinned. His black hair was cut short and he had his sunglasses on backward.

"Don't worry, Ron, I'm not scared of HR."

Ron raised an eyebrow at the man, "You should be, they can make me fire her."

Sean turned back to Vic, "I'll wait in the car."

He winked at Ron and Ted as he left.

Ted hated Sean.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Ron. I know we shouldn't have been kissing in here. He came to surprise me and I'd mentioned you were out showing Ted around and he took that to mean the rules were off." She trailed off and bit her lip.

"Vicky, I love you" Ron sighed, "but just, think about what your parents would say if you lost your job because of Sean."

Ted moved to his desk, not trusting himself to speak. Ron seemed to take the excuse to move on to a different topic when Ted powered on his laptop.

"I've emailed you the leads I was working on before I hired you, Ted."

"Oh, excellent," Ted nodded as he followed the log-in instructions IT had left him with his laptop and dock set up. "I'll start on them tomorrow then."

"Perfect, and if you ever need anything, just give me a call. I'm not here at the office with you, but I'm always here if you need my help with any of this. I'm looking forward to growing this division and I'd love to see you pioneer it."

Ted smiled at Ron and he leaned back in his desk chair. "Thanks, Ron, I hope I can do you proud here."

"I'm sure you will." Ron grinned at him before looking behind him at Vic. He sighed and motioned towards the door. "Victoire, can I talk to you out in the hall?"

Victoire nodded and began to follow Ron to the door. She paused before turning back around. She closed a word document on her computer and shut it down before grabbing her purse. She gave Ted a small smile.

"I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Right, tomorrow," her smile seemed to pull a smile out of him.

"Right," she bit her lip and then turned around to follow after Ron.

Teddy let out a long breath as the door closed behind Vic.

He was so screwed.

[kashimos-hajime]

immeasurable firsts | s.r.

Summary: All your firsts with Steve Rogers and all the heartbreak and happiness that comes with it.

A/N: For the writing challenge hosted by the fabulous @imhereforbvcky and the wonderful @justsomebucky. 

Dedicating this to @wxntersoldiers because I still have to write for her and I hope this’ll make up for how late I’m gonna submit it in! (I’ll get to it soon!!!!)

WARNINGS: Swearing, blood, violence, death, extreme angst but some happy stuff too.

Word Count: 11.6k Pairing: Steve Rogers x Stark-sister! Reader Prompt: The most ridiculous part of this whole situation is that I love you.

Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. Four easy words to describe Tony Stark.

You, on the other hand. Genius, billionaire, philanthropist all fit. Playboy? Perhaps. You prefer socialite. The paparazzi has always had their bite at you but that doesn’t mean that none of it is true.

You are Y/N Stark, younger sister of one Anthony Edward Stark, one certified pain in the ass, and one big brother. He was basically everything you had ever since your parents died. He raised you. He was your dad, and mom, and brother all at once, and you know that no one could’ve done it better. From what you know and what Tony tells you about your dad, you’re better off.

But your mom… you miss her every day.

On a full-ride to MIT just like him, you succeeded him in every way, graduating summa cum laude just like him, but while he did it when he was seventeen, you did it when you were eighteen. He always held that fact over you, but not after you mentioned that while he hacked into the Pentagon for a dare, you hacked into the Harry S. Truman building for fun. State department had a field day with that one.

As Stark Industries head of Research and Development, you occupy all of four floors and helped more than 12% to make Stark Towers the first building powered by self-sustainable clean energy, but you’d let your brother take all that credit if it meant your brother gets some with Pepper.

“Ma’am, Agent Coulson is on the line. Mr. Stark deferred him to you.” Swiping the holoscreen to close it, you look up from where you’re working on new schematics for your suit.

“Tony’s in.”

“Mr. Stark insists on refusing the call, and Agent Coulson insists on seeing him.”

Rolling your eyes, you pull up another holoscreen that linked you to the surveillance feed. Switching through the cameras, you swipe for Tony’s private elevator. You spot the agent standing outside the elevator, texting away on his phone and you turn on your mic with a smile.

“Hey, Phil,” you greet and the agent looked up, turning to the camera.

“Ms. Stark.” He gives you a little wave and you straighten up, putting your stylus away and turning off your tablet. Moving the surveillance feed to your phone, you walk to the couch you had in your office, sitting down and pulling your laptop on with you. Opening it up, you log in. “If you could ask your brother to pick up the phone, that’d be a great help.”

“You know Tony doesn’t listen to me.” Opening up the files Tony had sent you earlier, blueprints for Stark Tower and the grocery list for next week, you roll your eyes at the note at the end. ‘Pep said it’s my turn to do nothing for a whole week,’ it reads. Your fingers work away on your keyboard as you return your attention to Phil. “I’m going to disable J.A.R.V.I.S.’s protocols and give random people access to his private elevator because he’s annoyed me just now. You do whatever you want with that information.”

“Thank you. And you might need to join me, Ms. Stark.”

“Is it something important? Because my consulting hours don’t normally run this long. Also, I thought I said I didn’t want anymore S.H.I.E.L.D. assignments.” Tapping away on your keyboard, you have the elevator doors open and bypass the A.I.’s protocols.

“It’s urgent.”

“When do I ever care about that?” you retort. The call ends and you get up anyway, glaring at your phone. With a heavy sigh, you slip the device into your pocket before looking at the few holo screens you have open around the office. The levels of the reactor are stable, and you watch as they fluctuated, readjusting every once in a while.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., shut the place down. After I go see Tony, I’m heading home.”

“Of course, Ms. Stark.”

You live essentially next door to the tower, and it isn’t important for you to bring anything home, so you grab your keys and purse before leaving your office of glass doors and walls and windows. The lights turn off behind you as you jab the elevator button, ready to head up to say goodnight to Tony and see what Phil Coulson thought was so urgent.

.

The Avengers Initiative.

And they thought Tony was a good fit?

“Volatile, self-obsessed, don’t play well with others,” you recite as you read over the files in Tony’s penthouse on the top floor of Stark Towers. “If he wanted the better of the Starks, he would’ve chosen me,” you tease. Tony sighs, wiping a hand over his face and you frown. Sigh in that tone means frustration, exhaustion, and he’s feeling overwhelmed.

“What is it?” Looking to see what’s caught your brother’s attention, you swallow and get up, walking around the couch to touch the hologram of the thing that your father had found instead of a man. “The Tesseract,” you whisper, suddenly finding your mouth very dry. Blinking, you twist the hologram around before pulling back. Your father had been obsessed with the thing. Hell, he probably loved it more than he ever loved the two of you. Your brother’s pulled back, too, arms crossed as his dark gaze flickers over the other portfolios.

“Some crack team, huh,” he mutters but your eyes can’t tear away from the blue glowing cube. Your dad always talked about it — well, it and Captain America, who happened to be in one of the portfolios, but you can’t help the nagging feeling that the cube is better left in the ocean where no one can find it. After all, they wouldn’t have to drag your brother into this mess if it was.

“Tony,” you call out when your brother moves for the bar. He pulls up a bottle of scotch and silently asks if you want a drink. Shaking your head, you bite your lip and gather what nerves you have left to ask the question. “Should I be worried?”

There is no answer.

.

“Hey, how was it?” you ask when Tony returns to the Helicarrier. The suit decompresses and you smirk, arching a brow. “Get the bad guy?”

“Yeah, and a plus one. Oh, uh—” Tony turns to the other guys piling out of the Quinjet. The clanging of chains catch your attention as S.H.I.E.L.D. agents swarm the jet, escorting the prisoner out. Loki, you realize. Following him is a tall blond and an even taller blond, though the taller one follows after Loki. Thor. Had to be. Your brother gestures to the two— “the rest of the crack team. You talk to Banner, yet?”

“Not yet. They told me he was down in the lab, but I was working on my suit. I’ve a new set of schematics I wanna try out, if you have the time.”

“You only made a suit to copy me,” he teases and you nudge him playfully. “Yeah, sure. If we have time, after the world finishes it’s self-destruction, or whatever, we should take it out for a spin.”

“Thanks, Ant.” He sighs at the nickname but you squeeze his arm, watching him go. He needs to get that suit off, and you need to get that decryption implant on the motherboard. If Tony’s going into this, he isn’t going into it blind. Anyone who’s working with the Tesseract, especially an organization like S.H.I.E.L.D., wouldn’t use this for clean energy. And you’ve worked missions with them before. You know that eco-friendly energy is the last thing on their mind. Howard Stark may have wanted it for clean energy, but if an intergalactic war is being had…

You put a pin on that train of your thought as your gaze drifted back to the armory. The shorter blond nodded to you with a smile, and you put on a fresh face for Steve Rogers, World War Two Hero, actual soldier-type with a cute smile. Tilting your head, you walk up to him and stick out a hand. In your heels, you could’ve tried to be as tall as him but his presence adds two inches to his height.

“Captain Rogers, honor to meet you.”

“Steve,” he amends as he quirks an eyebrow. “And you are? Sorry, it’s been a whirlwind couple of days.”

“Y/N Stark,” you say, shaking his hand. He’s warm and his blue eyes fix on yours as you take in his features. He’s even cuter up close. “And no problem. Not everyone can spend their time as a Capsicle.”

“Your brother made the same joke,” Steve says as you begin to walk down the hall with him.

“He only got the chance because he met you first.” Heading down to the briefing room, you glance at him to find him staring back. Arching an eyebrow, you wait until he notices and a brilliant blush spreads across his cheeks, but you smirk, brushing the hair away from your face and leading him to the room where your brother is waiting.

.

After the Battle of New York — that’s what the news is calling it, you call it an inconvenience — the dust settled to reveal the true damage of it. There’s a lot of rebuilding to do, specifically the area around Stark Tower, which means a lot of money is needed to repair downtown New York. Of course, the best way to get the rich to donate money is a charity ball, and the fact that it’s able to be doubled as a celebration ball makes Tony absolutely gleeful. You, on the other hand, would rather be anywhere but here. The destruction caused in Stark Tower has given you nothing but a headache and whilst Tony and the Avengers had gone for shawarma, you’d suited up to begin lifting the rubble and seeing the true damage underneath the whole ‘saving the planet’. Which you can respect, by the way, but you didn’t want to test out the new suit by lifting up heavy concrete and wires.

Now, all you want to do head back, take an Advil, and sleep the day off. Whilst the Avengers had decided to steal the show, you never said a thing about how Tony literally flew into a fucking wormhole.

You still need to yell at him for that one. Maybe cry. And hug him. For a long time.

“You need to relax,” Tony mumble through his smile as the three of you gathered your bearings to get out of the limousine.

“You need to stop making us late,” you retort. “And wormhole, remember? You’re still in for it.”

He sends you a sheepish smile, his eyes pleading apology, but you ignore it, stepping out. Pepper holds onto Tony’s arm to get out, whilst you pick up the edges of your dress, a brilliant scarlet dress, with a slit up the side of your leg and elegantly pull yourself up.

Adjusting the gold cuff on your wrist, you grab your gold clutch and shade your eyes against the flashes. Tony and Pep are already walking through the paparazzi, up the stairs to the venue for the Avengers, the cameras snapping away. Used to it, you tuck your hair behind your ear to showcase your outfit. In scarlet and gold, you shine under the flashes.

“Ms. Stark!” one of the photographers call out and you pause, striking a small pose before continuing on. The tire screeches behind you signify another arrival and you turn with a small smile, wondering who it could be. The black car’s window slide down, revealing a star-struck Steve Rogers and he steps out, squinting against the flashing lights. Raising a hand in half a wave and half a means to block the light, the super-soldier’s gaze dart across the scene before landing on you. You extend your hand to him, smiling. He speed-walks over to you, grateful for a friendly face and he offers an arm for you to take, escorting you inside.

“I’m glad you got out safe,” you begin, tucking a curl behind you ear as he focuses on getting up to the stairs. You throw a wave to the crowd, before adding, “I was maybe a tiny bit worried about you. More so about Tony, but then I wonder why.” You pretend to tap your chin in curiosity and he chuckles.

“I’m flattered. And you’re beautiful,” he mumbles under his breath, cheeks red but you can’t tell if it’s because of you or the cameras. Smiling softly, you press your head against his shoulder for a moment before lifting it again to look at the soldier. “I dunno if anyone’s told you that yet.”

“No one that matters,” you tell him and you pause to kiss his cheek. His shy smile makes you smile wider, the endearing expression on his face causing warmth to spread through you. Cameras take snapshots of your moment and you internally sigh. There comes one of the cons of being a public figure. You have no doubt some stupid hashtag like #Rogerstark or, you don’t know, #Ironcaptain, will be trending on twitter by the night’s end. “And you look good, too. Real good.”

“Uh,” he chuckles, blushing and you laugh. “Thanks.”

“Overwhelmed, yet?” You climb the steps, using Steve’s hand to steady yourself before he opens the door for you. You hold his hand to bring him in and the pap calls after the two of you even when the door closes. If he’s gonna give the press content, you might as well have fun with it. Even if he doesn’t mean too — he’s just being the gentleman he is.

“A bit, yeah, but not by the cameras.”

You chew on the inside of your lip. You don’t know if you’re insulted or not. “By me?”

“In the best way. Gotta impress the most gorgeous woman in the room,” he promises and you hold him to that promise. “I’m sure the cameras will get worse, too. But you seem to be doing just fine,” he says and you chuckle. Patting his arm, you lead him, following the signs that say This Way or something of the variant.

“I grew up going to this kinda stuff. I’m used to it by now. But if you keep being you, the press is gonna eat you up.”

“How do you mean?”

“You’re a real gentleman, Rogers,” you sing. The foyer is filled with tons of guests, some drinking while others are eating some nuts or chips, and there’s an open door leading to the white carpet. Of course, they’re waiting for all the Avengers to go on first, and you can hear the anxious muttering of the paparazzi outside the room.

“I don’t see how that’s a bad thing.”

“Well, people like prying into other people’s lives,” you continue and he nods. His gaze darts across the room just as a server comes by with a tray of champagne. Disentangling your arm from Steve’s, you take two. “Steve, I’m just saying, the paps love to make speculations about Tony and I. Sometimes, it’s the only thing keeping them open, and a lot of people don’t like the attention, the stalkers, the fans.” Offering the champagne, you give him a forced smile. “A lot of people don’t wanna stay because of it.”

“What if I want to?”

“What?” You nearly let out a laugh but Steve looks totally serious as his gaze catches yours. They’re darker, more intense, but there’s still that sense of light to him. Like he’s having fun getting the shock out of you.

“I said, what if I wanted to stay? I’m an Avenger now. Might as well get used to it and I think we’re stuck with each other.”

You drain your champagne, blink, and then stare at him as if he’s grown a second head. “I have no illusions on being a celebrity, Y/N. I’ve had a few experiences of my own, and it may be a bit different from back then, but I know.”

“It’s a lot different, Steve.”

“Maybe not so much.” He takes your hand and the champagne, leading you to the side of the room where there are small high tables where people can stand and chat over food, and he places his full flute and your empty one on the tablecloth. “Y/N, I’m just saying, let the press eat it up. We know what we are.”

And what’s that? you wonder helplessly as he says that they should get to the carpet. Tony and Pepper have already started, and Steve visibly recoils. Looping your arm through his, you send him a reassuring smirk, if possible.

“You might have to squint, Cap,” you whisper nefariously and he sends you a roll of his eyes as you put on your celebrity face. It hides your inner turmoil well as you kill over Steve’s words. With the most handsome man in the room on your arm, you send smolder and smolder whilst the soldier tries to ease into his smiles. It’s easier once you get him laughing at your jokes, and it’s hard to imagine you’d ever dreaded going to the event at all.

.

To say you and Steve see each other over the next few years would be an understatement. Seeing as how you are in Washington occasionally, flying back and forth for work, the Triskelion is one of the few places you’d actually get excited to see once in a while. You’re actually in Washington when Steve’s called away on a mission. Sitwell’s called you in for an emergency consult. Well, he called Tony. You picked up the call. And what you came to was Nick Fury’s deathbed.

The image makes you shudder.

Suiting up, you propel yourself out of your Washington flat and fly towards the Triskelion. At night, Washington looks like any other city, breathtaking and alight with life. The Washington Monument’s glow casts its base in warm light as you fly over it, slowing down to admire your view and postpone going to the Triskelion. Ever since Steve knocked out the S.T.R.I.K.E. team in the elevator, you’ve been feeling like there had to be a reason.

Your reflection in the water is barely visible except for the glow of your repulsors, eyes, and arc reactor, and you float above it, the squirming feeling in your stomach ever growing.

Why do you have the feeling just like the one before the Battle of New York?

A number you don’t recognize calls you, but you pick up anyway, having A.N.A encrypt your location just in case as you fight off the feeling. Tony’s safe in New York — as safe as he can be fixing up the quarters for the Avengers who still drop by from time to time. Just one night of consultation, and then you’re back there with him, eating microwave dinners and working on new things.

“Hey, Y/N.”

“Steve? Where are you?” Shaking yourself, you continue on your way to the Triskelion just as his voice echoes in your ears again.

“Sam’s. And you need to listen to me.”

“Are you okay?” you ask despite yourself. You haven’t seen him since the hospital, and if you’re honest with yourself, you kinda miss him. Plus, he wasn’t looking too great when you’d left.

You hold his hand, stepping closer as he stares at Natasha’s back. The red-haired woman’s head is bowed to hide her tears and you look to Steve. His eyes stare back at you but he doesn’t truly see you as you wrap your other hand around his arm, resting your head against his shoulder. He squeezes your hand tighter. You simply close your eyes and press your cheek against his jacket as your fingers interlace. He looks down, and you raise your head to see what he’s looking at.

A silver USB lies in his hand and your eyebrows knit together when you look at the make. S.H.I.E.L.D. made. When he catches you staring, however, he shoves it back into your pocket. A silent question that he ignores lays within your eyes.

“I didn’t want to leave the hospital so soon, but consultation couldn’t wait on the pumping problem,” you continue, diving into the water surrounding the building as your suit readjusts the air pressure and you turn on your headlamps. The water before you filters out the moon as you dive deeper.

“It’s fine. I just wanted to check up with you.”

“Why? ‘Cause I’m heading underwater and the slightest malfunction of the suit could kill me?” you ask, initiating the lights in your repulsors. Steve lets out a sigh of a laugh quietly on the other end as you squint, making out the shape of the pipelines.

“You made that suit, Y/N. I know it won’t,” he replies, but he sounds tense and you make yourself redirect the conversation. Your HUD emits a gentle light as it does a preliminary scan on the pipelines.

“Thanks, Steve. So… where are you now? I mean, now that you’re on the run.”

“That’s what I’ve got to talk to you about.”

Pulling up, you frown. No leaks and the Stark Industry sustainable filter is running flawlessly. You’d installed it yourself, along with the other convertors along the lines. Turning off your mic, you raise your arm.

“A.N.A., can you run a scan? Sitwell said it was in this area, and I’m not sure if I’m being delusional.”

“Of course, Ms. Stark.” The repulsor gauntlet shoots out a grid of blue light, a bar of blue scanning the pipes as you work your way down the whole area. Resuming your call with Steve, you clear your throat.

“Sorry, Steve, what is it? Is it about why you gave Rumlow the black eye he deserves?” you joke.

“Y/N, S.H.I.E.L.D. has been compromised.” Your heart stops. Maybe you are delusional.

“What?”

“Whatever you do, don’t take another assignment from them. You need to leave D.C. now.”

“Steve, I—”

“There is an unknown object approaching your vector.” A.N.A.’s warning interrupts whatever you were going to say, and kick starts your wired brain. You twist around, all sources of light shutting off at once with a quiet whir. Letting yourself sink, you steady your breathing and turn on your night vision just as something explodes right next to you. It sends you tumbling, your head rattling in your suit as you spin in the water, trying to regain your sense of up and down.

“A.N.A., find the source!” Managing to stabilize yourself to a stop, you shake your head. Something’s trickling down your temple, and there’s a familiar ache in your arm that was closest to the blast. You still can’t hear well aside from the ringing and you strain to hear.

“Already on it.”

Y/N, what’s going on?” Steve asks but his voice crackles over the line and you wince, trying to ignore how grating it is on your ears as blue shapes are highlighted on your HUD. Submarines by the looks of it. S.H.I.E.L.D. warships armed with missiles, mines, and torpedos.

Fuck, really? In the Potomac? You have no time for questions like that, though, and with every second you waste sinking to the bottom, it’s another second feeling like the water’s going to seep into your suit and asphyxiate you. Another missile launches towards you and you swerve out of the way, letting it land in the riverbed.

“I was in Washington for a consultation on the Triskelion’s pump system,” you whisper. “Fucking great that they’re compromised now, huh?”

“Engaging boosters.” Your ankles lock together, you press your hands against your sides and look up as you propel yourself to the surface. You’re a great white beacon of light and heat now that you’ve given up all hope of defeating war subs in your mechanic armor. “Missiles fired. They’ve tracked your infrared signature, ma’am.”

“Y/N?” Steve’s voice cracks the comms again as moonbeams begin to break through. “What’s going?”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. subs are on me. Five. Shit!” A missile strikes your foot and you let out a yelp as the booster fails. Veering off, you try to get back on course. “Targeting system. They know all the weak points of this suit. Fuck! My booster’s down.” Swerving out of the way of another swarm of missiles, you run diagnostics on your failed repulsor node just as A.N.A. gives out another warning that another barrage is incoming. Your heart beats in your throat, blood dripping over and down your neck, and you try to unscramble your thoughts. S.H.I.E.L.D. is attacking you. S.H.I.E.L.D. is attacking you. Holy shit.

Tony’s going to be so pissed.

“Can you fire back?”

“It’s my repair suit. It’s not meant for battle. I didn’t think I’d get attacked by fucking S.H.I.E.L.D.!” The second barrage nearly gets you and you let out a breath of relief when they all whiz past, only for a bigger cruise missile to slam into your side. Infrared tech on a cruise missile with diamond nibs. These are war-grade, way above anyone’s pay-grade and slice through your suit like it’s soft cheese. It digs into you and you let out a terrified gasp.

It’s a small explosion, granted, but it no doubt shatters your ribs and blows something apart inside you. Ears ringing, you scream over the sound of A.N.A. giving you a status report on the suit, but over your own hoarse voice, you know that water’s surging into your suit, your ribs are shattered, and you’re probably going to die. A.N.A. quarantines the water, sealing you from the neck up as you frantically touch your wound. Your A.I. has already dispatched the emergency lock, your second skin of armor spanning over your abdomen and binding your insides together.

“Injuries?”

“Shattered ribs, multiple third-degree burns and massive internal damage.”

“Communications?” you wheeze, trying to breathe but your lungs struggle against the ribs that float around in your chest cavity as you clutch at the wound. A.N.A. had been as fast as she could, closing over the wound as soon as she detected it, but dirty, freezing river water still got in. It laps at your wounds, soothing the burns and washing through your insides simultaneously. Melting from the inside out, you suck in your scream and blink, trying to ignore the tears streaming down your face as you pray for the adrenaline to kick in.

“Offline. They’ve scrambled the frequency.”

“Unscramble it! We need to tell Steve he needs to get out of here and tell Tony what’s happening. I’ll focus on the staying alive part.” Although sobs tear at your throat and blackness dots your vision from the pain, you squint through your tears to look at the HUD. A list of systems that are offline continue to scroll down the side as the water begins to pick up, pulling and pushing you in all directions.

“Y-Y-Y/N? Can you read me? Hey!”

“Still alive, yet, Cap,” you manage to say, redirecting all energy to your one working foot. “Come on, come on.” Every movement is sending agony rushing down to your chest and it’s like the water pressure presses down into your chest. Even breathing is getting difficult as a knot forms between your lungs. Heaving for air, you begin to speed up to the surface. Water streams down the sides, bubbles popping and foam disappearing before your eyes. Suddenly, beeping begins out of left-field.

“They’re sending more cruise missiles, ma’am. Without your other repulsor node, you won’t be able to outfly them.”

“But I’m so fucking close!”

“It won’t matter, Ms. Stark. They’ve locked into your heat signature and this suit does not have the capability to lower or mask your in-suit heat output.” A.N.A.’s words make you blink and you let out a desperate sigh, your breathing coming ragged as the water closes in on you. Your vision blurs, and for a moment, your head dips forward before you snap open your eyes. “I’m sorry, Ms. Stark.” Your A.I. sounds so fucking crushed and she’s already grieving and you regret coding in emotions because you want to cry, and not because of the pain.

“It’s not your fault, A.N.A.”

Blinking, you try to calm yourself down but it’s all coming so close. Your helmet can’t protect you for long, you’re going to die, you’re going to die, you’re going to die—

“You’ll send a message to Tony? The message?” you ask and the world stops. The startling realization that you might truly die here in the Potomac slams into you and you nearly let out a scream at how fucking unfair it is. Ribbons of tears track down your face, and you compress yourself into a compact slip of armor, hoping it’ll give you that chance to outrun it, but you know that it won’t. You graduated from MIT, just like Tony. Your big brother Tony. You know the math. The beeping gets louder, gets faster.

A watery smile appears on your face, your lips trembling as it crumbles away and you openly sob. Your face is hot and you breathe in hot air, and you need to breathe. Oh, god, you’re gonna die of asphyxiation before you die of your injuries and everything’s closing in on you—

“Of course, Ms. Stark.” You take comfort in A.N.A.s voice and confirmation, trying to pull what’s left of you together.  “Thank you.” It’s just within reach, but the beeping in your ears tells you the missiles are closer. They’re hot on your trail and your faulty booster has no intention of coming back soon. Remembering your call, you swallow whatever tears you have left and ignore the ache in your throat. Everything hurts, but nothing so much as the pain one can get from knowing what they’re leaving behind. “Steve?” 

Crackling, and then a thick voice comes on and you know he’s crying too, “I’m here.”

Your eyes reflect the moon’s beams, and you can only see that beautiful full moon surrounded by so much darkness, and you wonder if this is what Tony saw up in that wormhole. The light at the end of a tunnel. You swallow, nod, and tell yourself that you can’t feel the pain anymore. The adrenaline in my body’s numbing it, you reason to yourself. I’ll die from my injuries before I can get to a hospital, so there’s no point in feeling it. The beeping becomes insistent, but you don’t look back. If you don’t look back, maybe they aren’t there.

“Ms. Stark…”

“It’s okay, A.N.A. You did your best.” Clenching your jaw, you try to make sure your next words can be made out. They need to count, you need him to hear you loud and clear, and he seems to sense this because he begins to whisper these nothings meant to make you feel better, or to stall you. You hope it’s to make to feel better. 

Because it works.

“Steve, when I die, tell Tony that… that I love him, and he deserves so many things in this world. Tell him, tell him he is the best brother I could’ve asked for, and—“

“Hey, Y/N. You’re gonna outfly those rockets. You’re the best damn pilot I know. So, stop talking like you’re gonna die.”

“Steve—“

“Y/N, it’s gonna be okay. It’ll be okay, doll, you’re gonna be just fine, and then you’ll come over to Sam’s, and we’ll be on the run together.” Steve’s voice cracks and it damn well near breaks you as the A.N.A. goes radio silent. The HUD turns off. She’s conserving energy. That can only mean one thing. “Won’t that be fun? Huh? We’ll be… what was it that was trending after the 2012 gala? That hashtag…”

You let out a noise that’s somewhere between a sob and a laugh as your eyes close. “#Ironcaptain and #Starogers were both trending,” you remind him. His voice is soft and hoarse, and exactly how you imagined him in the mornings. You’ll never get to fucking see him again. Fuck. Life. Fuck. You.

“That’s right, doll. You’re right. You’re so beautiful and smart. You’re tough as, uh, iron, and you’re always right.”

“Dork.”

“Yeah, I’m your dork, though. So, you’ve gotta make it. You’re perfect. That’s why you’ll make it, okay?” He’s in so much denial it pains you to the core and all you want to do is grab him in a hug and tell him that you’re going to die but it’ll be okay. But he’s on the other side of the city and he can’t save you this time. “That’s why I’m gonna see you again, and I’m gonna tell you so many things. So you’ve got to stay alive, alright? ‘Cause I needa tell you all about Camp Lehigh and Bucky and you’re supposed to be here with me ‘cause you’re one of my best friends and I need you, okay? It’s been like that since the beginning, Y/N. Before everything, before that gala, before we were friends. I was always the puppy trailing after you. So you can’t die.”

“Steve,” you choke out as you open your eyes again. You reach your uninjured arm for the surface. Your fingers are barely brushing the air and you can imagine the wind on your face. You might make it. “Steve, I’m scared to die.”

“You’re not gonna die, so there’s nothing to be scared of,” he tells you like it's a fact and not something that’s stopping you from turning off every repulsor node you have left. You’re so tired but your arm breaks free, and then your suit and then you’re soaring through the sky.

Flying through the air, you hear the whistle of wind and missile trail after you. You made it to the surface and for what? Here you’ll be, shot down like game anyway. Is that all live is? A game of hope and lies and deceit, just for some god out there?

If it is, when you die, you’ll tell them that you were never playing. You’ll tell whatever god who’s watching to go fuck themselves. Find someone else to play with.

“Steve,” you whisper, because you need to say it as many times as you can before you can’t anymore. “Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve.”

“I’m here. I’m right here waiting for you.”

You laugh into your next words, cheeks soaking with tears as you raise your eyes to the moon. “I’m glad that it’s you.” 

The missiles dig into your armor — legs, chest, arms in that order — and explode. You are a dying star, the last brilliant flash of light and beauty and the magnificence of the universe before you are extinguished. 

On the other side of Washington, Steve watches the orange cloud of fire and smoke consume the air around it hungrily as a lone figure drops into the water.

.

“Zola’s algorithm… is a program for choosing I.N.S.I.G.H.T.’s targets.”

“What targets?”

“You! A TV anchor in Cairo, the Undersecretary of Defense, a high school valedictorian in Iowa city.” Sitwell swallows visibly and Steve’s nails dig into his palms as he stares at the pathetic man. “Bruce Banner, Stephen Strange, anyone who's a threat to HYDRA! Now, or in the future. It’s why we killed Y/N Stark.” Blood drips down Steve’s fingers as he grabs Sitwell’s collar, hauling him to his feet.

“What did you say?”

“We… it was a confirmed hit.” Sitwell’s confession rings in Steve’s ears and he lifts him up higher, wanting him to choke.

“You say her name one more time, no one’s gonna stop you when you’re thrown off the building.” He lets the man drop to a pile on the ground. The blood from his palms mark where he’d grabbed the traitor and Steve resists the urge to kick him. Instead, he asks how Zola’s algorithm can predict the future whilst thinking of every way imaginable on how he can destroy H.Y.D.R.A., one agent at a time.

.

“Y/N wouldn’t want some priest,” Steve says, playing with Sam’s cellphone. He’d given it to him after what happened in Washington, but Steve’s never grabbed the strength to play the voicemail sent to the number not long after your last call together. The anger he had has sapped away until all that’s left is the space you used to fill with your laugh and smile. He never even got to tell you how he felt about you— “Maybe something quiet. Her stuff burned, something like that.”

“How the hell would you know what she wanted?” Tony whispers. His rage is simmering so close to the surface, so close to his breaking point, that Steve looks up. They’re gathered in the Avengers Tower, all of them for once, and Tony slams his hand on the table, head bowed. 

“Tony,” Bruce begins but he ignores him, pushing off the table and walking back towards the window of the penthouse, staring off to the skyline. “I’m sorry. You couldn’t have stopped it.”

“I could’ve. I could’ve told her not to go.”

“You couldn’t have known S.H.I.E.L.D. was compromised,” Natasha adds, although her eyes are red rimmed and there’s something croaky in her voice. Steve’s heard her cry. He knows. “None of us knew.” Tony whips around.

“You were supposed to protect her!” His words make Steve flinch more than the volume he screams it at. Steve’s blood rushes to his head in his shame, and a familiar bruise blooms in his throat. “I trusted you. You promised me you’d protect her.”

“I promised I’d try, Tony,” he whispers. “And I couldn’t. Neither could you. If you were in my position, you wouldn’t have made it in time.”

“I could’ve. I could’ve, with my suit. I could have saved her if I was in your position, because I would have had the suit!” Tipping over a wine glass and letting it smash to the floor, all but Tony flinch when he walks over the shards of broken glass. “You don’t have any idea what I could’ve done.” 

Steve falls silent. He turns on the phone screen, turns it off again, and flips it over to feel the edges where the screen protector has cracked.

“Tony,” Thor begins, speaking for the first time since he’s arrived. His dark blue eyes are storms on seas and the air around him blurs with energy. The air tastes like lightning. “Look at me.”

“I could’ve saved her,” Tony repeats.

“Look at me.” Dark eyes meet storm blue. “You could not have gone across the city, bring her out of the water, and take her to a hospital alive. Even if you did find her, she would have bled out or succumbed to her injuries.” His voice lowers as Tony’s head drops forward, tears racing down his nose and cheeks. “We all saw the suit.”

“Doesn’t mean she’s dead,” Tony whispers. He jolts himself out of Thor’s grasp and walks back to the window. “She could’ve made it out. Someone could’ve saved her.”

“Tony,” Natasha calls softly, “we need to—“

“‘We’,” the man repeats incredulously. He gives them all a sneer. Tony’s bitter smile could make hell freeze over and Steve pockets the phone, standing. “I’m sorry, there’s a ‘we’ in this situation? Who’s her brother here?”

“Tony, that isn’t fair—”

“There is no ‘we’. You all think she’s dead, but we never got a body. That’s what isn’t fair about this. You’re supposed to be her friends, her family, and you’ve just given up on her! She could still be out there. She could still be kicking and you’ve all given up on her!” Swiping a hand out to the window, he stares at them, waiting for them to agree. When they don’t, his head bows as his hands ball into fists. With a sigh, all the strength leaves him and Tony’s shoulders slump. When he looks up again, his eyes are shining wet, dark earth after a storm.

“Tony,” Steve says his name faintly, then clears his throat. Standing up, he waits for the response and gets none. He begins his way to the man who personifies all stages of grief. His throat bruised from holding in tears, he just calls his name again until Tony looks at him. “We got the suit.” Tony’s entire body crumples and he leans against the bar, eyes narrowing on the marble swirls. “She may have been your sister, but she wasn’t invincible.”

“Don’t talk about her like she’s dead!” Steve sees the swing before it makes contact and he ducks underneath, bringing Tony into a crushing hug. “She’s not dead. She’s my baby sister, she’s not dead.” Steve doesn’t say anything, but the man seems to wilt in his arms as another hand touches his shoulder. Bruce sends a tight-lipped smile before slipping between the two and hugging Tony tight. The blond pulls away.

“Thor, get the suit,” Steve whispers, turning to the god. He’s uncharacteristically quiet, nodding and uncrossing his arms to go retrieve the cargo they’d received a week ago. Maria Hill had it delivered in an unsuspecting box outside of Stark Towers, with a touch ID that only Tony Stark could bypass. Inside, the melted, burnt, broken remains of what is left of your mechanic suit. Half a gauntlet, blasted metal, shrapnel and bloodstains. That’s all they have left of you.

Tony takes out your helmet. There are ashy streaks where the explosion had damaged the metal, and there’s a huge crack up the left side of the mask until where the eye used to be. A hole is punched through, the wires poking out, and blood where something had dragged over your mask.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., connect A.N.A. to the servers.”

“Right away, sir.”

“Good morning, Mr. Stark.” A new voice echoes throughout the penthouse, a subdued female who sounds like she’s seen better days. Steve catches Tony’s weakening smile. “Is there anything you need?”

“You have the recording for… for her last day?” Bruce asks quietly.

“Mr. Stark?” A.N.A. seems to wait on Tony for confirmation and he nods.

“Go.”

The helmet lights up and Tony places it on the bar counter before heading down to the couch with the rest of them. Natasha rubs his arm, leaning on her other elbow and hiding her mouth behind a tight fist. Thor closes his eyes, listening as intently as he can. Bruce paces back and forth and Steve just waits on Tony.

When they reach your agony, your screams, your relentless sobbing for death as you sink into the Potomac, Tony tells A.N.A. to turn it off. There’ll be two funerals, they decide. The public memorial and one just for them.

.

“You dealt with my sister’s potty mouth and you yell at me about language?” Tony asks over the comms. Steve groans on the other end, and he’s surprised by how easily he can mention you. It doesn’t hurt as much. “I literally can’t get over it.”

“It just slipped out, Tony,” he replies.

“Well, I bumped into a forcefield, so I had a reason.” Tony’s senses are on high alert. The Enhanced is MIA and his eyes scan the area. 

“Keep your eyes on the prize, Tony. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we can head home and debate about it.”

Tony pushes on the secret door, letting out a silent ‘yay’ when it gives, sliding into motion.

“We have a second enhanced. Female. Do not engage.”

Walking down the staircase, Tony’s nerves shoot. Something about this place seems off. The staircase expands as he gets to the end, leading through a dark hallway lit by the occasional lamp that looks like it hasn’t had its oil changed since the 80’s. Grimacing, Tony continues on his way. It’s enough light to let him see ahead and if he needs the suit, it’s just seconds away. The hallway opens up to reveal a huge underground laboratory, and Tony’s eyes widen, gaze drifting up as he takes in the magnitude of this room. It’s a huge construct, with metal catwalks and staircases. A Leviathan is hoisted in the air by wires and he blinks.

“Guys, I got Strucker.”

“Yeah, I’ve got… something bigger.” There are benches full of forgotten projects or ones half-done. An Iron Legion robot lays on one of them, illuminated by pale yellow.

Shit. He wants to get out of here and back to the team, but it’s too late now and he has a job to do. His eyes drift over the robot again, seeing if he’d know what they needed it for. Experimentation? Curiosity?

Parts. He can see it in the delicate way it was taken apart, by someone who knows their way around this kind of stuff. This isn’t some ten year old who’d torn it apart for the sake of curiosity. No, this is surgery.

Tearing his eyes away, he turns to look at the triple row of benches under what looks to be operating room lights. Something gold and red glimmers underneath the light but he can’t risk getting unfocused.

The blue glow of Loki’s sceptre reminds him of why he’s here, and he goes to it. Electricity crackles around it, tools and half-made but quality gadgets used to stabilize it. There are monitors reading the levels it’s giving out, fluctuating as Tony steps closer.

“Thor, I got eyes on the prize.”

“Tony?” Turning around at the sound of a voice — the voice, your voice — Tony’s eyes widen as the Leviathan jerks into motion. Letting out a scream, he flinches away, his mind reeling back to that wormhole in 2012. Panic seizes him, his lungs constricting and his heart beating in time with the pulse in his head as he turns to watch it go, flying above the rock steps occupied by some bodies.

Bodies he recognizes.

Bruce’s Hulk body twitches as the last of his fight leaves him. Spears come out and go into him at all angles and he lets out a painful whimper. Natasha’s broken arms and legs stretch and twist in awkward angles as if she’d fallen to her death and every single bone in her is shattered. A pool of blood spreads beneath her head and her eyes stare sightlessly at him. The rock ledge is slick with red, flowing down in a tiny trickle towards Clint. For a moment, Tony thinks he’s alive, and he nearly calls out his name.

Then his head dips and lolls, and Tony knows. Thor’s neck is gashed to the bone, but his blood has dried and Tony’s breath catches in his throat. The few things that can kill Thor aren’t even possible on Earth, and Tony takes a step towards him just as his gaze drops. Steve Rogers lays there, bruised and battered with a shield snapped in half.

Half of him knows this is a vision but the other half is trying to rationalize it. Whatever is messing with his head: transmittable by air, powerful enough to warp his reality, and potent enough to capitalize on pre-existing emotions. Tony jots all this down in his mind as he desperately tries to pull himself out.

Not real, not real, not—

“You could have saved us.”

“Ant? Is it really you?” Spinning around, he comes face to face with you. You look more than a little worse for wear, and he touches your face, unbelieving. Searching your face, he just sighs and kisses your forehead. “Tony, oh my god.” Letting out something between a sob and a chuckle, he rubs your cheeks with his thumbs. Your hands cup his face and you cry out, hugging him tightly.

“Y/N, you’re okay.” He takes hold of you by the shoulders, taking in your features as his fingers brush over your cheekbones. 

“Hey, Tony,” you whisper. The skin peels away underneath your eye in the shape of the crack of your mask as he touches your face, peeling like wet tissue and he lets out a shout, pushing back. The flap of skin continues to fall, tearing away your face and blood flows down the gash as your eye closes. Scarlet tears flow your cheeks. “Tony, it’s me.”

“Y/N, no….” You reach for him still, trying to understand why and Tony can only back away. You’re dressed in tattered clothes, all bloody and burned — the clothes you died in and there’s a gaping hole where your abdomen should be.

“Tony?”

“It isn’t you.” The ugly pulsing burn on your side is black and white, your arm mangled beyond repair. “Stop…”

“Tony, what’s wrong?” You run to him when he trips over the steps of the rocks and you pull him up. Blood runs down your neck, drying dark and thick. Your eye opens again. With a pitch black pupil, only a green synthetic outline stares back at him.

“You’re not real!” Flinging your arms off, he stalks past you and searches for the sceptre. “You’re dead. I buried your empty casket.” He takes in his surroundings, his back to the pile of dead heroes. If he doesn’t acknowledge it, it’ll make his mind realize it isn’t real. If he finds the sceptre, he’s out of here. It’s the sceptre messing with his mind. That’s it. Find the sceptre.

You stumble after him but he ignores you too. His heart tears in half as he ignores it and tells himself that you’re dead. He forces himself to think of that cloudy day and that empty casket. They buried your suit and your favourite books for you to read in whatever afterlife. It’s been a year. You’re dead. 

A vibrating hum catches his attention and he freezes. Closing his eyes, he tries to hone in on the sound.

“Tony, please! Look at me...” A hand clutches at his shirt and he whips around, prepares to scream for his mind to shut up. The words die before he can speak. There the sceptre is, with the monitors and stabilizers and everything. No dead bodies, no blood on his hands. But the hand is still there. A sobbing pile is at his feet and a pale hand grasps his shirt, and his breath catches when the sobbing pile cries out his name. His stomach twisted, bile crawls up his throat when he sinks to his knees, collapsing before it. His hands shake and he feels his heart steadily climb towards the spectrum of beating so fast he isn’t sure he has a heart anymore. His blood mutes his frantic thoughts, and he, lightheaded and dizzy, pulls the hands off of him. They’re shaking but he isn’t sure if it’s him or… or you.

“Tony, please look at me. Tony? Tony, it’s not a vision, right? I’m, I’m not seeing things, again? Tony?” Your voice under your breath mutters these heartbreaking things that Tony lets out a breathless laugh of pain, and he tilts your chin up to see you. It can’t be you. You, with the exploded armour and bloodstains. You, who’d died by S.H.I.E.L.D. It can’t be you. A shaky hand reaches for your chin, and he feels the hot tears dripping off your skin as he angles your head to the light. Your eyes are wide and sunken compared to the rest of your face and your lips are dried and cracked. Your hands are calloused, dirty, your fingernails chipped, your skin raw and red and blistering. It can’t be you.

But it is.

“Yeah, Y/N, it’s me.” Your eyes widen and you stare at him as if you’ve just noticed him for the first time, and you let out a loud sob, covering your hand with your mouth as he lunges into you, holding you as tight as he can. You’re so real and warm and you’re hugging him back even harder if that’s even possible as he sniffs back his tears.

If this is a dream, Tony doesn’t want to wake up.

“Tony? Tony, you found me. I told them you would, but obviously they ignored it, because you’d never stop until you did.” Tony’s heart races back to the other end of the spectrum. The not-beating side. The side riddled with guilt and grief and pain that he thought he’d moved past but here, in your earnest view, it all comes rushing back. “They, they kept me here to work on the staff, but… you found me.” You bury your face in his neck and he kisses the spot before your ear, looking at the staff with wet eyes. Blinking, he lets the tears that fall, fall freely. “I thought I was dreaming when I heard your voice. It’s been so long. Tony.”

You break down into tears as you melt into his arms, slouching all over him. He holds you up in his embrace and your knees drag over the floor as you wrap your legs around him. He pulls back and sits on his bottom, holding you in his lap like he did when you were a kid after a nightmare. You latch onto him like a koala, and he sighs, eyes closing.

“I’ve got you, sis.” Running a hand over your hair, he realizes with a pang how thin you are. You’re all bones and not a lot of meat, and your spindly fingers are grasping onto him so hard that it hurts. But pain’s good. Means it’s more likely to be real. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you. We’re gonna get you outta here. I’ve got you.”

The comm links are active as Tony buries his face in your greasy hair. You smell awful, but underneath it, you smell like you. 

“Guys, we’ve got a plus one.”

.

“Hold my hand, Steve.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.” He nods, as if expecting your answer and you sit across from him. Reaching over, the man holds your hand across the conference room table. Tony situates himself in the corner, and you already know what’s coming. You just need to gauge Steve’s reaction when it’s presented. 

As images of every global instance of destruction flickers across the screen, you feel something within you twist harder. Washington, D.C. Steve’s grip intensifies, nearly crushing your hand until you give him a gentle squeeze in reminder.

You open the first page of the Sokovia Accords. His thumb traces soothing circles over your skin while you flip through the pages. Your cybernetic eye scans each one, gleaning the important info for you to review later before you hand it off. 

Since your return to civilization, you’ve updated and replaced the tech H.Y.D.R.A. used to keep you alive and functioning with improvements that are far more befitting of you. For one thing, your cybernetic eye they used to replace the one they gouged out has a link to the earpiece, allowing you near 24/7 access to A.N.A. For another, you’ve improved mesh camouflage. After all, the scarring around your metal abdomen is kinda unsightly for undercover operations. 

Still, this isn’t how you wanted to go back into the Avengers. After Tony’s BARF showcase at MIT and the announcement of the September Foundation Grant, you had felt the shift in Tony’s energy. From generous and giving, to guilty and heartbroken, you knew something had happened when he went to the bathroom. Still, he probably didn’t want to talk about it.

So you took the jet back to New York for an emergency Security Council meeting with Secretary Thaddeus Ross. 

Tony watches as you hand the Accords to Steve. Sam refuses to look at it, and Steve only lifts the cover to humour you. You know him. 

When Secretary Ross leaves, the rest of the Avengers follow suit soon after, but not before your brother kisses your hair and rubs your head. They all head out to see the Secretary off and then meet in one of the many lounges in the facility. All of them except Steve.

Steve pulls his hand back to open the thick book, and you swivel the chair to face him fully. He reads the first page and you watch as his expression tightens, lips pressed together, eyebrows furrowed.

“Steve,” you whisper and he looks up at you. Instantly, everything relaxes. His shoulders slide down and he even manages a small smile.

“I don’t like it so far,” he tells you. “Sacrificing our right to choose is too dangerous.” He lifts the Accords half way, scans the pages, and then lets it drop again. He rubs his hand over his face, looking older and tired.

“Well, we can set up safeguards, can’t we? Once all the publicity dies down.” You reach for his hand, and he takes hold of it again. The warmth of him soothes your nerves and he instantly begins rubbing your knuckles. Habit, you suppose.

“But what if this panel doesn’t send us where we need to go? What if they send us where we aren’t needed? Y/N, we can’t be run by some panel who doesn’t even know us.”

“I know. You know I know what happens when corruption begins to spread. I’m sure we’ll be able to have some say over this.”

“Agendas change.”

“And what if our agendas change, too?” you ask quietly. Steve’s head snaps up and you lean forward, squeezing his palm. “I’m not saying you or Tony. I know you try your best. I’m saying when we’re all gone, what happens if the Avengers are run by people who don’t have the same ideals?”

“That’s a far off possibility.”

“But it’s still a possibility.” You stand, smoothing your hands over your pants and adjusting your vest. You realize somewhere that you’re dressed exactly like your brother, but you ignore it. The two of you can’t help but be fashion icons. Walking around the table, you sit on the surface next to his hand. “I don’t like it either, so I’m not going to sign.” Not yet. “But, Tony wants to. So we’re gonna have to talk it over with the team.”

Steve leans back into his chair to look at you. “I can’t sign this, Y/N.”

“I know.” You pull him up to his feet and smile as he brushes hair away from your face. “I know, baby.” You pull him into a hug and he sighs, nuzzling into your neck. Pulling back, he sighs again and brushes his thumb over your lips as his gaze searches your face. He takes you in like he’ll never see you beside him again and you do the same, just trying to burn his face into your memory. 

“These Accords might ruin us.”

“Not if you don’t let it.”

“Tony wants to sign.” Steve lets his head drop and the hands you have on your shoulders press down. Your thumbs dig circles into his muscles.

“Not if we convince him not to.” You send him a smile and he cups your face. “We’re really lucky, Steve. Really lucky. We got a second chance. This past year has been hell for the both of us, but we got our chance.”

“At what cost is it to keep us together? I can’t just pretend I agree with this. If I see a situation pointed south, I can’t just ignore it.”

“I know, baby. Tony knows it too.” Your hands run down his chest and your fingers tangle together. “This is our family. Just, remember that.”

“I know.” Leaning over, he kisses your cheek, although you yearn for it somewhere else, and pulls away to go to the lounge with the Accords. You sit there on the table, alone, watching him go, with that feeling in your heart just like the one in 2012.

Just like the one in Washington.

.

“Take one more step, and I’ll be sending your brains to Wilson.”

Steve freezes. The words, tossed so poisonously against his back, make him stop and he swallows through his bruised throat. He doesn’t want to look at you. He can’t look at you after what he’d done. Rhodey shattered, Tony somewhere trying to fix the mess he made. But he couldn’t regret choosing Bucky. Still, he just wanted to make sure you were okay but you’d woken up and grabbed your gun as quick as you could, standing despite the ringing that must’ve been going on in your head.

“You don’t walk away when I’m talking to you, Captain.” 

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Without the shield, he almost feels naked under your piercing glare. He knows that if looks could kill, it wouldn’t have mattered if he had vibranium between you two. “You know what you mean to me.” The gun cocks and he hears the safety switch off. Your finger rests over the trigger.

“Secretary Ross charged me with finding you. Tony asked me to bring you in peacefully,” you whispers. Your unsaid words hang in the air instead. Not more than Bucky. Never more than Bucky. Bucky who killed my parents.

Bucky who didn’t know what he was doing.

But he killed them.

And Steve knew.

After Secretary Ross assigned you with bringing back the fugitives, you’d refused at first. 

“I don’t work for organizations like yours,” you said.

“Y/N, if you don’t go, we don’t know how many people will get hurt when they get in his way,” Tony said. 

“I’m only going for you,” you said.

You knew Steve wouldn’t let his team rot on the Raft for so long. It was only a matter of time before he came to rescue them, and that was where you came in. You know his mind, and it almost kills you, knowing that in every circumstance, he would’ve always chosen Bucky over you. 

Steve was always the better hand-to-hand combatant between the two of you, but Natasha had taught you some new moves before she’d gone and disappeared without a trace, too. You had him pinned underneath you, and a part of you knows that he’d only let you win because he didn’t want to hurt you. Before, it used to be funny. You used to spar, and you’d pin him down, or he’d scoop you up in a hug. Before, it used to be fun and flirty, and you two would make smoothies after. At least, before everything that had happened.

No such kindness is in you now.

It wasn’t in Sam either. The man had knocked you out with a fire extinguisher, leading to their escape.

Until now.

Steve had dragged you to the little skipper he’d used to sneak onto the Raft, scared out of his mind for the concussion you now sported. But it didn’t matter. Despite the dots nearly blacking out your vision, you know if you pull, it’d hit Steve and come out between the eyes.

“Rhodey’s paralyzed,” you grit out, your jaw clenched so hard you’re sure your teeth will break, “because of you. How could you do this to him? To Tony? Especially after what happened last year? Tony… Tony’s heartbroken. You know that? He’s heartbroken.”

So are you. Steve knows how to read between your lines, even if some of ‘em are metal instead of flesh.

“Then, are you gonna do it?” Steve asks quietly. Golden light streams into the dark room, illuminating his broad shoulders and sifting through his hair, and you wonder if everyone else is asleep. That’s the only reason you can think of that’ll make him see you now. He’s always held these secrets. It’s a fucking shame you’re one of them.

It’s a fucking shame he hid the most important one from you. It almost makes you wonder if he ever felt anything for you at all. Life has been shitting on you.

Squinting your eyes, you try to ignore the blossoming pain in your head as you shake your thoughts away. He doesn’t even look at you. Coward.

“I want to,” you tell him, finger just barely pushing the trigger. You know how much pressure it takes to fire a gun “I really, really want to.” You half-laugh, half-cry, because of the pain in your heart and head. Who’s the coward now? “I didn’t know what to do.”

“I know.” Steve turns to you then, his normally-bright blue eyes hooded by the shadows of the rocking ship. You put the gun down, and it’s almost as if all the strength leaves you then, too. “I never wanted you to pick between Tony and I.”

“Why, because I’d pick Tony?” You sit back down on your bed again, and Steve shoves his hands in his pockets. Walking over, he angles his head to the spot beside you and you nod, reaching over to turn on the lamp. “Well, you’d pick Bucky so, I guess it’s even.”

“Y/N,” he begins but you hold up a hand as your eyes close. 

“Save it, Rogers. It doesn’t matter.” Your teeth clench together and the muscles in your jaw twitches as your eyebrows push down. All you’re trying to do is not cry at the thought of leaving him here on this ship. Taking a shaky breath, you blow it out as Steve puts a hand on yours. Your fingers slot together and you lean towards him until your head is on your shoulder. He tilts his head to press his cheek into your hair and your fingers play together as your other hand brushes over his calloused skin, broken along his knuckles where he’d punch your brother. “None of it matters.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. Something wet slides into your hair and you feel it drip down your skin. Placing your hand atop his, you swallow and tell yourself to get it together.

“The most ridiculous part of this whole situation is that I love you,” you tell him because there might never be a chance to tell him again. “Your best friend killed my parents. You beat up my brother and he’s back in New York, bruised and battered and heartbroken, and I’m here.” You raise your head and he turns to look at you. Searching his eyes, you find nothing but grief. He pulls away his hand. “I’m here, instead of there with him.” You laugh because it’s all so stupid and ridiculous. “I’m really here, fraternizing with the enemy.”

This is never how you imagined you would tell Steve you loved him. Never. The first time you tell him you love him is the day it’s over. Fucking poetic, isn’t it. 

“I’m fraternizing with the enemy,” you repeat. Steve’s your enemy. Steve. Your stupid dork is now the enemy of 117 countries and you. The realization slams into you like things you can’t name. Your eyes flicker close and a few tears slip out but you manage to suck the rest in. Steve lets out an exhausted sigh and it feels like you’re both bone-tired this days.

“Y/N, I never wanted this for you. I just wanted to keep you safe.” His hand rises up to touch your face but then he seems to think better of it and lets it drop again. You miss the warm, rough feel of him already and he’s not even gone yet. “If the U.N. did what H.Y.D.R.A. did—”

“I know. I…” You sigh, looking down at the slight space between the two of you. How easy it would be to close it if it were a different time. “It was never a choice between you and Tony. It was a choice between Tony and what I believed in, and I believe in you, Steve. I believe that organizations like S.H.I.E.L.D., like the World Security Council, like some U.N. security panel, can’t be trusted.”

“Then, why? You know what organizations can do. You know that agendas change.”

“We’ve already lost so much. We’ve had too many casualties.” You cup his face, smile bitterly, try to make a joke out of it that you know won’t land. “I was one of them.”

“You can’t say that,” Steve says, turning his face away and you swallow the knot in your throat. 

“Why not? It’s true.” The most horrible thing you’ve ever seen lays within Steve’s eyes in that moment but you move on. “The Accords are still gonna pass whether you’re there or not. It’s a matter of safety, now,” you whisper and his gaze darts to you. His eyes ask a silent question and you dread the answer. “I’m gonna sign. I need to do my job, Steve, even if it means working for some higher power. There’s no other way.”

“So you’ve picked a side.” The distance between you is immeasurably wide, and you wonder how such a huge distance can be fit in such a tiny space.

“Yeah,” you whisper, “I’ve picked a side.” Steve’s face twitches and you take in his sculpted lips and cheeks, his blue eyes that reflect the lamplight and warm golden hair. “Steve, all that matters is we know what we are.” 2012 feels so long ago but it makes you feel younger when Steve tries to smile. Then, he looks down and you have a feeling he can’t even look at you.

At first, you think it’s because you disgust him. It’s not the first time you’ve thought such a thing, but then you realize. He’s terrified of watching you fall out of love with him.

How much you want to tell him that it isn’t possible. But you don’t. You can’t say a thing.

“But you’ve chosen a side,” he replies quietly, almost accusatory if you didn’t know him better. You close your eyes for a moment at his words, and then you turn away. The light is blinding in the hallway, but it’s better than looking at the heartache in Steve’s face. Tears slip down your cheeks as you stand and take the gun.

“You chose yours first.”

Tags: @teawithbucky @jcc04220 @shenala​ @dulharpa

[orihara-infobroker]

Seclusion Day Fifteen

Izaya yawned sleepily as he walked into the kitchen, a pair of loose fitting boxers sitting low on his hips. He pulled a travel mug out of the cupboard and poured freshly brewed coffee into it. "I don't see why it has to be so early."

Shiki donned his white suit jacket for the first time in two weeks. He stepped behind Izaya, sliding a hand down to give the raven's barely clad ass a squeeze. "First of all, it's not that early, you've just gotten used to sleeping in." He kissed the line of Izaya's neck as the raven leaned into him. "Secondly, we set the meeting up early because meeting in the evening on empty streets because all the bars and restaurants are closed is asking for police attention."

"Mmm," Izaya replied, turning his head to the side to steal a kiss. Shiki graced the raven with a lingering series of kisses. 

"If you're going for a morning quickie, could you not block the coffee maker?" Akabayashi asked with a smirk as he reached around Shiki to claim the tumbler Izaya had filled. 

"Hey!" Izaya broke the kiss to give Akabayashi an indignant look. "That was for Haruya."

"Which he had plenty of time to claim but decided to fondle you instead." Akabayashi retorted then took a sip. 

Shiki reached up to grab another tumbler, pressing Izaya against the counter as he did. "Try to behave while I'm gone." He murmured as he poured the coffee. 

"Yes, sir," Izaya chirped with a mock-innocent smile. Shiki gave his ass one more firm squeeze then collected his coffee and headed off to the meeting. Apparently certain aspects of smuggling needed to be done in person and no silly pandemic was going to get in the way of very lucrative and highly illegal business deals.

Left to his own devices, alone for the first time in two weeks, the first thing he did was take a long, hot bath. He sat in the not-nearly-large-enough-for-his-taste bathtub, reading a paperback until the water grew cold. It was something he hadn’t indulged in since invading Shiki’s apartment, being more conscientious of the shared space but also content to do his reading curled up in Shiki’s lap. He had to admit, as he climbed out of the bath and began to dry himself off, that while the circumstances were hardly ideal, he was enjoying staying with Shiki. 

Though he did miss his windows. And much larger bathroom. But convincing Shiki to come stay with him during the quarantine would have been nigh-impossible. Easier to invade his space, though with Akabayashi now visiting more often than not, the apartment was definitely feeling a bit too small. He pursed his lips thoughtfully as he blow-dried his hair, contemplating the redhead. They had invited him over out of concern and Izaya had been relatively good about not bickering with Akabayashi like he usually would. Not that they didn’t bicker, of course, but it was less sharp, a friendlier kind of teasing. He was surprised to find that the redhead wasn’t terrible company when they weren’t actively trying to annoy each other. Akabayashi had always been interesting in that odd way that Izaya ranked the people around him, but now he was beginning to think he might actually like the man.

 What an awful thought. Izaya chastised himself. Lockdown must be getting to me. I miss people-watching.

He got dressed in a pair of loose-fitting harem pants and a too-large t-shirt clearly swiped from Shiki’s dresser, settling on the couch with his laptop to do some work. Quarantine hadn’t really stopped clients from sending him requests but many of them were simply not possible within the confines of the lockdown rules. If he had been stuck alone in his apartment, he probably would have taken some of the jobs out of sheer boredom but staying with Shiki meant he couldn’t risk it. He sorted through the job requests, content to accept the ones he could do, the lure of entertainment not yet strong enough to sacrifice being able to spend time with Shiki. Besides, he thought, there are no people to watch right now.

Shiki returned from the meeting in the early afternoon. Izaya watched him cross the apartment with appreciation. Shiki arched a brow at him. “What? Can’t I appreciate my well-dressed partner?You haven’t worn a suit in two weeks.” He defended with a grin as Shiki shrugged off the suit jacket and laid it over the back of a chair. 

“I didn’t realize your kinks include suits,” Shiki teased as he moved to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of whiskey then take a seat in the chair.

Izaya smirked. “Not suits. You in a suit. There’s something very ‘please fuck me daddy’ about you in a suit.”

Shiki snorted, taking a sip of his drink as he gazed at Izaya. “Care to rephrase that?”

Izaya closed his laptop and placed it on the coffee table, smirking at Shiki. “Please fuck me daddy…” He repeated in a breathy voice.

“Not if you’re going to ask like that.” 

Izaya pouted playfully, sauntering over to Shiki and straddling his lap. “Please, Haruya?” He purred and Shiki smirked.

“Maybe later, brat.”

Izaya grinned, reaching up to undo Shiki’s tie. “How did your super important meeting go?”

“Smoothly. It’s strange to see Tokyo so quiet.” 

“Mmm.” Izaya agreed, sliding the tie off and draping it around his own neck. “The last time I went to the store, it was unnerving. Barely any traffic or people. Not even any students wandering around. Did Akabaka go home?”

“Yeah. He wanted to change.”

“He’s not as annoying as I expected him to be.”

Shiki gave him an amused look. “Amazing what you can learn about a person when you’re not trying to antagonize them.”

Izaya wrinkled his nose. “He was just as antagonistic. Do you think this helped him?”

“Yes, I would definitely say so. I’d say his opinion of you has changed too.” 

Izaya grinned. “Of course. I’m amazing. Who wouldn’t like me?” He joked. “What about your opinion of him? You’ve always been suspicious of him.”

“Suspicious of his motives.” Shiki corrected. “And I still am, as far as business is concerned.” He paused contemplatively. “On a personal level, I don’t mind him.”

Izaya chuckled. “You don’t mind him? What a glowing endorsement.”

Shiki smiled. “As glowing as yours was. I know where you’re going with this.”

“And?”

“And I think it’s a bad idea.”

“But I’m curious. It could be fun.”

“I’m sure it will be. Then what?”

“Then we talk about it with him. You can’t tell me you aren’t interested.”

Shiki studied Izaya for a long moment then nodded. “Fine, we can talk to him.” Izaya grinned and leaned forward for a kiss. Shiki pressed a finger against his lips. “Remember, this was your suggestion. No getting jealous.”

Izaya nipped at Shiki’s finger. “Of course not.”

[let-it-raines]

Catch Me If You Can (27/40)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

a/n: I’m the slightest bit overwhelmed by how kind a lot of you are and how many people have become invested in this story. It’s the coolest thing seeing the happiness it brings some of you, even if I am stressing you out right now. Whenever I get a message about how a story has made someone’s bad day better, I get a little smile on my face. You are all awesome ☺️

Thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke​ for being my beta! Don’t fret. She yelled at me a lot about this part of the story too, so it’s not just you guys and it does get better. 

AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 |15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 |

Tag list: @stunningswan​ @eala-captian @galaxyzxstark @xellewoods @mariakov81 @ultraluckycatnd @royalswan @shey-starsfury​ @superchocovian​ @sals86 @iam2307 @ashley-knightingale @karenfrommisthaven @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @notoriouscs @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog@cs-forlife @andiirivera @jonirobinson64 @qualitycoffeethings​ 

-/-

Emma has never once complained about having off from work before.

Not once.

She has four days off right now. It’s four days of no baseball and no responsibility, and she has been looking forward to it for months ever since she first saw the time off on the calendar and marked it in a huge red circle. There’s nothing quite like having the ability to sleep in, not brush your hair, and lounge around in pajamas all day as you watch professional athletes hit tennis balls back and forth at each other at one hundred miles per hour as they play the US Open.

But there’s a bit of a sting to it all when two tickets to the semi-finals tomorrow are saved in her phone, and she hasn’t spoken to the person who bought them for her in three days.

(They’re in the nosebleed section so no one would notice them, and Emma remembers laughing out loud when Killian showed her the seats because she has no idea how they would even see the ball.)

Okay, there’s more than a bit of a sting.

It fucking hurts.

There’s always been a reason why she didn’t make plans so far ahead of time, not ones that require monetary and emotional commitments from her, but she’s been breaking all of her rules over the past five and half months. All of them. She’s made plans to go to Portland, to go to a wedding, to go to this idiotic set of matches that she would actually really love to go to.

All of them with Killian.

Emma should have known better. She honestly should have. Every time she ever made plans with Neal or Walsh or any other man that she was dating, they always fell through. They never held up. Either the relationship would endend, or the guy would fade away at the last minute. It didn’t matter. Every time she got her hopes up, they fell back to the ground and were crushed under the weight of her own disappointment.

Neal was the definition of flaky. He was always making these big plans with big dreams and promising her so damn much before ripping the rug out from under her so quickly that she barely even had time to brace herself before she fell flat on her ass. And the really shitty thing is that she didn’t even realize how awful it was that he was doing that to her because that’s what people had been doing her entire life – foster parents, social workers, childhood friends, her birth parents. That little seed of hope would be planted, roots would start to grow, and then it’d all be torn out of the ground. She was in a relationship like that for years and then fell into the same exact trap two years later.

Why would Killian be any different?

(Of course he is different.)

A laugh escapes her lips at that, one she didn’t give permission to, and all it does is make Emma curl into her bed a little bit more, wrapping her arms around her pillow and yanking the blankets further up her body so that the outside world can’t get to her. It’s just Emma, her laptop, and a bag of salt and vinegar chips that are most likely going to break her tongue out.

As it should be.

This is not how her day was supposed to go.

Not at all.

Killian was supposed to come over after his morning training, and he was going to spend time with her and probably Ruby, debating television shows and movies and eating whatever takeout he decided to bring on his way here. But Killian isn’t here. She doesn’t even know where he is. Probably not training considering he’s out for the rest of the regular season.

It’s what he told her, but it’s also what she’s read in about fifteen different articles online.

And what she had to post on her Twitter account as part of her job. Life is funny that way. You think you can avoid your boyfriend and all information about him, but she can’t. It’s part of her freaking job.

She couldn’t have kept herself from reading the articles online if she’d tried.

(She didn’t.)

There’s a knock on her door, a sound that Emma has been ignoring for most of the past few days, but she didn’t turn the lock when she went to get her chips two hours ago, so Ruby easily opens the door and walks into her bedroom. She’s got her hair pulled back into a ponytail and is wearing leggings and a sports bra like she just went to the Pilates class that Emma skipped out on.

She shouldn’t have done that.

Fueling her emotions into that would probably have been a much healthier way to cope. No, it definitely would have been. Exercise is better than stuffing her mouth with junk food even if junk food feels so much better at first.

Shit. She’s pathetic. But honestly, she doesn’t even care.

“Hey,” Ruby says quietly as she shuts the door behind her. “How are you feeling?”

Emma doesn’t respond, just curls herself further into her pillow like the pathetic person she is as a tennis ball is thwacked across the court and bounces up into the bottom level of the stands. But Ruby, never one to be deterred by anything, walks across the room and settles down on the bed behind Emma, wrapping her arms around her stomach and pulling her closer while Ruby’s chin rests on her shoulder.

It’s the most considerate touch she’s felt in days, and it’s the only time that someone hasn’t shown her pity or tried to tell her that everything was going to be okay. After she left the hospital, leaving Killian behind with her mind reeling and falling down a hole with no escape, Emma immediately went to her apartment and changed into running clothes before running until her legs wouldn’t work anymore. It was fifteen miles, something she’s done before, something that’s not even her personal best, and she thought that she could keep going.

She had to keep going.

But the adrenaline died out on her, all of her anger and rage and, frankly, sadness dissipated into barely being able to breathe, and she’d swiped her metro card and walked through the gates to get on the train that would take her to David’s house because she needed him like she hadn’t needed him in years. David is always the reasonable one, is always the one who makes her see things that she can’t see, but he wasn’t there. It was only Leo and Mary Margaret, and as much as Emma loves Mary Margaret, she couldn’t understand why Emma was so hurt by Killian lying to her.

It’s not what the lie was, though that is a pretty big deal. It’s the fact that the lie happened.

Over and over again.

She gave him her heart in all of the shattered and glued back together pieces, and as careful as he is with it, he still managed to add a crack or two.

How could she have ever expected otherwise?

Why did she?

Why does she still want him to be the one to help her keep holding it together?

David had eventually come home and seen her talking to Mary Margaret, and somehow, he just knew that she needed him to hold her for a little while. He did, cupping the back of her head with his hand and not placating her by telling her that everything was okay or that she shouldn’t be angry or anything else that she wasn’t quite ready to hear yet.

There were a lot of things she wasn’t ready to hear that day.

“Do you want to go for a walk with me sometime today?” Ruby asks, and Emma breathes out on a sigh, her stomach swirling in a messy cloud of anxiousness over the fact that Ruby has finally decided that Emma has to talk. She’s been waiting for it. She’s also been expecting a much more abrasive conversation. “I know that your legs probably still feel like shit from that crazed run you went on, but I feel like a walk would be good. Fresh air, exercise, maybe I will even stop and buy two dozen donuts. You know, really splurge and keep them to ourselves and not let Graham have any.”

Emma chuckles, and this time she’s kind of glad for it. It’s not a big belly laugh, but it’s something.

Baby steps are better than nothing.

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of a walk?

“Nope. It’s good to get our legs moving, work some of this laziness out of you. Plus, I fully plan on making us walk the full perimeter of Central Park, so we’ll have earned those donuts. If we haven’t died first because that’s a huge ass park.”

“You do realize that Bryant park is closer?”

“And that’s exactly why we’re not going there.” Ruby squeezes her again, pretty much hugging her, and it may actually make Emma’s heart swell. “C’mon, Ems. Indulge me for an afternoon, okay? It’s not like you to lay in bed like this. I don’t like it.”

It’s not. She’s already thought that. This isn’t her. She’s not the type of girl who lays around in bed because she’s upset that she and her boyfriend got into a fight, if that’s even what this can be called. There wasn’t exactly any fighting, even if her mind has managed to create the illusion that there was. Honestly, she barely let him get any words in besides his explanation of what happened. And she’s not the type of girl who cries and eats ice cream and wonders how life will ever go on.

There’s nothing wrong with doing that, but it’s not her.

And she hasn’t cried. That’s beside the point, though.

“It’s really comfortable in here, okay?”

“You’re moping.”

“Then let me mope.”

Ruby sighs and hugs her a little closer.

“Emma, I know that I might not seem like the most emotionally mature person at times, but I’ve been in a steady relationship for a long time. I know that things like this happen, and I know that after lying in bed for nearly three days now, you need to get your ass up. You’re not going to find any solutions at the bottom of that chip bag.”

“I hate Graham for helping you be so emotionally stable. You used to hate love.”

“It’s all the good fucking. I’m telling you. Knocked some sense right into me.”

Emma barks out a laugh and completely rolls over on her stomach, letting Ruby’s arms release her as she snorts into the pillow. “You are the worst,” she mumbles, her voice muffled by the material.

“I am the best.” There’s a slap against her ass that has Emma jumping and rolling over again so that she nearly knocks over her laptop. “Now, go brush your teeth, put on some deodorant, and change clothes so we can take over the city with our powerwalk like the rich old ladies we’ve always aspired to be.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

It’s an actual blazing inferno outside, the heat curling up from the concrete to practically burn through Emma’s sneakers, and it makes her really not want to be out on this walk. But she knows that the faster she walks, the faster she can go back home and retreat back to her room. All she really wants is to go back to her room.

And get under the shades of the trees in the park. September needs to end and allow October to roll in so that she won’t sweat every time she steps outside. This is ridiculous.

It’s probably all of the salt and vinegar leaving her pores. What a thought to have.

If only eating strawberries or kale or something was a good emotional comfort food.

It’s a little over a mile to the park, and as awful as the entrance is all full of tourists and street vendors and people trying to sell her a guide to the city like she doesn’t know it’s on a grid system, Emma is thankful just to have the slight breeze and be away from the masses of people. She won’t admit it, not out loud, but Ruby was right to get her to get up and get moving. When she’s lounging around, her mind wanders to things that it shouldn’t wander to, and at least now she’s able to put all of her focus on putting one foot in front of the other and watching all of the people around her.

Why pay for Broadway tickets when you can watch people in Central Park?

The air-conditioning. Yep. The air-conditioning.

They walk for an hour, just a casual stroll that Emma keeps thinking should be a run, but the heat of the day becomes too much for her, her heartbeat going wild, and as soon as she sees an unoccupied bench in the shade, she makes a run for it, leaving Ruby to catch up from behind. It’s a bit ridiculous, but this is a golden opportunity to allow herself to sit down and breathe without anyone bothering her since most people in the area are concentrated around the boathouse and not the little beaten path to the side of it.

“I hate summer,” Ruby groans when she reaches the bench. “It’s the worst. I don’t care that it’s when all of the good sports happen. It’s too damn hot.”

Emma bends down to rest her elbows on her knees and cradle her head in her palms. “It was your idea to come out here.”

“Yeah, well, you were depressing me.”

She doesn’t say anything back, taking a moment to breathe and stare down at the laces on her shoes. One of them is about to come untied, but she can’t bother to fix it. There’s no point if she plans on never moving from this spot. The sweat that’s trickling down her back is going to keep her glued here anyways.

How the hell did she run fifteen miles the other day? What kind of rage-fueled adrenaline was that?

“Killian lied to me about his shoulder.”

The words come out without her permission. She doesn’t even remember thinking them. Her mind was blank and then all of the sudden they were there, escaping from her tongue and her lips and becoming part of the air that’s surrounding she and Ruby.

Emma is still staring at the ground. Her hand has also unconsciously found the chain around her neck, the one with Killian’s mom ring that he gave her as a good luck charm. She hasn’t been able to take it off. She wanted to, wanted to take away that reminder of him, but she couldn’t do it.

Killian wanted her to have one of his most prized possessions, and as mad as she is at him right now, she can’t take it off.  It means too much to her to have been given something like this.

“He lied to me,” she continues, taking a deep breath, though she’s not sure if it’s from the exercise or the emotions running a race in her mind and wearing down her nerves. “And I get it. He was scared. He – ”

“He didn’t want you to think less of him for being broken.”

“How do you know that?”

“Mary Margaret told me. You know she can’t keep a secret.”

Emma chuckles, but it’s a weak one, before lifting her head back up so that all of her blood can return to its rightful place. She was starting to get worried it wouldn’t. All she can really focus on is how cool the metal of the ring is against her stomach.

“Unlike you have apparently become, I am not the best with my emotions,” Emma continues. All of the words she’s been holding up are bubbling up to the surface and ready to spill over and run rampant. “I’m pretty shitty with them, but Killian made me feel comfortable, you know? When we’re together, I do pretty okay sharing all of the broken parts of me. He knows a lot of stuff that not even you know, and I thought we were in the kind of relationship where we trusted each other enough to share the brokenness. And trust me, we have a lot of it. We’ve had…we’ve had pretty shitty lives at some points, and I am so mad at him for repeatedly not telling me that he was hurt and for not being smart enough to stop playing and get some help. It’s not that big of an injury, but it could have been. He loves that stupid game, and he’s going to lose it if he keeps doing things like this.”

Ruby reaches down and grabs Emma’s hand and wraps her fingers around her palm and squeezes so that Emma has to look up at the sky to stop the tears from finally falling. This is dumb. This is all so dumb, and every bit of it could have been avoided.

“I think though,” Emma continues, still blinking away the tears, “past the lying and this gut-wrenching fear that he’s going to lie to me about other things too, I’m mostly hurt that he didn’t feel comfortable talking to me. I love him so much, Rubes. He probably has no idea how much I love him because I barely know how to express it, and, but I don’t know how to fully trust him if this is going to be a pattern.”

Ruby’s sighs, and Emma swears that she feels it in her own bones. Her heartrate has calmed down, something next to normal, and she no longer feels like she’s going to throw up. She was kind of feeling like that for a little while, and the guy sitting in the grass fifteen feet away from them reading a book in peace probably wouldn’t appreciate that.

“You’ve got to talk to him.”

“I don’t – ”

“You don’t want to right now,” Ruby finishes for her, and Emma twists her head to the side to look over at the lake instead of at Ruby. “I know. I got that. You have every right to be pissed off at him. You have every right to kick and scream and feel anger so deep in your belly that it aches when you breathe. It doesn’t matter what he lied to you about. If it hurt you, it hurt you. Case closed.”

“I know but – ”

“Nope, nope, you’re going to let me finish. I am on a roll, and you’re going to crush my momentum.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Ruby squeezes her hand again before letting go. “Killian should not have lied to you. That’s just…I know we all tell little white lies, but this is obviously different. He shouldn’t have lied to you or to anyone. He should have trusted the people who he loves with the things he’s struggling with, but I don’t think this was about him not trusting you. He didn’t tell his family about any of it either.”

“They knew about the accident.”

“To be fair, Liam was there, and I think there’s no way Elsa couldn’t find out.”

“Semantics.”

“Very important ones,” Ruby points out. “I don’t – I’m not trying to tell you how to feel. I’m just saying that Killian didn’t do this out of malicious intent. He’s not Walsh, and he’s certainly not Neal. He is not spending his time trying to bring you down because he can’t handle being with a successful woman. I honestly think he’s scared of losing you and of losing the game, and that can make people do things that they wouldn’t usually do. You may not realize it, but I think you have become just as important to Killian as baseball is – if not more so. I know all about that ring you keep messing with and how big of a deal it is. Honey, he wouldn’t have given that to you if he didn’t love you. I’m not saying that fixes everything because it doesn’t. You have to talk to him and let yourself trust him if you think he’s worth trusting.”

Ruby echoes the words Killian said to her in Elsa’s office, the words that she repeated to Mary Margaret when she was trying to explain what was going on. They’re right. They’re all right, and she hates it. She doesn’t even know why. She should be thrilled that everyone seems to think that Killian didn’t set out to hurt her.

She thinks that too.

But Ruby is right in the fact that he did hurt her and right in the fact that she should be allowed to feel how she feels. How could she not with everything that’s happened to her in her life?

But she’s not thrilled.

And it’s dumb. Really, really dumb. Because she should want to get up from this bench and run to Killian’s apartment. It’s not far, maybe another mile walk, but she has absolutely emotionally exhausted herself to the point that talking about this more would be too much for her.

Talking everything out is still new to her, and when the stakes are this high, that pestering feeling that it’s all going to go wrong is continually building. Because what if Killian realizes that she’s more broken than he thinks too she is, and it’s all too much to deal with? Their relationship seems so simple on the surface and yet underneath it all…

Oh fuck.

Emma loves Killian so damn much, more than anything as he would say, but being together has never been simple. It’s always been a series of guesses and choices and an underlying hope that things would work out. She allowed herself to have that hope from the beginning, when she barely knew anything about him and when he’d fucked up with her already, and she should allow herself to have that same faith now that she genuinely knows so much of what makes up the ever-evolving person who is Killian Jones.

Tomorrow. She’ll talk to him tomorrow. Her stomach is still in too many knots for her to even think about seeing his face today and seeing the smile that always makes everything inside of her feel like it is floating on cloud nine.

Tomorrow. It has to be tomorrow because then she’s got to leave for Boston and Detroit, and she’s not waiting a week.

And she almost desperately needs to know how he’s doing. He’s got to be hurting, and she knows that she added to that.

“Can we go get those donuts now, Rubes?”

“Absolutely.”

The walk home seems swifter than the walk there, and it’s likely because Emma isn’t weighed down by the heaviness of a lot of things that are on her heart. Or maybe it’s because she does have donuts to look forward to. Today is going to be her last day of self-indulgence where she allows herself to mope and eat like all of the junk food in the world is going to disappear tomorrow. Because tomorrow she’s going to start eating actually balanced meals with things like vitamins and nutrients – most of the time – and she’ll hopefully stop feeling so sorry for herself.

That’s a bit of a gamble.

Ruby still makes a point of distracting her for the afternoon, obviously sensing that Emma is two seconds away from running away to her room and never emerging again, and while she contemplates that a few times throughout the day, especially when Graham comes home and kisses Ruby hello, she doesn’t.

In fact, she’s the last one awake and the only one to stay out in the living room. The only light that’s on comes from the TV, a tennis match still going on late in the night, and maybe it’s the lack of sleep she’s gotten or maybe it’s that feeling that happens when you’re alone at night and your mind starts playing tricks on you, but something gives her the courage to pull out her phone and text the person she’s been thinking about all day.

Emma: How’s your arm?

The bubble pops up immediately.

Killian: It hurts, mostly in the mornings, but not too bad. Lots of Ibuprofen and ice.

Emma: That’s good.

Emma: Not that it hurts. That it’s not too bad.

Killian: Yeah, I’m glad it’s not as bad as it has been.

Her heart may actually break a bit more at the thought of him being hurt all of this time. She’s been so mad at him, so frustrated with him for not sharing it with her, and she’s barely had any time to think about all of the pain that he’s been going through. Shitty move on her part.

It’s one thing to get injured and still be able to go about your daily life. It’s another when your livelihood depends on your body.

Killian: You should still use the tickets tomorrow. Take Ruby or David. I can get you an upgrade to sit closer since I’m not going with you now.

I don’t want to use them with anyone but you, she types, a little pathetically.

She doesn’t actually send that message. She can’t muster up the courage no matter how much truth is in the statement. Wine or whiskey or, hell, tequila are really tempting at this point to make herself feel a little less – upset, conflicted, hopeful even. But drowning sorrows in alcohol is no way to solve a problem, even if she’s done it before. It’ll only make her feel worse.

Emma: Can we talk tomorrow?

That text is riskier, means more, and is far scarier, and yet it’s the one she sends.

Killian: I’d like that.

Emma: Me too.

[arthurhwalker]

reMarkable 2 Review

I had some requests for a review of this device, and I am glad to oblige in this case. I've been closely following digital pen stylus tech for about eight years. I'm just old enough that I still need to handwrite a lot of things to tap into my creativity, but greatly dislike clutter in my life.

The reMarkable is for the person that writes enough by hand to fill several notebooks a year. For someone that wants the tactile and somatic component of writing on paper to associate with their process. The new reMarkable 2 does basically what the reMarkable 1 did; faster, better, and with a much improved piece of hardware.

If you've read my previous review from May 2018, you know I basically raved about the first generation reMarkable. I had a few criticisms of the Gen 1, and a lot of that has been addressed with the Gen 2.

Support & User Experience

I've used a reMarkable tablet continuously for almost three years. I've never had a support issue with one. The software is updated regularly, features added, and user experience improved with each iteration.

There is really no comparisons to be made with that kind of uninterrupted usage. No smartphone, tablet, or computer you ever own will be that reliable. A 3-4 year old Thinkpad, running Linux, is about as close as it gets to that level of, switch-on-and-use, every day, without fail feeling.  

The reason is that the reMarkable 2 is leveraging the most reliable hardware, user input methods, stylus technology, and operating system basis available. My fear has always been that my reMarkable wouldn't be as reliable as a regular piece of paper, and a good pen. So far, that fear has never been realized with the reMarkable 1, or 2.

Pen Stylus Input

The majority of what one picks up and uses will be Microsoft Pen Protocol (MPP) stylus tech, with Microsoft Surface Products, or Wacom AES (Active Electrostatic) like that found in a lot of Asus, Dell, Lenovo, and so forth. The older Wacom EMR (Electromagnetic Resonance) is used less frequently, and usually only with their own products, or a version thereof with Samsung Phones and Tablets.

Of the three options, Wacom's EMR is still the best.

That's what you'll find on the reMarkable Tablet, and if you get their Marker Plus (it's the black one) it has the magical EMR eraser tip opposite the drawing point. There is no better pen stylus experience, for general use, sketching, handwriting capture, tilt sensitivity, and so forth.

The Marker Plus is $50 more than the regular Marker. It is worth it.

What if you're like me, and you have a drawer full of pen stylus products? Products that include the legendary Excalibur stylus pen that came with the Thinkpad Tablet 10 Gen 1, and worked with the EMR capable Thinkpad Yoga S1 from 2013? The one with the eraser tip, and sweet felt tip point? Will that stylus work?

Yes. Yes, yes it will.

However, the reMarkable Marker Plus just feels better. It's heft (19g) is perfect, eraser tip rounded to feel like the real thing, and tips that degrade gracefully without marking up the screen. Buy. The. Marker. Plus.

The Hardware

The manufacturer says that the reMarkable 2 gets 3 times the battery life of the 1, is 2 times as responsive (relative to rendering digital ink), and is the world's thinnest tablet at 0.19". Mostly, this is all of this seems to be true. Also, as mentioned before all the new Marker Plus has a built in eraser, all the new accessories snap together with magnets, and it charges with USB-c.

The screen is capacitive touch capable now. No more page turning buttons, and you can swipe down from the top to back out of a document or folder. You can turn pages with the swipe of a finger now. It takes a second to get the gestures down, but they're crisp and reliable once you do.

The tablet runs off of a dual core ARM process (a good thing, in my opinion).

My only quibble is that it is supposed to be able to connect to both 2.4GHz and 5.0GHz WiFi, but so far I've only gotten it to connect to 2.4. It might be something with my specific router, and I'm not sure if my experience is typical.

On the lower left hand side of the tablet there are 5 connection points. This suggests that the tablet may have the ability to connect to other accessories in the future. If reMarkable added a Plain Text Editor, and a keyboard cover to the reMarkable, I would be over the moon.

There is no evidence that they will do this, but a guy can dream. Having what's basically an e Ink Typewriter this thin and light would be the ultimate for this writer.

The Software

It is much the same experience as the reMarkable 1 with a few new additions.

You can convert your handwritten notes into text, cursive or block letters, and share by email. There is support for 33 languages.

With a Google Chrome plug-in, you can read web articles and pages on your reMarkable. If you're already battling with eye strain from looking at glowing screens all day, this is a nice feature.

Reading large PDFs and eBooks is still not crisp and snappy, but it is a vastly improved experience when compared to the reMarkable 1. Large graphically intense documents can be navigated without it taxing your patience. What I store on my reMarkable is vastly different now because of how much improved document handling has become.

I find the small sacrifice in speed rendering pages worth it, compared to the eye strain I get reading on other screens.

More pens, features, page templates, and ease of organizing have been added incrementally over time. With regard to the core functioning (Linux Based Codex OS) of the device, the manufacturer has only ever improved and supported the reMarkable.

Aesthetics

The reMarkable 1 was good for what it could do. It wasn't a bad looking product, but compared to the reMarkable 2, it was a rough prototype. Most tablets do not feel as nice in the hand as the reMarkable 2.

Rubber no-slip nubs on the back, rounded edges, satin finished glass and aluminum, make the tablet itself feel like it's from the future. I bought the Polymer Weave Book Folio, a step up from the regular Folio. A close friend got the same device and marker options as I did, but opted for the Premium Leather Folio.

Definitely, get the Book Folio, and if you can scrabble together the extra money, get the premium leather. That's my only regret is that I didn't spring for the best accessory offered. Is the Polymer Weave good? Absolutely, worth the $99. It is rigid, will protect your investment, and it's very classy looking.

My friend who picked up the Leather Folio is a graphic designer, and has greatly informed my sense of aesthetics over the years. She says the Leather Book Folio is well worth the extra. She is, most certainly, correct.

So, yeah, if you're going to get a reMarkable 2 and want a slightly used Polymer Weave Book Folio (mine), I'll let it go for cheap (so I can atone, and get the leather version, ha ha).

Value

The reMarkable 2 doesn't have a web browser, app store, Merge Dragons, audio player, or other third party applications. It won't replace your iPad, or Android Tablet. It will replace all the paper, notebooks, and pens in your life. This is especially true if you have a small scanner (like a Doxie), and leverage reMarkable's Smartphone app and cloud sync feature.

This tablet is for people that like paper, a lot, but don't want to carry it around or keep track of it. It is for people that fill 8-12 Moleskines a year, and mark up hundreds of pages of documents, for themselves, and others. It is for people that tap into their creativity by writing things down, sketching diagrams, and making lists.

The act of holding a pen or pencil against paper is a cognitive trigger, built into their implicit memory, every day, for years, that allows them to do their things.

$399 will buy a decent Samsung or Apple branded tablet, but neither of those is designed to emulate the experience of writing on paper like the reMarkable 2 tablet is. The reMarkable 2 will run you $399, a Marker Plus $99, and a Polymer Weave Folio $99, bringing it all to almost $600.

Unless you lurk reMarkable's website, and wait for a promotion. They did run a promotion for their pre-order, and will likely do something similar within a year of release. It is my recollection that the manufacturer ran at least two promotions for the Remarkable 1, and the savings were significant.

If you don't need one right this minute, check the website every week or so, their Amazon Store edifice, and whatever other options they have for your region.

Competitors

In the last few years, reMarkable has only acquired more competition in the e ink Tablet market. That competition varies depending on where you live in the world. In the US, no one makes a thing that directly competes. I looked at other products, didn't see anything that made me pull out my reMarkable 1 and make a list of pros and cons for comparison.

That isn't to say there isn't a better thing for your use case, but there wasn't for mine.

Final Thoughts

If I didn't drive this point home earlier, I'm going to make it now. The reMarkable 2 will not replace your laptop, mobile OS (iOS/Android) Tablet Device (meant to replace your laptop), or Smartphone. There isn't even a calculator app on the reMarkable 2.

The Remarkable 2 will replace the pens, pencils, highlighters, notebooks, and print outs cluttering up your daily carry bag, desk, and life. It's a digital paper option, not a personal computing option. When used for that purpose, it is exceptional, and well worth the investment.

[tenroseforeverandever]

Optimal Distance

Characters: Tentoo; Rose Tyler; Tentoo x Rose

Tags: lemons; lemons on video chat; mutual self-applied lemons; basically loads of lemons!; and the usual fluff, hurt/comfort, humour stuff

Summary: Rose has been feeling sad, lonely, and a little bit envious, left to endure the dreary London winter, while the Doctor has been posted on assignment in Rio, setting up a new Torchwood branch. But a comment the Doctor makes about a strangely bare desk in his otherwise cluttered study inspires Rose to find a way to bring them closer together, even though they are half a world apart.

Notes: This fic is one of many that had been lingering, stagnating in my collection of unfinished fics, just waiting for inspiration to strike.

Many thanks as always to my wonderful betas, @rose--nebula and mrsbertucci. You are absolutely brilliant, and I have no idea what I would do without you. And thanks to @aintfraidanoghosts who is always a voice of inspiration and encouragement (especially if she hears lemons on the menu!) I love you all!

I made quite a few tweaks and edits since they saw it, so as always, any mistakes are mine.I hope you like it!

Also read on AO3 and Teaspoon

OPTIMAL DISTANCE

“Done! You should be getting it any second now!” Rose crowed into her mobile with a rather disproportionate sense of triumph. All she had accomplished was to send the Doctor an email, albeit one with a very important file attached; a file she’d had to navigate his shambolic cataloguing system to find, and that only after she’d excavated his laptop from beneath heaps of books, papers, and crumpled sticky notes on the floor beside his desk.

“Got it!” he cheered. “You are brilliant, you are! A real lifesaver, Rose Tyler! See? My lucky pants, near or far. It’s a good thing you couldn’t come with me, after all. Where would I be now, eh? Without you holding down the fort?”

“Yeah, right,” Rose muttered with a sulky huff, her victorious mood evaporating as she plopped down in the desk chair. She fought against the prickle of tears. She refused to cry about it anymore. It was her own fault she was restricted to paper-pushing for another six weeks. To be specific, she was tasked with reviewing and classifying field reports, a chore that only served to rub in the fact that she wasn’t out in the field, herself, defending the Earth from both alien and earth-born threats. Instead she had to read about it second-hand.

She knew she deserved every bit of punishment she’d received, from her brutal dressing-down from Pete and her subsequent demotion, to her month-long stint inventorying the Small Parts Department (literally the “nuts and bolts” of Torchwood, and ten times as dull as it sounded.) She had been careless and impulsive on a mission, showing off for the sake of a dare, and had nearly gotten herself killed.

The worst part had been the look on the Doctor’s face as he’d rushed into the Torchwood infirmary, not knowing what her condition was, thinking he might have lost her. The guilt she’d felt over worrying him would have been enough (a kazillion times over) to curb any future reckless, thoughtless acts. After everything they had been through, with only a single, human lifetime each, pledged to be spent together, she had nearly thrown it all away in one rash moment.

As it was, she had been lucky to have come away with only deep laser burns to her left shoulder.

She and the Doctor had clung to each other all that night, desperately making love until they were too exhausted to move.

That had been weeks ago now, and Rose was chafing at her restrictions, especially since Pete seemed to be intentionally sending the Doctor to conferences in the most wonderful, exotic locations around the world, places Rose was dying to explore with him. But Pete resolutely refused to allow her to join him.

On this current trip, the Doctor was helping establish a new Torchwood base in Rio de Janeiro, addressing the fledgling team on the importance of employing diplomacy and mediation in First Contact situations. Rio, for God’s sake! And here she was, stuck in the middle of the damp, chilly London winter. She huffed again over the phone.

“Would it help if I said I wasn’t having fun?” the Doctor asked over the upbeat sounds of Samba and boisterous voices in the background. She could just picture the scantily clad, feather-adorned (female) dancers.

“Yes…” Rose picked at the worn piping on the leather arm of the desk chair.

“Oh…”

“Sure doesn’t sound like anyone’s ready to listen to your First Contact presentation. Don’t know what the rush was…”

“Weeell, lunch is almost over, and we’ll be heading right back in. Then, I’ll be cracking the whip! But, blimey, the Brazilians know how to party!  As you can probably hear, they’d arranged for some entertainment over lunch: live band, dancers, the lot! Didn’t want to seem churlish.”

She’d been right about the dancers, then… “Don’t worry, Doctor. I’m just feelin’ sorry for myself. I should be gettin’ to bed, yeah. Loads of field reports to review, tomorrow. You have fun.”

“Right… weeell…” Rose could picture him scrubbing the back of his head with his right hand. “Thanks again. And for the record, I do wish you were here, love. It’s just not the same without you.”

“It’s a bit lonely here too.” She looked around his study, filled with reminders of his presence: it was cluttered with books and papers; an assortment of swivel-chairs, beanbags, and exercise balls; and seemingly arbitrary writing surfaces at various heights and orientations. The traditional desk, where she was currently sat, was essentially an afterthought, a horizontal surface suitable for a computer or a place to deposit bits and bobs, books, and papers. Except it was completely clear of clutter and serving no purpose. It was a beautiful piece of furniture, but she couldn’t imagine the Doctor ever using a desk like that.

“We should redecorate your study when you get home, Doctor,” she mused.

“What? Why?”

“Well, for one, this desk is taking up a lot of valuable space. We really should get rid of it. It’s nice. I bet we could sell–”

“No!” he cut her off. “I love that desk!” There was an overtone of panic in his voice.

“But you don’t use it for… well… for anything.”

“I’d rather hoped to use it someday… erm…” His voice trailed off, but quickly returned with his classic exuberance. “It’s nice and sturdy, Rose, and just the right height.”

“What the hell for? The right height for what?” Honestly, she was afraid to ask, but it was just lovely to talk to him and listen to him prattle on about nonsensical things. She missed this when he was abroad.

“Weeeell…” he stage-whispered into the phone, enthusiastic, but clearly not wanting anyone else to hear, “the height is exactly the optimal distance to take advantage of the length of your legs…”

“Wha? My legs…?”

“Blimey, Rose! This is not a good time. I’m not able to control this stupid body the way I… erm… weeell…” His tone became clipped, irritable. “I need to be focussed for this presentation.”

“Oh, never mind.” Though Rose’s curiosity had been piqued by his cryptic comments and the urgency in his voice, she knew he was on a tight schedule. “You better go give that presentation. Go on, then. Love you. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Love you, too.”

It was only once she was in her bed, half asleep, with her thoughts restless and drifting, that she realized exactly what the Doctor wanted that desk for… She was suddenly wide awake, the whispers of a plan forming in her mind.

 --ooOoo--

Rose had spent the better part of the night ordering the things she needed to set her plan in motion. The online shop guaranteed next-day delivery and she hoped everything would be there when she arrived home from work. If she managed to slip away for the afternoon (without Pete finding out) as she’d planned, she would be able to message the Doctor just before his lunch… perfect!

She was relieved to have been able to escape the confines of her office with no one noticing, except Donna, the administrative assistant who, being every bit as brilliant as her Prime Universe counterpart, noticed everything. But she had just winked at Rose and signalled with a swipe of her thumb and pointer finger that her lips were sealed.

Rose’s excitement grew when she arrived home to find several large packages waiting for her in the hallway by the door of her flat, kindly left there by the landlady. Rose beamed, her heart pounding as she bustled into the flat, hurrying to get everything set in motion before she chickened out. She had never done anything quite as bold as this before – at least in terms of trying to seduce someone – and she rather hoped the Doctor would be… receptive. Considering he had seemingly procured the desk for a very specific (erotic) purpose, she figured he would be.

An hour later, she was turning up the heating against the chill of the wintery air. Her new outfit was not exactly intended to keep her warm. To be honest, she didn’t think she’d ever worn anything so barely-there (and glittery) before. She flushed, looking at herself in the mirror. It was a bit generous calling it an outfit at all. It was really just strategically placed jewelry.

It was a Samba ensemble, made of thin strips of pink, yellow, and clear crystals. The bra was a halter design, with clusters of gems dripping in simple floral patterns from her throat to just above her breasts. A single, large sparkling clear crystal shone between her breasts, supporting a band of smaller clear crystals that curved below them. Her nipples were (only just) covered with bright pink and yellow crystal flowers. She turned around to look at herself from the back. Her bum was essentially bare, the lower part of her outfit, a thong, impossibly skimpier than the bra and crafted of more of the glittery crystals. Matching wrist and shin cuffs adorned her limbs. Not for the first time that afternoon, she thanked the stars for her Torchwood training and active lifestyle for keeping her fit and trim.

After applying her most alluring make-up, she was ready for the final piece of the puzzle. With shaking hands, she positioned the headdress over her hair. It was heavy, heavier than she’d expected, encrusted with crystals over her forehead and in a band around her head. A pink and yellow fountain of ridiculous, great, feathery plumes erupted from the top.

Rose laughed at her image in the mirror. Ridiculous didn’t begin to cover it: it was completely daft. But the Doctor would love it… or so she hoped.

She made her way to his study where she had set up cameras to take photos of herself using a remote control. Her first pose had her facing the camera, one stilettoed foot hitched up on the desk, and her opposite hand touching her sex through the thin fabric of her bejewelled knickers. She made a point of allowing her tongue to poke out at the corner of her smile. That always drove the Doctor mental.

For her next pose she leaned over the desk, her bare bum inviting the Doctor to take her from behind, as she looked suggestively over her shoulder at the camera. She elected to forgo the third pose she had planned. She’d had to stop her headdress from toppling off several times during the second pose and was feeling rather hot and bothered… and not in a sexy way.

Regardless of the headdress mishaps, she was able to select an image she liked from both sets of photos and upload them to her mobile.

So, you like Samba, do ya? she texted the Doctor, along with the two photos. Meet me for lunch… video chat. I’ll show you my moves.  

If she’d worked out the timing right, he should be receiving the messages about ten minutes before he usually stopped for lunch. She intended to make sure there would only ever be one Samba dancer in his future. Her.

She giggled nervously. She really hoped he would take the bait.

She didn’t have to wait long. Her phone vibrated on the desk. She laughed at the Doctor’s message: Blimey! Don’t move! I’ll be there in five minutes. Meeting adjourned!

He’d taken the bait all right – hook, line, and sinker!

Now for the really challenging part: video phone sex. She’d never done anything like that before. She hoped she could pull it off.

 Rose scrambled to set up her mobile on the apparatus she’d purchased, just for this purpose, at the same time as she’d bought her Samba costume. She took a few quick test shots of herself, perched on the edge of the desk with her leg hitched up the way it had been for the first of the photos she had sent the Doctor a few minutes earlier. It took a few rushed and panicked adjustments, but she eventually got the angles just right to ensure the Doctor would get an eyeful!

She was just situating herself on the desk with her leg up again when her phone pinged with the Doctor’s incoming call on video chat. Her tummy was in knots with equal parts anticipation and mortification. Her fingers shaking, she depressed the button on the remote control she’d programmed to her phone and accepted his call.

The Doctor’s eager, bewildered face filled the entire screen, his eyebrows rising into his hairline at the image before him. “Fuuuuuuck…”

He was swearing, a sure sign she’d gotten his attention in the best possible way. There was only one time he ever swore (well, mostly) and that was during sex. Rose smirked as he reflexively licked his lips, boosting her confidence even more. Her voice still trembled, though. “Like what you see, Doctor?”

His hand ruffled his hair. (Rose was jealous of that hand.) “Weeell, I mean… yes! Of course, I do! Blimey! What’s not to love?” Two hands ran through his hair this time.

“B-better… better than the Samba dancers from lunchtime yesterday?” Rose pressed her lips together, and dropped her leg from it’s provocative pose, and she slid off the desk, suddenly uncertain again and feeling vulnerable, both craving and dreading his response.

The dazed shock on his face softened, full of sincerity and love. “The only person I’ll ever want to dance with, Rose Tyler, is you.”

“I feel so… stupid… doing this.”

“NO! No, no, no, no! This is perfect. Brilliant!”

“I don’t know what I’m doin’…”

For several anxious moments, they watched each other in silence. Then, suddenly, the Doctor spoke, his voice husky and low: “Oh, Rose, I wish I could touch you. I wish I could lean you over that desk, take you from behind, and fuck you senseless.”

Rose released a tense breath. He seemed to be taking the lead, putting that unstoppable gob of his to good use.

“But first, first I’d love to have you like this, facing me. I’d spread your legs and–”

“Like this?” Now that she was relaxing, Rose found herself quite eager to play her part. Holding her headdress in place, she hopped up on the edge of the desk again, leaning back on her hands, her legs splayed.

“Yes, just like that! Beautiful! You’re fucking gorgeous!”

Rose bit her lip, her breath hitching as a flood of warmth pooled low in her abdomen. Blimey, she loved when he talked dirty.

“I’d kneel down before you, goddess that you are, and pull aside those skimpy knickers and bury my face between your thighs.”

“Like this?” she repeated, drawing the soaking strip of fabric to one side, exposing her dripping core to the Doctor.

“Oh, you’re so wet, Rose. I just want to taste you.”

“Guuuuuuuhhh… yeah! Love your mouth on me.”  

“Oh, yes! I’d dip my tongue inside you, savour the taste of you (you taste so good, Rose!), and lick you all the way up to your clit. Fuck, you’re perfect,” he blurted as Rose used her finger to simulate the actions he described.

She sighed at the sensation, closing her eyes, wishing it was his tongue lapping along her aching slit, twirling around her clit.

“Oh Rose, my Rose… I’d stroke that lovely clit of yours with my tongue, up and around, up and around…”

Rose groaned out her pleasure, her fingers dancing over her damp sex. “God, Doctor, I love it when you fuck me with your tongue. Please,” she begged, looking him in the eyes, “I want to see you. I want to touch you too. I want my hands on your gorgeous, thick cock.”

“Fuuuuck, Rose! Wait! Just give me a moment.” His face disappeared from the phone. “Keep going!” his voice called from the background. “I’m still here, licking you, sucking you.” There was a loud clattering noise, and the image on the screen spun around. And then Doctor appeared again, from further away wearing only an oxford. His cock, long and hard, bobbed up against the fabric, leaving a wet stain on the front of the shirt. “There. I’ve propped my mobile up. Can you see me, love?”

“Yeah. ‘S good. So good!”

“Are you still touching yourself?”

“Yeah.” Rose’s eyes rolled back as she pressed down on her clit.

“So I see,” he moaned. “Oh, love…”

“I want you inside me, Doctor. I want to feel you fill me.”

Rose watched with a hooded gaze as he wrapped his hand around his cock. “Oh, I want that too. I want to feel you so hot and tight around me. Nothing feels better than that.” His hand stroked down, then up, with a twist at the top. “You’re so soft and wet…” down again, “and so fucking…” up and twist, “tight!”

At the same time, Rose plunged two fingers inside herself, finding that oh-so sensitive sweet spot, as she continued to work her clit with her thumb. She moved her fingers in and out, matching the rhythm of his stroking hand, the jewels around her breasts chafing her nipples with delicious friction as she moved. She added a third finger, stretching herself wide. “Oh, you’re so thick and hard… I love how you fill me. You feel so good!”

“Fuck, Rose… so do you. You look so fucking sexy.” His hand began to stroke faster. Rose watched, mesmerized, as the dark, throbbing tip of his cock disappeared and reappeared from the circle of his fist. “Are you getting close?” His voice was tight, strained.

Rose continued to work herself, thighs trembling, slick, wet sounds accompanying her lusty groans. “So close…” she whimpered, feeling the familiar heat burning in her core, the pressure building. Her head lolled back… and suddenly she yelped as her headdress tumbled to the floor behind the desk. “Oh no! No!” Her hand stopped moving as despair welled up inside her.

“Rose! Don’t stop. Keep going.”

She wailed, “It’s no use.”

“You’re so beautiful, my precious girl. Oh, let me touch you more. Let me feel how warm and wet you are… I want to fuck you forever and never stop.”

Rose watched him on the small screen of her phone looking so wonderfully earnest, his cock in his hand, still hard, glistening with pre-come. He was bloody hot, and he was hers. The shock of losing her headdress was forgotten in a fresh rush of desire, and another flood of arousal, warm and slick, coated her fingers. “Touch me, Doctor,” she breathed, her thumb renewing its caresses over her clit.

“Oh, yes love… I want to run my fingers over your body; run my hands up your thighs and deep inside you. I love the sounds you make when I stroke you…”

“Please,” she whimpered, arching into the pressure of her thumb on her responsive skin.

“Let me fill you again…”

“Yes!” She watched, in awe, as his hand slowly resumed its motions – up, down, twist – over his long, hard member, and her fingers began their pumping motions again, curling and rubbing against her sweet spot rebuilding her sense of urgency with every stroke.

They were soon lost in their passion, both keening and groaning in a haze of lust and need. The fire within Rose burned hot again, deep in her sex, as she rolled her body over her fingers. The Doctor’s hand increased its speed once more. He was getting close, she could tell, he looked so wonderful and dishevelled, and his cock pulsed with every stroke of his hand. “Doctor!” she cried out. “I’m… I’m… gonna…”

“Hnnnngghhh…” he groaned. “Come for me. Let me see you come!”

Rose’s body vibrated with the need for release, her hand frantically pumping, her thumb pressing down, circling her clit, the heat and pressure building within her… and then, the Doctor shouted. Mesmerized, she watched as his seed spurted in ribbons from him, coating the front of his shirt, drizzling over his hand. The look of ecstasy on his face was enough to bring her over too. Her sex throbbed, grasping around her pumping fingers as she arched off the desk, the burning pressure in her core suddenly exploding outward, engulfing her.

 --ooOoo--

“Well, I need to get out of this ridiculous get-up,” Rose chuckled, pushing herself up to a sitting position. She had made her way back to the bedroom and lain down on the bed, while the Doctor lay on the bed in his hotel room. They had stayed that way for many wonderful minutes, gazing into each other’s eyes and talking quietly as they came down from the high of their orgasms.

The Doctor pouted. “And I suppose I need to get back to my meeting. They’ll all have finished their lunches.”

“Oh my God! You didn’t get to eat! Sorry. I guess I should have timed this better…”

“What? NO! This was perfect! A brilliant surprise. I feel perfectly satisfied.” He winked and flashed her an impudent grin. “I just can’t wait to take you over that desk in person, and peel that ‘ridiculous get-up’ off you, myself!”

“How much longer do you think you’re going to be there?” Rose bit her lip, clutching her mobile and regarding the Doctor’s image with imploring eyes. Training new teams of Torchwood personnel and operatives could be a time-consuming business and was an open-ended job. She and the Doctor could potentially be separated for several more weeks or…

“Just a few more days.”

“Really? You’re not jus’ sayin’ that?”

“Rose, (mostly) Time Lord here! If there’s one thing I know about, it’s time. Have you ever known me to misjudge…?”

Rose gave him a pointed look.

“Nah, don’t answer that. But honestly, love, we’ve only just started getting this lot familiarized with all the tech, today, but they seem to be a quick study, and a few of their key people will be returning to London with us for a tour and more in-depth, hands-on experience. Then Pete’s going to be relocating some of our more capable people to Rio for a few months to get things up and running properly. So, at most, another week.”

“A week?”

“At most… I promise. Now, as much as I would prefer to spend the day here with you, I have to act the responsible adult (complete rubbish, that!) and get back to my meeting. I’ll see you later, love.”

“Not if I see you first.” She blew him a kiss and offered him a little wave of her fingers before disconnecting their call.

 --ooOoo--

Five days later, she stood, poised sexily (she hoped) in the doorway of the Doctor’s study, wearing the Samba outfit, minus the ridiculous headdress (it would just get in the way), and watching as the Doctor pushed his way through the door of their flat. Her heart thrummed at the sight of him.

“Honey, I’m home,” he called out cheekily, making her laugh out loud.

“Right here… erm… Sugarbear,” she droned, her voice as sultry as she could make it through her giggles.

“Sugarbear? Really, Rose,” the Doctor closed the door behind him, “of all the names you could…” As he turned and took a step into the flat, his gaze locked onto her, eyes darkening as they roved over her bejewelled body. “Blimey… now this, this is a proper welcome home!” He dropped his bags and coat, leaving them behind, forgotten, as he strode toward her across the room, loosening his belt along the way.

Rose shuddered at the sight. Bloody hell, he was fucking gorgeous. And he was here. Home. With her. Her Doctor.

“You. Inside. Now,” he commanded, his hands settling over the bare skin of her waist, guiding her backwards into his study with firm pressure. Rose’s core ached in anticipation, a yearning heat coursing through her. His lips crashed against hers as they staggered further into the room, the kiss equal parts demanding and desperate, and Rose was sure she had never felt so desired, so loved.

When her bum hit the desk, she gasped, and suddenly, all the emotion she had been suppressing over the last few months surged to the surface: guilt and remorse, loneliness and jealousy, all whirling together in a maelstrom of unfettered passion, love, and vulnerability brought on by the Doctor’s assertive touch. The tears she had been holding back gushed over her cheeks.

“Rose? Love?” The Doctor broke the kiss, looking down at her with concerned eyes. “What’s wrong? Is this not all right? Was I too… weeell, enthusiastic?”

“No, oh my God, no,” she wept. “It’s… it’s perfect… Better than. I jus’… I jus’… I missed you… I didn’t realize jus’ how much…”.

In one swift movement, he swept his hands behind her legs and lifted her to perch on the edge of the desk. Then, spreading her thighs, he stepped between them and tipped her chin up for another marvelous snog, still passionate, but this time it was a sweet and tender, unhurried sort of passion. Rose melted into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, drawing him against her body and breathing in the comfort of his scent. They eventually drew away from the kiss with gentle pecks and nibbles.

They pressed their foreheads together, and panting softly, Rose spoke into the space between them, “Sorry, I’ve gone and ruined all this,” she gestured to the desk.

“Nah, don’t be silly.” He dabbed the tears from her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “Besides, I have a bit of news too. Might as well get it over with.” He sighed dramatically and pulled slightly away from her to fish in his jacket pocket. He pulled out an official-looking Torchwood envelope that he tossed down on the desk beside her.

“W’at’s this?”

“My new marching orders, I’m afraid. I leave in two days.”

“Two days,” she sobbed. “But you jus’ got home and–”.

Taking a deep steadying breath, she dragged a hand through her hair, pulling it back from her face. “God, I sound so needy and selfish… but I just missed you.”

“And I suppose, the fact that I was in Rio,” he smirked at her, his left eyebrow arched, “had nothing to do with it?”

“Oh, that just made me miss you even more, but I admit, I was a bit… envious.” She chuckled, leaning back to look him in the eye. “But you know that stuff doesn’t really matter, yeah, all the travelling? Never did. Just that we’re together. That’s what’s important.”

“Oh, I know,” he reassured her with a kiss on the forehead. “And you know I feel the same... don’t you?”

She nodded, placing her palm over his single, human heart. “Yeah, ‘course I do.” 

“And that’s why, Rose Tyler,” his deadpan expression transformed into a brilliant smile, “I’m happy to announce that your assignment is in that envelope too. This time, you’re coming with me.” He beamed at her, waggling his eyebrows and looking very pleased with himself.

She gawped. “But… wait. What?”

“That is, if you think you can be ready to go on such short notice.”

“You wanker!” She swatted his shoulder. “Of course, I’ll be ready!”

He giggled. “But, really, I mean… if it’s too much trouble, I could always just go back to Rio on my own, I suppose.”

There was a long silence as Rose processed what he had said. When she finally found her voice, the words tumbled from her mouth: “Shut up! No way! Rio? RIO?”

“Yu-p!” He grinned. “We’re the experts Pete’s going to send over for a couple of months to make sure everything’s up and running properly. He said he only wants to send the best, and weeeell… I mean look at us. The choice is obvious.”

“I don’t believe it. There must be a catch.”

“No-pe!” He popped his “p” again. “He wants to make sure the Brazilians get everything exactly right. And the best part is, we’ll be there for Carnival. It’s just a few weeks off.”

“What? Carnival? Really?”

“Yes-siree, Rose Tyler! You can even wear this outfit again, in an official capacity this time, of course, complete with headdress. And ooooh, we’ll bring the baby TARDIS along, too. She’ll love a change of scenery!”

“I still don’t believe Pete would just… Nah, you must ‘ave said somethin’ to ‘im, yeah? Not that I’m complainin’. It’s just he’s been so… lecture-y lately.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s been a right misery. And now this sudden change of heart…?”

“Weeell, I admit,” he pulled on his right ear, “I was all ready to go in today, guns-a-blazing, to try to convince him that enough was enough, but believe it or not, he had already made up his mind. He gave me the news during my debriefing this afternoon. By the way, you’re to meet with him tomorrow–”

“Urrrghh, that’ll be fun…”

“–to go over… erm some… stipulations, but essentially, it’s all set. Said he thought your diplomatic skills would be hugely beneficial over there. Personally,” he flashed her a cheeky grin, “I think he was just getting sick of your constant moaning.”

“Oi, Mister!” She feigned offence. “Is that so? Watch out! I’ll give you constant moaning!” She grabbed his tie and dragged him toward her for another impassioned kiss, then reached between them to fondle him through the fabric of his trousers. As she sucked and nibbled along his jawline, tracing her fingers up and down his growing length, a strangled sound tore from his throat.

She smirked. “Now, there’s the moaning…”

“Stop!” He grabbed her hand, his eyes blazing into hers, and she quivered in response, the hot rush of renewed arousal pooling between her legs. “No more teasing. Brilliant as the video-chat sex was, I’ve had enough of foreplay and imagining over the last few days to last me a lifetime. I am going to take you right here, right now, against this desk, and fuck you so hard you see stars.” He scrabbled at his trousers and boxers, pushing them down over his slim hips. Looking utterly debauched, with his suit jacket, oxford, and tie dishevelled but still in place, he took his thick, throbbing member in hand and gave it a few hard pumps. “You ready?”

“Am I ready? Fuck! I’ve been ready for days. Could hardly think of anything else.” She licked her lips as she took in the sight of his impressive length. “My fingers are no substitute for that.”

With an impatient growl, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her off the desk. Then he spun her around and pressed in behind her, rutting against her bum. “This all right?”

“God, yes!” she sputtered, the ache of desire burgeoning inside her as he encouraged her to lean forward over the desk, applying a steady pressure to her back, until her breasts pressed against the surface, making the jewels of her outfit rasp over her taught nipples.

With a nudge from his foot, he prompted her to spread her legs, opening her to him. “Oh, yes,” he groaned, “the optimal distance, indeed!” Rose shuddered as his slender finger stroked over the sodden strip of fabric covering her sex and she arched into the contact with wanton abandon.

No further invitation required, he yanked the fabric aside and plunged into her welcoming depths.

She saw not only the stars he’d promised: entire constellations burst before her eyes.

[hermannsthumb]

concept/prompt idea if you feel so inclined: newt had a cute but incredibly shitty local public access show as a little kid where he screeches about frogs and lizards and whatnot like a tiny coyote peterson, hermann finds out somehow and never lets him live it down ever but is also endeared because oh my GOD

hehehehe....

“You’ll be fine,” Newton says, as he struggles, in vain, to do up Hermann’s bowtie. “Really. It’s a piece of cake. I’ve done it a million times.” He drops his hands in frustration. “Jesus, how does this thing work?”

Hermann tsks, and then begins to fret a bit, one-handed, over the bow tie himself. Fretting is second nature to Hermann. Today has him fretting even more than usual: there were early alarms to be set, dry-cleaning to be picked up (Newton’s singular good suit had a large splotch of cocktail sauce on the lapel from years ago, Hermann’s good trousers had chalk on the seat and cocktail sauce from where Newton, incensed at Hermann for mocking him over his spilled cocktail sauce, smeared it in retaliation), cabs to be hailed, and, in nine minutes and twenty-five seconds, a television interview to be had. “Oh, we should’ve gone with the clip-on.”

“Clip-on’s not professional enough,” Newton says. “Everyone would be able to tell.”

The irony of Newton pointing something out as unprofessional is not lost on Hermann. Nor is the full meaning of Newton’s earlier statement; realization hits Hermann belatedly, but it still hits him. “What do you mean you’ve done it ‘a million times’?”

“Oh,” Newton says, airily. “You know.”

“I don’t,” Hermann says.

“TV,” Newton says. He finally manages to correctly knot Hermann’s bow tie, and cuts off Hermann’s attempts to question just what, exactly, he’s referring to by TV, by crowing in triumph. “Ha! There.” He curls up onto the toes of his boots--no amount of sweet-talking from Hermann could coerce him into wearing dress shoes, or even scraping off a little bit of mud from the soles--and plants a kiss on Hermann’s cheek. “Looking good, hottie.”

Hermann begins to flush. “Newton,” he half-chastises, because they’re in plain view of the backstage crew.

Newton plants another kiss at the corner of his mouth, this time, and smooths his palms down the front of Hermann’s dress jacket. “Looking really good.” He noses at Hermann’s neck, and lowers his voice, “I can’t wait to until we get back to the hotel, and I can—”

“Newton,” Hermann hisses, and Newton merely grins.

The interview goes smoothly. For Newton, anyway; Hermann’s sure he sat stiff-as-a-board for all of it, his eyes wandering everywhere, twisting the head of his cane over and over in his fingers, startling and stuttering for ten seconds whenever a question was posed to him before launching into a meandering and confusing response. But Newton really did seem at home: he smiled, he joked, he bantered, he touched Hermann’s knee, flung an arm around him at one point, had an answer prepared for every single question and then some.

Hermann would chalk it all up to Newton’s rock-star flamboyance bravado if Newton hadn’t led him to suspect otherwise. As it is, it’s clear that he has done this sort of thing before.

Hermann waits until they make it back to their hotel room, and Newton is cracking open the overpriced minibar--for celebratory off-brand sodas, he said--before he accosts Newton.

“So,” he says, at Newton’s hunched-over back. “Will you tell me what you meant now?”

Newton rises to his feet too quickly and knocks his head on the top of the fridge. “Fuck,” he says, and Hermann winces in sympathy. “Ow. Tell you what I meant about what?” He presses one of the soda cans to the spot he’d just hit.

“Being on television before,” Hermann says.

A very strange look flits across Newton’s face. “Uh,” he says. “You know. Those interviews I did years ago, back in 2013 or something.”

Hermann does remember, now that Newton mentions it. It’d been around the time they’d started corresponding. Newton had gone on television to voice his support for the kaiju being extraterrestrial in origin, and everyone’d taken one look at him--twenty-three, short, pink streaks in his hair, piercings, Buddy Holly glasses with a crack running across the bottom of one lens--and ruthlessly mocked him for weeks to come. Then invited him back to more talk shows to mock him some more. “Ah,” Hermann says. “I do remember.”

It doesn’t feel entirely the truth--Newton still looks oddly shifty, like he’s concealing something from Hermann--but Hermann feels guilty for making Newton relive a bad memory anyway, so he drops it.

“Soda?” Newton says. He offers the one not pressed to his forehead, but the act seems to remind him of why he pressed the other to his forehead in the first place. “Fucking hope this doesn’t bruise,” he says, darkly. Then he bats his eyelashes. “Will you kiss it for me?”

Hermann beckons Newton over.

Two years later, the conversation has slipped from Hermann’s mind entirely. He and Newton have better things to do, after all, besides give television interviews about their work during the war and make appearances at galas which require them to buy new ties and dryclean out cocktail sauce. They’re teaching again, and working on compiling their wartime research in their free time (three books--individual and joint), and, most importantly, enjoying each other. (Newton is skilled in a lot of areas in which Hermann is not, and he’s more than happy to share those skills with Hermann.)

Then one day, Hermann walks in to his eleven-AM lecture to find half of his students huddled around a single cell phone. They snap up, guiltily, to his attention, but only after Hermann has to resort to knocking his cane against the wood of his podium and clearing his throat repeatedly.

“...Yes?” Hermann says.

None of them speak. Then, after a few shared glances, the boy who’s phone it is says “We found your husband’s old TV show.”

Hermann furrows his brow. “You must be mistaken,” he says. “Newton’s never—”

The boy holds up his phone.

“When were you going to tell me?” Hermann says, the instant he walks through their apartment door that afternoon. Newton had off today, which means he spent the day running errands and finishing up household chores (taking out the trash, loading the dishwasher). He’s also started dinner, as the pot boiling over on the stove and Newton’s bright pink apron suggest.

“Hi, babe,” Newton says. He turns down the burner and smiles over his shoulder. “Tell you what?”

“Into the Wild with Newt,” Hermann says, ominously, and Newton blanches.

The video had not, truthfully, been very embarrassing. More endearing than anything, though with terrifically poor camera quality. (Nothing like the clips of Newton at twenty-three they’d featured on Buzzfeed for days after word got out that that was the Dr. Newton Geiszler who almost fried his brain to help save the world.) Newton had been no older than ten, with coke-bottle glasses and a missing front tooth, and it’d featured him on a cheap soundstage with equally cheap (and clearly hand-painted) cardboard safari sets, along with a few oversized ferns, as he squeaked excitedly about a type of iguana. The whole thing had been no longer than twenty minutes.

What more: there were more of them. Nearly thirty more. All featuring a tiny, freckled Newton going on and on about different amphibians and reptiles and insects, often with the amphibian or reptile or insect in question resting in the palm of his hand or (in the case of a lazy-looking snake) curled around his shoulders.

Hermann is charmed. Newton is not.

“I was eight,” he moans, hiding his face in his hands as Hermann clicks play on yet another. “It was a public access thing. My uncle made the sets.”

On Hermann’s laptop screen, Newton laughs as a fat tree frog eats a dead cricket from his fingers.

“You were adorable, darling,” Hermann teases. “Look at your safari hat.”

Newton swipes for the laptop, but Hermann holds it out of his reach; meanwhile, eight-year-old Newton kisses the frog’s head with a big grin. “How’d you even find this, anyway?” Newton huffs, even redder than before. “I deleted them off everywhere.”

“My students showed me,” Hermann says. He pauses the video to scroll to the YouTube channel name; it looks as if it might be the network Newton’s television show aired on decades ago. The uploads themselves are only a few months old. “I reckon they found the old recordings and uploaded them.” He adds, heavily sarcastic, “Since you’re such a rockstar now.”

Newton hides his face in Hermann’s shoulder. “Turn it offfff.”

Hermann shuts the laptop. For now. He doesn’t stop grinning. “You should revive it. Do you still have the sets?”

“You’re the worst,” Newton says. “Oh my God. I can’t believe I married you.”

[grapesodatozier]

in honor of new st3 content and me officially being back on my mileven bs, have a super cheesy, slightly angsty hurt/comfort mileven one shot with a nice, fluffy ending!!

words: 3,177

read on ao3 or below!!

Mike sat on his couch, laptop in front of him and a pizza box with two slices missing next to it. He had been trying to distract himself all night, but his foot kept bouncing, and his heart refused to lift itself from his stomach. He blasted music, tried to work on his latest campaign, started and abandoned about four different things on Netflix before giving up - nothing could keep his mind off the fact that El was on a date right now and he was alone in his pajamas in his apartment at a quarter past nine on a Saturday night. She couldn’t forget the way she had talked about it, how excited she had been. Some guy she’d met on tinder. Mike’s skin felt too tight any time he thought about El on tinder, but she insisted that ever since graduating from college it was the easiest way to meet people. Mike had to admit that his own situation proved her right, but that didn’t mean that he had to like it. Who knew what kind of creeps were on that app? He knew El was more than capable of handling herself, but the thought of some guy who only chose to go out with her because she was ridiculously beautiful, some skeevy guy who didn’t even know how much she loved dipping fries in shakes or how she cried at nature documentaries, made his blood boil. They didn’t know how smart she was, how clever, how witty and funny and kind. They just knew she was hot, and apparently that was enough to lead to a date.

Mike tried to rationalize his way through it, reminding himself that she had been talking to this guy for about a week, that mutual interests had probably been discussed. He reminded himself that El could make her own decisions. And while it quelled the anger and some of the worry, the anger just turned back to heartache, the way it always did.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a knock on his door. He shut his laptop and got up to answer it. For a moment he was self-conscious of the fact that he was home alone in his sweatpants on a Saturday night, but he figured the person knocking knew that anyway. Still, he straightened out his t-shirt, despite his awareness of the futility of the action. He opened the door and there was-

“El?”

She was standing with her arms wrapped around herself, looking small as her hair hung in her face. It took her a moment to look into Mike’s eyes as she asked, “Can I come in?”

“Always.” Mike gave her a small smile as he stepped aside to let her in and closed the door behind her. She looked dressed for a date - nothing fancy, but a nice, short sleeved black sundress, the kind with the buttons down the front, and a pair of heeled boots. Mike also noticed the glitter on her eyes and cheeks, and he noticed that her expression didn’t match her look. “What’s up? I thought you had a date tonight.”

El took a minute to take a breath before telling Mike, “He stood me up.”

“What?” Mike asked, genuinely incredulous.

El shrugged and shook her head. Mike could see some anger there, and maybe some pain, but mostly she just looked annoyed as she explained, “He just didn’t show up. I waited for half an hour and texted him twice and he just texted me, ‘oh, lol, sorry, I totally forgot about that. I’m out with my guys right now - rain check?’” Mike couldn’t help but smirk a little at the obnoxious voice she donned while quoting her no-show date.

“What did you say?”

“I just unmatched with him. He doesn’t have my number, so I guess I won’t be talking to him again.” Mike felt guilty about it, but there was warm happiness glowing in his chest and a wave of relief crashing over him.

“Damn, that’s pretty ruthless,” he chuckled. He was glad she didn’t seem too broken up about it. “He deserved it, though.” El gave him a tell me about it look before plopping onto his couch and kicking off her shoes. He tried and failed to suppress his smile at how comfortable she clearly felt in his space. He was glad she knew she was welcome any time.

“I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?” she asked as Mike took a seat next to her.

“Just some Saturday night writer’s block,” he assured her.

“So I can have some of this then?” She smiled at him with glittering eyes as she slowly opened the pizza box.

“Actually I’m saving those six for myself,” he joked. El rolled her eyes, but she gave him a small smile as she half-heartedly tossed a pillow at him. He watched fondly as she tilted her head back in order to eat the slice of pizza in her hands. She looked over to him and caught him smiling at her.

“What?” she asked, her mouth full.

“Nothing,” Mike giggled. “That asshole doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

“Are you making fun of me?” El playfully shoved his shoulder, but she followed her own movement and scooted closer to him.

“I would never.” Without thinking, Mike pressed a kiss to El’s cheek. He blushed when he realized what he had done, and he thought he might’ve seen some pink in her cheeks as well, but if she was fazed she didn’t show it.

“Whatever,” she grinned, having swallowed her food. Mike’s heart jumped into his throat as she snuggled into him. It wasn’t unusual for them; they were both pretty physically affectionate people, and since their other friends weren’t as much they ended up magnifying it in each other. Still, Mike’s heart kept on racing as he secured his arm around her shoulder.

“Can we watch something?” she asked, looking up at him with those golden hazel eyes that got him every time.

“Of course,” he smiled down at her. Retrieving the remote from the side table and turning on Netflix he asked, “What do you wanna watch? Nature documentary?” To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before was her favorite movie, but he figured it wasn’t the best night to suggest that.

“Ugh, no, I don’t wanna cry right now. Can we watch Queer Eye?”

“Right,” Mike laughed, “because you’re definitely not gonna cry at Queer Eye.”

“Hey, I deserve a good happy cry, I’ve had a bad night,” El giggled. Mike pulled her closer; he knew she was joking, she didn’t seem to actually be that upset, but that didn’t matter. She had had a rough night, and he wanted to be there for her. He wanted her to know that he was there for her, that he always would be. He reminded himself that she had shown up at his door, that she knew she could go to him. Still, it made him feel better to hold her. “Hey, can I borrow some clothes?” she asked. “I wanna get out of this.” She lifted the skirt of her dress to emphasize her point, her nose wrinkled in distaste.

“Yeah, sure. You know where they are,” he smiled.

“You’re an angel,” she grinned with a kiss to the top of his head before popping up off the couch and heading down the hall for his bedroom. Mike took the opportunity to catch his breath. He ran his fingers through his hair and called up the show on Netflix, picking one of El’s favorite episodes. He fucked around on his phone until she got back, though now he was far too distracted to focus on anything. It didn’t help much when she walked back into the room absolutely drowning in one of Mike’s old t-shirts and flannel pants. All Mike wanted to do was pull her onto his lap and hold her close, cover her in kisses. But it wasn’t his time to initiate; he needed to see where El was at, what she needed. And if a giddy smile pulled at his lips when she draped herself over his lap, well, he could keep that to himself. “Ooh, I love this one!” she exclaimed as she cuddled closer to him.

But as the show went on, Mike snuck a few glances at El, and each time she seemed… distracted. He ran his fingers gently over her shoulder, and while it got her to relax a bit, there was still that divot in her brow that told Mike she was thinking about something, something that probably didn’t have much to do with moisturizer or home décor. “Hey,” he said softly, “everything okay?”

She seemed to shake herself out of a fog before she looked up at him. Her eyes searched his, and he wished desperately that he could give her whatever she was looking for. “Can I sleep here tonight?” she asked. The smallness in her voice made Mike’s chest ache. He hoped she knew that he would do anything for her.

“Of course,” he murmured back, his voice soft but sincere, and full of everything he could only show in gestures, never words. He rested his forehead against hers and watched as she closed her eyes and let out a sigh. His hand slid from her shoulder to her waist and stayed there protectively. Noticing her attention wasn’t on the show, he asked, “Do you wanna go get ready for bed?” It took her a moment again, but she nodded, her eyes still distance. He helped her up, only for her to stop in her tracks and groan. “What’s wrong?” Mike asked, his hands gently taking hers.

“I don’t have makeup wipes with me,” she pouted. Though she looked adorable, Mike wanted to kiss it right off.

“I think I have some left over from the last time you stayed the night. You wanna come with me to check?” She nodded and shot him a soft smile - one that still had that melancholy tugging on its sleeves, but a smile nonetheless. He led her by the hand to the bathroom, scared to let her go.

She hopped on the counter as soon as they got to the bathroom, her feet swinging back and forth. It was so cute Mike thought he might explode. Thankfully, he had to search through a few drawers before finding what he was looking for, so he had time to catch his breath. He took out one of the wipes and stepped into the space El made for him in front of her. Wordlessly, he took her face gently in her hands, and she closed her eyes to let him begin taking her makeup off. It eased Mike’s racing heart a bit, that she let him care for her. He appreciated being able to do something, even just something small. He took his time, delicately swiping the glitter off of her eyelid so as to not hurt her. He gently wiped away her mascara and eyeliner, telling her when to open her eyes and look up so he could get the makeup below her eye off as well. “Men are trash,” she stated, a sudden noise in the silence which made Mike snort.

“Can’t argue with that,” he grinned. “I don’t think the Queer Eye guys are trash, though.”

El met his eye then, gave him that soft smile again, and reached out, pressing her knuckles lightly against his chest and running her thumb over his shirt. Mike hoped she couldn’t feel how hard his heart was beating. “Yeah, I guess you’re not trash, either.” Mike couldn’t tell why she sounded so sad as she said it, but it made his stomach fall to his feet.

“Well, thanks,” he grinned bashfully. “Close your eyes.” His voice was soft, his caress of her cheek softer as he tried to control the shaking of his hand.

But she didn’t close her eyes. She kept looking at Mike, and this time the sadness was written all over her face. “Why doesn’t anyone want to spend their time on me?” As if the question itself wasn’t enough to break Mike’s heart, the quiver in her voice made it shatter. “Why is it so hard to find someone who will love me?”

“Love doesn’t always happen quickly,” Mike said, choosing his words carefully. His hand was still cupping her cheek, his thumb stroking lightly over her soft skin. His eyes scanned her face, taking her in. Noticing she was waiting for more, he continued, “I think it’s probably better when it takes time. It takes time to get to know someone, and to know someone is to love them. Someone’s gonna get to know about the way you gush about your degree, and they’re gonna love it. And someone’s gonna love the way you eat way too much cookie dough even though you know it’ll give you a stomach ache.” He smiled at her, and while she was smiling back, whatever was dragging her eyes down seemed to be getting heavier. He took both of her hands in his own and kept going. “Someone’s gonna love that Spice Girls poster in your room, and they’re gonna love when you recite every line of High School Musical. They’re gonna love watching you get ready in the morning.” He could hear his voice getting more wistful, but he couldn’t help it. “They’re gonna love that you look over every menu item even though they could tell you once you picked what restaurant to go to what you’re gonna order.” He realized that he’d been smiling to himself and made sure to meet El’s eye as he said, “Someone is going to love you so much, El. You’re the most loveable person I know. I promise the wait will be worth it.”

“Why don’t you love me?”

Mike’s heart stopped. “What do you mean?” He hated the way his voice broke, but his throat felt like it was close to caving in. “You’re my best friend in the world. Of course I love you.”

El shook her head, and Mike could feel himself starting to panic as tears welled in her eyes. Were those tears his fault? How was he supposed to make this better? “You don’t love me like I want you to love me,” she said through a small hiccup of a sob. Mike was speechless - and El, apparently, wasn’t done. “You say to know someone is to love them. But no one knows me better than you. If you don’t love me, how is anyone else supposed to love me?” All Mike could do was shake his head and hold her hands, show her he wasn’t going anywhere. “You do all these nice things for me, and you say all these lovely things, but you don’t love me. No one treats me as well as you do. How am I supposed to find someone better?” Mike honestly couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It sounded like a love confession, but how could El be in love with him? How could she share his feelings and he hadn’t even realized? El was full on crying as she told him, “And I get so tired of waiting, and so I try to put myself out there, but no one is what I want because all I want is you. I don’t want someone like you, or someone who treats me like you do, I want you. And sometimes I think you want me to, when you say things like that, but you never do.”

“I do,” Mike blurted out finally, so softly his voice came out a hoarse, choked whisper. He continued, more steadily, “I want you. You’re everything I want, you’re all I want.” El’s eyes looked apprehensive, surprised, but at least that seemed to stop the tears. He wiped away the wetness on her cheeks and cupped her face as he confessed, “I want to hold you when you eat too much cookie dough and your stomach hurts, and I want to comfort you while you cry over nature documentaries, and I want to take you out to dinner and hold your hand and come home with you and kiss you and play with your hair. I wanna brush my teeth next to you and listen to you talk about the things you love for hours. I wanna hear about your day, every day.” El’s hands were on Mike’s waist then, and he could feel them shaking as she gripped his shirt and pulled him closer.

“Mike,” she whispered.

He realized that he was shaking as well - nearly his entire body was, his heart ricocheting in his chest. But his voice remained steady and confident, true, as he said, “El, I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

A smile spread across El’s face, one that finally reached her eyes. She rested her forehead against Mike’s and let out a choked, “I love you so much.” Mike just looked at her for a moment, as though to check that this was really happening, before tilting his chin up and catching her lips in a kiss. A shiver went through him as her hands relaxed and ran up his chest to wrap around his shoulders. He smiled into the kiss as she pulled him closer. He placed his hands on her waist and mirrored her actions, pulling her as close as he could. He loved the way she felt in his arms, like it was where they were meant to be. Then, as if the feeling of El’s lips moving against his own wasn’t enough to have his head spinning already, she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him in just that extra little bit closer. He could feel his blood rushing, his heart racing as her fingers slid into his hair. He wrapped his arms around her waist then, desperate for her; he’d been dreaming about this for years, and he needed her to know how much he meant everything he said, everything he did for her. He wanted her to know that he would do and say those things a million times over. He wanted her to know that he wouldn’t let go until she wanted him to.

It was El who pulled back first, a breathless giggle on her lips. “Oh my god.”

“I know,” Mike beamed, his cheeks bright pink as he caught his breath.

“No,” El giggled again, “I mean, oh my god, I kissed you for the first time with half a face of makeup on.” Mike looked up to see that she was right. And while the sight made him giggle with her a bit, it did nothing to make the moment any less amazing.

“You’re still the most beautiful person in the world,” he grinned, pulling her close again and peppering kisses all over her cheek. She let out another laugh and wrapped her arms around him. Mike thought he could definitely get used to her holding him that tightly.

[stahlop]

Must Love Dogs (3/?)

It’s time for chapter 3!  Thanks again to @profdanglaisstuff for being my beta, especially since she posted like 3 stories this week and was being a beta for so many others.  I really appreciate all your help.

Chapter 1 2

Also on Ao3

Chapter 3

“So,” Mary Margaret started as she dished some spaghetti and meat sauce onto Emma’s plate. Emma was thankful that Mary Margaret had invited her over for dinner, as her cabinets and refrigerator were woefully bare. She would have to make a much needed shopping trip tomorrow.

“So…” Emma said back. David gave a snort from beside her, as if he knew exactly what his wife wanted to talk to Emma about. Mary Margaret shot him a dirty look.

“So, I talked to Ruby,” Mary Margaret said, composing her face back to normal. She sat down at the table after dishing out dinner to David as well and began to serve herself. David started to pass around some garlic bread.

“And?” Emma huffed.  She knew exactly where this was going, knew it would be a topic of conversation regardless, but she also secretly liked torturing Mary Margaret.

“She said you had some news to share?” Mary Margaret said even more delicately.

“Well...I did catch my skip the other day.  Idiot decided to go visit an ex -girlfriend who did not want to be visited.” Emma smiled smugly knowing this was not what Mary Margaret was fishing for.

“Oh,” Mary Margaret said, blowing out a puff of air that made the brown bangs of her short pixie cut fly up slightly. “Ruby said that you might have some other news.” David was having a hard time suppressing his laughter.

“Oh,’ Emma said coyly, “You mean about the guy I met online?” she asked as if it were an afterthought.

Mary Margaret squealed in a register that Emma was sure that if Ditie was there, only she would be able to hear.

“We want to hear everything!” Mary Margaret said finally taking a big bite of her spaghetti.

“Just for the record, some of us don’t want to hear everything.” David said pointing his garlic bread at Emma before biting into it.

Emma rolled her eyes, “We emailed through the site and he asked me for my number and personal email.” She tried to get her face to stay neutral as she said it, but she couldn’t help the corners of her lips from turning up slightly. She started to twirl her spaghetti so that her mouth might be full for the next barrage of questions Mary Margaret was going to ask her. But Mary Margaret just stared at her with the biggest grin on her face that Emma felt guilty for trying to avoid her questions.

She pulled out her phone and brought up his profile before handing the phone over to Mary Margaret to read.

“I knew that site would help you find someone Emma! Oh, he’s cute!” Mary Margaret exclaimed earning a sound of indignation from her husband.”What? He is. But don’t worry, I only have eyes for you, David.” Mary Margaret mockingly pinched his cheeks, making him blush.

“The email is already pulled up.” Emma stated taking a bite of spaghetti.

Mary Margaret swiped over to the email she had received from Killian.  Emma could swear there were tears in Mary Margaret’s eyes.

“Oh, Emma, he sounds perfect for you.” Mary Margaret said in a watery voice. Emma rolled her eyes again.

“I haven’t even met him.  He could be all talk. He could be a serial killer.” Emma protested but even she knew she didn’t mean it. She’d known from the minute she saw his profile that this man could be the one, and that scared the hell out of her.

“How can I be this head over heels over a profile and an email? I’m not that girl. I don’t do relationships.  Even if my past online dating experience hadn’t been awful, it’s doubtful that any of those guys would’ve made it past a night in the sack.” Emma said exasperated.

“That, for instance, is one of the things I don’t want to know about.” David said with a mouthful of bread. Emma and Mary Margaret ignored him.

“There’s something about him, the way he writes and the way he describes things, that gets me all shy and nervous. I feel like he could really be the one,” Emma looked up and saw the foolish grin plastered on Mary Margaret’s face, “which is really dumb because I haven’t even met him yet.” she finished quickly.

“Send him your email and your number,” David advised. Emma gave him a bewildered look. “I know it seems a little personal, but he sounds pretty direct. And you’re usually more direct when you’re not playing this weird damsel in distress thing you’ve got going on right now.”

Wow! Emma hadn’t expected David to be doling out the dating advice.  He tended to treat her like his little sister most of the time, even though she was Mary Margaret’s friend. So pushing toward a guy she met online was really not in character for him.

Emma’s expression must have given all that she was thinking away because David continued with, “Emma, all we want is to see you happy.  Plus, we all know you could kick his ass ten ways to Sunday if he pulled any crap on you.” He finished with a huge bite of his garlic bread and then grabbed another from the plate.

Emma grabbed her phone back from Mary Margaret.  David was right (who knew she’d ever think that?). She’d been looking at his profile and email as if he were a relative who lived far away and she wanted to show off his picture, but he wasn’t.  He was a living, breathing, man who was interested in her.  

“Excuse me.” Emma said, backing up her chair from the table and heading over to the couch. “I just need to send him an email real quick with my information.” 

Mary Margaret looked over at her husband, a huge smile on her face.  Then she and David continued to eat while Emma sent her message to Killian.

EKEKEK

Killian eased the key into his apartment door and was practically run over by Jolly rushing to greet him.  

“Sorry, girl.” he said as she jumped up to try and give him kisses, eventually just licking his hands instead.

“I know I’m a little late getting home.  Did Henry from across the hall take you out?” Killian checked the leash and saw that it was laying on the front table instead of hanging on the wall, his and Henry’s code so that Killian knew that Jolly had been taken care of. Henry was a good kid.  Killian would usually give Henry $10 anytime he needed Jolly walked because he was running late from work, like he was today.

He walked over to the kitchen table and set down his laptop and Chinese take out he’d brought home.  He preferred to cook, but it was already 7 o’clock.  Too late to get something defrosted, so Chinese it was. Besides, who could argue with egg rolls and Orange Chicken (no one, that’s who)?

He lived in a small one-bedroom apartment, though it was barely more than a studio.  His bedroom barely fit his queen-sized bed and a dresser.  But the rest of the place had lots of windows and a balcony, and it was an open floor plan, so it really wasn’t so bad. He could also see the ocean from his balcony, so that was a plus. In the summertime he could open all the windows, and the breeze coming off the Atlantic was amazing.

Killian grabbed some dog food from it’s container in the pantry and poured some out for Jolly.  She immediately went over and started chowing down, even though he was sure Henry had given her some earlier as well.  He added some water to her water bowl as well before settling himself down to eat his own food.

He wondered what Emma was up to tonight.  She had said she worked in bail bonds, so maybe she was on a stakeout tonight. Maybe she had a late night class at BU (he wasn’t sure if she was taking online courses or regular courses), or maybe she was studying more for the police exam.  Was she wondering what he was doing as well? 

He finished up his meal and threw the rubbish away, packing up the leftovers for his lunch tomorrow. Then he walked over to his recliner intent on catching up on some of his shows.  He hadn’t heard from Emma in two days.  Maybe he had spooked her by asking for her personal information so soon. He just wanted to cut to the chase, cut out the middleman, so to speak.

Jolly, having finished her dinner, came over to get her ears scratched, one of her favorite pastimes. Killian absent-mindedly scratched her ears while flipping through his queue of shows, trying to decide which one to watch.  It was then he realized that his backside was vibrating.

“Bloody hell!” he grumbled, realizing that he hadn’t taken his phone off of silent since leaving work. He grabbed it and began looking at his notifications. It looked like Will had been texting him to see if he wanted to grab dinner.

“Too late for that, mate”  He texted back to him. He then noticed he had an additional notification.

He had another email from Emma.

In his actual email account.

Not from the MustLoveDogs website.

Killian got up and grabbed his laptop from where he had left it and quickly pulled up his email. He preferred responding to emails on his laptop than from his phone.

Killian,

 I’ll admit, I was a bit nervous that you asked for my email and phone number.  The other dating websites I’ve been on usually had an instant messaging feature, so it was a lot easier to communicate without giving out personal information. Not that I’ve been on a lot of dating websites.  They all suck by the way.  A story for another time. But I’ve realized through just your profile and email that I’d like to get to know you better. I’d prefer email over texting as texting is basically meant for small talk. I have included my phone number though.  Do with it what you will. I’d definitely like to know about your time in the Navy and boxing and how you ended up in Boston and with Jolly.

Hope to hear from you soon (I really hate these lame ways of basically saying write back),

Emma

She had also attached a picture of Aphrodite asleep in a dog bed. 

“What should I do, Jolly? Call her tonight or send her an email?” He showed Jolly the picture of the sleeping Aphrodite. Jolly gave him a ridiculous look which Killian took to mean “How would I know, you idiot, I’m only a dog.” Killian liked to imagine that Jolly had a British accent like himself and sounded like Helen Mirren from The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. She then padded over to the bed and laid down to go to sleep.

Killian snapped a picture of Jolly on his phone and decided that he would send it to Emma since she’d sent him one of her dog.  It was amazing how similar their dogs looked. A beautiful, strong woman with the same taste in pets, how much more perfect could she be?

Emma,

 Jolly is sleeping too.  She was not as impressed by your correspondence as I was. But then again, she is only a dog. Maybe she’s jealous that I have another dog on my phone. Even though her profile said she wanted a doggy friend, she’s only had me for the past year and a half. I hope our dogs get along as well as we seem to.  I prefer talking on the phone to email or texting (I completely agree about texting), so expect to hear from me some time tomorrow. I hope the rest of your night is satisfactory.

Killian

EKEKEK

“I can’t believe we’re finally meeting,” Emma said as she sat down in an oversized, plush armchair.

“I know. It feels like we’ve been emailing forever,” Killian said to her as he set down his coffee on the long table and sat down in another armchair.  His did not look as comfortable as Emma’s.

Anticipation fluttered in Emma’s stomach.  It seemed like they had been missing each other left and right. It had taken weeks to align their schedules to actually get to meet up. But something about this didn’t seem right.

She looked over in the corner to see two black and white dogs tussling with each other.

“Did you bring Jolly with you?” she inquired.

Killian nodded, taking a sip from a comically large cappuccino mug. Except that there was a flowery teapot on the table.

“You brought Ditie too,” he added.  She looked back over at the dogs and noticed that one of them was indeed Ditie. Something still wasn’t sitting right. She wondered why she would bring her dog to a coffee shop.

“Do they allow dogs in here?” Emma inquired, and then she realized, “How do you know I call my dog Ditie, I never mentioned it.” Her bail bonds instincts were starting to kick in.

She looked over at Killian who was now pouring an obscene number of sugar cubes into his cup. He opened his mouth to respond but all she could hear was The Police singing “Every Breath You Take”.

What the..? 

That sounded just like her ringtone. 

It was her ringtone.  

She searched the long table for the phone but didn’t see it anywhere.

Killian was still putting sugar cubes into his tea and singing her ringtone.

And that’s when Emma finally realized she was dreaming.

She rolled over, still half-asleep, to try and feel her phone on the nightstand. Someone was obviously calling her. By the time she felt the phone, it had stopped ringing.  She checked the time.  It was 8 AM.

“Who the hell is calling me at 8 AM on a Friday morning?” she wondered.  She checked the number.  It wasn’t work or anyone whose name was saved in her phone.  The number looked slightly familiar, but she wasn’t sure why. Well, if it was important they would leave a message.

“No more Alice in Wonderland before bed,” Emma thought, realizing that the tea party from the cartoon was featured heavily in her dream.  She had come home from Mary Margaret and David’s late last night after watching the aforementioned movie, along with copious amounts of wine, because Mary Margaret was insistent that if they were going to eat somewhat Italian food, they had to have wine with it as well. Emma’s head was not happy with that. Thank goodness she’d decided to Uber it to their apartment rather than drive her bug.

Emma was debating whether to lounge around some more or get up (she only had to put in half a day today, just filling out paperwork) when Ditie padded in and started to whine.  

“Ok, girl, I know what that means.” Emma said getting out of bed and scratching Ditie’s head. She quickly grabbed her workout clothes from off the floor and put them on. She and Ditie headed to the door so she could attire Ditie for the walk. Emma also grabbed a lightweight hoodie as the weather had a bit of a nip to it in the mornings now.

When they got to the dog park, Emma grabbed a cup of coffee, per usual, and brought out her phone to check her email and see if whomever had called had left a message.  They had.

“Hello Emma Swan.  This is Killian Jones, from the Must Love Dogs website.” Emma quickly paused the message.  Her heart was about to start beating out of her chest.  

He’d called!

He’d called and he sounded incredibly nervous. Coupled with his accent he sounded adorable.

And then it dawned on her.

He’d called and she missed it!

She dragged the message back to the start and pressed play.

“Hello Emma Swan.  This is Killian Jones, from the Must Love Dogs website. Sorry, that sounded really doltish. I had said I’d be calling you in my email last night, so hopefully you’re not screening my telephone call. I had hoped to catch you before I got into work.  You’re probably getting ready for work. It’s Friday, so I’ll be getting off at 4 today, so…. I’ll try you again later. Bye.”

“Shit!” she gasped looking at the phone.  Killian Jones had called her and she’d missed it because she’d been sleeping. And it was still too damn early to call anyone to talk about it! And then she remembered that he had said he’d emailed her the previous night.

“Shit!” she said again, because she hadn’t checked her email last night or this morning. She opened her email app and saw, that yes, indeed, he had responded to her email at around eight the night before. And he’d included a picture of Jolly sleeping.

“Awww!”

Normally, Emma would lounge at the park for a little while longer, but now she was a bundle of nervous energy. She just wanted it to be 4 o’clock so Killian would call her back.  She should have put his number in her contacts when he gave it to her, then this would not have happened. She felt like the biggest idiot.  Of course, the wine and late night Disney had not helped the situation. She immediately added his number so she would know it was him when he called later.

“Ditie! Come!” she yelled over the thrum of the dog park.  Ditie looked at her and whined as if to say “But we just got here”.  “Ditie!” Emma said a bit more impatiently this time. Ditie bowed her head and slunk over to her owner.  She knew when Emma meant business. 

“Good dog!” Emma said kneeling to clip the leash to Ditie’s harness and scratching behind her ears.  Ditie gave her a half-hearted lick.

“I know you didn’t get as much playtime as usual, but mama’s got things to do.” 

The day seemed to drag on forever. After getting home from the park, Emma got dressed for work.  She knew she only had half a day of work to do, but she needed to keep her mind off of the fact that Killian was going to call again.

Her mind started drifting while she was doing some of, what she considered, pointless paperwork.  She really hadn’t dated much.  Growing up in the foster system had not left room for relationships.  Any time she’d made a friend, she’d end up leaving.  And living in a world before email and the internet, it wasn’t easy to keep in touch. So she’d stopped trying. When she’d ended up in Boston and meeting Ruby, friends had started to come more easily. Ruby wouldn’t take no for an answer when she’d invite her places.  Asking didn’t mean she had a choice.  Emma was thankful for that now.  Without Ruby she wouldn’t have met Mary Margaret, who had been a good friend of hers in high school, and had moved to the big city with Ruby to go to college while Ruby waitressed in her grandmother’s diner. Ruby’s grandmother had called them the Three Musketeers, but after awhile Mary Margaret met David and Ruby had met Dorothy.  Sure they had tried to set Emma up, but just because they knew people who were single didn’t mean they were the right person for Emma (she grimaced when thinking about Graham, a friend of Ruby’s, who happened to be in law enforcement, and that was all they had in common).

But Killian, there was just something about him.  She hoped it wasn’t all a facade.  Something constructed for his online persona.  That his picture wasn’t a fake and everything he wrote was copied from somewhere else.  Her bail bonds instincts were not screaming at her that she was being catfished though.  Her heart was practically singing and telling her this guy was it.  Something she never thought she’d ever think in her life. Not after life had let her down so many times before.

“Hey, Emma!” The voice of her boss broke her out of her trip down memory lane. He was a short, grumpy man named Leroy, but he’d taken her under his wing when she was tired of waiting tables and taught her everything she knew about bail bonds. “Are you done with that paperwork yet?  You’ve been staring at your laptop for the past half hour and you haven’t moved a muscle.”

“Um, yes. Sorry. Just thinking,” Emma said. She finished printing out everything that was needed and handed it to Leroy. She checked the time: a little after noon. She decided to text Ruby to see if she was available for lunch. She was.

“Bye Leroy.  See you Monday.” Unless something important came up, Emma had most weekends free.  The weekends were for committing crimes, not jumping bail apparently.

Emma entered the diner and saw Ruby in their usual booth in the back that was usually reserved for the manager during lunch. Ruby now managed the diner that her grandmother owned. Emma slid into the booth and immediately started to freak out.

“I missed a phone call from him this morning.  I was asleep and I missed his damn call,” she lamented. Emma banged her arms and head on the table.

Ruby, with her wolfish grin, said nothing, just motioned for the server to come to the booth.

“Give me the roast beef sandwich with french fries and a Coke, and my friend here will have a grilled cheese, onion rings, and a hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon.” Ruby turned back to Emma as the server walked away to prepare the order.

“Thanks.” Emma said.

“Look, Emma, I know you have it bad for this guy, which is so weird because you never fall for men like this, but you have to get yourself under control.” Emma attempted to interrupt at this point but Ruby gave her a look which shut her down. “Did he leave a message?”

“Yes.”

“Did he say he’d call later?”

“Yes.”

“Then what are you getting all out of sorts about?” Ruby asked taking a sip of the soda that had just been placed in front of her.

“I’m just...nervous. This is not me. You’re right, I don’t get nervous over men. David said I was playing the damsel in distress the other night and to cut it out. What if I meet him and he’s nothing like I thought?” Emma asked slightly anxious. She restlessly swiped her finger through her whipped cream and licked it off.

“And what if he’s better? What if he’s the ultimate perfect man for you, Emma?” Ruby challenged back. “You need to stop asking ‘What if?’ because that will lead you down a path you don’t want to go.” Ruby stared at her until Emma nodded her understanding.

“Now stop freaking out so we can eat lunch together, because I have a feeling that once you two meet, I’ll never get to have you to myself again,” Ruby said with a huge grin on her face.

It was two by the time Emma and Ruby finished lunch.  Emma headed back to her apartment and then took Ditie out for a walk. She might have gone back to the park, but she had too much nervous energy to work off. They walked around the neighborhood.  Emma wondered where Killian’s work was.  Most likely near the shore since it was a boat touring company.  Although, maybe he worked out of a corporate office somewhere else. Technically, she could just look up the address, but she wanted to find things out organically, rather than research.

After an hour of wandering around, Emma and Ditie finally headed home.  Ditie immediately lapped up the water in her bowl and then padded over to her dog bed.  She huffed a few times while she circled around and then flopped down for a nap.

Emma would have loved to take a nap as well, but she was not going to risk missing Killian’s phone call.  Instead, she put on the Food Network and mindlessly watched one of their many cooking competition shows.

At exactly 4 o’clock, Emma’s phone rang.

“Be cool, Emma, be cool.” she said to herself.  She let it ring twice before she picked it up, not wanting to come off like she was desperately waiting for his call.

“Hello?” she said casually.

“Emma Swan? It’s Killian Jones. It’s great to finally hear your voice,” he said.

“Yours too. I’m so sorry I missed your call this morning. A little too much wine last night and some weird dreams had me completely out.” She said.

“Weird dreams?” he responded.  God, his voice was so much better than on the voicemail.  She could only imagine how it would be in person.

“My friend, Mary Margaret, and I decided to watch Alice in Wonderland, while drinking wine. So, I dreamed that we were on a date and it had some overt tea party themes going on.” Emma said.

“Dreaming of me already?” Killian responded with a slight hint of arrogance, but nothing too off-putting.  She did just tell him he was in her dream. Emma responded with an eye roll but also and embarrassed giggle.

Killian thought that giggle was the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Look, Emma,” Killian began, “I know this is extremely short notice, but would you be interested in going out with a dashingly, handsome man tonight?” He held his breath.

Emma paused thinking of how to respond, “Is George Clooney in town? I thought he was married?” 

Killian let out a barking laugh. “Ok, I deserved that.” He paused to regroup, “But seriously, are you available tonight?”

“Yes, “ Emma began, not even giving any pretense that she might have to think it over, “I would love to go out with you tonight, Killian.”

Please leave comments and reblog! Also, let me know if you want to be tagged when other chapters post.

@profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @mariakov81 @hollyethecurious

[vcepsis]

hi hello i am also loving your shiro whump so much, god bless. can i request I + 5 for the drabble prompts, with sheith or miro?

I am so sorry this took so long oof but thank you so much for the request!! Taken from this drabble request meme (fever + in public)

Have 2k of my first ever vld AU (college AU whatup) and my first ever Miro woooo (thought I’d do something different for ya) massive shout out to @feverflushed​ as always for reading it over and listening to me whine

—–

Matt had to fight the impulse to sprint down the hall, pulling out his phone again to check the time. Damn, he was coming up on being thirty minutes late. While being a TA meant he didn’t have a set clock in time, but he always tried to be in the office when Professor Shirogane got in. Matt always liked to be around to help with anything he could: grading papers, sitting in on exams, even writing test questions from time to time. Professor Shirogane—Shiro, he insisted Matt call him—trusted him with a lot, and Matt tried to keep a somewhat timely schedule in return. It was the least he could do, after all.

He finally stopped at the door of Shiro’s office, trying not to look like he ran all the way here from his car. Even after six months of being Shiro’s TA, Matt couldn’t stop the butterflies from dancing in his stomach every time he showed up. Not only was Shiro the most attractive professor on staff—the most beautiful person on campus at any given time, if Matt’s being honest—he was wickedly smart, and kind, and wonderful, and—

Get it together, Holt. Sometimes he felt like a kid crushing on his teacher, instead of a twenty-four year old man with an adult job and half a Master’s degree.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked softly on Shiro’s door.

No answer.

Huh. That was weird. Shiro had class in forty five minutes….he was always in his office at least an hour before.

Matt turned the doorknob, and, finding it unlocked, gently pushed the door open. Shiro always insisted on a casual relationship, even going so far as to give Matt a key to the office if he wanted to work when Shiro wasn’t around. Even so, it felt almost intrusive to enter the room uninvited. “Shiro? You in here?”

It didn’t take Matt long to find Shiro, who was sitting at his desk as usual, but it did take a few moments to register the scene before him.

Shiro’s head was pillowed on his arms in front of his laptop, his glasses pushed up to rest on top of his head. Sound asleep.

Matt gaped, unable to help it. It was rare to see Shiro ever slow down by even a fraction, let alone sleep.

Closing the door as quietly as he could, Matt tiptoed up to Shiro’s desk. The laptop’s screen was dark, and Matt wondered just how long Shiro had been asleep. His breathing was deep, but slightly uneven, and he was snoring softly.

It was the cutest goddamn thing Matt had ever seen.

His face was smushed against his arm, the glasses resting precariously on his white bangs. Matt couldn’t help but smile at the sight. It was nice to see Shiro get some actual rest, for a change.

The smile faded when he noticed the red flush across Shiro’s cheeks and the slightly congested sound of his breathing. There was also a box of tissues on his desk that had most certainly not been there yesterday. Was he getting sick? It was that time of year (then again, in a school this size, it always seemed to be that time of year) and Shiro wasn’t exactly great at remembering to sleep enough. Matt bit his lip, unsure of what to do.

But then, Shiro’s breathing suddenly stuttered, and he lifted his head, blinking tiredly at Matt. His glasses slipped down his forehead to land somewhat crookedly on his nose. Combined with the ruffled hair and the sleepy expression, Matt couldn’t help the way his heart clenched in his chest. Too cute!!

At the same time, though, the flush on his face was darker than Matt had originally thought, and there were dark smudges under his eyes. Matt was beginning to grow concerned.

Clearing his throat slightly, he put on his best not-creepy smile. “Hey man. You feeling alright?”

This seemed to snap Shiro awake, and he sat up so fast it looked like it made him dizzy. “Shit,” he mumbled, rubbing his tired eyes with his palms and straightening his glasses. “What time is it?”

“Don’t worry, you still have…” Matt pulled out his phone. “Thirty-eight minutes until your next class starts.”

Shiro nodded, yawning into the back of his hand, only to have it turn into coughing on the exhale.

“But….” Matt hesitated, feeling like he was overstepping. “Maybe you should cancel?”

Shiro smiled sheepishly, sniffling a bit. “I look that bad, huh?”

God, no, Matt thought silently. A little rumpled, sure, but still the hottest fucking thing within a fifty mile radius. “Nah, just…tired.”

Shiro hummed in agreement, leaning forward on his elbows and rubbing his temples. “Yeah. Think I’m coming down with that bug that’s been going around.” He eyed Matt warily, looking a little apprehensive. “You might not want to work here today. Wouldn’t want you to get sick, too.”

Matt waved his hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry about me, dude. It’s not like anyone can avoid getting sick here, anyway.” As if he’d leave Shiro alone when he looked so miserable. Plus, Matt’s heart jumped at the prospect of taking care of Shiro, even if it was just doing little things like making sure he had enough tissues, or that he didn’t die in his office.

“Still—” Suddenly, Shiro’s breathing hitched dangerously, cutting him off. He swiped a few tissues out of the box with a desperate urgency, swiveling in his chair away from Matt to sneeze harshly a few times into the folds.

Matt resisted the urge to rub Shiro’s back as he blew his nose in the aftermath (because that would be the exact opposite of professional), but he couldn’t help make a comment. “You sure you’re ok? You sound kind of….terrible.”

“I’ll be fine, Matt.” The words sounded a bit dulled, the congestion evident in his voice. He sniffled again and tossed the tissue in the trash. “It’s just a cold, anyway.”

“Sure,” Matt said, not convinced in the slightest. “But isn’t the best part of being a professor being able to cancel class whenever you want?”

Shiro shot him an exasperated look. “Most people would say it’s the joy of teaching,” he said flatly.

“Ok…sounds fake, but ok.” Matt deposited himself in one of the plush chairs opposite Shiro’s desk, rummaging through his bag to find his notebook. They lapsed into silence then, save for Shiro’s occasional sniffle.

Matt tried to concentrate on his work, but it was difficult to ignore Shiro’s deteriorating condition. The cough he was trying to keep contained was sounding worse and worse as time went on, from dry and quiet to crackling and harsh. It sounded downright painful. Matt knew Shiro thought it was “just a cold”, but he also knew Shiro had the tendency to work himself into the ground and turn a simple illness into something worse. And sure, Shiro was an adult, but Matt couldn’t help but worry.

Soon enough, though, Shiro was packing his bag to head to his class. Matt sighed internally, knowing Shiro would work through literally anything. So he did the only logical thing.

“What are you doing?” Shiro asked as Matt shoved his notebook back into his bag.

“Coming with you to class,” Matt said, as if that was what he always did and there was absolutely no reason to be suspicious about it.

But Shiro was, of course, not buying it. “Ok, but….why?”

Matt shrugged, trying to make it all seem natural. “Because you’re teaching a class that’s relevant to my Master’s? You know…the one you’re helping me with?”

“It’s an intro level class,” Shiro said slowly, rubbing his pink nose with the back of his wrist. “You probably know this stuff better than I do, at this point.”

Matt scoffed. As if that was possible. Shiro was probably one of the smartest people he knew. He did have a point, though; Matt did know this stuff inside and out. Mostly he wanted to make sure Shiro didn’t traumatize his students by passing out halfway through the lecture.

Shiro sighed as Matt zipped up his bag. “Alright,” he said, slightly exasperated. “It’s not like I can stop you anyway.”

Matt beamed as he slung his bag over his shoulder. “Nope!”

—-

To his immense credit, Shiro did not, in fact, pass out during the lecture.

By the end, though, he looked pretty damn close.

Matt sat in a chair off to the side, where the podium with Shiro’s laptop sat. He got some odd looks from a few students—normally they only saw Matt during midterms or exams—but he ignored them, focusing his energy on monitoring Shiro.

Shiro had started off strong, only a hint of congestion in his voice giving away his condition. But as the class went on, his voice got worse, his energy seemed to wane, and he had to stop a few times to sneeze into the crook of his elbow. The ugly fluorescent lights of the lecture hall did nothing to hide the dark flush across his cheeks and nose. At some point, Matt realized had completely tuned out what Shiro was actually saying, keeping a close eye on the time, waiting anxiously for the class to be over.

After what felt like an eternity, Shiro finally dismissed the class, and Matt jumped up from his seat. Shiro made his way to the podium and started packing up his bag, taking longer than usual, his movements sluggish. Matt wanted to help, but didn’t want to cross the boundary of their professional relationship.

Well…he did. Very, very badly. But now wasn’t the time for that.

“Hey.” Matt leaned against the podium, looking up at Shiro’s flushed face. “I really think you should go home.”

Shiro checked his watch—of course he wore a watch, what an old fashioned fool, and Matt’s chest grew warm with affection. “I have my fourth year class in an hour—”

“So?” Matt straightened and put his hands on his hips, the picture of defiance. “There are like, ten people in that class. They’ll survive. Plus, you’re sick. They’ll understand.”

“But—”

“No!” Matt exclaimed, frustration welling up inside him. God, why was Shiro so bad at taking care of himself? “You’re sick and you’re miserable and you definitely have a fever. You need to take care of yourself too, you know!”

Shiro at least had the decency to look admonished. “It’s not that bad…”

“Not that—” Matt choked on the words. And in a move of absolute rage-fuelled insanity, he shoved his hand under Shiro’s bangs, with his palm on Shiro’s forehead.

Shiro’s eyes went wide, and Matt suddenly realized what he’d done. But before the mortification could eat him alive, the heat searing into his palm demanded his attention.

“Holy shit dude, you’re burning up.” He dropped his hand as quickly as possible, as if that could salvage the situation. His hand tingled in the aftermath, and Matt wasn’t sure it was just because of the heat. “Let’s get back to your office so you can email those students because you are cancelling your next class.”

Shiro’s shoulders slumped under the weight of Matt’s words, and finally, he nodded. It was a testament to how terrible he was feeling that he relented so quickly. He turned away from Matt as another coughing fit took over, the sound wet and harsh as he buried his face in his elbow. Matt’s heart hurt from the sound.

“This hit you like a truck, huh?” Matt felt his frustration evaporate, only to be replaced with concern as Shiro used one hand to steady himself on the podium. As Shiro stopped to catch his breath, Matt circled around the podium, grabbing Shiro’s laptop and his various papers and stuffing them in his bag. It wasn’t the neatest thing ever, but it would do for now. With his own bag on one shoulder and slinging Shiro’s bag on the other, he reached out a hand to tentatively touch Shiro’s back.

“You ok?” Matt asked softly, feeling a little guilty about his previous outburst. But Shiro didn’t seem upset, until he looked over and saw Matt with his bag.

“Matt, no, I can take my bag…”

“I got it, Shiro,” Matt said. I got you ran through his head, but he managed to quell the thought before he did something stupid, like use it to confess his undying love. “Now let’s get you home, alright?”

Shiro ran a hand over his face, letting out a congested sounding breath. “What would I do without you?”

Matt grinned. “Probably be dead in your office.”

The smile Shiro sent him in return was a little tired, a little exasperated, but it was bright and beautiful and it melted Matt’s heart.

Ah, shit, Matt thought as his own smile grew wider. I love him.