#and then didn't accomplish anything for the first hour

[tobeholyistobeempty]

‘SO YOU CAN LISTEN….GOOD.’ | simon ghost riley

📊 result of my poll found here.

WARNINGS - 18+ smut mdni, (amt) engineer!reader, asshole!ghost but with motives, slightly stalkerish!ghost, ghost is a cocky bastard but reader is too, so much verbal sparring, enough tension to choke on, reader afab, ghost is a munch and has a unique way of saying sorry, oral f!receiving, religious undertones, fingering, enemies to something worse then enemies, dubcon bc consent verbally unstated, so much dirty talk it hurts, canon warped a bit.

A/N - this ended up being so much longer than i intended but dear god it needed that build up. ghost makes a real wild first impression. 12k.

Today was just another day. Just another day.

At least, that's what you kept telling yourself as you grabbed your data pad from the terminal and made your way toward the front of the hangar — pulse thrumming, blood pressure undoubtedly a tad higher than usual. Perhaps today was just another day, but to say that it didn't hold slightly more merit than yesterday would be a fucking lie.

Today marks the date of your six month performance evaluation. Today is the day you finally find out if you nab that promotion or not.

And maybe you’re overthinking, maybe you’re nervous for no reason. Did this promotion make or break your career? Would not getting promoted singlehandedly destroy everything you've achieved and accomplished over the last however many years? No.

But it would definitely feel like a real kick in the ass given everything that you've done for this place since you got here.

The day you first got that damned data-pad, you should have known this job would be a complete shitshow. Still, you pulled up yourself up by your bootstraps and did your duties just like every other day — and that day like all the previous ones since you graduated. You’d been all over the world at this point, as an AMT you go wherever you’re needed and usually remain however long you’re needed for. But this transfer — to an unnamed, unmarked base in the middle of goddamn no where — is different then anything you’d ever done before.

The hours are different, the people are different, the pay is different. It was unexpected, but when their last head AMT simply vanished without a fucking trace — it seemed as though they scrambled, and took the next best thing they could find (or so you like to tell yourself).

It’s all a little…strange, to say the least.

And of course, there’s been talk about what happened to their last head engineer, speculations, but it seems no one actually knows for certain. It’s one of those things that everyone low rank whispers about, but no one high up with actual informative intel dares to speak on — which only made the chatter worse.

Along with your nerves.

Regardless, you didn’t have a choice, and the first day of your transfer was a baptism by fire — stepping into the aftermath of utter chaos they'd left behind.

Your job isn’t to save lives in the heat of battle, or to clear rooms, or to conduct stealth operations. No, your job is to repair aircrafts torn to hell and back and continue to keep them functional. It’s rather thankless, and often you'd find yourself overworked and under-appreciated — which, granted, goes hand-in-hand with your overall life summary — but the hangar at TF141’s main base was a sight to behold, and not in any positive sense. Neglected and battered machinery lay strewn about, with debris haphazardly scattered in every fucking corner imaginable. By the time you'd reached the actual aircraft's you were almost afraid to look at them — and for good goddamn cause.

TF141 has two main helo’s: MH-6 Little Bird and an AH-6J Little Bird. Upon first inspection of them, you’d almost thought they'd been through a war of their own — hastily patched together with little regard for proper repair. The evidence of prior negligence was glaring, and you were fucking fuming.

You'd expected some clean up, but not that much.

And to top it all off, you were given clear instruction by General Shepherd himself to keep your mouth shut and your head down, do your job and mind your own. On your way out of his office he informed you, surely out of the sheer kindness of his heart, that although he couldn't tell you what exactly happened to their prior head engineer, you could easily suffer the same fate if you weren't careful.

Which was more than enough to shake the very foundation of your so very deeply engraved attitude problem.

No matter how pissed off and irritated you’d been during your start here, you kept your emotions bottled up until you were back inside the privacy of your barracks and could freely let it explode. It's been a little maddening almost, the solace. You'd been here half a year and the only person you've had an actual conversation with outside of the other engineers is 141’s Captain, and that was only when he was looking for a debriefing on your recent repair work.

However, amidst the avoidance and the uneasy silence that you experience on a daily with the others, there seems to always be one fucking exception;

Ghost.

You'd seen photos and heard a lot about him prior to this assignment — the mysterious Lieutenant with a reputation that preceded him as if the Grim Reaper himself were present on earth.

But meeting him, being around him, well that was something fucking else entirely.

He routinely shows up at random hours, never muttering more than a few words to you before pissing off — disappearing into the shadows or taking out one of the birds. It’s always odd. He is odd. And the cryptic comments coupled with his rather bizarre reputation continue to leave you tangled between the dangerous desire to learn everything you can about the man, and the primal instinct to avoid him at all fucking costs.

Though, even if you had the choice, it wouldn't matter.

If and when Ghost decides to present himself to you, it is impossible to prevent it. His approach is as translucent as his namesake. You'd never fucking know he was coming, and if you did, it’s with purpose.

Nevertheless, you couldn't worry about him, or any of the other nonsensical bullshit today. You had other matters on your mind such as ensuring the hangar was in perfect condition for inspection later that evening. Price let you know rather early in advance that a hangar and aircraft inspection are part of your performance review — which clearly means the state of them would determine whether or not you passed.

There would be absolutely no room for error, and no one to complain to when it didn't go your way either. If this inspection failed, it would be the result of your own incompetence — and you were well aware of how that would be perceived. You didn't want to give any reason, any chance to end up like the former Engineer, after all.

So today is about one thing, and one thing alone, proving yourself worthy of that promotion.

With your data pad in hand, you began a quick sweep of the hangar, ensuring the guys hadn't made too much of a mess overnight or early this morning before you arrived. A few things were out of place, but for the most part, everything looked good.

Well, except for one thing — which was currently barrelling toward you at a dangerous fucking speed.

"Bloody fucking hell..."

Your data pad nearly fell from your grasp, your jaw dropping in disbelief as your ears rang — no, damn-near wailed — a deafening roar shattering the silence you'd just found yourself in, accompanied by the shrill whine of metal grinding against metal. You couldn't believe your eyes, your feet absentmindedly carrying you closer to the destroyed helo landing on the far side of the hangar, smoke billowing from its battered frame, obscuring the air with a veil of grey.

And as you got closer, you realized it only got worse — a door was missing, torn from its hinges, and half of the exterior was brutally ripped away. You didn't even realize you were clenching your hands into fists until you felt the glass of your data pad crack beneath your fingers.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me.” You’re all but yelling as you take in the damage. "Today? Today. Of all goddamn days! Bloody ignorant bastards.”

As soon as those words were past your teeth, there’s movement from inside the cabin — heavy laden set steps — two iron slabs clanking against the metal floor, quaking the ground underneath your own feet, too. The air thinned slightly, but you didn't notice, too inebriated off your anger to think of anything other than cursing the hell out of whoever was inside.

You came to a halt in front of the now door-less opening, coming face to face with a pair of rich brown eyes peering down at you.

"Care t’repeat tha’?" A deep, low voice rumbled from under a faded, skull-faced balaclava. You swear the ground trembled as he jumped down. "...I'd like t’make sure I heard y’right."

You’d have to imagine he was grinning under that mask, and it only made your fucking blood boil.

"Ghost, why didn't you tell me-“

He cuts you off mid-sentence with a gesture of his hand.

"I need permission t’take out my own helo now? Huh.” A shake of his head. “Y’should know I was told to test your repairs. Bosses orders, sweet’eart. Take it up with him if you’ve gotta’ problem.”

"You-" your lips part, but words elude you. Due to his admission or the nickname he used, you aren’t entirely sure. "What?"

Ghost blinks, sight sweeping the empty hangar for a fraction of a second before fixing back on you.

"Y’heard me." He steps closer, smoke billowing behind him. "Or d'you need me t'repeat it again?" A pause, twitch of his lips. "I can speak slower, if you’d like.”

What a dick.

You pull your own lips thin, trying to trap the profanity desperately wanting to fly his way. “I think you’ve done enough.”

He just hums.

"Way I see it, y’got two options.” He starts, and you long to tell him to shove his options somewhere the sun don’t shine. “Get pissed off with me, which is futile, since I ain’t the one y’actually got a problem with. Or, y’can get back to work and fix er’ up before Price comes down in an hour. Your choice 'ere."

An hour. A fucking hour? Is he clinically insane? This is easily about three days of work. And that’s if the bloody stars align.

"You’re unbelievable.” Scowl laden, you frown at him, words dripping venom as you shake your pounding head. "How nice of you to give me the option of choosing. I'm overwhelmed with gratitude, truly."

A beat of silence, unreadable eyes flicking over you.

“S’that sarcasm, engineer?” And then, he takes another step closer.

It never gets easier — the way he fills the space, how much bigger he is when he’s this close, broad shoulders cutting the world around you down to just him. He could crush you if he wanted. You’ve never forgotten that.

Your lips part, but before you can get a word out he’s already speaking.

"Y'know," he peers down at you with a slight tilt of his head. "A simple ‘thank you' wouldn't be the end of tha’ world."

You deadpan, biting back the scoff threatening to escape. Thank him? He wants you to thank him — for blowing a helo out of the sky an hour before the biggest inspection of your life? No. He’s not insane. He’s out of his goddamn mind.

“Thank you for what, exactly?” You force the words out, fighting to keep the sarcasm at bay, to sound even remotely genuine.

It doesn’t help that he’s right there, close enough to reach out and touch. You’ve been through enough in your time with the military to handle pressure, but there’s something about him — the bulk of him, the way he commands the space around him, the fact you can never read his facial expressions — that makes it hard to breathe.

Not to mention the tac gear he’s always dressed in. Layered thick like it’s meant for a frozen wasteland instead of the stifling summer heat you’re currently experiencing.

“F’givin’ you a passin’ grade,” he says, like that means a damn thing to you.

This game is getting old.

“What the hell do you think you’re talking about now?” Heat flares beneath your skin, frustration mounting. “If that was a test, then it was a goddamn shitty one. You didn’t fly it. You destroyed it.”

He steps in again, exhaling like you’re the one wasting his time.

“M’giving you an opportunity. Take it or leave it.” You’re ready to bite back, to tell him exactly where he can put his opportunity, but then— “How’re you s’posed to prove y’worth somethin’, when no one thinks you’ve got it in ya?”

For the third time today, he shuts you up. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. This is, without a doubt, the strangest, most infuriating first interaction you’ve ever had with anyone in your entire life.

“Wow.” That’s all you manage. You knew being one of the only female engineers here would put you at a disadvantage, but this? Blowing up the helo just to test if you can fix it? It’s beyond comprehension. “That’s great, Ghost. Thanks.”

He doesn’t blink—just steps closer again, crowding you until you have to tilt your chin up to keep his gaze.

“Lieutenant.” Flat. Unyielding. But there’s something about the way it drips off his tongue that makes the hairs on your arms stand on end. It’s not a request. It’s a correction. “Say it.”

Oh.

Heat licks up your neck, pooling at the base of your skull, and you’re not sure if it’s from anger or something else entirely. You swallow hard, forcing down the lump wedged in your throat because technically he is still your superior, regardless if he holds power over your job or not.

“Thank you,” you start again, your ego turning purple. “Lieutenant.”

You don’t look, but you feel his head tilt. You’d bet your life he’s smiling.

"So you can listen." Warm air skims your throat, and you’re not sure if it’s coming from him or from the heat of the burning aircraft - but it stings. "...good."

And then, when he realizes you’ve most likely bitten your tongue in half at this point, he takes a step back. You watch him now, eyes like a laser as he turns and heads for the door without another word. And almost immediately after he vanishes out into the hall you take the opportunity to suck in air like you’re starved of it, not realizing how fucking tense you were until he was out of sight.

Leaving you with a burning helo, an hour of time to fix it, and a whole lot of fuckin’ irritation.

“You bastard.” You mutter under your breath, staring at the wreckage before you.

If there was another option, you sure as hell didn’t know it. But no matter how impossible this seemed, failure wasn’t on the table — not after the years you’d put into this, the money, the sleepless nights, the sacrifices. You didn’t crawl your way up through this goddamn system just to crash and burn now.

You needed a miracle.

And for the next two hours in the hangar, chaos was the only thing you knew.

You’ve never worked this fast in your life. The moment you got down to business you started barking orders, pulling maintenance techs and engineers off other projects, shoving tools into hands and sending them where they’re needed. There’s no room for hesitation, no time to second-guess — the aircraft has to be back in the air, and it has to be now.

And within minutes smoke steeped the hangar, sparks bursting like firecrackers from stripped wires. Everyone’s locked in — shouts, curses, the groan of machinery being pushed and pulled back together reverberating. It’s frantic, relentless, like a pack of starving wolves tearing at a fresh carcass, and you’re right there in the thick of it, teeth bared, fighting to hold the whole damn thing together.

But the euphemism falls short, because this wasn’t just a carcass torn open, in need of some stitching. It was worse — much worse.

The helo wasn’t just damaged; it was obliterated. Every inch of it had been shredded to ribbons, from the engine to the exterior frame, internal wiring snapped and twisted beyond recognition. Whatever the fuck that maniac had done, he hadn’t just tested its limits — he’d taken a sledgehammer to it and kept swinging.

You’ve seen aircraft’s in bad shape before, but nothing like this. It was a wreck, a heap of smoldering metal and sparking circuits, and somehow, you’re supposed to pull it back from the dead. But there’s no time to dwell on the impossibility of it — not when you’re hauling replacement parts back and forth, hands slick with oil and sweat, not when you’re welding and soldering with the kind of precision that would make your professors weep, not when the only thing keeping you moving is sheer goddamn will.

And then, after what feels like hours, you hear it—footsteps.

Slow, deliberate, the kind that don’t belong to someone who helps—but someone who watches.

“My, my.” You recognize the voice instantly—Captain Price. “What in the bloody hell happened here?”

You practically fling yourself to your feet, dragging a sleeve across your forehead, smearing grime over skin already slick with sweat. You almost groan in exasperation, but you swallow it down, clenching your jaw, praying to whatever god might be listening for the strength to not say something about Ghost that’ll get you court-martialed.

“Sir,” you greet him with a respectful nod. “I was informed, rather late mind you, that there was a scheduled test flight.”

A beat.

“Test flight,” Price repeats, brow lifting with something you can’t quite name. “Right. Test flight.”

A sharp bark of laughter leaves him, short and humourless, shaking his head as his eyes rake over the half-patched wreckage sprawled before him.

“And this,” he turns back to you. ��This is the damage from that test flight?”

You hesitate—just for a fraction of a second—before nodding, breath held tight in your chest. It’s useless, really. You both know there’s no universe where a few minutes in the air could inflict this level of destruction. Price might’ve ordered Ghost to take the bird up, to test your work a little more personally—but there’s no way in hell he told him to annihilate the goddamn thing.

You’d bet your entire career the bastard did not have permission to go this far.

“Fucken’ typical,” Price mutters, pulling off his cap as he begins pacing around the bird, taking in the carnage from every angle. “Damn near destroyed the thing.”

That’ll be your fault, you think grimly. You’re the one who gave him the fucking order, after all.

But you keep your mouth shut, trailing behind him as he circles the wreckage, eyes sweeping over the mess of half-patched repairs. When he stops short, turning on his heel so fast you almost stumble back, you know what’s coming before he even speaks.

“How long’s this gonna’ take to fix?”

You inhale sharply, trying to steady yourself. Swallow, but your throat stays dry. It’s not hesitation—it’s knowing the answer is one he won’t like. You don’t even like it. Because with the kind of damage Ghost inflicted, there’s no way in hell you’ll have it ready for any type of inspection today.

“For proper repairs and testing?” You exhale, shaking your head. “Days. At least two, sir.”

You brace yourself for impact—for the reprimand, the frustration, the inevitable do better speech. But it doesn’t come. He only sighs, nodding once before readjusting his cap.

“Two days, then.” He’s already walking away, halfway to the hangar doors when he glances back over his shoulder. “Performance review postponed.”

Those last three words make your stomach churn, and then Price is gone.

“Goddamn it. Asshole.”

The curse leaves you sharper than intended, loud enough to carry across the hangar. You don’t care. How could you? The moment you’ve bled for—postponed—because one insufferable bastard decided to make a spectacle of himself. You want to scream, to hurl every goddamn tool in reach straight at his smug, masked face.

Instead, you inhale deeply, exhaling through gritted teeth before turning to the crew.

“Call it a night, guys. I appreciate the help.”

A few nod, murmuring about leaving their assignments to meet early and help with the rest of the repairs, but their voices barely register. You’re exhausted, and you need a fucking shower — so you just mutter some type of agreement and head for the door. You walk the path back to housing, hardly even noticing that it’s nightfall now. Price must have come later than planned, though you really have no idea the hour because in all honesty you weren’t keep track of time. Either way, your boots hit the threshold of the barracks before you even realize you’d made it inside, your full focus on forcing your mind to keep busy.

You head straight for the showers, not bothering to grab fresh clothes. If you stop now, you might start thinking again — about the disaster of a day, about him, about the sheer fucking audacity — and that’s the last thing you need.

You tear off your disgusting uniform in seconds. The water is scalding, but you don’t flinch. If anything, you lean into it, letting the heat work its way into your bones, washing away the sweat, the grease, the tension coiled tight in your shoulders. You brace a hand against the tiled wall, exhaling sharply.

Fucking Ghost.

Your mind takes over now that you lack distraction, and the name alone is enough to set your teeth on edge. He didn’t just make your job harder—he deliberately threw you into the fire, watched you scramble, tested you like you were some new recruit fresh out of training. And the worst part? He got exactly what he wanted.

You hate that you rose to the challenge. That you had to. You just can’t figure out why. Why he did it — where his motives are.

Steam curls around you as you drop your head, water hammering against your spine, drowning out everything else. Your breaths come heavy, dragging in and out of your chest like you’ve just run a goddamn marathon, so busy in your thoughts that you don’t notice the shift in the air, the faint tremor in the ground beneath you.

You don’t hear the footsteps until they’re too close to ignore, breaking through your sorrows, coming to a halt just beyond the dividing wall. For a long, heavy moment, there’s nothing. Just the steady rush of water, the sound of your own breathing.

Then—

“Y’done sulkin’ yet?”

Fucking hell.

You snap to attention, the sound of that voice like a gut punch. Verbal inflection so intense that only after a few conversations (if you can even call them that) you know you’d recognize it in your sleep, and it takes all of your willpower not to react with more than just the involuntary stiffening in your muscles.

You blink the water out of your eyes, trying to center yourself.

“Do you make a hobby out of sneaking in on people while they shower?” You ask, forcing your voice to stay light, to not betray the rush of heat in your chest. You should’ve seen this coming. Should’ve known this wasn’t the end of the goddamn shitshow. “Or am I just that special?”

"Didn’t know I had t’make an appointment for a communal shower.”

God, that does something to you, and you hate that it does. He’s taking your attitude and he’s feeding it right back to you — and the taste of your own medicine has never been so bitter.

Then, you hear his boots against the floor again, his voice accompanying. “Seems there’s alot I don’ know about ya.”

And again. It’s that tone. The way it drags, measured, like he’s thinking out loud. Like he’s taking you apart in his mind piece by piece. Trying to figure you out.

And you—stupidly, impulsively—throw it back at him.

“I’d say we’re even, then.”

It slips out before you can stop it, and you know it’s a mistake the second the words settle. Because he stops moving. The air tightens. A beat stretches long between you. You take the opportunity to reach for your towel, turn off the water, anything to not feel so vulnerable — but it doesn’t help. Not when you’re suddenly so acutely aware of how close he is. How little space separates you.

How very little there is between you at all.

You swallow, forcing steel into your voice. “I don’t even know your name.”

Then, the softest sound — amusement, maybe.

“Not sure y’need to.”

You exhale sharply through your nose, pulling the towel tight around your torso. Of course.

“Not sure I want to.” You mutter, more to yourself than anything.

But he catches it anyway.

You hear the shift of his stance, another hum of amusement. “Coulda’ fooled me.”

And that does it.

You know you’re walking straight into the trap he’s setting, but you don’t care anymore. Your patience is gone, worn to the bone, and you won’t be able to sleep tonight if you don’t get to glare him right in the eyes and tell him to fuck off.

“Cut the shit, Ghost.” The stall door slams open as you shove it wide, padding forward until your bare feet nearly touch his boots. “Why the hell are you even here?”

You don’t expect to hit a brick wall, but that’s exactly what it feels like. He’s missing a layer of tac gear now, hands stuffed into the pockets of his cargos, shoulder propped against the support beam like he’s been here all night. His gaze flicks over your face, your neck, the way water drips from your skin.

You fight not to pull your towel tighter.

“Cap’s orders.” He states, voice easy, right as rain. “Told me t’make amends.”

He has to be kidding.

“Make amends.” You repeat the words flatly, tasting them, turning them over in your mind like they might somehow make more sense on the second pass. “He told you to make amends.”

They don’t.

And when he nods — you huff a laugh, humourless.

“Right. And you thought the best way to do that was to sneak into the showers and stand there like a fucking serial killer?”

“Didn’t sneak,” he says simply. “Walked in same as you.”

You blink. You have this sick feeling he’s enjoying this. Enjoying every reaction you’re giving.

“Yet your intent is not the same as mine.”

He looks at the door, then back to you. “Ain’t it?”

You inhale sharply through your nose, hands tightening around the towel at your chest. You know better than to engage with this — than to let him push and prod and get under your skin. But it’s too late. He’s already there, and you’re too goddamn tired to claw him back out.

“Look,” you sigh, shifting your weight, fighting not to admire the bulk of his chest at your eye level. “Whatever Price told you to do, consider it done. Apology accepted. Now get the fuck out so I can forget this conversation ever happened.”

A long beat. You don’t know what kind of response you expect, but the way he just stands there considering you is somehow worse than all the possible outcomes you’d imagined.

Then, finally—finally—he moves. But not to leave.

Instead, he pushes off the beam, straightening to full height and moves closer. Not much, just enough to make you feel it — the shift in the air — the heat radiating off him.

“Y’sure about that?” His voice is quieter now, head tilting down toward yours. “Seem a little too wound for someone who’s ready t’forget about it.”

A huff. “And you seem a little too invested for someone who’s just here on orders.”

It's stupid. It's really goddamn stupid how he's able to do this, to turn your words into a rope he can use to drag you around the way he wants. You know that. But still, you’re useless in stopping the way your stomach keens as he leans closer.

"Y’gonna deny you’re still pissed at me?” He whispers.

You shake your head. “Never said I wasn’t still pissed.”

"Mhm." He nods along with it. "But pissed don't fully describe it, does it?”

"It’s an improvement from murderous,” you retort, as pointedly as you can muster. “Count your blessings.”

Another hum, eyes dragging slow over your face, like he’s searching for something. Or maybe just savouring it — the way you bristle under his scrutiny — the way your fingers twitch where they clutch at your towel.

“M’grateful for y’kindness. Truly.” It takes you a second to register it—the cadence, the words, the mockery. He’s parroting you. Throwing your own attitude from earlier back in your face. “But y’know, yeah? I only did what I did ‘cause I knew y’could handle it.”

You go still, pulse hammering in your throat.

Bullshit. Bullshit.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Ghost.” Your voice wavers, choked by realization that everything he does has motive. “And definitely don’t flatter me. Not now.”

A slow exhale, warm against your chilled skin, hooded eyes flicking to your ear like he’s considering something.

“S’not flattery. Just truth.”

And then— closer. Close enough that the breath between you is thin, almost nonexistent.

“M’not a good man, sweet’eart. M’a filthy, vile thing. But you—” a pause. He breathes in, your hair shifting with the exhale. “Mm. Y’good. Clean. I knew y’could take it. Needed Price t’know it too.”

Well, fuck.

Your head is spinning now, but even through the vertigo you realize your second mistake. You know it’s a mistake the moment it happens — rather, the moment before it happens — but when your head shifts, just enough that your ear brushes against fabric of his mask; you realize it’s the type of mistake you can’t come back from.

And so, you breathe him in. It’s reckless. It’s ruinous. It’s completely unavoidable.

“My gut is telling me you’re patronizing me.” You whisper; something softer, something you shouldn’t allow. A pause. Your lashes flutter. “But god, I can’t figure you out.”

And again, you don’t know what reaction you expect from him. Maybe you don’t expect one at all. It’s been an exceptionally odd 24 hours, so you’re certain nothing can surprise you at this point. But what you definitely don’t count on is the continued brush of his mask against your cheek, or the way your toes long to curl against the damp floor—

"Y’not suppose to." His voice is so deep you feel it in your bones. “S’don’t try too hard.”

You don’t know what to say to that, but you do know you should step back. You need to step back.

But you don’t.

You stay right there, still as the air between you, every nerve suffocated by the viscosity stretching between his words and yours. The scent of him—gunmetal, something dark and earthen—settles in your lungs like smoke; curling, clinging, refusing to leave.

And so, you breathe him in for the second time. A dangerous temptation. “You came here to make amends, didn’t you?”

The words leave you quieter than you mean them to, tinged in something close to breathlessness — something you wish to god you didn’t hear. Something you hope to god he didn’t hear.

Because atleast now, you can say you know how he is — how he listens, how he picks the quirks out of you and files them away for later — how he knows what to do with the things he finds in people, how to use them like leverage.

And you should be immune to it.

You’ve spent your entire career training for moments like these. All the military training you went through, tactical and aerospace alike. You’ve been thrown into war zones, fixed and pulled aircraft’s out of burning fields, run repairs under enemy fire with nothing but your hands and your own goddamn heartbeat when the situation called for it.

You know what fear looks like. You know what death smells like. You know what it means to be hunted.

And yet—this? You never saw this coming.

Never saw him coming.

“Y’want an apology?” He mutters, and you can hear the smirk in it. “Y’want m’to say I’m sorry?”

“That’d be a good start.”

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. Just watches you, the smirk in his voice lingering, curling at the edges of the silence between you.

Then, he hums. “How ’bout I do y’one better?”

You barely have time to process the shift before you feel it—his hand—rough, calloused palm grazing slow along the towel covering your hip.

“Let m’spell it out f’you. Nice n’ slow,” he murmurs, fingers tracing lower with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. “Get y’feelin’ just how much I mean it.”

For a moment, you forget everything.

All the reasons, all the lines. The ones he's crossing — or maybe the ones you're erasing with every second you let his massive paw of a hand touch you. God — you aren't supposed to want this. You don’t know even know him. Don’t know his name, what his face looks like. You don’t know anything about him except that he’s dangerous, and that he’s made you fucking ache.

You exhale — when the moment passes and you remember where you are — a long, almost shaky breath, and it doesn't escape you the way he notices. Watches you through those thick lashes, like he's enjoying the reaction he's been working so hard for.

You wish you could hate him for it.

“Make me feel it then,” you whisper, all pathetic and trembling and borderline wanton as his fingers find the end of your towel, and brush against goosebumped flesh. “Lieutenant.”

And for a moment, you think you’ve made your third mistake of the evening. His title slips out like a curse — and something in your chest roars with how much you mean it.

He's so goddamn cocky. So sure of himself and you hate that you're the one he's so sure of. But when you call him by his rank — when you push that sarcastic mouth of yours just a little bit further, you can feel his reaction instantaneously by the way he stalls — eyes glinting in the low light.

"She wants t’bring rank into this now, yeah?” And when you don’t reply fast enough, he replies for you. “Get in the stall, engineer.”

There's a thousand reasons this is a bad idea. A million reasons you should be saying no right now. But when he looks at you like that, with those eyes like fire locked on yours and practically daring you to refuse him — he has to know he’s not going to get it.

His hand comes up, cupping your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek. “Now.”

And that, is your fourth mistake of the night.

You turn, padding back into the stall you’d showered in only moments before — tiles still beading with diamond droplets, gleaming up at you as you step inside. You turn as he follows you in, crowding you against the wall, broad shoulders taking up all the width in the already cramped space as he shuts the door behind him.

And then, he’s on you.

It's so abrupt and so visceral that it takes your breath away entirely. Your hands go up automatically to catch his chest, steadying yourself when he slots his knee between your legs, pinning you against the wall. Your towel is barely clinging around you, and it’s a shocker it still is — but you forget about it when he starts dipping his head down.

"Feels good, don’t it? Bein’ told what t'do?” He murmurs, fabric covered lips grazing the shell of your ear. "M'bettin’ y’don’t experience this much anymore. Tha’s why you’re melting for it.”

And god, the fact that he’s right. He shouldn’t be, but he is.

Somewhere between your rank and your title and your pride, you’ve forgotten the last time you had someone looking at you like this. There’s a part of you that wants to fight it, to bite and scratch and insist that you're nothing like he's saying — but then a hand slips up around your throat, and the other down between the space separating your bodies, thick fingers catching the end of your towel — and your eyes flutter.

“M’not hearing any apologies.” You manage to mutter, just before those same thick digits find your inner thigh, working up higher.

You're deflecting. The both of you know it. The same pride that drove you to where you are is the same pride that drove him where he is. You think he’s going to call you on it, but then you realize he won’t. Not when the hand at your throat tightens just barely, not when his voice drips into your ear.

"Y’gonna feel em’ soon.”

And then, you do.

You feel the grazing of calloused flesh against sensitive, damn-near celibate flesh. There’s another sound. A low, wanton, filthy moan, and you’re about 94% sure it came from you as beastly fingers slide along your slick slit, exposing the extent of your need to his ego in its entirety — once, twice, curling toward your sopping entrance before you feel the thunder of his hum.

Mocking. "Christ. S’like m’workin’ a faucet, yeah?"

His lips are on your neck now, mouthing slow and deliberate along your jaw even while covered by fabric — and the whimper that slips out is pathetic, even to your own ears.

"Wha’s that?” He all but growls. "C'mon, use y'words f’me. Or d’you only know how t’spit insults?“

You do know how to use your words, actually — and they're usually good ones. You've got a sharp tongue, a mouth just as foul as your temper. So you don't know what to do when every curse, every name, every string of insults you keep in stock gets caught in your throat. You can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but try not to gasp when his fingers slide up to your clit and swirl.

"Fucking hell." Your jaw goes slack under the hand that holds it. "You—really are vile—“

This whole goddamn thing is vile. The way he can ruin you like this — make you quiver like this — in moments without so much as a name or face to attach the memory of it to.

If he's vile, you know you're not much better.

"Yeah. Tha’s right. I know you’re feelin’ it." He murmurs, fingers circling your clit firmer, faster. "Look how y’squirmin’ for it.”

You have half a mind to spit in his face for that. You have half a mind to tell him to go to hell. You have a million other things you should be doing right now other than clawing at his chest just to stay upright as he brings you to the brink of ruin.

"T-there you go again—mmf—“ your words are so breathless it’s pathetic. “Flattering yourself.”

It’s a futile attempt at a rebuttal, a stupid one because you already know the response he’s going to have to it. Pathetic. You are squirming, and you want to hate him for it, so you do. Your nails bite into his chest, dragging, raking slow and hard as if you could tear through the fabric covering it. You know you wouldn’t. Couldn't. But it's still good enough for him to grunt, hand around your throat tightening just enough to make you gasp in response.

"S’not flattery. Just truth.” He parrots himself again from earlier, and you think you’re on the verge of losing your mind because you know him well enough now have to predicted it. “Y’fuckin need this, don’ you?”

It's not a question. He doesn't need you to answer, because you both know how it ends anyway. But god damn him and his words. Because his filthy mouth is the second most dangerous thing to ever happen to you — right behind his fingers. You need to reply. Need to answer. He's going to force a reaction from you one way or another.

But he doesn’t give you the luxury of even trying.

His fingers still with a suddenness that makes you cry out in frustration — silver platter feeding him exactly what he was fucking looking for.

"Mhm. S’what I thought." He murmurs, hand sliding from around your throat to the back of your head. “M’guessing it’s been years. Least’ a couple.”

And it’s then, that you get it.

You get why this man is feared. You get why he’s so fucking dangerous. He’s worse than the name you know him by — because you’re certain even ghosts aren’t this knowing. This brutal. This consuming.

And through the haze in your head, you try to think back to the day you first met him. There had to have been dark signs — omens in your skies — a warning.

Yet, you can’t think of one.

“F-fuck you.” You spit it at him, because it’s apparently all your mouth is good for. “Stroke your ego any harder and it might just fucking cum before I do.”

He laughs, and then you feel it. The grip tightening in your hair, the palm slapping at your inner thigh to work your legs wider.

“Judging by tha’ mouth, y’never been fucked right either.” He mutters, fingers slipping up the slick coating your thighs. “S’alright. M’here to apologize, yeah? I’ll pay m’penance.”

Bullshit.

He’s not going to apologize by any means — if the last however many minutes aren’t proof enough of that. This is punishment in its worst form, and even that’s not enough. If you want him to make it up to you, you’re going to have to take it.

"Get on your fucking knees, then.” You’re so unbelievably wired that you hardly even realize what you’d said. You hardly even realize when you continue. “And use that mouth for something other than self elation.”

If you thought this was dangerous before - you’re not sure what the fuck this is now.

If someone had asked you an hour ago if you'd ever considered you have a death wish of this caliber, you’d have laughed. If someone had asked you if you were capable of saying half the things you’re saying right now, you’d have laughed even harder. But the fact that they’re leaving your lips - your lips that are now trembling with the realization that you just ordered one of the most dangerous men in the world to kneel — is enough to make you dizzy.

But then, he does it.

He sinks to those knees, cargos sponging the cold showered tiles as he does.

And you don’t think— not really — not for a moment.

Because if you did, you might have wondered if your pride and your dignity are even worth the way he’s looking at you right now — like he wants to eat you alive. You might have wondered if you were dreaming, if this was even physically fucking possible — the nameless, faceless man who has scared people shitless with just his reputation, kneeling between your fucking feet.

“Fuck.” It slips out in an exhale, and you don’t even hear it.

He does, though.

And in response, he holds your eyes while pulling at the edge of his balaclava. Just enough to uncover his jaw and lips — thick, pillow-full lips cocked into the type of grin you’d have expected, but steals the remainder of your breath regardless.

“M’gonna’ spell it out f’you. Nice n’ slow.” He rasps, pulling one of your thighs over his shoulder. “M’sorry.”

Oh, how you wish he meant that.

Because he isn’t. He isn’t the least bit apologetic when he pushes your back against the tiled walls with a heavy palm against your pelvis — he isn’t the least bit remorseful when he’s dragging his teeth along your inner thigh, nipping and lapping — and he’s certainly not the least bit sorry as he brings that filthy fucking mouth of his to your slit, and starts to devour you like he’s starved.

And this, you know is sin.

You know this, because you’ve never felt a mouth on you until now that made you think of god. You’ve never felt fingers dig into flesh with enough force to bruise the way his do — never felt anything that could make you forget who you are and where you are and everything in between.

It has to be sin, because no one could do this without an explicit knowledge of what sin tastes like.

There’s no other explanation for the way he can make you keen, arch and moan like this. No other excuse for the way you quiver as he curls his tongue and strokes you until you’re seeing white, just to suck on your clit with a ferocity that makes your stomach tighten and your hands shoot up to cover your own mouth.

“Feel it.” He husks against you, and the sound and sensation make your hips buck forward in response. “Relax an’ feel it.”

It’s not a request — it’s a demand. And you don’t think to defy him when he pulls your hands away, pushes you back, and buries his whole face against your pussy again like he’ll die if he doesn’t. You’re so dizzy you can’t even keep your eyes open. You can only hear your breath coming out in stilted moans and little cries of his namesake — the namesake that you realize the irony of rather briefly, but forget when your brain flatlines all over again.

Because he groans against your clit like you’re the best goddamn meal he’s ever had, and suddenly, you get how easy it is to fall. Fall into the rhythm — your hips moving in sync with the strokes of his tongue, your thighs closing around his skull. You want to scream. You almost want to cry. Your voice breaks with every sound you make, and you know your heart is only a few beats away from beating out of your chest by the way he grips your hips, pulling your cunt to his head before bringing a finger to your sopping entrance.

"Gonna’ stretch y’out a bit.” He rasps, and you aren’t sure if he’s saying it to warn you or to remind himself. “Breathe.”

You try, but then, it doesn’t matter. Because it’s happening — that thick finger pushes inside you, curling against your walls until you’re gasping and covering your mouth all over again.

And god, you aren’t going to be able to look at his skull mask the same way again. Not when you watch it’s shape shifting just slightly as he works his jaw, suckling against your clit with a hunger you can only describe as feral, eyes half-lidded as they lock with your own. You’re certain nothing in the world could have prepared you for this. It's a goddamn match to a bomb as he starts to work another finger into you, curling them in time with his tongue in a way you don’t think you’d have been able to come up with if you’d had a lifetime to consider it. You can feel that tension building — a tight coil of heat and pressure building low in your core.

Then, you feel his fingers inside you doing something odd. Something—

Oh, fuck.

You feel it before you can comprehend it — before you know he’s tracing the first letter, the shape of it hitting in just the right place that it makes your hips buck in response.

S.

Oh. Oh god.

You can feel him hum against you, like he’s savouring it — the way you’re clenching around his fingers as you realize what he’s doing. It takes everything in you not to scream, eyes squeezed shut and hand over your mouth — head back against the wall as you imagine the look in his eyes, how goddamn wicked it must be while he spells out the rest of his apology inside you.

O. Then, R. Then another. Then, Y.

“G-ghost—“ you know he must be able to tell you're almost gone, because when he hits the last R and your breath catches, his name a whoreish moan you try to smother against the back of your hand — he growls in satisfaction. It’s too much. You can't breathe because your climax is right fucking there, and you can’t stop it for a second longer. “G-ghost—m’gonna—ohgod—“

With a suddenness that makes stars burst across the backs of your eyes, he brings his free hand up, stuffing two fingers into your mouth to smother the sound and feel of his name as you cry it. He strokes you through it, pumping you with his fingers as your vision blurs into some indiscernible haze — a kaleidoscope of light and pleasure and everything you know you should never allow yourself to have.

And then, when you finally catch the breath it took to even say his name, he pulls away. Fingers slipping from your mouth and your pussy like a goddamn magician.

A ghost.

Then, he stands up, and you watch him wipe his mouth with the back of his hand like you’re all the goddamn nourishment he needs before he’s helping you get stable on your feet.

“M’sure y’feel it now.” He murmurs, lips so close to yours you can taste yourself on his breath. "M’a man of m’word, sweet’eart. Always make good on m’promises.”

You’re sure he can see it, the realization in your eyes when you come back down to earth long enough to remember what just happened. Remember that you weren't supposed to let it happen in the first place. That you were supposed to have better control over yourself — and you can guess he knows, by the way he’s looking at you like he knows exactly what you're thinking.

"Guess I made m’point, yeah?"

He tugs his balaclava back in place, and you exhale.

“Yeah, you made your point.” He hums at that, and you tug your towel tighter. “But this—this can’t happen again.”

It takes him a beat to respond, and when he does, it’s simple.

"Of course.”

You don’t know why, but that response makes your chest tighten in a way it has no business doing. It would have been so much easier if he’d given you a smart ass smirk, or a biting response. It would be so much easier if he told you that you didn’t have a choice in the matter, but he doesn’t.

And so, you step closer to him, tilting your head back to keep his eyes.

“I mean it, Ghost.” You whisper. “I’ll take a pound of your flesh before I allow you to fuck with my paystub ever again.”

You thought, at this point, you’d have figured out some type of gauge on his reactions. But still, he proves you haven’t. You don't expect the hand coming up, cupping your jaw to hold you in place as his eyes drop to your lips. You don't expect him to lean in, and bring his own to your ear — and you definitely don’t expect the words that fill it.

“There’s a few things I wanna’ fuck. Y’paystub ain’t one.” He pauses, and you’re certain it’s because he’s enjoying the drumbeat that is now your heart rate. You’d just found your breath and he singlehandedly stole it again. “I’ll be watchin’ f’your enemies. T’let em’ know they contend with me.”

You think you get it then. The reason everyone looks at him the way they do. The reason they're so terrified of him in one second, and willing to take a bullet for him during the next. It's not even because he's trained to be a killing machine. Not because he can see what you're thinking before you even realize you are. Not because he'd walk through fire just to be close to hell.

It's because he's a man of his word, and even you understand the gravity of that kind of loyalty.

You exhale with a nod, and then he’s gone.

[rachelazegler]

we love spending the entire day trying to prepare for something just for everything in the day to go wrong that you end up not doing the one thing you spent all your energy on today preparing for

[crushribbons]

thanks, peg J

summary: Dr. Michael Robinavitch needs help building a shelf.

cw: 2.7k words, fluff, my actual husband is an actual doctor i should probably know more/anything about how hospitals work, vague age gap (reader/oc is in her 30's), vague to graphic depictions of injury/illness, fem!OC/reader.

a/n: paging dr. daddy :) <3

(gif cred)

She pulled her stethoscope off her neck. “Oof. Sounds like a ball of a Friday night. Is it from Ikea?”

“The Ivar,” Robby specified with a nod and shrug. He looked back down at the patient list from their shift, which couldn’t have been ending at a more merciful time. The last man she had examined had spat on her. And what else should she expect?; she’d diagnosed his pain as a small kidney stone passing through his urethra and written a prescription that would all but eliminate the discomfort. If that wasn’t deserving of a loogie to the face, she didn’t know what else would be. Robby let out a sigh that sounded exactly like the exhaustion tugging her eyelids down. 

Nurse Dana swept by them, her fleece jacket already three-quarters of the way on. “Don’t take too long on those autographs, kids, or night shift will just let you keep right on rolling.” 

A raspy little laugh slipped past Dr. Robby’s lips and the corners of his eyes crinkled the way they always did on the rare occasions someone could tug a genuine smile out of him. Suddenly, she wasn’t sure if the lack of breakfast and the bag of Ritz crackers she’d scarfed down for lunch were the only things making her light-headed. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he called after Dana. The charge nurse raised her hand without turning around and wiggled her fingers at them while darting out the double doors that led to the waiting room and exit before anyone could stop her. Robby turned back to the doctor next to him and handed her the clipboard he’d just finished signing about two hundred times. 

Her hand grazed his, and the level of attention she paid to how warm and rough his fingers felt made her grit her jaw in frustration. It was her first year as an attending, how could she be letting something as ridiculous as a workplace crush get to her? She realized it had been a while since she’d spoken, and that Robby was pulling his own coat and backpack from underneath his desk. 

“Need any help chasing down the million nuts and bolts that are guaranteed to burst out of the little bag when you open it?” she offered jokingly. Robby’s eyes flicked to her too fast. She felt her hairline heat up, worried she’d overstepped. 

None of the attendings did anything outside of work together; the work hours were long enough to get their fill of each other without feeling the need to add alcohol or food to the mix. Some of the students and residents would occasionally hit bars after their shifts, and though she had no desire to join them, it made her miss the relative lack of responsibility of med school. Dr. Robinavitch, in particular, never broached the topic of his personal life at work, so she tried to do the same. There were too many patients to see and too much to accomplish to bother checking if the attractive ER chief with the puppy-dog eyes had plans for the weekend. No matter how much she wanted to.

He let out another chuckle, though this one was without humor. "Don't tell me you got nothing better to do than that," he said. "On a Friday night."

"I'm, uh, still finding my way around Pittsburgh." It was true. Her residency in California had spoiled her, and she found the stark greyness of Pennsylvania off-putting. She rarely ventured from her apartment for anything other than work and necessary grocery shopping.

He regarded her for a few seconds. His gaze felt heavier than it should have, as if she had some symptom that didn't line up with her lab results. She remembered what Dr. Santos had muttered to her on her first day at the Pitt when she'd caught the new doctor staring a little too long at Robby typing his notes.

"I know. He's crazy hot, right?" Trinity had pinched her elbow and embarrassment had made her stutter nonsensically. Then, to top off the humiliation, Trinity had started swaying her shoulders side to side and singing under her breath, "I will be your father figure, put your tiny hand in mine..." The younger woman was known for being abrasive, but, shit, she was a perceptive little fucker, too.

"I'd be a fool to turn down help wrangling Ivar. Ikea furniture is my Achilles heel," Robby was saying when she snapped back to the present. He seemed hesitant. He couldn't tell whether she'd been joking or not, and, frankly, she couldn't either. "But I couldn't ask you to–"

"You'd be doing me a favor," she cut in quickly. He would, in more ways than one. "If I sit on my couch with my cat for one more weekend, I think they're gonna start letting me collect Social Security."

A genuine laugh! Her stomach flipped upside down at the sight and the sound. Both were warm and inviting and made her want to kiss each of the individual lines on his weathered face. "Then by all means, please."

Oh, wait. Was this happening? Was it, actually? Nerves gnawed at her while she finished handing off the patient list to the night shift. What was it? A date? A friend helping another friend put a shelf together? A coworker helping another, older and more senior coworker who intimidated the hell out of her put a shelf together?

As Robby departed through the same double doors Dana had dashed through, he turned and pointed significantly at his phone, and she pulled hers from her pocket to see that he had texted her his address. Nothing else, just the address, dashed out in Robby’s usual efficient and minimalistic tone. He hadn’t even included the city and zip, but he didn’t need to. Living further than 15 minutes away from the hospital seemed like something a less dedicated physician might consider, but she knew that Robby didn’t really live at the address he’d sent her, anyway. He lived in all the exam rooms and hallways surrounding her, their sanitized scent pricking at her nose one last time before she stepped into the waiting room and the few remaining rays of sunlight waiting to greet her outside.

The door opened on her second knock, or, more accurately, before she could even finish it. Goddammit. She should have taken more time to consider what an off-duty Dr. Robby might look like. 

“Hey,” he said, a genial smile lighting up his tired face.

“H–mm, hi,” she replied. She tried to hide a swallow.

Robby stood aside and let her pass through the front door of the aged but charming brownstone. The long hallway was lined with dark wooden panels that creaked when she walked over them. She tried not to feel him following behind her, the scent of some musky shampoo or body wash drifting off him. She also showered directly after a shift. Too much hospital.

A line of hooks held various jackets and sling bags, and a haphazard pile of worn sneakers sat beneath them. “I gotta get a rack for those, or something,” Robby muttered from behind her, noticing her sightline.

“You should see mine. The floor of my closet is a nightmare.”

She walked into the living room and couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. It was sparsely but cozily finished, an overstuffed couch and matching loveseat positioned atop a plush rug that hugged her feet taking up most of the space. And, of course, a veritable disaster of boards, planks, plastic bags, and ripped cardboard in the middle of all of it.

“Yikes.”

“Thank you, again, for helping me with this,” he said, and came to stand beside her. “Why is it that I can perform a trach in my sleep, but the assembly of Swedish furniture is my downfall?” He scratched the back of his neck, the white t-shirt he was wearing showing off far too much of what was usually hidden beneath a few layers of thermals, scrubs, and hoodies. Her hairline started to feel hot again. 

She cleared her throat and made her way over to the pile of shelf. “For what med school costs, they really should be teaching us the essentials like this stuff, too!” He didn’t respond, making her look up at him. He was watching her again, with that sort-of-absent-but-always-thoughtful x-ray vision. She wished he’d stop.

“You really got none of the cynicism and all of the optimism out of your residency, didn’t you?”

She flushed and looked back down at the ground, unsure if he was making fun of her. “It being basically on the ocean didn’t hurt. Lots to be optimistic about in northern Cali, it’s so beautiful.”

Robby shook his Midwest-born-and-bred head. “Damn hippy.” His voice was gruff, but his dark eyes were sparkling and she felt some of the tension in her shoulders dissipate in a giggle. He crossed the room and through an arch that led to the kitchen. “I ordered some Chinese for dinner, hope that’s alright,” he called back to her.

The tension returned tenfold and her heart began doing somersaults in her chest. Dinner? This included dinner now? Sure, it was time for dinner, but she hadn’t wanted to be so presumptuous as to suggest adding food to this friendly favor she was performing. Robby returned laden with white paper takeout boxes and a handful of napkins and chopsticks. “Like lo mein?” he asked. She nodded.

“Yes, but you really didn’t have to get anything for me! That’s so nice,” she gushed, trying to reign in the attraction to this man and behave as if he was just any other rugged, kind, intelligent guy she might come in contact with. She was so screwed. 

He pressed the box of lo mein into her hand with a pair of chopsticks. “It’s the least I can do to thank you for helping with this,” he shrugged. “Hopefully, you still have an appetite after that bike accident from this morning.” The memory of the young man’s torso torn open and spilling out onto the operating table sent a nauseous wave from her head to her stomach, but she quickly compartmentalized it, as she’d learned to do long ago.

“Why do people even buy motorcycles,” she muttered rhetorically.

“Uh, because they love visiting you so very much,” he returned with a wink that made her miss her mouth with the chopsticks.

Two hours later, the shelf was only two-feet tall and missing three of the nine screws it had required so far.

“Peg L, peg L, peg L,” Robby said through gritted teeth, “where the fuck is peg L?”

She held the instructions centimeters away from her face, hoping the proximity would illuminate its solutions somehow. “Peg L goes into plank K. We just placed plank H.” He stopped running his hands along the carpet to search for the missing peg L and looked up at her with a speck of encroaching insanity peeking through. 

“I’m out of order?”

“Miiiike,” she laugh-groaned. “Did you already use peg G? We need J right now!” When he didn’t answer, she glanced up from the “simple” instruction packet. A sleepy kind of flush appeared on his face, and he pulled the reading glasses off to massage the bridge of his nose and–hide it? Then, he sighed.

“God, no one’s called me just…Mike in forever.” It was a complete sentence, a complete statement, a complete story, and he was done talking about it, but it made a million questions bubble up in the back of her throat. She ignored them.

“You’re at work too much,” she almost whispered. Why she was no longer scared of stepping over some professional, coworker boundary, she wasn’t sure. Maybe it was the way he had accepted her help with such a domestic task, or the fact that they were seeing each other in something other than scrubs for the first time (the loose, perfectly worn-in jeans he was wearing would surely be appearing in her dreams that night), or maybe it was because their legs had been pressed together for the last half hour as they tried to decipher the mysteries of Ivar. Whatever it was, Robby–Mike, felt it, too. He stared into her eyes before averting them to the floor and mumbling,

“Yeah. I know.” He put the glasses back on. “So, peg J.”

“C’mere, ya little Swedish asshole,” she agreed, and they resumed pawing around the rug to try and find the screws that, as predicted, had spilled from the package as soon as Robby had ripped it. She tried to avoid brushing against his hand as well as she could, until her fingers bumped into a tiny piece of metal, and she snatched the screw from the ground. Carefully consulting the instructions, she looked from the page, to the screw, to the page, before shouting, “Oh my God, I found it!” 

His hands were cradling either side of her face in a second, and then he was kissing her. The part of her brain that handled compartmentalization clocked in at lightning speed and swept all her confusion into the bin so she could focus on nothing except his beard scratching her, his warm hands cupping her jaw. Well, well before she had gotten her fill of him, he pulled back and blurted, “Awesome! Good job, let’s put it in.” He plucked the screw out of her hand like the conversation had just been on pause, scooting over on his knees to the feeble half-shelf.

She sat in complete shock until Robby, without turning to face her, said, “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”

“Mike.”

“You just looked–and I, it’s been…I’m really sorry.”

“Mike.”

He was attempting to twist the screw into place with his fingers so he didn’t have to come get the screwdriver from beside her. “I overstepped. It won’t happen again. If you want to take it to HR…”

That was enough to jumpstart her brain again, and she burst into laughter, forcing him to finally spin around.

“HR? Really?” She made a phone out of her pinky, fist, and thumb and held it to her ear. “Hello, Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center Department of Human Resources? Yes, I’d like to file a report against one of your doctors.” She was having a hard time stifling her laughter. “Dr. Michael Robinavitch. Yes, the hottie from the ER, that’s correct. He really laid one on me—"

It was Robby's turn to cut her off, and he did so by rolling his eyes and snatching the instructions out of her other hand. "Hey!" She dove after them but decided instead to drag him in by the collar of his shirt for another kiss. They both held each other tightly, Robby's hands wandering, respectfully, under the hem of her shirt. When she tugged a handful of his hair, he grunted in annoyance.

"Watch it. Don't have much of that left."

"You've got a lot for an old man." She regretted it as soon as she said it, even though he had already alluded to it. His head dropped and apologies bubbled up and out of her lips, assurances that that's not how she'd meant it, that he was the most attractive man she'd met at the Pitt, but he waved them off.

His glasses were sliding down his nose again. He cleared his throat and pushed them back up. "Are you okay with it, then? I mean, I know I'm not..." Her heart ached when he trailed off, nervously scratching the back of his neck again.

"Very ok," she whispered. She reached for his hand and took it. He was fiddling with a screw that she plucked out and tossed to the side. "I'm 31, you know, Senior Elder Doctor Robinavitch."

Robby smiled, clearly in spite of himself. He tucked a piece of hair that had fallen into her eyes behind her ear. For a minute, they just sat and looked at each other, matching each other's lazy smiles. "That's it. Didn't want to have to do this, but you're fired."

"Okay now I want to take this to HR."

masterlist

[bluewxrld07]

I'm The Problem (Luke Hughes)

Summary: Luke isn't the happiest camper post his shoulder surgery, and he feels at a loss at the fact he needs help doing almost everything. His best friend Y/N has been there every step of the way, but takes a step back after Luke get overstimulated

Warning(s): angst, yelling/cursing, crying, lack of self-worth

"For fucks sake."

Luke was annoyed to say the absolute least.

After getting an injury towards the end of the season, especially during playoffs, he felt like he let down the team at the one time where it counted most.

The surgery went smooth and well, it was the recovery that was taking a toll on him. He was a someone who liked the faster healing process rather than sitting on being patient. Only in certain cases that is, which this one happens to be part of.

He always looked forward to the summertime because he got to see his friends back home, stay at the lakehouse, golf and skate freely without the pressure on him.

Now he could barely do any of that without his injury causing some sort of issue. Don't even get him started on the sling. He hated that thing with a burning passion.

Y/N though, was there to help pick him back up when he needed it most.

She managed to take time off of work for a couple weeks during the week of his surgery to help him, especially since Jack was still in recovery from his own.

Luke didn't think he'd be able to get through anything without her around, she was an angel in disguise for him post surgery.

That was at first.

The more and more Luke figured out he couldn't do while in Michigan, the more frustrated and overwhelmed he began to feel. He couldn't swing a golf club, put on clothes properly, wash his hair, drive a car (or boat for that matter). It was beginning to piss him off as time went on.

Y/N would cut in to help him whenever she could see the annoyance reaching his eyes.

The time he was trying to open one of his meal prep containers, tongue sticking out as he grumbled at it not opening.

So Y/N walked over and softly grabbed it from his hands. "I got it, it's okay." she assures him with a soft smile, opening it with a pop and handing it back to him.

"Thank you pretty girl," he chuckles dryly.

Luke first started off mumbling out 'thank you's and now he barely said a thing when she'd cut in. He would either scoff or stomp away like a toddler.

Y/N understood how helpless Luke felt, as having a knee surgery a few years back that caused her to be bedridden for a month or two. it was hard to see everyone doing stuff for you around you when all you wanted to do was accomplish it on your own.

What Luke didn't know was how exhausted Y/N was. Not mentally, but physically. She was up every night the week post his surgery, making sure to switch out his ice packs, bandages, meds, you name it.

She only got a couple hours of sleep realistically each night during that time. She would never complain about it, because she wanted to make the process easy on Luke.

It was now the summertime in which meant she was done with college for the time being until fall, so she was also joining the boys at the lakehouse as per tradition. Not only to make sure Luke had the help he needed, but to also see her other favorite friends she hadn't seen in a bit as they were all traveling for work too.

It was another early morning in the Hughes lakehouse, she was just returning from her workout session and grocery shopping when she could hear the quiet commotion of some of the boys awake in the kitchen.

She smiles warmly as she sets down both arms that are full of grocery bags, nicely onto the counter. Dylan Duke, Cole and Quinn were all awake and made their ways over to the girl to help unpack everything.

"You're all awake earlier than usual." she jokes, opening a bottle of water.

"We decided to run this morning, and we were the only ones who actually got up at our alarms to go." Cole mentions, making her chuckle lightly.

"Should've came and joined my class today. Totally would've made you sweat your asses off, but totally worth how you feel afterwards." She says after she swallows a sip of her drink.

Quinn gives her a look, and points at her. "Absolutely not, I've seen how scary Hot Pilates can be." he denies as he puts groceries away.

"Oh come on it isn't that bad. You gotta try it before you hate on it!" she argues, Dylan laughing at her statement.

"We choose life sweetheart," Cole laughs. "Besides us men can't be seen dying in a class like that. Let's be real." Dylan adds. Y/N rolls her eyes playfully.

"Besides," Quinn buds in. "Luke was about to go insane if he didn't get out of this house somehow and do something more productive."

Y/N raises her brow. "He went running too?"

The boys nodded. "How'd he feel after that?" she says, going to sit at one of the barstools and crossing one leg over the other.

Quinn puts a hand over his neck and slides it across as if to signal not to ask. She purses her lips. "That bad huh?"

Dylan sighs. "He ended up stopping halfway through and walking the rest of the way because the motion kept killing his shoulder. He was red in the face by the time he got back to the house, and it wasn't just from how warm it is outside."

Y/N rubs a hand over her face. "Did he take any of his painkillers? I left them on his nightstand this morning before I left."

Dylan shrugs his shoulders. "No idea. He was too crabby to talk to, so I have no idea."

"You know I'm not deaf right?" Luke's voice booms into the kitchen, his back turned towards them all as he goes to sit on the couch.

He was dressed in a pair of athletic shorts and a plain navy blue t-shirt, his sling over his body and hair still slightly damp from his shower.

Y/N looks at the boys, trying to hide her amused smile as they are. They decide to keep putting stuff away for Y/N while she looks back at Luke who is hunched over and tense.

She hops off the chair and makes her way towards him and rounds the couch to sit next to the blond boy.

He is staring forward, knee bouncing as if he is contemplating in his head.

"How're you feeling Lu?" she asks cautiously.

Luke just grimaces. "Sore." Is all he responds with.

"Did you take some of your meds?"

"Yeah I did when I got back."

"Why didn't you take them before?"

Luke just lets out a loud huff and rolls his eyes, standing up his spot and walking into the kitchen to join the boys conversation.

Y/N frowns at his mood change, knowing no matter how frustrated he got, he never shut her down like that. Instead of bombarding him she ignores it and stands up herself.

"I'm gonna go shower, and then what is the plan today?" she asks.

Cole scratches his head. "Uhhh I think we're going to do the boat for like an hour or two, and then Jack was saying we should hit up this new juice place. He said it's similar to Jamba Juice or something, but it's like the protein juice things."

She gives a thumbs up before walking away towards Luke's room to grab a change of clothes before heading to shower.

Once she finishes and she's dressed, she heads back down the stairs to now see everyone was awake and music was softly playing in the background as they all conversed.

Jack saw her and smiled before pulling her in for a bear hug. "Goodmorning sunshine."

"More like good afternoon now sir." she chuckles, and Jack rolls his eyes as he looks down at her when they break apart. "Hey I forgot I told them I would join this morning, I like my sleep."

"Oh I know. I said you guys should've just joined my workout class this morning."

Jack snorts. "Absolutely not, I choose life my dear Y/N."

"That's what I told her!" Dylan points out, mouthful of food.

"You're a bunch of wimps." she laughs as she goes to grab the cooler off of Quinn's hands.

"Let's get this show on the road now shall we? We're wasting daylight!" she says before heading towards the sliding door.

They all began to slowly follow behind the girl, her letting them all pass to make sure the door was shut before they left. Luke was the last to leave, his face still a bit more droopy. His eyes caught hers, and she gave him a soft, warm smile. "You ready to go?" she says.

"I'm here aren't I?" he says with an annoyed tone, making her smile fall slightly but she tries to hide it and just nods.

"I brought some of your stuff just incase you start to hurt while we're out there." she says, and he just nods.

"You feeling okay Luke?" she finally asks as they walk side by side.

"Yes I'm fine, stop asking." he says in a short tone, earning a frown from Y/N.

"Watch the tone I'm only asking because I care." she shoots back, and watches his face fall slightly.

"Sorry. I'm sorry you're right. I'm just really sore today." he says with a sigh, and she nods. "That's okay. It's normal. I get it." is all she answers with a tight smile.

The rest of the way onto the boat is quiet between them both, Luke deciding to catch up to Duke and talk with him as they got onto the boat.

Jack helped grab the cooler and Y/N's wrist to help her onto the boat, the girl smiling thankfully at him as she stepped onto the wobbly platform.

She went to go sit across from Luke instead of next to him like she usually would, just to give him a bit of space as she's noticed his mood has been a bit more negative with her.

Luke doesn't say anything as he sees her sit across from him, only eyeing her as he talks to Duke who sits on one side of him. She gives him a tight-lipped smile before looking away and starts to talk with Cole and Trevor, Quinn being the designated driver for the day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Ouch Trevor! Move your fat ass over!" Y/N laughs out, pushing the boy over to his side of the booth, rolling her eyes as he playfully dramatized her actions with a fake pout.

The other boys get back with everyone's drinks, Y/N thanking Quinn as he handed her what she ordered before she takes a sip.

The group all converses amongst one another, discussing the plans for the summer and all the concerts they have all planned while sipping and munching on food and drinks.

"So Y/N you gonna have any dates while you're out here this summer?" Cole teases, earning a look from her with an amused smile.

"Yeah absolutely not. Remember how that went last summer?"

"Which one? The one that stood you up and said his fish died, or the one that ordered for you?" he jokes.

"Both actually," she chuckles while sipping on her drink.

"Yeah I remember when you texted the chat saying how the dumbass had been already sitting at a table with food ordered by the time you got there."

"Wait what? He already had it ordered?" Jack snorts.

She nods with a laugh. "Oh yeah. Basically gave me the house salad that comes with his order. So didn't even order me something for myself." she says, the guys all laughing.

Luke rolls his eyes and shakes his head as he remembers that day. She felt so annoyed and so pissed off, and she was starving after that ended.

"Never again. If I go on a date at all this summer, it's because it's with the guy I'd actually want to go on one with." she admits, making the boys all snap their heads to her.

"Wait," Trevor says, mouthful of chips. "There actually is a guy you have your eyes on??" he questions, and she nods with a raised brow.

"Who?" Duke pries, and she shrugs her shoulders while stirring her drink.

Her eyes scan the group, Jack giving her a knowing look and she just averts his gaze. "Oh come on you've gotta give us something." Cole groans, and she shakes her head.

"Nope not this year."

"Why not?"

"Because everytime I tell you guys, I feel like I jinx it because then they ghost me right after!"

"I doubt this one would." Quinn hums out, making her snap her head towards him and his shrugs.

"What? It's true!"

"Quinn knows?! Why does Quinn know?" Trevor whines.

"She didn't tell me, I just figured it out." he laughs, and she points at him with a nod.

"He's right."

"Well then now you have to tell us." Trevor begs, and she shakes her head with a laugh.

"What does Golfing look like this week?" she says to change the subject. The guys easily grab onto the bait and start discussing what they had in mind, her eyes drifting towards Luke who sat in the corner of the booth.

He was in his own world, gnawing on his straw as he tries to listen to the group converse. She can tell he is in his own mind.

She lightly nudges his leg underneath the table, causing him to snap out of his daze and look over at her. "You feeling alright?" she asks a little bit more on the quiet side, not to disturb the group of boys in front of them.

He rolls his eyes. "Y/N when are you going to stop asking me that? It's really not necessary." His gaze going back to the boys.

"You just seem off, and I want to make sure you're okay. Or that if your shoulder is bugging you-"

"I'm not a pussy I can handle the soreness and pain that comes with my injury, alright? Knock it off." he snaps quietly, his eyes burning over towards hers.

She looks at him in disbelief, stunned at the words that just came out of his mouth.

"Fuck me I guess." she mumbles back before deciding to ignore his energy, ignoring the look he throws her way after she says that, indulging in the new topic the boys were now caught into.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

Once they had arrived home from the juice place, Y/N was at a breaking point.

After how Luke had treated her throughout the day, she began to realize something was seriously wrong with him. She couldn't figure out what it was.

She knew he had been frustrated about his injury in general, but she didn't know why it was getting worse whenever she came around.

The boys all went to sit down in the livingroom as the rain started to slowly come down. The soft patters being heard on the rooftop of the house.

They turned on some country music while connecting the PS5 to the giant TV screen. Y/N had gone into the kitchen to go and grab herself something to eat and something to drink, setting it onto the kitchen island as she also went and prepped Luke's meds he was supposed to take every evening like clockwork.

The glass of water fills up and she tries to hide the shaking in her hands, both from exhaustion and anxiety because of what's going on with Luke.

She shook the tension away that was forming between them, and put on a fake facade while walking over to the boys.

"You going to come and join us for a round?" Cole asks, motioning towards the video games on the screen.

She smiles and nods. "Yes I will. Just give me a few minutes."

Y/N walks towards the other big couch where Luke was sitting with Duke and Jack, softly putting her hand on his good shoulder. He whipped his head towards her before rolling his eyes.

"Hey I have your meds, and I grabbed you a water to help get them down-"

"I don't need it."

"Luke you know you're supposed to take these or you can't sleep." she pries with a frown.

He huffs and decides to ignore her, starting to talk to Duke and Jack again. The boys give her a reassuring look before looking back at Luke.

"Luke, take them. You know how you get without them. If you take them later you're going to get sick." she tries again soft but stern.

Luke still doesn't acknowledge her, so she lets out a huff.

"Luke I swear if you don't take these-"

"Oh my fucking fuck Y/N just stop! I said No!"

"Luke I know you don't want to, but your surgeon says you need-"

"I don't give a fuck! I am sick of taking those and I am sick of you breathing down my neck and forcing those down my throat. Seriously knock it the fuck off!" he snaps, making the room quiet and look at the pair.

His eyes are now staring up at hers with a sharp glare, hers frowning down at him in confusion.

"Luke what the fuck is your issue? I'm just trying to help you-"

"Well fucking stop helping! I don't need your help, or you! You're insufferable! You breathe down my neck at every single moment of every single fucking day and it's annoying. You're like a clingy girlfriend who won't hop off my dick. Seriously stop, just stop!" he yells out, and begins to stand up.

Only when he stands up, his good shoulder hits her hands that were frozen in place with the glass and pills. Before she can react, the glass and pills spill from her hands and crash onto the hardwood floor, glass shattering everywhere.

It was so silent that you could've heard a pin drop. Y/N is frozen as she looks at the mess on the ground, hands shaking as her anxiety increases, hands frozen in their spot where she was once holding things.

She could feel the tears forming, lip quivering.

"Y/N" Jack's voice perks up slowly.

"Y/N are you okay?" Jack asks slowly once again. She snaps out of her daze, and sniffles putting on a fake smile.

She nods quickly and her arms fall to their sides.

"Yeah. Yeah I'm fine, I'm good. I uh I'm just going to clean this up and head to bed." she says before walking quickly to the kitchen to grab the cleaning supplies.

Jack is the first to stand up and follow behind her to the closet.

She's letting out a few huffs and sniffles when he sees her, shakily grabbing the broom and dust pan. Jack grabs them from her hands and says her name softly to have her look up at him.

"I got it. It's okay." he says to her in an assuring tone.

She looks into his eyes for a second, Jack seeing the heartbreak hitting her eyes as tears fall freely.

"I got the mess. Okay?" he says one more time, and she wipes her eyes.

"Okay." she sighs before leaving the room quickly and rushing up the stairs.

When Jack emerges from the closet and over towards the mess on the ground, his eyes glared over at Luke who was still standing and facing where Y/N once stood.

"You're a fucking asshole, Luke." he growls out. Luke sighs and lets his head fall.

"That was a dick move. Real dick move bro, she's been there for you the most out of anybody." Duke adds in, Luke running his hands through his hair.

"Well she hasn't left me alone for one fucking minute! I was losing my mind okay? This recovery has fucking sucked." he sputter out, sitting back down and putting his face into one hand.

"Do you know how much shit she has done for you? She didn't sleep a wink when she was one jersey during your first week post surgery." Jack admits.

"What do you mean?" Luke says.

"She stayed up a majority of every night in case you woke up in pain, or in case you needed something other than your doses of your meds. She was the one who would fill the kitchen with your favorite snacks. Your favorite drinks. She was the one who has dropped everything to take you to PT and your surgical follow ups. She hasn't slept since your surgery, because she wants to make sure this recovery is as easy as it can be for you!" Jack bursts, red in the face.

Luke sighs. "Fuck." he winces.

"Dude if you weren't injured right now I'd fucking smack you silly." Quinn scoffs.

"I don't care if you're injured, I'm still debating on doing it." Jack says.

Luke felt like shit. It was all hitting him now.

The times he caught her already awake at five in the morning. The tired red eyes she would have, bags very prominent underneath. The little naps she would take on his lap during the day. Her forgetting to eat because she was so caught up on preparing his food. Missing nights out with her girlfriends to be there for his appointments and PT.

Now he knows he has fucked up in the past, but he really fucked up in this moment. He fucked up terribly.

"I'd be so surprised if you're able to fix this one. You really hurt her, Luke." Jack says, a tired tone being heard in his voice.

"I really fucking hurt her. Fuck I fucked up bad." he groans out, feeling his face get hot and eyes gloss over.

All of their ears perked up when they hear the front door shut, Jack's eyes darting back over to Luke with a scowl as his own face had a fearful look going.

Silence follows as the boys watch Jack drop the supplies in his hands and scurry towards the entryway and open the door.

The door slams shut and Jack comes stomping back.

He points at Luke. "I'm gonna beat your ass." he snaps walking over towards his brother, Cole and Trevor walking towards him and pull him back. Luke stands up.

"What? Why? What happened?"

"She's gone."

Luke's eyes widen, soon rounding the couch and running up the stairs and towards his room.

He slams the door open on turns on the light, frowning when he sees her stuff is still on her side of his bed still in the messy clean form it was in this morning.

He rushes down the stairs. "Her stuff is still here." he says.

Jack is running his hand through his hair while the other is sitting on his hip.

"You better go find her. You better fucking find her, or hope she fucking comes back in one piece. If not, it's your head that will be on a stick by morning."

Luke glares at Jack at his sudden protectiveness over Y/N. "Since when do you get so protective over her? What's your fucking deal?"

"Because that girl is one you shouldn't treat like shit or throw away! She's one that you keep around forever, Luke. That girl is so fucking in love with you and you fucking blew it!" Jack says, his voice raising with every word he says.

Luke freezes.

"Wait, what?"

Jack bites his lip. "Fuck," he hisses. "I wasn't supposed to say that."

"Since when? How long have you known this?" Luke says, his anger now rising.

"No you don't get to fucking be the one who is pissed off! You don't get to act like that!" Quinn buds in.

Luke glares at his older brother. "You knew too? Are you fucking joking? Why-"

"Alright fucking enough! This isn't what we should be fighting about, what we should be doing is figuring out how the fuck Luke is going to fix things with Y/N." Trevor bursts out, making everyone turn over to him in shock.

Trevor throws his hands up in the air. "Yeah I know. Trevor of all people saying you guys need to calm the fuck down, but seriously I'm the only one that is also willing to see that we have a bigger issue to fix right now."

"Luke you need to figure out what you're going to say and do to fix this," Trevor instructs while pointing at him. He then points at the other boys. "You guys can sort your shit out afterwards. Y/N comes first right now."

Luke huffs, knowing he really had to sort his shit out. He royally fucked up badly, and this was the girl he cared about more than anyone else who existed in his life.

Jack was right. She was a forever girl.

He just hoped that she would still be there after all of this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Y/N arrived home, it was late. WayI late.

She knew it was way late when all of the boys were sleeping, and the lights were all off inside the house. The outdoor porch light glowing a dark orange as she approached the front door.

Sniffles left her lips as she tried to stay as quiet as she could while opening the door, silently closing and locking it behind her.

The girl kicks her shoes off and lines them up at the door with all the other pairs of shoes there, setting her keys on the group key hanger before padding into the kitchen.

She turns on the dimmer lighting, hoping to not let it be too bright to wake any of the boys whom were sleeping on the main floor bedrooms.

When she opened the fridge she saw her leftovers that she was going to eat earlier that night sitting right in the smack-dab front, a note adorning the top of the lid.

Made sure nobody touched it. I hope you're home safely

-Quinn

She sighs before placing the note on the counter, opening up the container and grabbing a fork as she decides to just eat it cold to not worry about waking up anyone in the house.

Y/N brings the bowl over to one of the living room couches and eats in absolute silence, her mind running in circles as it has been all night. She thought maybe going for a drive and then stopping at the beachfront of the lake next to theirs would be a way to somewhat clear her mind a bit.

As she sat there alone with her thoughts once more, she couldn't help but break down into more tears.

Her container falls onto the coffee table as she lets the tears fall freely, putting her head into her hands as she lays herself on her side. Her chest feeling heavy as her heart breaks over again.

She couldn't believe Luke had really said those things. Really thought that about her especially.

Was she really that clingy? That much of a nuisance to Luke? Was she just causing more harm than good to him right now? Should she just leave the lakehouse in the morning was the real question.

She didn't know what to do.

Tears kept falling freely as she lay there on the couch, curled into a ball, rubbing her arms up and down.

Her eyes suddenly started to feel heavier, her sobs turning into soft hiccups, tears drying on her face that was red, splotchy and puffy. She let her eyes slowly close, her mind trying to be silenced by sleep.

Which slowly does take over.

Y/N soon is fast asleep on the couch, no blanket or pillow covering her as she was too caught up in her mind to notice.

Little did she realize that her container falling onto the table caused a loud enough noise for the oldest Hughes brother to stun awake and head out to the kitchen to see what was happening.

He squints around, then does s double take when he sees a small form curled up on the couch while little hiccups left their mouth. He walks over, his heart clenching as he sees Y/N shaking from crying so much while being fast asleep.

He grabs her bowl and puts the rest back into the fridge for her tomorrow, then walking back over to the girl and picking her up slowly to not disturb the much needed slumber she needs.

Quinn looks down at her, seeing how torn her face looked even in her sleep. If thoughts could kill in that moment, he was sure Luke would be dead in an instant.

Once he is back into his room, he quietly shuts the door and brings her over to lay in his bed. He sets her down softly and cover her up with his comforter, kissing her head softly. "I'm so sorry he did this to you." he whispers out, knowing she couldn't hear him.

He sighs before standing up and walking over to his side of the bed and getting in. Once his light is turned off he is laying on his side and keeps his distance from Y/N so she has her space, before he himself slowly falls back into a deep slumber.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Her car is here so she had to come back. There is no way she would just disappear." Luke says as he paces around. "She didn't come sleep in my room last night."

"Well I wouldn't blame her is she decided to sleep somewhere else too. I wouldn't want to be near you either after being told all of that." Duke says, earning a look from Luke. His friend put his hands up in defense.

Jack, Cole and Trevor were all out that morning picking up some of Y/N favorites in opes that they could try to make her feel a bit better, while Luke was conjuring up what he was going to do and say to Y/N to at least get on a path towards fixing things between them both.

"Where would she have gone? She hates sleeping in other beds. She says they're not as comfortable, and I'm the only one in the house that has a fan. Because she can't sleep without one." Luke bombards, biting his nails.

"Well I think after how much she cried out last night, her body will be out for quite some time with no fan or your bed needed." Quinn's voice perks up, the boys waltzing into the kitchen with a yawn.

Luke stops pacing and looks at Quinn.

"What do you mean? Where is she? Is she safe?"

Quinn shushes his brother with a look and a hand motion to shut him up.

"Yes she is fine. She's asleep in my room-"

"What the fuck-"

"No don't start that shit. She wouldn't be in there in the first place if you didn't act like a bitch and go off on her like you did last night." Quinn chirps before Luke can say another word. "So yeah she is sleeping in my room. I woke up because I heard her come home, she passed out from crying so much on the couch, so I carried her to sleep in my room. You need to get over yourself if you're going to even have a chance at fixing the mess you made." Quinn admits.

Luke knows he is right. Quinn might've been the more quiet and reserved one out of the three brothers, but when he was mad or driven about something, people listened because he wasn't bullshitting in any way.

Luke decided to keep his mouth shut and put his good hand on his hip.

"So what do I do? Where do I start?" he asks, and Quinn shuts the fridge to turn to his brother.

"You need to apologize. Really apologize, hear her out, and be fucking honest." Quinn instructs. "You want a chance at being with the one girl I know you're just as obsessed with as she is with you, then you need to lay every fucking thing out. Don't bullshit any of it, Luke." Quinn explains, letting his little brother take in his words.

"But for now, you need to let her sleep. She looked so exhausted. Let her sleep and take her time. Don't immediately jump her throat when she so much as walks out here." He finishes before disappearing from the kitchen to go outside.

Duke looks at Luke and nods. "I think he's right. He said it better than I could've."

So that's what Luke did.

He left to go golfing with the boys. He left to go out on the boat. He left to go into town for lunch. He gave her space. He didn't want to do what Quinn said would make her feel pressured. He kept his distance.

Throughout that day, he slowly started to realize just how much her presence was meant for their group. Meant for him. He never realized how important she became for him especially with all of his post surgery things. She did keep him in check for good reasons.

He was stressed out every time he forgot to take his meds. Or when he forgot to do his PT exercises. Or when he especially forgot to switch out his ice packs.

She really did make it an easier process for him. Every single thing she was doing wasn't to be a pain in his ass or cling onto him, it was to make it easier on him.

He groans at the thought, knowing he really wished he could've just shut his trap the night before, but of course his pain and soreness and helplessness made him lash out on the one person who made this whole thing so much simpler for him.

The boys all sat around the fire pit later that night, music playing softly while they all sat amongst one another and talked. The sun was nearly gone, crickets and frogs being heard around the lake as well as a few loons.

The talking simmered when the group heard the sliding door slowly opening, they all snapped their heads over to see the familiar girl's face appear.

She looked like she was fresh out of the shower, her hair damp and face free of makeup as she shut the door behind her.

She was wearing a pair of gray sweats and a UMich Hockey sweatshirt, one that looked like it might've been Luke's that she took a while ago.

Her hands were hiding in the big sleeves of the sweater as she walked down to join them, some of the boys letting frowns form on their faces as they see her face still puffy from the night before.

They all snap out of their frowns when her eyes rise up to look at them with the fakest smile Luke had ever seen on her.

"There's my favorite girl." Jack is the first to speak up warmly, wrapping her up in his arms as she went and sat down. All the other boys warmly greeted and cheered when she sat down, Y/N smiling at them as she took a deep breath.

"I made you one," Trevor says as he hands her one of his famous s'mores. She looks over at him.

"How'd you know?" she asks, and he shrugs with a wink.

"I told you, I've got that twin telepathy." Trevor jokes in a cocky tone, earning an amused look from the girl before she thanks him and blows him a kiss.

"See? Y'all see that? I got a kiss before you guys!" he sings out, making all the guys groan and swat at him as he does a funny little dance.

"I take it back." Y/N says, earning an awestruck Trevor.

"No take-backsies!" he pouts before going to sit back in his spot.

Her eyes never met Luke's, the boy silently begging for her to look at him just once. She never did.

The group all kept on their conversations, trying to distract from the obvious tension going on as they all didn't want to make Y/N anymore uncomfy than she probably felt.

Luke tried hard not to get jealous or annoyed at Jack or Trevor when they would be close to Y/N, as he knew they were only doing it to make her smile and feel better. He just couldn't help but feel that way as he wished it was him making her that way.

But he was the reason she wasn't smiling. Why her face was puffy. So he deserved that at payback. He deserved way worse to be honest.

As the night began to near its end, each boys lowly trailed their ways inside, Y/N and Luke being the last two to be sitting near the fire. Y/N wanted to enjoy the night, as bonfires were something that made her feel anchored and helped her decompress.

Luke kept his distance, only staying on the left side of her across the fire. His eyes hadn't really left her figure the entire night.

At that moment he decided he couldn't wait any longer. The suspense was killing him slowly. So he cleared his throat, watching as she didn't move a muscle.

"Um," he squeaks out. "You-you can take my bed tonight. If you want. I-I know you usually can't sleep without a fan, a-and that you prefer my bed because it helps elevate your back." he stutters out quietly.

Y/N keeps her gaze on the fire, and just nods. Luke feels his chest tighten.

He clears his throat once again.

"I-I um," he starts once more. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry-"

Y/N stands up before he can finish, soon walking away from the fire.

He watches her walk away in silence, watching as she disappears back inside the house. Luke lets out a shaky sigh, before standing up himself and using the pot of water next to the pit to put out the fire before soon making his way back up to the house himself.

When he reaches his room, he prays that she took his offer, the boy wanting to use the excuse of grabbing pajamas in case she was in there.

His bed was empty.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day came by quicker than expected, and Luke was feeling at a loss.

Y/N had been ignoring him all day.

He had gotten up before the sun, went and picked up her favorite flowers, coffee and protein iced tea she loves, as well as her favorite bagel spot. He had even drove across town to get her the coffee grounds from a cafe that donates used coffee grounds to use for gardening, as he knows she loves using them when she does her planting at the lakehouse for Ellen and herself.

When she had come down that morning to get herself some breakfast, her face had contorted into all kinds of reactions.

Shock, awe, happiness, confusion, sadness and then nothing. It turned into nothing when she saw Luke creep in and giving her a look of hope.

She didn't acknowledge him once, but he knew he had gotten to her as she did indulge in the breakfast, coffee and iced tea he got her.

That was when Luke knew he had a chance to get her back.

Until the rest of the day had gone on.

She so much as did not look his way, acknowledge anything that had to do with him. She acted as if he didn't exist. Luke didn't know what to do. He couldn't talk to her as she wouldn't even try and be near him.

She either stuck to Jack or Cole's side for the day.

The evening was far from over too, and Luke was just ready to go to bed in that moment.

Especially now.

They were currently out at one of the dive bar clubs in the area, the music was loud and the place was packed.

Which also meant that Y/N was drunker than a sailor on a pirate ship.

She had been dancing and singing loudly to any and all of the songs, having any of the boys come dance with her as time went on. Luke stayed in his spot at the bar by Quinn, who looked very amused by her actions as she was spun around by Trevor.

"Have you gotten to talk to her yet?" Quinn says over the loud music.

Luke shook his head with a pout. "She's acting as if I don't exist."

Quinn uses his lips. "Do you blame her? You broke her heart. Especially after you said you'd never do that."

Luke huffs. "Yeah I know."

"Keep trying. That's all I'll say. You still have a shot. I know deep down she wants you to keep fighting."

"I'm trying. But she makes it so hard."

"She's worth it though?" Quinn trails off, and Luke thinks for a second. He then nods.

"Yeah. Yeah she is."

Trevor then runs up to them, drunkenly stumbling around as he reaches them. "Y/N disappeared outside. I think she's throwing up. I would go get her, but I'm not too far behind her." he says before disappearing back into the crowd.

Luke looks over at Quinn before he makes his way outside, eyes scanning for the familiar figure and spots her over at the corner by the bushes and hunched over.

He scurries over to her, using his good arm to caress her back as she throws up. He then takes her hair as best as he can with the one hand, and holds it back.

When she finishes dry heaving she turns and does a double take when she sees it's Luke.

She stumbles a little as she tries to push him away. "No, I don't want you." she slurs, dry heaving once more.

"Y/N stop focus on getting this out of your system right now. Quinn is coming with water." he says, and she shakes her head trying to get away from his grasp.

She forget that he still has a hold on her hair, and he gently pulls on it to keep her in her place. "You can hate me the most tomorrow, but I'm not letting you pass out after dry heaving for ten minutes. So it's me or the concrete."

"I choose the concrete."

"Y/N"

She drunkenly giggles at her comment, only to be stopped as she starts throwing up again. Luke keeps her hair back, his eyes looking back to see Quinn coming up with the bottled water.

He hands it to his younger brother. "I'm going to grab the boys and the car. I'll be back." he says before jogging back inside.

Once Y/N finishes her second round, she tries to stand straight but wobbles in the process. Luke is quick to catch her, only almost failing as his sling holds his bad arm back from fully being able to stabilize her.

He makes a dumb decision, but in that moment he was more focused on her.

He takes off his sling and lets it fall to the ground, Y/N watching the action and pout when she sees his sling fall to the ground. She points at it. "Your sling. You shouldn't be taking that off." she slurs out with a hiccup.

He shakes his head. "Not my concern right now, I'm more focused on keeping you upright. I don't need you passing out on me again." he tries to lighten the mood, only getting a scowl from her.

"Okay tough crowd." he mumbles, looking behind them to see any sign of Quinn.

"I'm serious-" she hiccups "put it back on. You can't have that off." she hiccups again as she bends down to try and get it.

"Y/N dammit leave it. I'll deal with my dumb decisions tomorrow."

"Like you other decision you made two days ago?"

His heart sinks at her words, seeing her eyes become big as she looks up at him. "Y/N look," he starts. "I'd love to have this conversation, and tell you how much I regret saying those things to you, but I want you sober for that. I'm not going to take advantage when you are probably seeing two of me."

"Hey! How'd you know that? Do you have my vision or something?" she whines, and he rolls his eyes trying to not laugh at her.

Before he knows it, Quinn is pulling around the corner to meet them. Luke brings her up to his car when he parks it, Quinn rushing up to grab her and he frowns at Luke as he looks down at his empty shoulder.

"Dude what are you doing? Put that back on!"

"I will, chill alright? I was more focused on trying to make sure she didn't fall face first onto the pavement." he says as he goes to grab the sling and carefully put it back on, trying to ignore the burning pain going up and down his collarbone.

It was a quiet ride home, as most of the drunk ones were already sleeping, the others just tired from the day they've had.

Once they were pulled into the driveway, Quinn hops out and goes to grab Y/N while Jack and Cole who are both not super drunk but are definitely past being buzzed, grab Trevor.

"Put her in my bed. I'm sleeping on the couch." Luke says to Quinn when they get inside. Instead of arguing, he nods and brings her up the stairs.

Luke follows behind, needing to go and grab some pajamas and his painkillers for the night. Once Quinn has set her in bed, Luke goes to turn on the fan for her watching as she snuggles closer into his sheets.

"She loves you still, you know." Quinn says softly, making Luke turn towards his eldest brother.

Luke gives him a pursed smile and nods, getting the same action back from Quinn before he leaves.

The blond boy slowly, and painfully, changes into a pair of sweats before going over to his bed to grab his pillow only to freeze when he sees Y/N's eyes looking up at him.

"You okay?" he asks.

"You hate when I ask you that, so don't ask me that." she snaps, her words still slurring.

He nods slowly. "I deserve that."

"You deserve a lot worse."

"Yes I do."

She stares at him, her eyes squinting at him as she watches him slowly try to take off his sling for bed. She doesn't miss the way his face winces at the pain he is definitely feeling after what he did.

"Where are you going?" she asks as she watches him head for his door. He points at it. "Downstairs. I'm going to go and sleep downstairs. Give you your space."

"Stay." she says, making him frown.

"Please." she slurs out softly, watching him fight with his mind. She watches as he slowly walks back over and cautiously gets into his side of the bed just incase she changes her mind.

"Just keep your distance." she says quickly and he nods.

"I know."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning Luke was hurting like a bitch.

He tried his best to not wince and hiss when he woke up, not wanting to awaken the girl next to him.

When he finally got out of bed and down he stairs, he saw Quinn and Jack both in the kitchen talking. Jack was sitting on one of the barstools while Quinn was putting together breakfast.

They both looked over when they heard him coming in, seeing him hold his sling out signaling he needed help putting it on.

"That was a dumb move you made." Quinn says, and Luke rolls his eyes.

"Yeah well I was more concerned for her than I was about my arm. I'll live." he shoots back, thanking Jack as he finishes adjusting it for Luke.

"What happened?" Jack asks.

"Y/N was at her throwing up point where she can't end to pass out from dry heaving too much," Luke says before pouring himself a cup of coffee. "So I took my sling off and kept her upright instead of letting her faceplate straight into the concrete."

Jack hums. "You're a dumbass," he starts. Luke chuckles dryly as he goes to sit down next to Jack. "But proud of you." he says before taking a bite of his waffles and standing up, patting the boy on his back.

"I'm off. I'm meeting Sammy for a farmer's market run this morning. So I'll be back around one." he says, putting his place in the sink and then heading towards the front door.

Quinn nods. "I'll be leaving shortly too. Trev and Cole are still sleeping. I think Duker and I are gonna go take up some ice time for a bit." he says, and Luke nods.

Y/N soon comes strolling in, still in her dress from the night before and her hair in a bun as she is squinting her eyes.

She goes to grab a cup of coffee, Quinn handing her a plate of food as she stand over by him at the island. "How you feeling champ?" he giggles, and she huffs.

"Not great. But not dying. I more so just have a headache right now. I think I got most of it out of my system last night." she explains with a dry laugh, taking a sip of her coffee.

Quinn laughs, before finishing up his breakfast. He goes over and kisses her head. "Don't kill him today, yeah?" is all he says, making her give him a look before he disappears.

Y/N just stands there, tracing the ring around her cup with her finger as they sat in silence.

Luke was the first to speak.

"There's um," he clears his throat. "There's some liquid IV in the cabinet. It's the berry one." he says, pointing to the cupboard.

She stands there quietly, taking a sip of her coffee and nodding.

Luke sighs. "Can I say more? Or are you going to leave before I can finish?" he asks genuinely.

"I'm debating." she answers back, not meeting his eyes as he keeps his own her figure.

"Well I'l just talk, and if you've had enough then you can walk away. Yeah?"

She says nothing, which then has him proceed.

"I fucked up," he sighs. "I really fucked up. I know that. I honestly wouldn't blame you if you never wanted to talk to me again."

"Again. Debating."

"And that's okay," he says, not wanting to say how much it would hurt him if she chose that. "I really should not make any excuses for what I said. I've just been in so much pain, and at such a breaking point with all of this. I took it out on you when I should not be doing that."

She takes a sip of her coffee, soon taking a bit of her food. He takes that as a sign that she isn't ready to leave just yet.

"I didn't realize how much you were doing until you weren't there. You know what I also realized?"

For the first time, she looks at him.

"I realized all you were trying to do was make this whole healing process easier on me. Not pester me. Or overwhelm me. Or annoy me. It was simply to make sure I was on the right path towards a faster paced healing process to get back on my feet."

"That's all I was trying to do, and have been trying to do Luke. Because I know how you get. You proved my point when you blew up at me like that." she answers in a monotoned voice. Luke nods.

"I know that now. And I'm so grateful for that and for you. Especially after having that realization," he says. "I hated hearing how you haven't slept, and how you have put me first. If anything don't do that again. For my sake. As much as I love you for that, I need you do make sure Y/N is healthy first."

Y/N ears perk up, and she looks at him with a frown. "What did you just say?" she says softly.

Luke furrows his brows. "I need you to put yourself first. Your health."

"You said you love me."

Luke's eyes widen, and his heart freezes. He did not even realize he let that come out.

He clears his throat and he feels his ears heat up, seeing her face change slightly. "I um," he squeaks. "Yeah. Yeah I do love you. I think I always have, but after realizing all of this I think it made me realize I loved you more." he admits, his voice shaky as he looks at her.

"Luke."

"I'm serious, Y/N." he says. "I know you hate love bombing, but honestly that slipped out. And I am just going to own it because it's nothing but the damn truth."

Y/N just stands there in disbelief. Luke continues. "I want you to know that I truly and deeply am sorry for saying all of those things. You're not clingy. You're not annoying or a burden or any sort of negative impact on my life." he says, slowly getting closer to her. "If anything I do need you. And I want you as mine and mine only. I don't want any of those stupid guys from last summer to be the type of dates you have this year. I want us to figure our shit out, and I want to give you the proper dates you deserve."

Y/N looks up at Luke. "You've got a lot of making up to do, Hughes. A lot."

Luke takes a deep breath. "I know. I know I do."

"You broke my heart."

"I know."

"You called me things."

"I did, and I'm sorry for that."

"Yet I love you too."

His eyes could've popped out of his head. "W-What?" he cracks out, and she give him a small smile.

Before he knew what was happening, she flicks his forehead hard and then smacks his cheek. "Ouch, hey!" he says in awe, and she points at him.

"You deserve that," she says. "But I got those out of the way so I could finish with this."

She lightly grabs his jaw and places a chaste kiss on his lips. He groans when she pulls away far too short for his liking.

"No. No more. Because you have a lot of shit to fix first."

"Roger that."

"I love you."

"I love you too, and I will spend the rest of my life proving it."

[mrs-kmikaelson]

icarus

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x sunshine!reader Summary: Aaron thinks you're just about the most radiant person he's ever met. But then you fly too close to the sun, and all your light disappears. Warnings: grumpy x sunshine turned not sunshine, some references to the greek myth of icarus, religious imagery, graphic descriptions of violence, murder, brief allusion to suicide, heartbreak, complicated relationship, unhealthy coping mechanisms, cm timeline not canon, takes place in s6ish, extreme angst and no happy ending (yet) Words: 4.1K

Masterlist | helios (part 2)

a/n: part 2?

You'd been in Hotch's office too many times to count, typically sitting on his couch. Oftentimes, you'd come in after hours, waiting for him to finish his work before you walked to the parking lot together. He'd scribble away at his desk while you rested your eyes, and then he'd walk over to you when he was done.

Now, you sat on the couch, the same as before. But this time, Hotch sat in front of you. You weren't resting your eyes and he wasn't working on any case. A file laid on his lap, nonetheless.

Your file.

You wanted to question that. Was it performative? What would he find in that file that he didn't already know about you? Did he want to make you sweat, make you tense up?

He didn't need a file for that.

Your eyes zeroed in on the tan folder, labelled with the FBI seal, and they stayed there until he spoke your name. "Y/N."

You looked up. Aaron's face betrayed no emotion. His expression wasn't warm, nor was it cold. It was just blank.

But, see, you could read Aaron Hotchner better than any file. And in his eyes, you saw traces of concern, hope, frustration, desperation, and all those other things he was hiding behind his unit chief persona. You wondered if he could see anything in your eyes right now.

You weren't really there. Not in that moment.

Your mind went back to your first time in that office.

"SSA Aaron Hotchner, it's a pleasure to meet you."

You gave him a remarkable smile. "Please, the pleasure's all mine. Agent Y/N Y/L/N."  You had a firm handshake, he'd give you that. "It's— it's an honour to be here, sir."

David Rossi was your connection. He served with your father during the Vietnam War. Hotch thought that made him biased, but Rossi told him otherwise. She's the sun, he'd said. I guarantee, you'll never meet anyone as radiant as her.

Upon meeting you, Hotch could see that. He could see the beam in your smile and the light in your eyes. Maybe that should've deterred him from letting you on his team, but you were convincing.

Sitting opposite to you at his desk, he read from your file. "It says here you come from Crimes Against Children?"

"Yes, sir."

"You've held the highest number of cases solved within the unit for the past 2 years." He finally looked up at you, his lips twitching ever so slightly. "That's quite the accomplishment, agent."

He didn't seem like a man who gave out compliments very often, and so you had to fight the urge to smile like a lunatic. "Thank you, sir."

He didn't seem like a man who smiled much, either. And so, before he even said another word, you knew that you made it.

When the interview ended, you shook hands a second time, and he told you to pack a go-bag and be ready to come in for Monday. This time, you couldn't hide the smile.

"Welcome to the BAU."

Aaron's voice broke you from your reverie. "Please state your name and rank for the record."

Your eyes darted to the voice recorder on the coffee table before looking back up at him. You cleared your throat. "Supervisory Special Agent Y/N Y/L/N."

Aaron didn't waste any time. "Agent Y/L/N, in your time with CAC, you had the most cases solved within the unit," he stated. That was once a compliment to you.

It didn't feel that way anymore.

"Yes," you affirmed.

"You were there for 2 years."

"Yes."

Hotch paused. His next words weren't a statement. "How did that affect your mental wellbeing?"

Low blow. Very low blow. But you kept your composure, answering, "I was evaluated frequently as a member of the CAC. I was deemed fit to be in the field on each occasion." You bit your tongue to keep you from saying anything else. This is being recorded, you reminded yourself.

Hotch narrowed his eyes, almost imperceptibly.

Almost. 

"And once you got to the BAU, there was no residual guilt?" He made eye contact with you, and perhaps now your eyes were communicating something.

That was lower.

But you supposed that Aaron knew exactly where to hit.

"It's okay if you have to take a break, you know."

You jumped at the sudden voice, putting a hand on your heart. You didn't hear anyone enter the stairwell.

An apologetic look crossed his face, but you were the one with an apology on your lips. "Sorry, I— I'll get back right now."

You attemped to walk past him, but his hand caught your shoulder. Your breath hitched. You didn't know why.

His eyes softened. They were normally hard, inpenetrable, but you were starting to realize that he looked at you differently. The team teased you for favouritism, and you denied it every time, but you could only lie to yourself so much.

"Y/N," he started, "if you think you have something to prove, you don't. You've already proven yourself." His voice was tender, not as though he was treating you like you were delicate, but like he wanted to be gentle. "You're allowed to take a minute."

You sighed. "But I shouldn't have to, Hotch." You looked away from him, trying to find the words to verbalize your thoughts. "I— I dealt with tougher cases than this in CAC. I should be able to handle it. It's not fair for me to break down when that boy is out there, all on his own."

A lump grew in the back of your throat. It wasn't fair. Nothing about this job was fair.

You weren't normally so quick to cry, but you'd been holding this in. Aaron could tell. 

After cases, you were everyone's shoulder to cry on. Even he had confided in you multiple times when he probably shouldn't have. You were always there.

He wondered who was there for you.

"What you feel is valid. This is a hard case; it's normal to be a bit overwhelmed. You don't have to carry guilt over that."

A little laugh left you. "Hotch, how can you say that when everyone else is handling it just fine?"

His reply came quick. "They're not." You wanted to interject, but he continued, "Prentiss may seem fine, but beneath the surface, she's disgusted. Morgan is no different; he's angry, and that's manifesting into aggression. Reid is quieter today. Rossi is going to get a drink later. JJ has called Will 3 times since we got here, checking on Henry. And every time I see that boy's picture, I think of Jack, and I'm barely holding it together."

You swallowed at the admission, realizing his hand was still on your shoulder when he took it away. You missed the warmth.

"You're not alone, Y/N."

You believed him.

Your jaw tensed. "Guilt is inevitable. But I didn't have any more of it than the average agent."

Aaron didn't believe you. He wouldn't. He knew better.

But he was Hotch right now, and technically, Hotch wasn't meant to know anything about you. Hotch was conducting this interview, and his subordinate, Agent Y/L/N, sat across from him. Not his teammate or friend.

Certainly not the girl who fell in love with him.

You and Emily stood in the break room. She poured you a coffee as you talked about your weekends. She was just in the middle of telling you about her weekend to Atlantic City. Your laugh echoed throughout the room.

"Prentiss, next time you go gambling, take me with you! I promise I'm good."

"Somehow, I don't doubt that."

Your head turned to the new voice, seeing Hotch standing at the doorway. His lips quirked upward slightly, almost a smile. It was the most you'd get from him—you knew that.

A part of you was grateful for anything he was willing to give you.

You matched his smile with much more vigour. "You should try me sometime. I'd give you a run for your money, Hotchner," you teased. 

If you didn't know any better, you might've thought his eyes softened right then and there. "Somehow, I don't doubt that, either," he said.

You nearly forgot Emily was even in the room, missing the look she sent you. You wouldn't have known how to respond to it, anyway. Sometimes, you almost thought Hotch was flirting with you—and maybe he was. But that was the furthest it'd ever go, the most he'd ever give you.

That part of you, the biggest part, was grateful for it.

And another part of you didn't see the problem with that.

As if he was coming to his senses, he cleared his throat, crossing his arms over his chest and informing you, "Round table in 5." Then he was walking away like nothing ever happened. 

Maybe it didn't. Maybe you imagined it. Sometimes, you felt like pinching yourself.

But then from behind you, Emily chirped, "You know... he could've sent JJ to come tell us that."

You hummed, refusing to look at her.

Amusement flooded her voice. "It's... it's almost like... something just pulled him here."

"Okay, Emily."

You ignored her cackling, making an early trip to the round table as heat licked the tips of your ears.

Hotch's gaze didn't let up. You felt your face burn.

You knew he had a Rolodex of thoeries in his mind, a mental profile of who he thought you were. He once told you that he was a collector in his youth, and so you knew he had a collection of questions in his head.

He was striking out with this one. He moved on to the next.

"Would you say you've built close relationships with the members of this team?"

Your eyes travelled to the photo behind his desk, barely making out the image of you at a bar with the rest of the team, Aaron included. He stood next to you in that one. You were all smiling, even him.

You re-directed your attention back to him. "Yes, I have."

"You should smile more."

Aaron looked down at you, his expression a mix of confusion and amusement. "What?"

Blinking, you repeated, "I said, you should smile more." A dopey grin arose on your face. "It suits you."

Aaron resisted the urge to laugh at your drunken antics. He was perfectly sober, having already anticipated that he'd have to someone's ride. "Okay, I think it's time we get you home." You didn't protest, nor did the smile on your face move. Sometimes, Hotch thought it was there permanently, like it was a fixed part of your character.

He grew to really like that smile.

Maybe more than like.

He said his goodbyes for the both of you, receiving teasing glances from the rest of the team and wiggly eyebrows from Morgan. You barely took notice of any of it, now enthralled by the laces on your shoes.

When he guided you up and you realized you were leaving, you waved haphazardly. "Bye guys!"

A chorus of goodbyes and laughter followed you out the door of the bar. Before you could even shiver, a coat was being draped over your shoulders. It took you a few seconds to figure out it was Aaron's.

Butterflies swarmed through your stomach.

Hotch was silent for a few seconds. It was like he was hesitating. But not for long.

"And would you say that those relationships are still the same now?"

You swallowed. Butterflies were in your stomach—and not the good kind. These butterflies ate away at your insides, making you want to vomit what little breakfast you'd eaten that morning. You felt sick.

Moths, you realized. Not butterflies at all.

You were a moth, too. Drawn to the flames of something bigger than you. Was that what Hotch was getting at? Was that why he was asking you all these pointless questions? 

He knew the answers already. Why was he asking you?

You responded, anyway. "No." Even if he wasn't a profiler, it would've been impossible not to notice the way your voice tightened up.

He was getting somewhere now. He dug deeper. "Is that because of what happened in Glendale?"

No. No. No. No.

Yes.

He knew that. God, he knew that better than anyone. But still, you could question him and his credibility. That was an awful question, not because he already knew the answer but because it was so unspecified.

"A lot happened in Glendale," you said. A lot.

Everything.

"You look tired."

You rolled your eyes. "Thanks, Hotchner. That's just what a girl wants to hear." You flashed him a smile, anyway, like you were showing him that your annoyance was nothing more than playful.

You were still smiling, even in the midst of all this. Sometimes, Hotch thought you could smile enough for the two of you.

His hotel room was right beside yours. You were still getting your key out. Truthfully, he didn't know why he was just standing there, watching you.

In a way, it was like you were waiting for him, too. Despite having fished your room key out of your purse, you turned your body to fully face him. Something soft twinkled in your irises.

He wanted to say he saw stars in your eyes, but it was really just you. 

You were the star.

If he took another step closer, you'd be able to feel his breath against your skin. But you knew he wouldn't. You wanted him to, but he wouldn't, not even if you asked him to. And you wouldn't ask him.

He was the unit chief; he valued that. He valued rules, and order, and protocol. You couldn't ask him to turn on that. 

But you could do it yourself.

You took one step forward. He didn't step back.

"Y/N," he pleaded. It was meant to be a warning, but his voice was as light as a feather. 

You didn't know what you were doing. Ever since you joined the BAU, you were sure of yourself, absolute. Hotch made you rethink things. He made you feel like you were a champion, on top of the world and so close to the sun.

Aaron was warm. That's all you ever wanted.

You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his hand on your face. "Please," you whispered. "Please."

You weren't asking—you were begging. Begging him to see you. God, Hotch had been engulfed in darkness for so long. You were begging him to bask in the sunlight with you.

But he wouldn't.

Within seconds, the warmth was gone. "Goodnight, Y/N."

When you opened your eyes, he was already walking away, leaving you standing there with a key in your hand and your heart on your sleeve.

Hotch sighed, his forefinger going to his thumb. Tired. "I'm talking about that night, Y/N."

Your heart dropped.

You remembered that night. You remembered it well. But he wasn't talking about the part where he left you standing in an empty hallway.

He was talking about what came after.

Knocking sounded at your door, incessant and loud. You suppressed a groan, getting up and throwing the door open without checking the peep hole. Maybe that was stupid, considering you were working a serial killer case and all the victims looked like you, but you honestly would've preferred anything other than seeing Hotch standing on the other side of the threshold.

When you opened the door, his hand fell. Soon after, so did his face. You'd been crying. You suddenly wished you'd gotten the chance to splash water on your face before carelessly opening your door.

But Hotch collected himself in an instant, returning the stony exterior you were used to. "There's been an update in the case. We have the unsub's location," he told you.

Just like that, you stood straighter, composing yourself in record speed that could put your boss to shame. "Just let me put on my shoes." You hadn't even changed.

You put on your shoes, and then you and Hotch left without another word to each other.

In the elevator, you wiped away the last of your tears as he stared straight ahead.

You were glad he didn't mention it.

Tears built in your eyes, no matter how hard you tried to hold them back. Still, you held your resolve. "I don't want to talk about that night."

For the first time since this conversation started, Hotch's voice softened. "You have to, Y/N." He sounded like he pitied you.

You didn't want his pity. You didn't want his or anyone's anything. You just didn't want to talk about it.

"Alright, JJ, Prentiss, you take the side. Rossi and I will take the front. Morgan and Y/L/N take the back."

You saw a few confused eyes dart your way at his assignment, but you brushed them off. It wasn't the time to question why Hotch didn't pair you together, even though he always did, or why he'd address you with your last name when that name was practically foreign to his tongue.

Now wasn't the time.

Instead, you nodded, following his orders. That much hadn't changed.

At the back entrance, Morgan kicked down the door and then you made your way in, holding your flashlight above your gun.

Beyond the back lounging area, there were two hallways extending on both sides. Derek nodded to the right direction, and you nodded back at him, taking the left.

The rickety floorboards creaked under your weight. You shined your light on the walls. There was framed artwork, but no family pictures, just as you profiled. Everything was as you profiled. This was clean cut.

It was supposed to be simple.

But it wasn't.

Right as you turned the corner, you were slammed into the wall. Both your gun and your flashlight fell out of your hands, dropping to the floor. 

You didn't get the chance to retaliate. The unsub grabbed you by your vest, throwing you against the other wall. Your back hit glass, shattering everywhere. You gasped, and then he was striking you to the ground.

Your arms flailed at the sides, trying to reach your gun, but it was no use. He climbed on top of you, knocking the wind out of your lungs.

It was so dark. But you could see his face so clearly. His teeth glinted in the light as he grinned at you. "You... are... beautiful."

You cried, mustering all your strength to get up. It wasn't enough. Not enough, not enough, not enough.

With a knife you hadn't seen before, he caressed your face. Cold, cold, cold. It was so cold. 

Then the blade was off your face, and relief flooded through your veins. Until it was replaced by something worse. So much worse.

You didn't feel it right away, but when you did, your head shot up like this was all a bad dream you could just wake up from. 

Except it wasn't. The feeling of his knife being plunged into your abdomen proved that. 

It was gone, and then it just came right back. Again. And again.

You tried to scream, but no sound would come out. Your mouth warped around nothing.

The pain took you whole, wrapping its arms around your body and enveloping you in ice. You had never felt so much pain. God, was this what Hotch felt when the Reaper attacked him? Did he feel so heavy and so light at the same time?

More tears raced down your cheeks at the thought. It hurt so bad. You knew it would hurt, but you never thought it'd hurt this bad.

The unsub pulled the knife out of you yet again, dripping your own blood onto your face. You could see his eyes. They were lifeless. He smiled maniacally, raising his arms above his head. This was it, you thought. His face would be the last thing you saw.

He was gonna end it. Finally.

You nearly prayed for it.

You screwed your eyes shut, awaiting the blade to meet your skin one last time.

It never did.

A gunshot rang through the hallway. A heavy mass fell on top of you before it was shoved off. Somebody was calling your name. You couldn't decipher who it was.

They were shaking your shoulders. Something wet hit your face. Your eyes didn't open.

The pain was so strong. You were so tired. So, so tired.

You let yourself fall asleep.

"Y/N!"

"Y/N."

Hotch's concerned eyes were too much for you. You couldn't do this. You couldn't pretend to be here when you were still there. 

You shot out of your chair, fervently shaking your head. "Turn the recorder off."

Hotch matched your stance, knitting his brows together. "Y/N—"

"Damnit, Hotch, turn it off!"

At your outburst, he narrowed his eyes, but he ultimately did as you said, pressing pause.

You ran your a hand through your hair. The room was spinning. Your head was spinning. Your vision got blurry.

He tried to reason, "We have to talk about this—"

"No!" you cut him off, pointing your finger at him. It wouldn't stop shaking. "No, we don't. We could leave it alone like I am asking you to— like I am begging you to."

His face softened, looking less like Hotch and more like Aaron. But you didn't want to see Aaron. Not now. "No, we can't—"

"Yes, we can!" you shouted. You were lucky the office was empty at this hour. You were lucky Hotch gave you the couresy of emptiness. Your eyes were wild as you stepped closer to him. "When Elle spiralled, nobody talked about it. When everyone found out about what happened to Derek, nobody talked about it. When Spencer was kidnapped and got hooked on drugs, nobody fucking talked about it. And you!" You pointed your finger back at him, now in his face. "When you were stabbed and Foyet murdered Haley in cold. blood. you came back here and you never talked about it!" Tears ran down your face in a waterfall, your lips quivering. "Why can't I do the same?"

Hurt was all over Aaron's face, but he didn't step back like you were expecting him to. Instead, he stepped forward. If this were before, he would've grasped onto your shoulders. His fingers could only flex at his sides.

"You're not the same, Y/N." Just like that night in the hallway, he was pleading with you. He was pleading to just let him help you.

A humourless laugh left you. "Of course, I'm not the same, Aaron. No one is."

How could he expect you to be the same? How could he expect you to come back and be the same person you were when that person was still lying in a house in Glendale? How could he expect you to be the same person when you could still feel that man's body on top of you? When you could still feel his knife cutting into your flesh?

"I'm trying to help you—"

"Well, you can't." You took your finger and pointed it at your chest. "It hurts here. Everything about me is shattered and broken into a thousand little pieces and you can't do anything to fix it."

He shook his head. "Don't say that."

"God, and you only make it worse." Maybe this was unfair of you, but it hurt so bad you couldn't see clearly.

He looked pained. "Please don't say that."

"But you do." You stepped forward, nearly closing the gap between you. "You hurt me, Aaron. Having this conversation is hurting me. Please— please just stop. "

"Y/N." He whispered your name like it was his last Hail Mary. Tears responded to his call.

You couldn't do this. 

You pursed your lips together, stepping away from him altogether. "I can't be here anymore. I— I have to go."

He tried to reach after you, but he couldn't stop you from walking out the door. And as soon as you weren't in his sight, you were running. Running away from the same room you'd fallen asleep in time and time again. Running away from the man that occupied it. The same man who held your heart in his hands.

Hotch stood alone in his office, staring at the open door where you'd left. You took all the light with you.

You were a constant beacon in the darkness that surrounded your lives, brightening up the BAU day by day. That light was always there, even if it dimmed a bit. You chased it like a moth drawn to a flame. But now it'd been snuffed out.

You had flown too close to the sun.

And now your light was gone.

[dollfacefantasy]

Heyyy doll! Could you possibly write about frank castle with a reader who is really into praise and stuff, but frankie starts to do like the degradation stuff in bed and she starts getting upset? sorry if this is confusing english isnt my first language!!

MISFIRE ♡

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: you and frank fit together like you were made for it. but sometimes even the two of you have miscommunications.

cw: nsfw (18+), p in v, praise/degradation, hurt/comfort-ish, age gap (reader in 20s)

a/n: no worries bb, thank you for the frank request <33

Usually, you and Frank were pretty good at reading each other. You seldom needed words to understand what the other was thinking, which was good for you since Frank didn't say more than a handful of sentences on his chatty days.

But most of the time, looking in his eyes was enough. You knew when he wanted you to take care of him but felt too proud to ask. You could tell when he'd rather you give him some space for the next hour. And the same went for you. One glance at you told him if you wanted to be babied or you just needed him to listen while you talk his ear off about people who annoyed you in your classes.

Like all couples though, you sometimes had your misfires. Times where one of you did something that accomplished nothing but pissing the other off. He learned pretty early on in the relationship that teasing you when you were on your period was off limits while you found out you shouldn't try to scare him as a joke unless you seriously wanted a gun shoved in your face.

They didn't happen too often, but he was now realizing that tonight was one of those instances.

He came home late from a pretty rough night. Bruises littered his body. Cuts, scrapes, and dried blood marked up his face. When he'd trudged through the entryway of your apartment, he was relieved to find you already fast asleep in bed. Had you been awake he could only imagine the worried look that would have taken over your features.

Instead, you remained fast asleep in your bed as he unlaced his boots and shed his clothes. He came over and planted a kiss against your temple before heading off to shower. The water washed away the remnants of the night speckled across him while the steam loosened up his muscles. He relaxed a bit, letting the adrenaline fade away and drain from his system just like the bloody stream of water was on the floor of your tub.

When he finished, he dried off, got dressed, went about the usual routine. He knew he should join you in the bed, but part of him still felt wound up. There was still the lingering anger that came with his nocturnal activities. The rage pricked at him even after the action was over, reminding him that it wasn't gone just because some of the people responsible were.

He tried swallowing it down, pretending it wasn't there so he could get some rest. But when he came back into the bedroom you had woken up. You were facing the bathroom door, your eyes sleepy and open only a crack. Just enough for him to tell you were watching him.

Looking back, he doesn't know what he was thinking. You were obviously gonna be too tired for anything more than some lazy thrusts and sloppy making out. But the version of him from twenty minutes ago hadn't put that together.

You made grabby hands at him, signaling you wanted him close. "Hi," your sleepy voice said before a yawn interrupted you.

"Hey, baby," he rumbled as he approached the edge of the mattress. The neediness radiating off of you had him half-hard already.

He crawled onto the bed, positioning himself over you before ducking down for some kisses. His lips were rough against yours, his movements much more demanding than they should have been. You let out a little noise of surprise, but it went ignored for the most part.

In all honesty, he thought you were ok with it. Your hands found his shoulders like they always did. They trailed down his biceps and squeezed the muscles. Your mouth met every kiss.

He tugged your top up to get at your panties. His fingers hooked beneath the waistband, tearing them away without a second thought. He didn't do much prep work for you. He swirled the rough pads of his fingers against your delicate little bud and figured that was all he needed. You never had a problem getting wet for him, and from the feel of it, that was still true tonight.

"You been missing me, huh?" he breathed against your mouth between kisses.

"I always do," you mumbled.

"That's my girl. Cute little pussy always ready for me to use," he said.

He should've known right then because normally a line like that would have had you rolling your hips up for more. But you didn't really respond this time around. Just pulled him into some more kisses.

He wasn't too interested in kissing though. Instead, he moved his mouth down to your neck. He nipped at the skin and scraped it with his teeth before trying to suck little marks onto the area. His hands shoved his boxers down to get at his already stiffening cock.

After giving it a few tugs, he yanked you closer and pushed your legs open nice and wide. He dragged the tip of his shaft through your slick a few times before sliding in, bottoming out in one go.

You whimpered at the stretch. You'd taken Frank so many times by this point, but he was thick. It took a little adjusting every go. He didn't really give you that tonight though.

He lowered his head to the crook of your neck and began fucking himself into your cunt. Your eyes fluttered, your breath hitching at the rough slaps of his pelvis against your thighs.

It still felt good. Every stroke brushed a pleasure spot inside you, causing you to squirm. Little whines slipped from your mouth into the darkness of the bedroom.

"That feel nice?" he grunted, slamming into you harder.

You sucked in a breath and nodded. His hand came up to cup your jaw. He squeezed it, digging his fingers into the flesh of your cheeks as a point of leverage.

It didn't hurt, but it kind of ached. The tight grip didn't cause sharp pain. You just felt like there would be a dull throb when he let go. Shaking your head a little bit, you tried to brush his fingers off, but he just jerked your head still before moving his mouth closer to your ear.

"Yeah, you just lay there and take it. Lemme do all the work like always. Fuck that slutty little pussy like she needs. Taking you for what you're good for," he muttered.

It was meaningless dirty talk, and you knew that. But something about tonight had you extra sensitive. Maybe it was the fact that you just woke up, maybe it was because you had a long day today. You just were starting to feel less good as the seconds ticked on.

"My little whore," he continued, "Takes it however I tell her to. Like a little doll for me."

He just kept thrusting harder and harder, chipping away at your will with each motion. You knew it wasn't like he was saying anything that bad. He'd said much worse before and got you off to it. It's just that when you're not in the mood for this kind of stuff, it hits in the wrong way. It feels uncomfortable and awkward, and the intense physicality of the experience exacerbates it.

Everything felt icky in the moment. Suddenly the way his head was slotted against your neck didn't feel extra close. It only made you notice how he wasn't looking into your eyes. The way he was grabbing you didn't seem so sexy. It just felt needlessly harsh and uncomfortable.

He kept thrusting, but he felt you tense up a little. At first he thought maybe something hurt. His hips began to slow, but before he could ask the question, he heard a whimper. Not the kind that bordered on being a moan. The cracked kind that came out as the last barrier before tears.

Then his hips came to a screeching halt against your center. He lifted his head from your throat and loosened his grip on your face. Pulling back to look at you, he saw the shine of tears in your eyes and the slight quiver in your lip.

"Hey..." he started softly, "Hey baby. You ok?"

He looked down at you with concerned confusion which just made you feel worse. God this was stupid.

"Y-yeah," you stammered.

His brows furrowed with worry, not convinced by your answer. The rage from earlier was abating now, replaced primarily by guilt.

"You sure?" he checked, "You can say no if that's the answer."

You sniffled and shook your head. Your hands landed on each of his cheeks and pulled his head down to rest his forehead against yours.

"I'm ok... it was just... it was too much for right now," you explained.

His chest ached at the idea that you'd been feeling uncomfortable with any of what he did, but the fact that you weren't breaking down was a good sign. You were never the best at controlling your emotions, so if something worse was wrong, he doubted you'd be able to hide it.

He could tell you didn't want this to turn into a big thing, so he tried to give you that. It wasn't like he was in the mood for some huge emotional blow out either. His hips inched back before pushing into you a little.

"Was I being too rough on my baby?" he asked.

"A little," you said.

He nodded, kissing one of your cheeks and then the other. He nuzzled your skin while slowly beginning to move his lower half again. This time around he was much more conscious of his speed. He worked with more care, still pleasuring both of you but being gentle about it.

"I'm sorry, sweet girl," he said, kissing your lips with all the love he could muster. He never would have thought himself capable of pivoting so quickly from rough and hard to slow and easy, but when it came to you, it wasn't even a difficult thing.

"I'm sorry too. I know-" you started.

"Hey, hey, none of that," he chided, his voice husky, "You're good for being honest, yeah? I'm always telling you not to be shy with me. If it's too much for you, it's too much."

"I know, I just didn't wanna make it weird cause I feel all sensitive tonight," you said.

A soft moan drifted from your lips after that as his cock continued sliding in and out of you. You hooked your arms around his back, keeping him close.

"You didn't make anything weird. You get too trapped in your own head sometimes," he said, "I'm just tense after work, y'know. But it's not your job to put up with that. If you want it soft and slow, then that's what you're gonna get."

"Thanks," you whimpered. You kissed at his neck next, trying to reciprocate the love he was giving you.

"It's nothing, honey. I always wanna take care of you. Never wanna hurt you," he murmured.

He allowed his eyes to shut for a few moments so he could get lost in the pleasure of your cunt squeezing around him. It was only for a couple seconds though. Then his gaze was back on you.

His hand returned to your face with a much more gentle touch. With a few fingers on your chin, he guided you to look at him again.

"Look at me. Let me see those pretty eyes," he whispered.

You obliged the request, staring into the eyes of the man you loved so much.

"That's my girl," he praised, planting another kiss on your lips, "My perfect pretty girl."

Those words settled you completely. You didn't feel anymore discomfort from before. You relaxed into the pleasure of now, letting yourself melt away beneath him.

It didn't take either one of you too long after that to cum. Your soft little whimpers and sighs brought him to the edge while his eyes on your face and caring hands rubbing your sides got you there.

In the afterglow, he'd normally just lay there with you pressed to his side, but tonight he sat up and dragged you into his lap. He cradled your body against his chest, keeping you nice and close.

He rocked you back and forth, his large palm rubbing up and down your back.

"You ok now?" he whispered.

You nodded against his chest. "It was still good for you, right?" you asked and looked up at him from where your face was squished against his chest.

He scoffed out a laugh and rolled his eyes. "Course it was. I was with you, wasn't I?" he said.

You smiled and nodded. You knew the answer was gonna be something along those lines, but you liked hearing it. Leaning up, you gave him a quick kiss before sinking back into bed and tugging on him to cuddle. He followed and raised his arm for you to slide under.

"Tomorrow if I feel better I'll let you fuck me for real," you sighed as you got comfy against his chest.

"Oh will you?" he said with mild amusement, "For someone feeling so sensitive, you still got quite the mouth on you."

"It's just the truth," you yawned.

"Yeah, yeah. Just get some rest, alright? We can deal with how you're feeling tomorrow, tomorrow" he hushed you with a loving roll of his eyes.

He kissed your forehead and watched as you nodded and quieted down to allow yourself to fall back asleep like you had been before he got home.

[419jhat]

Not Just Friends

Summary: Eddie flirts with Steve constantly, and Steve flirts back. The lines start to blur, and Eddie gets all in his head about it, until he sees Steve with another guy and realizes that their weird little game was never that special at all. Or...maybe Steve's just a dumbass.

Rating: T

Word Count: 5,230

***

“Family Video, this is Steve.”

“Hey, hot stuff, wanna make a big mistake?” Eddie asks.  

“You sure it wouldn't be a small mistake?” Steve shoots back with zero hesitation.

“What- I'll have you know, it would be a very big mistake, Harrington. Extra large, ok? Ok maybe not extra large but definitely large,” Eddie insists.

“Eddie,” Steve sighs, “did you call me this morning for a specific reason or are you awake with the sun for once on accident?”

Eddie clears his throat. He’ll never get over how easily Steve accepts the flirting. It makes him wonder what's going on in that pretty little head. Did he think Eddie was joking? Did he secretly like it?

“Do you want a movie or something? I'm free tonight,” Eddie asks, fiddling with the phone cord.

“What makes you think I'm free tonight?”

“The fact that you're never doing anything?” 

“Jesus, Munson. Or something.”

“What?” Eddie asks.

“I work at a movie store. I watch movies all day. No movies. I want the something.”

“It's a date,” Eddie dares to say.

“Whatever you say,” Steve says. Eddie can hear the smile in his voice just before the line goes dead. He feels a little accomplished, even if all he did was invite the guy over. Something he did every week at this point. But hey, this was progress, right?

He turns to look at the clutter in his bedroom and recalls the expression in Steve's face when he saw how dirty his old mattress was. 

He starts cleaning.

About an hour later, when he's been thoroughly sidetracked with reorganizing the miniatures on his dresser, he hears a knock at the door. He flings the bedsheet into something nicer than the crumpled mess it had been and rushed to the door.

“Welcome to my humble abode, your highness,” he says with as he opens the door. Steve's fanning his shirt, sweat dripping down his forehead, but still waits patiently for Eddie to get out of the way like the perfect little houseguest. When he does, Steve beelines straight for Eddie's bedroom. He strips his shirt off and collapses on the bed under the window AC, basking in the cool air.

“Damn, Harrington, I see how it is,” Eddie says, then he squeaks when Steve balls up his shirt and tosses it at his head.

“Can’t you buy me dinner first? I'm feeling used,” Eddie jokes.

Steve pats the bed next to him.  “Lay down next to me.”

Eddie listens, because he's a hopeless fool. He leaves some room between them, since he's already been coming on kind of strong today and doesn't want to scare Steve off for real. But then Steve closes the gap and rests his head on Eddie's chest.

He says something. Eddie's not sure what it is because he's too busy trying not to do something stupid like pulls steve on top of him and squeeze him as tight as he can.

“Hmm?” Eddie asks, when he realizes Steve is silent again.

“I said, do you want to turn on the radio?”

“Oh! Why didn't you say so?” Eddie asks with a nervous chuckle.

“I did,” Steve says.

Eddie balances on his elbow and awkwardly stretches to reach the radio without jostling Steve's head. He's starting to form a cramp in his wrist from twisting it all wrong just to reach the thing when the weight on his chest lifts and suddenly, a shirtless Steve Harrington has one arm braced by Eddie's head and the other reaching across him.

Eddie stares at the hair on his chest, the dusty nipples right within reach of his mouth, the little moles dotting across his skin, tanned from whatever it was he willingly did outside in the summer heat all day.

“Got it,” Steve says, and suddenly Madonna’s singing in the background.

“You changed the channel,” Eddie complains distractedly. His palms are sweaty. He's hoping and praying that Steve won't look at his face and see whatever expression he's making because just knows it's going to be embarrassing. And apparently the man upstairs is on his side because Steve just lowers himself right there, right onto Eddie's chest. 

“Your heart is racing,” he says.

Eddie can feel it, just like he can feel the rise and fall of Steve's chest with every breath, and the way his fingers curl around the hem of Eddie's t-shirt.

“Because you're so heavy,” Eddie scolds lightly, using the opportunity to touch the bare skin on Steve's back. He lets his hands linger there, and then decides to take a bigger risk and indulges a little, running his hand down his spine and then back up again to the soft hair at the nape of his neck. It's gotten a little long. He wonders if Steve's planning on growing it out as he plays with it.

“You know, people make fun of her, but Madonna is actually really talented. Did you see her new music video on MTV? She really knows how to stick it to the conservatives,” Eddie rambles. He's not sure why he's saying it. He respects Madonna, but he's more nervous of Steve realizing how weirdly intimate this position is and punching him in retaliation, or something.

“Yeah?” Steve asks. Eddie can feel his mouth moving against him as he speaks. And then, just because Steve is for some reason compelled by the universe to drive Eddie insane, he says, “I bet you could do better.”

Eddie tries not to scream.

~.~.~

Steve calls him next time. Doesn't even introduce himself, like he knows that the mere sound of his voice commands Eddie to do his bidding.

“Hey, man. Want me to pick you up after work?”

Eddie's never been one to need a plan to agree to something, but obviously he's going to say yes. Steve could invite him to sit in the ocean as the tide went up and he'd be perfectly fine doing it. 

“Sure,” he says casually. He tries to think of what else to say, but before he can, Steve's already hung up.

Eddie got a new job through Wayne's buddy at the local parks and rec center, cleaning up and maintaining their public spaces. It's outside, which practically burns his soul through the mandatory jumper he has to wear in the summer heat, but he likes that people leave him alone. The town still doesn't trust him, but he puts up with it for Wayne and the kids.

And Steve.

He stands outside and waits next to the tiny building his boss does all the paperwork in, blocking the sun from his face with his hand until he sees that familiar BMW rolling towards him.

“Did you have a good day?” Steve asks, because he's genuinely nice like that.

“Eh,” Eddie says as he climbs into the passenger seat, “I had to wash vomit off a slide from a kid's birthday party. I've had better.”

Steve's nose wrinkles with sympathy. He's got the windows down, probably because it's hot as balls outside, but it's whipping his hair all over the place. Eddie wants to reach over and fix it, but he's not so sure Steve would like that. He's so distracted by it all that he doesn't even notice they're pulling to a stop on the road that backs up to the quarry.

“What's going on?” Eddie asks.

Steve smiles wickedly.

“Wanna smoke?” he asks.

“Oh?” Eddie says, lifting an eyebrow. He didn't expect that. Especially since it's his weed Steve's asking to smoke.

“You asking or offering, Harrington?”

“Both,” he says coyly, pulling a spare joint from his box of cigarettes. It's one Eddie gave him a few days earlier. He lights up and passes it over, his hand hovering in the short space between them. Eddie stares, thinking about how Steve's lips were just on the end of it, and now his lips are going to be too. It's kind of like a kiss, in a way. The idea makes him blush.

“So…is this how you treat all the girls, big boy?” Eddie teases.

“What?” Steve asks. He doesn't sound angry, so Eddie keeps pushing. 

“A secluded parking spot in the woods at dusk, some weed, windows down. All we're missing is a little music and it could make a guy fall in love,” Eddie says, holding a hand to his heart.

Steve turns the keys in the ignition, bringing the radio and AC back to life.

“One can only dream,” Steve says with a wink that has no business being as smooth as it is.

And God, how Eddie can dream. He wonders yet again, if Steve is really this oblivious to their little game. 

Steve turns the car back off and runs a hand through his hair like he does when he's thinking hard about something. Eddie can only hope it's that he's suddenly realizing that he's into men. He takes the joint, willing himself to stop thinking of foolish things. 

With the car off, and it's starting to get disgustingly warm, so he focuses on that instead. Focuses so much on it that he ends up peeling the top half of his jumper off revealing an old ripped Metallica shirt.

“I'm sorry we couldn't save your guitar,” Steve says suddenly. 

“Hmm?” Eddie asks. He meets Steve's eyes in the rearview mirror. Steve's staring at his shirt. “Oh, it's ok. I mean, it isn't, actually. I'll miss that thing until the end of time. But that's kind of the point, right? I can miss it because you guys saved my life, so, it's fine.”

He's rambling, because it feels ungrateful to feel sad about the loss of his guitar. His baby. His one and only. 

Steve places a comforting hand just above his knee. It's warm, and weirdly intimate enough that it shakes Eddie out of his mournful thoughts.

“It's ok to be sad, man. You were pretty cool with that thing,” he says.

Eddie can't process Steve Harrington telling him he looked cool and touching his thigh at the same time. It's simply too much for him to handle. He takes another hit, keeping his mouth too busy to say something embarrassing. 

“I never got to see you perform. I mean, I saw a bit of your show in the upside down, but nothing else,” Steve says.

“I can play something for you sometime,” Eddie says, before he can think it through.

“You'd do that for me?” Steve asks. Which is a stupid question. Eddie would obviously do anything for Steve.

His hand is still on Eddie's thigh. Guys don't usually do that, do they? Was Steve flirting with him for once? Without provocation?

“Yeah, I've got another guitar. It's an acoustic, but it does the job.”

Steve's quiet for a moment. Long enough that Eddie focuses back on his fingers slowly tapping his knees, like he's thinking something through.

“You want to go swimming?” Steve asks.

“... really?” Eddie asks, surprised that Steve would even want to after everything that happened with the upside down. Steve seems to understand, because his expression softens and then he shrugs. 

“I think it would be easier if someone went with me,” he says softly.

It occurs to Eddie that this must have been Steve's plan the whole time, and maybe the weed and talk of guitars was just a distraction. It's honest and vulnerable enough that it makes him feel a little honored that he held Steve’s trust. He can't say no to that, so he agrees before he can even ask about swimsuits. 

Steve releases his knee and climbs out of the car, walking toward the Quarry with a look over his shoulder to check if Eddie's following. Eddie wipes the sweat from his brow and looks up just in time to see Steve removing his shirt. 

He can't look away, and that's how he gets the shock of his life when Steve removes his jeans too.

“Oh- uh,” Eddie stutters.

Then, off goes the underwear and Eddie's got an eye full of a round, tan, Harrington ass. 

At this point, the sun is setting and Eddie doubts anyone could see them in any amount of detail. But he doesn't know what to do with a naked hot dude right in front of him. Does he touch? He wants to touch. But Steve is confusing, and touching might not go well. Instead of standing around like a lovesick dumbass, Eddie wolf whistles and dramatically fans his face.

“Well, I'll be damned, Harrington. Maybe you're the extra large between the two of us!” he says, even though he can't actually see Steve's dick with him turned around. Steve completely ignores him.

“Come on!” he says, rushing toward the shoreline. Eddie quickly decides that he likes Steve enough to get naked with him, even if it's not in a sexy way. He kicks off his boots and leaps toward the water with a shout.

~.~.~

Steve’s got his head resting in the spot between Eddie's thigh and hip bone, competing for space next to his guitar as Eddie plucks away songs he knows he'd recognize.

“You're so talented,” Steve says, for the millionth time that night. He's repeating it over and over, pushing Eddie's ego sky high. 

“I just play what I hear,” he says humbly.

“I can't even sing what I hear,” Steve says with a little laugh. He's got his legs hanging over the edge of the couch, feet tapping along to the best as Eddie plays.

“It's not that hard. I can show you, if you want,” Eddie says.

Steve looks up at him through his hair. “Really?”

“Get up, buttercup, and I'll give you a short lesson,” Eddie says.

Steve lifts himself away from Eddie and sits up on the couch, shoving Wayne's favorite pillow into the floor. Eddie decides the pillow can survive the disrespect and shoves the only remaining shard of his shattered musical soul into Steve's arms. Steve holds onto it like it's made of glass, which is a good first step in Eddie's opinion.

Eddie moves Steve's fingers into the correct position to play Yesterday, which is kind of setting a beginner up for failure with the bar chords. 

“Move your other hand like this,” Eddie said, mimicking the strumming motion. Steve tries and fails. Eddie grabs his hand and tries to help, but he still doesn't get it. His brows are furrowed cutely as he focuses hard on the strings like they'll make it all work out for him.

“Let me show you,” Eddie says, pulling Steve so his back is pressed against Eddie's chest. He wraps his arms around him, pretending that being this close doesn't make him want to kiss the top of his shoulder and bear hug him until they fall asleep. He laces his fingers through Steve's, helping him feel exactly where to go.

“Your fingers go here, and your other hand moves like this,” he says over Steve's shoulder.

It's impractical and isn't teaching Steve anything. He just likes the feeling of Steve against him, the way he accepts Eddie's hands against his without any weird looks. Eddie hums the lyrics, a bit unable to stop himself because the song is a classic, until Steve lifts their hands away from the guitar and curls his fingers around Eddie's, looking at them closely. Steve pulls Eddie's hands close to his face and twists one of his rings, rubbing his thumb against the pad of Eddie's left pointer finger. He wishes he could see his expression.

“Is this what girls mean when they talk about guys that play guitar?” Steve finally asks.

Eddie laughs, sharp and loud, which makes Steve shoulder him away. 

“Don't shout in my ear,” Steve complains. 

Eddie scoots back on the couch, still laughing. Steve rolls his eyes and plucks at the guitar with his thumb.

“How often are girls telling you about guys that play guitar?”

“I mean, they talk,” Steve shrugs. 

“Oh yeah? What do they say?” Eddie teases, “that you're not doing a good enough job?”

Steve looks up at him sharp. No smile.

“They tell me how it feels,” he says.

Eddie pauses, brains scrambled, because Now he's imagining Steve describing how it feels and it goes straight to his dick. Which is awkward because they're sharing the same couch and Eddie isn't exactly sitting with his legs crossed.

Still, he wants to know more.

“How- uh- what do they say? About how it feels?” he stammers, shifting a little further from Steve. He's feeling a little hot under the collar, and he knows he's really pushing the limits, but he can't help it. Not when Steve's right there, egging him on. Because that's what this is, right? He's not alone in this. Steve has to know what he's doing.

As if to answer Eddie's silent question, Steve scoots closer, squeezing the guitar between them as he leans in, face only a few inches from Eddie's. His knee is digging into Eddie's crotch. If he moves his hips, he's sure Steve would learn just how little Eddie’s playing around. 

That makes him feel even hotter. 

He can feel a puff of hair against his face as Steve laughs lightly, face splitting into a perfect, teasing smile. Steve grabs Eddie's hands and places them around the guitar, fingers brushing against his forehead a moment longer than necessary.

“I don't kiss and tell, Munson,” he says, and then he gets off the couch, leaving Eddie hard as a rock.

~.~.~

Sometimes, Steve spends the night. He falls asleep after an hour of whispering nonsense back and forth in the dark, with his back pressed against Eddie's chest, arms curled close to his body. Then Eddie wakes up to see that Steve is already gone, like the shared heat on the mattress is just a figment of his imagination.

He tries not to let himself think it means anything. He always stays awake a moment longer, always lingering on the man in bed next to him, wondering when he'll finally be sure enough to put himself out of his misery by leaning over for a kiss. 

Then, at least he'll know what this is. 

This time, Eddie wakes up and it's still dark out. Someone is touching him. He turns and sees a figure in his bed, the blankets pooled around their waist.

“Eddie?” Steve asks sleepily.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks.

Now that his eyes are adjusting to the dark, he can see the outline of the moon leaning through the window blinds, turning Steve's hair stark white where the light hits it.

“You were having a nightmare,” Steve says, placing a hand on Eddie's chest. Eddie can feel his heart, frantic and stressed, under Steve's hand. “Are you ok?”

“I'm fine. I don't even remember it,” Eddie says.

Steve slumps down next to him and leans in. Something brushes against Eddie's cheek, something soft and sweet, so quick that Eddie nearly thinks he's dreamt it up- 

A kiss.

Steve just kissed him.

“Goodnight,” he says softly, rolling over like it was nothing. Like he didn't just steal Eddie's heart through his lips. Eddie roughly grabs Steve and hugs him from behind, pulling him as close as possible. He wants to merge into one with this man. He wants signs of Steve across every inch of his skin. Steve makes a sleepy noise of protest, but lets it all happen, and Eddie falls asleep happy with no room for nightmares anymore.

~.~.~

“Who the fuck is that?” Eddie asks, nose scrunched up with disgust. He's just entered Steve's house for some pool party the kids bullied him into hosting, and was instantly met with the most irritating sight he's ever laid eyes upon- a handsome stranger hanging off Steve's shoulder.

“Oh, it's Steve's friend from Italy. Gabriel,” Robin says with a roll of her eyes. “I didn't even know he had friends.”

“Hey, he has us! And the kids!” Eddie says, trying to pretend he isn't watching Steve like a hawk.

“You know what I mean,” Robins says.

Gabriel. 

Fucking Gabriel.

Eddie watches as Steve lingers around this other man. This man and his curly brown hair, lightly tanned skin, muscular body, and soft blue eyes. This man and his touchy hands that linger along Steve's body like they're glued together, playfully grabbing at Steve's sunglasses.

“How long has he known him?” Eddie asks defensively. He crosses his arms across his cropped Dio shirt, suddenly feeling a little inadequate in the presence of fucking Michelangelo over there. 

“Since they were kids,” Robin shrugs.

Eddie's heart feels tight. He's sure he's going to melt like the Wicked Witch of the West, or something equally dramatic. Because Steve is up and close in this random man's space, in a swimsuit nonetheless, showing off his hairy tits and chatting it up like it was totally normal to be practically in someone's lap.

Which, it was.

Between them.

Some girl Eddie doesn't recognize is laughing it up with Nancy and Jonathan off to the side. She's equally gorgeous and Eddie knows right away that she must have come from Italy too. 

Since when did Steve go to Italy? Was this some rich boy shit he'd never learned about? 

“Eddie's here!” Dustin yells from the pool. Eddie's saved from having to fake happiness around the kids by Mike tackling Dustin from behind. He's probably drowning or something, but Eddie's not too concerned because somewhere, music is getting louder and fucking Gabriel is pulling Steve up to dance. Steve and Gabriel move like it's second nature, laughing and a little too close, a little too much hip movement for it to be guys being guys.

Eddie didn't know Steve could dance. He didn't even know Steve liked disco. 

Why does it suddenly feel like he doesn't know Steve at all?

“Whoo! Those two are always like that,” the pretty girl says with a lazy smile. Nancy and Jonathan don't seem too shocked to see Steve acting like this, which is another sign that Eddie is a gullible fool.

“Are you alright?” Robin asks. She sounds worried. Eddie's not looking at her. He's watching Steve plant a kiss on Gabriel's cheek after their stupid little dance stops.

Eddie isn't alright. 

He feels like an idiot. 

He thought they had something special, but it turns out that Steve is just…like that.

He turns and walks into the kitchen, so he can work through his shame in peace. That way, he can behave like a normal human long enough to make an excuse and leave in favor of crying into his ratty trailer pillow that probably still smells like Steve and his stupid hairspray.

“Whoa, what's wrong?” someone asks.

It's Steve, of course. He's standing at the kitchen door, looking at Eddie with genuine concern. His sunglasses are pushed into his hair, artfully keeping it out of his face. He looks behind himself and closes the door before walking up to Eddie, getting in his space.

Eddie steps back.

“I didn't see you get here. You look sick, are you ok?” he asks.

Eddie wants to say that he's fine, but looking into Steve's eyes makes everything worse. Much to his horror, he feels a lump forming in his throat and a familiar burn forming in his eyes. He tries to blink it away, but that just makes a premature tear roll down his cheek. 

Fuck.

Steve steps even closer and lifts his hands to Eddie's face, gently holding him, brushing the tear away with his thumb. And now that it's started, he can't make it stop. Eddie starts to cry even harder.

“Is it Wayne? Did something happen at the trailer?” Steve's asking, appearing to genuinely care.

“No,” Eddie says.

“Are you hurt?”

“No!”

“Did someone-”

“No, no, no! Steve, just stop!” Eddie says, elbowing his way free from Steve's grasp. He feels a little bad about it, when he sees how hurt Steve looks. But he feels too shitty to care much about anything at the moment.

“You're crying, Eddie. Can't I help?”

“You've done enough, honestly,” Eddie says.

“What do you mean?” Steve asks.

“Dude, are you really that dense?” 

Steve kind of shutters at that, and then Eddie really feels bad. He's made an ass of himself and now he's being an ass too. 

“Just- stop, ok? Go back to your Italian boyfriend,” Eddie says.

“Huh? Gabe?” Steve asks. 

Oh, so they have nicknames now?

“Whatever his name is,” Eddie grumbles, even though he knows it's going to be impossible for him to forget that name for the rest of his life. 

Steve scoffs for a second and then shakes his head. “Are you mad that I have other friends?”

Eddie can't believe it. It's the worst case scenario. Steve didn't know. Somehow, Steve was completely oblivious to Eddie's feelings. There was no game between them. Eddie had made it all up in his head. Steve's just an oblivious flirt. He was matching Eddie's weird, lovesick energy.

God, how embarrassing.

“No, Steve,” Eddie says, already done with the conversation and ready for the consequences, “I'm mad that you're flirting with this dude after weeks of flirting with me!”

Steve looks shocked. Like he would've expected maybe a week after the upside down, back before this all began and he didn't know Steve that well. Turns out, he never knew Steve. 

He just thought he did.

“I- I wasn't flirting with you,” Steve says with a nervous little laugh.

“You slept in my bed and kissed me on the cheek. You rubbed your knee against my dick during our guitar lesson.”

Steve's just staring at him like all of this was in Eddie's head, which makes him feel even more defensive.

“You said you knew how it felt to get fingered!” he hisses.

Steve's cheeks go bright red. 

“Oh my God, I've been flirting with you,” he says. He lifts a hand to his forehead, like the information is too much for his head to handle.

“You also- well- I mean…yes?” Eddie says, not really sure what's happening anymore. He's so confused that his tears have stopped. Steve takes a step closer. 

“You've been flirting with me,” he says, pointing at Eddie.

Eddie nods. 

“And I've been flirting with you,” he says, pointing at himself.

Eddie nods again.

“I was flirting with Gabriel! Do you think he's into me?” he asks, pointing at the kitchen door.

Eddie's frown is severe. 

“Sorry, no. Forget I said that. Eddie, I think I have a crush on you,” Steve says with wonder in his voice.

It's Eddie's turn to blush now. He's witnessing Steve realize he's into men. Specifically, that he's into Eddie. Steve paces around the kitchen, combing a hand through his hair in that way he always does when he's thinking hard about something. Eddie recognizes it because he does know Steve, after all. Maybe a little better than Steve knows himself. Steve's cheeks are still bright red and he's breathing kind of weird. It's very strange, to watch someone come out to themselves.

And then Steve starts to cry.

Eddie rushes forward just as Steve leans back against the countertop and curls into himself.

“Hey, no, no, no, it's ok. You're still you,” he says, pulling Steve into a hug. 

What the fuck is happening? 

“I made you cry,” Steve says.

“It's ok,” Eddie says, rubbing his back, “you'll get used to it.”

“I don't want to get used to making you cry!” Steve whisper-shouts. 

“No, I mean that you'll get used to being into men,” Eddie says.

Steve pushes Eddie back a hair and looks him in the eyes.

“Why would I need to get used to it? It's obviously true. I'm upset because I've been such a dick to you,” he says softly.

Eddie just stares at him. He wonders if Steve is ok. Maybe this is what a breakdown looks like? Funny, how quick their mental states flipped during this conversation.

“Steve, it's ok to freak out a little. When I first realized I was into men, I cried until I threw up,” Eddie says.

Steve leans in and kisses him on the cheek, right at the corner of his mouth. It's so light and quick that for a moment, Eddie's not even sure that it happened. It makes his heart flip twice over.

“I'm not freaking out. I'm just trying to figure out how to make it up to you.”

Eddie lifts an eyebrow. Steve's fully serious. He's dried his face and is wrapping his arms around Eddie's back, brushing his hands against the belt loops in his jeans.

“Wow, you're serious. You genuinely-”

Eddie's cut off as Steve pulls him into a real kiss. The kind of kiss he'd seen in movies, sweet but also kind of hot. Eddie wants more. He crowds Steve against the countertop and runs his hands down over that ass he couldn't stop thinking about since seeing it in person, grabs his thighs just under his swim trunks and lifts, pushing their bodies as close as possible.

Steve has one hand tangled in Eddie's hair, steering his head to the side, and another gripping around his back pocket, pulling Eddie's hips right into his.

Eddie can't believe it. Steve's kissing him. He's rolling his hips into him. 

Steve chose him over fucking Gabe!

Steve pulls their bodies even closer than Eddie thought possible, and Eddie can feel every detail of his dick hardening against him through his jeans. It leaves him breathless, desperate to drop his hands from Steve's warm torso and under that swimsuit so he can feel it in more detail. Steve's not so shy. He's driving Eddie crazy with his hand sliding around his zipper, lifting up to the hem and back down again. 

“Eddie,” Steve gasps into his mouth as he starts fumbling with the button.

Eddie’s experiencing something religious with Steve's tongue when a shout breaks them apart. 

Eddie leaps halfway across the room before bothering to look around to check that nobody is there. He turns back to Steve, who's watching him carefully.

“I think it's just the kids. We should probably go back outside,” he says.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees reluctantly. Based on the look Steve's sending his way, he feels the same. He jumps down from the counter and walks over to the door, then pauses. 

He turns to Eddie and says, “You should sleep over tonight.”

“Ok,” Eddie says, feeling his cheeks go warm again as he tries not to assume anything after an afternoon of assuming things, “I like your guest room, it's got a really comfortable mattress-”

“In my bed,” Steve clarifies.

“Ok!” Eddie squeaks. “I could run home and grab something to sleep in-”

“Naked,” Steve says bluntly. Then he seems to realize something, because he looks away from Eddie like he's embarrassed. “I mean, unless you don't want that. No pressure. I have something you can borrow-”

“I want that,” Eddie interrupts.

Steve smiles. He flicks his sunglasses back over his eyes and leans in to kiss Eddie one last time, short, and promising more for later. As he opens the door, Eddie spots Gabe lounging around with that pretty girl and gets an idea. He shoves past Steve and smacks his ass on the way by, smiling at Gabe, just to cement his victory.

“Damn Harrington, feels as good as it looks,” he says. Gabe looks completely confused. Steve rolls his eyes.

“Don't get addicted,” Steve says.

[huntingcupid]

SAILOR SONG WITH MEGAN SKIENDIEL

my mom says that she's worried, but I'm covered in his favor, and when we're getting dirty, I forget all that is wrong, I sleep so I can see you 'cause I hate to wait so long, I sleep so I can see you and I hate to wait so long

⌗ MEGAN — fem!reader, angst, fluff, death, suicide, academic pressure, mental health issues, reader misses megan, megan loves reader, etc...

⌗ SYPNOSIS — befriending the class nerd/smartest was weird to some, but you'll do anything to feel the same way when you first met megan, see her for the first time again, feel her, just for a minute longer

⌗ CUPID — i am so fucked rn, life has been HELL, heres some angst

people knew megan as the smart, ace student — the one who joins every extracurricular, the one most hates due to how smart they were, i mean the girl got at least 9 medals per school year or semester, she's always buried inside her books, writing in a handwriting you barely understood nor anyone, most of her classmates would ignore her or poke fun at her, calling her grandma — because she worries so much and knows more than most of the class

yet you knew her as the funny, nerdy and especially soft person, the type to send you memes or pictures of cats and dogs when your sad, the type to make you handwritten letters when you accomplish something, megan was more than an academic achiever, she was a person who was down to earth, the kindest soul ever — you two weren't meant to get close, at least that's what megan believes

you two met when you got paired with her for a project, luckily megan already understood the subject more than you, but you really got to know her when you two went to her house to finish it

“we just have to add this here” megan says, holding a pen between her fingers as she looks over the board filled with equations that you two would be presenting in the next week, “hmh, how'd you do that” you ask not really understanding anything on the board, only agreeing to megan since you knew her she was a genius

“oh just like this” megan replies smiling softly as she points out how to solve it, adding extra notes for you to understand, you nod finally understanding the subject a bit more — “wait it's that easy?” you mutter in disbelief — “yeah they explain it way too complicated in school” she chuckles

you look at her for a moment she seemed to be happy and you finally saw her whisker dimples, you've never seen the girl happier, you thought to yourself that megan was arrogant but it turns out she was just kept to herself, megan looks back at you smiling but she tilts her head, “why is there something on my face?” she asks confused — it was so adorable, she was adorable, “nope, you look cute when you smile” you respond, the girl blushes and turns back to the board scribbling random numbers

hours went on and you weren't bored but intrigued with the girls manners and personality, megan seemed to soften up on you, showing you her collection of figurines of sanrio items, her most cherished one her pompompurin teddy that sat on her bed — megan was honestly so calming she was like a cold breeze of air on a hot sunny day, you wonder where her mother was since the house was empty, her mother was the type to be scary in those awarding days, you've heard her say somethings to megan about grades yet maybe your just being judgy

the front door rattles and you saw how megans mood immediately drops, the sparks in her eyes suddenly vanished, “oh my moms here” she awkwardly says going to the front door, you follow closely — greeting her mother, “hi ma'am I'm here for a project” you said, she didn't say anything back only flashing megan a look of disappointment — “go to my room megan” her mom says in that strong icy tone, megan only nods

you went to megan's room waiting for her, but you heard her mother scream at her, the door to the room was closed but it was audible — “megan!, what are these grades! — do you want to fail?!, is that it!” the woman screams — you gulp, feeling helpless since you couldn't just intervene, “is this what you give me back? after I pay for your school and give you a house to stay?” she follows, thirty minutes pass before megan went back into her bedroom

she flashed you a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, her nose was red and so were her eyes, they were puffy and obviously wet with tears, she didn't utter a word only sitting beside you, writing on the board to finish it

“megan, c'mere” you murmur, opening your arms, the girl melts hugging you tightly as she cries into your shoulder, her hands drop the pen, as she murmurs things about being disappointment “shh, I'm proud of you, okay? don't chase impossible expectations” you murmur to the girl, whom only nodded too consumed in her emotions, she sniffles and you hug her tighter kissing the top of her head, as you whisper praise in her ears

behind the smart girl, the academic achiever, was a girl who only want to make her parent proud, megan was so brave and strong to handle all of this and still manage the bullying she got in school — you left later that night, hugging megan and reassuring her before so

that night you two chat on Instagram, sending endless memes that weren't even that funny but made you two crack up, megan then sent you a paragraph, it shook you since it was random, it read

[mei_mei] “y/n thank you for being my friend, i know it's random, but i hadn't met anyone like you, you know how to comfort me and make me feel safe — thank you for seeing me more than just a arrogant student, or and over achiever — i don't know how to explain it but you get me on a level i never thought possible, just thank you for loving me”

you felt a tear run down your cheeks reading it, you sniffle responding right away, typing something about loving her too

the next week you invited megan to go out, hang out in the park — “mei, wanna go take a picnic later?” you ask tapping your pen on your notebook as you two listen to a boring lesson, “sure!, can i bring strawberries?” she asks — “yes the more food the better” you replied smiling softly

later that afternoon you sat in the park waiting for the girl, you have laid out a picnic blanket, various drinks and snacks laid out — and a digicam to take pictures, you sat admiring how lovely the park was, birds chirped and kids laughed running around, you heard the leaves rustling behind you, you look and see the girl

“hi!!” megan cheerfully greets bringing a plastic bag with strawberries and chips — she places it on the blanket, “here have a bite” you offer a bite of your cookie — megan takes a bite smiling as the crumbs stay at the corner of her lips, “yum” she replies

you two watch as the sun slowly set, your food getting finished, megan rests her head on your shoulder as she wrote in her notebook, it felt peaceful for once, away from the loud and annoying classroom,

“y/n, here” megan hands you a piece of paper, it was folded neatly, sealed with a kiss, her pinkish lipstick on the cover, “don't open it yet, i'll tell you when” megan says, she seemed very serious so you agreed, “yes miss, now lets finish the food so i can walk you back home” you replied giggling lightly, megan nods eating some strawberries

after you two finish the food, you offer megan to walk home, to which she agrees, “let's go?” you ask after folding the picnic blanket and placing it in your bag — “mhm!” megan hums, walking hand in hand with you, she pops open her airpods case offering you the other pod — she played various songs eventually landing on blue by yung kai, it felt perfect, she was perfect — the walk was quiet, as megan's hands warms yours

you two make it to her house and she waves you off, sending a flying kiss, “bye y/n!” she sends off — “bye mei!” you replied before walking away, the letter still in your bag, you wondered what it contained, what it may say — yet you respected megan and kept it safe

the next few weeks megan seemed happier than ever, she would hang out with you often and give you random items, from her collection which you thought was cute — she kept telling you how much she loved you, and adored your strength which you adored in her too

during lunch break you two escaped up to the school rooftop, it was empty most of the time, and the breeze made it comfortable — “i packed you some fruit snacks” you tell megan who instantly lit up in joy, “really!?” she replies, you nod handing it to her, she opened the pack and took two right away

you two ate in silence only the scribbling of the pen on a notebook heard, megan was solving something which you didn't bother trying to understand, “y/n is that my letter?” megan asks pointing to the paper in your bag, “mhm, when am i getting to open it?!” you ask hoping she'll finally allow you — “soon!, just wait” megan murmur back, though her eyes seemed to dart around, a flicker of guilt in them

you didn't press further, understanding her yet still curious — “y/n, you know i love you no matter what right?” megan asks looking up at you — her eyes seemed to be teary and obviously she was sad yet for what?, “yes of course, mei you're scaring me what's happening” you worriedly hugged the girl who bursts into tears in your embrace — she struggled to speak for a minute before she sniffled and said “nothing, I'm grateful that i met someone like you in my life” she replied, which you smiled at, “me too” you respond hugging her

that night megan sends you a text at 2 am, it was pouring outside, and it was unusually colder — there was this feeling in your gut, something is wrong

[mei] “y/n, can you open the letter now?”

[you] “yay! — I'm excited :)”

[mei] “i love you”

[you] “i love you too”

you rush to your bag searching for the letter, crumpled up and a bit dirty you opened it, you turn on your lamp and started reading

| hello y/n, if you are reading this it means i have done it, before you ask what is “it” please read this okay? — y/n you had made my life so much more brighter, more worth living, important even, you saw me at my lowest, and still decided to stay, I'm not easy to understand but you did your best to understand me, thank you for that, y/n what ever happens next is not your fault it never will be, i have been in the worst mental space for years, and i wanted to end it, and tonight i am ending it — its not your fault, i can't handle it anymore y/n, at least you know im leaving this world that i am happy because of you — y/n i love you so much, i wish we meet again, soon, in another universe, okay?| love megan.

you panic, what does this mean?!, where is she? — megan?, you stare at the letter tears uncontrollably washing over your face your heart sinking, your hands shaked grabbing your phone

[you] “megan!, please don't”

[you] “megan I'm here we can talk, my love please!! — don't leave me”

[you] “i can't lose you”

you run out of your apartment, running through the rain as you tried your best to see through your blurry eyes, your heart thumped against your chest — you reached her house after 15 minutes, you didn't feel tired only worried

you knock on the door, banging on it even — “megan!, megan!” you scream, you probably looked crazy, yet it didn't matter, megan's mom opens the door and you bolted inside, your pyjamas dripping onto the carpet below, “what time is it, get out!” megan's mom screamed

you don't listen, only going to her room, you open the door, bracing yourself for whatever you may see — there she was, megan as lifeless as a doll, her eyes were wet from crying, her phone open to your contact, she was laid in bed pills scattered across her hands — you run to her side putting her head on your lap as you craddle her

“megan wake up, please” you beg, yet nothing, her mother rushed in crying seeing her child dead, you kiss the top of her head, whispering “i love you, i hope i find you in every universe too”

a day passes and it's her funeral, not many people came, yet you stayed there, just in the process of acceptance, you sit there for hours on end wondering how you could've made her last longer, live longer

yet it all circles back to that date in the park, she had this planned long before you came, it just happens that instead of feeling dread megan felt happy for her last few weeks

you would give up everything just to relive those weeks, just to hear her laugh again, see her smile and show her whisker dimples, her pompompurin teddy sat on your lap, still smelling like the girl, it hurt

it hurt to let her go, “i sleep so i can see you, soon right mei? — i hate to wait so long” you murmur

wc: 2.2k words

[30somethingautisticteacher]

"How'd it go, baby?" Tommy asked as Buck walked in the door, despite already knowing by the defeated look on Buck's face.

"Failed it. Again," Buck said with a quiver in his voice.

"Oh sweetheart," Tommy said, scooping his husband up into a hug.

"Three times, Tommy. I've failed the Captain's exam three times," Buck choked out, his eyes welling with tears. "I ace the interview portion and the simulations, but I just freeze with the written exam. As soon as they tell me that I have 150 minutes to complete the exam, my whole body locks up. I know this stuff, Tommy. I know it by heart. Why can't I do it?" Buck said, his voice breaking on the last words.

Buck snuggled deeper into Tommy's shoulder. "It's always been like this too. I knew the material in school but I would end up with Cs in my classes because I would bomb the tests. My parents would get so frustrated. Everyone thought I was dumb."

"Evan, you are not dumb. You are so incredibly smart," Tommy said firmly, running a hand through Buck's hair.

"I don't think I'm dumb, but I just feel like a failure," Buck said, his voice muffled against Tommy's shirt. "Even when I got my certification for being a firefighter, I broke records on the physical stuff but barely squeaked by on the written exam. I was so relieved that I didn't have to take the written portion for recertification after my leg."

"How would you feel about requesting accommodations?" Tommy asked, his voice gentle.

"Accommodations for what?" Buck asked.

"For the test," Tommy replied simply.

"How would I even go about that?" Buck asked, lifting his head slightly.

"Well, the first thing we'd have to do is get you diagnosed with ADHD," Tommy said.

Buck groaned and buried his face back into Tommy's shoulder.

"I know, Ev, but it doesn't change anything. If anything, it opens up doors. I love your bouncy, sparkly brain. But tests like this aren't designed for it, and you deserve to be captain, baby," Tommy said, pressing a kiss to Buck's temple.

"Can I think about it?" Buck asked, his voice uncertain.

"Of course. Do your research. See what accommodations are available and if they might help you, and then we go from there," Tommy said, his eyes warm with understanding.

The next few months were a blur of appointments, assessments, and preparing to take an accommodated exam. When the day of his fourth attempt came, he was nervous but ready in a way he hadn't been before.

Tommy looked up from where he was doing some preflight checks on his helicopter to see his husband walking into the station. The bounce in Buck's step told him everything he needed to know.

"You passed?" Tommy asked, beaming.

"I passed!" Buck exclaimed, eyes bright with excitement. "Having that extended time and someone reading the questions to me was a game changer. Thank you so much, Tommy."

"For what?" Tommy said with a confused look on his face.

"For helping me help myself," Buck said, squeezing Tommy's hand.

"Anytime, Captain Kinard," Tommy said with pride in his voice.

"Oh, I like the sound of that," Buck said,

pupils darkening.

"Down boy. I still have 4 hours left on

this shift, but we'll celebrate at home," Tommy said with a wink.

"I'm counting on it," Buck said, kissing his husband and turning to leave, still basking in the glow of his accomplishment.

[snoopyhughes]

gave you too much but it wasn't enough (qh43)

In which you wonder if your relationship with Quinn might end in death by a thousand cuts.

This is my submission for the eras tour fic challenge hosted by @wyattjohnston and @comphy-and-cozy! I am thrilled to be a part of this event. I received DBATC, and if you know me you know any kind of angst is not my wheelhouse, but I was thrilled to get this challenge and try to create something angsty. It will never be unresolved in my world but hopefully this does the trick :) 2.5k words, fem reader, no warnings that I know of, not proofread.

When Quinn was named the captain of the Vancouver Canucks, you had never felt so proud.

Being with Quinn for two plus years at the time, you were over the moon to see the love of your life, your favorite person in the world, being given such an honor, an honor he worked so hard for, an honor you know he deserved. Quinn was one of the most dedicated people you've ever met. With that dedication of course, comes time. Quinn dedicated countless hours to improving his game, practicing with his teammates, working out in the gym, going on runs, anything he could do to be the best he could be, he was doing it.

Under the moonlight, as you and Quinn celebrated his accomplishment, he promised you that he wouldn't stray away. That his commitment to the team wouldn't outweigh his commitment to you. To being a loving partner. A companion. However, when you woke up, stretching your arm out to feel an empty bed yet again, despite knowing that it couldn't have been much past 7 am, you wondered what went wrong. What happened to cause those promises to crumble. His words to be empty, lifeless. Void of meaning. When did you and Quinn become a couple that told each other lies? Told each other things just because the other person wanted to hear them, not because they genuinely intended to fulfill them.

It was the start of Quinn's second season as the Canucks captain. At first, you thought it was too good to be true. Quinn was thriving in his new role, yet still being the perfect partner. Attentive and on time, compassionate and loving. Now, that version of Quinn is a distant memory, mocking you as you think of him.

It started after the holidays in Quinn's first season of being captain. You chalked it up to post holiday stress and all star weekend buzz, maybe even trade deadline drama. Then the all star game passed, and even the trade deadline. Shortly after you started blaming it on the playoff push, then the playoff loss. And now here you were in November, searching for answers, trying to figure out what happened to the love of your life who turned into a stranger right in front of your own eyes, with nothing you could do about it but watch it happen.

You got yourself ready for work, looking around in the bathroom, on the bedside table, and eventually the kitchen to see if maybe Quinn left you a note, a cup of coffee in your favorite travel mug, a bagel from your favorite bakery around the corner, a sign of his love, signs that he used to never leave the house without showing. Just as you thought, there was nothing. You couldn't even remember the last time you felt Quinn kiss your forehead before he left for God knows what. Another workout, another two mile run after the three miles he did on the treadmill, or locking himself in his office watching film.

Work came and went that day, taking the long way home, dreading going home to an empty house. You thought it would be worse trying to interact with the stranger you lived with, but the silence, the emptiness, the sterile, unwelcoming cold was always worse. You stared up at the traffic lights, wondering if others saw just how foolish you felt. Writing lines to a story that was long over. Grasping on to the book, hoping for a surprise ending, one that would make everything worth it.

To say you were surprised to see Quinn's Porsche in the driveway was an understatement. Usually on practice days he didn't get home until well after 6 pm. You unlocked the front door, not expecting much. Just because he was home, doesn't mean he wasn't locked up in his office, taking notes from last night's game. A game that you never bothered to go to anymore. You knew the other WAGs missed you, people speculated about your absence on the internet, always cruel and judgmental. You couldn't bring yourself to go. You had learned to despise hockey for taking Quinn from you.

You opened the door and were surprised to see Quinn in the kitchen, grabbing a snack. Quinn looked as surprised to see you as you were, almost like he didn't know where you were, or if he even remembered that you lived there. Quiet "hi's" were exchanged, Quinn leaving a soft kiss on your cheek then awkwardly brushing past you to go towards the fridge.

"I thought we could have chicken and pasta for dinner tonight. It sounded good on my way home, I hope that's okay," Quinn muttered out, but already getting a pot of water for pasta ready, as though it didn't matter what you truly wanted. "That's okay," you offered back. "I'm gonna go sit down and read my book. If you need me, just holler." You offered and Quinn gave a nod in response. You wanted to grunt and groan under your breath. How could this be okay with him? It was as though you didn't know him, despite him knowing everything about you.

You tried to distract yourself with your book, but frustrated tears welled up in your eyes. You wiped them away aggressively, not wanting Quinn to see you cry. He couldn't muster up simple greetings, and an I love you would be almost toxic coming out of his mouth. He didn't care anymore, that much was obvious. So why should you?

You didn't know how long time passed, but it was enough time for Quinn to come over with a plate of dinner, unaware of your state. Your heart swelled. Most days, you had been eating dinner at the table, the memories of the two of you loved up on the couch, enjoying your meal and watching your latest binge watch were long gone. It seemed that Quinn was looking for one of those nights, until he saw your tears. His face dropped, setting your plate down and kneeling in front of you.

"Everything okay, sweetheart?" He asked, trying to get you to meet his eyes. You shook your head. How could he be so oblivious? "Are you serious?" You ask and Quinn's expression changed, like you had hurt him. "What do you mean by that? Why would I not be serious?" he asked, causing you to shake your head. "Quinn, things haven't been right between us for months. You leave me everyday without saying goodbye or even kissing me goodbye, you act like spending time with me is the worst thing in the world. I never go to games anymore because I resent hockey for taking you from me. When you were named captain, I was so proud of you I could explode. Now I can't even bare to be in the hockey setting because it reminds me of everything you chose over me. Quinn, I don't even know if you love me anymore." You took a breath after getting it off your chest, but at the same time a wounded gasp came out of Quinn's mouth, like he was a wounded animal.

"You think I don't love you anymore? How could you think that?" he asked, clearly hurt by what you had said. "What else do you want me to believe, Quinn? I can't even remember the last time you told me you loved me. And beyond that, that you ever even showed that you might. I feel like I live with a stranger. You can't honestly tell me that you have felt satisfied in this relationship. That you feel that we love each other to the fullest, that we love spending time together. I haven't felt confident that you feel that way in a long time." At this point you both had tears in your eyes, Quinn feeling devastated by what he was hearing.

Of course Quinn wasn't 100% satisfied with your relationship. He wasn't delusional enough to believe that everything was perfect. He knew that hockey had been his number one priority lately, and he had been trying to make that not be the case.

"Baby, I know I haven't been putting you first lately, and I'm sorry for that. I truly am. But I feel like it's only been this way since the start of the regular season." This had you scoffing immediately. "You don't seriously believe that. Quinn, I could say I have felt this way on and off since January." This caused another hurt gasp to leave Quinn's lips. "Why didn't you say something..." he trailed off, hurt, but he knew the answer.

"I shouldn't have to beg you to love me, Quinn. I shouldn't have to tell you that you have been neglecting me, neglecting us. If you truly can't see what's been going on, I don't know how I can explain it to you. If you think that this relationship has been satisfactory for both parties, I can't change your mind of that. But I won't be treated like this any longer. I think we should spend some time apart." Quinn backed up as soon as the suggestion came out of your mouth, looking like he had been shot.

"You don't mean that, you can't" he gasped. "Quinn, I'm not saying I want to breakup. If I didn't believe this was salvageable, if I didn't believe you could fix this, I would just say I wanted to break up. I believe we can fix this, but I think some time apart would do us good. For us both to figure out what we're looking for and what we truly want. If we find that this is still what we want, that's great, I believe that we will make it work. But this, this... arrangement, this isn't working. I know you seem shocked and hurt, but I know you don't believe that this is working for both of us, or honestly either of us."

"I'll go stay with Petey, I don't want to be in your way," Quinn suggested and you shook your head. "It's okay, really. I can go stay with Brock's girlfriend. Since she lives by herself it won't be awkward for any of us. I do believe we can make this work Quinn, I just don't think we can do it in these conditions." You put your hand on his cheek and his face softened, leaning into your touch.

"Tell me how to fix it, please, I'll do anything," he begged, tears steadily streaming down his face. "I can't tell you that, Quinn. I want you to figure out. To understand where I'm coming from, and want to work to fix it. I haven't been perfect either Quinn, we can both work on this. I shouldn't have to tell you that spending time together once a month isn't enough. I don't know how it can be enough for you, either. If that's okay with you, then this just isn't going to work."

"I'll fix it baby, I promise, I'll do anything." he whispered, almost defeatedly but feeling much better. "I believe you, baby. I do."

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

The flowers started on Mondays. Each Monday, a different bouquet of beautifully arranged flowers arrived at your office. The message was also different each week but it always ended the same way: " I love you, I believe in us." You texted Quinn every week when the flowers came to let him know you got them and to send your thanks. After four weeks of flowers, you were sitting in the front room of Brock's girlfriend, Bella's, apartment, getting stuff done on your computer on a chilly Saturday afternoon. A knock on the door sounded, causing you to pause your work. You had been staying with Bella long enough that you felt comfortable getting the door. Not to mention Bella liked to sleep in super late on weekends, meaning you would be the only one to even be available to open the door.

Your heart sank to your toes as you looked through the peephole, seeing Quinn. He looked different. If your gut was right, he looked tired, a far away look in his eyes, almost as though he missed you as much as you missed him. You didn't want to believe it, wary of getting your heart broken. He was holding something in his hands, fidgeting with it as he waited for the door to open.

"Y/N, hi," Quinn whispered out, taking a step towards you. "Hi Quinn, it's great to see you. How have you been? Would you like to come inside?" You asked, causing him to shake his head. "I can't stay, but thank you for offering," he stopped himself, wanting to keep boundaries in between you two in order for you to be most comfortable.

"It's been a while since we've seen each other, and I wanted to come ask you something. I was hoping you'd like to come to the game tomorrow night? I was hoping this would be enough time, but if not it's okay." His voice was shaky, unsure, almost like he was scared of your response. "I'm not sure, Quinn. Won't it be weird that I'm there? I don't want to cause any drama." You said apprehensively. You were also nervous of what that step in your relationship would be.

"There would be no drama at all, babe. You could just sit with Bell in the stands if you would prefer that, but I know the WAGs have really been missing you. I heard Millsy's daughters have been waiting for you to paint their nails on intermission again," he joked, causing you to smile. His heart melted at the smile on your face, finally feeling fulfilled, that he made you happy.

"I'll be there, Quinn. You can put me in the box. Don't worry about parking, though. I'm sure I can catch a ride with Bella." You both smiled, joyful at the step in the right direction for the both of you. "I can't wait."

________________

For all the time you had spent at Canucks games, you never thought you would be so nervous about what to wear, but here you are. Finally, settling on a stylish Canucks long sleeve with no distinction of Quinn on the shirt, paired with dark jeans and sneakers.

Quinn played a great game, getting a goal and an assist, the Canucks winning 3-1. You were ecstatic. Being back at the games, with your friends, cheering on Quinn, just felt right. It felt like where you were supposed to be. When you met Quinn after the game, he couldn't help himself either, jogging up to you and wrapping his arms around you, lifting you up off the ground. "Quinn!" you exclaimed, laughing out loud. "You did so good!" You laughed as he set you back on the ground. "It's because you were here, my good luck charm." He mused, causing you to blush.

Before he could stop himself, Quinn asked: "come home with me?" Your breath shortened, definitely not expecting that to come out of his mouth. "Are you sure?" You asked him, heart racing at the idea of going home with Quinn, truly where you belonged. "I would want nothing more."

It felt at times that no matter how much you gave to Quinn, it would never be enough. But as you both grew and learned more about yourselves, you both knew that all you could give would always be enough for the both of you.

[marscardigan]

war of hearts — chapter iii. the beginning of a war and the end of a fantasy

series masterlist

summary: royal au. ellie williams had a reputation as one of jackson’s most skilled spies. no matter the cost, she always accomplished her missions, and never dared to fail. everything changes when she is ordered to assassinate the only daughter of the wolves’ king. the lines blur. and the mission that should have been easy and fast, becomes anything but.

word count: 4.3k

It was the scent of smoke what woke Ellie up the next morning.

As she opened her eyes, she found you in the exact same position as the night before, hands still tied to a log. Her green eyes settled on yours, though you weren't looking at her. Your gaze was distant, unfocused, the shadows beneath your eyes even darker than they had been yesterday.

With a weary sigh, she reached for her dagger and pushed herself up. "Did you sleep at all?" she asked, her voice still heavy with exhaustion.

You didn't answer. Didn't even acknowledge her presence. She was just about to press further, but the rising smoke in the distance stole her attention. Thick, ashen plumes, from the castle, no less.

Her brows furrowed. Ellie stiffened as she stared at the dark clouds of smoke curling into the sky, realizing that after the massacre, the Scars must've taken advantage of the ball, too.

She had expected the war to start early, of course. Maybe in a month, after your wedding, but not this early, and not to this extent. Whatever was happening back at the castle, it meant one thing: returning to Jackson now was no longer an option. The roads would be swarmed with soldiers from both sides, all of them searching for blood.

Ellie cursed under her breath. She was good—damn good—but she wasn't invincible. If she took the direct route, you'd both be dead before the next sunrise.

And as if you had read her mind, your gaze was locked onto the smoke in the distance. And yet, you didn't speak. You didn't demand answers. You didn't weep over the sight of your kingdom burning. You just stared.

With a click of her tongue, Ellie kicked dirt over the last embers of the dying fire. "Change of plans," she muttered. You turned to look at her then, finally breaking from your trance. "We're taking the long way. Hope you don't mind walking for a while."

You didn't respond, and Ellie rolled her eyes. "Alright, princess. Have it your way." And with that, she hauled you to your feet and started walking.

The journey was slow and quiet.

Ellie didn't untie your wrists. She didn't trust you—why would she? Despite your silence, she knew better than to think you weren't plotting. So she kept her distance, dagger always within reach, her ears sharp for any signs of deception.

For hours, the only sound was the rustling of leaves and the distant calls of birds overhead. The scent of smoke didn't left either of your nostrils. Eventually, the trees thinned, giving way to the glittering surface of a lake.

Ellie exhaled through her nose. "We will rest here."

You blinked, taking in the scenery. You felt filthy. Your once perfect gown was in tatters, your hair tangled, and your skin was smeared with dirt and dried blood. The thought of water was nearly overwhelming.

Ellie must have caught the look in your eyes because she scoffed. "Yeah, yeah. Don't get any ideas."

With a flick of her knife, she cut the ropes binding your wrists, and air seemed to fill your lungs again. The skin beneath them was raw and red, but you didn’t complain. You merely flexed your fingers, swallowing back the sting.

"Go wash. You smell like hell."

You arched a brow, swallowing before using your voice for the first time today. "And what about you?"

She snorted, but didn't answer.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you reached for the fastenings of your ruined gown. Ellie turned away without a word, and something about that made you pause. She was a kidnapper. A killer. A gambler. She had threatened to slit your throat without a second thought. And yet… she wouldn't even look at you as you undressed yourself.

You studied her back, the way she stood stiffly, arms crossed. Interesting.

The water was shockingly cold against your skin, but you bit back a gasp, forcing yourself to sink deeper. It felt like a baptism, washing away the dirt, the sweat, the blood of the past day.

It would be a lie to not admit how you thought about escaping. But it was a foolish idea. The lake seemed to be deeper that you firstly expected, and you didn't know how to swim. And even if drowning sounded better, you didn't want to die just yet.

Ellie remained by the shore, tossing pebbles into the water as she waited. When you finally emerged, she turned, eyes flickering over you once before landing firmly on your face.

No wandering gaze. No smug remarks.

Just a muttered, "Get dressed. We need to keep moving."

Very interesting, indeed.

The sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting everything in hues of gold and orange trhough the thick clouds. Every step you took meant you were far from your home, which was still burning. Your throat felt dry just to think about what may have happened.

The lake had washed away the dirt, but it hadn't cleansed the weight of everything—your father's ball, the slaughter, the smoke curling from the castle ruins. Your kingdom was at war now, and here you were, stolen away, trailing behind the woman who was going to sell your head for wealth.

And yet, you hadn't tried to run. Not that you could, anyway.

Even without the ropes binding your wrists, even with the dagger Ellie had tucked safely back at her hip, you knew better than to think you could outrun her. So you walked. And walked. And walked.

Until, finally, you heard the distant clatter of hooves against dirt.

Ellie slowed, her hand twitching toward her belt. You followed her gaze, watching as a man on horseback came into view. A commoner.

He was older, with graying hair and sun-worn skin, his clothes threadbare but sturdy. The moment he saw the two of you standing by the road, he pulled his horse to a stop. Part of you prayed he recognized you, and saved you, but a small part inside of you, didn't want him to do it. The reason why was still unknown.

"Travelers?" he asked, glancing between you and her. His gaze lingered on Ellie's sword, then flickered back to her face.

Ellie nodded once. "Need a horse."

The man stroked his chin, gaze shrewd. "And what do you offer in return?"

Ellie reached into her satchel and pulled out a small pouch. It jingled faintly as she tossed it toward him. "Enough coin to make it worth your while."

The man caught the pouch, weighing it in his palm. He hummed, seemingly pleased, but then his gaze slid to you. And his expression changed.

Slowly, he looked you over—the sticky ends of your hair still curling against your shoulders, the bruises beginning to bloom against your skin, the way your dress clung to your figure, still damp from the lake.

A sick smile curled at the edges of his lips. "I’ve got a better idea," he mused, flicking the pouch back at Ellie.

She caught it effortlessly, her brows furrowing. "I don't like playing games, old man."

"It's not a game, girl." He leaned forward slightly, his smirk widening. "You give me her, and the horse is yours."

For a moment, you felt your heart stop. For a moment, the world fell silent.

You turned to Ellie, half-expecting her to consider it. To weight her options. War was not planned, and maybe her mission was not as important now, when she could go back home, safe and sound. You were the reason she had to take the long way. The reason she had to change her plan, and now she was stuck in warfare territory. You were nothing to her. And yet. Ellie moved faster than you could think.

One second, the man was on his horse, smug grin intact. The next, Ellie had closed the distance between them, her blade slicing through the air in one swift, precise motion. A gurgling noise filled the silence as the man's body slumped forward, toppling off the saddle before he even realized what had happened. Blood splattered against the dirt, soaking into the earth beneath him.

Ellie wiped her blade against her sleeve, exhaling sharply as she turned back to the horses. "Fucking creep."

You weren't sure what you had expected her to do. Maybe hesitate. Maybe consider it. But not this. Not a single moment of thought. Not even a flicker of indecision. Just clean, effortless death. She was a killer, anyway. So why were you so surprised?

Ellie climbed onto the horse, reaching down to grab the reins of the horse. She glanced at you, brow raised. "Come on."

You blinked. Then, slowly, you moved forward, taking her outstretched hand as she pulled you up onto the saddle in front of her. Her arms caged you in with ease as she took the reins, and you could feel the warmth of her body behind of you.

As the horse started forward, you risked one last glance at the man lying in the dirt, the blood pooling around his head. Then you looked back at Ellie. "You did not even think about it," you murmured, almost to yourself.

Ellie didn't look at you. She just clicked her tongue, guiding the horse forward. "Didn't need to."

The moon had already risen from the darkness when Ellie decided to stop for the night. You had been riding for what felt like hours, your body aching from the unfamiliar position, from the tension in your muscles, from the way Ellie's warmth pressed against your cold body.

The two of you dismounted near a thick patch of trees, the ground softer here, untouched by the roads or the footsteps of passing travelers. Ellie wasted no time tying the horse to a sturdy branch, her movements efficient and practiced.

You stretched your sore legs, wincing slightly as your feet pressed against the uneven earth. Your hands were still bound, though loosely now, giving you just enough freedom to move without complaint.

Ellie, on the other hand, seemed entirely unaffected by the long ride. If she was tired, she didn't show it.

She dropped onto a fallen log, her legs spread slightly, elbows resting on her knees as she stared into the flickering flames of the small fire she had built. Her dagger laid within arm's reach, glinting in the firelight.

You took a slow breath, glancing at her from the corner of your eye before lowering yourself onto a smooth patch of earth.

And then, carefully, you reached for some berries that were planted nearby. A deep purple color, almost black. You traced your fingers along the soft skin of the fruit, plucking one carefully between your fingertips.

Ellie must have sensed the movement, because she flicked her gaze toward you. "What is that?" she asked, voice gruff from disuse.

You held up the berry, letting the firelight illuminate its rich color. "Berries," you said simply.

Ellie frowned. "I can see that."

"They are good with pain." You offered her a small, knowing smile. "Headaches, mostly."

Ellie didn't move, didn't speak, just watched you with those sharp green eyes, her head tilting slightly as if she were waiting for something. "How do I not know you are not trying to kill me?"

You hummed, lifting the berry to your lips. You let it rest against your tongue, feeling the soft skin press against your teeth. You held it there for a beat, two, before tilting your head back slightly and pretending to swallow.

Ellie's gaze flickered to your throat. She must have been satisfied with what she saw, because she reached forward, plucking a berry from your palm without hesitation.

You almost smiled.

She turned the fruit between her fingers once before tossing it into her mouth, chewing absently.

"You are right," she muttered, swallowing it down. "Sweet."

You relaxed, just slightly. A pause. "Where did you learn that?"

She was still watching you, firelight dancing in her pupils, her expression unreadable.

"My mother," you answered carefully. Ellie arched a brow, clearly not expecting that answer. You hesitated, then continued, your voice softer now. "Before she became queen, she worked in an apothecary. She knew every herb, every root, every leaf that could cure or kill. She used to teach me." Your fingers absentmindedly brushed against the ripped fabric of your dress. "She was very good at it, too."

You didn't know why you were telling her this. Maybe because it had been so long since you'd spoken of your mother to anyone. Maybe because, despite her sharp edges and ruthless demeanor, Ellie was still listening. Not out of kindness, surely. But listening nonetheless.

Ellie let out a low whistle. "A queen with dirt under her nails. That's a new one."

The words stung more than they should have. You forced yourself to hold still, to keep your expression as neutral as before, even as something in your chest twisted, sharp and unwelcome.

Ellie smirked, as if she could feel the shift in the air between you. "So what? Did she teach you how to stitch up wounds between tea parties?"

You turned your gaze back to the fire, feeling insulted all of a sudden. Your mother was a subject you had long since learned to guard. To mention her was to risk reopening wounds that had never fully healed.

So, instead of biting back, instead of showing her that she had landed a blow, you inhaled slowly, forcing the ache in your ribs to settle. "Something like that," you finally murmured.

Ellie chuckled under her breath, clearly amused by your lack of reaction. She didn't know that the only reason you weren't snapping at her was because your mother had also taught you patience.

And patience, if played well, could be more deadly than any blade.

The next days were a blur.

The forest had begun to thin, giving way to dirt paths and worn-out roads that suggested a nearby settlement. It was the first sign of civilization they had come across in days, and Ellie took it as an opportunity.

She spotted the merchant's cart before you did—a rickety wooden thing parked just off the path, its owner squatting beside a tree, relieving himself.

Ellie's fingers twitched toward her dagger. "Stay here," she muttered before stepping silently toward the cart.

You huffed, arms still bound, watching as she moved through the trees like a shadow. Ellie was quick. Within minutes, she returned with a bundle of clothes thrown over her shoulder, her expression unreadable as she dropped them at your feet. "Change."

You frowned, glancing at the garments. They were coarse and faded—nothing like the silk and embroidery you were used to. As you knelt down, You pinched the fabric between your fingers, barely concealing your disgust.

Ellie raised an eyebrow. "You think the world cares what you wear? You walk into a village looking like royalty, and you're dead in seconds."

You scowled at her, refusing to admit that she was right.

The woman sighed heavily, then pulled out her dagger, flipping it effortlessly in her fingers before she sliced the ropes around your wrists. The relief was immediate, but you masked it well, rubbing at the raw skin where the rope had bitten into you.

"Do not do anything stupid," Ellie warned, stepping back but keeping the weapon at her side. With a glare, you turned your back to her and began to change.

The dress you had worn to the ball was nearly unrecognizable—torn, dirtied, a ghost of its former luxury. As you peeled it away, the cold air bit at your skin. The stolen clothes were rough against your body, stiff and ill-fitting. The boots Ellie had tossed toward you were heavy compared to your usual delicate heels.

You nearly stumbled when you tried to walk. Ellie stifled a laugh. "You look like a lost little lamb."

You shot her a murderous glare. "This is ridiculous."

"This is survival," Ellie corrected, stepping closer.

Her words struck something in you, something uncomfortable. You weren't used to being spoken to like this, but then again, you were't used to… any of this.

Ellie shoved your old dress into her satchel. "Might be able to trade this later," she muttered. "Not every day you come across fine silk."

Your stomach twisted as you watched her shove it away, as if she were tucking away the last piece of the person you had been. With a sharp breath, you straightened your spine and walked ahead without another word.

You had walked for miles before the stench hit you.

At first, you thought it was the lingering smell of old, rotted crops—something left too long in the sun. But as the trees thinned and the village came into view, the scent thickened, acrid and undeniable.

Smoke. Burnt flesh. A village that was in ruins.

What had once been a modest settlement—a few cottages, a well, a market square—had been reduced to carbonized remains. Your steps faltered. Ellie, however, moved forward without hesitation, stepping over a fallen wooden beam as if she had seen this a thousand times before.

"Bandits?" you murmured, voice hollow.

Ellie crouched beside a body—a woman, her eyes open but unseeing. A knife was still clutched in her fingers, though it had done little to save her. Ellie pried the weapon free and examined it with practiced ease before slipping it into her belt.

"Could be," she muttered. “Or could be Scars. Or maybe your father decided this place wasn't worth keeping."

You flinched. Your father. Your people.

You took another step forward, gaze sweeping over the remains of the village. You had visited settlements like these before, had walked through their streets on your father's behalf. The people had always bowed, always smiled. They had lined up with their baskets of offerings, had sung praises of your family's generosity.

But looking at the shattered homes, the sunken faces, the way the dirt roads had been more bone than stone… Had they ever truly been grateful? Or had they been starving beneath their smiles? Your hands clenched at your sides.

"He would not…" you whispered, but even you didn't believe your words.

Ellie snorted, amused at your sudden confusion. "He would not?" She gestured at the wreckage around you. "Your old man sits on a throne while people like this rot."

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. Had your father known? Had he known the villages under his rule were suffering like this?

You staggered toward the remnants of the market, past overturned stalls, past coins scattered in the dirt. The people who had once owned them were gone—either burned or buried beneath the rubble.

Your stomach twisted.

"I—" Your voice cracked. "I didn't know."

Ellie tilted her head, watching you with something unreadable in her expression. "You didn't care to know," she stated simply. "But it doesn't matter now, does it? They are all long gone."

Your nails dug into your palms, your breath shaky.

"Go ahead," Ellie continued, tone unreadable. "Blame the bandits. Blame fate. But don't sit there pretending your father truly cares about these people. If he did, this wouldn't have happened.”

You turned sharply toward her. "And you do?"

Ellie's smirk was cold. "No. But at least I don't lie about it." The bluntness of her answer stunned you into silence. But she wasn't wrong.

No one had come to help these people. No one had ridden in from the palace to protect them. They had been left to die.

Ellie watched you closely, her sharp green eyes studying the way you unraveled in real-time. "Come on," she muttered after a moment. "There's nothing left here."

But you lingered, feet frozen in place. Your mind wondered if your father would truly miss you. Or if you were just another piece on his board.

Ellie walked ahead without waiting for you, stepping over the ruins like she had never known anything else. And for the first time since she had stolen you away, you weren't sure if you wanted to go back.

The stolen horse carried you through the dense, winding woods, its hooves sinking into the damp earth with each step. You clung to Ellie's waist, your fingers gripping the fabric of her tunic despite your initial reluctance.

Ellie was quiet. She had been since the village. She hadn't acknowledged your stunned silence, nor had she teased you for your uncharacteristic lack of defiance. Instead, she remained focused, her sharp eyes scanning the road ahead, muscles tense beneath your touch.

She was uneasy. You weren't sure why, but you could feel it. Then, you saw it. A fence. And beyond it, the outline of a massive estate loomed in the distance, hidden behind the wild overgrowth that had begun reclaiming the land.

The sky darkened as the storm clouds thickened above, casting a deep gray haze. You glanced up, watching the branches sway, and frowned.

"Looks like a storm's coming," you muttered, not expecting a response.

Ellie hummed in acknowledgment, but that was it. You rolled your eyes, shifting slightly in the saddle. "Are you always this talkative, or is it just with me?"

Ellie exhaled through her nose, her grip tightening briefly on the reins. "Just with you."

The silence stretched between you again, thick with unspoken tension.

Minutes passed until a rusted sign came into view, its paint chipped and faded from years of neglect. The letters were barely legible, but you could just make out the name carved into the metal. St. Michael's Manor.

You furrowed your brow. "Where are we?"

Ellie shifted slightly, her body tensing beneath your hands. Still, she didn't answer your question. She just pulled on the reins, slowing the horse to a halt. You blinked, momentarily thrown off balance as the movement jolted you forward.

"Why are we stopping?" you asked, glancing around.

Ellie ignored you, instead sliding off the horse in one fluid motion. Her boots landed against the soft earth with a muted thud. She adjusted the strap of her satchel, then reached for you, offering a hand.

You hesitated. Then, begrudgingly, you took it.

The moment your feet hit the ground, your legs nearly buckled. You had been riding for hours, the soreness in your muscles now making itself painfully known. Ellie snorted, but didn't comment.

Instead, she turned her focus to the woods ahead, scanning the area with a careful, calculating gaze.

You frowned. "What are you looking for?"

Ellie's lips pressed into a thin line. This time, it seemed like she may answer your question.

"Traps."

You stiffened. "Traps?"

Ellie gave you a glance. "Yeah. Bill doesn't like uninvited guests."

Your stomach dropped, and the air suddenly felt heavier. Ellie took a step forward, her movements cautious, deliberate. You followed hesitantly, your eyes darting around.

The path ahead was overgrown, vines twisting around fallen branches, patches of damp moss covering the uneven ground. It looked normal.

Safe, even. Then—

SNAP.

A metallic twang rang through the air. The horse reared violently, nearly throwing you off as you let out a startled gasp. Ellie grunted, tightening her grip on the reins before releasing them altogether, letting the panicked animal bolt into the woods.

Your pulse thundered. "What was that?"

Ellie exhaled through her nose. "A wire trap."

She stepped forward, even more careful this time, her eyes scanning the ground. You followed, slower, your nerves coiling tighter with each step.

Minutes passed. And when your heartbeat seemed to be back to normal— Click.

And Ellie moved faster than you could process.

One hand gripped your arm, yanking you backward, while the other shot down toward the ground. A thin wire, nearly invisible in the dim light, stretched across the path, pulled taut, waiting to be triggered. Ellie's fingers curled around the mechanism, deactivating it with a practiced flick of her wrist.

Ellie let out a slow breath, then turned to you, her grip still firm on your arm. "You've got a real bad habit of stepping in the wrong places, ma'am," she murmured.

You scowled. "And you've got a real bad habit of dragging me into them."

She huffed out something that almost resembled a chuckle. And without another word, she let go.

You kept close as she guided you through the last stretch of the path, carefully sidestepping more hidden dangers, rusted bear traps buried beneath the leaves, spike pits camouflaged with loose foliage, tension wires strung between trees.

This wasn't just a home. It was a fortress.

You nearly walked straight into a wire at one point, only for Ellie to grab your sleeve and yank you backward again.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" she muttered.

"I didn't see it," you snapped back.

"Exactly."

You shot her a glare but said nothing, focusing instead on placing your steps where she placed hers.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity of careful steps, you reached the gate. It was massive; iron bars, rusted but sturdy, twisted with ivy. Beyond it, the manor loomed in the distance, its windows dark, the stone exterior covered in creeping vines. Ellie stepped forward and pounded her fist against the heavy wooden door.

The sound echoed through the silent estate. You shifted uneasily. And a moment later, the door creaked open just a sliver, revealing a sharp sword aimed directly at Ellie's head.

You inhaled sharply. Ellie, however, didn't even flinch.

The man behind the weapon stepped forward, his broad frame blocking most of the entrance. His graying beard was unkempt, his face lined with exhaustion. His sharp eyes darted between you and Ellie, narrowing slightly.

"The hell you doin' here, kid?"

Ellie exhaled, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Relax, Bill."

However, he didn't lower the sword. "Who the hell is this?"

Ellie sighed. "Long story."

Bill's lips pressed into a thin line. He exhaled sharply, then finally lowered the weapon.

"Figures," he muttered. Then, after a beat, he stepped aside and pushed the door open fully. Ellie cast one last glance your way before stepping inside.

You hesitated. Then, with a quiet breath, you followed. The heavy doors slammed shut behind you. And just like that, there was no turning back.

taglist !

@elliesgffrfr @samcvrpenters @strawb4kdior @tphmnv @prwttiestbunny @liztreez @littlefallenangel111 @eriiwaiii2 @abbyswh0r3

[godhasforsakenthee]

When Dean turned twelve years old, John started teaching him how to escape restraints by tying him up and leaving him in the adjacent room of whatever motel room or house they squatted in. It could be a bathroom, a closet, or a shed --- in the end, it was all the same. At first, John would tell him at least a day in advance that they'd be training with the ropes and Dean had time to mentally prepare himself. But then, the warnings suddenly stopped.

Sometimes, he'd wake up in a dark room with his hands bound and no way to tell where the hell he was or what time it is. Sometimes, he'd wake up hungry or desperately needing the bathroom, but no matter how long he called for John, he'd never show up. Rationally, Dean knew that it was all a part of the training, but when you're stuck in the dark with no way out, your mind starts to play tricks on you.

Did a vampire get me? Where's Dad? Is Sammy okay? Oh god! Sammy! He's gonna die and I can't do anything! Dad is dead! SAMMY. SAMMY. SAMMY.

It was during these moments that bitterness towards his father wriggled its way into Dean's heart. He would kick and thrash, cursing his father out in his head until his wrists were bleeding and the knot came loose. But when he finally escaped his restraints and tumbled out of the closet (bathroom, shed, basement, cupboard, casket-) and Dad was waiting with a rare smile and Sammy beaming by his side? The worry, hatred, and fear melted away, replaced by a sense of accomplishment and pride when Sam looked at him like he was the coolest guy on earth.

Now, Sam's twelve years old and it's his turn to learn and Dean is more worried than Sam is. The first time, Dean is there to reassure Sam the whole time (John allowed Dean to sit in the room with Sam as long as he didn't tell Sam how to undo the knot) (John has always been a little soft on Sammy that way). He sits by Sam's side as he pouts and wiggles like a worm on a hook.

"You can do it, I know you can." "Sammy, you gotta calm down and take a deep breath." "Don't get caught up in your head. if you think you can't do it, you never will. Mentality is half the battle."

It takes twenty minutes for Sam to undo the knot and he's a little sweaty and his wrists are chaffed, but he's ecstatic and Dean is so proud of him (It only took Dean fifteen minutes his first time, but he expected Sam to need at least thirty minutes to undo his.)

The next time it happens, Dean isn't allowed to stay with Sam. He can hear his little brother struggling behind the bathroom's closed door and Dean desperately wants to be in there to soothe his own worries. He knows that Sam can do it --- he knows, he knows, he knows --- but forty minutes pass and Dean's starting to sweat. He keeps looking back at John who's waiting at the table, reading some non-fiction book he picked up at a Goodwill two towns before this one. Dean wondered how he wasn't sick out of his mind with worry.

It's because he's been through this before with you. He has faith in Sammy. He doesn't care.

Sam stumbled out of the bathroom at the fifty minute mark. He's bit teary eyed and his wrists are rubbed raw, but he's triumphant. Dean almost collapsed with relief. "Ha! I knew you could do it!" He remembered yelling as he scooped Sam under his armpits to swing him around like a limp cat.

Of course, Sam whined until his older brother put him down. But, he was smiling hard and Dad treated them to dinner at a diner to celebrate.

Things started to take a turn around the fifth impromptu session. Dean woke up without Sam by his side and his heart dropped like rock in his stomach. He damn near sprinted into the kitchen of the house they were 'borrowing,' just to see John sitting at the kitchen table sipping on a coffee like all was right with the world. Dean immediately knew what was happening.

"How long has he been in there?" Dean asked.

"About..." John trailed off, glancing at his watch. "Five hours."

"Five-?!" Dean exclaimed. It was eight in the morning. The longest Sam had taken was a little over an hour. Surprisingly, his little brother hadn't struggled too much with the last few knots, so maybe John decided to up the ante. Dean paced, worrying his lip between his teeth until he decided, "I'm gettin' him out."

John set his mug down with a force. "No, Dean. You've been too damn soft on him. He's never gonna learn to survive if he can't do this."

"But-!" Dean exclaimed. Sam's only twelve. He wanted to say, but...hadn't he also been twelve? He growled at the feelings bubbling up.

"Where is he? The shed?"

"Dean," John warned.

"I know! I'm not gonna fuckin' take him out."

The sound of John slamming his hand on the table reverberated in the empty kitchen like the distant clap of thunder. "You watch your language when you're speakin' to me, boy. And don't talk to him either. I don't want him knowin' you're there."

There was a pregnant pause before Dean broke their stalemate with a huff. "Yeah, whatever," He grumbled as he stomped outside.

Dean waited outside for two hours. The sun was baking his nose, the top of his head, and his shoulders, but he didn't care. His heart splintered every time he heard Sam whimper in there, the sounds of struggling cresting like a wave. He wanted to go in there so bad, but he couldn't. Sam did have to learn how to do this eventually. It didn't mean that he had to like it.

Had John been this worried when he was little? Did he drive himself mad as the hours dragged on? Did he ever truly care as long as it got him results?

Dean pressed his forehead to the door, whispering encouragements that Sam would never hear. For a long moment, the struggling stopped and Dean held his breath. Maybe Sam passed out? Maybe he just gave up?

Finally, the wooden door creaked open and Dean shot up with a gasp.

"Dee?" Sam asked. He looked like he couldn't believe this was real.

"Sammy!" Dean exclaimed as he hauled him out of the shed by his arms.

Sam fell into him, all the fight draining out of him like a wrung out towel. He was sniffling, his wrists bloodied and raw, sweat soaked through the front and back of his shirt. "I-I thought," Sam cried.

"I know, I know," Dean crooned, petting his brother's hair.

Dean heard a shuffle and glanced behind him to see John standing in the doorway, his expression neutral. This was the first time he felt something like hate for his father.

They didn't celebrate that night.

The worst year of Dean's life crawled by, occupied by sneaking bites of meals and sips of water into too-small closets and damp sheds. One night, Sam mumbled into his scraped knees, "I hate this." The tight skin of their permanently scarred wrists almost glowed white under the moonlight and Dean finally felt his heart finally break.

[rubywonu]

𝗿𝗲𝗱𝗮𝗺𝗮𝗻𝗰𝘆

(n.) the act of loving the one who loves you; a love returned in full.

summary: in which seungcheol finally gathered the courage to make you his, permanently.

pairing: choi seungcheol x fem!reader

genre: fluff, established relationship

warnings: kisses, nicknames, hand is on the thigh (?), wine, fireworks.

w/c: 1.7k

edited: by @pixieskie

nia’s notes: i had to write this. it was so fun to feed into my delusions. also im tagging my moots at the bottom to help spread this fic.

today was the day seungcheol finally gathered the courage to ask you to be his for forever. he'd been thinking about it for quite a long time but only now had he been preparing for it. 

he spent weeks looking for the perfect ring but nothing ever seemed to satisfy him, after all seungcheol only wanted the best of the best for you and it showed in everything. 

he visited jewellery stores every day and spent his free time searching for ring designs on the internet. and then finally he found it. he felt a sense of accomplishment the moment he placed the order for your ring.

everything was starting to feel real and at that moment, it hit seungcheol hard. he was going to propose to you. 

he spent the next few weeks in anxiety that you would find the ring and proceeded to change the hidden location of the ring every day. the first step being completed, the next step was to propose to you.

everyone who knew seungcheol knew he was someone who proclaimed his love in a very materialistic way, especially to you. 

he asked his friends to go with him to shortlist places for the occasion and that also took quite a lot of time. he drove 6 hours every day and spent the majority of his time watching vlogs of the venues they had chosen. after a painful month of travelling all over seoul, he finally found the perfect place to propose to you. 

after that came the most tiring step of them all, how was seungcheol going to propose to you? he needed decorations, venue reservations, to fly out your family on the other side of korea, a photographer - which he later decided that mingyu fit the role- he needed to get outfits and the hardest part was that seungcheol had to do it without you noticing. 

he made calls day and night to inquire about different things that were required for the proposal. he called your family members and personally invited them. seungcheol visited the venue every day and planned the decorations with a team of professionals. 

seungcheol was glad that you didn't catch on to his behaviour since he wasn't the best at keeping secrets.

after long months of planning, the day finally arrived. as usual, seungcheol went home and told you to get ready as he was taking you on a date.

you didn't expect anything, he was always taking you on surprise dates. seungcheol laid a beautiful red dress out for you on the bed with a note. you stepped out of the bedroom and there was seungcheol. he was fiddling with his watch as he stood in front of the room. 

hearing the door open, seungcheol looked at you and his world stopped. your hair framed your face perfectly and the matching red lip made you look irresistibly perfect. with his mouth open in awe, he walked towards you and held your hand, spinning you around. he listened to your giggles as the dress fluttered around you. 

being struck by your beauty, seungcheol felt so so happy to be yours. he watched as you walked over to the shoe cabinet and took out a pair of black heels. seungcheol made it over to you and stopped you before you could wear them. he got down on his knees and placed his hand under your heel before kissing your calves. 

now was your time to be speechless. you stared at him as he worked the latches on your heels. oh, how powerful you felt, for a man to be this in love with you that he got on his knees to slip on a pair of heels on you. 

seungcheol stood and gave you his hand for you to hold as support. no words were exchanged but you felt loved and appreciated each time seungcheol opened doors for you or gave you his arm to hold while you climbed down the stairs. 

the drive was the best description of innocent love, the both of you shared glances at each other and you smiled whenever seungcheol squeezed your thigh. it felt so intimate.

you decided to break the silence. "where are we going, my love?" you smiled at him and he looked at you when the car stopped at a red light. seungcheol reciprocated the smile and placed a kiss on your cheek before answering. 

"it's a secret, cherry." you blushed at the nickname. you've heard it for a long time but each time he calls you 'cherry', your heart picks up on a few beats. 

"oh come on!" you whined one last time hoping for an answer but all he did was smile and bring your hand to his mouth to place a gentle kiss on it. thankfully, this action made you forget about your destination as you sat there flustered.

the sun began to set and the sky had a beautiful pink gradient. it made this 'date' even more magical. while you gazed at the sky, you didn't realize you were at the destination until seungcheol opened the door and began walking towards you. 

he opened your door, and again held his arm out as support. you set your dress out as your eyes roamed the place in wonder. you've never seen such a beautiful restaurant before. the ocean glistened behind the restaurant. a small path connected the restaurant with the beach. 

the red sun was on par with the horizon. the scenery to you, looked like it had come out of a fairytale. not for seungcheol though. he was too busy staring at the fascination on your gorgeously sculpted face.

as much as he hated the hours of travel to look for this place, it felt like an accomplishment when you hugged him, thankful for this date. 

a waiter came up to you and guided the both of you inside the restaurant. 

seungcheol's hand rested on your lower back, and his body warmth immediately spread throughout your body, making you feel comfortable. the table that was reserved for the both of you was perfect. it had a view of the beach and the sunset that illuminated the restaurant, making it a beautiful hue of orange and pink. 

"did you order for us beforehand?" you asked after the waiter left your favourite wine bottle on the table. seungcheol got up from his seat and opened the bottle before pouring it for you. he knew that you loved it when he served you wine.

"only the wine, nothing else." seungcheol sat down in his place and grabbed your hand over the table, rubbing his thumb over it ever so gently. 

the menus were handed to you and seungcheol didn't let go of your hand even then, you smiled at his clingy behaviour. you skimmed through the menu and placed your order when the waiter came to collect it, seungcheol ordered a dish that you seem intrigued by, it was one that you had never heard of before.

there was a comfortable silence that enveloped the both of you as you stared at the sunset at the beach. it was romantic and private. no eyes were staring at the both of you, just you and seungcheol being sickly in love. 

the dishes arrived soon after and the both of you started eating, seungcheol made comments on how beautiful you looked and you couldn't respond, all you did was shyly giggle at each and every one of them. the both of you moved on to other topics and time flew. by the time the both of you were done eating, the sun had set completely, and the moon shone in the starry night. 

you and seungcheol walked towards the beach after he paid for the meal. hand in hand, you swayed them and took a walk on the beach. you shivered slightly at the chilly wind and seungcheol noticed as he immediately took off his trench coat and gave it to you.

you were about to walk further when you realised that seungcheol had stopped walking. you turned around with a confused expression on your face when you realised that he looked...nervous. 

"cheol, is everything okay?" you asked as you walked in front of him and cupped his face, you laughed out an apology when he flinched at the coldness of your palms. 

"yeah. um." he pulled away from you and held your hands before looking into your eyes. seungcheol's nerves were spiking up and he didn't know how to control it.

"you know the day i met you was the best day of my life. i was having a really bad day, but then you showed all happy and giddy. you put an automatic smile on my face and i didn't even know who you were." his words melted your heart, and you didn't even notice you were crying until seungcheol wiped the tear off your face.  

"and then we continued to meet at that coffee shop near hybe. after a few weeks, i finally gathered up the courage to ask you out. i remember being so nervous to talk to you, and then i found out your voice was sweeter than your personality." you laughed through the tears at the corniness of seungcheol's words. 

"after we started to date, i found out the real meaning of happiness. i used to dread coming home, it was so cold and dark but when you moved in, the house started to feel like my home, and soon my home turned into our home." 

you were sobbing at this point, and then seungcheol started shedding tears. 

"i want this to last my whole life, and i hope you want that too." you were nodding by the end of this sentence. 

and then seungcheol got down on one knee and pulled out a velvet box. you knew this was going to happen, but now that it was playing out in front of you, it felt surreal. "so, yn. can you make me the happiest man in this world and marry me?" 

he popped open the box and there the diamond studded ring glistened.  a single grey diamond rested on top and smaller white diamonds decorated the band of the ring. it sparkled in the moonlight, which made it even more magical.

you nodded profusely and sobbed harder as seungcheol shakily slipped the ring on your finger. he stood up and pulled you into a hug and brought you into a kiss, seungcheol dipped you as fireworks were set off in the distance. behind you, party poppers and cheers erupted from all of your friends and families. 

you couldn't stop smiling when everyone congratulated the both of you. after the congratulations, you could see everyone talking about your wedding and seungcheol was happy that he didn't have to go through planning that by himself. it was safe to say planning the proposal was stressful but so worth it.

you looked at seungcheol who was already looking at you lovingly.

"why are you looking at me like that, mr. choi?" you asked cheekily, you wrapped your arms around his neck and he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you in.

"why? cant i look at my wife, mrs. choi?" the both of you smiled. 

"future wife." you corrected your fiancé.

"either way you're mine, mrs. choi." 

"that i am, mr. choi."

tagging: @kflixnet . @caratsland . @pixieskie . @xomingyu . @etherealyoungk . @fairyhaos . @kyeomyun . @odxrilove . @itadorins . @ylliris-hanniehae . @wqnwoos . @slytherinshua .

[lovelynicho]

Boynextdoor reaction - one night

(unexpectedly spending late night with them)

Pairing: boynextdoor x gn!reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: not proofread, but nothing else

Note: no, still not a request, I'm sorry, I swear I'm working on those too! Also I started writing this like months ago and today I felt like finishing it because I had a sudden attack of ideas for this fic, hope you like it! English is not my first language, I apologize for any mistakes

Masterlist

Sungho

Originally he invited you over to try out a new video game he got but neither of you thought that it will be so entertaining that you'll be at it for hours. First you were very calm about it, still figuring out how everything works but after you got into it, there was no stopping. You tried to accomplish more and more together in the game and playfully scolded each other when someone made a mistake. You had so much fun together that you didn't even realise how much time passed since you started. The sun slowly switched places with the moon and stars appeared on the dark sky one by one. When you noticed the time your were shocked about how long ago you started this game, but you didn't want to go home yet. So at the end you decided to turn this afternoon and evening spent together into a sleepover because you just didn't want to leave your boyfriend's side. Not tonight.

Riwoo

You planned a movie date for the evening at your place. What you didn't calculate with was the huge storm that decided to start right after he arrived and soon the electricity went off in the whole building thanks to that. So the movie date became impossible. You lit some candles to have something light up the place, it actually turned out pretty romantic. You ended up eating all the snacks you guys bought for the movie while waiting for the power to come back. After an hour or two everything went back to normal, the lamp working again, the tv turned on and the internet connection came back. However, Riwoo and you had so much fun doing nothing in the dim lights of the candles that movie night already became forgotten, you didn't want anything else than to just be with, and focus on each other. And maybe a little bit more snacks.

Jaehyun

Jaehyun is a weird guy. Everybody and their mother knows that. Therefore when he plans a date you never know what to expect. But something that you actually didn't expect was for him to put together the most romantic dinner ever known to mankind at his place. He put candles on the table, gave you your favourite flowers and cooked a delicious male by himself (or at least that's what he claimed). When you finished you didn't want to leave yet. It was a gesture that showed you how much he really loves and adores you and you didn't want this moment to end. So you just kept sitting at the table talking, really opening up to each other for hours straight. This was probably the point when both of you realised how serious you are about this relationship. And another thing that you realised that night was that Jaehyun can actually stay calm for more than an hour long.

Taesan

You were at his place, laying in his bed, cuddling. He hugged you so softly but still so close, your head on his chest. You could hear his heartbeat. It was calm. You made it calm. The same way he calmed you down. At that moment it didn't matter how stressful of a day you've had, how angry you were at the whole world just hours ago. But as soon as you were with him everything seemed to suddenly get better. And there you were, laying down with him as a calm melody was playing on his vinyl player. Words weren't needed in that moment. You were planning to lay there for a few minutes, but minutes soon turned into an hour and then more and more hours. "It's getting late" Taesan whispered to you "shouldn't you go home?" You looked up at him, right into those beautiful eyes of his, and said "right now all I want is to be with you"

Leehan

You know how much Leehan loves watching his fish even for hours straight. At first you didn't understand; how can someone be so entertained by some fish? they're not even doing anything special, just swimming around, how can someone just stare at them non-stop? But it seems like tonight you finally understood. Today was not just long but also really stressful for you and you didn't want anything else than just some comfort so you came over to your boyfriend's. After eating something the two of you just settled in front of his fish tank watching as the little animals swim around in the water. Your head resting on his shoulder, calmly breathing in and out, non of you breaking the silence. You didn't know how much time has passed since you sat down there but honestly, you didn't care. You felt closer to him than ever before, it gave you so much comfort, and all you did was watching some fish in the dim light.

Woonhak

Woonhak LOVES basketball and he also LOVES you so one day he just decided that he's going to teach you how to play. In the late afternoon of a random week day you two went out to the basketball court nearby and started to play together. He thought you a lot, even got carried away to teach you every single trick he knows so much that by the time you were too tired to move anymore the sun has settled, it was dark already. But neither of you wanted to go home so, the caring boyfriend he is, Woonhak put his hoodie on the ground and the two of you laid your heads on it to watch the stars while talking about everything and nothing. Calm moments with him were rare, not that you complained about it, his active personality is one of the reasons why you fell in love with him, but still, you cherished every second spent together with him, even if you are just doing nothing together.

[seat-safety-switch]

"I heard the Space Station is all fucked up," I expressed to the astounded astronauts, who were expecting someone a little more accomplished to be the one who just stepped through the airlock.

That's the thing about outward appearances: they can be deceiving. On the outside, I looked like any other government astronaut heading up for an intense week of sciencing. Visor up, though? Now they could see the beef jerky particles floating around in my helmet. Well, to be more correct, it was a Slim Jim. Those are a little safer because they break into big chunks, every astronaut knows this. Let me start over.

As for the space station, it's true. For weeks, the news had been playing a story about how it's leaking a whole bunch of oxygen and soon is going to be rammed into by billionaires. Immediately, my ears perked up. Broken government property? Given away real cheap? Garbage? These are things I can fix, so I decided to help myself to a space shuttle and head on up there. I didn't do anything fancy: they left the keys in it.

At first, the astronauts, with all their book-learnin', had a lot of reservations about letting someone who was obviously a dumbass fuck around with their precarious, life-and-death environment. Any minor error could mean the demise of all of us, the end of a glorious era of human achievement. Luckily, I was not trained to make errors: I was not trained at all. They led me to the leak. Seen this kind of thing before. Micro-fractures in the hull from cornering too hard. When you're going twenty-eight thousand kilometers an hour around the Earth for years on end, that kind of thing adds up, any teenaged drifter can tell you that.

A little bit of spray-on expanding foam insulation and a whole lot of duct tape buttoned the whole mess up. I had an invoice in their hands and was on the shuttle back before they could ask: "hey, I thought the space shuttle couldn't dock here?" In my defence, Senator, I never said I was good at parking, or that I wouldn't create additional leaks.

[romanreignsbae]

Crazy for you - R.R

————

You finally finished getting ready, after a few hours of pampering yourself to the best you could. A steamy shower, deep cleanse, full skincare routine, and full face of makeup, it was all well deserved. It didn't happen to often for you, especially not recently. Not with your demanding ass job, or the split you and your ex husband endured.

So when you finally had time off to yourself, it was always appreciated. Looking in the mirror one more time, you stepped out of your house and into your car. Driving off to a new local restaurant that just opened in the past week. You knew it'd be packed, however a busy atmosphere for a first date always works well.

Stepping out of your car you can see your date is already here. You could see his flashy ass car a mile away and you never understood why he'd spend so much money on something so awfully hideous. You walked into the restaurant taking in the fresh loud atmosphere.

"There you are! Almost thought you wasn't gonna show!"

Actually, you really weren't gonna show. But he didn't need to know that. When Jackson from work asked you out, you almost immediately said no. But after recently splitting up with your busy ex husband, you needed something to distract yourself.

"Yup! I'm here!" you tried to sound convincing, but deep down you would rather be laid up in bed binge watching some random ass show.

Midway through a evening full of Jackson making stupid ass jokes, you trying to laugh, and you almost getting up and leaving, you decided to head to the restroom. For a break, specifically a break from this fool.

Walking through the luxurious restaurant, walking turn after turn to find the restroom. You took about 10 minutes in total of stalling by reapplying your lipgloss in the mirror multiple times, you decided it was time to go face your ‘date’.

Swinging the restroom door open, you immediately walk into something as hard as a rock. Almost tripping over your heels your caught by feeling strong firm arms wrapped around your waist.

Looking up you saw the one person you’ve been attempting to avoid. Your now ex-husband. Roman Reigns.

Dressed in a sharp black suit, it was almost certain enough to assume he was on a date. You felt a spring of jealousy cross your body.

“Didn’t expect to see you here..” you muttered the words sharply while looking up at him.

Roman looked down at you amused, his arms never leaving your body. He looked handsome as ever. Roman never had to try hard to attract female attraction, so it was really no surprise he was already on a date after the split you two just went through barely a month ago.

Now to be fair, you were on a date too. But you just needed an excuse to get outta the house. He was definitely looking for a woman to take home with him.

“I didn’t expect to see you here either. Guess we think alike..” he chuckled. He saw the jealousy clouding your face immediately.

“What are you doing here anyways?” your voice piqued with curiosity.

“Business dinner. What about you? Dinner with the girls?” he replied confidently. A rush of relief came across you.

“I’m actually on a date..” you said cockily. Making Roman jealous was never hard to do, and him being jealous would satisfy you heavily.

“Oh are you?” he chuckled bitterly. Mission fucking accomplished bitch.

“Yeah I am, he’s pretty great you know..” you replied smiling like a schoolgirl. His face now had a deep scowl placed on it.

“I actually better get back to him know, don’t wanna keep my man waiting,” looking down you grabbed his arms to remove them from around you.

Beginning to walk away, he moved in front of you, his tall frame towering over you.

“Your man, huh? You moved on real quick” he said with a hint of anger in his tone.

“Yeah, I mean what can I say? I didn’t really move on from anything cause ya know, there was nothing to move on from in the first place” you said.

That was a low blow. But, you didn’t quite care. “Okay, well i’m gonna go..”

Walking away from your ex man back to your new “man”, the satisfaction of seeing him angry felt amazing. But your words deep down made you feel terrible.

Looking back at him once you saw he was already on your trail. Nervousness overcoming you, you picked up the speed. Walking faster to get back to your table.

“Sorry that took longer than intended!” you said cheerfully. If Jackson was gonna be good for anything it was using him to make Roman jealous.

He smiled at me before replying. “That’s alright!”

“Really? This prick is your new man?” a new familiar voice entered the conversation abruptly, you looked up to see a scowling Roman.

“Who the fuck are you?” Jackson replied angrily. Who was this hothead messing up his date?

“Her fucking husband you imbecile. Now get the fuck outta here before I beat your ass,” he said while grabbing Jackson by his collar. This grabbed the attention of those sitting by us. Gasps and murmurs were shared.

“Roman! Stop it!” you got up trying your best to push Roman off Jackson. A man his size wasn’t gonna budge against lil old you.

“She doesn’t want you anymore you fuckin-” Jackson couldn’t finish his sentence before Roman punched him square in the face knocking him out.

Feeling sick to your stomach, you run out of the restaurant running as fast as you can even with your heels slowing you down. You know exactly who was gonna be following you to your car.

Rummaging through your handbag, the one gifted to the man you once loved, you were trying to find your car keys.

Finding them unlocking the door as fast as possible, a hand on your back stopped you in your tracks.

Already knowing who it was by the thick scent of the familiar cologne in the air. You didn’t waste a second turning around slapping him across the face. A look of shock spread over his face which was quickly replaced by a look of regret.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!? You’re such a fucking pysco-” you were cut off by him full lips smashing onto yours.

First attempting to push him off with no luck, you then melted into the kiss aligning and molding your lips against his perfectly.

This is what you always wanted. The attention from him. The whole reason you split up with him was so he could get his head outta his ass and realize he wasn’t showing you, his own wife, enough love and affection.

Both of you pulled back at the same time, gasping for air. His face showed remorse for you all over it.

“Baby, i’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t wanna do that but I had to. I love you too much to see you with another man and I know I wasn’t the best husband to you but I finally see my mistakes and i’m trying to change for you. I miss you so much and-” you quickly shushed him by kissing him greedily.

“Ro, take me home with you. I miss you so much.” you mumbled against him. His lips pushing against yours harder.

“I need you so bad,” you added.

“Fuck that. I ain’t waiting till we home.” he said with a small smirk. He opened the backseat of your car pushing you both inside.

Placing you to sit on his lap, your legs laid on the outsides of his beautiful thick thighs you love.

He was kissing your neck harshly while he fondled your back trying to unzip the mini dress you had on. Successfully unzipping your dress he freed it from your body.

“You’re so beautiful, baby girl.” he mumbled against your neck. Moaning softly to the feeling of his kisses moving lower and lower, you were truly in heaven.

“Please just fuck me baby..” you exhaled. He smiled softly at you before freeing himself of his belt and boxer briefs.

“I gotchu, baby..” he said while lining him up with your entrance. Feeling his mushroom tip push into you, you both moaned at the pleasure you both hadn’t felt in so long.

“I missed feeling you inside me, Ro..” you murmured before once again moving your lips to his.

“Yeah? Show me how much you missed it then..” he said before pushing you down on his dick. You then gave yourself time to fully adjusted to the stretch of him being fully inside you.

Once you’d adjusted, you moved up and down at a pace you could handle. “Just like that baby, just like that” he said into your neck.

“It’s so good baby!” you chanted. It had been so long since he’s been inside you.

“Yeah, you missed me inside this tight pussy, didn’t you baby?” he grunted while thrusting up at a rapid pace. You could no longer think straight anymore, You were completely dickmatized.

“I-I’m gonna-” You couldn’t even get the words out before you fell into pure ecstasy. Roman began speeding up his pace chasing his own orgasm.

Grunting loudly he filled you up to the brim. You laid your head on his shoulder no longer being able to support yourself. “I love you baby” he said softly while kissing your temple.

“I love you more..” you whispered back before falling into a deep sleep in the arms of the man you love.